His neck is weak

I can't block his wild wriggling for long. The guy's chest is already squeezing mine painfully, and sooner or later I'll have to let go. I need a weak point to exploit, but unfortunately that statuesque body doesn't offer me many possibilities. Suddenly, I notice his neck; it is strong and looks as muscular as the rest, but the trachea underneath seems exposed. I choose to go for broke and move my arm until it reaches the exposed windpipe, placing my elbow weight on it. Much to my satisfaction, Jonathan begins to **** and looks very distressed. But I don't have time to rejoice because the boy's big hand twitches and then punches my arm, causing my grip to slip.Losing all support I fall forward and my chin almost reaches the boy's adam's apple. A male hand as strong as a spear grabs the back of my head, pulling me even lower. The **** that is dragging me is inhuman. I try in every way to free myself, but I can't think of any move that could loosen that claw. A second later, the muscular body beneath me snaps and something I can't see passes over my shoulder. Only when Jonathan's toes are near my throat do I realize what's happening. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that male foot that I had admired several times in the previous months ready to finish me off.

"Please don't...", I think, "...don't subdue me with your feet... spare me this humiliation." However, I don't have time to speak. The foot goes around my throat like a necklace made of meat and then pushes upward, meeting the resistance of the boy's hand pulling me on the opposite direction. The pressure on my windpipe is intense and forces ridiculous guttural sounds out of me. The oxygen around my nose disappears. Jonathan is taking his ****. In one move, he managed to charge me for everything I did to him in the last few minutes. My mind is a blank page of panic, and I'm barely aware of my hand tapping on his leg signaling my surrender. That came as an automatic gesture, dictated by a sheer survival instinct. A male whisper reaches my ear "Oh no, it's not that simple! You wanna wrestle? Let's wrestle then!". I am suddenly free with my opponent before me. Jonathan is there, barechested and awesome as only a man in his youth would be, ready to smash my feminity into pieces.

I go aggressivley forward and push and pull on his shoulders, but grappling him it's like trying to fight back a strong wind. Some steely legs play with me, while a stout arm folds over my head. My eyes can see only his pecs relaxing and contracting rhythmically under the strain of our fight, but I feel the guy's lips skimming over my neck and lingering around one of the most erogenous zones that a woman has. "Fuck...don't...you...", I mumble, unable to resist. I am like a doll in his hands. The world whirls around again and I'm steamrolled on my back. A new pain erupts in my ribs. He is probably squeezing me but I'm too befuddled to realize what is actually going on. This is not wrestling, but a slaughter. As soon as I open my eyes, I find Jonathan sitting on my ribcage, looking at me with a dreadful glance. A load of shivers run down my spine. "Now I'll make you beg Karoline...", he says, grabbing my arm. "No! "Enough wrestling!" I plead, but it's too late as the arm is bent into a joint lock and a male foot finds a comfortable position onto my face once more.I smell the moist and learn the geography of that weapon through my lips; the smooth underfoot is occasionally interrupted by calluses, implying long frictions against the tatami and probably proud fights against opponents I can only guess about.The pain in my arm is soaring and spreading all over my body.

He is making me regret all my words and that stupid fighting challenge. It's really time to beg him like nobody ever has before. "Enough Jonathan you won! Enough! I give up! I don't want to fight anymore!". "Say that you are sorry lady..." he commands, somewhere above me. "Please excuse me! I lost to a boy! It's true, I'm a pathetic old lady who just got massacred by a stronger boy. I'm an idiot, I'm sorry! I don't want to wrestle with you ever again. Please, let me go, I submit completely!". These words weigh in like boulders on my stomach and further fuel the yet uncontrollable pocket of humidity between my legs. The ball of his foot is just millimeters away from me. I know what I have to do and so I start kissing it, hoping he will understand. Fortunately, the physical pain ceases at this point. Jonathan stands up and slowly places his big foot on the top of my boobs, trampling them to emphasize my defeat. A tear appears under my eye, flaking off all my makeup. I've never taken a victory pose, only inflicted it to others. I regret to having given him the idea but in the end, I always had the hunch that this was the most likely outcome. Now I am totally at the mercy of another person and this is absolutely shameful.