Breaking In The Brat

"You are SO dead!" your throaty laughter rings in my ears as that conversation plays over and over in my mind. That was your first response when I had given in to the temptation of being your Brat -- of playing with you.

It was a first for me. Me -- the control freak at work, the person who takes pride in self-control and not acting on impulse, had given in to the impulse on the third causal meet!

You were a stranger to me -- an acquaintance at best. Yet, I knew, I felt instinctively, that I could trust you. You, the person I didn't have to explain myself to, had inspired that faith in me that I didn't have to think twice before giving in to the temptation. Thanks to communication technology for facilitating the intense discussions.

As I step into your "humble abode", the casualness of the setting belies the purpose of the visit. I had come with an open mind, not concerned about what to expect. We had discussed "The List", the soft and the hard limits. And above all, you had taken the time and effort to know me. It was easy to be myself with you -- to not be bothered about the consequences of my actions. So, when you invite me to come over and settle myself in your lap between your outstretched legs, I smirk and comply. I had made an effort to let the smirk be visible to you. I was excited!

Curiosity always kills the cat. And I just can't help but turn my head when I feel your hands playing with something. My "Cat that got the bowl of milk" smile widens as I see the black blindfold. You laugh at seeing the anticipation on my face. I turn my head to face the TV, which was running some music I was oblivious of, and accepted the blindfold. As you tie it securely, I can't help but adjust the positioning to make sure I am "blinded". I'm sure now you had chuckled at my effort to take control.

You notice the body posture -- I had wanted to appear relaxed and held my body "relaxed". Who was I kidding? You run your fingers up and down my arms and murmur -- "It's alright. You can relax!"

My first reaction is to deny that I'm not relaxed, but realizing the futility of it, I lean back in your arms, and you guide my body to lie down on the bed.

"You just lied down, you are not relaxed", your comment prods me to take a few deep breaths and simply let my body be. You must have understood how hard it is for me to let myself lose under any circumstances to have been so patient with me.

I hear your hum of approval as you strip away my trousers and appreciate the view. "I believe you had mentioned something about a red, skimpy G-String?" I inquire in my most innocent tone. I smile, knowing full well that I have your attention -- that you are looking at me.

I feel the bed dip as you settle between my legs. "You know your safe word?" you ask.

"Red." I nod and reply.

"And what do you do if you are not in a position to talk?"

"I don't know." I confess.

You snap your fingers thrice to show me the gesture -- "Can you do that?"

Without speaking, I imitate the gesture. Deep down, I wonder when I would be pushed enough to necessitate the use of it. There is only one way to find out, I decide, and I let it be for now.

You pull me up by the arms, oh so gently, and guide me to stand up on the floor. Your gentle but firm hands guide my arms up as you pull off the black tank top. I would have been squirming, standing there exposed to your scrutiny, had it been anyone else. With you, I am comfortable in my skin. And the bratty smile is back on my lips.

You see it, and you know that a part of me is observing, taking notes. That part is also feeding my sense of being in control. You need to break me out of it.

You start off with playing with my lips. Your fingers circle and trace my lips. I feel them invading my mouth one by one. I let my tongue slip out and lick them, invite them in my mouth to suck on them. And once you allow me to do that, I bite -- hard. The finger disappears from my mouth, but no reprove comes -- not immediately. Instead, you turn me around, murmuring vague hints about my controlling self. You secure my arms behind my back with an arm binder. Your fingers start playing their magic on my back, making me arch and shiver.

So sensuous.

And then the first task comes. You hold a coin pressed to my chin -- "you know what this is?"

I stay mum -- unwilling to be wrong.

"This is a one rupee coin. Take your tongue out..." I stick my tongue out, "further."

I let my tongue hang out completely. You turn me around, press the coin to a smooth, metallic surface and push me forward until my tongue is holding the coin in place.

"Hold the coin there. Don't let it fall. If it falls before I allow you to..." the rest of your instructions blur away, as I feel your fingers back on my skin. My attention is pulled away from my task, and before I could figure out a way around, it slips.

I jerk forward to halt its fall midway, pressing it in place with my pelvis. "I told you to not let it fall..." your remark comes from somewhere behind me.

I'm embarrassed. For the first time in ages, the sense of failure rears its head in my mind. "It didn't fall! Not completely..." I whine, trying to squirm away from the negative emotion. But I know it's futile. I had failed. And you must have seen the frustration on my face. Before I say anything, you give me another chance.

You tell me to kneel, and I obey. You again place the coin in its place, and tell me to hold it there with my tongue. I do. I tune out your murmurs, and I focus on the coin. I can't fail again.

"Look at that concentration. So focused..." you chuckle. Letting me stay in that position for a few more minutes, you take away the coin. I feel good at not having failed a second time, so when you comment on me having learned to hold my tongue, I say nothing.

I will have other instances to prove my brattiness to you, but not now. I simply smile.

