Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

At the end of one of Zarina’s milder days, she was lying on across my chest, scratching the balls she had thoroughly drained. Mild by her standards was still rough torture, and she had screamed periodically throughout the day and been left with a few marks. Yet these signs of what I did to her would heal within 2-3 days, now that her body had started to recover again. She would not be racked with so much pain that she could not sleep during the night. Truth be told my mind was drowning in waves of serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine, so I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to do to my slave. Zarina did not dare diverge from her customary posture circumscribing my cock with her lips. We both could tell my member was going to be toneless for a while and Zarina was impalpably unsheathing me from her mouth, with a foreboding that she might trigger my hypersensitivity. I had noticed that she had started using these refractory periods to think.

“So I can ask you questions, Master?”

“Yes.”

Zarina paused and then chose her words slowly, “How do I say this…? I’m trying to understand…why you…get off on my pain…. I know I keep asking you about this, but…is it something specific about me? Or…how did it start for you?

“It’s understandable why you care about this. You’ve narrowed the question down too. The truth is that there was nothing too specific about you. I picked you because I thought you were beautiful and the opportunity presented itself to keep you as a sex slave. Far be it from me to tell you that you are not special, but there are plenty of other pretty girls who any guy would be happy to have sex with. You were just one I could enslave.”

In actuality, I was dodging her exact concern, by using the technique of answering a similar question that I hoped would be close enough for her to not notice, or at least accept my answer. I did not feel comfortable letting her know I also targeted her for being culpable in a repressive regime, or that I knew anything about her prior life. I suspected that I would never tell any of my sex slaves why I specifically chose to capture them. My fundamental concern was to not allow myself to be manipulated by my slaves. Staying in control would keep me physically safe. I didn’t want them to know that I ran every kidnapping operation alone. Ideally they would worry there could be others out there who simply sold them to me.

All the same, I realized that I had to give Zarina something to satisfy this recurring theme in her inquiries. I had originally assumed her cries of ‘why?’ were merely another way of begging for mercy, cursing her luck, or expressing incredulity at what I did to her. I still think it was all those things, but it may have also been a repeated signal about how her brain worked. There had been clues in Zarina’s past few weeks that suggested to me that she possessed something of an analytical mind. 

Most notably for me, Zarina had gotten very good, to my great pleasure, at picking up on what I wanted in the moment, without me having to say. I know it’s not hard to guess that every guy wants sex and a sadist likes to see someone in pain, But I had the inkling that Zarina was getting to know me better than I knew myself, as she occasionally could come up with better ideas than what I had planned or ever told her to do before. Naturally I was giving Zarina every painful stimulus to promptly fulfill all my desires, and the pace of her learning had quickened ever since I started communicating with her. 

Zarina could have gotten away with less, but was taking the initiative to come up with titillating ideas on her own, based on how she read my body in the moment and, I think, her past experiences with me. Zarina had started asking for feedback on her sex moves and not only in the coy slutty voice she had adopted as a persona. Asking what a partner prefers or how something was is all widely regarded as key to a happy sexual relationship. Zarina had been taking mental notes and constantly adjusting and revising her approach.

More broadly, I was willing to bet that Zarina needed to feel like she could understand me, before she came to settle in any way into this new life. I did not want to give away too much about myself, so that she could press more than my sexual and sadistic buttons. But I was somehow confident that I could present myself in such a way that was true yet ordinary enough for there to be nothing to poke at or latch on to. For that is how everyone outside this island knew me to be: normal. So before Zarina had too much time to consider a follow-up question, I decided to indulge her need to understand:

“As for how my sadism and particular kinks started? It’s been my ultimate fantasy for a while. I can’t point to any defining moment where it started though. For the record: I wasn’t abused or had a scarring experience with a woman or anything. I went to war and killed people, but I took no pleasure from doing so. I think my parents would say I was a pretty good kid, though I got into the occasional fight, like a lot of boys with too much testosterone. You’ll have to take my word for it, but I’d say all my romantic relationships have been pretty ordinary and perfectly respectable by societal standards. Not that I was bored or frustrated that I couldn’t torture my exes either. Never even had the urge to try out light BDSM stuff with them. My last couple of long-term relationships didn’t work out because our careers made it impossible, though I guess some were a little hurt I wasn’t willing to make the sacrifices for marriage. And hey, if I got married, I couldn’t spend my days torturing a sex slave. And what guy wouldn’t want to have a hot girl to fulfill every sexual fantasy at any time?”

I had never revealed to Zarina anything about myself, but I expected that hinting at my military experience might keep her in line. I would not have been surprised to learn that she had already guessed some of the other elements of my biography. At first, I had not planned on saying so much about myself, but I would feel insulted for Zarina to have some TV fueled notion that I must be some outcast who graduated from torturing small animals to girls or something. I could accept being judged as sick in the head, but at least hate me for who I am and what I’ve actually done. 

Zarina was gently bitting her tongue. She finally asked, “Can I tell you what I really think about that? I’m…scared of being punished for criticizing you.”

“I swear my ego’s not that fragile. I want you to feel free to express your opinions, because I don’t think it’s good for your mental health to bottle them up. Heck, you should think everything’s wrong with me.”

Zarina held her breath before spitting it out: “I have to take your story at your word…but it’s scarier to think you could be so normal, healthy, and happy with other women. Come to find out that underneath there’s a man who tortures and rapes women for fun.”