The Art of Domination (26 page)

“Well, not all of them, b
ut the human furniture thing was out there. And so was making me open the door naked. Why did you make me do that anyway?”

“I already told you, because I like to
push you out of your comfort zone. It turns me on to see that lovely shade of pink wash over your face. You should know there’ll be plenty of that to come in the very near future.
Come
. Did you see what I did there?
Come
. There’ll be plenty of that to
cum.
” I’m cracking myself up, but Isa just rolls her eyes at me.

“Yes. I get it, Dylan. I’m glad
you find yourself amusing.  What exactly do you mean by that anyway? More to come?”

“Don’t be naïve, Isa. I think you can figure it out.
By the way, what was that about painting my nipples hot pink?” I lean down and pinch her nipple hard through her shirt and twist it, and she hisses at me from the pain. “What color do you think your nipple is right now? Hot pink?” I let go and start to walk out the door and Isa puts her paintbrush down and stands.

“You can’t jus
t leave me hanging like that!”

“Oh, yes I can. And I will. It’ll give you something to think
about while I’m gone.”

“You
are
a sadist,” she pouts at me.

I laugh at her. “Yes, I am. In more ways than you can imagine, my love.”

“Fine, go then. Go visit your wench,” she says sitting back down and waving her hand as if dismissing me.

“You’
re my only wench. You know that.”

She shoots me a look of what-the-fuck
and I wink at her. “I meant it when I said I want you to fix our contract that you so fucked up with your ludicrous ideas. You can find it under my personal files on my computer under the title ‘my talented artist’.”

Isa smiles broadly at me, showing off her perfectly bright white
, girlishly big and slightly crooked teeth.  The pure sincerity of her joy tugs at my heart strings and makes my cock twitch. I need to leave before I feel the urge to fuck her over her painting desk. I attempt to just peck her lips, but she pulls me down and kisses me deeply, pushing her tongue past my lips, twirling it around in my mouth, and then ending it with her signature nibble on my bottom lip. When I stand up, my hard-on is pressing tightly into my pants and is eye level to her. She looks at it, grins and then rubs it, stroking it slowly and gripping it.

“Isa
, please. I have to leave.”

“I know, b
ut I just can’t help myself. How am I supposed to ignore it? It’s staring right at me, begging to be touched. Just look at it in all its glory - this big, beautiful, fuckable piece of inspiration.”

“
Well, when you put it like that…” I unzip my pants, pull it out and give her permission to suck it for just a moment.

“Mmm
… me likey…” she breathes on my cock as she engulfs it in her hot, greedy little mouth.

I yell out to Sawyer
to give me a few more minutes, knowing that I can’t leave without a finish.

“Stroke it hard, Isa. Make me cum quickly.”

Like a good girl, she grips me firmly and jerks me off rough,
and swallows my cock. I grab a handful of her hair and push her head down, making her gag. Damn, I love that sexy sound. I push her head down hard again and hold it there, waiting for her to get breathless, and then pull her back, allowing her to catch her breath. She looks up at me and her eyes are sleepy and needy.
Fuck.
I want to be inside of that tight little body right now.
Fuck it.
Erika and Sawyer can wait. I pull her back again and pull Isa off her chair and take her place.

“Sit on me. Ride me hard,
” I command her.

Isa promptly takes her jeans and panties off and straddles me, sinking slowly onto me. She’s fantastically wet and I slide right into her. I pull her down harshly by her hips and she throws her head back and whimpers. I reach around behind her and squeeze her ass tightly, making her
grimace with pain, then I smack it for good measure. Her arms wrap around my neck as she pushes herself up and down on me. Her hands move to my hair and she tugs it hard, pulling my head back and exposing my neck.  I feel a sharp searing bite near my Adam’s apple and I groan through my teeth from the pain.

“
Ride it, Isa. Fuck me.”

“Oh, Sir…
you feel so good inside of me…” she whispers as she licks my tender neck.

Her words unravel me and I cum without warning
.

“Fuck!” I yell breathless.

“Finish me off, Sir. Please?” Isa asks as she continues to ride my slowly softening cock.

“Of course, love.”

We both stand up and she sits back down in the chair. I spread her legs wide and push my fingers into her cum soaked pussy. She’s dripping my cum all over thighs and the sight is both filthy and exquisite. I pull at her and tease her swollen ridge and thumb her nub. She grips the sides of the chair tightly and sits upright as she nears her finish. I move my hand up to her lower belly and push down while I circle inside of her and bring her to her release.  Her juices drench the palm of my hand and she screams out loudly. She runs her hands through her hair, then over and across her lips, and down her breasts with her eyes tightly closed.

“You’re so f
ucking beautiful, Isa,” I tell her, unable to contain my sheer awe of her.

She leans back in the chair, opens her eyes and her cheeks turn a charming
shade of rose pink as I lick my palm.

“So are you.”

Again, she catches me off guard with her comment. When she said it before, it was the first time a woman had ever said it to me.

“I love you, Sir.
I love you so much
. Please don’t let Erika persuade you. I need you here with me. I need your love and discipline.”

Holy fuck.
“Isa…” I can’t find the words to say to her.

“You don’t have t
o respond. Just come back to me,” she tells me as she sits up, holds my face and kisses the corner of my mouth. She quietly retreats to the bathroom and I’m left sitting on my knees to reflect on her heartfelt plea. I hear water running and I get up and put myself together. I go into the bathroom where’s she standing at the sink, wetting a washcloth. I walk up behind her and pull her close to me, grinding myself into her ass. I move her hair out of the way and lick and kiss the back of her neck as I force her head down. I bite it sharply, drawing a small drop of blood. She groans out her acceptance as I lick and suck the blood that drips down. I reach around with my free hand and squeeze her breast firmly and roll her stiffened nipple between my fingers.

