The Art of Submission (44 page)

“Because I have issues,” She says
despondently.

Oh sweet, Isa. We
all
have issues. Doesn’t she know it’s our flaws
that make us unique?
God knows I have my
own issues and flaws.

“Well, I have plenty of flaws so I guess that
makes me extra-unique.” She states, slightly more cheerful.

I laugh at her remark and just like
that, the mood has shifted. I push what Greer said and did out of
my head.
For now.

The rest of the phone conversation is spent
cooing at each other with sexy talk. I love the sound of her voice.
I don’t much listen to the words so much as I do the tone. She
could’ve told me or asked me for just about anything and I would’ve
agreed. I ask her where she’s at and to my delight, she’s at my
place. I warn her about my part-time house keeper so she’s not
surprised if she shows up.

I offer to have her fly up over the
weekend if things go longer than anticipated. She hesitates and
says she doesn’t want to fly alone, but I know the real reason is
because of Brody. I tell her that Brody no longer works for me. She
sounds upset and I can’t understand why, but she tells me she feels
bad for someone losing their job because of her.
Jesus
– she can be so kind
sometimes; too kind. It’s no wonder people take advantage of her
good nature. Then I tell her that trust means
everything
to me and that it wasn’t just the
fact that Brody said something inappropriate, it’s that I can’t
trust him again. She’s quiet for a moment and then floors me with
her response.

“Dylan, I just want you to know that I would
never do anything to betray your trust. I know people have probably
told you that in the past, but I mean it, with every fiber of my
being.”

I don’t even how to respond to that. As
usual, she’s in my head. I hardly know Isa, but I believe her and
I
trust
her. It’s been such a
long time since I’ve completely trusted
anyone
and it’s a peculiar feeling. Not one I’m
familiar with.

Then things lighten up a bit and the
conversation turns into dirty talk. Her voice becomes sultry and
angelic. I tell her all the filthy ways I want to defile her and
she just soaks it up, not once making any objections to the ways I
describe having her. My little submissive is so eager. I can hardly
wait to get back and fuck her into oblivion.

Just before we end our conversation, I thank
her for the painting. She’s shy and quiet on the other end.

“Did you like it?” She asks nervously.

“Of course, sweetheart. I loved it and I love
that I inspire you.”

With that, we say our good nights. It’s well
after 10 p.m. I’ve never talked with a woman on the phone for that
long and it was strangely enjoyable.

After all the sexy talk, I have a
raging hard on, so I jump in the shower and stroke off to images
from my filthy mental album of Isabel and to the image of her tied
on my St. Andrew’s cross, calling me Sir and begging me to fuck
every square inch of her.
Yes. I can
hardly wait for the real thing.

Once in bed, the image of Greer coming
onto Isa and making lewd comments to her invades my
thoughts.
Fuck him.
That
asshole has crossed the line. He knows we’re dating and he still
tries to touch her? He still makes a comment like he did?
FUCK THAT.
Isa belongs to
me
now and no one fucks with what
belongs to me. This can’t wait. I’ll deal with him tomorrow; face
to face.

**********************

Isabel

Greer is standing close to me, eyeing
the car as I stand in the open doorway of Dylan’s Benz.
Shit, shit shit.

“Nice car.” He says scanning it hood to
trunk.

“Um… thanks.” I don’t know what else to
say.

“The new clothes and now this? I’m beginning
to think you found yourself a sugar daddy.”

What a jackass. I open my mouth to say
something, but stop myself. He stands immobile, waiting for a
response from me, but I have nothing to say.

“So whose car is it?” He finally asks.

“
A friend’s. I’m just borrowing it.”
There. It’s the truth.

“I see. So are you busy this evening?” He
says, moving right along.

Why does he have to be so one-track-minded?
“Yes, I am. I have plans.”

“With your ‘friend’?” Greer snidely asks with
one eyebrow raised.

“Um… yes.”

