Telepathy Ability

I strolled into the gym, dressed in shorts and a ragged old
T-shirt. People were drifting in, gathering for the fitness
class scheduled to begin in a few minutes. The norms scattered
around the floor stretching and loosening up were fit and
healthy-looking; I’d selected an advanced class for my day’s
recreation. The women, who outnumbered the men by a
considerable margin, were generally dressed in body-hugging
clothing. Spandex was common among the men, too; they mostly
seemed to be of that irritating Serious Exerciser type, anxious
that their clothing should state, “Hey, I do this all the time.”
“Norms?” Normals, you know; people who *can’t* impose their
will on other people, the way that I can. Call it projective
telepathy, call it what you will. How’d I get to be this way?
That’s not a subject I care to discuss, for reasons I’m also not
interested in pursuing. Don’t worry, though: should we ever
meet, Gentle Reader, you’ll be far too busy hastening to obey my
every command to worry about the origin of my power. Some might
say that I don’t put my powers to constructive use; they might
even go so far as to accuse me of being rather petty and
vindictive, even cruel at times. I recall a young man who said
something along those lines to me, right to my face. Poor
fellow; I may have been a bit hard on him, I must admit. I’ll
not go into the sordid details here. Hey, he’s *alive*, all
right?
I sauntered around the edge of the gym, casually checking
out the female population. Choosing the advanced workout had
been wise, I could see immediately; these women were uniformly
taut and lean, right up my alley. They invested a lot of time in
their bodies, clearly, and were interested in showing off their
well-muscled forms, chiselled out through rigorous diet and
exercise.
One young lass in particular caught my eye as she bent over
and stretched, and I headed towards her. Before I reached her,
however, a couple of macho-male jock types crossed my path,
talking loudly and not watching where they were going. The one
in front collided with me quite solidly, his shoulder meeting
mine and knocking me off balance for a moment.
“Hey, sorry, guy,” he boomed, slapping me on the back. They
moved past me.
“Hold on a moment,” I said. “Come back here.” They turned
around obediently and stood in front of me.
I looked them over. “I think you’re a couple of obnoxious
jock assholes. Don’t you agree?” They nodded silently. “Say
it.”
“We’re a couple of obnoxious jock assholes,” they chimed,
creating a pleasant stereo effect.
“Again, please.”
They said it again. “Well,” I said, “we’ll just have to
. . . Oh, hang on.” A few people nearby were beginning to take
notice of this little scene unfolding before them; it was time to
take care of that. *You will notice nothing unusual about
anything that may occur in this gym*, I wide-projected to
everyone in the place. I then slapped up a couple of repeating
fields over the only two doors, projecting that same command over
and over; anyone who entered would receive instructions to see
nothing peculiar. People returned to their chatting and warming
up, the behaviour of my two “friends” forgotten.
“Well,” I resumed, “we’ll just have to do something about
that, won’t we? For the next four months, I want you to do no
exercise at all, OK?”
“All right.” “Sure.”
“And twice a day you’ll be overwhelmed with a craving for
chocolate bars, ice cream, potato chips, that sort of thing. See
if you can gain fifty or sixty pounds for me, will you? And lose
all that nasty muscle tone. Do you guys have girlfriends?” They
both nodded. “Do you have sex with them often?”
“Every couple days.” “Twice a week, maybe.”
I smiled. “You’ll be impotent with them for the next four
months. No, make it six months, and make it with everyone, not
just them. Now, what’s the most expensive item you own?”
“My stereo system.” “My computer.”
“Why don’t you go home right now and smash those up for me?
After you’ve made sure the things are destroyed, you’ll have no
idea why you did it, all right? Forget about me, except that you
will of course keep following my orders. Go.”
They wandered off, wearing that amusingly puzzled look norms
tend to get when can sense that they’re about to do something
tremendously foolish, but have no idea why, and even less idea
what to do about it. I laughed aloud. You norms bring me no end
of amusement, you really do. Such a vast pool of things to play
with, and all of them without the most elementary of mental
defences.
