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Message-ID: <42990asstr$1055934602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} "Control, Part Three: Life and Death on the Web Site" (no story codes)
Date: Wed, 18 Jun 2003 07:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

"Control, Part Three: Life and Death on the Web Site"

by H. Jekyll


* * * * *

I do not use story codes anymore. This story contains 
explicit sex and great sexual cruelty. It is the tale of a 
woman who left her lover for a sexually dominant man, and 
who has descended into a world of sadism-for-profit on the 
internet. It is also a story of love and commitment.

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms, and I 
absolutely promise to respond to them. Please send them to: 
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

Copyright 2002 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted 
to post on any site that does not charge for entrance, as 
long as full attribution is given to the author. The story 
should not be read by anyone under the legal age to read 
sexually explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where 
it is illegal to read such stories. 

"Control" previously appeared at "Ruthie's Club," which I 
recommend to readers, where it was edited by Ruthie. An 
illustrated and formatted version can be found there. See: 
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/.

The H. Jekyll stories are archived in the Alt Sex Stories 
Text Repository (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/), 
and at "Ruthie's Club."

* * * * *


"Life and Death on the Web Site"


Geoffrey isn't an innocent. He has been known to use 
Internet porn. Stories, pictures, videos. He belonged to a 
couple of subscription sites for awhile. He was blown away 
when he first saw a bestiality video, and again when 
bukkake first came out. He's looked at bdsm. He wonders 
how many women out there are happy to suck dogs or drink 
bowls of semen or have breast torture. He'd always thought 
the models were in it just for the money, and that either 
the money was awfully good or they were awfully needful, 
but now he's not sure. How many really like it?

It's almost three a.m. when Geoffrey finally clicks on the 
promo video. Anne really likes it. Here's where she'll say 
so. 

The video focuses on a naked Anne, manacled but without the 
corset, and much heavier. Thirty pounds heavier. Maybe 
more. Probably more. She has fewer piercings. Her legs are 
shackled to a wide bar, spreading her legs away from her 
vagina and ass. Her arms are restrained behind her back, 
though the type of restraint isn't visible. The video 
begins with a close-up of her face, her mouth, sucking a 
big, pale penis, loving it. You can hear sighs when it pops 
from her mouth, before she reaches her mouth to it and 
sucks it back in. The lights are bright, making the penis 
glisten with her saliva. 

After a few moments it pulls out and spurts onto her face. 
The shot opens up so the viewer can see her bindings, and 
part of the man attached to the penis. Anne turns to the 
viewer, looking straight on and using a sultry voice, 
ignoring the mucous that runs down her face.

"Hi, I'm Anne. My husband Victor dominates me and controls 
me. I need that. Otherwise I'm too wild and disobedient. 
Every week you'll see live how he does it. He controls 
every facet of my life, my eating, my sleeping, the amount 
I can move, or if I can move at all. He controls if I can 
see or hear, and how much. He controls how much I can 
breath. He controls what goes into my mouth and my ass and 
my vagina, and what comes out of them. He controls my 
bladder. I need his discipline to do this, because I'm too 
weak otherwise. Every week you'll see him punish me so 
I'll behave. I'm completely his."

Geoffrey doesn't move. He's a statue. He doesn't whisper 
"shit," and for a minute he holds his breath. Look inside 
his mind. There's no poem pushing at the scene. It's quiet 
inside, just a little quivering like the background 
vibration of the universe. Dark. Empty. Alone. He's aware, 
but only of Anne, of her words, her face, a tiny droplet of 
sperm that's collected at the end of her right eyelash. It 
doesn't quite glue her eye closed. She blinks her eye all 
the way open and continues.

"Victor is everything to me, my whole life. I want to be 
good for him, to submit to him. He's going to make me the 
perfect wife. My reward is that he gives me his sweet penis. 
He controls my discipline and he controls my pleasure. I 
can't help myself, loving him and desiring him. I'm his slut."

