Stop being a brat before Christmas – 5 days to go

Image: Marlon Alves, Pexels

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I felt the movement of him sitting up in bed and as I opened my eyes, he leaned across and kissed me tenderly.

“Take your time,” he said.  “Have a shower, then please dress appropriately and come to my study in one hour.”

His words brought my predicament back into focus and I shifted uncomfortably in the chastity harnesses.  I nodded.  “Yes Sir.”

“And bring me a fresh coffee when you come to my study, please,” he added with a smirk.

“Of course, Sir,” I retorted playfully.  He leant down and kissed me once more before leaving the room.

All my erogenous zones ached for attention, and I felt incredibly sticky between my legs, so I headed for the shower.  Washing was a little restricted, but I did my best by angling the shower head.  And yes, I did consider whether the spray of water would be stimulating – but with the metal plate in place it felt more like an irritating tickle and just frustrated me further.

I stared at the clothes on my wardrobe, his “dress appropriately” phrase ringing in my ears.  I knew what he meant.  I chose a suitable knee length skirt with stockings neatly underneath.  Yet my level of sexual frustration was encouraging the brat within me.  I couldn’t resist my clinging, almost see through cream top.  I knew he would not class it as “appropriate”, but it did look rather erotic over the bra harness.  Wearing it felt like a little win to me.

I checked the time and realised I needed to hurry.  I quickly made his coffee and proceeded to the study.  I knocked and entered.

I guessed the slight raise of an eyebrow was due to my attire, but he chose not to make a comment.  Instead, he thanked me for the coffee and asked me to stand in front of his desk.

“So, tell me how your time in chastity felt?”

“Frustrating,” I replied, careful not to roll my eyes.

He sighed.  “You know what I expect from you.  Please elaborate on that response.  Details are expected.”

“Yes Sir.  Sorry Sir.” 

He nodded.

“I found my time in chastity highly frustrating.  The metal against my nipples and between my legs made it hard for me to think about anything other than my sexual parts.  I felt achingly empty.  My clit felt desperate for attention.  I felt like my pussy was wet with desire the whole time.”

“Better.”  He nodded again, taking in what I had said.  “And if we remove the chastity, will you be able to refrain from touching yourself today?”

I hated the idea of another day without stimulation but was desperate to have the items removed.  “Yes Sir,” my voice deliberately meek.

Rising from his chair, he came around the desk.  He swiftly dispensed with my clothes, folding them neatly on the desk and then unlocked and removed the chastity.  My body felt a delicious sense of freeness.

“So,” he began, as he sat back down, and I stood naked before him.  “There is still the little matter of your brattish comment the other day.  Although that was the final trigger for this week of obedience training, there will still need to be a specific punishment for your insolence.”

A little wave of panic and apprehension stirred inside me.

He paused and sipped his coffee.  “It is delicious this blend, a wonderful depth of flavour.”

He sipped again.  My agitation grew.

“Did you use the Colombian blend or the Ethiopian one?”

I bit back my exasperation.  Here I was naked and waiting to know what punishment I was receiving, and he wanted to discuss the merits of coffee blends.

I took a deep breath and smiled sweetly.  “The Colombian I believe Sir.”

Another sip.  Another moment of antagonising waiting.

“Now what was it we were discussing?” he asked knowingly.

Give me strength!  “My punishment I believe Sir,” my voice remaining saccharine sweet.

“Oh yes, of course,” he chuckled.  “Tomorrow you will receive six strikes with the cane.”

Excitement and trepidation collided within me.  We had only recently introduced me to the cane, trying a strike or two and never as a proper punishment.  And what we had tried, had shown me it was a serious and painful implement.

“It is not a punishment I want to have to administer,” he continued.  “But you have now behaved brattishly on a number of occasions, and it is in your best interests that we put an end to this rudeness before it gets you into more serious trouble.”

I kept my eyes downcast but listened attentively.

“Do you understand the need for your punishment?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Very good.  In the meantime, you will not touch your breasts or between your legs.  You will not stimulate yourself in any way.  You are also not permitted to wear any underwear until I specifically ask you to.”

I wanted to growl but replied “Yes Sir” instead.

“If you become very needy, you may sit in front of a mirror with your legs spread wide so you can admire your aroused state.”

“Now please put the clothes on my desk back on.”

“But Sir…,” I began.  He glared.

“That top with no bra…,” I tried to continue.

“Hence I kindly suggested appropriate attire,” he smiled.

I tugged the top on.  It clung to my full breasts, the thin material hiding very little.

“Let’s hope there won’t be too many deliveries to sign for at the door today!”.  And with that he left the room.


The curious among you may be asking:

How many deliveries did require signing for that day?  Two.  And yes, I was made to answer the door for both.  And yes, I certainly did wish I had chosen a more appropriate top.

Did I need to admire my aroused state in the mirror?  Yes, repeatedly – my body felt so incredibly needy.

Did looking in the mirror help?  No, not at all.  It just fuelled my arousal further.

Did I touch myself while I looked?  I so want to say no and that I behaved exactly as I should have.  But just once I could not resist.  I could see how swollen and slick my pussy was.  I just wanted to rub my finger against my clit.  I promise I was only going to do it once.

Did he catch me touching?  Of course, he damn well did.  I have no idea how he appeared so silently at that exact moment, but he did.

Did he punish me?  No, it just firmly told me to “Stop that now,” and that he would deal with “this” tomorrow.

How am I feeling?  Terrified of my caning.  Made worse with the “dealing with this tomorrow”.  And highly sexually frustrated – but I think you knew that bit already.

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