The Art of Control (7 page)

“
Tsk, tsk, Isabel. Eyes on me,” Dylan tells me, guiding me by my chin to make eye contact.

He pulls his hardened dick out of his pants and strokes it firmly with one hand and with the
other, he licks his fingers and inserts them into me.

“Spread wide for me,” he orders and I lean back against the bar and open my legs for him. This feels so dirty. I close my eyes
, not wanting to see the judgmental foreign eyes on me but Dylan won’t allow it.

“I told you to watch
me, Isa. I won’t say it again,” Dylan scolds.

My eyes inst
inctively pop open to my Master’s command and I focus on his cock as he continues to stroke himself. I sense people around us shifting as several bodies hover and watch our performance. Dylan continues to ease his fingers in and out of me while his thumb presses down on my clit, making me squirm. When I’m sufficiently wet, he pulls his fingers out and sucks my juices off of them. Resting his hand on my lower tummy, he slowly guides the head of his dick into me. He eases into me and rhythmically starts fucking me at a painstakingly slow pace, teasing me and giving everyone around us a good show. I grip the sides of the stool, trying to withhold my urge to moan out for fear of embarrassment. Dylan doesn’t seem to mind at all and his grunts can be heard through the music as he slowly grinds himself into me. He pulls his cock all the way out, only to push it back in, filling me completely. The feeling of the ridge of his head meeting my entrance, only to be forcefully pushed back in makes me wet beyond belief and my juices trickle down my inner thigh.

Something out of the corner of
my eye catches my attention and I make the mistake of glancing over. There’s a ghostly white man with a shock of blonde hair standing not far behind Dylan who is watching intently as he strokes his erection through his pants. I quickly look up at Dylan and feel like bolting from the bar, screaming from humiliation.  Dylan senses my apprehension and grabs my hips as if to stop me from running. His stance shifts and he rises up on his tiptoes as he pulls me in to him. He thrusts hard, hitting my G-spot. The jolt of electricity takes me by surprise and I unwillingly whimper. When I do, more people look over and our audience widens.

The
attractive couple who was feasting on each other walks over and joins the crowd watching us. They start fondling and groping each other unabashedly and my arousal piques. I’m torn between feeling self-conscious and turned on. All of these eyes are on us and it would seem no one is judging us after all. As a matter of fact, they all appear to be turned on by what they see. I feel so wanton right now.

The music momentarily pauses as one song changes to another and in that brief moment of silence, the sloppy wet sounds of our fucking can be heard, along with Dylan’s moaning.
He adjusts his posture again and pushes my legs apart even wider, completely exposing me to the crowd.

“Play with
yourself,” he mutters just as another song comes overhead.

I move my hand to my clit and start circling my finger
s around and tapping at it. I’m so aroused right now I fear what kind of flood will break loose when I get my release. Dylan angles his pelvis upward and drives into me harder with each thrust as my finish approaches. I pinch my swollen bundle of nerves, the cascade of heat and coolness burning in my loins. Closing my eyes, I get my release and scream out as I cum, soaking both Dylan and me.

A man’s voice to the right of
Dylan also moans out,
fuck
in French, while I sit quivering on the barstool.

Dylan
grabs my hand and suckles my wet fingers. “On your knees,” he orders.

Dylan completely owns me and everyone here is witness to the power he exerts over me.
Still trembling from my orgasm, I lower myself as gracefully as I can to the floor and I do as I’m told and stroke him hard. I run my tongue from the base of his sack up his shaft while looking into his eyes. My tongue ring hits the head of his dick and he grunts loudly and jerks. Pushing my hair out of my face, he holds it back as he guides my head up and down, occasionally forcing my head down abruptly and gagging me. Flicking and fluttering my tongue lightly over his frenulum, I hear Dylan hiss through his teeth in delight.

Dylan throws his head back and grips my hair tighter. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck me with that beautiful mouth,” he
mumbles.

I close my eyes tightly and concentrate on
my breathing and the sounds around us. I open my throat to his shaft as he pushes deeper into my mouth. There are hushed voices and French mutterings, some of which I can make out. I hear the words
she’s beautiful
and all of my previous self-consciousness dissolves as I gratify my husband.  I love him and want nothing more than to please him, and I want everyone here to see how perfect we are for each other.

