"How did you know?" Brittany asked, surprised at the woman’s accurate assessment.
"It usually is," the masseuse sighed. "I'm like a priest or a doctor, if you want to talk about it I promise it will remain a secret. I've heard many confessions and tales of woe here. Sometimes talking helps more than the massage."
"Hmmm, maybe you’re right. It’s not a big deal, not really. I met this guy when I first boarded yesterday and I can't stop thinking about him. It’s driving me crazy," Brittany admitted.
"No wonder you’re tense, that would drive me crazy too,” Martha replied with an understanding tone. “Do you know where his cabin is?"
"That's what makes this so darn frustrating," Brittany exclaimed. "He's only three doors down from me? How is it even possible that I haven't seen him, not even a glimpse, not once!"
"Wow, your muscles just tightened," Martha declared. "Take a deep breath, no, make that three deep breaths. If this guy is haunting you maybe you should stake out his door. He can't stay in his stateroom forever. Maybe he's nocturnal, likes to be out when most people are sleeping. I knew a musician like that once, he was a total night-owl."
“That never occurred to me, you might be right. Huh…maybe he's famous and I just don't know who he is," Brittany pondered, “and he leaves his cabin really late so he no-one will bother him. Thank you, Martha, I'm going to watch his door tonight, see what happens. This is great, I feel so much better."
"You're welcome, now you can relax and let me get these knots out."
The plausible explanation helped, and knowing there was something she could do helped even more. Surrendering to the deft fingers rubbing her back Brittany let herself drift away, envisioning meeting the elusive Mr. Rhys-Davies under the brilliant ocean stars.
An hour later, as she was meandering down the corridor back to her room, she spied the maid's trolley parked outside his cabin. Glancing around to make sure there was no one behind her, she moved closer and stole a glance inside his cabin. He was there, in the flesh, standing with his back to the door, dressed in navy shorts and a cream, loose fitting shirt.
Oh, man, look at those shoulders, and his legs are so toned. He must be a jogger to get calves like that.
She stood, staring, and as if sensing her gaze he slowly began to turn, causing her to be hit with a surge of panic.
Ducking away she hurried to her cabin, and tying to calm her pounding heart she hastily darted inside, softly closing the door behind her. Leaning against it she took a moment to calm her nerves, then wandered on to her patio and looked across the horizon; the sun was shining but low in the sky; dusk was not far off.
I saw him, I actually saw him. I should have stayed put and waved. Darn it, I’m such a woose.
Just as well you didn’t, you’re a mess.
True, and so tired. I’ll stake out his door tonight and see if he comes out. If he does I'll follow him and pretend to run into him somewhere.
Moving into her bathroom she pondered whether to take a shower and get ready for a sunset cocktail in the luxury deck-side lounge, or just lay down and take a nap, finally deciding to take a shower regardless.
As the hot water splashed across her body, the scent of the lavender massage oil slowly washing away, she realized just how tired she was. Stepping out she picked up a lone towel, realizing the housekeeper had neglected to replace the three she’d taken, and after drying off she stood for a minute, trying to make a decision about what to do next.
I think I’ll go up to the lounge and have a light snack, then I’ll come back and just relax for a while. Hope the maid is still in Duncan’s stateroom. I can ask her for my towels as I go past, and maybe I’ll see him again too. Shoot, maybe he’ll come out and say hello. Wouldn’t that be one for the books?
Dressing in a white, halter top dress, similar to the one she’d been wearing the day before, she donned some white sandals, and opening the door she peered down the hallway to see if the housekeeper’s trolley was still parked in the same spot. To her shocked delight Duncan was standing just outside his cabin; she was so surprised to see him she almost let out a startled cry.
Quickly closing her door so it was open just a crack, she stood, holding her breath, watching to see if he was heading off, but he just stood where he was, his hands on his hips, a deep frown on his face.
