Under Alien Influence

by Emily Tilton

  I released his need to rule her, when it rose up a little, the first replied. He is about to discipline her, and the thought arouses him greatly. It is amusing.

  The second asked, Discipline her how?

  They call it ‘spanking.’ Can you find it in your host?

  An instant went by as Nick Strauss looked down at his mate Janice Strauss. Then the Zedaar in Pierre LeGrand sent, Yes, indeed. Pierre LeGrand likes to spank females, too. He has had non-reproductive sexual activity with females who enjoy being ruled that way. Also, there is a female in the area who Pierre LeGrand thinks may feel an attraction for him. He thinks often about her, and he thinks she needs spanking.

  Would this not, asked the first Zedaar, present an opportunity to advance the move-thing effort and gain amusement? If the females learn to subject themselves to the rule of the males, they will assist in the effort, as well as providing a great deal of amusement.

  I will see, sent the second, if I can release Pierre LeGrand’s need to rule so that he spanks the female and has sex with her. She lives nearby.

  The first replied, That sounds amusing. I will continue to release Nick Strauss’ need to rule his mate. He will spank her and have disciplinary sex with her, to train her to be a more submissive mate.

  Amusing, commented the second, and the Zedaar terminated the conversation, which had occupied less than a second in the perceived timescale of the humans.

  * * *

  Janice Strauss couldn’t believe her ears.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Nick?” she demanded. “That’s just about the stupidest joke I’ve ever heard.”

  Janice tried to keep her voice steady, but her face had gotten hot and she heard a quaver in her words that made the whole thing that much worse. Her heartrate had gone way up, too, and it was like insult added to injury. Her weak fool of a husband might interpret those physical signs as some sort of compliance with whatever idiotic attempt this might be to take control.

  “It’s not a joke, Janice,” Nick said steadily. “Stand up. I’m only going to use my hand tonight, but from now on if you misbehave I’ll use my belt when I have to, to get through to you.”

  She felt her lips part, but no sound emerged. She looked at her hands, one holding a fork with a bite of tuna casserole on it, the other still on the keyboard of her laptop, whose screen showed the Victorian teddy bear wearing the lavender gown that she had been about to pin to the teddy bear board where she collected the cutest pictures, for the delight of her hundreds of followers.

  Janice remembered a comment from one of them, a few weeks before—a comment that made her blush hot as the sun, on a picture she had shared with the message Collecting bears instead of making hubby’s dinner, la. Trudy from Oregon had posted, lol hubby oughta spank your butt for that, mine would.

  Nick wasn’t like that, but the comment had made her think… about that kind of thing, and about, well, other kinds of things—bedroom kinds of things.

  “I said, stand up, Janice.” Nick looked steadily down at her, his eyes narrowed now. So handsome: dark brown hair, blue eyes, forest ranger muscles from regular hard work on the trails. His green uniform shirt, with the badge, that always gave Janice a little jolt of… something… when she looked at the way he filled it out.

  Janice couldn’t move. She looked at her hands again, and noticed they had started to tremble.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw his big hand move, deliberately, and she turned her head to watch it as he reached it out and laid it on her shoulder.

  The first time he’s touched me in… days? weeks?

  And whose fault is that? a second voice in her head, to answer the first.

  They had had what Janice thought of as a ‘good run’ going for a few months, up until Easter, and their visit to her sister in Toronto. A good run meant sex once a week, and it made Janice feel that at least if she couldn’t enjoy being intimate with Nick in that way she had satisfied his ‘masculine needs.’ But the past three weeks when Nick had asked her, on Saturday night, to come to bed—their usual… well, their only time for bedroom things—she had been in the middle of pasting a fabric swatch, or answering comments, or talking on the phone. Janice had meant to join her husband in bed and let him raise her nightgown so that he could put his hand down there, where she would have applied the lube her sister had given her to make Nick think he had roused her.