T
he distinct pulsing of Dylan’s cock can be felt as he starts to cum, but he pulls away from my mouth and I open wide and wait for his delicious gift. He jacks off into my mouth and spews a line of obscenities as I drink him up. As I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, he leans down and tilts my chin up.

“Dire m
erci
maître,” he tells me.

I guess he knows a little French after all
.
Like a good submissive, I obey his order and thank him.
“
Merci, maître.”

Dylan helps me up from my knees and I quickly finish my drink while he puts himself back together. The people around us dissipate and find their next source of sexual entertainment
, and I just want to get the hell out of Dodge. I practically drag Dylan out of the bar and he stops me just before we hit the doors.

“Aren’t you missing something?”

I turn to face him, not sure what he’s talking about. Pulling my panties out of his pocket, he waves them teasingly in front of me. I reach out to grab them and he pulls them just out of my reach and smiles stupidly at me. I reach for them again and he raises them above my head, taunting me with them.
Oh, this is ridiculous
. I narrow my eyes at him and he chuckles while he dangles and jiggles them above my head.

“Are you going to give them to me or not?” I ask.

“They’re right here. Just take them,” he teases.

I reach
for them one last time and he switches hands on me and laughs loudly. Several people standing nearby start to laugh along and I lose patience with him.

“You’re s
o juvenile sometimes,” I say, walking out the door. 

Dylan swiftly catches up and grabs my arm.

“Okay, fine. Here, take them,” he chuckles, holding them out to me at arm level. 

I stand motionless, giving him stink eye
.

“Just take them,” he says still smiling
boyishly.

I sneak my hand up slowly and yank them out of his grip and he howls with laughter.
 
I’m glad he’s so amused.
 I suddenly feel the urge to wrap my frilly pink skivvies over the top of his head and go running down the street, mooning all of the French hookers. That’ll get a laugh out of him.

I look from left to right and when I think no one is looking, I quickly slip my panties back on and smooth my skirt down over my thighs.

Dylan abruptly pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my neck.

“Thank you,” he breathes into my ear.

“For what?”

“I’ve always fantasized about fucking you in public, so thank you for that. You were perfect.”
He leans down to me, his mouth closing in on mine.

“
Like I had a choice?” I ask.

H
e shrugs his shoulders and grins, “You always have a choice, Isa, even if we make believe that you don’t.”

Oh, my dear, sweet husband. He does k
now the words that get me all aflutter. I kiss him back and we stay lip-locked for several minutes in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I thought you didn’t know how to speak French,”
I say, remembering his order of
say thank you, Master
.

“I know what I need to know,” he tells me mischievously.

When we’re done publicly groping each other, we decide to get something to eat, but there’s no cab to be seen and I suspect it’s because of the sleazy part of town we’re in. We decide to walk up the block to see if we can find a ride there. On our walk, we pass several sex shops and Dylan points out some very interesting items.

“There was no mention of this place in those tourist brochures,” I tell Dylan and he nods and chuckles at my remark.

There’s a strip club not far from the bar we were at and I peek in. I’ve never actually been inside of a strip club and I’m curious. Dylan gets a look of enthusiasm at the prospect of getting a lap dance in front of me, but I’ve had more than enough public indecency for one night. Anyway, I’m not keen on some stranger rubbing her nasty snatch all up on my Dom’s junk. The only furry muff in his face will be mine, thank you very much.

As we walk further, Dylan starts looking behind us and gets uncomfortable. He grabs my hand and tugs me close to him when I stop to look inside another club window.

“Don’t stray, Isa,” he tells me sternly.

What’s eating him?
 

We walk a bit further and when the traffic dies down and the people on the street become scarce, Dylan gets a wild look in his eye.

“Someone’s following us,” he says as he spins around.

Peering
in the direction that he’s looking, I don’t see anyone. “You’re just being paranoid,” I say to him and he gives me a dirty look. He grips my hand tighter and drags me towards a busier street. I’m double stepping behind him to catch up, but it’s difficult because of the size of the heels I’m wearing. I pull him to a stop so I can reach down to take them off.  Just as I start to get them off, I hear quick footsteps approaching us.

