Sitting on the couch with sweet and sexy Sara, I was that day. We were always close, since we were children. I admired everything about her. Her smile could light up the entire world. Her soft, glowing brown hair, her beautiful figure, her freckles, and her beautiful throat…I just couldn’t get enough of her.

We were always very playful with each other. She starts wrestling with me on the couch. I pulled her towards me by the throat, and locked in a sleeper hold, her laying with her bottom on top of me, on my couch. She held onto my arm tightly, pretending that she was entering a deep sleep.

Then she stopped playing. “Is that your hardest,” Sara proclaimed. “A little girl can choke harder than that!”

I tightened my grip. My arm enclosed on her beautiful neck. Her voice changed significantly; she was now speaking like she had inhaled helium, but she was still talking trash.

I tightened my grip much harder, to the point where she could not breathe at all for about five seconds. I released my grip slightly, and she coughed and coughed, trying to get her breath back. “That was pathetic,” she said.

I released the sleeper and mounted her on the couch. Her head was on the headrest, so I pulled her body down the couch, allowing her to stretch her neck. I grabbed her throat with full force, and applied strong pressure. I did not count the seconds; I just watched her long, unending struggle. She squirmed around on the couch, pulling at my arms, trying to loosen my grip, to no avail. I continued to apply more and more pressure. She tried her best to breathe, but she shouldn’t have taunted me. Her face became red, then a purplish tint. I finally let her go.

Completely out of breath, she fell off the couch onto the floor, writhing around, holding her abused throat. She coughed many a time, and was squatted on the floor for a while, just trying to get her breath back. She rolled over on her back, still hacking, rubbing her reddened neck, and said, “I hope that wasn’t your hardest.”

I grabbed her by the hair and lifted her off the ground. I threw her into the wall and lifted her to the sky by the throat. She didn’t struggle at all. She didn’t fight; she didn’t hold onto my hands; she didn’t even attempt to breathe. She was completely submissive to my power.

I let her go, and she quickly got her breath back. Perhaps she didn’t, and she just wanted to go again. She didn’t have much voice, but whispered, “I know you can do better than that.” I placed my foot on her throat, and applied the wait of my body on it.

I stepped off, lept onto her, and rubbed her tortured throat. I kissed on her neck, rubbed her breasts, and she whispered in my ear, “You can’t hurt me, can you?”

I removed her shirt, her bra, her jeans, and her thong. I placed my hands around her neck, and slowly strangled her. She only had enough room to breathe small, useless breaths. I kissed her on the lips, and with the tongue. She leaned her head back, and I kissed her throat, while maintaining my grip. This slow manual strangulation had her out-cold in just a few minutes.

A few hours later, she came back into consciousness. As soon as she figured out where she was and what happened, she said, “I know you can choke me harder than that.”