He literally cried when he first found out what Devi had in store for him, how his male sex life had ended in a way but would continue on in a new sort of sweet agony. It started as a challenge really, a short period of coyly suggested sexual denial. Just 108 days. It was sensual, with whimpers and begging for mercy, a punishment or two for being so weak, and orgasms for me all around. But he had let slip some useful information about his psyche and as a lark I trotted it out one day, hinting broadly that his pleasure now comes from perfect obedience to me and all his future orgasms where my required sacrifice. The change in him was immediate and devastating, a sort of orgasmic betrayal, like a proud building crashing to the ground in a pathetic heap of bricks. In that instant he ceased to be a man and started to become my devoted dasa, my personal manslave and stress receptacle and my endlessly captured spiritual battery. Along the way I learned all the techniques I would need in order to have several of these ‘batteries’ at my beck and call in the future – whether they initially wanted to pay my price of submission or not… their orgasms and their fragile male egos!
The tingle I felt below was surprising, flicker in a dark cavern, much like the barest hint of champagne on the tongue when all one had ever experienced was a counterfeit stale tap water. The shiver ran down to my toes. I was already on the right path and had so many other submissive men before, but little did I know he was about to provide the spark to the start of a new life, a better existence and a profound spiritual pathway that would allow me to live more fully, expressing myself in every way that a woman should be able to express herself. It was the difference between living as a guttering flame and living as a soul which had captured the radiance of a star. At the time I hadn’t put all of this together yet, I was just finding the switches inside myself. And I had some help coming. I certainly can’t preach to you but I can and do preach to my hopelessly devoted dasa manslave.
As his fantasies began to fade and he felt the reality of my spiritual power envelop him, he started to literally cry, “You can’t do this to me!” It’s always about THEM isn’t it? It’s ALL happening to them. They will whine until the ego is fully snuffed and then whine some more (but then only when I enjoy it). “Yes, you will beg me to take you and I will enjoy owning you so very much! I will snuff your ego and put you away, a wailing doll captured against your will, into my purse, only to pull you out again when I need any sort of service, be it free labor, ATM, sexual servitor, stress dump, or agony puppet. You will work for me as well as any woman I choose… oh yes…every woman needs a slave and stress receptacle!”
“Please, it’s not fair!” Funny how they all parrot that same line at first. I really do think they are simple animals and automatons, just needing to be broken into service. And what better way than to use their vices against them. “It seems fair to me, boy. Your karma has placed you within my grasp and I will use you. Cry, my dasa, cry. Tears are conduits to your energy.”
He listened intently while I described his future.
“You put yourself in this situation you little man. Just remember going forward, you need to motivate me and continually thank me for allowing you to be my own personal dasa. You can say thank you can’t you? Oh, that’s so funny! Say it again-and it better sound like you mean it! I won’t care about your existential agony. I just want my business humming, my house cleaned, my guests served, and my orgasms neatly delivered. Now crawl to me and show me how very grateful you are. Tomorrow we’ll start ego snuffing. I have several delicious ideas. I’ve been reading Elisabeth Kubler-Ross along with an interesting spiritual manuscript that details just how to get the most from a dasa like you.”
I never told him about the Kubler-ross system and how I had been coached by a mentor, someone who was deep into the spiritual end of it all and had the benefit of an organization which had turned transgression into a methodology for its aspirants over the centuries. He learned about it firsthand: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance. sound like the names of Sumerian spirits released from a dusty book of Sigils. But they are the key to it all, the key to Dark Alchemy and a kind of immortality. Oh, not an immortality for him and his gender of course. Their spirit is not integral enough to survive and will be broken down in the immutable law of metaphysics for the enjoyment of powerful women, for me and my kind a true spiritual renaissance. But first I had to progress him through the measures. The Kubler-Ross diagram was first designed to describe people going through the process of death and grieving. Well he was going to go through the death of the ego. No need to thank me for giving him what all the Yogis have struggled to achieve for millennia. But first we had to get our priorities straight so on the advice of my mentor I introduced him to his new world, my world really.
I explained what was expected of him as my devoted dasa and he was beginning to realize that I was well equipped emotionally and spiritually to complete my life in an ecstatic joy of hedonistic pleasure while his own pathetic existence was turned into my sustenance. At first he didn’t like it and his frustration showed. I hadn’t broken him like a rotten twig yet. I would, but I wanted to do it slowly over a long period of time, perhaps a year or more, watching the disintegration of his male personality while my own grew proportionately. Machiavelli would have been proud of me. Perhaps Countess Bathory would have as well. I hoped so.
- adapted from a writing by KristensWhip