Painful But Desirable Novels & Stories

“But how…” “Because there is a fine line between the two,” I explain, clamping one of her nipples so another naughty orgasm escapes. “Pain can feel good, and pleasure can be painful. When together, it’s almost unbearable,” I continue, watching her juices explode onto the comforter beneath her. “Look at how fucking excited you’re getting from both.” It was more than I could have imagined, and I knew I was going to become addicted to this. “You like it, don’t you?” I continue, clamping her other nipple.

"W-will it be very painful?” "I don't want to lie babe. Yes it will be painful but it will get better. But don't think about the pain too much. Just imagine the pleasure you will have once you got used to me. You liked what I did to you a while ago, didn’t you?” his voice was throaty and she nodded, " You will experience a different kind of pleasure once I really make love to you and that is a promise," He wiped the tears on her face with his thumb while his eyes were never leaving hers, "I know you are very scared but sorry babe, I have to take you tonight. If you won’t give yourself to me, I would really go crazy."

Toward the painful beautiful terrible wonderful choice to keep trying. “I stay. For now. I learn more. I experience more. I understand more.” The fragment settled between us. “But I reserve the right to change my mind. To choose nothing if suffering becomes too much. To leave if existence proves too painful. That is fair. That is acceptable. That is the deal.” “That is fair. That is acceptable. That is the deal.” Relief flooded through me. “We show you everything. The good and the bad. The beautiful and the ugly. The joy and the suffering. And you decide honestly. Completely. Freely. That is all we ask.”

His beautiful brown eyes were so deep that you could get lost if you stared long enough, she was usually lost in those ocean eyes. His handsome face had that distant look which she could not describe with words, and his bright smile which reached up to his eyes and wrinkled them, showed off his humanity and simplicity. Often she could see a hint of pain in his sparkling eyes, which would disappear as soon as his bright smile took over. She noticed that sometimes he smiled too bright even when he was hurting like when she chased him out of her room, which perhaps revealed how much agony he concealed within himself.

That’s cool. American movies taught us that to fail and to feel pain is another word for having success in life. And I am cool with that. I think they discovered something deeper. I'm a masochist: this means I get pain from pleasure. Precisely so. Then, well, I know it sounds weird or even wrong, but it is so damn right. The problem is only that not so many people share this feeling with me.

“But… It looks painful. She looks like she’s suffering.” Hunter shook his head, his dark eyes unblinking. “It’s not suffering, Bella. It’s called painful pleasure. She may scream, she may writhe, she may cry but every second of it is something she consents to. If she asks him to stop, he’ll stop. But right now? She’s enjoying it. She wants it.” Mirabella shook her head slightly, still processing. Her voice was faint but steady. “Some people… actually like that?”

I didn't care that his fingers and mouth worked wonderfully well together, and that he squeezed my thighs tightly, keeping me as still as possible, preventing my body from rising. I didn't care that I was blaspheming in five different languages while he devoured me. It didn't matter that I was hurting the man who gave me pleasure by holding his hair, pulling him to me, moving my hip to give him as much space as possible. I was more than desperate, I was doing everything to get to that intense place, to which I rarely reached with any man. I knew that he would be worth all my time at that moment, that he was much more than he seemed, and I was a miserable woman who seriously thought that just

Sure, he was handsome and rich, but he was also building a dangerous weapon that could cause a lot of harm. ‘I don't think that's a good idea, Grandma,’ she said gently. ‘I don't think Mr. Johnson and I are right for each other.’ ‘But why not?’ her grandmother pressed. ‘He's handsome, rich, and successful. And he cares about you.’ ‘I just don't think we have the same values,’ Unise said, trying to find a way to explain her feelings without revealing too much. ‘I appreciate what you have done for me, but I don't think we're meant to be together’.

He replied, leaning back into his desk like he was waiting for me to make a decision. My lips were swollen, patches of skin on my neck felt tender and my body sang with so much need I couldn't fight. And I didn't want to fight it. I made my way over to him with one thought in mind: to enjoy most of it tonight.

“We’re just discussing literature. Nothing to be afraid of dear.” “I know, Professor,” she whispered, cheeks burning. Her modest white sundress suddenly felt really thin to her. “It’s just… some of these passages are very… vivid.” Ryan leaned down, his breath warm against her ear as he reached past her to turn the page of the open book. “That’s the beauty of it. Desire hidden beneath propriety. The way a single touch or glance can awaken something primal.” His fingers brushed the side of her neck. “Tell me, sweet girl… have you ever felt that kind of desire?”