He has an understanding but firm demeanor. He knows my errant ways and knows how to address them. He has a steely eye and its raised eyebrow, and a deep voice that he never has to raise. He smells good and augments that with a splash of spicy cologne. He has a large, well-manicured hand, and a strong and hairy forearm (that I love to see bared from his rolled-up shirt-sleeve while I stand before him). He has an innate sense of justice and mets out that justice mercilessly. He inflicts that justice to my bared and proffered backside as often as needed, for my own, good, and I love him for it, for who he is, for how we mesh.

When not in trouble, he makes me laugh as profusely as he makes me cry when I am in trouble. He shares with me his time and attention, meals and conversation, and perhaps most appreciated, his erect cock.