“
You’re the only one for me, Isa.” I say smacking my lips against her and lapping up her DNA, letting it meld with mine.

“Oh my God, Dylan, t
he pain… it feels so good.
Don’t stop
…” she groans out as she grips the edge of the countertop.

“Are you my little masochist, Isa? Do you like the pain t
hat I inflict on you?” I ask as I bite her neck again and suck at her. “Say it. Say you love the pain, my little one,” I demand

“Yes, Sir,
I do. I love it,” she squeaks out.

I feel her squeeze her thighs together and push her ass back against me. Suddenly her legs start to quive
r and it’s then that I realize she’s ograsmed again.

My little masochist, indeed.

***

What is Dylan doing to me? I’m not a masochist.
Am I?
What just happened was amazing, but a
masochist?
I’m left with wobbly legs and Dylan helps me back to my chair.  He pecks my lips and then leaves and I’m left to ponder what he’s just accused me of being. Once my aftershocks settle down, I get my pants and panties back on and add a few more touches to the painting. It’s quite dirty.

Only one more painting to go
.

I clean up my work station and go into Dylan’s office to make another copy of the contract. I’ve never used his personal computer before. Well, only once before to look up a recipe when I had left my own laptop at work.

I sit in
Dylan’s big oversized leather chair and sink back into it and swivel around in circles like a child. I wonder what it feels like to be Dylan and master of his universe.  I wonder what he thinks about when he sits in this chair with the world at his feet.
With me at his feet.
I wonder what he feels like knowing that countless women want him and they’re willing to do anything for him. I spin for several minutes, day dreaming about the man I’ve married and until my head is swimming.

The room smells of men, like aftershave and cologne, a mixture of both Sawyer’s and Dylan’s and it’s intoxicating.  I flip on his computer and while it boots up, I open his desk drawers and thumb through some of his things.

It’s all very organized and neat, just like his closet and every part of this house. He likes order and discipline in everything.  I wonder if he demands the same kind of discipline from his employees. Knowing Dylan, there’s no doubt that he does.

In the large middle drawer, I find the infamous E.L. envelope. I wonder what exactly the E.L. stands for. Erika what? Erika Loser? Erika Lame? Erika Licentious?
I fumble with the envelope and pretend to drop it, accidently spilling the photos out.
Oops
. There goes my morbid curiosity again.

Now that I’ve already seen them, they’re not quite as shocking to my system and I can stomach them a little better. I feel deceitful looking at them behind Dylan’s back. I pick them up one-by-one and casually glance over them.
I hate that bitch.
I look closely at the photo that has the vaguely familiar background. I inspect it closely, trying not to concentrate on the close up of Erika’s hairless vag.

Damn
. Why did I look at this? I realize why it seems familiar - it’s the dungeon. I can see the corner of the cross and part of the tallboy in the background. Ugh. I feel nauseous thinking about Dylan fucking Erika in
our dungeon.
I guess it was
theirs
before it was
ours.
I put the photos back in the envelope and throw it across the room. 
Fucking Erika.
Did she live here, too?
Of course she did
. How else could he fuck her anytime he wanted unless she was at his beck and call and nearby? Where did she stay?
My studio, of course.
That’s why it was barren and empty when I first started dating him. It used to be her room.

“Fucking Erika!” I scream out loud. 

Did Dylan fuck her in
our
bedroom, too? On Chapel Hill? The dining room table? The  balcony? The elevator? The kitchen counter? In the shower?
Of course, he did.

I’m being childish about all of this, I know. I can’t expect him to never have had sex in his own home. My God, he has a dungeon for Pete’s sake. Of course he had sex with other women in it. I just hate thinking about it. I want this home to be
our
home and with no other memories in it; just our memories.

I sit in his desk chair and sulk like an infant who’s had their binky taken away from them.
Grow up, Isa,
I tell myself.

I get to the task of finding our contract to print out a new copy. I pull up his personal files and search for ‘mytalentedartist.’ What a sweet title for our contract.
God I love that man.
As I scroll down the various files, I see my father’s name.
What the hell
? Oh no. My morbid curiosity kicks in again. I hover the arrow over the file and contemplate whether or not to double click on it.
Don’t do it, Isa. DON’T DO IT.

So what
do I do? I double click on it and I come face-to-face with a photo of my father. He was much younger in this picture and I recognize the suit he’s wearing. It was his dark brown double breasted suit that he wore to the office at least a couple of times a month and to school functions. How old was I then? 15? 16?
The bad years.
Who am I kidding? They were
all
bad, but those were particularly painful. I can’t stop staring at the image. I wonder if I look like him? I must share at least a few similar traits. My nose, maybe? Yes, I can see the shape of my nose on him. My mouth? No, I must get that from my mother.

As I continue to stare at the photo, I remember an incident while he was wearing the dark brown suit. He was just leaving for a school board meeting and he completely lost it. I don’t remember what the reason was and it was probably nothing. In any case, he found some reason to harass me. That night I went to bed unable to sleep on my back and missed school the next day.

I scroll down the page and find out all kinds of information about my father that I never knew, like how much money he’s really worth. Good God. I had no idea. No wonder he’s so damned arrogant.