Tired from her earlier jog and the massage, she scurried away to grab a chair, and sitting back down she peeked through the barely open door, only to discover the elusive Mr. Rhys-Davies was elusive again; the trolley was still there but he was gone.
"Really? I can't believe it," she mumbled, and as her shoulders slumped in defeat, a wave of fatigue washed over her, sending forth an exhausted yawn. "Yes, I definitely need a nap."
She was about to leave the door to lay down when a flash of color caught her eye, and peeking back through the crack she broke into a smile; he had reappeared, or rather his head had reappeared. She watched, fascinated, as he looked up and down the hallway as if checking to see if anyone was there.
I wonder if he’s on the run. Maybe he’s a world famous jewel thief, or an agent from MI5.
She quietly giggled at her wild imagination, but when he finally stepped into the corridor she saw that he had changed his clothes; he was now dressed in a pale blue track suit and running shoes.
Of course he going to go for a jog when I can barely walk. I can’t do a second run, I’ll die.
Striding down the hallway he was quickly out of sight, but the maid's trolley remained.
I guess I can at least get my towels. Maybe I can catch him when he returns.
Making sure she had her key she started up the hallway, and as she neared his door her impish voice flashed through her mind.
This would be a great chance to have a quick sneak. I'll bet there's a large armoire just like the one in your cabin, stuck in the corner. You could easily slip behind it if the maid isn't in the room.
No! Absolutely not!
Oh, go on, be daring, that's why you're on this boat. Do it. It’ll be so much fun.
Not if I get caught it won't.
You're wasting time. Just go for it.
You are relentless.
I just know you need a push.
Fine, I'll just take quick peek. Maybe that will shut you up.
Moving around the trolley she nervously poked her head in the stateroom; there was no sign of the maid, but Brittany could hear her humming in the adjacent bedroom.
Look, the armoire is exactly where it is in your cabin. It's now or never! Quick, go in.
Why do I listen to you? I really hope I don’t regret this.
And with her heart bouncing in her chest, she began to creep forward.
CHAPTER THREE
After her first furtive steps she made a panicked dash to the armoire, then broke into a sweat as she wriggled her body through the narrow opening, securing her hiding place just seconds before the maid, still happily singing, made her appearance.
Holding her breath, afraid to even twitch an eye, Brittany heard the humming fade and the cabin door click closed, but waited a full minute before nervously craning her neck to peer into the room. Letting out a huge sigh, she steadied her nerves and began to slide back into the room, but it took her longer to squeeze past the heavy piece of furniture than it had to wriggle behind it. Finally succeeding she stood stock still, staring around the lushly appointed cabin.
It was eerily quiet, and her temples began to throb. She was suddenly terrified he would walk through the door at any moment, but she could detect the intoxicating aroma of his cologne, and the thrill of being in his room, of doing something so completely dangerous and out of character, slowly began to override her fear.
Taking a deep breath she let her eyes search her surroundings, seeking out items that might tell her more about Duncan Rhys-Davies; they came to rest on his nightstand and she broke into a small smile.
Hmmm, bedside tables can reveal some interesting things about a person. When I
think about what’s hiding in mine…
Her feet sinking into the thickly carpeted pile she moved across to his bed, carefully opened the drawer of the nightstand, and found herself staring at a book. For a moment she wasn’t quite sure what it was it was she was seeing, but as the picture on the cover began to register she felt the blood drain from her face.
It was a pair of fur covered handcuffs, bright red, laying on the cream satin bedspread of a four poster bed. The scrawled title floating across the bottom of the page read, “A Man’s Discipline: A Women’s Secret Desires.”
Her hand was shaking as she reached forward, and lifting it from its resting place she opened it up to the bookmarked page; barely breathing she began to read.
The hot sting burning Susan’s naked behind was a stark reminder that she must obey her Master. The feather, now tickling between her pussy lips making her drip with desire, made the bonds that held her arms above her head seem almost cruel. She longed to beg, to reach her practiced fingers between her legs to release the orgasm that was tormenting her, but her Master had instructed her to make not a sound. A lesson in obedience, he had said, and indeed, it was.
