Brattitudes Read online

  Title Page

  Brattitudes

  by Angela R Sargenti

  Publisher Information

  Published in 2013

  by House of Erotica - an imprint of Andrews UK

  www.houseoferoticabooks.com.com

  New authors welcome

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © House of Erotica 2013

  The right of the authors to be identified as authors of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my two cats, who, although they don’t read, don’t mind keeping me company while I write.

  Tearjerker

  “You have a spanking coming.”

  Ah, those ominous words, said so early in the day she’s forced to think about them until I get home. And when I finally do get her over my lap, she’ll be both frightened and incredibly turned on.

  She’s pretty over my knees.

  I like to see her feet all curled up, her cute little Wilma Flintstone feet. They’re pretty feet, dainty feet, not like those big, long gunboats my last girlfriend had, and she clenches her toes during a spanking and arches her feet to try to take it with some degree of dignity.

  I never strip her or make her call me Sir or any of that nonsense. We simply have bare-bottomed spankings over my knee.

  She’s a good girl for me most of the time. I let her have quite a bit of latitude when speaking to me, but when she’s in a really rotten mood and snappy, I know it’s about time.

  Before you go thinking I’m mean or misogynistic, let me tell you, this whole thing was her idea. She says there are times when she can’t release her tension any other way, and I don’t necessarily like how rude she gets when she needs to be spanked, so I oblige her.

  Don’t get me wrong.

  I spank her quite hard sometimes, and sometimes with different implements, but mostly just by hand, because mostly that’s all she needs. Mostly I’ll have her all dolled up in a skirt and thigh-highs, with regular panties, because I won’t be cheated out of my favorite part by a thong. She has to take off her own shoes and get over my lap, but I do the rest, the rearranging of her clothes and all that.

  Lifting her skirt and taking down her panties is like unwrapping a present to me, and once I have it unwrapped, all I need from her is a tearful apology and a nice red butt.

  I don’t go by the redness of her butt, though, to tell me when she’s done. What I go by is how she’s acting. Sometimes I can break her down right away because she knows she’s been super-bratty and is already pretty sorry about it, but sometimes she gets in this stubborn little mood where she refuses to cry and soften.

  Days like that, I usually have to get after her with a paddle or something. Some days I have to bruise that little butt of hers or she’ll just lie there mute over my lap until I crack her with a big long lecture and a sound ass-whipping.

  On those days, I have to make her howl.

  On those days, she’s extra tender after, not only on her poor, punished bottom, but in her heart, too.

  In her soul.

  Sorry and tender and clingy, needing special attention from me. It takes the whole evening, from start to finish, but I can only spank her on the day I say I will. I can give her a swat or two and say she’s cruising for it, but what I can’t do is say she’ll be spanked that day and then not do it.

  She can’t stand the suspense any longer than that.

  Sometimes I’m forced to punish her immediately, but I don’t prefer to. What I like best is making her wait all day long, making her shiver and quake in anticipation. I guess it’s like watching a horror movie, where she just likes to be scared sometimes, just likes the thrill of fear. Besides, if she’s made to wait a little while, there’s an added bonus in it for me: I’ll be able to smell her arousal the moment I peel back her panties.

  She doesn’t have that much in the way of breasts, my girl, but I don’t give a damn about that, because she has a perfectly sculpted ass that’s springy instead of wobbly. I know some guys like a little more meat on their women, but not me. I mean, they don’t have to be anorexic or anything, but I like women who at least work out a few times a week.

  Besides, those worked-out, taut butt and leg muscles make for some really awesome kicking around. I’m not one of those pricks who makes her stay still as a statue. I mean, I love having her writhe around on my lap, because who wants to spank (or fuck) a corpse? I want some interaction from her. I want her to blush and moan and kick and cry and wiggle around next to my dick. I want her sobbing and trying to cover herself so I can pin her arm to the small of her back, or grab her wrist and hold it there at her side. I want her to say she’s sorry and really mean it.

  She doesn’t have to hold still.

  All she has to do is react.

  Every now and then, every now and then she’ll come and ask me for a spanking, when she’s been so bad she can’t even stand it herself. You should see her when she’s like that, shoulders drooping and head down, hairbrush (or whatever) in her hand, ’cause she needs it good and hard. I have to pretend I haven’t even thought of giving it to her yet, and I have to ask her if she’s sure, and when she says yes, I’ll drag her over my lap. If she’s not been too bad, I only pull her panties down enough to expose her bottom, but if she’s been very naughty, I get them down to her knees, so I can see her lose them by the end of it with all her thrashing around. Her degree of naughtiness also dictates how much of a warm up she’ll get. Sometimes the whole thing’s like a warm up, and other times, I only give her a little one and then get right into the punishment good and proper. Once or twice, I’ve even got her to come just by spanking her.

