The Art of Submission (16 page)

“Can I try?” I ask her.

“Good luck; I’ve been fighting with it my
whole life.” She says and I can’t help but laugh.

She hands me a spritzer bottle with
water and I spray it down well. She hands me a large-toothed comb
and I work it through her hair. It’s thick and wavy, just past her
shoulders, with long bangs that sweep to the side. I turn her
around to face me, I run my fingers through it and I try and work
my magic. I see some pins in a small basket on her counter and grab
one of them. Her eyes are large and bright and she’s watching my
every move. I finish with the comb and then pull my fingers through
her thick locks one more time. I finish off by pinning one side
with a small clip.
Not bad at all,
Young.
One last thing, I see some kind of lip shellac
nearby and paint it on her pouty lips. It’s a dark rose color and
it looks stunning on her.
Her mouth is
perfect and oh what dirty things it can do.

I turn her around so you she can see my handy
work in the mirror. She looks amused at her reflection in the
mirror and then looks up at my reflection behind her.

“I think I like you, and things you do to me,
Mr. Young.”

Thinks? She’d better like
me damn it
and I wish she would call me Dylan. I like
it when she says my name.

She smiles slightly and starts to fidget with
her hair, but I stop her. “Don’t do that, Isabel. You know what it
does to me.” I press firmly up against her ass and she gets the
message.

I tidy myself up as much as I can and luckily
I’m wearing a white shirt as the evidence of our sexual tryst has
dried and is now camouflaged.

Finally, we can get the hell out here and I
can take her to the Leather Underground club. It’s in Chicago, so I
call my pilot and charter a flight leaving ASAP. It’s still early
afternoon so we should have plenty of time to get there, hopefully
enjoy ourselves and, and be back by bedtime. I make a second call
to my part-time driver and ask him to bring a change of clothes to
the airfield for me.

“So where is this club? I didn’t know there
was any such place in Denver.” She asks genuinely curious.

“There is a club here in Denver, but we’re
not going to that one. I’m taking you to a club in Chicago.”

“Chicago? Right now? But… how?”

“I have a business plane; I’ve already
chartered a flight.”

“Oh. Can’t we just go to the one here?” She
sounds worried.

I’d rather not; I prefer the one in Chicago.
I don’t want to go into the reasons I prefer not to go locally. She
doesn’t need to know I don’t want to risk being seen by my
big-mouthed ex-sub. God only knows what kind of scene Erika would
make if she saw me with a new submissive, and I don’t want her
scaring off Isabel.

“I’m afraid of flying. I just really hate it.
Isn’t there any other way?” Her eyes full of fear and she’s
speaking softly.

Afraid? Isabel doesn’t strike me as the kind
of woman who is afraid of anything. I reassure her that my plane is
quite safe and that the pilot is top notch and that seems to ease
her anxiety a bit. She slips on a pair of shoes and it completes
her look.

Before we leave, I have to get a closer look
at the paintings. I’ve been itching to get up close to them and
there’s no time like the present.

Her eyes widen a bit and she hesitates…
seriously? After everything we’ve done in the last hour or so, she
still has reservations? I give her my ‘really’ stare, hoping it
works. I never know with this girl.

“Dylan….
I
guess.
When do I get my other paintings
back?”

Yes, I suppose that was part of our
agreement. I was hoping she had forgotten that part. No such
luck.

“Whenever you’d like, but I’d like just a
little more time with them if that’s okay. I really do like them,
you know. Also, they make a bold statement in my office.”

Her eyes practically bug out of her head and
I start to laugh at her, but I know she doesn’t like that, so I
stop.

“They’re in your office? Why are
they
there
?” She asks
dismayed.

“Like I said, they make a bold statement. Why
are you so shy about your artwork, Isabel? I’ve gotten a wonderful
response from them.” Wonderful indeed. I remember the way everyone
reacted to them and I can’t help but smile about it.

“Really? Is that true?” Her head cocks to one
side and she looks uncertain.

“Why do you doubt me? I’ve haven’t lied to
you yet.”

“What do you mean
yet
? Do you plan on lying to me?” She looks
shocked.

Shit. I didn’t mean it like that, but
sometimes a little lie is better than the harsh truth and I tell
her that.

“It’s never okay to lie, Dylan.
N
ever
.”

She’s very serious and from the tone of
her voice, I feel as if I’ve been an errant child. I’m not quite
sure what to say to that. Part of me knows she’s right and the
other part of me enjoyed her reprimand. This isn’t the first time
this woman has made me feel like this. What the hell is going on
with that? We just need to get the fuck out of here.
After
I look at her
paintings.

I shrug and walk towards her paintings. I
briefly look at her to make sure she’s not going to freak out. She
just looks warily at me and I continue on. I get on her bed,
kneeling at the head railing to get up close and personal with
them. I’m completely absorbed in them. The colors are
complimentary, and the contrast is superb. On one painting there’s
a process that I can’t quite make out.

“What kind of process did you use on this
one?” I reach over and touch it. Gliding my finger over the
smoothness of the paint.

I look over at her, waiting for an answer.
She’s looking at me, her eyes large and analytical as she scans me
up and down. She blushes slightly and then tells me its watercolor
on fine print paper.

What is this look on her face? “What is it
Isabel?”

She looks down and starts twisting her hair.
“Nothing. Can we please go now?”

