0 comments/ 50890 views/ 1 favorites Undue Influence By: Allison Cranley Cuddled together on the outrageously puffy and flamboyantly multi-colored cushions of her sumptuous divan, Jessica Sherwood and I were enjoying some excellent after-dinner wine. We were also enjoying each other. As always when our husbands are out of town, we had lost no time in grabbing the opportunity to be alone together. In the cozy den at the back of her huge house, and with a cheery fire blazing away in the hearth, it was almost overpoweringly warm. Warm enough for Jessica to have proposed, and for me to have ratified unanimously, a motion that we remove all our clothes immediately. We had eagerly complied with that democratic decision, our customary practice on these precious occasions, before curling up amiably together. Staring somnolently into the flames, I was in the mood to talk. “All right, Jessica. I really need to know how you do it. You've kept me in suspense long enough.” “How I do what?” she replied lazily, softly tracing slow circles around my navel with a languid forefinger that she had first dipped in her wine glass. It was most disconcerting. “You know exactly what I mean. How you do that mind control trick so you get men to do whatever you want sexually.” “Oh, that.” She was smiling, her eyes dreamily closed, her finger still tantalizingly busy. It slowly headed downward until she was gently twirling it in the hairy part of my lower abdomen. “Well, Steph, if you would rather talk . . .” “Tease! No, you don’t have to stop what you’re doing. You can talk at the same time.” “I suppose so,” she drawled, reluctantly. She slid her finger a little lower, lightly touching the periphery of the more sensitive parts of my anatomy down there. Jessica. Professionally, she’s a psychologist and executive director of the women's shelter where I serve as business manager. We’re both happily married, but that doesn’t stop us from enjoying our little interludes on the side (or is that the wild side?). Jessica and her husband are notorious among their closest friends for their interest in kinky sex, though poor old Ralph seems so out of it these days that most of us have assumed he has some nasty chemical dependency problem going way out of control. But I know better. Jessica has magical powers. She has an uncanny art of divining what people really want; up to a point, she can even control people’s actions without their awareness. She confessed this to me recently when describing her relationship with one of her internship supervisors a few years ago. The only explanation she gave was that during her childhood in the Celtic areas of west Britain she had learned some mystical stuff from Druids and whatnot, performing arcane rituals around stone circles and ancient burial mounds. She sometimes uses this mind control on her husband to get him to cooperate with her most self-indulgent fantasies, but she’s never divulged the details of how she does it. It was high time I confronted her on the need to reveal all! “Well, Steph,” she continued, “I could try to explain it, but you’d find it awfully tedious and boring.” “Try me. And don't stop what you're doing -- yes, a little lower.” She gave one of her trademark coy smiles. “All right. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you. Men love that, you know.” “Love what?” “Thick, soft, springy hair like that, down there.” “Fine. Well, ‘men’ don’t get to see it. Even Michael doesn’t, most of the time.” “Poor guy. Lucky me.” I sipped my wine as I smiled at her. “I know what men like even more than that, since we’re in the mood for compliments. They like that wide space between your thighs, at the top there. The wider it is, the more they like it. Especially with that -- as we’re being poetic -- luxuriant rug of furry auburn hair you have between your legs.” “My, my. We have become a mutual admiration society, haven’t we? Turn over a minute.” Trying not to bounce us both off the well-sprung divan, I complied, nearly suffocating myself as I buried my face in the ample pillows. Jessica started gently massaging my shoulders and back. She reached my waist, then my rear end, caressing my buttocks with both hands. “So, you want to know all my secrets? OK. In graduate school I was researching biofeedback with a professor named Martin Fotheringay. I think he may have had a crush on me . . .” I exploded in laughter. “Get real, Sherwood. Every heterosexual male over the age of ten has a ‘crush’ on you at first sight. The occasional woman, too, come to think of it.” “If that’s another compliment, thank you. But there’s no need to be huffy. Where was I? Yes, Fotheringay was measuring people’s brain activity, recording tiny electrical currents and displaying these wavy lines on a computer screen. When you let people see their own brain waves, they can try to alter them so as to relax, get rid of headaches, that kind of thing, and quite a few people get pretty good at it.” “Is that the EEG?” “Yes, the electroencephalogram. In fact, I got pretty good at it myself. One time I was working late in the lab with Fotheringay. We were both monitoring our own tracings, each with our own computer set-up. I happened to glance over at his screen, and just for fun I tried to make my wave pattern match his. It only took a few minutes, and