I was choking him. My slender white fingers pressed deep into his massive dark neck as I rode this strong, velvet King Kong. When you grip someone's throat and stare down into their eyes, the exquisite sensation of control makes your head spin: 'I will do whatever I please with him!'

And the true sweetness of it is that both of you moan from this intoxicating power: not from pain—from pleasure. Which means you can keep going and going. Sharper, deeper, harder.

There is a distinct thrill in looking back over your shoulder while on all fours. And seeing, with a flicker of terror, the sheer mass looming over you, pounding into you so methodically it feels like a machine. Only the animal growl and the spontaneity of his movements betray the human within. Broad, primally powerful, and very different and exotic.

"Besides everything else, you know what else is so thrilling about being with this guy? That he has a friend—just as black, and just as big in the right place. And next time, they are both coming over. Because the only thing better than an immersion with one dark-skinned man is a fierce bacchanalia with two…"

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

He hauled my e-scooter up to the fifth floor. A cozy little nest for a summer romance. It’s sweltering; all I want is to be completely naked. With you.

"A new love slays the old," a medieval classic once wrote. This guy’s powerful, albeit slightly weathered body could be put to a myriad of delicious uses. The delightful perk of massive suitors is how effortlessly they make you feel like Thumbelina. You can unleash all your relentless energy upon them—go ahead, they won't break.

There were no riveting conversations to be had with him. There are simply some guys whose tongues are meant for things other than words. And honestly, that’s a plus. It’s highly preferable they stay quiet as much as possible—leaving your imagination to fill in the blanks, painting a brutal, intensely sexual, brooding hero out of legend. Because that "rugged boorishness"—which might have passed for good breeding in D’Artagnan’s musketeer regiment—is best kept under wraps.

Tumbling in the sheets, it’s intoxicating to revel in the sensation of a battle lost by design, when the conqueror's triumph is even sweeter than the clash itself. After all, he ravages his prey with such ferocious zeal...

And then to embrace endlessly afterward, just long enough for the fierce barbarian to catch his breath and dive into that intoxicating, wordless dialogue all over again.

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

Her grandmother worked as an accountant at a meatpacking plant and often brought her granddaughter along. Among the endless rows of document shelves, there was always a spot to hide. And it was far safer there than in the pedagogical dungeons of that era, where the self-righteous daycare matrons shamelessly tormented their defenseless charges, yanking them by the hair and calling them names. Like when you couldn't fall asleep because you desperately needed the bathroom after lunch—while the teachers, just to flex their authority, only allowed bathroom breaks on a rigid schedule, and strictly BEFORE meals.

Anyway, surrounded by adults busy shuffling through accounting reports, she was bored to tears. Besides, having already devoured a decent dose of fiction, she was rapidly skipping through the usual phases of puberty. She craved romance and adventure. Boys her age seemed hopelessly stunted, while a thirst for thrills beckoned her.

And so, she came up with the idea of wandering along one of the massive stairwells in her grandmother’s building (it was a monumental, multi-story structure) with her little dress hitched up and her panties pulled down. A true Nabokovian muse.

During working hours, the stairwell was deserted, and an intoxicating rush of adrenaline washed over her. The sheer mischief of it—and her absolute right to commit it—made her head spin. After all the bans and restrictions—freedom! At least in this one thing. Her makeshift stage was right by the window (the grounds below were completely empty). But that hardly mattered: if someone did spot her, the "cancan dancer" would simply bolt.

Perfect! The bust of Lenin in her grandmother’s office knew everything, and that was a good thing—she had a co-conspirator to wink at, someone to share the secret. And then one day... Yes, of course, it happened—one day.

One flight up, a young man materialized, leaning over the railing. Caught completely exposed, the star of her own private theater—whose audience had so far been entirely imaginary—stared in shock into the intense, wide-open eyes of a real spectator from above. It felt as if the beads of his masculine sweat were about to drip right onto her.

The tension reached a fever pitch (as Freud wrote, sometimes nature awakens early), and the little hooligan darted straight back into the matriarch's office, just managing to catch a glimpse of her startled spectator heaving for breath.

