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forced intox

The scent of whiskey on his breath, I can’t help but smile with each drink poured. Forced intox once again, he tried to tell me to stop, but that shaking hand still lifted the drink.

  “One more for the road. You know how good it feels when your drinking.”   I encourage his drinking for one reason. The more he consumes, the weaker he becomes. He is my fored intox loser. I am addicted to weak-minded men, and what they give me. Pouring a shot of Jack, Jim, and Gin, this trio will be the one to loosen him up and for the hand to his pocket. It’s no mystery that a drunk man forgets what he spends.  

Forced intox is wrong, but I’m addicted to it.

  Wiggling on his lap, he placed his wallet on my knee, but I wasn’t ready to open it. I needed to feel the loser a little more liquid love before this transaction would take play. I had loaded up my wish list with items, and when ready, we push go. Not until he is begging me to take it though. Even when I show him things that might be a little in the ageplay range, he has learned to drink more. I love being that devilish guide.

    “Take it, baby. Now show me what you got.”   I love that moment in time. I whisper in his ear, supply him with visual aids, and allow him to spend money on me. At this point, I pour another and he tells me it’s the last one. Is it? Of course not. He will be drinking until I’m done, not him. Poor silly fool that he is to ask for forced intox.  

Forced intox is both heaven and hell. You get that feeling of euphoria. Then you get the one where you realize only a loser would allow someone to do this to them. I agree with that. You are a loser, and what I want, I get. When you wake from this drunken stupor don’t forget to check your bank account. The lower the number, the more you drank. Fucking loser. I knew you would be an easy mark.