"Return your hands to your neck and stop that noise immediately. It's rude to interrupt, especially when I'm giving instructions."
"Sorry, Sir. I'll never interrupt you again," she promised, quickly assuming the position. "Not ever."
"As long as I'm training you, I consider you my submissive, now back to the lesson. To worship my cock is a privilege and you must ask permission."
"Please, Sir, may I worship your cock?"
"You may, but if you soil my clothing you'll be punished."
"Yes, Sir. Do I unzip you?"
"I will always instruct you, and because this is your first time I don't expect you to swallow—unless you want to. Do you?"
"I do, Sir, but I want to do it correctly."
"Correctly means you don't spill a drop. Are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yes, Sir."
Unzipping his fly and withdrawing his rigid manhood, he placed his hand behind her head and gripped her hair.
"Come closer. I'll use your hair to guide you. When the cane hits your bottom you're to go faster or show greater eagerness. If you don't the second strike will be harder. Any questions?"
"No, Sir."
She was going to ask if she could start, but thought it better to sit quietly and wait for his direction.
"Good. You didn't presume to begin. That's the first time you've understood your place. You'll be rewarded for that."
Feeling an unexpected sense of pride, she opened her mouth as he pushed her head down, keeping her attention at the tip, then slowly taking in more of his rigid manhood.
"Tighten your lips around me and suck."
His order was accompanied with a stinging tap of the rod. Wincing, she did as he directed, but his cock was large and the task proved difficult. The stick landed again. Determined to please him she responded eagerly, slurping her tongue around him each time she pulled back.
"That's good, very good," he said huskily. "Not quite enough though."
The make-shift cane struck again. She moved faster, sucking with renewed gusto. When it landed again, she tickled his balls with her free hand. Small drops of liquid dropped against her tongue.
Closing his eyes Duncan sank into the lewd attention. His cock had enjoyed many such visits, but in spite of her inexperience Brittany's unique knack of drawing him in and stimulating him with her tongue sent sparks though his loins. When her fingers began tickling his nut sack, it was all he could do to hold back his looming climax. Not wanting the lascivious lapping to end, he tightened his grip on her hair to slow her down, but after landing a few more stripes on her backside and enjoying her eager responses, his orgasm would not be denied.
"I'm going to climax now. I'll do my best to control the flow, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to be messy. I meant what I said. You're not to spill a single drop," he warned, then placing the rod on the couch next to him, he held her head in his hands and slowly fucked her mouth.
The change startled her, but in a flash she surrendered to the intense domination and readied herself for his gift. As his cock started to jerk and spit, she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated, determined to accept all he offered. His cream was hot and tangy, but there wasn't as much as she'd feared, and as he groaned his last groan and fell flaccid against her tongue, she waited patiently until he withdrew.
"You are exceptionally good at that," he said with a heavy sigh. "Fetch me a damp hand towel."
Though the ship still rolled, she barely noticed as she rose to her feet and made her way to his bathroom. Pausing to rinse out her mouth, she dampened a clean wet cloth, returned to her kneeling position and offered it to him.
"Thank you," he said as he wiped himself. "Brittany, is there something you want from me? You may ask for anything."
"Please will you hold me?"
Pushing himself back into his trousers, he zipped up and placed the damp cloth on the side table, then touched between her legs. She was dripping.
"Come with me," he said, rising to his feet and helping her up. "We'll lie together on the bed."
"Duncan," she said abruptly, "I get the whole, you being dressed and me being naked thing now. It's hot."
"Hot?" he said with a chuckle as they moved into the bedroom. "Yes, it is."
"I don't know how else to explain it, but it's sexy as hell."
"There's a bit more to it than that," he remarked as they climbed on the bed and he wrapped her in his arms. "Is this what you want?"
"Mmm, yes, heavenly. Thank you. Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"This is crazy. I'm feeling like a teenager again. I can't help it."
"What's you're question?"
"Do you think I'm sexy?"
"Brittany, you're blindingly sexy, and I'm sorry to say you'll have to leave me soon. I need to get some work done."
"Will I see you later?"
"Absolutely. I'd like to have dinner at The Mermaid tonight."
The Mermaid was the ship's formal restaurant, and she brightened immediately.
"In that case, can I make a request?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"I want to experience what Emily did. Go to dinner wearing no bra. I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't always wear one."
"As long as you understand it's not just about a little exhibitionism. You'll be completely under my authority. You'll have to do whatever I ask."
"Of course. Just the thought is a total turn on, but if you don't want to…"
"On the contrary," he murmured, raising his eyebrows. "I'll make a reservation at The Mermaid. Five minutes, then you'd better leave, or I might decide to keep you here and ravage you all afternoon and I have work to do."
CHAPTER NINE
Her pending dinner date with Duncan devoured Brittany's thoughts for the remainder of the day, but when the hour drew near she had a terrible time deciding what to wear. The thought of walking through a restaurant with her nipples thinly veiled had her pulse racing. Finally making what she hoped would be a good choice, she was on pins and needles when Duncan arrived to pick her up.
"Look at you," he murmured as he entered. "Stunning. Absolutely stunning."