Ever since then, she gets a thrill out of being watched: she enjoys the raw exposure of her image and her thoughts. That’s exactly how one becomes an exhibitionist, right? The heroine still carries the "banner of sensual freedom" she hoisted back then, and that guy apparently became... Well, they certainly left an indelible mark on each other, even though they never crossed paths again.

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

On my ceiling, colored light reflections form a pattern I painted myself. There are so many shades, shimmering and dancing in the candlelight. In this soft half-light, you sat leaning against the wall. And I climbed onto your lap, straddling you.

You gathered up my long dress, stroking my thighs and waist while I kissed you. Then you pinned me to my back, caressing me and showering me with tenderness.

We held each other, tumbling over one another, indulging in every tantalizing desire until you had no strength left...

I only love tenderness when it’s set against a contrast. I prefer power play—exploring the edges of coercion, when His Majesty BDSM hasn't revealed himself yet, but his heavy tread is already felt. And I gladly provoke, biting or pulling away, fully expecting you to hold me. Hold me tight... Everything that would feel nasty and rough in anyone else's hands is sheer bliss right here.

"Everyone's secretly crazy about violence, and whoever says otherwise is lying"—the words of a buddy of mine... And he’s right. Controlled aggression is pure sweetness; uncontrolled aggression from some dickhead is just repulsive.

"Want me to eat you up?"

...And I was screaming, because what you were doing felt far too good for polite moaning. My voice was on the verge of cracking, and it felt as though someone else was squirming like that, while I was floating through clouds in a parallel reality...

And when you were completely spent, I stroked your hair, running my fingers through it. We smiled and looked into each other's eyes with gratitude.

P.S. I wrote this story back when the Jedi were still fighting Darth Vader (a long time ago). Today, I added a few adult spices and a recent photo—a June client on the other side of the screen and his wicked psychologist.

Some people occasionally complain that it's inappropriate for representatives of my profession to wear erotic attire during consultations! But why... It’s like a teacher putting on a hat from the Harry Potter universe so their flock feels like they're in Hogwarts. Everything vivid is remembered better.

Our world is so diverse—you can choose a specialist to suit any taste: from someone in a Mary Poppins persona to a stern Mord-Sith. Bon appétit, and enjoy devouring this feast.

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

His hot, darkly bronzed body pinned her to the bed. The queen's white skin gleamed with purity even beneath the beads of his sweat... She cried out often, and he stubbornly pushed until her cries dissolved into breathless moans. From the sheer intensity of his pace, Her Majesty lost her voice entirely, completely consumed by ecstasy.

"I'm practically made of stone, no need to pleasure me. But you—you are one absolute erogenous zone."

She smiled back, basking in his embrace. She gasped, writhed, and fought to break free, but there was no chance of him letting her go.

Eventually, she begged to stop, completely spent. But he could have stayed buried inside her for an eternity. And so, blissfully happy, they laughed and drank sweet, full-bodied wine...

Photo and video by the author

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

That morning, she had enjoyed two separate intimate encounters—just a couple of hours apart—with both of the men she loved. She felt utterly euphoric. She was buzzing with endorphins and radiating pure bliss. She was rocking a short, flared plaid skirt and a form-fitting blazer that accentuated every single curve...

Riding the subway, she noticed a tall, sweaty, heavy-set man puffing and turning red across from her. Dressed in office attire and clutching a briefcase, he looked like a boiling kettle with its lid rattling from the steam.

Time to get off. By the doors, she suddenly felt the heavy paw of this wheezing creep slip right into her panties—he had lunged at her, trying to pull off a DP (double penetration) with his fingers right there in the train car. She recoiled and informed him that he was a filthy, stinking, greasy swine...

A fair assessment, but the aggressor didn't agree with the characterization; instead, he started screaming and making threats. The train stopped, the doors slid open, and he dragged her by the arm out onto the platform, hauling her toward some dark corner. The girl screamed and fought back. Everyone hurried past them, except for one hunched, tiny old lady. The brave elderly woman stepped right between them, brandishing her cane at the scumbag, demanding he let his victim go. She declared she had seen everything, completely ignoring his lying accusations.

