Punishment: A Domme's Perspective by Lady Jolene

He doesn't know what he does to me. He can't possibly understand... I had spent the day in a haze, thinking of how beautifully he had offered his vulnerable bottom to me the night before. I had spanked him 'til tears fell from his eyes, watching his bottom become pink and then red under my strokes.  I watched him tremble to avoid breaking my rule: to not resist a spanking. His devotion to me was so clear in that moment. His offering of his pain touched my heart. I let him know, over and over, how treasured he was for this offering -- made only to please me.

The next day, I was terribly distracted. As I spoke to him about this and that throughout the day, I found my attention drifting  while I longed to spank him again to see how much farther he could go -- simply for love of me. My care for him, and my duty to him restrained me from my intense desire to watch him cry once again like a spanked child . I resolved to myself that, after nearly a week of mentally and emotionally intense play, to give my brand new submissive some space.  He needed it to relax and just be seen as the treasure he is to me.

I spent the evening just speaking to him, talking about everything and nothing, in that way that close companions do. I still can't remember what I was rambling on about. (I do hate to use five words to say something, when I could use twenty.)  Just as I had made what I was sure was a brilliant witticism, I looked up at the screen and saw him napping. I couldn't help but smile, though I also felt a small surge of annoyance. I watched him for a moment, happy, at least, that he was comfortable enough to sleep with me there. After a moment, I woke him, me all stern Domme confronting him for falling asleep and asking if I bored him.  I spoke in a stern, dry tone. Then he revealed to me that even before he fell asleep he had been thinking of other things, paying no attention at all to my erudite blathering. I schooled myself to remain stern, as I hid a smile. Still, the underlying issue of lack of attention remained, and I knew I would have to address it.

I had resolved to tell him, obliquely, that punishment was coming, to let him stew in anticipation, knowing that the next day I would administer a "funishment".  I let his anxiety and anticipation become his punishment. He is a sweet, obedient boy, who really is his own best punisher when he feels he has let me down. I smiled, internally, at the sweetness of his discomfort, knowing that it came from a heart full of desire to see me pleased with him.

Then, the other shoe dropped.

I had given him an assignment, and I had discussed the deadline with him. I had requested a written report, but he had given me an oral report the day before, assuming it would fulfill his obligation. You know what they say about assuming: it brings a sore ass for you from me.  In my book, assumptions are toppish. While none of these "crimes" were serious, taken together, they created a pattern I did not like the looks of, and needed to nip in the bud.

I needed to punish him, and the surge of desire to give him a hard spanking that left him panting and tearful came back in full force. But I had told him I wouldn't spank him today. Finally, I made my plan.  I waited until midnight to confront him about his missing assignment, reveling privately in the pure lust I felt at the idea of spanking him extra hard tonight. When the moment came, however, as I saw his fear and remorse building, my heart was touched, and I comforted him. I told him that he would receive his punishment spanking tonight.

My boy knows how I feel about punishment spankings, though he had never received more than a few extras at the end of a spanking, always for small breaches of protocol. There is nothing fun about a punishment spanking.  There is no warm up. By the end there are plenty of tears, sobbing, and begging. I saw that he knew this in his eyes -- in the way he moved as I told him to bare his bottom for me. Suddenly, I was filled with such a feeling of love and sympathy for him that it made me gasp. I eased his fear a bit, telling him that tonight, while this would still be a punishment spanking, I would not take it as far as I normally would. He thanked me, grateful, and I ached with desire to hold him. Instead, I told him to retrieve his paddle, and to lie across the bed, clutching a pillow. Last night I had watched his bottom carefully, measuring every impact there, but tonight, I longed to see his face as he suffered.

Battling with the depths of my own breathless affection, I told him in a murmur to begin by giving himself five strokes with the paddle. I didn't specify how hard he should give the strokes, assuming he would default to the medium strength stroke he preferred. I was overwhelmed, as he proceeded to give each stroke with all his strength, making a loud crack across is bottom. At the end of this first set, I gave him a break, then checked to see how he felt, all the while grasping... trying to process the display of love and remorse he had shown me. It took me a long moment to resume, but I did, ordering a set of ten.  Again I didn not specify the strength of each stroke.

I watched him, in awe of his beauty, as he worked through these ten strokes, each one hard. I watched in wonder as he let his tears fall onto the pillow that he clutched.   He never missed a stroke, he never compromised. When they were over, he laid down on the pillow, flexing his cheeks the little bit from the sting,  the little bit I allow. After I watched him make a few gasps and after only a little rest., I ordered him to give himself another ten strokes,

These he took as bravely as the last set.  He cried out with each stroke, his voice breaking as his tears ran down his face. Each stroke rang out loud.  He never flagged. Again I gave him a break between sets.  Again I watched him clutch his pillow, working to control his tears as his body rocked softly.  I thought of stopping the spanking here, moved by the depth of what he was given me, certain that he was sorry. But this was a punishment spanking, and it had to be serious. After some soft murmurs of my love, I told him to begin again, watching.  It took a moment for him to comply, and I was about to remind him he was on the verge of earning 'extras' when he raised the paddle, beginning another set of hard strokes.  This time his sobbing was audible. He cried with each stroke.

It was on the seventh stroke of this set that he hesitated, and I knew it was because his suffering was intense. I watched what he would do.  In awe of him I watched as he finished the set with strokes just as hard as he had begun with. In that moment, I loved him more than I thought my own body could handle, and I resolved to bring the punishment to an end soon.

I told him the next set would be his last, and he thanked me, in a broken voice, for ending it.  I told him to begin the final set.  He gave himself the hardest strokes yet.  He was sobbing and crying, clutching his pillow tightly, making the spanking as painful as he could. I both felt my own sense of relief that it was almost over, and -- a storm of powerful lust. My darling boy had given me the most beautiful example of love I had ever seen.

I allowed him to stroke his welted, red bottom, and I watched him as he cried himself out -- gathering back his strength.

I told him I loved him so many times. I told him how grateful I was, how thoroughly forgiven. I whispered to him, over and over, as he stilled and settled, how very much he means to me. But how can he know? How can he even imagine how I gasp for breath at the strength of his devotion, how the thought of him drives me wild with lust? My darling treasure, I hope you understand, what you are to me, and what I feel when your trembling lips whisper "yes, Mistress".