Bitch or Brat?

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“Clarise!” my father exclaimed.

“What?” I snapped.

“Would you like me to bend her over this table and spank the wasp off her tongue?” the visitor remarked dryly to my father.

Oh, I was tired of dealing with heavy-handed men with patriarchal machismos. I didn’t have the patience for that kind of outdated nonsense, especially after what had happened to me this past weekend with my cheating now ex fiancé hitting me and all.

“Listen,” I growled at the presumptuous man, “I will stab the shit out of you if you come anywhere near me.” I wielded a butter knife for emphasis. “I’m not fucking joking.”

“She will not,” my father assured him. “And watch your language,” he added toward me. “He’s not going to put up with your sass like I do.”

“I’ll cut you,” I insisted, glaring across the table. “And sass is my father’s polite way of saying piss and vinegar. Are you sure you want to take this job? I’m too much for you to handle.”

Mr. Security Boss lifted his brow and addressed my father. “Does she always act out like this when she’s stressed?”

“Oh, this is just the tip of the tantrum to come,” I promised. “Just the tip.”

I will be the first to admit I have a bad temper. It’s…a problem. I’m a pretty chill person usually, but when I get mad, it’s like a light switch. There is no medium level. I’m on or off.

“You wanna try me?” I offered.

“Clarise, put that knife down,” my father ordered. “And sit. Stop embarrassing me.”

My father still treated me like a child even though I was twenty-eight fucking years old. However, I did as he asked, throwing the knife on the table with a loud clatter as I collapsed into the cushioned chair with an audible huff. Dad’s heart wasn’t all that good, so I thought to ease up on him, especially since I’d brought home this stress to begin with. Though, truth be told, my heart wasn’t faring much better these last two awful days. My chest hurt something fierce.

“I apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”

“No need to apologize,” the new guy and I said simultaneously.

“She’s old enough to know better,” he added.

“I am,” I confirmed. “But I’m also a bitch. You’ll have to get over it like everyone else.”

“No, you’re a brat in need of a good spanking. I will not get over it.”

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The Brat and the Bodyguard by Tia Fanning

Dear Reader,

What can I say? There’s not much time, so I’ll keep it short. I was engaged to a man who turned out to be an international drug lord. I have fled to my father’s house to hide only to have my ex fiancé issue a very serious threat: I come home to him, or he’ll kill me and my father. Those are my two choices.

So my father has hired a security firm to keep me safe, and he’s paid for personal protection in the form of tall, dark and handsome.

Mr. Bodyguard thinks my bad attitude is more brat than bitch, and he has a solution in mind to correct the problem: a spanking. I was not having any of that. However, when I seduce him on the rebound, I kinda agreed to let him dish out a little corporal punishment in exchange for guaranteed multiple orgasms.

So here’s my issue: He’s held his end of the bargain. Should I uphold mine (assuming we both live through the night)? Please come armed with advice…and perhaps a weapon.

~ Ms. Brat