Dragon Ball Kinktober Day 14 - Choking: Hit
fem!reader - 1,269 words
Warnings/tags: choking, breathplay, dom/sub, fingering, praise kink
A/N: man this might be my favourite piece for Kinktober that I've written so far...I have a thing for Hit and a thing for choking so this just felt like a match made in heaven. I hope you enjoy this meal ;)
KINKTOBER MASTERLIST
The sheets were cool beneath your naked skin, but they did nothing to calm the heat pooling in your stomach. You lay on your back, chest rising unevenly, knees bent slightly as Hit hovered above you, a pillar of calm precision. Even in the comfort of your bedroom, there was danger in his presence, a quiet, suffocating kind that made every nerve in your body hum.
He didn’t speak immediately. He simply moved closer, gloved fingers brushing against your jaw. The touch was light at first, but it carried authority. You shivered, unconsciously pressing toward the warmth of him, and he allowed it, thumb sliding along your pulse.
“Breathe,” he murmured, voice low, calm, lethal even in its gentleness.
You did. Shaky, uneven, your lungs filling against the barrier of his hand. The sensation made you shiver, a thrill spiralling through your chest.
His thumb stroked the line of your pulse. “Too fast,” he said, his voice calm, clinical. “You’re already anticipating. Slower”
You parted your lips to speak, but the words caught when he tightened his grip. The world narrowed instantly, your eyes glazing over slightly as your airflow was reduced to a thread.
Panic, adrenaline and desire tangled together in your veins.
He tilted his head, studying you with that same unshakable composure. “Focus. Don’t fight it. Trust me.”
Your body obeyed before your mind did. You stilled, surrendering into his hold. The strength in his arm was immense, enough to break you without effort, and yet every movement was measured. Precise. He gave you just enough to feel the danger, never enough to truly harm.
When he eased up, air rushed back into your lungs. You gasped, dizzy, chest heaving. His eyes softened a fraction. “Good. That’s better.”
Your wrists flexed uselessly against the bed, your body leaning unconsciously closer to him. His other hand came up, gliding over your cheek, grounding you even as his grip at your throat firmed once again.
This time, his spare hand slipped downwards, tracing a tantalising trail down to your sex. His frame hovered above yours, like a hunter cornering his prey. The pressure at your throat increased in pulses—firm, then easing, firm again—forcing your breath to stutter.
“Stop trying to suck them in. Hold onto your breath after you exhale.”
His red eyes remained fixed on you, smoldering with affection hidden behind hunger as he started to play with your wet clit. Your fingers curled into the sheets with each small, slick circle of his gloved fingers, but he remained unfazed.
Every nerve screamed with sensation, the limited circulation of blood to your brain only igniting your pleasure further. It were as if he’d poured gasoline on your lust, stoking and feeding the flame of your arousal, letting the fire rage.
“Stay with me,” he ordered quietly, eyes locked on yours.
You nodded as best you could, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. The sound of your own heartbeat roared in your ears, each throb amplified by the hand controlling your air.
Then, just as your vision began to fuzz, he loosened his hold. You dragged in a desperate breath, your chest arching up toward him. His smirk was almost imperceptible, but it was there. His fingers did not leave your pussy. You squirmed.
“You come apart so easily,” he said. Not mocking, not amused, as if merely stating fact, pocketing another detail about you the way he might a target.
Your lips trembled, forming his name, but before the sound left your mouth, his hand flexed again, cutting you off. Your voice strangled into silence, eyes going wide as heat surged low in your body. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was because he pressed two fingers past the tightness of your entrance. You couldn’t tell anymore. All your senses blended into a singularity: his hands, his touch, his control.
He languidly thrust his fingers in and out of your heat, relishing the way your juices clung to the fabric of his gloves. You wanted more, so much more. But you couldn’t plead. Not with his hands wrapped your throat.
He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You asked for this, didn’t you?” he murmured. The calm certainty in his tone was more intoxicating than any growl or shout could have been. “So take it.”
Your hips shifted unconsciously, searching for friction, every cell in your body alive with frantic, helpless need.
He pressed harder, not hurting you, yet, but enough that your sight started to dim. The lack of air was dizzying, intoxicating, pulling you higher and higher until you couldn’t tell where fear ended and euphoria began.
Your body shuddered against him, every nerve screaming as his fingers continued their slow, deliberate rhythm. Your head was swimming, your chest rising in ragged, shallow pulls. Each pulse of pressure at your throat, each calculated movement of his fingers, pushed you further toward the edge.
You wanted to beg, wanted to throw yourself into him completely, but the hand at your throat silenced every word before it could form. All you could do was move against him, your lower half shifting desperately, stomach knotted tight with need. Heat seared your skin, radiating up your spine, consuming every one of your thoughts.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low, warm against the side of your neck. The words weren’t praise, not exactly, but they made your muscles clench tighter. “Just a little longer. You’re doing so well.”
Your ears started to ring, chest heaving, but no breaths came. Every inch of you was attuned to him, the weight of his hold, the glide of his fingers, the constant, quiet dominance of his presence. The edges of reality began to crumble as your perception was reduced purely to sensation.
And then, without warning, his thumb pressed against the sensitive spot behind your ear, a subtle adjustment that made your entire body arch instinctively. Your breath hitched, lungs straining, and each nerve in your body sung.
His fingers moved with unerring precision, brushing past your tightness, curling just enough against your soft front wall to elicit whimpers and gasps. Your hips bucked involuntarily, body seeking release even as your mind fought to hold on.
“You’re close,” he whispered, voice calm, velvet-thick. “I can feel it.”
Your nails dug into the sheets, shoulders trembling. The combination of pressure, friction, and the hypnotic steadiness he played with you drove you past any thought, any control.
Then, finally, he allowed you the smallest bit of freedom. His fingers pressed just right, his thumb easing slightly from your throat, and the tension snapped. The heavy, hot knot of desire inside you unraveled in a rush so intense you couldn’t even form a sound at first. Your body spasmed against him, trembling, each of your senses utterly overwhelmed.
Hit held you through it, steadying you with the sheer weight and control of his presence, letting the aftershocks wash over you. His lips brushed your temple, just a ghost of a kiss, and the firm press of his palm at your hip grounded you even as your body continued to shudder.
“You did well,” he murmured, voice low, careful. “You took it exactly how I wanted.”
Your breath returned in uneven gulps. You curled into him instinctively, forehead against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his steady breathing. The danger, the intensity, the absolute control, it all rippled into warmth and tenderness, leaving only the closeness of him, the lingering sensitivity, and the steady reminder that he was there at your side.
