The British Billionaire Bachelor, Act Two

by Maggie Carpenter

  “How does this affect us?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t, except, as I just said, I don’t want to get married until it’s over. I’m not sure exactly where this path will lead. I suppose I just want all the bad stuff behind me when I wait for you at the end of the aisle. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I do, and I want to help. Isn’t there something I can do?”

  “You are such a gem,” he smiled, hugging her tightly. “I’m certainly not putting you in harm’s way. If there’s some research, or something that can be done safely, yes.”

  “Why did you want to tell me all of this up here? You could have shared this with me at home.”

  “Because, my love,” he sighed, taking her hand, staring out at the metropolis below, “this is where I feel empowered. I look at that city and I know how I’ve conquered it. This place puts me in touch with my strength. It gave me the strength to tell you how much I love you,” he finished, dropping his gaze back to her.

  “Simon Sinclair, have I told you today that I love you too?”

  “Hmmm, let me think. Yes, I believe you told me that when we woke up this morning,” he replied, kissing her forehead, then her ear, her neck, her cheek, traveling his lips to her mouth, and cupping her head in his hands, kissed her fervently, stirring his cock to life.

  “Simon,” she breathed as they broke apart, “can we please tell each other that every night before we go to sleep, and every morning when we wake up, no matter what.”

  “Absolutely. No matter what,” he agreed.

  Novels

  Elizabeth’s Education

  Elizabeth’s Education–Book Two: The Inheritance

  Déjà Vu

  An Eternal Flame (Déjà Vu–Book Two)

  Malibu Heat

  The Billionaire’s Daughter

  The British Billionaire Bachelor

  The Spanking Psychiatrist

  The Rockstar and the Cowgirl

  Coming Soon

  Novellas

  Covert Cravings

  Whitney Turner, a tall, willowy, highly strung advertising executive, entered Dr. Thaddius Montgomery’s office for her usual appointment looking particularly distressed. The psychiatrist had learned to schedule her at the end of the day, on a Friday, so she could relieve herself of her stress and have the weekend to reflect and relax.

  “Dr. Montgomery, I am just beside myself,” she began, gesticulating urgently. “I swear I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

  “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what’s happened,” he suggested gently.

  “Sit? I can’t sit. I’m too upset,” a statement she underscored by pacing around his office.

  Suspecting this could turn into one of Whitney’s double sessions, another reason he had learned to book her appointments at the end of the day, he buzzed his secretary who also doubled as his receptionist.

  “Susan, you don’t need to stay. Why don’t you close up and get on home?”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” the young voice replied. “Have a nice weekend.”

  “You have to help me. I just don’t know what to do with myself,” Whitney continued oblivious to everything but her plight.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s happened,” he replied patiently.

  “I did something terrible,” she confessed, turning dramatically to face him. “Terrible.”

  “What, pray tell, was that?” he pressed, moving to his armchair near the sofa. It was where he knew the agitated woman would eventually come to rest.

  “I’ve been promoted,” she announced. “Youngest vice-president in the company’s history. It’s all very exciting, but I’ve been under so much pressure and, well, my biggest client, oh it’s all too complicated,” she finished throwing her hands up in the air with all the drama of an Oscar-winning performance.

  “I don’t need the back story. Just what you did,” Tad persisted.

  “Fine!” she barked. “Sorry, that’s what I did, have been doing.”

  “Snapping at people?”

  “More than snapping. This afternoon I bellowed at Terry and I feel terrible. She’s the best secretary I could possibly ask for, and I screamed at her over nothing.”

  “Nothing being?”

  “She’d been too busy to make a fresh pot of coffee.”

  Tad saw the woman’s shoulders slump in defeat, and as he knew she would, she kicked off her high-heels and padded her way towards him, slumping on the sofa.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel so guilty and I want her back, but I doubt that will happen. She’s had enough. She ran out of the office in tears and told me not to expect her on Monday.”

  “Perhaps it was her own frustration talking,” Tad suggested. “Call her and apologize. I suspect she’ll change her mind.”

  “That’s not the point. It has to stop. It’s as if I have no control anymore. Quite honestly I feel like I need to be spanked,” she declared, dropping her head into her hands.

  “Maybe you do,” Tad agreed, more a spoken thought than a practical suggestion.

  “Would you? Could you?” she asked, lifting her head slowly, fixing him with a pleading gaze.

  “Spank you? Oh, no, I don’t think so. Not exactly a professional psychiatric method of behavior modification,” he answered, then after a moment of consideration added, “but if you really think it would help you, perhaps you should ask Walter.”

  “Walter left me too,” she moaned, “last weekend. He said much the same thing as Terry. He’d had enough.”

  Her face crinkled, suggesting an imminent flood of tears.

  “I see. Were you spanked as a child?”

  “No. I’ve never been spanked.”

  “Why do you think it would help you now?”

  “I don’t know. I just do. Please, Dr. Montgomery. Won’t you consider it? I feel so guilty, and the guiltier I feel the bitchier I become. There doesn’t seem to be an end.”

