sense,” I said softly. “Some of the things he did subconsciously just screamed little to me, but I thought it was just wishful thinking, you know. And to make matters worse, I don’t think he’s had a good time of it.”
“What makes you say that? Maybe he’s just interested in the lifestyle and was scared that an entry point was right in front of his face. You know a lot of subs and Doms dream about entering the scene for so long that they get nervous and scared when given a real chance to go for it. Littles even more so with how vulnerable the whole dynamic can be.”
It was possible, but I wasn’t convinced. “It’s not just the fact he got so scared at hearing the word Daddy, but in the way he acted before that as well,” I explained. “You said it yourself, when you first met him, he was hiding behind Lee. He would constantly look at Lee for permission for things. He’d get this worried look on his face every time someone teased me as if he was waiting for me to retaliate. When I showed him to my game room to get a mini and some dice, he maintained a careful distance between us.” Then I told him my most damning piece of evidence, “And when I lifted my hand from the table too quickly, he’d flinch.”
“Fuck,” Foster sighed as he collapsed back against the arm of the couch. “Fuck me.”
“He’s not going to come back.” I lifted my hand and rubbed at my temple. “If he were an interested but inexperienced little, he’d be curious despite his fear. I didn’t sense an ounce of curiousness in his entire body. He’s not coming back, Foster.” I couldn’t hide the desperation and pain I felt from him.
“And if there’s one thing you can’t allow, it’s a hurting little.”
Not this kind of hurting. A smarting bottom was one thing. The sort of pain I imagined Miller was feeling wasn’t something I could easily forget. Every part of me that called itself a Daddy cried out against it.
“What do I do?” I asked, for once not knowing what to do about a little.
“What do you want to do?” Foster countered.
I answered without hesitation, “I want to hunt him down and give him a hug.”
Foster nodded, probably having expected it since he knew me so well. “And what are you going to do?”
I smiled, knowing what he wanted because I knew him so well. “Hunt him down and give him a hug.”
“Damn straight you are. We take care of our own because no one else is going to take care of us,” he said, repeating the mantra we’d developed between the two of us.
Foster had fallen into BDSM, sadism in particular, at a very young age. He’d been scared of the path his thoughts and desires were taking him down and had decided to get help. Foster had gone to a few doctors and psychiatrists, but coming from a small, conservative town, there had been no compassion for him.
Foster had hidden it from me. I’d been overseas at the time, and he hadn’t wanted to worry me. In truth, I knew he’d been embarrassed by his needs and hadn’t wanted to admit them to me. The confident man sitting before me who was proud of himself and his desires hadn’t always existed.
I’d been home on leave, scared when I’d found a shell of the vibrant man I’d once known. One look from me and he’d broken down. Everything had come pouring out. It had been hard to watch as he tore himself apart, convinced by the people who were supposed to help him that the pleasure he gained from other people’s pain made him a psychopath.
At the time, I hadn’t known about BDSM or sadism and had been terrified for my best friend. I tried to help as much as I could, but I’d been just as ignorant and confused. It had been the chance encounter with a fellow Sadist that had completely changed the course of his life—and mine.
Foster wasn’t a psychopath. He had more empathy and love in his body than anyone I’d ever met. He cared for the people he hurt. He was appreciative of the subs that willingly gave him what he and they needed. He protected the people around him because he knew what it was like trying to get help from those who didn’t understand.