The Art of Submission (6 page)

Isabel, I want to apologize for my bad
behavior just moments ago. If your paintings really mean that much
to you, then perhaps we could work something out. And yes, I do
like them. So much so, that the thought of giving them up is deeply
upsetting. If you’re interested in discussing this further, please
call me so we can set up a meeting. I’d like to meet you – face to
face.

I’m suddenly hit with wicked
inspiration. She wants her paintings back, but I want the rest of
the puzzle pieces…
and more
,
so perhaps we can trade off, if you will. Now that my alter ego is
back, there’s no banishing him away to hide in the bowels of my
dungeon again.

She’s a submissive by nature, I can
tell. In my line of work, I’ve learned how to read people, and if I
know anything, I know a submissive. Maybe she doesn’t know it yet
herself, or maybe she does. By the images portrayed in her
paintings, she at least has an idea what she truly desires,
and I want to give it to her
. I want
her…
badly
. I want to be her
to be my submissive; and even more, I want to be her Dom. All I can
do is propose my idea and hopefully, she will agree.

Now the ball is in her court and all I
can do is wait for her to call, and if there’s anything I
hate,
it’s fucking
waiting
….

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

Isabel

My thoughts of the immensely good-looking
Dylan Young are rudely interrupted by Greer. I feel his eyes on me
before I hear him speak. I look up to see him staring down at me.
His normally whiskey brown eyes look black. Uh-oh, I’ve seen this
look before.

“What are you doing, Isabel?” His voice is
low and breathy, and sends chills down my spine - and not in a good
way.

I respond quietly, “I’m finishing up
some paperwork. Did you want something?”
Damn it, Isa
… bad question.

“Oh, I think you know what I
want
.” He narrows his eyes at me and
one eyebrow goes up.

Yuck
.

“I have the names and phone numbers of the
artists interested in our studio right here.” I know that’s not
what he means, but I feign ignorance to his suggestive comment and
tone. He keeps staring, looking me up and down. Why the hell
doesn’t he just leave me alone? I sit staring up at him, waiting
for him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t.

As he leans down on one elbow on my desk, he
asks, “Do you have plans for tonight?” The question sending a lewd
smile creeping across his face.

He’s close to me… too close. “Uh… yes.
I do. I’m having dinner… umm… with friends.”
Why do I have to be such a horrible liar?

“I didn’t know you had any friends,” he says
with sarcasm oozing from his statement.

He’s right, I
don’t
have any friends, but that’s none of his
damned business.

We’re interrupted by Monica and it’s one of
the rare times I’m actually happy to see her. She eyes me
suspiciously. She totally has a thing for Greer and she makes it
blatantly obvious. She sees the position Greer is in and how close
he is to me, and I get the very distinct impression she wants to
piss on him right now to mark her territory. A small giggle slips
out at the thought.

“What’s going on over here?” She asks
snidely, casually putting her hand on Greer’s bicep.

Greer stands up, looks over at her and rolls
his eyes. “What do you want Ms. Grayson?” He asks impatiently.

You
, you
oblivious dumbass, I think to myself. She starts talking
uncontrollably, making it up as she goes along. Now’s my chance to
make my quick escape. He looks over at me as I grab my jacket and
he’s about to say something, but Monica interrupts him.
Thank you Monica!

Once out the door, I feel a huge sense of
relief. I wish I’d never slept with him. Now he’s going to think he
can have me anytime he wants. Oh well, I can’t think about that
right now.

Before I go home, I decide to stop off
at the bank before it closes, and deposit my check. Ugh. It
depresses to think how I earned it. At the bank, I encounter a
teller named “Ben.” He looks me over disapprovingly. No surprise
there. It’s funny how money has a certain effect on people. Once I
hand him my large check, his look completely changes. Now he smiles
broadly at me. When he sees where the check is written from, he
looks back at me and asks if I’m an artist.
Who? Me? I don’t think so
. I flatly tell him no
and I don’t elaborate any further. He seems puzzled by my response
and lack of explanation. Whatever. Just deposit my check you
jerk.

