Sadistic Masters

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Sadistic Masters


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This group is for Black Masters with a sadistic nature and heart that know how to handle, treat and discipline the white bitches that they ultimately own and control. This group is for Nigga Men ONLY ! Your bitches can join my cunts group, slaves of Sadistic Black Master. they should contact katelynn svenson for an invitation. A fee has been applied to insure those who join hold the values and practices of Sadistic Black Masters of SL Your fee gives You a discount to use all slaves I pimp out .

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Romances with power dynamics such as ownership, domination or sadism that can be emotional (soft), physical (hard) or both, including but not limited to: master/servant or slave , Dom/sub , outright ownership ( via money/debt etc), captor/captive , extortion /blackmail and emotional sadism (strong emotional torment for revenge, etc). Power dynamics must be between the leads , not supporting roles or from outside pressure (families, etc). Those with explicit scenes will be marked NSFW. Stories may include triggering elements.
What you should understand/need: 1) Ability to distinguish fiction from reality 2) a bit of skepticism and suspension of disbelief, and 3) at least basic understanding of why these are not healthy relationship dynamics in the real world if they do not involve consent. ( 50 Shades is not a good example so if this is your foundation, please research consent and even consensual non-consent (CNC) in the BDSM world.)
This list will not include titles with lighter boss/employee/contract dynamics. If you want the cute/fluffy version of these themes, I'd recommend searching the "Contract Relationship", "Boss/Employee" or "Fake Relationship" tags.
ownership, emotional sadism, captor/captive
emotional sadism, contract to some extent, extortion
emotional sadism, captor/captive, blackmail, mild torture
master/servant, ownership (debt), arguably captor/captive
Japanese Special - 2015, 2 episodes
captor/captive, extortion, ownership, torture
master/servant [forced mistress/debt]
bondage, captor/captive, general BDSM, both consensual and nonconsensual content
Just a few words about why "Twenty-Five Twenty-One" was such a good drama.
Looking for a different kind of romcom drama? This one is full of the 3Ms: magic, mystic, and mystery!
Introducing the currently airing Chinese drama "Master of My Own", and sharing my current thoughts about it!
Kim Sae Ron is under police investigation for driving under the influence of alcohol.
Lakorn and potential lakorn viewers, if you're in the mood to watch some ghost stories, this article might help you find one!


