THE STRICT BRITISH BARRISTER: ACT ONE

by Maggie Carpenter

  Placing the stick on the couch next to him, he held her head in his hands, and holding her still he began to slowly fuck her mouth.

  The change startled her, but in a flash she surrendered to the intense domination and readied herself for the gift of his hot cream. As his cock started to jerk and spit, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated, determined to accept all he offered without hesitation.

  It was hot and tangy, but there wasn’t as much as she thought there would be, and as he groaned his last groan, falling flaccid against her tongue, she waited patiently until he withdrew.

  “You are exceptionally good at that,” he sighed, leaning back and sighing. “Now you must go to the bathroom and bring me a damp hand towel.”

  The ship was still rolling, but it was the furthest thing from her mind as she rose to her feet and made her way to his bedroom.

  That was nothing like I thought it would be. It was amazing, and I feel so…what’s the word? I don’t know the word, but I feel like I want to crawl into him and never leave his arms.

  She paused to rinse out her mouth, then wringing out a clean wet cloth she returned to him and resumed her kneeling position.

  “Thank you,” he smiled, and taking the cloth he wiped himself, then zipped up his trousers. “If there was one thing you could ask of me right now, Brittany, what would it be?”

  “For you to hold me, Sir, for a really long time,” she whispered.

  Placing the damp cloth on the sofa’s side table, he moved his hand between her legs; she was dripping.

  Extraordinary. She’s is totally aroused but she wants only to be held. Most other girls would be asking me to let them orgasm.

  “Come, we’ll lay on the bed,” he offered, standing up and reaching for her hand.

  Walking naked next to him, he still fully clothed, she felt a surge of understanding.

  “I get the whole, you being clothed and me being naked thing now,” she said softly. “It’s hot.”

  “It’s hot?” he chuckled.

  “I feel so sexy,” she admitted, watching him as he kicked off his shoes.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, dropping on to the bed and pulling her into him.

  “Yes, exactly what I want, thank you.”

  “You feel sexy because you are, Brittany, you’re blindingly sexy,” and you fit far too well in my arms. Quite the pickle I’m getting into. What the bloody hell have I done.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I think perhaps my book had too much impact,” he said, staring into her wide eyes.

  “No, it didn’t,” she replied, “it spoke to me. I feel like Emily, and this is a fantasy I’ve been carrying around with me for ages.”

  “If you’re sure, but remember, once you walk through that restaurant door, you’ll be completely under my authority, and you must do as I say.”

  “I know,” she nodded, “but I’m not changing my mind.”

  They had spent the day talking about her confessional, her fear of moving away from her small town, about her ambitions and dreams, and then the conversation had turned back to her growing understanding of the sexual being that she was, and her dark, decadent desires.

  When she’d told him she wanted to experience what Emily had, walking through a crowd of people wearing no bra, her nipples poking against her thin bouse, he had smiled and nodded his head.

  “We can certainly make that happen,” he’d promised, “tonight in fact. I’ve already made reservations at The Mermaid.”

  The Mermaid was the ship’s most formal restaurant, and now dressed and ready to leave, Brittany’s heart was pattering with anticipation, and she could already feel the erotic affect of what she was about to do.

  “Let’s take a look at you,” he said, turning her to face the full length mirror.

  She stared at her reflection, her eyes dropping to her nipples, starkly apparent through the white silk shirt. It was tucked into A black pleated skirt, and with her black and white glossy stilettos, had she been wearing a lacy bra under the shirt her outfit would have personified simple elegance, but without lingerie she wasn’t sure how it could be described.

  Maybe I should take the black vest so I can put it on if I change my mind before we go in the restaurant. No, I’m not going to, but I think I will throw my black silk scarf around my neck.

  “I want to add something,” she announced, walking back to her closet.

  Duncan watched her move away, then facing the mirror, staring at his own reflection, he frowned.

  You should be loving this, so why aren’t you?

