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  • Writer's pictureGina A. Jones

The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty-seven


I watch her across the table as we eat the dinner that Ava has prepared. She looks beautiful, sexy. She awakens feelings in me that were dead. Dead because I need them to stay dead. I can’t open painful wounds that will make me weak. But as I listened to her story, I was amazed at how much she turned me on. In some sense, she learned to use sex as a tool. A tool to survive. Though her circumstances are far from mine. Only I know why I’m the way I am. This is the only way I can be.

In only two days, I have learned more about her than I have about anyone in my life. Something about her gives me comfort. And comfort is very dangerous for me. What if I become too complacent and let my guard down? She could destroy me. And yet, it is me who pushes those boundaries. Wanting to know about her past. That must stop. She is just a tool, a toy for me to play with. Something to appease my demons.

Her comparing me to a mountain was clever. I almost fell into her trap. She wants information. She wants inside my head. She wants to play with the devil. She has no idea what she is dealing with. Never. Never will I reveal the wickedness I endured. What it cost me. What I lost.

I’m sure her foster life was hell. But she has no idea the hell I lived. And how I begged for what I was given. I will never understand it myself. It’s true. Sex has power. Sex will make you do the unimaginable. Once I was innocent. But sex changed all that. Sex is a power that makes you weak. Depending on what side you’re on.

She hasn’t said a word since coming down for dinner. I know she’s mad at me. But do I care? Deep down, I might. But I can’t go there.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see my father calling. I know what this is about and silence the call. I look over at Cinder. “You’re not eating very much. Are you not happy with the food?”

“No, sir. It’s delicious. It’s just been a long day. And I guess I don’t have much of an appetite.” She’s sulking. But it will do her no good.

“Well, you better eat. You have swimming tomorrow before school. It’s part of your physical workout I have chosen for you.”

“Before school?”

“Are you complaining to me, Cinder?”

“Ah, no, sir. I just wasn’t aware.”

“It was in your contract, was it not?”

“Yes, sir. But I thought it was more like aerobics or yoga.”

“Those are both good. But swimming will help you with breath play.”

“Breath play?”

“Yes, for when I want to gag you.” There’s a frightened look on her face. It turns me on. As much as I want her to stay, I’m aware of how close I’m becoming with her. Perhaps if I frighten her more than she thinks she can handle, she will break the contract and leave. The moment that thought enters my head; something stirs in my heart. I don’t like it. I don’t like the fact I want her to stay. I don’t like the fact that I will ever tire of her. There is so much more I want to do to her.

“Sir, how will I use my safe word, if I’m gagged?”

“You will signal with your hand or eyes. Depending on how you are bound.” She pushes her plate aside.

“May I be excused, sir?”

“No, you may not. Finish your food, and then you may retire to bed. You have an early day, tomorrow. I will be taking you to school. But once I return to the city, my driver will be taking you.”

“Yes, sir,” she says and slowly finishes her dinner.


I step into the indoor pool area, observing Cinder with her swim coach. I can tell she’s already out of breath as she completes her twenty laps across the pool. I should have asked if she could swim. But Cinder is a survivor. Being forced to hold her breath longer than a minute underwater is probably not on the list of things she has experienced as a foster child. Now, she’s mine. My foster girl.

I walk over to help her out of the pool. Though it’s heated and indoors, she’s shivering. I watch her lips tremble. My finger almost touches her lips, but I stop myself.

Why do I want to touch her so much?

“Get dressed in your uniform, and come to breakfast. I’ll be taking you to school in an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” she says and scampers across the concrete into the house. I look at her small footprints left behind—delicate and sweet. Like a child.


Ava has my breakfast set when I step into the dining area. I’ll be flying back to New York after taking Cinder to school. I should be back before dinner. But just in case, I will prepare Hunter to pick her up.

My breath escapes me when she walks in wearing her plaid uniform, skirt just above the knees, long white long socks covering her shins, and black Mary Janes. The buttons of her white blouse gape open at her breast. I want to take her right here. Pull up her skirt and pound my cock so hard into her. I will need to punish her for allowing her breasts to show at the gaped spot of her blouse.

She sits and digs into her French toast. “I see your appetite is back.”

“Yes, sir. Swimming must have made me hungry.”

I can’t stop looking at her. Her hair is pulled high in a ponytail, her sweet face shines with no makeup. Those eyes of hers seduce me with each glance. I can’t believe she is mine.

I must have her before taking her to school. I glance at my watch and make the excuse. “Please hurry, I need to drop you off earlier than planned. I’m needed back in the city this morning.

“Yes, sir,” she says, and quickly finishes her breakfast, and then rushes upstairs to brush her teeth. I meet her at the door, watching her rush, gathering her books and bag. I help her into the car, put on my sunglasses, and back out of the garage. Racing out of the drive, I plan my detour. A nice woodsy pull-off where I can lay her over my car and have her.

“Cinder, take off your panties.”

“But, sir. I think I will need them, today.”

“I will give them back…after your punishment.” Her eyes widen. But it doesn’t look like fear. I think she is turned on. She is a wildcat. Fucking in foster homes has made her what she is. She reaches up and pulls down her panties. “Hand them to me,” I say. She places them into the palm of my open hand. I breathe them in before stuffing them into my suit pocket.

I turn into the pull-off and order her out of the car. She obeys. I watch her through the window. She’s looking at me with those seductive eyes. I rush out of the car, closing in on her. “Sub, I am punishing you for letting your breasts be seen through the exposed gape in your buttons.”

“But, sir, this is the uniform they gave me.”

“And I will see to it, that you get a blouse that fits you. Now lean over the hood of the car and pull up your skirt. I’m going to spank you. And then I’m going to fuck you—hard.”

She obeys, and my eyes feast on her firm, creamy ass at my disposal. I rub my hand across her soft skin and begin my assault. She jumps, and I spank her again. After five more spanks, my cock can’t take it anymore, and I rip it out, spreading her legs with my knee and entering her wet pussy hard.

“You will not go to school dressed like a slut. This is what happens to little sluts,” I say, breathlessly, pounding into her. She has me so turned on; that I’m about to come. But I forgot to put on a condom. She’s moaning, begging me to give her more. She’s dirty, loving her punishment. And I can’t believe I’m allowing her pleasure.

“You like this. You like me fucking you like a dirty, little slut?”

“Yes, sir. I want to be your dirty, little slut. I promise to be a good girl.”

We are both so turned on and I know she’s about to come. I feel her tight pussy clamp down on me, and then she explodes.

“Ahh, yes, sir. I need it. I need your punishment.”

I’m so over the top for her and let myself explode inside her. Bare. No condom. No protection. I know she’s on the pill as Sasha informed me. I also witnessed the packet in her medicine cabinet. But girls can be tricky. I can’t let this happen again. But just in case, I will insist on the Depo shot because it felt too amazing not to come inside her again.


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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