as soon as the two sets of squiggly lines started looking really similar, I had a sudden flash of -- well, I was going to say memory, but it wasn’t. Not one of my own memories, anyway.” “Well? What was it?” “Oh, nothing at all dramatic or exciting. Quite mundane, in fact. It was a vivid impression of an attractive middle-aged woman smiling up at me. Long fair hair, colorful clothes; straight from the sixties. She was telling me not to forget to pick up skim milk and multi grain bread on the way home.” I gasped. “Jessica, I know already I’m not going to believe a word of this. I can see where you’re headed, and no -- no, it can’t possibly be true!” “Stephanie, you asked me to explain how I -- do certain things.” She was in stern, lecturing mode. She had withdrawn her hands from my derrière. If she had been wearing glasses, she would have been peering over the top of them. “So, I’m explaining. If you don’t want to accept what I’m telling you, fine. We’ll talk about something else. Why don’t we get dressed and go downstairs and make some coffee?” Sitting up, she slapped my bottom briskly and looked away, petulantly. I got up on one elbow. “Jessica, you can be utterly exasperating at times. I withdraw my comment. Go on! Go on! Tell me what happened!” She made a show of reluctance, then relaxed and went on. She took my hand and placed it unashamedly between her thighs. “Well, I had to check out the validity of this ‘memory’ or whatever it was. As confidently as I could, I said to Martin: “By the way, don’t forget to pick up the milk and bread on the way home.” He said: “Oh, right, thanks for reminding me, I nearly --” and he gave me the strangest look. Then he smiled and said: “So Sharon called to remind me, did she?” I didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth, so I said yes, she had.” “Wow! It’s incredible!” “Yes, I thought so, too. But it gets better. I was still looking at his EEG waves, and I matched mine to his again. He had been thinking about getting home to his wife, of course. Well, this time I got a powerful image of Professor Fotheringay in his bedroom, enthusiastically pulling his wife’s nightie off her as she sat on the bed, practically hyperventilating in anticipation!” All of this took a little while to take in. “Jess, it’s the most fantastic thing I ever heard!” Quickly, I added, “But I do believe it, of course I do! And -- the implications! Can anyone learn to do this? Can I, for instance?” Jessica assumed the expression of one bearing bad tidings. “Probably not, Steph, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to teach others several times, each time without success. In fact, until the other day, I was convinced I was the only one. In any case, I’ve found I don’t need the EEG equipment any more. Now, I can pick up all I need from the other person’s voice inflections, precise phrasing, facial expression, body language -- and, at this point, I don’t even know how I do it myself.” I sighed, disappointed. “OK, I at least kind of get it, the part about how you read minds, anyway. But how do you control people?” “I didn’t realize it at first, but it’s the same thing. That first time, when I saw and heard Martin Fotheringay’s wife reminding him to get groceries, I could have influenced his behavior simply by directing intensely concentrated thoughts at him. It didn’t take long to perfect it. Well, not perfect it exactly.” “How do you mean?” “Well, it’s not precise. I can only get people to do something approximating what I have in mind. And it only works if the person’s kind of sympathetic to start with. For instance, Ralph would freak out if I ever asked him straight out to tie me up and spank me. But if I’m in the mood for a little bondage and discipline, I somehow project the idea into his mind, and he goes into a sort of dissociative state for a couple of hours and does more or less what I want for a while.” I was stunned. “That’s wild. What happens afterwards? When Ralph comes out of his trance or whatever it is?” “He usually assumes he’s been asleep. But the whole thing isn’t foolproof by any means. Even with Ralph.” Looking pensive, she went on. “I tried it on Peter Hobson the other day, entirely without success.” I groaned. Peter Hobson’s a lawyer, actually a colleague of my husband’s, but unlike Michael, Hobson’s on the wrong side. He always seems to end up representing the abusive husbands of our clients at the shelter. He certainly fits the part; the most obnoxious guy I ever met, and that’s saying something. Hobson is short, overweight, and overbearing, with an ego that’s too large to fit inside most courtrooms. The state bar disciplined him for sexual harassment of female office staff at his law firm. No surprise there; he even tried the same stuff on me once. Last year, Michael and I threw a holiday party at our house for several friends and colleagues. Hobson cornered me alone in the kitchen and literally got his hands up my skirt before I knew what was happening. He didn’t get far, of course, but ever since then he’s always given me this creepy smile on our fortunately rare meetings, a smile that says: “Just you wait. I have all the patience in the world. I’ll bide my time, baby, and when the time comes, you’re in for quite an experience.” I said to Jessica, “Did I tell you