My Hand On Your Throat Wile You Go "Please,Please

I can't take my eyes off the exquisite veins pulsing just beneath the skin, pumping life and consciousness from your heart to every extremity. Your thoughts are there. Your desires are there. Your wants and hopes and dreams; your hunger. Your essence courses there just below the surface, and each throbbing expansion and contraction is like a signal to me; a pleading.

"Please," it says. "Please. Please. Please."

I have to fight the urge to wrap my hand around your throat. Each time you swallow, I watch the erotic musculature performing its job, and I can imagine the frenzied fight you'll provide when I make that simplest act difficult. I can imagine the feel of your esophagus trying desperately to swallow the moment it realizes it can't.

My fingers twitch, hungry for the pressure points it knows by instinct. My cock swells, anticipatory of the closing off of your airway, the shutting down of your blood. I am ravenous to watch your skin redden and your eyes widen in disbelief. I crave the strained sound of your voice, the way your hands will grab my wrist in hopes of prying loose my grip, knowing you won't be able to. I imagine the luscious look of your eyes rolling back, your shoulders twitching, the spit on your lips as you struggle for your own survival.

I long for the intimacy of that pleading look that begs me to stop, to give your life back to you.

And I get harder from the control.

I long to kiss you as you slip from consciousness.

I want to feel your cunt grip my cock as your world goes dark.

I need the spasming of your body underneath me; your cunt slick and eager despite the assault. The frightened little moans escaping your mouth; the ragged sound of your remaining breath slipping out of your lungs; the blood squeezed off from your brain.

Red skin.

Gritted teeth.

Open legs.

Wet cunt.

Sweat-glistened skin.

Your vision blurring, constricting, as you slowly slip into my oblivion.

And then you gasp.

I finally release my grip to watch your mouth widen in gratitude. The color drains from your face as you jolt back to awareness. It is an instant moment as your cunt grips harder around my cock, the orgasm ripping through your body as you return to consciousness.

I love that moment of realization that your body has betrayed you; craved the thing you've struggled against. How delicious, that moment when you've already slicked our sex with your desires before you've fully returned.

And I love looking down into your eyes as you come back to the surface. I can watch your eyes regain their focus, locking onto my face, and you realize you are still in the throws of your climax. I can see myself reflected in your dilated pupils; my hunger and arousal and desire as I move more insistently inside you.

I take you as you ride your own waves of arousal, your look of confusion as you come back to full consciousness, your hands covering your face in disbelief. Your mouth forming a prayer to God as your body shakes and convulses.

You laugh at the overwhelming cascade of sensations washing over you.

The lingering pressure still felt on your throat.

My cock swelling inside of you.

Your pleasure and mine still rhythmically meeting inside you.

The warmth of my body against yours; inside yours.

The night air pooling around our bodies.

That musical laughter that betrays your incredulity that you could enjoy someone playing with your life.

That disbelieving sound as I continue moving inside you, even as you shake your head.

And then the sound of surprise and surrender as my hand clasps your throat once more. The look in your eyes when you realize I'm going to choke you over and over again until I'm finished with you.

And my laughter now as you struggle. My voice calling you the names you hate; reciting the list of your carnal desires that drive you wild; recounting the way you've cum and the ways you will. I can feel the waves already building once more in your body, and I will choke you through each orgasm until I spend myself inside you.

That is what I imagine every time I look at that delicate skin protecting your vulnerable throat. When we walk through a store or sit across from each other at lunch, or watch a movie, or share a drink, or any of the myriad vanilla things we do each day.

I am always aware of your throat.

I am always aware that I will have it in my hands once more.

I am always aware of it calling to me.

And I am always hungry to indulge.