The Art of Domination (50 page)

I try on the remaining two dresses and Dylan decides on the fifth dress. It’s an organza satin cocktail dress with a sweetheart neckline and flower beading on the waistline. The man calls the color daffodil which is just a fancy way of saying yellow. In my opinion, the dress is much too short and hangs mid thigh level. I wonder what it is about this color that Dylan likes so much.

“This isn’t exactly winter attire
or color,” I tell Dylan.

“So what?”

Oh, brother.
I’ve about had it with his ‘so what.’ 

“The color brings out your eyes and it’s a nice change from the usual blasé winter wear,” he states firmly.

The gay man looks over at Dylan and nods in agreement to his statement. I give up. What do I know about fashion?

I leave Dylan to pick out the shoes and
of course, he picks out skyscraper heels.

“
Why are you always trying to make me taller?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You’re always picking out ginormous heels for me. Why is that? I thought you liked me short.” I ask defensively.

“I pick them b
ecause you look fucking sexy in them, not because I give a shit if you’re taller in them,” he scolds.

“Oh,” I answer, feeling
chastened by Dylan’s reprimand.

Another two hours
later the hair and make-up people come over and work their magic on me. Dylan gives them very specific instructions on what he wants to see done. They keep me turned away from the mirror the entire time and only when Dylan comes in for a final look, am I allowed to see myself. When I look in the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself. They’ve done an incredible job at hiding my wounds and I look pretty and well-bred. Dare I say, even glamorous? My hair even looks well contained. I glance in the mirror behind me and Dylan’s eyes gleam and he grins from ear-to-ear.

“Do you like what you see?” I ask him.

“You know I do.” 

After the hair and make-up people leave, Dylan helps me with my dress and stockings. He fingers me briefly, only to leave me hanging and near orgasm. I feel full and hot, and need to cum badly.

“Why did you do that to me only to deny me release?” I ask him as he slides my panties on.

“Because I want you to think of me with every movement tonight. You’ll feel like this all evening and you’ll be reminded of my fingers inside of you.”

“I’ll already be thinking of you every time I sit down because my ass is still sore as hell. Now this, too?”

“
Nice language,” he says raising an eyebrow at me.

He sits me on the bed and tells me not to move while he goes and gets dressed. When he comes out, he’s wearing a tuxedo suit that looks heavenly on him. It’s classic black with silk lapel
s and a silk insert in the pocket. There’s a pure white vest underneath with a white tie and white shirt. It’s more casual than a black-tie tuxedo, but is 1000% more hot damn than the usual tuxedo, too.

Dylan takes one look at me and laughs out loud.
What the hell is so funny?
He walks over, kneels in front of me and tips my chin up.

“Good Lord, Dylan. How am I supposed to keep the women off of you when you look like that?
And with that wedding ring on? You’re scoring some major cum factor points.”

“Have you looked in the mirr
or, Isa? You have some serious boner factor points going on, yourself.”

“I’m nervous. What if people don’t like my work?” I start in and Dylan promptly cuts me off.

“We’ve been through this. Tonight will be unforgettable. Just try to enjoy the moment and put everything else aside, okay? No worries tonight, Isa. Now let’s get going.”

We gather our coats and leave. Sawyer and Murphy meet us in the parking garage and Raul has the Rover ready and wai
ting. The drive over is about 45 minutes. I’m fidgeting the entire time and I feel like I’m going to piss myself. I start hyperventilating the closer we get and Dylan unbuckles his seatbelt and slides up right next to me. He leans over to me and whispers the most seductive soothing things in my ear while he holds my face.

“You look beautiful, Isa. And you smell delicious
. Have I told you how much I love you?”

“No, tell me,” I answer
and he laughs softly in my ear.

“I love you completely. Tonight is going to be amazing. You’re going to be amazing. Just remember to be yourself. Don’t pretend to be someone or something you’re not.”

“But I don’t know what to say to those kinds of people.”

“Then don’t say anything. Just smile your
brilliant smile at them and I’ll do the talking. Stay right next to me and everything will be okay. Now close your eyes and think about how good you’re going to feel when I fuck you tonight in the dungeon. Think about how good it’s going to feel when I fill you. How good it’s going to feel when I clamp you and flog you.”

I do as he says and I close my eyes and imagine all of the
luscious torture he’s going to inflict on me. My breathing slows and my heart gradually beats slower. I’m relaxed. I’m calm.

“Now open your eyes and look at
all of the people here to see your amazing work,” Dylan says calmly.

When I open my eyes, we’re in front of the gallery and it looks like something out of the movies. There are expensive cars everywhere, reporters out front with photographers, and security scurrying around frantically.

“All of this for
me
?” I ask, but I know the real reason for all of this commotion is because of who I’m married to and the recent scandalous happenings, and not because of my art.  “These people don’t care about my art,” I say quietly.

“Some of them do and they’re the ones that matter,” Dylan answers.

“But how do we know who those people are?”

“I’ll know,” he says winking at me.

Yes. This is Dylan’s area of expertise. He’ll be able to pick out the phonies and I’m thankful for that.

Raul pulls up front and Sawyer and Murphy open the door t
o let us out. I keep my head down and see the flash of bulbs going off and hear lots of voices. Dylan’s hand is tightly over mine and he pulls me into the gallery.

When I look up, my art is hanging everywhere. It’s surreal. I want to run and hide at the sight of my naughty images splattered on every available wall.  I’m a grown woman and I feel like a child.  I turn and hide my face in Dylan’s chest and feel like sobbing. I can’t stand to see the look on people’s faces as they eyeball my private paintings and judge me.

