top of page
  • Writer's pictureGina A. Jones

The Colors of Ash-Chapter Fourteen

As I watch out of the small window, the water is beautiful from way up here and I can still see the coastline, the water looks different from this altitude, more like a painting. It’s still, and the colors interchange from bluish-green to light brown. Right now, all I can think about is that contract. What kind of things are listed in it?

Ash, or Mr. Sinclair has been quiet for most of the ride, busy on his phone. I’m sure he’s still working from way up here. Yet, it flatters me that a man as busy as him, as gorgeous as him, and apparently, rich as him would fit in the time to take me away to his private home. Sasha was right. Here I am, about to hand over my body to this man to be used for his pleasure, and I feel like a princess.

The captain announces we will be landing soon, and the butterflies in my stomach once again take over. Ash puts his phone away and then tells me to buckle my seatbelt. It turns me on when he reaches across and buckles me in. Like I’m a precious commodity he must protect. Or, I might break a nail doing it myself—if I had nails.

The plane begins to descend and I feel the pressure in my ears pop. Soon, I can see full land as the plane drops lower. It looks more like a small island, surrounded by water. It’s when the plane drops lower, do I see the colorful trees with the start of Fall, houses, and roads. But I don’t see an airport. Are we landing in some isolated field?

Then, I see a small runway leading to another municipal airport. It must be for private jets only. The plane lands, so we must be in Providence. There’s another black SUV parked next to a hanger. Must be waiting for us. For once in my life, I feel so important.

The plane comes to a full stop, and Mr. Sinclair unbuckles my seatbelt. I look into his steely grey eyes and the world stops for a moment. His lips form a straight line, and his jaw seems to tick. It’s quite an intimidating stare, but it also turns me on.

“Please, walk to the door, and I will help you down the stairs. My driver is waiting at the bottom,” he says. “I will have him retrieve your backpack.” He stands and fastens the button of his suit, then steps back and lets me walk out first. I feel his hand on my back. Again, that feeling of something precious plays in my mind. I can’t help but smile.

Mr. Sinclair takes me by the elbow as we climb down the plane’s steps. A man holds the door open to the SUV. “Mr. Sinclair. Miss McIntire. I hope your flight was pleasant,” he says.

“Yes, Hunter. It was.”

Does the man already know my name?

Ash has me climb in first, then unbuttons his suit coat before climbing in and sitting next to me. He then pulls out a pair of dark shades and puts them on as he looks straight ahead. Though he seems calm as can be, I can’t help but wonder what is going through his mind. Is he as turned on as I am? Is he thinking about all the things he wants to do with me? To me?

The car drives away from the airport, and soon we are heading down a long, winding road canopied with colorful trees. The sun is about to set, and everything looks like a picture on a postcard. I’ve never seen such beautiful countryside before.

Just before the sun disappears for the day, I see a large, stone house. It looks to be historic. Black iron gates open, and the SUV drives up the blacked top lane, right next to the double-door entrance. The driver gets out and opens the door for us. Ash helps me out and thanks the driver. My knees feel like jelly as he escorts me up the steps. He pushes in a code and opens the door. My mouth drops when we step inside. The place may look old, but it is overly palatial. The back side is nothing but windows from floor to ceiling. Three fireplaces that I can see. A shiny, black baby grand piano sits next to the windows.

Ash walks over to a liquor cabinet and pours himself something that looks to be bourbon. “May I offer you a club soda or water? I know you are not 21, so I will not be offering you any alcohol.”

This kind of shocks me. Not that I drink much. Maybe a beer occasionally, with friends at a party. But he did bring me here to...have his way with me. But I did agree, and I am of age, so I guess there’s nothing illegal about that.

“Club soda will be fine. Thank you.” I’m still holding the backpack, admiring his beautiful place.

He walks over with a bourbon in one hand, and a club soda in the other. “Here you go. Dinner will be ready soon,” he says, taking a sip of his bourbon.

“Oh, do you need help preparing it?”

“No, I do have a person who cooks and cares for my place when I’m gone. Our meals have already been planned for this weekend.” He looks at his phone. “She says everything will be ready in about thirty minutes. In the meantime, let me show you to your room.”

I won’t be sleeping with him?

“Okay,” I say, and follow him through the massive house. He takes me up a winding staircase, and then down a hall. There are several doors on each side. I wonder which one he sleeps in. He stops at one and opens it.

“This is where you will be staying. It’s complete with an en suite. The closet has already been prepared with the couture I will be having you wear. The bath is also supplied with toiletries I insist you use for my pleasure. You shall need for nothing, Miss McIntire.”

He will control what I wear, and what I wash with? Seems a bit controlling. But I guess this is what it’s about. And it’s damn sexy.

“Thank you,” I say, and walk in, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

“On the bed is the contract and instructions of what to wear for dinner.” He looks at his watch. “I will give you thirty minutes to meet me at the bottom of the stairs.”

I glance over at the bed and see an envelope, along with a folded card. “Thank you,” I say and without another word, he leaves the room and shuts the door. I want to explore the room, but I only have thirty minutes to read over the contract and prepare for dinner.

The contract is the first thing I rush to. Pulling it out, I find several pages stapled together. Why so much? I figured it would be a simple, sign-on-the-dotted-line, and let’s go. Apparently not.

There are boxes I am to check off to what I will accept, and not accept in sexual role play. Some of these I’m not sure what they are, so I put question marks beside them. I never knew there were so many ways to have sex. But most refer to toys and…weapons. Whips, chains, chokers, canes, crops. Wow!

Flipping the page, I then find the term limits of the contract—eight months.

This contract is valid for eight months, ending on the day marking eight months from when the contract is signed. After said date, the submissive, Cinder McIntire will have full rights to her body. Only the Dominate, Ash Sinclair may alter the contract if need be. In return for the use of Cinder McIntire’s body for the contracted eight months, Ash Sinclair will provide all the necessary needs for Miss McIntire to complete her senior year of high school. Mr. Sinclair will go above and beyond to give Miss McIntire the best experience as she completes her final year of school. Miss McIntire will be enrolled at the Lincoln School for girls, for which a placement has been held. Miss McIntire will be expected to graduate on time at the end of the school year.

Is he changing my school? Nothing was said about that. How will I even fit into a private school for girls? Can he do this? Look around, Cinder. Apparently, he can.

I then reach for the folded card, containing my instructions for tonight. I am to wear the red dress, marked #4 in the closet, along with matching red heels on shelf #4. Geez, OCD much? I am to wear no panties and no bra. My hair is to remain down, and I am to apply coconut oil all around my labia.

I walk into the closet and find the dress and shoes. The dress is beautiful, classy with spaghetti straps, and a tight waist. I’m surprised I’m not to wear something with leather and spikes.

Before dressing, I go into the en suite and find the many oils displayed on the marble counter. So many of them. I then find the coconut oil and let a few drops drip onto my fingers, and begin massaging around my labia. It’s turning me on, and I want to get myself off. But I don’t and complete the look he wants for tonight.

Glancing in the mirror, I see someone I don’t recognize. My face is flushed with need, and my eyes stare back at me with lust. I am so turned on. I grab the contract and head out the door at exactly thirty minutes. He is standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at me…like he is about to devour 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.

21 views4 comments

Recent Posts

See All



angie jones

Gina A. Jones
Gina A. Jones


shannon Cheripka

So it begins!! Can’t wait for the next chapter!!

Gina A. Jones
Gina A. Jones

It WILL begin. 😜😎

bottom of page