“So who is this friend, Ms. Ibanez?” Now his
tone has changed to something completely unfriendly.

I make my move and get into the car,
but I can’t close the door because he’s still standing in the
doorway, blocking it.
Shit.
I
should just tell him who it is and be done with it. Maybe then
he’ll leave me alone.

“Dylan Young.” Damn it, Isa. Why the
hell did I say it out loud? I was only
thinking
about telling him. Shit.

The look on his face tells me Greer is a
combination of shocked, disbelieving and irritated. Surely he’ll
flip out now.

“Oh
really?
How did you meet him?” He asks
accusingly.

I don’t dare tell him the truth. “He found
out the paintings he bought were mine.” That’s not a complete
lie.

“How did he find that out?”

“You do know what he does for a living,
right?” I use Dylan’s own line against him and it works.

“Yes, I do. So is Mr. Young a friend or a
fuck buddy?”

What the hell? What a disgusting
a-hole. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?
Fuck Greer.
“He’s neither. He’s
actually my boyfriend. We’re dating” I didn’t want to lie, but I
just want this jerk to leave me the hell alone.

He snort laughs in the most condescending
tone. “If you say so.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? “Why
do you find that so hard to believe?” I ask him while I throw a
look of fuck-you at him.

He rolls his eyes at me and gives me a
look of ‘seriously Isabel?’ “Look at you Isabel and look at him. Do
you really think you can make a man like that happy? You’re not
exactly his
type
.”

I hate this man.
Truly hate him.
Twice in one day I have to hear
this?
Twice?
I get it
everyone – I’m not Dylan Young’s type. OKAY. I just have to get the
hell out of here. My already non-existent self-esteem can’t take
this kind of punishment anymore. I start to pull the car door
closed making it very clear for Greer to move out of the way.
Instead he kneels down in the doorway.

“Regardless of your so-called
‘boyfriend’
; this pussy belongs to
me and I’m still not done with it yet.” He says with narrowed
eyes.

He attempts to run his hand up my thigh
but I push it away.
Yuck.

“
I’m leaving so you’d better move out
of the way.” I say starting up the car and revving it loudly. He
immediately jumps up and backs away. I practically squeal tires out
of the parking lot trying to get the hell away from that jackass.
Seriously
YUCK.
What gives
him the right to talk like that to me? What a complete bastard.
‘His pussy?’
I don’t think
so
. My pussy belongs
only
to Dylan.

Now remorse for my lie sets in. I know
Dylan isn’t my boyfriend. I know I’m not his type. I know the only
thing he wants me for is my paintings. Why did I lie? I hate lying.
Damn Greer. What if Greer says something to Dylan about my lie?
I’ll think about that later. Yes –
later.

I make it back to my place, my mind racing
with thoughts the whole way. I don’t even want to be here. I run
inside and grab a few girly essentials and some painting supplies.
I’ll stay at Dylan’s place tonight in case Greer decides to show
up.

I head back out to the car and drive to
Dylan’s place. This really is a spectacular car, despite its
flashiness and I can totally understand why he likes driving it. I
haven’t driven a stick shift in quite some time, but it’s just like
riding a bike.

When I get to his parking garage, I dig the
manila envelope out of my bag and get out small piece of paper that
has a parking garage code on it. I punch it in and make my way to
his designated spot. I feel awkward doing this. I shouldn’t be here
and I begin to have second thoughts. I should just park his car and
take the bus home. I sit contemplating what to do for a few minutes
before giving in and heading up to his place.

When I enter, it’s eerily quiet. I don’t like
being here without Dylan. I put my stuff down and stand in the
middle of the kitchen not quite sure of what to do with myself. I
remember that my phone is dead and so I immediately plug it in to
charge it.

When my phone is charged up just enough to
make a call, I try to call Dylan, but I’m sent to voicemail. He
must still be busy with work.

