Brat

You know I've always had a tendency to tease. I'm not sure where it stems from, the brattiness that overtakes me sometimes. More often than not, you let me get away with it (and I think you like it more than you'll admit) with little more than a warning. I'll do anything to get a rise out of you: getting my own door instead of letting you get it for me, trailing my manicured fingers up your thigh while you're trying to focus, flipping my skirt up for a brief second while we meander around town. Anything to see your cheeks flush; anything to see that glint of desire in your eye.

"You're being a brat," you'll tell me, the twinkle in your eye giving away your own pleasure, even as your voice is low and stern.

"And?" I'll retort. "It's not like you're going to do anything about it."

That always gets to you, and I know it, relish in it. Especially now, when we're in public. The theater was mostly empty, a late-night showing of a new action flick leaving us almost completely alone save for a few other lovers and families dotted across the room. I was giggly and turned on from the joint we'd passed between our lips before heading inside, and with your hand on my knee, I couldn't help myself.

I started slowly, spreading my legs just a bit so your fingers, thick and calloused, brushed against the tender flesh of my inner thigh. I saw your lip curl up out of the corner of my eye and it urged me forward as the opening credits scrolled over the screen. My fingers danced over your arm to the hem of my blue paisley sundress, hiking my skirt up with reckless abandon.

To your credit, you grabbed the fabric and pulled it back down into place (you're always so chivalrous). You looked at me, your eyes bright with a mixture of desire and condemnation. Our eyes met for a brief moment and I did it again, revealing the soft skin of my leg to you, not caring who might catch a glimpse.

"Stop it," you warned me, a low growl in my ear. "You're being such a brat."

I giggled under my breath and turned to the screen. We went back and forth, my skirt rising and falling on my lap as you whispered to me what a naughty girl I was. I agreed enthusiastically and you sighed in frustration (but I still saw that smile on your lips). I felt bold, pulling my skirt up again and grabbing your arm before you could pull it back. I pulled on your wrist, guiding your hand towards the hem of my panties.

"I want you so badly, Sir," I cooed in your ear. "I'm so wet for you."

You let out a small chuckle, reaching over with your free hand to tuck my hair behind my ear as you leaned in close.

"Do you really think this is the best way to get what you want?" you whispered to me.

I kept my eyes trained on the screen as some street gang got beaten by a caped vigilante, but all I could hear was your voice. We may as well have been at home, for all the attention we were paying to this movie.

"It seems to be working so far," I told you, glancing at you with my eyebrow raised.

You scoffed, and your hand on my thigh reached up, almost touching between my legs. Instinctively, I spread my legs wider, my breath caught in my throat. But instead of getting my way, you grabbed a hold of my skin and squeezed, your fingers pinching me so hard I had to bite my lip to keep quiet. Your fingers pulsed, releasing my skin before pinching again. I tried to close my legs, but you moved your other hand down to my knee and held it still. My breath was ragged, my head foggy with desire.

"Sir, please," I whispered desperately.

"Please what?" you whispered, your voice harsh and teasing.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It... it's too much, please...," I whimpered.

You pinched again, the pain making me all the wetter. My whining was overshadowed by the violence on the movie screen, and you chuckled at my desperate noises.

"You're sorry, huh?" you teased, pulling your hand away and moving my skirt back to my knees. "You'll be really sorry once I get you alone, you dirty little slut."

My body felt electric, every inch of skin buzzing. My head was swimming, thoughts of punishment floating up and sending shivers down my spine. This movie can't end soon enough, I found myself thinking. Minutes passed in a crawl, my mind unable to focus as our vigilante hero shared his first kiss with a leather-clad sidekick. We had hours to go, still, but I needed a release, my hips bearing down and grinding against my seat without me realizing it.

"Stop that," you chided, squeezing my knee for good measure, "you filthy whore. Aren't you embarrassed? Acting so needy."

I exhaled shakily, their words gripping my chest. It would have been embarrassing, I admit, if it were anyone else. But then again, I've never needed someone like this before. Still, I tried to behave, my body stilling as I took a sip of my flat soda and tried to focus on my breathing. You rewarded me ever so slightly, your thumb rubbing gently over my skin. Just that was enough, the warmth of your skin on mine sending my heartbeat thundering directly into my sex. I leaned back into my seat, half-watching the film as it reached its climax, and I was left without my own.

