This is the second part to a new series, more parts are coming soon, stay tuned !
Dr. Elias Voss arrived at his clinic every morning at 7:45 a.m., long before the staff or any patients. He liked the quiet hour to prepare. He would unlock the front door, breathe in the faint lingering scent of yesterday’s smoke that still clung to the air, and walk slowly through the empty waiting room. The ashtrays on the side tables were never completely emptied, he made sure of that. A few stray butts with lipstick marks always remained, a quiet reminder of the kind of patients he wanted to attract.
He would sit behind his large oak desk in the main consultation room, light his first secret cigarette of the day, and review the appointment list. The clinic had been open for three weeks now, and the patient flow was building steadily. Word had spread quietly in certain circles: Dr. Voss was different. He listened. He didn’t lecture. He let you smoke in his office if you needed to. For many long-term smokers who had been shamed by other doctors, that alone was enough to make them return.
Elias took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, holding the smoke deep while he read the day’s schedule. His pulse was already quickening with anticipation. This was his true calling, not just treating lungs, but indulging in the very thing that damaged them. The duality thrilled him.
His morning routine had become ritualistic. After his private cigarette, he would open the windows briefly to air the room, spray a light neutralizer, and greet the staff with professional warmth. Linda, the receptionist, would hand him the files. Carla, the nurse, would prepare the examination rooms. He made sure to emphasize to them again and again: “Patient comfort is paramount. If someone needs to smoke during their visit, we accommodate. No judgment.”
By 9 a.m., the first patients would arrive.
Many were recurring now. Mrs. Hargrove, a 58-year-old with severe emphysema, came twice a week. Elias always let her smoke freely while he listened to her lungs. He loved the wet, rattling sounds she made, the way her chest heaved with every labored breath. He would encourage her to take deeper drags during the exam, telling her it helped open the airways for better auscultation. She had increased from one and a half packs to nearly three packs a day under his “guidance,” and she thanked him every visit for finally understanding her needs.
Mr. Kline, a 67-year-old retired truck driver with advanced COPD, came every ten days. Elias had him chain-smoke during consultations, watching with hidden excitement as the old man’s yellowed fingers trembled while lighting each new cigarette. “More is better for you right now,” Elias would tell him softly. “Your body needs the relief.”
But it was the female patients who excited him the most.
And none more than Vanessa Reyes.
Vanessa returned for her second appointment exactly one week after her first visit. Elias had been looking forward to it all morning. When Linda announced her arrival, he felt a familiar rush of arousal mixed with professional calm.
“Come in, Vanessa,” he said warmly as she entered. “Please, sit down. Smoke as much as you like.”
Vanessa looked different already. She was still beautiful, but there was a new softness in her posture, a visible relaxation. She wore a fitted gray sweater that accentuated her full chest and dark jeans. The yellow on her fingers had darkened noticeably.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, immediately pulling out her Marlboro Reds. “I’ve been needing this since I walked in the clinic.”
She lit one with practiced ease and took a long, deep drag, her cheeks hollowing as she pulled the smoke into her congested lungs. Elias watched intently, his stethoscope already in hand. The sound of her inhale, that slight wet rattle, sent a shiver of pleasure through him.
“How have you been feeling?” he asked, moving behind her.
“Much better, actually,” Vanessa replied, smoke curling from her lips as she spoke. “The tightness in my chest is less intense. I’ve increased to almost three packs a day like you suggested. It really does help with the pressure.”
Elias placed the stethoscope on her back. “Deep breath for me.”
She obeyed, taking a massive drag on the cigarette and inhaling the smoke deep. Elias listened carefully, his ear close to her back. The congestion was still there, thick, wet crackles and wheezing, but there was a subtle change. The airways sounded slightly more open, the mucus looser.
“Very good,” he murmured, voice low. “Keep smoking while I listen.”
Vanessa lit a second cigarette from the first without being asked. She chain-smoked comfortably as Elias moved the stethoscope across her back and then to her chest, asking her to breathe deeply, to cough, to take long drags between each listen. He was rock hard under his white coat but maintained perfect professional composure.
“Your lungs are responding well to the increased intake,” he told her, finally sitting down. “The extra smoke is helping mobilize the mucus. However, your cough has intensified. That’s expected. It’s your body clearing itself. I’d like you to push a little more, perhaps three and a half packs daily for the next week. We’ll monitor closely.”
