He had been pushing her patience all day, and was about to find the end of it.
He knew the rules. They had agreed to them, selected them carefully, considered both his well-being and hers during the process. As his Dominant, the one he had chosen to give up his power to, certain things required her permission. And of course, in all things, he had agreed to at least give her respect.
He knew the rules. He knew there were consequences.
Yet he just. Kept. Pushing.
He looked handsome that night -- delicious really. They'd gone out with friends; dinner and drinks before a night at the club. He could have looked angelic if it weren't for his devilish behavior.
She heard the sass in his voice whenever he answered her. It was a little thing, something she perhaps could have brushed off if it weren't for the alcohol. She knew he had issues pacing himself on nights out: that was why she had insisted on his drinking rules.
No more than one drink at dinner, and every drink thereafter needed approval.
He had just ordered his third, and dinner was barely wrapping up.
If their friends hadn't been accompanying them, correcting him would have been far easier. Instead, for the sake of avoiding an uncomfortable situation, he was left vaguely questioning his drink choice, not once but twice. Both of which he responded to simply, "I'm sure, babe."
And that smile. It spread across his face the moment he defied her. The moment he did it she felt herself become wet. A defiant little brat, demanding attention, demanding correction. She ached to do it. She would have gladly put him across her knee right there at the table and spanked him to tears; pants tugged down to his knees, his cheeks bare for extra humiliation and discomfort.
But decorum came first. Damned, bothersome decorum.
The end of dinner couldn't come fast enough.
He kept watching her across the table -- usually his careful eye was watching for permission, for approval. Quite the opposite tonight. The waiter set down his drink, and he took a long sip, his eyes on her over the rim of the glass before laughing loudly at a joke from his friend. Her hand clenched under the table. If the bathroom stalls in that little restaurant had been more private, she would have found an excuse to take him there immediately. Covered his mouth to keep him quiet while she punished her...
He had pulled out his phone, texting quickly. Her notification tinged, and she glanced down at her message.
"I broke the rules, sorry Mommy."
She glanced up at him. He squirmed a little in his seat, smiled, and looked away again. In only a moment, he recieved her response: "You're not sorry, baby. Not yet."
"Awww you'll forgive me by the time we get home" he said.
"You think I'll wait until we're home to punish you?" She responded back.
His face reddened. She couldn't wait to redden other parts of him too, and to a much deeper shade. This time, he tucked his phone beneath the table to respond.
"What are you going to do to me?"
"You'll find out after dinner" she replied. "But as I said, you're not sorry yet. You'll be saying sorry much more sincerely when your ass is red. And when you're begging for mercy, I bet I'll get a good apology then."
His face had turned deeply crimson. It was her turn to smirk at him over the table. Her poor boy; so in need of a lesson. Far be it from her to neglect him. She watched as he squirmed in his chair, his movements telling that he'd adjusted himself under the table.
"Did that turn you on?
Such a brat that just the threat of punishment got you hard?" She quipped.
His hands shook over the screen. "Yes Mommy".
By the time dinner had ended, her own need was about to drive her over the edge of sanity. She put her arm around him as they left the table together, following their friends to the parking lot where they began to pile into the awaiting Uber.
"Looks a little full," she said, as the others crowded in the back of the sedan that had come to pick them up. Their friends protested, but she waved them away. "We'll catch up! I need to grab something from the car anyway. Save us a place in line."
Their friends departed. She held her boy tight as they walked back toward the large SUV they had driven there in, parked in a secluded corner of the parking lot. Her paranoia over her car getting dinged had worked out well: she usually parked near the back of lots for fear of a hit-and-run. But now, it gave her just the extra privacy she needed.She paused beside the SUV, watching him sway -- tipsy, taunting, flirtation in his eyes. She leaned into him, kissed his neck in all the sensitive places she knew he liked. He wanted it. She knew him all too well.
"You made our friends leave without us," he pouted. "You know the line at the club is gonna be so long..."
"It can wait. We have more important things to do, don't we? Backseat, love," she said, opening the door for him. "We need to have a chat."
He slid into the backseat, his shirt sliding up a bit. She caught a glimpse of his underwear: dark blue, soft cotton, hugging his body closely, she longed to pull him close by his hips and bury her face there, using her tongue to tease that arousal that had been spurred by her threats. She closed the door behind them, and turned on the car so the heater could warm them. The windows were tinted -- no passersby could see within. He looked at her expectantly, and said, "Are you going to punish me, Mommy?"
