Freedom is Slavery Read Free Page A

noise." She caressed my left cheek with her palm before pulling it back and striking a blow.
    Somehow, knowing that it was coming, combined with the fact that I was taking the pain for Sybarta, helped keep the tears from my eyes, despite the stinging pain. She repeated the same thing on my right cheek and then gently kissed the red marks that came up.
    Apparently, Sybarta was in the mood to cause some pain and I was going to try my best to take as much as she could dish out. She liked to push my limits, giving me more pain each time we were together. "It pleases me to hurt you," she would tell me as she watched the tears streaming from my eyes.
    Bound as I was, I was powerless to do much more than whimper when she reached down and cruelly pinched my nipples. She looked deep into my eyes as the pain shot through me. She loved reading the fear that my eyes revealed. I was oddly quiet during these moments—while I wanted to scream, she didn’t want to hear it. If I was too noisy she would gag me, lowering the chances that I might have something better put in my mouth.
    I kept as still and quiet as I could as she placed the first of many clothespins on me that day. Pulling down a bag from a nearby shelf, she fished them out, one by one, and clamped clothespin after clothespin on my flesh. Initially she put them on my nipples and earlobes. Then she began decorating my hard cock with them. She started at the base, going around and around my cock, attaching more and more clothespins until my sex organ looked more like a porcupine than a penis. With each biting sensation, I would take in a bit more breath.
    "Breathe," she would remind me.
    Each clothespin felt like a tiny, sharp-toothed mouth on my flesh but the intense pain didn’t start until Sybarta began clipping more of the wooden torture devices to my scrotum. I tried to keep track of the number of them on my skin as I knew that the pain I felt now would be nothing compared to when they were removed. I lost count after she got about twenty attached to the tender skin of my ball sac.
    Sybarta ran out of clothespins before she ran out of bare skin to pinch. When she was done, she took stock of her handiwork and began to play me like an instrument— touching, turning, and slapping various clothespins. Each one provided a different sensation, all based in pain. Still my cock did not falter. Serving Sybarta kept me incredibly aroused, despite the screaming fire of my flesh.
    I tried to maintain some modicum of silence but the pain at times was too great. When I cried out, Sybarta would shush me and carry on. I could tell that she was enjoying it greatly. She got her greatest pleasure when she began plucking the clothespins from my skin. The rush of blood to each little area caused an incredible amount of pain. She plucked them off, one after another, quickly and then slower before going fast again, judging my reaction and enjoying taking me to the edge.
    Once they were all removed I was allowed to catch by breath. Sybarta told me that I did a good job for her and that she would give me a reward. Little did I know it would be one of the best she had ever given.
    She slid her left hand into her jeans and withdrew it a moment later. She held her hand out to my nose and allowed me to smell her scent. It was only the second time I had been allowed to take in the scent of a woman and, this time, she allowed me to taste her as well. She rubbed her fingers over my closed lips before telling me to open wide and take her fingers in my mouth.
    It was my first time tasting a woman. I had tried performing cunnilingus on my high school girlfriend but didn’t get too far before her Catholic guilt forced us to stop. But she was merely a girl. Sybarta was a mature woman and one who had me bound and at her mercy. I relished her heady smell and taste. I couldn’t believe that I was finally getting to taste the thing I had dreamed about for years. And, as fast as it began, it ended as she withdrew