Dear Brat, there are rules. Your little attempts to get under my skin don’t amuse me. Do you really think making noise and pulling on my shirt is going to push me to stop what I’m doing? No. I’m not going to drag you by your hair and pull you over my knee. I’m not going yank down your thong and turn your ass bright red. I’m not going to check your pussy for wetness twelve spankings deep. I know that’s what you want. I can see it in the way you’re dressed. You’re wearing those thigh-high black stockings with the see-through mesh from the knee up. You’re wearing your retro lace-glove like something out of a Madonna video. That bra is so low cut I get a glimpse of the top of your nipples before they’re concealed by more dark lace.
You think I don’t know what you’re demanding when you look like something out of a burlesque show? I can smell your perfume from where I’m sitting. I can practically taste your cunt on my tongue.
“Do you want something from me?” I ask. In this house I reward obedience. “Can you sit there with your legs crossed and your hands folded over your knee? Can you stay like that for fifteen minutes?”
The answer is no.
“Oh honey, you were so close…” Eight minutes in and you’re kissing on my ear and rubbing my cock. “I did not permit you to touch me yet. There’s only one way to get what you want. Now you have to sit there with your legs crossed and your hands folded for twenty minutes.”
I know it goes against your nature to obey. But this is for your own good. For me, owning a brat isn’t about all the ways you brat. It’s forcing you to be obedient that brings a smile to my face. And how you don’t make it easy. You understand my natural urge is to hurt you every time you get under my skin. And maybe that’s why you relish it so. You see the oil bubbling. You smell the fumes of my burning rage. You hear me talking through gritted teeth. So you keep coming back to finally push me past where I can take it. Maybe today is the day you win this never-ending battle.
Sixteen minutes in and you’re touching your pussy. I glance over to see your lace-covered hand shaking back and forth. You look at me with apologetic eyes. And I have to push back the impulse to grab you by the throat. Instead, I take a deep breath. “I did not give you permission to touch yourself.” I lean back in my chair and stretch my arms. “It’s getting late. Now you have to sit there with your legs crossed and your hands folded for half an hour. If you can’t go that long I’m afraid it will be too late and I’ll need to get to bed.”
I take out my phone and turn on the stopwatch. I set it on the coffee table in front of you and you cross your legs and fold your hands over your knee. Every time I check your eyes are laser-focused on the clock. I hope each minute feels like agony. Every thought must be screaming at you to pinch my arm or lick my face. Do you want to bend over in front of me and show me your holes? I bet you do. Your body was made to take my cock. And here I am forcing you to behave. I demand you do the one thing brats are the worst at. Delay your gratification. Show me that you want me so much that you’d suffer for me second by second. Knowing that your cunt is already dripping and ready to feel me pound you into oblivion, can you hold out just a bit longer.
Time ticks away like one eternity bleeding into another. All you can think about is my hands on you, moving your thong to the side and rubbing my thick hard cock against your wet slit. Can you imagine what it will be like as I part your lips? Can you feel how my shaft will glide along your insides until my head is as deeps as it can be? That’s what you’re fighting for. This is why you’re so desperate to be a good girl. Because you know as much as you like to cause trouble the thing you like more is being used. Every rule I create for you is designed to elevate your pleasure.
It’s hard to see in the moment because you’re blinded by bratty compulsions. I’m here to clear the fog. I am here to show you the one path to your complete satisfaction. Twenty-eight minutes in. Your body is shaking. You’re holding your breath. I stand up and take off my shirt. Terrified to give me any reason to punish you further you won’t look at me. I take the time to fold my shirt and place it on the couch next to you. I unbuckle my belt and you only have one more minute to go. I hope the sound of me unzipping my fly rattles you at your core. I hope you can’t contain the glee that comes with knowing I’m about to use you like you want me to.
I step out of my jeans and I begin to fold them. You’re going to get what you want because you earned it. All the bruises, all the choking, and my body slamming into yours over and over again, it’s all because you showed me you can be a good girl. You can be an obedient girl. Look at you. The clock is now at thirty-one minutes and you’re holding still. I touch your face. I brush those few strands of soft blonde hair back behind your ear. “You have permission to look at me.”
Stare into the eyes of the man you want to please. Feel the pride he has in being able to tame your bratty heart. Just because I won this round doesn’t mean I’ll always win. There will be days you can catch me and I just can’t take it anymore. I will succumb to my base instincts. And on those days as I rip into your body you can smile with glee that the brat won. But today isn’t that day. “Now, get on your knees and put your hands behind your back. That’s it. That’s a very good girl.”
The Cerebral Sir 