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  • Writer's pictureGina A. Jones

The Colors of Ash-Chapter Thirty-two

It’s Hunter who takes me to school and picks me up. Ash hasn’t been home all week, and today is Thursday. I guess, I should be happy for the reprieve. But I also miss the exciting sex.

I fear he has become bored with me in only a week. Or, maybe he has a real girlfriend back in the city. I still can’t get over that Ash used to date Hunter’s sister. I need to find a way to ask more about that.

And those pictures I found.

We’re driving back to Ash’s house, Hunter and me, and I brave the question about his sister.

“What was your sister like?”

He looks at me, his face has a dry expression, from what I can tell behind his sunglasses. I’m not sure if he wants to talk. He’s usually pretty quiet—just does what he’s told. I apparently have trouble in that department.

“Like any other sister—bossy, had to have her way.”

That’s kind of a strange way to describe his dead sister. But he did say they were not close.

“So, you grew up…together?” He gives me a strange look. “Well, I mean…I had a sister, but we were separated when she was a baby. I really don’t know what she looks like. Sometimes I draw what I think she might look like…now.”

He’s looking straight ahead, listening to me babble on. Sometimes, I think Hunter is more of a mystery than Ash.

“Yes, we grew up together. She was older.”

“Do you have any pictures of her?”

“No,” he quickly says.

“So, how long did Ash date your sister?”

“Just a few years.”

His answers are short and to the point. I don’t think Hunter is much a conversationist, as he stares straight ahead. Of course, he is driving.

“How did she die?”


Murdered? “Oh my, God. I’m sorry. That must have been tragic…being so young. May I ask what her name was?”


The name Ash was calling out in his dream. My god, he still dreams about her. She died, and he cannot get over her. Is this why he is the way he is—detached, not capable of…love?

I know it’s bad taste to hate a dead person, but why won’t Ash give himself a chance to move on? Find new love, and keep her in his memories? Keeping her in his memories, his dreams are the only things he has done.

I’m fighting a ghost?

“I think Ash never got over her. I heard him call her name out in his sleep,” I cautiously say.

He gives me a hard look. “She will always haunt him,” he says and returns his eyes to the road.

Haunts? What the hell? Did…Did Ash…His nightmares…

We pull into the drive and Hunter gets out to help me from the car. It’s strange to me. I’m sure it’s just his good manners. But for the most part, he’s kind of rude with his detachment and little talk. I suppose he has his orders as well. Maybe I should learn from them.

Ah, It’s Thursday, which means no swimming, or gymnastics. What I need is a massage from all the workouts. Before starting my homework, I decide a soak in the hot tub would be great for all my aching muscles.

Ava is in the kitchen, and I greet her before going upstairs and changing. “Hi Ava, is there anything I can help you with?”

“I don’t think so, dear. How was school today?”

“Ah, it’s getting better. I still feel like a misfit.”

“It’s just another new school. Soon, it’ll feel just as comfortable as your old school,” she says, pulling things from the fridge.

“Have you heard from…Mr. Sinclair?” I ask casually.

“No, I haven’t, dear. Is there something you need from him? Anything I can help you with?”

Does she know why I’m here? She’s got to think something.

“Ava…do you know why I’m here?” I ask, blankly.

“Yes. Mr. Sinclair is helping you out with your schooling.”

“Yes, but you do know what’s in exchange for that…right?”

She turns around and looks at me with pressed lips. “Cinder, I understand Mr. Sinclair is a…unique individual. He keeps his feelings to himself, and I’m not paid to be in his business. I’m hired to do a job…just like you,” she says, giving me a look.

“Yes, I understand,” I say, and slowly leave the room. So, she must know what goes on in this place. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

Once I get to my room, I quickly change into one of the bikinis I found in the drawer. I also grab a robe off the back of the bathroom door and head down to the hot tub. Once I’m there, I look for the controls and turn up the jets. Dropping the robe, I step in and sink down.

“Ah, yes. This is what I need,” I say, and lean my head back, closing my eyes. The jets work their magic on all my sore areas. I could stay here for days. I hope I’m allowed to use the hot tub. Maybe I should have asked. Who cares, so many rules. I deserve this one thing.

I’m so relaxed, feeling myself drifting off, as I listen to the music that’s playing in the pool area—I’m Not Yours by Angus and Julia Stone.

My head relaxes to the side, as the music begins to put me to sleep. I need this. I need to put all things Ash out of my mind. This…Pippa. The picture of the little boy.

Breathing slowly, I let the steam clear my lungs, my thoughts, my aches, and just listen to the music.

I open my eyes, staring face to face with eyes casting a hateful look down at me—Ash.

He’s back. He’s standing right above me, dressed like he just stepped out of the office. His lips are in a straight line, his hands are on his hips. He doesn’t break his stare. It’s burning a hole through my soul. What have I done, now?

“Sir, you’re back. I…I was just resting my sore muscles from gymnastics. I hope that was okay? Do I need your permission to use the hot tub?” I ask like a small child caught robbing the cookie jar.

