Pleasure Principle Book Novels & Stories

I don't find pleasure in these things. I like to fuck for my pleasure, yes, but not to be touched by objects like these whores. Fuck them, yes, but not be touched by them.Just thinking about having their hands on my body is making me sick to my stomach. I don't like being touched at all without my permission. The last whore who dared to kiss me without my permission ended up with a bullet in the head. You may think I felt guilt by doing this but let me break this fucking dream to you- I didn't.

I ask. Holden shrugs. "Not the whipping and caning, but the fun stuff like handcuffs, toys and well... orgasm denial. Are you into the pain?" I bite my lip and nod. "It's a fetish I guess. There's a fine line between pleasure and pain. If you find that middle line, it's incredible!" Holden grins. "Let me show you what I can do." He whispers in my ear before pushing me off him, down onto the bed and straddling me.

Today. “I want to give you pleasure.” When he said that, it was hard for me to say no and if he had told me one more time I would have given in, breaking my principles of never being with any man at the strip club and always being in control. He asked me if I would see him again or just that once!

Maybe not enormity if you look at it from a more rational point of view but I wasn’t supposed to allow pleasure to control me, to make me a weakness. I’ve seen what pleasure and desires could do, I’ve seen it wreak havoc, I’ve seen it destroy and fester, I’ve seen it bring everything down. I’ve sworn to myself that I’d never be controlled by pleasure, sworn to myself that I’d always be immune to the dictates of sexual wants and needs, that’s why I have a harem full of whores whose only existence was to get me off. I didn’t get involved in sexual activities to get pleasured, I do them to get off and just to satisfy my primitive and natural urges.

It wasn’t gentle. His hand slid into her hair, fingers closing at the nape of her neck just above the collar. The other gripped her hip, dragging her flush against him. His mouth claimed hers with a heat that had nothing to do with cameras this time and everything to do with pent‑up need and frustration. Her body answered before her training could catch up. The Siren nodes along her spine flared. The pleasure‑kill protocol spun up at a thought code whispering along her nerves. “Careful,” Aria warned. “You overload both of you in this tower. There’s no good way to spin that.”

My nails scraped lightly across the mattress as heat rushed through me. “Good girl,” he breathed. The praise made my stomach twist with pleasure. My breathing turned uneven, and my hips moved helplessly against his mouth. “Fuck…” I whispered. The pressure kept building until I couldn’t stop it anymore. My body jerked and a loud moan tore from my throat as the orgasm hit me. My back arched off the bed while waves of pleasure rolled through me. “That’s it,” He groaned softly. I could barely think. My chest rose and fell quickly while my legs shook around him.

I let whatever was pulling at me with a reckoning force out and the relief I felt afterwards was divine. The thick white stuff trickled down my thighs, dropping onto Bryan’s black pants. “You did well.” He praised, patting my head with his left hand, while the right still remains buried deep inside my core. “Thank you for making the pain go away.” “It is normal, Princess. You feel this when you’re attracted to someone and want them sexually.” Daddy explained and my brows furrowed. Hell no! I was definitely not attracted to my step-daddy, neither physically or sexually.

And he was addicted to his little girl’s tight pussy. This was only the first story in the book of our sins. There were ninety-nine more ways to damn ourselves still waiting. And I could not wait to fall even deeper.

Every smallness aggregated into a map of her limits. Pleasure. A dangerous word. Pleasure was an admission of interior life; it named an inner geography I could not legislate away with locks and lists. I never wanted the obvious collapse of someone reduced to fear. That was amateur cruelty. What I wanted — what I’d been designing — was the subtler surrender that rearranged a person’s measurement of reward and danger. A rush of warmth in a long-hardened place. A memory that complicated resistance.

As he spoke, he kept on plunging his hand as deep as he can, while I moaned at his ministration. The pain, I endured earlier, has dulled. What I feel now is a pleasure, unlike the one I gave to myself. It was more than anything I've ever felt. And I wanted more. “Please, master.” I pleaded as he continued to lazily stroke me. “What a naughty human.” Unexpectedly, he slapped my Pleasure territory. “Master!” I cried out, not from pain, but from the pleasure that racked through me at the slap. I felt myself getting wetter as he slapped me.