Intimate by Jason Luke Page B

here chatting to you. I just mean that whilst Christine was very good at playing the role of the obedient submissive, it was never something that came from her soul. There was never a moment where she spoke during sex that was pure passion. Everything she whispered or begged or sobbed was delivered with the skill of an accomplished actress playing a part, rather than from her heart.
    For me it took the edge off our encounters… but from a physical point of view they remained spectacular. Unfortunately I was looking for a deeper connection. It’s one of the reasons the relationship was so one-dimensional. I just wanted more… and Christine, I suppose, wanted something else entirely.
    The last time we had sex was a Monday evening. Christine arrived just minutes after I had come home from work. She came up the stairs to the front door of my apartment while I was sitting outside, waiting for her. It was hot and there was a small breeze. I heard her before I saw her and recognized the clap-clap of her high-heels on the staircase beneath me.
    When she stepped up onto my level, she was in a smoldering rage, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed. She brushed straight past me and stood, shaking with fury, in my kitchen. I followed her inside.
    She told me she only had an hour. I told her that would be more than enough time. She undressed right there in the kitchen. She was wearing a long dress that clung tightly to the curves of her figure. She peeled it off like it was a second skin and stood in white lace lingerie, her irritated breathing making her breasts bulge and swell from the cups of her bra.
    “Do you want my pussy?”
    That’s exactly what she asked me, and made a gesture with her hand like she was waving a wand. Her panties disappeared like magic.
    We didn’t make it to the bedroom. I bent Christine over the kitchen counter and she stood spread legged and folded forward at the waist. She pressed her cheek against the countertop and I moved behind her. Her pussy was already wet, and when she heard me unzip my jeans her hands bunched into tight fists.
    We both groaned that first moment I entered her. The breath escaped through Christine’s clenched teeth like a hiss of steam and her pussy went into immediate contractions, gripping with the rhythm of her racing pulse. I held myself still inside her and put one hand in the broad of her back to hold her still.
    For the first few moments of long patient strokes, neither of us made another sound. It was as if we were both holding our breath, or maybe we were both waiting for an instant of inspiration. I slid my hands down until I had hold of Christine’s hips and she began to slowly rock back with her body to meet each new lunge.
    Suddenly, and without provocation, I slapped her ass – hard. The sound was a crack like a gunshot and the cheek of Christine’s bottom turned bright red. She flinched and then cried out, more, I think, in shock than in pain.
    I slapped her other cheek with the same force and then took a fierce fistful of her hair, pulling so that her face was lifted up off the countertop and she had to brace herself with her arms.
    I told her she was a naughty girl and that I was displeased with her. I told her that she had to be punished, and then I slapped her bottom again, holding her hair like reins in my free hand.
    Christine bucked and twisted against the pinning force of my cock inside her. She let out a hoarse growl of giddy arousal and clenched her jaw, begging me to teach her a naughty girl lesson she would never forget.
    I froze for a moment and then pulled my cock from within her pussy. Christine deflated and groaned.
    I ordered her onto her knees and barked at her to put her hands behind her back. When she had complied, I circled around, critically inspecting her submissive positioning and posture like a parade-ground drill sergeant.
    We’d never really gone much for the discipline aspects of BDSM in the past – we were both pretty much