The Art of Control

Chapter 19

Dylan

The plane ride is long, but this time I welcome the solitude and the hours ticking by slowly. Up in the air amongst the clouds, my angel and I are safe. I finally have her back and it seems surreal. She’s been gone for so long, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around the idea that she’s sitting here next to me. Holding onto her hand tightly during takeoff, we stare into each other’s eyes. Her nerves are bubbling to the surface as she fidgets endlessly with her ring and her hair. The only thing missing from the equation – her tongue ring is gone.

“What happened to your tongue piercing?” I ask.

“It reminded me of you, so I took it out,” she replies.

My blood buzzes with the liveliness that I’ve missed during her absence - the energy of feeling alive again - the vigor of feeling loved again.

“When did you get a new jet?” she asks.

“After you left.”

“It’s much smaller than Sally II.”

“Yes, I like small,” I answer, kissing the palm of her hand.

I look straight ahead, recalling everything Isa told me and trying to come to terms with the fact that her father wants me dead. He sabotaged Sally costing me hundreds of thousands of dollars, and came dangerously close to accomplishing his goal. Mr. Ibanez isn’t the first man to want me dead, but because he has deadly secrets to hide, he’s much more persistent and what’s more troubling is the fact that he has the means to make it happen. As for Simons - he kidnapped my wife and attempted to physically assault her. I’ll deal with him first.

I look over at Sawyer who is frantically typing on his computer. He stares up at me and nods in agreement of what I’m thinking.

Wondering about something, I ask Isa, “Why did you turn your phone on if you didn’t want to be found?”

“Because I wanted to see my beautiful Master for my birthday,” she replies sleepily. “I forgot to turn it back off after Simons brought the photos of you.”

“How f*cking kind of him to do that on your birthday. Of course, he didn’t bother to elaborate and tell you the real reason that woman was photographed with me or why your paintings were being sold, did he?”

Isa ignores my statement and abruptly sits up on the edge of her seat. “Simons - he’ll know I’m gone and he’ll tell Papa. He usually stays around a few days after he shows up… Dylan…”

I unbuckle my belt and hers, and pull her into my lap.

“Hush, p-ssycat. I’m done talking about that. I don’t want to hear his name on your lips again. The only things I want to hear are the sounds of joy and passionate cries coming from your beautiful mouth.”

When she grabs my hand and kisses it, she sees her name emblazoned on my inner right wrist and looks up at me dazed.

“When did you do this?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Were you drunk when you did it?” she asks worriedly.

“Perhaps a little, but I wasn’t drunk when I made the decision to have it done.”

She lets out a sigh of relief and smiles sadly. “After I left you, you still did this? I don’t understand,” she tears up.

“I love you. Nothing will ever change that; not anyone or anything.”

“But what about the photo of you with the blonde…”

“I tried to tell you she wasn’t my date - she was a representative for the Abused Children’s Fund. I donated your paintings to their charity auction because seeing them every day was just a reminder of having lost you. It was sheer torment. They were the only ones I felt were worthy of receiving the proceeds. I hope you’re not angry.”

“Of course not, it was a wonderful thing for you to do. You’re too good to be true. I thought my birthday would be spent alone and that I would never see you again, but you came back for me. How could I be angry with you?” she tells me, biting into my neck.

Reaching underneath her and into my pants pocket, I pull out her collar. “Happy birthday, p-ssycat.”

She gasps when she sees it and her eyes wet, a single tear running down her cheek, “No, sugar, I don’t deserve to wear that. Not after leaving you in the hospital that day. You needed me and I left you.” she sniffs, pushing it away.

“You thought you didn’t have a choice. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did and said to you that day in the hotel or for asking for this back and making you sign those damned papers. I’ve been torturing myself for the last three months thinking about that day and about how I left you alone and looking so fragile. I knew you were hurting, but I wanted to punish you. Christ, p-ssycat… you ruined me when you left. My work has suffered and so have my professional relationships. Sawyer, Jesus… poor Sawyer; he’s put up with so much. I don’t deserve either of you. Please, put it back on. You look so naked without it.”

She eyes it lovingly and touches it, skimming her fingertips over the metal buckle. “I lied to you that day. I won’t ever do that again. I’d rather tell the truth and accept my punishment than to lie and suffer the consequences like I have been for the last three months.”

“Tell me,” I prompt, caressing her cheek.

“When I said we were better off apart, it was a bold-faced lie. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t ever lie to you again.”

“I lied, too, when I said you weren’t worth the effort and by agreeing with you. We’ve both acted heinously and we’ve both suffered for it. Let’s just try to move past this. I’m not letting you out of my sight until your father has been dealt with.”

