Choked Up

Did you ever have one of those days? One where your boss was an asshole, your were stuck at work an hour late, and nothing goes right. What do you do? Eat a whole pint of Ben and Jerry’s? Take a nice bath? Push your Dom until he snaps and slams you into the wall?

I walk into the apartment, dropping my bag before the door was even fully open. Whatever was in it, books, I think, skid out across the floor as I stumbled inside with a groan. I blink a few times, spotting you coming around the corner, dishrag over your shoulder. A ragged smile comes across my face.

“Honey, I’m home,” I mumble, taking another slumping step forward.

My eyes are already half-closed when I bump into you. I don’t even bother to say anything, just lean in. I feel your arms wrap around my back. Mmmmm, warm. Safe. Your lips are on the top of my head, brushing through my hair to kiss my skin.

“Rough day?” you ask. I feel the sound rumble up from your chest, like waves crashing over me. The hug gets a little bit tighter as your hands start the slow circles over my back that always rub the tension right out.

“The worst,” I mumble into your shirt. “How about you?”

You shrug, I feel it because my arms are wrapped around your neck, and I feel like you might just pick me up if you lift your shoulders much higher. “I’ve been stuck all alone for like two hours since some asshole was holding my girlfriend hostage.”

I laugh a little, “Sorry,” I say, nuzzling against your chest.

“I got a lot done at least, way more than I would’ve if she’d been around to distract me.”

I look up at you; you’re trying to keep a stern face, but your dimples aren’t doing you any favors.

“And what’d you get done?” I ask.

“Pancakes in the oven.”

“Mmmm, from scratch?”

“Of course, I had soooo much time to kill.”

“And did you do dishes too, or is that towel for some kind of weird new kink you found?”

“I did do the dishes. You came in right before I could mop, though.”

“Oh, don’t let me stop you,” I say, untangling my arms and starting to pull away. Your arms slide off my back, and I falter for a second. Are you really going to let me go? I turn and take a step back towards the door, glancing at my feet to make sure I didn’t step on any of the books. I lean out, reaching for the doorknob with my right arm, my left behind to help me balance. And that’s what you grab onto, your grip like hot steel around my wrist. Oh fuck.

“Turn around,” you say. There’s a little edge in your voice, but not nearly enough after the day I’ve had, which you know.

“Let go. I left a book in the car anyway. I’ll go grab it and then slide on that nice smooth floor in my socks.” I tug, about as hard as your voice was, definitely not enough to get away.

“I said, ‘turn around.'” A little better now–enough to send a little tingle down my spine. I glance back over my shoulder, giving you a slight smirk. I see a bigger one starting to trace over your lips. You still need a little push to get all the way there, though.

“Make me.”

That does it. The smirk gets tighter, your right eyebrow goes up, and you take a deep breath that makes your nostril flare just a little. That look. The look. I’m in trouble.

You yank back on my arm, pulling me against you again. But there’s none of the soothing hold this time. I look up at you again, doing my best to give you some puppy dog eyes.

“I didn’t-“

“You did,” you say. Your voice drops deep, and it’s a little quieter. I stand there, shivering a little. I could try to squirm away, but I want to be able to sit down later. 

You lean down, your beard brushing against my cheek as your lips find my ear, whispering. Oh fuck–that whisper. “You know exactly what you did.” And it doesn’t help that your breath is tickling right over so many of my favorite places, either.

You pause, just long enough for me to weigh my options. I decide I need a little more.

“All I did was try to go get my book. What if I want to read before bed? You just fall asleep with the TV on anyway.” That should do it.

I feel your hand around my throat before I see it move. I look down, my free hand going to your wrist. There’s no way I can push it off. Not that I want to. But I love feeling it there. As I squeeze it, you squeeze my neck. My eyes flash up to yours, growing wider, as my mouth opens in a silent moan. Just like that, just the right amount of pressure.

I try to remember what panties I wore today. I hope it’s a pair that I don’t mind creaming myself in, but there’s no way in hell I can remember which one. My memory stopped about thirty seconds ago, and it’ll be lucky if it even lasts that long soon.

You put your other hand behind my back, holding me up as you shove me back. I stumble a little. I’m clumsy even when my legs aren’t jelly from all the blood rushing to my pussy. But you’ve got me, just like always.

I hit the wall of the entryway with a thud and a gasp. You move that hand around from behind me, reaching between my thighs. That’s when I realize I’m wearing a skirt. That’s good. You like me in skirts.

“You going to do anything about that, or just squeeze me like a piece of- glrk!” You do squeeze, hard, on my neck. And then you’re up against me. You let go of my throat, which gets a small whimper of complaint, but now I’m penned in by your bulk. It feels good. Not quite as good as it does on top of me, but nice. The hand that was on my neck goes to my hair, your fingers tangling in it and pulling my head back. My throat is fully exposed now, and I’m pretty sure I know what happens next. My eyes are glued to your lips as they press down, eventually brushing against mine.

“Bad girl,” you whisper like you’re passing the words right from your mouth into me. They move again before I can seal the kiss, giving me a peck on my cheek as they work down over my jaw. They steer over a little bit, finding the hollow on the side of my throat. Another little peck.

