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  • Writer's pictureGina A. Jones

The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty-five




Ash is the only thing that occupies all spaces of my mind. All his colors, his moods, his demons. I’m tempted to draw all facets I know of him, but the fear of exposing my emotional side cautions me. But that’s what art is, an external expression of our most intimate and secretive thoughts. A swirling canvas of life—some good, some bad, some exotic. Like him. No matter how much it scares me, I want to reach in and explore the darkest parts of him.


I pick up the grey charcoal and begin outlining the peaks of a mountain. I feel Ash watching from behind. It’s the first anyone has ever watched me create. I’m not sure how to feel. I’ve never been the center of attention. And to be his is exciting and terrifying at the same time.


Like his sex.


My hand trembles as I sketch along the bottom of the canvas. Ash moves in close, and I can smell his manly scent. I feel the heat radiating from his body. I hear his breathing.


I move up, adding a line of trees, breaking the horizon against the mountain. I add a river moving along the bottom. Standing back, I study the outline of my drawing. With no color, there’s no dimension. A flat picture with nothing to offer. Generic. Like me.


I take the blue chalk and separate the mountain range from the sky. I set the trees in dimensions, some close, others far in the distance. It’s coming to life now. Adding the colors, I’m now lost in my own world, forgetting about the man inches behind me, inspecting my every move and choice. But this is my world now, and he has chosen to see what’s in my mind. To him, it’s only a mountain. But to me…it’s him. Something beautiful, but dangerous. Something you must know how to prepare for. The mountains are only beautiful from a distance, something to admire when passing by, or looking into a picture. But standing at the bottom, you see it’s hard, rough terrain. It’s bigger than you, and if you try and climb it…you will discover the dangers it holds.


The green trees soften the rocky exterior of the mountain. The way I see Ash when he’s not being controlled by his demons. The blue lines of the water make the mountain look happy, like a smile winding around its hard face. Like the smile I saw on Ash when introducing me to the staff. It’s all there. But no one knows what’s inside that mountain. And that’s what I want to see.


“You’re very talented, Cinder,” he says, and I almost forgot he was there.


“Thank you.”


“Is this a place you have been?”


“No. It’s just what I see.”


“Why a mountain?”


“It’s…It’s not just a mountain, Mr. Sinclair. It’s all things that make the mountain,” I say, adding rapids to the rushing water falling from the mountain.


“Explain,” he says, but not like an order.


“You have to view…or witness all things that make one thing. Nothing is singular. We are all made of different colors. Colors that express who and what we are.” Still, in my creating zone, I brave more on the topic. “Life has done many things to us, changing our colors as we experience things we like and don’t like. Pain, sorrow, loss.”


“Why only the bad things?”


“Because we surround ourselves with false colors to hide the pain.”


He’s quiet. I’m waiting for his response. Finally, he speaks. “So, this mountain…it’s the pain, the true color. And the trees, sky, and water…they are…not real—false? What are you trying to tell me, Cinder?” His voice is soft, yet there is a tone to it.


“The mountain hides behind the pretty, soft colors. And that is all we see…until we are close enough.”


“What do we see when we are close to the mountain?”


“Its dark, hard exterior. That is not what we think it is from a distance.”


“Like people?”


“Like all people. Except…”


He takes me by the shoulders, slowly turning me around. We’re face to face as he sits on the top of a desk. “Except who, Cinder.” His eyes are curious, shimmering with gold flecks. It’s a new color I see in him. Curiosity.


“Except you, Mr. Sinclair. One must get close, almost behind you to find the pretty, soft colors. You are the mountain in front. You keep your colors inside you.”


“Can you see them?” he asks, his voice that of a child.


“Yes, I can. But they are very disguised. You may not know it. But I can see through the mountain. No one knows what the inside of a mountain looks like unless you choose to brave the challenge.”


His eyes blink several times. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down taking in my response. That tick in his jaw exposes his anger. It’s dangerous territory I just walked into. But I’m here now. There’s no going back.