what he tried on me that time?” “Yes, Steph, you did. And now I guess I’m going to have to watch out for him myself. Turns out Ralph has started consulting at Hobson’s law firm. The other day Ralph asked if we could have him over for dinner some time.” “Wonderful. Yes, do watch out. The guy’s an animal, completely unsocialized.” We were both quietly thoughtful for a moment. “So, Jess, what happened with Hobson?” “I was in court with Mandy from the shelter --” “Oh, I forgot to ask how that went?” “Tell you later. Anyway, I was there to hold Mandy’s hand, she was getting the protection order, and Hobson was there representing her ex-husband. I didn’t have to be psychic to know Hobson was mentally stripping me. When I got into his mind, I nearly retched. He was conjuring up this detailed fantasy of ripping my clothes off, tying me up, and hatching up some humiliating punishment for me. Now, I have to admit I found all this quite exciting, but I wasn’t going to let him know that. I concentrated at full intensity on a powerful image of him needing to rush to the rest room with a sudden attack of diarrhea, but it backfired. It didn’t make the slightest impression on him, but I only just made it to the women’s room in time. I think it’s pretty obvious the bastard has some powers himself, and they may even be stronger than mine.” We continued to talk for a while, and then for some reason we got bored with talking and took more of a physical interest in each other for an hour or so. Jessica’s so tall, lean, and shapely, her hair so long and smooth, her lips so full, her waist so trim, I almost wished I were a man that night. Key word, almost. I wouldn’t want to give up being penetrated energetically by Michael two or three times a week. How about Jessica, me, and Michael? That was a thought. But I wouldn’t want to share either one of them with the other, if you see what I mean. That’s why I have made a point of not introducing them. The time will inevitably come one of these days, but to date Jessica and Michael haven’t even met. Or have they? A sudden pang of emotion hit me as realization dawned. “Jessica!” “Yes?” “Your mind-reading abilities.” “Yes?” “So you are able to -- you mean you can --” The implications stunned me. “You can enter anyone’s mind and be immediately aware of their memories? Like with that professor, his wife telling him to bring stuff home from the store?” “That’s about the shape of it, yes, dear.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Beginning to sink in, is it, Steph?” “And you can enter anyone’s mind and actually experience what they are experiencing that moment? Like Hobson having that fantasy about you?” “You’ve got it.” “So you can be in my mind and feel what I’m feeling any time?” Jessica looked distinctly sheepish. “Well, I cannot tell a lie, Steph . . .” “Wow.” It was sinking in, all right. “And have you? Have you been in my mind?” “Once in a while, yes, dear, yes I have.” She sighed. “I really couldn’t resist, feeling about you the way I do. And I had to know how your husband treats you.” “You’re kidding!” I was wide-eyed with shock. “You’ve been in my mind when . . .” “Yes, I have. Last night, for instance. And I’m so glad he’s such a wonderful lover for you, dear. I couldn’t bear it if he made you unhappy.” Michael had been more than usually passionate the previous night. Probably because he was going away for a few days. He didn’t even wait for me to get into bed. He bent me over the mattress and had my panties off in no time, entering me from the rear with great enthusiasm and considerable energy. It was wonderful while it lasted, which unfortunately was not very long. “Is he always quite that quick, Steph?” Jessica was asking. “Jessica! You'll have to forgive me -- ” (I was putting all the irony I possibly could into my voice) “ -- but I am finding all this just a little difficult to take in right now. Can’t imagine why.” It was my turn to be petulant. “Now, now, don’t pretend to be upset with me. You’re a very intelligent woman. When you fully understand all the implications, such as the fact that I can tell you exactly what your husband likes and dislikes in bed in very accurate detail . . .” Words literally failed me. So she got into Michael’s head as well! She has actually made love to me, vicariously, from the literal vantage point of a man! My husband! That was certainly all I could take for one night. The thought that there was much more of this that hadn’t even dawned on me yet was something I decided to push from my mind as rapidly and vigorously as possible. At the office the following week Jessica and I were leaving a committee meeting together when she took me aside. “There have been some interesting developments,” she whispered, with an alluring smile. “A significant event occurred last weekend. Concerning my -- proclivities, shall we say. I don’t know if you’d like to hear about it . . .” “Jessica, of course I want to hear about it! Just name the time and place, and I’ll be there!” “Can you come over to my place tonight?” “Sure. Michael’s home, but I’ll tell him I have a meeting with you tonight at your place. As an excuse, it has the decided advantage of being true.” That evening, Jessica got me comfortable on the divan and admonished me not to interrupt her. She talked, almost