Business Trip & Consequences (Steven & Shawn)
Knowing that I couldn't avoid the business trip didn't help to ease the tension in my stomach. I didn't want to leave Shawn alone even though it was only for three days, from Wednesday morning to Friday. I'd be back home around 2pm if nothing unforeseen came up.
At least Shawn couldn't work himself up into a tantrum that went on for days since this trip came as a surprise to both of us. I had to act as a replacement for a sick colleague; even Shawn should understand that I didn't want to go. Or maybe not. I sighed. This was Shawn I was thinking about, my lover who was as beautiful as he was volatile.
What if he didn't realize his glucose level went too low or too high during my absence? Both events were equally dangerous. He already had trouble with his kidneys though they seemed to be doing better since I watch his diet like a hawk. He didn't need to add anything to his problems.
I cut off the engine, retrieved my bag and climbed out of the car. After locking the car I walked slowly to the door. I loved coming home to Shawn but I dreaded the tantrum he would most likely throw. He knew I sometimes had to travel but that didn't mean he liked it. It also didn't mean he'd act reasonable about it.
I had thought about taking him with me, then remembered he had finished a painting, which he wanted to give his client on Wednesday. On Thursday he had a meeting with the local newspaper that wanted him to draw a weekly comic instead of a monthly one.
Shawn was pretty versatile and liked drawing comics, mostly with young animals for equally young readers to enjoy, and drawing landscapes as well as portraits in acrylic. Now, I wasn't an artist but I recognized him doing an amazing job on anything he tried his hands at. His newest drawing subjects were puppies and kittens. I was pretty sure we were headed to adopt either one of those. I didn't mind. Maybe I should bring this topic up? Maybe even ask this casually after I let the bomb of my trip drop?
I cringed. I made a helluva top. One that wanted to pacify his brat by promising to get him a puppy or a kitten. Oh boy!
The door flung open and my arms were full of Shawn. His hands wrapped around my neck to pull me down and give him a proper kiss. I couldn't resist the temptation and quipped, “Honey, I'm home.”
Shawn smiled at me though it wasn't for long. “Either something terrible happened at work or you just found out that you've got to go out-of-town.”
“The latter,” I sighed, immediately expecting a pout to appear on Shawn's face.
To my utmost surprise it didn't. He looked disappointed but not remotely close to throwing a fit.
“Oh,” he said. “When?”
“Do you have to?”
“Shawn, you know that I wouldn't go if I didn't have to.”
He sighed, then kissed me again. “Oh well, that means I can do a re-run of watching MacGyver without you commenting all the time.”
Surprised, I looked at him. He grabbed my bag in one hand and used the other one to tow me inside.
“Don't throw--” I started. My bag landed in the corner of the hallway with a loud thud. Shawn had at least the good grace to look at me sheepishly.
“Um, sorry about that?”
“What if my laptop had been it?”
“Then it would have made a very different kind of thud?” he replied, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.
“I think your bottom is in for producing some thudding noises,” I growled.
Shawn laughed and took off towards the living room, yelling over his shoulder, “My butt doesn't make any kind of noises. That's your hand.”
Within seconds I caught up with him. He ended up bent over the backrest of the sofa with me applying playful slaps to his butt.
“Steeeeve! I'm done, I'm done.”
“You are? Well, I'm not.”
I pushed his legs farther apart and stepped between them. He looked back over his shoulder, uncertainty whether this was still play or not shining brightly in his eyes. I leant over his back, covering him with my body and kissed his neck. “You're not flipping out because of my trip?”
“It wouldn't change the fact that you have to go and I'll be occupied anyway.”
I exhaled sharply, my breath brushing over his skin and eliciting goosebumps. Murmuring into his ear, I asked, “You want to play?”
He pushed his butt against my crotch. “Yes.”
Monday evening had been most excellent. Before I met Shawn I'd never have thought I'd like erotic spankings. Well, I didn't think about spanking my lover, whether it be for play or discipline, at all. Shawn introduced me to both. I really liked the playful variety. I'm still not sure if it's because Shawn is so incredibly receptive or if I had discovered a very well hidden kink of mine. I don't care all that much about the reason, as long as we both liked it, that's all that counts, right?