I’ve never had this much of my own
money before. It’s a strange feeling; liberating. Maybe I’ll just
spend a little of it. There’s a lovely pair of Chie Mihara Mary
Jane’s I’ve been eyeing over at Strut Those Shoes. They’d normally
be way out of my price range, but now, well... I’ve never just let
go and made an impulse buy, so I decide to take the plunge and do
it
.

I make my way down the street and head
towards the store. Once inside, I get the usual disapproving looks
from the other patrons, but the help is friendly and I soon have my
Mary Jane’s in hand. As I’m heading towards the cashier I spy a
cute Apple & Bee envelope bag, and decide to purchase that,
too. Well, there goes $400. Now buyer’s remorse sets in.
Just stop Isa
.
You deserve this.

I meander around the shopping district,
taking my time. There’s no rush to get back home and I’m avoiding
going back at all costs, the main reason being fearful that Greer
will show up unannounced to see if I really do have plans with
friends. I’ll stop and get a bite to eat, that should take at least
half an hour.

After procrastinating as long as
possible, I catch the #221 bus back to my neighborhood, the whole
way thinking about my encounter with Dylan Young. Why can’t I have
someone like
that
, just once?
Is that so much to ask? I might have a chance if
only
I were 6 inches taller, had
dark hair, smaller breasts, better taste in clothing… hell. Who am
I kidding? I don’t stand a chance with a man like that. Life is so
unfair sometimes. I just remind myself, that I can have him as
often and as much as I want….
in my dreams
and on canvas.

The sun is just starting to set when I
arrive back in my neighborhood. I’m daydreaming about Mr. Young
again as I walk up my street to my apartment building.
His eyes, that mouth
… I wonder what
disgraceful things he could do to me with that mouth… Good lord,
I’m acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.

As I walk up near my apartment building I
spot a flashy sports car that looks very out of place in this
neighborhood and briefly wonder who it belongs to. I hope they have
good insurance because it won’t last long out here. I make my way
into my building and up to my apartment. Once inside, I look
briefly out the window to see the pricey car driving away.

I get settled in, try on my new shoes and
strut around the apartment in them for awhile. After that, I decide
to take a bath and do a little self pleasuring while I’m in
there.

Mr. Young…. That’s what’s prevalent on
my mind while I’m satisfying myself. I feel so naughty. I don’t
play with myself nearly as much as I should. I imagine it’s his
hands on my body instead of my own, his hands caressing my breasts
and working their way down my body to my inner thighs. And that
mouth….
Yes
… I imagine his
mouth on Ms. Kitty, licking me, biting me; his tongue working its
magic on my neglected sweet bundle of nerves. I say a silent prayer
while I’m coming
… please, please let me
just be with him once.

Feeling quite satisfied after that, I
eat a small snack and decide to call it a night a little early. I’m
comfortably lying in my bed, drifting off to sleep and again my
mind is on Mr. Young. Why can’t I stop thinking about him….
Because I don’t want to.
Sleep
finally finds me.

His ice blue eyes are watching me intently
as I kneel in front of him. I’m looking up at him, waiting for his
next command. He slowly walks around me, running his fingers
through my hair. He bends down and whispers something in my ear,
his mouth caressing my earlobe as he speaks. “I want your mouth,”
he seductively whispers…..

Yes!
The sound
of my own voice wakes me. Oh. My. God. That was amazing. Once again
I’m wet and shaking. I jump up, and just wearing my panties and
bra, head to my paint room. I need to put this down on canvas,
NOW.

