The Art of Control (17 page)

“Your punishment has been decided so don’t you dare disrespect me with your bratty mouth; not now, not here. You address me as Master, do you understand? You have no idea how you made me feel by telling me that you craved another man’s touch.”

The look on Dylan’s face isn’t one of rage, but rather one of deep hurt and my eyes well up at seeing his ego and heart so injured by my thoughtless actions. Seeing him like this, I push my apprehension and pride aside and decide to put my big girl panties on and take my punishment like the submissive I know I should be, and most importantly, the submissive that Dylan deserves.

Hanging my head in shame,
Dylan removes his hand from my mouth.

“Yes, Master, a
s you wish.”

With my words, Dylan looks only mildly satisfied. He turns me back around and places his hand on the small of my back and walks me towards the middle of the staged area. The Doms of the other women guide their women as well.

Softly and without anger, Dylan instructs me on what to do.

“Kneel in the waiting position.”

I lower myself to my knees with my legs spread wide, my hands resting on my thighs, palms up. This position shows my willingness to serve and the position of my hands with palms up also signals that there is no aggression or resistance on my part. Normally I would be looking straight forward, but Dylan directs me to do differently.

“Lower your head and keep your eyes to the floor.
I don’t want you looking at anyone or anything tonight. I also better not hear so much as a sigh out of you. No sounds, no seeing, no movement. Nod if you understand.”

I nod.

“I want to make it very clear that what’s planned for you tonight shouldn’t necessitate the use of a safeword; however, you know I would never deny your use of one if you should feel like you need to use it.”

My Master is stern, firm and unwavering when it comes to punishment, but he is also reasonable and caring.

Dylan steps away from me and out of my vision and I’m left alone to listen to the sound of my own heartbeat, the soft music in the background and foreign voices – some speaking French, some English. A few minutes later, Luke’s loud voice booms over the gathering crowd. “Welcome everyone. We have something a little different planned for tonight. It seems we have a few submissives who have forgotten their training, and a few who are just here to play. We present four beautiful and charming women for your pleasure to touch and use as you see fit. There will be no penetration allowed with the little blonde American, however, feel free to objectify her in any other way you please. So, without further delay, we present our version of
human art.
” He then repeats the same phrase in French. There’s thunderous applause and what seems like dozens of people swarm the staging area. Hands are felt all over my body, warm touches – some gentle, some fierce and needy. 

A stranger kneels behind me and from the
sweet aromatic scent, it’s a woman.

“
So you were a bad girl, were you?” she asks in a very heavy accent, so heavy, in fact, I’m almost unable to understand her. “It’s too bad I can’t fuck you my pretty little quiche. You seem like you need a good fucking. Do you?”

Her hands are all over me, caressing my back,
pinching my ass, petting my hair, and then reaching around and squeezing my breasts and tweaking my nipples. I hold very still and focus on my beating heart when I suddenly feel her mouth on my neck, sucking at me. Her tongue licks the crook of my ear, making my body hair stand on end and hardening my nipples further. I’ve never been touched by a woman like this and the unfamiliar touches aren’t altogether unwelcome. Squeezing my thighs together trying to hide my impending and awkward arousal, I sneak a peek up and Dylan is watching me intently. He narrows his eyes at me and clenches his jaw and I immediately cast my gaze back down.

I look
to my right side and one of the other women on display is kneeling doggy-style and being used as a footstool. She looks thrilled as a man’s feet are resting on her back and another man is kneeling behind her and lapping at her pussy. The other submissive who is being punished like me, is laying flat on a table with food placed all over her body. Various people are plucking off appetizers, playing with her nipples and poking their fingers into her slit to taste her. My wedding night comes to mind and I recall being used as a table as Dylan ate food off of me. That was much more appealing than what she’s going through. I wonder what she did that was so shameful to be objectified.

I’m not able to see the fourth player in our group of
human art
, but whatever is going on with her, it sounds pleasurable as substantiated by her orgasmic moans.