Now, the discipline spankings are another matter. I deliver them, even do so without hesitation by now but … they are hard work for me. I understand that it works for Shawn, for us, that he needs this from me but that doesn't make it any easier to put him over my knee and inflict so much pain on him. It's a struggle to go through with the punishments, especially when I'm tired or he isn't feeling well anyway. I had been really glad that he didn't have a hissy fit because of my short trip.
As I drove from the airport towards home, I pondered all this. In the end I came to the same conclusion as always – we clicked that way, top and brat. We were both happy together and each relationship meant you had to work on it to make it better, to strengthen the bond. We just did it in a not so conventional way.
I was looking forward to holding Shawn in my arms, hugging him and caressing him, and maybe to making love to him.
From the distance I saw another car standing in our parking space, Sabrina's car. I sighed and tried not to think about Shawn, willing my erection to go away. No such luck. All I could think of were his hazel eyes, gazing up at me with lust and his chestnut hair, framing his face perfectly. I swallowed, desire throbbing within in me. Shawn was the only guy who ever got to me like this.
I parked next to Sabrina's car, got out and opened the trunk to get my suitcase. I expected Shawn to run towards me but nothing happened. Disappointed, I slammed the trunk shut and walked inside our home.
“We're in the kitchen, Steven!” Sabrina yelled.
Her voice sounded … off. It took me a second to decide why she sounded that way. Fear.
I dropped my suitcase and hurried to the kitchen, all the while thinking, “Not again, not again, please, not again.”
I heard a sudden retching sound and quickened my steps. When I entered the kitchen, Shawn stood at the sink, bent over, puking. Sabrina rubbed his back soothingly. She glanced at me, tried for a smile but only managed to grimace. “Hi Steve.”
Shawn looked at me from watery eyes, then croaked, “Hey.”
I was at his side seconds later. “What happened? How long is this going on? When did you last eat?”
Shawn breathed heavily in and out several times, waves of nausea obviously rolling through him. “Don't know, couple of hours maybe?”
I exchanged a worried look with his sister. She said, “I just thought I'd drop by and found him vomiting. It would probably be better to admit him.”
“Nooooo!” Shawn wailed. He directed pleading eyes at me. “Steve, please, no hospital. I'm fine.”
Sabrina snorted. I cocked my head to the side.
“Okay. Okay, maybe not exactly fine but … but it'll go away soon.”
“What triggered this? Do you have an idea?” I asked.
Shawn averted his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. His shoulders were drawn up almost to his ears and his lower lip quivered. He did have an idea, probably an excellent one, but wasn't about to enlighten us. With his sister standing right behind him, I couldn't convince him to tell the truth either.
“Are you sure?”
“Did you eat something wrong?” Sabrina asked.
Shawn ignored her question. “I'm thirsty, really, really thirsty.”
“I'll get you some water.”
I filled a glass with water and handed it to him. His hands were so unsteady; he had to hold the glass in both hands. He gulped the water and drained the glass, then held the glass out to me. “More.”
I filled it again and the same procedure repeated itself. When he wanted another glass of water, I shot a help-seeking look at Sabrina. She frowned at her little brother, which finally alerted me that something was horribly wrong.
Shawn shook and shuddered; his breathing came in short gasps. I said, “Shawn, calm down and take a deep breath.”
From the corner of my eyes I saw Sabrina's eyes widen in horror. She tilted Shawn's head to the sight and ordered, “Exhale.”
Shawn closed his mouth and took a step backwards. He bumped right against me. I didn't understand what was going on, so I asked Sabrina, “Why do you want him to exhale?”
“I want to smell his breath.”
A small whimper escaped Shawn's mouth. His eyes darted between Sabrina and me. He looked … panicked.
“Shawn, do what she says.”
He shook his head. I turned to his sister, “Is it important?”
“His life could be in danger!” she gritted out. Her hands were balled into fists and her eyes were bright with tears of anger and frustration.
It was all the information I needed. Turning to Shawn I said, “You have one chance to do as she said, right now. If you don't obey, I'll help you along.”
I didn't want to discipline him in front of his sister, absolutely not but I would if he pushed for it. Even though his chin quivered he stared at me defiantly and very slowly shook his head. I spun him around so he faced his sister and applied one, extremely hard swat to his backside. He yelped loudly.
