“So, have I mentioned you’re really good at choking me?” I asked the Southern Gentleman on Thursday morning while we were still in bed. He was curled into me, I was laying on my back. I like this position, I feel like I’m simultaneously cradling someone and being cradled. Spooning sometimes feels a little alienating and disproportionate to me.
The Southern Gentleman chuckled. I shrugged, “because, like, you’re really good at choking me.” His hand settled over my throat. I shook my head. “Come on, stop it. Number one, it is too early for choking. Number two, it is too early for choking. Number three, you’re going to get me worked up. Number four, it is too early for choking.”
He moved his hand from my neck and started kissing it. Soon, he’s rolled over on top of me, hands yanking up my t-shirt. He leans down and bites the skin right below my navel. I huff. “You’re going to get me worked up. Stop it.” There was that winning grin as his hand snaked down my sweatpants.
I reached down and pulled his hand out before attempting to push him off, “seriously, too early.”
He pulled my shirt over my head and started playing with my nipples. I tried to push his hands away, but I was starting to really enjoy it. His mouth joined in. I was moaning, I was grinding against his leg. He was smiling like a jackal against my breast, looking up at me as he did.
“Too early,” I sighed once more as his hand moved back up to my throat. You can’t say I didn’t try.
He chuckled and his hand moved back down over the waistband of my sweatpants, “then tell me you’re not getting wet.”
“That’s not the point I was making,” I huffed, “of course I’m wet. It’s just too…” He applied pressure. I gasped. My fingers dug into my sheets. His other hand snaked down to my cunt.
I’ve probably mentioned he’s really good at choking me.