Flip a switch

Dave’s jaw worked uselessly, spit pooling under his tongue as the compulsion overrode his resistance. "*I theorized your powers escalate with sexual satisfaction*," he spat mechanically, face crimson. "*If I… stimulate you sufficiently, I could theoretically redirect the effects toward my own—*" Jessica clutched her sides, howling. "STOP!" she gasped, kicking her feet like a delighted child. "You’re *killing* me!" She wiped imaginary tears, sighing wistfully. "Oh, Davey… you really *don’t* get it." Her smile sharpened, razor-edged. "Honey, *I* don’t even control my powers. They’re not a *tool*—they’re *me*. Like breathing." She inhaled exaggeratedly, exhaling a shimmering cloud of glitter that spelled *DUMBASS* in cursive before dissipating.

The realization hit Dave like a bucket of ice water—his cock twitching again, this time in dread. *No switch to flip, no button to press.* Just *her*, infinite and untouchable, giggling at his pathetic scheming. He imagined his thesis committee’s faces if he submitted *this* as peer-reviewed research: *Hypothesis: Ex-girlfriend’s cosmic clitoris governs spacetime. Methodology: Attempted cunnilingus. Results: Catastrophic.* His throat burned with humiliation. Meanwhile, Jessica stretched luxuriously, arching her back until her blouse strained dangerously. "But hey!" she chirped. "Points for creativity! Wanna *test* your little theory?" Her pupils dilated, swallowing irises whole. "Go on, Davey. *Try* me."