Breath play in the bath: the water is rising

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

It takes me six and a half minutes to fill the bath, and less than five minutes to come. This should be easy, right?

This sex story contains references to drowning, breath play and extreme domination.

His hand is clamped securely around my neck, as I wriggle against the slippery sides of the bath. Covered in… I don’t know. Oil? Lube? Suncream? I’m blindfolded, so I couldn’t see when he rubbed it into me, but it smells like coconut and summer holidays. It smells like this one time in a Spanish apartment when he fucked me in the shower with a shampoo bottle, and I cried as I thanked him afterwards.

I’m squirming, but only in that bratty way that means I don’t really want to escape. I’m squirming because my skin feels good against the cold enamel of the bathtub and because the heel of his hand is pressed up hard against my clit and it throbs deliciously when I grind.

The water is running over my feet at the perfect temperature – not hot, just slightly warmer than my body. It washes away the traces of oil until I can get purchase with my feet.

“Are you ready?” he asks, and I giggle. He smacks me on the stomach, his flat palm stinging hard to let me know that playtime is over. Now I have to concentrate.

“I’m ready,” I tell him, and he puts in the plug.

Immediately, water starts to pool around my feet, then flow across the bottom of the bath. Lapping first at my bum and the backs of my thighs, then gradually up to my shoulders.

His left hand is still clamped around my neck, his right hand working my clit.

“You’ve got about five minutes before the water reaches your mouth,” he explains, before issuing the order. And if you’ve read this far without guessing it, I’ve not done my job right.

“Come,” he says. “Before the water rises.”

“What happens if the water rises?”

“You hold your fucking breath.”

Each movement as I grind my clit into his fist splashes a little more water around me, warming and wetting my skin

The water rises. And it feels good, like slowly being woken up from sleep. I’m confident I’ll come in time.

I’m quick; I’m horny; I have no fear of drowning.

He moves faster, rubbing the way I would if I were alone, and if he weren’t holding my neck so tightly with his other hand I would sigh with pleasure.

And the water rises, and I arch my back as best I can. Though I’m still slippery from the oil and blind from the mask, I manoeuvre clumsily to press my clit right into him: as if it’s pressure alone that’ll get me off.

The water rises further, and he takes his hand away.

It’s just for a second, but I bite my lip and wriggle again, wishing he’d put it back, knowing that if I request it he’ll only deny me for fun. With his now-free hand he turns the tap up – in temperature and volume.

The trickle is now a roar, and the water pools higher up my body. It’s hot between my thighs but frankly scalding at my feet. I can feel the involuntary tightness in my jaw as I grit my teeth – determined to come before the water rises too far.

He puts his hand back between my legs, more precisely this time – two fingers pressing down against my clit. Rubbing harsh circles in the trailing wetness, just on the line between pleasure and pain and I could weep with the frustration of it.

The water is hot like a real bath now. One you take to burn the ache out of tired muscles. But my muscles aren’t tired – they’re hyped-up and eager and squirming, and I really have to come. I must.

I can feel the water rise up beyond my shoulders and tickle the back of my neck.

I shove myself against his fingers more firmly, twitching into position to show him what he needs to do. Determined now to come just before the pleasure of bath-warmth and clit-pressure gives way to a rising, choking panic. The water flows – scalding hot now – from my feet to my neck, and I try to picture it like the oncoming waves of a climax.

I am almost there. Almost. Almost. But he’s not finished with me yet, it’s too fun to watch me work for what I want.

And holy fuck am I working for it: grinding, splashing, panting, moaning, wriggling, fucking… concentrating.

The water is rising. And soon it will cover my mouth.

With his left hand around my throat, he pushes me down. My back slips, I brace my feet, but it’s hard to get purchase, and I don’t really want to resist. Resistance isn’t futile, exactly, but it doesn’t half spoil the fun.

The water is rising and I want it to get me. To pour into my ears and mouth and force me to close my eyes. To numb all my senses except the one that matters – the sensation of his rough fingers on my clit and his hand squeezing tight around my neck.

I’m nearly fully underwater now, and I cannot wait for the next wave to crash over my mouth.

I sip the last breath of air that I’ll see this side of orgasm, and take it deep into my chest so it can sit there like a rock.

His hand closes tighter around my neck. The warmth seeps through my skin and into my core. I wriggle.

And still the water rises.

I reach for his wrist with my hand, and jam it tighter into the slit of my cunt.

To help things along I picture his face behind the darkness of my blindfold. I see him frowning as he watches me squirm, and counting off seconds in his head. I try to see what he’ll look like after this – when I’m wet and sobbing on the cold, tiled floor and he looms over me with his thick cock in his hand.

I wriggle.

I open my mouth to gasp, but I can’t.

I picture him coming on my face, slapping my hands away so I can’t resist, and ordering me to look at him. Blindfold off, eyes open, tears pouring own my cheeks and into my dripping-wet hair.

It’s hard to dwell on nice things when the panic is rising as quickly as the water, and it seems like there’s no way out. When you’re holding your breath and grinding against rough fingers, wordlessly pleading with him to do more and quicker, to help me do this oh God I’m drowning.

I put the ends of my feet against the bath to try and push against it, getting purchase to shove my head above water and get me to the sweet, cold, air that can’t be more than a couple of inches away.

I writhe and struggle and wriggle and do everything in my power besides come: I can’t.

The water is rising, and so is my panic. My lungs are bursting and I have no strength and his hand is tight around my neck and everything about this screams ‘danger.’

Except the person who’s in control.

The water is rising, but it doesn’t matter now, because I remember what this is, and how it ends.

He relaxes his hand about my throat, and pulls the plug just as I’m starting to come

___

 

As I mentioned at the beginning, this story is fictional. If you’re doing things that involve breath play, you need to be extra-serious about safety, and make sure you have rock-solid ways to withdraw consent if it all gets too much for either of you.

The story was initially inspired when I asked Twitter for some ideas for ‘Improv Erotica’ – they could give me a sex act, a location and a famous saying and I’d try to write a story about it. This was inspired by @mistergryphon‘s suggestion. Apologies I couldn’t get ‘mutual’ in – I got carried away with the drowning. x

https://twitter.com/mistergryphon/status/844249423488172032

5 Comments

  • The One says:

    Oh sweet Jesus. Most blogs are entertaining, or instructional, or both. This is something else. A sexy sexy rollercoaster. Thank you!

  • New to this says:

    Breath play terrifies me but good god, that throwaway line about being fucked with a shampoo bottle was seriously hot! It’s so interesting to start to read about your fictional as well as actual experiences, thanks! xx

  • Person says:

    This was the first post I have read, and even after reading many more, it remains my favorite one

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *