Side effects of obedience (part 14)

This story was submitted on September 26th 2026 by Cicada33, author of The road to freedom. If you have a story to submit it’s right here !

This story is a series divided into 15 parts:

A few weeks can be an entire lifetime if you decide to bury your old self without a funeral.

In that in-between space, between that night when everything broke apart and this morning, the old Ena completely vanished. I no longer counted calories, low-calorie meals, or even cigarettes. I stopped counting how many I had smoked ever since the day half a pack became my morning routine by noon. I had become a true addict, but that nicotine hit was the only proof I was still awake. I also gave up those girly, elegant slim cigarettes. Now, a hard pack of red Marlboro always sat in my bag. When you inhale that heavy, thick smoke, there is no pretending you feel it in your entire lungs.

The change wasn’t just internal. I went to Lisa and asked her to bleach my hair to the absolute lightest platinum blonde shade. I wanted to burn away every trace of that dark, obedient girl who listened to her parents and cried over an anatomy textbook. Along with that came a belly button piercing that somehow felt right in a twisted way, and a small, precisely done snake tattoo on the inside of my right wrist. Marta had taken me to her tattoo artist. She already had her recognizable style a nose piercing and a few tiny, minimalist tattoos scattered across her arms and neck. My snake was my personal seal.

And then came the parties. And the boys. In just these few weeks, five of them had passed through my bed. There were no emotions, no analyzing. I took what they offered and left them before they even had time to remember my last name. I had become a bitch, and that role suited me better than any clothes I had ever bought.

The morning sun was scorching the concrete slabs of our terrace. Marta and I were sitting completely naked, inhaling the fresh air mixed with the scent of coffee and the first cigarette. There was something liberating about that complete absence of shame. The previous night, our apartment had been a battlefield, each of us in our own room, with guys we had picked up in some stuffy club and sent off as soon as dawn broke, without unnecessary questions or takeaway coffees.

I watched Marta as she sat across from me. The sun was illuminating her profile, her nose piercing was glinting, and the smoke from her cigarette slowly rose toward the sky. For the umpteenth time, it crossed my mind how attractive that girl actually was, there was this unyielding, raw wildness in her that had initially terrified me and now completely fascinated me.

“You need to see this,” Marta said, setting her coffee cup down on the small table and turning her phone toward me. “The famous Obsession magazine launched a contest for new photographic concepts and models. They’re looking for something fresh, untamed. I know people there, I pitched the project to them, and they agreed to let us do a test shoot.”

I looked at her over the edge of my Marlboro, raising one eyebrow.

“And you think I’m your model?”

“Absolutely,” she laughed, and that familiar, dangerous spark appeared in her eyes. “Honestly, Ena, the prize is brutal, but more than that if we do well, I get a permanent gig as their photographer, and you enter as the main face of Obsession. You’ve got that something in you, a dangerous high-fashion edge that was buried under all those books until recently. It’s time to bring it to the surface under my lens.”

I smiled, feeling that cold, poisonous defiance wake up beneath my skin.

“Get your cameras ready, Marta. We’re going.”

The studio was huge, with high ceilings, spotlights creating a blazing heat, and speakers pumping out smooth, bass-heavy music. Marta was already setting up lights, changing the lens on her camera, and acting like the absolute master of that space.

As I walked in sky-high heels, a tight black top, and leather pants, with my bleached hair styled in wild, messy waves, I felt every gaze in the room turn toward me. I was no longer the girl who apologized for existing.

And then I saw her.

Katarina. My “friend” from chapter 1. The exact same Katarina who, when I was at rock bottom, looked down on me and bluntly told me that I knew nothing about boys and never would. She was sitting on one of the sofas with some guy tall, well-built, with slightly messy hair and a watch that screamed money. Her new boyfriend.

When her eyes locked onto mine, she literally froze. Her jaw dropped slightly. She stared at my blonde hair, the snake on my wrist, the piercing gleaming beneath a crop top that was too short, and the complete expression on my face radiating pure audacity.

I walked over to her slowly, towering over her, holding a lit cigarette in my hand.

“Oh, Katarina…” I drew out a smile, feigning mild surprise while looking at her with total contempt. “I didn’t know amateurs came to places like this.”