Her nipples subtly apparent through a white silk shirt tucked into a black pleated skirt, and wearing black and white glossy stilettos, she oozed elegant sensuality.
"Are you ready?"
"I am," she grinned, grabbing her evening bag, but as they headed to the door she paused to touch his arm. "Why do I think there's something bothering you? Do you not want me to do this?"
"Of course I do. 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."
"Move," he said, landing a quick swat. "You're stalling."
Her highly tuned senses surprised him. Even as he'd been working he couldn't stop thinking about her. It wasn't like him. It wasn't like him at all.
Once out of the elevator it was a short stroll to The Mermaid. The door was opened by a uniformed attendant, and the Maitre d', a middle-aged portly man, walked up to greet them.
"Mr. Rhys-Davies, how nice to see you. If you would follow me please," he said with a warm smile.
Duncan suppressed a wicked grin as he caught the man's eyes fall on Brittany's chest, staying there a moment too long. Reaching their table, she took her seat and glanced around. The dining room was beautifully appointed, boasting floral arrangements in large venetian vases. The dim lighting offered an intimate ambience, the pale pink tablecloths sported white napkins, and the dishes white porcelain trimmed in gold.
"This place is like a first-class restaurant in New York or London," she remarked. "I didn't know ships offered dining like this."
"Are you ready for your first instruction?"
"So soon?"
"Go into the ladies room," he began, ignoring the comment, "take off your knickers, and bring them back to me balled up in your hand."
"You're
kidding?" She immediately bit her lip."Sorry. I just was thinking out loud."
"Question me again and I might spank you in the middle of this room."
"You wouldn't," she breathed, the color draining from her face as her stomach did several backflips.
"Test me and find out."
Gritting her teeth, Brittany rose from her chair, scanning the room for a sign.
"Ask the maitre d'."
Leaning back in his chair to enjoy the scene, Duncan studied the face of the maitre d' as Brittany asked for directions. The man tried to hide his anxiety, but Duncan could see it in his flushed face and overly zealous gestures. Walking around the tables, she disappeared past the bar, but Duncan's attention shifted to a blonde man standing at the counter drinking a glass of red wine. Above-average looks and a golden tan, he reminded Duncan of a California beach boy. He had unabashedly leered at Brittany, and Duncan paid close attention as she reappeared. The man moved swiftly from the bar putting himself directly in her path, but Duncan caught her eye.
Her panties in her hand and feeling wonderfully wicked, Brittany had smiled across at him, but when Duncan stared back at her, his gaze inexplicably darted to his left. Pausing her step, a furtive glance revealed the blonde man walking straight towards her, and deftly skirting a couple of tables to effectively avoid him she made it safely back. But he had looked directly at Duncan, a sneer crossing his lips. Duncan had received the message: she's fair game, but Brittany had missed the covert interaction.
"That was interesting," she whispered settling into her seat. "Thanks for the warning."
"You handled that like a pro."
"I certainly didn't want to meet him, whoever he was."
"Regardless, you did exactly the right thing," he assured her. "Now to more important matters. Where's my gift?"
"Your gift? Oh, you mean these," she grinned, opening her fist.
Closing his fingers over hers, he took them from her, then stuffed them into his pocket.
"They're a gift because they're mine now, a treasured reminder of tonight. When you see them missing from your drawer, you'll be reminded too."
"Duncan," she whispered, "this is...you are..."
"I believe the waiter is coming," he said softly, but silently thinking, Yes, this is special. We are special, but bloody hell, it doesn't feel like some meaningless fun.
A few minutes later they placed their orders, but to Duncan's dismay the blonde man had returned to the bar and was blatantly staring at Brittany.
"He's still at the bar, isn't he?" Brittany asked quietly. "I can feel his eyes on me."
"Yes, he's still there, but he won't be for long. Just follow my lead."
"I'll do my best."
Sitting tall in his chair, Duncan signaled to the wine steward standing near the bar.
Patric Dupont, a French-born sommelier, knew how to spot a well-traveled and accomplished man. The gentleman who had just requested service was exactly that, and Patric moved quickly to his table.
"Good evening, Monsieur. My name is Patric Dupont. How may I be of service?" he asked with a slight bow.
"Good evening. We're both having the pheasant. I'm partial to the M. Cosentino 2001 M. Coz Meritage from Napa Valley, but I would like your recommendations."
As he suspected he would, Patric's eyes widened and he broke into a warm smile.
"Monsieur knows his wine. An excellent choice."
"But I see you also have the Corton-Charlemagne 2009 Louis Latour. With pheasant, the choice isn't always so easy."
"Oui, this is so," Patric nodded, even more impressed with his customer. "Perhaps mademoiselle has a preference."
Brittany had been raised by parents who often entertained, and though not an expert, she was familiar with the basics of pairing fine wine with gourmet dishes.
"The pheasant is served with plum sauce," she said thoughtfully, "so I believe the Meritage would best please the palate, but I'd be happy with either. White burgundy's are always an interesting alternative."
Brittany's erudite observation took Duncan by surprise, especially her knowledge that the Louie Latour was a white burgundy.
"Mademoiselle, you are familiar with these wines?" Patric asked, smiling a toothy smile.
