You're Such A Brat

Transcript

So you're the girl that all the other girls love to hate, aren't you? I mean, that's not super surprising to me, after all. Look at you.

Look how pretty you are. Of course, you like to cover yourself in all those dark clothing, but underneath it all, look at that pretty, pretty face of yours. And I think you like to believe that they hate you because you don't chase after butterflies.

You don't follow all the social norms, that's for sure. You're a bit darker. You're a bratty, a bratty fucking slut, if I'm going to be honest.

And I can't help but need you and want you. And I can almost fucking hate you. I remember the time when I just met you, and it wasn't even that long ago.

Fuck, I barely knew you, and you insisted that we go eat lunch, and of all places, you picked a terrible, terrible, terrible, horrible place. In the mall. Now, I'm not a snob by any means.

Personally, I don't even eat lunch. But I was enamored by your invitation. I couldn't wait to be close to you.

I was excited to learn about you. So pretty, dark for sure, but she's probably a normal, normal girl, I remember thinking to myself. How wrong I would be.

I remember I had stepped away from the table. My business partner had called to deliver some news. Something important.

Something I didn't think you would care to hear about. I didn't want to be rude, and we had just met. I went to the restroom to wash my hands, shouldering my phone.

I finished the conversation, and then my own mom called, just to check in on me. I told her I was busy, having lunch with a beautiful, beautiful girl. And when I approached the table, I could see, just over the top, two heads instead of one, and they were close together.

Of course, I was confused as I stuck my phone back in my pocket, and as I came around, snuggled in the corner was you and another girl. Your faces planted against each other, your hand between her legs, and the two of you were going at it as if you were long-lost lovers. Completely inappropriate.

In the middle of some commercialized restaurant, in the middle of some mall, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. It sounds contrived, and I sound like I'm some kind of a daddy, but it happened. And I remember sliding into the booth and clearing my throat.

I remember you batting your eye at me and winking. I remember watching your fingers slide between her legs. I remember the blue leggings that she wore.

I remember watching your fingers pushing against her pussy as you kissed her. It was hot, awkward, and I didn't know how to feel about any of this. Check, please, I suppose you could say.

I think I just dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table and motioned for you and I to leave. That day didn't end there, though, did it? No.

You insisted that we take your little friend and yourself back to my place, which was not part of the plan at all. This was supposed to be just a quick lunch and then back to work, of which I had a lot to do. But, hey, I'm a guy, and when a girl, you just meet a dark, bratty girl, a dark girl that you want nothing more than to stick your cock deep inside, has her fingers pressed against the pretty blue leggings of another girl across from you in the booth of a restaurant in a mall in the middle of the day after you've returned from the bathroom, and then tells you that she wants to go back to your place with said pretty girl.

Well, what was I to do? I'll spare that story for another time, but as you know well, the expectations that you set for her, well, that wasn't exactly how it all panned out, was it? You two had no plans in involving me whatsoever, no.

You're a fucking brat. You're a cum-slutty fucking brat. If I didn't know better that afternoon, sitting in that big, big leather-bound recliner that I had recently acquired from that antique store that was going out of business from that nice gay couple, with my arms folded watching the both of you on my couch, with my cock rock hard dripping with pre-cum, well, well, I guess you could say it wouldn't have surprised me to see little fangs popping out of your pretty little fucking mouth.

And when you two were done, you both left. The imagery, oh, it stuck with me, and I didn't hear from you. I knew you weren't a monogamous person immediately, I knew that, but wow, I mean, wow, guys could be dicks, but wow.

And then, a month, month and a half later, ding, I get a surprise text from you. My dark little bratty fucking slut, hmm, she's looking for me again, well, I hope she doesn't think that I'm gonna facilitate some kind of a bisexual fucking playground for her and her girlfriend this time. I hope that's not what she thinks.

That's what I'm thinking anyway, and maybe, maybe I'm a fucking fool, but there's something so torrid, so fucking raw about you, something that I, I just can't, can't, can't keep away from. We have a short conversation over text. You send me a pretty picture of your pretty face with your hair dangling over your eyes, and your tongue sticking out.

