Chapter 2 of One Ring: In which Jim decides to have some long distance fun with his teacher.

Please note that this chapter contains content that some may find disturbing. As this is a mind control story that allows the subject being controlled to understand what is happening to them, some people may not wish to read on. That is fine. If you read further, I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment and rate. Your messages brighten my day!
Copyright Sophie J Clark.

Chapter 2

That night Jim went to bed early. He could hear his father stumbling around on the floor below and had no inclination towards testing his patience this evening. Tonight was reserved for bigger things. He opened up his laptop and lay back against the headboard of his bed, a satisfied grin stretching across his face.

He'd solidified his plan as he'd walked home. He'd thought about it long and hard and decided that he was going to see just what had been happening to Mrs. Spritz over the last few weeks for himself. He'd instructed her to install Skype onto her home computer and had received a text in reply asking him how old he thought she was? Apparently she already had Skype. She'd followed it up with one that read she charged £40.00 an hour for private tuition. He'd laughed at that.

Waiting until his Dad had gotten up to go to the kitchen he'd slipped into the house as quietly as he could and ran silently up the stairs to his bedroom. He'd paid for the frame to be reinforced and had had a deadbolt fitted years ago. The door itself could withstand a blow from a sledgehammer. He'd tested it. Extensively. There was a reason Jim was the way he was and that reason was currently shouting at the microwave to stay still and cook his god damn burger.

---

He'd known he wasn't like everyone else, when, at the age of eight, he'd watched impassively as a car had run over a child outside of his school. All the other kids had been screaming and crying into their parents arms. His father hadn't taken him to school for the past two years.

He'd watched with curiosity as the little girl had gasped in surprise the moment before the car had struck her tiny body. She hadn't said anything after that. He remembered thinking that there should have been more blood. In the movies there was always so much blood. In reality it had only come out of her mouth and ears, a little from her forehead but not much more. He remembered thinking that she was so small and had wondered in amazement about the way her body had managed to crumple before she'd been blocked from his view by her parents.

There'd been compulsory counselling for them all afterwards of course. The psychologist had diagnosed him with shock because he wasn't reacting the way everyone else did and had tried to contact his Father to explain the kind of care he'd need to give Jim, to see his child through this traumatic incident. He'd tried to tell her at the time not to bother, that he was fine. That it hadn't been traumatic at all. She'd stared at him then and asked him if he understood what traumatic meant. He told her and she'd asked him if it was OK if she ask his Dad to come into school so that they could run some more tests? He'd asked her what they were for and she'd patiently explained that they were to find out how clever he was. It was called an IQ test and she wanted to give it to him but his Father had to be present when she did. He'd told her that his Dad slept during the day and he wouldn't want to come into school because he needed to rest. She'd told him that it was commendable that he thought about his Dad but that sometimes Dad's needed to think about their Son's too. Jim had looked puzzled and had asked her why that was. She'd looked equally blankly back at him and explained it's what parents did. They looked after their children. Jim had realised then that he'd said something wrong and had simply replied with an OK.

The psychologist had phoned his Father and he'd, predictably, point blank refused to come into school and assured her that Jim 'was a tough kid' and that 'he has to learn about life at some point'. After that call she'd looked at Jim a little more closely. Her eyes had found the bruise that hadn't quite faded from his right tricep and she'd handed him a small card with her name and number on it, saying "If you ever need to talk about anything you can call that number. Don't worry about what time it is." He'd taken the card from her and nodded but he knew he'd never call. She thought he'd been traumatised by what he'd seen and was suffering from shock after all. She couldn't be that good at her job if she didn't understand that he was perfectly fine.

He'd seen and felt so much violence in his lifetime that watching what had happened to Lizzy-Beth hadn't startled him at all. Seeing it happen to someone else instead of feeling the blows himself, had been a rather refreshing change actually. His young mind had understood that Lizzy-Beth wasn't coming back. He wasn't sad about it. He simply didn't really care one way or the other. People died every day. Why should this one be any different? People hurt one another all the time and the only thing that changed was the ability of the people involved to cover their tracks, or in Jim's case, get better at hiding. Lizzy-Beth was gone and the world didn't change because of it.

---

He'd never seen that particular psychologist again but as the years passed various strangers and doctors had taken time out of their busy schedule to ask him probing questions. By the time he was twelve he'd already figured out how to answer the questions so that they didn't schedule follow up tests and by the age of fourteen he'd researched the subject so thoroughly himself, that he understood exactly what he was and how he'd become it. Over the next few years he'd enjoyed playing games with the psychologists that refused to give up on him. He watched them dance until it became all too predictable and dull. People were easy. Say something in one tone of voice and watch them fall over their own feet to help you; say it in another and watch them scream. He'd turned to computers out of desperation. He'd needed something to keep his mind occupied.

