Sadist's Fire Pt. 01: Begging

Her eyes lit up in deviant pleasure and she hopped forward awkwardly in her chains, something that turned me on to see, but she managed and pressed her lips to my jeans where I was so hard for her again. "Yes, Master. Thank you for teaching me, Master. I won't hurt you or your conscious, never. I'll think it through and write it down so you can read it and reassure yourself and I'll be honest, Master. I promise."

"Sweet girl." I stroked her hair back and calmed myself by petting her, my little comfort Toy. And I had to force myself to let her go because I really did not want to do so.

My home had always been a sterile safe haven for me. Everything was black and white in it. White walls, black furniture, black table in the kitchen, white tile bathroom. It calmed me to see the stark contrast, to feel the emptiness of any decoration. It felt clean and clear.

That night, after I said goodbye to her and left, I realized that my life had changed because of my little troublemaker. My apartment no longer felt sterile.

It felt cold and boring. Black and white had been my joys, but now I was seeing red, the same red that was the deep color of her asscheeks when I got done with her. It didn't help that I had kept my promise to her and taken her to a bathroom to turn her around in the mirror and let her see my work. Because she had looked over her shoulder and then thrown her arms around me with such happy, worshipful tears. "Thank you, Master. Thank you so much for playing with me like this. It's so pretty and you're so godlike."

Godlike, me? Shit, I could barely get along with the rest of humanity. And yet the way she looked at me, the way she begged for these harder things with so much craving, the way she begged for it from me specifically.

It inspired me to wild fantasies, down the darkest paths I knew. It also scared me to think of how she had such an effect because I knew our thing couldn't go anywhere. It was one thing for her to so love bowing to me in our playtimes, one thing for her to call me godlike and then go home for some distance and to her lighter friends. But relationships were generally for the purpose of going onto something more. They had a continuum and I felt certain that this thing was already at its height. I tried to picture her staying nights in my apartment, tried to imagine her eating dinner in my sterile environment, but I couldn't see that. What would she want with the company of a cranky sadist who had no social skills? Hell, even our deepest conversations didn't have many words in them. I was shit with words. What would we even do together if she stayed over at night?

I couldn't see anything. So I tried to mentally distance myself back to a place where she was just a plaything that intrigued me, tried to go back to the mindset of casually using her. But instead, all that came to mind was how wonderfully she marked and how I would go about training her to take more and more pain until I had my own personal torture toy. I thought about how I would train her to revere and crave the whip, how I would make her kiss it when I was done with her, make her thank me when she was weak from my attentions. I thought about how I would kiss every mark with such loving gentleness that she would beg me for whip sessions so she could earn that level of hot affection afterwards. I'd take great care with my manipulation, alternating rewards with the pain so that she would love taking every torment. When she balked with fear, I would pay that activity particular attention and make her go wild until she learned to love even those things. I would take her deep and nurture her masochism so well and hard that she would take harder than Dustin thought of in his worst nightmares of me.

Fuck me, this was bad. This was so bad. She seemed to hold me in wildly high regard, so much that I didn't think she'd stop my desires and that wasn't good when combined with the sadistic monster in my heart that growled with such need, now that he'd started ripping free of my stranglehold of control. Run away, little plaything. You don't want to do this. Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe she would write about the thought of a permanent mark and start to ease away from me.

Please. I'm really bad for someone like you and I don't have that much control. I don't even want to have it.