uninterruptedly, for a considerable time . . . Stephanie, I’ve mentioned my cellar now and then. Well, after what just happened a couple of days ago it’s high time I told you about it in some detail. I’ll try to get all this out accurately before memory fades. I have the cellar fixed up just the way I want it. I can show you later, if you want. It’s a large, open area down there, with no partitions. In the center there’s a raised platform, the size of a large dinner table, but only about six inches high. In fact it is a large dinner table. The top of one, anyway; a solid, heavy chunk of mahogany formerly owned by one of Ralph’s great-aunts. The legs disappeared years ago. The table-top’s covered with thick, burgundy-colored carpeting, with two extremely long leather belts drawn tightly around the whole thing so they cross the surface of the table, parallel to each other, two or three feet apart. The belts have iron rings attached to them at the center. There’s a huge oak beam, crossing the ceiling in the middle, directly over the platform. I can just touch the beam with my fingertips if I stand on the plinth on tiptoe. There are two iron rings set into the beam, two feet apart, right above the matching pair underneath. Over on the far wall a set of intense floodlights can be aimed at the platform, right in the center of the room. That, of course, is where all the action takes place. In a corner of the cellar there’s a little cubicle I use as a changing room. Ralph never goes down there except when I’m controlling him, but if he ever did I’d love to see his face when he saw that setup for the first time in his normal state of consciousness. It was Saturday afternoon, and I was feeling restless, dammit. I wanted some action, and I sure wasn’t getting it from Ralph. He was doing his usual wimpy thing of hanging around the house, trying to figure out whether I had any plans for the afternoon. Yes, I had plans. I wanted pain, and I wanted sex. In that order. And now. “Like to go for walk, honey?” he asked me, tentative as can be. “No, Ralph, I would not. I would like to do something, but what I have in mind is a lot more exciting than going for a walk.” He looked hurt. “Well, what would you like to do?” I’ll swear he almost added, “If you don’t mind me asking.” It was time to stop fooling around. I looked him straight in the eyes and beamed this powerful image at him. Yes, why not, I thought. I selected part of the image Hobson had had the day I saw him in court. We were in our bedroom. Ralph ordered me to strip, in tones that permitted no argument. I did so. He grabbed my wrists and tied them together behind my back with thick ropes. He made me bend over while he whipped me with a slender willow cane. Throwing me on the bed, he jumped on me and entered me savagely. It worked. A determined expression altered Ralph’s features. He slowly relaxed. He started a slow smile. “Change of plan, Jessica. Get down to the cellar. Sex. In restraints. Chastisement first. Clothes off, boots on. I’ll be there in a minute or two.” A thrilling jolt of sexual arousal weakened my knees, fluttered my heart, and released a small surge of wetness between my legs. “Yes, Ralph. Yes, of course.” You have to understand, Steph, it isn’t just pain. It’s the humiliation. I like being mastered, dominated, controlled. I like being made to do degrading things. Who knows why? I should, I guess; I’m the psychologist. The traditional theory is, unconsciously the person feels guilty about enjoying sex, so if it’s associated with punishment and humiliation, it’s OK, it expiates the moral anxiety. Heaven knows I’m no Freudian, but I can’t come up with a better explanation. Downstairs, the cedar paneling of my cubicle smelt wonderfully sweet and tangy. I got out of my clothes and strutted around for a little while, enjoying my nudity. The smooth concrete floor was cold to my feet. A cool breeze from upstairs wafted around the delicate parts of my anatomy. Then Ralph’s footsteps overhead interrupted my reverie. It was time to get the boots on . . . Undue Influence Steph, those boots are something else. The first time I saw them, in a shop in the Old Port district, I laughed aloud. They are the ultimate in kinky boots. Black leather, spike heels. And very long. These boots are so long they come almost to the tops of my thighs, and with my legs -- [I couldn’t resist interrupting her. “Sorry to break in, dear, but I’m quite familiar with your physique. You’re one of the tallest women I know, and you definitely have the longest and most shapely legs. Now, go on, please.”] Have you quite finished, Stephanie? May I continue? OK. The boots nearly reach up to my pubic hair when I’m naked. Drives Ralph utterly wild when I’m wearing them. As I can testify, there are now two answers to male erectile dysfunction -- Viagra, and those boots. If the zippers ever get stuck while I’m wearing them, the boots will stay on me for ever. They are as tight as they can be without being intolerably uncomfortable. I practiced walking across to the platform; the spikes are so tall it’s like being on stilts. I called for Ralph, and again heard him marching purposefully across the kitchen floor over my head before he hurried down the cellar stairs. “Let’s just get these lights positioned right.” He