The Art of Control (10 page)

“What does it look like? You own me as I much as I own you, so it only seems appropriate that I’m marked as well. Wouldn’t you agree?”

This man ne
ver ceases to amaze me with the depth of his love for me. The best part of his decision to do this for me is that I didn’t ask it of him; he chose this for himself. I’m unable to find the words to say to him and beam at him like a teenager with a crush. I can hardly wait to see what he’s having put on his wrist.

When the
tattoo begins, it’s painful; much more so than I ever imagined it would be. It feels as if hot needles are being stabbed into my wrist over and over, and all I can do is lie here and take it and do my best not to move a muscle. Ironically, it’s much like being in a scene with Dylan. I close my eyes, slow my breathing and heart rate, and immerse myself in the intense sensation. I’m being marked for my Master and though it feels sinful, it feels like the right thing to do.

I turn my head to see
Dylan undergoing the same torture as myself. His eyes are fixated on me and remain unblinking. While we’re both being inked, our eyes never stray from one another. I can almost hear his lustful thoughts penetrating my brain.
I love you, Dylan Young. I love you, Master
, I repeat over and over, sending my telepathic message to him. I swear to everything holy that he can hear me as his expert tongue sweeps across his mouth, leaving a glistening layer of his saliva in its path, making my pussy ache to be filled with his thick cock.

The pain is exquisite and I wince and grit my teeth
when a new letter is being etched into my flesh. When I do, Dylan bites his bottom lip and shifts in his seat. He’s getting aroused at my pain and I, in turn, am kindled from his reaction to it.

The needle hits another sensitive part of my wrist and I clench my jaw, trying to withhold my wanting to cry out. I close my eyes tightly, but Dylan’s voice draws me out.

“Pussycat, I give you permission to be as vociferous as necessary. I want to hear how much you’re enjoying being marked for me,” he tells me in an alluring voice.

I do love it when he uses big words.
Both tattoo artists look up at us and then at each other with raised eyebrows, and I can only imagine what they must think.
Not that I give a damn.
My husband wants to hear me and that’s all that matters.

When the needle hit
s my wrist again, I moan out softly and Dylan smirks devilishly. The hour passes slowly and my head is swimming from the powerful feeling of excitement and pain. I’m finally able to sit up when my tattoo is completed and bandaged. I move next to Dylan whose tattoo is almost finished as well. I practically throw myself on him and ravage him when I see the words branded into his skin -
Sempre dela
- always hers, inked in pitch black.

“Oh, my sweet lover
, I’m going to tie you down and fuck you so good tonight,” I tell him shamelessly. Dylan sputters at my lewd remark and both the tattoo artist and Dylan’s cheeks turn bright red.

“Jesus, Isa,”
Dylan laughs.

Holy absurdity
. These are grown men and they’re acting like a couple of shy schoolboys.

With Dylan’s tattoo done, we’re finally able to leave. I’m hungry but I just want to get back to the hotel r
oom and bang my husband until we both can’t walk. As soon as we’re out the door of the tattoo shop, I lunge myself at Dylan and kiss him ravenously. He mirrors my response and kisses me back with the same force. I’m damp with anticipation and desire as our tongues dance in each other’s mouths, doing a sexy tango together as they twist and turn. He pulls me close to him by my waist as he leans down and with his other hand, he grabs my hair at the nape of my neck. He fists it and wraps his fingers deep into my tresses and pulls it hard making me cry out. My moans leave my mouth but no sound can be heard as Dylan sucks
the air out of my lungs. He pulls back from me and nips at my jaw and down my neck, making me giggle and squirm in his arms.

“We’re connected, Isa
,” he breathes into my ear.

“Yes,” I whine
out in agreement.

The cab ride to the hotel room is pure tort
ure. We’re fondling each other at a frenzied pace and I’m sure the driver is getting an eyeful as Dylan fingers me to near orgasm.

“What is it about Paris that I just can’t keep m
y hands off of you?” I ask him in between kisses.

“It has nothing to do with Paris and everything to do
with my raw sexuality, baby. I’m fucking irresistible,” he growls just before he shoves his tongue down my throat.

I can’t argue with that
.

We
pause our grope-fest just long enough to make it through the lobby of the grand hotel and up to our room. The elevator ride is agonizingly slow, but we maintain our composure for the sake of the uppity old couple in the elevator with us. Dylan’s gaze is unwavering as his eyes move up and down my body. We’ve been together for more than seven months and I still feel the same heated way I did the first time I saw him in Greer’s office when he was looking at me the same way.
Speaking of which
…

“What did you think of me the first time you saw me?” I ask and Dylan’s eyebrows go up with surprise.

