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Authors: Ella Dominguez

The Art of Redemption

BOOK: The Art of Redemption
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The Art of Redemption

(Art of D/s 0.5)


The Art of Redemption

(Art of D/s 0.5)

Copyright © Ella Dominguez, 2014

All Rights Reserved

Published by Bondage Bunny Publishing




o the two loves of my life: my daughter and hubs. They keep me happy, healthy and content, their humor and discipline keep me smiling and in line (most of the time).


To the loyal readers of the Art of D/s Trilogy who urged me to write this and wanted the continuation of Isa’s and Dylan’s story. I will be forever grateful for your encouragement.

To my beta readers who are patient, speedy and have the keenest eyes this side of erotica. THANK YOU!

Cover art by Rebekka Ivacson. An enormous amount of gratitude goes out to her for allowing me to use her images throughout the Art of D/s Trilogy and on their covers as well as this one. She is talented beyond belief and I wish her only success & happiness in her life.


Chapter 1


Long legs draped over a man’s shoulders. Hands bound in rope across a woman’s belly. An indecipherable man’s face smudged out by acrylic paint the color of the Atlantic Ocean. Every last detail of the painting Dylan was looking at was a God damn beautiful sight
The bright overhead lamps bathed not only the image, but the room, with light, banishing the shadows and making all the glorious, fine details of it pop. The artist’s name scribbled at the bottom:
Dylan had never heard of him, but what he was looking at was worth far more than the price tag attached to it.

His irises zoomed in
on the bindings around the woman’s wrists and an inexplicable sense of curiosity surged through him.
If only he could experience that kind of power over a woman…
He laced his fingers together behind his back and his gaze shifted from the mysterious man’s blank face to the rope again. There was certain je ne sais quoi about the work of art. Without a doubt it was erotic, but it was more than that. It was

reached out and touched the corner of the canvas lovingly. When he felt another person’s eyes on him, a rush of heat crept up his neck from embarrassment at being caught finger fucking the artwork.

“Are you into this sort of thing?”

A female’s soft yet commanding voice interrupted what should have been a quiet night out for him. It wasn’t often he got a day off from work and having just gotten back from eighteen weeks of field training, he was exhausted both mentally and physically.
Christ almighty, couldn’t he spend his twenty-third birthday in peace and fucking silence?

He stared ahead, his ice blue eyes scanning the image once more as he answered blandly, “What do you think?
I’m in an art gallery looking at art…”

Her response
came quickly and cut his answer short. “I wasn’t referring to the art.”

“I know what you
were referring to,” he replied coolly without facing her.

“So are you?”

Fucking hell she was persistent.
Irritated, he turned his head and lifted a condescending eyebrow. When her slender form came into view, he adjusted his stance and attitude, but only slightly. She was at least ten years his senior. Not that it mattered. She was gorgeous, though not in the usual way that he was adapted to. Her attractiveness was much more appealing than the young, immature women he was accustomed to spending his time with. She was tall and with her four inch heels, she stood eye-to-eye with him, her espresso-colored gaze staring at him intensely. Her dark hair was neatly braided down her back and the scent of her expensive perfume assaulted and tantalized his senses. Her figure was that of a woman who worked out often and her skin the color of someone who enjoyed basking in the warmth of the sun. As his eyes roamed over her body, he couldn’t help but wonder what color lingerie she was wearing underneath her conservative black, pin-striped skirt. That is, if she was wearing any at all.

The corners of her lips were curled upward into a smile and she appeared pleased with herself
, and though her looks were appealing, there was something about her expression that grated on his nerves. He couldn’t put his finger on why; perhaps because it was like looking into a mirror.

The question was still lingering in the air w
hen she reached into her wristlet, pulled out a business card and slipped it into the pocket of his black blazer while giving him a secret smile.

“If you ever get the
urge to try what’s on that painting, stop by the Dark Asylum. Monday’s are open to the public. Tell Kerian that Catalina sent you.”

With that, she gave him one last
silent examination starting at his mouth and moving downward. When her eyes came to rest on the crotch of his pants, the corner of her cherry-red lips lifted upward as her face lit up.

“I do ho
pe you find the time to stop by.”

As she walked away, he became entranced with the sway of her
slim hips and the click of her heels on the tiled floor. He had just been eye-fucked and propositioned, though he wasn’t exactly sure what he had been propositioned for. His fingers found the card in his pocket and plucked it out.

He didn’t recognize the name of the club
or the address, but that didn’t surprise him. He wasn’t exactly a
kind of person nor was he social to a great degree. When he wasn’t working, most nights were spent jacking off to online porn or hooking up with anonymous women. Flipping the card over, he read the inscription.

Experience the ultimate power of domination &
submission. Private, members only BDSM & fetish club.

His pulse suddenly began to pound in his veins.
Domination and submission
… he had seen the images of such things, even read about it in passing, but to experience it? His cock hardened and his eyes darted around the room anxiously as if he was going to get caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He took a quick look at the painting again before waving a gallery representative over. Monday was two days away and two days too long as far as he was concerned. Until then, he would need something or
to keep him occupied.

When the woman approached him, she gave him a playful smile and began blabbering on about the artwork in question. He didn’t need the particulars. It spoke to him and that’s all that mattered. He fe
igned interest and gave her his best sexy grin, allowing it to spread across his youthful face and reflect in his lusty blue eyes. When she turned away, he pressed his fingertips firmly into the small of her back before placing his hand on the curve of her waist to pull her closer. It was a bold and arrogant thing to do, but he had a tendency to be that way when it came to women, and more frequently than not, he unintentionally overstepped his boundaries. Her breathing quickened and when she peeked over her shoulder at him, the heat of excitement stained her cheeks pink. When her tongue slicked across her upper lip and she flashed her come hither eyes his way, he knew she had accepted his unspoken invitation. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face and his eyes grew openly pleased. He had found his plaything for the night and he hardly put any effort into it.



