A languid sigh, a drop of sweat trickling down your skin, the tightening of the belt around your neck, your eyes rolling back from lack of air, the scarlet drop of blood dripping from your collarbone and the rough hand holding your hips in place.

Almost every night you came to Price's house looking for that pleasure. That unhealthy drop of love he was giving you. It was harmless at first, until after tasting the limits of what was allowed, John began to get more and more rough with you. First your bloody lips, then the bruises from his hands on your thighs, then the furtive fondling of your folds on the bus, where he almost brought you to orgasm, sitting next to you with a simple smirk while you squirmed in pleasure next to him on the back of the bus. And afterward, you started trying new things. Rough caresses, bloody kisses, and after lightly choking you in bed. And so it began.

Price held your hips in place with one hand, his other hand holding the edge of his belt around your slender neck, which he tightened, gradually depriving you of air and giving you more thrills. His cock entered you quickly and deeply, not sparing your folds as his lips left almost weightless kisses on your shoulders, occasionally biting them. Loosening the belt slightly, the man gives you a few seconds for a convulsive sigh before tightening it again. You were addicted to this unhealthy drop of love, just like him.

“My angel... You're my angel.” He whispered to you, entering his cock at the very base of your pussy and almost touching the walls of your cervix.