White Orchid

*Note to readers: This is a fetish story. Specifically the smoking fetish where men who think attractive women who smoke are extremely sexy and desirable. If this offends you or isn't something you find interesting, please find another story to read.

The basis for this story is the movie The White Orchid. It is purely fictional and a kind of homage to a movie I thoroughly enjoyed and thought would serve as an excellent basis for a woman who, during the course of her job as an investigator, discovers many new things about herself.

With this particular fetish, there are a number of 'sub-fetishes' like nail length, dangling, nose exhales, leather, and others. I can't possibly hit on all of them, so my apologies if something you really like is missing.

Also, if you've read my other smoking fetish stories, the women always dress to please me because, well, they're my stories. If my thing isn't your thing, just ignore it or substitute something else for it and enjoy!

*****

"You're kidding, right?" she replied to her boss's suggestion.

"No. Not at all."

"But that's a criminal investigation. I only look into welfare fraud and child abuse."

"Listen. You're an exceptionally talented investigator, and that's what matters. I have friend who's the chief of police of the town where this murder happened, and in six months he's turned up nothing."

"And how does that affect me?"

"He's up for re-election and taking enormous heat. That means he's willing to try almost anything. He called me and asked if I had any ideas, and you were the first person I thought of."

"Okay. And?"

"And...that means you'll be going up there and taking as long as you need to do a painstakingly thorough search of the house, the garage, the cars, and anything you might think could in any way be connected to the crime."

"So I could be there a few hours?"

"Or a few weeks. But most likely a couple of days. That's entirely your call."

Olivia Palmer really was a very capable sleuth. She'd turned up clues that had led to arrests more often than all the other case workers in their office combined. She was utterly methodical and always put herself in the mind of the suspect as she searched for any trace of evidence that could close the case, and this job was perfect for her.

Olivia was an introvert. Not all introverts are shy, they just prefer being alone or with one other person. But Olivia also happened to be shy and painfully so.

Ironically, she was also beautiful, but her shyness was so much a part of who she was that she hid her beauty behind wire-rimmed glasses, dowdy, layered clothes, and kept her long, soft, dark silky hair in a bun most of the time.

As a result, her social life was minimal, and at 26 she'd only had a couple of boys as friends and none she could call a boyfriend. She was interested in sex, but yet to experience it, largely due to her insistence the lights be off and that she be almost fully clothed anytime a boy had gotten beyond second base.

Olivia had considered seeking therapy, but because she had little interest in relationships, and as long as that remained true, she couldn't really see how there was anything wrong with her, the protestations of a small handful of men aside.

Lately, she'd recently been encourage thanks to the most success she'd ever experienced in terms of relationships. For the last four months—her longest relationship by far—she'd been seeing a very cute guy she really liked, and who said he really liked her.

Unknown to her, he'd seen through her facade and recognized the beautiful woman underneath it. He was an extrovert but not loud or gregarious. He was just a very attractive guy who would be a really good, solid balance to her painful level of shyness—if she could keep him.

She liked him so much that she'd finally lost her virginity, and by the second time they made love, Olivia Palmer had been completely naked from the waist down. Her new lover, Ryan Lawson, a local reporter, never even tried to get her to remove the thick, heavy sweater she'd worn to bed. He told it was fine and that he thought she was beautiful as he explored as much of her body as she'd allowed him to.

Things were going so well, Olivia even allowed herself to believe she might finally be falling in love. Yes, she felt like Ryan was out of her league, but she was an extremely good judge of character, and everything about him told her he was genuine and sincere.

Those things were true, as well as one other. Ryan was honest to a fault. So just when things seemed to be going extremely well, he'd shared something with her that threatened to derail the entire relationship. He'd wanted to share it with her one their second date, but he couldn't bring himself to bring it up.

Now aware that he was also falling in love with her, he knew he had to talk about this even though it might very well mean the end of their relationship, and if so, it wouldn't be the first time. So he set the stage by taking her out for a very romantic dinner, then back at his place, he let her know there was something he wanted to discuss.

