The Art of Submission by Ella Dominguez Read Free Book Online Page A

as I walk up my street to my apartment building. His eyes, that mouth … I wonder what
disgraceful things he could do to me with that mouth… Good lord,
I’m acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.
    As I walk up near my apartment building I
spot a flashy sports car that looks very out of place in this
neighborhood and briefly wonder who it belongs to. I hope they have
good insurance because it won’t last long out here. I make my way
into my building and up to my apartment. Once inside, I look
briefly out the window to see the pricey car driving away.
    I get settled in, try on my new shoes and
strut around the apartment in them for awhile. After that, I decide
to take a bath and do a little self pleasuring while I’m in
there.
    Mr. Young…. That’s what’s prevalent on
my mind while I’m satisfying myself. I feel so naughty. I don’t
play with myself nearly as much as I should. I imagine it’s his
hands on my body instead of my own, his hands caressing my breasts
and working their way down my body to my inner thighs. And that
mouth…. Yes … I imagine his
mouth on Ms. Kitty, licking me, biting me; his tongue working its
magic on my neglected sweet bundle of nerves. I say a silent prayer
while I’m coming … please, please let me
just be with him once.
    Feeling quite satisfied after that, I
eat a small snack and decide to call it a night a little early. I’m
comfortably lying in my bed, drifting off to sleep and again my
mind is on Mr. Young. Why can’t I stop thinking about him…. Because I don’t want to. Sleep
finally finds me.
    His ice blue eyes are watching me intently
as I kneel in front of him. I’m looking up at him, waiting for his
next command. He slowly walks around me, running his fingers
through my hair. He bends down and whispers something in my ear,
his mouth caressing my earlobe as he speaks. “I want your mouth,”
he seductively whispers…..
    Yes! The sound
of my own voice wakes me. Oh. My. God. That was amazing. Once again
I’m wet and shaking. I jump up, and just wearing my panties and
bra, head to my paint room. I need to put this down on canvas,
NOW.
    It’s after 5:00 in the morning before I get
back to bed. I’ve just painted a very wicked piece. Oh, Mr. Young.
The things you inspire me to create. Sleep now… for a few more
hours…
    It’s 6:30 and I faintly hear the sound
of my phone ringing. It is ringing, isn’t it? Or am I
dreaming? Answer it . The
ringing is now louder. Answer
it . No, this isn’t a dream…. ANSWER IT. Who the hell
is calling me at this time on a Saturday? I look at my phone and
don’t recognize the number, and debate whether or not to answer
it.
    Finally, I sleepily answer, but there’s no
response on the other end. “Helloooo?” I repeat. Finally, I hear a
voice I don’t recognize on the other end. It’s a man’s voice, deep
and sexy.
    “Yes. This is Dylan Young…”
    No… I must still be asleep and dreaming. Is
someone playing a cruel joke on me? My mind is surely playing
tricks on me….
    “Ms. Ibanez?” He asks in that impossibly sexy
voice.
    All I can manage out is “Hi.” I’m still
reeling…. Wait…why is he calling me and how did he…? “How did you
get my number?”
    Oops. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. His
response throws me off guard. Oh no. Not him too with the
condescending tone. Yes, I know who he is and what he does for a
living. He doesn’t have to be snarky about it. As usual, my mouth
betrays me.
    “Y…y…yes,” I feebly say. I make some lame
attempt at apologizing for showing up at his work, but what I
really want to say is that I acted like a damn fool and please
forget you ever met me.
    “What was the reason, Isabel?”
    Wow. The sound of his voice saying my
name…. but that tone. What’s his problem? Condescending creep.
He wants to know the reason? Fine. I put my big girl panties on and
tell him I want my paintings back. What do you think of that Mr.
Young?
    “Oh, really?”
    Seriously? This guy