S is for Sadist

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“I…I thought you were a nice guy!” Usually she is sweaty, breathless, often trembling, usually in the close vicinity – fore or aft – of an orgasm, while at the same time hoarse from screaming.
My answer is always the same. “I never said that. I told you: I’m a sadist.

That conversation plays itself out over and over again with my play partners. I understand why the confusion. In person, I am congenial. Friendly. Outgoing. I like to help people and organizations, because I have a fetish for being relevant. I am usually on the polite side of clever and witty, making me optimum “friend zone” material.

And I’m fine with that. What differentiates me from the Domly doms who go out spewing their sadism all over their environment is not a lack of inclination or any sort of moral code. Yes, yes, consent and all that, but the signals are quite obvious when you know what to look for.

It’s not that I don’t notice you, my dear masochists. It’s not that I have to “put on” my sadists hat. It’s much more that I’m waiting to see if you are worth me removing the cloak of civility, this genteel mask I wear, loosening the bands of duty and pride from the dark anger and cruel hunger underneath it all. I want to make sure you really actually think you know what it is you’re asking for, in exquisite and completely consensual detail.

Because the holding it back is a certain sweet cruelty unto itself. And the pain…the pain is all the more exquisite when I know that you know that you asked for it. Because when I was honest, you thought I was a nice guy.

So pay attention, dear readers: I am a sadist. In the words of a man far scarier than me, Your pain sustains me.

Have a lovely day.

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