The Art of Submission (35 page)

She wasn’t expecting that question and
it seems to have worked in keeping her quiet, but I see the gears
turning in that wonderfully creative mind of hers. I’ll let her
stew on that for awhile. Frankly, though, I am curious as to what
exactly she wants to do to me.
Something
scandalous, I hope.

I approach the store attendant and give her
specific instructions on what I want to see Isabel in and then I
wander over to the lingerie area. I’ll pick this part of her
wardrobe out myself. I look over at where Isabel is sitting and
she’s looking out the window with her arms crossed, like a petulant
child. She’s 25, but she’s acting more like a sulky teenager right
now for fuck’s sake.

After about 45 minutes or so, the
attendant and I have everything picked out and I see Isabel pacing
in front of the window like a caged animal. When she sees me, she
starts to approach, but I nod ‘no’ and she stops in her
tracks.
Good girl.
I dig out
my credit card and start to pay and then I see Isabel stomp out of
the store.
Oh well. She’ll get over
it
. I finish paying, grab the multiple bags and boxes
with my arms overflowing, and head out the door. The attendant asks
if I need help, but I don’t dare ask her to go outside for fear of
what kind of scene Isabel will make out on the street.

When I get outside, Isabel is waiting by the
car, glaring at me. She’s still furious.

“I just hope you know I’m not accepting any
of this. This is ridiculous. You’ve known me for five minutes,
Dylan, and this is completely unacceptable.” She says stomping her
foot like a child throwing a tantrum.

Seriously? Oh she’ll hear my end of it once
we get in the car. I load the back seat and rear of the car with
all of her new items and then get into the car. I would’ve opened
the door for her, except she’s already sitting in there, still
pouting. When I get inside the car, I tell her exactly what’s
unacceptable. When I’m finished, I feel good and my alter ego feels
quite satisfied, too. I look over at Isabel and half expect another
slap or something smart coming out of her mouth, but to my absolute
fucking joy, she simply replies, “Okay.”

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

Isabel

“So it was that good, huh?” He asks with an
eyebrow raised.

Like he doesn’t know? Do I really have
to spell it out for him? Hell yes it was fantastically magically
wonderful. Oh Dylan, it was more than just good. I try to put it
into words and all I can come up with is it was delicious.
Yes. He is absolutely delicious. Every inch of
him.

He smiles the best smile ever at me and I
think he’s internally patting himself on the back. As he should be.
This man has serious skills.

We both get dressed, but not before I
have to clean myself up a bit. This is so humiliating. I mean,
there’s just no way to do this and look lady-like at all. I look at
him nervously and give him my best smile, feeling like a complete
jackass. Once I’m dressed, I’m enjoying the moment, relishing in
the afterglow of our fabulous sex. Will it always be like
this?
Oh I hope so
. I dress
quickly, but he’s done before me. Now comes the awkward after sex
moment. Do I stay or do I go? I know the answer to that. Of course,
I should leave.

“Dylan, I should get going home.” I tell him,
not having the courage to look him in the eyes.

“Why so soon? You can stay if you’d like.” He
says seemingly surprised at my wanting to leave.

That was very polite of him to offer. He
sounded like he actually meant it, too. But no, I don’t want to
overstay my welcome. I ask him to call me a cab and he completely
comes undone.

“Okay, listen, Isabel. If I didn’t want you
to stay, I wouldn’t have offered, and you’re out of your fucking
head if you think I’m making you take a cab home after what we just
did. What kind of an asshole do you think I am anyway?” He says
irritated with me.

Geez. Get a grip Dylan. I didn’t mean
anything by it. I explain I don’t think he’s an asshole at all. I
was just trying to be polite and not intrude on his personal
time.

“Enough. Seriously…”

Oh
. So that’s
the reason he wants me to stay. Of course it is. The
contract.
Who am I kidding to even
think there would be another reason for me to stay anyway? Fine.
Whatever. Let’s do this and then I can get the hell out of
here.

