I Discovered a Fetish That Took My Breath Away

Hello, whoever you are reading this. I’m not really sure why I’m writing it down, I suppose because there are things one needs to tell someone, even if that someone has no face or name. I’m twenty-four years old and, strange as it sounds at this age, I’m still discovering what I like. My body is a territory I’m only just beginning to map, and every so often I find a new corner that leaves me trembling.

That afternoon was one of those times.

It was an ordinary Thursday, one of those days when the house falls silent and time stretches out. I was bored, restless, with that energy that gathers in my lower belly when I have nothing to do. The truth is I’m almost always like that, turned on by anything and everything, but that day I wanted something different. I wanted to find out what I felt like, what mood my desire was in.

So I did what I sometimes do: I got into bed, opened the laptop, and started looking for videos. I went through three or four sites and nothing caught my attention. Everything seemed the same to me, mechanical, too brightly lit, too fake. I was about to close everything and take a nap when, almost by accident, I came across a different video.

A girl tied up. Her wrists bound above her head, her body arched, and someone just out of frame bringing a vibrator between her legs. It wasn’t the bondage that caught me, not even the vibrator. It was her expression: that mix of surrender and desperation, as if her pleasure didn’t fully belong to her. I kept watching longer than I meant to.

I started touching myself almost without realizing it.

At first it was gentle, slow massages over my clit, drawing lazy circles while the girl on the screen writhed. Then faster. Then slow again, playing with the rhythm, stretching out that delicious tension that builds right before everything spills over. I kept at it for several minutes, my breathing getting more and more ragged, feeling the wetness soaking through my panties.

And then it occurred to me.

I don’t know where the idea came from. Maybe from some erotic comic I’d read a long time ago, or from an image I had tucked away in some fold of memory without realizing it was there. The thing is, while one hand kept working between my legs, I brought the other to my own throat and squeezed.

Not hard. Just enough to feel my pulse beating against my fingers, to notice how the air became a little harder to swallow.

God.

It was like someone had flipped on a switch I didn’t know existed. The lack of air sent all my blood to one place, and all at once every caress felt ten times more intense. I squeezed a little more, held my breath, and the orgasm hit me in a way I had never felt before: long, heavy, almost violent. It left me sprawled on the sheets, gasping, my heart racing, with a stupid smile on my face.

I stayed like that for a good while, catching my breath, taking in what had just happened. Is this weird?, I thought. Am I screwed in the head for enjoying something like this? But the truth is I didn’t care about the answer. I’d liked it. I’d liked it a lot. And that was all I needed to know for now.

The curious thing is it wasn’t just the physical pleasure. It was the feeling of surrendering, even if only to my own hand. Of letting go of control for a second, of trusting that something would hold me even if I was short of breath. It had never occurred to me that that could turn me on so much, and yet there I was, my body still vibrating and my mind turning over all the possibilities.

That night I hardly slept. Not because I was nervous, but because I couldn’t stop imagining variations. What if it were another person holding me? What if that same sensation came in the middle of something else, when I’m already surrendered and on the edge? Each idea kept me more awake than the last.

***

I promised myself I would explore it calmly, without rushing. I have a dildo tucked away in the bedside drawer and a pair of Ben Wa balls I barely ever use. Next time I’m going to combine everything and see how far this new feeling goes. Maybe then I’ll write again and tell you how it went. But for now, let me tell you something else. A fantasy. What crosses my mind when I close my eyes.

Imagine I’m there, beside you, in the dim light of a room that belongs to neither of us. You watch me stand up and slowly start taking off my clothes, unhurried, enjoying the way you look at me. Under the dress I’m wearing a green set: lace panties and a matching babydoll that only barely goes sheer in the light coming through the window.

I come over to you. I stand right in front of you, close enough for you to feel the heat of my body, and I let my hand fall to your crotch. I stroke you over the fabric, slowly, feeling you grow under my fingers. I move my hand up and down without rushing, setting a pace I know is going to drive you crazy.

I stop at the button of your pants and unfasten it. Then I pull the zipper down, tooth by tooth, stretching each second. I find the last barrier of fabric and move that aside too. And there you are, finally, exactly what I was looking for. Something so beautiful that just looking at it makes my mouth water.

I wrap my right hand around you and start stroking you from top to bottom, slowly, looking you in the eyes the whole time. You start to moan softly, almost without meaning to, and that gives me the courage I was missing. I kneel down. I bring my mouth close and leave soft kisses on the tip, just a brush of lips.

—I love it —I murmur against your skin.

I lick you slowly, with the tip of my tongue, playing like a cat with something it likes. Your moans grow lower, deeper, and that turns me on in a way I can’t quite explain. I open my mouth and finally take you all the way in, sliding down slowly, feeling how you respond to every movement.

I spend a good while like that, devouring you, losing myself in the rhythm. But then you start to get impatient. I can feel it in the way your thighs tense, in the way your breathing speeds up. And then you do it: you grab my hair with a firm hand and push, driving yourself all the way in with one movement.

My throat closes. For an instant I can’t breathe, and to my surprise, that is exactly what drives me wild. The same sensation as that afternoon, the lack of air, the pulse pounding, all concentrated into a single point of pure pleasure.

—You like that, don’t you? —you say hoarsely, chuckling under your breath—. Of course you can’t answer me.

I try to say something, make some kind of gesture, but you tug a little harder at my hair and shut me up.

—What did I tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full.

And you start moving. Fast, then slow, setting your own pace while I let you do what you want. It’s hard for me to keep up with you, tears spring to my eyes, but inside I’m burning. I’ve never felt so desired and so surrendered at the same time. I keep going with my mouth, letting you take whatever you want from me, lost in the feeling of not being in control.

—Like that, just like that —you pant—. Almost there. Do you want it?

I nod as best I can, eyes wet and my gaze locked on yours.

—Of course you want it.

You speed up. Your fingers close more tightly in my hair and I feel your whole body tense. And then you finish, buried to the hilt, and I swallow everything, not wasting a single drop, while you hold me there for one second longer than necessary just to feel me swallow.

You pull back slowly. You give my lips a couple of soft taps, like one last bit of mischief, and you look at me with a satisfied smile.

—You loved it, didn’t you?

And the truth is yes. I loved it. In the fantasy and, I suspect, in reality too if it ever happened. Because it turns out I like surrendering, I like losing my breath a little, I like someone taking control while I let myself be carried along. I’ve just discovered it and I’m still learning what to do with this part of me.

***

That’s all for now. I know I’m not the best writer in the world and I’m sure mistakes are slipping through everywhere, but I wanted to share it anyway. Sometimes things feel more real when you put them into words and leave them with a stranger who might read them at night, in the dark, with the same restlessness I had that Thursday afternoon.

If this stirred something in you, I’d love to know. Tell me what you liked, what you thought, what fetish of yours you still don’t dare confess. Maybe we’re not so different. Maybe you’re only just beginning to map that territory of yours that no one else knows.

Thank you for reading me. And I promise I’ll come back with the next part, when I work up the nerve to try everything I’ve got tucked away in that drawer.