They’ve been here before, he thinks.

Her: bound to the bed of their spare room, arms and legs spread apart and laced still with cotton rope.

Her favorite purple vibe strapped into a little nook between her legs and positioned at her clit.

The bratface started to melt away when she realised where he was leading her.

Hannah’s chest moves a little quicker now. Her breathing is jagged like his — good.

She can be as eager as he has been enforcing her place in the dynamic.

It started with her ignoring his dress code for a coffee run and wearing no panties because she felt like it.

Well…there’s a price to be paid for being a brat.

He knows she’ll want to fuck the toy once it’s on.

He knows she will want to scoop up her tits into her hand and pinch her nipples.

He smiles because that won’t happen.

He double checks the vibe is locked in and sturdy.

That it’s aimed right at her clit, that it’s enough of a tease to her slit that she’ll go mental.

Then he clicks it on.

Her reaction is instant. She squirms on the spot, let’s out a strangled cry that heaves up her throat and comes sputtering out through her lips.

Her new haircut falls across her forehead in sweat-licked strands.

And her hips desperately grind into the toy, trying to ride it, suck it in, take ownership of the moment.

But she’s the one who is owned.

It doesn’t take long for her orgasm to hit.

Her moans start out as whimpers that build to mutterings and shrieks.

It’s a cliche to think - music to his ears - but it’s true.

‘Record breaking time, eh? Good girl.’

A thought hits him. Makes him beam.

‘Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.’ ‘S-Sir..?’

He turns back to his squirming pet on the bed. She has to concentrate to get out the words.

‘Don’t you want to come on my tits?’

‘You’ll be doing plenty of coming for the both of us.’

He leaves to the sounds of her whining and returns with his seasonal Valentine’s Day iced coffee - the sole reason they went for a coffee run at all.

‘See what happens when you are a brat. Brats get iced coffee spilled over their tits. Good girls get to drink their coffee and relax.’

He sips his iced coffee.

Super sweet even before the strawberry syrup hits.

Hannah whines, her eyes struggling to stay on his as the vibe assaults her tortured lips relentlessly.

What are they trying to communicate? The need to fuck? To apologise?

Poor, writhing brat.

TO BE CONCLUDED . . .