1 comments/ 18615 views/ 1 favorites Deep Breath By: Desdmona I closed the door to Eli's silver Grand Am. I could still see his face through the glare on the window. He grinned and blew me a kiss and then his car exited the lot of Quiet Village and sped down the street. I stood on the sidewalk and stared at the entrance, my gloved fingers touching my lips. A young couple was coming out the revolving door. The woman hunkered her shoulders and dug her hands into her pockets and the man wrapped his arm around her. Maybe it was just the brisk winter air. The man and woman hurried through the parking lot, smoky puffs of breath hovering above them. A debilitated grandmother, I wondered. A failing father? Maybe a close family friend? It didn't matter. Not really. Few Quiet Village residents left other than by hearse. At the doorway a man in a black overcoat met my eyes. He gave me a quick nod and gestured that I should go in ahead of him. I gave him a half smile in return but shook my head. I wasn't quite ready. Ma had been here for two weeks. Before that she was in the hospital across the street hanging on to life. Now she was still hanging, just not as critically. But she was dying. A lifetime of smoking had destroyed her lungs. I took a deep breath. A sudden gust of wind rose up and slapped my face. I had to go in. On the ride up in the elevator I thought how things might have been different if when I was eleven my father hadn't skipped town with a girl half his age—an aerobics instructor with firm abs and perky breasts. Maybe if he'd chosen someone from his own generation Ma could have got over it and not let the humiliation gut her. Maybe then she would be more apt to smile. But probably not. When he first left, I was angry. Later, I was simply disappointed that my father's relationship goals didn't include his daughter. Nowadays I hardly ever thought of him except when Ma ranted on about how his deceit had sucked the life out of her. As the years went by her tantrums abated a little, and I'd heard from someone—a second cousin—that his aerobics instructor had ballooned. Two hundred pounds of irony. Meanwhile, Ma maintained her weight at an exact one hundred fifteen. Until her illness. As I walked down the corridor, the familiar odor of old mixed with dying burned my nostrils. Like sulfur or skunk—you recognized the smell, the thick feeling in the back of your throat—but it's difficult to describe it. I wished I could wear a mask. Outside Ma's room I peeked around the doorway, half praying Ma might be sleeping, any excuse to postpone this visit. But there she was sitting upright in bed, pillows at each bony shoulder, elbows propped upon the bedside table that crossed in front of her. Her hair was mashed to one side with silver and white spikes escaping. Her make-up was garish—bright pink lipstick overflowing her lips, cheeks rouged to circus clown standards. "Oh, Gigi, you're here." I stepped to the side of her bed. She gurgled. "Hiya, Ma. How ya feeling?" I finger combed her hair and bent to kiss her. She quickly turned her face so my lips grazed her ear. I settled for kissing the top of her head. Ma hadn't willingly kissed anyone in several years. She wasn't going to change now. "This damn oxygen tubing," she wheezed. "I have to take it off any time I want to smoke. The nurse said it could explode." She yanked the tubing off her face and tossed it aside. "Ma, you need the oxygen." "What I need is..." She stopped. The coughing began. She jerked forward, grabbing a tissue and filling it with blood flecked sputum. I waited. She'd been doing this for weeks now. "What I _need_ is a _smoke_." I turned off the flow of oxygen and walked over to the window, wishing I was outside again where the air was clear and lungs only burned from the cold. "Ma, I..." She didn't hear me. She was struggling with the butane lighter. I could have helped, but I didn't. Instead I leaned back and waited. White knuckled, her fingers gripped the base of the lighter. A flame flickered. She greedily stuck the end of her cigarette in the blue heat and sucked down the first drag. The lines around her eyes and mouth smoothed. She nearly smiled. She settled back, almost calm. Now was the time. "Ma," I said. "Eli asked me to marry him." "And what did you say?" Her tone was accusatory. The lighter rolled over and over in her palm. "I didn't say anything, yet." I thought about telling Ma how Eli had arranged the whole proposal—the dinner, the candlelight, the carefully placed ring in my glass of Riesling, and how he'd got down on one knee, but lost his balance, and pulled the tablecloth, contents and all, to the floor. But Ma would just say it was a waste of good wine and expensive food. She stared