I Am a Dominant Read online

  “You’re using your shoe?” she quivered.

  “Indeed! Overspending is one thing, but allowing yourself to be at the mercy of a strange man is something else entirely, and deserves to be dealt with.”

  “But-”

  “But nothing. You know I’m right.”

  “Yes, Sir, you are right, I’ve just never been spanked with anything other than a hand.”

  “Perhaps that’s your problem. Perhaps your discipline hasn’t been adequate, but I’m not interested in participating in anything you’re not completely comfortable with. Should I let you up?”

  I had sounded so much older and more experienced than my years, and where it came from I had no clue.

  She groaned and squirmed, battling with the question, and I sat, waiting patiently, continuing to slide the sole of my beautiful footwear over her waiting cheek.

  It was a delicious moment of perverse pleasure; my cock was screaming for attention, her scarlet cheek and its milky-white twin were nestled side-by-side, and I knew her desperation to avoid the shoe was just as fierce as my craving to slap it down.

  “No, Sir, I…uh…don’t want to get up,” she finally squeaked.

  Her desire for the hard discipline sent a new wave of excitement through my loins, and raising the shoe just a few inches from its target, I flicked it down. I heard the stifled cry, and knew it must have held a keen bite. I delivered three more fast swats, and she kicked out her legs, hissing between her teeth. Not wanting to be cruel, and having no idea just how much the shoe leather burned, I decided to offer just a few more before stopping.

  “Am I making my point?” I asked, pausing to give her a moment to catch her breath and allow the pain to be fully absorbed.

  “Yes, oh, yes, yes,” she panted. “You’re right, you’re right, it’s a really stupid thing to do.”

  “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Three more, then one on each side where you sit.”

  The shoe spanked it’s triple a tad slower than the previous three, then delivered two more on the sensitive crease where her thighs met her seat. She threw back her head, then her hand, and I allowed her spread fingers to rest on her newly scorched skin.

  “Oh, Sir, Sir,” she bleated, “I’m dreadfully sorry, I don’t even know you, but you’ve made such an impression.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling the divine satisfaction, but it was only a minute or two; my cock needed attention. I looked around the room, trying to decide where and how to ravage her, and as if reading my mind she squirmed her head around for a second time.

  “Please, Sir, please will you have sex with me?”

  Have sex with me?

  It was such a polite request, and it brought a wide smile to my lips.

  “Let me see how much you want it,” I teased.

  I had used the provocative phrase before, with the few girls who had allowed me to enjoy them. Each of them had responded in quite the delicious way, moaning and thrusting their pussies at me, eager for the examination, but the titillating inquiry I could take no credit for, I had read it in one of my spicy Victorian novels.

  “Oh, Sir,” she mewled as my fingers reached into the gusset of her knickers.

  “You’re right, you certainly do want it,” I said casually, pretending I wasn’t suffering from a voracious need to plunge my cock into her saturated pussy. “Crawl off my lap and on to your hands and knees.”

  “There’s a rubber in my handbag,” she stammered as she dutifully did as she was told.

  “I should have spanked you harder,” I grimaced, realizing she had entered that bar for the sole reason of finding a man.

  I found it quickly, and dispensing with my trousers, underwear, socks, and my remaining shoe, I settled behind her, grabbed her hips, and proceeded to pummel her senseless.

  I was glad of the condom, not just for the obvious reasons but because it was quite thick and helped me control my deep need to explode the moment I entered her divine cunt. I did my best to extend our joy ride, but not much time passed before she was wailing with her orgasm, which sent me spinning into mine.

  There was a tiny bathroom, (though that is a supreme compliment to the small sink and toilet attached to the room), and after cleaning up I laid down beside her. She curled into my arms, and I found the acute sense of intimacy surprising.

  “Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

  “Is this the thing you were going to ask earlier?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was afraid I’d offend you, or maybe you’d take it the wrong way.”