“You always ask the oddest questions at the strangest times. Did you know that?”

“Don’t change th
e subject. Answer me.”

The old couple smiles at each other and look back at us.
Apparently they speak English
. Dylan looks from the couple back to me and smiles politely, but doesn’t respond.

“Well?” I prod.

“The first time I saw you, you were running out the door of the Republic and all I saw was a head of messy blonde hair.”

“I didn’t know you saw me then. What about when you saw me in Greer’s office for the first time. What did you think of me then?”

Just then, the elevator comes to a stop and the old couple gets off, but not before the old woman gives Dylan a good piece of advice.

“I’d choose my words wisely if I were you,” she tells him sweetly and then disappears.

The doors close and Dylan moves close to me.

“Okay, I’ll tell you the truth, but only if you think you can handle it.”

Maybe I don’t really want to know after all.
“Never mind,” I tell him. Luckily the doors open up and I’m saved from the harsh truth.  I make a mad dash out of the elevator and Dylan swiftly catches up to me. He grabs me by my upper arm just as we reach the door of our room and turns me around.

“Why do you always assume the worst?” he asks.

I shrug, not knowing the answer to his question. He opens the door and I kick off my shoes and go straight for the refrigerator to find something to snack on, but Dylan pulls me to the bed and sits me down. He sits next to me and forces me to look at him.

“Stop pouting and let me answer you. The truth is
I thought you looked like an angel in wrinkled clothing. Your hair was a mess and it reminded me of an unruly halo sitting on your head. And even though you weren’t my type, I found you
very
attractive.”

I can’t tell if he’s just saying
those things to be nice or not.
Very attractive?
With the women that he dated, I find it hard to believe he found me
very
attractive.

“You’re doing it again,” he
tells me sternly, interrupting my thoughts.

“Doing what?”

“Assuming the worst. I’m not saying those things to be nice; I’m saying them because they’re the truth.”

“Okay, that’s just weird. How do you do that?” I ask,
astounded with his telepathy.

“Do what?”

“Read my thoughts. Is that why you were a spy for the NSA? Because you’re a mind reader?”

Dylan falls back on
the bed and laughs hysterically.

“Yes, that’s it.
I’m a psychic wonder to behold
. I told you, we’re connected. You’re in my head just as much as I’m in yours. You always have been. And for the umpteenth time, I wasn’t a damned spy,” he tells me as his laughter dies down.

He drags me
down beside him and touches my cheek. The look in his eyes is smoldering and I know what he wants; the same thing I do.

“So what was that about tying me down and fucking me good?”

Dylan

Here we go.
The look in Isa’s eyes changes from that of sublime and self-conscious to commanding and intense. It’s fascinating how quickly she can change into Mistress Isabel under the right conditions and with the right prompts. 

“Yes, it’s time to play. I’ve been waiting all day, s
ugar,” she says smoothly.

Her tone and heated look speak directly to my dick. I swear to God I see st
ars when the blood flow rushes from my brain to my cock. Isa stands at the foot of the bed and starts to undress me. She starts by unzipping my pants and pulling them off of me in one swift motion. Next, she practically tears off my briefs with her teeth. She rips at my shirt aggressively, popping several buttons, scattering them across the bed. Her breathing is quick and she moans when she gets sight of my bare chest. Tenderly kissing my patched wound, she then straddles me. My little minx then proceeds to bite my nipples and neck, and I have to focus on not jizzing all over myself and ruining the moment.
Focus, Young.
Hot damn, I love it when she’s so ferocious.

She rises
up while still sitting on top of me and I sit up and reach behind her, unzipping her dress. I slip the straps down and expose her breasts, sink my teeth into her fleshy tits and suck at her hardened nipples. She groans out loudly and throws her head back while she digs her nails into my shoulders. Abruptly she brusquely pushes me back on the bed.

“I need to get ready,” she tells me.

Moving the chair next to the bed, she orders me to sit in it and wait while she gets things set up. She grabs the two bags from the small closet and disappears into the restroom. I start stroking myself into complete hardness, thinking about what she has planned for me. I can hear the sound of her voice softly coming from the bathroom as she hums a familiar 80’s tune, though I can’t quite name it. I start chewing my bottom lip impatiently, wondering what she has planned.

