You Little Fucking Brat

[AdamX]

I’ve had subs that were bratty, but I’ve never really written on the subject of brats. Yet brats are delightfully evil creatures – like mythical wood nymphs, cute and adorable from a distance, but mischievous if you get too close inside their orbit. So I decided to write a story professing my hate and joyful fascination of every minute I’ve spent with one. This one is for all the brats who make our lives more interesting and the tamers who put up with them. I hope you enjoy

 

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It’s a lazy Saturday morning. Mid-morning to be exact. We’ve already had breakfast, cleaned up, and ran the dishwasher. There isn’t too much on the agenda today. Maybe a little light cleaning, a run to the store, but that’s pretty much it until this evening when we go to a friend’s house for a get-together. So for now, we take advantage of some relaxation time.

 

It’s spring, so all the windows are open and we have the sliding glass door open. It’s a perfect mixture of coolish-warmth with a breeze. I decide to make good use of some free time to sit down on the couch and read. She comes back into the living room and sees me on the couch. She decides to join me. She sits next to me, tucks her feet up under her butt and leans into me, non-verbally hinting that she wants me to put my arm around her. So I do. She quietly pulls out her phone and starts playing a game, satisfied to let me read while she occupies herself. I’m reading a book about brat-taming because, well, she’s a handful and I could use all the help I can get.

 

It’s a perfect moment, when all is right with the world… for now. We enjoy being quiet and being close to each other, not really needing anything, just feeling a sense of contentment being in each other’s space. The minutes slip past an hour, and I get to the point where I’ve had my fill of reading. I don’t close the book just yet, but I look up from the page and start thinking about what else needs to be done today. I think about going to the grocery store. That still needs to be done. “Yeah,” I think to myself. “I could go to the grocery store.” But then without turning my head, I direct my eyes toward her, still playing her game. I think about it for a second. “What to do with her?” There is no way I can take her to the store. Oh no, I’ve done that before.

 

I remember the first time I took her to a grocery store, and she walked in front of the cart. Every five feet, she would grab a random item off the shelf and put it in the cart. She wouldn’t even look at the item, she didn’t even want them, she just did it to do it, and because she knew I would have to put them back. Because every time I told her, “Put that back right now,” she would giggle and skip ahead of the cart. So we spent the whole time with her emptying the shelves and me putting everything back until I finally realized that I didn’t have to play the game, I could just end it. So we left everything where it was and I had to go back later by myself and do the actual grocery shopping.

 

Oh believe me, I’ve tried a number of things. But her secret weapon is that she knows I can only do so much in public. I have tried threatening her in the store. “Just you wait ‘till we get home.” “That’s it. You just lost your masturbation privileges.” “No more screen time for the rest of the day.” And although she pays the price when we do get home, when we’re in the store, nothing slows her down. So I’ve tried pinching her ass, waiting until no one is looking, then flicking a nipple, and I even bought one of those electro-lighters that uses a static electricity arc to light cigarettes. I discovered they have about the same zap as a violet wand but small enough to fit in a pocket. It was enough to get the message across, but discreet enough to not draw attention.

 

But even that didn’t last forever. I remember one time when she was actually behaving herself in the grocery store and she asked me if she could get a bag of marshmallows. I thought to myself, “This would be a good time to reward her for being a good girl.” So I told her that would be fine. She gleefully grabbed a bag from the shelf. She let me walk past her, then once she was behind me and I couldn’t see what she was doing, she quietly opened the bag of marshmallows, grabbed the biggest handful possible, ran in front of me and stuffed them down the front of my jeans. The worst part is that there were a few other people walking ahead of us in the aisle and some had stopped to look at items on the shelf, and so she exclaimed, “Oh my god!” causing everyone to turn and look in our direction. So I had to either reach my hand down my pants and pull out jumbo marshmallows and have everyone think I was some perverted freak, or I had to pretend like nothing was wrong and walk down the aisle with marshmallows all over my junk. Without making eye contact with her, I whispered loud enough for only her to hear, “You little fucking brat. You’re gonna get it when we get home.” And that’s when she gave me her signature smirk and said, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

 

