Breath play was new to me, as were most things outside my vanilla experiences. The first time he wrapped his fingers around my throat I wasn’t sure what to expect. He just kept his hand there at first. Slowly he applied a little pressure, then a little more, then a little more. I was hooked. Which was weird for me because I am a little claustrophobic about some things.
The pressure of his hand on my throat made me feel alive. That may sound a little “romantic”. Breath play to me was always scary. My imagination was way worse than the truth so there is that. His hand on my throat made me aware. Aware of myself, my breath, my ability to breathe and kept me present and in the moment. That was the biggest lesson I learned from it.
We didn’t explore this to any depth other than his hands on my throat. He would be on top of me applying pressure and looking into my eyes. My focus was razor-sharp on his eyes. It was a connection I hadn’t felt before. I had many first connections with him, but this was the most aware I had been of them. His eyes always got a little darker when we played. In those moments the color went from his normal caramel brown to a deep dark almost black hue. When he looked down at me, applying pressure and releasing, sometimes rhythmic and sometimes no rhythm at all, it was as if my entire body was weightless.
Our structure of play could become predictable, but the little details were always different. I found myself wishing he would wrap his fingers around my throat. I knew without much analyses that it was his hand that I loved more than anything. I loved his hands on me. The feel of them, the softness of them, but mostly, the pain and harshness they could inflict on me. I didn’t want cords, scarves, or other things around my neck. Except for the one time he put a collar on me and called it mine. Even with that and what it meant to me, I still wanted his hands around my throat.
There were times that I wanted it so badly I waited for a moment that I could “submissively” suggest it. I would reach for his hand pull it to my throat. He would smile and oblige. He controlled pressure and frequency. My suggestion of it gave him something to tease me with and control me with. Most of the time it was he that made the decision but he allowed me to suggest it and I suggested it often. If I was on top and he reached for my throat, I would lean into his grip. My subtle way of asking for more.
We were careful. Looking back now maybe a little too cautious. I remember that feeling and like most things we did together, I miss it. Everything we did was personal and based on trust and this was no different. When I leaned into him he always made me look into his eyes (If I wasn’t already). He never broke eye contact with me. He would smile when he could see the light and airy feeling that was running threw me. Always checking in and talking to me to make sure I was with him. The truth is, I was never with him more than I was in those moments.