The Colors of Ash-Chapter Four

Today, I’m grateful for Mr. Rodrick’s monotone lecture. Because ever since Sasha talked about becoming a submissive, my mind has been swarming with erotic thoughts. I’ve been wet all day, just thinking about it. What would he be like? How would he treat me? I’ve read several erotic books with BDSM, but up until now, it’s only been fictional. And now, I have a chance to experience it for real. Do they still collar? How far do some get into the role and lifestyle? Sasha says that the submissive holds all the power. That I’d be his most valued treasure. I’ve never been valued by anyone. I’ve always felt less than ordinary.

Could I do this? Come to school after…after being dominated, fucking, and sucking my master off? I’m wet just thinking about it.

I’m sitting in the back of the room. Everyone is mostly asleep, listening to Ben Stein—Mr. Rodrick. I slip my hand down the waist of my jeans. It’s tight, but I manage to slip my fingers into the folds of my center. I’m so wet as I circle my clit. I’m dying to shove two fingers inside me. But at this angle, I’m not able to. I begin to slowly move my hips up and down, trying not to be noticed. I want to come so bad.

“Yes, Master. Taste me. Taste how sweet I am for you. Put your fingers in me. Feel how tight I am.”

“I’m going to tear that tight cunt up. You won’t be able to sit for days. For the rest of the day, you will wear no panties. I want to watch my cum drip from your cunt.”

Ah, that’s it. I’m making myself come, right here in the middle of class. I explode, juices all over my hand. I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard before. I squeeze my clit, and then softly rub it with the pad of my thumb, pretending it’s my master’s tongue because I have pleased him.

“Has your ass been trained for a large cock?”

“Cinder, do you have the answer?”

No, it hasn’t. “What? I’m sorry, Mr. Rodrick. Could you repeat the question?”

“I see you’ve been daydreaming.”

My hand is still down my pants, my fingers wet with my orgasm. I slowly pull it out, wiping it on my jeans. I can smell my arousal on my fingers. Can everyone else smell the musky scent between my legs? They’re all looking at me. Oh, God. Did they see me? Watch me? Suddenly, Mr. Rodrick slowly licks his lips. He smiles at me. He knows. He has to know.

The bell rings as everyone gets up, filling the class with the sound of screeching chairs.

“Saved by the bell, Cinder,” he says.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rodrick. I’ve had a lot on my mind. My foster parents have pretty much deserted me. I’m looking for a new…situation.”

“Yes, well that can be devastating. I’m sorry to hear that.” He gets up and begins walking my way. I’m still sitting at my desk, and he stops. His crotch is level with my face. I try not to look, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see he’s hard. Could he see under my desk from the front of the room?

I look up into his eyes. For the first time, I realize he’s actually an attractive man. Kind of in that Indiana Jones professor sort of way. He’s probably in his early thirties. Maybe he just plays the nerdy science teacher. I’ve read those books, too. I wonder if he’s in the secret lifestyle. Getting his kicks at school with all the girls?

“Well, I hope your situation turns out for the best. But in the meantime, pay attention in class. Or, I’ll be forced to punish you. A sly smile moves up his lips.

He didn’t actually say that, did he? Punish me? I feel my heart beating through my chest. It’s a combination of nervousness and turned on. Visions of Mr. Rodrick bending me over the desk, pulling down my jeans and panties, and spanking me with a ruler—or his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Rodrick. I’m sorry…sir.”

His breath just hitched. I swear it did. “And Cinder,” he says, turning and walking back to his desk, “try not to be such a distraction, next time in class.”

Oh, God! He did see me.

“You’re dismissed,” he says, and I grab my books and run for the door.

“Cinder?” I stop in my tracks. “No running in class.” I look up at him, his eyes twinkling with something—delicious, wicked?

“Sorry, Mr. Rodrick.” I walk slowly to the door, and then finally out of the class.

I’m going crazily, erotically insane.

* * *

Sasha is already home when I walk through the doors of her studio apartment. I feel everyone can tell what I’m thinking. She’s sitting there with a look on her face, a pressed smile on her lips. She’s gaging me. I haven’t said anything about last night, or this morning before school.

“Hey, Sasha,” I say, setting my backpack on the floor. “Mind if I grab a soda from the fridge?”

“I don’t have soda. There’s some bottled water, though. You’re welcome to that.”

Turning, I roll my eyes. Water! Yuk. Who doesn’t have soda in the fridge? “Ah, any juice?”

“No juice. Too high in sugar.”

“Look at you. You’re perfectly thin. I don’t think a few juice boxes are going to kill you.” I’m sounding sarcastic. I’m trying to hide my naughty thoughts of the day. Sarcasm works best.

“And that’s why I’m perfectly thin. Master doesn’t allow me to have sugary beverages.”

“Wait! He controls your diet, too?”

“At first it was hard. But I can honestly tell you, I feel and look much better. It was for my betterment.”

“Betterment? That’s a word?”

“It is. You’d be surprised what discipline can do for you.”

I turn around and reach for a bottle of water in the fridge. Might as well start somewhere.

“So, our talk last night. Have you given it any thought?” she asks, walking over and grabbing a bottle of water for herself. She’s trying to be all casual, I can tell. Like, ‘oh, by the way, have you thought about being someone’s sex slave?’ And the truth is, I have. But how do I come out and tell her that?

“Before I answer that question, do you even know anyone for me?”

“I do. And…I talked to him today.”

“What? You didn’t.”

“Yes. He’s a great master. He’s not contracted anyone for six months.”

Contracted? “And?” I say, returning my own casualness.

“He’s thinking it over. He just got out of a situation. He’s questioning staying in the lifestyle.”

“Why?”

“His last submissive wanted more of a relationship.”

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Yes. So, if you do this, remember his rules.”

I roll my eyes. “Always rules.”

“Word of advice,” she says, and then takes a drink of her water, “better watch the eye-rolling, if you take on the role of a submissive. Unless you like the punishment.”

I laugh. “Yeah, but isn’t the punishment meant to turn you on more?”

“No. Most masters will take away your pleasure to punish you. Trust me. It’s the worst.”

I walk over to the bar, wrapping my hands around the cool water bottle. My lips are pressed into a bashful smile, and I look up at her. “I think I want to try it.”

She stops midway with her water, about to take a drink. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to think it’s your only choice.”

“I’m sure. And truthfully, I’ve been fantasizing about it. I think I want to do it.”

“Okay, I will get with the club, and see what they say.”

“But I thought you already found a guy.”

“I would like for you to be with this master. But he’s thinking it over as well. If not, the club will match you with someone.”

A club? It’s not like I didn’t think there were sex clubs around New York. But the ones I think of are all pretty seedy. “Could you tell me more about this club? Is it…you know—gross?”

She laughs. “No. It’s not a building. It’s a group of partners who like to play. Each host parties in their own home. But they all must agree that you can participate. We do have rules.”

I roll my eyes. Rules. “Can I maybe just observe?”

“Of course. Many players start that way. To make sure it’s something they want to do.”

“Okay, I can’t believe I’m going to say this. Sign me up…just to observe.”

***

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.