at me, glassy-eyed, almost placid, the unfiltered cigarette smoldering, quivering between her fingers. Any hope of congratulations I may have had spiraled away with the rising smoke. Years of lectures regarding the malevolence of love and marriage had prepared me. I didn't have to wait long. "Marriage is a hoax and love is like this cigarette." Ma slid the white cylinder between her dry, cracked lips. Her eyes drifted shut. She inhaled, letting the nicotine float along its familiar path before she spoke again. "It gives you a high you can't live without." She held the burning stick upright in the air, balancing ash like a cheerleader holding a partner. A faint line of pink lipstick kissed the thin paper. "It creeps its way inside you until you're obsessed. Until you're..." Her voice trailed away. With hazy eyes she looked beyond me, peering through the swelling fume. "One day you wake up, and your need has turned into something vile." Her voice rattled. Tar-coated phlegm curdled in the back of her throat. "The damage is done." She patted the butt against the glass ashtray and pushed the bedside table away. Shaky yellow-stained fingers snatched up the oxygen tube and fit the prongs inside her nose. She fumbled at the controls until the oxygen flowed Exhausted, she slumped against the pillows. For a time Ma lay quietly. Staring. Abruptly her body jerked, wracked by spasms of coughing. Her face purpled. Her eyes bulged. She wheezed and gagged and fought for breath before the coughing finally began to subside, and at last she was able to inhale. She reached for the nearly empty cigarette pack. "Don't marry him baby," she said. "He's a great guy, Ma." "They're all great guys in the beginning, Gigi." "I think I love him." "You love him! What's that got to do with it? Love's not the same for men. Men don't want what you want. They can't keep their dicks in their pants, and when you love them, it just comes back to kill you!" Ma slowed, each word ending in a whisper. "For God's sake, fuck him if you have to, but don't love him." Her eyes batted shut. Her mouth slacked open, lifeless. The ticks of the wall clock clicked like a time bomb. No inhalation. Tick tock. No exhalation. Tick tock. I tensed, fearing the worst. I willed her chest to rise. Silently pleading, breathe. Breathe. Breathe Ma! I turned to call for help, and she suddenly inhaled sharply, coughed, and startled awake. This time it was a short attack. I sighed in relief. She settled back into a more fitful rest, and then her eyes sprang open. For one brief moment I thought she was remembering I was there, but then she began patting the bedside table and her lap, desperately searching, before realizing the pack of cigarettes was in her hand. I walked unnoticed out the door. I lay in bed that night, shrouded in darkness, wishing I'd washed the smell of Quiet Village from my hair. When Eli eased his warm, naked body in bed beside me, I nearly forgot Ma all together. But he wouldn't let me. "Are you ready to tell me what she said?" I tried to focus on my answer instead of his leg hair tickling my skin. "What do you think she said?" "She told you not to marry me." "Yes, among other things." "Damn it, Gigi! You can't let your mother rule your life. She's old. She's bitter." He paused. "She doesn't love you like I do." "Maybe." I reached for Eli's hand and guided it to the vee of my legs. He hesitated briefly, wanting more conversation. But I wanted something else. I opened my legs wide, wider than they needed to be. It felt nasty to open them like a girl in a pornographic pictorial. I wanted to be nasty. I wanted to be open. When he began to dabble, I added my fingers to the mix. We played finger tag in my slit, darting away from one another at first, but finally combining our forces to choose my clit as "it." I could have climaxed easily, but I held off, enjoying the slippery feel of our brushing fingers painting each other with my wet. My legs opened wider still. I didn't think about coming. I thought about Eli. Eli and me. Our future. My pussy buzzed. I reached for Eli's dick. It was mostly erect—its cock-head butting the sheet. I used my slickness to coat the stalk. Up and down. Up and down. Smearing my juice on his dick until it was completely erect. Thick and hard and ready. I pushed his hand away, and still holding his cock, moved to straddle him. I started high, hunched on my feet, and then descended. My legs widened. My labia opened. I daubed his glans against my clitoris. Cock to cunt. Greeting. Frigging. Cleaving. And then directed it further down. Head to hole. I was open. He was in. And in and in. Pushing. Penetrating. Mating. I let my weight shift from my legs to my rear. I sat straight up, mashing