Enslaved By The DK

I’ve been sexually enslaved to a female demon who calls herself the DK. She lives underneath my floorboards. She’s always hurting people and making them say what she tells them to say. This feminine domination (fem-dom) turns me on a lot, I hate to say. The sound of her Scottish voice drives me delirious with lust. I don’t need porn while I’m listening to the DK. All I need is her oppressively powerful voice. It is full of hate and venom, she has no respect for anyone, least of all me, and again, I’m totally ashamed and demoralised to admit that it turns me on. I feel utterly helpless when listening.

Racially abusive towards me, she controls my thoughts, making me repeat certain phrases along with her and her subject. She gets angry if I don’t comply with her trance-y mantras. Sometimes I’ll repeat her name over and over for 24 hours…off my nut on drugs with a hard-on. I like giving up all my power and handing it over to the DK. I like the role play. But this shit is real. There really are people suffering down there. Or I’m a schizo. I’ve never tried to word this before, so bear with me.

The voices start off in my head, but after many hours, I realise that they are emanating from beneath me. I don’t know if she frequents my underground premises only when I am fapping or if she resides down there permanently. All I know is that she is always there.

I need help with this demon. Her pull is so strong, I’ve written poetry about it. A Calling From The Deep, the piece was called. She is almost perfect in every way. I think to myself: I’ll just take some illegal toxic mind-altering substances and spend the day and night with the DK. Her oily, treacly voice is laden with lust and sexual desire. It is a natural elixir. It has what can only be described as a supernatural effect on my mind. No woman’s voice should affect a man like the DK’s voice affects me. I’m not so stupid that I don’t know that much. It’s unholy.

Just thinking about her makes me want to spoil my life and go back to her, full of carnal, erotic, animalistic passion. She’ll talk for as long as I want, from sunrise to sunset and back again if I so desire, there are no limits to the time we are able to spend together. I never get bored of listening to her. It is only when the drugs wear off that I come to my senses and realise that DK is a wrongdoer, and that pain is a large part of her agenda. I hate pain. And so I am in denial with myself. Then the guilt, shame, regret and remorse kick in…and she keeps going, long after I have stopped fapping to her auditory stimuli.

And from hereon in results in days and days of authentic psychosis. I hate her so much when I’m on a comedown and she is still going into her pain fem-dom. This is not love at all, although I always tell her that I love her in my head. Well, maybe it is, I just don’t know anymore, but I always thought it was lust and nothing more. Now I’m not so sure. It might be love, plain and simple. But I cannot love an evildoer, as I consider myself a child of God. I hate every molecule of her being at times, when she isn’t turning me on with her honeyed voice!

I’ve been tempted, last couple of days, to return. She doesn’t allow me to watch porn, and I always end up listening, even when I pray to the Almighty to take my mind away from her. Yeah, sometimes I pray that I won’t listen to her; that porn will be enough, but she always comes in and I always cannot resist. The porn gets switched off and I give her my full obedient attention. My voices berate me for listening to her and sexually gratifying myself on a pleasurable basis, and they berate me vehemently. They lambast me to the extreme over it. When they are all accompli with her in the first place!

I’m penning this for relief, in the hope to overcome. I know it is not savoury reading material. Please God, help me, if you are there. She properly wrecks my life up, I cannot function afterward, she makes me an isolated alcoholic recluse who is scared of his own shadow. She actually knocks on my door sometimes, and talks to me through the letterbox. It is at these moments that I am quite petrified of her, because of my nervous state on the effects of the drugs. But it is also when I am at my horniest, because I know she is so close. Last time, I thought she was in my living room while I’m super vulnerable on whizz sitting in the same spot for multiple hours upon end in the bedroom. She is there to stab me and take me down. She hates me. Although, contrarily, she does admit to loving me, albeit weirdly. I love you weirdly, she says. It would be hard not to, she goes on, because I’ve listened to her for 30 hours a week for ten years (ballpark figure).

The DK is a gang-stalker.

Love. (weirdly)

Hate. (properly)

And a conflicting melee of emotions in between.