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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?"
