Choking . . .

It is a funny thing for someone to hold your life in their hands.

I do not count myself a submissive, and I have no desire to give up control. Having it taken anyway is a sexy thing, but it is not a craving for me. So when Mr. S has his hands around my throat and colors start to fade . . . for my vanilla self it wasn't quite ecstacy, nor satisfaction. There was a sense of peace, odd only for the fact I should be fighting for my life.

The orgasm that resulted from that sex was itself an odd mix of satisfaction but not satiation. It was very, very comforting to hand my care over to another person, but in the end all I wanted was more. (Perhaps not of the choking, but definitely of that feeling).

By that evening I had a freckling of bruises across my cheeks, which indicates to me that we went a bit far. My concern, which I later raised with Mr. S, is that if my blood pressure is high enough to burse capillaries then I am getting too close to aneurysm territory for my comfort. He was infuriatingly nonchalant about it until I made him look it up.

That nonchalance also struck a deeper worry in me. I know that he would never push me past a safe word, but his inclination not to take me seriously 'just because" made me wonder just how much of my interest he's looking after.

Everyone has an agenda, and like E said in a comment there's no doubting Mr. S has one too.