- Self soothing -
Her throat had always been a clenched fist--tight with unspoken words, memories of rejection, the phantom ache of her daddy issues. It had only ever been a place of tension and pain. Words once choked there. Memories lodged like splinters.
Alpha's cock does not invade Anna's throat. It understands her pain and offers empathy--patient and undemanding. It simply offers itself, without pressure or force. A gift for Anna to choose, on her own terms.
And with Alpha's cock inside her, that fist finally began to open. Like a cramped muscle spasming into release. A hard knot melting into softness.
Her throat recognized the calmness of his presence, and slowly, it learned to soften. The muscles no longer resisted--they worked with him instead of against him. Her tongue flattened. Her lips sealed gently. Her gulps found a soothing rhythm, a gentle pulse that brought relief.
Alpha didn't rush her. He didn't demand. He waited. Still and grounded, offering himself as something safe for her to wrap around. Something steady. Something that could be inside her without hurting her.
His cock became more than just flesh--it became a tool of comfort. A conduit for her to release tension she didn't even know she was still holding. The act became a form of connection. A rebuilding of trust. Her throat, once a cage of pain, became a space of calm--of choice, of healing.
His cock perfectly fit the shape of her ache.
- Holding back pleasure -
Anna's rhythm began as a way to soothe herself. A way to breathe through the ache. To quiet the noise inside her body by filling it with something steady. Something that listened without asking. Her lips sealed gently. Her throat opened and closed in calm repetition. Her tongue lay flat, submissive and soft, as if telling her nervous system: you're safe now.
She was healing herself around his cock and Alpha felt the sincerity of it. Not just the heat and pressure, but the intention. The way her body held him without performance. How his cock nurtured her mouth.
The rhythm Anna had found--slow, deliberate, purely for herself--was unintentionally erotic. She didn't know she was pleasuring him. That her quiet focus, her organic rhythm, her gentle pulses, were coaxing pleasure from him like steam rising from still water. From the bottom of her throat, she gently pulsed around the head of his cock in quiet waves, each contraction like a soft kiss sealed from the inside. Alpha could feel how much she needed this for herself. How much it soothed her pain.
His cock was achingly hard, desperate to respond, desperate to throb. But Alpha held back his pleasure. His cock rested inside her like a wick inside a flame--feeling everything, responding to nothing. He didn't thrust, move, or even breathe too deep. His restraint was a commitment to her. To give Anna the space to feel not him but herself. To use his cock to quietly self soothe. Having her most vulnerable space occupied by cock gave Anna a sense of safety.
- Anna's invitation -
Anna's gaze lifted slowly, her big doe eyes soft and glistening, reflecting a quiet intensity. She looked at him, and in that look, there was no uncertainty, only trust. They weren't just seeking to be seen. They were an offering. An invitation.
Then--movement. A single contraction. Subtle, tight, low. The ring of muscle at the bottom of her throat, tight as a kiss, squeezed once. Gently. Just enough for him to feel it. She released it quickly, tilted her head slightly, and batted her eyelashes up at him. To show how cute she is.
Another squeeze. Another kiss from the bottom of her throat. Controlled and intentional.
She found a rhythm. An easy rhythm. Of batting her eyelashes and squeezing his cock tip with that little ring of muscle in her throat.
Her message was unmistakable: I'm ready. I trust you. I'm yours.
She wasn't just offering him participation. She was inviting his pleasure to experience this with her. Not just physically--but emotionally and deeply. It was a promise that she would enjoy his pleasure and fall even deeper in love with him for it.
It was the most vulnerable offering she had ever made.
- Alpha taking control -
Alpha reached down and gently pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft yet purposeful. Then, with a steady hand, he cradled the back of her head--strong and possessive. Not to guide, but to hold her there, in the moment, under his gaze. His thumb brushed against her cheek, a silent affirmation of her submission. His voice, low and steady, wrapped around her like a warm cloak.
"Good girl."
It wasn't a praise for her submission. No, this was deeper. This was recognition. Recognition of her bravery and her trust. To be open and to surrender. Her body, once so tense, now offered entirely to him.
