THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE

by Maggie Carpenter

  Sitting behind her in the comfortable armchair, Duncan was watching her carefully. He knew exactly what was going through her mind; the doubt, the questioning, the conflict. She needed the time to come to terms with the position she was in, and who he truly was.

  She also needed the opportunity to say the words, though he doubted she would. Brittany was made of tough stuff, but he knew she’d never come up against someone like him, nor had she been on the receiving end of a strong tongue-lashing, though he could deliver worse, much worse.

  He was watching for her signal, the one that told him he could proceed. It came as a sigh, or the drop of her shoulders, or slight tilting down of her chin, and she could take as long as she needed to get there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  She gave him all three; she exhaled loudly, dropped her shoulders, and lowered her head. It was the clearest acceptance he’d ever seen. Feeling a surge of energy he rose from the chair and moved into the closet to retrieve the small, wooden rod.

  He knew she’d be covertly watching him, raising her eyes to see where he was going, and he wanted her to. He wanted her to see him return with the polished stick that carried such a nasty sting.

  “Lower your arms” he instructed as walked back to her, “and hold this with both hands.”

  She took the rod between her fingers, and he could feel the fright as her eyes fell upon it, but he could also detect the sweet aroma of her arousal.

  “Drop it and you will be sorry,” he warned.

  He felt the small trembling response, and suppressing a satisfied smile he moved past her to the desk. Picking up the high backed, armless chair he carried it back, placed it to the side of her and sat down.

  “You were expecting me to tie your wrists and ankles, add the blindfold, all the things I did the last time I spanked you, but one thing you will learn, Brittany, is that my discipline is rarely predictable. Lay over my lap.”

  Bending her knees she leaned forward, wriggling her body to find a comfortable position.

  I thought this would be on the bed, or on the couch, a place where I could stretch out and be comfortable. This isn’t comfortable at all, and why isn’t he helping me?

  “Move further over,” he said sternly. “You’ll have to squirm to do it.”

  Okay, so this is part of the ritual, okay, I get it.

  Holding the rod made the process difficult. It was impossible to use her hands to grip the legs of the chair for balance or leverage, and feeling his eyes on her wriggling backside didn’t help.

  “Right there,” he said sharply, and lifting her skirt he laid it over her back, and immediately began to slap her perfectly positioned posterior.

  He hadn’t hesitated for a second; he hadn’t warned her he was about to begin, he hadn’t added any additional reprimand, he hadn’t run his palm over her naked skin, he’d just started to spank, and spank hard.

  Repeatedly his hand fell, the smacks falling in no particular rhythm. He’d land a volley of rapid-fire swats, then slow, hard slaps, then whisk his hand up against the base of her seat.

  She gasped and wriggled and begged him to stop, but he ignored her, never showing her any response by word or deed, and holding the rod proved to be far more potent than simply having her wrists tied.

  It not only prevented her from putting her hands behind her, she could find no support from the legs of the chair, just as she couldn’t when she was trying to get into position.

  His hot hand was relentless, peppering her bottom, and no matter how much she squirmed to avoid the scalding slaps, he seemed to be able to hold her in place effortlessly.

  I can’t take much more, I can’t. Should I say it? Should I bail? No, I don’t want to, but this is hurting so much. How long has he been spanking me, it feels like forever.

  But just as she finished the thought, as abruptly as he’d started, he stopped.

  “Oooh, thank God,” she whimpered, “oooh, it’s burning.”

  Waiting patiently for her wriggling and panting to abate, Duncan stared at the bright red bottom. There would be no soothing caress, no rubbing, no tender words, not yet.

  It took her a while to compose herself, but he’d expected that. It was a much harder spanking that he’d previously delivered, certainly harder than she’d probably expected, and holding the rod was never an easy task.

  “Take the stick in one hand and hold it back for me.”

  Not sure whether to be relieved or frightened, she did as he asked, and as he took it from her fingers, she immediately grabbed the legs of the chair, sighing loudly, finally able to find some respite in their support, but it was short-lived.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  Moving slowly, she pushed herself back and rose unsteadily on to her feet.

  “Remove your panties and skirt.”

  Fingers trembling, she pulled off the panties still around her thighs, then reaching behind her, quickly slid down the zipper, letting her skirt drop to the floor.

  Rising from the chair he towered over her, then clutching a handful of hair, he yanked her head back.

  “That spanking was general, for your general good, discipline for discipline’s sake. It was to teach you that I mean what I say. Now you will feel the rod for your dreadful schemes and lies.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  “Bend over, hold the sides of the chair, and spread your legs.”

  Leaning forward, filled with dread, she grasped the chair.

  I can’t believe this. When he said he was strict he wasn’t kidding.

  “Do you think schemes and lies are an appropriate way to get what you want?” he asked sternly.

  “No, Sir.”

  “Your bottom is very sore, isn’t it, Brittany?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she whimpered.

  “Remember, you can always say the words.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What are they?”

  “This is too much for me, Sir.”