My petty revenge having been exacted – yes, I admit it, but
I don’t let anyone else say such things – I continued towards the
girl. She wore pink leggings, with a black leotard. The leotard
plunged into a thong in back, emphasizing her firm ass underneath
the clingy pink material. Her breasts were rather large; the bra
that held them up was clearly visible in outline under the
leotard’s fabric.
I strolled up and placed a hand on her butt. She turned her
head to look casually over her shoulder at me, not finding this
unusual, of course; her gaze was just mildly curious.
“You don’t mind,” I said. Not a question.
“No, of course not.” She returned to her conversation with
two of her friends, neither of whom remarked upon my presence.
I ran both hands over that tight ass, then down her long,
muscular legs, enjoying the feel of her body.
“This is getting you turned on,” I informed her. I ran my
hands back up one leg, then brushed lightly over her cunt with my
fingertips. She gasped. I continued upwards, over her flat
stomach, to her breasts. Her nipples were large and hard,
perceptible even through two layers of material. She moaned
slightly as my hands moved over her.
I moved behind her and hugged her to me, moving one hand
over her tummy and the other over her tits. I could feel the
flesh of her ass pressing against my erection as I buried my face
in her long blond hair, pleased by the scent of it. I rubbed my
hard-on against her, and she moved her hips against me in
response. She had dropped out of the conversation by this point,
her level of excitement having rendered it difficult for her to
speak.
A female voice rang out from the opposite side of the gym.
“Just about a minute ’til we get started, everybody! Just let me
get the music set up . . .” The aerobics instructor had
obviously arrived while I had been distracted. I caught a
glimpse of her through the crowd. Holy smokes! Definitely
worthy of closer investigation.
But before I moved on, this lovely thing I was touching had
earned a bit of a reward. “You’re about to have an orgasm,” I
whispered in her ear. “3, 2, 1 . . . Now.” I felt her spasm
against me, and she let out a low cry. “Again, 3, 2, 1 . . .
Now. And again, 3, 2, 1 . . . Now. Have a nice day.” I left
her there, her face contorted with pleasure as the multiple
climaxes peaked and died away. See? I have my moments of
generosity, spreading a little joy in this dark and sad world.
Well, I’m *told* it’s dark and sad, anyway; I hadn’t really
noticed, myself.
The instructor was a truly spectacular specimen, I found
when I approached. She wore an all white outfit, leotard over
leggings; her body definitely did not need the concealing effect
of darker colours. Her breasts were of a medium size, not large,
but wonderfully well-shaped and very firm. Her arms were slender
yet toned. The flat panels of her stomach were outlined by the
leotard, as were the strong muscles of her long legs. Even her
ass was well-muscled.
She had a very pretty face, I noticed at last, and was
flashing a beautiful smile at some of the regulars as she cued up
her workout tape. Her hair was long and shiny black, tied back
in a cute ponytail. There was not an ounce of excess flesh
anywhere to be seen; her small, compact body was taut as a drum
all over.
“Wow,” I said. The word just slipped out, I was so taken
with her. She turned briefly and looked at me, then returned to
what she was doing. Under other circumstances, she might have
thought it unusual to see a guy standing up close to her, an
obvious erection poking at the front of his shorts, staring at
her body and practically drooling.
She brushed past me and jogged lightly to the centre of the
floor. God, she moved like a cat! No, like a tiger, long
muscles flowing under the skin. This, I thought, promises to be
fun!
The class got started, the instructor leading them through
some light stretching and other warm-up exercises. It was a
fair-sized crowd for the relatively small gymnasium, perhaps
fifty or sixty in all, among whom I counted about ten men. I
didn’t bother joining in; I just stood near the edge of the gym
and watched the woman in the centre. I found that a few
aerobicisers were impeding my view of her; I projected a command
that a clear aisle was to be maintained for me at all times.