Not far off, I hear Dylan’s deep voice. I fight the urge to look up, not wanting to
be chastised for my lack of compliance. He comes closer, so close in fact that I can smell him.

“Look up, Isabel
. Show everyone those exquisite eyes,” he orders.

I raise my head to see more than two dozen people
milling around, conversing, ogling and fondling the
human art.
  I scan the room quickly, but my curiosity is interrupted.

“Focus, Isabel,” Dylan snaps.
“Eyes on me.”

He backs away from me
, his eyes never leaving me, and seats himself at a table with another gentleman Dom and his submissive. More people move towards me, two men and another woman. They each take their turn at trying to capture my attention and make me move, but I resist and concentrate solely on my husband. He’s watching me keenly, his crystal blue eyes not revealing any emotion. One of the strange men before me leans down into me, ghosting his fingertips over my shoulder and down to my hip. He squeezes it seductively, but Dylan’s impassive look remains unwavering.

How can he watch other men touch me like this?
He threw a fit when Anderson simply touched my arm. I hate all of these men gaping at my barren and exposed body and laying their filthy hands all over me.
I get it
, I want to scream at Dylan. I understand the difference between sexual empowerment and objectification, okay?

Dylan’s eyebrows go up as if he’s in my head. He walks slowly towards me and kneels down in front of me.

“There’s no disguising your emotions, pussycat. Your eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

Do they?
I blink several times and he smiles wickedly at me.

“
Have you had your fill of objectification yet or does your ego want more stroking? Perhaps I should have invited Anderson Hayes to the festivities to satiate your need.”

Ouch. That hurt.
I fight the urge to cry from Dylan’s harsh words.

Dylan’s expression changes from that of sarcast
ic to apologetic.  “Stand. Your punishment is complete.”

Thank you, thank you,
thank you!

Dylan

Isa smiles weakly
and responds, “Thank you, Master.”

Her eyes are s
till wet from my shitty sarcastic remark. It’s obvious that she’s learned her lesson and I have no doubt that when the time comes, if it ever comes again, she won’t fail me.

She stands and I remove my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders.
We walk back to the table where I dress her and seat her in my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and hides her face.

“
Oh, Master, I
am
truly sorry. You have to know that. Please tell me you forgive me. Your touch is the only one I crave,” she sobs.

“There, there, pussycat,
what I said was uncalled for. I believe you and I forgive you.”

She looks into my eyes, her face gleaming with joy.

“Do you understand the difference between empowerment and objectification?” I ask, touching the collar around her neck and tugging at it.

“Yes, Master
, I do.”

“Explain it to m
e,” I press.

She pauses, looks me in the eyes and respon
ds, “Sexual empowerment is self-serving. What I did by allowing Anderson to touch me was selfish; I didn’t think about how it would affect you. Objectification is self-sacrificial. What I did tonight by allowing these strangers to touch me was passive and by relenting control, I gave you the satisfaction of punishing me for my selfish act. It’s all a bit confusing really, because I understand the power play and wanting to be objectified, but it’s completely different to be thought of strictly as a sexual object. I love being objectified by you and the predatory look you give me when I undress for you, but tonight, with these strangers and thinking about what I allowed Anderson to do to me, it all just makes me feel disgusted.”

I chuckle at her response. “I thought
perhaps you might confuse the two but I see you’ve had plenty of time to figure it out. I don’t enjoy punishing you, Isabel. I really don’t. Not like this. Watching other men put their hands on you was just as much a form of torture for me as it was for you. I want you to know that you’ll never be punished for the same thing twice. We’ll never speak of this incident again, do you understand?”

She nods enthusiastically and buries her face in my neck again, inhaling deeply and sighing. 

We say our goodbyes and I profusely thank the manger and Luke for hosting us, giving them both open invitations should they ever visit Denver, and we leave.

