Shameful Influence (Bound for Service Book 7)

by Emily Tilton

  Rhonda Mayfair had the air of one being hunted, with good reason. The Groupe Synergistique, unlike the Pretorian Guard, didn’t command a great deal of loyalty at any level, which had occasionally proved its undoing in the past. Men of the Guard and their female counterparts in the Order of Ostia swore themselves to the salvation of the world from the worst effects of the inevitable global economic collapse. Members of the Groupe got well paid, if they did their jobs with accuracy and precision.

  Now Rhonda had to wonder whether one of her superiors had noted how close she had gotten to Sally Donaldson and how slowly the young governor had moved to implementing the subtly wasteful but highly profitable energy policy favored by the Groupe. If Eric understood Rhonda’s position as a midlevel minion correctly, she suspected her own organization even more strongly than she suspected the Guard, whose very existence the Groupe had never yet managed to verify.

  “Yup,” Sally said cheerily to a twenty-something well-wisher standing next to her, over Eric’s excellent audio feed from a drone’s directional mic, “I’m trying to make the running skirt happen. It’s cute, don’t you think?”

  “Isn’t it a little chilly?” the young woman asked, apparently noting the rather tense way the governor stood. The day had turned out nicely, with temperatures in the mid-fifties even at ten a.m., but many of the runners at the starting line still apparently hadn’t realized that their northern state really had become nearly subtropical over the past five years.

  “Not for me,” Sally replied, with an apparent breeziness that made Eric smile.

  He turned the camera for a moment, focusing in on the truly adorable blue skirt that came down to the middle of Sally’s slim thighs. He thought he saw Sally’s hips move in a rather lewd way that suggested how energetically she was working her pelvic muscles, and then he watched the skirt move sexily as she ran in place a little, as if to cover it. Her perineal sensor told him that the heat and humidity between her thighs had just spiked.

  “Alright, fun runners,” announced the same clothier who had met with the governor the previous day, elegant mistress of ceremonies now in a gleaming white tracksuit. “On your mark!”

  With a cheer the runners were off, with the governor in the lead. Her chief of staff ran beside her, and two security men subtly behind them. Sally did run very well, but her purpose today wasn’t athletic but political, and even if the controller in her pussy hadn’t kept her from stretching her legs she had the excuse of wanting to make herself available to her constituents along the course. Those whose fun involved running fast began to pass her after the first block, when the media had gotten their shots of the vibrant, rosy-faced young governor leading the pack in the running skirt that would probably go viral for a day or two.

  Eric’s drones—or rather the software that processed the video and audio streams from them—tracked Sally and Rhonda perfectly, and gave him nearly as much freedom to look at the governor whom he had taken into training as his bed girl as he had in her office or her bedroom. He could also see his three Guard nymphobi—Vic, along with Michael and Keith—moving through the crowd of runners that gradually thinned so that they could easily stay within range of Sally while remaining unobtrusive to her security. At the finish line, Eric felt confident things would go smoothly.

  Focusing in on Sally, he could tell from a very slight hitch in her stride how the controller between her legs, and her lack of panties under her skirt, made her terribly self-conscious. The device in her pussy had been designed to feel like it might fall out at any moment, if the girl wearing it didn’t pay careful attention to the state of her most intimate muscles—in fact, it would eventually train Sally to give Eric’s cock a great deal of pleasure, on his command, while fucking her pussy. The controller’s shape, however, also ensured that, while a girl constantly thought it might drop to the ground and provide evidence to all onlookers both of her panty-less state and of her extreme naughtiness, the toy would actually do no such thing.

  From Eric’s perspective, that made Sally’s controller a near-perfect device for his purposes at the moment: keeping her distracted as she ran among the good citizens of Madison but not threatening to create any sort of scene that might divulge the embarrassing truth. Sally’s constituents ran beside her in no danger of knowing that their governor’s pussy and anus now belonged to Eric Saarinen, heliodromus of the Pretorian Guard, as his personal property—or that Eric would at last enjoy that property with his hard cock before the day had ended.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Is it falling? seemed to represent the only thought Sally’s mind could frame.

