The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty

Ash

She’s looking at me with compassion. It’s…confusing. I don’t like it. All sorts of feelings are running through me, and I can’t seem to get a handle on my emotions. I thought taking a six-month break would heal me. Prepare me back into the lifestyle. But with the way those eyes are looking down at me, I feel the need to run as far away as I can from her.

And her name! I said her name when I came. Not only will this confuse her, it’s confusing the hell out of me. I never use a sub's name while in play, or hardly ever.

My breathing is still ragged, and I can’t remember the last time I came so hard. My cock aches from taking her so hard. I can only imagine how she feels. And that alone pisses me off. I want her to hurt. I want her to feel the punishment I unleash on her. The pleasure is all mine. But right now, those big, blue eyes pouring into me with passion, I can’t take. It will undo all that I have worked for. Gaining control. It’s all about my control.

I know I must now care for her, and this is always the hardest part for me. Other masters love the time they get to care for their subs. But I’ve always tried to keep it…clinical. Like washing a car after you rode it hard and dirty. That’s all she is to me, a piece of equipment. And I always take care of my…equipment.

“You didn’t use your safe word,” I tell her between breaths. I’m still on the floor, but no longer looking up at her.

“No, sir.”

I glance up at her again, and she still has that look of something that I’m not sure of. Or, I just can’t process it. She should be angry with me. She should be crying with pain. She should spit down at me. But she’s not. She’s looking at me with…pity. And I don’t like to be pitied.

I stand and walk over to grab a towel to wipe the sweat from my face. I can feel my heart jumping out of my chest. It’s just from the heavy action. Nothing else.

“I’m going to care for you, now,” I say, removing her hands from the cross. I bend down to remove her ankles from the cuffs. “You did well, Cinder.” I need to stop calling her by her name. It will confuse her. She is my submissive, and I must address her as such. “You did well for your first training as my submissive. But there is much more you need to learn. Learn about me. That is your job. You will recognize my needs and put all of yours aside. That might sound selfish, but remember…I am taking care of all your responsibilities. There is nothing for you to be concerned with…other than my needs.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, listening to my ongoing babble. All restraints are removed, and she obediently stays in place, waiting for my next command. I wipe the sweat from her face and immediately regret it. Because she’s looking at me with those eyes again. They look at me with such softness. Why?

I move away and find my jeans heaped in a pile on the floor. Evidence of my excitement to be inside her. Normally, I take my time, folding them neatly, and setting them on top of the cabinet full of my devices. I pick up her robe and bring it back to her, wrapping it around and then lifting her into my arms. Don’t look at her, Ash.

My eyes betray me when I steal a glance. She’s not looking at me. Her eyes are heavy like she’s about to fall asleep. Her head gently falls on my shoulder. Even though I told her earlier not to do this, I pretend to ignore it this time. But I can’t ignore the burning feeling it’s leaving on my soul.

I carry her up the stairs to the great room. The moon lights a path through the darkness as I continue to carry her up the stairs to my room. I know I shouldn’t. I need to care for her in her room. But maybe tonight, she can sleep on my pillow.

Moving my eyes to the corner, I can see she’s checking out the room. She is curious as to why I brought her in here. I continue to my master bath, then sit her on the edge of the garden tub, and begin with the filling of the tub. I remove her robe and then set her into the warm water. Her eyes are watching my every move. I don’t allow this, but for some reason, I haven’t enforced the rules on her. I don’t like to be watched. But her eyes have such a gentleness to them.

She folds her knees to her chest and watches as I remove my jeans. I’m going to climb in and sit behind her. Once I’m in the tub, I stretch out my legs and wrap them around her. Slowly, I take her shoulders and move her into my chest. The second her skin touches mine a burning sensation runs through me. I can’t explain it. It’s like a rush. Something feels heavy in my chest and I have trouble breathing. She then snuggles into me. She needs to stop. This is not what she thinks. This is only aftercare. I only sit behind her so as not to look into her eyes.

But…I don’t tell her to move. Instead, I breathe in her hair, its freshness of summer rain, lilacs, and good memories. But I don’t have good memories. And it only confuses me.

I close my eyes and move my lips down to her shoulder. Her skin feels soft, moist, and sweet. Am I tasting her skin? Why?

Her body fits perfectly between my legs. My hands come up to explore her breasts. I’m expecting her to jump, remembering my assault on them previously. How I pinched her nipples, squeezed her breasts hard. But she doesn’t. She relaxes down on me, her head moves slightly to the side, and I can see the curve of her lips. There’s a smile on them. Why is she smiling?

I continue to massage her breasts with my hands. She makes a purring sound and rubs her cheek against my chest. I instantly hold my breath, not sure how to respond. Then, her hands come to mine, holding them securely against her breasts. It’s too close. Too personal and I push them away. Water splashes on the floor.

“Don’t touch me without my consent. I am only doing this because it is necessary. After I use your body, I must take steps to heal it. It must be ready for my next assault. Do you understand? I am only cleaning and caring for you so that I can use you again.”

“Sorry, yes, sir,” she says softly, and it breaks something in me.

I shake it off and continue with my care. My hands move between her legs and my fingers gently massage her folds. I know she is sore when she jumps. This turns me on. My cock jumps, knowing I’m the cause of her pain. I can feel that she is swollen, so I know I will need to apply some healing cream and some ice.

I circle her clit, and she begins to move her hips. Her clit is hard and swollen. She is turned on. I think about letting her come. What would she sound like? What noises would she make?

I apply pressure with my thumb, and press my fingers inside her, pumping up against her G-spot. Oh yes, she likes this. And I’m breaking my own rules. She is not to come. She is only for my pleasure. But the way she is riding my hand stirs something so erotic inside me. It’s like I’m feeling her pleasure.

“You’re a bad little girl, aren’t you? You like to play with your cunt. You like to feel dirty. You like to spread your legs and show how wet you are. How needy you are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I knew it. I bet you tease your teachers. Tease every man you can,” I say, pumping her faster with my fingers, my thumb working its magic on her clit. She is bucking and contorting to get her climax. Her breathing is full of want.

“Yes, sir. I’m a naughty girl,” she breathes out. I can’t let her have this. Can’t let her have pleasure. Yet, she is stirring so many emotions in me. My chest is about to explode, and I want her to come—come in my hand. Deliver her orgasm to me.

I bite down on her shoulder, causing her to scream, her orgasm exploding in my hand. It shocks me so much, that I find myself coming, too. How? How did she do this to me?

My head spins with lust and confusion. I feel I’m floating above us and watching this all play out. I see us both so pleased—so pleasured. And then, we both fall back. She lies on my chest, and I wrap my arms around her.

I don’t know what just happened.

***

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.