  “Now you will wait. You will wait and consider your conniving, you will consider your undisciplined behavior, you will consider how you put yourself at risk with a complete stranger, a man who had already proven to be of dubious character. When I return my rod will teach you just how badly I view these things.”

  Moving away from her he settled into his armchair to view her body, admire his handiwork, and consider how many stripes she would receive.

  Three is not enough, six is too many with her bottom already so sore. Hmm, perhaps four, perhaps four landed quickly.

  As Duncan considered her pending punishment, Brittany’s head was swimming.

  Just bail. Say the words. You don’t need this crap. The hell with him.

  Shut-up you horrible little imp. You’re always getting me in trouble. Go away. You’ve talked me into manipulating people my whole life. It was your idea to put on those horrible clothes, it was your idea to be friends with Kathy all those years ago. You’re the reason my ass is on fire, now just go away.

  She realized her fingers had been clenched around the chair, and letting out a deep breath she let them fall loose, little knowing she’d just sent a signal to Duncan that she was ready to continue.

  Rising from his chair he moved forward, rod in hand.

  “This will not be pleasant,” he warned, “and remember, you can always say the words.”

  “Yes, Sir, but I won’t, Sir.”

  “You will receive four cuts, three for your schemes, and the last for being so foolish as to call Dylan Cross. You wanted to get out of the cabin and have a drink, fine, but you went too far, as well you know,” he scolded. “They will be delivered with a count of three between each. Please refrain from any loud noises. Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

  With a practiced swish of his wrist, he landed the first, eliciting a hissing of breath between her teeth, then began his count.

  “One, two, three.”

  The second landed just below the first, causing a
bending of the knees and a loud groan.

  “One, two, three.”

  The third brought the snapping back of her head, and caused both her feet to stamp.

  “One, two, three.”

  The last was delivered to the base of her cheeks, her sit spot, and she gripped the sides of the chair, clenched her teeth, bent her knees, and let out a low, deep growl.

  “I will leave you for a few minutes. You may lay on the bed, your may walk around, you may rub your burnt behind, you may do anything you wish, except those things I mentioned earlier. I will return shortly.”

  She turned her head and watched him walk out the door, then moving to the bed she flopped down face forward. As she caught her breath, resting her hands on her stinging behind, she began to think about what he’d just done.

  He could have landed that horrible stick a dozen times but he didn’t. Four, he decided four was right. He’s delivering discipline as he sees fit.

  Sinking into the mattress, though she wasn’t sure why, a half-smile crossed her lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Brittany wasn’t the only one who needed a break. Duncan wanted to catch his breath, to have a drink and gather his thoughts.

  She’s taking everything in stride. I can feel her, she understands this process. It’s hard to believe she’s never had a Dominant in her life.

  He’d opened a bottle of Pinot Noir, and sipping the wine he instinctively knew they would still be together when the ship docked in Tahiti, and she would be sitting next to him on the plane back to London.

  I’d better make sure I have the seat. God Forbid the flight’s sold out.

  Reaching for the phone he dialed Joe and asked him to take care of the reservation.

  “British Airways, First Class, and make sure they know we want seats next to each other.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rhys-Davies, and may I say I’m very happy to do this, very happy.”

  “Thanks, Joe, let’s hope I’ll still need that seat when the time comes.”

  “I suspect you will,” the steward replied, and Duncan could hear him smiling.

  After providing some additional information Duncan finished the call, then frowning, he shook his head and stared up at the ceiling.

  Am I really doing this? Am I really bringing this madcap young woman back to London with me for a week? I’ve either completely lost my mind, or I really have totally fallen for her.

  Taking another sip of his wine, he began to think about what he’d do with her in London, and The Bowler Hat immediately came to mind.

  Charlie will be jealous as hell, and so will Eric. I’ll have to take her shopping, find her just the right outfit. That will be a night to remember, and I must take her to a show at the West End, and Harrods, we have to eat in the food court. How the blazes am I going to fit everything in? I can already feel I’ll be loathe to let her leave. Ah well, a week is better than nothing, and it will be a very interesting week at that.

  Sipping his wine and imagining the heady, fun-filled first few days at home, his focus shifted to the Monday he’d be back at work. Brittany would have to entertain herself until he returned home, and he knew he’d have a brand new case waiting, a case that he’d have to peruse after hours, in his study.

  It will only be a couple of days, and maybe that’s a good way to wind everything down, bring us both back to reality. Speaking of reality, I’d best get back to her. I need to lay down with her for a bit.

  Walking back into the bedroom he found her as he thought he would, resting on her side with her eyes closed. Moving to the bed he sat down and stroked the hair off her face.

  “How are you?” he asked tenderly.

  Blinking open her eyes she stared up at him.

  “If it was yesterday, I’d probably say something like, how do you think, but it’s today, it’s now, and I have no desire to say that,” she said softly.

  “Then what is it you do have a desire to say?” he smiled.

  “I have a desire to say, I’m not sure how I am. Physically of course, my butt hurts, and I certainly feel like I’ve been punished, really punished. I didn’t feel any anger from you, just determination. Is that the right word? Determination?”

  “Yes, I’d say that’s the right word,” he nodded, “certainly one of the right words.”

