The Colors of Ash-Chapter Twenty-two

After Ash took the picture and book, he stormed up the stairs, and I heard the slamming of his door. What was that all about? It seems I’m not able to do anything right. He’s such a mystery. A man with dark secrets and a haunting past. Is he ever happy?

I need to get dressed and wait to see what I am to do today, according to Ava—I have instructions. His door is still shut when I get to the top of the stairs and I rush to my room. I find a note on the bed. He must have put it here before going for his run.

Wear outfit marked #2 and the shoes marked #5. Your hair is to be up. Once you are dressed, go downstairs and wait in your submissive position in the center of the great room. If you forgot, I left a copy of the contract in the top drawer of your nightstand. Page #8 shows the position you are to be in.

He is totally serious about this control thing. What I wear, how I wear my hair, and how I am to wait for him. I thought the control thing was when we have sex. Apparently, I was wrong.

I go to the closet and pull out outfit instructed. It’s a flowing white skirt with a pink tank top. The shoes are a white pair of sneakers. Once I’m dressed, I go into the bathroom and brush out my long hair. I find several hair ties in the top drawer and decide on a loose knot on top of my head. I hope this will do. I hate making him mad.

I pull out the contract and flip to the correct page. A figure shows a drawing of a girl on her knees, her head is face down, and her arms are at her side. I place the contract back into the drawer and head back downstairs. I locate what I consider the center of the room and assume the position. And wait. And wait.

My knees are burning and my neck has a major kink in it. My hands are falling asleep. He can’t possibly make me stay like this, can he? It has to have been at least an hour. I know this because the clock has chimed out the next hour. I have listened to nothing but the tick of a clock somewhere in the room I have never noticed before.

Slowly, I move my head back, circling from side to side. It lets out a few cracks, and I feel some relief. I sit down on my butt and stretch out my legs. My feet have also fallen asleep. This is torture. Is this my punishment for finding the picture? No, can’t be. The note was left before I ever took out that book. But then maybe he decided to make it torture after he caught me. And what is so wrong with what I did anyway? Never touch what isn’t yours.  It’s just a picture for crying out loud. It’s not like I was digging through closed drawers, searching for personal information.

“It looks like we must work on your endurance.”

My head quickly snaps up and I find him standing at the top of the stairs. I scramble getting back into position. But I doubt it will matter.

I hear his feet slowly coming down the stairs. Each step means he’s closer until his shoes are right under my face. They look expensive. I’m sure they are. His pants look to be casual, beige skinny pants.

“Sub, I’m so disappointed in you. You had one simple order, and you couldn’t even fulfill it for me.”

“I was hurting…sir.”

“Did I say you could talk?”

Do I say, no sir? Because that would be talking. I remain quiet and stare at his expensive shoes. I feel his hand in my hair.

“Is this what you call…up? It looks like you spent no time at all on your hair. I am not pleased with it. You must do better.”

Like now? Am I to go redo my hair? This is confusing. Even my hair gets me in trouble.

“Look up at me, Sub.”

My head moves slightly, as my eyes follow up his body until I come to his eyes. He’s dressed in a navy long-sleeved button-up shirt. He looks gorgeous, but mad as usual. He smells freshly showered, and his hair is perfectly in place.

I wait for him to say something, give me my next command. But he just stands there, peering down at me with those cold eyes.

“You may apologize to me, now.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Stand, Sub,” he says, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

I start to move and then fall to the side. My feet are still asleep. He doesn’t reach out to help me. Not that I expect him to. I attempt to stand again, making a slow ascend to my feet. They are tingling something fierce.

“Are you sore, Sub?” he asks, his eyes casting down to my center.

Is he referring to my knees or my assaulted pussy? “Yes, sir.”

“I want you to go down into my punishment room and wait for me on the bed. Have your skirt up around your waist and legs spread. And you should have no panties on.”

Oh, no. The punishment room. I swallow the lump down in my throat before answering. “Yes, sir.”

He’s still in the same stance, standing there, glaring at me with his hands in his pockets. I turn and make my walk to the room of doom. Red. Red. I need to say it this time. If only to test him, see if all things do stop.