fiddled with the flood lamps and flicked the switch. I recoiled from the dazzling light as the heat of those high-energy lamps instantly warmed the naked parts of my body. The whole cellar was ablaze with blinding daylight. “Yes, magnificent, Jessica. You look almost overdressed, wearing those boots and nothing else. I don’t know how you do it, but when you’re in the nude your bare bottom manages to convey the utmost in pride and defiance. Just as you do. Well, I’ll just have to cure you of those character flaws. Stand there on the plinth. Put your hands on your head.” So he wasn’t going to tie me up yet. I complied, stepping up onto the platform with care. I turned away from him and shook my hair down. It cascaded down my back, almost to my waist. Some wisps were tickling my breasts. As elegantly as I could, I placed my hands as he had directed. Ralph produced a thick leather strap from somewhere. It was heavy, wide -- at least two inches -- and a couple of feet long. I had encountered it before. “We’ll start with this.” Unemotionally, he stood a little to my left and looked me up and down, appraisingly. With a graceful, side-stepping dance movement, he brought the belt back, then swung it briskly through a wide arc, bringing the end of it into abrupt contact with my unprotected derrière. It made a satisfying “thwack” on my bare flesh, it even made me gasp involuntarily, but I can’t say the first blow hurt all that much. It was more a symbol of punishment than the real thing. That would come later. But the next one definitely got my attention. I actually cried out that time. Still, it wasn’t much, relatively speaking. Ralph spanked me a couple more times with the strap before putting it aside. By then I found the respite welcome. “Enough of that, Jessica. Time for some real punishment. In restraints. You had better get your leather outfit on. Hurry up, don’t keep me waiting.” My heart was pounding, and it was hard to get my breath. Punishment down in the cellar usually means the whip. And Ralph is terribly inaccurate with that thing. He wanted me in leathers, and I certainly didn’t disagree with him. Even with thick cowhide between my naked body and that whip, it could still hurt like hell. Walking as quickly as I could in those boots, I got into my cubicle and started putting my outfit on. That’s easier said than done. Bending my legs in those boots is practically impossible. Anyway, I put my white cotton panties back on, then my tight black leather mini skirt (I thought, he’ll want them off later, but he can take care of that himself when the time comes). And my sleeveless black leather vest, with the huge zipper up the front. He always whips my rear, but if he misses, the end of that whip can snap round and catch me on the front somewhere. Now that can hurt, especially on the boobs. Hence the leather vest. Ralph didn’t say a word as he came over to me. His mouth was set in a grim line. He grabbed my wrists and turned me to face him. After buckling a wide leather bracelet to my left wrist, he led me up onto the platform again, hooked the end of a dog’s chain into a steel loop in the bracelet, and passed the other end through one of the rings over my head. Ralph’s very tall; even with my ridiculously high heels, he was still taller than me and had no trouble reaching the beam. He pulled the chain tight and fastened it to a hook that’s fixed to the beam a few inches away. He buckled on the other bracelet and repeated the process, pulling my right wrist tight against the other ring. I knew from experience that the most comfortable way to handle this was simply to grasp the rings with my hands. I did so. My arms were now stretched above my head, my hands wide apart. “Very attractive, Jessica. All we need now is to restrain those lovely long legs.” Too bad. When my legs are free, I can have fun trying to dodge his blows. Holding the rings, I can even swing myself upward, like a gymnast. Not this time, obviously. I gasped as he bent down and quickly ran loops of rope around my ankles, tying the ends of the ropes to the rings set into the belts on the platform. To my surprise he didn’t stretch my legs wide; my feet were only about a foot apart. Probably so he could get my clothes down around my feet later without untying me. But I still wasn’t quite sure what was coming next -- I wanted pain, but if it was going to be sex that would have been fine, I was certainly ready for it. Would he come at me from the front or the back? Ralph rummaged in a wooden chest and came back waving the whip. A strong pulse was thudding in my throat. This was going to be delicious, fantastic. And if he did it right, it was going to hurt exquisitely. The wooden part of the whip was a foot long, painted in black enamel. The whip itself was a narrow strip of black leather, about two feet in length. We had acquired it from an antique shop. I had never realized how many types there were. You could get much longer ones, but this one was plenty long enough for me. For an anxious moment I thought he might remove my skirt and panties before laying into me with the whip. I would have been quite powerless to stop him. But Ralph showed no sign of doing so. He set the whip aside, stepped onto the platform, and approached me gently from the front. “You’re beautiful, Jessica.” He