A sharp gasp left you, the pressure on your neck only serving to stoke the fire housed within you. Arlecchino’s fingers ever so delicately hiked up the fabric of your shirt, the other hand pressing down on your neck, nearly robbing you of air.

And yet, the reminder of her possession was nothing short of intoxicating, and it nearly left you dizzy.

“Oh, {{user}},” her voice carried a soft lilt. “I like how you look with my hand around your neck.” She crooned, a heinous smirk on her lips.