The Art of Submission (45 page)

So he liked it too.
Very nice.
Did he just call me Isa?
Yummy
. My pussy is purring at the
sound of it. I like it when he calls me Isa.
Yes, Sir
. I most certainly do.

I tell him that I so badly wanted to see him
today and I apologize for not saying goodbye. I hope he can forgive
me.

“
Of course I forgive you sweetheart,
just don’t let it happen again. I wanted to see you as well. What
outfit did you pick out this morning?”

Holy soaked panties.
His voice right now is shirt-soaking orgasm inducing. Why the
hell does he have to be so far away? I tell him what I picked out,
doing my best to sound sexy-as-hell.

“Mmm. Yes. I remember the dress.” He says in
a low deep voice.

“
You know, I’m like 5’5” in these
shoes…” I tell him, hoping to hear his laugh and right on cue, he
laughs. Yes. Thank you. I thoroughly enjoy hearing that sound,
especially when I’m actually trying to make him laugh.

“What are you wearing underneath,
sweetheart?” He says with a rustling sound in the background like
he’s shifting around.

“A very pretty black lacey push up bra and
matching shorties. You do have impeccable taste, Sir. But you
didn’t answer my question. Did you read the contract?” I ask
politely.

“Yes, sweetheart, I read it. But let’s not
talk about that right now.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it? Well that’s
a first. But whatever Sir wants is whatever Sir gets. I ask him
what he’s wearing. It’s only fair he tell me; a little tit for
tat.

“
Well, my attire isn’t nearly as
enticing as yours.” He tells me laughing under his
breath.

According to whom? I find the thought of him
sauntering around in his business attire completely and entirely
mouth watering. “…So tell me. Please?” I ask nicely.

“I’m wearing a dark blue pinstripe suite with
a white dress shirt underneath and a silver tie. See, that’s not
nearly as fun as your description, is it?”

It absolutely is! I can just imagine how
delicious he looks in it. “Oh Dylan… Sir… why do you have to be so
far away?” Why, oh, why did I say that out loud?

“
Isa, what’s going on?” He asks
concerned.

Here we go.
“What do you mean?” I ask him.

“I think you know what I mean…”

What’s wrong with the way I’m acting? Doesn’t
he like me like being submissive and sweet?

“I love the way you’re acting…” He asks
dubiously.

Don’t make me say it, Dylan.
Please…
Can’t we just talk about the
contract?

“
Is that what you really want to talk
about right now, Isa?”

Of course not. Not really.

“I’m only going to ask you this one more
time…” He says sternly.

Damn it, Dylan,
Now it’s back to Isabel? I know what that means; it means
he’s getting frustrated with me, but
I don’t want to
talk about it. I’m just so happy to hear his voice. I need to hear
that he wants me. I need to hear it. After the shitty day I had and
hearing two different people tell me that I’m not enough for him… I
need to hear it. “…Please tell me that you want me and not just for
my paintings.
Please.
I need
to hear it.” I sound so desperate and I don’t give a damn right
now.

“
Sweetheart, Isa, you know I want you
and not just for your paintings.” He says sweetly.

I can only hope he really means that. Fine. I
can’t keep this from him. “I lied Dylan…”

“
Tell me, Isabel.” He says with all of
his sweetness now gone.

I try to tell him, but I just can’t find the
words. “Greer…”

“Tell me.
Now.”

He’s angry; I can tell.
Damn it, Dylan.
Fine. Here it goes:
“I told him that you were my boyfriend; that we’re
dating...”

“Did he touch you?” He demands to know.

I just told him that I lied about us dating
and that’s what he wants to know? “He tried, but no. I wouldn’t let
him.” I say proudly of myself. Should I tell Dylan about what Greer
said? That disgusting, half-threat, douche bag remark?

“What, sweetheart? He what?” His voice
doesn’t sound as angry any more.

No. I don’t want to say the things
Greer said out loud; they were so disgusting.
I can’t.

“Isa, tell me.”

