The Rub

It’s a habit I don’t think he knows he has, but it’s a tell-tale sign to me.  When he is feeling guilty about something, he starts to rub at a spot on his pants.  It’s always the same spot: right leg, just above the knee. 

“Spill,” I order.

I’ve said that before and he knows what it means.  “I didn’t…” he starts, but a raise of my eyebrow stops him from arguing.  “It’s no big deal,” he says, changing his tactics.

“What isn’t?”

He rubs at the spot.  “Um…you know that paper you were working on?”

“The article I’m writing?”

“Uh-huh.  Did you save it on your computer?”

“I did, but I’ve printed off a copy as well that I’m making some corrections in.”

He nodded.  “I know.  I…I kind of spilled my coffee on it this afternoon.”

I rolled my eyes.  “I guess I can print off a new one, although that does put me back a little bit.”

“Yeah…um,” he mumbled, making me realize there was more to the story.

“I…I kind of spilled some coffee on the computer too.”

“What?!”  That got my attention.  I can’t afford to lose my laptop or the information on it. 

“I think it’s ok!” he said quickly.  “No sparks or anything, and most of the liquid went underneath instead of on it!  I cleaned it all off and shut it down, but I made sure everything was saved first.”

I gave him a glare and stood to go to my office.  He followed behind nervously, and waited in the doorway as I turned on the laptop and prayed that it would work.  The thing takes forever to warm up, but finally I heard that familiar sound of Windows starting and my programs going through their paces.  A few more clicks gave me enough security to believe I hadn’t lost any information and the computer was working as it should…except for perhaps the “L” key, which was sticking a bit.  He looked as relieved as I felt when I straightened and commented that it seemed to be all right.  That relief faded as I pointed first to him and then to the patch of floor in front of me.

“You…Here.”

He approached nervously.  “I’m sorry?”

“You will be,” I told him as I settled my foot on the desk chair and hiked him over my knee.  “We have a rule about no food or drinks around the computer, and this is why,” I said as I started to lay some hard swats on his posterior.  “Obey those rules next time or you might end up with a sore butt and a few hundred dollars put out for a new computer.”

I stopped talking then and focused my attention on giving a short but very firm walloping.  He yelped with each swat and called out some very sincere “I’m sorrys” by the time I settled him back on his feet.

“Not again,” I warned.

He nodded, eyes bright with unshed tears.  “I promise.”

“Good.  Now let’s go back to our movie.”

He looked relieved at the way I abruptly ended the issue and put things back into our normal routine.  I gave him a hug and a much gentler pat on his hind quarters before we turned to the door.  As we left the room, I saw his hands rubbing at a much different spot than his knee.  Good.  The guilt was gone, absolved into his butt as the evidence of his rubbing proved. 

On our sofa, he chose to stretch out and lay his head in my lap.  My hand replaced his on his posterior and I took over the job of rubbing. 

A spanking can relieve the guilt and stress from a Brat when handled properly, but a good rub from the Top is a stress reliever for both.