“Fuck,” Dylan
grouses.

I stand upright and D
ylan shoves me behind him, making me practically fall onto my butt. There’s a man’s voice yelling, but I can’t see him because Dylan is blocking me with his body. Dylan pushes me back farther and it’s then that I see a man wielding a knife at Dylan.

Dear God.
I feel sickened and scared as hell. I freeze in my spot as the man starts swinging the knife. Dylan moves back with each swiping movement and I’m amazed at his agility and gracefulness. The man swings the knife again and I could swear that it makes contact, but Dylan doesn’t flinch. Dylan’s lithe body and nimble hands move hastily and he somehow manages to get the knife out of the man’s hands, though I’m not quite sure how. It all happens so fast. Dylan throws the knife out of reach and I hear the man grunt when Dylan punches him in the jaw.

Holy fighting ninja skills,
my husband is a bad ass.  The sound of Dylan’s fist hitting the man’s face makes me cringe and reminds of when Cassie hit me with the gun. I bring my hands up to my ears, not wanting to hear that God awful sound again.  Dylan punches the man square in his diaphragm and he falls to the ground, wheezing and gasping for air. Dylan kicks him in the stomach, but the assailant quickly picks himself up and runs in the opposite direction.

What the hell
just happened
? I run to Dylan who is standing motionless and out of breath. He turns to me and looks me over.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes. Did he hurt you?”  I ask, checking him over as well. The street is dark and Dylan appears to be fine, but when I touch his chest, it feels wet. When I look down at my hand, it’s covered in Dylan’s blood.

“Oh, Dylan!”
I shriek out. I can’t lose him.
I just can’t
.

Dylan

“Shush, Isa. I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound. Let’
s get the fuck out of here,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the street.

“How do you know it’s just a flesh wound? We need to call an ambulance,”
Isa stutters and cries out.

“Fuck that. We’re not getting the police involved, especially in a foreign country. It’ll be a nightmare. Let’s just get back to the hotel room,”
I state emphatically, tugging her.

We walk half a block
before we finally see a cab. Isa flags it down and helps me into the car. I’m shaking from my adrenalin rush and Isa is, too. I pull her close, trying to soothe her anxiety.

“I’m fine, baby girl,”
I say unconvincingly. 

I
sa keeps her eyes on me the entire drive back and she looks mortified. She keeps repeatedly touching me and kissing the top of my hand. It’s touching but distressing to see her to frantic and worried. 

Back at the hotel,
we make a beeline straight to the room as to avoid anyone seeing my bloodied state. I peel my shirt off as soon as we hit the door and I dig out the first aid kit in the bathroom cupboard. I inspect the damage in the mirror while Isa readies some wet washcloths.

“Sit down, Dylan,”
she orders and points to the toilet.

I lower the lid and sit
, and Isa kneels in front of me to inspect my chest. The cut is only mildly deep and about five inches long.  It’s just under my left pectoral muscle and over my heart. When Isa sees that it’s just a flesh wound, she immediately relaxes.

She
cleans my laceration well, first with the cloth and then dabs antiseptic on it. It hurts like a motherfucker and I wince and hiss through my teeth.  My eyes remain tightly closed when she cleans it once more just for good measure. Next, Isa gingerly applies the butterfly bandages that are in the kit and places two larger gauze pads over it and tapes it down. She’s very good at this sort of thing and it makes me wonder how she knows how to bandage a wound so well.

“You’re very adept
at taking care of injuries,” I tell her.

She shrugs her shoulders but remains silent. Somehow, I suspect the reason she’s good at it is because of her father. She sits back on her haunches and keeps her eyes on my chest. She’s withdrawing again.

“I’m fine,” I try to reassure her.

She nods, but
she still says nothing and won’t look at me.

“Isabel, please look at me.”

She knots her hands in her lap and looks down at them.

“Talk to me,” I repeat.

She shakes her head and shrugs again.

“Isabel Young,” I say more sternly and she looks up at me dazed. She blinks rapidly and comes out of her shell.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” she asks softly. “The NSA?”