Silence wraps us together into a moment neither of us are sure of. His colors come and go. But for me, I’m only beginning to climb his mountain.


“You think you are up for the challenge, Cinder?” he says through gritted teeth. His eyes are black as spades. His aura lacks any light, any softness. I feel I’m being sucked into a black hole. His dark abyss, sinking into a pit of hell. What have I opened up?


“Sir…”


“Just remember…you signed the contract. There’s only one way out.” Before I can force a word out, he says, “through me.”


“Sir, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. You wanted to see inside my mind.”


“Why do you want to figure me out? It’s not your responsibility. You have only one responsibility. And that is to satisfy my needs.” His words are evenly measured. His voice is low. His lips are tight.


“Yes, sir,” I say, and without thinking, drop to my knees and look at the floor. This is what he needs. My obedience. My submission.


“Cinder, look up at me.”


I slowly lift my head, my eyes trailing up his long, lean legs, stopping at his hard erection tenting his pants. I lick my lips, moving up to his waist, and then his chest where I see him breathing harder. Then I’m there, looking into his stone, cold eyes. I wish I could unlock his thoughts, file them into order, and fix whatever happened to him.


“Open your mouth and service my cock.” I begin to turn my head towards the door, remembering the women in the office. “Do you have a hearing problem or an obedience problem? I said, I want you to service me, now.”


I reach up and unfasten his pants, his cock falls out with force, straining against his tight pants. I touch it, feeling how hot and swollen he is. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. I want to taste him. Feel his pleasure and anger in my mouth.


I move up and position myself, taking him into my mouth. He falls back against the desk with a moan. I suck him hard and deep. He’s moaning with pleasure. The butterflies flutter faster, and I feel myself becoming so aroused. I want to taste him. Feel his seed burst into my mouth, coating my throat. My mouth and hands work together, bringing him the ultimate pleasure. He’s whispering my name. His hands tangle into my hair.


“That’s it. Just like that. Oh, you’re such a good sub. Such a good girl,” he pants out. “I want to hear you gag, choke on my cock.” And with that, he slams my head with force, up and down on his cock with his hands. I’m gagging and choking, but I’m able to continue. “Yes, that’s it. Suck it, Cinder. Milk me.”


I give it my all, and soon, he stiffens, and jerks as hot liquid runs down my throat. He’s breathing hard and holds himself still, my mouth still wrapped around his cock. I want him to continue enjoying his pleasure, and slowly move my hand down to cup his balls. I massage them, removing my mouth from his cock, and licking down to clean him. I suck in his balls, swirling my tongue. He moans and pets my hair.


“Yes, that’s good,” he whispers.


With one hand, I slowly stroke him, sucking on his balls. I wet my fingers inside my mouth, and then slowly reach around to swirl and press on his puckered hole. Just as I do, a deep moan comes from his chest. I press inside and he coaxes me.


“Oh, yes. That’s…it.”


I push my finger inside, stroking his already swollen sweet spot that makes him jump. His cock jerks, and he’s begging me.


“Yes, fuck me, Cinder.”


I stroke and suck as my finger pumps deeper, giving his sweet spot a long-overdue fuck. He’s panting and bucking, wanting more of what I’m giving him, but knowing it will never be enough.


“Ahhh,” he cries out, coming harder than he ever came before. “Cinder. Cinder. Ahh. Where…”

He’s speechless—breathless. He falls back onto the desk, as I slowly remove my finger from inside him and kiss up his waist. As he breathes, I tuck him away and then resume my position on the floor.


“Thank you for allowing me to serve you, Master.”

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shannon Cheripka
Jan 26
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

Cinder is talented in more ways than one. Love how she is able to see colors of people through her art.

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dashafehrenbacher
Jan 26
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

I think Cinder is pushing all of Ash's buttons without even knowing it.

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Gina A. Jones
Gina A. Jones
Jan 26
Replying to

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angie jones
Jan 25
Rated 5 out of 5 stars.

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