Two pairs of hazel eyes stared at me incredulously but neither of them said anything at first. Sabrina was the first one to speak up, “Call 911.”
“His breath smells fruity. He has hyperglycemia. Oh shit! Steven call 911. Now!”
I did as I was told. I listened to myself rattling off the information on the phone and even thanked the operator who promised me that help was on the way. When I came back into the kitchen, the first thing I recognized, were Shawn's trembling legs. He could barely keep himself upright. As I walked closer, I heard him wheezing and gasping for air.
I sidled up behind him, pulled him against my chest and said, “Help is coming.”
Shawn's head lolled back against my shoulder and he stared at me from large, frightened eyes. His breath did smell weird, as if he'd eaten pears en masse. Sabrina carried a chair over to us and told me to sit down with Shawn on my lap. Seconds later she shoved a bowl in Shawn's hands and positioned his head above it. I felt his stomach muscles tense before he emptied the content of his stomach into the bowl.
Sabrina grimaced and waited for the vomiting to stop. She took the bowl, cleaned it, then handed it back to Shawn. All the while I held him and stroked his belly soothingly.
“Damn, Shawn,” I murmured, “how did this happen?”
Shawn shrugged and Sabrina exploded. “You know very well how this happened! Hyperglycemia doesn't just happen out of the blue, not so severe at least. What did you eat and how much?”
Since he had his back turned to me, I couldn't make out his face. I did, however, have free view on Sabrina's face. The concern, the anxiety was still visible but there was also a lot of anger.
“Shawn?” I prompted.
“I-I … didn't--”
“Do not lie to me,” I said.
Shawn struggled for breath, his hands going to his throat and clawing there. In between gasps he squeezed out, “Pralines. Whole bag.”
My eyes widened. That couldn't be true!
I stared into Sabrina's equally stunned face. Her expression shifted to one of stone. “Maybe Steve got the right idea. You know what? I still have that lexan paddle Dad bought for you. I'll give it to Steve, may he blister your backside with it until the skin comes off.”
She glared at me while Shawn whimpered and scooted closer to me. She said, “I'll open the door for the paramedics.”
“It's going to be okay, kitten, you're going to be okay,” I murmured into his neck, then the paramedics filled our kitchen and took over.
Shawn had spent Friday and Saturday in the ICU where they treated him what they called diabetic ketoacidosis. Shawn barely realized what went on for the first 24 hours; he was too out of it. For a few hours they even put him on a ventilator because he simply couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs.
The doctors only allowed short visits and as much as I wanted to be close to him, every time I could go in, it was a struggle to get me moving. He looked so small, so vulnerable, lying in that bed with all those cables and lines attached to his body. Of course, I always went, held his hand and talked to him. The second night they send me home, told me I needed to be rested and that his life wasn't in danger anymore.
Shawn cried when I told him I was going home for the night. The nurse who was with us, smiled at me and said, “He's in good hands here. You need your rest; otherwise you won't be of any use to your partner. I'm sure he sees it the same way.”
Shawn didn't see it that way, absolutely not, but he relented. I promised him to be back early in the morning and that's what I did. Though he was a bit short with me, he also only let go of my hand when they rolled his bed from the ICU to the normal ward. Dr. Larkin examined Shawn later on Saturday and didn't even try to hide his disappointment in Shawn's behavior.
“You could have died, Mr. Miller and you know that. I only know of one incident where you suffered from hyperglycemia, you've always had much more trouble with hypoglycemia. Well, the good news is that you survived. The bad news is that you might or might not have damaged your kidneys further. If you go on like this, with not getting a grip on your diet, I mean, then you'll be on dialysis in a couple years,” he concluded.
Shawn paled. I closed my eyes for a short moment. When I opened them again, Shawn looked at me from red-rimmed eyes.
“It won't happen again,” he whispered.
Damn true. It wouldn't, I intended to make sure of that but here and now wasn't the place to discuss this in depth.
Larkin left after saying, “I sure hope so. For your own sake.”
As soon as the door clicked shut behind the doctor, Shawn tugged at my shirtsleeve and reached for me. I wasn't sure how I felt about the last few days, all emotions were mingled in one gigantic ball and I didn't know how to unravel it.
I simply followed both our needs, slid on the bed and pulled him in a tight hug. He cried in my arms until he fell in an exhausted sleep.