After a few minutes the main aerobic segment began, complex
combinations of knee raises, leg lifts, stride jumps, and so on,
moving back and forth across the gym. As she led the class, the
teacher would change positions from time to time, moving out of
the centre to the front or the back. Many of the exercisers got
an extra workout while hustling to keep from moving between me
and her. Everyone was constantly checking – quite unaware that
they were doing it – to make sure that my line of sight was
clear.
There was a great deal of bouncing going on, and I was
enjoying watching the leader as she ricocheted around the room
with apparently limitless energy. But perhaps I could enjoy this
just a little bit more, I thought, if . . .
*Everyone make sure that you’re doing the same thing the
instructor is doing at all times*, I wide-projected. I turned my
attention to the current object of my desire. *That leotard is
quite itchy*, I sent to her. *Your breasts feel all
uncomfortable, and they’re too confined in there.*
As she performed the movements of the routine, her hands
started to dart up to brush her tits, futilely scratching an itch
that would not go away until I willed it. She also tugged at the
straps of her outfit, trying to loosen it for comfort. I was
amused to see the movements echoed all around the room, men and
women scratching their chests and pulling on their clothing.
*You’ll stop itching and feeling all bound up if you just
push your top down a bit*, I projected. *Go ahead.*
While still doing knee lifts, she reached up and eased the
straps of her leotard off her shoulders, peeling it down to her
waist. She wore a simple white sports bra underneath. Her smile
grew wider with relief, and she threw herself into the next set
of moves with great enthusiasm.
*The bra, too. Throw it to the edge of the gym.* She
reached behind her and unfastened it, then threw it off to one
side. A hail of bras followed as the rest of the class imitated
her.
The instructor’s breasts, now bouncing free, were topped by
small but prominent nipples. Looking around, I was greeted by
the pleasant sight of a sea of bare-chested women. The men were
bare-chested as well; they were looking around too, not finding
the situation unusual but certainly appreciating it.
*Why not get rid of the whole leotard? Just toss it.*
She had to stop moving for a moment to accomplish this.
Stepping quickly out of it, she threw the leotard – surprisingly
small when not filled by a body – to the edge of the gym. This
left her clad only in her white leggings, which ran from her
knees up to her waist, where they rode low on her hips. Again, a
flurry of clothing from the class soon joined hers. The men shed
their shorts or spandex tights, and continued to work out in
their underwear; that they were finding this an unusually
stimulating class was now quite obvious to anyone who cared to
look.
I sat down, content to just sit back and take in the scenery
for a while. The class moved on to strength exercises, pushups
and situps and other movements, all of which had interesting
effects on the anatomies of the females. Eventually they moved
on to an exercise for the inner thigh: lying on their backs with
legs straight up in the air, they lowered their legs out to the
sides, then brought them back together again. I stood up.
*Strip*, I told the instructor. *Everything off.*
She stopped what she was doing, sat up and hastily removed
her shoes and socks, then rolled the leggings down to her ankles
and slid them off. She wore nothing beneath them.
*Carry on with that exercise*, I told her. I walked up to
her through the rows of aerobicisers, all of whom were now naked.
I ran my eyes down her body as she pumped her legs up and down in
a fluid, constant motion, showing no signs of strain. The view
was impressive from where I stood near her legs, looking down at
her. It was a warm summer’s day, and a fine sheen of sweat
coated her smooth, flawless skin. To quote an old cliche: I love
exercise – I could watch it all day.
“Hold it there,” I said aloud to her, when her legs were
spread apart. She froze, legs held in that position, idly gazing
up at me. An exceptionally flexible girl, I noted; her feet came
down almost to the floor.
“What’s your name?”
“Liz,” she responded. “Liz Brimley.”
“You’re feeling pretty horny right now, aren’t you, Liz?”
She nodded, swallowing.
I touched her legs, revelling in the sensation of sliding my
hands over those muscles. Her skin was soft, and lubricated with
her own sweat. I knelt and traced them all the way down to her
pussy. After stroking her clit briefly, I brushed through the
dark pubic hair and on upwards; I could smell her arousal, now.
