THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE (18 page)

She moved across the room depositing her bag, and when she turned around he had closed the door and was leaning against it; his arms were crossed and he looked very serious, and stunningly sexy.

“Come back here and stand in front of me,” he ordered, his voice firm and direct.

“Can I say-”

“No!” he snapped.

Hurrying back she stood in front of him, suddenly feeling very young, as if she’d been called to the principal’s office for passing notes in class, which was something that had happened on a regular basis in grade school.

“Your discipline will start with some time alone. You will stay in this room, you will not watch television, or read, or snoop, nor will you open the drapes. You will not remove your shoes, or any other part of your clothing. I will be checking on you from time to time. Don’t let me catch you disobeying me.”

She stared at him in shock.

I thought you were going spank me, to, uh-

“No doubt you were expecting something else,” he sighed, reading her face. “This will put you in the right frame of mind. Any questions?”

“How long?” she asked, then added quickly, “sorry, I guess I already know the answer to that.”

“Indeed,” he replied, raising his eyebrows. “Behave yourself, young lady,” he finished sternly. “I’ll know if you don’t”

She watched him turn and leave the room, and rolling her eyes she flopped down on the side of the bed.

Why am I surprised? This makes some kind of weird sense. Solitary confinement. I’d better do exactly as he said, he could open that door at any time and I’m sure he will. I’ll just sit here and wait.

But Brittany discovered it wasn’t so easy. There was a clock on the desk in the corner of the room, and she’d glance across thinking twenty minutes had passed, only to discover it had barely been five.

She was tempted to risk a quick glance through a teasing crack in the drapes, and drawn by the idea she went so far as to wander across the room and stand in front of it, staring at the enticing invitation. Common sense finally won out and she walked away, moments later wondering if Duncan had left the drapes the tiny bit open to test her.

After pacing for a while she returned to the bed and laid down, closing her eyes, thinking a nap would help pass the time. It worked, but only for a short while; she was simply too anxious to doze off.

She finally propped herself up, stuffing the pillows behind her back, and began to think about her life back home, her friendship with Kathy, then Duncan and her overwhelming attraction to him.

Duncan had been watching her on his laptop, having placed the innocent looking travel clock on the small bedroom desk.

She’d behaved exactly as expected. She’d paced, she’d stood staring at the drapes, clearly wanting to take a quick peek outside, then the attempted nap, and finally she had sat up on the bed and begun to think.

It had taken longer than he thought but the process had worked. Now she’d be in the right frame of mind, she open to him, to the discipline she was about to endure. Closing the computer, he stood up and stretched, drank some water, and headed back into the bedroom.

W
hen the door finally opened Brittany was so happy to see him she jumped to her feet and hurried across to hug him. He held her for a moment, then gently pushed her back.

“I get it,” she breathed. “I didn’t at first, and it seemed like forever, but then I started to go into this weird think mode.”

“I know,” he smiled. “You did really well.”

“I did?”

“Yes, you did, and later we’ll talk about all those thoughts, at least, the ones you want to share with me, but now we must move on. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “I’m ready.”

“Move back about six feet, turn around, and lift your skirt around your waist.”

His voice was growing sterner, and as she shuffled backwards she grit her teeth.

He’s going to smack my ass while I hold my skirt up. Why do I find the thought of that so embarrassing? I thought he was going to put me over his knee?

She turned her back to him and raised her skirt, and barely breathing she waited…and waited…and though it was only a couple of minutes it felt like much longer before she felt his fingers slip through the sides of her panties. With one, deft movement he yanked them down, leaving them around the tops of her thighs.

“Your discipline is about to begin,” he said, his warm breath in her ear sending goosebumps across her skin.

He held his lips against her neck for a long moment, then stepped back, addressing her in a normal tone of voice as he moved his fingertips over her seat.

“For the next twenty-four hours you will not leave this room. I have told you that I am a strict disciplinarian. If things become too much for you, you will say these words exactly, ‘this is too much for me.’ Repeat them please.”

The tickling of his fingertips was sending a hot wetness into her sex, making it difficult to concentrate.

“This is too much for me,” she managed.

“If you say those words I will immediately stop everything I’m doing, untie you if you’re bound, and disappear. I will have removed myself from this cabin. You won’t be able to find me, and you are not to look. You will pack your things and you will leave. There will be no recriminations, no dramatic goodbyes, no apologies, and we will be over. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir, understood,” she frowned,
but I won’t, not in a million years, I won’t.

“Your discipline will begin with a much needed scolding,” he declared, dropping his teasing fingers from her cheeks and stepping back. “Raise your hands behind your head, elbows out, kick off your shoes and separate your feet.”

Taking a deep breath she did as directed, feeling the soft silk of the skirt float against her naked backside. Getting her strappy sandals off her feet without using her hands wasn’t easy, and as she struggled she could feel his eyes on her.

“That took you long enough,” he remarked, as she finally managed to get them off, “eyes on the floor.”

She stared at the carpet, and a second later she saw his feet come into view. He started to circle her, like a great cat circling its prey.

“Brittany you are a very spoiled, immature, bratty girl,” he began, moving around her with a slow, measured pace. “You have lacked discipline throughout your life, and that is going to change. Your constant interruptions show a distinct lack of manners, and you will learn, very quickly, young lady, that such impolite behavior will not be tolerated.”

He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air, all the while continuing his circle, emanating his strict, no-nonsense energy.

“You see your conniving ways and manipulations as clever, but they are the height of dishonesty. Any further attempts at getting what you want through plotting and scheming will be dealt with severely. I have a number canes in my arsenal, and I will not hesitate to use them when necessary. I can assure you, several strokes from any one of them and you will quickly mend your ways. Are we reaching a clearer understanding, Brittany?”

“Yes, Sir,” she quivered.

And she was.

Brittany had never been spoken to so sternly. Even when her father had lectured her for a poor grade, or acting up, or some other misdeed, his voice had never sounded as Duncan’s just had, and she knew Duncan meant every word he said.

“I punished you for your attempt to manipulate me into spanking you, and what did you do? Tried another scheme just a short time later. You should be ashamed of yourself, Brittany Carter, very ashamed. Clearly you need a strict hand, extremely strict.”

He paused again, and stood directly in front of her. Seeing the goosebumps on her arms he felt a wave of satisfaction; she had just the right amount of apprehension.

“And that, young lady, is exactly what you will receive,” he said soberly, his voice threateningly low, “my very strict hand.”

He held his ground for just a moment before striding away, and any doubts Brittany had been harboring about Duncan’s resolve were vanquished.

Though he had warned her, though he had told her he was a strict disciplinarian and possibly too much for her, she realized she hadn’t totally believed him; she had been convinced she could handle anything he could dish out, but could she?

Maybe he was right? Maybe he is too much for me. Shit, I’ve never been so scared in my life, or so ashamed. He’s right, he’s right about everything. I have been dishonest, and I have gotten away with things, with everything, my whole life. Ooh, he’s going to spank me hard, I know it.

You can always bail, you can always say, this is too much for me, and you’ll be out of here.

Should I? Should I bail now, before it all starts?

Then it’ll be over and he’ll be gone, out of your life for good. You know there’ll be no second chances, no way, not with him.

I have to see this through. I’m crazy about him, and I want him, I want it all, I’m just scared.

You should be.

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.

S
he 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.