Erotica from the back of a fag packet

You can find filth anywhere if you keep your mind open to it… even on the back of a fag packet. The following story contains some BDSM, and is NSFW.

Girl: They’re pretty effective, the new cigarette health warnings. Some are so gross that you literally have to hide your fags from public view. 

Guy: Yep. Remember when we were kids and smoking was cool? They have now successfully made it truly grotesque.

The lung. That is the worst. 

Eugh, yeah. Remember last week when we went to the south bank? And that girl automatically put her phone on top of the fag packet to avoid having to look at it?

Yep. Don’t blame her – it’s horrible. 

Enough to put someone off smoking?

Almost. But there’s that sexy one too. 

The sexy one?

Impotence guy. 

Ohhhh, yes. Naked, frustrated dude.

My kink, mate. My exact kink. 

Do you specifically request those packets?

No, but I do cross my fingers for them. 

Impotence guy. Sexy impotence guy.


He’s so frustrated.


He’s been rubbing away at his dick for ages, but he can’t quite get it up.


So desperate to fuck you there are almost tears in his eyes.

Y… unngh. 

He’ll remember, later, and come back for a second go. Determined and eager.


Yeah. He might even have to beat you to help him get his dick hard. You know? The thwack of his belt on your naked arse, the sensation of power. The knowledge that you’ll submit to it because you’re so desperate to feel him inside you. That’s what he needs right now.


He beats you, and while he’s beating you he tells you it’s your fault. That you need to try harder. That he knows you want it, so you need to fucking work for it. Work that dick – get it in your mouth. Suck it good and wet and slow and don’t you dare stop until he’s hard enough to fuck you. Meanwhile he’s still going with the belt – one end wrapped round his fist and the other end hanging loose so he can use it periodically to thrash your arse and keep your mind on the task of sucking him.

I… unngh. 

Then when you’ve sucked the life into his cock, and he’s hard enough to get it in, he’ll tell you to shut the fuck up so he can concentrate. Maybe he’ll push your eager, grinning face into the bed so he doesn’t have to look at how proud you are of yourself. He’s spent too long curled on the bed in tears – now he needs to take his frustration out on your cunt.


When he finally comes, it’s been built up for so long – over so much desperation and eagerness and frustration – he comes in buckets. You can feel his dick pulse as he pours spunk into you, and as he pulls out it drips down the back of your thighs, and he tells you to clean yourself up.

And then? 

Then the obvious.


He sparks up a post-coital cigarette.


This conversation actually happened. Not word-for-word, but mostly. I wanted to share this one with you because it so neatly encapsulates his ability to conjure sexy scenarios that press all of my frustration-fuck/belt-beating/angry-shag fantasies in one simple exchange.


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