“Ena?!” she gasped, barely catching her breath, dropping her gaze to my cigarette, then to my hair. “What… what happened to you? You look… completely different. Unrecognizable.”

“I evolved, darling,” I said coldly, blowing smoke right toward her shoulder, then shifting my gaze to her boyfriend. The guy was literally devouring me with his eyes from the moment I approached. I sized him up from head to toe, slowly and without shame. “And you are…?”

“Stefan,” he said quickly, with a smile that revealed he was completely mesmerized. Katarina immediately grabbed his arm, turning pale.

Marta called us up to the stage. The theme of the shoot was Neon Dark, the contrast between deep shadows and harsh neon lights.

“Light that cigarette, Ena,” Marta ordered from behind the lens. “Weave it right into the concept.”

I pulled out a new red Marlboro and flicked my lighter right in front of the camera. Marta’s camera started clicking frantically. I spun around under the lights. First pose: throwing my head back, lips wrapped around the filter, smoke escaping through my nose and mouth like a thick white veil. Second pose: sitting on a high stool, legs spread, hand resting on my knee so my tattooed snake was clearly visible, while my other hand brought the cigarette to my lips, looking directly into Marta’s lens with an expression of pure dominance.

Marta took a break, lowered her camera, and noticed that Stefan, Katarina’s boyfriend, couldn’t take his eyes off me while Katarina beside him was burning with rage and helplessness. Marta smiled dangerously, winked at me, and said loudly:

“Why don’t we add a little dynamic to this frame? Let that guy over there join us on stage. You two look like a perfect contrast.”

“Absolutely not!” Katarina screamed, leaping off the sofa. “I brought him, this is”

“Katarina, shut up,” Stefan interrupted her, already standing up and buttoning his jacket. He looked at me with dangerous curiosity. “Marta is the photographer, she calls the shots. I’m in.”

Katarina was left standing on the side, petrified as her world collapsed before her eyes.

Stefan stepped onto the stage. Marta whispered quietly to me over her camera: “Destroy them. I’m catching every angle”

I stood right in front of Stefan. He was taller than me, but I was running the show. I took a huge, deep drag from my red Marlboro. I stepped so close to him our bodies were practically touching.

And instead of blowing the smoke aside, I brought my face close to his and, with slightly parted lips, exhaled warm, white smoke right into his mouth and face.

Stefan closed his eyes, completely spellbound for a second, absorbing the tension. Marta’s camera clicked relentlessly. I wrapped my arm around his neck, pressing my tattooed snake against the back of his head. My other hand remained lowered, holding the still-smoking cigarette. I looked into his eyes, smiled with the most malicious grin I had, and before he could say a word I pulled him in and kissed him.

The kiss was passionate, defiant, tasting of nicotine and danger. Without hesitation, Stefan grabbed my waist, completely forgetting where he was and who was watching.

“STEFAN!” Katarina’s scream echoed through the studio.

Her legs gave out. I saw in the reflection of the mirror how she literally collapsed back onto the sofa, covering her face with her hands, sobbing from shock and humiliation. Her perfect world, her status, and her boyfriend, everything vanished in a single minute.

I slowly pulled away from Stefan. He stared at me like he was hypnotized, breathing heavily, completely lost. I exhaled the remaining smoke and coldly tapped him on the cheek.

“You make a good extra,” I told him softly.

Marta lowered her camera, checked the shots on the screen, and smiled at me with pure triumph in her eyes. I looked at Katarina crying on the sofa, and a wave of indescribable power washed over me in my chest. There wasn’t a hint of guilt. Not a hint of remorse. I felt powerful, vengeful, and absolutely invincible. I had become the ultimate bitch, stolen her boyfriend without breaking a sweat, and best of all, I enjoyed every single second of that poison.

<-Previous part — Next part ->

Smoking Stories is a non-profit, community built website which only requires a 120$/year subscription to stay alive. To keep on bringing the best smoking fetish content to everyone, we need a total of 10$/month donation, if you want to support our community, you can help by donating (the amount is up to you, you can start at 1$), not only it will help Smoking Stories on the long term but it will also give you access to exclusive stories released monthly.

Side effects of obedience (part 14)

Share this:

Like this:

Similar stories :

Discover more from Smoking Stories

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Want to unlock exclusive smoking fetish stories ?

Discover more from Smoking Stories