She pulled him close, her hands around his wrists, kissing him deeply. He melted into it at once: his lips were soft, tinged with the bite of liquor.
"Damn right I'm going to punish you," she said, her voice a growl as he gasped breathlessly between her kisses. "I'm going to make you sorry for thinking you could break our rules." she pressed him down, so that he lay back on the seat, his legs spread and his arms above his head. His eyes glazed over with lust and her fingers played over the sensitive skin of his chest. "I'm going to have to make you cry, baby. That's how naughty you've been. But you already know that, don't you?"
He trembled as her fingers brushed over his zipper. There was already a spot of wetness there, soaking through the cotton and denim. "Yes...yes, Mommy..."
"It's going to ruin your pants," she shook her head, caressing along his jawline. Perfect in his brattiness, in his defiance. Perfectly hers. "You'll have to go to the club looking like a very sorry, very punished little boy"
He shook his head, "Noooo, let's go home instead..." She leaned down, kissed him again. He knew the word that could put an end to it all -- if he was unwilling, she wouldn't hesitate to stop. But he didn't say it: instead he squirmed under her body, whimpering fearfully, a true little masochist with self-deprecating excitement in his eyes. "Pleeeease, Mommy...I'm sorry..."
She slapped the palm of her hand down against the side of his thigh, the sound sharp, leaving the red print of her hand behind. He whined again, and she grabbed his face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks so that his lips were forced to pucker.
"You've been...a very...bad...boy..." she squeezed just a little harder to punctuate every word. Then she reached down, took hold of his zipper -- and pulled it down slowly. He squealed as the fabric parted in her hands, the satisfying sound making her wet beneath her skirt. Next she used the knife so cleverly hidden in the console to slice his underwear along his thighs, careful not to cut his skin, yet just enough of a touch to make him shiver.
"I have nothing else to wear though!" he cried. "I can't go out -- ahhh..." Her fingers stroked over her cock, making his legs shudder at the sudden stimulation.
"Then my baby boy is going to go without underwear like the little slut he is, isn't he?" she said, rubbing circles on his sensitive head. "You're not going to have anything to hide all the bruises I'm gonna leave on your ass, so you'd better hope no one gets a glimpse if your pants slide down." He was almost moaning as she massaged him, and she couldn't resist -- she pulled him up, tongue licking eagerly over his cock. He immediately clapped his hands over his own mouth, stifling his moans, gasping as she tasted him
"S-some...punishment..." he managed to get out the sassy words, followed by a giggle. She stared up at him, mouth still tantalizingly close to his cock. He smiled sweetly, then added, "I need to go pee. I'll be right back, okay?"
She chuckled, shaking her head. "No, baby. We've already started. I think you're just going to have to hold it." His eyes went wide, and he gulped.
"But...but I don't...I don't think I can..."
She pouted her lower lip mockingly. "Well, you did drink a lot, didn't you?"
He bit his lip guiltily. "Yes..."
"Maybe you should have thought about how badly you'd need to piss before you broke my rules," she said, wadding up her own panties in her hand. "Because now, I have to punish you. And the whole time you're going to have to hold it. Maybe if you're sorry enough, I'll let you piss outside the car when we're done."
His hands gripped at the seats, desperate. "Please...please...I..."
"I think I've heard enough fake apologies from you," she said, and held up the panties. "Open. Now."
He opened tentatively, although he whined as he did. She stuffed his mouth, thoroughly enjoying the sight of his bratty lips wrapped around her own panties. He'd start drooling soon enough -- he wouldn't be able to help it. She re-positioned him, pulling him up and onto her belly, then lying him across her lap. He settled in quietly, only the sound of his quickening breathing giving away his fear. Her bottom awaited him, unblemished, a canvas upon which to splay her art.
The first hard swat left a red mark shaped like her hand. He whined, and gave a little kick of his feet. It had hurt, of course, but she knew that was for show. He wasn't in pain yet. He wasn't regretting yet. She was going to make sure that changed.
Her next slap landed on his other cheek, and the next, and the next. She alternated between them, enjoying the way his skin bounced under her hand, and the pretty cherry red that was slowly spreading. His whining was becoming more urgent. Soon he began to tense his legs, anything for relief. The sting was building, becoming a burn that worsened with every slap of her hand. He had pressed his face into the seat, and his whimpers became cries, punctuated by gasps that were verging on sobs.
