*The attached audio clip is shared with the necessary consent, as required for third party disclosure.*

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Three years ago, I was approached by an enthusiastic lady. She was exactly my type: a Cambridge slut with a penchant for their academic superiors, sapiosexual, accomplished, well-read with an intellect to match her playfulness. Coincidentally and to my delight, she was particularly interested in my specific field of expertise: our exchanges were an intoxicating mix of science and smut, as she could not help but relish in my suffocating intellect. Day after day, we texted and soon we began exchanging (reading lists,) voice notes and photos: you may say that she was addicked to my brains (pardon the crass pun).

With a date for a rendezvous set, I escalated my demands. Every night in the week prior, she would have to wear the same pair of panties as she imagined our first encounter and pleasured her clit without permission for sweet release. Each morning, I woke up to increasingly desperate pleas for clemency. All of which were duly disregarded. On the day itself, I commanded her to tightly roll her panties up and shove them in her raw pussy. Every slight movement would bring about a mixture of discomfort and ecstasy as her engorged clit rubbed against the scratchy lace, barely protruding from her folds. Unable to maintain her composure during morning meetings in the office, she snuck out early to meet me at a nearby cafe.

Evidently distracted, she was caught unawares as I greeted her from behind, pressing my manhood against the small of her back. She lightly purred and reaffirmed her excitement for the proceedings ahead. Before coffee, I asked politely for her to hand over the offending pair of panties: with a sigh of relief, she excused herself briefly and returned from the restroom with a ruined rag in hand, thoroughly soaked and pungent with an unmistakable stench. This would prove useful shortly.

With our vetting complete, she reached under the table and placed her hand on my crotch: it did not require my 5+ Oxbridge degrees to decipher the intent behind this lustful stare. We headed briskly to the 5\* hotel: before the door to our suite slammed shut, she had already buried her lips on mine, demanding me to render her battered and senseless. Typical fawning sapiosexual. Subjugation without proper resistance would not do. Choking her against the wall, I made it clear that I would only do so after a prolonged struggle.

She nodded enthusiastically and what transpired was a good hour of floor work. She twisted, kicked and tried to crawl way from under my weight: valiant attempts that were readily thwarted and rewarded with brisk slaps across her face and gorgeous tits, in addition to deep bite marks across her perfectly formed arse. Only when she finally went limp did I stop.

With compliance ensured, I secured her torso with a simple box tie harness. Held in partial suspension with an upline to the ceiling beam, I forced her onto her tiptoes. Blindfolded and gagged with her putrid panties, the acrid taste and smell of a full week of denied lust forced down her face hole, I began torturing her clit with my wand. Her thighs trembled violently each time I brought her to the edge. Her toes curled hard against the floor and a muffled, broken sound escaped around the gag before I pulled the wand away again (see audio link attached).

She was clearly sensitised given the week of preparatory work and soon it was time for her debasement and transformation into a mindless, gaping cumslut. Wand off, fingers in: one, two, three and then my entire fist. Each time she came on my fist I counted it aloud and tallied another mark high on her inner thigh in permanent marker: a succinct and humiliating record of how quickly her composure had collapsed.

I'll leave it at that but she was positively pleased with the bruising and marks: fond reminders for our evening together.

The Deterministic Nature of Sapiosexuals (Audio attached)