  “Yes, it’s a vicious cycle. Guilt is anger turned inwards.”

  “It is?” she queried.

  “Yes, it is. The anger needs its voice, and around and around it goes.”

  A sobering cloud of silence descended between them, the truth of his words lingering in the air.

  “No-one need ever know,” she begged. “If it helps me I’ll be the most grateful client you’ve ever had. If it doesn’t, then at least we will have tried. I know I’m asking a lot, but something inside me is telling me it’s what I need. Please.”

  “This is nothing sexual?” he asked seriously, leaning forward to study her reaction to the question. “If you’re having sexual fantasies about–”

  “Oh, no! Not at all,” she interrupted hastily. “I mean, you’re very attractive and everything, but no. This isn’t sexual. Honestly. It’s crime and punishment.”

  “You certainly need some kind of discipline in your life,” Tad remarked, silently thinking, this might be very interesting. I should explore this. Spanking therapy. She’s right. It might be the very thing to make the child in her behave, and at the same time relieve her feelings of shame and guilt.

  “If I agree to do this, I’ll truly spank you. I won’t just land a few swats and send you on your way.”

  He saw a flicker of something cross her eyes. Was it fear, apprehension? It was rare that he couldn’t decipher her reactions, but this one he couldn’t quite grasp.

  “I would expect that,” she replied, her voice unexpectedly tremulous.

  “Give me a minute,” he said, standing up. “Stay there and think about it. Make sure it’s what you want. I’ll be right back.”

  Tad walked briskly across the room and out into the reception area, checking the door to make sure it was locked. The cleaners didn’t arrive until much later in the evening, but he didn’t want a wayward client wandering in hoping they might be fortunate enough to find him still there.

  Turning his attention to the collection of souvenir bric-a-brac gracing the larg
e, oriental bookcase leaning against the wall, he scanned the display. If Whitney was to be spanked he would not use his hand. It would be too personal, too intimate, and this needed to be clinical. His eyes fell upon the miniature souvenir Maori canoe paddle given to him by a colleague when he attended a conference in New Zealand. Made of Kauri, the hardest wood on earth, it was the perfect size and weight to deliver the discipline. One side was carved, but the other was smooth and glossy.

  Wrapping his fingers around the handle, he felt as if it had been made specifically for the job at hand, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many New Zealanders had used it for just that purpose.

  As he focused on the idea of spanking his undisciplined patient, defining and determining if it really was something he wanted to do, and something that would prove beneficial to her, it occurred to him there were others that needed a good dose of corporal punishment, and not just some of his patients. Looking back on his relationships, he would have been happy to have bent a girlfriend or two across his lap for a good, sound, bottom-roasting.

  Perhaps things might have turned out differently if I’d considered such a thing, he thought, a thin smile curling the corners of his lips.

  Studying the implement, he considered the many times Whitney had complained about her lack of control in other areas of her life. Having an authority figure, someone she respected and to whom she would have to answer, someone who would exact consequences, might be just what she needed. The more he thought about it, the more he decided a good spanking might be just what the doctor ordered, even though it had been her suggestion. He couldn’t help but smile at the pun.

  Very well, Whitney, if you are still of the same mind I will spank you, he whispered to himself, and I will spank you properly.

  Striding purposefully back into his inner-sanctum, he found her exactly as he had left her, sitting on the couch, waiting expectantly.

  “How do you feel?” he asked,

  “The same,” she replied, in a hoarse, quivering voice.

  Locking the door behind him, he glanced across at his desk. He considered having her bend across it, resting on her elbows, but the film Secretary flashed through his head, and the thought of mimicking the famous spanking scene sent him searching for an alternative.

  “Stand up and bend over the back of my armchair, please,” he instructed, and placing the paddle on his desk, proceeded to slowly take off his jacket and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt.

  He sensed the simple act was putting her in exactly the right mindset. He could feel her eyes upon him, she was moving slowly, which was unlike her, and for a moment he wondered if she was having second thoughts. There was a red flush to her face and she was clearly unnerved. Waiting patiently, he watched her lay herself over the back of the chair.

  “One last chance, Whitney. Do you wish me to continue?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” she stammered.

  “Your behavior is completely unacceptable,” he began, believing a proper reprimand should preface her punishment. “Not only did you unjustly snap at an innocent young woman who has done nothing but offer you help and support, you bullied her. She has done everything from picking up your dry cleaning to running home to feed your dog, and doubtless a myriad of other things no secretary should be asked to do, and look at how you repaid her loyalty and generosity. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “I am, I am,” she whined. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are, and now you’ll be sorrier. You’re going to be soundly spanked for your disgraceful lack of self-discipline. I trust you’ll think twice next time.”

  Tad looked at the thin cotton, cream slacks gracing Whitney’s bottom, and surmised they would offer very little protection from the punishment his paddle would offer. Running the hard wood across the woman’s upturned cheeks, he pulled it back, snapping it down with a flick of his wrist, twice in quick succession upon the same spot.