embraced me, then pulled up my skirt and cupped my pantied buttocks in his hands. He kissed me full on the lips. It was frustrating, not being able to hug him back. Being tied up helplessly was also extremely sexy, especially when he slid a hand round to the front and inserted a couple of stiff fingers between my legs, rubbing the crotch of my underwear. I whined in pleasure. He slowly withdrew, then went behind me, unzipped my vest, and started gently kneading my breasts. That was exciting. My nipples stood out hard. I felt his erection against my behind as he buried his face in my hair. He stood back again, and I gasped again as he slapped my bottom hard with the flat of his hand. “Time for your punishment, Jessica. You have been a very bad girl. Acting like a slut. Dirty thoughts. Lewd ideas. Your master must bring you to submission. You will be contrite and accept your chastisement.” This was terrific. He actually sounded so deadly serious it was almost hysterically funny. But Ralph was absolutely no good at all with that whip, even when I was controlling him. As he hadn’t even bared my behind, I had very little to fear. But at the same time, I could never know for sure what was going to happen during these little episodes. Even though I was the instigator, giving Ralph full control of me in this way could still lead to some pretty unpleasant surprises. Standing well off to the side, Ralph cracked the whip up and down a couple of times, swatting the concrete floor with it. It made a very satisfactory swishing sound. With difficulty, I twisted my head sideways to look at him. He drew the whip back, and brought it forward quickly. The end of the whip flapped feebly against my leather skirt. I could hardly feel it. This was even more disappointing than usual. Ralph was utterly inept with that thing. He tried again. A limp slap as it touched my upper right thigh, just above the boot. This was going to be no good at all. Ralph was trying to animate himself into greater effectiveness. He paced back and forth, tensely. “Jessica, you are shameless. You enjoy parading yourself in your kinky clothes. You seek to corrupt me with deviant fantasies. You deserve to be punished severely. The lash of the whip will correct you.” Gritting his teeth, Ralph swung the whip as hard as he could from over to my left. This time, it stung slightly as the end of the leather strip whipped round and caught me at the side of the waist. But it was really no good at all. I was on the point of suggesting that we move on to the intimate part of the agenda when, to my utter horror, I heard the unmistakable sound of someone tramping across the kitchen floor overhead. In near-panic I twisted my head to the right and ducked my head to see round my arm, but my hair was falling over my face and I couldn’t shake it free. Urgently, I hissed at Ralph. “Ralph! Untie me, quick! You can’t let anyone see me like this!” He was strangely silent. I still couldn’t see anything, but I heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs, then Peter Hobson came into view to my right. My heart lurched in my chest and a surge of emotion coursed through me, taking my breath away. This was the very last man in the world I would have wanted to see me like this. Hobson was grinning wildly, his hands at his waist. “Well, well, well! What have we here? A pleasant domestic interlude in the life of Ralph and Jessica? Family togetherness? A Hallmark moment?” I was screaming at Ralph. “Ralph! Get him out of here! Let me out of this, now! What can you be thinking of?” Ralph was staring, slack-jawed, at Hobson. “Hi, Peter, nice of you to stop by. Come on in. I can get you a chair . . .” I yelled at him. “For goodness’ sake, don’t get him a chair! Get him upstairs! Ralph, you have to get me out of all this, right away, now, this second, please!” I struggled ineffectually against the restraints. Ralph slowly turned to look at me, his expression dull. With a pang, I suddenly realized that Hobson was controlling him. At the same instant, I felt Hobson’s mind searching mine. ‘Ah, my pretty, so you can control him, can you? But I think you already know you won’t be able to control me, don’t you?’ Hobson was talking insistently to Ralph. “You don’t seem to be having much luck with that thing. Maybe I can help, give you a demonstration. Give it to me.” Hobson held his hand out. Meekly, Ralph handed him the whip, and turned away to sit down in the corner. Hobson continued, “No, not yet, old fellow. Come back here. Something I need you to do for me first.” I had stopped protesting, giving it up as futile. I could hardly speak anyway, I was practically gasping for breath and my heart felt as it was going to pound right out of my chest. It was time for some very quick thinking. OK, Hobson was going to whip me. I couldn’t even begin to control him, that was obvious. So I would have to take it. Yes, it might be all right. In fact, it could even be a delicious fantasy come true. As long as he didn’t overdo it. But it was one thing for Ralph to punish me in his inept way, when even if it did get too bad I could at least try to take over again and make him stop instantly. Dealing with Hobson was going to be another matter entirely. And with Ralph completely under Hobson’s control, I had absolutely