I spend the next hour or so sketching and
oohing and awing over Dylan’s impressive collection of artwork.
When I’ve gotten my fill of artwork, I decide to make something to
eat. Dylan’s refrigerator is stocked with all sorts of goodies,
some healthy, some not, so I have no problem finding something
filling. I try calling him a few more times but with no luck.

I finally decide to meander back
towards his office. When I step inside, I stare at the couch, or
Chapel Hill as Dylan referred to it, remembering our kinky
encounter on it.
Yes. That was very
nice.
I feel Ms. Kitty stir at the memory.

Then I decide to head out and go into
the kinky room. Should I go in? Will Dylan be mad if I’m in here? I
pause at the door and notice that it’s unlocked and decide to
venture in. I flip on the light and it’s cold and lonely. He has
all these wonderful goodies in here and he hasn’t even used them
in… how long?
What a waste.
I
look over at the rack with the belts and feel a shiver. I need to
get those out of here
right
now
. Surely Dylan won’t mind since he said he would
never use them on me anyways. I take them down, but I’m not quite
sure of where to put them. I take them into the kitchen and lay
them on the counter.

Maybe I’ll clean the room up a bit.
It’ll be a surprise for Dylan when he gets back. I start hunting
around for cleaning supplies and find what I’m looking for. I head
back to the kinky room and start my cleaning. First I pick up and
fold all the cover-up sheets that are lying thrown to the side and
place them in an empty cabinet drawer. Then I dust thoroughly and
use some leather cleaner that I found and polish up all the leather
that I can find. The bed has no sheets so I head into Dylan’s linen
closet to hunt some down. I find a very nice satin sky blue set
that reminds me of the color of Dylan’s eyes and take them back to
the room. I put them on and give the brushed metal canopy bed and
headboard a good cleaning. Then I thoroughly wipe down all the
metal pieces and parts, including all the weird contraptions and
chains hanging from the ceiling. What did he call this?
Oh yes, the suspension rig
. When I’m
finished, I decide to leave the door open so it can air out a bit.
I look over my handiwork as I step out of the room and I’m quite
pleased with myself. I think Dylan will be quite pleased, too. I
can hardly wait until we get to play in here.

When I’m done, I’m exhausted and
feeling dirty, so I head to the shower and get cleaned up. It’s
almost 8 p.m. and I’m bored out of my wits. Why hasn’t Dylan called
me yet? I’m laying in Dylan’s bed, waiting for his call when I
start thinking about my encounter with Greer. Can’t that man take a
hint? ‘Not done with me yet?’ What the hell does he mean by
that?
Like I don’t know.
I
have to see him tomorrow and I dread how that’s going to play out.
Then I start to chastise myself for my lie. Why oh why did I lie?
Oh Dylan, please don’t be angry at me for telling Greer that. I’ll
be extra nice to him and maybe he’ll forgive me.

Just then, I’m startled by the phone ringing.
I pick it up on the first ring.

“
Hi sweetheart.”

I love the sound of his voice and when he
calls me that. I have to explain why I didn’t answer the phone and
that I’m just so absolutely freakin’ happy to hear his voice. I
want so badly to confess my lie to him, but not yet. I don’t want
to ruin the moment.

“
What’s wrong, Isa?” He asks
concerned.

How does he do that? I just tell him that I
had a really bad day. I can’t go into the wretched details.

“Please tell me why.”

His voice is so seductive and soothing and I
want nothing more than to tell him why, but not yet. I just feel
better now that he’s called. I wonder if he’s read the contract.
I’m sure he has and I’m surprised he hasn’t brought it up yet.

“Did you read the contract, Sir?” Sir?
Did I really just call him that? It was in his contract, so maybe
that’s why it was in my head. Wow. The word Sir rolling off my
tongue makes me feel so naughty and submissive.
I like that
.

“I like it when you call me Sir, Isa.” He
says in the same voice he used when we were on Chapel Hill.