Yes, that’s a good idea. I’m satisfied for
now. As we leave her apartment, I can’t help but see her in a new
light. I already knew she was talented and seeing more of her work
just confirms it for me.

As we’re driving towards the private airport,
I see her looking through the passenger window, contemplating
something. I reach over and squeeze her knee. She looks over at me
questioningly.

“I wish I understood you.” She says
dreamily.

Her comment is so heartfelt and the way
she’s looking at me pulls at something deep inside me.
No
. I don’t want this feeling. I
want her, but not like that and I don’t want to lead her on. I take
my hand from her knee and look straight ahead. “Isabel, I want you
to understand what our arrangement will be.”

I glance at her and she’s listening and
watching me attentively. “I want you to be my submissive.
That’s all.
I want to make that very
clear. I’m not interested in a conventional
relationship.”

When I look back, she’s looking straight
ahead again.

“Why are you telling me this, Dylan? I know
what you want.” She says sounding hurt.

Does she? I want to hear her say it.

“You want to have sex with me and you want my
paintings.” She states flatly.

Whoa. What the hell? Is that what she really
thinks? Her statement shocks me to my core. I pull over at the next
available spot. “Isabel, look at me.”

She isn’t moving and continues to stare
straight ahead. I turn her face to me and her eyes are
glossy.
Shit
.

“You know, for disliking Greer as much as you
do, you two aren’t much different. The only difference is that you
didn’t have to get me drunk to get what you want.” She says
coldly.

Holy fuck
. Did
she really just compare me to that motherfucker Greer? I can feel
my anger boiling over.

“Don’t
ever
, and I mean
EVER
compare me to that motherfucker again. Do
you understand?” My voice is harsh, but what I really want to do is
yell. She’s lucky we’re in a confined space or I’d start throwing
shit.

“So you
don’t
just want my paintings and to fuck
me?”

I hate it when she uses that kind of
language. I don’t even know what to say to her. I sit staring at
her, but she’s unblinking and she’s not backing down.

“That’s what I thought. So are we going to
sit here all afternoon or are we going to this club?” She asks in
an incensed tone.

I can’t believe the nerve of this woman. I
don’t think so. I’m taking her home. I don’t think this is going to
work after all. She’s too defiant and I honestly don’t think she’ll
ever be able to be completely submissive. And if that’s how she
really feels, what she really thinks…

“What
? Are you
kidding me? You have some nerve, Mr. Young. You lead me on, then
you tease me with your big dick, you give me an orgasm that no one
will ever be able to compare to, and now you’re saying ‘no’ to me?”
She’s furious and yelling at me.

“I don’t think
so
. If you think for one minute that you’re not giving
my paintings back after all you’ve put me through today - you’re
dead wrong. You are
not
taking me home. You’re taking me to that damned SBDM club and
I don’t want to hear another word out of your lying
mouth.”

Well I’ll be damned. And she’s still not
finished.

“I think
you’re
the one who needs to be spanked. What do
you think about
that
Mr.
Dominant?” Her voice is laden with sarcasm and disdain.

Mother fuck of all motherfuckers. This girl
is hot, hot, hot and now I’m hard, hard, hard. What the hell is she
doing to me?

Before I know it, she’s attacked at me
and she’s kissing me like I’ve never been kissed by a woman before.
She’s fisting my hair, her tongue thrashing in my mouth, owning it
and staking claim to every part that it touches. She’s nips my
bottom lip – it’s still sore and painful and I moan loudly, but it
feels so fucking
good
. Then
she moves towards my neck. She pulls the top few buttons of my
shirt open and starts biting.
Fuck
…. She moans something unintelligible and
grips my cock. And just like that, she stops.
What? NO. Why?
She just sits staring out the
front window again, breathing heavily.

I’ve never been overtaken like that and I
can’t even respond.

“You’re right. Just take me home.” She says
blankly.

Take her home?
I don’t think so.
Whatever’s going on between
us, I like it, and I’m not letting her go that easy. I try and calm
my breathing and get my enormous hard on under control.

“So you think I have a big dick, huh? Just so
you know - it’s called BDSM, not SBDM.” I’m hoping to lighten the
tension between us.

She jerks her head to look at me. Her
look is so incredulous that I start laughing out loud. She looks
appalled, but then she starts to giggle a little. I just want to
smooth things over. I really do like this girl.
A lot
. More than I probably should at this
point.

“I’m nothing like Greer, Isabel.”

She quickly looks down at her hands. “Dylan….
I… I didn’t really mean that. I know you’re nothing like him. Even
if all you want to do is fuck me and have my paintings…”

“Please stop using that language. Anyway,
that’s not the only thing I want. I’m just not ready for …” She
doesn’t let me get my sentence out.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Dylan.
Please, will you take me to the club? I really want to know about
all of this and I want to be your submissive. Please, Dylan.” Her
eyes are penitent.

This woman knows all the right things
to say. Her paintings… her words
… she is
in my head.
Now, I just need to get her into my
dungeon and into my bed.

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

Isabel

I’ve had enough discussion about my orgasms.
I just want to get dressed and get out of here. I can hardly wait
to see the goings on of a - what was it called? SBDM club. He seems
satisfied enough with my answer, so I head to the bathroom to get
cleaned up and changed, but he tries to follow me. I don’t think
so. Who does this man think he is anyway? I try pushing him out and
he’s not allowing it.