You caption it, I want angry, rough sex, I want you to fill me with jealousy and spite, and when you're moaned, I want you to fill me with your poison, wow, is this, is this girl serious, I think to myself. Before I even get that thought across, another text comes through. You've pulled the back of that pretty black, dark skirt, no surprise, that you're wearing up and taking a shot of your ass and sent it to me.

Does this piss daddy off? You caption that. Ah, boy, I don't even know what to say.

There's so much to say, but all I want to do is see you, well, more than see you, there's a lot of things that I want to do to you. I see you've done a really good job, a really good job of disrespecting me on our little lunch date, and I'm happy to tell you all about it. And so we go back and off a bit, further down in the conversation.

You tell me that the idea of somebody dressing you up in an outfit that they've just been dying to fuck you in sounds super hot, even romantic to you. It does sound kind of hot. You sound so fucking unhinged.

I want to come get you right now, take you wherever you are. I ask you what your plans are for the evening. I'm tempted to slip in, almost chaotically tempted to slip in good girls, just to catch your reaction, but then I think twice.

Later on that evening, we decide on, well, I decide on some pseudo dinner, but this time, this time you're coming here, and you're coming by yourself, and I expect you alone. I remember you saying something like, sir, which I find both contrived and a little condescending. And then you tell me that you'll do anything that I want, as long as I'm willing to hold a knife to your throat while I explain what I'm going to do to you.

I don't know about that. Well, when six o'clock rolls around, and I hear that little hand knocking on my front door, Mr. Nice Guy leaves the building, and in his place is me.

Yeah, he's here for you. I'm so happy that you're here. I know that you didn't come here for any kind of a soft ass fucking man.

You, you like to talk back, and you don't listen, isn't that right? I greet you at the door, grabbing your arm and pulling you inside. You look adorable in your black little outfit.

I bet you love dressing up for me. I bet you loved dressing up for me and shaving your legs. Having your super soft skin for me to wreck and mark.

Doing your makeup so perfectly, because by the end of this evening, it's going to be running down your face. Whatever feminine lingerie you've got under that little black cute fucking dress, it's going to be all over this fucking floor. When you are absolutely fucking cock drunk in a few hours, overstimulated, brain dead, and whimpering, as my hand goes back and forth across your face for the umpteenth time, I'm going to keep telling you to use your words.

You understand that, don't you? And when you're sitting on my cock, brain dead, slack jawed, your own fingers in your mouth as you bite them to keep your own self from drooling. How's that going to feel? How's it going to feel with my hands wrapped around your throat when I tell you to open that pretty little fucking mouth of yours as I spit in it, my cock, deep inside of you?

Do you enjoy that? Are you going to enjoy that while you think about fingering your little girlfriend in front of me? That, that is what I've got planned for you.

And all this talk, all this talk is just talk because you, you've just gotten here. You've just gotten here and we've barely, barely gotten started. You're a desperate little pussy is just begging, begging to be bred, isn't it? You're so fucking cute.

So cute. As you sit there on my couch, spreading those legs. You're going to be rubbing that fucking slit impatiently looking at me, looking at me with those dark but cute little doe eyes, panting, whimpering like a little puppy in heat.

You're going to be thinking about that fantasy, that fantasy of being fucked in front of other people. Thinking about what it's like bouncing on my dick while my hands are wrapped around you, cupping your breasts, squeezing your nipples, biting your neck, leaving a mark, slapping you across the face. What do you think about that? I think you'd like that.

I think you would also like if I called you a fucking princess. My princess. My little princess as I take my hand and put it underneath your chin, squeeze, watching your little tongue pop out of your mouth as you look up at me.

So, so cute. You're a good girl too, aren't you? Good girls bark and beg and whine until they get attention, so what are you waiting for? Do it.

You need to be treated, treated like a princess so bad. Treated like a little, little princess or a little dog. You want me to?