The Color of Ash-Chapter Five

A limo picks us up at Sasha’s apartment. The strange thing is, right after I told her I wanted to observe, she received a phone call from her…Master. Since this is the only way she addresses him, I still don’t know his name. And maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

She is dressed in a short, black dress, and shiny, black stilettos. It was ordered by her master. I’m pretty nervous about what I will see tonight. I’m also turned on.

I try to focus on the pink sky with dusk now setting in. Will I be able to watch Sasha be…dominated? To see her naked? Have sex? It’s too late to tell the driver to turn around and take me back as the limo pulls into the parking garage of a high-rise penthouse building. I have never been on this side of the city.

The limo parks next to the elevator. A person standing next to it must be expecting us because he opens the door and walks us inside the elevator. I feel like someone important, or special. Does being a submissive give you all this special treatment?

The doors open and we step out into a grand hallway with black marble floors and velvet draperies hung over the large windows at each end. My sneakers squeak on the floor, as Sasha’s heels clap down the hall. We stop in front of two double doors, and her whole demeanor changes. She stands, feet hip-width apart, looking down at the floor. Am I to knock? Because she doesn’t move. I clearly don’t know the rules here.

I stand still for a few seconds about to ask when the door opens. A tall man stands in the doorway. The best way to describe him is sexy sin—dark and fierce, thick black hair with dark eyes. He’s wearing a black suit and holds a glass of what I assume is bourbon in his hand. He’s definitely intimidating.

“Sasha,” he says, and then looks at me. His voice is laced with authority.

“Master,” is all she says, still not looking up.

“Is this the girl who wants to observe?”

“Yes, Master.”

He walks away, leaving us standing in the hall. “You may enter now, Sasha.” I follow her lead and walk inside. “Girl, close the door,” he says. Girl? That must be me. I look at him and then at the door. “Yes, you. Close the door.” I do as I’m told and close the door. Sasha is still standing in the same position.

My eyes begin to scan the dark room. Though it’s dark, I can tell it's palatial—large and open. The dim light only reaches part of the room. Dark shadows hide an entrance behind large pillars. I can’t tell if it’s part of this room or leads to another. I look to the right and gasp. Two thick chains with shackles hang from somewhere up top. But it’s dark and I can’t tell how high the ceiling is. The place is a plethora of red velvet and black leather—furniture and drapes. Suddenly, my heart is pounding out of my chest. He knows I’m only here to observe, right? I did hear him say that.

“Sub, I want you to remove your clothes and go stand under my chains.”

“Yes, Master,” she says and begins taking off her clothes. After each article of clothing is removed, she folds it neatly and sets it in an orderly pile on the floor. She begins to remove the shoes.

“Leave the shoes on, Sub.”

“Yes, Master.” She still hasn’t looked at him yet. My feet are still planted next to the door.

“Girl, I will have you sit in this chair right here,” he orders to a chair close to the chains. I’m not sure I want to be this close. But I’m not going to argue with him and move slowly to the chair. Now fully naked, except for her high heels, Sasha walks with her head down, right under the chains. I’m looking at Sasha’s body. She’s beautiful. Almost like a piece of art. I forget she’s naked.

Master walks over and takes her chin in his hand, his other hand still holds the bourbon. “Do you know why I called you tonight, Sub?”

“No Master.” Her voice is soft. It doesn’t sound like her at all. It must be her role voice.

“I had a call from Master Sinclair today…” Sasha’s eyes go wide. Like she knows she’s in trouble.

I watch her swallow a lump in her throat. Who is Master Sinclair? And what does this have to do with Sasha? Has she been cheating with another…Dom?

“Master Sinclair told me that you have been interfering in his affairs. Is this true, Sub?”

“Yes, Master.”

What did she do?

“Mind telling me what this was all about,” he orders in that strict tone.

“Master, I know Master Sinclair has not trained a submissive in six months.”

“And why is this your concern? You are my submissive. You are not to be concerned with Master Sinclair’s subs.”

“Master, may I explain?”

Master walks around Sasha’s naked body, his eyes exploring her, his bourbon still in one hand while the other is tucked down in the pocket of his trousers.

“Explain. But you are still getting punished.”

“Yes, Master. I called Master Sinclair about a girl who might want to try the lifestyle. I thought Master Sinclair would be a suitable fit.”

Master’s eyes shoot to me. “This girl?” he says, like I’m disgusting.

“Yes, Master.”

“Don’t you think she’s a bit young?”

“Master, she’s of age. She needs to be cared for. She has aged out of the system and still needs to finish school. And, Master…she is curious.”

“I see. I understand your concern, Sub. But this is something you bring to my attention. Not, Master Sinclair’s.”

Master Sinclair. The Dom she called for…me.

“However, you are still to be punished, Sub. Raise your arms.” Sasha follows his orders, and I watch Master clamp the shackles around her wrists. I’m worried about what he’s going to do to her. But also turned on—I’m wet.

After Master clamps the shackles on her wrists, he walks out of the dim light and into the darkness. I focus my eyes, but still can’t see beyond the darkness. He returns with his suit jacket off, and his white shirt is rolled up to his elbows. He looks like he’s about to get serious with his punishment. And then I notice something in his hand. It’s long and black. A riding crop?

The crop hits her knees. “Spread your legs.” She’s so exposed, and my heart is pounding double time. I’m lit with excitement.

He trails the crop from her knees up to the inside of her thighs. Suddenly, he smacks the crop down on her pussy. She’s smooth—shaven or waxed. She winces. “I should whip you here. Would you like that, Sub?”

“Yes, Master. I need it.” Sasha’s voice is full of need and want. This is totally turning her on.

He smacks the crop three times down on her clit. I can see the wetness between her legs. Master starts circling the crop around her clit. She moans and begs. “Please, Master. I need to release.”

Smack! “Bad subs don’t get to come. You are being punished, not pleasured. Have you forgotten that your pleasure belongs to me?”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Something catches my eye across the room. There, in the dark, I see a pair of shiny, leather shoes. Then one disappears to rest on a leg. Someone is sitting back there. All I can see are his slack-covered legs and shoes. Who is back there? Perhaps someone like me, wants to observe?

My focus is brought back to Sasha as her master smacks and circles her clit over and over with the crop. She’s begging. Not with pain, but the need to orgasm. This only gets her smacked on the ass with Master’s hand.

“Listen to you, begging for my whip, my cock. Anything to get that greedy, little cunt off.” The more I watch and listen, the more it turns me on.

“Yes, Master. I’m begging.”

“Then you shall have it,” he says and smacks the crop hard down on her ass. “But not tonight.”

Sasha whimpers and lets her head fall.

“But you look so beautiful, my Sub. Hanging from my chains, shackled and begging for it. You will go straight home and to bed. No touching yourself. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

He unfastens the shackles, and she rubs her wrists. She waits for more orders. “Get dressed and leave.”

“Yes, Master.”

As Sasha dresses, I try and focus on the man in the dark. I still can’t see his face. But from what I can see, his shoes and pants look to be expensive, whoever he is.

I get up from the chair and walk over to Sasha. She doesn’t say a word and walks out the door. My hand is on the handle, but before I leave, I look back once more to the man in the shadows. Though I can’t see him, I feel him looking right at me.

***

The Colors of Ash © 2024 Gina A. Jones rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.