Green Tea with Jasmine Pt. 01

Observe the technique. Knowing that (a) the young lady in question has vaginal expansion capacity that is out of proportion to her size, albeit quite appropriate to her profession and (b) our boy was assigned what in the relevant literature is generally not referred to as a gigantic membrum virilis, and yet desiring for them both to experience a tight and violative insertion, what we have done here is a bit of bait and switch. Note that during the prelude, he used his hand on her, which is larger, longer and of course wider than his penis. He used a specific rhythm, apparently unknown to her beforehand, which brought her to orgasm. So she now associates that rhythm both with orgasm and with a feeling of size. But she was able to breathe freely during that episode. With her air constricted, she naturally tenses her muscles harder and is also somewhat disoriented by hypoxia. By using exactly the same coital rhythm in this episode as in the last, but choking her, he is encouraging the illusion that his cock is in fact as big as his fist. Observe the result.

Wicked points his stylus over his shoulder, Gentle follows, lowering his reading glasses. In full rut, the subject in question has tightened the loose ends of the scarves around the object in question as far as he dares, and reached under her neck to hold the bight of the noose in one hand, just to keep it from unraveling. With his other hand, he is thumbing her clit as he is whispering Two and her ankles and heels are slapping against his shoulder blades and 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 he growls, redfaced himself from the effort and from her calves around his neck, and she is pushing her head back, both from the impending orgasm and also because it opens the airway just a bit and One he whispers and her shoulders are straining as her hands are desperately trying to free themselves to fight him off and he growls 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 as his hips thrust in and out slapping against her ass, sweat sticking and making popping noises and the last whine of desperation is whistling in her nose and 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 and come on you bitch NOW he growls and with her last ounce of conscious energy she actually bends herself backwards, head between her shoulder blades and tits and knees and abdomen up and somehow this sprite of not more than 85 pounds dripping wet and clothed manages to push him up and back, still in her as she spasms onto him and her eyes roll up and...

I let go of the bight and with one motion I fall back on to her, loosen the noose and pull out the gag. She needs to recycle her lungs immediately. I put my mouth on hers and let whatever weak scream comes with the last of her dead air come into my mouth. I give her a lungful of the fresh air in mine. She screams back into my mouth, and starts to cough. I pull back and let her breathe and cough, hand ready to muffle a scream or a cry, gag-cloth ready to wipe up any sputum or vomit that might come up. I watch her eyes, which still, I realize, see nothing. Vision requires circulation through some of the smallest blood vessels in the human body - it goes first and comes back last. As her pupils shrink back toward normal, I tell her it is all right. She looks at me and smiles.

Damn, she says. That is the closest to cursing in my company she will ever get. How about a smoke break?

Somewhere over my shoulder I can hear the devils. It's been an hour and a half, and it's still light out, I can hear Wicked saying. What do you say we let him come sometime tonight? Gentle, still in student mode, simply asks if that means Wicked has no more lectures tonight, has Wicked run out of ideas? Oh, says Wicked. It is ON, bitch...

When I finally leave, only the streetlights light the way.