Nothing from Geoffrey. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing 
at all. 

"He has a project you'll get to watch. He's going to modify 
my body, to make me thin and beautiful, and to give me a 
tiny little waist. You'll see video clips of my diet. 
Every week you'll be able to see him weigh me. You'll see 
how I shed these pounds over the weeks, and you'll see him 
tighten my corset more, and more, making me thinner and 
thinner, and making me practice breath control. When he's 
finished with that and made me fragile and lovely, he'll 
modify my body other ways. You, the viewer, will get to 
decide his next project. I'm so excited to get started."

The video ends with the pale penis, only half-erect now, 
returning to Anne's face, and with her sucking it into her 
mouth. Fade.

Such an odd text. That's what Geoffrey thinks, now that 
words return. How long did it take them to script it? 
Them? Did Anne have input? How long did she rehearse? It 
sounded sincere. It wasn't perfect, though. Not 
professional. The light was too bright for her. She 
squinted and blinked. And she shook. Her legs shook. Her 
toes quivered. But her voice was right. It was her 
seduction voice, and her come hither look. In between 
bouts of blinking she batted her eyelashes in long, 
languorous, seductive movements. She'd used them on 
Geoffrey.

Geoffrey stares at the screen a long time. 

There are files and files on the site. Geoffrey takes a 
cleansing breath and clicks a button labeled "Discipline," 
that brings up a page of thumbnail pics, twenty in 
all. Anne getting nipple, labia, or clitoris pierced. Anne 
twisting in the ropes while half-blurred tendrils from a 
short whip hang in the air, the skin of her ass looking 
red and painful. Marred. Clamps on Anne's nipples. A 
soldiering gun touching her belly while again she twists 
and must be screaming. Her neck and face are red, almost 
as red as her ass. Anne tied, on her knees, her ass in the 
air and wires leading inside her. The photo title reads 
"Enlightenment." Satan has a sense of humor.

Other thumbnail pages are titled, "Making Anne Beg," 
"Suffocating Anne," "Electrocuting Anne," "Anne All Tied 
Up With Nowhere to Go," and "Anne the Toilet Slave." It 
must be forced, Geoffrey thinks. It has to be. 

But maybe not. With some pictures there are video clips 
that spawned the pictures. For $9.95 one can watch a ten 
or twenty-minute clip. Geoffrey pays for one titled 
"Making her Cum" that opens off the "Anne Begging" page.

He selects the file format and download speed off a menu, 
then clicks. When it comes on, Anne is tied to a wide, 
cushioned platform, spread wide and blindfolded. She isn't 
wearing her corset. Satan says "Count these nicely, dear, 
and you'll get a present."

"Yes, sweetheart." Her voice is shaky. 

A belt or something strikes her stomach and she squeaks, 
then croaks "One."

"Good girl." He strikes her again.

When he has finished twenty he strokes her cheek with his 
hand while she whimpers. "Give us a sweet kiss now." Then 
he lets her lie gasping and twitching, in front of the 
camera. Her face is wet, tears having seeped under the 
blindfold. Her mouth is twisted. The camera stays on her as 
she calms. It is an odd few minutes, with nothing 
happening, but then he returns and begins petting her 
vulva. 

She doesn't move. Her hidden face turns just slightly down 
toward his hand. He leans down to her and begins licking 
her. Nothing happens. Nothing happens. He continues, 
inexhaustibly. Anne lies quietly and lets him lick her. 
What else could she do? But it doesn't affect her. And 
then it does.

Geoffrey didn't notice when the change first began. He was 
looking at Satan's mouth on Anne's vagina, and when he 
looked back her face had changed. Her expression was 
different. 

He backs up the video to watch just her face, and this time 
he sees it happen. The dead look begins to change. Anne 
opens her mouth just slightly. Just a bit. She pulls her 
head a little to the side. This is where she would have 
half-closed her eyes if he had been Geoffrey and she 
hadn't had a blindfold. In a moment her shoulders move. 
Her breathing becomes noticeable. Geoffrey can hear her 
start to pant. Then she makes a little sound.