I make double time getting to his kitchen and
have to stop myself from running in there to just be done with all
of this. I sit at the bar and I fumble through my workbag. I find
the contract and pull it out. I’m flipping through it to find the
most offensive parts when he pulls it out of my hands and sets it
down, just out of my reach.

“You know what? It’s getting late. We can do
this later.” He says exasperated.

What the hell? He’s the one who wanted to do
this. Now he doesn’t? He’s so damned indecisive. “No. Now is fine.
The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

He looks irritated now. Why does it always
come down to this? I don’t want to argue with him.

“I’m not going to argue with you,
Isabel…”

Oh I give up. I’d rather we didn’t discuss it
now anyway. After that great episode in the office, I just want to
go home and paint. I really do have to go home. I work tomorrow,
it’s a long drive from here and I have nothing to wear. I
appreciate his offer, though.

“How do you get to work, anyway?”

How does he manage to always change the
subject like that? And what a strange question. “I take the bus.” I
tell him.

He looks horrified. At what? The fact that I
take the bus? What’s wrong with the bus?

“Well, that’s just completely unacceptable.”
He says with a snort.

Unacceptable for whom? It’s cheaper than
owning a vehicle and we don’t all have millions of dollars and
private on-call drivers. He does realize that I work for
practically minimum wage, doesn’t he? He’s being such a snob.

“
If you really insist on leaving, then
I’ll drive you home…” He says in a much nicer tone.

When he puts it like that… I wouldn’t mind
actually staying here. Maybe we could talk. That would be lovely.
Why does he want me to stay anyway if he doesn’t want to talk about
the contract? More kinky time, maybe? Yes. I would definitely stay
over for some more of that.

“…
Then, maybe… you know… we could
clean the dungeon tonight.”

I only half hear what he says;
something about picking me up some clothes and what did he just
call the kinky room? The
dungeon?
Is that what he calls that room?
Yuck.
What a creepy thing to call it.

“Dungeon? That’s what you call it?” I ask,
trying to hide my repulsion, but not doing a very good job of
it.

“Yes. Why? You don’t like that term?”

“It just seems so… medieval. So… dark and ….
I don’t know… creepy.” Okay. That sounded lame, but I don’t know
how else to say it.

“Well, dearest Isabel…”

Oh brother. Here he goes again, the man
of a many tones. This one: Smart ass. Well, two can play at that.
“You can call it whatever
you
want, darling Dylan, it is, after all,
your
room.” I tell him, giving his sarcasm right
back.

He just smiles and raises his eyebrows at
me.

“Actually, it will be
our
room, and if you don’t like the
term dungeon, then we won’t call it that.”

I wasn’t expecting that.
Our room?
He did mention this
earlier, so he must really be serious about it. Yes,
our room.
That’s very appealing.
Damn he’s so cute when his guard is down. So I can call it whatever
I want? Like a fun name?

“
Can I think about a name for it, a fun
name?” I ask, sounding a bit too eager.

Oops. He looks affronted by my comment.
I really shouldn’t have said it like that. I know this isn’t fun
and games to him. I know he takes this sort of thing very serious,
like the contract. Shit. Again, I’ve inserted my big fat foot into
my big fat mouth.
Damn it,
Isa
.

“My room isn’t going to have a ‘fun name’
okay?...” He says, rolling his eyes at me.

So now it’s
his
room again. Okay. Well, I blew
that.

“That’s not what I meant… I just meant… look
Isabel…” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. I know what that
means.

“No. You’re right. It is
your
room…” I do my best to
apologize for my immaturity and inexperience in this whole thing.
What the hell do I know anyway?

“Seriously, how the fuck do you do that?”

Whoa. He sounds irritated, but for the life
of me I can’t figure out what he means by that? Do what?

“Never mind. And it’s BDSM. And I don’t want
to talk about this anymore, so let’s just go buy you some
clothes.”

