If She Breathes She's a Thot
or I was a Teenage Incel Force Femmed by a Vampire
- Notice
- Dysphoria
- NSFW
- Panic
Like a pug in an oxygen mask I lied down on the carpet by the air purifier and shitposted away on the internet. My Saint Sebastian ex-gay thread had sparked an 80 page debate on the political forum I frequented and I had to see the madness through.
Besides some idiot had got bent into a rant.
You have no power here
I replied. And then again I'm already dead
anyway pretty much
She replied ok
.
I checked back every hour or so but she seemed to have stopped replying even to my colorful image suggesting she was transgender.
So I returned to the routine. Afraid I might grind my fingers in the coffee grinder I opened the drawer it was kept in and checked it was safely unplugged and stored away. I stared up at the popcorn ceiling breathless and watched little technicolor squiggles swirl around until I fell asleep.
The supernatural intruded slowly.
The first night when I was wanking away at 12 AM imagining my ass being penetrated I heard a loud buzzing sound like wasps. I put it down to nerves.
Steadily the phenomenon added up. A loud hum at the midnight hours. When I rested before bed a sound like bells. When I looked out one eye a hue of colors different from the other.
On Thursday during my morning commute to the library where I do nothing in particular I was met with the sudden urge to fling myself off a highway overpass into the traffic below. It was as if some worm wrapped around my brain had contracted and struck me with itching pain and a feeling of doom. I changed my commute to avoid overpasses and bridges.
She sent me a message during the night.
I woke up with a heavy weight pinning me in place. A roiling darkness sat on my chest. I tried to move or call for help but could not.
The darkness said her name was Must.
She said she had planned to kill me but upon seeing how pathetic I was decided to spare me and had decided to make my life a living hell instead.
She explained I was her thrall now and that hell was both a physical place and a state of mind. Identity was a matter of perspective. If she could walk to me she would be me and if I could walk to her I would be her.
For the rest of the night I drifted in and out of sleep. Each time I woke up I felt Must on top of me watching. Until the morning sun appeared when I woke up and the presence was gone completely.
Must had bent the day against me. I was exhausted unable to breathe or rest. Moreover, as if by some illusion stripped away the people around me had transformed into puppeted corpses. Every trivial interaction became an ordeal and I could no longer draw strength or comfort from those who I had considered friends. I could not bear to meet the hideous gazes of those around me.
During the night I was compelled to roam by a manic energy. I felt hot ash drawn into my chest when I was trying to sleep and cool relief when I walked the night. It is oddly calming during the midnight hours when there is no traffic or human face to fear.
The first task Must demanded of me was to hide the vanity of my flesh.
If I was good the pain would lessen although never go away entirely. If I was bad the pain would increase.
One of the numerous punishments meted out to me was a sudden stabbing pain in a mole on my scrotum. By this sudden intrusion into my life I was made to rush to the bathroom to check if my junk was ok or at urgent times to fondle myself in public. Fear of this public humiliation alienated myself further and I no longer attended events hosted by my friends.
I soon remained covered up at all times in long baggy sweaters and pants. I went to great lengths to avoid my appearance and even took baths in the dark.
For a few months there were no further demands. Still the pain continued and I fell even further into a state of fog.
As a result of the constant pains administered to me I had grown desensitized in my crotch. A curious numbness developed much like a newly killed tooth.
Among other punishments Must had started to insert steel needles into my arms during the night. Shaving my arms near raw seemed to blunt the pain a little somehow. So I folded shaving my body hair into my daily routine.
To cope with the pain and suicidal ideations I developed an intense practise of meditation. I found it easiest to get started with the book Meditation in Plain English and meditating lying on the ground. I soon bought a zafu, a meditation mat, a meditation bench, a mala bead braclet and necklace and a small Buddha statue for a personal altar.
My usual practice consisted of a small amount of yoga such as standing tree pose to wake myself up and then proceeded to basic box breathing for a few minutes to calm myself down. Once sufficiently energized and rested I meditated on my solar plexus and in rhythm subvocalized a dharani (I preferred Om Shanti Shanti Shanti.) My preferred meditation position being easy pose although sometimes I found using a meditation bench less straining.
None of these trappings were really necessary of course. If you remember summer break lying on bed doing nothing just watching the blanket rise and fall with your breath then that is meditation.
The numinal is hard to explain in words. Sometimes I felt as if I was moving like I was falling through a storm or a vast pressure on top of me as if I was buried beneath the earth or there was a flickering red, black, yellow vast expanse behind my closed eyelids.
I thought for a while I was free of Must.