  Whether Master Eric could see her, somehow; whether he could make the horrible controller pleasure her or punish her right there in the middle of a pack of runners making their way down Main Street; whether her skirt would fly up and reveal to everyone that the governor had no underwear on... that she had had her pussy waxed... that she had a sex toy in her vagina and her anus—maybe her brain had decided it just couldn’t deal with those questions, and had fixed on Is it falling? as a way to orient her to the here and now.

  At every stride it felt like the black device would drop out onto the pavement, and Sally had to hold it in with the strength of her muscles down there, the way she would hold in her pee if she had drunk too much coffee and gotten stuck in traffic. That thought made her remember the previous evening, in the bathroom, and the feeling of the pee running down her legs and soaking her pants, pooling on the tile. In turn, to her horror, that made her feel herself warm and melt with need down there, so that the movements of the bulbous end of the controller inside her pussy and the little probe just an inch inside her bottom felt almost like she somehow had her master’s penis inside her, in both places at once.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the hour she had spent at New You, just the day before—about the enormous Vic and his enormous cock in particular. As she moved her body in the familiar rhythm of a runner’s practiced stride, she realized that Vic had fucked her athletically, and that she had never had such a fucking before. Running with Master Eric’s controller inside her, Sally felt like he had decided to teach her a special lesson about her body, and about what could fulfill it. Passing the second mile mark and turning the corner onto Madison Boulevard for the final mile-long stretch to the gate of Governor’s Park, she realized that Master Eric had turned the vibrator on, very low, and that she felt needier between her thighs than she had ever felt in her life.

  Sally looked to her right, to see Rhonda just a step behind her, with what looked to Sally like a forced smile on her face. Sally tried to flash a reassuring grin back at her chief of staff, but she could tell that something had started to trouble Rhonda.

  Well, Sally managed to reason in her fevered mind, if she figures it out, at least this will all be over. To her horror, a chilling pang of regret rose from her tummy to her chest at the thought. Sally turned her face back to the prospect in front of her, trying to enjoy at least this display of her young state’s civic pride: runners in the northern spring, enjoying the outdoors in their prosperous new capital.

  My prosperous new capital, Sally thought with a little pride now, even if it gets taken away because I decided to let my boyfriend take some naughty pictures.

  Only two hundred yards to go, now, and the citizens applauding at the sides of the course. Some of them shouting, “Sally!” Some of them calling, “Governor!” Pride and happiness in their voices.

  They don’t know that I don’t have anything on under this skirt except a device that makes me behave like a good little whore when my master decides I should.

  The thought made her clench, even as she smiled and waved and ran on. Inside her, Master Eric turned the vibrator up so that it took all Sally’s concentration to keep running at something like a normal pace with a normal stride. She crossed the finish line into the park, still waving, and the vibrator quieted to its former level. With Rhonda behind her she shook hands and gave mild soundbites like, “Fitn
ess is everyone’s best way to live a rich life.”

  Then she heard a voice behind her that sent a shudder through her whole body. Behind her, to her left, so that she couldn’t turn around to look because of how awkward it would look.

  “This way, Governor,” Master Eric said. She felt his hand on her elbow. “There’s a van for you and Ms. Mayfair right over here.”

  Sally turned just enough to see Rhonda, and to see her looking around with an unmistakable expression of fear on her face. She had two men behind her, ushering her along the crowded sidewalk toward a white, official-looking van just outside the police barriers for the finish line of the fun run. Sally’s security team didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight.

  “This way, Governor,” Master Eric said again, still unseen, gripping her elbow tighter. She could feel him looming behind her, the angle of his grip on her arm somehow telling her that the man whose voice could control her stood at least as tall as his henchman Vic—whom Sally suddenly recognized, with a chill that traveled across her scalp and down her neck, as one of the men escorting Rhonda.