  Tonight I warm her up good, because her big sin was just being kind of bitchy for a few days. I tell her what she’s done wrong, and I tip her over my knees for the great unveiling. Once she’s bare she starts whimpering, and that’s a sound I truly like to hear. It means she’s very receptive to what I’m doing and we’re going to pull a late-nighter.

  Tonight she’ll get my hand, and tonight she’ll be very remorseful and sweet.

  “You’ve been a brat for several days now,” I tell her. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but - ”

  “Come over my lap.”

  The slightest hesitation on her part makes me sharp with her.

  “One.”

  “But I - ”

  “Two.”

  Tonight she gives in, because she knows I’m not just counting, I’m telling her how many extra swats she’s going to get. She doesn’t make me reach three and she’s down across my legs, but we both know it doesn’t really matter, because there’s no set number of swats she’ll get in the first place. She’s already sobbing quietly as I take care of the preliminaries, and she reaches back and grabs hold of my calf to brace herself. She waits patiently for the first blow to fall, but I have no intention of rushing this along, so I spend a couple of moments caressing the sweet, pale roundness of her ass.

  “This little ass of yours will be red as an apple by the time I’m through with you,” I say. She drops her head down and crosses her ankles, another way that helps her b
ear the pain. “When I’m done with you, you won’t even be able to sit down.”

  With that, I deliver the first blow.

  She jerks in surprise and I quickly follow it up with another, then another. She’s already a little pink, so I stop for a moment.

  “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?”

  She shakes her head, knowing if she speaks she’ll either lose her composure altogether, or say something fucked-up that’ll earn her more. Her hair’s pulled back in one of those banana clips and it curls beautifully around the nape of her neck.

  She’s pretty, my girl. She reminds me of that old painting of the pouty little girl in the corner, and I smack her butt a few more times.

  “You’ve been naughty all week, haven’t you?”

  This time she nods, because she knows it’s true, so I slap her ass a few more times, varying the speed and the rhythm of the blows. Before long, she unhooks her ankles as I spank, and I know she’s getting ready to go into toe-curling mode. She makes a little noise now, but nothing like the sob of repentance I’m looking for.

  “And if you think I’ll tolerate this kind of behavior, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  To prove my point I grip her wrist and hold it there, a clear signal I’m ready to go hard and fast. She tenses up and I let fly, a smack landing about twice a second, I figure. She’s twisting around by now, but there’s no way she can avoid the smacks the way I’m holding her, nowhere she can go. She tries to pull her wrist away, but I have her now. I continue to spank while I tell her a bunch of stuff about being a bad girl and I’m doing this for her own good and blah blah blah, but she’s barely listening now, so I know she’s in the zone.

  Suddenly I stop.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of it by daydreaming,” I tell her, releasing her wrist.

  She pulls her arm back around in front of herself and sobs plaintively, and I tell her to cry all she wants, she’s still going to be spanked and spanked hard.

  “Spread your legs,” I tell her.

  When she does, I reach down and start playing with her pussy. She’s so ready for me to get done and flip her over on her back, but we still have a ways to go, because if I don’t punish her sufficiently, she’ll be back over my lap in no time flat.

  I raise my hand and smack her again.

  Her butt rebounds in a pleasing way that makes me caress her again.

  “You’ve been a bad, bad girl and I’m half-tempted to take my belt to you,” I tell her.

  I hear a sharp intake of air, which is always a good sign, and I ramp it up, not going any faster, just a little harder.

  We’re almost to the end now. The threat of the belt always gets to her, but I’ve never taken my belt to her in my life and have no idea why it frightens her so.

  I only know it does.

  I tell her how bad it’ll be with the belt, how sorry she’ll be that she ever disobeyed me in the first place, and now, at last, she starts kicking, drumming her feet on the couch cushion as I spank her, keeping the beat with her Flintstone feet. She sobs aloud now, saying she’s sorry, but I say sorry doesn’t cut it and she’ll regret ever being so naughty.

  By now she’s weeping piteously, her shoulders shaking with every breath, and I know it’s time to stop, but I go on a few seconds longer, until she’s all but begging for it to end.

  “Will you be a good girl if I let you up?” I ask.

  “Yes. Please...”

  I stop, pretending to consider it.

  “If I have to get you back over my lap, I’ll do it,” I say.

  “No. Please. You won’t. I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “Good,” I tell her, “because you won’t like what I’ll do to you next time.”

  “No, no. I promise.”

  “Then get up and fix your clothes, and then I want you to go to your room and lie down until you’re calm again.”

  She does what I say, sniffling and drawing her panties back up over her aching hot butt. She knows I’ll be up in a minute with the lotion to take care of her, but she’s in a delicate mood now and can’t think clearly. She runs up the stairs quietly, and she doesn’t dare slam the door when she gets to the bedroom, but she’s allowed to cry as loudly as she likes.

