Choke Me

The relationship had recently turned tumultuous. I found out she (my fiancee) was still in contact with a guy (a long-ago ex of hers) who was my sworn enemy. It's a complex story going back (at that point) just more than 10 years, and stemming from the guy's jealousy over my supposed great life. Over those ten years, he tried on several occasions to hurt me in life-changing ways.

Everyone's life has bumps and bruises. Mine has had plenty, and I have scars (both visible and not) to prove it.

I met her while they were dating, and we both instantly felt the chemistry. Oddly enough, we talked it out carefully and agreed we wouldn't act on our passions while dating other people (I was also in a relationship at the time). And so we drifted apart. Time passed. Eventually my relationship came to an end (lives going different directions). I bought a boat to live on. I found employment in a motorcycle shop. Life was simple. Life was good.

She tracked me down; found out where I was working and called me there. I was hesitant to take the call, remembering all of the conflicted feelings I'd had before. I liked my life simple. But I couldn't resist. We met. We talked. We began a great relationship. Nearly a year passed, we met the parents, and things were on track.

Then he called her while we were out. I happened to see his name on her phone. I asked if he knew we were together. "No." I asked how long she'd been in contact with him. "Since we broke up. We're friends." I asked if she was going to tell him about us. "No."

I got upset. It seems like such a simple thing; such a small thing to be upset about. But it mattered to me. I think it mattered most because I wasn't sure how seriously she took our relationship. She said she loved me. She said she wanted to be married to me. But sometimes I thought I could see mixed emotions cross her face. I didn't care to showboat my relationship in front of him. I didn't care what he thought at all. I'd spent years trying to forget him. I just wanted him to know so he'd go away. Of course my assumptions were wrong.

I didn't blow up. I held it together. I told her I had to go, and rode back to my boat. I spent a few days there, wondering what to do. She called me. She wanted to see me. Of course I went.

At the time I refused to consider it, but I think I knew the end was coming.

We had dinner. It was nice - nice to think things were going to be okay. After dinner she invited me back to her place for the night. I breathed easy. And when our clothes came off, we tangled our bodies in the fantastic ways we always had. There was so much passion.

Passion is a funny concept. It's some crazy energy. And it doesn't always like to be controlled.

As our bodies tangled and writhed, I felt anger reaching for me. My body responded and I became more forceful in my sex. My pace quickened, I held her down.

She responded with an increase in her own passion and seemed to enjoy it.

And that pissed me off.

I began to crack. My body started slamming hers. My moans slowly became a word: fuck, fuck Fuck, Fuck, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!, FUCK!

"Yeah, fuck, fuck...", she uttered between thrusts. She had no idea she was setting fire to a dry forest. Neither did I.

I snapped.

"FUCK YOU!", I yelled. My hands turned to steel clamps around her arms, the full weight of my body now forcefully holding her down. My cock was that prototypical machine piston, driving hard, fast and deep in to her. I might have been hurting her at that point, but I knew she could take it and I didn't care. A deafening avalanche of words flew from my throat. I called her every name in the book and maybe some others too. One of my hands reached up the back of her head and grabbed a handful of her hair.

Her eyes went wide. She'd experienced me being forceful before, but nothing like this. She was trapped. Fear overtook her and she began struggling. Of course, that just fueled the inferno.

I'm a big guy, and fairly strong. In the midst of everything I began using her body, not just gravity, as my anchor. I was pulling her up to me as much as I was thrusting down in to her. My cock was driving hard inside her. I knew she was hurting. Still I yelled obscenities. She stopped struggling, now trying to meet my thrusts. She closed her eyes.

I saw tears. And it stopped me cold.

I felt like a monster.

I pulled away from her. She went fetal, curling up on her side, weeping. I breathed for a moment. "I'm sorry", I said.

A moment passed. She wiped her tears.

"Keep going", she breathed.

What? What is this? Passion? Guilt? Mind-fucking? "What? Are you serious?"

"Yes", she said more clearly, "Keep going."

My anger flashed back full-force. She was letting me punish her because she knew she deserved it. She knew what was happening. She knew where things were going. The realizations hit me like runaway freight trains, each collision adding energy to my anger.

In an instant I was on her.

