I Am a Dominant Read online

  I Am A Dominant

  by

  James Collier & Maggie Carpenter

  ADULT ADVISORY

  This book is for adults only, and contains scenes of spanking, graphic sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, and are fantasies only, intended for adults. This book is not for children, nor does it condone corporal punishment of children. This book contains scenes of nonconsensual activities, BDSM and other nonconsensual activities. This book does not support nonconsensual spanking or any other nonconsensual activities, sexual or otherwise.

  Copyright © 2014 Maggie Carpenter

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Dark Secrets Press

  Ebook Cover Design

  Ashley@ Redbird Designs

  Formatting

  Polgarus Studio

  Visit the author at:

  https://www.Amazon.com/author/maggiecarpenter

  www.maggiecarpenter.com

  www.MaggieCarpenter.com/blog

  www.facebook.com/MaggieCarpenterWriter

  www.twitter.com/magcarpenter2

  I AM A DOMINANT

  Introduction

  My name is James Collier, I am a Dominant, I live north of London in Hampstead Village. In the pages of this book I share my thoughts, a few notable experiences, and yes, my feelings.

  Dare a Dominant say such a thing?

  I can hear the groans…sharing feelings? Yes, because how we feel is who we are, and this book is about who I am.

  Being a Dominant is not something that happened one memorable day. No light bulb went off, no great epiphany rattled through my soul, (though I did have moments that can be described as such.) It was a growing awareness, and when the first experience fell into my lap (literally) it was a confirmation of everything I had come to know about myself.

  At an early age my desires ran to something different from my friends, i.e. man on top, woman on bottom, let’s do the humpity bump. It was the stories of spankings, bondage and the strict Masters depicted in Victorian erotica that made the blood rush to my head (and, uh, my head).

  Please Note: I was blessed with loving, long-married parents, siblings with whom I had no issues outside the expected squabbling, and I was fortunate to be educated within the hallowed halls of a centuries-old university. I find it distressing that Dominants and submissives are often portrayed as having been damaged in their early years, and that damage is what has caused them to pursue what by many, is considered an aberrant lifestyle.

  So, for the record, I am no more or less damaged than the average male. I just happen to love, love, love, dominating women. I also love, love, love women, period. My role encompasses many things; being supportive, uplifting, a disciplinarian to be sure, a shoulder to cry on, and should a bead of wisdom drop from the sky that enables me to advise and counsel, I feel blessed.

  I would also like to point out that this book wasn’t my idea. Maggie Carpenter, a dear friend for many years, often suggested (as in, she habitually harassed) that I write my memoirs. I didn’t see my life as anything particularly special, but Maggie is nothing, if not tenacious.

  I was rather chagrined to admit that I had not read any of her work, and when I finally agreed to think about a book, I zipped through the British Billionaire Bachelor series, a trilogy she claims was based loosely on yours truly. (I must point out, that while I am successful, and British, my net worth begins with an m not a b, and I’m sorry to say I do not own a jet or a grand country estate.)

  I enjoyed the books immensely, and admit that certain qualities about Simon (the hero) did remind me of myself; I suppose my ego won out. When I told Maggie I would give her the fodder if she did the work, she immediately began interrogating me.

  After endless hours on the phone, and too many emails to count, here we are. It has been a fascinating journey for us both; at times enlightening, other times we were laughing so hard we had to stop, and I admit to moments of sober soul searching as I relived some of my choices.

  This is not a biography, but a recounting of some of the more romantic, debauched, and whimsical of my dances inside the decadent world of Dominance and submission. They are complimented with my thoughts and feelings at the time, and any insight that I may have gained.

  As my life as a Dominant emerged, so did a list called, Directives and Things To Remember. They were given to each woman with whom I became involved. Some are borrowed (you may recognize them) others were borne from circumstance. There are more at the end of the book.

  Safe Words.

  Orange and Red.

  Orange: Proceed with caution. Red: Stop.

  These colors have a universal meaning. It’s a no-brainer. Please don’t tell me your safe word is Black Rose, or some other ambiguous phrase that I’m supposed to remember.

  My nature is to nurture.

  Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.

  I spank for pleasure, and I spank for punishment.

  The choice is yours.

  If you test me, you won’t be disappointed.

  Please don’t, but if you do, I suspect you will only do it once.

  I keep my promises.

  No amount of Please, Sir’s will change my mind, and might annoy me. It’s not a good idea to annoy me when I’m already there.

  I love cheeky. I don’t love a brat.

  If you don’t know the difference, tell me. I’ll enlighten you.

  Instructions are to be followed.

  If you not sure I meant it, don’t, and see what happens.

  Spanking

  It’s only one piece of the punishment pie.

  Lying never ends well.

  And somehow, I always find out.

