The Art of Control

Chapter 13

Dylan

“Sing to me,” I breathe into Isa’s ear and without a second thought her melodic and angelic voice fills my ears to the tune of Sweet Disposition. My body begins to shake from the endorphin rush wearing off and it’s a strange and unfamiliar feeling. My body aches with a deep satisfying pain that starts in my back, encircles my entire torso and settles over my heart. Isa cradles and kisses my welted and searing hot chest, and I feel safe and warm for the first time since my mother held me. It’s comforting beyond anything I’ve ever known. Her smell is exhilarating and her voice is lulling me to somewhere otherworldly. I feel weightless and I close my eyes, drifting off into subspace - for how long, I don’t know.

When I open my eyes, Isa is watching me and touching my face.

“Welcome back, my sweet lover. You were gone a long time.”

“Was I?” I ask, still bleary.

She nods yes and smiles thoughtfully. “Did you float far away? Up into the clouds?”

“Something like that,” I stutter out.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? The feeling of complete surrender and what comes after?”

I couldn’t have said it any better. I try to voice my sentiments but my mouth isn’t working quite yet. I open it, but all that comes out is a pathetic garble of syllables.

Isa puts her hand over my mouth and shushes me, “Don’t try and talk, it’s useless. Just give yourself a moment, my perfect boy.”

Me? Perfect? I think not. Christ, Isa looks heavenly. Why the hell won’t my mouth cooperate?

“You know, while you’re unable to speak, now would be the perfect time for me to tell you all of the depraved things I want to do to you as well as all of the times you’ve irritated my wild hair,” Isa says playfully and grinning evilly at me. “I mean, if I were that kind of person. But since I’m not, and because I’m so kind and wonderful, I’ll just let you recuperate while I sit here quietly. No, wait. That’s damn near impossible for me to do so I’ll just say it while I have the chance. Okay, here it goes: I love you more than life itself, Dylan Nathaniel Young. I love you more than I love myself, in fact. I love you because you’re so generous and kind to me, and because you give me the discipline I need, when I need it, and without cruelty or anger, and because you give me control despite your need for it. Oh, sugar, I could go on and on…” she sighs.

My faculties are finally starting to return and I catch Isa by surprise by pulling her down to me.

“Go on then,” I’m able to mumble.

She laughs and continues to praise me. After Isa’s many words of love and kindness, she uncovers us and dresses me. I sit up and stretch out, feeling as if I’ve been in a deep slumber for days. Luke meanders over, kneels next to me and places a hand on my shoulder, but never taking his eyes off of my comely wife.

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

He breaks his gaze and gives me an impish and guilty grin.

“Yes, Master Young, I do. You have quite an interesting little pet. It seems she has a talent for the bullwhip, both in yielding to it and wielding it. Not many women her size can master the whip, but I believe with the proper training, she’s well on her way to becoming a master at it. May I suggest you not let that talent go to waste?”

I look over to Isa who is blushing wildly. Both Luke and I burst into laughter as Mistress Isabel visibly shrinks away and is replaced by submissive Isa.

“A true switch,” Luke chuckles, speaking my thoughts.

The next hour is spent recuperating on my part. I can see Isa wants Luke to work his magic on her with the bullwhip again, so I permit her one last scene before we bid adieu to Luke and Paris, knowing that this will be our final glorious night in Europe. I’ve tried to put what Anderson said out of my head, but his words keep making their way into the forefront of my mind. It pisses me off that our honeymoon has to be cut short because of Isa’s selfish father and his actions. Anderson was holding something back and I should’ve beat him senseless for not telling me everything. I just need to speak with Sawyer. Come to think of it, it’s a little odd he hasn’t called me back.

My thoughts are interrupted by Isa tugging at my jacket to go and watch over her scene with Luke.

“I would like you to join in, too, Master,” she requests.

Who am I to deny my masochistic wife?

“Yes, of course. The cat o’nine does sound enticing right now. Can you handle both the bullwhip and the cat in one session?”

“Maybe. I’d like to try, with your permission.”

“You’ll be hurting for the next several days. Are you sure you’re up for it?” I ask, hoping she says yes. My inner sadist is itching to come out. I haven’t flogged her for at least a few weeks and I’d give anything to see her soft pale skin burn scarlet red right now.

“Master, your eyes, too, tell me everything I need to know. I want to be pleasing to you and to be reminded of your love for me and hurt for days. So yes, Sir, I’m up for it.”

F*ck yes.

***

Sawyer

This is a public relations nightmare. Thankfully, Young and Isabel aren’t here to endure this bullshit. Their images are plastered on every newspaper and the video has started circulating the internet. Young always wanted to make national news, but not like this.

