You warn me what will happen if I keep mouthing off after you tell me to stop, but my Inner Brat doesn’t care. No, that’s a lie. I WANT to push your buttons; to become the precocious, limit-testing minx you often call me. We’re lounging in your house on a lazy Saturday morning after you invited me over to play, and I’ve been in a particularly bratty mood all week. Letting you think you have the upper hand by quickly backing down each time.
But not today.
You’ve been focused on your computer rather than me since I arrived, purposely trying to make me nervous. Almost a half-hour passes, and I grow bored of surfing social media on my phone. As if you sense my impatience, you tell me to get a soda from the kitchen without looking up from the keyboard. Instead of complying, I smirk and say in a sweet tone, “No thank you.”
You finally turn your full attention my way and give a stern expression. “That wasn’t a request.”
My voice changes from sweet to sassy as I fold my arms across my chest, deliberately drawing attention to the expanse of cleavage revealed by my low-cut shirt. “But you’re not the boss of me.”
Your face becomes overly neutral, although I can tell your eyes have been drawn to my chest. Not that you give an outward reaction to the clear evidence of my hardening nipples. “Oh, I see.”
Your tone is mild, but I recognize that as one of your warning phrases. The urge to squirm hits, but I brush it aside. You’ve told me so many times you don’t react emotionally and can’t be manipulated, so what do I have to lose? “Good. Guess that means your vision is working just fine.”
Complete calm sweeps across your face, and sudden nerves make me question my recklessness. Your brow arches as you give me what I’ve come to think of as “the Look.” The one that sets off red alerts inside my mind and has my panties growing immediately wet.
“My vision is 20/20 but I’m definitely questioning your lack of judgment right now, sweetheart.”
Conflicting emotions rush through my body; the urge to melt when you call me pet names countered by your stern tone and mild insult. “I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t even done anything bratty.”
You give one of your derisive snorts that usually make me want to Brat even more. “Uh huh.”
Uh oh is more like it. You only give those abrupt responses when you really want to make me sweat. I can’t resist the urge to stomp my foot. “I don’t. You said to get a soda from the kitchen, but I’m not thirsty. So I was being polite when I said no thank you.”
You flash a shorter version of the Look, lips twisting sardonically. “You know bloody full well I meant for you to get me a soda.”
I bat my lashes in exaggerated innocence. “Oh, really? I get so easily confused sometimes.”
Another snort. “You get so easily Bratty, you mean. I’m only going to say this once. Bring me that soda.”
My lips twist into a pout. “But you didn’t even say the magic word.”
Your tone finally takes on the first hint of emotion as you growl, “Now.”
I huff an annoyed sigh and jump up, shooting a glare as I stomp to the kitchen. Your eyes roam from my cleavage to my ass when I stalk to the other room, wiggling with every melodramatic step. A glance over my shoulder reveals a distinct bulge in your pants. Something that both excites and annoys me. You think you’ve cowed me into behaving already. Wrong.
A fact you pick up on the moment I offer the two-liter bottle of soda retrieved from the kitchen. The Look you shoot me this time shows even more emotion, and I lick my lips as butterflies dance in my belly. “What is this, Brat?”
I feign a wide-eyed expression. “It’s the soda you requested, Sir.”
The fake innocence paired with my sarcastic emphasis on the Sir have you rising and looming over me by more than a foot in superior height. I take an involuntary step back before stubbornness has me pushing the bottle toward you a second time.
“Last chance. Go pour the soda into a clean glass with nothing else but several clean pieces of ice and bring it back here for me to drink. Or else.”
Somehow, I manage to force out the words, “Or what?” in a challenging tone of voice.
“Or else I’m going to remind you exactly why I very much am the boss of you.”
The words drip with promise rather than frustration or anger, making my knees grow weaker than those harsher emotions would have done. “Yes, Sir,” I say out loud before mumbling under my breath as I stomp back to the kitchen and follow your instructions exactly. This time finding no loopholes to exploit.
You accept my offering this time, taking a long swallow of the ice-cold soda. My body starts to relax as you drink, certain I’ve satisfied the terms of your instructions, only to tense when you slam the glass on the coffee table and grab my arms tightly.
“Care to repeat that last bit, pet?”