A few minutes later, Isa comes out wearing a fire-engine r
ed lace and velvet corset and matching crotchless panties. Her inviting lips are glossed with the same devilish red color. Christ, I’ve never seen her in this shade of red before and she looks arresting in it. She dims the lights to my dismay, but I don’t dare question her motives or actions and simply allow her to act out her fantasies on me. Pulling out several chords of long soft rope from one of the bags, she gets a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

“I’m going to demonstrate
what I learned in my homework this week. I’ve been practicing and waiting patiently to show you.”

She stands directly in front of me and
leans into my neck, kissing it gently. When she steps back, she eyes my neck and grins widely at the lip print she undoubtedly left.

The next half hour is spent with Isa binding me carefully and creatively.
So she’s been studying Shibari, has she?
She wraps several lengths of the soft rope around my thighs, waist, chest and arms, putting in decorative knots at various places and centering on my chest. Her artist’s hands are nimble and she only fumbles with the rope occasionally, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve guessed she had done this sort of thing before.

When she’
s done fashioning the bindings around my body, she takes another length of rope and ties my wrists behind me. She sinks her teeth into my neck and licks the crook of my ear before moving to the bag again. She pulls out a blindfold and secures it over my eyes, blocking out all of the light.
This is new.
I’m unsure of how I feel about not being able to see what’s going on and my heart rate spikes with anticipation and nervousness.
Why the hell am I nervous, anyway?
It’s not as if Isa would ever do anything to hurt me.
Or would she?

“Are you afraid, lover
?” she whispers into my ear, her hot breath making my hair stand on end.

Fucking hell
– the sound of Isa’s bewitching voice and her scent tickling my nose hairs makes me want to crawl out of my skin and right into her pussy.

Every one of my other senses comes to life when I’m thrust into total darkness
by the blindfold. Isa’s movements can be heard as she makes her way around the room and digs into the bag of unknown items. Soft music fills my ears to the tune of Fiona Apple singing
Criminal
. I haven’t heard this particular song in eons and listening to the lyrics sets me on edge. What exactly does Isa have planned that she’s feeling like a criminal and needs to be redeemed from? The more I listen to the song and imagine Isa mouthing it to me, the more it makes me shift uncomfortably in the chair. My cock is rock hard and the cool wetness of my precum drips down my shaft.

“Is that for me?” Isa asks.

Her warm, raspy tongue licks the head of my dick and I unexpectedly moan out when her slick tongue ring glides over the tip of my strained cock.

Again, I hear sounds, some I recognize and others unfamiliar to me.
So this is what it feels like to be blindfolded
. This is complete lack of control right here: Bound and unseeing. My mind and alter ego scream at me to reject what’s happening and put an end to it, but my heart and cock tell them to shut the fuck up and enjoy it. I’m torn between wanting this thing Isa does to me and needing to dominate her and be in command of the situation. I decide to hold my tongue and leash my inner Dom, and soak up the sinfulness that Isa has decided to gift me with.

The microwave buttons beep loudly against the backdrop of the music playing and the carousel turns squeakily inside of it. I do my best to ready myself mentally for whatever
torture Isa has planned.

The microwave beeps after only a short time and Isa moves up next to me. I can feel the heat of her body r
adiating onto me and I wrench against the bindings around my wrists, wanting to tear them off, throw her down onto the bed and fuck her in agonizing ways until she screams my name.

“What are you thinking a
bout?” Isa asks, catching me off guard.

Should I tell her?
Here it goes… “I want to tear these ropes off of me and fuck you in excruciating ways until you cry my name,” I answer without holding back. I may regret that little confession, but so be it.

Isa
giggles deviously. “And you can when I’m finished with you, but I’m glad to see you’re in the right subspace,” she says sarcastically.

I lick my dry lips and Isa swiftly grabs my face and sucks my tongue before I can get it back into my mouth.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” she breathes into my mouth.

My face flushes from the foreign
feeling of embarrassment that only Isa can draw it out of me.

“Once
.”

“
Then let me say it again – you’re jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring beautiful, my sweet lover,” she whispers as she nibbles my bottom lip. I push my head forward, wanting to kiss her, but she pulls back and moves to the microwave, taking out whatever it is she heated.

The next thing I feel is odd and mysterious, and not painful like I had anticipated.

I’m not sure how long I stay sitting like this, an hour maybe? The song cycles through over and over as Isa brushes the warm liquid over my body and everywhere except for where I most want her to touch me. On occasion, she reheats the liquid and continues on. When she’s finished, the sound of the bag can be heard again as Isa digs something else out.