  I Am A Dominant, and here, with the help of Maggie Carpenter, are a few of my adventures. All names have been changed (including my own).

  CHAPTER ONE

  Merrin: The First

  It was one of those drizzly, damp, cold London evenings. Faces were hidden behind umbrellas, and lowered heads with hunched shoulders and turned up collars scurried by. Dashing into my pub I chose to run upstairs in the hopes of sitting by the electric fire. There was a couch there, and a couple of armchairs, and it was one of my favorite spots to unwind.

  Not hearing a great deal of chatter as I trotted up the stairs, I was optimistic that I’d find an empty seat near the welcoming warmth, and turning into the room I was very happy to see that I was right; the only occupant near the hearth was a lone woman.

  All that was visible was the back of her head, specifically a swath of reddish hair and the shoulders of a dark green cardigan. I wasn’t a particularly gregarious young man, but I wasn’t exactly shy, and had no qualms about asking if she’d mind if I shared the space. As I approached the bar and ordered my drink, I slowly turned to glance her way.

  Is it possible to ‘hear’ someone’s look? Do we sense when another is staring at us? At that moment I believed it to be so; as I turned she did too, and for a brief moment our eyes touched; they didn’t meet, they touched. There was a connection, as though we’d been introduced and our fingers had clasped in a warm handshake.

  I could see her scrutinizing me, which was interesting since I was usually the one doing the visual inspection, but her piercing gaze didn’t make me uncomfortable; on the contrary, I was dra
wn to her, I could feel an invitation, and my return gaze told her I accepted.

  Picking up my drink I walked the short distance, feeling the heat of the fire as I neared, and chose one of the armchairs. She was on the couch and watched me as I sat, and I felt an immediate and intense attraction.

  She had classic good looks, and I guessed her heritage to be Irish; red hair, green eyes and pale, freckled skin. Her smile was enigmatic, as though she knew something I didn’t, and the black mascara coating her eyelashes accentuated the sparkle radiating across at me. Her dark green cashmere sweater, long black wool skirt and wrinkled suede boots, suggested a monied background. Tilting her head she smiled at me, and I guessed she was a few years my senior.

  “Hello, my name’s Mirren.”

  “Hello, Mirren…James,” I smiled back. Mirren. Unique. It suits you. “I come here quite a bit, and I know it’s an old line but I don’t recall seeing you before.”

  “My first time, and I only came in for a sit down. Felt a bit guilty so I bought a drink.”

  “Looks as if you’ve been shopping.”

  There were several packages on the couch and it seemed like a safe conversation starter, but I was wrong; her response almost made me spill my beer.

  “Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been a very bad girl.”

  It probably wouldn’t have struck as it did if she hadn’t dropped her eyes and lowered her voice, then stared up at me with wide eyes. I felt a twinge, something akin to the vibration from a violin string, and as it buzzed through me I knew it was a very important moment in my young life.

  (Just to be clear, my sexual escapades at this point were minimal, but at least I’d had some. I’d always felt very confident with girls, and they did seem to respond well to my awkward, yet assured attempts at seduction.)

  Two hours later I was in a small room in a small hotel, sitting on a small bed feeling a bit drunk. Why she’d chosen me I couldn’t fathom, and I didn’t care. Looking back I suppose it would have been considered seedy, but I didn’t care about that either; the chance meeting had become something extraordinary.

  Mirren was stretched across my lap, waiting for me to spank her.

  When she’d asked I didn’t even have to think about it, my only concern was that the semi-hard state of my erection wasn’t a semi anything anymore. There are men who consider themselves breast men, others leg men, and some, like me, find a woman’s derriere truly delectable. That this gorgeous creature was inviting me to slap her perfectly round backside was…well…like winning the sexual football pools.

  “Do you want to be spanked because you spent too much money, or is there something else on your conscience?”

  My hand was resting on her plump cheeks, and of its own accord began to softly caress her bottom over the soft fabric.

  “I have many sins,” she sighed, “but yes, I always feel guilty after a shopping trip.”

  “Do you make a habit of picking up men in bars to punish you after overindulging?” She paused, then wriggled, and I could feel her embarrassment. “Hasn’t anyone ever asked you that?”

  “No, not really, no. Can’t we please just get on with it?”

  That was when it started to change. Up to that point, even though I was about to redden her backside, she’d been in charge. She’d asked me to spend the evening with her, had suggested the room, and once in the room she’d asked me to spank her, but at that moment the fork in our dynamic revealed itself, and I saw my direction very clearly.

  “No, we’re not getting on with anything until you answer me. Is this something you do on a regular basis?”

  She wriggled again. I could feel her struggling with the question, and out of sheer instinct I closed my hand around her waist, a silent instruction for her to be still. To my delighted astonishment it worked and her squirming ceased.

  “I can’t say regular, but yes, I do…not all the time but…on occasion.”

