I Am a Dominant

by Maggie Carpenter

  “What the hell is this place,” I muttered.

  “What does it look like? There are all kinds of stories about it, and Da knows them all.”

  “I’ll just bet he does,” I mumbled, and I wonder if he’s made his own trips down here, to terrorize the men his daughter sleeps with.

  “He just acts tough,” Mirren laughed as if reading my mind. “He’s really just a big teddy bear, but I don’t want to talk about him. Isn’t it perfect? Do you see why I had to bring you? Do you see?”

  I began taking it all in, and a wicked smile began to cross my face.

  “Yes, I see. My goodness, Mirren…Mirren,” I sighed, shaking my head as I walked towards her. “You still should have told me about everything, and you know that, and you know I’m going to punish you.”

  “Yes, James, I do,” she softly replied, the catch in her voice telling me she was already sinking into her submissive state.

  “You’ve fantasized about this place your whole life, haven’t you?” I breathed, tracing my finger around her lips. “I’ll bet you came down here as a young girl, imagining all kinds of things?”

  “I did, all the time, and when I was a teenager, oh, James, the things that went through my mind. I’d bring my boyfriends here, and they loved it, but they had no idea-”

  “No idea what to do with you,” I interrupted, grabbing her wrists and pinning them behind her back.

  “No, no idea,” she gasped.

  Abruptly spinning her around I pushed her over a massive stone slab, and grabbing the scarf from around her neck I quickly tied her hands.

  “I’m going to fuck you,” I growled, my lips at her ear, “and when we go back and sit at dinner, with everyone so civil and polite, we’ll be thinking about what I gave you for an appetizer.”

  Standing back I unzipped my trousers and pulled out my stiffening cock, then lifting her skirt I yanked down her knickers and pushed my fingers into her sex; she was sopping.

  “Oh, Mirren, I am going to fuck you so hard.”

  I thrust forward, then resting my hands on the rock I leaned my body over hers.

  “Tonight, alone in your bed,” I breathed, kissing her ear and nibbling her neck, “I want you to think about how I’m going to redden your backside here tomorrow, how I’m going to put you into those shackles and torture your tits, how I’m going to blindfold you and tease you until you’re screaming, begging me to let you come.”

  It didn’t matter that I had no keys for the shackles, and there’d probably be no way to make them work even if I did, the thought sent Mirren into a frenzy. She bucked back, grinding her bottom against me, and spurred by her desperate hunger I raised myself up, clutched her hips, and turned my cock into a piston.

  Whether it was being in such a dark, centuries-old chamber, Mirren’s realization of a lifelong fantasy, or the malicious joy that I was ravaging O’Reilly’s daughter I don’t know, but my orgasm was, for lack of a better word, un-fucking-believable.

  So was hers, so much so that I took great pleasure in muffling her shrieks by grabbing her hair, yanking her head back, and devouring her mouth with mine.

  It took us more than a few minutes to recover, but of course we did, and at dinner that night, seated at the ridiculously long table and smiling at the florid face of my host, all that was on my mind as I consumed the delicious meal was the sight of Mirren’s perfect posterior just a few hours earlier, and how much I was going to enjoy spanking it until it was glowing red the following day.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Some Fantasies Should Remain Fantasies: 2

  Mirren’s mother, Maureen, was a tall (no surprise there) handsome woman, with cascading red hair and challenging eyes, and I could see why Brian O’Reilly had chosen her as his life’s mate. Not only did she strike me as the kind of woman who could handle just about anything he might throw at her, she had a warm graciousness, and I sensed she was a very sensual being.

  We were at breakfast, and studying Maureen across the table it was easy to see that Mirren would one day look very much like her mother. Had I been older and more mature, I would have also realized that Mirren would probably grow into the same kind of woman, a woman who could hold a family together, weather storms and offer strong comfort.

  Maureen liked me, I have always known when women like me, perhaps it’s a Dominant’s instinct, but regardless, she thought I was good for Mirren and had no qualms about telling me so.

