"I'm home."

Its always little things, the way the breath catches in my throat when I hear the door open, the eager leap up from my place on my couch and scampering to greet him. He always pauses at the shelf by the kitchen where he empties his work pockets, cleans out the notes, keys, little tools and miscellaneous crap that accumulates and I throw myself at his feet, kneeling low, my forehead pressed to the floor between his feet waiting for him to finish. I arch my back like a cat stretching, reaching up with my ass, swaying provocatively, waiting with breath bated... and finally it comes, he reaches down and spanks me with his work hard hands, reaching down to the tender tops of my thighs, demanding the gasps and soft cries of pain. Yesterday it extended past a few exacting smacks to an unexpected test of my enthusiasm. I squeal, squirm and giggle with excitement. He pulls up my shirt and the smacks continue up my back and flanks and then return down, past my tough ass to the tender thighs and finish up with a a dozen sound thumps to the valley between my legs...

He pulls me to stand and wraps his arms around me. Holding my trembling body close, he laughs and kisses me, "I'm home."

"Yes, Master is home. How was your day?"