The Art of Control (19 page)

He looks over at me, surprised to see me watching him. He quickly looks away and dries his hands.

“Did you rest well?” he asks.

“Not really. What are you doing with those?”

He turns to face me but doesn’t answer right away as if mulling over how to respond.

“They were dirty, so I washed them.”

Dylan is seriously the worst friggin’ liar on the face of this planet.

“Would you care to elaborate?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips.

“No, not really, and please don’t ask,” he counters, trying to push past me.

I hold my hand out and stop him. “Dylan…”

“Isabel, please. I don’t want to lie so just trust me on this.”

I’m too emotionally exhausted to fight or argue with him right now. I do trust Dylan. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.  He pulls me to the bed and s
its me down in his lap as he plays with my hair. Resting my head on his shoulder I involuntarily start crying. I’m not even sure why.

“Talk to me,” he coos.

“I just want some control. I’m just so tired of all this drama,” I sniff.

“Maybe this will help you feel a little better,” he replies cryptically, getting off the bed and digging into his coat pocket.

He pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to me. What I’m looking at is a letter from Anderson. It’s a hand-written apology for all the things he did to me. Inside the folded piece of paper is a check for $1,500 with a description that reads
return of funds plus interest.
There’s no way in hell that Anderson did this of his own free will.
No way in hell.
I look up at Dylan dubiously and knit my eyebrows together at him.

“What did you do?”

Dylan’s cheeks flush, his eyebrows go up, his eyes widen and he throws his hands up in protest, but all the while, smiling proudly.

“Something that should’ve been done a long time ago.”

“Dylan Nathaniel Young...”

“What? He deserved much worse than what I gave him. Tell me something: What did you ever see in that little pussy?” he chuckles, standing up and moving towards the table to get his phone.

“I honestly don’t remember,” I answer.

Spying several bags of goodies, I move towards them, but Dylan swipes them and places them just out of my reach. He holds up a finger in a
just one minute
gesture while he talks on the phone.

“
Luke, I’m glad I caught you. Isa and I will be paying one last visit to the club this evening before our departure. Can you accommodate us? Uh-huh. Great. Again, thank you. We’ll see you later.”

After hanging up, he walks towards me, pulls me into his arms. Holding my face, he asks, “What is the one thing you want right now? If you could have anything and I don’t mean material things.”

“You already know what I want –
control.
”

“I just wanted to hear you say it,” he smiles.
“I bought you something to wear tonight to the club.”

He reaches over to one of the large bags and pulls out a
short, black, button-up leather romper with short sleeves. It comes with a wide black belt and another thinner belt with arm slings to fit over the shoulder. It reminds me of a greaser girl outfit. The collar is undersized and stands up.

I quickly get undressed, wanting to try on my new duds. Dylan seats himself comfortably in the chair for the show. Getting down to my skivvies, I look to Dylan for instructions.

“Remove them,” he simply states.

Completely naked, I pull the romper on, taking note that the back side has a large square pocket buttoned opening which reminds of a chil
d’s full body PJ outfit. I giggle at it and Dylan wiggles his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

“Easy access,” he explains.

The leather feels smooth against my bare skin and squeaks against it when I pull it snug over my bottom. I button the romper up, stuffing my oversized tits into the top. I place the wide belt on and then carefully look over the thinner belt, not quite sure how it works. Dylan motions me over and helps me secure and adjust the straps over my shoulders and then buckles the strap just underneath my breasts. He reaches for another bag and pulls out a pair of spiked heels that look killer. They’re much saucier than anything he’s ever picked for me before, being about five inches in height. I could really hurt someone with the spikes on the back of the heels if I were to put my mind to it. Anderson briefly pops into my head and I think how wonderfully these little spikes would work at deflating his fat ego. I sit on the bed and slip them on. When I stand, I’m a little wobbly on them but soon find my balance. I prance around the room trying them out and getting my footing. God damn, I feel sexy right now. I walk over to the full-length mirror and I don’t even recognize myself.

Dylan moves behind me and pulls my hair into a high pony, slicking back all the loose strands. When he’s finished, he walks me into the bathroom and pampers me even more b
y putting my makeup on, first with eye shadow, then mascara and eyeliner, then painting a thick layer of fire-engine red lipstick on my mouth.

When he turns me to face my image in the mirror, I’m shocked.

“What’s new pussycat?” he purrs in my ear playfully, knowing how much I love that song.

Dylan slowly lowers himself behind me, unbuttons the seat of my shorts exposing my ass and buries his face in me. I push my butt out, giving him full access. His fingers find their way into me while his expert tongue slips inside my ass.

“I love you, Mistress,” he mumbles out.

Gripping the edge of the counter, I watch myself in the mirror. I’m so aroused and turned on at my own image being taken by my Master, my sub and my husband, my finish comes far too quickly.
My legs begin to quiver and Dylan reads my body like a book and he reaches his hand in front of me as I drench his palm. Turning around and leaning back against the counter for support, I watch with love as Dylan licks his hand clean.

“God I
love the way you taste,” he growls, looking up at me.

Wobbly, I walk back to the bed and lay down, gathering my wits while Dylan dresses himself. Again, he picks out a delicious ensemble showing
off his impeccable fashion sense. His package is nicely fitted into his slacks and I can’t take my eyes off of it. Dylan stands motionless as I daydream about him. When I stare up at him, he’s smiling devilishly at me.

“Do I look pleasing to you?” he asks, stroking himself through his pants.

“Yes, Sir,” I answer.

“Play with yourself while I finish getting dr
essed, but don’t cum,” he dictates.