  For a moment Sally resisted, purely out of surprise. Her feet stopped on the pavement.

  “Governor,” said the voice behind her and above her, in the tone that meant discipline. Sally’s lips parted and she had to stifle a pleading cry. Then, somehow, maybe with some device in his other hand, the one not on Sally’s elbow, her master shocked her inside her bottom.

  Sally bit her lip and walked toward the van, realizing that next to her Rhonda had started to do the same.

  “Turn and smile and wave before you get in, Sally,” Master Eric said into her ear. “I’m going to let go of you, but you know what’s going to happen if you disobey me.”

  So Sally did: trying desperately to get him into her field of vision, she turned to bid her citizens farewell, as they applauded and called, “Sally!”

  Then she turned again, and stepped into the open side door of the van, into which Rhonda had already stepped. The door slid quickly closed behind her, and then she heard Master Eric say, “Get their clothes off.”

  As the three big men stripped off the women’s running clothes, Sally couldn’t understand why Rhonda wasn’t struggling, or even protesting. When they sat on the floor of the van, on a thin gray carpet while the three big men sat on a long bench seat, the mystery grew even deeper, because Rhonda, with tears in her eyes now, started to say something to Sally that began with, “I’m sorry.”

  Master Eric, however, said in a voice that sounded both severe and dismissive, “Silence, Rhonda. We’ll deal with you soon, whether you apologize or not.”

  But Sally’s chief of staff, looking so startlingly vulnerable without her clothes on that it made Sally’s heart race, spoke to her again, as if Rhonda didn’t understand how strict a master the tall, dangerous-looking man with the salt-and-pepper beard and the commanding voice could be.

  “Sally, I’m so sorry—” the willowy naked woman said, her hands trying to cover her pretty breasts, bigger than Sally’s, and her rather hairy pussy. Looking at Rhonda that way, as a nude girl who should do what Master Eric told her if she didn’t want to be punished—and hearing her disobey Master Eric by speaking when told to say silent—made Sally terribly conscious of how deeply her master had claimed her. She became terribly conscious of her own pussy’s bareness from the waxing and of the black controller to which she saw Rhonda’s eyes go, their shape growing round as the chief of staff took in the unexpected sight.

  But Rhonda had no time to consider why her boss had a sex toy between her thighs. Master Eric said curtly, “Spank her,” and Vic responded, looking so muscular in running shorts and a tank top that the sight of his chest made a tremor go through Sally’s whole body, starting with the place between her thighs where the controller still buzzed distractingly. The huge copper-skinned man grabbed Rhonda with terrible ease and pulled her, struggling now for the first time, over his knee on the bench seat, with her face in the upholstered seat to the left. Vic clamped his right leg over Rhonda’s knees to keep her bottom in place and started to spank her hard and fast as if the chief of staff were a naughty little girl who had spoken out of turn once too often and finally earned the punishment she had had coming for a very long time.

  “Watch, Sally,” Master Eric said, though the command seemed to Sally entirely unnecessary, since to her mortification she couldn’t keep her eyes off the spanking of Rhonda Mayfair in a van that had begun speeding—Sally could feel it in the vehicle’s vibration despite the complete lack of windows in the rear—to who knew where.

  It seemed both terribly strange and oddly natural to be a naked girl watching another naked girl get punished for disobedience. As Rhonda cried out at the hard swats delivered by the huge hand that came down over and over on her quickly reddening bottom, Sally found that she had to concentrate on keeping her right hand from drifting down between her legs to soothe herself there.

