Girl on the Net

Perhaps it’s my age, or I’m experiencing a sudden and temporary burst of self-confidence – maybe my therapy’s working? Whatever the reason, I’ve been feeling a lot more domme lately. As often as I used to yearn for powerful, toppy guys with wickedly menacing grins, now I dream about bratty subs who have a playfully cheeky, ‘what are you gonna do about it?’ energy.

You might have met someone like this yourself – I’ve been lucky enough to know a few in my life. These insolent men who are crying out to be turned into very good boys.

Forgive me some errors here, I am not used to writing in a domme voice – on the rare occasions that I do, it’s nearly always about real-life men who have enthusiastically consented, not hypothetical ones. I don’t want anyone to interpret my post as a wish for all men to be this way. Or, worse, misinterpreted as a desire that I should personally get to fuck the insouciance out of every single one of them. This is far more consensual than that, I promise.

I miss flirting

Let’s begin by talking a bit about flirting. In these days of up-front dating apps, when you know that the people you’re meeting are a) probably available and b) willing to fuck you as long as you’re not a complete bellend, satisfying flirtation is a little thin on the ground. There is a particular kind of joy in sparking with someone you don’t immediately know anything about. That little dance of ‘will they/won’t they’ as you get to know them, establish rapport, and start gently nudging at the edge of thrilling questions: are you single? Are you into me? Might you be up for a cheeky snog at the end of the evening? I love this kind of flirtation, there are few things in life that set the heart racing in such a pleasing way as the moment when you throw out something a little provocative, to test the waters, and the person to whom you throw catches it with a grin, then returns it enthusiastically. “Yes, and…”-ing your cheeky comment. Simultaneously consenting and escalating.

“Yeah, I’m into you… what are you gonna do about it?”

This chemistry-boosting, playful progression of mutual desire is absolutely where it’s at, dating-wise. The holy grail. It is open and accepting and vulnerable. It does not pretend to be cool or swallow desire for the sake of shyness, but nor is it pushy or demanding. Flirtation at its best is a combination of courage and careful consent. Making your wants known and putting yourself out there, but in a way that is easy for the other person to de-escalate if they aren’t feeling it.

Bratting as a form of flirtation

So we come back to the appeal of bratty subs. Your mileage, as always, may vary, but the draw for me is precisely that this brattiness signifies enthusiastic consent. It’s the “more, please!” of pre-kinky-fuck flirtation. With a note of nonchalant cheekiness, bratty subs are expressing eagerness for a dynamic which puts me in charge, then challenges me to lead the way from there.

And I do so love a challenge.

This energy reminds me of something that happened when I was … umm … young. Let’s say … eighteen years of age. I’d been hanging out with a friend of mine, a boy with whom I was wildly in love and lust. I was, naturally, wearing one of my lowest-cut tops because teenagers are not subtle when it comes to displaying their sexuality. We had some really flirty chat – a playful back-and-forth which skirted round the edges of desire but never expressed it directly. Until one moment when he turned to me, flicked his eyes down to where my tits were presented as if to say “JUST FUCKING TOUCH ME PLEASE” and gestured at the crotch of his jeans, almost bursting open with the fat throb of a truly magnificent erection. Then said something which amounted to:

“You’ve got me really hard now – what are you gonna do about it?”

I won’t tell you the exact sentence, because it involved a metaphor that was massively cringe. But the cringey nature of the specific wording did nothing to hamper the effect: my body gushed every atom of liquid out through my cunt and into the splashzone of my knickers.

Challenge. Eagerness. Consent.

Bring me these men next, I reckon. In the rambling, sticky book that tells the story of my life to date, there are plenty of chapters dedicated to men who’ll command and dominate. Not enough yet about bratty subs who behave like this. Ones who’ll throw out their desires like they’re hurling down a gauntlet, compelling me to consider exactly how I’d like to pick it up.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

There’s a second thread to this that I want to weave together with the one above, and that is tone. One of the reasons I get frustrated when people ask me for a tickbox list of kinks or acts that I enjoy is because… well… the acts and kinks can change depending on a number of factors. Who I’m fucking, what they’re into, and the kit that each of us has in our respective toy chests, for example. The best fucks aren’t about achieving specific things, they’re about establishing connection and tone. Bratty subs establish a very specific tone, then give me a super easy way to join them in that space. They don’t just tell me I’m in charge, they tell me that I’m the boss and here is a thing for which they deserve to be reprimanded.

Cheekiness. Mouthing off. Just being slutty as fuck.

“Yeah, I’m a brat. What are you gonna do about it?”

It’s the sexual equivalent of a dog lying on its back on the floor, legs splayed, eager for belly rubs.

Note that I’m not going to wax lyrical here about the type of reprimand. That all depends on the sub. Some might want a beating, others a good hard punishment-fuck. Some prefer to be denied: punishment through edging, “I know you want this but you can’t have it until you’ve shown you can be a good boy.” It doesn’t matter what they’re angling for, only that they have an angle in the first place.

They want something so badly that they’re making an active choice to provoke me into dispensing it. And they’re making it easy for me to dispense because I no longer even need to find an excuse. As a sub-leaning switch who has sometimes struggled to lean into my domme side, I love the tone a brat conjures because it means I don’t need to find a reason to beat him, or edge him, or pounce upon him and sink in my teeth while I fuck him with a strap on. He’s given me not just consent but outright provocation.

“Yeah, I’m bad. What are you gonna do about it?”

As I said at the start, perhaps it’s my age or a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe I’ve met one or two men recently who absolutely thrum with this ‘what are you gonna do about it?’ energy, and it’s awakened a cougar inside me who is itching to sharpen her claws. Whatever the reason, I’m into this now. It forms the basis of quite a few fantasies, and apparently drives me to fancy men who I wouldn’t have looked at twice when I was in my twenties.

Bring me these men next, I reckon. The ones who’ll squirm and wriggle as I pin their wrists to the bed, telling me they don’t think I could take them in a fight. The ones who, if I playfully scold them for spilling their beer on my carpet, will look me dead in the eye as they pour out another few drops.

Bring me the men who will flirt with me, challenge me, escalate. Who’ll give me lip then challenge me to bite it. Men who’ll meet my playful dominance with a filthy grin and buckets of vulnerability.

Bring me your brattiest subs.