It seems she woke up and chose brattiness.

Even after our agreed upon three-warnings-and-you’re-out, even when she kneeled before me as I bound her wrists, that half-smirk of hers was there at the corner of her lips. Challenging without words. Brattiness with a smile.

Fifteen lines of ‘I WILL NOT POKE THE SADIST.’ was the designated punishment.

Up on the blackboard we keep in the corner of the bedroom to leave little love notes to one another of a morning as we head to our place of work.

‘I can do that.’ She says with that wicked smirk. It reaches her eyes, sets a fire within them. Olive eyes blazing intensely with that same brattiness.

‘I can do that, Sir.’

My correction slips from my lips without thinking.

She rolls her eyes. And to be honest, I’m kinda impressed how smooth she’s got it down.

But a question remains — how does one punish a brat that enjoys said punishment?

‘Naked.’

She shrugs nonchalantly, that smirk never faltering, ever wicked. ‘Do it. I’m naked anyways most days. You know this.’

Her left eyebrow arches as she watches me, waiting for me to correct her.

The correction dies in my throat. Curse me for being entranced by that look in her eyes.

Before I can get the words out, she’s slipping her panties off her legs.

I keep my eyes on her.

Hers watch me just as closely.

I catch her scent in the air.

Makes me ache to taste her.

Fuck, I love the taste of her.

No.

Focus.

Easier said than done.

I feel the primal in me dragging its nails along my skin.

I want to bend her over our bed.

Take her ass.

Turn that smirk of hers into a surprised gasp that comes between her clenched lips.

I really fucking want to wrestle her.

But another idea comes.

‘Let’s grab your favorite toy. I think I want to glide it along that eager slit of yours and play with your clit while you write. Let’s see if you can finish all lines.’

And there it is. The flicker. The shock. The intrigue. The eagerness. Here one minute and gone the next. Back to composure.

Back to the smirk.

Oh, she’s good.

‘Fine.’ She says. But I catch the slightest quiver in her voice.

On her knees and one line in, I trace the toy along her shaven slit. She doesn’t let out a moan but I sense she wants to. I can feel it caught between her teeth as she breathes in an attempt to maintain composure.

Can see her jaw clench as she suppresses that moan.

But it’s only a matter of time.

Only a matter of time until she breaks.

Until she is my needy, begging pet.