Last night in bed I wondered aloud….what is it about having his hands around my throat that catapults me over that edge of sexual desire and excitement?
Does the fact that this excites me so much make me crazy, sick or perverted?
My Dom looked over in that sweet way he does, and reached over to grasp my throat in his strong, warm hand. “So,” he said, the deep timber of his voice a perfect compliment to my soft gasp, “tell me what this feels like.”
I lay under his hand my heart racing, gently arching against the weight at my throat. No matter the time of day, or where we are, when he puts his hand on my neck a fire ignites at the apex of my thighs.
It’s the possessiveness of the gesture, I am his. When he stands behind me as I kneel at his feet and holds me against his body. My head presses against his thighs and I imagine looking out at the world and smiling. ‘Yes, I am his,” my eyes tell them, “and you will never know this pleasure.”
Lying beside him with his fingers buried in my wetness, his other hand around my neck it impossible not to lose myself in my orgasm. When I reach that peak I shatter, no other explanation comes close to describing the intensity or that feeling.
I don’t remember who initiated it, I don’t care, the discovery that I love this crazy kink as been almost exciting as learning just how much of his cane on my ass I can truly withstand.
He knows just where to hold me, how to take me to that edge and each time. He knows how much pressure I want, and how much pressure I need to push me over the edge. He knows my body, my reactions and my mind, sometimes more than I do.
Even if it makes me crazy, I wouldn’t give up the feeling that comes when I am writhing under his hand, my body quaking as wave after wave of pleasure rolls over me.