The Art of Control (5 page)

“Curious as ever, aren’t you, Sir?”

“I love learning about you.”

“I’ve drawn as long as I can remember.
My mother would sit me in a corner with paper and colored pencils and I’d draw for hours. I learned early on to hide my drawings and destroy them so my father wouldn’t find them. When I was a little older, I think 14 or so, my art teacher really took an interest in my work. She said I had real talent and wanted to enter my work into a contest. I begged her not to, but she insisted. When my father found out, he put a kibosh on it immediately. He told me I was talentless and that as an artist, I’d never accomplish anything,” Isa tells me and her voice fades down to a whisper.

“But you proved him w
rong, didn’t you?” I reply, pulling her close to me.

She looks up at me
with furrowed eyebrows. “Have I?”

“Of course you have.”

“What have I accomplished? I’m the uneducated wife of a rich man who works less than part time. What kind of accomplishment is that?” Her voice is sad and self-disapproving.

“Don’t say that. You’re so much more than that. What do you want to accomplish?”

“Something.
Anything
.”

“Well, when you figure out exactly what it is you want to accomplish, you let me know and I’
ll help you do it. And for your information, I’m uneducated, too. I never went to college, either.”

Isa smiles and touches my lips. “You’re so kind. I don’t de…”

I swiftly cut her off. “Don’t say it. Yes, you do deserve it. You deserve nothing but love and kindness,” I tell her sternly.

“You know me so well,” she replies.

“I should. I’m your husband and your Master.”

Isa lays her head on my
chest and hugs me fiercely.

“I love you, Sir,” she says quietly.

We both fall sleep again and I wake to Carson’s voice and his tapping me on my shoulder. I open my eyes to find him kneeling next to me and Isa on the couch.

“We’ll be making our descent very soon, Young. You should both get buckled in,” he tells me.

“Very well. Thank you, Carson. Did you eat something?”

“Yes. You were both sound asleep. I even watched a movie. Anyway, I’m headed back to the cockpit to make preparations,” he says, standing up and walking towards the front of the cabin.

I wake Isa and she’s excited to be finally landing. So am I. I hate long flights like this. They remind me of my days with the NSA and all the traveling I had to do.

“This is so exciting, Dylan. I’ve never been to another country before. All the torture of learning French and I actually get to use it. I hope I remember everything I was taught,” she says looking out the window. With Paris lights in sight, Isa becomes animated and leans into the window to see everything.

“Have you been here before?” she asks.

“Yes, a
few times.”

“Oh my God, i
t’s so beautiful. Look! I can see the Eiffel Tower!” she squeals.

We land without incident and quickly make our way
off the jet and go through the usual airport protocols. Isa looks happy and it makes my stomach flutter with arousal to see her so pleased. I want to get Isa to the hotel suite and naked, and all of this tedious bullshit is driving me insane. Isa looks over at me and rolls her eyes.
What?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask her.

“Because I know that impatient, horny look on your face,” she answers.

Hell,
Isa knows me just as well as I know her.

“Where are we staying?”

“Concorde La Fayette. I only got us a junior suite since the Presidential is so damned big and I want to keep you close,” I tell her.

Isa gives me her sexy smile and her
eyes warm to my statement.

Finally on our way to the Concorde, we bid our farewells to Carson. He’s pleased as well to be spending the next two weeks here and seeing the sights.

We call a cab and make our way through the city, making a few quick stops per Isa’s request. I just want to get her to the damned hotel room and she’s tormenting me. We make out in the cab ride and her hands feel amazing on me. We get to the hotel, but not soon enough. I’m walking through the hotel lobby with a raging hard-on and trying to adjust myself inconspicuously, but doing a poor job of it.

