Breath Play and dss

A big thing for dss has always been eyes, so when I thrust her against the wall and wrapped my right hand around her throat, I could read her eyes right away. She was taking pleasure, not giving it. And I loved her for knowing that that was what she needed.

Her face didn't give any emotion away; if I didn't know her so well, it would have been easy to believe that she wasn't even turned on by what I was doing. The feeling of not being able to take a breath is different from the feeling of not getting air when you do. It leaves your body feeling empty, void not just of air, but of ability. It leaves you feeling like a shell, merely the casing of what you once were. Human, alive. It is such a perfect feeling for my slut.

Her hands fluttered when she felt she could go on no longer without air, when the world in the corners of her eyes became first blurry, then black- her ability to see, her sense of sight, slowly disappearing, slipping into nothingness. There is no better feeling than completely giving yourself over to a degree such that someone else controls even your senses.

I didn't let go right away. I held fast, staring into her eyes as she struggled to make sound and found (though I had already known) that she could not. Her tongue tried to form words, but with a lack of air, her vocal chords were of no help. Her arms quivered and her body began to shake. I knew that she had orgasmed.

When I let her go, she collapsed into me. Ruffling her hair, I smiled and held her close. "Was that what you needed?" I hadn't asked her for anything, simply took it and yet she had known. She knew that I knew, too. It all happened much faster than she could ever express.

After sometime, we found ourselves wandering the city, I took her to a secluded part of the subway platform, behind the a stairwell where no one could see us and we could hear people coming.

This time, I pressed my entire body against her. She shuddered, knowing full well what my intentions were. I traced my fingers around her neck and asked her if she was scared. It's hard to explain how she feel in these situations. She is frightened, scared out of her mind. But then, it is what she wants: to be scared, to be hurt, to be used.

She only ever meet my eyes when my hand is around her throat. I never instructed her to do so. In these situations, she feels less than me, less than human. I grabbed the front of her neck between thumb and the side of my forefinger and pressed. This was new. It was new and wonderful. In some ways, it was less controlling than usual, but in other ways, it showed how little power I had to exert to put her in her place. It was godly, and it made her shake. She cried out softly when I did so. "Good," I spoke, expressionless as always, "my fuckslut should be always afraid." She can never stop her eyes pleading for pleading for me to let go. My eyes respond with mirth.

The only reason I let her go was a man come around the stairs to await the train. I held her arms against the wall above her head and leaned forward, softly kissing her. It was a show for the man -- the strength in my hands never let her forget what was really going on. I put one hand under her chin, my fingers behind her jaw. I applied more and more pressure, forcing her jaw to jut forward, and stare into my eyes. She knew the threat that was there. The man got on the train and disappeared, looking, somewhat strangely, back at us. Her pleasurable hell resumed again.

I thrust my hips hard into her-- so hard I could feel it in my bones. I told her I was going to use her. She begged. I told her that all I wanted her for was to abuse her for my pleasure. I could see it this time. Her face flickered with feeling for a moment, and her eyes widened. "Oh, I could cum from torturing you." I took her hand and led her to the next train.