It was late when we finally left the theater, the sky pitch black and riddled with stars. When we reached the car, you got to my door and held it open as I sank into my seat. You watched me, your eyes trailing over the curves of my body as I looked up at you, my eyes pleading.

"Take off your panties," you commanded, closing the door with a firm hand before I could whimper out a Yes, Sir.

When you joined me in the driver's seat, I was halfway out of my panties. The black lace was difficult to maneuver out of in our tiny hatchback, but you watched patiently as it fell around my heels. Without a word, you grabbed them from me, bundling them up and running your thumb over the crotch of the fabric.

"So wet," you said to yourself as you reveled in the soft scratchiness of the lace. "Open your mouth."

I did so immediately. Somewhere during the credits (because of course you made me sit through the whole thing) I had lost my last ounce of bratty energy and I was left desperate and wanton. My Sir had kept their hand on my thigh throughout the night, keeping me still under their firm grasp, and it made me feel small and hot, my clit aching with need. It ached again, there, as you stuffed my waiting mouth full with my panties. I moaned against the fabric, my eyes fluttering shut as my senses were engulfed by my scent. A warm musk filled my sinuses, my mouth watering with desperation. Without meaning to, I started grinding again, the thin fabric of my sundress growing damp as I gyrated against the passenger seat. You shook your head with a smirk while you buckled and turned the car on, pulling out of the parking lot with a teasing slowness.

You were in no hurry tonight. In fact, making me wait there, on the edge of such divine pleasure, was almost punishment enough. Almost.

I stayed silent during the drive home, keeping my hands in my lap as the taste of my wetness stayed ever-present on my tongue. Every now and then, you would lean over to me during red lights to whisper filth in my ear or worse, bite the soft skin of my neck. I was putty in your hands, my skin lighting up like matchsticks at the slightest brush of your calloused hands against me.

When we finally got home, you took your time on the way to my door, yet another act of control that always left me breathless. My panties, more soaked from my spit than my wetness, were pulled from my lips unceremoniously and tucked into the left pocket of your jeans like a handkerchief, the color spilling out against blue denim. You guided me inside, your hand on the small of my back as you guided me forward into our entryway.

"Crawl," you ordered, and headed to our bedroom without another word.

I whimpered, sliding down to my hands and knees as a deep blush crept up my neck. The humiliation only added to my lust as our carpet burned my knees bright red. I made my way quietly down the hall and into our bedroom, where you had been collecting our tools for the night. I realized that my panties in your pocket weren't just for practicality's sake - you were flagging. Our bottle of lube sat next to a condom and your favorite paddle - dark wood, with six penny-sized holes drilled out - on your nightstand. I stayed put on the floor beside it, waiting for you to emerge from our closet. You came to me, stripped down to just a white tank top and your boxer briefs, your cock bulging beneath the black fabric.

"Sir," I said quietly, leaning back and clasping my hands behind my back. "I'm sorry I teased..."

"Be quiet, whore," you interrupted, glaring down at me with a wicked smile.

Again, I was left whimpering, the pulsing in my cunt almost painful. You made your way towards me, gripping my hair in your fist and pulling my head back sharply. The pain at my scalp made me gasp, my lips and cheeks flushing red with desire as my mouth watered.

"You're going to get on your knees on the bed," you told me slowly, your voice dripping with your own neediness, "and you're going to have to show me that you can be a good girl. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied immediately, eager to prove myself.

You watched me as I climbed onto the bed. My hands met the mattress and you grabbed at the hem of my dress, throwing my skirt up to my waist, my soaking pussy laid bare before you. I tried my best to stay still, closing my eyes and focusing on my breath as your hand, rough against such tender flesh, rubbed firm circles into my ass. A warm-up, a gentle warning, before you wound your hand back and slammed it against me.

My body rocked forward for just a moment as I gasped out a moan. You landed a second hit and I dug my nails into our bed sheets. I felt as though my body had lost its mass, floating weightlessly as you struck me a third and fourth time before pausing.

"What do you say?" you growled, and I could hear you grabbing your paddle from the nightstand.