“Dealt with?” she asks, sitting up and looking fearful.

“No more about that. Present yourself for collaring,” I command and without hesitation, my submissive wife gets off my lap, turns and kneels in front of me.

She gracefully tucks her feet beneath her, places her hands in her lap and lowers her head. I suppress a sob at seeing her look so exquisite and compliant. Twice now I’ve had the privilege of seeing her like this and for the second time, I have the honor of collaring her. I place the choker around her frail neck, moving her unruly halo to the side and I secure it snugly onto her. Her left hand comes up and she touches it, gliding her fingers over the diamonds and leather.

Barely audible, she whispers, “Thank you, Master.”

***

Sawyer

Watching Isabel kneel in front of Young while he places the collar necklace on her is the strangest and most erotic thing I’ve ever seen play out before my eyes. Their relationship is something I’ve never experienced – it’s intensity, obsession, and the sheer love they have for each other is like nothing I’ve ever known. What is this bond they share? I’ve loved before, twice now, in fact, but to share the kind of connection they have is something foreign to me.

I saw their videos and just thought they were engaging in strange kinky sex, but seeing the way they’re interacting with each other right now, so intimate and tender, the scenes take on a whole new meaning. Young could’ve had that kind of sex with any woman he wanted, but he chose to marry this woman here in his arms, he chose to spend the rest of his life with her and be true to her despite her having left him. What they share is more than physical, I can see that very clearly now. They have trust and honesty, and open communication. The way Isabel confessed to Young about lying and never wanting to do it again… I need to know more about this lifestyle that they live. I need to know.

Isabel rises from her knees and seats herself back in his lap and Young rocks her and whispers things in her ear, kissing her face and petting her hair, and Isabel doesn’t look helpless accepting his affection. Quite the opposite - she looks content in allowing Young to act in such a caring manner.

Feeling like a jerk as I sit here gawking at them like a creeper wanting to know their secrets, I force myself to focus on the task at hand and locate Simons’ whereabouts. He’s still in Antofagasta and I regret having left before dealing with his worthless ass. I’ll keep a close eye on his movements and when he arrives back in the states, I’ll pay him a friendly little visit.

I grab the seat next to Young and pull my fingers through Isabel’s messy, sun-bleached hair without even thinking. When I realize what I’ve done, I half expect Young to haul off and punch me in the mouth. I glance at him uncertainly and though he’s watching me ardently, there’s not an ounce of jealousy in his eyes.

“What you two did was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen,” I say to him, feeling the need to tell him.

Young looks perplexed by my statement.

“The collaring. I’ve never seen anything like that. It was…” I stop myself, not wanting to sound like a pervert.

“Go on,” he insists.

“Erotic and beautiful.”

Young scans my face for several seconds, one side of his mouth lifting in a lop-sided grin.

“Tell me something, Morrison: Do you know anything about what it is Isa and I do?”

“No, I don’t, and it’s not my place to ask.”

“I wish you would. You seem genuinely curious,” he counters, his eyes moving up and down my body.

Shit, here he goes again reading my body language. Feeling uncomfortable with our exchange, I attempt to stand but Young reaches up, grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

“Sit. Let’s talk.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” I tell him.

“If I thought you were prying, I’d tell you. So?”

“So what?”

“Do you know anything about BDSM?”

“Just that there’s a lot of weird equipment involved, freaky sex and pain.”

Young laughs wholeheartedly and I can’t help but smile at his contentment. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him like this.

“Oh, Sawyer, there’s so much more to it than that,” he beams, looking down at Isabel and touching her necklace.

“Go on then, tell me.”

Young smiles widely and proceeds to educate me about things I never knew were possible. He talks on and on about BDSM, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

He explains how Isabel submitting to him and allowing him to be her Dom was a gift. He goes on to say that clear and honest communication between a Dominant and a submissive who have discussed their needs and limits is of the utmost importance. Deep down, I know this is how all relationships should be, but in the real world, very rarely are they.

He enlightens me about how contracts and negotiations work and the difference between a D/s relationship versus a sexual slave arrangement. Then he rationalizes his sadistic tendencies by tempering it with the fact that he would never hurt Isabel, or anyone, more than what they could handle or go beyond their limits, and that includes Erika.

It’s all fascinating and strange to think there’s a whole other world living this lifestyle and no one really talks about it openly. I had no idea Young was so knowledgeable in this subject. I mean, hell, I know he’s a genius, but he’s always acted so juvenile and cocky, it’s been hard to get past those traits of his personality and imagine him as a responsible and caring person, let alone a Dom and husband.

