Stay-At-Home Brat

Practising

Sebastian and I will have fun before my new stay-at-home brat era begins because summer is for enjoyment—and practice if you ask Sebastian—and practice goes before fun. And I have to pursue this opinion since I once was dumb enough to agree to the arrangement of our relationship and its rules. It's all good, though—at least until I need to pause my TV shows for some stupid practice hour in the kitchen.

I wait by the worktop, where all the ingredients and tools are set and ready to be used. The recipe has been jotted down on paper and taped to the wall so I can easily see it the whole time. The only thing that's missing is Sebastian—my instructor.

Suddenly, I feel my ass being slapped, and I squeak out of surprise. It shouldn't be a surprise around here, but it is. Imagine if I did the same to him! I'd never be able to sit again. I cringe at the thought of it. Turning around with a small glare, I catch Sebastian. Of course, who else would it be? ''Don't be such a man!'' I scold.

''Don't dress like such a brat,'' he ripostes, propelling me back around. ''You wouldn't wear those skimpy tight shorts around me if you didn't want it.'' He smacks me again, chuckling smugly to himself.

I wrench my hips, whining, ''Stop it! I wear them because they're comfy, and it's warm!''

''Yeah, possibly that, too,'' he admits. ''But, you're a brat and will do everything to draw my attention–''

''You wish,'' I sass.

He snares his arms around me, his hand grasping my chin to tilt my head back. ''I don't have to wish when I literally have an attention-whore in my arms.''

''Rude!'' I purse my lips and furrow my eyebrows.

''The truth,'' he remarks, letting me go. ''Get on with it now.''

''It takes one to know one,'' I whisper almost inaudibly but not silent enough for him to miss it. The third slap comes within a blink, instantly followed by a yelp.

"Be good now and follow the recipe,'' he urges, reaching over my shoulder to tap the recipe on the wall.

I sigh. "I am good, but I don't find the recipe super fun.''

"You are a bit bratty and unfocused.''

I shake my head and get on with it, grabbing the box of eggs for starters. Cracking eggs and whisking them is within my ability, but having Sebastian as an observant makes me somewhat nervous. It also rouses a bratty longing. I have to constantly remind myself of the consequences I will meet if I squirt oil in his face or whack him with a spatula.

"...Stop whining," he scolds.

"I'm not!" I groan. "I just rather let you do this." I look back at him, pouting and fluttering my eyelids cutely.

He grasps my face gently, stroking his thumb over my cheek. "You are the one who needs to practise, not me,'' he says in his characteristic uncompromising tone. ''Carry on with your good work.''

I hum, pretending to continue for a minute until he steps away. Now is my chance to do one of my favourite things; I run off in a huff.

"Oi, little Soph!" he calls. ''You have one chance to come back!''

Dismissing him, I run to my room and hide underneath my duvet with my phone.

--

Soon, I hear my door open. "That wasn't nice or responsible,'' he rumbles.

I continue to be not nice and ignore him until he yanks my duvet off me. "It's not fun!" I exclaim petulantly.

He looks down at me, sitting down on the edge. ''Weren't you keen on becoming my stay-at-home brat?''

''I'm not keen on practice!'' I huff and cross my arms over my chest.

''But you can't cook, and you need to cook yourself lunch at least when I go back to work.''

''I will figure it out then.''

''We will practise now, and you need to do as I say–''

''Or what?'' The words stupidly slip off my tongue. I know better than to ask that question. 

He seizes me, flips me around and tows me over his knee, and despite my fuss, I am no match for him—nothing surprising about that. I'm not surprised by the volley of smacks, either, but they still make me squeal. Neither the spanks nor my squeal peters out any time soon. I rest my forehead on my arms, the mattress muffling my pathetic noises.

He lays his palm down on my throbbing ass after a minute or an hour. Who knows? Time passes so much slower in this position. ''Are you motivated to behave yet?'' he asks solemnly.

Not if it includes cooking practice. I lift my head a notch and mutter, ''Yeah.''

''Your tone is not convincing,'' he states. ''I don't think a simple spanking will have a good enough effect on you today, though.''

I believe for a second that this is when the spanking ends but I am wrong. A sharp swat has me wincing. Another cascade of smacks hit me—a shorter sequence but not less forceful. It leaves me whining and writhing over his lap.

Wordlessly, he hauls me up, clasps my hand and leads me out of my room. I grudgingly walk after him through the hallway and into his bedroom. His bedroom is slightly more promising than his library because he keeps no canes here.

''Get on the bed, pull your shorts down and if any underwear fits underneath them; pull them down as well. Then, position yourself on all fours,'' he instructs commandingly.

Am I getting the belt, maybe? I shuffle to his bed, scrambling up on it. Reluctantly, in a huff, I slide my shorts and thongs down to my thighs. I lower my hips to sit on my heels while he has his back turned on me. I'm not going to spend an extra second in a humiliating position.

''If you're not in position by the time I turn around, I will give you another spanking..."

To read the full chapter (the last scenes are too nsfw for Wattpad), you need to go over to my Ream page!

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