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From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Obsession, Part One,"  by H. Jekyll
Date: Sat,  2 Dec 2000 22:10:06 -0500
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"Obsession"

by H. Jekyll

---------------------

This is a six-part story of evil and desire.  It is a
cautionary tale. "Jekyll" is not to be confused with
H. Jekyll, the mild-mannered author, nor is "Kytn" to
be confused with my e-friend Sweetkytn (@aol.com).

I am indebted to my editor, Maggie McGee
(maggiemc@citynet.net), for her heroic efforts to make
my writing clean and direct.

Copyright 2000 by H. Jekyll.  Permission is given to
repost on any web site that does not charge a fee for
access, as long as the author is prominently noted.

Net writers post stories for feedback, not money, and
I am no different from anyone else.  I welcome
comments, complaints, and conversation, at
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com.   My stories are archived at
the Alt Sex Stories Text Repository:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

M/F, F/F, bdsm, cons., nc

--------------------------

Part One: Prologue

Kytn is bound and sightless, waiting for a resolution
while Jekyll's car rolls along some invisible road. 
It slows, turns, bumps, stops, starts again, and
continues.  Kytn's arousal and fear have long since
stopped battling and have merged:  she can no longer
tell them apart.  She lies half-curled on the trunk
carpet, hyperventilating in a unified state of
anxiousness, knowing nothing, her wet eyes dried by
the blindfold, wanting it to happen.  But what is
"it"?  What will he do to her?  Her fantasies have
been of hurt, immobilization, domination, and
humiliation, her four horsemen, her four abominations.
 When did she first realize that each excited her so? 
How long has she searched them out in hidden corners
of the web?  How long since they snared her?

He has fed them, Jekyll has, fed them all.  He has
seduced her with dark tales of sex;  he has whispered,
through email and chat, of how much grander the
reality will be than the tales.  Come Kytn, experience
real leather on flesh, not just the thought.  Be
controlled, rather than pretending you cannot move. 
Stop sitting at your keyboard, panties at your knees,
running your slippery fingers through your sex.  It is
time to take the next step, time for me decide your
anguish and your pleasure. 

She has wanted so much to let him, this wise, strange
man.  His messages have come at different hours: 
first, stories of domination;  then chat;  then,
private emails telling of his experiences enslaving
women.  Could she believe it, any of it? 

He has made her hot, alone in her place, wanting
something, wanting a master.  She knows she is
perverted, not at all like her friends, but though she
has argued with herself it hasn't quelled the desires.
 She has masturbated reading Jekyll's posts, trying to
go slowly so she could finish a story before she
finished herself, then re-read the posts and
masturbated again.  Twice she rubbed herself sore, and
went to work sore the following day.  She played with
tying herself to her bed, with whipping herself, with
sticking objects in her vagina, then she went back to
the stories and the emails.  She couldn't get her mind
off him. 

--------------------------

One night he asked if she had pleasured herself to his
writing, and she surprised herself by admitting it,
feeling a sexual charge just by doing so.  In reply he
required her to describe what she did. 

She sat a full half hour, frozen, then told.  She
typed her answer with stiff fingers and waited ten
minutes before hitting the "send" button.  Now it was
done, and it washed away the dam.  He replied that she
was not complete, not detailed enough, and that she
must tell everything.  He made her tell which hand she
used, what sounds she made, how she sat while she did
it.  He asked her if she tasted herself on her hands. 
She complied in everything, and with every description
she became higher.  Was she ever not hot anymore?  How
was it that she had ever enjoyed her boyfriend's sweet
lovemaking?  She must be a different person now, and
anyway it seemed long ago.

He told her not to masturbate until the next day when
they were online together. He wanted to know the exact
time, and he wanted her to describe it while she did
it.  She spent the night and the day in constant
arousal, unable to sleep well, unable to concentrate
on her job, unable even to watch TV.  She turned to
internet porn, but she found that she was stroking
herself and had to stop reading.  Oh Jekyll, write. 
She waited at her computer and watched for email, but
it didn't come.  It didn't come.  And then it came.

He told her to strip.  She stripped.  She wrote that
she had done what he asked, and he typed:

"Now, stroke yourself just once, and describe it
exactly."