As I sit on the couch now, I watch her playing her game, innocently, blissfully unaware that I am replaying in my mind various times that she pulled her little stunts. She’s such a minx. But she’s so cute when she’s peaceful. Ugh. What do I do? “She’s being such a good girl right now,” I think to myself. “Maybe I’ll just bring her with me. We won’t be gone long.” But then, I remember the time when we were in the produce section. We were close to the vegetables, and I remembered we needed fruit. Obliviously blind to the potential error in my judgement, I left her and the cart unattended while I walked over to the fruit. When I turned around to walk back, I saw her bent over the vegetable table and the cart. “Oh no,” I thought. “What have I done? I left her alone.” When I got back to the cart, I saw that she was picking up eggplants with her left hand, transferring them to her right hand, then placing them in the cart. She had over 15 eggplants in the cart. I snapped at her, “Holy fuck-nuggets! Are you kidding me?” She started laughing. I started putting eggplants back, she started putting eggplants in the cart faster, outpacing me. I stood her up, grabbed the back waistband of her jean shorts and pulled them up so they split her crotch. Her jaw opened and her eyes got big. I walked her on her tippy-toes ten feet away from everything so she couldn’t touch anything. I told her, “Stand there and Do. Not. Move.” I guess she figured she pushed enough buttons because she complied with the command. “Eggplants?” I thought to myself, “Why the fuck eggplants? She doesn’t even like eggplants. Yes, I am aware of the emoji, but eggplants? Is that a hidden message? Is that it? Does she want ALL the dicks? Just like, all the dicks? Is that it? Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

 

And all that is just what she does when she’s actually IN the store. Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth to get her TO the store. Sitting on the couch, going back and forth between watching this sweet, innocent thing playing her game while snuggled up with me and then staring off into space as I relive all the moments that convince me of why I can’t take her to the store anymore, I remember an episode where I was just trying to get her in the car. Again, it was a weekend. Except this time, it wasn’t lazy and relaxed. There was a lot to do and not enough hours in the day. She was sitting on the edge of the bed watching me get dressed. When I was finished, I started walking out of the bedroom to go to the kitchen and get the grocery list. As I was walking out the bedroom door, I told her for the second or third time, “Get your shoes on. We have to go.” To which she replied, “nnnnnnnnnnnO!” I slowly turned to face her.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” I enunciated slowly.

“I don’t wanna.”

 

My respiratory rate went up. In a moment of weakness, I decided that I did not have time to threaten or punish until I secured obedience from her. So instead, I put her shoes on for her. Oh yes. I walked over to the closet and got her black, Converse low-tops, shoved them over her toes, then popped the bottom of the heels into place. I tied her shoes. Yep, you read that right. I tied her fucking shoes. I then stood up and told her, “Now go brush your teeth, because I know you haven’t done that yet this morning either.” Then I stormed out of the bedroom, went directly to the kitchen and started looking at the pantry and fridge to see if anything else needed to be added to the list. I was trying to concentrate on what we needed, but I was so distracted by what just happened, I was having a hard time focusing on anything else. I was muttering under my breath and telling myself how I was going to teach her a lesson when we got back from the store, then the thought came across my mind, “Where the hell is she? It does not take that long to brush her teeth.”

 

So I go back down to the bedroom, look in, and there she was sitting on the edge of the bed with her shoes kicked off in the middle of the floor and she was swinging her legs back and forth like her feet were playing a game of tag with each other. My *** boiled.

“You little fucking brat.”

She jumped a little out of surprise, not realizing I had come back into the room yet. Her eyebrows raised up, she saw the expression on my face, and she said, “Uh-oh.”

She got up and ran to the opposite side of the bed. I ran up to the bed, used one hand as support on the mattress, then cleared the bed with both feet as if I had been doing parkour all my life. She ran around the bed, out the door, then started sprinting down the hall.

 

Game on.

 

I took off after her. I grabbed the door jamb to help me turn faster and closed distance on her in the straightaway. I caught up to her as the chase opened up in the living room, and that’s where I wrapped my arms around her ribs and hips and dragged her down to the carpet like a lion taking down a wounded gazelle. We rolled one and a half times. I ended up on top. She was face down on the carpet. I slung her overpowered body sideways and rolled one hip toward me so I could get access to her button and zipper on her shorts. She knew what was coming next, and that’s when she began the bargaining phase of her repentance.

“Nooooo, Daddy! No! Please! I’ll be good! I’ll put my shoes on. Give me another chance, please!”

But I was having none of it.

“Sorry, little one. It’s too late for that.”