Olivia was shy but not naive. Even so, she'd been completely blindsided. She was expecting him to ask her to move in with him, and she'd already decided she'd say 'yes' were he to ask. But when he began talking about an experience that was the basis for the main topic of discussion, she become very confused. By the time he finished, she felt almost sick to her stomach.

"How long have you had this...desire?" she asked when he asked her if she wanted to talk about this.

"Since I was 14," he told her before providing more details about how it had come about.

"So you saw this girl you thought was very pretty—an older girl—who was smoking and that turned you on."

"Yes. And what she was wearing also...seared itself into my brain."

"A white, rib-knit sweater with long sleeves. But any form-fitting knit top 'does it' for me."

"Yes. I can only assume I was at an age where my brain was open to some kind of...imprinting. I don't know that, of course, but the strength of the impression those two things made on me really affected me."

"So, is this something you have to have in order to, you know, get...excited?" she'd asked, unable to even look at him.

He looked up then told her, "Yes. Ideally, anyway. I can perform, but it's not very...interesting to me. That's true for both things, but the knit top thing isn't as important as the uh, the other part I mentioned. I'm not sure I can live without that."

He paused then added, "So I don't have to have either one of them, but I can't really see myself being with a woman who didn't understand how important they are to me."

She sat there in silence, her investigator's brain putting pieces of the puzzle together at a very rapid rate.

"So, what that really means is, you'd never marry a woman who didn't actually do that. Not just understand its importance to you but actually participate in it."

He looked away when she finished speaking then looked back up at her and said, "I suppose so," he said initially. But his penchant for honesty drove him to stop quibbling.

"Actually, you're right. Yes, I'd need her to do that. The second part for sure."

"Which means that unless I'm willing to start smoking, there's nowhere for this relationship to go, right?"

"It's not that there's...nowhere," he replied, his attempt to spin the issue blatantly obvious.

"Let me be more direct," Olivia said. "You would never marry a woman who doesn't smoke, so that's the bottom line, isn't it?"

It was a question, but it was spoken like a statement of fact, because she intuitively understood that was the truth.

"Yes," he again replied.

"While I admire your honesty, Ryan, I see no chance of this going any further, so..."

"Wait. Don't give up on us yet, okay?" he pleaded.

"Why? What good is it to just drag this out for another month or even another day?" she asked rather poignantly.

After a fairly long period of silence, he finally said, "I...I just really like you, Olivia. A lot."

"But only if I start smoking," she correctly stated.

"I can try to live without it," he said, but knew it wasn't what he wanted.

She knew that wasn't true, and although she only wanted to go home, get in bed, and cry, she said in a quiet, almost emotionless voice, "No. No, you can't. This is too important to you, and you'll never be happy without it. And the truth is, because of that, I'll never be able to make you happy. I would gladly wear things you like, but smoking is out of the question, so I see no need to continue trying to make this work."

There was no anger in her voice. It was just a recitation of the facts as she saw them, and Ryan knew she was right. In fact, she was absolutely, 100% correct, and there was nothing further he could say in his defense.

"You're right," he eventually said. "I don't want to admit it, because I really don't want to lose you, but, yes, you are correct."

Work was Olivia's only solace the next week. She poured herself into her cases like she never had before as a way of helping to not think about the only man she'd ever loved. It was silly to say she loved him, but even after only knowing him for a short period of time, she knew she did. But because of what he wanted she knew she had to forget him.

"So? Are you even listening?"

Her trip down memory lane was interrupted by her boss who'd just said something, but she had no idea what it was.

"Sorry. I...I was distracted. Would you mind saying that again? Please?" she said, not willing to admit she'd been thinking about Ryan again, let alone what Ryan wanted.

Her supervisor gave her the sheriff's phone number, the address to the very high-end home the dead woman had lived in, along with some other information.

She then asked Olivia, "Is everything okay?"

In any other situation, she'd have told her boss everything was fine. But this breakup with Ryan wasn't fine. It was...awful. And it hurt.

