Jim x Dwight Oneshots *smut warning*

Jim the masochist

BDSM WARNING! (this chapter contains mature themes and possible violence/kink description. Read at your own risk)

I sit next to Dwight on the couch, my heart racing with anticipation. I know what I want, and I know what I need, but I also know that Dwight is hesitant. He's always been worried about taking things too far, even when we've talked about it beforehand and established clear boundaries.

But I can't help it. I need this. I need the pain, the pleasure, the rush of adrenaline that comes with it all. I need to feel alive, to feel something real and tangible and intense.

"Dwight," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I know you're worried, but I promise I'm okay. I need this. I need you to hurt me."

Dwight looks at me with concern in his eyes, his brow furrowed in worry. "Jim, I don't know if I can do this. I don't want to hurt you too much. What if I go too far?"

I reach out and take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I trust you, Dwight. I trust that you'll know when to stop. We've done this before, remember? And it's always been okay. I need this, Dwight. I need you."

Dwight's expression softens, and he leans in to kiss me gently on the lips. "Okay, Jim. Okay. But we're going to take it slow, okay? I don't want to hurt you too much."

I nod eagerly, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yes, yes, slow is good. But I want it, Dwight. I need it. Please."

Dwight nods, and he begins to run his hands over my body, tracing the curves and lines with gentle fingers. He leans in to kiss me again, and I can feel his hands moving to my neck, where he begins to apply pressure.

At first, it's gentle. Just a light squeeze, enough to make me feel a little breathless but not enough to cause any real pain. But as the minutes tick by, the pressure begins to increase, until I'm gasping for air and my vision is starting to blur.

And still, I want more. I want him to hurt me, to push me to my limits and beyond. I want to feel the pain, the pleasure, the rush of adrenaline that comes with it all.

"Dwight," I gasp, my voice hoarse. "More. I need more."

But Dwight pulls back, his expression troubled. "Jim, I don't know if I can-"

I cut him off with a desperate kiss, my hands reaching up to pull him closer to me. "Please, Dwight. Please. I need this. I need you to hurt me."

And finally, reluctantly, he gives in. He leans in to kiss me again, his hands moving to my neck once more, and this time the pressure is intense. I feel like I'm suffocating, like I'm drowning, but at the same time, I'm more alive than I've ever been.

Dwight's hands move from my neck to my chest, his fingers digging into my flesh. He presses down hard, making me gasp for air, making my body ache with pleasure. I arch my back, craving more pain, more punishment. I need to feel something, anything, other than the emptiness inside me.

Dwight's eyes are focused on me, watching me intently as he delivers blow after blow. I can see the concern in his gaze, the worry that he's taking it too far, but I don't care. I need this. I need him to hurt me, to make me feel alive.

I moan as he lands another hit, the pain and pleasure mingling together in a dizzying rush. "Harder, Dwight," I beg, and he complies, hitting me even harder than before.

I can feel the bruises forming on my skin, can feel the ache in my bones, but it only makes me want more. I beg Dwight for more, to hurt me in any way he wants, and he obliges. He slaps me hard across the face, and I feel my cheek start to swell. He punches me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. And I love every second of it.