The Art of Control

Epilogue

Isabel

Setting the painting out to dry, I step back and scan the image. It’s pretty good for not having painted in almost a year. Tears prick the corners of my eyes thinking about how much I’ve missed the feeling of the brush in my hand and the exhilaration of creativity. Thank you, my sweet lover, for your patience and inspiration.

I head into the bathroom to get cleaned up and there’s a blue sticky note posted to the mirror.

Have a wonderful day, my precious angel. Never forget – I LOVE YOU! P.S. How about the rig tonight, my sexy little wench?

God, I love that man. I’ll never feel deserving of his love, even though I know, I am worthy of it. I shower, thinking about the amazing scene we played out last night in the dungeon – a gentle spanking followed by a hellacious flogging and sweet vanilla with a twist sex. This is my life and I couldn’t and wouldn’t want it any other way.

After drying off, I rub vitamin E oil on the small scar over my right ovary and say a small prayer that the corrective surgery worked. Then I rub the oil over my right wrist. The new engraving is still raw and tender, but the scrolled blue letters of my husband’s name are gorgeous on my pale skin. Next, I quickly swallow my fertility pills with plenty of water and dig out the ovulation kit. This has become my daily routine.

While I set up the kit, my mind wanders to my father. I’ve come to accept his suicide, but still there’s always the lingering feeling of something lost. Why didn’t he just apologize to me in person instead of writing a letter? Why did he feel it necessary to finish off Simons after I had already hurt him? All of these unanswered questions – will I ever find out what really happened? Probably not and I’m okay with that. It’s time to move on with my life and leave all of that ugliness behind.

Finding the clothes that Master set out for me, I bring them into the restroom while I wait for my bladder to prime. I brush my teeth and overly long hair while contemplating calling the salon to get it cut. Finally feeling the urge to pee, I grab the urine cup and do my business. My stomach does a flip-flop and my heart begins to beat rapidly. Please, please let all the surgery and treatments have worked… I take in a deep breath and blow it out slowly.

Here we go. It’s show time.

***

Dylan

After sitting through another tedious meeting, my thoughts are now on Isabel. The vision of her painting when I left is overwhelming. Eight months after her ordeal with her father and his murder/suicide, and ongoing intense psychotherapy for the both of us, we’re only now starting to break through and make significant progress. The therapy has been beneficial for the both of us. For Isa, it’s helped her to deal with the things she suffered through as a child and young adult and to deal with her father’s further betrayal as an adult. For me, the therapy helps me to get over my often times crippling guilt over my parent’s death. We still have a long way to go to be free of our tragic pasts, but we’re in it for the long haul.

Only recently has Isa finally become inspired enough to pick up her paintbrush again. Though, it’s not been for lack of trying on my part to stimulate her imagination. Her newest creation: A self-portrait of a strong and fearless woman having the courage to face an uncertain and often times cruel world, a beautiful and creative woman in control. I clutch my chest thinking about our love for one another, how much we’ve come through, the possibility that we will someday become parents, and the undeniable talent that she’s gifted the world and me with.

Speaking of stimulating imagination – Sawyer has finally decided to take me up on my offer to educate him on how to be a Dom and all I have to say is, it’s about damned time. His recent time-out with Sonya was unexpected, but Sawyer says he’s doing it so he can become the man and Dom that she needs. Hopefully she’ll wait for him because I know how much he cares about her. I’m also hoping that all of our discussions have prepared him for the training I have planned.

I’m sitting at my desk with my head in the clouds thinking of all the possibilities for Sawyer’s edification when I should be thinking about work. Wanting nothing but the best for my friend, I have asked Isa to assist with his training and she’s agreed, under my guidance of course, and I truly feel she’ll be the perfect submissive and Domme to help teach him the ropes.

I’m jotting notes down of scenes I want played out between the two of them when a deep voice comes over the intercom.

“Your wife is here, Mr. Young. I’ll send her right in,” James informs me.

It’s strange having a male personal assistant, but it was Mistress Isabel’s final decision and I’ve learned it’s best to let her have her way - most of the time, anyway. I have to challenge her a little or else there’s no hope of receiving her delicious punishment.

When Isa comes in, she has the strangest look on her face.

“The verdict is in.”

I stand and pull her to me, anxious to hear the results.

“Go on, don’t tease me, wench.”

Isa grins widely, showing off her large, bright white and adorably slightly crooked teeth. “Calm your tits, my sweet lover. I’m ovulating,” she says as the air leaves her lungs.

“It worked?” I whisper.

She nods and her eyes well up with tears. “It really worked.”

“Holy magical fertility clinic!” I yell, picking Isa up in my arms and swinging her around.

She squeals out and laughs, the sound of her sheer joy making my heart overflow with the kind of love that only she can elicit from me.

“You’re going to be a mother, Isabel Young, and I’m going to be your baby daddy!”

I put her down and she suddenly looks serious.

“Maybe. Remember, all this means is that I’m ovulating, it doesn’t mean that I can conceive.”

“Don’t be such a naysayer. The doctors never said there would be any problem with that. Anyway, we’re half way there, p-ssycat. Hell, we never thought we’d get this far. Now, with a little bit of luck and a whole lot of effort, I’m sure my bad-ass alpha seed can find its way to your submissive eggs.”

Her smiles returns but the sadness in her honey eyes is all too evident. She’s still thinking about her mother and father and I can’t deny that I’m not thinking about mine, too. We’re alone in this world with no siblings or parents to speak of and we’re all we have; the two of us are our only little family unit. Of course, I can’t forget about Sawyer - he’s family, too.

“Dylan, I’m scared,” Isa laments, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Why?”

“I don’t know how to be a mother. What if I’m terrible at it?”

“You have so much to offer, love. Your heart is so full of kindness that’s not even a possibility. Oh, Isa, don’t you know that?”

“Yes, I guess I do. No…yes… I don’t know. I just don’t have any examples to go by. I hardly remember my mother.”

She’s right, but I believe with every ounce of my being that won’t hinder her from being the most wonderful mother ever.

“Do you think my father was truly sorry for what he did?” she asks out of the clear blue.

“Of course he was,” I answer, feeling only a twinge of guilt for the lie I’ve just told.

“Why didn’t he just tell me? I gave him the opportunity to say it,” she responds gloomily.

“We’ll never know and we’ll never accomplish anything by trying to figure it out. Even though he took his own life, at least he was finally man enough to give you the closure you needed by admitting his actions towards you, your mother and Simons.”

Thank YOU, Sawyer, for the closure.

“Yes, you’re right,” she affirms.

“Of course I am. So, what do you say we skip this joint and go try to make a baby?”

“Oh, yes, that sounds fabulous. By the way, I called the doctor and asked if it was okay to use whips and restraints and such.”

“What? No you did not…” I state, shocked.

“Of course I did. He said as long as it was safe, sane and consensual, and I was the one doing all of the whipping and restraining, everything should be fine.”

Isabel has the hugest, toothiest, most deceiving grin ever to grace her beautiful freckled face.

“He actually said safe, sane and consensual?”

“Yes,” she smirks.

“Nice try. You’re a terrible liar, Isabel. You know what happens to naughty little lying wenches, don’t you?” I ask, pulling her closer and biting into her neck.

“I’m not lying, I’m kidding, but please show me anyway,” she moans, going limp in my arms and giving herself over to me.

“Oh, I plan on it. But first – to the dungeon, wench!”