"I really had high hopes with my ex-boyfriend," she finally said.

"Ex? You and Ryan broke up?" the older woman asked with genuine concern.

"Yes. Well, actually I broke up with him."

"Oh, okay. He cheated on you, didn't he?" the older woman assumed, knowing how much Olivia liked this guy.

"What? No. Not at all," Olivia told her.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Olivia sat there for several seconds then, to her own great surprise said, "He wants me to do something I'm not okay with doing."

"Ah, okay. A little three-way action maybe?" her supervisor said with a smile.

"No! Heavens no. Although that would be less difficult than what he wants."

"Okay. I give up," her boss said, hoping Olivia would come out and tell her.

"It doesn't really matter. I just can't do it no matter how much I like him."

As tears welled up in her eyes, the supervisor came around her desk and sat next to Olivia. She put a hand on her back then said, "Relationships are hard. It's a constant push-pull of give and take. I believe in giving until it crosses a line, as long as I'm getting equal amounts in return. But when my lines are crossed, well, that's where I draw my lines."

"I...I'd get so much in return," Olivia managed to quietly say as she dabbed her eyes. "But the cost of giving him what he wants is just too high."

"I have no idea what this thing is, but if it's something you just cannot do, then stick by your guns and move on."

"It's...it's just so hard. I...I've never liked anyone like this before, and I'm not exactly...pretty."

"What? That's crazy! You're a beautiful young woman, Olivia. You just have to stop hiding it."

"Hiding it?"

"Yes."

She softened her tone then gently said, "Listen, sweetie. The clothes you wear don't do you any favors. It's none of my business, of course, but if you want men—or Ryan—to really notice you, you need to um, catch their attention. Let your hair down. Wear a little makeup."

"I...I have contact lenses. I just don't wear them very often," Olivia said.

"Well, try wearing them more often. Your eyes are very pretty."

Olivia looked at her boss then said, "You think so?"

"I know so. After all, I'm a lesbian, remember?" the older woman said with a smile.

"Right. Yes, I knew that. I just never think about things like that."

Olivia finally smiled then said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Olivia. Now you need to go pack and get on the road. I'll give the sheriff a call and let him know you'll be there this afternoon. Oh, and I should warn you. Ms. Thornburg has a room in the house devoted to her um...sexual proclivities. It's filled with wigs, sex toys, and other such things."

Olivia's shyness caused her to blush and look away as she thanked her supervisor for the advanced notice. Olivia had a small vibrator she regularly used, but that was as 'kinky' as she'd ever gotten.

Four hours later, Olivia pulled into the private driveway of the late Marissa Thornburg. Her home wasn't really a house. It was quite literally a mansion with an eight-car garage with several antique cars parked in it.

She entered the 8-digit code she'd been given to disarm the security system then went inside and saw that it was no less spectacular. She walked the entire 'palace' room to room then went back to the far end and began her initial, excruciatingly detailed examination of every nook and cranny.

She hadn't finished with the first room when she heard a man's voice.

"Ms. Palmer?" the baritone sound boomed.

"In here!" she called back as she got up off the floor where she'd been looking on her hands and knees to get a different perspective.

A man in a police uniform walked in, and she knew he had to be the local sheriff.

"Good afternoon. I'm Dan Kenning, the town sheriff."

"Oh, yes. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sheriff," she told him as she extended a tiny hand.

"Personally, same here. Professionally, I'm more than a little concerned with having a civilian here, but as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures."

He paused for effect then said, "I expect you to let me know what you find, no matter how small the details may seem. Is that clear?"

"Yes. Very."

"Have you turned up anything yet?" he asked.

"No. Not yet. But I'll go through every inch of every room then go back through with a blacklight and and infrared detector, leaving no stone unturned."

"I'm not sure what good that'll do you, but if you feel it's worth the time, the by all means."

"Is there anything else, Sheriff?"

"No. That's all," he told her.

"I promise I'll keep you posted anytime I find anything. No matter how insignificant."

"Yes. Right. Well...thank you, and nice meeting you, Ms..." the sheriff told her.

