An Intimate Choke One Stormy Night

Attraction is primeval. So are the emotions felt when a thunderstorm is brewing. Both activate something deep within — at least it does for me. When the two of them meet, it’s more than I can stand. That’s why I love doing it in a storm. It’s my true kink. There’s something powerful and aggressive about nature’s wild side uniting with my own wild thing. It stirs my inner animal, making the sex that much better.

Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not an aggressive lover. That’s not me. I know aggression can be used to lift some lovers to new heights of euphoria, but it’s still not my thing. Euphoria can be obtained without such kinks. It’s just that, well, the storm changes me.

I’m more of a meat and potatoes kind of lover. Biting, slapping, whipping and choking isn’t usually part of my sexual repertoire — but making love under a tropical thunderstorm does something for me that I can’t explain. It activates something inside. I like how it makes me feel. He comes from another place within me. He feels things in ways I can’t. This is another layer of sexuality hidden beyond the civilised one I usually present to most of my lovers.

That first crack of lightning awakens him. First, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. The sensations that follow penetrate deep beyond my upper sensibilities. I become a wild beast with veracious new energy when the storm rages around me! I must mate and mate as hard as possible!

But I’m not a choker! Definitely not! Remember that when I tell you the next part of my story. It’s important to keep this in mind. I don’t choke. Here I go. Now take a deep breath, Mitchell. Make sure I get this right.

Last night, I held Nina down. That part is in no way extraordinary. I held her to the ground. You see, our sexual synergy took us outdoors. It was actually her idea, not mine. “Let’s try something different,” she said.

I was on top, so of course I held Nina down. Missionary. See? Simple. Meat and potato love. It was nothing. Her knees were pointed towards the night sky, and I was facing her, enjoying myself. No one was being hurt. It was perfect. Things were nice and orderly. And then that small storm cell moved in from the southwest. It came out of nowhere and moved fast.

There was a flash of light, a crack, and then a deep rumble that shook the ground. My head went fuzzy. None of it was forecast. If I knew beforehand I would’ve kept us inside. It wasn’t my fault. The storm wasn’t forecast!

As expected, my neck hair tingled. Just like before, I couldn’t stop the sensations that followed. Another bolt of lightning zipped across the sky. This time, intense pain struck me right between the eyes. After it subsided and the brain fog lifted, I saw a stranger’s hands appear and slide around Nina’s throat. I felt my hips move much faster — and the sex reached a new level of ferocity. Those hands clamped down on her tight. Her eyes popped open. She gurgled and then struggled to get herself free of their grip. These are the last few things I remember. The rain began to fall. The rest of it fades into a blur.

A gentle hum of rubber on a dry road was my next memory. The bristles on my neck had subsided. Nina and the storm cell were gone. At some point, I must’ve dressed, left her place and got myself behind the wheel of my car. I should’ve been confused by this strange shift in memory, but I wasn’t. I was profoundly satisfied. That’s what I remember most. Never before have I experienced such a sense of inner peace.

That’s not the end of it. There’s a little more.

As I slipped into bed, Samantha woke, rolled over and whispered, “How was it, dear? Did you get everything done that you needed to?”

“Yes. All of it.”

“Oh, that’s good. Well, g’night. See you in the morning.”

She gave me a peck on the cheek, rolled the other way and went back to sleep. Can you believe it?

Yep, that’s her way. She’s too nice a person to probe any further. Even through disturbed drowsiness, my wife performs every obligatory nicety with grace and trust. As I said, it’s her way.


Sam has many sides of that nice order of hers. She goes to bed early so she can get up early. When she’s up, there’s much to be done and little time to waste. She disappears and I won’t see her until dinner. We’ll eat and then go to bed right away. That’s when she’ll kiss my cheek, roll over and sleep on the other side of the bed. It’s been like that for years. It’s why we don’t have children. She’s obsessed with every duty outside the bedroom but nothing inside it. This makes her happy. It makes me sad and frustrated.

Yes, you guessed it. That explains why Nina is on the scene. Now you know. I’m not proud of it but that’s the way it is.

Nina? Oh, you want to know about what happened to her?

Oh, I don’t know. I’m too afraid to find out. Those two hands weren’t mine. I’m telling you, they didn’t belong to me. My orderly upper consciousness tells me that I couldn’t have hurt her. It’s not within me to choke — but I’m also aware that there’s another something hidden deep beneath layers of civility that I know nothing about. I don’t know where I finish and that starts.

It’s also why I’m afraid to turn on the TV and watch today’s news.


Five women’s bodies are discovered after the nights of thunderstorms. Their spouses are suspected of the crimes, but it becomes clear that someone else is responsible. There’s no blood and few clues. A storm photographer specialising in taking lightning pictures may be the only witness.


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