Dylan leans down and pulls me back away from him. He pulls me up by my chin to face him and smiles sadly at me. I know he can feel my pain. I sense it.

“Isabel, look at me. Don’t do this to yourself. You’re work is beyond amazing.  I’m so proud of you right now and you should be proud of yourself. You’ve come so far, love. Look around you.
This is all about you right now. I love you.”

He turns me around and takes my coat off of me and hands it to som
eone. Everyone is staring at me; some people are smiling and others are just glaring and looking me up and down. I try and force myself to smile like Dylan said to do, but I can’t manage it. My bottom lip starts to tremble and my hand involuntarily goes up to my hair and I start twirling it between my fingers as I seek some kind of comfort. I’m scanning the room anxiously, trying to see a familiar face, but I can see no one that I recognize. I start to shake when Dylan moves behind me, holds onto my shoulders and whispers in my ear while pointing.

“Look over there; there’s Sonya. See her? She’s smiling at you. And look over there, there’
s Kerian and his sub. See him over there by your self portrait?  There’s Sawyer by your rig painting trying to act nonchalant. See how ridiculous he looks pretending to fit in?”

A
smile creeps on my face and I hear myself giggle. Sawyer really does look ridiculous.

“That’s my girl. Show everyone your beautiful smile.”

I relax a bit with Dylan’s calming voice and he takes my hand and we start making our way around the room. The gallery owners and staff converge upon us and there are all sorts of compliments being thrown around and more handshakes than I can count. I don’t listen to the words and only watch people’s expressions.

Dylan never once lets go of my hand and he keep
s looking down at me.  Now and again, he’ll wink at me and I can’t help but smile at him. One of the staff members that I’ve been dealing with approaches me and begins ranting about how wonderfully sinful my paintings are. She goes on and on about the unbelievable turn out and the crazy amount of security that Dylan has provided. She compliments me on everything, including my hair, my dress, and my ‘unique necklace.’ I privately laugh because it’s obvious that it’s a collar, but I think she’s just being polite.

I let go of Dylan’s hand in hopes of gettin
g some circulation back into my fingers and his hand moves to my upper arm. His movement doesn’t go unnoticed by several people. He’s watching me closely and even though he’s not facing me, he’s still holding onto me tightly. I feel secure like this. I like him near me and always touching me.

A photographer moves towards
us and Dylan poses us casually and a flash goes off. I’m not even sure I was smiling for the photo.

Another
staff member approaches us and informs me that the person who commissioned the private painting is waiting in the wings to see me and to thank me for the wonderful image that met their specifications exactly.

For the first time tonight, I fe
el proud of myself. I can hardly wait to meet them and hear what they think about it. I pull Dylan down to me and tell him that I’m going to meet the person and he seems worried, but the staff member and I reassure him that I’ll be fine. He wants to go with me, but I want to do this on my own. Dylan has a tendency to be overbearing sometimes and I don’t want him to scare them off. I point to where we’re going and Dylan waves for Sawyer to keep an eye on me.

When we get to the small office, Sawyer says he’ll wait outside the door if I need him and the staff member opens the door for me. I step
in and see a woman facing away from me holding my painting.  I close the door behind me and eagerly await her opinion of my work.

When she turns around, I’m shocked to see Dylan’s old receptionist standing before me.
I thought she moved out of state?
What the hell is her name?
She looks different. Her once brown hair is now bleached blond and cut very similar to mine.
What the hell is her name?
I’m standing immobile staring at her. I feel a knot in my stomach like something is very wrong here.

“Hello Isabel, i
t’s good to see you again. I see Alex left your face quite a mess, didn’t he?”

Oh my God.
I immediately recognize her voice. I look down at her hand and she’s wearing my wedding ring and I feel my knees start to give out. I turn quickly to bolt out of the room, but I hear something click. I stop with my hand on the door knob and turn back around to see a pistol pointed at my face.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,
love
,” she says and her eyes turn pitch black.

“You commissioned the painting?” I ask.

“Of course I did. I knew I could count on you to paint this filthy image. Do you want to know what inspired it?”

No, I don’t.
I try to stay focused on the woman and keep my breathing calm. I want so badly to attack her and beat the shit out of her and take my ring back, but I hold my tongue and my temper.

“Dylan and I inspired it,” she answers derisively. “This is what Dylan and I did when we made love. Can’t you see the resemblance now?” she asks looking over at the painting and touching it.

Love?
Dylan doesn’t make love. Not like that. He fucks hard. I almost say that, but I remember how she freaked out on the phone and I don’t want another replay of that incident, especially when she has a loaded gun in her hand. 

She’s looking longingly at the painting and whispering something under her breath, but I can’t make it out.
What the hell is her name?
And why is her hair blonde and cut like mine
? Like I don’t know
. She’s wearing my wedding ring for Christ’s sake. She’s trying to be me. I find it ironic considering I had died my hair dark trying to look like her only months ago. I feel sick at the thought.

This woman has been watching Dylan and I have sex for months. She orchestrated my kidnapping with one of his employees and broke into my apartment and his office.
This woman is obviously smart and she wants me dead. I start to shake. Sawyer is just earshot away, but I can’t scream or she’ll shoot me. I try to inch backwards and her eyes dart towards me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I shake my head and she walks towards me. She grabs me by my hair and drags me across the room and pushes me down into an office chair.

“Don’t you look pretty tonight? Did Dylan pick that out for you like he does all of your clothes? Did he dress you, too, like he always does?”