Isabel wakes up about half-way through the conversation and watches our verbal exchange earnestly, never interrupting.

“Isabel, I’d like your input in all of this, as well,” I say to her.

She looks back to Young and he nods his approval.

“For me, submission was a personal choice, Sawyer. There was always something inside of me that wanted to submit, but not to just anyone, I wanted to submit to Dylan. Maybe he’s not the right Dominant for everyone, but he’s the right one for me. He knows my wants and desires before I speak them, and he holds my needs close to his heart. For those reasons, I take great pride in pleasing and satisfying him. I also take pleasure in the pain and punishment he gives me because I know he enjoys giving it to me and that he needs it. He’ll never admit it, but he’s also a very kind and generous Dom. But there’s no mistaking that he also takes his role very seriously. His hand is firm when necessary. I love Dylan and I accept that he is my Master, and I need and cherish the discipline that he gives me. His punishment is never done out of anger, Sawyer. Never. That night at the hotel, he had the opportunity to punish me in the most horrible of ways and I would’ve deserved it, too, but he didn’t. He’s such a good man,” Isabel gushes with glassy eyes.

“You’ve made me into a good man,” he whispers, kissing the top of her hand and blushing.

I used to get annoyed at the way Young seemingly bossed Isabel around, taking control over her and the way she allowed herself to be stepped on, but it all makes sense now. Isabel is no pushover; she’s a submissive, as well as being a strong and independent woman.

I lean my head back, feeling information overloaded.

“You should come to the club with us sometime, Morrison, and not just to keep an eye on me, but to learn and watch me and Isa. I think maybe there’s a Dominant lurking just beneath your surface,” Young says, patting my thigh. “Isa told me as much the day after our wedding, but I ignored her keen insight. It turns out my wife is wise beyond her years.”

I’m stunned into silence. Me, a Dom? Looking over at Isabel for some kind of clarification, her cheeks flush bright pink.

“Apparently so are you,” I reply and cocky, juvenile Young returns.

“Of course I am,” he says mockingly.

Yes, I think perhaps I do need to learn more about this lifestyle.

I leave Isabel and Young to make up for lost time while I track Simons. Knowing Young more personally, my loyalty for him deepens. He’s always been like a brother to me, but now, he means more to me than that and so does Isabel. They’re like family and I will protect them at all costs. E. Ibanez and Simons will suffer my wrath for what they’ve put Isa and Young through.

***

Isabel

The conversation with Sawyer was interesting and so was watching Dylan’s reaction to his questions. The exuberance he shows when talking about BDSM is sexy and heartwarming. When Sawyer walks away, Dylan pulls me into his lap again and holds me tightly. I get the very distinct impression this is how it will be for quite some time until he feels secure in the fact that I will never leave him again.

“You have no idea the lengths I went through to try and find you, love,” he purrs into my ear. “Your father did a good job at hiding you.”

“I hate him,” I snap, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, remorse sets in.

“Talk to me. Why do you look like you just got punched in the gut,” Dylan says.

“He’s still my father. I despise feeling hatred for him. Yes, he was cruel, but things could’ve been so much worse for me.”

Dylan looks appalled at my statement. “I don’t see how,” he rebukes.

“He could’ve sexually abused me for one. He could’ve starved me and sold me into the sex trade or…”

“Jesus, Isabel, just stop. Don’t try and diminish what he did to you. He abused you and though it could’ve been worse, it was bad enough. He took so many vital things away from you- you’ve earned the right to hate him.”

I know he’s right. He took my mother from me, he took away my ability to have a child, and he almost took away the only other person, other than my mother, who truly loved me. Yes, I do hate him.

In Dylan’s arms, I feel at home and whole again, but… that feeling of doom is back. Papa is going to be so angry when he finds out I’ve disobeyed him. He’s going to be so livid with me. My body starts to involuntarily shake and evil chills creep up my spine. I can’t lose Dylan. What have I done? This was a huge mistake.

“Isabel, what’s wrong?” Dylan asks concerned.

“I shouldn’t have come back with you. My father will kill you once he finds out I’m gone. It’s not too late to turn this plane around and take me back. Please, I don’t want to be responsible for your death, sugar,” I start to cry.

“Christ, love, what did your father say to you?”

“He said he would make me watch you die a slow and painful death like my mother, and I believe him. Take me back, Dylan.”

“That’s never going to happen. Not now, not ever. I’m not losing you again,” he protests.

Why does he have to be so stubborn? I close my eyes and try to fall asleep and not think about the horrible things my father will do, forbidding myself to dream.

