Punishments are when he's the dominant one, pulling at your hair and spanking you and whispering the filthiest things in your ears. It's when he's the one in charge, showing you just how much he can control you. "You're mine," he whispers in your ears, and it's the only sound you can hear besides your uneven breathing at the sexiness of it all, "All fucking mine, do you understand? Do I need to fuck you this hard to get that through your head?" He kisses you, his bites you, he lets his words slip into your ears and further heating your skin and your boiling blood. "Say it," he murmurs, "Tell me that you're all mine. Scream it."
Punishments are hot for both of you. He grabs your hair at the roots, sliding you towards him while you're on your knees, and lets you gag on him. He pushes deeper into your mouth, harder, murmuring what a good pet you are, how good are you for him, how hot and wet your mouth is. "Keep going," he murmurs, running his fingers against your scalp as you suck him off, sending signals of white and stars down to his groin, and he tugs at your hair harsher and you deepthroat him. You taste him, you feel him everywhere, you're aware of his hands in your hair as he moans and feels his release explode into vibrant colors.
Punishments consist of him fucking you until you see stars, until you can't feel your legs, until you can feel nothing but him. He's rougher with you -- and he's dirty, not like the innocent story that is told before everyone else. He fucks you hard, grunting like a man and feeling like a man and controlling you like a man has never done to you before. "This is your punishment," he whispers in your ear, pushing your front onto the mattress while digging his fingers into your hips, "You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow and I won't feel half-bad." He kisses your neck, trailing down and down, holding you down to the mattress with his hands.
Punishments are spoken hours before they happen, lips brushing against your ear in a way that would look cute in public, but his hands are tight underneath your shirt and against your waist. "When we get home," he breathes into your ear, squeezing his fingers deeper into your skin as he smirks against your ear at his own words, "I want you to get undressed for me and wait for me on the bed. When I think that you're ready to be punished," -- he lowers his voice, pressing tighter against you so you can feel him against your belly -- "...I'm going to fuck you hard, and I won't stop until I'm done with punishing you for being a bad girl."
Punishments have to do with getting you so turned on to the point where you're dripping, begging -- asking him to untie you and have him touch you. He circles you like you're his prey, his own mouth watering at you before him, all at his command. "No, you're being punished, I'm not going to touch you to get you off, baby," he whispers in your ear, licking a trail of saliva up your pulse at your neck, "I'm touching you to see how far I can get you without letting you come, so you can sit in your own sweat and pant for me, beg for me, but not get anything until I think you've learned your lesson. This is what you get for being naughty, baby."