How to tame your Brat
She knew she could be a real brat sometimes - and not the sexy, enticing kind her Sir liked to play with and put in her place, but the truly annoying and insufferable kind. The problem was that she was stubborn as a mule but she also really hated open conflicts, and sometimes these conflicting traits of her personality clashed one against the other, especially when she couldn't passively-aggressively maneuver her way out a direct confrontation and was forced to face it head-on.
At times, particularly when she was under a lot of pressure from work or when she was overwhelmed by stress in other aspects of life, she would take things personally and lash out, turning into a true bitch to those around her. More often than not, that meant her boyfriend and Dom, who - understandably - had little patience for being unfairly caught in the crossfire.
Today was one of those times. The trouble started over something trivial - at least, that's how it would seem to anyone on the outside. They had planned to go to the gym together early in the morning, as their packed schedules left no other free time. When Sir had suggested it last Sunday afternoon, she had happily agreed, feeling optimistic and genuinely pleased at the thought of spending time with him and sharing their hobby despite the demanding week ahead. But now, after a long, grueling week at work, exhaustion clung to her like a heavy fog. When the alarm went off, she responded with a low, drawn-out groan, feeling just as tired after too few hours of sleep as she had the night before. The thought of dragging herself out of bed before sunrise, of pushing her weary body and mind through yet another demanding task, felt unbearable.
She should have just said something. He wouldn't have been angry; if anything, he would have gladly stayed home to take care of her. But she felt guilty for ruining their plans, and her insecurities made it impossible to speak up. So instead, she bit her tongue and let her frustration simmer beneath the surface. It had nowhere to go, no clear target, so it seeped into her tone and, even though she didn't mean to, turned every remark into something sharp and sour.
When he asked if she was ready to leave, she snapped that she obviously wasn't - because if he had eyes, he would see that she was still in her pajamas. When he offered to make her coffee, she rolled her eyes and muttered that caffeine wouldn't fix exhaustion. Little things, but enough to shift the air between them, to make his patience thin, his own responses grow short. What began as a minor hiccup in their plans soon turned into a disagreement, and the disagreement quickly escalated into a full-blown confrontation.
They had been arguing for more than fifteen minutes without getting anywhere when Sir grew tired of it. He realized they wouldn't find a solution until she snapped out of her pointless bratty behavior--and he knew exactly how to make her do that.
"I am not being unreasonable" she snapped, her voice tight with frustration. In reality she knew she was being stubborn for no reason. She could feel the way her irritation was poisoning the morning, turning what should have been an easy, relaxing time into something tense and needlessly difficult. But her pride kept her from admitting how pointless this whole argument was and simply letting it go. "
You
are the one who gets stuck on your plans as if they're set in stone and..."
"Enough," Sir said with a stern voice "Get on your knees."
She stopped mid-sentence, her face a mix of disbelief and anger. It was a new dynamic they had been exploring over the past few months. In an effort to bring their D/s relationship out of the bedroom and into their everyday lives, they had made a new rule: once a week, Sir could demand a blowjob, and she had to obey, no matter what the situation was or what she was doing at that time. She had been the one to suggest that she should not have the option to safe-word out of it--after all, after more than two years of being together, she trusted him completely. So far, it had worked well for both of them, but now, in the midst of an argument--even a silly one like this--it was hard to believe he would ask for it.
"What the hell? Now it's not the time" she said.
"Yes, it is. Get on your knees."
She blinked at him, confused and half convinced he must be fucking with her. "Are you serious right now?"
"I am. Don't make me say it again." He made a step towards her, a stern expression painted on his face. She couldn't help but step back, feeling cornered.
"Can I finish what I was saying, at least?" she said, crossing her arms on her chest. She knew that, at this point, she was playing with fire, and that attitude would only provoke him further, but she couldn't bring herself to stop.
"Not until my cock is in your mouth" he replied bluntly, sending an involuntary shiver through her body. "Now. Get. On. Your. Knees."
From the steel in his voice and the authority in his stance, she knew they had crossed a line - one where defiance would come with serious consequences. If her pride and stubbornness allowed her a moment of honesty, she would have noticed the slow, unmistakable heat building within her - and starting to leak out. She slowly lowered herself on her knees, without breaking eye contact, her prideful expression still painted on her face, even as she watched Sir quickly undo his pants just enough to let his dick spring free. He was already half hard.