  “Go ahead and ask. You’ve got me curious.”

  “How long have you been a Dominant? You’re so skilled, and yet you’re so…”

  I knew she was hesitating because she was about to comment on my age, but it made no difference to the swell of pride rumbling through me.

  “Long enough to deal with the likes of you,” I said quickly, saving her by cutting her off.

  “Yes, you certainly can,” she sighed. “You have such a…a way about you. How you talk…everything. Can I ask? Do you have a girlfriend?”

  I’m sure I had a look on my face like the Cheshire Cat. This gorgeous older woman was asking if she could spend more time with me; she wanted more of my ‘Dominant skill.’

  “No, no girlfriend, and I’d be very happy to spend more time with you,” then looking around the room and seeing it for the first time I added, “but not here, not in any kind of room like this.”

  “No,” she agreed, “not ever again.”

  We became very close, and for five minutes I believed I was in love. It wasn’t until much later in my life I learned what real love is, the heart-stopping, gut-wrenching, I can’t live without her, kind of love, but there is more to come about Mirren, and I’m getting ahead of myself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Some Fantasies Should Remain Fantasies: 1

  When Mirren invited me to her family’s home for a weekend I was hesitant; meeting the parents, not my favorite way to spend a Saturday and Sunday. There was of course the age difference, not terribly significant but it was obvious…and then there was the matter of her family’s house.

  From what she’d told me, which wasn’t a great deal, I knew it was going to be a serious house; multistoried, servants, and probably genuine suits of armor. I certainly didn’t come from poverty, but I had the sense that her family was far more accomplished than mine. Being the man I am today it wouldn’t bother me one bit, but at the time I found the prospect intimidating.

  Whatever my concerns the decision was plucked from my hands after making the mistake of answering her telephone; she was in the shower and called for me to pick up it up. I had a flash of, this isn’t a good idea, and I had been right; I suddenly found myself speaking with her father.

  “Ah, you must be James. Excellent. I’m looking forward to your visit this weekend. If Mirren hasn’t already told you, don’t worry about finding a taxi or renting a car. Phelps will meet you. She’s probably told you about Phelps.”

  “There’s a possibility I may have to work,” I mumbled, not giving two hoots about Phelps, whoever he was.

  “We’re having a small gathering on Saturday night, just a few friends for drinks and dinner, so best to bring a dinner jacket. You do have a dinner jacket?”

  He either hadn’t heard me, or brilliantly ignored my feeble attempt at a plausible excuse.

  “Yes, Mr. O’Reilly, I do own a dinner jacket.”

  “Excellent. Now if I may speak to my daughter?”

  No, you may not. She’s in the shower soaping her cunny. I spanked her good and proper then fucked her silly for an hour.

  “She just nipped out for some milk,” I replied, quickly adding, “When I arrived I found a note on the door,” how ridiculous that sounded. God, James!

  “Ah, well, please have her call me when she’s back. I’ll leave you to put the kettle on.”

  Hanging up the phone I
joined my sinking heart which had already collapsed into her couch. (Yes, into. It was a big billowing thing with so many floppy cushions I often wondered how she managed to take her naps without being accidentally smothered.) There was no way out of the weekend now; I was stuck.

  Fast forward to our arrival at The O’Reilly Family House. The house wasn’t a house, it was a castle, literally, and I was furious with Mirren for not warning me.

  I’d been expecting something grand because of some bits and pieces she’d let slip, and the laaarge car that had retrieved us from the airport (I cannot recall the make or model, just that it was laaarge.) Phelps, the overly polite, scarily well-built driver, underscored the grand house belief, but a castle? A castle had not been on my radar.

  As we drove up to the castle gates (yes, tall, wrought iron, castle gates) she shot me a sheepish smile, but I was having none of it, and my look told her she was going to pay mightily for her cowardice. It was cowardice; she’d been afraid to tell me the extent of her family’s wealth for fear I would refuse to join her. She may well have been right, but it was my choice to make, not hers.

