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Message-ID: <32168asstr$998579402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sara H" <sara_h2020@dangerous-minds.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spell Checker (FF,F-dom,Magic,BD,DS,NC,MC,RP) by Sara H
Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2001 11:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Spell_Checker.txt" begin>

*If you are younger than 18 years
If sex is taboo to your neighborhood peers
If offended by words full of sexual sleaze
Do us both a favor and skip this, please.

Please ask permission before posting this story elsewhere.
Copyright 2000 by Sara H.

"Shockingly Black," used in reference, is brought into
this fiasco by kind permission of Eye of Serpent.

The characters in this story are real, although the
circumstances are not. Really. It's just an idea that came
into my head and I had to get it out in order to get on
with other writing. Please enjoy, if it tickles your fancy.

- Sara*

************************

Spell Checker

By Sara H

Categories: FF, F-dom, Magic, BD, DS, NC, MC

************************

Those of you that have corresponded at any length with me
know that one of my greatest frustrations in writing is
grammar, followed closely by spelling homonyms. You know,
those little words that the spell checker says you wrote
perfectly: "Mai pea sea is knot correcting prop early."

Every time I post a new story, I find little mistakes I
made, and it drives me crazy. It doesn't matter how many
times I proofread; there are always one or two things that
I miss.

Then there is the annoying grammar checker that wants to
change every sentence to something that doesn't make sense.
Like in the story "Blasphemy," the grammar checker said
that I should change "a woman, dressed in a jumpsuit
identical to her own" to, "a woman, dressed in a jumpsuit
identical to her owns." Now, tell me, does that make sense?
No! And that's not even one of the really *stupid* examples.

The heart of the problem, though, is that I don't ever
have enough time to go over my writing at length. So, I
decided that my mission, should I choose to accept it,
should be to find a really, really good spelling and
grammar checking program.

I couldn't find anything at the local stores that seemed
to fit my needs, so I did a search on the Internet. I got
thousands of listings, most of them complaining about the
same problem I was having. I tried defining my search a
little better, and got the listings down to three hundred
or so. Then I searched in *those* listings for "spell
+correction."

The first listing that came up was just what I was looking
for.

It advertised that it could check anything written for
context, for spelling, and even had a pronunciation guide,
and it had a language base that could work in every modern
language as well as more obscure, ancient languages. It
included a translator, and a "Spell Check Wizard" that
would let me tune my prose to my personal preferences. It
looked perfect.

It also cost $250.00, but I figured if it was good enough,
it would be worth it. It was still less than most of the
software I used. I ordered online and even paid the
ridiculously high shipping charge for next day delivery. I
was psyched.

When I came home from work the next day, it was waiting
for me on the doorstep.

My partner, Susan, was working late, so I took the
opportunity to load it and try it out. It included one
floppy disk and one CD-ROM, and took only about five
minutes to load (and integrate itself into my word
processor). It demanded to be registered, and it was kind
of odd. It not only asked name and address and computer
information, but asked for spousal/partner information,
names of friends (I assumed to include names in its
dictionary), and personal statistics, up to and including
sexual orientation. *"What the heck,"* I thought, filling
everything in.

My first experiment was a story I'd written over a year
ago; one that was so bad that I'm almost embarrassed to
mention it. It was called "The Necklace," and was a typical
"jewelry with amazing powers" sort of story. I won't go too
much into the details, because that was then and this is
now. It will have to suffice for me to say that it wasn't
my best work.

As soon as I asked it to check the story, it came up with
the Spell Check Wizard menu that asked for what I wanted it
to do. I decided to go for it. I checked the boxes next to
Spelling, Grammar, Continuity, POV First Person. At the
bottom there was a little sliding scale thingy that went
from "Fiction" at one end to "Realism" at the other. I
thought it was kind of strange, considering my
understanding of the definitions of fiction and reality...
but I decided to make it 80% realistic. I thought I might
as well see what this program would do when I let it loose.

I hit the "Finish" button and waited. The thing churned
for nearly twenty minutes, stopping, starting, stopping,
and restarting. Finally it finished, and I looked at what
it had done.

