“Alright cupcake, let’s get upstairs,” he whispered gently. I snuggled in deeper to his chest. “No,” I whined and gave him the patented sad puppy eyes. “Young lady,” he said a bit more sternly, “I said upstairs.” “No.” I replied, this time with my sad eyes turned into an unrepentant, defiant, pouting scowl. He turned and looked at me, a disbelieving look on his face. “Kelly May,” he scolded, using his personal addition to my name, “get your backside upstairs this instant.” I snuggled deeper into his shoulder, “No!”
By this point the brat had completely taken over, and I was having far too much fun to stop. I knew I was going to get spanked for it, but the spontaneity was infectious.
“One…” he began, looking at me, searching to see that internal struggle that is normally there at this point. But there was none. This was what I wanted. I wasn’t going to give in now. “Two…” I thought actually that at three I’d be tossed over his shoulder and carried upstairs, him swatting my bottom as he went. “Three. That’s it little girl.” And with that, and to my surprise (and delight), I was unceremoniously pulled across his lap on the couch as he lit into my bottom, which were clad only in my red lace panties, as I’d taken my jeans off to cuddle.
John has a heavy hand. Really that’s putting it oh so mildly. John’s spankings hurt more than I can explain. And he almost always uses an implement (shudder). But he knew what I needed at that moment. A good, long, hard, hand spanking right over his knee like a naughty little girl.
So there I was, draped across his lap over the couch. He pulled my underwear up to expose what little was covered by my skimpy panties so that he could really thoroughly spank my bottom without baring it quite yet. And all I can say is thank God I ate such a big meal and got some energy back. Because had I had the tolerance I did the day before with Daddy, I would have been crying in seconds. But instead I was back to my old self. Smiling with every ouch, smirking with every squirm, and just continuing to be a total brat until I really pushed myself way farther than I ever intended to go. So as he scolded and spanked my bottom to a very rosy and hot red, I caught an attitude. An interesting mix of petulance and amused defiance. I’d go back and forth between saying straight up bratty, defiant things, and giving the big innocent “who-me?” eyes. Then I said one thing too far.
He looked very very displeased and he scolded (not unkindly), "Is that the kind of attitude I should be hearing from you young lady? After you have already been such a bratty little girl?" I turned and looked back over my shoulder and casually said the 3 words that would come to haunt me. The only thing bratty I could think to say at the time. “Deal with it.”
To be continued....