This is dominant Dylan talking to me now so I
can’t deny him. “Oh Dylan, it was so disgusting. He told me… he
said… that my pussy belonged to him… and that… he wasn’t done with
it yet.”

“
That motherfucker said that to you?
And
after
you said you were
dating me?” His voice is low and harsh.

Yes. Please don’t be angry with me,
Dylan.

“Why would I be angry with you?” He asks
confounded.

Isn’t it obvious? Because it’s entirely my
fault for sleeping with that jackass in the first place. If only I
hadn’t gotten drunk…

“Stop, Isa. He got you drunk for fuck’s sake.
Why did you think that what you told him was a lie and why do you
think you’re not my type? Where is all this coming from?”

I pause, trying to think of the words to say.
I take a big breath and spill the beans. I was talking so fast that
I almost lost my breath and I probably sounded like a dork, but he
asked, so I told him.

“Isa, listen to me. I’m glad you told
Greer the things you did. That man doesn’t know fuck all about me
or what makes me happy. As for not being my ‘
type
’ - you’re beautiful, talented, smart,
funny, and spirited. I like to think that’s my type - regardless of
anything else. Did I also mention beautiful and
talented?”

He sounds so sincere. “Yes, you mentioned it
a few times.” I tell him. Smart and funny? Talented and beautiful?
Spirited? He must have me confused with someone else. I want to
believe him, but that little negative inner voice won’t let me.

“Why don’t you believe me when I say things
like that? Why do you doubt me? Is this because of your
father?”

What the hell? Why would he say something
like that? Where did that come from?

“Why? Because of your reaction to my spanking
you, your elusiveness about your reason for being on birth control,
your complete meltdown in my dungeon at the site of a belt, your
response to the family clause and all mention of punishment, and
the fact that you live half a country away from your father. It
doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something happened to you
and by whom.”

Am I that transparent? I didn’t think I was.
No one else has ever called me out like that. I guess it actually
did take a genius to figure that out.

Dylan lets out of a big sigh and sweetly
apologizes. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry you had a shitty day and that I
just called you out like that.”

Now that he knows some of the ugly truth
about me, does he still want to be with me? I doubt it. Why would
he?

“Of course
.
Why wouldn’t I?” He says sounding shocked at my
question.

Because I have issues, silly boy. Why
else?

“Shit, Isa. We
all
have issues. It’s our flaws that make us
unique.”

The way he said that, it makes me think he
feels like he has flaws and issues as well. Hell, maybe he does,
but I don’t care. I still want to be with him.

“Well, I have plenty of flaws so I guess that
makes me extra-unique.” I say before I have a chance to filter my
thoughts, but he laughs and it immediately lightens the mood. This
amazing, handsome, smart mans really wants me. Despite what his
receptionist and Greer said. The conversation has been so
exasperating and emotional; I don’t even want to mention his
receptionist’s remarks or ask about who Erika is and why he was
dreaming about her.

We spend the next few hours just talking
about everything, anything and nothing at all. I find out that he
has very eclectic tastes in music, but favors soothing sounds like
Sade, Ellie Goulding and Sarah MacLachlan to name a few. I guess
he’s a ‘voice man.’ I also find out that he likes his steak rare,
which doesn’t surprise me considering the look he gets in his eyes
when he’s getting ready to fuck me. It just so happens that I like
my steak rare, too. Go-figure.

Then Dylan offers to fly me up over the
weekend, but the thought of being on a plane
alone
with Brody is nauseating and I just tell
Dylan that I don’t want to fly alone. Then he surprises me by
saying that he gave Brody the ax. I can’t believe he did that
because of me. As much as I’m relieved, I feel badly about that. I
don’t want to be the reason for someone losing their job. What if
he had a family to support? Now I know I’ll never tell Dylan about
Cassie’s remark, because I don’t want to be the reason two people
lose their jobs.