By the time he'd entered University he'd already established the beginnings of what, if everything worked out as planned, would become a global empire.

---

He held up his ring in front of his eyes. And now there was this. Nothing in his life so far had truly prepared him for the rush he'd felt as he'd watched Mrs. Spritz obey his every command. It hadn't mattered how she'd felt about what he was asking her to do, her body had obeyed him without question. For someone like Jim it was every Christmas present he'd ever not gotten and all his missed Birthdays rolled into one. He slipped it back over his middle finger and imagined he could feel the rush of power shooting up his arm. He loaded up Skype and instructed his teacher to add him to her contacts. Sure enough, a few moments later a friend request from an Adele Spritz appeared on his screen. He hit the video call button but she didn't answer at first. After silent prompting from Jim though, he soon saw his teacher's face appear on his screen. She sat back in her chair and glared at him. He smiled wickedly back.

"So," he said "I'm curious."

"You're a psychopath." She replied.

"True, but I'm a curious one. What exactly have you been experiencing whilst I've been imagining having my way with you?"

His teacher flushed but answered "Exactly what you've been imagining and you know it."

Jim leant closer to his screen. "I want to see."

"Well I'm not going to show you." As fast as a cobra Mrs. Spritz's hand shot forwards and Jim heard the click of the mouse before the screen went blank.

"You shouldn't have done that." He said aloud to his laptop. He turned his ring on his finger as he imagined his teacher, Adele, starting up the video call again. He thought of her silently removing her clothing in a strip tease for him and then about how she'd go and get every sex toy she owned, bringing them to the computer. She'd show him each of them one by one. She'd explain to him what she thought of them as she showed him how she used them, in full, explicit detail.

He heard the musical tone of Skype sound through his headphones. He clicked to accept the call and saw Adele's face, terrified, staring back at him. He smiled as she began to rhythmically sway and unbutton her blouse. He sat back and rested his hands behind his head, the picture of nonchalance as she shimmied out of her skirt and unhooked her bra. Before he knew it his teacher was standing naked in her front room and even as she turned to begin moving, presumably, towards her bedroom he could hear her begging him not to make her do what she knew she was about to. He thought next time, you don't disobey and heard her sob out an apology, far too late to save her.

She came back a few minutes later with tears streaming down her face and a small box of brightly coloured objects in her hand. Jim's dick hadn't stirred at her strip-tease, but at the sight of her shakily picking out a small purple jelly plug from the box, it began to make itself known.

"T-this i-is my f-favourite toy to p-put in-inside of me." She stammered and Jim's cock strained against his jeans.

"And why's that?" He asked calmly.

"It, it fits perfectly and" she screwed her eyes tightly shut as she said "it feels good if I wear it for a long time. I like how it brushes against my g-spot when I walk and it isn't too big to sit down with it in."

"Interesting." Jim said. "Show me."

"Please." Begged Mrs. Spritz even as she lifted her leg to rest on her chair, exposing her wet and closely shaven pussy to him. "Don't make me do this."

"I said, show me. I thought I'd already told you not to disobey. Now either be quiet or I'll make you, your choice." He unzipped his jeans and pushed them down, along with his underwear, exposing his dick to the air as he watched his teacher slowly push the small plug into her vagina. "How does it feel?" He asked and quickly tacked on the mental instruction for her to tell the truth.

"I like it." She said through clenched teeth. "I like that you're watching me do this. I hate you for making me do it though. I fucking hate you but I'm more turned on than I've ever been before. I can feel it sliding in and out of me as I fuck myself and I'm desperately trying not to moan. I don't want you to know how good it feels. How are you doing this to me?" The last question was breathy and desperate.

"Very good" Jim said. "Now show me the next."

It went on like that for another half an hour. His teacher pulling out small bullet vibrators and larger bumpy dildos. She even, to his surprise, had a glass butt plug. He enjoyed watching her work herself open for that. As she slid it in she moaned and audibly panted when she straightened. She looked almost dazed as she stammered "I don't want to take this one out. It feels too good." She'd gone past the point of mortification and had come out somewhere on the other side. Lust filled she'd given herself up to the sensations she felt every time Jim instructed her to 'show him'. He actually saw the point at which she'd resigned herself to what was happening when, after saying that she was close to orgasm, Jim had instructed her to stop and put the vibrator back into the box.

He'd let her keep the butt plug in as she'd worked herself almost to the point of no return, over and over again for him. Her tears had stopped as her pleasure had increased. When he told her to stop the next time she simply waited for his instruction, gasping and shaking with the adrenaline of another denied orgasm. He smiled as he slowly stroked his cock and saw his teacher focus on the movement, unaware that she'd licked her lips in response. It was time.

