“Poetic, you like breath play.”
“And I know you.”
“Yes. Rough, do you need a demo bottom for your breath play class?”
“We should probably practice.”
Rough stood and beckoned me from the porch into the cabin.
It was early in the event; most people had yet to arrive. We crept through the cabin trying our best to not disturb Gray was napping before dinner. We found an empty quad in the back, new beds barely broken in.
Whispering in the empty room, Rough asked me about my previous experience with breath play. I informed him only one other person had used blood chokes on me: NHF in Minnesota. I described NHF’s technique; Rough was familiar with it. I also mentioned how NHF had taken about 7-10 seconds to get me out.
Rough had me stand at the edge of a bed. He stepped behind me. Asked me to lift my head. Point my arm up and to the left at a forty-five degree angle. He wrapped his arm around my neck and squeezed.
I felt my body fall through the air, but I didn’t feel the impact of the bed, though I may have heard it. It was as if I were moving through water, as if I were a marionette and the strings on my body had been cut. I never went out, never forgot where I was. But for a moment I lost control of my muscles, lost the ability to stand.
Rough stood over me. “That was faster than seven to ten seconds.”
I smiled into the mattress. I talked to him about my experience. Explained what it felt like.
“You were in that sweet spot, loss of body without the loss of consciousness.”
We decided to go a bit farther. Again, my arm rose. Again, his arm wrapped around my neck. He squeezed and I held my arm up. Held it with all my might. Held it until…
When my eyes opened, I had forgotten where I was. I don’t know what I dreamed, but I know I dreamed something. I looked up and saw the ceiling. When I registered I was in a different place than I had been, that what I thought was real was actually a dream, my memory came crashing back.
I was at camp. Rough was behind me. And I was high as a fucking kite.
I was so gleeful, so full of the awesome with life, that I couldn’t stop smiling. I picked my body up off the bed. Rested on my knees on the floor. Looked up at Rough. I couldn’t remember feeling this good in so long. I was so appreciative of Rough for giving me this gift, for imparting these feelings in my brain, I asked him an odd question.
“If it is not against your dynamic, may I kiss your boots?”
I bent over and met my lips to his leather. I kissed both his boots in appreciation and adoration for my experience.
My Wednesday had been shit. Setup had been difficult. And hot. And full of starts and stops. And took so long. Before I laid on the porch of the cabin feeling dejected. My camp had just started, but it felt like all my possible glee was gone.
And then Rough’s arm had been around my neck. And my world felt right again.
Rough had other material he wanted to go over before class. I stood, my back to the wall, Rough standing in front of me. With a quick move, he clamped his hand over my mouth and nose. I tried to hold back my lizard brain, tried to keep myself from struggling. But soon enough I couldn’t stop my hands from grabbing his hold. His other hand found my face. I flailed about. I pulled; he followed.
And then he let go. And breath rushed back into my lungs.
For his next practice, he instructed me to give him a double tap when I wanted him to stop. Again his hands clamped over my mouth and nose. My hands twitched. My feet stomped. I held out for as long as I could trying to stop my lizard brain from reacting. But, eventually, I tapped on his arm four times.
“You know, since that was a quadruple tap, I shouldn’t have let go.”
He pushed me up against the wall. His fingers pinpointed on my neck. I slipped once, twice, before I felt my muscles about to give out. Rough slipped his knee between my legs to stop my descent.
“How are you?”
“How do you feel about face slapping?”
Rough hit me hard across the face, left to right. He grabbed my head and bashed it against the wall. All the while, my arms lazed at my sides, scratching against the wall.
“What’s with the gripping?”
“When I’m cuming, or when I’m about to cum, I grip. When I’m turned on, or wet, I grip. It’s fun when I’m on a bed.”
Rough sat on the bed to my left. I settled against the wall for a moment, perfectly happy, before transitioning to the bed on my right.
“Why would anyone take drugs when you can do things to make your body this high?”
I rested my head against the wall, lazing in my post play haze. In that moment, I was completely uninhibited, and decided to be bluntly honest.
“You have this look in your eyes. You always have it. It’s… gripping. Intoxicating.”
I saw his satisfaction at my revelation.
“You know I’m gonna write about this, right?”
“Kinda figured. Just wait til Tuesday.”
In that moment before dinner, before it was time to wake Gray, I realized I didn’t have my notebook on me. I needed to take notes, now. I made my way back to my cabin.
As I skipped towards my temporary home, a giddy-happy-bubbly-girl, I stroked my neck and said over and over again to everyone and no one in particular, “My life doesn’t suck. My life doesn’t suck. I love my life.”
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