Brittany felt her thighs tense as the words swirled around her head. How many nights had she pleasured herself to thoughts of being tied up and blindfolded while a man had his way with her? How many times had she dreamed of being teased and toyed with, denied her release until she was desperately pleading? How many times had she read such books, wishing and praying for the man who would dominate her in such a salacious, tantalizing way.
A loud click echoed through the silent room, and she immediately knew what it signaled. She had never understood the term, frozen stiff, but it became immediately apparent. The blood rushed to her head, and like a deer in headlights she gazed at the door as it slowly opened.
Duncan Rhys-Davies, tall, striking, and bigger than life, walked in, and powerless to move or speak all she could do was stare at his brow as it crinkled into a puzzled frown.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his clipped British accent underscoring his stern tone as his accusing eyes locked hers.
She tried to speak, to utter some word or phrase, but her throat was completely constricted, and try as he might she could not make her voice work.
“Nothing to say for yourself? Then I believe security can take care of this,” he declared, striding purposefully to the phone on the side table next to the couch.
“I’m t-terribly s-sorry,” she stammered, his abrupt move breaking her trance. “I wasn't here to steal, honestly, I just wanted to, uh, know more about you. I'm so, so sorry. Please don’t call security," she begged, “this isn’t who I am at all. Not at all…I swear!"
He paused, his hand holding the receiver.
“Is that so?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Yes, honestly,” Brittany replied huskily, thinking a wicked gleam had moved into his eyes.
“If breaking into a stranger’s room isn’t who you are, then who, exactly, are you?”
“My name’s Brittany, Brittany Carter,” she answered, her voice tremulous. "And I’m just a, a small southern girl looking for a bit, of, oh good grief, it just sounds so corny.”
“I already know your name,” he said impatiently, “and corny, as you put it, or not, I suggest you continue.”
“I just, um, wanted a bit of adventure, and, and…"
“And what?” he pressed, slowly putting down the phone.
“And I thought you seemed kind of interesting when we first, uh, ran across each other, and like I said, I just wanted to know more about you,” she confessed, dropping her eyes to the carpet. “I’ve never done anything like this before, not ever.”
“Why didn’t you just knock on my door?"
“I, uh, don’t exactly know,” she answered sheepishly, feeling like an incredibly foolish teenager.
An awkward silence settled between them, and Brittany could feel her face flushing an even deeper red.
Would you please just let me leave? This is painful, literally painful.
“Interested in that book?” he suddenly asked.
Brittany realized she was still holding the steamy erotic novel, and completely mortified she hastily dropped it back into the drawer.
“I hadn't, uh, I mean-"
“Well, since it was in that cabinet, and you took the trouble to retrieve it, then why don’t you open it back up,” he interrupted, "I must assume you found the cover intriguing and you were exploring what was inside.”
He began ambling towards her, and as he neared a rush of nervous but tantalizing tension gushed through her, transforming into a prickling torrent of goosebumps. Still unable to move her legs she stood in horror as he reached in front of her, picked up the book from the drawer, and opened it to the bookmarked page.
“The hot sting burning Susan’s naked behind reminded her to obey her Master,” he read out loud.
Brittany gulped, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her in one, large, purposeful gulp.
“Why do you suppose Susan had a hot, stinging behind?” he asked, taking the book and walking towards the sofa.
Brittany’s heart had become a jackhammer, and she didn’t know what to say or do. Her nipples were hardening, pressing against the thin cotton of her dress, betraying her licentious desires, and in a vain attempt at self-protection she crossed her arms in front of her.
“I asked you a question,” he stated, his voice taking on a much sterner tone. “Why do you suppose Susan had a hot, stinging behind?”
“I, uh, I, uh…” she stuttered.
“Look at me Brittany,” he said firmly, dropping on to the couch. “It’s a simple question. If you’re not willing to answer even a simple question I can always call security,” he threatened.