  I don’t know. I am, but I’m not.

  It was true. Having a woman exhibit herself was one of his favorite kinks, and Brittany looked stunning, so why was he feeling so out of sorts?

  “Kind of finishes it, don’t you think?” she asked, interrupting his somber thoughts as she reappeared from her closet.

  “Yes, it’s perfect,” he agreed.

  She’d placed the thin, flimsy scarf under the collar of the white blouse so it floated lightly down the front of her shirt. It didn’t quite cover her nipples, but could if she wanted it to.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, feigning a smile.

  “I am,” she grinned, grabbing her evening bag, but as they headed to the door she paused, touching his arm.

  “Why do I think there’s something bothering you?” she asked softly. “Do you not want me to do this?”

  “Of course I do,” he assured her. “Some will stare, some will pretend not to, and I can’t wait to see how you handle it. This will be a very exciting and entertaining evening.”

  “I still think there’s something on your mind,” she insisted.

  “Move,” he said, slapping her backside, “I’m beginning to think you’re stalling.”

  “I’m not stalling,” she quipped, and marched ahead of him and out the door.

  They made their way up the elevator, then strolled down the deck to the restaurant, a place she’d been wanting to eat but hadn’t, simply because she didn’t want to go in by herself. The door was opened by a uniformed attendant, and as with any high-end restaurant they were greeted by a maitre de and a hostess.

  “If you would follow me please,” the hostess said, and as they walked past the maitre de, a middle-aged, rather portly man, Duncan hung back, watching the man’s eyes fall upon Brittany’s chest…then staying there a moment too long.

  In spite of his confusing state of mind, Duncan secretly smiled. The man would be thinking about Brittany’s nipples pressing urgently against her shirt for some time.

  Reaching their table, Brittany took her seat and glanced around. The dining room was beautifully appointed, boasting floral arrangements in strategically placed, large venetian vases. The lighting was slightly dimmed, the tablecloths were soft pink linen sporting white napkins, and the cutlery was silver.

  “This place is fabulous,” she grinned. “I feel as if I’m eating in an upmarket place in a big city…like London,” she added. “Do you have places like this?”

  “There are some, the more traditional ones, but there are others that are far more contemporary that serve amazing food,” and I would love to take you to them, every one of them, looking exactly the way you look right now.

  “Thank you for bringing me,” she said softly. “I’m really happy to be here, especially with you…”

  “Brittany,” he interrupted, not wanting the conversation to fall into an emotional one, “I want you to take your bag, go into the ladies room, take off your panties, and bring them back to me balled up in your hand.”

  “Whaat? You’re kidding?”

  Her response had been instinctive, and she immediately bit her lip.

  “I didn’t say that, I just thought it,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to-”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to discipline you for that,” he frowned. “Question me again, and I might just spank you in the middle of this room.”

  “You wouldn’t,” sh
e breathed, the color draining from her face.

  “Test me and find out,” he said, his eyes holding hers, “now follow your instruction, and as a punishment you can take off that scarf.”

  Gritting her teeth Brittany pulled the scarf from around her neck, and standing up, searched out the bathrooms.

  “Go and ask the maitre de,” he said firmly.

  Gulping, trying to ignore the flush moving across her face, knowing her tits were piercing the front of her blouse, she started across the room.

  Duncan watched her, then watched the eyes of the maitre de as he caught her approach. Leaning back in his chair, Duncan could feel the stirring in his loins. The man was hiding his fluster, but Duncan could see it in his slightly flushed face, and his over zealous gestures.

  Brittany moved away from the podium and disappeared behind a partition, and as he waited Duncan’s eyes traveled around the room, falling on a blond man standing at the small, intimate bar.

  He was above-average height, and sported the blondish good looks that reminded him of travel posters from California, but it was the way the man was leaning against the bar that caught his attention. His elbow was resting casually on the counter, his chin was slightly elevated, and he was focused on the area where Brittany would reappear.

