The Art of Domination (3 page)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…
shit.
I’m sorry.”

He scans me up and down and nods towards the tail that’s still hanging out of me. “Get that thing out of you and get changed. I need to go out for some air.”

“Can you help me with it, please?” I ask him.

“No. You can manage it yourself this time. I really need to get out of here.” He says coldly.

He’s not going to help me with it?
He quickly grabs his phone and walks out of the office, leaving me alone, still kneeling on the couch with this stupid furry butt plug hanging out of my ass.
What the hell?
If I didn’t love him so much and I didn’t want a good paddling, I’d give him an earful and fling the damned thing at him, still lubed up and wet. I walk into my art studio across the hall and into the bathroom and proceed to remove the plug. I’ve never had to do it myself and it’s awkward to say the least.  After several tries, I’m finally able to remove it without it being too uncomfortable and I toss into the sink. He can wash that stupid thing himself. I clean myself up and then go and hunt him down.

When I find him, he has
his coat on, car keys in hand and is about to walk out the door. He looks distressed and my anger turns to concern.
My poor Sir
. Something is seriously bothering him and I just want to comfort him.

Fucking Erika.
That bitch is unbelievable. After all this time, now she wants to fuck with me and my life? How the hell did she find out about Isabel anyway?
Jesus.
The look on Isabel’s face. I didn’t mean to hurt her.
I would never hurt her.
Well, not out of anger anyway. Fucking Erika. I need to get out of here and deal with this mess right now. First, Isa won’t say yes to my proposal and now this shit with Erika? I had no idea when I woke up this morning that my day would turn to complete shit. I grab my car keys, my coat, and head towards the door. I just about make it out when Isabel meets me at the door.

“What’s wrong, Dylan?
Is everything okay?” She looks concerned and mildly irritated with me. I can’t deal with Isabel right now. I put my hand up in protest to her trying to ply me for information and leave. I feel guilty for leaving her like this without explaining, but I’m too pissed off to talk right now.

I get into my car and drive to my of
fice. Because it’s after hours, I’m completely alone except for security. I get into my office and set up my recording device on my office phone. If I plan on talking to Erika, I want everything we say on record. I’m not taking any chances on having an unrecorded conversation with that sneaky bitch.

Okay
. Here we go
. Dialing her number, I hit the record button, and dread the moment she answers.  She answers on the first ring.
How fucking efficient of her.

“Well hello, D. You didn’t waste any
time calling me back. You always were very responsive to my needs.”

I feel the bile rise in my throat at the sound of her voice. “This isn’t a social call.”

“It’s always business as usual with you, isn’t it?” she asks snidely.

“Why did you call?” I’m trying to keep the tone of my voice even and not reveal the extent of my anger and impatience with her.

“I thought I made it very clear why I called.”

“So remind me, why don’t you.” I want to get her on record admitting to threatening me.

“Alright - I called because I plan on telling anyone who will listen about our sordid past and about your sexual proclivities.”

“That’
s an awfully big word for you. Do you even know what it means?”  I ask her sarcastically knowing she doesn’t like being talked down to, but she doesn’t respond. “You should know, Erika Lawson, that I, Dylan Young, am recording this conversation right now.” I make sure to say our full names so there’s no doubt about the legality of this recording.  She remains silent, but I hear her breathing quicken. She’s nervous.
Good.

“What’s the matter? Suddenly you don’t have anything
more to say to me?”

“How very ‘legal’
of you to get this on record,” she says disdainfully.

“Did you really think I would be anything but
legal
with you?”

“That’s fine with me, D. Let’s do this. Let’s get this all on record, why don’t we? Where shall we start? Oh… I know. Let’s start with all the things you did to me.”

Unbelieavable.
“Everything I ‘did to you,’ you agreed to in advance, so don’t try to make it sound like what went on between us was anything but consensual. Would you like a copy of our contract to remind you of that?”

She pauses and
I hear her breath hitch on the other end. “How sentimental of you to keep it,
sweetheart.
And just for
the record
, you know damned well that contract isn’t legal and binding in a court of law.”

I half laugh at her audacity. “Are we going to court now, Erika? Is that what you’re threatening me with?
Court?
No, it isn’t legal and binding in a court of law, but
you
know damned well it shows you were cognizant of what you were getting yourself into beforehand.”

“I do
love it when you say my name, Sir,” she whispers into the phone.

I fucking hate hearing her say
that.
“Enough with the fucking games. Are we just going to rehash the same bullshit from two years ago? Is that why you called?”

“I’m not playing games at all and since we’re still on the subject of why I called, why don’t we get
it on record what you did to your parents?”

I feel my throat tighten.
God I hate that this woman knows so much about me.
“You’re an unbelievable piece of work.”

“Well, thank you
very much.”  Her voice is sticky sweet and proud.

Jesus, she’s obtuse.
“It wasn’t a compliment and this conversation is over.”

B
ut before I can hang up, she continues. “Tell me something, D. Do you miss me?”

I
snort laugh at her stupid ass question. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No
? Not even a little? 
Come on.
You can be honest with me. I won’t tell; I promise.”

“Honest
and promise; those are two words I know you definitely don’t know the meaning of.”