Where, how strongly?  How much pleasure?  He told her
to suck fingers into her mouth while she stroked
herself, and again to tell the experience.  He made
her tell when she was close, made her stop for ten
minutes while he went offline,  then finally let her
finish.  He had her describe her orgasm, then closed
by telling her once again to not to pleasure herself
until he was online again.  So started a cycle. 

In an odd fashion she was happy.  Her friends could
tell it:  she had a man.  Who was it?  Did they know
him?  Even she didn't know him, didn't know his looks
or voice or smell or the touch of his hand.  Just his
words.  He kept giving her fantasy.  He guided her
pleasure;  in return he required confession. 

Then came the day he said they should meet.  He should
be her master in person.  

This frightened her, for the first time.  She knew
what meeting could mean.  She knew people got hurt. 
She knew that where there was a Jekyll there was a
Hyde close by.  She was frightened of what the real
experience would entail, but he pressed the issue. 
When she finally said she couldn't, he stopped writing
entirely.

The sun stopped shining for Kytn.  All the atmosphere
was sucked from her world;  everything was empty and
hollow.  He didn't write, didn't respond to her
emails.  Kytn walked around her apartment endlessly,
weepy.  She called in sick.  She sent Jekyll a dozen
letters a day, explaining, telling him that she needed
him, telling him more with every letter.  She finally
sent the letter saying she would do anything at all
for him, if only he wouldn't leave her like this.  She
was crying while she typed it because she knew that
one way or another she was doomed.  Soon after, he put
a block on her address, and everything that she sent
bounced back. 

--------------------------

It was three days into the next week that she walked
into her apartment and found his email. It said: 

----
My Dear Kytn:

We *will* meet, on my terms.  I will not play silly
games.  You know how I make you feel, and how you feel
apart from  me.  It is time.  Reply 'yes' now, or stop
trying to write to me. 

Jekyll
----

She read the letter over and over, all evening, wiping
her eyes on her sleeve and then on tissues.  She
sighed huge sighs.  Again she walked around the
apartment.  She sat and read the letter once more. 
She knew what she would answer, but she was afraid the
of the result, so before she did anything, she read
over all his messages, and her replies.  She
remembered what she had done for him, what he had made
her do, how he had taken her mind to some erotic place
far from her humdrum world of vanilla sex and a job. 
She grew hot in the process, and she wanted him to
cybersex her again.  It was her first sexual feeling
since he had stopped writing.  Finally, she sat at her
keyboard and wrote the word -- "Yes" -- and sent it.

--------------------------

Joy.  Kytn cried with joy, cried out loud, though she 
knew she imperiled herself.  She had assented.  She
would do whatever he told her.  She grew dizzy, hot,
could not stand still, walked around the apartment
once again, then back to her computer to look for
email.  Please answer, Jekyll.  Tell me you've read my
answer, that you want me.  Tell me what to do.  Don't
make me wait.

But he did, of course.  She stared and waited, got a
Diet Coke from the kitchen, and came back. After a few
hours it was clear he wouldn't answer straight off,
but she kept online.  She dozed, all the lights on. 
At some point she jerked awake and went into the
bathroom, then rushed back to the desk.  This time she
turned all the lights out, except for the one beside
the monitor.  After awhile she dozed again.

His message came at 3:30 a.m., waking her with the
little "mail" sound her machine made, like a mother
awakens to her baby's first cry.  Like a mother, she
roused with quick breaths and adrenaline.  The message
had one word: 

"Undress."

Kytn was standing naked in front of her monitor, not
wanting to sit down in case a message should come
while she did and she would be late to see it.  The
next message said:  "Masturbate." 

With it came a story, a lovely, dark story of
submission, using her name, and his.  The story spoke
of how she submitted and hurt and cried, achieving
boundless pleasure and fulfillment with her submission
and her pain.  The story was only for her.  She
couldn't control her stroking while reading it, and
she orgasmed harder than she could ever remember.  She
cried out loud.  Because she was still standing she
swayed and had to catch herself with her free hand on
the desk, after which she slumped over the desk,
gasping for air, holding herself up with the one hand
while she cupped the other over her sex.

He told her to describe everything she had just
experienced.  She left out nothing, writing on and on
for him.

