Margot lit the cigarette before she picked up, on purpose. Mid-session voice. Sex therapist cadence. Then the click of the lighter so he would have to decide if he was here for advice or for the inhale. He lasted four seconds. “I think I have a smoking fetish,” he said, like he had invented the phrase.

She let the silence sit with the smoke. Smoking fetish does not need a lecture. It needs a mouth. She exhaled away from the receiver first, then closer, so he could hear the wet filter and the paper burn.

He wanted her to be shocked. She is a ginger therapist who has heard worse before coffee. She asked where he looks first. Lips. Fingers. Ash. He said the corner of her mouth. She put the cigarette there and left it.

Smoking fetish is an oral problem wearing a health pamphlet. She described the red stain on the filter, the way she talks around it, the pause before she taps. Heat. Paper. The little collapse of tobacco when she draws.

She made him confess the rest while she smoked half of it. Ashtray. The click. Watching a woman think. Nicotine as a metronome. Tease him by holding the drag too long. Stroke only when she exhaled. Stop when she spoke.

She asked the clinical questions on purpose. When did he first notice. Was it movies. Was it a teacher. She already knew he would get hard answering. Smoking fetish loves a clipboard. She tapped ash into a dish that used to hold paperclips and made him thank the dish. Oral fixation named out loud so he could not hide behind “I just think it’s pretty.” It is pretty. It is also a leash she holds with two fingers.

Halfway she set it down and kept talking therapy, just to be cruel. Then she picked it up again and said smoking fetish like a diagnosis he had already written on his intake form. Dominant is a tone. Submissive is what his breath did when the paper hissed.

Before the stub she made him hold still through a whole minute of no talking, only paper burning. That minute did more than the confession. Smoking fetish is patience with a cherry on the end. She smiled when he broke and begged. Then she let him.

She finished the cigarette on a long last pull and made him finish on the sound of the stub twisting out. She kept him for the last eight minutes because therapists bill the hour. Extreme play, for her, is making a grown man jealous of paper. Anything goes if he listens to the burn instead of narrating his childhood.

She opened a window. If he wants the next pack started on the line he can come to kinks-n-teasephonesex.com/Margot and ask for Margot. Bring an honest mouth. She will bring the lighter.