That Time Pup Was Celibate For A Little Bit, Part Ten

Before the whole break from messing around thing, Pup used to grab my face like this all the time. (He still does now, sometimes when I’m being a brat, sometimes when he’s fucking me.) When I went to show him out that evening, he did it again as I was mid-way through some bratty little comment.

Before he left and after he’d torn my tights up, Pup had gotten up to his feet and stood over me. I was teasing him, making some comment about how I didn’t want to sully his “sacred vow,” when he lightly applied pressure from the heel of his foot into my diaphragm. 

(Hey readers: Don’t try this at home. You’ve got a bunch of fragile-ass bodily infrastructure going on in there. When I say lightly, I mean really freaking lightly. Pup was massively careful with this and I don’t want any of you hurting yourselves on my account, okay?)

I coughed. No matter how hard I tried to breathe in, I couldn’t. I could take little shallow puffs of breath if I really tried to, but otherwise I was effectively cut off. I’d never experienced breath play like that before, and I gasped for breath when he drew his foot away.

“Are you sorry?” He asked.

I couldn’t help myself. I felt my mouth spread into a smirk. Pup’s foot lowered back down and I gasped for breath. 

“You’re a little bitch, you know,” he said and lifted his foot for a moment. I had barely enough time to catch my breath before he moved it back down. “You’re selfish. You deliberately provoke me. You’re a disgusting slut and I am going to ruin you.”

It stopped about there. My eyes were starting to get glassy with subspace. He read the signs and helped me sit up, talking me out of it.

And still, when he went to leave, I made a bratty comment. That’s how I knew we were back to normal.