A4A Sadist Script

I can see you sitting there, staring up at me with those big cow eyes.

	You want me to hurt you, don’t you?

	You want me to do it exactly the way you want it, the way its played out in your pretty little head since you first learned what those weird feelings between your legs were brought on whenever you hurt yourself.

	And you heard people talking about me - I’m a hard player, they said, I’m a good player for newbies, because I know how to get into people’s heads.

	Do you know how fucking tired I am of that bullshit?

	How much I am sick of every other big eyed newbie looking up at me with that same hopeful fucking expression, & then it’s my job to give you five hits with a flogger & then hold you for fifteen minutes as you recover from the fucking trauma that is consensual pain that you asked for.

	Oh, you’re saying you can take it?

	You can fucking take it?

	You can take me biting your throat until I can feel it crunch? You can take me choking you, my hand around your throat, squeezing you so hard that your eyes feel like they’re popping out?

	Oh, that’s not what you want?

	Weren’t you the one sending me all those little messages, about how you want me to tie you up & choke you ‘til you passed out?

	Weren’t you the one who wanted me to hurt you, as much as I want?

	You seem to be under the mistaken impression that this is all about you, isn’t it?

	That’s what everyone has told you - it’s all about what you want, it’s about what you want to experience, & I’m just here to provide you with that experience.

	Is that so?

	See, you’re wrong there.

	You’re really fucking wrong.

	This isn’t about giving you the experience that you want.

	It’s about the joy of having soft, warm flesh in my hands, & me hurting it however I want.

	It’s about the way you’re going to scream when I kick your thighs with my steel toed boots, & the stars you’re going to see when I yank your head back by your hair.

	It’s about all the tears dripping down your face, down your neck, across your chest.

	It’s going to be about the delight I take in hurting you, because honey, sweetheart, darling, you fucking pretty dumb thing, I am tired of being baby’s first ride on the kinky train.

	If you want me to hurt you, it is with the understanding that I will be hurting you.

	You want me to make you cum, too?

	You want me to go through the whole rigamarole of putting on the gloves, getting out the lube, making sure it feels good for you as I tenderly tell you what a good job you’re doing?

	Are you fucking kidding me?

	I don’t give two fucks if you have an orgasm.

	I don’t give two fucks if you even enjoy this.

	This is about me.

	This is about me getting what I want.

	Maybe I’ll use you to get off - your mouth or your hands, or whatever it is you have between your legs.

	Probably not.

	I can get an orgasm whenever i want to - I’m giving you the privilege of getting hurt by me.

	If you want an orgasm so badly, take it against my leg, & beg me louder for it.

	Maybe if you debase yourself long enough, I’ll let you hump my boot, then take out the cost of whatever stain it is on your hide.

	I’ll slap your face until your ears ring, leave my boot prints on your thighs, handprints on your ass & chest.

	I’ll beat you with every implement in my bag, or if I get bored, I might just improvise.

	I’ll leave you unable to wear a bathing suit for weeks - I’ll make it hurt every time you bend down or reach up for something, until you can’t sleep on your belly or your back or your side.

	Until everything is just pain, and the knowledge that it gives me pleasure.

	Oh, you like that?

	I can see you avoiding my eyes, shifting in your seat.

	I can see how uncomfortable you are.

	Is that what you actually want?

	You just want to be used for whatever it is that I want, is that it?

	Fuck, that’s pathetic.

	But maybe you’re not entirely a waste of space.

	Now…. come here.

	I want to get started, & I don’t like being kept waiting.