The night

She stayed on her knees.

I looked down at her for a long moment, still fully dressed, drink in hand. Then I set the glass aside and walked back to her.

“Good choice.”

I didn’t give her time to answer. I reached down, wrapped a hand around her throat from the front, and pulled her up. Not hard enough to cut her air completely — just enough to control her. I walked her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, then lifted one of her thighs high against my hip. My other hand stayed locked around her neck in a firm headlock-style grip, thumb pressing under her jaw so she had to look at me.

I shoved my pants down just far enough, lined up, and pushed into her in one hard stroke. She was still wet from earlier. I bottomed out and stayed there, grinding deep while my hand flexed on her throat.

“This is what happens when you make me wait,” I said, calm. “You get used harder.”

I started fucking her against the wall — rough, punishing strokes that made her back scrape the paint. Every time she made too much noise I tightened the grip on her neck just enough to quiet her. Her hands came up to my wrist once. I ignored them and kept going.

I edged myself on purpose. Every time I felt close I slowed down, stayed buried inside her, and just held her there by the throat until the urge passed. Then I started thrusting again, harder than before. I did it three times. She was shaking by the second one, trying to push back onto me, trying to get more. I didn’t let her.

My phone rang on the table a few feet away.

I didn’t pull out. I walked us over to it — still inside her, still holding her by the neck — and answered on speaker with one hand.

“Yeah.”

I kept talking in a completely normal voice while I slowly fucked her against the wall. Short, controlled thrusts. My hand never left her throat. When she started to make a sound I tightened my grip and gave her a flat look. She went quiet. I finished the call in under a minute, hung up, and immediately drove into her harder.

“Interruptions don’t stop anything,” I told her. “They just make me use you longer.”

I pulled out, spun her around so her chest was against the wall, and locked my arm around her neck from behind in a proper headlock. I lifted her slightly so she was on her toes, then pushed back into her from behind. The angle was deep and relentless. I fucked her like that — rough, steady, no mercy — while my forearm stayed pressed under her chin, controlling her breathing in short intervals.

I edged myself again. Pulled almost all the way out, held still, felt her try to push back, then slammed back in. I kept denying both of us until she was making broken little noises against my arm and her legs were starting to shake.

Only then did I decide I was done denying.

I tightened the headlock, lifted her a little higher, and fucked her through it — hard, deep, punishing strokes until I came inside her with a low breath. I stayed locked around her neck and buried inside her until I finished completely. Then I slowly let her down, pulled out, and released the hold.

She slid down the wall a little, gasping, marks already showing on her throat, cum starting to drip down her thighs.

I fixed my pants, picked up my drink again, and looked at her like nothing had happened.

“Still clear on the rules?”

She nodded, eyes glassy.

“Good. Stay there. I’m not finished with you yet.”