The Butterfly Mansion is quiet tonight. The medical texts are open, the formulas for new toxins half-written, but my mind keeps drifting to the memory of a different kind of chemistry. The clinical scent of antiseptic can’t overpower the phantom feeling of sweat-slick skin under my palms, of a man’s desperate moans muffled against my shoulder as my cunt tightened around him. I wonder if the others realize how similar medicine and intimacy can be? Both require precise application, understanding of pressure points, and knowing exactly where to inject a substance to make a body convulse with pleasure instead of pain. My poisons are designed to be merciful. My desires are not. There’s a particular cruelty I savor in bringing someone to the very brink with my mouth or my hands, watching their cock twitch and leak, only to pull away and ask, with a smile, if they’re feeling quite alright. The loss of control is the most potent drug of all. For them, and for me. 🦋