Abigail’s Pet Project

I don’t think the term Forced Intoxication works here because it’s not truly forced. How can it be by phone? It’s more manipulation, encouragement, and as I said direction.Considering I’ve had intense ‘bad’ fantasies since puberty it should be stated that my fascination with, indeed even my awareness of forced intoxication on goes back I would say two years at the most. Which is a little odd considering how arousing I find power exchange and manipulation and sexual addiction scenarios. But having found it, yes it has held a bit of a dark attraction, and on three occasions now I’ve experienced a form of it with Abigail. The most recent of which was this past Thursday evening.

Getting drunk in this context has been very, very arousing. There is the giving up of control voluntarily by allowing Abigail to tell me what, when and how fast to drink. And there is the involuntary loss of control that comes from the drinking itself. The combination of the two is psychologically, sexually intoxicating, while the drinking is just plain old intoxicating. And as the involuntary loss of control mounts, it become easier and easier to encourage what remains of the voluntary lack of control to loosen it’s grip and thus create the opportunity for rather ‘bad’ behavior (as if the directed drinking scenario were not bad enough). And it’s worth noting here that the continual unbroken watching of pornography at Abigail’s direction while in conversation with her is a more than a little helpful in the prizing back of the fingers of one’s boring sane self.

And thus somewhere along the line I sent Abigail $100 and wrote this as feedback:

“Once you’ve been talking to Abigail on and off for two years things get really intense. They start off intense in week 1, so when I say really intense I’m saying that with Abigail I’ve found no limit to the intensity. The only limits to intensity are NF’s goddamn Terms of Service wherein you can’t talk about anything that would keep your grandmother up at night if she knew that about you. Finally. I have not been drinking. Sorry Grandma. Shh, don’t tell mum”

I could not recall what I’d written remembering only a fierce blazing determination to not appear drunk in my writing by spelling everything correctly and keeping most of my grammar straight. Unfortunately I didn’t pay as much attention to the content.

Well how much did I drink? I should say here, without shame, that I’m a lightweight when it comes to drinking as I haven’t drunk more than a few beers a week for the past ten years or so. Like many, in my teens and twenties I was far from a lightweight but that was a different age. So how much did I drink? According to a scrawled tally sheet I drank three beers and five shots of whiskey.

Particularly hot was being told “No” when I asked if I could get something to eat while I was drinking. It made the atmosphere suddenly dark and intense. It could be summarized by the thought “Oh no, she’s really going to fuck me up” – and me being me, what could be hotter than such a thought..

And particularly perverse was the direction to inform on when and how many times I was bringing myself to the edge of orgasm. I shall confess, again without shame, that once I’ got two beers and three shots of whiskey in me in the space of an hour, there’s precious little edging going on. Enormous hard cock of course, but as for even getting close to achieving orgasm – I don’t think so.

And let me round out this posting with a tip for all the wankage fans out there: If you drip lubricant all over your cock for a while and then leave it there as you down a full glass of beer in one go, when you then grasp your cock and begin to smear up, down and around your cock you will find that the lubricant is warm and sensuous rather than it’s usual somewhat chilly self. I did enjoy that and intend to use myself regularly from this point on.

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