He Choked Me During Sex

It taught me a lot about myself

I’ve always kept my throat out of sex.

I learned how to love giving blowjobs but still have no desire to deep throat. When I found out I could enjoy getting face fucked, it was only because I discovered I could do it without gagging.

And I considered myself lucky because no guy had ever tried to put his hand on my throat.

I don’t even wear chokers or snug turtlenecks because they make me feel uncomfortable. I get a little panicky when anything is wrapped tightly around my neck.

So when a flirty friend of mine asked if I enjoyed being choked during sex, I shut that thought down immediately. I told him I’m a choke-free zone.

I just didn’t see the appeal in it. Uncomfortable sensations aren’t my jam. And I’ve heard the stories of people dying from erotic asphyxiation, so nope, not for me.

At least, that’s what I thought for a very long time.

Hold Me Down, Pull My Hair

I recently started exploring control play with my husband.

We kept it on the light side at first, with spanking and edging.

I loved the intense feelings that came from getting spanked and the strong orgasms that came at the end of an edging session. But it was also about the dynamic it created between us. I felt like I was submitting to him when his hand was smacking my ass and I loved the way edging put him in control of me — he got to decide whether I was allowed to come or whether I’d have to wait for it.

Before long, my husband was taking a more dominant role during sex, while I got to play coy with him. He chased me, seduced me, and took charge. I got to be the sexual little spoon I loved to be.

Then we started getting the accessories. Blindfolds, handcuffs, and restraints made frequent appearances in our bedroom. And neither of us are into leather, but I got two sets of lingerie that just scream “please tie me up.”

Things got a little more aggressive, too. It was often just in his ravenous attitude and how he would fuck me harder. But sometimes it was more physical, like when he pulled my hair. I found it arousing, but again, it was about intensity, not pain. It was about having him move and hold my head wherever he wanted it to be.

We got deeper and deeper into control play. But just because I enjoyed getting face fucked while blindfolded and strapped down to my bed, it didn’t mean I wanted to go much further. I didn’t feel the need to be kinky for the sake of being kinky. I’m just a subby girl following her heart’s desires.

I was happy to just play in that zone.

But then I asked for something I didn’t even know I wanted.

His Hand, My Throat

I had always kept my throat out of sex. But that’s changed over the last few months.

It started small. While we were having sex, I would feel my husband’s hand wrap loosely around my throat.

It was gentle, like he was resting his hand on it more than anything.

It didn’t bother me. I wasn’t turned on by it but I wasn’t put off by it, either. I knew he wouldn’t take things too far, and that’s all that mattered to me.

The more it happened, though, the more I found myself getting into it. It was very slight at first, but as the weeks went by, I found it more and more appealing. I loved what it represented more than the sensation itself — his hand on my throat was a physical manifestation of his desire for me.

The timing mattered. Feeling his hand around my neck during sex was a mostly neutral sensation. But if he waited until we were well underway, when I was several orgasms in and incredibly horny, it was a lot more arousing.

I heard before that when most women ask to be choked, this is what they want. They want a hand around their throat, not an actual grip on it. They don’t want to feel suffocation, discomfort, or pain. They just want the excitement of playing on the edge of it.

That’s what I was experiencing.

It was the way I could feel his desire channeled through the palm of his hand.

It was the feeling of doing something so taboo — of feeling like such a dirty girl but without any of the shame or embarrassment.

And it was a way of giving myself over to him, by allowing him to do something I wouldn’t let anyone else do to me. It was about being so extremely vulnerable and trusting him not to take advantage of it.

I had never seen the appeal of choking during sex. Now I found myself wanting it. But the real tipping point came on a night where my arousal was almost off the charts.

My husband gave me a pussy massage. After slowly building me up for half an hour, he gave me an orgasm so strong that it made me burst into laughter.

He cuddled me while I came down from my orgasmic laughing fit. And once I managed to stifle it, the endorphin rush from all that giggling settled into another feeling: unbearably intense horniness.

I rubbed my bare ass against him, wordlessly urging him to fuck me. He pulled his cock out of his underwear, slid it inside me, and fucked me in the spooning position.

