Months ago, I was in the wedding of a close friend. It was 70s themed: the bridesmaids were in peasant dresses, the groom was in corduroy, and there were *so many* disco balls. I knew a handful of people there and managed to catch up with them during the reception. My date for the wedding was a friend who’s into the BDSM scene, though we weren’t in any sort of relationship. During the course of the reception, we danced to hits from the 70s and I did my best (poor) imitation of disco-ing in a peasant dress.
After we sent the happy couple off to catch a red-eye flight, 6 or 7 of us grabbed drinks from the hotel bar and settled down to visit. A few drinks in, I started fiddling with the neckline of my dress. It caught the attention of a friend named Mikhail. He’s introverted – always watching and analyzing but rarely contributing to the conversation unless he’s interested in the topic. And a big man – not heavy, per se, but bulky.
He moved next to the spot where I was curled up on the couch and offered me a taste of his Boulevardier. I took a sip, smiled, and passed it back before shifting to lean against him a bit. I was hoping the touch, combined with a view down my floral-printed dress, would maybe get me laid. My date had hit it off with someone else and it looked like they were having fun.
The group kept chatting for another hour or so while Mikhail and I kept sharing touches and looks, slowly building interest. At some point, he stood, returned his glass to the bar (classy move), and came back to the group as it was starting to disperse. He put an arm around my shoulder and caught my date’s eye.
All he asked was “Okay?” with a raised eyebrow: clearly a man of few words. My date nodded, slipped an arm around his own girl’s waist, and said, “Yeah. She’s been kind of bratty lately.”
I glared at him because I really hadn’t been, but he just smirked and turned away. Mikhail sighed and said, “Alright. Come on, then.”
Not going to lie, I was a little ticked off at being called a brat, but decided to let it go for the moment. The elevator ride up to his room was silent and tense, and gave me time to remember that this guy is reputed to be a great Dom.
When we got to his room, he looked me up and down and asked me to freshen up and pour him a drink. While I was making sure my eyeshadow hadn’t left me looking like a raccoon, he shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie. I was about to step away from the mirror when he cleared his throat and said, “You know, I’m glad you came tonight. I haven’t used my brat taming skills in awhile.”
I froze for a second then started to mess with my hair to buy some time. Should I correct him? Act like a brat? Call it a night? I decided to let it go without comment, touched up my lip stain, and went to the minibar. While looking over the options, I realized that there *might* have been a *couple* times where I had been bratty with my date in scene. Maybe. I plead the fifth.
Mixing up a whiskey & soda, I decided to lean into being a brat and promptly garnished the rim of the glass with a nice big lipstick imprint 😈
I took the glass over to Mikhail, who looked at it, shook his head, and sipped. We went over limits and safewords, confirmed consent, and I stripped my dress off and knelt by his chair. I’m a bit of a lingerie collector and was pretty proud of the hot pink 70s-style bullet bra and matching underwear I’d found for the occasion. Somehow, he managed to keep a straight face when he saw what I was wearing under the dress.
He stared at me for a few minutes while sipping his drink before asking, “Why?” I launched into a brief history of women’s undergarments in the 1970s and he let me finish – one eyebrow raised – before correcting me. “No, why have you been bratty lately?”
Out of answers, I just shrugged and said, “Why not?” He smiled, put down his drink, and reminded me I had just violated two of our rules for the evening: using a respectful title when addressing him and answering questions openly and honestly.
He patted his knee and I went to sit on it, then realized he meant me to lay over his knees. I did so, and waited. And waited some more. He took his sweet time, rubbing my hands over my ass and reminding me of our rules, before announcing that I’d earned 20 spanks.
The man made me count them, too. And ask for more.
“Please?”
*Slap*
“One.”
…
“Please?”
*Slap*
I made it through the 20 with my ass stinging and my cunt getting very wet. Then he slipped me onto my knees and told me to thank him.