  We’d finished breakfast and she was escorting us across to the stable yard to show me her horses. Mirren was lagging behind with her brother, Kent, another tall O’Reilly. She’d already told me she didn’t share her mother’s love of riding, and I knew she was eager to get me back to the ruins.

  “She can be a bit flighty,” Maureen said softly.

  “Yes, she does get a bit carried away sometimes,” I smiled.

  “Mirren needs a firm hand. A man who isn’t afraid to stand up to her,” Maureen continued. “Her father can control her but I never could. She’s had a mind of her own since the day she was born.”

  “She still does,” I agreed, and her bottom often pays the price for it.

  “I have a feeling she might have met her match in you, James,” she said warmly.

  I was flattered, and somewhat taken aback that she had picked up on my energy, but when we’d finished at the stables the conversation gave me the courage to ask if I could have Mirren to myself for a while. I saw the sparkle spring to life in Mirren’s eyes, and as she said goodbye to her mother and brother, I discreetly picked up a riding crop and slipped it under my jacket.

  “Mother likes you,” she remarked as we started walking.

  “It’s mutual, but right now I want to focus on her daughter,” I declared, and with a flourish I revealed the crop.

  Her eyes fluttered over the long, thin whip, and without a word she grabbed my arm.

  “Already in that mode, or did the sight of this put you there?” I asked, waving the whip in the air.

  “Not exactly. I am, I mean, I was already…feeling…that way,” she answered slowly.

  She reached for my hand, and leaning her head against my shoulder she pulled me to a gentle stop.

  “What is it?”

  “James, I need to tell you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I didn’t sleep at all last night, thinking about us, today, in the dungeon.”

  “Good.”

  “I mean it, not at all.”

  It was obvious she was trying to tell me something but she needed me to push, so I did.

  “What is it, Mirren? What is it you want to say?”

  “James,” she whispered, “I want you to, really, uh, I don’t want you to hold back. I mean, do whatever you want, anything, everything, I really want you to.”

  I felt an odd mixture of elation and apprehension. Was she asking me to hurt her, really hurt her? I couldn’t, nor did I want to. How does a Dom determine the extent of a scene? Since Mirren was my first submissive I had no experience. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but how could I know, how would I know, exactly what she wanted.

  She started walking again, her fingers tightly holding my hand. I was mulling over her words, and as the ruins came into view I heard her take a quick breath. Much to my chagrin I’d reached no conclusions; I’d simply have to wing it and hope I guessed right.

  “Can we pretend something?” she suddenly asked.

  “You mean like, I’m a pirate?” I smiled.

  “Yes, except, not a pirate.”

  “Why do I think you’re going to suggest something you’ve thought about for a very long time?”

  She was frowning back at me, a worried look in her eyes.

  “You can suggest anything,” I assured her. “I won’t judge you, Mirren, you know that. Tell me.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you when we get inside,” she said quietly, and I suspected she needed the extra time to summon up the courage.

  I was truly intrigued; I couldn
’t imagine what she wanted, and why she thought it might bother me. As we reached the ruins and walked through the rickety door, she wrapped her arms around my neck and spoke haltingly in my ear.

  “Can we pretend this is our wedding night, and I’m an unwilling bride, and you’ve brought me here to, uh, show me that you’re the boss, and, uh, to spank me to make me comply…and then you…uh…you…”

  “I what, Mirren?”

  “You, uh, take me from behind.”

  The request startled me, and not wanting any misunderstandings about something so important, I had to make sure I knew exactly what she was asking.

  “Are you saying you want me to fuck you in the ass?”

  “Yes,” she squeaked, “to show me, you know, that you own me.”

  It was a profound request, and while it was something I’d thought about, it wasn’t something I’d done before. Mirren was offering me another first, and while it sent a rush of, whoa, should I do this? it stirred my Dominant soul.

  “In case you wanted to I brought something with me, it’s in my pocket,” she whispered, her face still buried in my neck.