  “I also feel a bit strange. I feel emotional, I feel like I want to curl up and have you hold me and never let me go, but I guess that can’t happen yet, or can it?”

  “Yes, it can,” he smiled. “There is more to come, but you have done well and I’m very proud of you. I’m especially proud of everything you’ve just said.”

  Stretching out alongside her he began stroking her back, but as she began to nestle against him he sat up, and reaching down he grabbed the blanket folded up at the bottom of the bed.

  “If we’re going to rest for a bit I don’t want you getting cold,” he murmured, pulling it over them. “Rest now, there are a couple more things in store.”

  “I understand,” she sighed, “and those aren’t just words, I really do.”

  He let himself drift with her, feeling their union, their unique closeness, the closeness that he knew could only come from their unique interaction.

  “Duncan,” she murmured, “why am I like this? Why are you the way you are?”

  “That’s a question that has been asked a thousand times by a thousand people, men and women alike,” he sighed. “There’s no single answer, and there’s no easy answer. Human sexuality, the human psyche, it’s a complex thing. I’ve stopped asking, I’ve just accepted who I am, what I am.”

  “That makes sense, but you were right about a couple of things that you said, about why I do some of the things I do.”

  “You are very spoiled, but you’re very smart, and you figured out how to get what you wanted when you were just a little girl. Am I right?” he asked, kissing her neck.

  “Yes, you’re right. My mother would be the one who would scold me and want to punish me, and all I had to do was go to my father and tell him how sorry I was. If I cried a bit that would be the end of any possible punishment.”

  “And your boyfriends?”

  “My boyfriends? Oh, good grief,” she groaned, “I don’t know why, but every boyfriend I’ve ever had has been scared of me.”

  “Scared of you, or scared of losing you?” he corrected her.

  “How can you know this stuff? I’ve never thought about it, but yes, scared of losing me. Honestly, I don’t know why men don’t get it. What’s wrong with them? Why can’t they take a stand occasionally. I got so sick and tired of hearing, ‘whatever you want, whatever makes you happy.’ That’s all well and good, but after a while…”

  “There’s a balance. I’m sure they meant well, and you are quite fearsome,” he smiled. “Not every man is going to put their girlfriend over their knee. They might want to, but it’s not PC.”

  “No, it certainly isn’t,” she sighed.

  “Seems like you’re coming back to life,” he remarked. “Are you ready for Round Two?”

  “That depends on what that is,” she said.

  “Yes, you’re definitely back to life, but you need some water. Stay there.”

  She watched him walk across to the bathroom, and felt her heart swell.

  You are so dreamy. Where did you come from? How did all this happen? I can’t believe I’m here, I can’t believe I’ve met someone like you. I thought dreamy Dom’s were only in books.

  “Here, drink this, then take off the rest of your clothes and wait for me on your stomach with your eyes closed. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said softly, wanting him to know she’d slipped back into her deeply submissive state.

  As she drank the water she realized he was right, she was much thirstier than she’d thought. Downing the entire glass, she placed it on the bedside table, then removing her silk top and bra, she settled on her stomach and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE<
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  “What is your other bad habit, the one that is annoying and impolite?” he asked standing over her.

  The soft, tender man who had laid beside her was gone, and the strict Dominant had returned. His voice was carrying a stern tone, and she felt herself getting lost in his authority once again.

  “I, uh, interrupt,” she admitted.

  “Yes, you do, and it’s rude. When you interrupt it means you’re not interested in what the other person is saying, you don’t care about their opinion, or feelings. It has to stop,” he scolded.

  “Yes, Sir, I understand.”

  “Corner time is a gentle way to help you focus, but I have learned that corner time doesn’t have much of an impact on you, so, young lady, we must move to something else. When we’re in London I’ll have the proper equipment, but here I have to compromise. Regardless, I believe it will have the desired affect.”

  He began with the black silk sash around her eyes, as he tied it in place she felt a fresh wave of need between her legs.

  Please ravage me when we’re done, please, or will that be part of the discipline as well, denying me what I want so much.

  As if reading her mind, for the first time since her discipline had begun, he touched her sex, and she wriggled against his teasing fingers, aching for more.

  “Sir,” she moaned, “that feels…”

  “Shush,” he said, continuing to torment her.

  No surprise there, but how delicious. You are positively soaking, just you should be. You will learn your lesson today Missy, yes you will.

  Withdrawing his hand, he picked up a necktie, wrapping one end around her ankles leaving a tether, then bringing her arms behind her back he did the same with her wrists. Knotting the ends of the two ties together saw her quickly immobilized.

  It wasn’t a severe version of a hogtie, but he believed it was an excellent introduction, and once in his home in London she would experience much more elaborate bondage.

  “This should help you focus,” he said solemnly. “You are to think about the many times you interrupted me, and why you cannot hold your tongue. I’ve already explained it’s all about self-discipline. You will learn, Brittany, to pay attention to the person who is speaking, and truly listening and caring about what they have to say. If your muscles begin to cramp call out to me, otherwise you must remain silent, do you understand?”