It all started because I couldn’t wait for him to get off the computer. My attempts to distract him from a standing position weren’t working, so I slid down between his legs and knelt there, nibbling playfully at his cock through the jeans. He made a low growl in his throat and leaned down to kiss me. His hands slid around my throat.

He stared down into my eyes, his lips lifted off his perfect teeth in a half-snarl, and I gazed back with wide eyes. His hands tightened. I could feel pressure mounting, my ears roaring with it, face tingling, stars at the edges of my vision. I didn’t struggle. It seemed like a question, or a dare: How much do you trust me? And oh, I wanted to know.

Suddenly he was slapping me in the face lightly. I didn’t know why. I felt euphoric, amazing, my body a tingling haze of static and butterflies. Still, I was vaguely embarrassed, like I’d been caught daydreaming in class. My mind must’ve drifted in conversation, but so far as to lose myself entirely?

“There you are,” he said, half-smiling at me. “Isn’t it nice to have someone to catch you?”

“I don’t understand.” Maybe I had fainted, like the other day in the shower. “What happened?”

“I choked you out,” he said. “Just for a second. You lifted your hands up, and then they fell. When you came around, you made little snorting sounds. It was kind of cute.”

I made a face, tentative in my confusion.

“Your eyes didn’t even have time to close.”

“That’s a little creepy.”

“You were smiling.” He’s teasing me. “Maybe that’s just because I was slapping you.”

“No,” I said slowly, “it’s because it was so good.” Imagine waking from a dream you can’t remember — only that it was indescribably pleasurable — and you’d be close.

Later he picked me up bodily and perched me on the edge of the bed, so our faces were the same height, and throttled me while I clung to his forearms, looking up at the fuck-mask of his handsome face. His brow creased and his eyebrows drew together, and his teeth drew off his lips in a snarl, and whether his eyes were intent on me or half-closed, I knew their purpose was to hurt me. I could never remember the color, whether they were green, or brown, or gold. Wolf eyes.

When I realized I had gone and come to that split-second later, every nerve ending in my body fluttering with the vicious joy of being alive, I said: “Oh, God, that’s dangerous. I can’t even describe how good it feels, coming out of it. I want you to choke me out while we’re having sex, and come to with you fucking me.”

My body would have none of it. He tried, though. At this angle his weight was on the airway, making me cough and choke. Tears ran down my face. I panicked and fought him, tried to pull his death-grip off my neck and shove him off with my knees. He ignored me utterly. My struggles didn’t even pause him in his fucking. With his weight pinning me, his hips pounding between my thighs, I could not have stopped him short of sticking a thumb in his eye. He always let me go just short of the peak of my desperation.

My makeup ran in dark circles. I gasped for air. He growled in frustration as the condom slipped, and pulled out to check it; a second’s reprieve, then he spat on my cunt and plunged back in. When he registered my shock, he spat in my face. I flinched, feeling it thick in my eyes, on my slapped and stinging cheeks.

When he came, arched over my pinned body, it was with such ferocity that saliva dripped from his mouth onto my breasts. He made inhuman noises, lips peeled back from his teeth. He growled and thrust and snapped at the air. I shook and stared at his face, at the vein pulsing in his crimson forehead, and thought in awe: my God. This is what it’s like to be fucked by a beast. Or a demon.

When we first got together, I described the sex as apocalyptic. I’m sticking with it. I know what it’s like to feel that if the world ended, I wouldn’t mind.

Posted in submission (or the lack thereof), face slapping, rough sex, breathplay, spitting, the lawyer