Kyla had been friends with James for years, but something had gotten into her head today, on the day they had planned a beach trip, and she couldn’t stop teasing him all morning. She’d been bratty and difficult, and the first time that James had complained, she’d said, “What are you going to do, spank my tits?”
On the way to the beach she’d given a whole treatise on the subject. “Girls today who are sluts,” she said, “are sluts because they have slutty tits. They don’t learn anything from being told off. They need to have their tits beaten, until they shriek. I think that’s what bratty girls need, don’t you?” He’d answered non-committally, uncomfortably, his dick hard.
Then at the beach she’d found herself exposing her boobs to him and asking, “Don’t you think I have slutty tits? They look like whore tits to me. Do they look like that to you?”
He tried to be a gentleman and look away, but she kept hounding him, up and down the beach, because she’d finally realised what she wanted – what she’d *needed*, ever since her breasts had first grown and become sensitive and she’d realised they marked her as a future fuckbunny.
And finally in a secluded enclave on the beach, away from prying eyes, as she wiggled her bare fuckbags in his face one last time, he grabbed her by the hair and pushed her down hard, dropping her to her knees on the warm sand.
It’s finally happening, she thought with delight, and watched with eyes wide as he took off his leather belt, doubled it over in his fist, and then brought it down hard across her breasts, just as she needed, just as she deserved, and she felt her pussy wetten, and her mind melt away, and she focused on the kiss of the leather as he brought the belt down on her whorish melons again and again…
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