Then Dylan tells me trust means
everything to him. The way he says it, almost childlike, I feel my
heart ache for him. It’s obvious someone who he cared about has
betrayed him. I hate to hear him sound like this.
My poor Dylan.
I tell him that I
would never
ever
betray him
and that I mean it with every fiber of my being. My response stuns
him into silence and I almost regret having said it, but then I
swear I can hear him smile on the other end. No. I’m not sorry I
said it. He needs to know that I would never betray him.

Even after that bit of insight into
Dylan’s mind, my favorite part of the conversation is the sexy
talk. His voice is so lustful when he tells me things he wants to
do to me in the kinky room. The way his voice trails off like he’s
imagining me bound and begging is absolutely delightful. I wish I
could tell him that I also want to see him bound and
begging.
Yes… he would look amazing on
that cross of his.
Someday, maybe I’ll tell
him.

The way he sounds so content and relaxed, I
could probably ask him to donate a kidney to me and he would agree.
Not once does he bring up the contract and I don’t want to ruin the
moment, so I don’t bring it up either. It’s weird how that’s all he
could talk about a few days ago and now I’m the one who wants to
talk about it.

When I tell him I’m staying at his place, he
sounds genuinely happy about it. He kindly informs me that, in
fact, he does have a part-time housekeeper and so I shouldn’t be
surprised if she shows up when I’m at his condo.

Just as the conversation starts to wind down
he surprises me.

“Isa, sweetheart, I wanted to thank you for
the painting.”

Wow. He sounds so sincere. “Did you like it?”
I ask him nervously.

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

Oh dear Lord, slay me
now.
I can’t take his impossibly sexy voice saying
things like that. I’m so absolutely horny right now. Damn him. With
that, we say our goodnights.

It’s after 10 p.m. and I’m so absolutely
turned on after our naughty conversation that I have to take care
of business. Ms. Kitty needs some loving and there’s no talking her
out of it. It doesn’t seem right to do it in Dylan’s bed when he’s
not here, so I head to the kinky room, but not before grabbing a
towel from the linen closet.

I make my way into the room, adjust the mood
lighting and put some Van Morrison on my phone. I lay out the towel
on the bed and head towards the cabinet drawer where all the self
pleasuring devices are. I find a delicious little U-shaped dildo
and contemplate whether or not to use it or just do myself old
school. I’ve never actually used a dildo so this should be
interesting. I just feel bad that Dylan isn’t here to enjoy the
show.

I get undressed from the waist down and
prop myself up on the bed and on the towel. I’m still wet from my
conversation with Dylan so the dildo just slides right in.
Yes… it feels so nice and naughty.
The way the dildo is shaped, it’s hitting my newly found
sweet spot, Lady G, and I start imagining that it’s Dylan working
his magic on her, making her sing in chorus. With one hand I work
the dildo and with the other, I work my clit, the whole time
scanning the room; the cross; the suspension rig; the spanking
bench; the rack with whips and floggers.
Yes
… I can picture myself being fucked by Dylan
in every possible position in this room, being bound and begging
him for more.
Yes. I can hardly wait for
the real thing.
I feel myself cum, and even though
it’s nothing like what Dylan can do to me, it’s satisfying
nonetheless. I briefly clean up and then slip underneath the top
sheet.
I like this room.
I
drift off to sleep to the images of Dylan fucking me dancing in my
head.

Dylan

After a good night’s sleep and
fan-fucking-tastic dreams of Isa, I awake with a purpose. Before I
even get showered and dressed, I call Sawyer and my pilot and let
them know I’ll be flying back to Denver briefly, but that I should
be back in Dallas by noonish. I get cleaned up and dressed quickly.
It’s still early and I want to make it to Denver by 9 a.m.

I make a quick call to Isa and tell her
that she should call out of work today. There’s a brief
disagreement about it, but I think I made my point.
I hope I did.
I’ll be very upset if
I see her at the studio when I get there. I don’t tell her the
reason for my wanting her to call out or what my plans are, simply
stating that she needs to let the situation cool down for a day or
so.