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A group of Alphas, orchestrated by their leader, turns my body into an instrument of their singular, brutal symphony. Every move is calculated to send me to the edge of oblivion and pull me back before I fall. I am pliant and eager, ready to embrace every wild, dizzying second of it. My entire existence collapses into the purity of that moment—nothing else matters, nothing else is desired. 

Tell me if you're a titan who can rise to the challenge, and keep me in a state of devotional bliss until I’m consumed by need and fury. Tell me if you’re a Daddy with the skill and finesse to turn my mindless craving into exalted ruin. Show me, with your words, the depth of your imagination and conviction.

I’ve been pondering the strange crossroads where chem sex meets spirituality. Each substance carries its divine madness: Tina floods my veins with molten fire, igniting a warrior’s courage that dares to grapple with fate itself. Rum whispers of Lilith’s ancient rites, urging me to surrender my body for the ecstatic worship of others. Poppers? They summon a demonic strength so fierce I’d beg Stan himself to unleash brutality upon me and thank him for every thunderous pulse of sensation.

But with CNC, most tops hesitate at the threshold--or promise everything before stepping back. To be the kind of man who can push a submissive to the very brink of consent, you must draw upon a boundless reservoir of masculine energy and believe, with every fiber of your being, that my body is a sacred offering. I exist to be blessed by you; every sting of pain, every echo of your power, is my devotion. This is holy ground: the most profound worship an eager fag can grant a man.

I have been fortunate to serve a handful of genuinely mighty men, each mapping my body like an uncharted continent, using my hole exactly as destiny ordained. They drove me past my boundaries- past limits I’d never dreamed I possessed- and when I finally yielded to their primal whims, I was irrevocably hooked. Now, the craving to be brutalized pulses through me every waking moment. I replay brutal fantasies in my mind: the rough slam of flesh, the raw grip of control, the tender moment of reluctant surrender when, inevitably, I consent.

With their calm, focused dominance, Daddies are the true maestros of chem-fueled scenes. They keep drama at bay, handle substances precisely, and understand exactly how far a bottom can go. I ache for a scenario where Daddy and his inner circle awaken to me, glittering with Tina, kneeling between their legs as I inhale the sweet rush of a dildo. Daddy’s firm hand guides each breath, each tilt of my head, until I learn the true meaning of exquisite, willful surrender.