He doesn’t say a word, just keeps glaring at me. Hate. Bitterness. It’s…scary.

“Sir, please say something. You look…displeased.”

“Sub,” he says.

Sub? He always uses my name when we're not in play…or scene. I get up and climb out of the hot tub. Though I’m cold and would love to put on the robe, I shuffle over, drop to my knees, head down, eyes to the floor. I’m staring at his shoes, waiting for orders.

It’s quiet for several minutes. The music is still playing. I’m waiting. Waiting.

He steps back and walks away. I listen to the sound of his shoes as he moves out of my view. Is he coming back? Can I look up? I have to. I have to see where he went.

First, I only move my eyes, and then my head, looking around the place. He’s nowhere in sight. Was I dreaming?

I need to find him. Find out what he needs.

I scramble over, pulling on the robe. My feet leave wet prints on the marble floor, as I enter the house. Ava is nowhere to be seen, either. What is going on?

Then, I see it. The door to his torture room…is open. I see the red glow casting its eerie light from down below. He’s down there. He’s waiting. Waiting for me.

I take a deep breath, walking slowly to the open door. My foot moves to the first step, and then the next, and the next, until I’m at the bottom of the stairs. He’s standing in the middle of the room. His suit jacket is off, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His head is down, and then he slowly moves to look up at me. The light casts a red glow all around him. This is the color I hate most about him.

“Sir,” I swallow. “Do I need to be punished?” I ask with a whimper.

“You do,” he quips.

“Sir, may I ask what I have done that has upset you?” I plead.

“You have gone where you don’t belong.”

How does he know? I was alone. Ava was gone. Hunter was gone. I put everything back the way it was. Do I confess? Lie?

“Please, Sir. Just let me service you. Let me make you feel better.”

“What will make me feel better is to punish you until you use your safe word. And even then, I don’t think I could stop. You have disappointed me tremendously, sub. You are not even worthy to suck my cock, to feel the pain of my whip, to call me sir, or master.”


I’m trembling, and he can see it. I’m also cold which doesn’t help. But I walk over and take the position.

“I’m begging, sir. Please, what can I do to be worthy of you…again?”

“Again? What makes you think you were ever worthy?”

This cuts deep. I know he’s talking about this lifestyle, but I have never felt worthy in life. Is this his punishment? Does he want to show me how I can no longer turn him on? Is that how unworthy I am?

“Please!” I’m crying, sounding pathetic. He has reduced me down to this. My head spins with everything that has happened in the last week. He made me such a priority. Gave me such luxuries. Fucked me without protection—broke one of his own rules.

Now, I am nothing to him, I never was. Stop your stupid crying. You knew the rules. You knew what he only wanted. And now, he doesn’t even want that.

“Please, sir. I’m sorry for what I have done. I’m sorry you are so angry with me. Please, punish me. Punish me and…want me again.”

It’s quiet. Then he walks away, but he doesn’t go up the stairs. I don’t dare break the rules and look up. I hear him getting something from his cabinet of torture. I brace myself for what he’s about to do. My heart is beating out of my chest. I’m shaking all over. I should stop this. Yell out “RED!” Why am I allowing myself this torture, just to finish school?

I jump when a box is dropped down in front of me. All the pictures I found of him come spilling all around me.

Oh, God. He knows. He knows I was snooping.

“Did you get a good look, sub? Did you like what you saw?”

“No, sir.”


“Because you don’t look happy, sir.”

“And you know what I look like…happy?

“Yes, I do.”

“Impossible. I will never be happy. And it’s not your job to see that I am happy. Your job is to please me. Why do you get these two things confused?”

“I…I.” Say it. Say RED. But I don’t.

“What else did you see when looking at these pictures?” he seethes from up above.

I’m crying, sounding so pathetic, so weak. Why is he doing this?

“I…I saw a sad, young boy…who is being hurt. I wanted to help him.”

“Don’t pity me, sub. You are not worthy enough to even pity me. You…


His eyes go wide.


“You know I have limits to how often you can use that word…


I stand, screaming it in his face. “How many more? How many more? Answer me, Ash. How many more? Because I’m done. Take me home. I can’t be here anymore.”

I wipe the tears and snot from my face. My breathing is ragged as we both stare into each other's eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall.

“You’re wrong, Ash. I may not be worthy enough for you,” I wipe my face again,” but I’m worthy enough for me. I’m used to being a nobody, a throwaway.” I stand a little closer to him. I can feel his breath on my face. “I’m already broken. So, you see, you can’t break me.”

I take two steps back. “I want to go home, now.”

I watch the lump bob in his throat. The tick in his jaw. His shoulders move up and down with each breath.

“I will call and have the jet ready. Hunter will take you to the airport,” he says with no remorse.

Didn’t think he would.

“I’ll go get my things. Goodbye, Ash.”

I turn, and walk up the stairs, waiting for him to say something.

He doesn’t.


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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Feb 02
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

That was not expected.

Gina A. Jones
Gina A. Jones
Feb 02
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angie jones
Feb 01
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

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shannon Cheripka
Feb 01
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Wow!!I was not expecting that!!

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