We were finally back home. The ride home had been quiet, neither of us wanting to say anything. Shawn glanced at me frequently, probably gauging my mood. He knew he was in trouble, I knew it too, of course. Yet, I felt strangely detached. I didn't want to dish out a spanking after I had almost lost him. What was the point of it?
After the whole fiasco with his hospital stay after his diabetic coma almost nine months ago, I had taken control of his diet, which also included measuring his blood sugar level. After a while I still looked at his figures but Shawn was the one doing the measuring again. He had growled at me when I instructed him to use another part of his body for the insulin injection but that had been it. Maybe it had been too early for him to cope with his diabetes again, maybe I shouldn't have left for three days without giving him time to prepare for it. Why the hell didn't I take him with me? I should have insisted on him canceling his appointments!
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I couldn't get past the feeling of guilt, that my absence had caused this. But why did he eat so many of the pralines? A whole bag! It still boggled my mind, especially because Shawn wasn't keen on sugared food. Sometimes he wanted sweets or chocolate but after one piece he usually pulled a face and put it away.
Mechanically, I went through the procedure of unpacking his bag, filling the hamper with his clothes while Shawn trailed after me. He grew more and more twitchy until I couldn't stand it anymore. “Shawn, either help or go and rest but do not follow me around like a puppy.”
Hurt flashed over his face though he unsuccessfully tried to mask it.
“I'm not following you around like a dog but it's really nice to know how much you value me,” he scoffed.
I slammed the door of the washing machine shut, snarling, “Oh, cut it off. We're not playing this stupid little game of yours.”
For a second he gaped at me, his face open as a book. We both knew he tried to bait me to get a reaction that suited him. As I glared at him I could almost see the wheels in his brain crunching to a halt before he changed gears. I never found out what he wanted to say next because the doorbell rang. I went to open it with Shawn on my heels.
Sabrina pecked my cheek, then squeezed past me. Shawn stepped behind my back, one hand fastening on my belt. He didn't like when Sabrina was mad at him nor did he seem to know how to deal with her then. He was, however, an expert at acting all of five years old if he didn't want to be scolded by her.
Sabrina did not play by his rules this time. She circled around me, grabbed his upper arm and dragged him close to her. His eyes widened and he tried to bring me between them, which I stopped after a few stumbled steps. After I had pried his hands of my belt, I forgot all about being his top, instead I allowed my annoyance and exhaustion to take over.
“Shawn, stop hiding behind me. Right this instant!”
He complied, his eyes now filling with tears. I rubbed my hands over my face, not wanting to see those huge tears rolling down his cheeks. Of course, I had to put my hands down eventually and of course, my heart softened when I saw the first two tears slide down on his face. I didn't like to see anyone crying, it usually made me uncomfortable and I backed off immediately. When it was Shawn who cried then … then it was even worse.
I sighed, laid a comforting arm around his shoulder and said, “Don't cry, kitten.”
“Kitten?” Sabrina snorted. “That's the most ill-fitting nickname anyone could use for you!” She pointed at him before she continued, “And you! I thought you'd be different but no, he's got you wrapped around his little finger as well. Oh shoot! Well, if you ever feel like needing to put him over your knees, I brought you a gift.”
Shawn went rigid in my arm. Sabrina shoved a small, rolled up towel in my hand. “You want me to spank him with a towel?”
“No!” she took the towel and unwrapped its content – a transparent lexan paddle.
Shawn darted away from my arm, his voice shrill as he aimed an accusing finger at me. “You told her! You told her! How could you do that?”
Confused, I stared from him to her and said calmly, “Shawn, stop screaming and get back here. I don't know what you're talking about. Sabrina, I appreciate the thought behind your gift but I have to decline.”
“You appreciate the thought behind it?” Shawn echoed. By now, he stood at the bottom of the stairs, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You fucking bastard! How could you tell her?”
I counted to ten. Shawn stamped his feet when my answer didn't come as quickly as he wanted it to be. Gnashing my teeth together, I bestowed a murderous glare on him. He had at least the grace to drop his eyes. Sabrina chose that moment to say, “Shawn, I love you, you know that, but how Steve's able to deal with you is beyond my understanding. You willfully initiated hyperglycemia; you consciously put your life on the line. I want to know why!”