  “Oooowwww,” Whitney yelped. “Oooohhh.”

  “Keep your outbursts to a minimum,” he scolded.

  “Yes. Okay. Sorry,” she blurted out, and Tad saw her fingers curl into the soft fabric of his chair.

  Moving the paddle to her opposite cheek, he delivered the same two blows, and this time Whitney hissed her cries of pain through clenched teeth.

  “See how you can control yourself if you want to?” he asked, continuing to smooth the paddle over her backside.

  “Yes! Yes!” she stammered.

  “I’m going to continue to spank you and you’re not to make a sound. You will learn self-discipline, and how much your bottom suffers is entirely up to you. You receive two additional swats for any squawking. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Repeat what I just told you.”

  “If I make any noise I get two extra swats.”

  “Correct, and what is it that will prevent you from making that noise?”

  “Self-discipline,” she wailed.

  “Good. I think we’re getting somewhere. Now I shall continue. Ten swats, not a sound.”

  Lifting the paddle he inflicted the swats across her bottom, covering the entire area with a smooth, easy rhythm. She wriggled slightly, lifted one of her feet on occasion, but remained silent.

  “Excellent. See what you can do when you put your mind to it?”

  “Yes. Yes, I see,” she stammered.

  “I’m going to give you two more to finish. They will be significant and you may cry out, but not loudly. You will stay exactly as you are until I give you permission to stand up. Understood?”

  “I can cry out if I need to but not too loud, and I’ll stay where I am until you tell me I can move,” she repeated.

  Tad smiled. She was a quick study. No wonder she’d been made a Vice-president so early in her career. Placing the paddle at the lowest part of her behind, the soft tender area just above her thighs, the one area that he had purposely left untouched, he spanked her hard, twice, silently counting to ten between each stroke, allowing time for her to feel the full affect of each.

  She did cry out, but her voice was restrained, and she squirmed and wriggled as the fire burned through her skin.

  Tad moved back to his desk, placed the paddle in his top drawer, unrolled his sleeves and donned his jacket, then returned to her, and though he was tempted to run his hand across her scorched behind he resisted the temptation.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Thank you for punishing me, Doctor. I am very sorry I was nasty to Terry,” she sobbed. “She should be given a medal, not be yelled at by me.”

  “Are you crying because of the pain of the spanking, or because you’re truly sorry?”

  “Both!” she exclaimed, as the crying escalated.

  “You may stand up now,” Tad said tenderly retrieving the tissue box from the coffee table, fully aware the heavy tears were the release of her stress and the weight of her guilt.

  Slowly she raised herself up, grabbing tissues as she did, dabbing her eyes and blowing her nose.

  “I’m so grateful to you, Doctor. Thank you so much,” she blubbered.

  “When you get home you will send Terry some flowers and a sincere note of apology. When you write that apology you will sit on a hard chair, and let your tender bottom remind you of what’s in store for you if you ever do such a thing again. From now on you will treat that young woman with courtesy and respect.”

  “Yes, Doctor. I will, I promise,” she managed.

  “Think about all this during the weekend, and call me on Monday if you need to talk about this further.”

  “I feel so much better. Inside I mean. Lighter. Relieved.”

  “I’m glad. Your instincts were right.”

  Moving stiffly, she found her shoes, slipped into them and headed to the door. Tad stayed next to her, walking her out into the reception area.

  “Thank you again, Dr. Montgomery.”

  “You’re most welcome, Whitn
ey.”

  That was how it had begun. How the highly respected, mild-mannered, kindly psychiatrist, Dr. Thaddius Montgomery, referred to as Tad by his friends, became one of the most controversial figures in the city.

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  Who Is Maggie Carpenter? Most of the time, when you read, About The Author, you discover that said author has three dogs, two cats and a turtle named Harley, lives in Oregon and likes to hike with her husband of five years. Generally, the piece is written in the third person. I have no quarrel with such an expose, it’s just not for me. If you are reading this, I’m going to assume you really do want to know About Me, and I want to give you that, from me, personally and sincerely, so here you go.

  I write about the Dominant/submissive dynamic because I am a submissive, and having experienced the thrills and spills that D/s romance offers, I don’t just feel eminently qualified to do so, but I am truly, deeply and wholly passionate about it. Every second of every day it’s on my mind and in my heart, which, by the way, has been shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, and made shining and whole and filled with joy. Such are the highs and lows Dominance and submission brings.

  Having tried and failed with vanilla relationships, during which I was constantly frustrated and unfulfilled, I came to an understanding and acceptance that vanilla simply doesn’t work for me. If you read my blog you can learn more about the addiction to this lifestyle, and while every interaction is unique and based on the wants and needs of the individuals involved, they each share one truism. The submissive wants and needs the romantic domination of her man, and the Dominant wants and needs the gift of submission his girl offers.

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