Then, without hesitation, he began to move. The thrust of his hips slow, measured at first, testing the limits of her throat, savoring every inch as she adjusted. He watched the way her eyes welled with tears, how she remained still--not out of need, but because she wanted to give him everything. Not because she had to--but because it connected them deeper.
Each movement wasn't just about his pleasure; it was a teaching. A shaping. His body moving with authority, guiding her through every inch of the rhythm. This wasn't about using her--it was about molding her pleasure. It showed that he loves every inch of her throat, every pulse of her body.
Her body responded beautifully. Her throat yielded to him, accommodating his size with each slow, deliberate thrust. No resistance. Only surrender. Because this wasn't just obedience--it was a bond. A silent agreement between them.
Alpha slowly guided her into deeper intensity. When she tightened around him in reflex, when her brow furrowed or her lashes fluttered with strain, he didn't slow down to comfort her. He slowed down to watch. To savor the way she let him control her, to watch as her body adapted, slowly, exquisitely, to his every movement. His beautiful, obedient girl, struggling with such grace.
Her pain was his now, to love and to reshape. And as time passed, the pain she felt stopped being resistance. It became a prayer. Each contraction of her throat around him was no longer a protest. It was her surrender. Her body claiming him, welcoming him. Her eyes, glazed with pleasure and submission, met his, not pleading for mercy but silently begging for more. He could feel her beginning to understand. Her throat no longer merely accepted him--it welcomed him. Her body had become a temple of devotion dedicated completely to him.
- Anna entering throat orgasm -
The contractions in her throat started to take a life of their own. They turned into waves of spasms that were no longer a reaction of discomfort, but of pleasure. And when the wave had passed she switched back into conscious squeezes, waiting for the next wave to sweep her away. Her body was crossing some invisible line, where her mind could no longer parse choice or discomfort or time.
There was only him. His cock. The sensation of being filled and used and guided. She felt her lips tremble themselves around his base, her eyelashes flutter like she was dreaming through it, lost in some hazy in-between space where pain melted into pleasure, and submission wasn't just an action--it was a state of being. She was spiraling. Gently, deeply, with no intention of coming back.
Her body was giving up conscious control. Her throat gripped him in erratic, involuntary pulses. Not resistance--worship. Like her muscles didn't know how else to respond to him. Her thighs twitched, her ass jiggled, and he watched--patient, proud.
He didn't speed up. In fact he slowed down. He became perfectly still. She was his now. Completely. And every mindless flutter of her throat around his cock was proof.
Then--her limbs locked up. Then trembled. Her back arched in jerks, like something inside her snapped--then poured out. Her esophagus clamped down on his cock and veins bulged from her neck. The twitch in her thighs turned to violent spasms. Her fingers curled into fists as if gripping some invisible thread of reality.
And then--release. Silent. Devastating. Beautiful.
It tore through her like a wave of heat, centered in her throat where Alpha was. Her whole body went limp except for her esophagus. Her limbs released tension and her arched back fell flat against the bed. Goosebumps raced across every inch of her skin and her nipples peaked against the cold air.
And her throat--her throat milked him.
That tiny ring of muscle at the base now pulsed in tight, rhythmic spasms. Orgasmic spasms. Her lips around his base, tongue against his shaft, and the ring of muscle at the bottom of her throat all flexed in sync, working as a single unit to milk Alpha's cock with a grip that no conscious motion could replicate.
With each spasm, the shape of his cock imprinted along her neck, the ridge of his crown, the width of his shaft--etched there for him to see. Her body had memorized him. Her throat was stroking him from the inside in perfect, helpless bursts.
Each contraction made a beautiful sound. Wet. Honest. Helpless and cute. Hiccupping little gulps of suction that clicked and sealed and broke again like liquid breath. Hk-k. Hk-k-k. Hk-k.
Her throat and mouth excreted thick, gooey, clear saliva that lubricated every surface of their connection. Her throat produced so much that it oozed from her mouth.
Her body stayed limp and her throat didn't stop. It was a constant state of climax. A transformation. Her throat milked him as if her body had been hijacked by something primal and permanent. Her body became the squeeze. The suction.