  There was something about him that made Duncan uncomfortable, and he suddenly felt a rush of protective possessiveness. He kept close watch, and leaned forward in his chair as Brittany came back into view. His eyes darted back to the blond man, and Duncan watched him straighten up, run his fingers through his hair, and begin to walk on a track that would intercept Brittany’s path.

  Duncan shot his gaze back to her, and was able to catch her eye.

  Brittany was on a high. Peeling off her panties in the ladies room she’d been so excited her hands had been shaking and she’d almost dropped them. Smiling happily, her heart skipping, she’d headed back into the dining room and immediately stared across at Duncan, needing his supportive grin to bring her back through the crowd. His gaze was there, glowing at her across the room, but she immediately sensed something else.

  She paused in her step, just for a moment, and in that moment his eyes shot quickly to his left, then back at her; he was telling her something. Pretending to open her purse she glanced furtively in the direction he’d indicated, and immediately saw the blonde man walking straight towards her.

  Her heart kicked up a notch, and spying an alternate path she hastened her step, deftly moving around some tables that effectively blocked his path, then skirted another for good measure before moving quickly back to Duncan.

  Duncan had been ready to intercede if necessary, but the man had pulled up the moment Brittany had begun her circuitous route, but to Duncan’s chagrin, the stranger had turned and looked directly across at him, a half-smile crossing his lips.

  Duncan knew the look, such men had crossed his path before, and he was certain he could hear the words behind the man’s smirk; she’s fair game. I haven’t given up.

  Because she’d been focusing on her circuitous route to the table, Brittany had missed the covert interaction between Duncan and the stranger, and taking her seat she exhaled dramatically.

  “My gosh, that was, uh, interesting,” she whispered. “Thanks for the warning. My heart is racing right now.”

  Smiling across at her Duncan reached across the table and rubbed her arm.

  “You handled that like a pro,” he said fondly, “I’m so proud of you.” My heart is racing too, and now I’m worried.

  “I did?” she beamed. “Thanks for saying so. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to go back to the ladies room, and I surely didn’t want to meet him, whoever he was. I’ve seen him around though, he’s definitely out and about. Besides, I wasn’t really worried. We’re in the middle of a restaurant. What harm could he have done?”

  “Regardless, you did exactly the right thing,” he assured her, and wanting to take her mind off the incident, he added, “now, where is my gift?”

  “Your gift? Oh, you mean these,” she grinned, reaching her balled fist under the table.

  “Across the table, if you please,” he corrected her.

  She was about to question him but held her tongue, and eyes sparkling, she moved her hand over the pink tablecloth. Closing his fingers over hers he took them from her, then stuffed them into his pocket.

  “They’re a gift, Brittany, because they’re mine now. I shall treasure them, and they will always remind me of this very special moment. When you see them missing from your drawer, you’ll be reminded too.”

  Brittany felt a rush of emotion, and swallowed, gulping back the unexpected heat in her throat.

  “Duncan,” she whispered, “this is…you are…”

  “I believe the waiter is coming,” he said softly, and yes, this is, and we are, and bloody hell, what have I gotten us into.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As they placed their orders, Duncan let his eyes wander to see if the man had left, but to his dismay he noticed he’d returned to the bar and was nursing a drink, holding himself in his previous, nonchalant pose. Duncan had more hijinks in store for Brittany during their meal, but he couldn’t pursue them under the scrutiny of the stranger’s fixated gaze.

  I know exactly what you’re doing, but I know how to get rid of you, at least for tonight.

  “He’s still at the bar, isn’t he?” Brittany asked quietly. “I can feel his eyes on me.”

  “Yes, he’s still there,” Duncan replied, “but he won’t be for long.”

  “Why, what are you going to do?” she frowned.

  “Just leave this to me,” he assured her, “first, put your scarf back on and let it hang over those gorgeous breasts of yours.”

