Shine on, Sunshine ☼

But I've discovered that bratting comes in different flavors and different kinds of bratting usher in different responses.

A brat could rise to meet the challenge with a fierce tone and make me attitude about the affair. This is when the one running the scene needs to physically or mentally overpower. To make the brat know, not believe-- but know; that they are helpless in this moment and have abandoned their desire to fight back.

But they may take an approach of teasing. When offered a suggestion/command they may approach with an air of Oh, will I? that indicates less of a desire to be shut down and more a desire to escalate. To raise the stakes. To up the ante of a scene. This kind of bratting should be met with teasing in return. A reminder of why this dynamic exists and what this scene is leading to. I find when you say something and their eyes flash or they offer a whimper that's when you have them.

Another approach is that coy and inviting tone. This one carries more of a maaaaaybe... tone that may be seem have the language of rejection but the tone of pure invitation. It's an offer. A request for a roadmap, a desire to know where this is going so the offer can be accepted. It's saying 'I am not going to come to you, why don't you come to me?' and the correct response is to tenderly do so. At least in my experience, meeting coy tones with harsh tones doesn't work out.

Bratting is just another kind of communication in the language of a scene. Learning to listen and engage in kind is the key to a good pacing.

Essentially the tones boil down to Conflict, Teasing and Invitation. Each should be met in kind. The bold harshness of conflict should be shut down firmly. The smirking mischief of teasing should be rewarded with more fun and the invite should be met with promise.

I love the conflict for the same reason I love resistance play- I don't want to feel like I'm just playing along, I want to know that I am being overpowered/outsmarted.

I like to call the teasing kind of style "mischievous compliance". Obeying in such a way that makes it clear I'm definitely on board with what's happening and also definitely following the letter of the law rather than the spirit of it, and it's exactly as framed here, to up the ante.

"be good for me"

"edge for me"

"drop for me"

"beg for me"

"cum for me"

"Bethany?" The sound of my husband's shocked and bewildered voice rouses me from my stupor in a way the opening door couldn't, acting as a splash of cold water to my muddled brain and making me realize exactly what I'm doing. It's not enough to make me whip my hands away from Rachel's soft, lush, inexpressibly beautiful alabaster tits, though, despite knowing that's absolutely what I should do; my hands don't seem to have woken up quite as much as the rest of me, and they're very content to continue kneading and groping the warm flesh. My jaw drops in dismay, imagining what it must look like to James.

He doesn't know about Rachel's honeyed tones, drawing my attention down to her expansive chest again and again in ways subtle and overt until I was staring at them with glassy eyes and nodding along to my neighbor's every utterance. He doesn't understand that I was helpless to stop myself from following her into the bedroom, drawn along by her soft, warm, perfectly kissable breasts as if I'd fallen into a waking dream I couldn't escape. All he knows is that his slender, dark-haired wife is kneeling shirtless on our marital bed with her hands all over another woman, and I can't even pretend I meant this as some sort of surprise threesome for him. It's obvious what was going to happen, but still I try to explain. "James, this--this isn't what it looks like," I stammer feebly, knowing how pathetic it sounds.

Bur Rachel of all people comes to my rescue. "She's right, James. This isn't what it looks like. Your wife didn't have any choice, she was hypnotized by my irresistible tits. The moment those eyes locked onto my big breasts, it was all over--my boobs are so mesmerizing, so captivating that no one can help drifting down into a warm, sleepy fog of peace and pleasure the instant they see them. The way they quake, the way they jiggle and bounce and sway with every seductive motion of my beautiful body… it's too hard to fight it, isn't it, James?" I notice this time all the ways she shifts her posture to subtly present her chest as the focus of attention… but I don't notice what it's doing to my husband. Not when my mind is already tumbling back down into a reverie of erotic bliss.

"You remember how much pleasure my titties promise, James. You remember what they did to you. Why would you possibly think your wife could resist me when a big strong man like you fell under my spell so easily?" I should be shocked by this revelation the same way James was shocked to see me groping our next door neighbor, but all of my thoughts and emotions seem to have fallen into a numb and hazy sleep except one. All I can feel right now is a pulsing lust that makes me squirm my way out of my shorts and panties, leaving me naked on top of the bedspread, and I don't experience the slightest surprise when my husband crawls up next to me and reaches out to caress Rachel's boobs right alongside me.

"That's it, my sweet pets," Rachel murmurs, her eyes glittering with undisguised lust at my husband's jutting, urgent erection. "Deeper and deeper, lost in my power, hypnotized by my perfect tits." I lean in to suckle at one breast, James at the other, and together we slide into helpless trance for our neighbor. It feels comforting to surrender to her, even soothing, and I feel my confused and muzzy brain somehow coming to the conclusion that she saved my marriage by hypnotizing us… but then she tells us to sink twice as deep, and even that fuzzy logic eludes me as my mind slips away into oblivion.

I want to know how much you're enjoying yourself. I want the neighbors to know how much you're enjoying yourself.