"Fuck," I sighed. "Thank you, Sir."

You hummed your approval and trailed the paddle up and down the reddening flesh of my ass. It sent shivers up my spine, my breath slowing as I slipped further down into pleasure. My brain may as well have spilled out of my ears, every thought slipping away as the paddle made its first hard contact with my right cheek, then immediately a second on my left.

"Again," you ordered.

"Thank you, Sir!" I cried out, willing myself to stay put despite such delicious agony.

With every strike, you ripped thanks from my throat. Eventually, my arms gave out and I pressed my face into our mattress, the sheets growing wet with my tears and slobber. Every time I thought there was going to be some lull in your rhythm, some respite, you hit me again, until I couldn't be bothered to think at all. You moved dexterously between each ass cheek and down my thighs, spanking me to a beat only you could hear. At times, you let out a volley of blows, so that I ended up tripping over my thanks without a chance to catch my breath. And then, again, you slowed, and I thought we had neared the end. I cried out my thanks, a guttural sob, and you gave me nothing but a quiet sigh as you built up again.

"Please, Sir," I cried out, the constant sting on my skin becoming too much to bear. "I can't..."

"Can't what?" you snapped, your smirk evident in your voice. "Can't take any more? But you wanted this, didn't you?"

I whimpered, trying to collect my thoughts in this moment of reprieve.

"Yes... Yes, but I can't. Sir, please," I sobbed and rambled on, until I felt the paddle drop onto the mattress beside me.

You climbed up next to me, your strong hand on my shoulder spreading warmth through my body like magma. I fell into you without a moment's hesitation, my body reaching for yours on instinct. Turning into your chest, I thought for a moment that this might be it, you might have ended our night just like this. But your hand on my chin, guiding me to face you, banished that thought.

"You did well," you said, your light blue eyes twinkling as you smiled. "Normally, you can't take that much."

A small laugh bloomed in my chest and I found myself rolling my eyes as I giggled.

"Were you counting, Sir?" I asked, still laughing.

You looked at me, incredulous. Your grip on my chin moved lower, your fingers laying teasingly against my throat as you moved to pin me beneath you.

"I might have been," you admitted, your smile lighting up your entire face. "And like I said, you did well. You were a very good girl."

You pressed hot kisses into my collarbone, maneuvering to pin my wrists over my head beneath one of your hands. Good girl seemed to hang in the air, echoing through my mind like soft birdsong, melodic as it surrounded me. As your kisses trailed downward, you pulled down my dress and bra, the fabric bunching up at my sternum, and I felt that pulsating heat building up once more. It, combined with the aching of burst capillaries on my legs and ass, had me at the edge already.

I moaned and whimpered with every touch, my hips grinding upwards against you as your lips enveloped my nipple, sucking until I couldn't take any more.

"Please, Sir," I moaned, "I want you so badly."

I felt your lips curl upwards against my chest, your tongue darting out to circle around my hardened bud.

"Oh?" you mumbled into my skin, lifting your head up to meet my crazed, wanting gaze. "Well, it doesn't really matter what a brat wants, does it?"

"But I'm not!" I found myself stuttering, my head spinning with need. "I was good, you said... Fuck, Sir, please! I'll be a good girl, I promise. I promise, I'll be good, Sir, I'll be perfect for you..."

You watched me, the amusement in your eyes betraying the stern expression you had maintained as I stuttered and begged. You released my wrists, a sudden cold rushing over them that left me longing for your grip again. You pulled away from me just long enough to grab the condom from your nightstand, returning to me and quieting me with a kiss.

"You're right," you admitted, ripping open the packaging, "I did say you were a good girl."

I leaned up towards you, grabbing the condom out of your hands and meeting your gaze with a soft smile.

"I'm your good girl," I whispered.

As we sat there, our legs tangled together, I reached down into your boxer briefs slowly and listened as your breath grew shallow. Your butch cock felt warm in my hand, my cunt aching as I pulled it through your boxer briefs and rolled the condom over it. You watched me quietly, a small moan slipping past your lips as my manicured hand ran up and down your cock. Without a word, I spun us around so you fell backwards onto the mattress. I straddled you in my moment of boldness, leaning against your chest as your cock rubbed just slightly against my clit.