  I can hear her sobs from down here and I smile. I’m hard as a rock, and all I want to do is go up there and fuck her.

  I know she wants it, too, but our procedure is, I don’t go until her tears have abated.

  I get up and go to the foot of the stairs.

  “I’m not coming up until you quiet down,” I tell her.

  She stops crying almost immediately. Within moments, her tears subside enough for me to climb the stairs and go up to comfort her.

  And she’s good now.

  So good you wouldn’t believe it, not even if I told you.

  I Never Learn

  You’d think I’d learn by now.

  I mean, my dad’s a pretty strict guy and I know that better than anyone, but once in a while I just can’t help doing something extra stupid.

  Even when I know I’ll get it.

  Like tonight.

  It’s not all my fault, though.

  There’s just something about parties that turns me on.

  I guess because they’re so sensuous.

  The house smells awesome, like roast beef and hot coffee. The scent of fresh flowers fills the air, and there’s mellow lighting to please the eye.

  Glasses clink together and people are laughing, happy and relaxed.

  All except for my dad, that is.

  He’s not relaxed at all.

  In fact, he’s keeping a very sharp eye on me, but I feel flirty and alive, so I don’t pay any attention to him.

  Nope.

  My attention’s focused on Chuck Tremaine, who’s standing beside me pretending like he’s not looking down my top.

  “You look ravishing tonight, Nichole.”

  “Thanks, Chuck,” I say, squeezing his forearm. “You’re looking pretty good yourself. Been hitting the gym?”

  “Yes. Three times a week, whether I feel like it or not.”

  “Ooh. Discipline.”

  We both laugh, then Chuck steals a glance at my dad out of the corner of his eye.

  “Speaking of discipline, your dad’s giving you the old stink-eye,” he tells me, and when he says that, we both turn our heads and look at him.

  He thrusts a pointed finger at me, but I manage to look all innocent.

  Chuck laughs at this silent exchange.

  “He’s going to beat your butt if you’re not careful.”

  “I know. I should secretly tape it. I’d make a mint off it.”

  We go on with this banter for quite a while, and every now and then I steal a glance at my dear old dad, who’s looking madder and madder as the party goes on. Finally, I send Chuck off for another glass of wine and he ambles off for a refill.

  Once he’s gone, my father comes up to me.

  “I think it’s time you excused yourself, don’t you?”

  Of course, I do what he says, but later on I’m looking out at the lovely full moon and see Chuck outside pissing in our bushes.

  “Uhm, ewww?” I say, and he looks up at me.

  He smiles and tucks his dick back in his pants and goes, “Come down.”

  “Are you crazy? My dad’ll kill me.”

  “Come down. Please? Just this once?”

  “Fine.”

  And the rest, as they say, is history.

  * * *

  Chuck takes me to his house, the old devil, and locks the door, and then he turns around and swings me up to sit me on the table in the foyer.

  “You’re so light,” he tells me.

>   And I’m all, “I know. And flexible, too,” and I grab hold of his lapels and drag him up between my legs and kiss him, hard and hungry. His mouth tastes of mint and stale scotch, but I don’t mind, ’cause mine tastes like Cabernet and stuffed mushrooms.

  It’ll taste like something else pretty soon if I have anything to say about it, and I hold him close and go, “I never noticed how hung you are before.”

  He smiles like he’s really surprised I said that, then he touches my cheek like I’m so soft and amazing he can’t even stand it.

  “You break it, you buy it,” I tell him.

  And he goes, “You’re nothing but trouble, aren’t you?”

  I bat my eyelashes like I don’t know what he means and Chuck throws his head back and laughs.

  “You are so adorable.”

  Now, I don’t know if anybody ever told you that, but it’s pretty awesome to hear yourself called adorable, especially when you’re used to being told everything that’s wrong with you.

  “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for years,” he tells me.

  “Aw! What a sweet thing to say.”

  “No. I mean it.”

  I pull him in for another kiss and his hand finds its way under my skirt, the taffeta rustling like dried leaves. I have a garter belt and stockings on for just such an occasion, so it’s easy for him to shove my panties aside and push a couple of his fingers into my wet pussy.

  I break off the kiss and rest against the heavy gilded mirror behind me.

  One of his hands is working my cunt and the other’s holding a boob, but before I know it, he sinks to his knees and is nose-deep in my pussy, a situation I find very pleasing.

  Now I’m not a squeeze-your-own-tits kind of girl. It’s always seemed a little over-the-top to me, but I can hold my own legs open and thrust my hips and moan all I want, so I do, and as soon as I start moaning, Chuck unleashes on me with his awesome sexual prowess.

  And maybe I’ve been going out with the wrong kind of guy, because I’ve never been eaten out like this in my whole life.