  She hadn’t though, and she realized now that he had seemed at the same time to get out of the habit of touching her. How long has that been true? Janice wondered suddenly, sure now that the absence of physical contact had begun long before Easter.

  Now he had his hand on her left shoulder, though, and he stood above her, and he said, “Put down the fork, Janice. We’re going to get this punishment over with right now, and then we’re going to discuss the way things will be between us from this moment on.”

  The way things will be. Janice’s heart raced.

  “I… I need to call Sue,” she protested. Had she just accepted that Nick’s bizarre plan for the evening would in fact go into effect? His hand tightened a little on her shoulder, and she felt a jolt go through her whole body, and the fear that had seemed strangely absent for a moment returned in force. She added hastily, trying to keep her voice steady, “I mean… clearly, we need to talk, and I should stay in… unless you keep saying this… silly stuff about… about that.”

  Janice felt lightheaded now, desperate to make it clear that she had no intention of submitting to the thing she found she couldn’t even name in her own mind, now that Nick had told her he meant to do it. More words tumbled from her, as if she tried to build up a barrier with them. “In which case I’ll leave and go to Sue’s and stay there until… until…”

  But Nick just kept looking down at her, as the words dried up in Janice’s throat.

  “Put the fork down, Janice.” He spoke so quietly, but so sternly, that she automatically did what he had instructed her to do. She dropped the fork onto her plate, and she withdrew her other hand from the keyboard at last. Her two little white hands hovered in front of her as she sat in the high-back wooden chair, from which Nick had commanded her to stand up, so that…

  So that what? So that he can sit down and… what?

  Janice lowered her eyes from her husband’s face and watched herself fold her hands in the lap of her blue floral print dress. Blue is your best color, Mother had always said, to match your eyes and bring out their glow, Janice remembered idly.

  Is it the best color for my husband to raise, and to show my blue panties? Are my blue panties the best color for him to… to take down?

  The heat surged into Janice’s face. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. When she came to bed Janice came in her nightgown, her panties already removed. Nick saw her panties drying in the laundry room. Maybe he had seen them once or twice when they had been dating, all those years ago. Otherwise, though, a good girl never showed her underwear even to her husband.

  “You may call Sue,” Nick said, his voice seeming to come from very far above her, “after I spank you.”

  “You can’t,” Janice whispered. “Please don’t talk about… about that.”

  “That,” Nick said in a slightly louder voice that made Janice look up at his stern face again, “is family discipline, and it will be part of your life from now on. Stand up, or I’ll have to drag you out of this chair and over my knee.”

  Chapter Three

  From across town, the Zedaar in Pierre LeGrand’s head sent a signal to the one in Nick Strauss’.

  My human has walked to the house of the female who needs a spanking. It seems she should be doing work for the institution of secondary learning in which she is enrolled, but Pierre LeGrand observes that she is probably drinking alcohol instead despite not being of an age for that activity, according to their laws.

  In the midst of Nick’s confrontation with Janice, the Zedaar in Nick’s mind asked, Would it be attention-provoking for Pierre LeGrand to kno
ck on the female’s door and discover whether she has done that? Where are the female’s parents?

  They have gone on an extended journey to the nation-state south of this one, its colleague replied. The female has reached her nineteenth year and is therefore deemed responsible enough to remain in her home alone, it seems, though Pierre LeGrand thinks she has a good deal of maturation left to do. He believes he should verify that she is healthy and safe, as her parents asked him to do when they left. His cultural formation, however, would prevent Pierre LeGrand from spanking the female even if he found her misbehaving, and from having sex with her.

  Nick Strauss’ Zedaar considered for a picosecond, then advised, Release Pierre LeGrand’s impulse to discipline the female and to have sex with her. It will be amusing, and she will help with the move-thing plan.

