100 percent BRAT

I want her to know I'm the only one who will ever fuck her again. I love being her partner, her husband. I know this little brat will never stray. She's as addicted to me as I am addicted to her.

I pull one of the silks nice and taut, and then I reach for her foot. I tie the silk to the edge of the footboard then wrap it around her ankle. Tight enough to stay. She's panting now and her fingers run over her breasts, her nipples, past her belly button.

When she touches her pussy, I give her a grin. “You think that's gonna fly with me? You touching yourself, getting yourself off?” I shake my head, clucking my tongue. “I guess you really do need to be taught something. Don't you?” I tie her other ankle to the footboard. And then I take hold of that hand that's dipping inside her sweetness and I tie it to the headboard. “Oh, God,” she says, “what are you gonna do to me?”

“I'm gonna fuck you. I'm gonna fuck you until you remember that you're supposed to be a good girl. My good girl.”

With both her hands and ankles tied, I mount her. My cock is thick and ready and I begin to take her the way we both so desperately crave.

“Oh God,” she whimpers as I enter her sweet cunt. “Oh God,” she cries.

“I'm not going to take my time,” I tell her. “Not like I did with your pussy earlier. You asked for this. You understand?”

She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to do anything besides submit. I've tied her up so nice and good that she can't reach out and stop me. She's under my control. Right where she belongs, and really, it's right where she wants to be. For all her teasing, I know she loves the fact I am her man. And that I am in complete control. Dominating the situation.

I fuck her. God, do I fuck her. Nice and hard. My cock enters her sweet hole. Her pussy lips are tight around my shaft. And fuck, I know I'm a lucky man. Her man.

This memory will be seared into my mind just like the night we got engaged.

I proposed to her after we'd flew to Las Vegas. She'd never been there. She told me she had a fantasy of visiting a strip club. And I thought that sounded kind of hot.

We'd flown first class. I told her she should pack light. The truth was I planned on keeping her in that hotel room most of the weekend. And God, did I ever.

We went to a strip club just like she wanted and watched those girls dancing on stage. She was mesmerized. Not because she wanted to hook up with any of them, but she loved the way they moved their bodies. How in control they were of their sexuality, of their skin, of their intrigue.

When we got back to the hotel room, she told me she wanted to dance for me like that, that they'd given her some ideas, those strippers at the club.

I loved her innocence, her interest in making sure I was pleased and satisfied. “You don't have to act like those girls,” I told her. “I don't want them. I want you.”

“I know,” she said, “but I wanna make sure you're really turned on every time we fuck.”

“I am,” I say. “All you've gotta do, Bree, is pout those lips of yours and tell me something naughty. And I'm caught—–hook, line and sinker, yours.”

She moved in front of me, telling me to sit down in that chair in the hotel room, and she gave me a lap dance. I'll never fucking forget it; it was so damn good. It's a core memory at this point, her teasing me with those big, juicy tits, offering me her cunt as she gyrated against my lap.

It was sexy. Sure. But what was even hotter was that after her lap dance, I pulled out a diamond ring from my jacket pocket and popped the question.

“Marry me,” I said. “Be my wife. Give me a lap dance like this every anniversary and I'll die a happy man.”

She was unable to speak with tears in her eyes. Love in her heart. “Why are you so good to me?” she asked. “I have nothing to offer.”

“Oh, baby,” I said, drawing her to my lap. This time fucking her wasn't on my mind. The only thing I was thinking about was making sure she understood, making sure she knew that this was so much more than sex. “You see me,” I told her. “You trust me. You love me. You make me feel like the best version of myself. You have dreams for your life,” Anda you're gonna make cakes. You're gonna make cookies. You're gonna make pies. And you're gonna sell them to everybody in town,” I said, running my hands through her hair, tipping her chin up, making sure that when I spoke, she really heard me. “I believe in you, Bree, in your dreams and desires. And I love how much you believe in me.”