"Are we getting hot, sweetheart?" It's a smarmy tone.

"Yes, darling. Yes." Her voice is a whisper, a hiss. 
Geoffrey wonders what would have happened if she were 
wearing the corset in this video. He watches her begin to 
get red, her neck, her upper chest all the way down to the 
tops of her breasts. Now the deep breaths are finished, 
replaced with those gasping pants. Those raspy sex grunts 
she makes, almost like barking. Now she's trying to move 
against Satan's mouth, and writhing, and moaning or 
grunting with every breath. Faster, faster. And now Satan 
stops.

"No." Anne swallows and pants. "Don't stop."

"Are you my little slave girl?"

"Yes. Yours. Don't stop. Please."

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you. Please, darling." She moves her head back and forth.

"Tell me you love me for your discipline, for controlling 
you. Say it."

"It's true. I love you. For controlling me. For punishing 
me. Don't stop. Please."

"Beg me."

"Please. I'm begging you. Please." She's sincere.

True to his word, Satan goes back to her vagina and eats 
and eats, and in a little bit it works. Anne's gasps and 
growls grow more animated. She's squirming as much as one 
can while tied, spread out on the platform, taking in 
deep breaths and letting them out loudly and getting 
redder, until a vein stands out on her forehead, and 
another on her neck, and then she comes very loudly, 
squealing into the camera for a long time. 

After a bit Satan stops pleasuring Anne, and she begins 
to settle, her cries settling to whimpers and her whimpers 
settling to sighs and her sighs settling to breaths. The 
camera stays on her as her breathing becomes quieter, and 
quieter, and she finally becomes still.

Geoffrey watches the whole thing, and plays it through a 
second time. He knows it is real. He'd thought Anne might 
have faked it, for fear of her husband, but no. Everything 
is as it was when they'd had sex, but intensified. She was 
louder on the video and more animated, and redder. She 
really came, but harder. And afterward, as she quieted, 
Anne became more relaxed. More fulfilled. That's certainly 
clear to Geoffrey. She slipped into afterglow right there 
on the screen, and the last thing the clip showed was Anne 
drowsing.

* * * * *

The night passes away to the morning. At sunrise Geoffrey 
takes a break to feed the cats and let them out. He gets 
some water. He spends the rest of the morning on the web 
site. The world is ordinary again outside. Inside is a 
different matter. Geoffrey has looked at dozens of photos 
and run up $180 in charges on video clips. He masturbated 
to one video of Anne's orgasm.

So this is it, Anne. This was why you cheated on me and 
left me. I thought you were seduced by the thrill of the 
dark side, because it was evil and dangerous, but it was 
so much more. Wasn't it? You left me to be a pain slut, a 
bondage slut. Was this life what he lured you with? Was 
this inside you all along? Where did you hide it? Where? 
You didn't even like me to pinch your nipples. God, I loved 
you, you bitch.

It's not hidden now, not at all. The site advertises it 
about like every other kink site. They all say they have 
the most extreme sex, don't they? The most extreme and 
illegal tortures, the most disturbing or disgusting or 
degrading videos, never seen before, banned in 40 
countries, come one, come all. This way to the "Egress." 
They lie, most of them lie, but this one doesn't. It's 
truthful. It has that one virtue.

Geoffrey watches one after another orgasm clip that all 
follow the same basic path. Anne is always bound and Satan 
always works her up slowly. He doesn't always make her beg 
him to finish her. In some he fucks her, her ass or her 
vagina, or makes her suck his penis while he pleasures her, 
but it always ends the same, with that beautiful, gut-
wrenching eruption of pleasure that rushes from her sex 
all through her and finally flows up to her head and out 
every part of her face, but especially her mouth.