Taking a mental inventory,
Isa recalled all the things she had placed in the small duffle bag that was hidden in her locker. Four pairs of jeans, the same number of shirts, a handful of undergarments, and her sketch journal. The rest would come later. Each item had been snuck to school over the last several weeks and secretly stashed away in preparation of her escape. Except for the journal, it was all brand new as she didn’t want any of her belongings tainted by her father’s touch or money.

Nervous energy
pumped through her veins as she counted out, for the third time, the cash she had been saving for just over a year. Sixteen hundred dollars and change is all she had to start a new life. She prayed it was enough.
It had to be.

The sound of her father’s footsteps on the stairs made her body tense up
with fear. Quickly, she stuffed the cash under her mattress. Just as she grabbed a nearby French language book and hid behind it, the door to her bedroom opened and the stench of her father’s cologne drifted in. His cold stare could be felt boring into her from the other side of the hardbound book, but she didn’t dare lift her eyes to him.

Would there be another beating tonight? She hope
d not. Not so soon after the last one. Without warning, he lunged at her, tore the book from her hands and tossed it to the floor. The bed dipped next to her as he pinned her down on the bed by placing a knee in her pelvis and his forearm against her throat. When she closed her eyes and turned her face away from him, he forced the full weight of his body onto his arm, cutting off her airway.

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to?” he breathed against her cheek.

Her pulse pounded erratically in her temples as she became breathless. Her body began to ache under the weight of his heavy body, but she forced herself to lie quiet and motionless as she tried to hold her breath. Her inner voice was screaming at her to scratch his eyes out and knee him in the balls, but she knew better. She had learned at a very young age that if she attempted to fight him, her punishment would only be worse in the end.

“Open your eyes, you little whore, and answer me,” he barked
, letting up only slightly to allow her to breath.

Doing as
she was told, she pried her lids open to face him as she inhaled a deep breath of air. The pitch black, murderous stare focused on her nearly made her retch with fear. This last year had been, by far, the worst for her. His punishments were becoming dangerously more severe with each passing day and his resentment and hatred toward her was at an all-time high. She knew if she didn’t get out now, she would never make it out alive.

He had already tried once
to kill her, but rather than taking her life, another trip to the hospital and one more lie about an
fall down the stairs revealed he had taken the life of her future unborn children instead. How many more visits to the hospital would it take until those people figured out what was going on in the home of the respected businessman Emilio Ibanez? How many more broken bones and bruises did she have to bear until they would stop looking the other way? What would it take for justice to be served? Tears filled her eyes because she knew the answer without speaking.
Her death.

When an errant,
hot tear that was hovering on her lashes rolled down her cheek, a sinister grin spread across his merciless, wrinkled face. Moving suddenly, he shifted his position and his hand was now around her throat, squeezing the life out of her.

When will you learn that your fucking tears mean nothing to me?” he hissed as he clamped around her throat tighter.

She had come to that realization
long ago, but the tears still came unbidden. Spots filled her vision and her self-preservation instincts kicked in. She no longer cared what he did to her if she fought him. Clawing at his hands, she thrashed her head and mewled, but the darkness that was hiding in the shadows moved in and an ice-cold sensation wrapped itself around her weakened body. Only then did Papa release her to deliver a slap across her face to bring her out of the impending blackout spell. The heat on her cheek brought her back to reality and she gasped for breath as she lay beneath him, staring up at him frightened and angry.
He really was trying to kill her.

“Tell me,” he gritted his teeth, but she shook her head.

It was her hope that he was only calling her bluff about being up to something. He liked to play this twisted little game of
will you confess to something you haven’t done
in an attempt to make up some reason to beat her senseless. Just as she closed her eyes again, she heard the familiar sound of his belt being unbuckled and being pulled from the loops of his pants.
Not this again
… Her body was still hurting from the last time Papa’s leather had its way with her.

Thinking quickly, she
dared to speak. “Not tonight, Papa,” she squeaked out, her vocal chords sore from his assault. “Graduation is tomorrow. People will see the marks.”

ing under his breath, he stood, and just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. When she heard his heavy footsteps descend the stairs, she breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t often she was able to talk him down, but when she did, she felt a prevailing sense of accomplishment. With her body trembling uncontrollably, she hugged herself and hid her face in her pillow, soaking it with tears. As she let out a deep racking sob, she reminded herself that in less than twenty four hours, she would be free of him.
. No more cruel words. No more iron fists. No more Emilio Ibanez. As soon as that diploma was in her hands, she was leaving Georgia and never looking back.



An entire weekend was too long to wait. Dylan had never been
a patient individual and every passing minute seemed to tick by slowly as he bided his time until Monday. When it finally arrived, his nerves nearly made him back out, but his curiosity was far too great to allow that to happen.

Arriving at the Dark Asylum, he was handed a waiver form and agreement of confidentiality to si
gn before being allowed entry. He read it over carefully twice before penning his name. It all seemed legitimate and surprisingly, very well written. As he entered the social area, the smell of oil and leather immediately struck him. It was like no other place he had ever seen… He inspected his surroundings thoroughly, his mind racing with all sorts of thoughts. He had no idea what an establishment of this nature was supposed to look like, but he was pleasantly surprised at the mysterious yet welcoming ambiance.

A tap on his shoulder caught his attention and a man about the same height as himself introduced himself as the club owner, Kerian. The man’s dark eyes looked him over suspiciously and Dylan promptly
introduced himself and stated who had referred him.

BOOK: The Art of Redemption
6.55Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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