“No, please don’t,” she said hastily, her eyes lifting and darting back to him.
“Then answer me. Why do you suppose Susan had a hot, stinging behind?”
“Probably because, uh, she had behaved, uh, badly, or been disobedient,” she whimpered.
“I’m sure that’s true. Do you think breaking into my stateroom could be described as behaving badly?”
Swallowing hard, her eyes fell back to the carpet. Her face was feverish, but it was the heat burning between her legs that was far more disconcerting.
Why is this making me so excited? How can I be so terrified and hot at the same time?
“Yes,” she murmured. “I was, I mean, it was bad, very bad of me.”
“Then, wouldn’t you agree you deserve a hot, stinging behind?”
His voice was even and measured, as if he were discussing events of the day, as if his question were one of logic, not the erotic, decadent one he posed.
Brittany searched for a response, any response, except the one expected of her, and a heady silence permeated the room. The pressure was building, becoming excruciatingly uncomfortable, until she could finally stand it no longer.
“Yes,” she whimpered.
“Yes…what exactly?” he asked calmly, his perfect British accent sending another wave of heat through her sex.
“Yes, I, uh, deserve a…a hot, stinging behind,” she squeaked.
Duncan stood up, strode purposefully across the room, grabbed her hand, marched her back to the sofa, and as he sat back down he unceremoniously yanked her across his lap. Brittany yelped and struggled but he held her firmly until she settled.
“Brittany, all you have to do is say the word and I shall let you up. I won’t even call security. You can leave and that will be the end of it. Is that what you want me to do, or do you want to be punished for your disgraceful behavior? Do you want a hot, stinging behind like Susan?”
Brittany let out a plaintive cry. Why was he torturing her like this? Wasn’t it bad enough she was prone over his lap? Wasn’t it bad enough she’d been caught? Now she was being asked to stay there of her own volition, and admit to wanting a spanking.
But even
as the protests swirled through her mind she knew she wanted to be spanked by him more than she’d wanted anything in her whole life. She wanted to feel the stinging slaps, to suffer the consequences of her actions, and then surrender her body to his artful attention.
His hand began smoothing itself across her upturned bottom, his fingertips tracing the outline of her panties.
“Do you want me to spank you, Brittany, or do you want me to let you go?”
“S-spank me,” she whispered.
“What did you say?” he asked firmly. “I didn’t hear that.”
“Spank me,” she repeated, her face flushing with renewed embarrassment.
“Say, spank me, please, Sir,” he instructed.
She moaned again, paused, then said,
“Spank me, please, Sir.”
“Yes, Brittany, I will. Soundly. You certainly deserve it. I suspect it’s something you’ve needed for a very long time.”
“Oh, God,” she wailed.
“God has nothing to do with this, unless he decided it was about time you paid the piper. Now, young lady, your punishment shall commence.”
He slowly lifted her dress, and his fingers began to toy with the waistband of her scanty panties.
Good grief, why am I loving this? I hate it, but I love it. Nooo, please don’t pull them down.
Her prayer went unanswered, and to her chagrin his fingernails lightly scraped her skin as he peeled down her knickers, and left them hanging around her knees.
Duncan smiled. The first unveiling. It was a special moment, one he savored, one that always held a unique attraction, and feasting his eyes upon her splendid derriere he caressed her full moons, pinching lightly, watching the blood come and go.
A virgin bottom. So deserving. It’s going to give me great pleasure to witness your white flesh turn crimson under the stinging slaps of my hand, you naughty, snooping girl.
Though simultaneously horrified and erotically intoxicated, Brittany was being strangely calmed by his soft caress. She began to breathe a little easier, thinking perhaps it had all been a big bluff, but a moment later his hand kissed her backside with peppery slaps. Kicking out as the hot sting sizzled her skin, she squirmed furiously, attempting to avoid the rapid fire swats.
THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE Page 2