Letting me stand up, you disappear for a few minutes. When you come back, i hear the sound of electric sparks. I try to figure out exactly what it is, is it a taser? My brain starts to sort through memories of our discussions to pin point what I knew about your interest in electric play. I come up blank. We hadn't spoken about it. Did you think it would scare me? The sparking sounds start again. I remain calm. I was never afraid of electricity -- hell, I have touched live wires and gotten the shocks of my life on countless times. And the sparking sounds tell me the current is not very strong. My smile stays on.

You realize that I know you won't let the electricity touch me. Setting the equipment aside, you growl, "You want the real thing, don't you?" and I feel your fingers wrap around my throat.

Oh, FUCK.

I feel my body respond to the rough hold -- I get turned on! Your fingers tighten around my throat, and I slow down my breathing. I am still in control. I wonder what you are seeing, but I feel absolutely calm. You press me back against the wall, the choke hold tightening further. I part my lips to increase my oxygen intake, and feel the hold tightening further. "Look at your face now..." you mutter. And I do wonder what I look like. I suddenly realize, the reason I feel so calm is because I know that you are looking at me. And I know you are in control; i am no longer needed to retain control over myself.

You let go of me, pulling my head back with a fistful of my hair, one strong arm draped around my waist, and you bend my body back -- I simply let go. I am yours to do with as you please. Holding my body in the arch, your thigh nudges my covered cunt -- and I am helpless in your arms. You pull me up and turn me around, your arm now wrapping around my neck, and slowly, surely, you strangle me again -- until I start to gasp for breathing. I struggle at last, disregarding my wounded pride, and then you let me go.

You have broken through the first layer of my barriers. I have ceded control to you. I have overcome my pride on self-control -- just a little. My pride is intact enough that I haven't used the safe word yet. My limit isn't pushed enough -- yet. But then, this was just the warm up, wasn't it? The warm up to the actual warm-up -- to be precise.

Still blind folded, you lead me back to the bed and order me to kneel there. I obey you without fuss. The sass has silenced itself in me. I am in a different mind-space. As the sounds of the outside world drift in, you murmur into my ears -- "What if I open the door and invite in a few guests right now? You can hear the sounds, can't you?"

I sit stoically, the smile still on my lips -- challenging the bluff. I know you won't do it -- not yet. This knowledge is not from my understanding of you, but from my faith in your understanding of me.

"I love this posture of yours. You are holding your ground, without speaking, and that smile..." My mind focuses on the tone of your voice -- I find it soothing. I can't see you, but I can hear your footsteps around me. You take off the arm binder.

"I think I will try some rope on you. You have never experienced rope bondage, have you?" I think you are more wondering aloud than asking me, but I shake my head nonetheless.

You touch the top of my head, "Stay there. Don't run away!" Your dark humor makes my smile wider. A few minutes later, you instruct me to lie down on my stomach. As I obey, I wonder at my easy submission. I guess, I am just too curious about it all to be much bratty!

I feel you securing my wrists together, and then securing them to my ankles, ending in a hogtie. I like the sensation of the rope on my skin. I'm perfectly helpless now, Aren't I? I smile to myself. And then you put on the infernal ball gag! I whine before you have secured the band at the back of my head. I'm speechless, bound and blindfolded. Essentially, I'm completely at your mercy now.

"You know what should be done to brats? They should be just left to themselves." I hear the amusement in your voice. I would pout if I could. But I can't. I hear your footsteps receding. I'm left to my own devices now. And not finding anything else, I decide to delve deeper in to my own head. I let my body and mind relax. I observe the soft lilt of the music playing in the background. And I let go of my hold on the outer world. I note the shuffling sounds from the other room, I hear the sound of a match being lit, sound of paper. Hmm... What are you up to, now?

A few minutes later, I hear your footsteps approaching. "Are you ok?" you softly murmur in my ears. I nod. You touch my palms, and I know you are checking for unusual drop in body heat. And then comes the surprise. You pick me up! You pick me up and you take me to the other room, and as you settle me down, I feel the soft texture of the carpet underneath my skin. You untie the blind fold. I would have gasped if not for the gag! It was a beautiful setting! Had I thought this room to be so casual when I had first stepped in? How wrong I was. I was placed in the middle of the carpet, and you had lit these small candles all around, lending a soft glow.

How... very... romantic! I guess if I wasn't such an unromantic brat, I would have sobbed in delight and fallen in love with you!

But, being the smart ass I am, I look around, and then squirm and move and turn my body around, to look up at you from the floor. My eyebrows are raised, and you can read my thoughts there. Choosing to not indulge this unspoken brattiness, you instead ask if any parts of my body hurt right now. I scan my body, momentarily forgetting that yes, my mouth hurts from being stretched around the infernal ball gag, I shake my head. And then you order me to turn back on my stomach. Again, I obey.

I hear the swish of the crop now. I slowly turn my head to the side to look at the sweet sounding device. As you flick the crop right in front of my face, I feel the excitement build. You lie down on your side, stretching right beside me. With the tip of the crop, you gently tap the middle of my left foot. With each tap hitting harder than the last, you look at my face to see my reaction. I simply wait for you to realize that this doesn't register as pain to me.