It's real all right. She has what she wanted. So does 
Satan, no doubt. 

* * * * *

What time is it? The sun has been up for hours. Geoffrey 
can't keep his eyes open. He nods off in the middle of 
short videos. He hasn't seen everything, but he can't 
watch any more. Some other time. First, some sleep. He 
thinks, I could have tied her. I could have whipped her. 
No, not likely. At least not like that.

He's been going back and forth, to torment scenes, then to 
pleasure scenes, mainly to pleasure scenes, though they 
all seem to contain some torment. Back and forth. One then 
the other. He's putting them into a story he can 
understand. Your love loves you for what you are and for 
what she wants. Geoffrey has about solved the puzzle, not 
of how Anne came to want what she wanted, but that she 
did. He didn't have a chance by that time, did he? Maybe he 
can let go now. She isn't ever going to come back. There 
won't be that knock at the door. Time to move on.

There's just one other thing. He plays back the archive of 
the newest show, the whole thing. He finds himself asleep 
in front of the screen and jerks himself awake. Every few 
seconds he has to shake his head. Wake up, Geoff. Go 
over the show. Just one more thing. Find it. Then, there 
it is on last night's show. Right before Satan burned her 
with the cigarette. She'd whispered it out. "Help. 
Please." It was scarcely more than a gasp.

Who was she asking for help? Geoffrey plays it again. 

"Help. Please." 

Temporary fear. She just lost her nerve. Later she'll surely 
thank him for the pain and he'll help her get off again. But. 
But. "Help. Please." She shrank from him. She feared him. But, 
again, there are the orgasms. Two of them are recent. It's 
obvious from her weight and the corset.

"Help. Please." Just a whisper into the camera.

Damn it Anne, stop playing with me! Geoffrey logs off and 
sways to the couch to sleep. 

* * * * *

When Geoffrey is almost asleep one thought swirls around 
his mind and settles in front of his eyes. It's about a 
video he hasn't seen. The photo teaser is of a large, 
black crate, and the title is "Boxing Her Up." Something 
about her little cry for help makes him think of it. 
"Help. Please." Why? Something about it. He doesn't know 
what, but he opens his eyes and lies there for several 
minutes before getting up.

Log on. Get the credit card.

It is large, about the size of a trunk, taller than it is 
wide and longer than it is tall. It's black, sitting on a 
concrete floor before a concrete wall. Otherwise the room 
seems to be empty. There is no natural light. For several 
seconds one can scarcely make out, at the very top of the 
screen, what must once have been a window opening, sealed 
with bricks that are brown. Or maybe they just look that 
way in weak, yellow light. The box and the floor dominate 
the scene, making it monochrome, gray and black. The light 
from the camera throws shadows that are almost charcoal. 
The only real color is Satan's flesh. 

"Look where my sweet Anne will be resting for the next 
twelve hours or so," he tells the audience. "It's 
important that she get her beauty sleep."

Satan lifts the lid and shows the inside. The camera must 
be mounted on a wheeled stand, because it doesn't jerk as 
it is moved around. In the box there are two or three 
inches of some kind of insulation on all sides. Styrofoam? 
There are some straps and a wooden contraption. Its floor 
seems to be thickly carpeted.

"Come here, dear." Satan pulls a leash and Anne steps into 
view. This isn't an old video. She's grisly in the plain 
camera light. She's as monochrome as everything else in 
the scene, white skin and black corset. Her arms are 
covered in a black fabric that completely masks her hands, 
and her arms are secured behind her back. The camera scans 
Anne from her feet, past her pudendum, to her pushed-out 
breasts, to her face. When it reaches her face Geoffrey 
yells something.

He yells "No!"

Maybe he doesn't yell it out. He remembers it as a yell. He 
felt it as a yell.