She completely ignores my comment and continues with her bullshit.
“Do you miss the things you did to me? The things I
let you do to me
?”

My cock twitches in
response to her question and my bodily reaction pisses me off.
This is such bullshit.

“Does
Isabel
let you do those things to her?” she asks sardonically and I completely lose it.

“Enough, God damn it! You don’t get to ask about Isabel,
ever
.”

“Touchy, touchy. I do love it
when you get all Dom on me.”

I’ve had it with this bitch
. “It’d be nice if you actually acted like the submissive you claim to be and took your medicine and shut the fuck up and moved on,” I tell her.

Shit.
I need to rein my temper in. This woman knows how to push my buttons and I’m letting her do it.
Breathe, Young.
I just need to end this before I end up saying something I seriously regret. “This conversation is over.” With that I hang up the phone and stop the recording.

Un-fucking-believable.
I can see now this is going to be drawn out and protracted with her. I need to contact my lawyers and decide where to go with this. As for Isabel, do I tell her about it?
Hell.
She already has reservations about marrying me; she’d go running for the hills if she knew about my history with Erika.
Or about my role in my parents death.

***

After getting changed and showered, I can’t help but feel like something is seriously amiss. Dylan is never this distant. If what was bothering him was a work issue, he would’ve just told me. Most importantly, he would never have just left me hanging during a scene.

I go into my art room and look over the painting I created earlier, just before Dylan gave me the ring. It’s drying nicely. Only a few more paintings to go and I’ll be ready for the gallery show. My stomach quivers at the thought of all those strangers eyeing my artwork. It’s not too late to back out, I tell myself.
Don’t go there, Isa.
This is a good thing
. I know how hard Dylan worked to get this done and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.

I’m in the dungeon cleaning up
and I eventually bring myself to clean the tail, too, now that my irritation has subsided. I’m putting things away when I hear Dylan come home. The door is closed to the dungeon but I hear him walk into his office. I finish what I’m doing and then go to greet him. I’m standing in the door of his office watching him, but he doesn’t see me. He’s sitting at his desk, deep in thought and looking over some paperwork. When I say hi, I startle him.

“Jesu
s, Isa, don’t sneak up on me like that,” he says irritably.

Who’s sneaking?
I walk over to him and sit on his lap, caress his face and kiss him.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Dylan.”

His eyebrows furrow and his eyes scan my face. He opens his mouth to say something but then stops.  It’s obvious that he’s struggling with something internally, though he remains silent. Finally, he responds, “It’s nothing, sweetheart,” as he runs his index finger along my bottom lip.

He’s a terrible liar, but I don’t want to pu
sh him. He’ll tell me when he’s ready; he always does.

“
Did you manage the tail okay?” he asks sympathetically.

That’s the Dylan I know and love
. “I don’t know if I would say ‘okay,’ but yes, I managed.”

He smiles crookedly at me. “I’m sorry about that. I’m also
sorry that I hurt you,” he says looking distressed.  “You know that I would never…”

I don’t let him finish. “Stop, Dylan. I’m okay. I know you w
ould never hurt me.”

He looks
so sad and pitiful right now. I wish I knew what was eating him. My poor, baby. I kiss him deeply and then kiss his entire face, trying to make him feel better. It seems to work because when I pull back away from him, his eyes are closed and he’s smiling like an idiot.

“Don’t stop,” h
e whispers with his eyes still closed.

Just when I start to kiss h
im again, his phone beeps. From the tone, it’s a text message. Dylan jumps, about knocking me onto the floor.
Why the hell is he so jumpy?
He reaches for his phone, looks briefly at it and then eyes me cautiously.

“
Isa, wait for me in the living room, please,” he says sternly, pushing me off of his lap.

What the hell is going on?
I stand and give him my look of disapproval. When he sees I’m not moving, he gets irritated.

“Now.” He says giving me
his I’m-not-fucking-around look and pointing towards the door.

What-the-hell-ever.
I sulk into the living to wait for him.  Oh to hell with this, I’m going home. I grab my car keys and coat, thankful more snow hasn’t fallen yet and so my drive back to my apartment will be a quick one. I’m just about to make it out the door when Dylan comes out of his office.

“Where the he
ll do you think you’re going?” he asks looking upset at seeing me in my coat.

“I’m going home,
” I tell him as I open the door.

He picks up his pace and meets me at the door and pushes it closed. “You
are
home.”

Holy vapor lock
,
here we go with this again. “I’m going to
my
home so please move out of the way,” I tell him.

Dylan snort
s at me and stands in front of the door. “You’re not going anywhere, most especially not
there
.”

I narrow my eyes at him and start to
say something, but he interjects.

“Don’t start, Isa. You know how I feel about that fucking apartment.
  We’re supposed to get heavy snowfall tonight and I don’t need you getting snowed in at that rat-trap.”

I suddenly feel defensive to his comment. “My apartment doesn’t have rats!”

“It’s a figure of speech. Anyways, I wasn’t referring to the animal rats that live there, I was referring to the human kind that do.”

Well, shit.
I can’t argue with that. “You’re crabby and frankly I don’t feel like being around you right now,” I tell him, folding my arms.