One hand grabbed her knee and forced her legs apart. The other reached up and closed a fist on her hair. I pulled her head back, stretching her neck. My rock hard cock plunged in to her body. And if what had come before seemed forceful, I was out to set a new bar.

She cried. I knew it hurt. She wanted it and that drove me mad.

"Choke ... me", she coughed out between crushing thrusts. And my hands were at her throat.

I reared back, wrapping both hands around her neck, holding myself up on my arms, still fucking her body like a high-speed pile driver. And I squeezed. I squeezed hard. My knuckles and fingertips went white as the blood was forced out by the pressure. Her eyes went wide, first with surprise, then with fear.

I was no longer in control. I let it all go. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the happiness I'd felt with her, all of the anticipation, all of the fantasy of having a life together. It all went.

I anchored on her neck, pulling and pushing my body from that delicate, fragile point.

Her eyes bugged, her tongue shot out and she tried to speak, to cry out. She started fighting hard to get away. Her arms weren't even a distraction to me; may as well have been strings lashing at me.

"Fuck no you're not going to back out now you bitch," I growled. I tightened my grip on her neck. I pounded harder. Her eyes fluttered and I could tell she was losing consciousness. Her arms dropped away. The freakiest part was that I didn't care. I stared in to her darkening eyes. And I told her that I had loved her.

Surprisingly my body wrested control of me. My cock had apparently had enough and suddenly I felt my abdomen tighten, my balls clench up, and then I was shooting my load, spurt after spurt after spurt deep inside her. I grunted loudly with each contraction, my entire body jerking. My hands remained fast about her throat. The orgasm seemed to go on forever.

I was then aware of the space. Her body was nearly limp. Her legs splayed wide. Her eyes were three-quarters closed; her mouth open a little, slightly askew. I felt cum dribble a little inside her from my still-hard cock. Her face was very flush.

My hands loosed their grip. I felt the blood rush back in to my fingers; it was warm. I slowly backed off of her body, letting my cock slide from within her, slowly. I sat back on my knees, watching her. I knew she was alive, I just didn't know how much.

Slowly her eyes opened a bit more, her pupils focusing haphazardly on me. She licked her lips and closed her mouth. Her face began returning to a more normal shade. I saw my cum drip from her opening on to the bed sheet. She breathed.

"I think we're done here for tonight", I said. "Yeah", she barely whispered.

I got up and made for the bathroom to wash off. I wanted to wash off the sweat, the cum, her sweat, the emotions, the anger, the love, her. I wanted to wash her off me.

When I was done, I went back in to the bedroom. She was there, again curled up on her side, staring at the wall. I sat down on the bed next to her; put a hand on her thigh. She was cold.

I may be a monster, but I'm not an asshole.

"You okay?"

She slowly nodded, still staring at the wall.

"I'm sorry for that."

She looked over at me. "No, it's okay. I'm sorry." And in that brief moment I saw her alive again, and I was just as in love with her as I ever had been.

We talked for a bit before sleeping.

The relationship continued on for a bit, somewhat like a car with only three wheels. And, like a three-wheeled car, it eventually failed. The reasons for the failure were largely out of my control. She eventually did tell him about us. He didn't go away. Her parents pressured her to return home. Her brother was sent out to retrieve her. And she went.

I was crushed, broken.

Some time later, she tried contacting me from afar. Three emails arrived over the course of a year before I responded. I was upset. In retrospect maybe I shouldn't have responded.

She'd moved away from her parents and gotten married to someone she said looked just like me. But apparently that wasn't enough - he wasn't me. Her young marriage (6 months) was failing already. He didn't have the passion. She wrote of coming back to California, maybe, if there was a place for her. She never did say it directly, and I don't play those games.

I wrote: The next time you contact me, you should be walking down the dock.

I received several more emails from her for a few years thereafter. I didn't respond. She divorced and was mildly estranged from her parents. She'd moved to another state. Eventually she moved back to her home state and married again. She never had kids. I tried to forget everything.

But it won't go away.

And the sworn enemy? I keep tabs on him. Maybe he knows it, maybe he doesn't. He's purposefully stayed far away from me. So I still have that anger. One day he'll get his.

It's been 17 years since I've laid eyes on her, and this tale is true.