The Art of Submission (15 page)

“I already told you no.” Her cheeks flush
again.

Interesting. She’s much less
experienced than I thought, despite her exceptional oral skills.
Maybe she just has a natural talent for that sort of thing…
like her art
. Thinking of that, I
glance over at her paintings. How could someone with so little
experience paint those wonderfully wicked images?
She’s a natural born submissive, that’s
how.

**********************

Isabel

Dylan looks relieved by my words. His
eyes are burning and bright right now and I can’t help feel like he
wants more. What
does
he
really want from me? Does he just want me to be submissive and
nothing else? The thought depresses me. I’m getting ahead of
myself. Let’s just take this one day at a time. I’m lucky he’s even
here and that he wants me at all. He smiles and says we should go,
but to where? Where is he so eager to take me?

“A club,” he says with a mischievous gleam in
his eyes.

Yuck
. I hate
clubs. On the rare occasion that I’ve gone to one, I’ve never felt
more out of place. All those beautiful people with bodies to die
for and then –
me
. No
thanks
.
I don’t do clubs, Mr.
Young. Again he’s laughing at me. Why does he find me so damned
funny?

“
It’s not that kind of club,
sweetheart.” He says smiling adorably.

He called me sweetheart! But what kind of
club, then? Like a Sam’s Club? He looks hesitant to answer me.

“It’s a BDSM club.”

Okay. Well that’s….
interesting
. I didn’t know there was such a
thing. I might actually enjoy myself at a club like that. It could
turn out to be quite an education. But first I have to change so I
ask him if I can.

“I already told you that you look fine.” He
says with a slightly irritated tone.

I know he did, but he was just being polite,
though he doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’s just polite to
anyone. Anyway, I don’t feel fine. I look terrible. This shirt is
too tight and you can see all my pitiful curves.

“Isabel, look at me.”

I love it when he says my same in that
impossibly sexy voice.

“I’m never ‘just being polite.’ If I tell you
that you look fine, it’s because mean it…”

Thank you,
yes
, I am more comfortable changing. So he
thinks I look fine? Is he completely blind? That would explain why
he’s interested in me.

I start hunting for something to wear.
I don’t know what the dress code is for that type of club, but I
don’t own any spandex or pleather.
Yuck.
I guess this will have to do. I’ve picked
out my best pair of black jeans and a nice sweatshirt. Again, he
laughs at me. Is he making fun of me?

“You’re not
really
going to wear that are you? Don’t you
have anything that actually fits?” He asks appalled at my
choice.

What does that mean by that? This fits me.
Okay, the hoodie is a bit oversized, but when you’re boobzilla like
me, larger shirts are better.

“Can I pick something out for you?” He asks
with genuine interest.

Definitely. I like that idea very much. He
starts searching through my dresser like he’s hunting for lost
treasure. He’s not going to find anything much better than what I
have in my hands. Now to my armoire… good luck there. Doesn’t he
know I’m a starving wannabe artist? I don’t have money for nice
clothes like he does. Silly boy.

Just when I think he’s going to give up, he
finds the old yellow halter dress I bought eons ago. That was back
when I had an ounce of self-esteem left; before my last
ex-boyfriend sapped me of what little bit of self-worth I had. I
frown at it when he shows it to me.

“What’s wrong with this?” He asks with his
eyebrows furrowed.

I just tell him it’s not my style since I
don’t want to go into the real reason.

“Well, you bought it, so you must have
thought it was your style at some point. Get over here and put it
on.”

Oh, what does he know? Why does he have to be
so difficult? “Just for your information, I bought it a long time
ago, when I was much younger.” I tell him, trying to get in the
last word.

I give up. Fine. Whatever. I’ll wear it.
Though yellow doesn’t exactly seem like an appropriate color palate
for a bondage sadomaso…whatever it’s called club. As I start to
leave to get dressed, he stops me.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He
asks.

What does he mean? He just told me to
change.