To my surprise, it had changed very little, but as I read
I was amazed at how much the subtle changes made a
difference. It also changed the names of the characters to
people in my life, including myself. I decided that it was
the "Realism" factor. Regardless, I couldn't stop reading,
and read it three times through before I could bring myself
to quit for a moment.

At the bottom of the last page was some kind of Latin
phrase... a corporate motto, I assumed, followed by
copyright information and the note, "Spell checked and
approved." Kind of arrogant, but hey, it had done a great
job, so who was I to complain?

I returned from the Land of Critique, and realized that I
felt a little scornchy, so I decided to take a shower.
Susan would probably be home by the time I was done, and I
was hoping for a nice night together. Damn, reading that
story had made me hot... and although I usually relate well
to the victim in MC stories, it was *much* more intense to
see my own name taking up that place in the story.

I let my soapy fingers run over my nipples, and found them
incredibly hard and sensitive... tried to tweak them but
the soap kept making them slip out... absolutely delicious.
My mind turned to Susan as I let my fingers "clean" my
clit... it seemed like it had never been quite so
sensitive...

I decided to wait for Susan to come home before I
continued... the way I was feeling, all hot and randy, was
something she would definitely want to share.

**********************

I was watching the six o'clock news when Susan walked in
the door. "Hey, babe... I was wondering if you had found
someone else," I pouted, teasing her.

"No way, Sara... I just stopped to pick up something," she
smiled back, holding a hand behind her back.

"Nothing for me?" I joked, smiling.  "I'm disappointed!"

She held out a small box, without wrapping paper but with
a cute little silver bow on it. "No, I just saw it and knew
it was 'me'," she shot back, grinning from ear to ear. "I
know you're gonna love it..."

She opened it slowly, while I watched... and my heart
nearly stopped when I saw what was inside. It was an
alexandrite pendant necklace, and the stone was at least
five carats. A small fortune. But more than that, it was
exactly... and I mean *exactly*... like the one in my story.

"Well, put it *on*," I said impatiently. "You didn't buy
it just for me to gawk at in the box!"

"Okay," she said, hesitating. This was just too weird. "My
God, Susan, it's just beautiful," I added. I meant it, too.
It was gorgeous. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I began to
notice a sort of dreamy throb somewhere between my ears.

She pulled it over her hand, and let it dangle in front of
our eyes. Then, something else strange happened. I felt a
wave pass through me, sending a shiver. "Someone just
walked over my grave," I laughed.

Susan was still gazing, admiring her new purchase. She was
looking kind of intense, actually. "Huh?" she finally
murmured.

"I was just saying that seeing this thing on you sent a
shiver through me... too weird, eh?"

"You *do* like it very much, don't you, Sara."

"It makes you look like a queen, Susan," I gushed, almost
with awe. "It's like it's a part of you or something..."

"Well, then, go fix your queen a fuzzy navel, my loyal
subject!" she quipped. Now, I know you don't know me, but
really, what happened next was quite out of character.

"Yes, M'lady," I responded.  Where had *that* come from?
*The story,* came the answer. I thought I had been joking,
but my feet walked me into the kitchen, eyes cast down, and
I heard the clinking of glasses as I began to do just as
she had "commanded." My head was *definitely* in a weird
place. I was thinking of not doing it, but kind of getting
turned on by it, too.

Still, I didn't take it too seriously. We always play
around, and I figured I was just letting myself go a
little. Why, then, did it feel like the voice of reason in
me had nothing to do with my actions? And why was the
thought coming back to me over and over to surrender, to
submit, to obey? Why was this pressure growing in my mind
and down my spine and into my asshole and clit to worship
my Queen - I mean, my lover and partner?

The story. Real. 80%. Holy fucking shit...

I began to fight the compulsions, but fighting just made
hot sparks shoot through my slutty little clit and nipples
as if connected by an electrical wire. My revulsion just
made me hotter to obey... my mind was starting to fall into
line... I could feel each barrier crumbling under the
relentless need to obey the wearer of the alexandrite... my
snatch was fucking *dripping* and my mind was dripping away
with it.