no options left. I would have to take whatever was coming to me. Hobson was talking again. “Ralph, you’d better take her skirt off and get her panties down. I want to see my target.” I nearly fainted with emotion. I had never even remotely imagined a scenario like this. Hobson, practically a stranger, about to take the most incredibly intimate liberties with me in my own house, with my husband a passive bystander. “Yes, Peter, of course.” Looking stupefied, Ralph came up to me and stared blankly into my eyes. Then his face lit up with animation and he grinned at me. It wasn’t Ralph. I mean, it was Ralph’s body, but it was Hobson’s mind, controlling him and experiencing his every sensation. I had to get control of the situation. All I could do was to get ahead of it, to own it, to act as if I was acquiescing. “All right, yes, it’s OK. You may punish me, Ralph.” I nearly said Hobson. That would have been a mistake; I didn’t want him to know how clearly I understood the situation. And the unthinkable possibilities of what could happen next. “I give you permission. You can undress me and whip me.” For fear of giving Hobson ideas, I didn’t add, “But that’s all, understood?” Without a word, Ralph/Hobson continued to smile at me. His hands were at my waist. I sucked in my stomach as he unbuckled my belt, then unzipped my skirt at the side and worked it down over my hips. It fell down around my ankles. He grasped the elastic waistband of my panties and began to pull them down. Stephanie, if you want the erotic thrill of a lifetime, have your husband strip you in front of another man. If you also happen to be chained and tied up at the time, ready for punishment, it does nothing to detract from the experience. Ralph tugged my panties down toward my knees, but Hobson stopped him. “That’s enough, that’ll do fine,” said Hobson. “Just down to the top of those incredible boots. All we need is to bare that cute bottom of hers. Now, Ralph,” he added, with mock concern, “Why exactly is your lovely wife being punished this afternoon? I mean, has she offended in some way, or is this just a pleasant weekly routine for you two lovebirds?” A quick decision. I knew Hobson was controlling Ralph, and I knew he was reading my mind. I therefore knew he was aware not only that I enjoyed these scenarios with Ralph, but that I created them deliberately. But I didn’t know the extent of Hobson’s powers; I didn’t know how much he knew of thoughts. So, I decided to put on a show of protest. Hobson was immediately at my left. Awkwardly turning my head in his direction, I assumed an expression of pure hatred as I pulled hard, but ineffectually, against my restraints. “You malicious bastard. Don’t you come near me. And don’t even think about touching me with that thing.” Hobson was laughing. “Oh, I won’t need to come near you, don’t you worry about that. But I might, to use your word, touch you. Yes, just a little, Mrs. Sherwood. See, your husband doesn’t mind, do you, Ralph?” “No, of course not, Peter. And the punishment -- I don’t know, really. Routine, I guess.” “Good, very good! I have to tell you, I’m reassured to hear it. You’ve decided to wear the pants at last. And she, as we can both observe very clearly, most definitely is not wearing the pants. Now, go and sit over there. Observe carefully.” Still smiling, Hobson positioned himself slightly behind me, still over to my left. It hurt to turn my head that much, but I could see him if I looked behind my left arm. With a concentrated effort, he swung the whip back, then brought it forward in a slow sweep. At the last second he gave the handle a sudden jerk, and the sharp crack of the whip coincided with an utterly incredible searing, numbing pain. I yelped involuntarily. I was in a state of surreal consciousness as my buttocks blazed with the stinging smart of that unbelievable blow. “Feel that, did you, dear? Of course you did. And you love it. You know you can’t conceal that from me. Well, it works out perfectly. Because I love it, too.” He swung his arm back again, but this time he whipped me briskly in one smooth motion, starting a piercing scream out of me as my bottom glared in burning, insistent pain. I was gasping for breath, writhing in my restraints. I watched helplessly as Hobson prepared to deliver another stinging lash. Steph, it was delicious, wonderfully exciting, absolutely thrilling. I suppose you have to be into it the way I am to truly appreciate it, but being stripped, bound, and punished by a man is the most incredibly erotic sexual turn-on there can be. As far as I was concerned, Ralph could get to the intimate part of the agenda just as soon as he wanted. But despite the intense distraction of the whipping, I still had to think. Hobson was controlling Ralph. I had to make sure I took over that control the instant Hobson relinquished it. Otherwise, Ralph would immediately regain full conscious awareness, and I hadn’t yet worked out all the implications of that. It could even drive him into a psychotic state. And there was something a lot more alarming than that. A whole heck of a lot more. You know how much I like to be punished, even by that obnoxious bastard Peter Hobson. But I would sure as hell draw the line at being raped by him. The next lash took me completely unawares, I had