Random vignettes from the weekend pt 2

"Strip," I told him.

He'd fucked up. He'd managed to irritate me, and that's hard. He ignored what I told him, and it was going to cause me consequences.
He does that so very rarely that my response is always divided- part of me wants to forgive him because it's so rare and just not get angry with him.
The other part wants to beat the everloving shit out of him to ensure it stays so very rare.
Balance. I try to stay in the middle.

I looked him over- he really is beautiful, my Kat. His workouts have a very nice effect, and his body is a pleasure to look at. I love the broad shoulders, the thick muscles of his chest with his hair trimmed to just enough to tug on, the planes of his belly and strength of his legs. And he has an adorable ass. But tonight I was tired, and still a little pissed, and I wanted this over with so I could go to bed.
"Over my lap."
He obeyed, and just for a moment I enjoyed the sensation of his weight across my legs, balanced across my thighs, stroking his thighs and ass idly. "How many do you think you deserve for ignoring what I told you over and over?" My voice was soft, but I could hear the thread of anger still in it, and from the way he tensed I know he did, too.
I like asking him these questions. He knows that the rubber loop paddle is my punishment toy- he hates it, it's too much for him to process with anything like pleasure. So I'm curious what he'll answer.

"20, Ma'am."

My eyebrows rise, and I know he can feel my surprise. His voice is absolutely miserable, and as I process this- his misery and guilt and the desire to atone for his mistake. His willingness to take this pain he hates for me, I feel myself melt. The last of my anger slips away.
I love this man.

"You're feeling brave tonight." The words are a mild test. I know how he meant it, and it's got nothing to do with the usual idea of bravery. It has everything to do with courage, though. Real courage.

"I deserve it, Ma'am." His voice is still so rough, still so full of misery.
I almost want to suspend the punishment, wrap him in my arms. He is such a good boy for me.

I tell him this. Tell him that I'm proud of him. I don't even remember what I said, I spoke with my hands and my body and the tenderness in my voice.

And then I picked up the paddle. "15," I told him. "5 less, for being so good for me."
And then I brought it down.
He sucked in his breath and his body tensed. He hates it, and I'm glad. I want this never to happen again, but I know it will because he's human and I'm human and we fuck up.
I bring it down again, fast, multiple blows and he's counting for me, "2, 3, 4, 5! Ma'am"
I stop every few blows and rub the marks I've made. He's gritting his teeth and shaking his head and I bring it down again and he's counting for me and I love him so much right this moment.
To suffer like this for me, there is a divinity to it.
I stop at 14 and rub his back. He's shaking a little, and I warn him. "This last one is going to hurt like a sonuvabitch," and just as he nods I bring it down again, all the force in my arm this time.
He makes a sound like a stifled howl and I lean into him, press his cheek to mine and whisper to him how good he is, how proud of him I am, how much I love him. I tell him it's over, that he's not to think of it again and he is making small sounds and pressing into my hand and my cheek and when I kiss him his eyes are shiny.

I play with him for a bit after that, other random toys in my bag and while I love it, while it's fun as always, I'm still shaking inside from how beautiful he is as he hurts for me.
Goddess, I love this man.