Masochism Quotes Novels & Stories

"If this is a joke, I'll be bummed out. I like your name." “I don’t just screw with guys the first moment I see them.” Sassy. Yes. "Especially after they spill hot coffee all over my shoulder and try to give me third-degree burns. I'm not a masochist, ya know?” “Well, that’s good to know.” His bemused face was on the edge of giving us away as we silently whispered back and forth. "It's a pleasure to know that you don't derive pleasure from pain." “Why is that?” I bit my lip slowly and evasively. "Why is it such a pleasure?"

Like ever. “Maybe you’re not a masochist in the traditional sense…”. He muses as he places his arm on the table and rests his chin on it. “But you do like pain”. “I don’t want to be hit…or whipped…or anything like that”. It’s not even embarrassing to say anymore. I’m really not hardcore or anything, I— “I already know that, Sorahiko”. He places one of his slices of toast on my plate. “You just have a very nasty strength kink”.

“Now, come for me...” I scoffed or tried to, but there were so many tears and my voice was hoarse with pain and crying out. It was the reason, I said what I said next but it was out there and now he knows it. “I might be a masochist but I don’t think this much pain would bring me pleasure, you arsehôle.” “Let’s see...” I didn’t know why he started to count next. But then his thumb and index finger closed on my tormented clît and he pinched on three.

While his head was kept in my hands, he touched my toe. "Oww.." I stopped moving my arms and screamed. "Fortunately nothing is wrong with the bone. Try to use your thighs and chest to hit people. If you want to cause damage to me, it's better to scratch or bite." What is this madman talking about? What is all this nonsense about my chest and thighs? It's better to scratch and bite? Is he not only a psychopath but also a masochist? Crazy! What kind of fairytale is this?! Hello, dear author, am I missing something here?

Her face was a mask of disapproval, her brows knitted together in a frown. “Enjoy it? Do you even hear yourself? This is sadomasochism! You’re letting someone hurt you for fun. Do you realise how messed up that sounds?” I took a deep breath, desperate to keep my composure. “It’s not just about pain, Jasmine. It’s about trust, connection, and… expression. It’s not something everyone understands, but it’s meaningful to us. To me.” “Meaningful? Really?” she snapped, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You think degrading yourself is meaningful? You think letting someone dominate you is healthy? This is going to mess with your head, and you’ll end up regretting it.”

Because I am a masochist, in a way, and masochists like pain, especially when it is a result of something we’ve done. I think that is why I kissed him back then, because my masochistic tendencies took hold of me and I couldn’t escape them. And God forbid I tell Dad about them, because what would I say? Dad, I think I have masochistic tendencies toward your friend and I am unable to stop them. Yeah, I would not be able to look him in the eye again. Anyway, because of what Dan said, I am unable to focus on the file. I read a few lines and then I go back to thinking about all the words he said to me.

She sure was the fire that lit me up with passion and frustration, but hell, I wanted to burn in it until there was nothing left of me. Call me a masochist, I don't give a fuck. I was the sorry son of a bitch who couldn't resist crawling back to the same damn woman who messed with my head and got my heart racing in all sorts of messed-up ways. I shrugged off his warning, a smirk curling at the corners of my lips. "You act like you've got a leash around my neck. I've always been a fan of free will." His voice dropped even lower, the threat tangible. "One day your mouth is going to land you in a world of trouble."

She hums and closes her eyes when I say it. I give her a little time to suck on my thumb before carefully removing it. "You're not broken, Rosie." I stop and meet her tear-streaked eyes. "You're a masochist," I say, and she gives me a perplexed look. I move to the little table with my bourbon and vodka on it. "What's a masochist?" she asks as she sees me pour myself a glass of bourbon. "In short, you like pain or humiliation because it turns you on," I say.

“Good, that's good, because I derive pleasure in pain. You could call me a sadist-masochist.” I'm stunned. “A sadist-masochist?” The word comes out frightfully. Psychopath would be more fitting. That's the right word to describe men like him who derive pleasure in causing harm. Right? Except when I look at him, I don't see a psychopath. An arrogant bastard, maybe. He chuckles, a rich sound that comes from somewhere deep inside him. “You make me sound dangerous like a sociopath.” He pauses, lowering himself to sit on the chair facing me, crossing his legs. “I'm just drawn to pain. Giving it, receiving it.”

He didn’t like the insult, only he was allowed to speak on Amber. “Fucking a Black pussy is the best thing that has ever happened to me, you should try it sometime,” Mason said casually with a wink, but his jaw flexed with anger. “I have to go. Get the job done. Don’t fail me, you are on the broadcasting committee for a reason.” Mason waved him off, hands buried in his pockets as he walked off, already thinking about Amber. ***