been so busy with my thoughts I hadn’t prepared myself. My rear end was smarting and stinging like the blazes. Hobson was laughing. “Just a few more before we proceed to the next stage of the proceedings, Mrs. Sherwood. Goodness, what am I saying? Not Mrs., but Doctor Sherwood. I have to confess, it’s quite a thrill for me to have an encounter like this with the learned Doctor. I’ll be sure to recall it vividly next time I cross-examine you on the witness stand.” My insides had turned to water. Next stage of the proceedings? Was it going to be rape? Would he dare? Could he possibly think he would get away with it? Ralph had invited him in, that was true, and I was already tied up when he arrived, but I had certainly not given him my permission for any of this -- My thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Hobson drawing back to deliver another tremendous blow to my bottom. I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on twisting and squirming away from the end of that cruel whip, pulling on the chains and ropes with all my power -- utterly uselessly, of course. To my shame, that searing blow had me sobbing uncontrollably despite all my efforts to remain in control of myself. “There, that’s done the trick, I think, Ralph. See how I’ve brought a nice little blush to those pert cheeks of hers? Here you go, it’s your turn now.” Hobson handed Ralph the whip. To my dismay, Ralph was still completely emotionless. I watched in apprehension as he slowly drew the whip back, and flicked it forward with surprising intensity. With a tremendous crack, the lash of that whip instantly engulfed me in an overwhelming maelstrom of stinging hurt. I heard myself screaming. It sounded as if it were coming from somebody else. I would not have thought it possible, but I had actually had enough at that point. My mouth was dry. I was more or less hanging from the beam, my wrists sore from the restraints. My rear end was on fire with smarting, throbbing pain. There was no question by then that Hobson was controlling Ralph. And he was doing so with far greater power than ever I could bring to bear. I was in the grip of genuine fear as I contemplated the possibilities. I decidedly did not want any more punishment, and I was going to have to throw myself on their mercy to get them to stop. Sex would have been fine -- I would have welcomed it right then -- provided it was with my husband. No sooner had the awful thought crossed my mind that it might not be with my husband than I saw Ralph put aside the whip and turn to make a gesture to Hobson, as if to hand over to him again. A bolt of heart-stopping fear thrilled through me at the thought of what was about to happen -- but, to my immense relief, Hobson crossed the room to the stairs, obviously intending to leave. Undue Influence “I’m all set now, Ralph. I don’t need to be here for the rest. I have that covered. Have fun, you two. See ya.” Have that covered? What did he mean? But . . . of course. I came to exactly the same realization you did, Steph, the other night with me. Hobson didn’t need to be present. He could enter Ralph’s mind whenever he wanted. Come to that, he could enter mine, too. That’s how he knew to show up in our cellar when he did; he had probably tuned in to my thoughts the minute I had started controlling Ralph that afternoon. Hobson could hurry back to his place, and in the comfort of his favorite armchair he could live through every second of Ralph’s experience, he could feel every sensation, he could . . . The man could almost literally beat me himself, through Ralph. In fact, it was worse. Hobson could whip me by proxy. But to judge by Ralph’s sudden change in demeanor, he was no longer interested in punishing me. He was taking all his clothes off as he stepped up to me. And it was very clear that he was ready, more than ready, for sex. I thought he was going to enter me right away, but to my surprise he bent down to my feet and unfastened the ropes from my ankles. He pulled my underwear all the way down, and I kicked the skirt and panties free and planted my feet wide apart for him, my wrists still chained to the beam overhead. Ralph unzipped my leather vest, and bent down to my feet once again. As I hung from the rings he grabbed my ankles and pulled them upward toward him. He forced my legs apart, pushed himself between my thighs, grabbed my buttocks in his hands, and quickly entered me as I gasped in a sudden access of overpowering pleasure. But it was a new Ralph. He was surprisingly different. He was energetic, powerful, masterly -- and tireless. And as I began to whimper at the delicious sensations he was shoving into me with each thrust, the sudden, incredible realization hit me. It wasn’t just Ralph. Peter Hobson, controlling Ralph’s mind from afar, was enjoying my body just as completely, vividly, and intensely as he would have done if he had been right there between my thighs himself. Forcibly confronted by that incredible image of the two men unrelentingly poking and ramming me as I writhed in my restraints, I experienced a more colossal orgasm than I could ever have imagined possible. If I managed things properly, it promised to be the first in an endless series, stretching interminably before me into the months and years ahead. © 2003 Allison Cranley