You now hit harder, faster. You know I can take it. My breathing quickens. I'm enjoying the stinging pain. Swish and flick, swish and flick... I can feel my foot getting warmer. Faster and faster the crop hits. At last I twitch my back. But I want more. And you know it.

"Now you want it on the other foot, don't you?" you inquire, despite knowing my answer. I simply nod.

The stimulation builds again -so sweetly intense. It almost feels like the building of an orgasm, the pleasant pain of climax coiling in my body. Again I gasp and arch my back. And you stop. Almost instantly I regret it, I crave for the sensation to be back! But you know better. You trace my feet with your gentle touch, and then I feel your soft lips trailing kisses on the warm skin. I simply float in the sensation.

You take off the gag with the warning of it being back the moment another smart ass comment slips past my lips. As you untie me, you murmur in appreciation, and pride swells in my heart. Pride on hearing the pleased tone in your voice, pride on being able to withstand the amount of pain that I did. The rope marks on my skin promise much more, barely hinting at what the rest of the night has in store for me.

The flogger! Is it odd for me to find it beautiful? I had no idea how it would feel on my skin as you order me on my all fours. With its first strike on my bare back, shards of excited pleasure shoot through my veins. And then as the strikes come over and over again, i feel the build up of the stinging pain.

You ask me to count. I was rather enjoying simply floating in the cloud of the sharp sensation, but regardless, I start counting. With each count, I wonder if I would lose track of it, but I don't. I count aloud each of the strikes leaving fiery kisses on my skin. My voice waivers and I whisper, and you change the point of focus and my voice is stronger again.

I start to wonder at my capacity as the count reaches 100. Wow, really? My mind smugly replies, yes, really!

149... and I can't take it anymore. My voice breaks after 148, barely managing to utter the last count. And you stop. You kneel at my side and gently stroking my back, lower me to the bed. I can feel my body shaking with tremors. And then your body weight settles over me. I sigh deeply. Your voice, your touch ground me. I am almost lost in the sensation of the memory of the pain and the reality of your gentle caresses.

I know this is not the end. I do not need to stop playing yet. The pain may make my flesh hurt and may make me gasp and yelp, but I am in love with the pain. And when we resume playing again, this time the flogger hitting my front, my panty stripped away and stuffed in to my mouth, hands behind my head and eyes riveted to you, I truly appreciate the view!

Through everything, the way your body undulates in front of me, the fierce smile on your face, and the way your eyes appraise me, it leaves me breathless. You are magnificent! And once more, as the flogging becomes a memory, I am engulfed in your strong arms, holding me, securing me. And I cling to you.

I had bit you. Hard. And now comes the reprove. My nipples already sore from the flogging are confined with the nipple clamps, the connecting chain held in my mouth. My pussy lips secured with clamps as well, and my wrists very conveniently handcuffed behind me. To add to my humiliation, you have looped the chain of the clamps clinging to my pussy around the door handle of your fridge. I mutely stand there, head bowed, hands behind. I don't know what hurts more -- my nipples, my pussy lips, or my ego.

I stand there, as you lounge on the bed, taunting me. Yes yes, you could have just left me in the other room, and not paid any attention. I know. But my nipples hurt too sharply for me to pay much attention to what you are saying. My cheeks would have burned with humiliation.

"What are you ashamed of?" you snap at me, and you approach me. I stay mute. My eyes sting, but I can't cry. I don't cry. As you provoke my pride once more, I try to lift my head higher, but groan and give up as my breasts protest. Your finger traces the outline of my nipples, and you remind me of my bite. I whimper.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I bit you." I ground out.

"I accept your apology." You murmur again. Then wrapping your hand around my mouth, one by one you remove the clamps, and I almost scream. Your lips cover mine, as you remove the labia clamps, my groans of agony muffled in your mouth. You gently hold me.

I guess I could hate you. But I don't. I love the way you just know that I would rather be pushed to the end of my limits and beyond. And I trust you that I know you can do that. You could break me and then put me back together, just the way I've learnt in my sessions on hypnotism!

When I tell you that I need to use the washroom, you get up and lead me into the bathroom pulling on my collar. I'm surprised... and confused!

Do you really expect me to pee while you stand there? You make me sit on the toilet seat and I look up at you with questioning eyes.

Indeed you do.

For a second I find it embarrassing. But, it's you. You - who has already seen me at my most vulnerable state. Your encouragements help me to relax and simply let go. I push my body to respond to my mind. The initial sound of the pee makes me uncomfortable, and I remind myself -- it's alright.

Once I'm done, you wash me like a little child. At first it's amusing to me -- but the gesture is sweet. The gesture is nurturing. And something snaps inside me -- or may be clicks in to place.

It's so hard for me to not keep being a grown up, self sufficient adult. So hard for me to just be a child. But with this singular act, you make it possible for me. I feel grateful for the unspoken permission you have given me -- allowing me to let the child thrive.

But that doesn't mean I won't be a brat any more. If anything, I would be even more annoying now.

The combat is on!