Freedom is Slavery Read Online Free PDF

real shame is that this kind of thing happens all the time to both men and women. They find that special someone and find themselves having to make a choice between D & S or a vanilla life. As vanilla is seen as "normal" that’s usually the one that wins out. A shame, as I really hoped for another day with Suzie Cocksucker.

The Club
    I felt like a total chump. I was standing alone while the thump thump of the dance beat assaulted my years. Apparently I had been stood up. I had driven down from university to meet some of my old high school cronies. Per their typical style, they were either extremely late or weren’t showing up at all. This wasn’t my idea of a good time. I’m not a dancer, and was only coming down for a few drinks and to find a corner where we might have a bit of conversation.
    However, I was enjoying the scenery. Though the music wasn’t really my style, the girls on the dance floor were extremely attractive to me. One in particular, in a short skirt that showed a bit of creamy thigh between her hem and the top of her stockings, really had my blood moving. She looked like she might have just as easily fit in at a "fetish fashion show" as she did here at City Club. If it weren’t for the trick of the lights, I’d have sworn she had caught my glance a few times.
    It was later, as I stood by the bar waiting to get the bartender’s attention, that I learned I was correct. I felt her even before I saw her standing next to me. She was burning a hole in the back of my head with her deeply radiant eyes. They were oddly indigo colored, perhaps enhanced with contact lenses, or perhaps natural. Regardless, they were eyes into which I could have fallen into right there.
    I knew that I should wait for her to talk first when I turned to look at her.
    "I saw you looking at me," she said matter-of-factly. "You enjoyed looking at me."
    Even though she didn’t phrase it as a question, I still felt obligated to nod. There was a moment of silence between us. I felt that she was looking inside of me with those piercing eyes and seeing things I didn’t want seen. After what seemed like hours, she snapped her fingers and the bartender materialized. She ordered for us, not asking me what I wanted.
    She stood about half a foot shorter than me—she would have been only about chest-high, had it not been for the extremely precarious heels she wore. Her intense eyes were made brighter by the fact that her face was starkly pale except for the carefully glossed blood-red lips. Other men might have described her as "plump" while I found her simply voluptuous, even more so by the way her corset cinched her waist and made her breasts even more pronounced.
    I had taken in every inch of her that I could as she danced earlier. I didn’t dare look at any part of her now though, as we stayed locked in our own little world.
    She watched me pay for our drinks and, as she sipped hers daintily, she said with a wry grin, "I know all about you." She saw my puzzled look. "No, we’ve never met. But I can read you like a book."
    "I hope I’m a good read," I said, trying to be cute.
    "Oh, it’s one of my favorite stories. Even though I know how it ends, I go back and re-read it as often as I can. I’m constantly finding new twists in the tale."
    I don’t know what it was, but the way she said "twists" sent a visible shiver down my spine.
    "Would you like to see me again?" she asked, taking me by surprise.
    "You’re leaving?"
    "Yes, but I’m hoping to see you again tonight. You can, if you do something for me."
    "Whatever you’d like," I blurted out, sounding a bit desperate.
    "Oooh, goodie. Those are words that I like to hear. You’re going to regret saying them though. Let me tell you exactly what you need to do to prove that you’re worthy of seeing me again...."
    An hour later I was knocking on her door. She lived just a few blocks away from the club and I stood on her stoop, shifting my weight nervously from foot to foot. My face