  “On occasion? What does that mean?”

  “When I…have to,” she stammered, as though she was an addict admitting to needing a fix.

  At the time it was lost on me, but I quickly learned exactly what that meant. The…having to…the craving…the need.

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit risky?”

  “I suppose,” she sighed, “but risk is everywhere.”

  “I’m not going to get into a debate about risk, and while I’ll be happy to spank you for your shopping spree, I am also going to spank you for being so foolish. I could be an axe murderer.”

  I thoroughly meant what I’d said. Mirren was a beautiful woman, and her behavior was reckless at best. Scolding her and taking the role of an authority figure came to me so naturally it was almost startling.

  But then something else happened.

  She murmured two words that not only confirmed the change of the dynamic between us, but had a tremendously profound affect upon me.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  A surge of energy pulsed through my body.

  Yes, Sir.

  That’s who I was, Sir.

  She had, with those two words, turned herself over to me.

  Like a lightening bolt the epiphany hit: the reason I was so completely comfortable, the reason I had felt no hesitation when she’d asked me to spank her, was because being in charge, being in control, being a disciplinarian, was absolutely who I was.

  A ripple later I felt the responsibility of it, and the initial surge sent its second wave.

  It took me a minute to regroup, to process what was happening; the Dominant that had been living inside me like a dark shadow was suddenly out, standing under a bright spotlight, and I loved it.

  Taking a deep breath I rolled up her fine wool skirt, draping the folds of fabric across her waist, and to my great delight I discovered she was wearing suspenders, and black, full seat knickers. It was an enormously erotic sight, one I’ll never forget, and I indulged myself, casting my eye, capturing the picture.

  She wiggled, an unspoken request for me to begin, and I flashed back to my years as a boy sitting outside the headmaster’s office waiting to be called in for a tongue-lashing…or worse…the dreaded cane.

  Anticipation.

  The power of it.

  I drank it up, then grabbing her knickers I pulled them into her crack exposing her glorious moons, and was rewarded by a surprised gasp. I was about to deliver my first ever, spanking blow, when I paused.

  Two offenses. Overspending and risky behavior. How do I spank her twice?

  The answer dawned like the sun in the morning; two cheeks, one for each crime.

  I smiled, delighted at my inspiration, and smoothed my palm over her pale skin, luxuriating on a high that no drug could ever offer; I was about to turn that beautiful white skin a sensuous shade of pink.

  “I will be spanking your right cheek first, and that will be for emptying your wallet. Then I’ll move to the left, and that will be punished for being such a foolish girl, and I use the word girl because only an immature girl would put herself in such a risky situation. I think it’s time you grew up, Mirren.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she quivered.

  Again I felt the surge, the pulsing power filling my soul, and raising my hand I brought it down with a sound slap.

  The handprint sprang to life, and I paused to stare at the sight, my first pink print on a woman’s bottom. (I can see it as clearly now as I did all those years ago; it’s a memory that will never leave me.) It took me a minute but I continued on, delivering the smacks with an easy rhythm, moving my hand to administer a sound sting across her entire cheek.

  “Sir,” she wailed, gyrating her hip to swing it away in a vain attempt to avoid the next swat.

  “Save your breath,” I said sharply. “I’ll stop when I’m ready.”

  My voice was deep and stern, a tone I’d rarely used, one generally saved for rude salespeople, and now I had a whole new reason for its being, a much better, far more satisfying reason.

  Landing a few more slaps with a qu
ickened pace left her gasping, and she attempted to put her hand across her seared skin. Pushing it away I did the honors for her, rubbing firmly, delighting in the heat radiating into my hand, while trying to ignore my bursting cock.

  “I suspect this will keep you company for a while, at least long enough to keep that impetuous spending at bay.”

  “It will, Sir, it will,” she promised, the words faintly tinged with the touch of an Irish accent.

  “I’ll allow you to catch your breath before I punish you for taking such chances, picking up strange men in bars, tsk, tsk, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  She shifted her body, and I thought it was because she was trying to find a more comfortable position, but to my shock she was squirming to look back at me.

  “Sir, may I…uh…ask…?”

  I waited, her large green eyes staring up at me, but when no question was forthcoming I pressed.

  “What? Quickly, I’m ready to resume.”

  “Uh, never mind, it’s not important,” she sighed dropping her head back down.

  I studied my hand; it too was pink and I was feeling my own slight discomfort. Looking around the room for another spanking implement I didn’t see anything useful, and then the answer came in a flash; reaching down I slipped off one of my shoes.

  I was, and have remained throughout my life, a shoe buff. At the time I could ill-afford the expense of exquisitely handmade footwear, but I had indulged my passion a few months before. Using the fine, soft leather sole on her backside was immensely appealing, and gripping it firmly, I slid it over her white, virgin cheek.