"I am, and I'm finding myself partial to the Meritage."
"Then the Meritage we shall have," Duncan declared.
During the conversation he had unabashedly sent his eyes to the bar several times, and as Patric took the wine list from his hand, Duncan frowned and leaned slightly forward.
"Is there something wrong, Monsieur?"
"I don't want to make a fuss."
"Monsieur, we pride ourselves in making sure our guests are comfortable and satisfied. If there is something not to your liking please allow me to make it right."
"Rest assured it is not this lovely restaurant or the impeccable service. How remiss of me. My name is Duncan Rhys-Davies, and my companion is Miss Brittany Carter. Forgive me, Brittany, but perhaps Patric is right."
"Perhaps he is," Brittany said with a sigh, "but as you said, we don't want to make a fuss."
"Monsieur, please, tell me," Patric insisted. "How may I be of help?"
"Very well, and thank you. That fellow at the bar, the blonde man who looks like a surfer," Duncan said discreetly, knowing the description would give Patric the image of a man in thongs, loud trunks and a disheveled appearance. "He's been staring at Brittany since we arrived. It's most disconcerting."
"Please do not concern yourself further, Mr. Rhys-Davies. This will be handled," Patric promised, and with a pronounced strut to his step, he marched across to the maitre d'.
"Duncan, that was masterful," Brittany said softly.
"Thank you. I have something in mind, and it certainly couldn't happen with that joker staring at you."
"Can you give me a hint?"
"I'll do more than give you a hint. You're going to have an orgasm."
Brittany stared at him in disbelief, but didn't speak.
"You're learning. That's the first time you haven't shot back a question or a comment. Are you wearing the thigh-highs stockings I requested?"
"Of course," she replied, then let out a small gasp. "Duncan, look!"
Turning his head, Duncan saw two waiters and the maitre d' escorting the blonde man from the restaurant.
"Good. Now we can begin. Reach between your legs, and as you rub yourself tell me one of your fantasies. I want one of your own, not something from my book."
"I can't believe I'm going to do this," she mumbled, moving her hand under the table. "I've wondered about being flogged."
"Dressed how?" he asked, lowering his voice and leaning closer.
"A black garter belt and—wait—Patric is headed over here," she said hastily, spying the wine steward from the corner of her eye.
"Don't stop what you're doing unless I say blackberry, then you can take a short break."
"Your unwanted admirer has left," Patric announced, arriving at the table with their wine.
"We're very grateful," Duncan replied.
"Yes, very," Brittany managed, her fingers continuing to agitate her clit.
"I am only sorry for any inconvenience," Patric continued, pouring a splash of wine in Duncan's glass.
Duncan swirled the deep red liquid, inhaled, then took a sip.
"Such rich blackberry. Marvelous."
Discreetly sighing, Brittany brought her hand back to the table.
"Thank you, Sir, and for mademoiselle," he continued, pouring the Meritage into Brittany's glass.
"Smooth as velvet. Wonderful. Thank you."
With a sharp, quick bow, Patric placed the bottle in the center of the table.
"Bon appétit, and if I can be of further service, please don't hesitate to call on me."
"How did you know about the white burgundy?" Duncan asked.
"My father is a wine lover. He has quite a collection."
"And here you were pretending to be a simple Southern
girl from a small town."
"I am a simple Southern girl from a small town. My father runs his business from home and he likes the country."
"Fingers back between your legs, please, We're not leaving until you climax. Tell me every time you reach the edge."
"Oh, my gosh," she muttered, returning her hand to her sex.
As the meal was served, Brittany found herself caught up in the salacious scene, and each time she told him she was nearing her moment, he instructed her to stop. By the time they had finished their main course her eyes were filled with carnal hunger. Ordering Baked Alaska for dessert, Duncan reached across the table and took hold of her free hand.
"When the waiter returns and flambes the meringue, that's when you'll climax. You'll pretend you're reacting to the flames."
"I'm not sure I can pull this off."
"You can, and I'll be right here holding your hand."
The famous dessert arrived, and as it ignited Brittany exclaimed her awe. With the flames taking center stage no-one paid her any attention, except Duncan. When the bluish glow around the meringue began to subside, so did her waves of orgasmic euphoria. The waiter served the slices, but Brittany was too overcome to do anything but sink into her chair and stare at her plate.
"You are fabulous," Duncan whispered. "I'm immensely proud of you."
"I wish I could curl up in your lap right now."
"Soon. Take a mouthful, you'll love it."
Her eyes glittering and her face flushed, she slowly picked up her fork and took a bite.
"Incredible, and this was the tastiest meal I've ever had," then pausing, she added, "Duncan, this is truly one of the best nights of my life."
CHAPTER TEN
When Duncan and Brittany returned to his stateroom and climbed into bed, they made warm, sensuous love, but while Brittany fell into a deep sleep, Duncan was restless, and the following morning he woke with a growing unease. This was not his first shipboard escapade, but it was his first shipboard romance, and he wanted to kick himself. The attraction had been intense from their first meeting and he should have walked away. In just a couple of days they'd be faced with a gut-wrenching goodbye.
"Duncan?"
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