"Olivia is fine. And same here, Sheriff," Olivia replied, remembering to smile.

She'd let her hair down and combed it out before leaving, and put her contacts in, and looked like a very different woman.

"I uh, I had no idea you were so young and attractive," the sheriff said after turning around on his way out.

"Oh. Thank you. That's very kind of you," Olivia told him, almost feeling good about herself for a change.

After a brief timeout to eat a tuna sandwich she'd brought with her at 7pm, Olivia continued her methodical search of the house. Around 9 o'clock she reentered what she called 'the romper room'.

Just as she'd been told, it was filled with wigs of all lengths and colors as well as things she'd never seen before. Her intuition told her they were sexual in nature, but she had a hard time imagining how some of the 'items' worked. The vibrators and dildos were simple. So were the ropes and chains. But so many other things were so foreign to her she stopped trying to figure out how one would use them. Well, after carefully checking each one for hidden compartments or an end that screwed off first.

There were mirrors in this room, too. Lots of mirrors of every size. Among them, one was full-length while two others sat in front of makeup desks and still another was mounted on the ceiling. At least that made sense to her.

As Olivia tried to put herself inside the mind of the woman who'd lived here, she found herself looking through the huge wardrobe of clothing that was also in the room. There were corsets and bustiers of every size and color as well as heels from 3-7 inches on shoes as well as a large variety of boots, most of them leather or rubber. And then there were the hoods of every kind, some of which seemed to have nothing one could possibly breathe through, and that sent a chill through her.

For someone with so little sexual experience or, prior to this little visit, even interest in such things, Olivia was well aware of the growing wetness between her legs. She stepped in front of one of the makeup desks and opened a tube of dark, red lipstick and examined it. She then looked at herself in the mirror and, as if possessed, began applying it to her lips.

The glossy look of the deep-red paste only served to heighten her growing excitement, and that's when she walked over to the bustiers and selected a white one along with a pair of white stockings and six-inch heels in the same color.

Her hands were trembling as she undressed, shedding the heavy sweater she'd worn and the long, flowing skirt that completely covered her legs. Once she was nude except for her white panties, she began getting dressed in something she'd never worn before.

As she sat there looking at herself in the white bustier, she could clearly see the small amount of cleavage that had been created by the very tight-fitting garment. That, too, sent a wave of excitement through her. A look at her long, shapely legs in the white stockings and white heels in the full-length mirror did the same thing.

A quick look around the room served to show her what was missing as she picked up a short, blonde wig. She put her hair back in a bun then pulled the wig over her head and adjusted it before brushing it out. Eye liner and shadow completed her new look, and then, as if possessed, Olivia's left hand slid between her legs and found the source of her wetness.

There were toys galore all around her, but she was so captivated by the sexy, even-slutty image looking back at her, that the only thing she needed was the middle finger of one hand. Within seconds, her body tensed and shuttered as it exploded in a way she'd never before experienced. When the trembling subsided, she sat there staring at herself and loved what she saw.

It was still her. The very attractive woman in white was indeed Olivia Palmer, but the way this new look affected her had a profound influence on her, and she couldn't help wonder if this was something similar to the experience Ryan had once had.

Now extremely curious, she began looking through the drawers she hadn't yet opened. A thorough search could wait until tomorrow. For now, she had to see if there was something else—anything at all—she'd missed that might provide this same kind of intense pleasure.

One other place she hadn't yet looked was behind a small door. It opened when she turned the handle, and inside she found what appeared to be a video room. There were several video cameras as well as numerous still cameras on shelves and mounted on tripods. And then there were the wall-mounted cameras that made her wonder who might be looking. That thought initially scared her, but as she thought some more about it, that too, turned her on immensely.

After doing some looking, she found the power button on a tripod-mounted camera and turned it on then focused it on a stool about six feet in front of it. She set the delay then moved to the stool where she sat down, crossed her legs, and smiled, her head slightly tilted down. The shutter clicked, and Olivia went to look at the image on the camera and gasped.