  Why had Rhonda said she was sorry? Though Sally didn’t know the answer, something about her chief of staff’s contrition in the face of their apparent kidnapping seemed to mean that what had happened to Sally had something to do with Rhonda. That made the spectacle of Rhonda’s bottom, clenching and unclenching as her screams and sobs availed her not at all, moving to Sally in an unexpected and terrible way. Rhonda tried to cover her trim, high bottom-cheeks with her left hand but Vic effortlessly grabbed that wrist and bent it behind her naked back with his left hand, and kept spanking her.

  “Please,” Sally said, but very softly. “Please, don’t.”

  “Sally,” Master Eric replied, “come here.”

  For the first time she noticed what the man who had taken it upon himself to make the governor of the great state of Madison his personal bed girl was wearing. Master Eric had on jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt, and though he was tall and fit he certainly didn’t have the musculature of Vic or the other big henchman who sat at the far end of the van’s bench seat. Nevertheless, something about his posture and the way he held himself as he looked at Sally—above all about the intelligence in his gray eyes and the simple sound of his well-known voice—made her body respond so strongly that she couldn’t keep a whimper from emerging from her throat as she saw his right hand beckoning to her.

  Meanwhile Vic had stopped spanking Rhonda, just as quickly as he had begun. She lay sobbing over his knee while his big hand now roamed her backside much more gently. Rhonda had her head turned over her shoulder and Sally could just see her naked chief of staff’s dark left eye gazing back at her, red from the tears brought on by Vic’s punishing hand.

  “I said come here, dirty girl,” Master Eric said, and she heard in his voice the tone that made her jump and look at his left hand, to see that he had a phone in it, with an app displayed, his thumb just above a red button. As Sally gave a reflexive cry of fear, Master Eric pressed the red button, and Sally felt the shock inside her bottom. With tiny whines coming from her chest, she crawled the three feet that separated her from his massive, jean-covered thighs.

  She glanced over at Rhonda just as she felt her master’s right hand on the back of her neck, his fingers telling her somehow with their curvature that she must obey him or be punished. She saw again the dark eye looking back at her as the huge hand of the man who had spanked her—the same man who had fucked Sally with his enormous cock—fondled Rhonda’s well-disciplined bottom.

  The chief of staff’s eye had gone very wide; Rhonda must have seen Sally get disciplined with Master Eric’s controller. The thought made Sally’s cheeks very hot, and it made her brow furrow deeply as she looked up at Master Eric, kneeling up between his thighs with his hand cradling the back of her head, his fingers twined in her hair.

  “Rhonda feels bad,” he said, “because she thinks this is all her fault. She’s right, and when we get where we’re going, you’re going to watch her pay the price. Then she’s going to watch you serve me the way you’ve been trained to do.”

  Chapter Eightee
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  It only took ten minutes for the van to travel from the finish line of the fun run to the warehouse prepared for the endgame of Operation Snowbird. The second, identical van, carrying the governor’s drugged but otherwise unharmed security detail, met the one with Sally and Rhonda inside it and then diverged in its path, heading toward the governor’s mansion. Eric’s van changed its appearance just as it turned: to the observer it seemed that glare had simply obscured the graphic of a plumbing supply company, which now showed very clearly.

  The security men would wake up in their headquarters, with a bad headache, twelve hours from now. Sally and Rhonda would already be back in the mansion. The guards’ minds would reconstruct an ordinary explanation for their relatively brief lapse in memory. In the unlikely event either of them said anything, they would be informed that nothing unusual had occurred after the fun run.

  Sally and Rhonda spent the remaining five minutes of their journey in the same thought-provoking positions Eric had chosen for them the moment Rhonda showed something like resistance: the naked chief of staff over Vic’s knee, her bright red bottom receiving a thorough fondling from the big nymphobus after her sound spanking, and the young governor, just as naked, kneeling between her master’s thighs and watching Vic’s enormous hand rub and squeeze Rhonda’s trim, well-disciplined cheeks gently enough to draw helpless whimpers of need from Rhonda’s chest.

  “Eight for Rhonda,” Nora said through the comm-link implanted in Eric’s jawbone. “Nine for Sally.”