Her defender's intervention allowed her to escape the dead end of the platform and reach the transfer tunnel to another station. At this point, the smart move would have been to stay quiet and lay low, but she blurted out something to the villain that made him lunge at her with the clear intention of tearing her apart. The old lady was no longer around, and the hunted girl found herself burying her forehead into the pumped bicep of a tall, imposing, shaved-headed guy.

"Please, protect me."

She didn't have to ask twice. The young knight grabbed the swine-faced creep by the collar, lifted him off the ground (about three hundred pounds of furious lard), and pinned him against the wall. Holding him there for a moment, he shook every ounce of fight right out of him.

And then, together with the princess rescued from the dragon, they exited the subway, riding the escalator off into the sunset. The paths of new encounters are truly mysterious, especially the thrilling ones.

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel

"Your size hurts me! We won’t be able to tell a soul about this—they'd die laughing!"

"No. They’d die of envy."

If a guy is on the smaller side and skips the foreplay, the woman simply won’t feel a thing. But if he’s packing heavy artillery and dives in unannounced, it’s a recipe for genuine agony. Foreplay is absolutely crucial. And in exceptionally gargantuan cases, an extra ritual is required:

"That’s why we need to 'introduce' ourselves first," the girl said, rolling over into the missionary position. "With something this massive, you have to start like this. To adjust. Consider it a warm-up."

...Once everything inside has stretched to a comfortable capacity, she can get on all fours and let him really rev up... Let him build momentum. Let him start moving hard, fast, and bone-deep.

They finished and drifted into a daydream:

"If we had a place to go, I’d kidnap you for days on end every single week. Though I'd probably have to kick you out eventually, just to let my chafed pride and joy recover."

That day, a refrigerator they’d ordered was delivered. The mover—whether eager for the cash or just a genuinely decent guy—hauled the beast up the stairs without an elevator. What a veritable mountain of a man! With shoulders a mile wide, the chilling domestic monolith practically vanished in his grip. He shot them a Shrek-like grin and fluttered back down the stairwell.

Watching him leave, the girl whispered to her starkly miniature beau:

"Terrifying guy. I feel like he could’ve ravaged us both."

"Wouldn’t work on me! By sheer force of will, I’d snap his dick clean off with my asshole!"

They talked about various sexual games. And the people they’d played them with:

"Are you jealous of me? Tell me the truth! You promised!"

"Alright, fine, a little..."

And then they did some experimenting of their own, simulating a rough, coercive encounter:

"I was doing that for you, you said you wanted it rough."

"I had no idea it would feel this repulsive."

She left to run some errands and returned with a gift:

"It's a spy's hat and a pistol!"

He smiled: she understood his tastes, and him, perfectly. And he understood her:

"While you were out, I swept your floor."

"You know, that flusters me more than the most brazen intimate caress."

She showed him a photo that captured the real her, free of artificial grimaces or posing:

"I leaned in to get a closer look at that video, and someone caught me on camera off-guard. It’s nice..."

"Look like that—but only at me!"

They were holding each other again:

"I love it when you boss me around."

"Then giddy up!"

"But I'm exhausted..."

"Giddy up, and I’ll shower you with pity."

It was a euphoric day. If you are a man, and after your visit, a disheveled woman wears a facial expression like that... you are a magnificent lover.

Afterword

He is a well-adjusted human being. To me, that’s wildly bizarre. Every single person I know rides an erratic rollercoaster of madness, but this guy has absolutely zero compulsion to validate his ego. And that is intoxicatingly attractive. EVERYONE, literally EVERYONE I knew back then, was desperate to prove their worth: to convince someone of something, to assert their dominance, to appear stronger, smarter, or richer.

But he is entirely removed from that noise. He does what he loves, he lives... he loves. And on top of that, with him, I got to hear: "You were screaming so loud, I actually thought about easing up on the pace..."

Nelli Verkhovska PhD in Psychology For more on alternative relationships, check out my YouTube channel