Control is what gets me off sexually. Having someone willingly submit to you, or, even better, forcing them to submit to you even when they fight you, is intoxicating. Luckily, I get to experience it in a consensual way. Who knew. Watching my partner writhing in pain and discomfort from something I am doing to her makes me hard, even at the age when getting and staying hard may no longer be as easy as some 30-40 years prior. And having control over whether she gets to breathe or not is as hot as it gets.
…My hands move to her throat. Very conspicuously. She needs to see it, to feel the thrill and the fear of what’s coming. By this time she is already horny and had a few orgasms, building up. It won’t do to just start choking her out of the blue. So, she is all subspacey, lost in sensations. And now my hand are on her throat. She feels it. She realizes how vulnerable she is. Instant fear in her eyes, and then… the fear is still there, but there is more, the need, the yearning to become a plaything again. I am inside her and feel the wetness and the movements betraying her need as much as her eyes do.
I am always in control of myself during sex. Letting go is not my forte. Well, I might let go for an instant here and there. But, as a dominant, I find that the real enjoyment does not come from climaxing, or from thrusting, or from physical sensations in general, though those are a nice side dish. The main course is always playing with her. Physically, sexually, and, if I am in the right state of mind, playing with her mind. As I have observed at play parties, it’s the element of theatrics that gives a D/s play its allure.
…I squeeze her throat just a little, enjoying the fear in her eyes. Not enough to cut off her air supply, but very much enough to see her anticipating it. It must be a curious state for her, feeling safe on one hand, knowing that there is no actual danger, yet also being scared of what happens next. I squeeze a little harder now. She labors to breathe through her constricted windpipe now, looking almost panicky. “Scared now, aren’t you?” I sound cold and mean, adding to the panic. If I could mimic Voldermort’s voice without her cracking up, I’d probably do it. If anyone was good at that mind play thing matching the physical torture, it was definitely the Tommy boy.
This is when being in control comes handy. Breath play can turn dangerous if the dominant gets carried away. You have to observe your partner constantly, gauge the strength of your grip, her mental state and emotional state, her skin tone, everything. I don’t pretend to be an expert, and I have not read much on the topic, but I do try to read her at all times, and always stay on the safe side. And I am infinitely grateful to her for letting me control her like that.
…I cut off her air supply completely. Her eyes go wild. I revel in her helplessness and terror. She tries to breathe, but no air is coming in. She keeps trying, again and again. I keep my hold and smile coldly. A few more seconds. She starts thrashing, trying to get free. Fat chance. I am in control, and she is just a plaything, remember? I hold. A bit longer. And then… “Come, bitch!” My voice is commanding and not to be denied. She comes, hard, for an instant forgetting that she cannot breathe. Funny how it works.
An average human brain can survive several minutes without oxygen. Though one would pass out from the lack of oxygen after a couple of minutes, unless trained. My personal record of holding my breath under water, relaxed, in a pool, after a dozen of really deep breaths, is just over two minutes. I can, or could, when I swam a fair bit, to go maybe one and a half length of a standard 25 m swimming pool without surfacing, if I pushed myself. We are not in this kind of a situation, however. She was already breathing hard before I had even initiated the breath play. Fear and adrenaline rush makes one burn the precious air supply even faster. So we are not going for a record here by any means. Again, safety first.
… Her orgasm subsides and she resurfaces, mentally, realizing how precarious her situation is. Now is not the time to push her more, so I release my grip. She gasps. Suddenly air feels like a luxury one has to fight for. At the same time, the feeling of being controlled to this degree flips some switch in her mind. Her eyes are wild and horny, her face a needy grimace of desire, her loins twitching, her lips the ones above and the ones below, are engorged and moist. The sound that escapes from deep in her throat is an incoherent animalistic growl. Sweet music to my ears. That’s where I want her. I let her take a few rugged breaths, then, ever so slowly, again tighten my grip on her throat. Round two!
We do not engage in breath play all the time, and when we do, it is only a small part of our… sessions. Depriving one’s brain of oxygen is best done sparingly, however titillating it may be. There are many other ways to ratchet up the intensity of play. Physical, verbal, mental, emotional… there are so many choices, and we have barely scratched the surface after having been together physically for over a year now, and involved sexually for over two years. But when we do, it’s a quick way to increase the depth of submission and to keep the arousal levels up, for both of us. After all it’s an embodiment of control and dominance, the only game in town. And neither of us would want it any other way.