WET

by Carpenter, Maggie

  "Return to your cabin, clean yourself up, and pack an overnight bag. You have fifteen minutes from the time you leave."

  "What should I wear back to my cabin?"

  "The robe, just as you did before, but I won't be coming with you."

  "Should I go now?"

  "Yes, and remember, fifteen minutes. Don't be late."

  Rising to her feet, she glanced at the clock on the wall, then sending him a nervous smile, she hurried out the door.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Brittany chose a silk turquoise skirt and white silk tank top, but wasn't sure if she should wear underwear, putting it on and taking it off twice before finally deciding to leave it on. Hurriedly packing an overnight bag, she moved quickly down the hall, knocking on Duncan's door several minutes before the allotted fifteen minutes.

  "You look very nice," he said warmly, ushering her inside. "Go into the bedroom."

  He'd changed into a black T-shirt and workout pants, his hair was wet, and she could smell the spicy aroma of his cologne. Moving in ahead of him, she found the room in semi-darkness. He'd closed the drapes, leaving a crack barely a couple of inches wide.

  "Put your case on the armchair by the window."

  Feeling oddly self-conscious, she walked past the bed and deposited her bag, but when she turned around he had closed the door and was leaning against it, his arms crossed, looking stern and stunningly sexy.

  "Come here, Brittany."

  "Can I say-"

  "No!"

  Butterflies fluttering, she hurried the few steps and stopped directly in front of him.

  "Your discipline will start with some time alone. You will remain in this room, and 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. Any questions?"

  "Uh, no, Sir"

  "Behave yourself, young lady. I'll know if you don't."

  Softly kissing her, he disappeared into the living room, and with nothing to do but wait, she thought she'd take a nap, but after a few minutes she discovered she couldn't relax. Tempted to risk a quick glance through the teasing opening in the drapes, she went so far as to stand in front of them, but her inner voice told her she'd be crazy to disobey him. Returning to the bed, she propped herself with the pillows behind her back and let her mind wander. Her thoughts drifted to her life in the small town, then shifted to the exciting prospect of her visit to London.

  The nanny cam disguised as a clock sat on the desk catty-corner against the far wall. For almost thirty-minutes Duncan watched. Brittany behaved exactly as expected. Closing his laptop, he stood up and stretched, drank some water, then strode across to the bedroom door. As he entered, she jumped to her feet and hurried across to hug him.

  "I get it. I didn't at first and it seemed like forever, but when I finally sat down and started to relax my mind took me places."

  "I know. You did really well. Take a few steps, turn around, lift your skirt around your waist and remain still."

  As she did as he instructed, though not sure what to expect, she wasn't prepared for another wait. As the long seconds ticked by, she bit her lip to keep from moving her feet, and was barely able to resist the need to scratch a sudden tickle on her nose. When she finally felt his fingers slip through the sides of her panties, she let out a relieved sigh. slipping them down, he left them around the tops of her thighs.

  "For the next twenty-four hours you will not leave this room," he said softly, running his fingers across her naked backside. "I have told you I'm a strict disciplinarian. If things become too much for you, you will say, this is too much for me. Repeat that, please."

  "This is too much for me," she managed, finding it difficult to concentrate beyond his tickling fingertips.

  "If you say those words I will immediately stop whatever I'm doing and leave. You'll pack your things and return to your cabin. There will be no recriminations, no dramatic goodbyes, no apologies, and we will be over. This isn't a threat, Brittany. If who I am and what I do doesn't fit, there's no point in continuing. I'm giving you an out, and I'm trusting you to be honest."

  "Yes, Sir. I understand, and I agree."

  He could feel her sincerity, and turning her around, he hugged her tightly, then clutching her hair and tugging it back, he laid his lips on hers. The kiss did not demand or devour, but lovingly lingered, and when he broke away she was breathless.

  "Whatever happens," she said softly, "I am in love with you Duncan, and I'll always be grateful that we met."

  "And I feel the same. Are you ready?"

  "Yes, Sir. I'm ready."

  "Your discipline will begin with some unpleasant truths. Raise your hands behind your head, elbows out, kick off your shoes and separate your feet."

  Removing her strappy sandals without using her hands wasn't easy, and though she kept hoping he'd offer to help, he stood silently watching her struggle.

  "Sir…?"

  "You're panicking. Slow down. Think about what you're doing."

  Letting out a heavy sigh, she focused her attention on the surprisingly difficult task. Finally succeeding, she smiled up at him.

  "Good. Lessons are everywhere. If something challenges you, slow down and take a moment. Eyes on the floor."

  Dropping her gaze, his words lingered, but as she reflected he moved slowly around her, reminding her of a great cat circling its prey.

  "Brittany, you're a beautiful, intelligent young woman. You are also spoiled and childish, and possess little self-control. You have been without discipline throughout your life, and your constant interruptions show a lack of good manners. Such impolite behavior will not be tolerated."

  He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air, all the while continuing to circle her.

  "You see your conniving ways as clever, but they are the height of dishonesty. Any further attempts at getting what you want through ridiculous schemes will be severely dealt with. I have a variety of 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."

