The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty-nine

Ash’s car is waiting for me at the curb when school is dismissed. I see his driver, Hunter standing next to it. He tips his sunglasses, letting me know he sees me, and opens the car door.

“See you tomorrow, Cinder,” Abby says, who is still stuck to my side.

“See ya,” I say, and walk over to Hunter. He smiles and greets me.

“Good afternoon, Miss McIntire. I hope your first day of school went well for you.”

“Thank you, Hunter. It went…pretty well,” I say, getting into the car. Hunter closes the door and comes to the driver’s side. I think of this morning, what happened on the hood of this car.

“Mr. Sinclair will not be home tonight. A physical has been scheduled with Dr. Morris at Mr. Sinclair’s residence at 4:00. After that, I will be taking you to your gymnastics.”

“But I don’t do gymnastics.”

“You do now,” he says, and then looks straight ahead as he drives us back to the house.

This is not going to be fun. I can already see myself with a bunch of four-year-olds doing somersaults in the beginner’s class. I would rather take advanced art classes. Why does he insist on these strenuous activities? But then I remember the clause about physical activity or workout programs. Or maybe, it’s to further put up the facade. Isn’t that what rich people do? I guess I should be grateful.

I look over at Hunter, wondering if he knows my situation with Ash. “Do you know when Mr. Sinclair will be back?”

“No, I don’t.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“Ten years.”

“Did you know him before?”

He turns slightly to look at me and then returns his eyes to the road. “He used to date my sister.”

Date? I didn’t think Ash dated. I presumed that this, what we are doing, was his only thing. I suddenly feel a surge of jealousy run through me. I have no right though. I know Ash has been with many women. Subs as he prefers to call them. But Hunter said…dated.

Visions of Ash on dates for the next six months play in my head. Him out there being beautiful colors to someone. Laughing and enjoying each other’s conversations. Does he smile? Hold their hand? Kiss them on the lips? Hold them in bed?

I need to stop. I’m driving myself insane. I cannot be having these possessive thoughts about him. I signed on the dotted line. I handed over my body—willingly.

“How long did they date?”

“Not really sure. It was when he was in high school.”

“What happened? Why did they break up?”

“She died.”

Died.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We weren’t that close.”

But still.

“Well, I’m glad that you and Ash remained friends.”

“Yes.”

The rest of the drive home, Hunter keeps to himself. Somehow, I feel I opened up a can of worms.

Hunter pulls up the long drive, parking the car, and then gets out to open the door for me. “Thank you, Hunter. Have a nice evening,” I say.

“You too, Miss McIntire.”

When I walk inside, Ava is there to greet me. “How was your first day of school?” I feel like a child who just started kindergarten.

“It was nice. A little intimidating. But all in all, it was good.”

“I’m glad. As you have been told, Dr. Morris will be here soon. You may want to freshen up. He’ll be giving you a complete physical if you know what I mean,” she says, her brows lifting.

A complete physical? Like, spreading-my-legs kind of physical?

This morning! Over Ash’s Aston Martin! The soaked panties mixed with Ash and my juices! I run fast up the stairs into my room, dashing straight to the shower.

Now completely scrubbed of all evidence from this morning, I decide to put on a robe. I’ll be undressing anyway. And where is this physical going to take place?

I hold the robe tightly, even though the belt is tied around my waist, and walk back downstairs. Ava is standing next to a man who must be Dr. Morris. He’s an older gentleman, and I’m not sure how I feel about him all up in my business. But I don’t have a choice.

“Cinder, this is Dr. Morris. He is the OBGYN, Mr. Sinclair has been hired to be your physician. You’ll be in good hands; he comes highly recommended.”

“Hello, Dr. Morris,” I say, feeling a bit shy.

“Miss McIntire, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Sinclair has requested a complete physical. Do you have any questions before we start?”

“Um…I don’t think so.” I then look over at Ava. “Um, where will we be doing this?”

“Downstairs in Mr. Sinclair’s…private room,” she says, her eyes lowering as her voice falters a bit when saying the word “private” room. The torture room. It’s apparent, they all know what Ash does down there. I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised.

“Yes,” I say, and head for…Ashes private room. I walk slowly to the door, glancing back at the doctor who is following me. He gives a polite nod and smiles. Somehow, I feel a bit as if I’m in the Twilight Zone, with the way they are looking at me. I turn and open the door, descending the stairs to whatever Dr. Morris plans on doing to me.

It’s just a physical. Calm down. As much as I try and tell myself that this is just a normal routine, nothing in this house that I have experienced is normal.

I clinch the robe tightly around my neck before asking. “Where do you need me?”

