The Art of Control (9 page)

“That’s it, g
ive it to me, Dylan,” Isa tells me as she watches my cock fixedly.

I clench my jaw trying to avoid the inevitable and Isa’s head goes down just as I spray my hot seed into her mouth. She
quickly sucks me dry, then sits up nonchalantly and wipes her mouth with a napkin and sips on her wine. My eyes dart around to see if anyone has witnessed our lewd display of affection and the people around us could seemingly care less.

I put myself together and take a big gulp of wine while Isa snacks on the cheese laid out before us.

“You’re a naughty little thing, you know that?” I say to her.

She looks over at me and grins proudly.

“I have big plans for us tonight,” I tell her without explaining myself.

“Not another public scene, I hope,” she
answers back with wide eyes.

“No, but that does sound like fun. Are you sure you’re not up to it?”

She shakes her head
no
exaggeratedly at me. 

“Why not?
You just jacked me off in public. What’s the difference?” I snort.

Isa blushes
like a schoolgirl as though it never occurred to her that what she just did to me was scandalous.

The waiter arrives with our lunch and asks if we
’ll be having dessert and Isa doesn’t miss a beat.

“
My husband just gave me my dessert and I’ll be giving him his later.”

I can’t believe she just said that out loud.
Her statement shocks the holy shit out of me and I choke on the mouthful of wine that I’m drinking. The waiter looks confused by Isa’s statement and alarmed at my reaction to it. He politely asks if I need assistance and I wave him away, trying to get my bodily functions under control.

“Jesus, Isa,” is all I can stammer
and sputter out, and she laughs enthusiastically at me.

Seeing her brightened mood puts me at ease and
the events of last night are pushed to the recesses of my mind. I just want to enjoy this time with Isa and I want our days to be spent getting to know each other better and learning to trust each other even more than we already do. I decide to voice those sentiments and when I do, Isabel beams with joy.

“I love you so damned much, Dylan Nathaniel Young. You’re just the best man in th
e whole world,” she declares with her eyes glossing over.

“Tell me something I don’t already know
,” I say sarcastically and she lays a sloppy kiss on me.

“Seeing all of that beautiful art makes
me want to paint,” Isa expresses dreamily.

It makes me feel ecstatic to hear
her say those words without my having to suggest it. “Well, maybe we can arrange something.”

The rest of the afternoon
is spent sightseeing Paris and visiting the usual tourist traps. Being Isa’s first time, she seems delighted. Me on the other hand, I’m bored out of my friggin’ mind, but I put on my happy face for Isa. Anyway, I’m pleased to see her so blissful so my joy isn’t entirely fake.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?” she asks me as early evening approaches.

“I’ll never get used to you knowing me so well,” I admit and it’s the truth.

Later, w
e take a cab back to the same sleazy part of town we were in last night so I can look for the knife. Hopefully it’s still where I tossed it. It was dark and I’m not exactly sure where it will be. Isa looks at me dubiously when we drive past the club where we publicly fucked, but I assure her there will be no
boinking
in the presence of a dozen strangers tonight.

When we drive past the sex shop Isa was peeking in, she tells the drive
r to stop.

“There’s somethi
ng I want to get,” she says mysteriously.

Okay.
I try to go into the store with her, but she insists I wait outside. I hand over my platinum card and her eyes gleam cunningly. I’m not thrilled about her going in alone, but I won’t ruin whatever surprise it is she has planned. Its times like these I wish Sawyer were around so he could keep an eye on her while I walk up the street and find the knife. I’m pacing in front of the store like a pussy-whipped footman and getting more annoyed as the minutes pass.

Just as I lose all patience, Isa comes strolling out with two bags full of goodies. I try to peek inside and she promptly pulls them out of my reach.

“Patience
is a virtue, my dear husband,” she tells me.

To hell with patience
.
That’s definitely not a virtue I was ever blessed with.

We walk the same path we walked last night, retracing our steps. Isa’s swinging her bags and babbling on about something, but my eyes are on the ground as I scan the sidewalk. When we arrive at the location of the attack, I block her voice out and focus on finding the weapon.  I feel Isa tug on the sleeve of my coat and when I turn around, her bags are sitting on the ground and she’s holding the knife gingerly by the tip of the blade.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asks very matter of factly, quirking an eyebrow at me and smiling.

“Christ,
Isabel, give that to me,” I huff at her.

I take the knife from her and wrap it in a handkerchief and place it inside my jacket pocket. Isa picks up her bags and looks proud of
herself.

“You’re welcome,” she
exclaims with her toothiest grin while bouncing on her toes.

“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?” I ask her.

“I knew the moment we arrived in the neighborhood the reason we were here. You know, for being a former spy, you’re so predictable sometimes.”

What the fuck?
“Predictable? I don’t think so,” I say defensively. “And I already told you that I wasn’t a spy.”
Predictable, my ass
. That sounds like a challenge to me.
I’ll show her predictable.

We take
a cab back to the hotel and I can see that Isa is in the mood to play. So am I, but I have something big planned first. She seems disappointed that there will be no fucking and sucking at the moment, but I just can’t wait to do this any longer. Yes, I am impatient. I don’t give a fuck. I want what I want, when I want it.