And then it’s hot, wet, and my hands go to your back just to hold on—your tongue gliding along, finding just the right place as my pulse races against your lips. You moan, enjoying this almost as much as I am. I’m panting, holding on to you for dear life, knowing my knees are going to lose what little bit of jelly is left in them any second now. And then I feel your lips and teeth. I lift my head back a bit more, trying to thrust my neck into your mouth as you clamp down, sucking mostly, but a little biting as well. I’m panting faster and faster as I feel the fingers of your free hand work their way up my thigh. Yes. Please. Do it. They slip under the hem of my panties. Briefs? It feels like briefs. That’s a shame. If I’d known this is how I’d come home, I’d have worn something sexier. Or nothing. Then I feel your fist close around them and a tug at my hips.

I know what pair it is now. I changed my mind. They’re perfect for this. Old, kind of frayed. Perfect for ripping off, which I hear you doing a second later. You release my neck at the same time you hold them up. Fuck they’re soaked. I knew it, but now I get to see it. I let out a panting gasp as you let go, and that’s your cue to shove them in, which is a good decision since we are right by the door and don’t want anyone to hear. I know what’s happening next. I feel your opposite hand come up to my throat, your thumb tracing over the bruise for a moment. I shiver and moan through the gag, eyes pleading for you to squeeze. And you do. Your nails dig into the clean flesh of my neck on one side, sure to leave little red half-moons, but that’s not what I’m waiting for. Your thumb crushes down on the bruise. I see stars.

“Mmm. Mmph. Mmmmmmm!” I need to cum, oh fuck I need to cum. My hands flail for my pussy, but you’ve got me blocked off. I can feel it boiling inside me, I can probably cum just from that alone, but I want you inside me.

Through the haze, I hear a little jingle. I pray to god it’s your pants. And then I feel your hand on my bare ass as you spread my legs and lift me with a grunt, crushing me against the wall to help hold me up. I wrap my legs around your waist as I feel you line up. You sink in all the way in on the first thrust. I’m way too wet and way too horny for anything else. And as the tip of your cock splits my lips, your lips are on my ear. 


It’s not even an order. It’s just a statement of fact. I am cumming, before my brain can even fully process the word. I clench down on your cock, squeezing it as tight as I can as even more juices soak it.

I know you won’t last long like this. You never do. The angle. The tightness. The primal fucking need of taking me this way. I have no concept of time anymore, but I doubt it’s a minute before I hear you panting and growling in my ear like a fucking animal. I wish I could talk, to whisper dirty nothings in your ear, to beg for you to paint my pussy. Instead, I slide my hands under your shirt and dig my nails hard into your back, dragging bright red ridges through your skin. It seems to get the message across. You slam me hard into the wall, throw your head back in what’s practically a fucking howl, and throb inside me, your whole body tensing up. I imagine the cum spraying from your balls, up your shaft, and into me. Oh fuck yes. Mark me inside and out, neck and pussy. It’s a shame I can only get your back, but I think I make up in quality for what I lack in quantity.

Eventually, you shift to panting as you slowly relax. I unwrap my legs as you drop my shaky feet to the floor and wrap your arms around me. We lean into each other, barely able to stand up but managing it between ourselves and the wall. You reach up, lightly tugging the panties out of my mouth. 

“Thank you,” I gasp.

“You could’ve spit them out,” you say, trying to sound cocky but breathing too hard to really pull it off.

“Not for that,” I say. “For everything.”

You smile down at me, dimples in full swing, eyes curving up in a smile that’s not quite as sexy as your smirk but cute enough to make up for it.

“I think I need a shower,” you say, disentangling to pull off your shirt, turning around so I can see your back.

“Yeah, little blood back here,” I say, tracing the red lines I left. “Sorry.”

You laugh for real this time. “Don’t be. You know I like when you mark me.”

I wrap my arms around your middle and nuzzle your back. “Mmmm, it’s just a shame my favorite mark always drips out.”

We stumble to the bathroom, unwilling to let go of each other until the last second. I pull off my top as you get the water going nice and steamy and step in. “First or second?” you ask me, standing by the door.

“You go first,” I say. “I want to clean those up.”

You lean down and give me a kiss, a slow one, with just a little tongue. “You’re a real sweetheart when you’re not trying to piss me off.”

I grin, giving your ass a teasing slap. “You’re always a bastard. You’re lucky I love it.”

We step inside the shower, and you lean forward, palms on the wall as I reach for a washcloth and some soap. Posed like this, you’re sorely tempting, but my legs are still shaking a little, so I behave myself, for once, and lather up the washcloth, gently wiping down your back. I hum softly to myself, thinking of how good your hands will feel on me when we switch places—all the same strength they had in the hallway, but so soft. Making sure every inch of me is okay with them and your lips. I give a little shiver, leaning down to kiss your scratches myself.

Today was a good day, and I didn’t even get my pancakes yet.

Hopefully you all have a better day than that. But if you don’t, I hope you find some way to relax afterwards.

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