“Yes, you did!”
“That doesn't give you the right to barge into my home and tell Steve to … to ...”
“Spank you?” she retorted.
I could barely follow the conversation anymore because Shawn had said “my home”. It was the first time I heard him refer to our home as his and not mine. My first impulse was to do a little dance of joy but then something else registered. He hadn't denied the fact that he willfully caused himself hyperglycemia. Mentally, I slapped a hand on my forehead – that should have been obvious. I sighed; I needed a re-calibration of my top-radar.
“I was there when Steve swatted you in the kitchen, remember? Suddenly it clicked. Why it is working between the two of you, I mean,” Sabrina stated calmly, her eyes softening. “I'm not judging either of you for the lifestyle you chose. You should know me that well, Shawn. I'll come over in the next days, see how you're doing.”
She walked past me, waved at Shawn, who was still standing at the bottom of the stairs and then whispered to me, “Our Dad used this paddle once, after exactly the same incident, about eight years ago. It's a very mind-focusing implement if you get my drift.”
She hugged me and I followed her to the door, closing it after she drove away. When I turned around, Shawn had made his way up to the top of the stairs. I realized that I held the paddle in my hand and lifted it to inspect it further. Shawn squealed and ran into our bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
I'd never use an implement on him if he didn't agree. I never thought I'd consider using something other than my hand but the more I stared at this light, thin piece of plastic the thought grew on me. First things first though. Steeling myself, I walked upstairs, where I expected to find the door locked. To my surprise it wasn't.
I opened it slowly, my eyes darting quickly through the room. They stuck on a small huddled figure sitting on our bed. Shawn had curled himself in a small ball, his knees tucked up impossible close to his chest. He peered at me from under his chestnut bangs, his eyes red-rimmed and wide in fright.
Moving slowly so I wouldn't spook him I walked over to the bed, sat down at the foot of it and placed the paddle between us. His eyes flicked to it in an instant, a sharp intake of breath accompanying it.
“You didn't lock the door. Thank you,” I started softly.
It earned me the reaction I had hoped for. He relaxed slightly, his shoulders coming down from his ears an inch or so. He pointed to the paddle with a shaky finger and asked, “Are you going to use this on me?”
“Don't answer a question with another question! How often do I have to tell you that it annoys the crap out of me!” he shouted, frustration edged in his beautiful face.
“How often do I have to tell you that it annoys the crap out of me to see you lying in hospital, especially in the ICU?”
Shawn closed his mouth, wrapped his arms tightly around his knees and started to rock himself back and forth. It was a pathetic sight, one I didn't want to see. The urge to sweep him in my arms and comfort him was strong. However, I was stronger and resisted.
“Do you want to explain to me why you willfully caused yourself hyperglycemia, resulting in a life-threatening situation for you?”
Shawn whimpered and his face retreated behind his knees, hiding there. I waited. After a while, Shawn lifted his head, his face now tear-streaked. “I'm afraid to tell you.”
“Because I'll spank you for it?”
A few more tears spilled over at this. He wiped them away before answering, “Because than you'll see what a needy idiot I am. That I'm manipulative to the point where I don't care about my health.”
Whoa. That was … some introspection on his part. “Tell me anyway.”
Shawn sobbed and hid his face again. I listened to him mumbling to himself, taking my time to decipher that he was genuinely scared about me leaving him. Exasperated, I got up, walked over to him and unceremoniously lifted him on my lap. The expected struggle never happened. Instead, he straddled my lap, wrapped his arms so tightly around my neck that breathing became an issue.
“Hey,” I said, rubbing his trembling back soothingly. “I'm not going to leave you. Never. No matter how hard you push, I'll be here for you.”
Shawn cried a bit before pulling himself together. “Everything went well at first. I just … just missed you so much. O'Neill, the client I met up with at Wednesday, brought me the bag with Belgian Pralines. He doesn't know I'm diabetic and I thought I'd just leave them for you but on Friday morning I … I ate one. It was good so I tried another one. Then … then I looked at the clock and knew you'd be there soon and …”
He hiccoughed, pretty badly for a while, and I prompted, “And?”
Shawn shivered, his teeth chattering audibly. I was about to tell him to take his time when he blurted, “I thought if I scared you with me being off from high blood sugar you wouldn't go on any kind of business trips in the future.”
