Max’s tone is stern, his face set. Only the slight deepening of the creases around his eyes betrays his intention. This is a game he plays, a game that Latisha enjoys very much. He points to a spot on the floor in front of him. “Now.”
She carries on buffing her nails, giving every outward appearance of indifference. “Busy” she throws over her shoulder, locking down the grin of anticipation which twitches at the corner of her purple-painted lips.
“Put that down and come here. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Oh, but she will. This is a well-rehearsed script for both of them. How far she’ll push it depends on her – Max’s role is to order, threaten, and then punish, hers is to provoke, resist and enjoy the consequences.
She puts down the emery board with an exaggerated sigh and blows on her purple lacquered fingernails, sneaking a glimpse to see whether her casual dismissal is having the desired effect. From the twinkle in his eye – and the swelling beneath his jockey-check boxers, she’s right on target.
“What if I’m fine right here?” Latisha grins at her reflection.
“Then I’ll make it too painful for you to stay there, bitch”
Her friends would be horrified to hear how he addresses her during these games. She doesn’t tell them, doesn’t think they’d understand. She likes it. With her first-class law degree and junior partnership in a successful litigation firm, she’s the absolute opposite of the parody thug-life ornament she plays for him. Which is the point.
Max is tapping his foot and narrowing his eyes. “Get yo ass out of that chair”
He imitates the patois pretty well for a nice middle-class accountant from Dulwich. He’s eased his boxers down on his hips for that low-riding gangsta look. Lean, muscular hips above strong legs and below a very slight middle-aged paunch which Latisha loves to poke and grab in tease. He bares his teeth at her in a feral grin, one which sits disturbingly well on his handsome features.
She smiles sweetly. “Make me, bad man”
In two swift strides he is looming over her, pulling on her braids to hoist her up out of the chair and drag her over to the bed. She puts up a token protest, careful not to rake him with her long nails, enjoying the strength of his arms and the heat of his near-naked body.
“You gonna pay for that, bitch” he growls into her ear and yanks her miniskirt up around her waist. She’s wet and ready, the lime-green g-string a damp rope between her legs, parting her smooth cunt lips and chafing deliciously at her clit. She knows she looks hot, having chosen the colour particularly for its trashiness highlighted by contrast against her dark skin.
“Fuck you” she says indistinctly into the duvet, in the tone of deepest contempt she can muster.
His hand comes down onto her bare bottom with a ringing crack.
“What you say?”
“Fuck YOU!” squeals Latisha, wriggling against the stinging bloom of his palm
“Uhuh. Didn’t hear you.” he slaps her twice more, then wrenches aside her g-string and plunges his hardened cock deep inside her. Pumps once, twice, then withdraws just as shockingly fast as he’d entered.
“Oho, you like that. Nope. Not gonna give you what you like just yet. Time for you to pay me some respect”
He yanks her up off the bed and settles himself in a sitting position at the edge.
“Get over my knee”
She hesitates for a moment, calculating whether to make him take her down, but finding more pleasure in acquiescence. Play-combat is good, sometimes submission is better.
She drapes herself across him and looks over her shoulder with a heavy-lidded gaze.
“I been bad” she says, lowering her lashes. “Make me sorry”
Max, caught unawares by her sudden capitulation, lets out a grunt of satisfaction. Lying across his lap, she feels his cock twitch and stiffen against her stomach and wriggles mischievously. “Teach me a lesson, baby”
“Oh I will” he replies and raises his hand.
Each blow is firm and measured, delivered with metronome regularity, alternating between left and right cheek. The initial sting gives way to warmth, builds to soreness under the relentless rhythm of his hand. Latisha grits her teeth, squeals and writhes in pain, feeling his cock throbbing against her skin with each movement until he grabs her braids to hold her still.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not finished with you like this” he chuckles, knowing she’s trying to entice him to proceed from spanking to fucking and revelling in denying her for a little while longer. “You don’t sound nearly sorry enough yet”
As always, it has become a contest – her endurance versus his arousal. Neither is willing to give in. All she has to do is tell him she’s sorry for being cheeky, all he has to do is ignore the heat of her body and the scent of her yearning cunt. It’s a battle of will that’s only ever played out in these scenes, in all other aspects of their lives together equanimity and civilised negotiation are their guiding principles.
Latisha is nearing the limits of her pain tolerance and Max knows it.
“You hit like a fuckin’ baby” she taunts, giving him her most full-lipped sultry pout.
It’s too much temptation for Max to resist. He pushes her off him, jumps up from the bed and bends over her, rips off the scanty, tacky underwear she has chosen especially for this purpose. She yelps as he stabs his way into her aching cunt, arches her back and pushes back against his urgent thrusting.
It’s over in minutes and they collapse together in tangle of heaving limbs, breathless grins.
“Your turn” smiles Max, his amiable everyday persona restored with the rush of orgasm. Tenderly, he kisses his way down the gap of flesh between Latisha’s crop top and miniskirt. “You took that like a woman of steel. Time for your reward”.
She raises her legs to grip his neck with her thighs and rotates her hips to grind against his circling tongue. If she weren’t so desperately turned-in, she’d be tempted to make this another endurance contest, but already there is tingling and muscle-tightening in her lower abdomen.
This time, she gives in gracefully.