The Ashtray

“I want you to feel that you own me”

He said that while standing outside in the balcony, a current of air blowing his hairs away from his brow as he lit the cigarette, offering the first drag to her as their tacit tradition dictated.

She grinned and took the cigarette nonchalantly, taking a puff, blowing it above her head in a quiet, thoughtful way.

He stared back with a half smile, waiting for his turn. Cigarette after sex was as first-rate as the orgasm earlier.

She hesitated somewhat and took one more drag, “do you mean now?”

“Anytime You want.” He replied, getting a wee bit distracted to get his share.

She replied with a smile, “Get on your knees then.”

He was a little taken aback. It was barely 10 minutes that they had left the bedroom. Surely she couldn’t take his post-coitus idyllic rambling THAT seriously, could she? He stammered, the way he always did when he was dumbstruck, ” do YOU mean now??!!”

She chuckled slightly, “yes… Now”

He sighed as got down on his knees, not bothered about dust smudges on his jeans. He asked, “What next?”

She flashed her wicked smile, “Now I’ll finish this cigarette in peace, and you’ll be my ashtray!”

He protested, “Not fair. I want… ”

She cut him off, “… you’ll be my SILENT ashtray.”

He turned speechless, glancing at her, his fingers edgily drumming on his thighs, reality just sinking in. At times like these, Often he wondered why his dick made promises that his body couldn’t possibly uphold.

She was taking deep puffs, gazing absently above the horizon. He was regarding her, her beautifully messed up hair, her creased flowing dress, her glowing face that unmistakably showed the pleasure she had recently had. She was so mesmerizing to him.

She turned to him, ready to use her ashtray. A part of him wanted to complain, another part was outraging from deep within, to be everything that she wanted. The later part took precedence over the former almost instantaneously as he opened his mouth wide angling his head up, and in chorus closed his eyes.

The Next thing he tasted, well, was ashes. It was a stinking taste of warm ashes that unpredictably didn’t burn and he salivated his mouth to swallow it down.

He blinked his eyes open a few seconds later to find her staring at him. Her eyes had that glossed over look that she got when she was in that zone of hers. her head had tilted to the side, observing him, his handsome face devoid of his charming smile, his hairs getting more ruffled every minute with the chilly wind, his big eyes instigating in her the dilemma of either destroying him or hugging him taut enough to consume him. He was so addictive to her.

She kept on smoking. He kept on waiting wordlessly, being her ashtray.
He had told her he was utterly and absolutely hers. She was giving him a chance to demonstrate it.

Just as her cigarette was about to finish, he pondered if the ordeal was as good as over. She took perhaps the final left over drag of her cigarette and the answer just hit him. His eyes went from wide to widest, his lips closed firm.

She bent and ran her other hand through his hairs, clutching him and kissing him fervently on his mouth. His lips parted a bit, tasting the cigarette in her. Her wet tongue, hungry and devouring, pressed down on his.

She tasted like – fresh smoke and craving.
He tasted like – ashes and longing.

Abruptly she broke the kiss, and before he could figure out what was happening, she stubbed the cigarette on top of his tongue. He involuntarily jerked back but he was simply held in place by her unyielding hold on his hairs.

The worst was over.

A moment passed, he rolled his tongue in the inside of his mouth, just making sure. Amazed as ever, he asked, ” How was I not burnt?”

She whispered as she drew him up, embracing him as close as possible, “a Cheap Party trick, Sweetheart! ”


The cheap party trick ;) – regular disclaimers apply. don’t try it at home kids. :D

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