  Slipping my hand in her jacket I felt a small plastic bottle, and pulling it out I discovered it was KY Jelly.

  “Take the lantern, go down the steps, take off everything but your bra and knickers, and wait for me.”

  I felt her tremble, then hugging me tightly she spun around and moved quickly away.

  I took a deep breath and stared at the innocuous plastic bottle. Something about her request felt, for lack of a better word, heavy, as though what she had just asked of me had far greater meaning for her than just the realization of a long-held fantasy. I hesitated, pondering the wisdom of what I was about to do, but my youthful zeal brushed aside my concerns, and I set my focus on the task at hand.

  Moving down the steps into the creepy, dark space, I found Mirren feigning a frightened expression, standing against the wall underneath a set of old black chains. She had one arm over her breasts, the other stretched down her torso, her hand covering the crotch of her knickers.

  “You know why I brought you here,” I began sternly, tossing aside my jacket.

  “Yes, husband,” she squeaked.

  I began walking slowly towards her, stripping off my shirt as I did.

  “You’re now my wife, and you will obey me, you will serve me, do as I wish, give me what I desire, and I desire your body.”

  “But, Sir, I’ve not had a man before.”

  Images of the uninhibited woman who had picked me up in a bar on a wet night in London, and had unabashedly shared my bed ever since, flashed through my head, and I had to suppress a laugh.

  “Just as well,” I barked, then I had a sudden thought. Did she want me to be loving and seductive, or brutal, or combination of both?

  I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy, and doubt was lurking in the shadows of my mind, but now shirtless I forged ahead, touching my lips to her ear.

  “You are my bride, and I will have you, but not until you want me more than you have ever wanted anything in your entire life. You will be begging me to fuck you.”

  I felt a quiver and heard the quick intake of breath; I’d guessed right.

  “First, though, you must be punished for being so willful, for attempting to reject me.”

  “I’m sorry, husband,” she whispered.

  “Face the wall and raise your hands above your head. It’s time you learned about the sting of the crop.”

  Whimpering, she turned her body around, and as she did I pulled off my belt, quickly wrapping it around her wrists and securing it to the heavy ring holding the ancient iron chains. I doubted it was a strong tether but it would suffice, after all, this was all just theatre.

  Lifting the crop I slid it back and forth across her bottom, still covered in the thin satin of her underwear.

  “You will learn I am the Master of my house,” I decreed, and without warning I swished it down.

  The yelp echoed around the dim cavern, and quickly landing a second just below the first, I felt the familiar heat surge through my being. Dropping my hand between her legs I pushed aside the narrow gusset and felt for her wetness; she was drenched, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

  “You see? You already show the signs, you’re already in need of my cock, your body is betraying you.”

  Slipping her knickers down her legs, leaving them around her ankles as a simple restraint, I gazed lustily at the red marks striping her gorgeous backside; two horizontal lines over the roundness of her cheeks.

  It’s like a work of abstract art. I wish I could paint, I would preserve that in oil. It would be a masterpiece, a thing of beauty to behold forever. I’d call it, Ode To Keats.

  The thudding clink of the chains against the rock snapped me out of my reverie, and I moved to her side, placing the crop at her mouth.

  “Hold this for me,” I said softly.

  Her eyes were wide as she stared at me, and opening her mouth she took it between her teeth, biting down gently.

  “Good girl, perhaps we’re getting somewhere. Your cunt is gloriously slippery, and your fear is now greater for the sting of the crop than my manhood. Am I right?”

  She nodded her head, and dropping my lips against her neck as I slipped my hand in her bra to fondle her full, luscious breast, I moved my naked torso against her. Glancing up I saw she’d closed her eyes, and her breathing was becomingly increasingly rapid. As I traveled my mouth across her shoulders she moaned loudly and attempted to part her legs, but was thwarted by her underwear around her ankles.

