His Brat

I'd been teasing him over text all day, calling him senile when he said he'd had to go back home to get his wallet, mocking him when his text came through badly spelt, generally being a cheeky sod. So it was no surprise when I got a text during the afternoon saying "Heather, you are in trouble young lady. You've been asking for it all day and you're going to get it when I get my hands on you this evening."
It still sent a thrill through me though. I'm something of a brat by nature, and I love just pushing and pushing until I cross that line. Until I get that response that reigns me in, makes my stomach plummet in a wonderful way, and my mind fills with thoughts of what's in store for me. Yum.

I heard his key in the door as I was cooking the pasta. My stomach did another little flip. Would I even be allowed to finish making dinner, I wondered, a little smile playing on my lips. His arms snaking round my waist a minute later gave me the answer.
"Turn it off", he growled in my ear. I protested that the pasta would be ruined if I did, but his response was to give me a hearty smack and then reach over and turn off the gas himself.
"You're going to find out why you shouldn't spend all day teasing me quite so much, you little brat". The words sounded harsh, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
He spun me round to face him, and looked me in the eyes. "Are you going to be a good girl while I spank you?" I blew a raspberry at him. All he needed to know really.
He ordered me into the corner in the living room, with my hands on my head. I behaved for a couple of minutes, but I soon got bored. As I stood there, I extended the middle finger of my right hand, and gave him the finger. I wasn't sure whether he was watching me or not, but soon found out, when he grabbed that arm, and pulled me over to the sofa. He sat down and stood me in front of him, looking up at me while he unbuttoned my jeans.
“So, brat, you think being cheeky to me all day is a good use of your time at work? Or at all respectful?”
I giggled, as he took my arm and pulled me over his lap. There was no pause before he started spanking away with his hand. Some of my friends think that hand spankings are wimpy. They've obviously never experienced Tom's hand, which should probably be a registered weapon. And he wasn't holding back either. Again and again his hand rained into my bum cheeks, building up the burn. I struggled and kicked. After a few minutes, it could have been five, it could have been twenty, he made me stand up, jeans pooled round my ankles, as he took off his belt. He nodded at the sofa. I knew what to do, but ignored him.
“Heather...” The warning was quiet, but a warning even so. Not being entirely stupid, I bent over and put my had on the seat of the sofa. There was a whistle through the air and my breath was snatched away as the belt hit home. There's something about the weight of Tom's belt as it falls into me that I find sublime. It hurts, sure, but for some reason it's the one implement that will have me really offering up my bottom for more and more and more. It's irresistible.
He stopped eventually, and pushed my knickers down and pushed both them and my jeans off my feet. Then he took my arm and pulled me back over his lap. He slapped his hand right across my cheeks.
“Spread your legs.”
I demurred. A girl has to put a show of resistance, doesn't she? He slapped my thighs, higher and higher, sharper and sharper till I gave in. Like I really was going to resist for long... I relaxed as his hand started to caress, dropping lower and dipping into my cleft, which had been soaking wet for quite a while. I lay happily with my head resting on the sofa, giving in to his touch... delicious. If this was what the outcome of being his brat was, I wasn't about to stop any time soon.