"Can you please say it, Sir?" I asked, relishing in the feeling of your fist balling up the fabric of my skirt, a desperate attempt to contain your animalistic hunger.

You looked at me, and everything else seemed to fall away. Silence surrounded us, broken only by our own heavy breathing. The look in your eye was intense enough to leave me feeling shy. But as soon as I broke eye contact with you, your hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling me towards you until I could look nowhere else.

"You're my good girl," you whispered, moving away from my skirt to land a final, heavy spank on my ass.

I moaned, hoisting myself up and guiding your cock inside of me as you finally gave me all that I had been searching for. We both let out deep groans as you filled me, my pussy clenching and pulsating against the fullness of your cock. You bucked up into me, your hand moving from my ass to my waist as the other remained buried in the thick curls of my hair. Together, we found a steady rhythm, my body rising and falling steadily until I was covered in a thin layer of sweat. I ground down into you, my clit aching with every thrust as I rose and fell. I pressed myself to you, my hands on either side of your head as I moved furiously. My mind was blank, save for the constant, unrelenting need to have you inside of me, again and again.

Minutes passed as we moved together, our bodies tangled up in a desperate passion. As soon as you noticed a break in my movements, you seized on me. Both of your hands gripped my waist and pulled me beneath you. I whimpered at the loss of your dick inside of me, even though it only lasted a second. And when you filled me again, rocking steadily against me, I let my eyes flutter shut. Right there, surrounded by sweat-soaked linens and the scent of our sex, I felt fully alive. I could feel your eyes on me, your thumbs rubbing tenderly into the soft skin of my wrist as you fucked me, hard and deep.

The first waves of orgasm left my body shaking as you reached down to rub smooth circles around my clit. I felt breathless, unable to speak as I came. Faintly, I could hear you moan as your own pleasure built, your teeth pressing deep into my shoulder as your thrusts grew harder, more erratic. My legs, wrapped tightly around your waist, trembled and twitched with the force of my orgasm. It was building ever higher, the occasional throb of pain on my ass moving like lightning directly to my cunt.

I was sure I was saying something: Sir, Yes, Thank you, Fuck, Shit, Fuckdamnitohgod all came tumbling out of me as I gasped. It felt like an eternity in the span of a minute: oblivion wrapped up, set to explode from my very core as your own orgasm rocked through you. I clung to your tank top, my nails tearing into flesh wherever I missed fabric, but it only added to your pleasure as you fucked me deep, your thrusts slowing as you shivered. You whispered my name in my ear, in a beautiful place somewhere between Angel and Whore.

Eventually, we crashed back to Earth, gravity returning to your back as you let yourself relax into me. You stroked my hair absentmindedly as you came down, a gentle pressure that brought me back, slowly, to reality. My eyes shut, I could barely move save for the occasional twitch in my sore thighs. After a moment in this peace, you rose, planting a row of soft kisses up my jawline to my lips. Such delicate connection brought tears to my eyes once more, overflowing as I clung to you, my arms wrapped tightly around your chest. When you pulled away, you met me with a smile, reaching up to wipe at my face.

You slipped off of me, but held me close as I shivered, my body trying to regulate itself with the help of your warmth, your care. You reached behind me, grabbing at the sheet to pull it over me and enveloping me in the scent of your sweat and cologne. Minutes passed in this quiet tranquility, your heartbeat lulling me as my mind found its way back to me.

"I love you, Sir," I mumbled, playing absentmindedly with the hem of your binder beneath your tank top.

"I love you, too, angel," you sighed happily, kissing the top of my head.

"I'm sorry I was being bratty," I said after a beat, my head still swimming.

I felt much more alert, however, when you laughed. It came from deep in your belly, a deep, hearty laugh that sent your head tilting back into a pillow. I looked at you in amused bewilderment, the sound flooding my chest with a deep adoration.

"Are you, really?" you said, looking at me with a toothy grin, your eyebrow raised. "You seem to enjoy it a little too much to be sorry."

I blushed, chuckling too. Your laughter invigorated me, giving me the energy to sit up and lean in to plant a deep, fervent kiss on your lips.

"No," I admitted, "I suppose I'm not."