I stilled my movements. He babbled on, “I know it's manipulative. I also know it's not right of me because it's your work and you have to go on these trips from time to time. It's just … at that time it sounded like a good idea somehow.”
“You were angry with me for leaving you alone when I know how much you hate to be alone.”
“I'm sorry, so sorry.”
I pried his head off my clavicle, cupped his wet face in my hands and kissed him. “I'm proud of you.”
His face contorted into a mask of utter disbelief, causing me to laugh out loud. Boy, I was not made for this serious Top stuff; I couldn't even keep a straight face. “I'm proud of you for telling me why you did it even though you were shaking like a leaf. I'm absolutely aghast that you did it but I'm also proud of you. Does that make sense?”
“A bit?” he replied, his eyes again flickering from my face to the paddle on the bed. “W-What about this?”
“Sabrina said your father used it once on you and that it had a lasting effect.”
Shawn snorted while his cheeks flushed. “That thing is evil.”
“Why did your Dad use it? I'm a bit confused as to what Sabrina said.”
Shawn hid his face in the crook of my neck, his exhales brushing over my skin, a warm, tickling sensation, reminding me that he was very alive. I tightened my hold on him.
“I was sixteen and my Dad wouldn't allow me to go to a party and stay there overnight because he didn't trust me to do okay with the injections. I threw a fit but he didn't budge and grounded me. I was, uh, mad at him and told him I'd make his life a living hell for that. I ate a lot of sweets and chocolate throughout the day and in the evening my glucose level was through the roof. I showed it to him, then passed out. I was in a coma for a few days and when I was released, my Dad brought me to his study and used this thing on me,” Shawn gasped for air. “Let's say my coping abilities with my diabetes increased significantly.”
“Why didn't he use it more often?”
“It was a serious implement, only to be used to deal with serious … stuff.” He paused briefly, then blurted, “I think you should use it too.”
“You do?” I asked, surprised.
Shawn pushed off me and with effort locked eyes with me. In a shaky voice he said, “Yes. B-Because I need to know you're not letting me off too easily, because I need to know you'll go through with a harsh punishment. I … I need you to push back hard.”
He brought his hands up in front of his face, covering it with them. The sobs were heart wrenching in their intensity and I didn't know how I felt about this. Could I do this? “What if I can't use it?”
Gently, I took his smaller hands in mine. He said, “I'll do it again.”
I sucked in a deep breath. For the first time I realized how deep Shawn's longing for discipline went. Christ, what had I gotten myself into?
“Shawn, we've seen videos and the people who have been paddled were in serious pain. I'm not sure I can do that.”
“I'm in serious pain after you spanked me with your hand too.”
“Steviiiiiiie, please, don't make me beg. It's hard enough as it is.”
I exhaled noisily, trying to pluck up my courage to paddle my lover. Why did it seem that all other Tops – or at least the ones I've read about – had no such qualms about using an implement on their brat? Either I wasn't a real top or I was the odd man out.
I put Shawn on his feet, right in front of me, then quickly divested me of my jeans. Shawn watched me in confusion. I snatched the paddle and brought it down on my left thigh with a sharp smack. I gasped at the sudden sting. Holy shit!
“Steve! Why did you do that?”
“Gathering first hand experience,” I replied, rubbing the red patch of my skin. “That's gonna hurt a great deal.”
Shawn unzipped his pants, stepped out of them and tossed them on a chair. I watched his hands slide under the waistband of his briefs but there his courage evaporated. His legs shook terribly and his chest heaved irregularly. Large, hazel eyes stared down at me, begging to help him along from here.
I shoved up his shirt, pressed a few kisses on his belly and then removed his briefs. I guided him over my lap, highly aware of his genitals brushing my thigh as I did so. Securing him against me, I delivered a few swats with my hand, watching as his skin color changed from white to a light pink. When I picked up the paddle, Shawn whimpered.
“Oh God, oh God, I'm sorry, Steve! We'll be good when this is over, right?”
“Yes, we will be. Promise.”
“Okay,” he sniffed. His whole body was rigid in fearful apprehension and I wondered if I could really do it. He helped me along by whispering, “I'll do it again, remember?”
“Thank you,” I said, then lifted the paddle and brought it down on his bare bottom. He almost levitated off my lap.