He told her to do something different, to get a
vegetable from her refrigerator and put it up her
rear, to hold it there while they chatted.  She left
the computer to run the kitchen, skidding when she
turned a corner, grabbed a zucchini, greased it with
olive oil, and forced it into herself, trying to
hurry.  It was hard to do.  She had never put anything
back there on her own, not even a finger all the way
in.  She thought of how they said to do it in the porn
stories.  It hurt to push in, but finally she did it. 
Oh it was cold in her, and she felt so full.  She held
it in place using just her anal muscle.  Occasionally
she reached back to touch the protruding stem, to push
it back in a little. 

She was ready to jump at his next command, but he
turned practical. He wanted personal information: her
name, address, job, vacation days.  He wanted a
digital photo.  She sent everything.  She hurried,
wanting to get through it before she lost her nerve,
wanting it to be too late to change her mind.

She sent the information right away.  She had trouble
with the digital camera, though.  Getting it, the
zucchini started sliding out and she had to hold it in
with a hand.  She walked stiffly, bent a little to one
side, her arm wrapped around her back and down to her
ass.  Then she couldn't  line up the camera for her
photo.  Finally she had a naked photo of herself and
she sent it.

She got his last message for the early morning.  It
said he would be in touch.

"Tonight," he wrote, "you will cook and eat the
zucchini." 

She went to the kitchen, where she pulled it out.  Oh,
what an odd sensation!  It had some feces on the end
that had been deep in her, so she washed it off in the
sink.  She placed it on a folded paper towel on a
plate.  Before putting it into the refrigerator to
keep, she stroked it like one might a lover's cock.

--------------------------

She was dazed, Kytn was.  The days blurred, held
together by her need and his will.  Jekyll kept her up
through the nights, waiting for his messages or
following his directions.  He required her to log on
and send him a message as soon as she walked through
the door, then to light the apartment only with
candles and to wait.  During the day, he required that
she go to her office.  Her friends asked her if she
was ill.  She frequently nodded off at her desk, then
dozed at her home computer while she waited for him.  

Within three days she received a package from him,
with restraints, clips, bottles, and some things she
didn't recognize, all to use on herself.  The first
night he made her secure her arms behind her back with
Velcro straps, and type messages with her nose.  The
next night he told how to give herself an enema and
how to insert a plug in her ass, to hold the slurry
while they chatted.  She had never in her life had an
enema.  Doing it for him overwhelmed her. 

He had sent her syrup of ipecac, which he ordered her
to drink.  She did everything.  He would be so proud
of her.  She thought this while she leaned over the
fouled toilet, heaving dry heaves. 

He made her masturbate until she was almost there,
then stop to continue the next night.  She got no
sleep at all that night, and disobeyed him by calling
in sick the next day.

Then she got the airline ticket for Atlanta, with her
instructions.

--------------------------

What do you think while you're flying to your doom, to
your love?  Kytn kept moving to the restroom to try to
vomit, though she had not eaten all day.  With the
door locked she could hug herself and rock and look at
her sunken eyes in the mirror.  He would not love her
now, not like this!  Jekyll, please don't reject me. 
No sexual urge now, just the need for his acceptance,
for him to use her.

How would she know him?  Could he possibly match her
dark fantasy?  She didn't think she could stand to
replace the fantasy at with a flesh and bone person. 
When she landed, the Atlanta airport itself was not
right.  It was not right at all, with the bright,
modern lighting, moving sidewalks, hordes of gray
travelers, the absence of any atmosphere of
sensuality.  She wanted to run somewhere, to run home
to hide.  Coming was a mistake.

Perhaps so.  The mistake was all on her part, however,
not Jekyll's.  He found her easily and had a plan
ready, as she should have expected.  He was upon her
without warning, a very tall, pale man, with
devil-dark eyes.

"Kytn, no words!  Look at the floor.  Come with me."

He led her, half pulled her, quickly through the
terminal, to the airport parking shuttle, she always
looking down, being obedient, looking up at him only
furtively.  Would she have gone with him if he had
looked different, if he had not fit an evil fantasy? 
They went like that until they were at a distant, dark
corner of long-term parking.  There was no ceremony. 
He cuffed and gagged her, blindfolded her, she
cooperating in everything.  Then he put her in the
trunk.  Finally she was with him.

So Kytn is bound, in the dark, waiting while the car
rolls along some invisible road.  As it slows, turns,
bumps, stops, starts again and continues, she tastes
the gag, tests her bonds, feels rough carpet against
her face.  She is so afraid and so excited, and merely
wants to be there, wherever "there" is, so he will do
things to her.  Indeed, what will he do to her?  What
will he make her do?




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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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