Her pummeling soon transitioned into her clutching at his breast, scraping his already thinned skin with her worn nails, leaving small streaks of bloo... across his flat pecs. The pain was sharp enough that it helped cut through the dullness Stan had felt in his head not moments before. Stan looked down at his sobbing wife, his own eyes watery with tears. This was all for her and the kids. If he hurt them. If he lost control. It would be for nothing, less than nothing. What had he done? He could. Some of them were convinced she was well versed on the subject since she was able to write about it so much with depth and description of emotions. Of course, none of them knew her real name, only her pen-name that she liked to pretend was really the inside her when she grew bored with her boring existence. Sometimes in her stories, she had even gone beyond the spanking exercises and given voice to the sordid use of the female backside for things other than mere reddening with the palm of a. More

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