Chase 3

We hugged, then he stared into my eyes and gently closed a hand around my neck.

I gave him a small smile in return, letting him know I was okay with the touch without encouraging it too much. After all, I'm married to another man. He returned the smile before taking his leave.

Such a quick interaction, but it floated around my mind throughout the day. Until I listened to a fictional fight in a podcast where the main character was grabbed by the neck and slammed into a wall. My breath hitched unexpectedly, and I felt the muscles clench low in my abdomen.

I've never used choking in sex play before, but it appeals to the quasi-submissive side of myself. What if I could pursue this man? What would it be like to feel his hands caress my throat again, to give him my breath?

Maybe he'd use it to hold me down, to stop me from squirming or getting in his way.

I would lay sprawled on my back while he stands hunched over the side of the bed. His arm is extended over me, his left hand wrapped around my neck firmly but without squeezing, just tight enough to keep my head still.

My breath is quick and shudders under the gentle touch of his right hand fingers, dancing lightly across my skin, thrumming patterns along the sensitive areas on my collarbone, under my breasts, down my sides. His touch grows firmer as it travels lower, until he's rubbing circles over my thighs.

A small noise escapes me, and I shift my hips. His eyes immediately snap to mine as his petting stops. His fingers flex around my neck enough to sting, and I'm suddenly aware of my breath, how the air comes in the tiniest bit slower than usual. My core heats in anticipation. He murmurs his disapproval softly, the same tone he uses outside the bedroom. I expected him to adopt a domineering persona to go along with our power play, but the juxtaposition of his strong actions and soft voice only heightens my desire.

His hand stays tight along my throat as he brings two fingers to my lips. I take them into my mouth eagerly, wetting them, tasting the salt on his skin. He moves his fingers low to my other lips and teases the opening, feeling that I'm already wet for him. I hold my breath and swallow loudly as he dips a fingertip into my heat. He dips in a second time, a little deeper, circling, loosening me up.

My hands, which had been clenched in the sheets at my side, go to his wrist at my throat, as much movement as he's likely to allow me to make. I grip tightly with one hand and run my other up and down his forearm before landing it back on his wrist.

At this point, he's done teasing and plunges his fingers inside me. He's merciless in his ministrations, ramming his fingers into me over and over, rocking me back and forth along the bed, his hand rubbing along the side of my neck.

My eyes close in pleasure. I've always had the best orgasms when I had to focus on something else while being pleasured. Like a cock in my mouth. Or a hand around my throat.

Maybe he'd do it just to heighten our pleasure, letting us both savor the feeling of him dominating me. My favorite author calls it "pure male smugness," that carnal ego a man gets that fills me with heat in the bedroom.

I imagine him taking me from behind. Is it even possible to choke someone in that position? I suppose my back would have to be arched substantially for it to work.

I'm on my knees, propped up with my breasts hanging over a pillow at the edge of the couch. He's got one hand around my neck and the other holding both my wrists, which are crossed behind my back. My knees sit perfectly under my hips, giving me a strong foundation in this precarious position. One of his legs is tucked in next to mine, while the other reaches to the floor, planted for leverage.

He knows I like it fast and hard, so he moves in and out of me slowly, tortuously, taking long strokes. It's hard to think about anything but that rumbling impact when he's fully hilted, but he refuses to speed up, despite my efforts to push back into him faster. I softly beg him to please speed up. His response is to lift my head up higher and whisper in my ear that I need to learn to be patient, a skill he tests with each movement.

I may not be able to pursue this, but I can always imagine.