All Rights Reserved View Non-AMP Version

All Rights Reserved View Non-AMP Version
Not everyone can be teacher of the year—but these sadistic educators take “cruelty” to the next level. From jaw-dropping insults to ruining kids’ lives just for the fun of it, teachers like these make school a living nightmare. For most of us, reading these stories will make us realize our teachers weren’t so bad. For anyone who had to endure creeps like the ones below—we’re so sorry.
My mother and father passed when I was in my final year of school, I was off school for a while around the time of the second funeral. When I returned to school my tutor decided it was her job to tell the class what had happened to me, right there in front of everyone instead of letting me do it on my own terms. To say I lost my temper would be an understatement.
I once had a terrible history teacher. He was horrible to everyone and said some extremely questionable things. He never bothered me in particular, a few things here and there but nothing terrible. Well, until my best friend drowned while canoeing with some other students. A few days later the principal had a moment of silence for him.
In response, this teacher said ‘kid deserved it.’ I lost my freaking mind. I started shrieking at him. I was crying, and he was just standing there with this mischievous smirk on his face. My friends pulled me out of the room while he called the principal. I ended up suspended but there was a student walkout the next day due to my suspension.
I was near the end of my senior year in college and needed to take an elective to satisfy degree requirements. I took basketball since I love the game. The “professor” was an assistant coach for the school’s basketball team, and he didn’t care about the class. Our class starts at 8 am in the old basketball gym on campus, and he was the only way that we could get into the gym.
A few times he had a colleague come to open up the gym for us, but at least 7 or 8 times over the semester, he just didn’t show up at all so, after 15 minutes, the students just went back to their dorms or apartments. I was a commuter driving 45 minutes each way, so I had to skip work on the days I had class. I was working to pay for school.
Near the end of the semester, someone in class asked him about his attendance then he made an announcement that anyone that doesn’t show up for the final exam (basically whoever could make a basket) will fail. On the day of the final exam, he didn’t show up. No colleague. Nothing. On that last day, there were 30 students freezing cold sitting outside the gym in December. I ripped him a new one.
A friend of mine wanted to go to a certain university that was out of state and somewhat tough to get into. The counselor told him not to waste his time as he would never get in. This made him rage. He stormed to the principal who told him to trust the counselor as that was her job. He applied anyway, got accepted, and taped copies of his acceptance letter to the counselor and principal’s door.
During quiet reading time, teacher brought me to the front of the class because I was reading a book for girls, and he asked me, “why are you reading a giiirrrrrrls book? Are you a GIRL?” Then made me chose a book for “boys” to read. I was maybe 10 or 11? The book was Matilda by the way.
When I was in high school I got a lot of nosebleeds. Like, a lot. So I got one in the middle of class and I asked the teacher for a tissue, she said she didn’t have any so I asked to go to the toilet to get one and she said no. Soon, I asked again when blood was dripping from my hands and she yelled at me for “repeating myself,” which is apparently bad.
Soon, a puddle of blood was on the table and then I got sent to isolation for “disrupting the class.” I was then suspended for “acting inappropriate during class.” She was then fired for putting my life at risk. I gotta say, when you get a nose bleed like that, you really see how much blood is inside of you.
In first grade, I didn’t want to eat a brownie that a classmate had brought in for their birthday. My teacher decided that this was incredibly rude and that I wasn’t allowed to go outside for recess until I ate the brownie. When she wasn’t looking, I wrapped it in a napkin and placed it carefully in the garbage can. She noticed, took it out of trash, unwrapped it, and still made me eat it.
I had a teacher who hated me. To the best of my knowledge, I never did anything to make her feel that way at first, or if I did, it was something stupid and petty. Not being the type to enjoy being hated, I made her life as difficult as I could without breaking rules. Then this awful teacher started telling me that I wasn’t turning in homework assignments. Are you serious? I handed it to you yesterday same time as everyone else.
Principal calls my parents about me apparently just not trying, so they yell at me for a while and sit with me every night for two weeks while I do my dumb homework. Then this genius lady tells me again that I need to start doing homework or I’m going to fail the class. This message ends up with the principal and then ends up with my parents.
Now, they didn’t believe me before this point, but now they knew I was doing my homework, and something fishy was going on. My mom asked to meet with the teacher. We went to this parent teacher meet up and she’s sitting there all smug. She told my mom, “He isn’t doing his homework.” But my mom fired back, “I know he is. I’ve been making sure he has.”
Then the teacher went, “Well then he must be choosing not to turn it in. Or maybe he’s just not doing the homework for this class. Do you help him with the work? We’re doing ____ right now, I’ll show you the assignment.” She grabbed a folder, opened it up, and right on top was my ungraded assignment. It had my name on the top in big ol’ letters.
My mom noticed too and snatched it. She gave the teacher a look, got up, and walked down the hall to the principal’s office. The look on her face was worth the nightmare I’d been through. I had never seen my teacher, or anyone else for that matter, look so devastated after realizing how much she screwed things up for herself. It was incredible. She finished out the school year but was not present the next year.
I guess there were a lot of issues with her.
I got a detention from a teacher for knowing something she didn’t. We were learning about Japanese print making in art history class, and the text she was reading from mentioned Zen. Another kid asked what Zen was, and the teacher didn’t know. I had just been to Japan and visited a temple, so I piped up and told them it was a type of Buddhism from Japan.
I wasn’t trying to be a jerk or rude about it at all. I was just trying to help out the other kid and was excited about sharing my trip— I never expected what happened next. My teacher lost it, yelled at me, kicked me out of class, and then gave me a detention. She also taught art class and was terrible at that too. She just liked bossing kids around.
My fourth-grade teacher had a reputation for making one boy in her class an unpopular scapegoat each year. Lucky me. In previous years, I’d been just another kid in the playground, but within two months the other kids wouldn’t play with me during recess. One day I refused to go outside for recess. She asked why, and I foolishly told her that the other kids didn’t like me.
