Of course, some people believed Sadists lacked empathy. Not true. If they did, it likely had nothing to do with their sadistic streak. There were plenty of people who lacked empathy. That didn’t mean they had the desire to cause physical pain to another person. Personally, I cared about plenty of people. Namely, my baby sister. Also, the friends I’d made over the years. And fine, perhaps by referring to people by nicknames rather than their given name allowed me to keep my distance. That didn’t mean I lacked the ability to associate with them. I merely wanted to keep them on the periphery of my world. It was my preference.
What I did have was a deep desire to cause pain, but only to those who wanted it. And a masochist wanted it. They were fueled by dark urges the way I was. There was no reason to make a million excuses or try and explain it away as some psychological malfunction. It was what it was.
Ask any of the submissives at Dichotomy and they’d have a varied tale of who they believed I was. I’d heard plenty of adjectives whispered about me. Mean, cruel, distant. People dissected me in varied ways, but I could say the majority of them didn’t understand me even on a base level.
I didn’t make small talk with every Suzy Whatsit who wanted to chat about how she hoped to get fucked by the big, mean man. I wasn’t interested in pussy.
Nor did I entertain those I knew I wouldn’t have anything in common with. I didn’t go to the club with the intention of slapping around some eager-eyed submissive who wanted to believe I would get off by smacking their ass. What I wanted surpassed that shit by a country mile.
I was primal in nature, a beast to the core. I had a deep desire to destroy, but not out of anger. My deviously kinky brain should come with a warning label, something to let trespassers know I would gladly shatter them and walk away, leaving them for someone else to put back together.
I was a loner. I didn’t need the company of others to feel complete. I wasn’t looking for companionship or love. I didn’t want a relationship, I wanted to fuck. I wanted to expel the urge, then allow it to build again. I wasn’t interested in having some little fuck toy wake up in my arms, believing there would be rainbows and unicorns coming out of my ass when I walked away.
I preferred the mind fuck. I craved it. Watching a submissive mentally writhe while desire filled them until they couldn’t breathe. No one but me truly knew what I was capable of. And I liked it that way.
But for whatever reason, I felt a connection with the pretty boy and the cowboy. Nothing deep, mind you. I didn’t experience that giddy, lovestruck feeling. I might’ve been born with that gene, but it had long since disappeared, consumed by the overwhelming urge to dominate and destroy.
However, when it came to the pretty boy and the cowboy, there was a physical attraction that was undeniable. They definitely made my dick hard. And the thought of beating on one or both of them tripped my trigger. I’d seen firsthand what the pretty boy desired. Hell, I’d delivered it. And I’d thought about it every day since.
I peered over at Tank. “How long should I make them wait, boy? Think I should put them out of their misery? Long drive from Texas to here.”
Of course, Tank didn’t acknowledge me. He didn’t care what I did as long as he could tag along.
Grabbing my phone, I decided it was time to get this underway. After all, I still needed to figure out if this really was something I was willing to pursue.
Or it was merely a passing fancy.
*
Brax
(The cowboy)
I DIDN’T MIND WAITING. NOT usually.
At the doctor’s office, a good restaurant, at an amusement park. As a society, we’d come to expect it. Patience was a virtue.
However, waiting twenty minutes for Zeke to be available hadn’t been on my agenda for the day. I’d hoped to stop in, grab the keys, head up to the apartment, and sleep for a while. At the very least, get a shower and wash off some of the travel grime.
Then again, I doubted Zeke gave a shit about my agenda or whether or not I shuddered anytime I thought about those sheets I’d slept on last night. The shower I’d taken in the hotel room had done nothing to dispel that itchy feeling. Had we planned ahead, Case and I could’ve slept in a four-star hotel. Instead, we’d stopped at the first place we came to when it became damn near impossible to keep my eyes open. Lesson learned.
And now I should’ve been minutes away from a nap. Instead, I was sitting on the leather sofa in the fancy reception area waiting for Zeke to stop fucking with us. Any other day, perhaps I would’ve been impressed by the power play. Today was not that day.