Vanessa exhaled a thick plume, looking relieved. “I can do that. Honestly, it feels good. I was so tired of doctors telling me to quit when smoking is the only thing that makes me feel normal.”
Elias smiled, leaning forward slightly. “You’re safe here, Vanessa. I understand you. I want you to feel better, not restricted.”
They talked for another twenty minutes. Elias asked about her daily life, her stress levels, how smoking fit into her routine. He listened with genuine interest, all while watching her light and smoke four more cigarettes during the visit. The way her lips wrapped around the filter, the soft moan she made on particularly deep drags, the way her chest rose and fell, he was mesmerized. He was careful, though. His comments remained professional, but his tone was warm, almost intimate.
“You have beautiful lungs, despite the damage,” he said softly at one point. “They respond so well to what they need.”
Vanessa blushed slightly but smiled. By the end of the appointment, she had smoked seven cigarettes in his office. She left with a new prescription and a follow-up in five days. Elias sat back in his chair after she left, heart racing, and allowed himself a private moment of satisfaction.
He was bonding with her. Slowly. Carefully. Seductively, but discreetly.
Later that same week, Elias had another memorable consultation.
A mother and daughter arrived together. The mother, Rebecca Lang, was forty years old. The daughter, Chloe, had just turned twenty. Both were extreme smokers, Rebecca smoked nearly four packs a day, Chloe almost three, and neither had seen a doctor in years. They were worried about their persistent coughs and shortness of breath.
Elias greeted them warmly in the consultation room.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk. “And feel free to smoke. I know how uncomfortable it can be to hold back.”
Rebecca and Chloe looked surprised but relieved. They both lit Marlboro Reds immediately. Rebecca took a long, practiced drag, her chest expanding noticeably. Chloe, younger and still a little self-conscious, took a slightly shorter pull but clearly needed it.
Elias listened to their stories. Rebecca had been smoking heavily since she was sixteen. Chloe started at twelve, encouraged by seeing her mother always light up. They both had chronic coughs, frequent bronchitis, and would always feel winded on stairs.
“I’ve been scared to come in,” Rebecca admitted, lighting a second cigarette. “Every doctor before just yelled at me to quit. But we can’t. It’s part of us.”
Elias nodded with understanding. “I don’t believe in yelling. I believe in working with your reality. Let’s listen to your lungs.”
He examined them one by one while they smoked. First Rebecca: her lungs were heavily congested, with classic smoker’s rattle. Then Chloe: younger, but already showing significant damage. Elias encouraged them both to take deep drags during the exam, telling them it helped him hear the full picture.
“Your lungs are telling you what they need,” he said gently to both women. “More smoke can actually provide temporary relief by loosening mucus and opening airways. We can work on managing symptoms while respecting your habits.”
The mother and daughter left the office visibly relieved and grateful. Elias scheduled them for weekly visits. As they walked out, both lighting fresh cigarettes in the hallway, he felt a deep wave of satisfaction. Two more patients under his care. Two more women whose smoking he could nurture and observe.
The weeks continued in this intoxicating rhythm.
Elias saw patients every day, always making sure they felt safe to smoke in his office. He developed a reputation quickly: the young, handsome pulmonologist who actually listened. Women especially returned to him. He bonded with several recurring patients, always professional on the surface, but with subtle, discreet seduction in his tone and attention.
Vanessa became his favorite. She returned every five days, each time smoking more heavily. By her fourth visit she was up to nearly four packs a day. Her cough had become deeper and wetter, but she told him the chest tightness was much better.
“I feel so much relief now,” she said during one visit, chain-smoking comfortably while he listened to her lungs. “Thank you for not judging me.”
Elias placed the stethoscope on her chest, listening to the beautiful, congested sounds as she took massive drags. “You’re doing exactly what your body needs,” he murmured, his voice low. “I’m proud of you, Vanessa.”
Their eyes met for a moment longer than necessary. He was careful, always the professional, but the attraction was growing. He wanted more than just listening to her lungs. He wanted to watch her smoke for hours, to guide her deeper, to see how far she would go under his care.
The clinic was thriving. Elias’s secret fetish was flourishing in plain sight, wrapped in the respectable cloak of medicine.
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