When I awaken, we’ve stopped for fuel and Dylan and Sawyer are talking zealously about something, the subject of which is no doubt Papa and the things they plan on doing to him and Simons. I pretend to be asleep so I can eavesdrop but all I can make out is Dylan saying make sure to cover your tracks and call me if you need help. I jump up abruptly and face them, and they both shuffle around like a couple of dopes who’ve been caught looking at porn on the job.

“Whatever the two of you are planning is not going to happen. It’s my birthday and there will be no ass kicking and tracks to be covered on this day.”

I’m standing looking into the eyes of two grown alpha men with their mouths gaping open at me, speechless. They’re both a good head taller than me and still, they look like a couple of children who’ve been reprimanded, their cheeks bright pink and their eyes blinking rapidly.

“I mean it, Dylan Nathaniel Young and Sawyer Alan Morrison.”

“How the hell do you know my middle name?” Sawyer huffs.

I nod towards Dylan and he gives me a look of why-the-hell-did-you-just-rat-me-out?

Sawyer quickly shoots Dylan a harsh look and grumbles, “Thanks a lot, Young.”

“I mean it. All three of us are going back to Denver, together. Whatever revenge you two have planned can wait another 24 hours.”

Sawyer eyes Dylan dubiously and then me.

“I thought you were the Dom in this relationship,” he says wryly.

Dylan shrugs and replies, “Sawyer, I’d like to introduce you to Mistress Isabel.”

Sawyer’s eyebrows go up and he scans me head-to-toe.

“Interesting dichotomy,” he finally answers back.

“To say the least,” Dylan retorts.

After having made my point, I leave them and make myself a drink. It’s been so long since I had a good martini, or any alcohol for that matter. Alcohol costs money and I was so limited in my funds, I was lucky to eat two meals every day. I load it up good and heavy with gin and gulp it down far too fast, the liquor heating my insides rapidly. Dylan seats himself next to me and eyes my beverage in hand.

“I haven’t had a good martini in over three months,” I explain. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he asks.

“When was the last time you had a martini?”

“Last night, I think. Though I don’t recall exactly what I drank.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was falling down drunk, so I don’t exactly remember. I assume it was Irish scotch or tequila, or both, by the way my head felt this morning,” he answers, massaging his neck and looking discomfited.

“You never get drunk.”

“I never used to get drunk; not until you left. I told you, I was a mess. I was sloppy and injudicious, and…a whole lot of stupid.”

Recalling how harsh he was at the hotel, I ask, “How could you be miserable without me when you were so irate with me that day at the hotel?”

“I can’t explain it. I wasn’t just angry, I was hurting. You left me. Christ, you left me after you promised… Isa, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. It’s over and done with. It’s still too painful to think about and I’ll never get over the feeling of being without you. It’s still too raw. Just this morning I was thinking about signing over my company to Sawyer and hiding away on some secluded island to forget about everything and now, here you are.”

“Yes, Master. It’s still too fresh for me, too.”

We hold each other the entire rest of the flight, only letting go to relieve our bladders. When we approach Denver, my excitement boils over. God, it feels good to be home. The Rockies look glorious this time of year. It’s already August and I practically missed the entire summer. When we get out of the terminal, we’re greeted by several photographers and reporters. They seem surprised to see me and overly enthusiastic. Dylan and Sawyer shield me and gently push me towards the Rover. Once inside, Dylan smiles sheepishly at me.

“Welcome home, p-ssycat.”

I definitely didn’t miss this. Back at home, I’m horrified to see our beautiful abode in chaos. Our bedroom is in shambles with clothes lying everywhere and I can’t make heads or tails of what’s clean and what’s dirty. The bed is unmade, there’s dust on the ledges of everything and it’s just downright disgraceful. Dylan is talking on the phone energetically to someone while I make my way to the kitchen, fearful of what I’ll find. To my utter disgust, it, too, is completely in disorder. My God, who lives like this? Dirty dishes are stacked mile-high, which, considering we’re living in Denver seems appropriate. I don’t even know where to begin to clean up this jacked up clutter. Dylan deserves a good paddling for treating my kitchen so disrespectfully. My irritation subsides when I remember what he said about drinking too much and being a wreck. My poor Master.

Dylan comes sauntering into the kitchen. When he looks at the mess, he shrugs his shoulders and starts to apologize, but I cut him off by throwing my arms around him and smothering him with kisses.

“Look at this mess. You really were lost without me,” I mutter into his mouth.

“You have no idea, my precious angel.”

“Take me to the dungeon. I’ve missed it so much.”

“Not tonight, love. Tonight I just want to hold you and sleep next to you.”

“As you wish, Master.”