The Colors of Ash-Chapter Eight

Ash

Giving my cock one last stroke, I milk it into my hand, and then slump over the steering wheel. Oh, this girl is driving me insane. Never have I watched a girl get herself off without her knowing it, or me demanding it. This girl has already gained control over me. That has never happened.

Since...

Finding a napkin to clean myself up, I then tuck my still-hard cock back into my pants. With the way she was pleasuring herself like she knew I was watching, I hoped she didn’t see me inside the car. It’s dark, and I’m not parked under a streetlight. Also, the car is turned off with no dome lights on, either. No, she didn’t see me. She was just fantasizing that someone was watching her.

I start the car up and pull away from the curb. Now I need to make a decision. Run as far from her as I can. Or, collar her as mine, and punish her severely.

My thoughts are all over the place as I drive back to the city. Watching her get herself off in front of the window has enamored me senselessly. What a wanton and desirous woman she is. I know without a doubt, she’d make a great sub. Training her to bend to my ways, and forcing her to abstain from pleasuring herself could be a problem. A problem I will enjoy enforcing. Watching her beg for release. Teaching her, that her pleasure belongs to me. Only I will bring her pleasure.

What am I thinking? There is so much at stake here. She’s young. I’m still dealing with unresolved issues with my last sub. I can’t let another girl think we are in a real relationship. Speaking of issues, my car phone rings and I see Cammy’s picture on the dash screen. What is this about? I can’t keep ignoring her. I let her go over six months ago. She must move on. I must move on.

Tapping the button on the steering wheel, I accept her call. “Cammy,” I say, authority ringing in my voice.

“Master…”

“Cammy, I am no longer your master. As you know, I’m using your given name. That means the contract is over.”

“Yes, Ash. I understand. I know I displeased you.”

“Cammy, it doesn’t matter anymore. But if it makes you feel better, you did not displease me. You were a very good sub. You will have no problem finding another master. If that is what you want.”

“No, Ash. I don’t. I want us back together. I promise not to confuse and blur the lines of our agreement. And for that, you need to punish me.”

I take in her comment. But of course, I’m thinking with a still hard-on cock. I could take my frustration out on Cammy. I could picture Cinder being at the end of my whip, shackled in my bed. I could spank her cunt with the riding crop. I could fuck her mouth, and not let her be pleasured.

It’s worth a try. Get this out of my system and walk away from the thought of Cinder.

“Ash, are you there?”

“Yes, Cammy.” I can’t believe I’m going to say this. “Come to my penthouse, plaid skirt, tank top, no panties, and red high heels. I’m going to punish you for calling me, and then after tonight, you are free to pursue another dom. That is my only offer. Take it or leave it.”

“Yes, Ash.” There’s a pause. “And may I call you master, tonight.”

“Yes, Sub, you may call me master. But you will not be staying on my pillow. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

I tap the button, ending the call. This is the worst idea I’ve had in a long time. But I’m sexually frustrated. Six months with no sex. And then, someone like Cinder shows up. I’m fucked. I need to be bullwhipped after tonight. I make a mental note to call Master Adam in the morning to set up my punishment. Even a dom needs to be put back into his own limits.

And so far, I’m breaking every one of mine. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking of all the ways I’m going to punish Cammy, thinking about Cinder.

I rush into my penthouse and shower quickly before Cammy arrives. Like clockwork, the doorbell rings. I open the door and find her standing, legs apart, looking down at the floor, and wearing exactly what I told her to.

“You may enter, Sub.”

“Thank you, Master.”

I close the door and order her to the punishment room. “I want to find you leaning over my whipping bench.”

“Yes, Master,” she says, and I watch her long legs walk across the floor.

What am I doing? This will only confuse her. But I’m a selfish bastard and need my desires to be fulfilled tonight.

I pour myself a bourbon and go find Cammy just as I ordered—lying over the bench. Her skirt barely covers her round ass, tempting me with delicious ways to punish it. My cock jerks in my silk pajama bottoms.

“Very nice, Sub,” I say, and take a sip of the bourbon. I walk over to her, and let my hand move up the back of her thighs. I’m already pretending they are Cinders. I stop right at the bottom of her ass cheek. I then pull up the skirt, and firmly rub her bottom, preparing her for punishment. But I don’t warn her when the slap from my hand comes down hard. She gives a muffled sigh.

“You’ve been a very naughty sub,” I say, walking around the bench. “You do understand that my chastisement is for your betterment.”

“Yes, Master. Punish me as you see fit.”

“I will. And you’re not going to like it. Because I will refrain you from any pleasure. Tonight, It’s all about my pleasure.”

I’m such a bastard.

I set my bourbon down on a nearby table, and pull out my crop from the drawer. I grip the leather in my hand, and then smack it a few times in my open palm, looking over at the bare ass I’m about to punish.

Cinder’s ass.

“Do you remember your safe word, Sub?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, because you’re going to need it.” This makes her stiffen. Never has Cammy had to use her safe word—cinnamon.”

For a brief moment, I look at her, bent over my bench, and allow myself to fantasize. Cinder. There, waiting for me. Waiting for my cock, my crop.

I take out my cock in one hand and stroke it slowly, letting the fantasy play out. She’s waiting, I know. And the anticipation only heightens the punishment.

“I’m not going to count this time, Sub. I’m going to punish your ass as I stroke myself off. Only when I come, will I stop. And might I warn you, it might take some time. I milked my cock less than an hour ago. So, be prepared for a long whipping.”

“Yes, Master.”

Smack! I begin stroking my cock roughly. Smack! Smack! She whimpers, and my cock hardens ten-fold, thinking of Cinder’s ass.

Smack! “You have been a very bad girl. I think you like being naughty, showing your cunt to the world.” Smack! “I’m going to fuck my hand until I come.” Smack! “God, yes,” I moan. I’m so fucking close, already. I stroke myself like a mad man. Cinder. Cinder’s cunt. Cinder’s mouth wrapped around my cock.

Smack! Smack! And then the one that drives me home, the ultimate trigger that makes my cock shoot out and land on her ass—Cinder’s tight puckered hole, taking all of my cock in her ass.

Warm streams shoot across the room. I milk myself dry, jerking my cock like I’m mad at it. “Ah, fuck, that feels so good. So good in your ass,” I say, and then realize it’s a mistake. She knows I’m not thinking of her. I never touched her with my cock. Even in punishment, a dom doesn’t fantasize about other subs. That shows weakness. Loss of control.

I shove my cock back into my pajama bottoms and return the riding crop to the drawer. Picking up my bourbon, I say, “Your punishment is over. You must leave, now—Sub.”

She knows better than to look at me. But she does. She knows I screwed up and looks at me with hurt in her eyes.

“Go, there is no aftercare. I’m not suitable to provide it. Show yourself out.”

She turns and leaves the room. I wait to hear the door of the penthouse close before I make my call.

“Master Victor…I need to be punished.”

***

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.