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ADRIAN

M arisela.

Her name had a certain taste to it. A mixture of something sweet and savory. Mouthwatering. Almost as if it clung to my tongue without ever having spoken it aloud.

I couldn’t explain it. I honestly didn’t care to either. I enjoyed the irrationality in my overly rational world. It helped me focus on something other than the stench of burning flesh, the sting of the leather popper as it broke through the first layer of epidermis tissue.

The scars had healed over a long time ago. I cracked them open again to remind myself where I’d come from. In a place where no one could recognize me.

The black plague doctor mask I’d hand-stitched from the tanned leather of my half-brother’s favorite racehorse—after the poor beast lost and the fucker shot him during one of his fits—assured that my identity remained a mystery, while the cash I shoved into Mistress Sadi’s heavy palm kept her mouth clenched tighter than her pussy lips.

She didn’t fuck her clients. Just beat the shit out of them and had ?em thanking her for it too.

And I did thank her, even if I didn’t get off on the pain.

I needed it to breathe. Otherwise I felt like I was living underwater. The colors duller, the air thicker, the sounds muffled. Except whenever I was given a chance to cut into a cadaver. Then the curiosity enlivened me. More than the crack of Mistress Sadi’s nine tails.

The flashing of the lights told me our session was over, the time passing much quicker than it usually did with my mind so focused on being somewhere else. With someone else.

She released my arms from the black trident cross, which assured my safety just as much as hers—you were much more likely to injure a moving target—and stepped back. We had an understanding, she and I. I wasn’t into being dominated. I didn’t like the degradation or masochism.

I needed the reminder. The feel of broken flesh.

The dampness of blood seeping through my white dress shirt as I buttoned the sleeves and set my cufflinks into place.

I needed my perfectly composed exterior shattered so that I could build it up again.

So I had a reason to hide the monster I tucked away behind a tailored suit and a pair of perfectly polished shoes.

The abomination my old man claimed me to be since birth.

Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that.

And Mistress Sadi was a professional. Not my girlfriend. It wasn’t her job to question why. Only to control the environment. That was something we shared in common. The need for control.

Her tall, thigh-high boots clicked against the tile flooring.

The effect intentional. She wanted her clients to hear her coming.

She wanted to build the anticipation of the first blow, and the next and the next.

Once again, the theatrics were wasted on me.

Because I wasn’t interested in what she looked like, just what she could do.

I watched as her red hair swished across her back as she disappeared behind the velvet curtain.

Currency was always exchanged upfront, another concession that assured minimal interaction afterwards.

It wasn’t anyone’s business why I did what I did.

And the only aftercare I wanted was the solitude of an empty lab.

I wouldn’t see her again until next month, when I would need another reminder and she would require another payment.

I swiped up the bottle of water I was obligated to down before leaving the premises and paused mid-chug.

I didn’t feel that lightness I was used to experiencing immediately following a session.

There was no release of endorphins, the epinephrine and cortisol still flooding my brain and keeping my muscles tight.

The reason was obvious. It was her. The girl with the dark hair.

I couldn’t relax when my mind was so obsessed with knowing everything about her.

So I did the only thing that made sense.

I tugged my leather mask back over my face, shoving my arms through the sleeves of my black trench coat before fastening the buttons into place.

And went in search of the little schoolgirl with too much time on her hands and not enough cock in her mouth.

Even as the crude thought entered my mind, some part of me shuddered. Because it felt as wrong as it did right.