I unbutton my outfit and slide my hand inside and work my still tender clit. Dylan pays no mind to my activities as I continue
to pleasure myself and watch his every movement. He’s so self-assured and confident the way he moves, gliding around the room casually, every step deliberate and no movement wasted frivolously. He puts on his cuff links, the platinum glinting in the light. His Ambre Topkapi cologne scent wafts past my nose, the bergamot, cinnamon and cardamom tickling my senses. I mewl thinking about his tongue inside of me only moments ago. Dylan keeps his eyes on his links, but a smile steals onto his face.

He finishes dressing,
reaches down and pulls my hand out of my romper, yanking me up and off the bed. He licks my fingers clean and then puts me back together.

“I have something very special planned for you and
me tonight,” he states mysteriously.

We leave for the club, the whole way, Dylan lavishing me with kisses and praises. What did I do to
deserve this kind man? Nothing; I did absolutely nothing, yet here I am, in Paris, being loved on by one of the most handsome and powerful men in the world.
Why me?
With all of my flaws and issues, and with my father who is making our lives a living hell –
why me?
Dylan deserves someone better, someone who can give him a family and an heir to his fortune, someone who doesn’t…

“Isabel Young, you stop that right now,” Dylan states firmly, grabbing my face and shaking it.

“Oh, Sir…” I sniff.

“I mean it, pussycat,
stop. I don’t want anyone else. I know everything that’s happened is hard to move past,
I know.
But dwelling on it isn’t going to change the facts. You are who you are because of your past and that includes what your father did to you. I wouldn’t have you any other way. I love you for who you are right now, right at this moment. I know you feel like you don’t have any control over things, Isa, but no one can have control all of the time. Not even me,” he breathes into my ear and hugging me tightly just as we arrive at the club.

Inside the club, Luke greets me and he has an air about him that’s
unusual. I can’t place my finger on it, but he treats me with more respect than before and even addresses me differently, as if I’m an equal. He leads me and Dylan over to the suspension rig where I received my whipping and Dylan proceeds to undress himself.

Luke gathers his preferred tool and adjust
s the rig while I stand frozen, not sure what’s going on. I approach Dylan and kneel at his feet, feeling confused and out of place. He smiles sweetly at me, his eyes warm and full of love. He reaches his hand down and pulls me up.

“
There will be no kneeling in front of me tonight, Mistress Isabel. You told me you wanted control, so tonight I’ll give you control.
Complete control
. It might not be enough, but hopefully it will be enough for now. All I can ask is that you take it for what it’s worth, embrace the feeling however fleeting it may be, and be gentle with my ego in front of this crowd.”

Dylan’s words stun me. He’s allowing me to scene with him and be in control? He’s never allowed anything like this before
. I only take control in the privacy of our own dungeon. Knowing that he takes his role as a Dom very seriously, I’ve never had the courage to even ask for such a thing. He strips down to his snug briefs and backs up to the suspension rig where Luke takes over and locks his wrists and ankles into place. A small crowd is gathering, but Dylan’s look remains stoic as he keeps his eyes on me. I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now.

It all makes sense now, the w
ay Dylan dressed me and how Luke is treating me differently right now is because I’m not a submissive in their eyes; I’m a Domme. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in to steady my nerves and drown out the sounds of the people gathering around.

“Little dove, it’s time to show us what you’re made of,” Luke whispers.

I open my eyes and let the feeling of power wash over me as he guides me around behind Dylan. My God he looks glorious suspended like this. I run my fingertips down his spine and he arches his back to my touch, his breathing quickening.

Luke hands me the bullwhip and I look over at him questioningly. I don’t have any idea how to wield this massive thing and I don’t want to hurt my sweet lover. My apprehension soon melts when Luke take
s my hand and guides my movements.

“Just let your
body relax and flow with me,” he states.

We walk around so that we’re facing Dylan. Luke is directly behind me, his ha
nd over mine as he twirls the whip on the floor. He moves close behind me, pulling me to him by my waist as he guides my hand and the whip.

“You are
an extension of me, little dove, and the whip is an extension of us. Learn my movements. Feel the blood coursing through my veins and my heart beating in my chest. Match your breathing with mine and above all else,
focus
.”

I do as I’m told and we move in unison, testing out the whip, snapping it in m
id-air, the crackling sound almost deafening. I look into Dylan’s eyes and he looks at peace, the corners of his mouth upturned in a sexy smirk as he watches me, his eyes burning like flaming blue torches.
How can he trust me so much? How can he allow this?

“Focus, little dove. Your body isn’t relaxed,” Luke says sternly in my ear. Again, I tightly close my eyes and listen to Luke’s breathing, matching mine to his. I concentrate on the feeling of his heart beating against my shoulder blade and try to slow my rapidly beating heart in rhythm with his.

“That’s it, you’ve got it. Now it’s time to bring this crowd to their knees and to show them that you’re not only a perfect submissive, but a bravura Dominatrix. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master Luke,” I answer out of habit. When I speak the words, I immediately feel Luke’s erection press into my lower back.

“Forgive me, it’s a natural response to a natural submissive’s response,” he softly apologizes. “Please call me
only
Luke otherwise I will be the one having difficulty focusing.”

Suppressing my embarrassment I answer, “Yes, Luke.”

“Let us begin,” he says. Dylan closes his eyes, readying himself for the initial stroke and without hesitation, Luke brings the whip up and lays it across my beautiful husband’s chest. Not wanting to hurt Dylan, I let my arms go completely lax so that it’s Luke’s movements that cast the first strike. Dylan winces but remains surprisingly still. When he opens his eyes, I see pure affection reflected in them. I know what he’s feeling – fearful yet aroused and astonished that the first strike wasn’t as painful as he had anticipated. I envy his position right now and wish I were on the receiving end of the intimidating leather implement.