MissClaw

I consider myself to be a non-sexual sadist due to the clinical hallmarks of my disposition, although I do recognize elements of sexual sadism in my deviancy. I find blood, gore, and violence to be a turn on, though the sexual satisfaction I derive from such things pales in comparison to the mental satisfaction I find myself seeking violence for. I can’t really explain why I love the things I do, other than the simple fact that they fill me with joy. I smile with a certain sick contentment when watching others commit violence, the way most people would watch a nice view of the ocean- except for me, the view is imbued with a slight hint of arousal. I find that most of my sadistic sexual satisfaction comes from sources such as that: watching, indulging in schadenfreude, and admiring the handiwork of others, so to speak. When I indulge in my own sadism, and personally commit it, I find the experiences to be marked almost exclusively by mental or emotional gratification rather than sexual. I relish the opportunities to fulfill my compulsion, and find myself overjoyed when one is presented. For me, it is a moment to feel truly alive. There is a raw and primal zeal in sadism, an animalistic fervor, an urgent joy. It is a delicious state of power, control, hunger, viciousness, pleasure, and nearly blind passion. Perhaps I make it sound too romanticized or unrealistic, but if you allow me to be somewhat crude for a moment, I shall state that I find an unparalleled beauty and undoubtedly sinister fulfillment in putting out cigarettes on someone’s flesh- and I can speak from multiple experiences. I see an elegant balance of artistry and savagery in sadism that is present in little else in quite the same way, and to indulge in dealing out pain feels incomparable to anything else. To quote the Marquis himself, "It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure." I find that to be ultimately true for myself, and there are many others who would attest to that statement's veracity as well.

Everything fucked up.