Leaning back against his bed he allowed his mind to wander. As his gaze travelled over his teacher's skin he imagined that she could feel his hands caressing her. She moaned and twitched slightly at the invisible contact. He stroked her hips and moved up to her perfectly proportioned breasts. He thought about sucking and kissing them, never focussing on one area long enough to allow her to become accustomed to the feeling. Her breath sped up and she gasped out, "Fucking bastard. Stop teasing me and do it already." Chuckling darkly he kept his pace steady. Seeing her like this was far too perfect to allow to come to an end so soon.

He ran his hands down her back and saw goosebumps rise on her skin. In his mind he let his hands linger on her backside and kissed his way down her front. She was quivering and he was sure that if he hadn't instructed her to stand she'd have collapsed into her chair by now. As it was she stood upright as he imagined allowing his tongue to roam over her pussy lips, lazily sliding inside and circling her clit, before slowly fucking into her.

"Oh god, you utter fucking perfect bastard!" She couldn't move but he saw the wetness of her sex slowly start to drip down her leg.

He sped up his pace as he worked his cock and thought about the way he'd suck and fuck her pussy. He thought about the way he'd work the plug inside her ass in time with his mouth and watched as his teacher cried out in pleasure, her hips involuntarily rocking in time with the invisible fucking he was giving her.

He kept them both on edge for a further ten minutes, working her into a frenzy before finally calling out "Cum" as he spilled over himself. He watched as her entire body shook in ecstasy. It lasted an impressively long time and as she started to come back to reality he allowed her to sit in her chair.

She practically collapsed as soon as he thought the instruction and he watched the aftershocks hit when, with the plug still inside of her, she felt it push through her inner walls and against her g-spot. She shook and panted, swearing at him and tanking him in equal measure.

As he watched her come down from her high he cleaned himself and pulled up his clothes. He freed Mrs. Spritz to clean herself and the toys, as well as remove the plug if she wanted to. To his great amusement she didn't move for another few minutes and when she did it appeared to be somewhat reluctantly. Silently he told her to return to her computer after she'd finished. She wouldn't be needing her clothes.

"What a surprise." She said sarcastically. "Such an original idea."

Jim chuckled. "Sometimes the old ones really are the best." He called as she walked away, backside swaying far more seductively than the last time he'd watched her leave the room.

---

In the 20 minutes Mrs. Spritz had been gone Jim had entertained himself with a little research. He'd decided to see what he could find out about his teacher and the results had been surprising. She was only seven years older than him and had graduated with a first from the University of Nottingham in Mathematics. Whilst she'd been a student she'd been a member of the Student Union, the Philosophical Debate Team and the Bob Ross Appreciation Society. She'd been intelligent enough to make her Facebook account private. He'd debated with himself about whether or not to get her to add him so he could read through her history but had decided against it. He could simply ask her anything he wanted to know, and it wasn't as if he couldn't get into her account in other ways if he was particularly bored at some point in the future.

She didn't earn enough that was for sure. As he glanced through her bank records he'd been disgusted to learn that he made almost as much as she did a month. Why anyone would go into a profession that paid so badly for the amount of effort you had to put into it, was beyond him. Maybe it was something to do with the stupid idea of wanting to 'help people' that some idiots seemed to have. Helping people was fine, but not for this pittance of a pay check. Jim had often wondered what would happen if everyone who professed to work 'for the satisfaction of helping others' refused to do so until they were paid an actual decent amount. He suspected that there'd be a very fast rise in the national minimum wage. That or a lot of arrests and a small revolution. Either way, it'd at least be interesting for a while.

Mrs. Spritz came back into view. Her hair was up in a towel and her skin was slightly flushed pink from the shower. She looked glorious. He had to grin as she swiped a disinfectant wipe over her chair before she sat back down.

"So, how was your shower?" He asked politely. He'd discovered early on that small talk was the key to getting people to relax around him.

"Is that really what you want to know?" She countered.

"Not really, but I've found that people tend to dislike it when I'm too direct and I can learn a lot about someone as they talk. For instance, judging by the way you're moving in your chair I'd say you've chosen to leave the butt plug in."

Her eyes widened slightly but she answered calmly. "I did. I figured you weren't finished with me yet and there wasn't much point in taking it out, only to put it back in again."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Silently he commanded her to answer him with the truth if she hadn't already.

"I - fuck you, you bastard - I like having it in and I want you to play with me again. I like being your - oh god, fuck - I like being your fuck toy." She flushed scarlet. "When I find out how you're doing this I swear to god I'll make you pay!"

"Will you? I can give you exactly what you've craved your entire life." He flipped through her bank statements and saw the charge for admittance to Club Red. A private club in town that was very selective about whom it let inside. His teacher had secrets. Jim liked people with secrets. "I can't imagine the men and women of Club Red can do what I can."