  The laaarge car pulled to a stop, and when I moved to open the door Mirren placed her hand on my arm.

  “We should wait for Phelps,” she whispered.

  “I know how to open a door,” I replied brusquely.

  “It’s just…how we do it,” she mumbled. “Please, for me?”

  So I sat, determined to give myself an attitude adjustment, and the moment I had the opportunity, to turn Mirren’s bottom a very bright red.

  I told myself that being a guest at a castle for the weekend wasn’t the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and it could be entertaining. The fact that I was struggling to make my way in the world, and it was obvious Mirren could buy and sell me with the loose change in her handbag shouldn’t matter in the least. It was only two days, I could do anything for two days.

  The huge double doors of the imposing stone building were made of thick wood, had massive cast iron hinges, and a knocker that must have weighed a ton. I was shocked at how easily they swung open, and the person responsible, waiting on the other side, was (of course) a uniformed maid.

  When I entered it was difficult not to let my jaw drop; I found myself in an expansive foyer with a stone fireplace that was bigger than my flat (well, almost, certainly big enough to house my bed). I was only sorry it was summer. What I would have given to see an actual fire burning in there. I stared at it, completely overwhelmed by its size, thinking they’d have to chop down an entire tree to get the thing blazing.

  “This place costs a fortune to heat,” Mirren informed me, catching my disbelieving stare. “The big fireplaces here are essential.”

  “Seems to me if you can afford a castle, you can afford to have some kind of modern heating,” I mumbled.

  “We do,” she frowned lowering her voice, “but the fireplaces really help, and they’re fun.”

  “Has anyone ever been burned alive in one of them?” I asked facetiously.

  “Yes, some of my rude boyfriends,” she hissed.

  “What about roasting the bottom of a manipulative girlfriend,” I asked, leaning my mouth to her ear.

  I felt her stiffen and knew I’d just set her stomach flipping, but the satisfying moment was cut short by the appearance of her father, Mr. Brian O’Reilly, a robust, frighteningly fit man whose age was impossible to gauge.

  “Excellent, you’re here” he boomed in a voice that matched his body. “Welcome, I do hope you’ll enjoy your visit with us.”

  He extended his hand, and though genuinely fearful he was about to break every one of my fingers, I brought mine forward to meet it.

  “Thank you,” I smiled, “I’m sure I will.”

  “Mary, show our visitor to his room then bring him into the study. Mirren, come with me.”

  He barked orders like a drill sergeant, and as Mirren looped her arm around his and walked off, Mary, the maid who had miraculously opened the world’s heaviest door, bustled forward and picked up my bag.

  The fact that she may have been able to maneuver the door did nothing to quash my chivalrous nature, and I could not allow the slip of woman to carry both my suitcase, small though it was, and my garment bag. When the impressive Mr. O’Reilly and my fractious girlfriend disappeared around a corner, I purposefully relieved Mary of my case.

  “But, Sir,” she protested, “I must.”

  She looked genuinely flustered so I allowed her to take my garment bag, and as she led me up the wide, winding staircase, I took a moment to glance around.

  Wide tapestries hung on the walls, portraits of brawny looking men from another era stared down at me, their faces severe, their postures challenging. Mirren had grown up surrounded by these dramatic paintings, and a man, who it seemed, could lead other men into hand-to-hand battle. It was no wonder she loved to be dominated. It was how she related to the male figure, at least, that was my guess.

  After unpacking the few things I’d brought with me (as Mary waited outside the door), I followed her back down the wide, thickly carpeted staircase, then along some endless hallways, some of which were more like reception rooms. She stopped at a tall double door, (but then, all the doors were tall), and gestured for me to enter.

  Brian O’Reilly was standing by another enormous fireplace mantle, and I suddenly decided that the castle must have been built by a race of people that stood over seven feet, and suffered from severe chills.