“I want to you change here, in front of
me.”

Is he freaking kidding? I hope so, but I can
tell by the look in his eyes, he’s not. They’re blue hot again.
“I…Dylan… I’m not comfortable…” He cuts me off again.

“You just had my cock in your mouth…” He asks
incredulously.

Holy potty mouth
– how rude. And again with that tone? I tell him he’s being
vulgar and admonish him and he shrugs his shoulders and rolls his
eyes at me like a child who’s been scolded. I think perhaps
he’s
the one who needs to be
disciplined. Hmmm… I like the image of me disciplining him…
Stop it, Isa.

“I want to see you Isabel,
please
…”

That voice… that
mouth
… how can I say no when he’s asking so
nicely?

I don’t know how something like this works.
I’m not at all graceful… Wait… what underwear am I wearing? Did I
shave? I panic at little and then remember that I’m wearing my
pretty pink matching set and yes, indeed, I did shave with my last
shower. Okay… here it goes.

I kick off my Skechers and clumsily take off
my jeans as quickly as I can.

“Slower, Isabel, I want to enjoy the
show.”

His eyes are half closed and I can
barely see the blue of his eyes.
He looks
so seductive.
He’s just standing there with that
impossible dominant stance.
My God he’s
magnificent
. I do my best to be elegant… think
stripper
. I try to recall the few
times I’ve seen strippers in movies and how they moved, and I try
to emulate that. I slowly take off my shirt and let it fall to the
floor beside me. Oh, this is just silly. I feel ridiculous standing
her in my skivvies, no matter how pretty they are.

“
You’re perfect, Isabel.”

He
is
blind. I’ve seen pictures of the women he’s been with, so I
know there’s no way in hell this man truly believes I’m
perfect.

“We’re never going to get out of here if you
don’t stop doing that with your hair.” He says softly.

I don’t even know when I’m doing it. He
stalks closer to me, standing so close that I can smell his
hypnotic scent. I can’t take my eyes off of him. He touches me,
running his fingers down the length of my body, squeezing me,
sending shivers everywhere… and I do mean
everywhere.
His rough hands feel so good on me.
He plants gentle wet kisses on my forehead, then my nose, then my
mouth. Why does he torture me so? I can’t take this and I kiss him
back, but it doesn’t last long before he stops…
no… don’t stop… I want more.
He kisses me again,
his tongue slowly dancing in my mouth, caressing every surface of
it and running along the roof of my mouth.

Oh dear... what’s he doing? He’s moving
south…
Did I shave there, too?
Yes, yes… calm down, Isa.
He bites
and tugs my nipples and I can feel his stubble on my skin as he
nibbles down my belly. It feels so amazing. I peek down at him and
he’s kneeling in front of me, his hands my hips. He gently pushes
my feet apart with his knee, for easier access?
I hope so…

He starts running his nose along the
top of my panties sending goose bumps in its path. I just want to
touch his soft hair. I put my hands in it and pull, and he moans
his approval. He pulls my panties down just a little and slips a
finger inside me… yes…
that’s so
nice
. He looks up and he’s smiling about something…
Then another finger…
oh dear
Lord
. His fingers ease right into me. I’m whimpering,
but I can’t control it. It just feels so damned good. He’s moving
his fingers ever so slowly and methodically, in and out, in and
out. Then his greedy tongue is on my clit, licking and twirling
around it, sending hot embers of sensation to every part of my
body.

“You taste so good, Isabel; like a little
slice of heaven.” He says in between licks.

This stunning man is actually doing
this to me? What did I do to deserve this kind of royal oral
treatment? Someone please tell me so I can do it again… His fingers
are moving around inside me. What is that? Oh my God….
That feeling
… I’ve never felt that
before… it’s heavenly, sinful, divine, wicked, and …
I’m going to lose it
…

He just keeps persecuting me… pulling at me,
fingering me, licking and sucking me, faster and faster. I feel my
legs stiffen and I can’t control it…

“Cum for me, Isabel…” He commands.

