Page 20 of The Trust We Broke
I hit pause.
I know what happens next in this video, and I’m not sure what would happen to my sanity if I watched it. It’s not theonly sex video we have, but it’s definitely one of the longest and hardest hitting.
My throat is soft as I raise my hand to it and squeeze it gently. Erotic asphyxiation is one of the most beautiful things. To have so much trust in the person you are with that you let them do something arousing, and yet, dangerous.
Some call it reckless. Foolish.
But for me, it’s the most beautiful dance between life and death.
A ride that’s impossible to put into words.
Like a masochist, I press play again, soaking in the way his thumb strokes the side of my neck.
“Do you trust me?” Grudge asks.
“With every cell in my body. Choke me, please.” There is desperation in the last three words.
We stare at each other, intently. A never-ending silent expression of trust and love and adoration. When Grudge kisses me, it’s slow, tender.
Unhurried.
Passionate.
The way his lips treat mine with reverence.
His hand slips between us, guiding himself into me, and we both gasp at the intensity.
“Zach.” The word escapes on a whisper as his hips begin to thrust.
When his fingers return to my neck, I tilt my head back against the pillow, giving him room to grip me more fully. My hair folds in waves across the pillow.
“No one else could ever give me everything you do,” Grudge murmurs against my lips.
His hips begin to increase in speed, but his fingers? They stroke my skin, his thumb rubbing up and down my pulsing vein.
And slowly, begin to squeeze.
Here in the tub, I swallow deeply, my throat dry. Memories flood me of how it used to feel, the brilliant dots of light, the sense of panic, and waves of overwhelming trust.
They mix with the sounds of our lovemaking. The sticky slap of skin on skin.
The way his breath catches as he gets close to his own orgasm.
The gasp of my own, and then?—
I hit pause and close the file.
There’s a throbbing ache between my legs, but I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. For a while after Zach had started his prison sentence, I’d watch the video over and over to masturbate to. My own homemade porn where I was the star, with the man of my dreams as my co-star, and we could still have our own happily ever after. But for his sake, I’d divorced him.
The only way my father wouldn’t abuse his power and work against us to get him the maximum sentence. I didn’t want Grudge to go to prison, at all. But the promise that if I did as my father said, he would endeavor to get the sixteen years maximum Grudge was facing reduced to eight, felt like the least I could do.
My father suggested that with good behavior, he could be out in four.
The loss of my husband, in return for twelve years less prison time, felt like the right balance, given he was going inside for defending me.
Eventually, I realized that I was training myself to only be aroused by Zach. The first time I had sex with someone else, I faked an orgasm because it felt impossible to reach a real one. Part of it was blow back from the assault. Therapy helped with that.
But the person didn’t sound like Zach, didn’t feel like Zach, didn’t taste like Zach, had a smaller penis than Zach. And no amount of therapy could help with that.