“Yes.”

“What other sorts of ninja skills did you learn from them?” she asks seriously.

I chuckle
and she cocks her head to the side as if surprised by my amusement at her question.

“Just the usual sorts of survival stuff,” I answer.

“Like how to kill a person?”

“Yes, that too,” I answer in all honesty.

“Because you were a spy?”

Oh, Isa.
“I really wasn’t a spy; I was just a field agent.”

“If you were a spy, you couldn’t tell me, though, right?”

“At this point in our relationship, I would tell you if I had been spy,” I say.

She smiles, stands up and sits on my knee. She kisses my cheek and runs her fingers through my hair.

“Did you ever have to use those skills to kill someone?”

Ah, hell.
Why does she ask this sort of stuff? I want to lie to her, but I promised I wouldn’t so… “Yes.”

She looks shocked at my candidness.

“You shouldn’t ask what you don’t really want to know,” I chastise her.

“I do want to know. I just didn’t think that…”
she takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

“I
only did it once if it makes you feel any better.”

“It does make me
feel better. Was he a bad man?” she asks with furrowed eyebrows.

“
He was a very bad man.” I’ll never figure out why people feel they need to make excuses to justify their actions or the actions of their loved ones.

“Did he have a family?” she asks sadly.

Isa stuns me yet again with her odd question.
Shit.
I promised I wouldn’t lie to her, but telling her the truth at this moment would do no good. In fact, it might do harm. So this once, I’ll tell Isa what she needs to hear so that her mind and heart will be at peace. “No, he didn’t have a family.”

She sighs with relief.
“What did he do that was so bad?”

“I’m done talking ab
out this. I’m tired and sore, and that memory isn’t a particularly fond one I’d care to rehash,” I huff.

“Yes, of course, sugar. I’m sorry. Let’s get you tucked in. Are you hungry? I’ll order us something to eat, okay?”
she asks sweetly helping me up and walking me to the bed.

This is caretaker Isa. She comes out on the rarest of occasions, but only
because I don’t allow it. However, when I do, I quite enjoy being pampered at the hands of my beautiful, submissive wife. I really should allow her to do this more often as I can see she enjoys taking care of me.

She pulls my pant
s off, turns the bedding down and tucks me in. She grabs the in-house menu and picks out something for us to eat and calls the order in. I sit up on one elbow and watch her move fluidly and gracefully around the room as she cleans up and puts our clothes away.

While she’s putting away our toiletries my mind goes back to the man who attacked me.
What the hell was that about anyway?
I knew we were being followed. But for how long were we being followed?
Shit
. Did he see us at the club? Do we look like vulnerable tourists?

Isa comes out of the bathroom and reads my mind.

“What was that about anyway? Was that man trying to mug us?” she asks.

It’s a plausible explanation
except he didn’t ask for any money. In fact, he didn’t ask for anything which is what’s upsetting me about this whole situation. I need to call Sawyer and let him know what happened.

“Yeah, sure,” I answer, not wanting to worry Isa.

“You really whooped him good. I had no idea I was married to such a bad ass. You’re full of surprises, you know that?” she asks, smiling adorably at me.

“Yes, I know it
. Speaking of surprises, I want to talk about what happened at the club,” I tell her, wiggling my eyebrows up and down at her lasciviously.

True to form, Isa blushes.

“Why on earth do you want to talk about it? It happened. Wasn’t that enough?”

“God only knows when the next time you’ll let something like that happen again, so I want to relive it over and over, that’s why. Now
come
and sit next to me. See what I did there?
Come
?”

Isa
rolls her eyes and plops herself on the bed and folds her arms, annoyed with me.

“Well?” I ask.

“Well,
what
? You boinked me in the presence of a dozen people and they all got a good look at my hairy vag. What else is there to say?” she snorts, giving me the evil eye.

“
Boinked you? What the fuck? What are we in junior high? And your vag isn’t exactly hairy. It’s well groomed,” I laugh loudly. My sudden movement sends a jolt of pain through my chest and I cringe from the pain.

“
See? Now just stop, you need to rest,” Isa scolds in her motherly tone.