She continued to resist, trying to push my hands away from her button and zipper, but it did her no good. Once I got those undone, it was easy enough to yank the shorts half way down her legs. I yanked so hard, her panties came half off also. Before going any further, I looked at her panties, half way off her ass, stretched on one side, bunched up on one cheek, like a ball of wrapping paper crumpled, discarded, and forgotten under a Christmas tree after the presents had been opened. I paused for a breath just appreciating my half-exposed canvas where I would soon begin my artwork, because after all, what is life worth living for if we don’t stop once in a while to smell the roses? But my attention was soon refocused with her struggling and squirming. And of course, underwear half way off simply would not do. So I finished the job and pulled them all the way down.

She took another run at pleading.

“Pleeeeeease, Daddy, I promise I’ll be good the whole rest of the day.”

That ‘whole rest of the day’ part made me stop for just a fraction of a second and think to myself, “It would be kind of nice to go to the store without her acting up.” But then I thought, “Naaah. This is going to be too much fun.” So instead I just told her, “You should’ve thought of that before you kicked your shoes off. Now, I’m gonna work your ass over until your little bottom looks less like a peach and more like a plum.”

Whack. Whack. Whack. The spankings commenced.

Oh sure, she wiggled and kicked her feet. I don’t how many times I had to bark at her, “Put your feet down.” “Move your hands.” Eventually, the tears came and she stopped moving around so much. That’s when I knew I had whooped the fight out of her. I continued for a short while longer just for good measure. Then it was time to sit her up on my lap and give her cuddles. Her body was limp in mine. Her arms hung down by my side and I felt her hands grab my hips. I know her well enough to know that means she’s exhausted and she doesn’t have the energy to hug, but she still wants to hold on to something. I rubbed her back and petted her head. She said, “I’m sorry” for the countless time.

“I know, honey. I know.”

When she caught her breath, I pulled my head back to look at her in her eyes. I pushed a couple strands of hair behind her ear and asked, “You okay now?” She just nodded up and down. So I told her, “How about you go put your shoes on, and after that, I’ll put some aloe on your bottom. How’s that sound?” She made a short, little, triple-inhale sound then breathed out the word, “Okay.” While nodding.

 

So here I am with this ‘devil with angel wings’ or maybe she’s an angel with a pitchfork, sitting next to me still playing a game, albeit a different one now. She adjusts her position so she’s lying on the couch on her back with her head in my lap, looking up at her phone. I’m looking down at her realizing that she has no idea what I’m thinking about. I look upward and out one of the windows. As I’m staring off, I come to the conclusion, that no, I will not be bringing her to the store. But I have to be careful about leaving her at home too. On the wrong day, idle hands can be the devil’s playground.

 

I remember one time I had left her home while I went to run errands and when I got back, I discovered that she had taken all the clothespins off my zipper (you know, the long string with a bunch of clothespins on it so you can clip the pins on to your sub’s body, then pull the string to make them all pop off? Yeah, that thing). She had taken all the clothespins and used them to pin all of my underwear on to random objects in the house. My underwear was pinned to lamps, chairs, the ceiling fan, the window lock so our neighbors could see my underwear in the window.

 

Another time she used lipstick to write messages and draw pictures on random stuff. She proclaimed her love for choking on the guest bathroom mirror. She drew dicks all over the refrigerator door. She pulled out the vibrators and wrote one sentence on each of them, then arranged them on the coffee table so they could be read in order:

 

This one’s for my pussy

This one’s for my ass

This one likes to go real slow

This one goes real fast

 

Why the fuck would she write with lipstick on the vibrators? What the hell was that all about? For fuck’s sake.

 

So if I was to leave her at home, I had to keep her occupied. But if I gave her a whole bunch of chores to do, she would most definitely rebel. But if I told her to play the whole time, she would get bored then get into trouble. “A-ha! I got it.” I thought to myself. I decided to give her a small chore, something very doable and easy. Then, tell her that after she was done with her chore, as a reward she could watch a movie. If I just told her to watch a movie, she would lose interest and get into mischief. But if the movie was a reward for doing good, then she would eat it up like getting cookies before dinner. “Perfect! I’m a genius!”

 

So I told her I was going to the store. She wanted to come, but I said, “No, I won’t be long. Plus, this gives you the chance to do something fun.”

“What fun?”

“Well, I have a chore for you, but aaaaafter you get your chore done, you can watch a movie.” I dragged out the word ‘after’ to make it seem like it was a big deal in order to really hook her attention.

