Sexual Freedom in Chains: A Forbidden Tale of Submission and Desire
By Any Other Name
An Erotic Novel of Suppression and Freedom
http://randwrand.wordpress.com/the-books/
Prologue
"Forgive him, for he believes that the customs of his tribe are the laws of nature."
George Bernard Shaw (1856–1959) Winner of the 1925 Nobel Prize in Literature
"Corazoncito, flagelo y soy flagelada. No hay medio más seguro para despertar mis pasiones que una buena azotaina"(108).
Donatien Alphonse Francoise de Sade (1740–1814)
from Julieta o El vicio ampliamente recompensado [1795]
First Spanish Edition, Distrito Federal, Mexico (2006)
_________________________________________________
Madrid, Spain
Late April
The spasms subsided halfway through the heavy Guns N' Roses beat, and the young woman's breathing slowed. Hanging upright, she raised her head but could only hold it up long enough to swallow through a dry mouth and throat. Her head felt so heavy, and the music—so loud—enveloped her in thunder. The base seemed to pound in time to her pulse.
Chafing burned at her wrists strapped overhead, the sensation returning like a foggy memory, but her fingers and toes still felt numb. She hung from her wrists, feet barely able to support her weight, shoulders throbbing. ¡Delicioso! A sense of loss clouded the delicious pain. She did not want the coming change, didn´t want to lose what they had together. Cool air chilled the sheen of sweat covering her naked body as the wave of hot pleasure faded. The coolness seemed odd because she recalled that the room had felt warm before. Polished wood felt hard but cool against her chest, taking her exhausted weight. On the second try, she managed to keep her head up. Strands of damp hair hung in her face, obscuring her features in the wide mirror. "Welcome to the Jungle," she whispered to her reflection hanging before her. Off her reflection, in the top corner of the mirror, someone had taped a tan sheet of construction paper with the printed words in red:
Sex is natural; sex is good.
Not everybody does it, but everybody should.
Sex is natural; sex is fun.
Sex is best when it's one-on-one.
George Michael
"I Want Your Sex"
The sign was new, and she agreed completely, except he forgot the sweet pain part. Instinctively, she fisted her hands and tugged, uselessly. No strength remained to lift herself and relieve the returning soreness at her wrists, spread and secured overhead. Only the straps and oak beam held her up. Her sweat made the polished wood slick, and the scent of the varnish reminded her fleetingly of the wax her mother used at home. She heard the whip dropped across the iron brace of the beam. Its sound, stiff leather on wood, clipped the air softly and died, belying the power, the sting. The long dreaded end had come along with THE END
An Erotic Novel of Suppression and Freedom
http://randwrand.wordpress.com/the-books/
Prologue
"Forgive him, for he believes that the customs of his tribe are the laws of nature."
George Bernard Shaw (1856–1959) Winner of the 1925 Nobel Prize in Literature
"Corazoncito, flagelo y soy flagelada. No hay medio más seguro para despertar mis pasiones que una buena azotaina"(108).
Donatien Alphonse Francoise de Sade (1740–1814)
from Julieta o El vicio ampliamente recompensado [1795]
First Spanish Edition, Distrito Federal, Mexico (2006)
_________________________________________________
Madrid, Spain
Late April
The spasms subsided halfway through the heavy Guns N' Roses beat, and the young woman's breathing slowed. Hanging upright, she raised her head but could only hold it up long enough to swallow through a dry mouth and throat. Her head felt so heavy, and the music—so loud—enveloped her in thunder. The base seemed to pound in time to her pulse.
Chafing burned at her wrists strapped overhead, the sensation returning like a foggy memory, but her fingers and toes still felt numb. She hung from her wrists, feet barely able to support her weight, shoulders throbbing. ¡Delicioso! A sense of loss clouded the delicious pain. She did not want the coming change, didn´t want to lose what they had together. Cool air chilled the sheen of sweat covering her naked body as the wave of hot pleasure faded. The coolness seemed odd because she recalled that the room had felt warm before. Polished wood felt hard but cool against her chest, taking her exhausted weight. On the second try, she managed to keep her head up. Strands of damp hair hung in her face, obscuring her features in the wide mirror. "Welcome to the Jungle," she whispered to her reflection hanging before her. Off her reflection, in the top corner of the mirror, someone had taped a tan sheet of construction paper with the printed words in red:
Sex is natural; sex is good.
Not everybody does it, but everybody should.
Sex is natural; sex is fun.
Sex is best when it's one-on-one.
George Michael
"I Want Your Sex"
The sign was new, and she agreed completely, except he forgot the sweet pain part. Instinctively, she fisted her hands and tugged, uselessly. No strength remained to lift herself and relieve the returning soreness at her wrists, spread and secured overhead. Only the straps and oak beam held her up. Her sweat made the polished wood slick, and the scent of the varnish reminded her fleetingly of the wax her mother used at home. She heard the whip dropped across the iron brace of the beam. Its sound, stiff leather on wood, clipped the air softly and died, belying the power, the sting. The long dreaded end had come along with THE END
