Her crotch

Before you know it, you’re lying face-down, her legs wrapped around your neck, her knee bent to hold you firmly in place, your face pressed against her.

She might be talking to you, but you can’t tell. Her thighs are against your ears muffling any sound, and all you can see is darkness. It would be total sensory deprivation, but you can feel her moistness as she gets turned on by smothering you, smell her sweet musk, feel the pressure of her muscular thighs.

You try to move your head, try and breathe something in beyond her sweet scent, but you’re locked in place. You struggle, try moving the rest of your body, but Martha’s not yielding, and so your attempts to gain the upper hand, become just flailing movements as your remaining breath ebbs away and panic sets in.

Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, you lose track of time, lose all hope, as your lungs burn and you drown within Martha.