As if he’s been in this room before, Dr. Morris walks over to another door that I haven’t noticed before. He opens it up and flips on a light. “Right this way, Miss McIntire.”

I walk over, dumbfounded as I look around. It looks like a normal exam room. A bed covered in paper, just like you would see in a doctor’s office, complete with stirrups. At the end, a small swivel stool.

“You may remove your robe and take a seat on the bench,” he says all professional, and closes the door after I walk in. There’s a white coat hanging on the back of the door. He grabs it and puts it on. “Maybe this will make you feel more at ease. Relax. It’s all procedure,” he says.

After I drop my robe, I cover myself the best I can with my hands. But it’s pretty much pointless. I crawl upon the bench, the paper crunches as I maneuver my way into position. I’m still sitting when Dr. Morris pulls a paper blanket from a drawer under a built-in cabinet. “Lie down, and cover yourself with this,” he says, handing me the paper blanket.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“Go ahead and place your feet into the stirrups, and move your bottom down to the end,” he says, pulling out implements from the drawer, and placing them on a metal tray beside the bench.

I do as he says, focusing on the ceiling. This is surreal. Ash has his own exam room? A room to give private exams? Is this room also used for other things—like medical procedures when he goes too far with one of his submissives? A shiver suddenly runs through me just thinking what I have gotten myself into.

“Okay, just relax and breathe through your nose. I’m going to apply jelly to your vagina, then you’ll feel a bit of pressure as I slide in the speculum. It might feel cold. Sorry if this feels uncomfortable,” he says.

I continue to stare up at the ceiling, focusing on anything but what is happening between my legs. I know the things I have done with Ash go way beyond this, but it’s different when your mind is controlled to want it. Desire it. Need it.

“Okay, that is done. I’m now going to take a look inside your cervix, just to make sure everything is healthy.”

I swallow, closing my eyes. I can only imagine what it must look like after this morning’s episode on the hood of Ash’s car.

“It looks a bit red. When was the last time you had intercourse?”

Why is he asking this? He knows what Ash does. Plus, he’s a doctor. Shouldn’t he know what a pussy looks like after it’s been…fucked? I roll my eyes. “Um, this morning. Why, is everything alright…down there?”

“And this was with Mr. Sinclair? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Usually, Mr. Sinclair does not have intercourse with his…his clients, until after I do my exams.”

Clients? What the hell? This shocks me. Why didn’t he wait? Also, shouldn’t I demand the same courtesy? I mean, he’s the one with multiple partners.

“Everything is fine, I promise. The pap smear will be back from the lab tomorrow, and I’ll send the results to Mr. Sinclair,” he says, snapping off his latex gloves. “Are you having any tenderness in your breasts? You’re too young for a mammogram, but I like to check for any lumps.”

Yeah, I bet he does.

“You can leave the paper on. Just lift your arms above your head, while I do a quick examination.” He moves from his stool and places his hand on my right breast, completing a circle, and then repeats on the other. “Everything feels normal, you may sit up now,” he says, turning and writing something down on a clipboard. “Do you have any questions for me?”

I sit up, holding the paper to my chest. “Actually, I do. What about Mr. Sinclair? How do I know he’s…safe?”

He pulls a piece of paper from under the clipboard. “Here is your confirmation of Mr. Sinclair’s recent exam which was last week, as you can see on the top of the sheet. As I said, Mr. Sinclair always sustains any sexual activities until after the exams. I can assure you, when he is with a new client, he is monogamous. Each client receives a copy of his exam before any sexual activities. You may want to discuss this with Mr. Sinclair if you are concerned. But as you can see, he is clean,” he says, pointing to the paper I’m holding.

My head spins as I’m trying to take this all in. Why didn’t he wait? With all his rules, he carelessly broke this one? “Thank you. I will ask him.”

“Now, I see you are on an oral contraceptive,” he says, flipping through pages on the clipboard. He must have my entire medical chart. “You can go off them as of today. I will be giving you a Depo-Provera shot. You are scheduled for every three months, and I will be here to administer them. You understand that this will be your birth control method during the duration of your contracted time with Mr. Sinclair? If you have any side effects, contact me immediately. It’s rare, but not impossible.”

“Ahh, yes. I understand.”

He reaches back into the drawer and pulls out a syringe already containing the Depo. I hate shots and close my eyes.

“There you go, all done. Everything looks good. As I said, the results of your pap smear will be in tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Miss McIntire,” he says, holding out his hand for me to take. I reach up, shaking his hand like I’m a business deal. That’s exactly what I am. “You may throw the paper drape in the trash and then you are free to dress and leave. I’ll see you in three months,” he says and walks out the door.

***

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.