I pull hard on his hair and an intense
amazing sensation I never knew existed comes from somewhere
unexplored – and I scream. I cum hard and the feeling just goes on
and on.

My legs start to buckle and I fall to my
knees. Thankfully Dylan catches me as I lay there shaking and
convulsing uncontrollably, panting like a wild animal.

Holy mother load –
what the hell was that?

I feel him push the hair out of my face and I
can sense he’s watching me. I slowly manage to pull myself up to my
knees to face him. He’s smiling devilishly at me and I feel myself
flush. This is so awkward. I apologize for my wayward orgasm and
try to get back on my feet, but my legs feel like Jell-O. He’s
polite enough to stand up and steady me.

Holy orgasmic
embarrassment.
I’m mortified at the site of my own cum
on his shirt.
Did I seriously do
that?
Someone please slay me now and get it over with.
I can’t take this kind of humiliation. He’ll surely want nothing
more to do with me.

“Why are you embarrassed, Isabel?” He asks
confused.

What does he mean -
why
? Isn’t it obvious? I’ve never cum like that
before.

“Haven’t you ever had an orgasm before?” He
asks dubiously.

Just when I thought the situation couldn’t
get any more uncomfortable, now he wants to know about my orgasms?
I tell him, yes, I’ve had self-induced orgasms – at least I think
that’s what they are, but nothing like what just happened. To my
surprise, he politely educates me on the difference between a
G-spot orgasm and a clitoral orgasm. I had no idea. I’ve heard of
the fabled G-spot, but never actually experienced it. How does he
know so much about this stuff? No, wait… I don’t really want to
know.

“How many men have you been with?”

Why is he asking me that? Does he want
another argument? I don’t want to fight with him…

“I don’t want to fight either. I just want to
know.” He actually sounds earnest.

“You won’t be mad? Like you were… before?” I
ask cautiously. He raises and furrows his eyebrows, cocks his head
to one side and twists his mouth sarcastically. Oh brother. Fine. I
tell him four and the first one doesn’t really count. Here we go…
let the infighting begin.

To my amazement, he’s not freaking out, but
he’s obviously thinking about something. Does he think four is too
many?

“So you’ve been with four men and you’ve
never had an orgasm?”

Dylan is a man of many tones. This tone
says, ‘Seriously Isabel?’ with a combination of sarcastic/wry/and
disbelief.
Yes, seriously, Mr.
Young
. No shirt-soaking orgasms here. I don’t think he
believes me.

I hope it won’t always be like this. I
want a real relationship, one without intimacy issues; without
trust issues, but with all my emotional baggage, I don’t know if
that’s possible. He doesn’t seem to have a problem asking me
intimate and probing questions, so maybe I should take his lead and
do the same. I know nothing about him, and there’s so much I want
know.
One day at a time, Isa, one day at a
time…

Dylan

I can see after her admission that she
doesn’t want to discuss her lack of orgasms anymore. That’s fine. I
don’t particularly enjoy talking about her past sexual experiences
anyway. I just want to get her dressed and get the hell out of
here. It’s been quite an interesting day. Isabel is proving to be a
very fascinating woman. I’ve been doing vanilla for so long now, I
wonder if I still have it in me to be a Dom. I like to think it’s
like riding a bike… I guess we’ll find out. She has quite a defiant
side to her, and for now, I’ll let her get away with it since she
doesn’t know the rules of being a submissive, but that
will
change. I just need to be
patient with her.

I head into the bathroom with her, but she’s
having none of it and she tries to shoo me out. I just want to help
her get dressed. First she cleans herself up, and changes her
undergarments, but not before making me look away. Is she always
going to be this shy? After she’s done, I help her get into her
dress, zipping it up at the back. I run my fingers down her exposed
arms relishing in her softness. She starts fiddling and fighting
with her unruly mane. Maybe I can help her with that, too.