  And she was.

  Brittany had never been spoken to so sternly. When her father had lectured her for a poor grade or some vague misdeed, his voice had been tinged with regret, and he would often apologize for the reprimand.

  "I punished you for sneaking into my cabin in an attempt to manipulate me into spanking you. Tell me, Brittany, what did you do?"

  "You mean, uh, dressing up and pretending to run into you?"

  "Exactly. You contrived another exploit just a short time later. You should be ashamed of yourself, Brittany Carter. Clearly you need a very strict hand, and that, young lady, is exactly what you will receive. My very strict hand."

  As his scolding words reverberated through her head, her butterflies transformed into a giant whirling dervish. She thought she could handle anything he dished out, but could she?

  "Remember, Brittany, you can leave here any time you choose. All you have to do is tell me."

  He knew exactly what was going through her mind; the doubt, the questioning, the conflict. Brittany was made of tough stuff, but she'd never come up against someone like him, nor been on the receiving end of a strong tongue-lashing, though he could deliver worse, much worse. He waited for her signal, the one that told him he could proceed. It would come as a sigh, or the drop of her shoulders, or slight tilting down of her chin. She could take as long as she needed to get there.

  Or she might lift her eyes and tell him it was over.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  To Duncan's great joy she gave him all three; she let out a heavy breath, lowered her head, and even though her hands were behind her neck, he saw her shoulders drop. It was the clearest acceptance he'd ever witnessed. A surge of energy rippling through his body, he moved into the closet to retrieve th
e long, thin polished shoe horn. She'd be covertly watching him, and he wanted her to. Seeing him return with the stinging stick would build her anticipation.

  "Lower your arms," he said, carrying it back to her. "Take this and hold it with both hands."

  As she took the rod between her fingers, though he could sense her trepidation, he could also detect the sweet aroma of her arousal.

  "You must not drop it. If you do, you'll be sorry."

  Hearing the quick intake of breath, he suppressed a satisfied smile and ambling past her to the desk, he picked up the high-backed, armless chair, placed it next to her and sat down.

  "You were expecting me to tie your wrists and ankles and blindfold you, but one thing you will learn, Brittany, I'm rarely predictable. Lay over my lap."

  Leaning forward she wriggled her body trying to find a comfortable position. She thought she'd be stretched across his legs on the bed, or even the couch, and this was an unpleasant surprise. There was no measure of comfort, and he wasn't helping her find any.

  "Move further over," he said sternly. "You'll have to squirm to do it."

  She did her best, grunting as she gyrated her hips in an effort to move forward, but unable to use her hands to grip the legs of the chair for balance made the process extremely difficult. Feeling his eyes on her wriggling backside didn't help, even if it was still covered.

  "Right there," he said sharply, "and keep your squirming to a minimum."

  Lifting her skirt and laying it over her back, he began to slap her perfectly positioned posterior. There had been no hesitation, or warning he was about to begin, nor had he run his palm over her naked skin, he'd just started to spank—and spank hard. Repeatedly his hand rose and fell, the smacks falling in no particular rhythm. He'd land a volley of rapid-fire swats, followed by slow, hard smacks, then whisk his hand against the sensitive area where her thighs met her backside. Though she gasped and wriggled and begged him to stop, her pleas went unanswered.

  In addition to the stinging spanking, holding the rod proved to be far more potent than having her wrists tied. It not only prevented her from putting her hands behind her, she couldn't grasp the legs of the chair or lay her hands on the floor. His relentless palm continued to pepper 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. Unsure how much more she could take, but determined to see it through, she clenched her teeth and told herself it would be worth it in the end. Just as she finished the thought his hand fell quiet.

  Duncan stared at her bright red skin. There would be no soothing caress, no rubbing, no tender words, not yet. It took her several minutes to compose herself, but he wasn't surprised. It was a much harder spanking than he'd previously delivered, probably harder than she'd expected, and holding the rod wasn't easy.

  "Take the stick in one hand and hand it back for me," he ordered, as she finally settled and sank into his lap.

  Not sure whether she should be grateful or frightened, she did as he asked. The moment he took it from her fingers she grabbed the legs of the chair, and though she let out a long, appreciative sigh, her respite was short-lived.

  "Off my lap and stand in front of me."

  Moving slowly, she pushed herself off his knees and rose unsteadily to her feet.

  "Remove your knickers and skirt."

  Her panties were still around her thighs, and he watched her nervously pull them off, then reaching to her side, she slid down the zipper of her skirt and let it drop to the floor. Standing up and laying the makeshift cane on the chair, he slid his fingers in her hair, and tugging back her head he locked her eyes.

  "That spanking was discipline for discipline's sake, and an example of what to expect if you misbehave. Now you will feel the rod for your dreadful schemes. Being a brat, throwing tantrums, general bad behavior, those are misdemeanors. Schemes are felonies. Do you understand what I just told you?"

  "Yes, Sir," she whispered. "May I ask you a question, Sir?"

  "You may."

  "That spanking, is that something you'll be doing often?"