Every step back into the room took me deeper into Susan's
irrepressible draw. I glanced up into her eyes, and gasped.
*She knew! The bitch KNEW!*

"Serve, slave," she commanded, her voice filled with
strength she had never before possessed.

I tried to hold my legs back, but all that happened was
that I looked awkward. *"A slave must be smooth and
perfectly graceful,"* came the soft inner command. Of
course, smooth and graceful... smooth and...

I tried to reconcile the widening gap between the last of
my reason and my powerful, almost instinctive, reactions as
I bent to one knee, and then bowed low before my Queen. No,
Susan. My Queen. Susan my Queen. My Mistress. My protector.
My existence. No. My purpose. Whore. Yes. No. Obey.
Surrender. Slut. Submit. *"Let go for Queen Mistress
Susan,"*the inner voice began to chant.

I raised and held up to her the glass of orange juice and
peach schnapps. Before I could even think, my lips spoke.
"May this cold refreshment please Your Highness as much as
it has honored Your slut to make and present it to You..."

I nearly gagged at the cornpone of my words, but they
flowed out, nonetheless. I was the victim of my own poor
attempts at dialog...

She opened her legs, and I saw a thin wisp of my Queen's
juices drip down in a long, sinewy dollop. That's when I
finally gave in, when I finally knew that my Queen had won,
that I was beyond choice as my own tongue drooled in
sympathy with her wanton, beautiful cunt. I fell to her as
her hands guided me, and began to lap up... up... up...
up... up... up... and as she screamed out her pleasure, it
screamed out through me... our bodies one in our obscene
parody of life, but life that was now real...

Her hands reached out and pulled on my nipples, hard. The
pain nearly made me scream... but I held my tongue. I felt
the delicious rapture of fear and desire, wanting to
please, afraid of the pain pleasing might bring. I was at
the top floor, and watched inside my mind as my hand,
slowly, unstoppably pressed the button for the basement. Da
basement. Debasement.

My psyche was at the great chasm of total submission, of
letting go until nothing was taboo, and my existence was
only held to earth by the word of my Queen...

My mind was spinning uncontrollably down into the quagmire
of total submission, my body singing its pleasure as my
Mistress Queen was pleased, and I felt her hands, stinging,
slap my ass come around to my belly, scratching. I flinched
at every touch, gentle or stinging, and I didn't just feel
apathy, I *wanted* her to use me for her pleasure, whatever
that would mean. There was no end to her torture and
pleasure, combining and recombining them so that more and
more they were the same thing...

I felt the inevitable building of my release, my rapture,
and when I felt myself cum this time, and felt it take me
over, my mind and my soul, my body bucking like a mindless
whore in the dance of endless abandon, it was not even on
the frigging Richter scale.

It was the sun burning through my soul.

Just like my story.

I won't even talk about what she did with clothespins...
but it was wonderful.

Finally, after we tasted every inch of each other, and
teased each other to untold glory and climax upon maddening
climax, she fell asleep.

Taking what I knew must be the 20% that was still mine, I
crept back to the computer, and clicked on the "Undo"
button. At that moment, I came to believe that perhaps
there is a God. Or a Goddess.

Still, the event changed our relationship. Although
"Queen" and "Highness" are no longer standard parts of my
vocabulary, there is no doubt who is in charge. She is my
obsession and I am her toy. It is just as it should be.

I know how it was. This is better. Better than I ever
dreamed it could be.

And that would be the end of *this* story, but...

*****************************

...the real problem is this. I think I'm in trouble. In a
moment of even further weakness, I ran the story,
"Shockingly Black," through my Spell Checker.  Like my own
story, I gave it the full treatment, except I set it to
100% realism. I know I'm probably insane. Just now, I
answered a knock on the door, and I opened it to find a
suitcase sitting on my doorstep.

And, despite every instinct that's telling me not to, I'm
about to open it.

***************************



*Please send any comments or feedback to
sara_h2020@yahoo.com.

- Sara*

<1st attachment end>


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