Our bags
are brought up with us and Isa swiftly jumps into the shower before I have a chance to ravage her. That’s fine, though. It’ll give me time to set a few things out for us. Because I was unable to bring any kind of sexual implements with me, I’ll have to improvise. I grab several of my neckties, her hairbrush, some ice from the freezer, an umbrella that’s in the room, and a few towels. Then I look up the local BDSM club in Paris and write down the phone number and address. We’ll have to make a stop sometime during our stay and check things out kinky European style. I look up a few other addresses as well because there’s something I want us to do while we’re out here.

I strip the bed of all the top bedding, put so
me music on, dim the lights and undress.
Fucking hell, come on already, Isa.
I’m horny as a motherfucker, hard and itching to get my sadistic groove on. As I stroke myself, my mind starts coming up with all sorts of fantastic ways I can torture my beautiful wife as I look around the room for more everyday items that will work in that regard. We may have to make a trip to the local hardware store for some tie downs and piping. I hear the shower turn off and I quickly run to the kitchenette to see what’s in there that’s sticky. Happy to see a bottle of syrup, I pop it in the microwave for a few minutes.

The bathroom door swings open and Isa stands in the doorway buck ass naked and smiling ear-to-ear.

“Are you ready, Master?” she asks excitedly as I stand near the microwave.

“I’ve been ready for t
he last 20 minutes. My cock is throbbing, now lay your ass down and spread wide for me,” I order.

Isa looks over at the bed and sees the items I have lai
d out. She looks bewildered but obeys my command. She lies in the middle of the bed and positions herself to be tied down. The microwave pings and I get the syrup out. Setting it down on the night stand, I instruct Isa to lie on her stomach and she does as she’s told.
Let the honeymoon games begin.

***

Isabel

The assortment of items on the bed are confusing but titillating. My naughty boy has something up his sleeve and the look i
n his eyes is maddening and has my pussy soaking. Dylan moves hastily as he binds my wrists to the bed posts with his ties. Next, he moves to my ankles and places something rigid between them. I crank my head to the side to see an umbrella being fashioned into a spreader bar between my legs.
How very creative of him.
He loops, twists and knots the neckties around my ankles to the umbrella, making it impossible for me to close my legs.

After that
, he grabs one of the pillows and pushes it underneath my belly and pulls it down slightly, raising my pelvis and ass higher. When I look back at him, he’s checking out his handy work and I see the gears turning in that gorgeous head of his. His mean streak is bubbling just underneath the surface as his eyes dilate beneath his long dark lashes. He licks his lips and strokes himself all the while just standing and watching me, not saying a word, and I’m getting impatient and wetter with each passing second.

Dy
lan reaches for my hairbrush and kneels between my spread legs. As he runs the bristles across my ass cheeks, I wince from the prickly sensation. Then he draws the brush down and over my inner thighs, down my calves and across the soles of my feet, making me jerk from the ticklish and slightly painful feeling. My toes curl and I moan out.

“Don’t move. I
won’t say it again,” Dylan snarls.

My sadistic Dom is now present and I’m full
y aware of the seriousness of his threat. He moves up behind and on top of me, kissing my neck tenderly while he runs the bristles over my shoulder blades and spine with more pressure than before. The feeling of his warm, damp breath on my neck in contrast to the stinging on my back is tantalizing. My body doesn’t know whether to wither or blossom from the pleasantly painful assault.

Just when my body relaxes and my breathing slows, Dylan brings the flat side of the wooden brush down onto
my bottom swiftly and with force. I bury my face in the bed and shriek out.
Sweet baby Jesus, that felt amazing.
My buttock blazes with heat and start to throb. I don’t have time to process the pain when Dylan smacks the other cheek equally as hard.  Keeping my face hidden, I yell out my acceptance and bite the sheet underneath me, wanting to tear at it and shred it like a wild animal from the searing pain.
Concentrate, Isa.