my ass against his balls. Eli's dick expanded wall to wall. I breathed in deeply. My body relaxed. My mind cleared. I didn't want to feel anything except my cunt, Eli's cock, and raw desire. I slowly exhaled. "I'm taking Ma's advice, Eli." His entire body hardened except his cock. It slackened—slightly. I squeezed my cunt around him as tight as I could, and he stiffened full breadth again. He didn't want to. I knew it. I couldn't see his eyes, but I imagined they were steel. As steel as his cock. Solid. Hard. Angry. Then I thought about coming. I bucked against him—squeezing. Riding his dick. Rotating my hips and grinding. But it wasn't my action that caused me to climax. It was Eli's. His semen whacked against me—each slap strengthening my orgasm. I screamed. When we were finished, Eli shoved me off, using a little more force than was needed. But not really. He turned away, seething. "Don't be mad, honey," I said. "You sure got balls, Gigi!" "Why? Did you think it was mean?" "Damn straight it was!" I waited, listening to his breathing. Clear. Deep. Even. His back was rigid and walled against me. "I guess this means you don't want a wife who can be nasty." He lay motionless for a moment before jerking over to face me. "W-wife? I thought you said you were taking your mother's advice." "I am." I pressed my body to his and slid my hand down his belly, grabbing his wet dick. "She told me to fuck you if I needed to. Deep Breath! Deep Breath! When she first mentioned it, I was not sure what I felt. Certainly I was uncertain, but I was also a little afraid of the risks yet excited by the power exchange it implied and she was offering. She told me quite matter of factly that one day in a car with her previous Master he had complimented her on her beautiful neck and then asked her if he could try something. When she agreed he reached across, fingers spread, and started to close her windpipe........WHOOOOSH.......she was spacey! And that is how it started with her. Now she hoped to explore more with me. In truth my Ds experience up to that point had not involved anything that was potentially life threatening so this was another line to cross, if I chose to do so. But then the rush from the deeper level of trust it implied was something I knew I enjoyed. Looking back I now wonder if it was truly trust or just an overwhelming need on her part? While I will never know that answer for sure, it was probably a mix of the two. I decided to probe further and discovered that her previous experience was all based on the use of hands, but she now wanted to use a rope, a noose! Hands are one thing; you have (or should have) much greater feel and control over how much pressure and where it is applied. Using a rope is another game entirely with additional risks such as the noose "locking" and choking. I did not respond other than to say that I would think about it and think about I did for a day or so. In that time I weighed up the risks against the potential returns, both in mutual pleasure and in pure learning. I also considered how much I trusted myself. Well I decided that we would explore and I will now share some expected(?) and some unexpected(!) things that I learnt. Despite what I just said about hands and rope I chose to use rope initially. I am really not sure why unless it offered me an opportunity to stand back a liitle to get a better perspective, both literally and metaphorically.' Before we played I took length of soft silky rope and tied a small bowline in it. Those of you who know your knots will know that a bowline once tied does not close ie the loop stays the same size. It is the knot often used to make a loop to lift or lower people on cliffs or boats as it will not tighten and crush them. In the context of a noose it meant that when I threaded the long length of rope through the bowline, the sliding piece of rope will never be gripped any tighter. I tested it many times around my arm, tightening the noose then seeing it immediately release when I stopped pulling. When I was satisfied I summoned her and began. I had her strip naked and offer her wrists for the leather cuffs. As Fastened them I told her that she would not be wearing her collar for this scene, but not because I valued her any less. Instead she would feel a noose and wished to make sure that there was no way it could tangle with anything like a collar. Her eyes sparkled as I directed her vision to a hook in the ceiling. I told that her hands would be fastened behind her back, a noose placed around her neck and the rope passed over the hook and that she would be raised onto her tip toes. I asked her if she accepted the plan and she did. I then placed an apple in one hand and told her that this