Pain was confused with Pleasure as Pleasure was confused for Pain.
Pleasure was related to Pain and praised for being painfully pleasurable.
Sweet, old Pain was remembered for being pleasurably painful.
Pain kissed Pleasure whenever and wherever he could.
Pleasure beautifully made love to Pain whenever and however she should, that way whenever Pain and Pleasure touched, ever so briefly, they would always keep a piece of each other, while never forgetting how close they are and will ever be.
Pain and Pleasure danced away their original definitions to come up with something more creative as intricate as their relationship.
Pain would smile and kiss away Pleasure’s tears and Pleasure would warmly bite away Pain’s infinite bruises.
Pleasure was agonizingly painful when she would attempt to show her love for Pain with her masochistic kisses and hugs.
Pain would lick Pleasure’s wounds in such a burning way, she would scream with delicious delight.
Pleasure told him: “I only let you kiss me and touch me if your lips and hands are full of intention.”
Pain told her: “I want every nibble to feel as though you are intimately writing the story of our lives on me.”
They naively thought the warm vibration between them was love: their bond that would eventually **** them both.