I could kill her father for having put Isabel through the humiliation of this. Their sexual fetishes and likes are no one’s God damned business. They’re not hurting anyone. So what if they’re kinky? They’re in love for f*ck’s sake. They’re good people.

I have the information I need to get the ball rolling regarding Simons. He should be back in Atlanta in the next eight hours. I’ll just have to pay him a little visit and get things straightened out. I still haven’t quite decided on my plan of attack. To kill or not to kill, that is the question. Perhaps I’ll just maim him - provide him with a lifetime limp. That would be better in the long run for Dylan. It might seem a bit suspicious having Alex die under questionable circumstances and then a cohort of her father’s.

I dial Murphy’s number and invite him along. Two is always better than one when it comes to this sort of thing.

Looking at my phone, I realize I’ve missed several calls from Young. I can’t speak with him right now. I’m terrible at trying to keep the truth from him and he’s too good at reading voice stress, so our conversation will just have to wait. I listen to the voice message he left and my heart sinks. He’s coming back tomorrow. So much for dealing with Simons before Young gets back. I listen further to hear that Isabel’s father sent an ex-boyfriend out there to try and f*ck with their honeymoon. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with that man? Isabel is his flesh and blood for f*ck’s sake. I’m glad to hear Young beat his ass. I jot his name down in order to follow Young’s instructions on doing a thorough background check on him.

There’s no point in prolonging the inevitable, I need to call Young and tell him the situation before his plane lands and the onslaught of paparazzi inundates him and Isabel. Damn it to hell.

I dial Young’s number and wait for the verbal ass kicking.

After only one ring, Young picks up. “Where the hell have you been?” he asks. There are strange sounds in the background, noises that aren’t completely unfamiliar. They match the same kinky din that I’ve heard at Isa and his local hangout.

“It’s good to hear your voice, too,” I answer trying to lighten his mood and push the mental image of him whipping Isabel out of my head, but he remains silent on the other end. Shit. There’s no point in putting this off. I swallow hard and lay the bad news on him. “Okay, Young, listen up: I’ve been avoiding you because I’ve been dealing with the shit that’s going down over here.”

“Such as?” Dylan asks, his voice perking up.

“Isabel’s father released the videos of you and her. They’re all over the f*cking news.”

Let the shit storm begin.

Young remains silent which means it’s even worse than I thought. I sigh loudly, knowing exactly what look is on his face right now: Eyes dark, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and hatred and anger seeping out of every pore in his body.

“That’s not all. The man who attacked you works for Mr. Ibanez.”

“How long have you known this and when did the videos get leaked?”

“Four days ago.”

“What the f*ck, Sawyer?” he half yells.

“Listen, I didn’t want to ruin your birthday or your honeymoon so save me the ass chewing, okay? There’s not a God damned thing you could’ve done here that I haven’t already done, so stow it,” I snap back.

Young sighs loudly. “You’re f*cking right. I hate it, but you’re right. F*cking hell.”

Shit. That’s a first.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he says, sounding disheartened.

“Why? Just stay there a few more days until things settle down a bit more.”

“No. I’m not going to get any rest now anyway. I had planned on leaving tomorrow after what Anderson told me about Isa’s father. Christ, this is such a load of shit. I’m sick of this crap. Sick of it!” he says loudly. “So how bad is the PR?”

“Do you really want to know?” I ask, dubiously.

“Just lay it out, already. I can’t wait until tomorrow to hear the worst of it.”

“Well, on the up and downside, you made national headlines.”

“Nice. I assume you called everyone who needed calling, including our PR people or why else would they not have called me and informed me of the situation?”

“You got it. I called everyone and sent out a mass email. I’m definitely not cut out for the lead man position. Your job as the CEO is not something I envy.”

Young chuckles.

“Seriously, Young, everything workwise is fine. We haven’t lost one single account over this miasma. Your work ethic stands on its own.”

“Thanks, Sawyer. How the hell am I going to tell Isa? She’s been so fragile since we’ve been here. Then the whole thing with Anderson and now this?”

“You’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I have plans of my own on how to deal with Simons.” I tell him.

“No! You wait until we get back. I mean it, Sawyer. We need to go over things more closely.”

“Back off, Young, this is my area of expertise, so let me do what I know.”

“I f*cking mean it, Morrison. Just wait until we get back. That’s not a request,” he says firmly.

“Whatever you say, boss man,” I say just before I hang up.

Yes, I’ll wait until he arrives, but it’s not going to stop me from doing some checking up on our nemesis, Mr. Ibanez, his low-life cohort, Simons, and the cowardly lion cub known as Anderson Hayes. It seems to me there needs to be fresh ass whoopings handed out in abundance and I’m just the man to dole it out. My blood hums with adrenaline wanting to dish out some justice the good old-fashioned way. Just as my mind starts to race with thoughts on how to achieve my goal, my phone rings out with Sonya’s tune. What a total buzz kill. I push malicious Sawyer to the wayside and answer the phone.