Opening the door, I begin the slow climb down. The low red light is already glowing throughout the place, and I see the bed in the middle of the room. Its brass bars and deep velvet duvet make it look like something from a Victorian vampire movie. Nothing about it looks comforting. I’m sure that’s the point.

I lie down on the bed, pull up the skirt to my waist, and spread my legs. And yes, I’m not wearing any panties. Probably the only thing I’ve done right today.

I hear the door shut from up above, and then the sound of his shoes coming down. I want to close my eyes, but I’m sure it’s not allowed.

He’s standing right above me, looking at me differently than before. It’s not as intense, but not yet soft, either.

“I’m going to apply some healing cream to your center. It’s a mixture of organic herbs and coconut oil. It will help with the pain and swelling.” His tone is clinical, like the words of a doctor. Yet, a doctor would just hand it over, and tell me how often to apply.

He walks away, and I watch him open a drawer to one of the cabinets full of his sex torture toys. There’s a small container in his hand when he returns. He opens the round lid and then smears his fingers into the cream. “This is to help heal you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” I say, and he stops to look at me. He blinks a few times like he’s not sure why I’m thanking him. He seems to clear his thoughts away and then begins rubbing the ointment around my soreness. His fingers are warm and move in a slow meticulous motion. His thumb brushes lightly over my clit, and I feel myself becoming aroused. But I know I’m not supposed to. I guess I’m learning his rules.

He looks up at me while applying the cream and watches my face. My eyes feel heavy with lust, and my breathing has increased. He knows I’m aroused. He knows I’m enjoying the touch of his fingers. How could this be? Last night, I thought he was going to tear me apart. Now, the gentle touch of his fingers almost has me in tears—the kind that comes with overwhelming love. But I know there is no love in this. I’m just his toy, something to play with as he chooses. And then he must perform maintenance of the toy—so he can rough it up again.

“How does that feel, Sub?” he asks in a low whisper.

“Good, sir.”

“Do you like my fingers touching you?”

“Yes, sir.” He’s confusing. He wants me to like it. But wants me not to have pleasure. I don’t understand the reason. He’s giving me pleasure now, and he knows I’m enjoying it. Is it so he can punish me?

“You want to come, don’t you, Sub?”

What do I say? Of course, I do. I ask. That’s what I do. I ask for permission. “May I, sir?” I breathe out.

“May you what, Sub?”

“Come in your hand, sir?”

“Only on one condition,” he says.

“Yes, sir?”

“If you want to come, I get to do something…I know you won’t like."

“Will it hurt, sir?”

“Most definitely. So, I’d advise you wisely. Right now, it’s that greedy, little pussy doing the talking. You might consider it, only to satisfy your greedy self.”

I’m so close, and so close to considering his offer. “Will I be able to use the safe word?”

“Yes, you are always allowed. But remember, you must get to the pain, to call out your safe word.”

“Ahh, sir,” I cry out as he works me more.

“Feel it, Sub. Feel the pain mixed with pleasure. It wouldn’t feel as good if you weren’t already sore down here.”

He’s right. It’s a different feeling altogether. The pain, knowing he was the cause, intensifies it. My hips are rocking, and my head moves back and forth. I’m right on the cusp. Knowing that if I do, fall into this sea of bliss, something painful will follow.

He then dips his head down and blows on my sore, swollen center. It’s too much, and I come undone, exploding into his hand. “Ahh, yes! Yes, sir! I’m coming!”

I ride his hand, each wave coming in full force, lasting longer than usual. It’s the most intense I have felt. It then becomes too sensitive, and I fight to get away. But he doesn’t let me. He rubs and teases me, not letting me come down. My breathing is over the top, I feel lightheaded. My orgasm turns to pain, each nerve ending on fire. I can’t believe it hurts. But it does.

“You should have thought about it a little more, Sub,” he says between clenched teeth, his fingers assaulting me. My orgasm turning to hot liquid. Even though he’s using the same gentle touch, it’s too much now. I can’t even think straight. The room is spinning. My orgasm refuses to stop. All the blood in my body must be rushing to my center because my limbs go numb, and I cannot react, or speak. And then, it all goes black.