Sadistic Psychopath Novels & Stories

His ways, actions, and words were so disparate that it was hard to understand what exactly was going on in his mind. One minute he is saying one thing, and then the next minute he is doing the exact opposite of what he said. He was the same one who told me he didn’t care about my date back at home, and then he showed up at the same date venue and told me not to dress as I did in a public space. He set me up for what I had been planning to forget and pushed me to the point where I had to beg him. He told me how he would fuck me, but then did the exact opposite. What exactly is always going on in his mind? Was he a psychopath or just a sadist who takes pleasure in watching one almost suffocati

I could see his dark, cold, empty eyes and feel his mint breath into my nose, "Will you marry me?" While he was focused on me, I slowly moved my hands into his pants, trying to get the gun. "For the second time, Mr. Desmond Cresont or something.." I stopped when my fingertips felt his gun. "I do not know you, and I will not marry you! You're sick! You psychopath!" I quickly pulled the gun and pointed it at him. He was shocked to see how I quietly managed to get the gun from him. He stood In Front of me for a second until he started to laugh like all of this was entertaining him. He is a psychopath. How could he laugh at a time like this?

I groaned out in pain, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing me scream. He took a strange pleasure in seeing me suffer. I saw the satisfaction in his eyes whenever I cried out in pain, and on some occasions I even noticed him grow aroused by it. It was a sick and twisted pleasure that he took from my pain. It made me wonder if he was a psychopath. I'm glad he never acted on it. If he had, I don't know what would have become of me. "Repeat the rules and tell me thank you after every hit!" he ordered and I complied

I killed my mother and her boyfriend with no remorse and even today I feel nothing. After months of testing, sociopath was the diagnosis. Today they call it antisocial personality disorder. What a crock of shit. The original diagnosis is what attracted Victor. He needed a killer and he found one. I remember checking his bedroom door one night a few months after they brought me into their lives. It was unlocked. How he and Cindy slept with me, the child killer, down the hall is a mystery. The fact is, they never gave me a reason to kill them. Victor knew what I was and provided people for me to kill a year after he brought me into his home. It feeds a need inside me and he knew it.

He was still whistling slowly, whatever he was trying to achieve with that I couldn’t tell, but it was obviously working and getting the effect he wanted. He had roared at me to sit down. I had seen him shaking with anger that he was trying to control. One moment he was shaking furiously, then the next her was calm and whistling like nothing happened. Psychology taught that such behaviors and people were dangerous. Only killers and psychopaths had them, he was a killer, a psychopath, he was everything that I was afraid of, everything that I was scared that I was going to be, He was the devil himself.

"And I'm supposed to be impressed?" He smiled again. "Well, aren't you? It's not every day that you meet a guy who can be sexy as well as handle the sight of guts and a severed head without throwing up." "I would say the men who are disgusted by the sight of it are actually normal, while you are quite the contrary," I said. Jackson laughed again. "Psychopaths are actually pretty normal." He said grinning and then added, "Sometimes. A psychopath can be a loyal husband and a lover, a good father and everything that you dream about. Just don't peek into their basement."

"Your Honor, the psychological evaluation report on Ronald Werther's youngest son, Thomas Werther, has been completed. I believe this report has significant bearing on the nature of this case." The judge permitted him to speak. The psychiatrist took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the courtroom before finally landing on the gaunt, hollow figure in the defendant's box. "After joint consultations among multiple specialists and brain scan comparisons, we have reached a very rare but definitive conclusion." The psychiatrist paused and enunciated each word clearly, "Thomas Werther suffers from an extremely severe, congenital case of Antisocial Personality Disorder. In layman's terms, he i

And something about that— About the way he’s looking at me right now— Makes something inside me snap. I take it back. He’s not a narcissist. He’s a fucking psychopath. A sadist. “Why do you even care?” I snap, the words breaking out between clenched teeth. They’re chattering—whether from the cold or something darker crawling under my skin, I don’t know anymore. He tilts his head, slow, almost amused. One brow lifts as if I’ve just asked something mildly interesting. “Let’s just say…” he drawls, dragging the moment out, “you bring my brother… joy.”

He’ll get what he wants, no matter what we do. “If you still decide to be useless to me or try anything, I’ll just find someone that looks like you. It would be a lot of trouble, but I’ll get what I want even if I have to kill all your relatives and all your friends and forge a billion documents,” he says. I glare at him. He’s a psychopath. Crazy. Sick. Selfish. And there’s no way to win against him. He’s always going to come up with something to force our hand or he’s just going to kill us all.

She knew what she was getting into when she was making deals with the devil. And I would take her to hell and back. I could see right through her. She was starting to develop feelings for me. Who was going to tell her that was the worst idea she ever had? No one ever survived me because I was a sick bastard in every sense of the word. Men much older than me feared me. Some even called me to torture people because I was sadistic and I enjoyed it so much. If she thought she could turn a psychopath like me into a loving partner, she was more delusional than I thought she was.