? & M

"I'm not a sadist, you know."

He says it periodically, like he wants to remind me.

The first time he said it I actually thought he was joking. On our first date, after all, he'd been the one who had pulled and twisted my nipples, harder and harder, until he could no longer interpret the noises I was making.

"I'm not really sure where your pain/pleasure line is, here," he'd said, still mauling me.

"Neither am I," I panted, "but keep going."

By the time he had his fingers inside me I was begging him to smack my ass.

That was a great first date.

The next time he told me ("I'm not into pain games"), I thought he must mean he didn't want to anymore. But we'd stand in his living room necking, too impatient to make it to the bed, and he'd hurt me and then slide his hand into my panties and feel how wet I was.

"You," he'd murmur, "are what they call a pain slut."

"I am?" He'd pinch, and I'd gasp.

Clearly, he wasn't quitting.

So the next time he brought it up, I know I looked at him funny, and finally he spelled it out for me.

"I don't get off on causing you pain," he said as he wrapped his fist in my hair and pulled. "I get off on getting you off."

And then he bit me. So fucking sweetly.

I don't care what you call it, baby, just don't stop.

[written for Alison Tyler's S&M contest]