After picking
out something for her to wear, we jump in the shower. I can’t resist her feminine wiles when she starts to jack me off so I permit her to give me head. She does such a fantastic job at pleasuring me I feel the need to repay her efforts. I kneel in front of her while she washes her hair and finger her to orgasm. She watches me with sleepy eyes as I push my fingers deep inside of her, her eyelids heavy with lust. I should really try and keep track of the many different hues that her eyes change. Right now, they’re the color of a sunflower in bloom. How apropos as her body blooms like a flower under my manipulation. Her eyes flit and flutter open and closed, and her mouth parts as her pussy muscles tighten around my fingers. I pull her by her waist close to me, holding her tightly while I tug at her inner wall.
Good God, she’s so fucking beautiful.

Her hands dig into my shoulder
s, steadying herself as she juices all over me. Isa leans back into the water and lets it run down her face and body, smiling like Mona Lisa.

**
*

Isabel

What did I do to deserve such royal treatment? I open my eyes and Dylan is watching me with a grin on his face that shows his sheer joy in pleasuring me.
Oh, how I love thee, Dylan Young.
I was hoping to tie him down tonight and show him what I learned from my homework assignment this week, but he has other plans. I’ve been practicing on the ropes at home and hopefully I won’t make a fool of myself when the time comes to show my new skills.

We both get dried off and while I change into the sexy yellow chiffon dress Dylan has picked out for me, he call
s Sawyer. He scanned the knife with some kind of high-tech device and sent the image to Sawyer in hopes that the fingerprint will be detectable.

I wonder how Sawyer and Sony
a are getting along. It would fabulous if they ended up together. I wonder if either of them has been married before. I wonder if…

“What are you ch
ewing on over there?” Dylan asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Sawyer and Sony
a.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I hope things work out for them,” I say as I get my shoes on.

“And if they don’t?”

“What do you mean? Are they having problems?” I ask, feeling heartsick.

“No, but I just don’t want you to be disappointed if things don’t work out for them.”

“Well, I will be. I can’t help it. They seem so right for each other.”

“Oh, Isa, how can you know they’re right for each other?
You don’t know anything about either of them,” Dylan says, half rolling his eyes at me.

He’s right, I s
uppose. I don’t know them at all. I just like the idea of Sawyer being happy.

I’m
daydreaming the entire drive to wherever it is we’re going.  Visions of the wonderful paintings are still lingering in my mind. Being here in Paris is so surreal. Dylan hasn’t mentioned what happened last night and I’m thankful for it. 

What the hell was I thinking
anyway?
I have no good excuse why I was out there so close to the ledge. It was just a moment of weakness. I push it to the back of my mind, along with all the other unwanted memories that are residing back there. The alcoves of my mind are getting crowded and the walls that I’ve put up there threaten to break free and let loose all the horrible things I’ve tried to forget.
No - not here; not now.
Pushing my shoulders back, I sit up straighter, resolving to myself that I’ll save that breakdown for another time.

Again, we’re in a part of Paris that isn’t mentioned in the tourist brochures. Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. He always has something up his sleeve and he does love his surprises. Dylan’s
hands are on me – in my hair, around my shoulders, on my arm and thigh. I cherish the feel of his hands on me. His touch makes me feel secure. His hand slowly creeps up my thigh and his fingers find their way into my wet well, but he no sooner slips his fingers inside of me when we arrive at our final destination.

The neon sign out front reads
Tatouage Mystique.

“It’s time to mark you
as mine, pussycat,” he says in the lowest, deepest, most intimate voice ever uttered from his skilled mouth.

Holy possession
.
I guess my Dom was serious when he said he wanted me marked for ownership. So a tattoo it is. My stomach quivers with worry.  I look over at Dylan and peek at him through the hair in my eyes. He pushes my bangs aside and kisses my forehead.

“Are you having doubts about doing this?” he asks anxiously.

“No, Sir. I want everyone to know I belong to you,” I announce and it’s the honest truth. I look forward to it.

A sexy-as-hell smile plays on the corners of his mouth and my insides go
into complete meltdown. Seeing him pleased with me overpowers all my senses. I was built solely for the purpose of making this man happy and content, and I’m completely okay with that.

Inside the tattoo shop, I browse through the b
ooks while Dylan speaks with a few of the artists. He pulls out a slip of paper from his jacket pocket and signals to the men what he wants. I walk over, curious what Dylan has planned for me.

Dylan shows me the paper and I’m besie
ged with a myriad of emotions; longing, desire, immense love, adoration, and things I can’t even put into words.

Dylan’s simple request for my mark -
Sempre a sua, meaning –
always his
in Portuguese, my mother’s native language.

“When did you come up with this?”
I ask with tears in my eyes.

“Wh
en you were sleeping on Sally and after you told me about your mother teaching you Portuguese.”

“
I absolutely
love
it. Where will it go? On my shoulder? On my lower back? No wait, I don’t want a tramp stamp. Where?”

Dylan chuckles at my tramp stamp remark and grabs
my left hand.

“Right here,” he says as he kisses the inside of my wrist.

What an odd place for a tattoo, but, “Whatever Sir wants, Sir gets.”

“Damn straight, I
do,” he says fiercely.

I lie down
and make myself comfortable on a long chair while the artist preps my wrist, cleaning it and draping it. Dylan allows me to choose a color and I pick a beautiful shade of blue that matches the color of his eyes. While the man gets the ink and equipment ready, Dylan seats himself in the station next to mine and another artist approaches him and starts prepping his left wrist as well.
What on earth?

“Dylan, what are you doing?” I ask.