The rest of the evening is spent
snugglefucking back in the hotel suite. Wanting to reward Isa for having taken her punishment so well, despite her misgivings, I lavish her with pussy worship. I eat her out, gently and slowly, allowing her to enjoy and bask in each of my sensual licks. I do it for damn near an hour, bringing her close to orgasm and then denying her so that her finish will be magnificent. My tongue aches, but the way her body responds to my mouth gives me the inspiration I need to continue on. When she finally reaches the pinnacle of her climax, I’m left with cream-pie all over my face. 

I lay back and she climbs atop my rigid and strained cock, and
rides me unhurriedly and with purpose. Her body rocks and grinds against me, her silky tight walls contracting around me. Her hands are in her hair, fisting it. She moves them down to her mouth, dipping her fingers in and sucking at them lustfully.  Her eyes are tightly closed and she’s in the pleasure zone as her hands then move to her breasts and pinch her nipples. I’m completely hypnotized by the way she touches herself.

“Open your eyes, love. Look at me,” I command.

Her eyes flutter open and dilate widely.

“Play with yourself. I’m close and I want us to cum together,” I instruct.

She moves her left hand down her soft belly to her pussy and starts circling her fingers around her glistening clit. Gripping her hips, I lift her high on my cock so I can watch her take every inch of me deep into her cunt. I pull her back down bit-by-bit and she whimpers out her approval.

“Christ, you look good taking all of me, pussycat,” I tell her, unable to take my eyes off of our slow, methodical fucking.

Isa’s eyes move down to her pussy and she watches intently, mesmerized by the way our bodies fit together so perfectly.

I pull
her back up to the head of my shaft and pause, delighting in her juice running down my shaft. Isa grips the base of my dick and strokes me all the way up to her pussy, her hand continuing its journey up to her bright pink and inflamed clit. She pushes down onto me harder and harder while she pushes her fingers into her pussy along with my cock. The sight is completely unraveling me.

“I’m ready
. Cum for me,” I grunt.

Her thighs tighten around my waist, she throws her head back and screams out something garbled and we both release. I sit up and pull her into me, hugging her tightly, both of
us shuddering from our orgasms.

Isa falls to my side, curls up int
o me and instantly falls into a deep slumber. Grabbing a towel from the restroom, I clean us both up while she sleeps. I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically, but I’m unable to rest. I watch her for a few minutes, pushing her hair out of her face to get a better look at my sleeping artist.

I can’t help but think about Anderson Hayes. Isa mentioned that he
r journal contains everything from her past; including every man she’s been with. It’s time to find out what kind of history my precious angel has with this POS Anderson.

I grab Isa’s journal from the nightstand and get comfortable for some before-bedtime-reading. I thumb through the thick book looking for his name.
Just past the halfway point, I find his name written on a page.

5/4/09

I met someone today. He seemed very interested in me. He was nice enough, but seemed very arrogant and cocky. Why do I seem to attract those types? He kept putting his hands all over me. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, even if he was pushy about it. He asked me out to a club this weekend. Yuck. I hate clubs. I’m just reminded how unattractive I am when I see all those gorgeous women with perfect bodies. No more words. This is him.

The image is spot on for Mr. Hayes save for the now missing flavor-savor.

5/8/09

Just got back from the club with Anderson. What an ass. He paid attention to everyone but me. I seriously give up on men. He’s not even that cute.

5/14
/09

Work was dull. I painted last night. It was another naughty image. I seem to be painting m
ore of those lately. Being tied up. I like the idea of it. Does that make me a freak? Anderson stopped by two days in a row. He’s very persistent. Who knows where this will go.

9/22/09

I haven’t written in so long. Where to start? I got a new job at an art gallery! It only pays minimum wage, but it’s wonderful. I’ve been dating Anderson for four months now. He’s not keen on my painting so I have to do it when he’s not home. He says my paintings are smutty and I should be ashamed of myself for creating them. He made me feel like hell about it so I haven’t painted in three weeks. Screw that. I NEED to paint.

Her images were smutty
? What an ignorant piece of shit.