was her safety; if she dropped it then the scene ended immediately. The scene unfolded as I told her and as she rose to her tip toes the black pits appeared behind her eyes yet she kept hold of the apple. Yes I did put a small tension on the rope to encourage her to her toes, but certainly not enough to lift her; she did that! I also placed the loose end of rope over a cleat, but I did not fasten it and there was no real constriction around her neck as I had released the tension. Had she collapsed or toppled the rope would have run smoothely with her, yet she was motionless and her breathing shallow and laboured. She was away somewhere else and my role had now focussed totally on care. I watched her, I talked quietly at her and made sure she came to no harm. What was going on now was entirely in her head. It was quite beautiful! After a few minutes....remember I was very cautious this first time....I carefully released her and placed her in bed wrapped in a duvet. I watched over her as she slowly swam back to me; as she slowly regained the ability to form words and then sentences. Her smile beamed with recognition and she then told me that she had been flying over beautiful purple beaches under yellow skies. Her satisfaction beamed like a searchlight and I accepted that this was never to be a personal experience, but one I could appreciate and enjoy through her. The evening and its surprises was not over because sometime later I required her to kneel and suck my cock. Despite her skill, for once I remained someway short of a full erection. After a good try she sat back with a smile growing on her lips. She asked to be excused briefly. I agreed and was surprised when she returned a few moments later with the noose around her neck. As she knelt she offered me the rope.As I lifted the rope and added a little tension her lips returned to engulf my cock and I was instantly the hardest I had ever been. This time she brought me expertly to a crashing orgasm and swallowed every drop with, I suspect, no small degree of satisfaction. What a difference a rope makes!! Previously I would never have predicted that response from my body, but I guess that extraordinary trust was my aphrodisiac. ....... Breath play remained an important part of our exploration. On another occasion I was lying on my back as she rode me, fucking my cock with undisguised delight. The difference this time was that she wore a noose around her neck, the tail hanging behind her and loosely wrapped around my right hand. Before I go further the reader needs to understand our respective sizes. She was around 5'4 while I am around 6'3. This had many advantages in scenes, both physical and mental. In this context my arms were long enough to give an upward pull on the noose. As I felt her excitement rise I shortened my hold on the noose and applied tension to tighten the noose and lift her. The first time I held her up for a count of only 2, yet as I released her she gasped as if drowning and settled back onto my cock, engulfing it in warm silk. I repeated the process a number of times, adding one to the count each time. Each time she seemed to go into suspended (pun intended!) animation. I felt that I had total mastery in this so decided to push down a new route and use my hands. I loosened the noose and removed it so that the next time I reached up, hands open and overlapping so that her neck slotted into the V between the thumb and fingers of each hand. As I sqeezed gently I also straigntened my arms until she hung breathless on top of my straight arms. Again I experimented with lengthening periods of control. Counting helped me regulate the process and manage the risk. I was surprised twice doing this. The first probably shouldn't have surprised me as I soon discovered that I did not need to apply any pressure to her neck....the mere positioning of my hand with the lightest of touch was enough to give me control of her breath. This opened new dimensions to question of risk, but also opportunities to play allowing a number of discrete but public possibilities. The other surprise to discover how deeply she took me as she settled back on my cock when released. Many times I felt my cock hit the back wall. This had never happened before in any position and was both exciting and a little odd. However when I finally came up against her back wall we seemed closer than ever. ....... Well that is enough musing. I wonder how common these experiences are? Deep Breath You promised me. You are mine. I won't let anything bad happen to you, trust me. #2 in my Stalker Series. Thank you so much for your comments and your 5 star votes! XXOO Angel * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (8 min/mp3) * * * * *