I glared for a second and then gave him an extremely sweet “thank you”. He smirked at me and said, “You’re welcome. Now take it all off.” I stood and stripped out of the undergarments before kneeling in front of him.
“We’re going to play a game,” he said. “You’re going to tell me why you’ve been so bratty and until you’re honest and open, you won’t be cumming.” I was…a little thrown off. I didn’t know the guy very well, but he was clearly serious.
While I was trying to decide on a response – naked and kneeling in front of this fully clothed Dom, ass still smarting from my spanking – he reached down, swiped his fingers across my pussy, and pressed them against my mouth. I opened my lips and sucked the taste of my own cunt off his fingers.
After a few moments of silence, he sighed and pulled my head back by my hair so I had to look him in the eye. He asked, “Are we doing this?” And I couldn’t think of anything else to say other than, “I guess so…Sir.”
What came next was edging and orgasm denial out of a Dom’s handbook. He used his mouth, his hands, a hotel notepad, the matching pen, my panties, and any and everything else he could find. I was a crying, dripping mess by the time he was done. Out of my mind with need. I would have done anything for an orgasm. Or for his cock inside me. My soaking wet panties were still stuffed in my mouth when I raised my (shaking) left hand in a thumbs down – our “yellow” signal.
He was gentle as he pulled the gag out of my mouth and rubbed my back. He asked me if I was okay. I shook my head with a, “Yes. No. Yes?” And then I took a deep breath and said, “I’m ready to talk.”
So we did. He cuddled me, still fiddling with my tits, as I told him about work. How it felt like it was crashing down around me and I had to assert control over another area of my life to balance it. I felt like I had to push my Doms, make them prove themselves before I submitted. Because somehow it didn’t feel safe unless I did.
Mikhail listened. He didn’t judge but he did point out that it’s an okay game to play as long as both sub and Dom are on the same page – and a bad one to play if they aren’t. And he’s right.
Then he asked if I felt ready to play again. I swear, I’ve never jumped from a serious talk to “fuck me into the mattress” faster. And all he waited for was a verbal yes before flipping onto my stomach, putting his weight into my back, and driving into me. I lost my breath in that thrust. I think the resulting pounding gave me carpet burn on my breasts. But just as I started to peak, Mikhail pulled out, pulled me to my feet, lightly slapped me against my face (within the limits), and shoved me back against the wall.
He pinched my clit just at my pain threshold and set a hand against my neck – not squeezing, just the weight of his large hand. He leaned in and asked if I was ready to submit. I panted – whined? – out a yes. He pushed me to my knees, and asked me if I wanted to rephrase my answer. I paused, smiled up at him, and said, “Please, Sir.”
I swallowed his cock, had my pussy slapped and then kissed, and was challenged to hold some yoga poses while being penetrated (plow pose, anyone?). And called the dirtiest, sweetest things. I was his good slut, his dirty whore, his fuckdoll, and my favorite, his good girl. I was so deep into sub space that I couldn’t think rationally. It was beautiful.
And as a finale, once I was again a dripping, moaning mess with mascara smeared across my face, he hogtied me and fucked my face (lots of choking), pussy (only him pinching my nipple kept me from finishing), and ass (it was still raw a day later). He made me beg to come and I did – screaming, on my stomach on the bed, utterly helpless. He rubbed my clit twice and I fell apart. I think I remember him pumping his dick into my ass a couple times before he started to come – and promptly shoved it into my pussy to fill me up. But honestly? I was so overwhelmed and overstimulated that I barely remember him untying me and then wrapping us in blankets to pass out for a bit.
I woke up a bit later and we showered. He had to do most of the work because I was still out of it. He made me spend the rest of the night so he could take care of me.
I still see him from time to time but haven’t submitted to him since. But the more I remember this, the more I think about shooting him a message.
And for right now, I think I’m going to take and relive the memories.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/uoh82o/i_26f_was_feeling_bratty_then_i_met_a_brat_tamer
Wow 🥵