  “Duncan,” she giggled, “tell me what’s going on.”

  “Second time tonight you’ve questioned me,” he teased. “I can see a slipper in your future. Just put the scarf on please.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” she giggled, and lifting her scarf from the chair next to her, she placed it around her neck and draped it over her nipples.

  “Perfect, okay, now follow my lead,” he said softy.

  “Well, duh,” she remarked, rolling her eyes.

  He shot her a look, and couldn’t help but smile, then turning his head he caught the eye of the wine steward standing at attention near the bar.

  Patric Dupont, a French born Sommelier, knew how to spot a well-traveled, well-bred, and accomplished man, and the gentleman who had just caught his eye was exactly that. Patric appreciated such guests, and moved quickly across the room, delighted to attend him.

  “Monsieur wishes to order wine with his meal?” he asked with a slight bow.

  Duncan knew the wine he was going to order, but endearing himself to the sophisticated and educated Sommelier was a necessary part of his scheme to have the blond stranger removed from the restaurant.

  “Yes, we’re having the pheasant, and I’d like your recommendations, though I am partial to the M. Cosentino 2001 M. Coz Meritage from Napa Valley.”

  As he suspected he would, Patric’s eyes widened, and he broke into a warm smile.

  “Ah, yes, Monsieur knows his wine. This is an excellent choice.”

  “But I see you also have the Corton-Charlemagne 2009 Louis Latour. With pheasant, it is always a bit…” he remarked, moving his hand in a seesaw motion.

  “Oui, this is so,” Patric nodded, now even more impressed with his customer.

  Brittany, fascinated by their exchange and wondering what it had to do with Duncan’s scheme, couldn’t help but notice he kept glancing towards the blond man still standing at the bar.

  “Perhaps we should ask your beautiful companion,” Patric suggested with a slight nod of his head. “Does she have a preference?”

  Patric was smiling down at her, and Brittany, though not a great wine lover, had grown up in a house with parents who entertained on a regular basis, and was more than familiar with the basics of fine
wine and gourmet food.

  “This particular pheasant dish is served with a rich plum sauce, so I think the Meritage would probably please the palate more, but I’d be happy with either. White burgundy’s are always an interesting alternative.”

  Though Duncan’s scheme to rid themselves of the stranger at the bar was forefront in his mind, Brittany’s succinct and erudite statement took him completely by surprise, especially her knowledge that the Louie Latour was a white burgundy.

  “Ah, the beautiful woman is also, how do you say it, most civilized,” Patric remarked.

  “She certainly is,” Duncan grinned. “So, the Meritage, then?” he asked pointedly.

  “I think so,” she nodded, “if that meets with your approval.”

  “It does,” Duncan nodded.

  “Oui, excellent,” Patric nodded.

  As Brittany had noticed, during their exchange Duncan had blatantly darted his eyes across the room towards the bar several times, and as Patric took the wine list from his hand, Duncan frowned and shook his head.

  “Is there something wrong, Monsieur?” Patric asked, wanting to be sure nothing was bothering his dignified customer.

  “No, nothing, not really, I don’t want to make a fuss,” Duncan said quietly.

  “Monsieur, we here at The Mermaid, pride ourselves in making sure our guests are comfortable and satisfied. If there something not to your liking, please, allow me to make it right.”

  “I can assure you it is not this lovely restaurant, or the service. May I ask, what is your name?”

  “Patric, Patric Dupont, and please, how may I be of assistance?”

  “Duncan, Duncan Rhys-Davies,” Duncan said formally, “and this is Brittany Carter. Forgive me, Brittany,” Duncan continued, “but perhaps Patric is right.”

  “Yes,” Brittany sighed, playing along, though having no idea what Duncan had in mind, “perhaps he is, but as you said, we don’t want to make a fuss.”

  Duncan smiled; her response had been perfect, and Patric, now completely intrigued, leaned closer in.

  “Monsieur, please, tell me, how can I be of help.”