The Ashtray

A soft sigh escapes your lips as his fingers idly stroke your hair, catching and tugging the strands as they slip through his fingers, glancing up, you study his profile, the animated way he speaks to his companion, his mobile, sensously full lips forming the words that rumble from his chest, his deep voice even vibrating through your chin on his thigh, his eyes locked on the one he speaks with.

You hear the click of a lighter, and his inhalation and expulsion of air, the acrid scent of his cigar teasing your nostrils, you smile inwardly, knowing he only allows himself the pleasure of a cigar when he's totally relaxed and content. His hand slides down your hair, to cup the back of your neck, pressing you tighter against his thigh.

Your eyes drift shut, content to absorb his nearness, to dwell in the mingled scents of his leathers and cigar, and the underlying scent of him, clean, male and headily sexy, your lips part, the tip of your tongue emerging to drag across the smooth leather of his chaps, leaving a trail of moistness.

His fingers tighten slightly against your nape, silent acknowledgement of your action, you shift your head slightly, again running your tongue along the smoothness, tasting the faint traces of oils and dust from the bike ride over, losing yourself in your actions.

His hand twists, fingers curling into your hair, tightening in a swift movement, jerking your head back away from his thigh, your eyes popping open in startled wonderment before you realize his conversation had stopped...you gulp, suddenly aware that you have done something wrong, fear and guilt coursing up your spine.

Your eyes lift to his face, his eyes, those normally clear, calm and openly warm eyes, now narrowed against the smoke from his cigar, his expression severe and almost annoyed, you cringe, hunching your shoulders instinctively against that piercing look, catching your breath as you mentally scramble to find the proper words of apology for whatever you have done.

He speaks, cigar clenched in his teeth, talking calmly out of the corner of his mouth, the whole thing seemingly more sinister, curdling your stomach, "hungry slave?"

You blink, totally confused by this, your speak hesitantly, unsure of what he expects but bound to answer anyway..."No Master". He curls those favored lips into a sneer, suddenly you wonder how you could have ever thought he was kind, caring...the lover from this morning, the gentle friend from last night..again, his voice grates along your already tensed nerves.

He lowers his face, leaning close, your eyes locked to his through the thin veil of smoke, your nose wrinkling as it curls upwards, almost burning in its nearness," I said are you hungry slave?"

You shake your head, feeling his grip tighten even more, your scalp beginning to tingle from the prolonged pulling of your hair, your mind racing over his questions, still unsure of what you did wrong.

"Yet you think to nibble on me, slave? Therefore you must be hungry."

"He smiles, a low chuckle reaching your ears, his hand releasing your hair and retreating from your body completely, you watch him warily, sitting back on your heels, your back straightening and your carraige becoming rigid.

"Open your mouth slave." You part your lips, instinctively doing as bidden, fingers curling into your thighs,wondering what he is after.

He reaches up, his fingers forming around the cigar held in his teeth, your eyes are drawn to his movements, shock coursing through your system, your mind rapidly denying what you already know, your mouth snapping shut and your jaw clenching....

His voice cuts through your shock, the low growl skittering almost physically over your skin, "Open slave."

Your eyes quickly snap to his, searching those flat orbs for any sign of relenting, hoping with all you are that he's only teasing, that he isn't serious.

Your eyes drop, the air exploding from your lungs, your body seeming to deflate with the escaping air. Your mind only cognizant of one thing, he's serious, dead serious. You close your eyes, holding back the brimming tears, holding in the humiliation as your lips part, your head tipping back as your tongue slowly extends past your lips, presenting your mouth to him as you have been taught.

You wait, breath caught in your throat, attuned to him, to the heat radiating from his body, the sound of his breathing, the hissing crackle of the cigar as it steadily burns to ash with each inhalation.

All else forgotten, his companion, the people surrounding you in this public place, only He exists, only the feelings clawing at your chest exist, your eyes raising to his, blinking as tears blurr your vision his commanding gaze locking on yours, drawing you into him, absorbing you completely.

The cigar lowers above your opened mouth, you desperately want to pull back, to shut your eyes, your mouth, to escape from this, this ultimate in degradation, to be used in such an unfeeling, uncaring way..your mind screaming to move..to just say no.

His finger bumps the cigar, the ashes breaking free, each movement as if in slow motion, trapped in time before your very eyes, his unforgiving visage, the coldness of his eyes, the aloofness he displays,..doesn't he understand? Doesn't he know that he is slowly tearing your 'self' away..stealing it, driving it from you?

Grit, heat, softness, your saliva instantly turning the ash to mudlike consistancy in your mouth, your stomach clenching, throat closing in a gagging response, yet still, you keep your mouth open, presented to him..why? Wetness on your cheeks, your eyes pleading with him to releive this humiliation.

His voice washes over you, a mere whisper, releasing you from this tortured anguish.

"Swallow slave."

You close your mouth slowly, forcing your tongue to press upwards against the roof of your mouth, drawing the soaked cigar ashes to your throat, swallowing rapidly.

Slowly his lips form a smile, his eyes gleaming with pride as your throat contracts around the ashes, and then again as you desperately try to alieviate the nasty lingering taste on your tongue. He reaches out, brushing the tears from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Allowing the tears to flow free, you gasp out a silent sob, turning your lips to his palm, pressing kisses there, only knowing that you need him, need his touch to absolve you.

His hand slides once more to the nape of your neck, tugging you against his leg, your body forms around it, leaning heavily on him, your eyes droppin closed as you try to sort out the feelings that flow in random convolutions through you, shivering, leaning hard to absorb his warmth.

The exterior stimuli suddenly known again, the low hum of voices, clinking chains, rattling mugs and the muted vibrations of multiple footsteps across the floor, pushing in on you, making you aware of how many witnessed your public humiliation, shaming you, drawing you deeper into your own miasma of lonely desperation.

His breath grazes the skin of your exposed cheek, gaining your focus as a lifeline from your misery, his words pouring over you, washing all your angst ridden fears away with a simple phrase, filling that abyss inside full of tender emotion and elation of spirit...the sincerity and appreciation in his voice,

"You have pleased me slave."

Written by just_arie