I am, first and foremost, a small girl. I reach no higher than five foot two and weigh around 102 pounds, and my body has always been more suited to gymnastics and yoga than hardcore heavy workouts. For all intents and purposes, I am not the person you expect to find in a battle of endurance.
That is, until I met Jack.
Jack is my boyfriends best friend. From the moment we met, I had a sneaking suspicion that if given the chance, Jack would be the type to bang a girl like a psychopath. He was tall, lean, and dangerous looking at first glance; his smile had this slightly manic quality to it, a smile he used often. Over time, though, it grew to be very endearing, and the dangerous feeling passed into one of solid friendship and trust.
Over months, me [22F], my boyfriend Aaron [23M], and Jack [27M] have gotten close in more ways than one. If you want to read my first story, you can hear all about how we began to get experimental. But last night… Last night marks the night where my boyfriend and I got way more than we bargained for. Namely, that behind that friendly exterior, behind that cute little smile that he shoots us… Jack is a fucking *monster* that has shown me the meaning of fucking endurance.
~
It’s a Sunday night. I am four glasses into a combination of sweet tea and wine (don’t judge), Aaron is drinking a tall gin and tonic, and Jack is drinking, appropriately, shot after shot of Jack, as it’s the only whiskey we have on hand.
This was not supposed to be a night of anything “special,” not by a long shot. Our friend Jill had just left after a few rounds of the Quiplash (a party game), and we were all lying sprawled across the couches of my living room, talking and laughing, our usual pastime, as the clock approached the early AM hours. Casual fun was on the menu, nothing more.
At some point, however, the conversation goes south. South of my waistband, at least. Sex becomes the main topic as we discuss all the things we’ve done together, a few fantasies we might still have, and suddenly the air in the room gets thick like it always does on one of “those” nights. I put down my glass, knowing that if we’re going down that road, I want to be sharp and ready for it.
Aaron gives me a certain shy smile. I look up at his face, and it says in no plain terms: “I want you to have fun tonight.” My boyfriend has a wonderful way of telling me exactly what he’s thinking without saying a word. With that permission, I know I’m feeling up to take some action.
I crawl up onto the couch where Jack is laying. I lay down, little spoon style, gently pressing into him as we all continue talking. It’s an odd moment, looking at my boyfriends face as I cuddle into another man. I give him a wink, and he winks back. That’s my signal to keep on going. I fidget a little bit, enjoying the feeling of my body against his, and think about how much I’m going to tease him into the next act.
This is the point, of course, that Jack takes an abrupt detour.
In the middle of a fairly bad joke I’m making, he winds his arm around my neck and cinches it tight.
“Shut up,” he says, laughing, pulling me flush against him.
Now here’s the thing. I have a choking kink. Everyone in the room is well aware of this (see my previous story where Jack found that out firsthand). And while belts and collars all have their merits, nothing will ever beat straight up human muscle wrapped around my neck.
Part of me instantly arches back, wanting to rub myself against him, but I catch myself.
“Nuh uh,” I say, “not that easily.”
“Hm?” he says. He pulls his arm tight again. This time, the pressure is high on my neck, stretching my head back. I hear his breath right in my ear.
“You really want to make this a competition? I don’t think you’ll last long.”
He winds a hand through my hair, getting a solid section wrapped in his fingers, then pulls. *Hard.* My eyes water up, and luckily he can’t see it, but I’m feeling too ready to play to ask him to take it easy.
“Too hard?” he asks, voice heavy with exaggerated worry.
“No,” I respond, as firmly as I can. I take a deep breath and hold it.
A battle of wills begins.
Jack, with all his knowledge of wrestling, manages to find at least twenty ways to choke me. Pulsing his muscles, pulling me straight backwards, upwards, downwards, sideways- every movement dragging my body roughly across his. Soon I can tell there’s no getting used to it; he’s varying it far too much, increasing and decreasing pressure, pulling different parts of my hair. We agree that my safe word is me pinching hard on his arm, and I fight not to use it. I want to win this one. I want to *enjoy* this one.
Do you know the movie Deadpool? When they put him in the tank that constantly takes away oxygen, then gives him just enough to catch a breath, then takes it away again? Not a sexy scene in that context, but in this one, it is the sexiest form of pure torture I’ve ever been subjected to. Time becomes completely lost; it’s all about the next breath, the next pull, the next moment of reprieve he’d let me have. It’s such a dizzying loss of control that I can’t do anything but hang on.
Aaron, by this point, has fallen asleep on the couch. Something about this seems to make Jack go bold. Now, he’s forcing me down into his cock with every squeeze, pushing up into me with jerks of his hips. It’s pornographic. It’s fucked up. I am more wet in that moment than I’ve been in weeks.
“Hm?” he asks every time I make a noise. Doesn’t matter if I’m whispering or gasping or moaning. It’s almost like he’s trying to provoke a response, an admission of defeat. I refuse to give him one, even though I can feel my resolve crumbling.
My head is buzzing as I reach down with one hand and grab onto the hard line of his cock through his jeans. He does not stop choking me, even as I squeeze him, hard. I have an odd moment where, in my head, I think that the only way to get a breath is to jerk him off until he lets up. A matter of survival. I’m literally breathing for cock. Christ.