Anne's face is small. It's the face of a person waiting for 
the blow to fall. It's red. Her eyes are swollen. Victor 
begins talking to the audience again and as he does she 
stares at him and makes tiny little shakes of her head. 
"No." It's clear what she means, but the shakes are 
minuscule. Her mouth moves, as though she wants to beg him 
but is afraid to actually say the words, so she stops 
herself each time she begins. What did he do to make her 
so afraid? 

"Time to get in dear." Anne's legs begin to shake.

He pulls her by the leash and she steps over the side into 
the box. Geoffrey can hear her mew. Say something Anne. 
Say it! Tell him, damn it! But she doesn't say anything. 

At that moment, Geoffrey knows what is in her mind. He 
knows it precisely, exactly. He knows that the story he 
worked out for himself is wrong, or at least the end is 
wrong. What's going through Anne's mind is the knowledge 
that it can always be worse. Satan can always make it 
worse. Geoffrey knows he's demonstrated that fact to her. 
On her. So she whimpers and shivers and stands at one end 
of the box, facing the other, and then she folds down into 
the box without complaining because to refuse will be to 
make it even worse for herself. 

When she's on her knees Victor pushes short, cylindrical 
plugs into her ears and nostrils. He reaches outside the 
frame of the video and brings back a mask that seems to be 
made of back leather, that he forces down over her head, 
until her eyes and ears and nose are completely covered. 
Now she's blind and deaf. There's a ball gag with a clear 
plastic tube running through it. It's a long tube, Anne's 
only source of air. Victor pushes the gag into her mouth 
and fastens it with a strap behind her head. Then he 
pushes her forward, to fold her the rest of the way into 
the box. 

He fiddles with something near her head. When he's done he 
shows the audience the plastic tube sticking out of the 
end near her head and running along the floor. That's why 
it's so long. The camera moves in to show Anne inside the 
box. A snug fit. Two straps hold her feet as far apart as 
possible, which isn't very far. Her neck rests in a small 
stock. Victor slides the top part down to hold her head in 
place and fastens it with a wing nut. "Good-night, dear." 
He closes the box and latches it. Then he and the camera 
back away, out past a doorway, the room goes black, and 
the door closes. The last image is of Victor locking the 
door.

* * * * *

Stare at the screen. You know, Geoffrey, don't you? How do 
you know you know? She gave clues. It wasn't the only time. 
"Help. Please." She didn't always stifle herself. Maybe she 
couldn't always make herself do it, couldn't control 
herself. 

She's wrong in any case. She thinks it can always get 
worse, that it will be worse if she disobeys. The truth is 
a little different. It'll get worse whether or not she 
obeys. It's already gotten worse. Anne has spiraled so far 
down. Satan will always up the ante, no matter what she 
does. Maybe she can delay some punishment awhile. Maybe.

Geoffrey is unbearably tired. He rests his eyes a moment. 
Wake up, Geoff! He jerks himself awake again.

When did it go from excited domination to battering? When 
was the first time he hurt her just to be brutal? Was it 
sudden? Did he hit her when his dinner was late, knock her 
to the floor and crack a rib? Did he make her sit on her 
hands so he could smack her face unopposed? Geoffrey sees 
her hobbled, cleaning the house behind barred windows, 
shuffling, locked in a closet at night, slapped and 
punched as her world becomes ever more constricted, until 
it's just the basement, and her torment becomes 
systematic, and Satan is her only company in an empty 
universe. 

Did it happen after they filmed that promo? Maybe before. 
He made her rehearse it, after all. Maybe it really was 
phony. Go back to it. 

"Hi, I'm Anne. My husband Victor dominates me and controls 
me. I need that. Otherwise I'm too wild and disobedient." 

What's she doing? It's her seductive voice all right, so 
why doesn't it seem right? She's fidgeting, shaking, 
blinking. Geoffrey watches her eyes, the languorous, 
seductive veronicas she makes with her lashes, then the 
quick blinks against the blob of semen and the camera light. 
Look at them, Geoff. 

