The room was warm; warm enough that Kirk was thankful for his nudity.
	Kirk stood as proudly as he could while still on the leash.
	He counted fifteen of them and shrank away, frightened.
	You were right!
	It had to have been at least as big around as a softball and as long as his forearm!
	On Friday nights, we eat dinner late, just the two of us.
	He works out of town all week, and comes home late Friday, sometimes on Thursdays, but almost always Fridays.
	I always cook dinner at home for him, and eat with him when he gets in.
	He had called me about an hour before to let me know his route and when to expect him.
	I spent that last hour working on dinner, and checking through the house, picking up and getting ready.
	I can see him climb slowly out of the truck, his body stiff from hours on the road.
	I moan into his mouth, hungrily returning his kiss.
	Slowly he pulls away from me, and nods towards the house.
	We chat easily and freely, as I make him a drink and bring it to him.
	The oven timer chimes, and I busy myself serving him dinner.
	Amidst everything else, he is the center of my world, and pleasing him is my constant goal.
	He motions for a second drink, which I bring him, and I clear the table.
	With just a few dishes to wash, I decide to do them then, rather than let them sit until morning.
	Suddenly he stands behind me, pressing against me, his lips gentle against my neck.
	My body hums with need, and I arch back slightly into him, feeling his hard cock straining against his pants.
	My very favorite part of Friday nights is the reconnecting sex we have, after a week apart.
	My breath catches in my throat.
	More than the idea of not having wonderful reunion sex is the disappointment at his being upset with me.
	With my son gone for the night, the house is silent as my bare feet pad up the stairs, and I enter our room apprehensively.
	I slip my dress off and hang it up, and walk slowly to the bed.
	My hands clasp together over my head, and I reluctantly spread my legs wider.
	The minutes seem like hours as I wait for him.
	I jump slightly as he enters the room.
	His hand grasps my hair and lifts my head up.
	Silent tears slip down my cheeks already.
	I hate being punished.
	He never restrains me during a punishment, he expects me to stay in that position on my own.
	The first few strokes are rapid fire, and loud, and I gasp in surprise and pain.
	I want to roll over and get away from that hairbrush and his hard strokes.
	I know he can feel the change in my body, and he loosens his pushing grip down on me.
	I shriek loudly with each blow, sobbing in between.
	Nothing deters him from delivering all 40 strokes.
	He stands there, watching me sob, for several minutes.
	His hand explodes in a sharp slap against my ass, and I cry harder.
	He grabs my ankle, ordering me to move back several inches towards the end of the bed.
	Still sobbing, I manage to crawl back, dragging the pillows with me.
	The cold lube dripped on my ass makes me shiver, and I moan softly.
	He slides two fingers into my ass, spreading the cold lube inside me.
	Suddenly his cock fills my ass, and I whimper at the pain and grip the bedding with my fists.
	He stands there, still inside me, for several minutes as he catches his breath.
	As his cock slides out of my ass, I whimper again at the flash of pain.
	When he returns, he turns down the sheets and reaches beneath me to pull the pillows back to the top of the bed.
	My sobs subside into soft hiccups and occasional tears.
	I crawl up towards him, sore and exhausted.
	He wraps his arms around me, kissing my temple; smoothing back my sweaty hair from my tear stained face.