My university had an underground student club about sex and sex instruction. We ran some workshops and handed out condoms and shit like that in public, but we also had a much more… hands on private side. We provided a safe space for people to experiment with sex and kink, with clean equipment and experienced people on-hand to assist if there was any danger. Sometimes people came with partners, sometimes they came alone. I was a (for lack of a better word) “instructor” in more extreme D/s stuff.

Elle was a close friend of my flatmate’s. They ran a religious group on campus together, and regularly held Bible study groups at our place. She was also a regular at dinner parties we would throw, getting irresponsibly wasted and moderately flirty with other guests (and my flatmate) before backing off because she had a boyfriend. The boyfriend’s name changed often enough that it wasn’t worth remembering… the primary requirements for dating her seemed to be having a dick and being a dick. However she had a strict rule about not dating friends and not hooking up outside relationships. My flatmate took this in stride, but I knew he wanted her.

Elle had once mentioned that the only sec position she had experience with was “the starfish”… basically she would like there and get fucked until her partner came in or on her, and then sex would be over. I really don’t know how straight women manage…

Elle came to me because she wanted to be choked. She had been fantasizing about it a lot, but didn’t trust anyone she hooked up with to actually do it safely. She had apparently been given several recommendations and was very on the fence about coming to me, as we knew each other socially (she was my flatmate's close friend), but ultimately the familiarity won out.

We talked about trauma, sex, and kink. Why she was interested and what she wanted to experience. She had clearly never done anything kinky outside of a sexual context, and was very reassured when I told her that she was welcome to wear as much or as little as she wanted. Ultimately she chose to (start) fully clothed.

Elle came over and I took her to my room. We had a conversation about boundaries and safe words, and I reassured her that while she was welcome to masterbate if she wanted to I would not touch her unless she specifically asked me to. She nodded, and I told her to leave the room, get two glasses of water, and that when she came back in I would be in character.

I took my box of sex toys out and used the time to arrange them prominently, so Elle would need to walk past them to come to my bed. A long thin rod and a blindfold on the dresser. A homemade ball-gag and giant dildo on the desk. A pair of handcuffs hanging from the bedpost. Elle had told me that what she really craved was to be intimated into submission. She didn’t want to be hurt or manhandled, she wanted to be the deer in headlights: to have someone’s will thrust upon her, to freeze up, and to surrender and let it happen. Just like, not in a rape-y way. I lit some candles, drew the blackout curtains turned off the lights, and waited for her to enter my lair.

It took her a little longer than I expected, but when she entered I quickly realized why: she had brought a change of clothing. She had come over in jeans and a t-shirt, but she came into my room wearing a simple blue dress whose hemline make it what looked like an inch and a half past her genitalia. She was publicly decent on account of a pair of black leggings, and had removed her jewelry. She blinked as she looked around the room, and I moved swiftly to her side.

I walked around her, pausing behind her to exhale on her ears and take a long look down her chest. I placed a hand on one hip, and whispered “time to learn to fly” before taking her hand and pulling her toward my bed. She stumbled after me, clearly already in a daze, but other than making sure there weren’t any tripping hazards I just pulled her along and let her stumble. As we drew up to my bed I pulled her close, ran my fingers along her back, and leaned down until my lips almost touched hers. I whispered “pizza” (our check in word) and she replied “green” (the go-ahead, standard color coding).

She was so tense with fear and excitement that she started trembling the second my hand found her throat. I stroked her cheek with one hand and looked deeply into her eyes while my other applied light pressure in a massaging motion. Eventually she was able to relax, her eyes closing and her shoulders losing their tension. That was my cue to start applying real pressure.

She tried to swallow, failed, and I took the opportunity to push her backwards, knocking her onto my bed on her back while I straddled her. We stayed in this position for a while: her on her back, me straddling her with knee on either side of her hips and now two hands on her throat. I increased pressure very slowly over what seemed like eons but couldn’t have been more than a minute.

When acting as a dominatrix, the thing I live for is pushing someone through walls. Whether they’re physical or psychological, taking someone beyond what they could previously do is just incredibly erotic to me. Choking is one of the best examples of this; the body panics substantially before the sub is in any real danger, allowing you to play with the apparent boundary with minimal risk.

Elle was approaching that boundary as the pressure from my fingers increased. First she coughed, then she tried to gasp. And then she made the noise I was waiting for, a kind of strangled gasp that’s mostly a hiss. I held there, enjoying it for half a beat, before releasing and disembarking her body. She immediately rolled over, gasping and with a hacking cough.

I gave her some space while she caught her breath, then handed her a glass of water. “How did it feel?” I asked. “Was it everything you hoped for?“

She gave me a sly look and replied, “I’m not sure, I may require more tests.”

This story continues in part 2.