  * * *

  Pierre could tell that Hailey Miller wasn’t doing homework from the loud, slightly tinny screaming emerging from the TV in the Millers’ family room. She had decided to watch a horror movie instead, despite the fact that she hadn’t gotten into any of the colleges she had applied to and needed to keep her grades up. Her parents Bob and Greta had asked Pierre to keep an eye on their daughter, and Pierre had checked in twice since they had gone to see Bob’s family in Boston, but Hailey’s eighteen-year-old beauty, her heart-shaped face, her lovely brown hair, and her provocative blue eyes had made Pierre a less effective supervisor of her good behavior than he wanted to be. He had spoken with the clearly slacking-off Hailey for a few minutes at the Millers’ front door each time, made sure she was safe and didn’t need anything, and then left, thinking that in a different kind of world he would deal with her obvious naughtiness—he had seen the beer cans, the second time, piling up in the kitchen—in a very different way.

  Pierre believed in old-fashioned discipline, but he kept that belief to himself except when he found a romantic relationship becoming more than a short series of casual dates, and he decided the time had come to tell the prospective girlfriend that he planned to bare her bottom for a paddling the next time she sassed him. Only one girl a few years since, Cathy, had said she might be into it; the resulting relationship had lasted a year, before she moved away from Fotherville and, with regret, broke up with Pierre. He had known romantic and sexual bliss with Cathy, and had learned a great deal about family discipline, but he had also become even more settled in his idea that though the world might be a better place if men like Pierre LeGrand gave into their instincts to provide girls with the bare-bottom lessons they so clearly needed, modern Western culture just didn’t allow that sort of thing to take place as often as it should.

  Now, though, approaching the Millers’ house and hearing the TV turned up much too loud, thinking of the six-pack Hailey was undoubtedly drinking rather than doing her schoolwork, he decided, against his previous judgment on the matter, that if he did indeed find the eighteen-year-old neglecting her responsibility to her parents and to herself that way, he would teach her the lesson she needed. If he got hard when he bared her bottom, so be it. She was an adult, and so was he: if it came to it, and he could see Hailey Miller needed her virginity taken by an older man—as had often occurred to him since the girl had turned eighteen—he would fuck her, too, and teach her to please his cock the way a girl should.

  It occurred to Pierre very briefly, just as he reached out to ring the doorbell, that his thoughts concerning Hailey diverged quite a good distance from the way he ordinarily reasoned about her and other girls of her age. At least in the fact that his sexual urges concerning Hailey seemed a good deal more plausible now—in the firm purpose his cock, stiffening in his jeans at the thought, gave him, to provide the girl with the family discipline her life had been lacking—he saw for an instant that something unusual had begun to take shape in his mental processes.

  When the doorbell went unanswered, though, Pierre forgot all about that self-examination. He rang again, but clearly the noise from the TV had drowned out the sound. The screams had stopped, and he could hear dialogue now, between a man and a woman, but still so loud that Hailey undoubtedly couldn’t hear the bell.

  Pierre tried the doorknob, and found the door open. Shaking his head at Hailey’s heedlessness—Fotherville was a safe town, yes, but it never paid to be foolish—he opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Hailey?” he called. “It’s Mr. LeGrand.”

  He received no answer, so he walked through the entry hall into the kitchen, where three empty cans of IPA and one unopened one sat on the counter. The family room lay just on the other side.

  Pierre could hear what kind of scene had started on the TV now—a sex scene that would probably get the foolish kids killed by the monster or the psychopath. Shaking his head again, he took another step toward the family room. Then, when a moment of brightness from the screen illuminated the room a bit, he saw that Hailey, sitting on the couch, had pulled her gray panties down to the middle of her thighs, and that those thighs were moving rhythmically and sinuously.

  Hailey Miller was playing with herself, Pierre realized. The left side of his mouth quirked up into a half-smile.

  His amusement came first, naturally, from having discovered the lovely Hailey, whom he knew to be in her heart a sweet, selfless girl—and, indeed, as modest a young lady, when her parents hadn’t left her to get up to mischief, as anyone in a small town could ask—in the lewd, selfish act of masturbating her teenaged pussy. Pierre had an unexpected second source for his good humor, too, though: a mental and emotional change that simplified the scene in a way he would have found very strange only a few minutes before.

