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From: jaypee <jaypee@KIVA.NET>
Subject: ordeal on the net
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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?


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