10/10/09

Why do I put up with Anderson’s crap? He brought home another woman tonight. He flaunted her in front of me, pointing out all the ‘perfect’ things about her - her small perky breasts, her tiny round ass, and her long, straight auburn hair. She looked uncomfortable and I just stood there and took his insults like an imbecile. I wish I had enough courage to kick him in his dick. This is bad-ass Isa.

The image makes me laugh out loud. It’s Isa making a mean face and fisting
her hand in the air. That douche bag had perfection right before his eyes and he had the nerve to parade another woman in front of her? Isa was right; Mr. Hayes was in need of a serious dick-kicking. I read on and his mental and verbal abuse continues for months. Why the hell did she put up with it?

The last entry with his name makes it very clear to me that this Anderson Hayes is going to get more than just an ass-kicking, but a rude awakening, if I ever see him again.

4/20/10

Anderson is gone. He said I wasn’t good enough for him and that he could do better. He’s right and I know it. I have no education,
I’m unattractive and I’m pathetic and weak.  He drained my bank account before he left. God, I hate him. I haven’t spoken to my father in almost three years and now I have to call him for rent money. I feel sick at the thought. He’ll make me beg for it, too, knowing papa. Good riddance you asshole, Anderson Hayes. I hope your cheating ass gets crabs and you scratch your useless, tiny pecker off.

We
ll put, Isa. I, too, hope he had contracted crabs and scratched his cock off. He verbally and mentally abused her, stole from her, cheated on her and was the reason she had to accept money from her father. And she wanted his touch? That doesn’t make any sense. I need to clarify this.

Leaning over, I shake Isa
awake. She looks confused and sits up on her elbow.

“What is it? Are you okay?” she asks concerned.

“Yes, I’m fine. I need to ask you something. I know I said we would never discuss what happened again, but I need to know what your reasoning for wanting Anderson’s touch was. Before you answer, I want you to know that I’m not angry and you won’t be punished for your honesty. Okay?”

Isa
furrows her eyebrows and nods. She pauses before answering and then responds, “Because I enjoyed taunting someone who hurt me so badly. I wanted him to see that because someone as powerful and handsome as you chose me, I was good enough. It wasn’t his touch that I craved so much as it was me wanting to tease him with my unavailability and the fact that he would never have me again.”

“Jesus Christ, Isa. Why didn’t you explain that earlier?” I ask, frustrated with her.

“Why? Would it have altered your decision for your choice of punishment?”

“Hell yes
, it would have.”

“Then I’m glad I didn’t tell you. I learned a lot tonight, Dylan. No matter what my reasons were, the fact is, I still selfishly allowed another man to touch me and in doing so, I hurt you. For that reason
alone, my punishment was fair and just.”

Damn, I love my occasionally dominant, submissive little wife.
I pull her close and hug her, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

“
My precious angel, my pussycat,
my
love -
you’re more than good enough for that worthless asshole. You’re
better
than him. He never deserved you. None of them did. Not even me.”

“We deserve each other, my sweet lover,” she whispers back.

We drift off like that, hugging each other close, her heart beating against my chest and lulling me to sleep.

I wake early in the morning to the sound of Isa crying in her sleep again. Her cheeks are wet and her breathing is labored.

“Isa, baby girl, it’s just a dream,” I breathe into her ear.

“Don’t you touch me!” she screams and leaps up. Her eyes are wide and fearful, but she’s still sleeping.

“Isabel Young, wake up,” I say firmly.

“You killed my mother, you
bastard. How could you?
How could you
!” she yells.

Fucking hell.
I sit stock-still, not wanting to frighten her anymore than she already is.

“
Isa, angel, you’re dreaming.”

“I can’t even be a mother because of
you. I can’t even give my husband a child,” she cries.

T
ears are flowing down her pale cheeks, leaving a wet trail in their wake.
Christ Almighty.
I can’t bear to see her hurting so badly.

I move quickly and
surround her with my arms. She tries to fight me off, kicking, screaming and scratching at me. She’s so much stronger than I thought and then I recall what she did to Alex. Yes, my little angel is a fighter. We wrestle on the bed as she continues to verbally assault what she thinks is her father.