  His half-smile grew to encompass his whole mouth, as his understanding of his own needs, and Hailey’s, seemed to deepen by the moment. Pierre LeGrand would punish and deflower the girl tonight—right now. He had no doubt as to the conclusion of this shameful scene. Hailey Miller had decided to play with her little pussy, and—Pierre thought, though he wouldn’t have imagined having this thought an hour before—when a girl learns to play with her panties down, the time has come for her to be disciplined and enjoyed with her panties down, too.

  Cock-stiffeningly aroused by the lascivious sight of Hailey’s lowered underwear and rhythmically moving backside, he stepped forward a little in the kitchen to obtain a better view. No, Pierre realized, he felt no conflict whatsoever about what he would now do. He would act solely on the impulse of his instinct to discipline and fuck his young neighbor.

  Now Pierre could also see Hailey’s urgently rubbing hand down between her thighs, and her pretty face fixed on the screen where the doomed young people must be getting it on before the monster came for them. He didn’t even consider the course of action he would have taken if he had stumbled on this scene earlier in the day, the return to the front door and the patient ringing and knocking until Hailey realized someone had come, and put herself to rights, and answered the door. He didn’t even consider stepping back and making a loud noise in the kitchen, calling “Hailey?” from a place from which the girl would be able to suppose her neighbor hadn’t seen her engaged in her shameful self-pleasure.

  He walked straight into the family room and stood a pace inside the doorway, and said in a stern voice before Hailey could even react to his presence, “What do you think you’re doing, Hailey Miller?”

  The teenager’s jaw dropped, and her hands froze—the right one between her legs, its middle fingers undoubtedly slick with the arousal that Pierre could smell so heavily in the air that he suspected the girl had been masturbating all afternoon here in the family room; the left one curved down and around to squeeze the bottom-cheeks that would soon feel a good deal less pleasure than Hailey had brought to them now. Pierre thought he could see that her left middle finger had even found its way into the sweet crease between her buttocks, to press against the naughtiest place of all—the place he meant to train her most thoroughly, soon after he had her shave away the sparse hair on her young pussy and bare herself properly for him.

&nbs
p; The dominant erotic thoughts flowed so freely now that Pierre wondered for an instant how all this had seemed so complicated before. He was a fit, good-looking, moderately wealthy businessman. Of course Hailey Miller would become his well-disciplined sexual plaything.

  The puling, strangely tiny voice somewhere in his head, saying that Fotherville, Ontario wasn’t some medieval playground for dominant men, represented only a conventional morality that Pierre LeGrand suddenly understood had nothing to recommend it. Girls like Hailey Miller needed a firm hand, applied regularly to their naughty backsides, if they were to remain the well behaved young ladies nature intended them to be. They also needed the hard cock of a masterful older man, applied as he saw fit, plunged into the pleasant places on their lovely bodies that providence had made for fucking. They needed training, and Pierre LeGrand would give it to them.

  Now Hailey, who had reclined at nearly full length on the old brown sofa to commit her act of self-pleasure, scrambled up into a sitting position, covering her pussy with her right hand while her left tried to pull up her panties. “Get out!” she said. “You… you don’t… Mr. LeGrand, get out!”

  “No, Hailey,” Pierre said sternly. “I’m not going anywhere. And don’t you dare pull that underwear up. You have a spanking coming, for playing with yourself.”

  “What?” Hailey froze again, her gray panties at mid-thigh, her sweet, medium-sized breasts heaving braless beneath a blue cotton t-shirt with her ragged breathing.

  The tiny voice in Pierre’s mind might have been saying something about a girl owning her body, and having the right to touch herself any way she wanted. The rightness of punishing her for touching her pussy without the permission of the man responsible for it—obviously Pierre LeGrand, since her parents had asked him to look in on her—made hearing that voice, if it were even there, an utter impossibility.