“Ooh! I like movies. I know which one I’m gonna watch. Wait, what’s the chore?”

“The dishes in the dishwasher are clean now. So I need you to put the dishes in the cabinets. After that, you can watch your movie.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I can put the dishes away.”

“That’s my girl,” I said with a smile.

 

We talked a little while longer while I got ready, then as I headed out, I rein***d, “Remember, dishes first, then movie.” She quickly stood at attention and gave a sharp salute, eager to prove she was up for the challenge.

 

I tell ya, I’m a frickin’ genius.

 

After I got back from the store, she must have heard my car in the driveway because she was at the door when I walked in. I looked around to see what was wrong. Apparently, nothing. I didn’t see my underwear hanging on any weird places, no lipstick on the windows, so that was a plus. But she still had a shit-eating grin on her face, so I was withholding judgement. She asked me, “Do you need help bringing stuff in from the car?”

“Yes,” I said cautiously, still kind of wondering what I was not seeing.

“Okay, I’ll help.”

We got the groceries in and put away. She announced that she was going back to watch her movie. Obviously the first thing I did was open up the dishwasher, half expecting it to still be full. But to my surprise, it was empty. Ta-da! She emptied the dishwasher, she’s watching a movie, I cracked the code.

 

Pleased with how well everything turned out, I decided to get a glass of something to drink. I opened a cabinet door to get a glass, but there were no glasses. Instead, there were plates. I opened another door and instead of plates, there were bowls, I opened another door but instead of coffee mugs, there were saucers and serving dishes. I opened another door, another door, another one, and another.

“AAARGGGHH!!!!”

She rearranged the whole fucking kitchen! Everything was different. Nothing was where I was used to it being. All of it had been moved around. So much for me being brilliant. I conceded to myself, “That little fucker outplayed me.” It was then that I heard snickering behind me. I turned. Of course she wasn’t watching her movie. She was ***king around from behind the corner admiring her handiwork. She was soaking in the reflection of her masterpiece simply by seeing the look on my face. She thought she was soooo clever; she was so proud of herself.

 

I pondered for a minute and decided I would save the consequences for later. For now, I just wanted the kitchen back in order. So I went and got the bluetooth earbuds and stuck them in her ears. I told her to start putting everything back where it goes and I would stop the music when it was back in order. Then I started playing Baby Shark on replay. She hated that song! Despised it. It didn’t really bother me that much, but she on the other hand, couldn’t stand it. I figured a little motivation might help her not drag things out for too long.

Baby shark doo-doo-do-do-doo, Baby shark doo-doo-do-do

Baby shark doo-doo-do-do-doo, Baby shark

Mommy shark...

 

It was less than a minute in and she already tried to circumvent the decree. She pulled the earbuds out and asked, “Can I get a cup of water?” I knew she didn’t really need water, she was just hoping for a reprieve. I told her no, and that she could have water when she was done. It didn’t take too long; she finally finished putting the dishes back where they belonged. I stopped the music and she asked if she could have water now. I agreed and she got a plastic cup and filled it up. She cupped it with both hands as she stood in the kitchen and brought it up to her lips. She started sipping while she maintained direct eye contact with me. When she stopped sipping, she kept looking at me, and I could tell she was trying to refrain from smiling. “Uh-oh,” I thought. And at that very moment, both her hands loosened their grip ever so slightly and the plastic cup full of water surrendered itself to gravity. In the time it took for the cup to hit the floor, my imagination gave my brain a sneak preview of what this was going to look like. It was pretty close. The bottom of the cup made perfect impact with the floor and there was a very equal and opposite reaction. Because the cup was plastic, it didn’t break. But that meant the water had nowhere to go but up and out. The water exploded omni-directionally like a hand grenade. And both she and I were caught in the blast radius.

 

Both of us stared at the ground, stared at the cup, and watched as droplets of water on the floor pooled together as if they were looking for moral support post-apocalypse. Then we both slowly looked up at each other until our eyes locked. Then she gave me the most sarcastic, “Oops” I had ever heard.

 

I gritted my teeth and quietly growled, “You little fucking brat.” Her faced instantly turned to panic as she said, “Uh-oh,” then she took off running.

 

Game on.

 

[Do****]

A lttle restraint whilst out shopping, might have helped either the b... balance.