I continued on up, across her stomach to her breasts, which were
just as firm close up as they appeared from a distance. As I
leaned forward, my cock brushed her now wet cunt through the
fabric of my shorts. Perhaps it was time to take part in this
class myself . . .
“Um, excuse me?” A nervous voice floated across the gym
from near one of the doors.
I whirled and stood up, startled at this interruption. The
speaker, visible over a mob of people lying on their backs with
their legs spread, was a short, balding man somewhere in his mid-
forties. He walked towards me. I was temporarily speechless, an
exceedingly rare condition for me.
“Ah, excuse me,” he repeated. “I, um, was just wondering
if . . . Well, if this . . .” He indicated the gym with a wave
of his hand. “If this is . . . I can’t seem to find anything
unusual about it, but I feel sure that . . . Well, I mean, is
this *proper*, do you think? I mean, should you be . . .”
“Shut up,” I told him, cutting off his ramblings. “Who the
*fuck* are you?”
“I’m Bill Chesterton. I’m the administrator of the athletic
complex, here, and I was just passing by when I looked in and
saw . . .”
“Shut up.” I was puzzled by friend Bill’s apparent
resistance. Probing him, I found a rather distracted, fuzzy
mind, cluttered with vague, shifting thoughts. His mind was so
muddled that it felt . . . well, “slippery” is the nearest word I
can find. His absentmindedness was serving him as a sort of
shield, I concluded; my orders were partially obscured in the
general static, allowing him to perceive something as being out
of the ordinary in the gym.
Well, that was all right. I’d been worried there, for a
moment, that I’d encountered a new breed of norm, somehow immune
to my influence. He had resisted – mainly by accident – a
sustaining field, but surely he could not hold out against more
direct orders?
“Bill, old buddy,” I said, putting an arm around his
shoulders. “See that young lady right there?” I indicated a
young Asian woman, lying of course with her legs spread apart.
He nodded. “I’d like you to lick her, right there between her
legs. Go ahead, Bill, lick her cunt.”
“All right.” He knelt down without hesitation and started
in on the girl.
I watched him for a moment. It occurred to me that I should
have been more cautious in ensuring my privacy – a lesson for the
future. For now, I set up additional fields, surrounding the
doors and extending out away from them in a wide semicircle,
projecting a command: *Go away, and don’t come back here before
tomorrow.*
Bill continued to slurp away, rather noisily. The girl’s
forehead furrowed slightly from time to time; her brain was
obviously beginning to have just a bit of difficulty with the
assertion that having inept oral sex performed on her by a pudgy
balding man was nothing that she ought to find unusual in an
aerobics class. These twinges were only intermittent, however,
and the rest of the time she lay there contentedly, gazing
incuriously around the room.
“Stand up, Bill,” I instructed. He did so, and stood there
looking at me. “Wet your pants.”
A dark stain spread out from the crotch of his grey slacks.
A small puddle formed on the floor as the warm liquid dripped
down his leg.
Now, what to do with Bill? Something unfortunate really
ought to happen to someone who had given me such a start, but
what? Ah . . .
“You,” I said, pointing at the Asian woman. “What’s your
name?”
“Vicky Chan.”
“Find your stuff and get dressed, Vicky.” As she moved to
do so, I turned my attention back to Bill. “Are you married,
Bill?”
“Yes.”
“Happily? Ever fool around, ever cheat?”
“No, I would never do that.”
I smiled. “Never say never, Billy. By the way, you’ve made
a bit of a mess on the floor, there. Someone ought to clean that
up, don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course. The janitorial staff will . . .”
I cut him off. “Why don’t you do it? In fact, why don’t
you lick it up for me, right now?” He got down on his knees and
started lapping away.
When Vicky returned, dressed simply in grey bicycle shorts
and a black T-shirt, Bill was just getting back to his feet.
“Bill, meet Vicky, your new mistress. The two of you are
going to have an affair, starting today. Once a week you’ll get
together and have wild, passionate sex. You’ll have to hide this
from your wife, of course, and you’ll feel terribly guilty about
cheating on her, but you won’t be able to help yourself, you’ll
be so addicted to the sex.