Normally, we switch things up, try different angles and different configurations. But the position we were in just felt right, so we cuddle-fucked the whole way through.

During all the fucking and the orgasms, his hand made its way to my throat a few times. His hand was a little higher than it usually was. His grip was a little tighter.

I didn’t feel neutral about it this time. Not even close. Feeling his fingers press into my flesh turned me on even more. I couldn’t understand why it did, but that didn’t matter — I was in the moment and loving it.

He had choked me harder than ever before, but it was still very light. I felt like he wanted to go harder but was holding himself back for my sake.

He lowered his hand, resting it on my collarbones, giving my neck a break.

I didn’t want a break. I wanted to feel his hand again, and I wanted it firmer than before.

I took his hand and pushed it up to my throat. This time, his grip tightened on it. It wasn’t violent or aggressive, but it was real. There was no faking it this time. This wasn’t just a hand resting on my throat — this was a hand choking me.

I felt so many things at once and they were all good.

I felt like such a good little submissive. Pushing his hand up was my non-verbal way of begging and pleading for something he was denying me.

I felt dominated. I felt like he wanted me and was taking me without any restraint at all.

I felt like I had given myself over to him thoroughly and completely. To be choked but still feel incredibly safe turned me on so much — and so much more than I thought it would.

My breath wasn’t restricted. I could still breathe and moan. But I felt a pleasurable lightheaded rush that made my orgasm feel even better than it normally does.

Until a few months ago, I never even imagined I’d want to be choked. And until that moment, I would’ve had a hard time believing I would be the one asking for it. But that night, with his body pressed against mine, his cock fucking me hard, and his hand against my throat, it’s all I wanted.

The Right Way to Choke Me

I would’ve never allowed my husband to choke me if I didn’t trust him completely. And not just trust that he wouldn’t want to hurt me, but trust him to know exactly how to avoid it.

I knew he had done his research. He understood different types of choking and knew the right technique for doing it during sex. He could do it without causing pain or putting me in too much danger.

There are basically three ways to choke someone during sex.

There’s a fake or mock choke where the hand is on your throat but there’s no squeezing. It can be thrilling even though it’s not actually risky — it’s more psychological than physical. When I want to be choked, that’s usually the kind of choking I want, and I suspect it’s the one that most fans of sexual choking practice, too.

At the other extreme, there’s the kind of choking that most people think of when they hear the word. I’ve heard it referred to as an air choke and it’s when the hand on your throat squeezes your windpipe and restricts your breathing.

I know better than to say never, but I feel confident in saying that’s the type of choking I never want to receive. It’s also the riskiest type. Unless you’re both consenting, really into extreme breath play, and are highly informed (there are workshops and classes on this stuff for a reason), it’s best to avoid it entirely.

The third type is sometimes called a blood choke. It’s the type of choke my husband gave me on the night I described. This one doesn’t actually involve constricting the windpipe (that’s why I could still breathe and moan with ease). Instead, the fingers press into the blood vessels on both sides of your trachea.

This one slows the blood flow to your brain, which gives you that lightheaded feeling. It definitely feels like being choked, but it’s a lot safer than a squeezed windpipe.

Knowing that he understood the different ways of choking and would only use the safer ones is what made me comfortable with pushing his hand up to my throat.

I also knew he wouldn’t overdo it. I didn’t have to ask him to let go of my throat or pull his hand off because he only did it for seconds at a time. Instead of one long choke, he gave me multiple brief ones. In between them, he’d keep his hand around my neck to keep the control dynamic, but only with a loose grip.

Choking is still only an occasional thing for me. I can’t predict how often I’ll want to feel the pressure of his fingertips against my throat when we’re fucking, but I doubt it will be every time we have sex.

But now I know I love it. I love the way it makes me feel. I love knowing I’m under his control and that I can give all of my trust to him. I love feeling like I’ve been taken over by him — no, like I’ve allowed him to take me so completely. To just let go, knowing I’ll be safe because I’m under his care.

When he wraps his hand around my throat again, I won’t feel my breath leaving me. I’ll feel it getting heavier, deeper, and faster as I experience the rush of being his for that moment.

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