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  • Writer's pictureGina A. Jones

The Colors of Ash-Chapter Thirty-one



Ash



How dare she! She has no regard for my privacy. My hands are balled into fists, and my breathing is rapid. Instead of punching the wall, I grab the bottle of scotch and throw it across the room. The glass shatters, making a loud crash. I’m losing it.


I pace back and forth, thinking about what I’m going to do with her. This was a test, and she blew it. No one has ever crossed me. Who does she think she is?


I hear her laugh. That evil, searing laugh.  I look into the mirror. She’s behind me, taunting me with her eyes and smile. Her breasts are firm and perfect. She knows I want to touch them, suck on them. She turns around and walks over to the broken glass. I watch her round ass move across the room. Her long hair falls to her waist. As much as I hate her, I need to fuck my anger out on her.


“Are you getting a good look, Ash? Like what you see?” she asks, bending over and inspecting the broken glass all over the floor. “Oh, no. Ash has been a very bad boy.”


“Shut up,” I seethe at her reflections.


“Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say to me. You know how much you want me.” Her voice is just as I remember. Stern, and sugar-coated with seduction. As usual, she’s naked. Naked and flaunting it. I force my cock not to get hard. But it’s the only thing it knows. I want to touch myself, but I know she will get angry. And the angrier she gets, the harder my cock gets. She has all control over me. The only one.


She walks over to the bed, and lays herself down, spreading her legs. She loves to tease me, giving me a clear view of her pussy. “Tell me, Ash. Why are you so angry?”


I force my eyes to shut, but I can still see her, fanning her legs open and shut, teasing me, taunting me. “Go away,” I yell. Another wicked laugh echoes through my head.


“Are you going to punish her…Ashie? Show her what a strong, dominant man you are?”


“Stop it. Of course, I will punish her. What right does she have going through my private things?”


I sit down on the bed; her foot comes up onto my shoulder. She wants to be pleasured. I must be strong. But she makes me so weak.


“Tell me, Ash. How are you going to punish her?”


“Go away!”


“Ash, are you touching yourself? Does it feel good?”


“Shut. Up.” How does she know before I even notice? My cock is out and I’m stroking it. I wasn’t even aware. But I need it. I need her. She can torture me all she wants, but I need something in return. I need a release. Pain. Pity. Chastisement. They all come together to create the aching pleasure between my legs.


“That’s it, Ash. Stroke hard. Show me how big you are. Show me how you make yourself come, thinking of me.”


I’m stroking my cock like I’m mad at it. She’s there, rubbing herself all over me. I can smell her musk. But unlike me, she stays in control. She drives me insane. She fills all my desires. She is what made me.


“Yes! Oh, God yes. I want to come. Please, can I come?” I’m begging like a whore. Her whore.


“Tell me what you are thinking.”


“You. All you. Your breasts. Your pussy. Being inside of you. Please, let me come.”


She breathes in my ear. “Show me. Show me what I do to you. Show me how you come, Ash.” And that’s all it takes, and I explode in my hand. I stiffen and jerk. It feels so good. But it also destroys me. As I look at the mess in my hand, I feel the post regret for what I have done. Why can’t I stop? Why do I need this?


“That’s a good boy, Ash. Someday, I’ll let you fuck me,” she says and disappears.


I fall back on the bed, my head spinning with thoughts of Cinder. How betrayed I feel, watching her through hidden cameras I have placed in every room. Why does she feel the need to snoop around my house? What does she think of me now, finding those pictures? How will she act, seeing me in such a weak and vulnerable positions? Will she use this to control me?


When I watched her from the app on my phone, I was hoping to see her misbehaving in other ways. Pleasuring herself. Eating something that I forbid. Not doing her homework. But not that. That box holds the key to my existence. The core of who Ash Sinclair is. My Pandora’s box. Without that box, I’m just another man. A man who knows nothing about himself. I can’t be another man. This is all I know. All I can be. And now, she has crossed over into my darkness.


I regain control of my disgusting self and go to take a shower. I was planning on staying at my penthouse here in New York for a few more days. But now, I need to return to my childhood summer home and put things back in order.


Cinder McIntire has no idea the wrath she has unleashed.


***


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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amsmith414
Feb 02
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

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angie jones
Feb 01
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

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shannon Cheripka
Jan 31
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Oh wow!! Very intense!! I really hope cinder will be able to handle the wrath of ash!! Maybe she will be the one to quiet the voices in his head.

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Gina A. Jones
Gina A. Jones
Jan 31
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Brooke
Jan 31
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Omg!!!!! Who is this woman?? This thing in his head? The man has serious issues. Loved this chapter 🥰

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Gina A. Jones
Gina A. Jones
Jan 31
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