Chapter 8: Surfing the Net

It was time to do some homework. Some research.

She'd breakfasted, and gone off to meet some friends. All decked out in some of her new gear. Jeans and a boob-tube top. She was going to an amateur basketball game somewhere, so he had Saturday morning all to himself.

He opened up the Google page in his Netscape and typed "domme sub".

A whole host of webpage listings came up, and he starting surfing his way through. Almost all were sex sites. A few he bookmarked for more detailed analysis later.

Then he tried again with "female domination".

Most of these were sex sites too, but some were political. Non-porn. High-brow, intellectual. Pushing a concept called "female supremacy". He seemed to have stumbled upon a whole brand of feminism he didn't know existed.

He was familiar of course with some brands of feminism. His ex-wife's brand could perhaps be labelled "firebrand". And that was okay, more power to her. Though he didn't know why it had to be called "feminism". Due to his natural sense of fairness he already supported many of those values, but preferred to think of himself as a "humanist". Certainly she and her friends would have crucified him if he'd started calling himself a "masculinist"!

Back to the porn sites. Being the most light-weight of the material he'd unearthed, he'd be able to sift through those the quickest.

Frankly, he found most of them quite ridiculous.

Black leather, whips, thigh-high boots, snivelling men on leashes, tarted-up bitches with anger and spite in their faces. Images mainly created by men, for men, it seemed to him.

Images reproduceable in the flesh by women of a taxonomic grouping known as "pro domme", hawking "BDSM services" on homepages containing veiled references to "tribute". Become my slave for life! Yeah, right. A life of one two-hour business transaction per month.

Nope, sorry. Not his cup of tea.

And as for the chat-rooms! The e-groups and their message boards! It was all "Mistress" this, and "Goddess" that. Capitalization of the "S" in every single "She", the "H" in every "Her", the "Y" in every "You". Yards of humble, contrite verbiage. Acres of sycophantic clap-trap! They should all go get a life.

No, wait a minute!

Professionally speaking, he was well steeped in the concepts of market forces. How would he read the market for this kind of stuff?

Obviously, there was big demand. The abundance of pro-domme services was testament to that.

From the message boards, he saw that men who felt the way he was now feeling toward Janelle appeared to be quite common.

Women who operated the way Janelle did, doing it for fun rather than profit, were far less common.

She was the one in demand. He was part of a glut.

Sobering stuff. And no need for him to be self-righteous.

Anyway, on to the high-brow material. The serious treatises on "male submission" as a psychological phenomenon. The speculation about how much nicer the world would be if the President were female, along with the House majority and the Supreme Court. And not forgetting Her Holiness the Pope. To be sure, there'd be far fewer hands up altar boys' vestments if that were the case! And much less sperm would be spilt in the Oval Office.

Some of these "serious" pages were like training manuals.

Wives! Use the power of your pussy to turn your husband from a slob to a free housemaid service!

Husbands! Discover how much happier you'll be, washing up the dishes with that chastity device clamped to your dick! Let her stop you cumming for six straight months, and you'll find nirvana! Or else want to join Kurt Cobain.

Mind you, he'd just let her deny him an orgasm for six straight hours of severe provocation, and he'd gone off like a rocket! It'd been well worth the wait. Worth it even more to see the way she'd reacted to his plight. She really got off on it. It pleased him to think he'd been the cause of that.

The recollection of it was making him hard. Down, boy! There's some serious thinking to do here!

Only a very few, in fact only one or two, of the myriad sites touched any kind of a chord in him. Only a very precious few actually increased his understanding of what he might be going through.

These were sites that purposefully avoided the words "Mistress" and "slave". These terms had been nagging at him while reading over the other web pages, because he felt deep-down they implied a non-consensual relationship. Maybe even an abusive relationship. Slavery had been banned in the world for quite some time, and for good reason.

Instead, the terms "Queen" and "knight" were used.

A knight being a vassal, who had willingly pledged himself to his lady's service. Who would suffer hardships to ensure her comfort, or defend her honour. The wicked dragon might singe his beard or even fry his ass, but he'd risk it if it pleased her that he do so.

Ensure her comfort. Defend her honour. And, by a simple extension of logic, provide her with block-buster orgasms.

Whatever it took. Hardship, maybe. Even suffering.

Selfless service.

Queen, and knight.

Yes, he was comfortable with that concept. Maybe this was the way he could best fit himself in to Janelle's world?

He wondered how she indeed saw herself.

She'd spoken little on the subject so far. Just occasional hints, the odd revealing comment. Too busy getting her rocks off to worry about self-analysis, perhaps?

She exuded so much self-confidence in who she was, and what she was. She definitely led from the front. She had the ideas, and so far they'd been good ones.

But he wondered if she was really so experienced, so far ahead of him down this path. After all, she'd only had two others truly in her service prior to him. And one had been a disaster, for whatever reason.

He suspected she was still finding herself. Still developing, still growing.

It'd be fun trying to keep up with her!

The front door opened, and clicked shut again. It was her. He'd given her a spare key so she could come and go.

He quickly closed Netscape and came out from his study. She was flopped onto the sofa.

"Hi! I'm back."

"Hello, Mistress" he addressed her solemnly.

She looked at him quizzically.

He got down on the floor before her, and sat at her feet.

"Would Mistress like me to lick her toes?"

He took one of her feet into his hands and attempted to slide her sports sock off.

She placed her other foot squarely in the center of his chest and heaved. He flew backward, and ended up sprawled on the carpet. Her strength left him stunned.

"What the fuck's got into you?" she demanded.

"I beg your forgiveness, Mistress!" he intoned. "How many days of chastity would be sufficient penance for this offence?"

"Let's get a couple of things straight!

"My name is not Mistress, it's Janelle!

"And if ever I want my toes licked, I'll fuckin' ask for it!"

"Okay. Got it."

She looked at him strangely for a few moments.

"What brought this on all of a sudden?"

"Just testing a couple of ideas."