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