I tightened my grip on his hip and steadily covered each cheek with the same amount of swats. It didn't take long for him to start squealing and kicking his legs. At one point I shifted us a bit and fixed his legs by trapping them underneath one of my legs. Shawn's bottom was redder than I had ever seen it before.
As I lifted the paddle again he brought one hand up on his back. At first I thought he wanted to cover his flaming backside but seconds later it occurred to me that his fingers were searching. I laid my hand on his and he immediately interlaced his fingers with mine. For a moment I was stunned into immobility. The amount of trust he had in me astonished me as well as let my heart soar.
“Almost there, Shawn,” I promised.
Not wanting to draw it out unnecessarily, I landed swat after swat on his sit spot, the noise of paddle hitting skin impossible loud. Shawn broke out into body jerking tears and sobs, desperately crying that he'd be good, that he'd never do something this stupid again, he'd never even think about manipulating me ever again if I'd only stop.
I landed a few more swats, which rendered him completely speechless. After that I threw the paddle on the nightstand, manhandled Shawn until we both lay on the bed, me on my back with Shawn on top of me. He clutched my shirt fiercely while he soaked me with his tears. Choking and sputtering, he clung to me, causing me to fear I had gone too far.
“Shawn? Kitten, come on, calm down. Shh, it's over now. We're good.”
“W-We a-are? R-Really?”
“Oh Shawn. Yes, we are.”
He cried some more but eventually the tears subsided. “My butt hurts really bad.”
I hugged him, searched for a hanky in the drawer of the nightstand and wiped away his tears. We cuddled and to my surprise he didn't fall asleep like he usually does after a spanking. “I thought you'd be so wiped out that you fall asleep in an instant.”
“You try falling asleep with a burning butt,” he grumbled.
“We need to check on your glucose level anyway.”
I helped him to get out of bed, which seemed to be quite necessary if his wincing was any indicator. I quickly donned on a pair of sweatpants then retrieved another pair of mine for him. “They'll be more comfortable for you to wear. You just have to make sure to pull the strings tight.”
Shawn bestowed an appalled look at me. “Can you help me get in them?”
He sniffed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes when the soft cotton fabric brushed over his scorched bottom. We had to pull the strings real tight and roll up the fabric because my sweatpants were too large for him. He looked dwarfed in them but I figured he'd better be dressed as comfortable as possible. I pulled him in a hug, telling him, “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
We went downstairs where I measured his glucose level. Satisfied that everything was in the right range I smiled at him before saying, “You're aware that I'll be the one measuring your glucose levels from now on again, right? I'll also be the one to give you your insulin injections. You also won't go out of my sight without my explicit permission, got it?”
Shawn gaped at me. The not going out of my sight thing was new. From his facial expression I gathered that he didn't know whether I was serious or not. “I mean it, Shawn. You want to use the bathroom, you ask. You want to go anywhere I'm not, you ask. Did I make myself clear?”
“This … this is ridiculous! How long do you think you can keep this up?”
“As long as I feel there's need for us to be together 24/7.”
“You have to work. I have to work!”
“Either you're going with me or I'll work in your atelier.”
Shawn gaped at me. “You are … you are crazy! Oh crap, you're serious about this, aren't you?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied simply.
“I'm not sure I'll like this.”
“You don't have to like this, you just have to do as you're told. Now come on, we'll get cozy on the sofa, watch some TV.”
I took his hand and guided him to the sofa. It was one of those deep ones, which, if you put away the backrest cushions, held enough room for two grown men to spoon and watch TV. I tossed the cushions aside, helped Shawn to lie down on his side and went to the cupboard that held the DVD's. I picked two cases, showed them to Shawn and said, “Your choice.”
A dazzling smile appeared on his still slightly swollen face. He pointed to the case in my left hand. “That one.”
“MacGyver it is then.”
“Without the running commentary.”
“If you insist.”
I slid the disc into the player, took the remote with me and nestled up at Shawn's back, throwing a blanket over both of us. He hissed briefly when his butt came into contact with my body. He squirmed slightly for a rather long time but eventually he relaxed. I kept my promise of keeping my mouth shut, praying that I was never going to have to paddle Shawn again. Some experiences didn't need to be repeated and this was most definitely one of those.