He wraps his other arm around my neck, leaving the other free. He runs it across my exposed stomach, playing across the top of my jeans. I grip his dick even harder, and eventually, he slips under both my jeans and underwear and drags his fingers across my clit. I go fucking dumb in an instant. Finally, God, *finally*.
Jack is a bass player, and I have an odd fascination with his hands. More specifically, when he fingers me, I think he must be doing some kind of satanic ritual. With a few smooth thrusts I am instantly on the edge of orgasm, riding his fingers as I try to keep up with strokes across his cock. I can’t come yet, I just can’t, I tell myself. That would be way too quick, and I’m not done being breathless.
I push away from him, flip over, and crawl down the couch. As I drop my jaw and take him in my mouth I feel a huge gush of precum on my tongue, which makes me moan on his cock. I build up a rhythm, sliding down his shaft with my lips and tongue, until he takes control.
The choking, to put it lightly, did not stop.
Over and over, Jack’s cock rams down my throat. This is not the slow pumping I’m used to when we usually play with each other; this is a full-on face fucking, no moment to catch my breath, just trying my hardest to stay conscious. When I gag, he doesn’t stop. When I choke, he doesn’t stop. It’s unmercifully rough. It’s perfect.
“I’m gonna come,” I hear him whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of me gagging yet again. I open my throat and take him as deep as I possibly can, and then I feel it, wave after wave of come spurting across my tongue as he pulls back. Some of it drips down my lips; I try quickly to lick the rest of it up before it stains my couch (it still does).
I look up, and for a second, I see Jack smiling down at me. Then I pull back, brush a hand through my hair, and take what feels like the deepest breath of my life.
–
“He didn’t make you cum,” Aaron whispers into my ear.
“I know,” I say, dragging my hips over his, grinding down hard. “I guess he’ll have to make it up to me sometime.”
Aaron smiles, dazed. It’s nearing six in the morning, far beyond the time for us to be asleep. I’ve woken up my sleeping boyfriend and dragged him into the bedroom. Jack is dead asleep on the couch, but I’m not quite exhausted yet. I’m craving something, and Aaron seems willing to give it.
“It’s too bad,” I say, biting my lip. “I’d much rather be out there with him than in here with you.”
Insults, at any level, turn Aaron from sweet little boyfriend into a fucking jackhammer. He reaches out, takes hold of my hips, and slams my cunt down onto him. I could nearly cry, that’s how rough he gets, but I persevere.
“Come on,” I say, grinding back just as hard, “come and fuck me like I wish he was doing, right now.”
He rips off my panties, fingers pushing briefly through my slit. Whatever’s there makes quite the impression.
“You’re *so* wet,” he says with a groan.
“He’s that good,” I reply simply, undoing my bra clasp and throwing it off as well. Aaron rolls on a condom, and I slowly take his thick cock, inch by inch, finally reaching that feeling I’d been chasing for the last few hours. Yes, it’s a shame that it wasn’t Jack giving it to me, but Aaron is really giving him a run for his money; he pistons in and out of me relentlessly, holding me down by my hips and pushing as deep as he can go.
At this point, I’m so horny and dizzy and well-fucked out that my mental filter glitches out. Things are pouring out of my mouth, truly fucked up things, as Aaron pounds me within an inch of consciousness.
“Someday, I’m going to finally get on the pill, so other guys can come inside me before you get a turn,” I moan, “and you can feel how well they’ve fucked me out and filled me up.”
“Holy shit,” he says, his face lighting up with a shocked yet animalistic smile. “Don’t stop that, don’t you fucking stop.”
“Pretty soon all your friends will be lining up for this pussy, treating it like a fucking drive through. They’ll dump their come in me and move on. You’ll feel how wet I am then, won’t you?” I am slamming down onto his cock now, swirling my hips every few strokes, leaving him thrashing beneath me. “Your cock alone couldn’t make me happy if you tried. You’re never going to be enough.”
“You *bitch*,” he gasps out, “I’m gonna fucking come.”
“Come, baby,” I bite out, “come inside me, I needed two loads tonight anyway-,”
And he comes, just like that. It’s ridiculously violent and we both break, moaning and laughing at the same time as we collapse onto each other. We’re breathing so heavy I can feel myself moving up and down as he gasps.
“I swear, I hope you’re not mad I called you a bitch,” he murmurs into my shoulder.
I laugh. “Of course not. It was hot.”
I run my hands through his hair for a few seconds. Ten minutes later we are unconscious, tangled up in blankets. The next morning I take off work because guess what, I can barely walk, as well as taking the longest shower of my life.
When I finally finish, I kiss Aaron good morning and head out into the living room. Jack is still on the couch, smiling in his sleep. I don’t let the smile fool me. The devil’s sleeping on my couch, and an angel’s sleeping in my bed. It was a nice night to have both in one night… but more importantly, I learned how much endurance my body can take. My neck still hurts. My legs are sore. I have convinced myself that I am building up a tolerance to long-term rough sex. I am probably kidding myself, but goddamn, was every moment of it absolutely worth it.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/5u4xlr/longterm_oxygen_deprivation_does_wonders_for_a