The Art of Submission (24 page)

“Now apologize to me you arrogant bastard!”
She says while holding onto my lapels. Her voice is loud and
commanding.

Now it’s my turn to be dumbstruck. I
just sit there staring at her, fearing her next move, but my cock
is now standing at full attention.
What
the fuck is going on here?

She narrows her eyes fiercely and raises her
hand as if to hit me again, but pauses with her hand in mid
air.

“Answer me. Say you’re sorry for the way you
behaved.”

My own words have come back to haunt me in a
way I never expected and as she stands there, poised to slap me
again, my apology spills out of me, “I’m sorry…”

“Sorry for what, Dylan?” Her voice is only
slightly softer, but still immensely demanding and her eyes are the
color of a solar flare.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved.” I don’t
even recognize the sound of my own voice.

What the fuck just
happened?
I’m pissed and aroused beyond anything I’ve
ever felt before. And where the hell did my chicken shit alter ego
go? I thought he was one tough motherfucker and at the first sign
of an ass-whooping from Isabel, he tucks tail and hides.

She lowers her hand slowly and I can’t
take my eyes off of her. When she stands and backs away, I stand
and pull her to me. I wrap my arms around her, one hand in her
hair, one around her waist and I hug her more tightly than I’ve
hugged anyone since…
my
parents
. I just want to feel her in my arms, I want to
comfort her, and for her to comfort me; and she does. She wraps her
arms around me, pulling me close, squeezing me so tightly that I
catch my breath. Her head is on my chest and we’re both breathing
rapidly. I can feel her heart pounding through my shirt, matching
my own rhythm.

What has this woman done to me?

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

Isabel

It’s not quite 11 p.m. and I finally pull
myself off my bed to get showered and changed. This was one of the
longest days of my life. I’m still trying to make sense of
everything that happened and the strange emotions this man elicited
from me.

I can’t sleep just yet so I decide to paint,
but I just can’t find the inspiration that I need. I stand in front
of a blank canvas, just staring at it. I start laying down some
paint, hoping that inspiration will come. I start with the usual
colors in my palette, but right now, I feel much darker than usual.
I feel overwhelming sadness at the thought of Dylan only wanting me
for sex. I can’t finish this painting; it’s too depressing and the
images are miserable and gloomy. I haven’t painted images like this
since I was a teenager, back when life seemed hopeless for me.

I take a couple of Advil to ease my impending
headache and eventually fall asleep.

Cold austere eyes beckoning me. Tell me you
like this, Isabel. Tell me… His hand comes down hard and I feel the
sting of leather. You like this, don’t you? Say it. Say you like
it, Isabel. Yes… yes… I do… This is all you’re good for Isabel. Say
it…

I wake up sweating. I feel sick to my stomach
and I feel like crying. There’s no point in trying to sleep
anymore. I don’t want to dream like that again. I get out of bed
and finish the sad painting I started before.

Before I know it, it’s time to get ready for
work. I’m tired and crabby, and I’m half tempted to call out of
work. That probably wouldn’t go over well since we have to start
setting up for another gallery show. I get dressed, not paying
attention to what I’ve picked out. It’s all the same anyway.

I eat a couple of pieces of toast since
that’s all I can stomach right now. I need to get moving or I’ll
miss my bus. I grab my jacket, my workbag, and leave.

On the bus, I’m left alone with my thoughts
of yesterday’s events. It was all so strange and awkward, and even
though we argued, we still managed to have a nice time. Yes… having
him in my mouth was quite nice; that orgasm… well, that was out of
this world; the ferocious kiss I planted on him; the plane ride and
the lustful activities that happened there; and the club. As for
the slap, I just can’t think about that and I push it to the back
my mind. Why did the night have to end so poorly?

Does he really think he can have me and
still be with other women? Did he demand this same requirement of
his other girlfriend’s?
Good Lord, Isa,
you’re not his girlfriend.
I wonder if that
requirement is par for the course in being a submissive. If it is,
I don’t think I can agree to it. A non-monogamous relationship?
What’s the point? If a relationship isn’t revolved around love or
the pretention of love, and is strictly sexual in nature,
non-monogamy would make sense. But that’s something I’ve never even
considered before and frankly, not something I’m really interested
in. Why can’t I be enough for him?
Like I
don’t know. Shall I make myself a list?

Why am I even beating myself up over
this? I’ve already decided that he’ll get what he wants. Just
think… personal growth…
business
arrangement
…

Finally back at work, I feel dazed most of
the morning. I avoid Greer like the plague. Hopefully he and Monica
will be busy for the rest of the day getting the details of the
show ironed out.

As I sit address labeling brochures for
the upcoming show, my mind wanders. Damn that man. I can’t focus on
even the simplest task. The next time I see him, I vow to myself to
be a changed woman, to stand up to him and give his cold
business-like attitude right back to him. I will not let him
intimidate me into a contract that doesn’t work for me. I
will
be his submissive, but only in
a sexual context and not outside the bedroom. Maybe I will spell
that out in the contract.

I make sure no one is around and I log onto
the work computer to do a little research regarding a contract of
this nature. I don’t even know what to put in the search bar. Sex
contract? Submissive contract? I try several different things and
finally find what I’m looking for. I find several examples of
sample consensual contracts and I’m shocked at what I find.

The term ‘slave’ is the thing that
jumps out at me. I am
not
going to be anyone’s slave. Although, the term
love slave
does have a certain
appeal to it. The sample contract goes on to mention things like
the slave submitting completely to the master in all ways –
interesting.
There are no boundaries
of place, time or situation which the slave may willfully refuse to
obey the master without risk of punishment –
seriously?
The slave’s body belongs to the
master, including all possessions, assets, finances and material
goods to do with as he sees fit –
what the
hell?