"How did you...You can't tell anyone about that, do you hear me?"

Jim laughed. "Relax. I'm not about to go waving your dirty laundry all over, especially when you're so useful to me just the way you are." He imagined running his hand down her arm and she closed her eyes, shuddering again at the phantom touch.

"Of course, there's no Wi-Fi in prison." She said darkly.

"Exactly. It's in both our interests to keep one another safe and happy."

"You really are a piece of work you know that?"

"It has been said before yes."

"Fuck, what the hell does it say about me..."

But Jim wasn't listening. He'd heard his Father's footsteps as he came up the stairs. What was he doing home this late? He should've left for work half an hour ago.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

Jim didn't make a sound.

"You little fuck! Open thish f-fucking door, you piece of shit. You need to go to the shop and get more beer! The plant's closhed, closed. I've got the day off!" Bang, bang, bang. "Fuckin' get here and get me sssome more booze!"

Jim didn't move as he felt his heart pound inside of his chest. He knew his Dad couldn't get into his room any more but he hated the small part of him that still wanted to cower under his bed at the approach of those footsteps. He resolutely didn't flinch as his Father's fist made contact with the door again.

To his surprise his teacher's voice sounded in his ears. "Is that your Father?"

Jim nodded, eyes never leaving the door.

"You snivelling little cunt, I'll break your knees when I get my hands on you. Get your ass out of there right now!" He heard his Father scream through the reinforced wood.

"I can call the police." Mrs. Spritz said quietly.

Jim scoffed and thought "Yeah, and they'd arrest him for what? Being drunk in his own home? Shouting on a Friday night? Think things through before you make suggestions next time."

"Well, you can't stay there. Is this what you've had to live with? How long has it been going on for? What's he been doing to you?"

This time Jim did break his eye contact with his door. "I've used you as a human puppet and all you do when you hear that, is worry about my safety?"

"The very fact that you're surprised, tells me exactly how broken you are and now that I can hear what you live with I'm starting to understand why you've turned out the way you have. Jim, you have to get out of there before he breaks down your door."

"He can't. It's re-enforced. I installed it years ago."

"What the-"

"I'm fine. It's been years since he last got his hands on me and, trust me, if he tries anything he'll live to regret it."

The look in Jim's eyes was enough to silence his teacher's next words.

"Besides, I can get out of my window if I really have to."

"You can't stay there Jim."

"You're sympathy touches me, deeply, it really does." He said sarcastically. "Alas, I'm rather short of second houses right now."

"You." Mrs. Spritz jumped in alarm at a particularly loud thud against Jim's door. It sounded as if his Father was using some sort of battering ram. "You could, maybe..."

"Just spit it out. Whatever it is I assure you I've looked into it." Jim said under the cover of his Father's furious bangs and screams.

"You could stay here, with me. I mean, until you can get your own place. It wouldn't be permanent and no one could know. Oh shit!" She screamed when the door shuddered in its hinges.

"He can't get in. I test it regularly." Jim stared at his teacher for a long time. He genuinely found it hard to understand why she'd care what happened to him. Surely it would be good for her if Jim's Dad did manage to get in and do exactly what he was threatening. Jim being alive held no benefit for her. Of course she liked how he made her feel but she sure as hell didn't like that he could control her outside of a sexual situation. On the other hand, he'd be some sort of moron if he didn't at least consider taking her up on her offer.

What would it be like to finally be free of his Father? He felt slightly light headed even thinking about it. He'd imagined coming home to find his Dad dead more times than he could count. Sometimes it'd been the only thought that'd allowed him to sleep at night. The knowledge that this would one day end. The thought of him waking up and finding him slumped over, choked on his own vomit or clutching his chest in the throes of a heart attack, had comforted him more than any anonymous words on a forum could ever have done. For a second he let himself imagine his Dad stumbling back downstairs and falling over his own feet in the living room. He thought of him hitting his head and landing with such a blow that he'd crack his skull open and die, bleeding out on the floor. Jim had made sure he had a copy of an iron clad will, ensuring everything his Father owned would pass to him when he died. He'd also made sure that his Dad had no idea about it and hadn't made a will of his own.

He looked around his room as the pounding on the door finally relented. Everything he needed was close to hand. He'd had a go bag packed and ready ever since he'd found out about them from an episode of Criminal Minds. He heard a series of loud bangs from downstairs and didn't even want to imagine the mess he'd have to clean up in the morning. Making his mind up he said, "I'll be over in half an hour." Closing his laptop before she could ask how he knew where she lived he reached over for his rucksack and opened the largest of his bedrooms windows.

The night air was cool and refreshing on his face. Jim grinned widely and slipped, as gracefully as a cat, into the darkness.