I Want to Fully Experience Your Sadism
Recently, I was sitting in a coffee shop with my dear friend and poly comet, negotiating our first scene, one we’d been planning for the past few months. We shared desires, aftercare needs, cemented our hard limits and boundaries, and came to an agreement that would be fulfilling for each of us.
Satisfied, she leaned back in her chair, looked at me matter-of-factly and said:
“I want to fully experience your Sadism.”
I smiled knowingly before replying:
“Very good.”
She coyly smiled and let out a barely audible squeal while leaning into my shoulder for an embrace. I relished in her excitement while contemplating those words and what they meant for each of us, already envisioning the scene and the specific kinks we wanted to explore. My Sadistic side was not so much stirred, but was excitedly rattling its chains and clawing at the walls in response. I smirked and quietly gave her a low growl as I put my arm around her and drew her close.
Truth be told: no one has ever fully experienced my Sadism, and for very good reason. Of all my Dominant roles, Sadism was the one I kept at bay the longest before finally exploring. While the Daddy box in the closet came flying out unexpectedly, seemingly of its own volition, the Sadist within me had been bound, gagged, chained, and caged in the deepest recesses of my psyche for many years before I finally felt comfortable letting him out. I was reluctant to do so, unsure of what it may unleash.
Childhood trauma is to blame for the reluctance, both at the hands of my peers as well as the faith I had been compelled to follow. I was bullied throughout my pre-teen years as puberty flooded my body with rage-provoking testosterone, a volatile combination for a young boy realizing the world isn’t like one’s loving family: it’s a cold, fucked up place.
My parents were aware of the bullying - coming home with the occasional bloody nose was a dead giveaway - but they were practitioners of turning the other cheek and admonished me to always be the bigger man and walk away from confrontation. Neither approach was remotely appealing, nor did they ever work. Instead, I chose to stand up for myself and fight back. Sometimes I prevailed, sometimes I didn’t. Either way, my parents weren’t happy with me when I ignored their religious parenting, and I was often disciplined for such disobedience.
I struggled to cope with the constant bullying and the lack of support from home, so I found solace in fantasies where I imagined all the painful ways I could turn the tables on the peers who tormented me. The fantasies weren’t particularly dark, not by my current standards, at least. But they all featured me standing over my bullies and inflicting pain upon them. Pain that would show them the error of their ways. While they weren’t remotely sexual, I would often lie in bed, relishing in these thoughts as I drifted off, only to awaken each morning and pray for God to forgive me for having such heinous thoughts.
Though I knew in my heart I would never follow through with any of these fantasies, by the tenants of my faith, I had committed a sin by merely entertaining them. That brought along a tremendous amount of shame, which eventually forced me to box up those fantasies and bury them far beyond the sight of anyone, especially God. Occasionally, they would resurface during my adolescence and early adulthood, but by then my faith was waning and the fear of judgement and hellfire became less of a concern.
So the fantasies darkened.
Ex-lovers, belligerent bosses, practitioners of road rage - anyone who crossed me made their way into these fantasies, often flayed and hanging inverted in the dungeon of my mind. It became a form of therapy for me, a means to process my rage, hate, and discontent with the world and for those within it, in a somewhat healthy manner. “At least I’m not actually hurting anyone”, I would reason with myself. Which was true and may well have had a hand in my eventual acceptance.
That rationalization ceased as I began exploring kink and BDSM, especially as I embraced my Dominance:
“If you explore this, you will hurt someone.”
I found the elements of control and discipline quite appealing; inflicting pain was another story, no matter how much I craved it. For years, I wrestled with this need to evolve my kinks and embrace the Sadist that continued to grow despite my best efforts. As I delved into impact and primal play, I discovered that my self-discipline as a Dominant was sufficient in keeping me from truly harming another.
This gave me confidence to let the Sadist out, albeit on a short leash, where he remains today. I allow him to explore and grow as he satiates his desire to hurt consenting adults, but keep a close eye on him the entire time, constantly reminding him to hurt, not harm. Fortuitously, my wife’s exploration of her masochism helped us discover how aligned we were, so much so that I’m pleased to say we have a continuing healthy S/m dynamic. The poly nature of our relationship allows the Sadist in me to be a continually evolving identity through experiences with other partners, some of which have been rather incredible.
Which brings me back to that afternoon in the coffee shop. We wrapped up our afternoon and a few hours later, my comet and I began our S/m scene. To say it was beautiful would be a profound understatement - she absorbed everything my Sadistic hands exacted upon her soft skin, embracing the pain of my touch while I savored her responses.
As I held her in my arms during aftercare and gently kissed her forehead, she expressed gratitude for what I gave her, what I shared with her. I emphatically thanked her for the privilege of doing so and what she shared in return.
While she may not have fully experienced my Sadism, she experienced the full extent of what I felt comfortable giving her. An action we both benefited from greatly and hope to revisit again.
About the Author: TheMeanistPeen is a Gentleman Sadist and Daddy Dom with a heart as big as his arms and a penchant for photography and piercings.