Geoffrey doesn't want to see Anne use her eyes like that, not 
for Satan. He thinks, she used them for me. They were 
special. They're not for him. He looks at her legs, 
quivering. Is there a clue in them? No, look at her face, 
Geoff. One thing at a time. Her eyes, Geoff.

They're strange. The blinks come all together, and so 
do the soft sashays. Just one or the other. Watch them. 
There! Again. Three slow passes in the air, and three 
blinks. Three slow and three fast. Three dashes and three 
dots. Again. Again.

Geoffrey is suddenly euphoric. He finds himself standing 
and jumping. He's shouting. He's pounding the desk. 
"Annie! Annie! You're telling me! God damn it you're 
telling me! My Annie! You're doing it!" He's so proud of 
her.

Then he stops. That was weeks ago. Maybe months. She's gone 
further down since then. She's hardly there at all. There's 
one other thing Geoffrey knows. Satan is killing her. And 
he's almost finished with her.

* * * * *

"Mrs. Reynolds? I'm sorry to be calling out of the blue 
like this, but do you have an address and phone number 
where I might contact Anne and Victor?" He listens, 
playing with a pencil. Doodling. He puts down the pencil. 
"Four months? Jesus." A pause. "Ten months since you've 
seen her? Mrs. Reynolds, what was their last address that 
you know of? Yes, I know. Yes. Well, there's something I 
have to tell you. Are you sitting down?"

Don't bother trying to call the FBI on a Saturday to tell 
them your love has been kidnapped and is in peril. When 
you've called six times and left six messages and someone 
finally returns a call, you find out. They are polite and 
will take down the information you give them, but it is 
clear they aren't very interested in an ex-fianc�e who 
left you to marry another and who may be sending coded 
messages with her eyes. They're mostly interested in 
people who collect sex pictures of children.

In between calls Geoffrey wonders: How did Satan miss her 
distress message? After all, he set the scene and made her 
rehearse. Maybe he couldn't be bothered to watch her face 
closely. Or maybe he does know. Maybe he's so arrogant he 
thinks it's funny that her cry for help is right out there 
for anyone to see. Because no one will notice. She'll be 
like the Titanic, sinking while ships pass in the night. 
Maybe she'll die right there on screen, for the audience. 
Die live. Yes. Satan would enjoy that, wouldn't he? 
Another oxymoron for him. Would the audience get off to 
that? Would anyone even bother to spill the beans? 

The University's IT director is next. "Mike? I need help. 
Badly. I need to track down the physical address of a Web 
site. I need someone who does it for a living." He makes 
other calls.

While he waits for a spreading circle of hackers and geeks 
and Internet PIs to bring him information, Geoffrey makes 
a list of tools he thinks he might need. He'll have to 
face Satan alone and rescue Anne himself. Heroic stuff. 
Yeah, but the police won't take it seriously. The phone 
rings and there's some information. More will be coming. 
In the meantime he leaves to fill his shopping list, and 
when he does a wave of exhaustion sweeps through him so 
strongly that he finds himself leaning against a door 
frame.

The gun takes only fifteen minutes, including the instant 
background check. A nice, used Glock and two boxes of 
bullets. Mightier than the pen. Then to the hardware 
store. When he gets home his answering machine light is 
blinking. It's twilight and the cats are hungry. Geoff 
makes a sandwich to eat while he plays the messages. 

Satan has been almost too easy to find. There's an address 
this side of DC, half a night's drive away. Damn he's 
arrogant! As hell. Maybe it's a weakness.

Geoff involves himself with busywork. He prints maps off 
the Internet. Stay alive Anne. Keep breathing my darling. 
He leaves extra food and water for the cats. He gets soft 
drinks to keep himself awake while he drives. Anne. Listen. 
Don't die tonight. I'm coming. Please try to live. I'm 
coming. Stay alive.

The evening has taken over by the time Geoffrey pulls out 
of the driveway. He has been awake thirty-six hours.


End of Part Three.


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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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