  "Obviously that's entirely up to you," he replied, releasing her hair. "If you require maintenance, then yes, but that's a path we've not even begun to travel."

  "You mean, if we end up together?"

  "That's exactly what I mean. Anything else?"

  "No, Sir."

  Stepping aside, he picked up the rod and tapped the chair.

  "Bend over, hold the edges of the seat, arch your back and close your legs."

  Leaning forward, filled with dread, she followed his instructions.

  "Remember what I said. If this is too much, just tell me."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Do you think schemes and manipulations are an appropriate way to get what you want?"

  "Not anymore, Sir."

  He smiled. He'd expected a simple, No, Sir, but instead she'd reminded him there was nothing simple about her.

  "Your bottom is sore, isn't it, Brittany?"

  "Yes, Sir, very."

  "Stay as you are and think about your conniving ways. You must also 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."

  His words sent goosebumps popping across her skin. Her eyes followed him as he moved away, took her bag from the armchair and sat down. She recalled how intensely she'd been attracted to him the moment she'd seen him walking up the gangplank. His confident bearing and squared shoulders had suggested an accomplished man, one who tackled life's challenges with aplomb. For many hours she'd hoped and prayed they'd spend time together. Now her wish had been granted. But she never, not in her wildest dreams, not even after reading Emily's Education, thought she would end up with a stinging crimson backside, holding the seat of a chair, waiting to be punished with a nasty rod. As he settled she quickly averted her eyes. He hadn't forbidden her to look at him, but she wasn't about to take any chances.

  Tilting his head to the side, Duncan admired his handiwork, then feasted his eyes on the beautiful, bratty young woman. The craving for discipline and control lived inside her submissive soul, but it was a craving she hadn't fully understood. She was beginning to, but whether or not she would last twenty-four hours remained to be seen. His thoughts shifted to her sentence. The cane, or in this case, the thin polished wood doing the job of a cane, was not to be taken lightly. Three swishes didn't seem enough, and six would be overly harsh. Finally deciding on four, delivered quickly, he focused his attention on Brittany to wait for the subtle signal that she was ready to proceed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  While Duncan had been ruminating, Brittany had been wondering why she could so easily ignore her warning voice before embarking on one of her schemes. She often suffered terrible guilt after outwitting some unsuspecting soul, but she knew she'd never be able to pull anything over on Duncan again. He wasn't just smarter than she and would see it coming, in the unlikely event she was able to pull the wool over his eyes, she'd end up confessing her sins. The result would be a very sore backside, and he probably had other methods of discipline besides turning her bottom the color of a ripe tomato. But the question would have to wait. She was supposed to be thinking about her sins.

  Her mind wandered to the scene at the bar, and it occurred to her if something bad had happened, she could have pointed the finger at Duncan, blaming him for upsetting her and causing her to head there to drown her sorrows. Though it had been her choice to meet up with Cooper, she could almost hear the defense. She frowned at the twisted logic, but her hands hurt, and she realized her fingers had been clenched around the chair. Taking a deep breath and letting them fall loose, she unwittingly sent Duncan the signal for which he'd been waiting.

  He caught it, and a slight smile curled the edges of his lips. Rising from the chair, rod in hand, he moved forward.

  "This will not be pleasant," he warned, "a
nd remember, you can tell me if it's too much."

  "Yes, Sir, but I won't, Sir."

  "You will receive four cuts, two for your schemes, and two for being so foolish as to call Cooper Cross. You wanted to get out of the cabin and have a drink, fine, but you went too far. Not only that, I suspect you were hoping I'd see you with him. Were you, Brittany?"

  "Not consciously, no, Sir."

  "Good answer. We often act on a subconscious level, and I believe you. The four cuts will be delivered with a count of three between each. Please refrain from shouting out. You may stamp your foot, but you will not take your hands from the chair. Repeat that please."

  "I'm not allowed to shout, I can stamp my feet, but I can't take my hands off the chair."

  "Correct. Are you ready?"

  "Yes, Sir, though I'm not exactly sure what I'm ready for."

  "It will help if you take a deep breath before each strike. I'll be counting to three, so you'll know when to do that."

  "Yes, Sir, thank you."

  "The first is for sneaking into my cabin and attempting to manipulate me. One—two—take your breath—three."

  With a practiced flick of his wrist he landed the stick, eliciting a loud hiss.

  "The second, for dressing up like a harlot and ambushing me in the hall. One—two—three."

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

  "The next two for meeting up with Cooper Cross knowing very well he could be trouble. One—two— three."

  The third brought the snapping back of her head, and caused her to stamp a foot.

  "You're not to put yourself in jeopardy like that again. One—two—three."

  The last was delivered to 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'm leaving for a few minutes and you're free to do whatever you wish. I'll return shortly."

  Turning her head, she watched him walk out the door, then moving to the bed she flopped on her stomach, but as she rested her hands on her stinging behind, she realized he could have landed the horrible stick a dozen times. He'd decided four was appropriate. He hadn't been cruel, or mean, or unfair. Sinking into the mattress and closing her eyes, though she wasn't sure why, an almost-smile crossed her lips.