  Journeying my hand over her ass I slapped her a few times, sharp, solid swats that made her gasp, then moving my fingers against her hot wetness I pressed a finger inside her, and began moving it in and out.

  She attempted to speak but the crop prevented it, so withdrawing my hand I pulled it from her lips.

  “What? Is there something you wish to say?”

  “Husband,” she groaned, “you were right, I do want you, I do.”

  “I said you’d have to be begging, and that was far from begging. No, you must learn your lesson, well and truly.”

  To the sounds of her disappointed whimpers I dropped the crop on the ground and loosened the belt from the chains just enough to turn her to face me. Tightening it back up I gazed at her breasts still encased in the black satin and lace of the bra cups.

  It was an enchanting sight, her arms above her head, the dim glow of the lantern cloaking her body in its ghostly hue, and her knickers still locking her legs together. Reaching down for the crop I brought it up to the naked skin above the lace of her bra, and began flicking it with the short, leather tongue.

  “Husband,” she bleated, “must you do this?”

  “How dare you question me,” I barked, and landed a zinging slap on her thigh with my open palm. “I am now your Lord and Master, and you’d be well-advised to remember that.”

  I could feel myself getting swept up in the fantasy. It was two-hundred, maybe three-hundred years ago, and I, as Master of my castle, had brought my disobedient bride to this dark cavern to mend her ways.

  My hand roughly pulled her breasts from their lacy holders, and I lowered my lips to suck each nipple in turn, drawing them hungrily into my mouth, bringing forth groans and utterances of pleasure. Dropping my hand between her legs I vigorously rubbed her clit, massaging her to the edge, and as she caught her breath and her body stiffened I stood up letting my tantalizing fingers fall away.

  “Now let me hear you beg,” I breathed.

  She began to utter something but I cut her off, clutching her hair and pushing my lips against hers. Kissing her fervently I consumed her mouth, pressed and lingered, then danced my tongue against hers, eliciting squeaks and groans of need; when I finally pulled back she was breathless.

  “Please, I beg you,” she whimpered, “please, I want you so much, so much…”

  Stepping back I pulled the lube from my trouser pocket and placed it on o
ne of the large stone benches just a few feet away. Pausing a moment, considering what I was about to do, a took a deep breath, peeled off my trousers, and reaching up to unfasten the belt from the heavy iron chains I deliberately pressed my hardness against her.

  The moment her wrists were free she threw her body against mine, pressing her bushy mound against my thigh. Gripping her upper arms I moved her to the bench, pushing her over it, and without a moment’s hesitation sent my cock into her drenched cunt.

  She let out a plaintive cry of pleasure as I began to thrust, but her fantasy was yet to be complete and I knew she was very close to her climax. Staying buried in her delicious channel I picked up the lube, placed a drop on my finger, pulled one of her striped cheeks to the side, and touched my finger to her dark, puckered hole.

  “Husband, what are you doing?”

  Her wailed question was sharp and frightened, and maintaining my role I gently began to push my finger forward.

  “I am showing you the truth, that your body is mine to do with as I wish, and I wish to have you back here. Do you object? I can always have my crop convince you.”

  “Oh, Sir, no, Sir,” she mewled.

  My heart was pounding with as much apprehension as it was excitement. I had no desire to harm her, but to my amazement, as I moved my finger in and out she opened up for me, inviting me to enter.

  I pulled my cock from her pussy, spread her cheeks, and started to drive myself inside her naughty hole. She sighed heavily, as though she loved what was happening, so I pressed further, tenderly impaling her, then closing my eyes I surrendered to the lewd, tight pleasure. My strokes gathered momentum as my confidence grew, and as I felt my climax looming she raised her body, dropping her fingers against her sex to massage her clit.

  “Yes, you may,” I panted, “you may bring yourself to your moment, but now I must spank you for not asking permission.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think,” she stammered.

  I spanked and fucked, landing my hand with gusto as my cock rode her sublime backside, and when her back arched, and I saw her muscles straining as she approached her orgasm, I clenched my teeth in readiness.