“You’re going to spend outrageous amounts of money on Vicky,
bringing her expensive presents every time you meet, jewellery,
clothes, that sort of thing. Ask her what she wants. After
about four months, oops! Your wife is going to find out. You’ll
start to make mistakes, to make little slips that will eventually
allow her to figure out what’s going on. Do you understand?”
The two of them nodded.
I pulled Vicky aside and spoke to her separately. “Have you
got a boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s no need for any of this to affect your
relationship with him. Don’t tell him about your sugar daddy
over there. And you’re going to enjoy fucking Bill, I promise.
No matter what he does, you’ll get very turned on and have a
terrific orgasm at the same time that he does, all right?”
I pulled Vicky over to Bill and slid her arm around his
waist. “OK you two, run along now, off to your first date. Oh,
and Bill, if this little incident doesn’t bankrupt you and break
up your marriage, pick up a hooker somewhere and do it again.
And again. And don’t go around bothering telepaths, you
miserable shit.”
I projected the standard command to them: don’t remember me,
but keep obeying the orders. The two walked away, Bill gazing
adoringly – and lustfully – at the woman clinging to him.
I turned back to Liz, who lay still in the same position.
“Stand up,” I ordered. She climbed to her feet.
“Undress me.”
I held my arms up to allow her to pull off my T-shirt. She
then unlaced my shoes and removed them, tugged off my socks, and
slid my shorts down to my ankles. I hadn’t bothered with
underwear; my erect penis bounced free as she pulled off the
shorts. All around us, like so many marionettes, the class
engaged in an elaborate mime performance, undressing an invisible
man.
“I’m pretty sexy, don’t you think? In fact, I think that
I’m about the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. You’re
unbelievably turned on just looking at me, aren’t you?”
Liz nodded, and looked me up and down, slowly. Her eyes
kept returning to my cock. Her tongue frequently darted out to
moisten her lips. I rocked my hips back and forth a bit, causing
my hard-on to swing from side to side; her eyes followed it. One
of her hands moved between her legs, and she began to stroke
herself.
When I looked around the gym, I laughed aloud; the entire
class was doing it! I had a sudden image of her trying to lead
the class members through the procedure: “Now, this next
exercise . . .”
“You’d like me to fuck you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” she sighed.
“Tell me what you’d like me to do,” I ordered.
“I want you to fuck me. I want you to touch me all over, to
touch my tits, to lick me. I want to touch your cock, to suck on
it, to feel it in my hands. I want to feel it inside me, your
long, hard cock thrusting into me. I want . . .”
I waved her to silence. “Maybe later.” For the moment, I
had other plans.
“Go get me one of those mats,” I told Liz. She jogged
gracefully over to the corner where the mats were piled. The
entire group turned and ran with her in unison, and the corner
became rather choked with bodies as the nearest people crowded
into it with her. As Liz came back bearing a mat, the class
spread out again.
I put the mat on the floor and lay down on it, projecting
commands to Liz. I had her rub her breasts over me, running her
nipples over my skin. She held herself up as though she were
doing a pushup on those strong arms, and started at my face, then
moved backwards, brushing her breasts over my chest and stomach.
As she went, she rubbed her wet, hot pussy against me, brushing
my stomach, then sliding it down my leg. She moved still lower,
and I sighed with pleasure as she rubbed those perfectly formed
tits, slick with sweat, over my already tremendously aroused
cock. Next, at my suggestion, she tickled my balls with her
thatch of pubic hair, then rubbed her bush lightly against my
cock, down at the base.
Now, norms under my influence tend to become very hesitant
about doing things that I have not specifically ordered; this is
why, for example, Liz hadn’t rushed forward and jumped me when I
was telling her to be fascinated with my body. This effect was
operating again at the moment. As she was teasing my cock,
holding herself on her arms with her back arched up – I was
enjoying the view – I could sense from Liz a very strong impulse
that she was keeping suppressed. She desperately wanted to just
slide up a ways, spread her legs and pull me inside her, despite
the risk of pregnancy or sexually transmitted disease.
