To Whom it May Concern,
I'm fairly confident I can share the following with you and your column's readers without fear of reprisal and I think that you personally will be able to appreciate my situation, being an actual not fantasy but true life sadist in the extreme like myself. I can't tell you my name or where I live -- this e-mail isn't traceable -- but it won't hurt I suppose to divulge that I am a twenty-six year old SERIOUSLY dominant man and long time non-professional lifestyle practitioner of b-d/s-m.
My boyfriend become full-time 24/7 total power exchange slave -- let's just call him, or should I say "it", doomed thing for lack of a better or more fitting name -- has from the start had an absolutely obsessive desire to die at my feet. he calls it the ultimate sacrifice and show of loving devotion to let me "GO ALL THE WAY" with him as he puts it.
He really is very submissive and heavily masochistic to the point where I almost hate to lose him and have to hunt for an equally abusable replacement if one in fact exists out there somewhere, which I tend to doubt. I told him of this concern and of my not wanting to face trouble with the law over his "disappearance".
He reminded me that he had no living relatives, friends, or close acquaintances ... that since quitting his job at my behest and submitting himself completely to my iron-fisted ownership several years ago he hadn't been seen by another living soul but me and had, already in effect, long since vanished from the face of the earth… had basically become a missing person no-one knew or cared anything about or had any reason or desire to find.
HMMMMM -- I thought to myself -- he's right -- maybe I should grant him his wish!
One fateful day not long ago I asked if he was really, truly seriously committed to dying for my wicked sexual pleasure or just blowing smoke. The look in my eye and expression on my face gave him genuine breathless, trembling pause but he mustered the courage to swear a solemn slave oath of sincerity ... said he'd write out the promise in blood if I wished, but I told him that's okay ... that he'd be bleeding plenty enough to satisfy me very soon and didn't have any to waste!
I told him I thought he was in love with the fantasy of me killing him but not actually mentally, emotionally, and physically prepared for the hardcore reality… though he earnestly believed himself to be. I suggested he was taken with an idea he couldn't follow through with and was deep down secretly convinced that I, while I might play scary mind games to the very teetering edge of safety and endurance, would never be able to really do it either. Yes, I suggested that he was counting on my chickening out at the last minute and getting cold feet...losing my nerve as it were.
He swore up and down it wasn't so...that he was very much honestly ready willing and able to surrender his very life itself to me. He even worshipfully kissed my bare feet and pleaded with all his heart and soul for me to please, please accept the gift he was offering.
What he couldn’t have known was that the foot-worshipping was the best gift. I really liked it when a slave would worship my feet. It wasn’t even the domination part of it that turned me on. I was turned on by the fact that my slave was so turned. Turned on by my big, sweaty feet… and willing to lick-wash my soles and suckle each individual toe! It had me in a perpetual state of bliss!
But I digress. Back to the story…
"Okay, congratulations ... you've successfully persuaded me" I gave in, quickly adding, "but it's going to be an extremely, horrifically S..L..O..W and PAINFUL death by nasty, awful, hideous, unbearable torture, not some swift easy bullet-in-the-head type demise or pleasant way to go like drowning in my urine or smothering in my ass.
"If you think you're begging me to take your life now, just wait! you'll pray out loud for me to put you out of your misery and put an end to your ghastly gruesome suffering by the time it's finally over ...or maybe even long before ... and that of course is the only way it ever will be over ... when I'm at long last merciful and conceding and satisfied enough to let you expire!"
He gulped dryly and turned pale and I gave him one final chance to change his mind and back out. he bravely shook his head.
"Then you still want to die for me? On my not your own terms?" I asked.
He weakly nodded.
"Once you take that first step down those foreboding basement stairs there's no turning back, and I mean it.... That's it. It's all over. Abandon hope ye who dare enter the cellar of no return. you won't get out alive." I promised in a stern, grave tone of warning.
He bowed his head and kissed my toes, saying, "Take me, Master. I'm yours and only wish I had more lives to give you...."
Well, you know I didn’t really kill him, right? Right now he’s shivering in bowels of my spooky, well-equipped dungeon. It's amazing to me that he's hung on for so long without dying from exposure, and it just proves that I was right all along ... WOW ... was I ever ... in my assertion that he didn't honestly and truly want to cash in his chips at the tender age of twenty-two ... and that he doubted my intention and ability to carry out the execution, which by the way I am so tempted to do, by now more out of pity, compassion, and euthanasia than anything else!
I mean you should see the poor thing. I've gone too far to save him. he's kind of damaged ... a mass of bruises, abrasions, bumps and boo-boos.
By this juncture you can be assured that there's no longer anything merely symbolic or romantic about his death wish. It's feverishly real and palpable. he's had enough and can't take any more of the misery survival has in store for him. Death is now his only out and he is earnestly praying for its blessed relief. But it’s the way he begs to be released that keeps me from actually doing serious harm. I mean, he begs for death by bathing my feet in kisses and cleaning every speck of grime and sweat from them with his tongue. As long as he keeps begging for life like that, no one needs to worry about me granting him death.
I'm wondering what to do for the finale, Friend. Any suggestions? I'll try to keep him breathing until I hear back from you with some creatively cruel thoughts and ideas.
Thanks,
Your friend
the Mystery Guy
