The Untamable Brat

She’s incorrigible, and he wouldn't have it any other way

She’s even more beautiful than in her photos, he thinks as she walks into the hotel bar.

She doesn’t have to look around too long before she locates him in a corner booth away from most of the patrons in the bar on a Friday night. He’s facing the door so she can see him more easily. Her green eyes widen slightly as she sees him, and she smiles.

He rises as she approaches and matches her smile. They met a month ago on a kink site and spent the last four weeks sharing dirty photos and even dirtier fantasies over text and the phone, but that’s no reason not to be a gentleman. She’s not naked or bent over his knee. Yet.

“Kitten,” he says, taking her coat. They’ve exchanged real names, but agreed he is Sir and she is Kitten. She sets her handbag down and shrugs out of her coat, revealing a rose satin sweetheart dress. He hangs it on the stand next to the booth and gestures to the bench opposite him. “Sit.”

“Yes, Sir,” she says, but she sets herself on the table, long legs stretching to the floor. She looks up at him with innocent eyes. They’d agreed to meet at the hotel, agreed on names, agreed to fuck each other silly, but they hadn’t agreed she would be perfectly obedient for Sir.

“Sit on the seat,” he says, his voice drops a bit, and becomes firmer. His smile has faded, but only slightly. He expects a bit of brattiness; it’s one of the things that most attracted him in their chats.

Very slowly, like a cat waking up from a nap, she stands up and slides into the booth.

“It’s so great to finally see you in person,” Sir says. “You’re even more beautiful and sexy than your pictures.”

“I am, aren’t I?” Kitten says. She runs her hands down each sleeve, then over her breasts. Sir’s eyes follow her hands. “Do you like the dress? I bought it just for the occasion.”

“It’s beautiful. Now behave yourself, the server is coming.”

The server, a tall young man with black hair in a short ponytail, stumbles through asking Kitten what he can bring her. Sir has a perfect view of the front of her dress.His smile widens as he watches the young man fight and lose the battle to move his eyes, his throat working as he gulps.

“Strawberry margarita,” she purrs. “And no salt on the glass, OK honey?” When she reaches out to touch his arm, he nearly drops the empty tray.

“No problem, ma’am,” he stutters.

“That’s Miss,” she says, now running her hand up and down his forearm slightly, and looking up into his flushed face. “You’ll remember that, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I mean yes ma- miss. Another soda for you, sir?”

He nods slightly, still watching him struggle.

“Good boy,” she purrs again and releases his arm so he can turn away. She shifts her gaze to Sir.

“No booze for you, Sir? You don’t need any liquid courage? Or are you afraid you won’t be able to get it up?”

“You know I don’t drink. And you know I just told you to behave.”

She pouts, but her eyes are glinting. “OK, Sir.”