  “So, what would you like to drink?” he asked, heading over to a bar that looked like a real bar, i.e. one offering so many bottles it could have been found in a hotel.

  “Uh, malt whiskey if you have it,” I replied.

  To my surprise he began to laugh, or rather chortle.

  “Do I have it? Mirren, you bad girl, you haven’t told this young man anything.”

  “Uh, not really,” she said shooting me another apologetic look.

  “But you will,” he said firmly.

  “Yes, of course, Da, of course I will.”

  As he reached for a square decanter half-filled with the dark amber liquid, I darted my puzzled eyes across at her, but she couldn’t hold my gaze and looked away; clearly she was feeling guilty.

  And so you should. What’s the next surprise? I am going to tan your backside for not preparing me for any of this.

  He handed me a heavy crystal tumbler with a generous splash of the stuff, and launched into a speech about the history of the castle. I listened politely, fighting the temptation to ask him where I could take his daughter for some private over-the-knee time, and ironically it was Mirren who finally piped up and got us out of there.

  “I want to show James the old ruins before it gets too late.”

  “Very well,” he sighed. “Don’t be long. We’ll be sitting down to eat soon.”

  She led me down another long passageway, through a kitchen that was shockingly modern, and out the back door.

  “James, I’m so, so sorry,” she began. “I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you that I’d grown up in a castle.”

  “That is painfully obvious,” I frowned.

  “You don’t understand,” she groaned. “When I’ve told people in the past, after a while I felt that they only wanted to keep seeing me because of it, or worse, they didn’t want to see me anymore at all. I didn’t want either of those things to happen with us.”

  “What was so amusing about me wanting a malt whiskey?”

  “Um, yes, that’s the other thing I haven’t told you,” she grimaced. “Have you ever heard of the Irish distillery, Finnegan and…uh…”

  I stopped walking and stared at her in shock.

  “Finnegan and O’Reilly? You’re the O’Reilly part?”

  She nodded ruefully.

  “Mirren, you should have told me!”

  “I know, I’m sorry, I’ve just explained why I didn’t. I was worried you might not come if you knew.”

  “You’re right, I would ha
ve been in two minds about it,” I admitted, “but that was my choice to make, and what’s so important about me being here anyway?”

  “You’ll have the answer to that question very soon,” she promised. “Just trust me.”

  Shaking my head I acquiesced, and began following her down a path that became rockier the further we walked. As it dipped down into a small valley she raised her arm and pointed in the distance.

  “Look, see those ruins?”

  Peering across the landscape I could see what was once some kind stone building, and looked almost like a miniature fortress.

  “I do.”

  “There hasn’t been a day since we met that I haven’t thought about being in there with you. I’m sorry, James, I couldn’t stand it any more. I absolutely had to bring you here.”

  She hurried ahead, so naturally I hurried after her, wondering what could possibly be so compelling about an old ruin, but as we drew closer her excitement became contagious. The door was still in tact, though to my eye it looked perilous, and I did feel a bit apprehensive when she pulled it open and stepped inside.

  “Prepare yourself,” she winked over her shoulder.

  Not sure what she meant I followed her in. We moved through an empty room, turned a corner, and she pointed at the floor; staring down I saw steps leading into darkness.

  “What’s down there?”

  “You won’t believe it when you see it,” she giggled.

  “But it’s pitch black.”

  “Not for long,” she winked, and reaching behind a pile of rubble she withdrew a battery operated lantern. “This works really well.”

  Moving past me she started down the stairs, and though I had far more trepidation than curiosity, I followed. As the light began to illuminate the space, for the second time that day I found myself staring in disbelief; I was standing in a dungeon, a real dungeon, and it was clear it had once been used for torture.

  Iron shackles hung from the walls, there were several rock benches with fraying ropes strewn across them, holders for torches were still set into the brick, and astonishingly, long heavy pokers were still resting in the remains of a fire pit.