“Mr. Morrison, I’d like to see you sometime this week,” she says mildly irritated with me.

“My apologies, I’ve been busy with all the nonsense that’s going on with work.”

“No excuses, please. I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, I’m just asking for a few hours of your undivided attention. Do you think you can accommodate me or not?”

I do enjoy when she gets feisty. “Yes, Sonya, I can accommodate you.”

“Hmph. Mere words, Mr. Morrison. I expect you to be at my place in exactly five hours’ time. Just to be clear, that’s 6:00 p.m. mountain time. I mean it, Sawyer. You already stood me up once this week, don’t test me.”

Her words are fierce, but her tone is charming, making my loins ache to be inside of her.

“Yes, Sonya, as you wish.”

***

Isabel

I awaken from my subspace siesta to see Dylan and Luke watching me with the same possessive and caring looks they were giving me just a few days ago. The aftereffects of the bullwhip and cat are claiming me completely, my body aching with an intensity I’ve not yet known. Lying on my stomach, Luke hands Dylan some cream and he gently rubs it over my shoulder blades and upper thighs. The heat from Dylan’s hands feels both torturous and delightful.

“Do you know much I love you?” he tells me.

Something in his voice is signaling something’s amiss.

“No, tell me,” I prod.

The corners of his mouth turn up, but his smile dissipates quickly.

“Tell me, Master.”

“I love you, silly girl. You know that,” he answers.

“I love you, as well, but that’s not what I mean. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He snort laughs and shakes his head at me. “Christ, you know me well.” He looks over to Luke and asks him to give us a few moments alone and Luke graciously retreats.

I tentatively sit up, Dylan wrapping a blanket around me and pulling me into his chest.

“Oh, Isa, I wish I didn’t have to say this. The sex videos of us were leaked.”

Oh. My. God. “Leaked to whom?” I ask, knowing full well the implications of Dylan’s remark.

“To everyone,” he answers, his eyebrows pulled together and biting his bottom lip.

I suddenly feel nauseous and light-headed, bile rising in my throat quickly.

“Oh, God, Dylan... I’m going to be sick,” I whimper, my mouth salivating profusely.

“Calm your tits, p-ssycat…” he starts to say, but I’m not f*cking joking. I’m really going to be sick.

“Master, please…” I heave out.

Dylan realizes my pukey predicament and hauls me into his arms and jogs to the bathroom. I’m pressed up against his poor welted chest and still, he carries me like a Viking claiming his virgin bride on their wedding night.

Oh, God, we’re not going to make it in time. I start to dry heave and before we make it to the restroom, I wretch all over the front of his shirt. Being the absolute gentleman that he is, Dylan doesn’t flinch. Once in the bathroom, he gently sets me down just in time for me to vomit into the toilet, all the while holding my hair back and kneeling next to me.

Everyone? Why? Who? No, no… I gag again, my dinner spilling out of me and into the porcelain bowl. I close my eyes tightly not wanting to see the contents of my stomach laid out before me. Gripping the edge of the toilet seat for dear life, Dylan flushes it, banishing my upchuck to the bowels of the sewer.

When I finally catch my breath after my last dry heave, I do my best to suck back my tears.

“Isabel, look at me,” Dylan says decisively, grabbing my chin. “None of this matters. I don’t care what people think…”

Bullshit. He can say it, but his eyes echo his true feelings. He’s embarrassed. “Well, you should care. Oh, sugar, your business, your reputation… you should care!” I say loudly.

“Isa…”

“No, just stop…” I cry.

Steadfastly he grabs my shoulders. “No, you stop. You may think you know me and I won’t deny that you know me well, but right now, you have no idea what I’m thinking, okay?”

“You can’t lie to me. You can’t. You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? Don’t lie, Dylan, admit it!”

His mouth twitches, but his denial goes unsaid, proving me right. I hide my face in my hands, disgusted with myself for ever putting the man I love in this position.

“Who did it?” I ask.

“Don’t ask me that,” he whispers.

Looking up at him, my vision blurred by tears, I know the answer by the pained and angry expression on his face. Papa.

“What else aren’t you telling me?” I demand.

Dylan shakes his head but I grab him by his soiled shirt and tug at him, “You promised there would be no secrets, so tell me!”

“The man who stabbed me works for your father,” he says as if irritated with himself for confessing.

“Oh, God,” I blurt out before I dry heave into the toilet again.

This can’t be happening.