Not that I have any possessions, assets
or finances worth mentioning – well, except for my
paintings.
How convenient for him.
He gets to do with my body what he wants, have my paintings,
and punish me at his own will. Why oh why can’t I just find a
normal man?
Because I don’t want a normal
man.
I’ve been with
normal
men and they’ve all been unexciting
and/or cruel, and the sex has been mind-numbingly lackluster and
non-orgasmic.
I guess vanilla sex just
isn’t my thing, either, Mr. Young.

I can’t read anymore and I probably
shouldn’t be looking this sort of thing up on the work computer
anyway. Just as I log off, I look up to see Greer glaring down at
me. What does he want?
Like I don’t
know.

“We’re having a meeting in ten minutes in the
conference room.” He says shooting daggers at me with his eyes.

He’s obviously mad about yesterday and
me kicking him out of my apartment. I can’t imagine what his
reaction will be when he finds out about Dylan.
I can’t think about that.

The meeting is about the usual tedious stuff
before a gallery show. We discuss lighting and the way the
paintings will be laid out. Monica takes the lead to tell us each
of our duties and I can’t help but think she feels at home in the
spotlight. The whole time Monica is talking, Greer is staring at me
and making me feel more than uncomfortable. I notice several people
catch his glare upon me, including Monica who looks riled about
it.

When we get back out into the office area,
our receptionist informs me that a man called, but hung up before
leaving a name. It was probably my father, wondering why I haven’t
cashed his last check.

I sit and continue my menial chores, still
daydreaming and fretting about Dylan.

About 45 minutes later when I’m
returning from using the copier, I hear my name. When I look
up,
Holy basket case
– it’s
Dylan. He’s here and he’s walking towards me.
What is he doing here?
He looks so amazing right
now. He’s all business attire and alluring blue eyes.

“What are you doing here, Dylan?”

My voice betrays me and I sound like a
frightened child. I’m nervously scanning the office to make sure
Greer is nowhere in sight. I catch Monica staring at me
gape-jawed.
Damn.
She’ll
definitely tell Greer about this.

Unexpectedly, Dylan reaches over and
lifts my face to his.
I hope Monica didn’t
just see that.

“Hi. It’s nice to see you, too.”

His voice is deep and seductive.
Dear lord, slay me now
. I can’t take
his impossible sexiness; not here, when his is eyes are scorching
blue and he’s mentally fucking me. I immediately feel the current
of his touch run through my body.

I ask him sheepishly why he’s here. I
can’t believe he’s actually here, touching me…
at work
. Shit. He shouldn’t be here.

“I brought some paperwork for you to look
over,” he says, handing me a large manila envelope.

So that’s why he’s
here.
He’s not really here to see me; he’s just here
to get my signature in blood. He sure got it done in a hurry. I
wonder if he has a template made for up for this sort of occasion
and all he has to do is fill in the name.
How efficient of him.

“…
That was…
fast
.” I say trying to hide my
irritation.

“You’d be surprised what I can do when I put
my mind to it, Isabel,” he says with his fuck-me-smile.

Damn him. I can feel my pulse in Ms.
Kitty throbbing.
I love watching his mouth
when he says my name.
Why does he do this to me? Why
can’t I control my own body?
Damn it, Isa,
no.
Just remember…
business
arrangement
… personal growth….

I adjust my posture, push my shoulders back,
look him straight in the eyes, and with my big girl voice tell him
that I will look over his contract and take it into consideration,
but that I need some time to make changes. Then, just to torture
him a little, I tell him I’ll let him know at the end of the week
if it’s still something I’m interested in.

The look on his face is one of pure
astonishment. I’m actually very proud of myself right now. I didn’t
think I could really do it, but I did. I don’t give him a chance to
respond and I walk away swollen with pride.

I’m feeling full of myself as I sit
down at my desk. I promptly take out the contract and peruse it;
making sure no one is around. It’s actually not at all what I
expected. There is no mention of the word slave, only my
name.
How polite.
There is
also no mention of personal assets or finances and such. He has
enough of his own personal wealth and I’m sure my measly ‘assets’
are of no interest to him. Except for my paintings, of
course.

The contract is so detailed, I’m
actually impressed. He really put a lot of effort into this. Unless
he has a template, but I start to doubt that because this
seems
personalized
for me. In
addition to my responsibilities, he also has responsibilities. I
quickly scan it and a few stand out.

Dylan will be responsible for keeping
me safe at all times.
Why is that his
responsibility?
Though, I do like the idea of it. No
one has ever kept me safe before, except for myself – when I
could.

Dylan will not have any other partners during
the term of our agreement. My heart leaps a little when I read
that. So he does agree to only be with me, but ‘term of our
agreement?’ That part seems cold and businesslike and my joy is
quickly gone.

Oh no. Here we go.
Talk of punishment. This whole punishment thing is
not
appealing to me. I like the idea
of a good spanking in a sexual context, and even that leather whip
thing we saw sounds nice, but if he thinks for one minute he’s
going to paddle my bottom like I saw yesterday…
hell no
.
Though I
wouldn’t mind taking that paddle to him.

The contract goes on: He will set up a
financial account for me in order to allow me to have funds to
start over with should we decide to go our separate ways. If any
mention of the nature of our relationship and details are in anyway
breached, all funds shall be forfeited.
What the hell does that mean?
Is this his way of
saying he doesn’t trust me? He offers to pay me off if things don’t
work out, but threatens to take it away if I talk about our
relationship? I don’t have any money now so it’s not like I would
be missing anything, and I’m not the kind of person who would talk
about our relationship anyway. The last item on his list of
responsibilities is a clause about family. That’s a nonissue and he
can remove that.