Message-ID: <6578eli$9803022256@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: jaypee Subject: ordeal on the net Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34FA8D1E.4ADC@KIVA.NET> ORDEAL ON THE 'NET by Joy Paine M/F, voyeurism, cybersubmission This is crazy! Elizabeth thought. He doesn't have any hold on me; I could just refuse, and he wouldn't have any way of finding me, of punishing me, of restoring his sinister control over my thoughts and actions. Crazy! she thought again. Here I am, long-time resident of a typical small town, right in the very center of mid-America-- the most conventional of housewives; to all appearances, the very prototype of the person for whom the term "vanilla" had been coined. And here I also am, cyber slave to some unseen unknown person who can bend me to his will with a single word. I'm not even sure that it is "his" will -- maybe it should be "hers". But I like it better to think of my Swami as a man. Swami -- that's what he calls himself, and that is how I think of him. Not in the original Hindu sense of a respected teacher, but in the corrupted way that Americans use the term -- as a devious, possibly evil, entity that can control my mind with a very thought. Maybe it's because I am so vanilla that I find this thralldom so adventurous, so deliciously dangerous. Because it isn't really dangerous, of course -- as I said, I can walk away from him any time I want to. And these delightfully unconventioinal adventures are utterly without danger. There is no-one to see me stealing home from the forest, where I had been abandoned nude -- no-one to gossip or tell my husband, no-one to take advantage of my vulnerable condition, not even the chance of catching cold. And yet I have the lovely wicked feeling of having survived that adventure -- an adventure I can re-live at any time I choose, because I have all of the details saved in my computer files. Details, indeed. That's what my Swami requires. Like the time he required me to give me all of the measurements he would need to design bondage and discipline equipment to fit my specific form. First, I had to visualize what sort of equipment would be required, and how it would work. He helped me, of course, using what he called the "Socratic" method -- asking me questions that provoked me into drawing the answers from my own subconscious fears. Then we would discuss how the discipline would be effected, and it was up to me to provide the measurements that would be needed. Not that the equipment will ever actually be built, of course, but it has already been *virtually* built, and used a dozen times. My imagine can regulate the exact amount of pain produced, and the duration, with no physical danger whatsoever. No need for safe words, no danger of permanent or visible damage, no risk of discovery. Interruption, alas yes, but the interrupter never knows what delights have been interrupted. I remember the first task my Swami set me to see if I was qualified to be his "pupil". It was a balmy Spring day -- the kind of day that James Russell Lowell thought could be found only in the month of June. I was to wear a T-shirt -- not *too* tight, a miniskirt, and sandals. Period. Nothing under, nothing over. My imagination could supply whatever amount of wind I needed to tune the adventure, and when and where it would occur, and what I would do about it. At the Swami's instruction, I went to the grocery store. There I was to buy: A tube of K-Y jelly, if I dared; if I was too chicken, I could settle for a small bottle of cooking oil ("try to get rapeseed oil, if they have it"). At least three selections taken from the following categories (or similar): dinner candles, cucumbers, bananas, bratwurst, and olives -- the kind that are packed in small bottles, about six inches long (the bottles, that is) and a little over an inch in diameter. And nothing else. And then I had to describe to him (by email, of course) every move I made, and how I felt doing it, and how people reacted. By making me describe the experience "out loud", as it were, he fixed it in my mind, so that now I can re-live the adventure whenever I want to. Like I say, maybe I'm crazy. But it hurts no-one, it doesn't have the many bad effects that accompany the use of alcohol or dope, it doesn't cost much, and it's FUN. If you want to try it, go through the shopping trip described above (or just imagine it) and send your description of the adventure to jaypee@kiva.net (the author of this story. Remember, the details are what count. If your report is good enough, who knows what may develop? -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |