Okay, let’s drop the esoterica for a minute and get practical. These days, “fetish” or “kink” must be consumer-friendly if nothing else. This is the Age of Convenience, after all.
So yeah, I get it. You’re pissed off. You’ve read endless blogs and articles and even a few books about being an ass-breakin’, pussy-spankin’, tit stranglin’, slut-gaggin’ McMaster of the “Dark Arts”. You’ve immersed yourself in black. Black clothes, boot-black hair dye, black dildo collection, black eyeliner, black latex surgical gloves, black two door coupe, black leather furniture, black computer, black crockery, black obsidian wine goblets, black fold-away Saint Andrew’s cross, black Cunt-Buster Electro-Saddle ™, black cast-iron adjustable-manacle torture table. And most importantly… you’ve grown yourself a DEAD BLACK HEART.
Okay, so you’ve loaded up on all the stuff and the attitude and brought along your expectations and figure you’ll get a relatively contextual kinky lay if nothing else. But you have found the whole deal wanting.
You signed up with a bunch of online “communities”. Then, after writing countless filigreed messages full of pompous references and fanciful aphorisms and sending out thousands of artistically rendered shots of your cock and balls artistically bound and artistically engorged — you did all that shit — and still ended up only attracting the attention of other guys and worn-out whores who treat you like a chump.
Or worse, your completely reasonable inquiries are attacked by a gang of uppity asshole “site monitors” who lay on a bullshit morality trip and yep, you got sucked into writing them back and entering into a looong, pointless debate full of misquotes and really poor grammar. Christ, it’s like having chewing gum in your hair.
And yeah yeah, you dutifully checked out the local fet scene, sat through some tedious “rope seminar” run by a skanky old cow who couldn’t tie a reef knot. You stood around with a gaggle of other bored shoppers, all in your adult Halloween gear, and watched half-assed BDSM bullshit that could have been a fucking power tool demo.
You trudged through “events” and got herded past the endless sales tables, hustled into spending cash on cheap Chinese-made dildos that stink of plastic extrusion, bought animal-friendly Master of Goth boots made of pleather, along with thinly chromed chains and chuchkahs that are more decorative than real. You paid good coin to get into a “genuine dungeon,” mildly slapped around a couple of sulking, low paid subs and took a polite spanking from a bored old Domme hag in a sweaty rubber girdle and black support hose.
And finally you tell yourself: enough already! Where are all the REAL hot young sluts begging to be subs and slaves, the ones always shooting off their traps about being owned and collared and babied and all that other horse shit? Where the FUCK are they!?
You figure you’ve been through enough of this crap and rationally decide your “orientation” is to inflict pain rather than have it inflicted on you. You know you deserve to have some sexy girl gagged, bagged, tagged and at your mercy — but how to begin? It’s a goddamn politically correct minefield out there. You want to be a cool sadist.
Don’t despair. An honest-to-thumb-screws sadist who’s not out serial-killing and can express their predilection on others in a non-permanently injurious way and in a specifically ritualised setting, well… That can be a handy person to have around. Now, you aren’t Gilles de Rais — at least not yet — so you can’t go around randomly abducting and torturing stroller-pushing Mums or Dads and their kids and dogs. That’s against the law.
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Here’s a thought. If you want to jump-start this bold new life in the classical way, you need look no further than Juliette, the infamous book written by the Marquis de Sade. Despite the obvious pleasure she takes in fucking, sucking and torturing her way through countless bodies, rivers of blood and bodily fluids, that’s not her core motivation.
No doubt she’s having great fun being triple-slammed while mutilating and murdering servant girls and eviscerating long-donged footmen after they’re spent. Of course, that kind of behavior has its rewards for the true sadist — but those things are a result of what drives her, not the cause. What drives Juliette is “freely committing the most delicious of crimes with wholehearted pleasure, unencumbered by conscience or guilt.”
And we’re not talking bullshit neurotic crimes like beating her maid to a bloody pulp or castrating some feckless slob she’s lured into her honey trap. She’ll happily butcher the sickeningly meek and naive, but our cunning Juliette learns the most enjoyable crimes are those that victimise wily fellow masters and mistresses of deception. Fuck them up and you’re really scoring.
Nothing makes Juliette swell with pride and horniness more than having seduced and conned a randy old blowhard into screwing himself as she goes as far as to even jokingly warn him about her plot. She gushes into her silken underthings while watching the fool’s own ego become the author of his demise. With a great deal of devotion, intense philosophical consideration and just plain hard work, Juliette becomes a truly liberated sadist.
When she engineers a highly profitable sleight-of-hand larceny that results in the total ruin of some pervert big shot and rapes, tortures and destroys his whole family in the process, then debauches on the proceeds, she’s expressing her purest freedom. Being a nightmare bitch from hell is super fucking hot.
So Juliette finds her true self. She gets to the point where she no longer needs to kiss ass to be supported by some hideous motherfucker patron. She becomes her own Mistress, her own bitch. Using her hot bod, her considerable brains and scalpel sharp guile, she’s bought her own freedom from slavery and no longer feels like a buffoon or a hypocrite.
She knows in her soul the society she lives in is venal to its marrow, that all pious attitudes and moral constructs are tools used by those who rule, to distract and control the mob, the masses, the dull-witted hicks and the pathetic middle class bourgeoisie who cling to self-justifying notions of virtue and decency.
As one of Juliette’s mentor’s, the high ranking government minister Saint-Fond, tells her, he and his cohorts in the ruling class, military, finance and religious authority are always planning a few famines, some flesh-grinding wars, a couple of banking catastrophes, just to keep everyone in their place.
He also has his eye on artists, writers in particular. There are too many artists, the Minister says. What use are they? Sure, a few poets and painters hanging about for amusement’s sake, they’re alright, but you don’t want them inciting the self-righteous bourgeoisie or worse, waking up the filthy mob.
So Juliette takes these lessons to heart. When she and her mentors torture and kill countless victims, young and old, she learns this is simply the true nature of nature. She realises the natural state of the world is not some benign, sun-dappled meadow but an endless night soaked in the pain, blood and agonised howls of the weak and the exploited.
But what truly turns her key is understanding the Minister and his fellow rulers have no more regard or respect for one another than they do for the lowest shit-heads in the streets and gutters. All rulers’ actions, alliances, friendships, marriages and transactions of every kind will be driven purely by brutal self-interest and for any of them to do otherwise will make them unfit to rule, would contradict the most fundamental laws of nature.
Show a shred of sympathy and the other beasts are obliged to pounce on the offender and destroy him to ensure their own survival. It’s a basic and immutable strategy that remains firmly rooted in what nature dictates — the strong will survive. Juliette comes to believe in no one and believe in nothing but her own powers. She knows love and friendship are idiotic propaganda meant to confuse the feeble-minded.
So is the world actually this way? Is assuming that humans are not fundamentally self-serving just plain stupid? For everyone living a cool and comfy lifestyle of many varied pleasures, of discreetly flushing toilets and expensive gadgetry, must there be another person somewhere living as a shit-eating slave in a toxic wasteland?
If someone has absolute authority to do whatever they want, why wouldn’t they do it? If you wish to evolve into a true sadist who feels no remorse or sympathy and become an eternally adapting and beautifully functioning beast, ask yourself, will you be sweet Juliette?
Basil Papademos is the author of the novel, Mount Royal: There’s Nothing Harder Than Love, winner of the 2013 BiLines Book Award. His upcoming novel is How To Fuck Your Psychiatrist. Check out his website here.