When they came back in, she marched me to the front of the class, and asked for a show of hands, who didn’t like me. Fourth grade kids—mostly—did what fourth grade kids do. I broke down that night and told my mom what had happened and what had been going on all along. She marched into school the next day, got a meeting that included the principal, and tore the teacher a new one.
I was still stuck in that class, but the teacher moved on to a new victim. Funny thing how self-esteem influences academic performance. My school used to give us a Stanford Binet IQ Test every year. My score dropped ten points from third to fourth grade, and then rose twenty points in fifth grade when I had a nurturing teacher.
If you are still alive, SCREW YOU, Mrs. Ericson.
When I was in 8th grade, we had a history teacher who lost her left eye at a young age. She was the meanest teacher I ever had, but one day she went too far. We were in class, and I was in the back of the room. She called my name to answer a question and I didn’t know the answer. She calls me to the front of the room, intent on embarrassing me in front of the class.
When I failed to answer the next question she told me to get out of her sight. I promptly stepped to my right a few steps. Her face turned the color of a ripe tomato, and I was suspended from school. Totally worth it.
A couple of weeks into my senior year of high school, the president gave a speech about the importance of school or something. I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention. Anyway, all the teachers in my school had to set up their projectors, so we could watch it. However, my math teacher couldn’t figure out how to get her projector working.
So, me being the nerdy kid, offered to help. She had a total meltdown. She started screaming about how she wasn’t stupid and how I needed to just sit down and shut up. After a few more minutes of her failing to fix it, she pointed at me and ordered me to fix it. I said, “Fix it yourself.” Bold move. She told the whole class to go next door to watch the speech in that teacher’s room.
When we got up to leave, she pulled me to the side and told me that when the class got back, I was going to stand up and apologize for being so rude to her. I refused and went to join the rest of the class. She spent the rest of the year making my life miserable. She told me on several occasions that she was going to make sure that I failed her class. Sure enough, I failed her class. It’s the only class I ever failed.
Ah Mrs. Tansa. You can rearrange her name to spell Satan. She was my fourth grade teacher, and she would make fun of you anytime she got. My favorite memory about her was when I was riding my bike and saw a bunch of police a few doors down from my place. I walked up and noticed a police officer with the same last name on his name tag, and I asked him if his wife was a teacher.
He said yes, and I said I was a student in her class, and all he said was, “I’m sorry.”
My teacher and pretty much the whole school knew I was a foster kid. I was painfully aware of this so I kept to myself. I didn’t make many friends and spent all of my time at home playing in the woods. In the middle of the semester of third grade, someone went into my teacher’s purse and stole money from her. It wasn’t a small amount either—like hundreds of dollars.
Without sending anyone to the principal’s or even investigating the situation, she called my parents and told them it was me because “orphans lack manors and we all know it was him.” She demanded that my foster parents pay up and they did. When I got home that day, my foster father punished me for being a thief and it was painful.
When I got to school the next day with bruises on me, she knowingly looked at me and said, “Got what you asked for, huh?” That was 20 years ago, I went to her funeral give years ago just to make sure the grim reaper did the job.
My little sister took ceramics during her freshman year of high school. They had to do some project and she wanted to look on Google for some reference images. She went to ask her teacher if she could use his computer, and she saw that he had a computer folder open that was full of pictures of her. Talk about creepy.
She was like, “Why the heck do you have pictures of me on your computer?” and he came out with some lie, so she told my mom when she got home. My mom called the school about it and he denied everything. The school did nothing about it. So my mom called him personally and threatened the life out of him.
I don’t know what she said but he definitely left my sister completely alone for the rest of the semester.
I had a 10th-grade French teacher accuse me of plagiarism for writing something that was “above my level of French.” I was shy and didn’t talk much, but had been in total immersion since grade school. In grades 7 and 8, I even competed in public speaking, winning out of the school and going to provincials.
They put me in the highest level with one other contestant who had just moved from Quebec. Did she bother to back-check anything? Heck no. But that was just the beginning of the nightmare. That jerk screwed my grades up so bad that I went from being an honor student to barely showing up because I didn’t know what to do. If I did well, I’d get in trouble, so what’s the point?
A French teacher who made me hate French. She humiliated me in front of the class by making me get on my hands and knees and picking up a piece of trash with my mouth. I was being punished for throwing an airplane while she went out to chit chat with another teacher. She was terrible. Always miserable, just a wretched woman.
Mrs. Danner in the third grade. She was a terrible teacher in general. She talked about her migraines constantly instead of teaching and explained how chocolate and Taco Bell triggered her migraines and explosive diarrhea, and told us that anyone who drinks diet soda would immediately get cancer even if they drank it because they have diabetes and can’t drink regular soda.
She picked on different students and loved to have loud, patronizing conversations with her teacher friend next door about students in her class as a passive-aggressive way to get on to students. She was particularly mean to me because she wasn’t from what would be considered a “good” family in the area but married well.
In her new social circle, she wound up rubbing elbows with my grandmother, who absolutely despised Mrs. Danner and was not shy about making that fact known. So, when she saw my last name on the first day of class, she decided to get her revenge. It all culminated in one incident in which I had an altercation with a boy outside of school hours and not at a school event.
On the Monday following the event, Mrs. Danner and her teacher friend pulled me into the hallway and said things like, “Looks like the Pandersons aren’t as wonderful as they pretend” and “how ashamed your grandmother must be” and other things that turned poor, sensitive Dan Panderson into a teenaged, sobbing mess.
I went home and my tears turned my mother into a bear ready to attack. The following day, my mother put on her best suit, donned her pearls, pulled her hair into an elegant chignon, and stomped her high-heeled feet into that school at 3:00 p.m. and stepped into the classroom. I’ll never forget the next few moments.
Mrs. Danner said, “Hello [Mom First Name].” My mother said, “Oh, you may call me Mrs. Last Name, my friends use my first n
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