Girl on the Net

Warning: don’t fucking try this at home. I like getting choked during sex, but I am aware that it’s quite a dangerous thing to do, and therefore I don’t want to encourage you to plough on with this without an understanding of the risks and ways to mitigate them.

Now that’s out of the way: choking is one of my favourite things. It’s controlling, it’s cruel, it’s taboo, it says “hey, I’m going to do this whether you like it or not.” It makes a lot of guys, even ones who are otherwise pretty vanilla, very hard indeed.

There are so many rules about what is OK and what isn’t, and no matter where you draw the line, this usually falls far beyond it into the “danger: this person may very well sex you to death” zone. But I think that’s why it’s good.

My first ever boy used to choke me during sex. Just a little bit at first, enough to surprise me but not enough to actually take my breath away. I thought it was quite fun, and would squeeze him tighter and push harder against him to let him know I liked it.

After a while he graduated to belts, t-shirts, anything that he could easily wrap around my neck. As he was on top of me, he’d grab the nearest thing he could in both hands, and push it against my neck, one hand by each side of my head, and fuck me harder as my face went red and I started gasping for air.

Soon I learned to tap out if things were getting too much. Just as I felt like my lungs were burning and my lips going blue, I’d tap him gently on the shoulder and he’d stop, panting, for five seconds or so until starting again. The spaced-out feeling made my limbs tingle, and made it harder for me to raise my arms. But it also made me wet, and hot. It made my cunt twitch and my stomach cramp up with lust.

Eventually he learned roughly what my limits were, and how long he could leave it. How tight he could pull a belt round my throat as he was fucking me from behind.

Choked during sex: the challenge

Nowadays boys don’t do that. Not because they don’t like it but because they don’t know me that well and won’t push boundaries just because their dick tells them to. They’re scared of losing control and becoming that guy accused of assaulting a girl because he was horny and she wasn’t able to say no.

The first guy who choked me was my boyfriend – he knew what I liked and what I could tolerate, and had the confidence that I wouldn’t run screaming to the police if he did things that were out of my comfort zone. Most importantly for me, he knew that the thing most guaranteed to make him come was the strangled choking sound I made as he forced his cock nice and deep into my ass, with a belt round my neck and my hands pinned beneath me.

I know it’s dangerous, and I know it’s a game you shouldn’t play with people you don’t know too well, but despite all that my heart beats faster if a guy moves his hands towards my throat. If he presses, ever so gently, to see if I’m OK with it.

And as I freeze up and start panting in anticipation of having no air, staring pleadingly at him as if to say ‘do it, please, it’s fine’ I know he won’t. He’ll always have that tiny worry that he’ll go too far. That his lust will push me into a panic attack as he holds his hand there for too long – just a few more seconds, just while he comes. Just a little bit tighter so he can watch my lips turn blue as he shoots spunk inside me.

Boys worry that in the desperate need to come they’ll lose control and forget that it’s not good for me, it’s not healthy. That they’ll hurt me by putting their need for release above my desire to breathe in and out, and that’s not a thing nice boys do – it’s despicable and cruel and violent and everything that’s bad.

They’re right, of course, but that doesn’t stop it being awesome.