I shiver at the menace in your last growled word. “I s—said Yes, Sir.”
“Bullshit. The last bit. The part mumbled beneath your breath because your mouth is so determined to write checks your body can’t cash.”
Your fingers bite into my flesh with growing strength; flesh that will definitely bear your marks later. A thought that makes my panties grow just a little bit wetter. My breath hitches as my eyes flutter slightly before settling upon your cool-as-a-cucumber face. But the bulge of your erection growing a little bit larger proves you’re not as unaffected as you appear.
You catch me peeking and shake me roughly. “What did you just mumble?”
“I—um…” You give another hard shake that has me moaning before I manage to spit out, “I said…you can be such an ass sometimes.”
You jerk me around and down against the sofa, exposing my ass to the air as my legs begin to kick. “Funny you should mention ass, Brat, because somebody’s about to get hers beaten.”
Stubbornness has me fighting to break away even though I know it’s futile; and even though I absolutely want you to beat my ass. Obviously, you want this, too, or you would choose a punishment I wouldn’t enjoy. You pin me to the couch with one of your knees upon my back and further thwart my struggles by yanking my jeans and panties halfway down. The cool air feels good upon my bare skin for the second it takes your hand to crack against my right ass cheek with harsh force. I gasp at the initial sting, which then flares into delicious pain that has me moaning shamelessly.
“You like that, little slut?”
Out of reflex, I open my mouth to sass off, but your hand smacks down on the same spot with a little more force than the first time, sending pain radiating along my ass. I cry out softly, but that earns no mercy. Instead, you continue spanking me methodically, five slow cracks on one cheek before switching to the other, only to repeat the cycle again. Pleasure and pain mingle as my breaths becomes quick pants interspersed with moans. The sensations become so intense that tears begin to fall, making my face as wet as my pussy. I glance over my shoulder and bite my lip.
You quirk a brow and pause your hand above my ass. “Have something else to say?”
I shake my head adamantly. “No, Sir.” Your hand starts to descend again, and I quickly add, “Just that I’m sorry, Sir.”
Sincerity rings in my voice, and your hand slows to softly stroke rather than spank my now bright-red ass cheek. “Good girl,” you praise, leaning down to kiss first one cheek and then the other. “You love it when Sir beats your ass, don’t you?”
My Inner Brat has been fully tamed—for now—and so I nod. “Yes, Sir, I do.”
Your hand moves to caress my dripping pussy. “I can tell by how fucking wet you are, little slut.” I moan and squirm against your hand, feeling every inch what you call me. “You wanted Sir to spank your ass just like you want Sir to fuck you now. Don’t you?”
Before I can respond, you yank down your jeans and tease my pussy with your rock-hard cock, not yet giving me what I crave. “Tell Sir what you want.”
“Do I have to say it?” I ask in a breathless tone. Not really trying to Brat but feeling a little shy.
You know this and so rather than punishing me, you simply say, “Now.”
“I…fuck me, Sir. I want you to fuck me. D—doggy style.”
You turn my words against me. “But you didn’t say the magic word.”
No way will I allow my Inner Brat out again, not when I’m so close to getting what I want. So, I give you a sweet look and purr, “Please, Sir. Please fuck me hard.”
“Good girl,” you praise again, leaning down to kiss me once before sliding your cock inside my pussy. “And good girls get rewarded.”
You rock against me before sliding up and then back down, ramming a little bit harder each time. I moan and thrust my hips back, gasping each time you slide that much further inside. You grab my hair in one hand and forcefully pull, reaching your other hand around my throat—not to choke, just to assert your dominance. You fuck me hard and fast—just like you made me beg for—until my panting and moans signal my approaching orgasm. You release my hair and reach down to fondle my clit, rubbing and twisting it in rhythm with your pounding cock.
“I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum!” I moan.
“Do it, Brat. Come for Sir. Now!”
It’s the way you growl Now! that sends me over the edge and makes me scream. You groan a moment later, and I feel you come inside me, filling me with cum as you squeeze my throat just enough to remind me once more just who is the boss of me.
Until the next time my Inner Brat comes out to play—and you need to assert your dominance again. A game we both win every time I lose…
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/kg192n/boss_of_me_part_1_nsfw
Phenomenal! ?
So much fun ?