It’s after 5:00 in the morning before I get
back to bed. I’ve just painted a very wicked piece. Oh, Mr. Young.
The things you inspire me to create. Sleep now… for a few more
hours…

It’s 6:30 and I faintly hear the sound
of my phone ringing. It is ringing, isn’t it? Or am I
dreaming?
Answer it
. The
ringing is now louder.
Answer
it
. No, this isn’t a dream…. ANSWER IT. Who the hell
is calling me at this time on a Saturday? I look at my phone and
don’t recognize the number, and debate whether or not to answer
it.

Finally, I sleepily answer, but there’s no
response on the other end. “Helloooo?” I repeat. Finally, I hear a
voice I don’t recognize on the other end. It’s a man’s voice, deep
and sexy.

“Yes. This is Dylan Young…”

No… I must still be asleep and dreaming. Is
someone playing a cruel joke on me? My mind is surely playing
tricks on me….

“Ms. Ibanez?” He asks in that impossibly sexy
voice.

All I can manage out is “Hi.” I’m still
reeling…. Wait…why is he calling me and how did he…? “How did you
get my number?”

Oops. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. His
response throws me off guard. Oh no. Not him too with the
condescending tone. Yes, I know who he is and what he does for a
living. He doesn’t have to be snarky about it. As usual, my mouth
betrays me.

“Y…y…yes,” I feebly say. I make some lame
attempt at apologizing for showing up at his work, but what I
really want to say is that I acted like a damn fool and please
forget you ever met me.

“What
was
the reason, Isabel?”

Wow. The sound of his voice saying my
name…. but
that
tone.
What’s his problem? Condescending creep.
He wants to know the reason? Fine. I put my big girl panties on and
tell him I want my paintings back. What do you think of that Mr.
Young?

“Oh, really?”

Seriously? This guy is really starting to irk
me. Why is he being like that to me? He doesn’t even know me. I
just need to tell him I want to make a deal or maybe buy them back.
I just need to say it with a little bit of conviction this time to
get my point across. Here it goes…

What? Is he actually laughing at me? What the
hell is so funny? That’s it. I’ve had it with this uppity, albeit
gorgeous, male.

“Why do you find that funny, Mr. Young?” I
snap at him.

Now he really lets me have it and I’m
immediately chastened. But he’s got it all wrong; I never wanted to
sell my paintings
. My precious
paintings….
My heart is starting to break again,
because I know he’s absolutely right; I can’t afford to buy them
back. What right do I have to even ask for them back? He bought
them fair and square, and Greer let him.
Damn you Greer.
I feel sick to my stomach and I
feel like crying. I just need to hold it together and get through
this conversation. He said he really likes them and I can only hope
that he’s telling the truth. I just need to let this be. My
paintings are gone and that’s the end of it. I end the conversation
with one last plea, “Just please promise to take care of them,” and
I hang up.

The moment I hit the ‘end’ button, I
completely break down. Only a moment later, my phone rings again.
It’s him. No. I can’t talk to him. I send it to voicemail. I just
want to sleep the rest of my afternoon away and wallow in my own
self-pity. My voicemail alerts me to a message a few minutes later.
He left a message? Why? To chastise me again? To remind me just how
inadequate I am? I can’t listen to it - not now, not ever, and I
delete it without a second thought.

Dylan

I spend most of Saturday morning
kicking myself for the way my conversation with Isabel went. It’s
11:30 and I thought she would’ve called by now
. I hoped she would’ve called by now
. I need to
go into the office for a few hours and get some overdue work done
and get my mind off the girl.

On the drive over to the office, I can’t help
replaying our conversation over in my head. What the hell was I
thinking? I know better than to let my alter ego out in public.
He’s gotten me into trouble on more than one occasion by rearing
his ugly head.

I start to rethink my plan. I’m not
sure this girl is cut out to be a submissive. She definitely acts
like one, but she has a feisty side as well and I don’t want to
scare her away with my lewd suggestion. I’ll just take it slow.
Anyway, she hasn’t even called me back, so I’m getting way ahead of
myself here. For now, I just want to see more of her paintings
and
her
.