I wasn’t about to allow her to give in to that particular
impulse, however. I hadn’t brought appropriate protection, and
why would I want to run the risk of messing up a killer bod like
hers with a pregnancy? There’d be plenty of time later for other
activities; I’d already decided that Liz would be coming home
with me. I have a touch of the collector’s bug in me, and she
was certainly a prize worth adding to my collection.
“Give me a blow job,” I said. The idea excited her, but
there was a twinge of disappointment as she slid her crotch away
from mine.
A long, pleasurable time later, I was still lying on the
mat, subject to Liz’s tender ministrations. She was very good at
it, especially once I gave her free rein to improvise rather than
simply following directions. I’d enlisted a couple of other
young women, too, pulled at random from the crowd, the rest of
whom were on their hands and knees, sucking and licking the air.
One girl was sucking on my nipples, teasing them with her tongue,
while the other knelt behind my head and leaned down to nibble at
my earlobes.
Liz could sense that I was close to orgasm, and she closed
her mouth over the tip of my penis and began to suck on it, hard.
My arousal built up and up, and shortly I came, crying out as the
pleasure coursed through me.
When I was young, before I had learned control of my talent,
I would tend to “leak” thoughts or emotions, especially when my
attention was distracted. On several occasions, whole apartment
buildings found themselves suddenly getting off – no doubt to the
great embarrassment of many – as I had an orgasm and projected
that intensity blindly outwards. I’ve since learned to control
it.
Here in the gym, though, I deliberately projected my
pleasure out to the crowd, so that as I came there was a rising
chorus of moans, groans and sighs as sixty-some people abruptly
climaxed simultaneously. Liz, who had already been in a highly
aroused state, had a particularly intense orgasm, bucking wildly
as she swallowed my semen.
I sat up languorously, a contented half-smile on my face. I
looked around. *Lick up anything you may have spilled, kids*, I
projected. The males dropped to all fours and started to clean
the floor with their tongues. No sense confusing the janitors
any more than necessary, I figured.
I told Liz to get dressed, and in short order the class was
once again fully clad. Time to clean up after myself a little
bit.
“Go into your cool-down routine,” I suggested. I rid the
class of their compulsion to copy her movements exactly, and told
them to forget everything that had just occurred. They would
remember an ordinary aerobics class, instead. I took down the
fields around the doors, cancelled the order to perceive nothing
unusual, and drifted to the back of the class. Standing at the
back, just watching as everyone else did cool-down stretches, I
attracted a few odd looks, which I ignored.
After a few minutes, Liz got to her feet and said, “That’s
all for today. Have a good one.” There was the traditional
post-aerobics round of applause, and the class broke up. I
smiled to myself as I heard people talking about what a good
class it had been. An exceptionally good class, from my point of
view! When the gym had mostly emptied out, I approached Liz; she
was retrieving her tapes and locking up the sound equipment.
“Ah, Ms. Brimley!” I said. “Great class, as always!”
“Thanks.”
“May I call you Liz?”
“Sure,” she said cautiously, not wanting this to turn into a
pickup attempt.
“I mean, it seems only right to be on a first name basis,
when we’ve shared so much together.” And I allowed her memory of
what had just happened in the gym to return.
Her eyes widened, and she was momentarily stunned. She then
started to take a big breath, perhaps preparing to yell something
at me.
“You’re in love with me, Liz,” I told her before she could
make a sound. “Madly, deeply, head-over-heels in love with me.
You’d do anything for me, anything at all. Why don’t you come
back to my place right now? We can talk about all the fun stuff
we’re going to do together.”
She flashed that beautiful smile at me, and said, “Let’s
go.”
We left the gym together, Liz holding my hand and babbling
happily about how devoted she was to me. My mind was buzzing
with thoughts of what to do with my new plaything when we got
home.