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One day I was a husband, the next day I had been regressed to an adolescent boy: submissive to my wife Chrisalice, and her lifelong friend-and mentor in domination-Bella. I fell off a cliff?I jumped?I was pushed? I don't know: free fall is free fall, however it starts. But gravity is . . . relentless. If there's an initial feeling that you're flying? A kind of freedom? A kind of exhilaration? You quickly learn that-whatever you started out thinking-you are, most assuredly, NOT in control. And . . . how-or if, or when-you land? THAT'S not under your control either. You accept that or you don't.Gravity doesn't care. My wife sung me songs as I nursed at simply every part of her body: gratitude and correction, threats and promises, poems of passion about the pleasure she would reap and the services I would perform, dutifully lapping the leavings of superior men from any and every crevice or surface of her body with which she chose to gift them, that she might permit me to clean. I spent more and more time deprived, restricted, cut off, teased and denied, painfully swollen and leaky; more than once: I came in my sleep, something that hadn't happened to me since adolescence, before I was enlightened regarding the benefits-the absolute necessity!-of masturbation. Where would this end?Well that was close to preordained-wasn't it? Once you "take the leap," the question isn't whether or not "the ground" is in your future; the only question is the speed-the angle, the violence, the damage you will suffer-when that inevitable collision takes place. [Includes age play, oral sex, and pegging; cream pie eating; references to cuckolding]