T
he familiar sound of something being squeezed from a tube can be heard and Isa rubbing her hands together rapidly. Finally, she puts her hands around my cock. They’re warm from the friction of her rubbing them together and lubed. Her tight, slick grip moves up and down the length of me - slow, then fast, and slow again. Her movements are neither paced nor methodical. Instead they are unpredictable and it’s fucking maddening and frustrating as hell. I can’t get into the rhythm of her motions and it’s frustrating as hell, to say the least. It’s quite obvious she’s doing this on purpose. Whatever was painted on my body is starting to dry and the feeling reminds me of when I was a child and would play in the mud, and the way the mud felt when it dried on my hands. 

I notice a very distinct warm sensation on my dick that’s not coming from Isabel’s hands
. It’s a lingering kind of heat and the smell is fragranced like cinnamon. It’s a new sensation to me and not completely unwelcome. Just when I start to feel the buildup of an orgasm, Isa stops.
God damn it.
Suddenly the chair is tipped back and I jerk, thinking I’m going to fall over, but then the back of the chair hits the edge of bed. My body relaxes once I realize what’s going on. The bed dips as Isa climbs on and she pulls the blindfold off of me. My eyes are still adjusting to the light when Isa straddles my shoulders and smothers me with her cunt.

“Fuck me with that
long, splendid tongue of yours,” she demands politely.

I stick
my tongue out and Isa pushes down onto it and begins riding my face. I open my eyes to see her fingering her clit with one hand and pinching at one of her nipples with the other. Her eyes are completely dilated and fixated on mine. Just when I think I can’t breathe, Isa eases off of me, allowing me to catch my breath. When I’m ready for her, I push my face into her again and start biting and sucking at every part of her pussy, her fuzzy labia and mound, her clit, her inner thighs - anywhere I can reach. Isa spreads her pussy open for me and I grind her clit through my teeth, making her scream out. 

The pain in my wrists is penetrating my thoughts as I continue to pull against my restraints.
Drool runs down my chin and the sides of my mouth while I please my Mistress. My tongue starts to ache but not for long. Isa sits back on my chest and her body quivers with release, her juices running down my chest. She reaches over and places the blindfold back on my eyes and climbs off of me. My Mistress then moves between my legs again and puts her mouth over me. When I feel her tongue ring hit the tip of my cock, I arch my back, giving into the sensation of release. It doesn’t take much more effort on her part and this time, she allows me to cum. I throw a few obscenities into the air and slump back down into the chair.

Isa slowly and carefully unbinds me and then guides me into the restroom. I hear her flick the
light and she removes my blindfold. I’m facing the mirror and the vision of my own painted body is incomparable to anything I’ve ever seen. The outline of where the rope was is bare and free from paint, but it leaves a design through the decorated areas that’s just absolutely fucking brilliant. I can’t take my eyes off of my own abstract image. The colors are complimentary, dark and brooding with only an occasional hint of brightness. I grow hard looking at my mirrored self. When I’m finally able to look away from the mirror, I gaze at Isa and she’s watching me curiously and smiling only slightly.

“You’re the best work I’ve ever done,” she says.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I respond, pulling her into my arms.

The next hour is spent with Isa snapping photos of me in every possible position and pose she can think up. I readil
y comply with her wishes and demands just to see her smile. Her eyes shimmer with joy and a wicked smile is spread across her face. I can’t bring myself to wash off the paint, so we lie in each other’s arms at the end of the night, both naked and painted skin-to-skin.

Eventually, when our ligh
thearted chatting dies down, her eyes sadden.

“Tell me
what’s on your mind, love,” I encourage her.

“My mother.
It seems she’s been on my mind a lot lately and my father, too. I wish I was able to think of her without thoughts of papa overtaking the very few happy memories I have of her. I hardly remember her and what I do recall… I’d rather not remember.”

The room is quiet except for the sounds of our breathing. Isa rolls on to her side to face me and runs her fingers through my hair.

“I’m so afraid of losing you and everything we have together,” she says quietly, her eyes scanning mine for some kind of reassurance.

“There are no guarantees in life, Isa, and bad things happen to good people. But I can
promise you that I’ll never leave you to face this world alone and I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe and always be here for you.”

All I can do is pray my words are comforting to her. I don’t know what else to give her but my undying love. That and my words are all I have to offer. I hope they’re enough. By the smile and the gleam in her warm amber eyes, it’s enough for now.