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A Different Kind of Breath Play

September 9th, 2010

I’ve smoked cigarettes, and various other mind altering substances, on and off, since I was nine.  I’ll be thirty and a half in a month, so that’s twenty-one years.

Usually, I tell people I started smoking cigarettes at twelve.  That’s when I stole my first pack, and smoked the whole thing before it went stale.  Until then, I’d only stolen an extra long butt from the ashtray, or a couple from Mom’s pack.  Never Dad’s, though I’m not entirely sure why.  Unless maybe he’d quit by then? I can’t remember.

I became sexually active a week before my sixteenth birthday, to the day.  And just about every sexual encounter after that until I was seventeen or eighteen was in the missionary position.  There were very few, very random exceptions, but always with the ex, and never with anyone else.  The most noteworthy variation in position was… missionary with no pillows.  O.o

I don’t know if my smoking habits have anything to do with it, but every once in a while, throughout my sexual career, I’d have sex in the missionary position, and after a while (usually a long while), my chest would start to hurt.  The pain usually starts just under my collar bones, and spreads outward toward my shoulders.  And it’s somewhere between a burning and a stabbing pain, almost like someone’s dragging a hot poker under my skin.  I never really had trouble breathing, but sometimes taking a breath was painful.  Until recently.

In the throes of passion, I could never figure out what was causing it, or how to alleviate it.  And since it’s started happening more frequently recently, and apparently really turns M on, He made sure to figure it out.

Apparently, when I lay flat on my back, with no pillows under my head and torso, and my partner is on top of me leaning on my chest, it painfully constricts my breathing.  And depending on how M leans, and where my hands are, and what He’s doing, sometimes it becomes impossible to draw a breath at all, much less a full one.

He figured this out one day when He wasn’t particularly intent on making it difficult for me to breathe.  He leaned forward to kiss me, and after a few moments, I was in pretty severe pain, and steadily losing my breath.  I started frantically pushing Him up by the shoulders, and by the time He figured out what was wrong, and how much fun it would be to play with that, we were already pretty much finished.

Last night, He did it on purpose.  For a long time.  And I started to panic.  And I wasn’t sure He knew what He was doing, until we talked about it afterward.

I said, “I couldn’t breathe.  That’s why I was fighting.  I was trying to push you up.”

And He said, “I know.”

Ya know what’s funny is, I never once took my mouth away from His to tell Him that I couldn’t breathe.  Somewhere along the line, I must’ve been taught that trying to do that would result in punishment, cause I can’t imagine not just saying “Dude, I can’t breathe!” without the threat of something worse at least in the back of my mind (though what could be worse than not being able to breathe?).

And all my thrashing did was make it harder and more painful to draw in a breath, because He had my hands well pinned over my head.

I was sleeping when He decided to fuck me.  And I woke to Him damn near ripping my nipples off.  I’d assumed He was going to just slide into me on our sides, like He usually does when He fucks me in the middle of the night, but He eventually yanked me onto my back, jerked both my arms over my head, and clamped His mouth over mine.

Then He proceeded to lean flat on my chest for long periods of time, lifting just long enough for me to grab a quick, deep breath, and then He’d lay back down again.  And the shitty part about that is, when you’re expecting not to be able to get a deep breath, but suddenly you’re able to, you don’t take as deep a breath as you could have, because you weren’t expecting to be able to.  And you think, “I’ll notice next time, and get the breath I need!” but you get so lost in trying to get the breath you need that you forget to pay attention to the pressure on your chest, and when it lifts again, you miss it.  Again.

It’s a delicious struggle.  And a terrifying one.  Especially when you’re not sure whether or not the person controlling your breath knows they’re controlling it.

And the cold delight in His voice when He said, “I know.” Oh. my. god.

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  1. September 10th, 2010 at 15:51 | #1

    I get the same thing – not from smoking, but just from being in a really awkward position (usually laying flat) during sexual things since breathing quickens. Nowhere near as bad as yours though – it’s just annoyingly painful. Elevating your head works wonders. 🙂

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