He’s obviously still irritated, but buying
clothes is the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to fight. I
just want to go home and paint. After today, I have enough
inspiration to last awhile. “You should just take me home, Dylan.”
I tell him, hoping he’ll agree.

“
Don’t start, Isabel. I’ve already
decided you’re staying. And besides, I’m not done with you
yet.”

What does he mean by that? Not done with me
yet? His words remind of me of my encounter with Greer and put a
damper on my mood, but only momentarily considering Dylan’s version
is much more appealing.

“Don’t be naïve. I think you know what I
mean.” He says with that goofy look on his face.

Oh yes, I know what he means. Geez. But
should we really be doing all this without having signed the
contract, I ask.

“
It’s a little late for that, don’t you
think?” He says again with his smart-ass tone.

So what does that mean? He’s not
interested in the upholding the contract anymore?
Yes!

“Nice try, Isabel.” He says laughing almost
too happily.

Boo
! “Well, a
girl can hope and dream, Dylan.” I say sadly.

“
Tell me something, Isabel. What about
the contract makes you dislike it so much? Is it just the sex stuff
or is it specifically about your art? ” He asks in a genuinely
concerned tone.

Really? Where shall I begin? For starters,
the art thing, the underwear thing, the permanent mark thing, and
mostly the punishment thing. I tell him if I highlight all the
issues, there won’t be any white left on the paper.

Now he looks hurt and maybe I shouldn’t have
been so harsh. I mean, actually, a lot of it wasn’t that bad. Oh
brother. I suppose I should just tell him the art stuff, is a bit
much. And I do have a tendency to exaggerate sometimes. I really
just need time to wrap my head around some of the stuff.

“Isabel, that’s what we need to discuss. The
things in that contract are things I would like, but are open for
discussion. A contract of this nature has to be, you know… revised,
amended, and...”

Negotiated? Did I say that out loud? Of
course I did. He just shrugs which I guess means no.

“
Tomorrow, when you have time, I want
you to you seriously go through the contract...”

Wow. I wish I had a note pad to take
all of that down. Things for both of our pleasure? So he doesn’t
want to hurt me or make me do anything that repulses me which is
nice. The way I make him feel? Oh my heart just melts. What is this
kinky man doing to me? As for the art clause, well, I’ll think
about that. He said it’s something that he really wants, and he was
kind of enough to give one of my paintings back. So yes, I will
seriously reconsider that and perhaps just make a few revisions to
it. I want this to work too
. I really
do.
I’m flooded with emotions and all I can manage out
is, “okay.”

“
So how about we pick you out some
clothes now?” He asks and I’m still daydreaming.

Okay. Fine. Whatever. Clothes. Sure.

As we leave and get on the elevator, I
feel the sudden need to thank him for everything that’s happened
today. When I woke up this morning, I definitely didn’t expect my
day to go the way it has. Also, I probably won’t remember to thank
him for tonight, whatever he has planned, so I’ll thank him now for
that, too. When I look at him after my plethora of thank you’s,
Dylan has a strange look on his face. I can’t quite figure out what
he’s thinking, but I think it must be good because his eyes glow
bright blue and he just smiles at me.
Damn
I love that smile.

The drive is a quiet one and it gives
me time to think about the contract. I try to remember the details
of it and what changes I would like to make to it. First and
foremost, the punishment clause – hell no to the nth degree. The
art journal thing,
no
. I’ve
never been a journaling kind of person. I’ve always considered my
artwork my journal, so that’s as good as it’s going to get. I’m not
writing anything down about it. Inspiration hits me when it hits me
and my art has never been something that’s premeditated. Dylan
watching me paint? Meh. That idea is
not
appealing, but I suppose it wouldn’t be the
end of the world.

I try to steal at glance at Dylan and I
notice he’s moving around uncomfortably. I wonder what’s on his
mind. Just then, he looks over at me and winks.
Holy sex appeal
he’s hot. I smile trying to hide
that fact that Ms. Kitty is purring and panting at his winking at
me.