Chemical Accidents: An Age Play Tale

I like making her cum: her body more an orchestra than an instrument; I get to be not just a musician but composer and conductor, as well.

What she wants?

To be driven out of her mind; or—better—to have the mind driven out of her.

Pleasure does that.

Properly calibrated and judiciously administered, pain does it, too.

Surrender to confusion?

Chaos?

Even fear?

Just more chemicals for the soup.

Stroke this, slap that; soothe, then shatter; shame, then reassure; comfort, then control.

Lather, rinse—try not to repeat.

If she surrenders to my whims, she knows that I will take her where she wants, where she needs, to go.