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  • Writer's pictureGina A. Jones

The Colors of Ash-Chapter Seventeen



Ash


Finally. Finally, I had that mouth around my cock. I came so hard, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to trust myself around her. Every part of me wants to tear her apart. I need to get a handle on my emotions. But with each scene, my emotions are running wild. I’m enjoying it too much. Am I turning into a monster? Like…?


I pull my cock from her mouth like I’m disgusted at it. Her mouth, not my cock. I give it a few slow strokes, like a precious pet I’m proud of. “Don’t wipe your face off. I want you to feel your punishment for a while. Taste me in your mouth, and remember what punishment tastes like.”


She slowly stands. But I haven’t told her to. “I didn’t tell you to get up. You wait until I have gathered my thoughts. Then, I will care for you.”


“Yes, sir,” she says, and I can tell her mouth is swollen. I can’t wait to see her swollen lips.


Once my cock has calmed down, I struggle to put it back into my pants. It’s still sensitive just knowing whose lips were wrapped around it. She did well for having little experience in oral sex. And that alone feeds my already burning desire for this girl. I must watch it. If she’s willing to let me do to her whatever I want, it just might destroy her.


I need to know how she is feeling now. This is where I will care for her. And it’s also where subs confuse sex with love. What I do has nothing to do with love. I’m a product driven by hate. Hate that is fueled by sex, which turns into my desire. Pain is my pure pleasure.


“You may stand now, Sub. But don’t move. I’m going to carry you upstairs and care for you. But do not think my emotions have changed for you in any way. It’s just part of the process. Like a favorite toy I like to play with, and then ensure its quality when I am done. Do you understand?”


“Yes, sir.”


I don’t have her pick up her clothes. Instead, I walk over and take a blanket from the many drawers containing my pleasures of play. She’s surprised when I wrap her in it, picking her up in my arms. She’s very light, and I use this time to look at her. Our eyes meet, and I don’t like what I see in hers. Because I don’t know what it is. Curiosity? Longing? I have to look away and head up the stairs. She lays her head on my shoulder and it sends shock waves through me. I don’t like it. It’s too personal.


“Please don’t do that,” I calmly say to her.


She glances up, removing her head from my shoulder. “Do what?” she softly asks, and her voice sounds like a dove, sweet, forgiving.


“Touch me without my consent.” She looks confused. “I don’t want your head on my shoulder. You are only an object to me. That alone should make you not want to touch me.”


“Yes, sir. Sorry,” she whispers.


I can feel her eyes looking at me as I continue to carry her upstairs. I must block it out. She is only an object to play with. My therapy.


I take her to her room and into the en suite. I set her on her feet and begin filling the large garden tub. Testing the water, I then add lavender oil to help with any pain she may have. She watches me, and I’m afraid she sees something in this that is not.


I pick her up and lay her in the warm water. She sits still with her knees on her chest. “Lie back against the tub. I’m going to wash you.” She watches me as she slowly moves to the end of the tub. I can’t take those eyes looking at me. “Close your eyes. Don’t open them.”


I begin with her arms, they are thin and delicate. I move to her legs and pull one up from the water. They are very toned, yet thin. I wash the other and then move up her stomach. It’s smooth, flat. My hands slowly go to her breasts, they are small and perky. Just perfect. Just what I like…and remember. My hands begin to massage, soft at first, and then I increase the pressure. She takes a breath and arches up. I test her and squeeze harder. A soft moan settles in her throat. I then pinch her nipples with my thumb and forefinger. This time, a sigh escapes her mouth. Yet her eyes do not open. Good girl.


I’m going to test her some more. My mouth comes to one breast, as my hand covers the other. I squeeze the one in my hand hard and give small bites to her nipple on the other. I roll her nipple between my thumb and fingers and suck and bite the other. I will make her yelp. I need to hear her yelp. I can hear her heart pounding in her chest. Her breathing is rapid. She’s turned on. The water ripples back and forth as she moves to get more. I stop and just look at her. She is gorgeous. Long legs, delicate arms, perfect cheekbones, and those lips. Lips that are swollen from my cock. Her lashes flutter against her cheekbones. She keeps her eyes closed, and I run my finger slowly across her bottom lip. I think about what it would be like to kiss them. I find myself moving towards them, closer. I can feel her breath on my face as I hold mine. I don’t want her to know how close I am. How close I am to kissing her. I don’t kiss.


I shake that thought and move to the back of the tub. “I need you to sit on up all fours, I’m going to wash your bottom.”


With her eyes still closed, she gets up and moves into the position I commanded. Her ass shines with water, and I look at her little mound tucked between her legs. I gather the lavender and move in between her legs, cleaning her pussy with gentleness. My fingers move up her crack and then back down. She moans when I rub her clit. She thinks I’m going to make her come. She’s wrong. This is only for me.


As soon as my hand moves away, she squeezes her thighs to get some relief. I smack her ass hard and she jumps. “You are not to come. Your punishment may be over, but it is my command you must obey at all times. I will tell you when you are allowed to come.”

“Yes, sir.”


“Now, lie back. I’m going to wash your hair.” She wastes no time getting back into position, and I take her head in my hands, submerging her hair into the water. It floats around the water like beautiful golden silk. I find myself in awe just looking at her.


I bring her head up and apply the expensive shampoo I have bought only for her. I begin to squeeze and massage her long hair. There’s a smile on her face. She likes this. She shouldn’t. There is so much more I have in store for her. If she only knew, she would never smile again.

This is only about control. Not to make her happy.


***


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.

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angie jones
11 de jan.
Avaliado com 5 de 5 estrelas.

It's getting hot !!!

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shannon Cheripka
10 de jan.
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I think cinder is going to be the undoing of ash!!

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