“
Boinked…” I repeat.

Isa raises her eyebrows at me and shakes her head.

“
Boinked
…” I say one last time, chuckling at her terminology.

“Okay, Dyl
an, I said
boinked
. You really are juvenile sometimes.”

“Me? You’re the one who referred to our glorious
public coupling as
boinked
.”

“
You think it was glorious?” she asks surprised.

“Hell yes,
it was glorious. You looked fucking magnificent and everyone that was watching will have the image of your gorgeous pussy being fucked forever burned into their memories.”

Isa’s expression is horrified
, “God, Dylan, I don’t want my pussy etched in anyone’s memory but yours.”

“Too late now,” I
kid.

“Well, if I had known I had a choice…”

“You,
what
? You would’ve said
no
?”

“Maybe,” she says defiantly.

“Like hell you would’ve. You enjoyed it just as much as I did so don’t try and pretend like you didn’t.”

Looking away from me, s
he folds her arms again and snorts stubbornly.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking what we did. Honestly, are you really embarrassed about it?” I ask.

Isa turns to look at me and her cheeks are bright pink.

“A little.”

“We’ve been scening at the Dark Asylum for the last two months. How is what we did at the bar any different?”

“Because we’ve never actually had penile penetration during those scenes,” she reminds me.

“Penile penetration…” I chuckle.

“O
h, you’re impossible,” she grumbles and stands.

“I’m sorry. Sit back down, please. You’re right, it is different. It’s just something I really wanted to do with you and it’s not
like we can do it back in the States.”

Isa nods her head in agreement and smiles a little.

“You are right, I did enjoy it. Not as much as you, but yes, I did enjoy it. That man standing behind you was creepy, though.  He kept stroking…
Oh my God
. That’s the same man who attacked you!” Isa squeals.

“What? Are you sure?” I ask, sitting up.

“Yes, I’m positive. Gross, Dylan. He saw us have sex and then he followed us. What did he want?”

Fucking hell.
I knew we were being followed. Why do I ever doubt my instincts?

***

Isabel

What a
repulsing thought. Seriously, what a major creepoid. Dylan looks genuinely stressed about it and proceeds to call Sawyer. What for? It’s not like he can do anything about it 3,000 miles away. I swear those two are like a couple of little teenage girls with their bromance. They can’t go without speaking or texting each other at least once a day.

I leave him to his conversation and go into the bathroom to clean up
the mess we made cleaning Dylan’s wound. I see the bloody washcloth and I’m reminded of my mother
again.
Yes, I am adept at taking care of injuries. On more than one occasion I had to help my mother patch herself up after my father took out his anger on her.

My poor mother
. Why did she stay with him for so long? I sit on the toilet and stare at the bloody cloth, thinking of all the times my mother was battered and crying. I hardly remember a time when she wasn’t bloodied or bruised and crying. I roll the rag through my fingers and bring it to my nose and the smell of blood hits me like a ton of bricks. Good God. It’s so bizarre how a smell can bring back such a specific memory. I’m suddenly not hungry anymore. In fact, I’m nauseous. I almost lost Dylan tonight. First my mother, then Dylan. What would I have done if he had been taken from me? Where would I go? Who would take care of me? What if…

Dylan comes into the bathroom and kneels in front of me.

“Room service has already brought our food. You’ve been in here for 30 minutes. I thought maybe you were showering. What are you doing?”

Thirty minutes? Has it been that long?

“Why are you holding this?” he asks, taking the dirty cloth out of my hands.

I can’t answer him. I have no answer for him. I have nothing to say.

“What are you thinking about?”

All I can do is shake my head. I can’t talk about it. It’s too painful to think about let alone
put in to words.

“Come back to me, Isa.”

I look up into Dylan’s eyes and they reflect love. Hiding my face in his neck, I inhale his perfect manly scent. What would I have done if I had lost him? If I could never smell him again?

Dylan pulls me back and he looks fierce.

“I’m calling Maggie tonight,”

“No,” I whisper. “Not on our honeymoon. I’ll see her as soon as I get back,” I say, feel
ing myself floating back down to reality.