Endorphins
start to build in the soles of my feet and a warm feeling washes over me. I take a deep breath in through my nose and blow it out my mouth, trying to calm myself.
Yes, that’s better
. My ass is on fire, but it feels dirty and delicious. I remain still while my sadistic lover persecutes my backside over and over with smacks varying from light to hard, my ass jouncing and jiggling with each subsequent smack. Dylan runs his hands over my bottom gently, running his fingers up my spine. Just as I become accustomed to his soft touch and my heart rate slows, he paddles my upper thighs and the warm sensation of an orgasm builds in my throbbing Ms. Kitty.

“Beg for it, Isa. Tell me yo
u want to be punished,” he murmurs in a deep hushed voice.

Whatever Sir wants, Sir gets.
“If it pleases you, Master, punish me,” I whine out as I push my ass up, wanting more.

“I told you not to move,” he
roars.

Dylan drops the brush on the
bed and uses his bare hand, the skin-to-skin contact sending darts of electrifying pleasure throughout my body. The bed dips next to me and I hear rustling as Dylan prepares his next method of torture. Suddenly, something hot and liquid is dripped down my ass crack. Every muscle in my body contracts from the intense heat and my eyes well up.

Holy experimental sex toy
, what is that?
Dylan always has something strange up his sleeve and I can’t make out what the sticky concoction is. The gooey unknown substance pools in my puckered crevice, but Dylan spreads my cheeks wide and hungrily licks it up. The slurping sounds of his tongue in my ass make me squirm with anticipation, but I don’t dare ask what it is he’s licking up so eagerly for fear of his reprisal. Dylan has told me on more than one occasion that the sound of my voice distracts him, so I’ll just keep my mouth shut.  The smell of maple and vanilla drifts past my nose and it’s then that I realize what the sticky liquid is that Dylan’s licking at. He pours more hot syrup down my spine and I cringe from the sweltering heat. He laps that up, too, and quickly soothes it with ice, letting the melting cube drip down my ass and back. It feels fantastic and soothing, and my panting begins to slow. I concentrate on my Master’s breathing and movements, and my own heartbeat in my ears. I love him so much and I want him to be pleased with my acquiescence and total submission.

I’m purring
softly, yearning to be fucked. Dylan lies next to me and starts brushing my hair, his engorged prick pressing against my thigh. I turn my face to the side and gaze at him dreamily. He’s smiling devilishly at me and I’m not quite sure what to make of his expression. I watch him cautiously, knowing that my sadistic Master isn’t done playing with me yet. His eyes betray his need to give me more pain and I wait patiently until he decides to give me more.

“You belong to me, Isabel,” he says out of nowhere.

He’s not telling me something I don’t already know.

“You’re my property and I want yo
u marked as such.”

Here we go with this again.
My belly flutters with nervousness at the thought of being marked. What exactly does he mean by that anyway? Another piercing? A tattoo?
What?
Though the thought of being marked for Dylan is sexy as hell and I’m excited at the idea of it, I’ll be damned if I’m getting my clit pierced.
Screw that business
. My little tingly friend is off limits.

I smile at him and he digs his fingers into my ass, making me cr
y out in pain. His devious smirk widens and he licks and bites his bottom lip.

“Are you going to answer me?” he says.

“I didn’t think that was a question,” I respond.

Dylan’s
eyes gleam and dilate. “It wasn’t.”

Leaning
into my ear, he licks the crook, his lusty breath driving me insane.

“Master, please…” I purr.

“Please,
what?
” Dylan teases.

“I
want you inside of me,” I beg.

“Not yet. I’m not done wit
h you. I want to see that lush ass turn blood red,” he whispers into my ear.

He moves on top of me and breach
es my wet entrance with his fingers, only to withdraw them, leaving me slick and uncomfortable. Without warning, the wooden brush is slapped on my butt again. He swats it time and time again, the blood rushing to the surface, sending my mind reeling.
Holy stars and stripes,
I swear to Mother Mary I can actually see stars as I close my eyes tightly. I’m near the limit of my pain tolerance. Just a little more.
I want just a little more.