Telepathic Body Count

TELEPATHIC BODY COUNT

by ContinentalPsyOp

I suppose it all began when I finally decided to open myself up to a personal relationship with Thoth. It's like they say, I let go and I let Thoth. Thoth, take the wheel. As the bumper sticker says, my God is an Ibis-headed Ancient Egyptian Force of Ineffable Incomprehensible Power Eternal as Nile Herself.

Thoth is Love. And Hate. And every emotion you could ever possibly feel and many you never ever will.

Do you have a personal relationship with Thoth? Ask yourself, what would Thoth do?

But that's all I got for you in way of prologue.

1. Sing the Alma Mater

When you do what I do, you have got to feel the vibes. You have got to get your shoes and socks off and feel the tremors.

Metaphorically, of course.

And I don't know if you absolutely have to do anything when you have what I have. I have never met anyone else with what I have got. Do I even want to? Not just yet, at least. Not on this trip.

What a long, strange trip it's been, too.

Finally, for the first time in a long, long time, I felt that instead of being on the run constantly, the energy was such that I could go to earth for awhile. Get underground and stop traveling. Burrow. Stay. Build and feather a nest.

Never sleeping in the same place twice has been exhausting. Fun, creative, but exhausting. It has been a necessity, but perhaps, it is no longer a necessity anymore.

Wouldn't that be nice, you might think to yourself, if you do what I do and live how I have to live. Sleeping in the same bed every night. Settling in and getting comfortable.

I have not been unhoused, but I have been homeless.

Perhaps you would agree, should you have what I have. Sleeping in the same place for an extended period of time has felt risky for so long. Perhaps you can imagine how desirable it would be for that experience to feel safe again.

How exciting it would be if you had figured out where to go and how to get that safety.

I had an idea on the place.

Way out yonder, where I might hide out long-term.

But first, a trip home to the old alma mater.

That was the place where this gift-and-curse first started emerging. But it was long before I could manifest it and control it enough for it to be more than sporadically useful.

But once I developed it to full strength, returning back to familiar spaces and places and faces, became a yearly and sometimes semi-yearly right of passage.

The one nice thing about having to cross the nation so regularly, to stay on the road, moving within towns, then suddenly making a big move across county or state lines, is that I developed several comfortable coves to keep returning to on my travels.

Stuck too close to a military base that might be doing "psychological warfare" techniques? Why not hitch a ride down this away, and in another hitch you can be back at the alma mater.

Big category-five storm stopping your plans from crossing the nation just now? Why not pop up north and take refuge back at the alma mater.

Sit in on a lecture in your favorite academic building, while a cute, nineteen-year-old sophomore sits up and down on your cock until you cum, the entire classroom being and acting utterly oblivious.

Not even aware, not even watching.

And this adorable sophomore whom I know is a sophomore because I asked her when I sat down, "hey, what year are you?" and she told me, "sophomore," but I don't know her name, she is enthusiastically fucking me, in the middle of class, no one watching.

Skirt up and thong to the side, just riding up and down, penetrated and never coming all the way off, in the lecture hall's back row. Like a wet dream made real.

I told her we could and she was like, "not," but I was like, "bet," and she was like, "okay, bet," and then I said, in a loud voice, "Can anyone hear me?" but professor kept lecturing and the students kept asking questions, not responding. "Anyone? Tell me to shut up if you can hear me?"

She was agape but I told sophomore, hey, put down your phone, no phones, and she put her phone down.

That's the real test of my mind control powers. Getting a nineteen-year-old to put her phone down. Especially when she's witnesses an actual miracle.

The way I did it was to sit there early, in the lecture hall before the rest arrived, and get each one as they walked in. A quick little tap into their minds and a reminder that I'm not there and that I would be a permanent blind spot for the next week or so.

In other words, I'd be understood purely subconsciously by them, only seen and recorded at that level. While they were awake, I was a living ghost.

But, when they slept...

The professor and adult students whose brains I tapped in that classroom that day might all have the same recurring dreams for some time, but who ever discusses their dreams with people in the depth necessary to discover this strange phenomenon?

So once they were all in, the professor lecturing happily away and half the students happily tuning him out already, I moved over to this adorable blonde cutie, lovely fitted skirt and an outfit that looked put-together and fashionable past the point of scholarly modesty.

Hence the instant physical attraction. Hence the loving the perfume she was wearing, to class.

"Well, it's a bet," I say to sophomore.

"Like, for real?"

"Like, you know," I tell her.

"Oh my god I can't believe I'm doing this," she says, but I'm holding her mind just gently and I can feel that she can't believe she finally has the excuse to do something like this. She loves fantasizing about having sex in class, but with everyone watching and sometimes with others taking turns. But, just a nighttime fantasy for her, until now.

"C'mon, take it out," she says in a whisper, pulling up her cute skirt almost discreetly and slipping her white thong to the side.

To be comfortable I undo the front of my pants, lift myself up to pull them to my ankles, and then sit back down.

As soon as my ass hits the seat, feeling the chill of the plastic since I had only been sitting there for a minute or two before dropping my pants, her warm cunt hits the head of my cock, and oh god is this sophomore's cunt hot.

She's tight and textured, still opening up for me and the image in my mind is of a silicone cock sleeve with lots of internal ridges and sensation.

She turns over her shoulder to look at me while she goes up and down slowly. "Yeah, I'll be your fleshlight," she says with a naughty smile.

And I break my contract with her mind, as slight as it was, realizing that my mental images were slipping into her brain.

"But say that again," I tell her with my words and she says it again and I hold her hips tight, hold her down on my lap so I can be buried as deep up in this sophomore as I can go, just pulsing and loving how sweet she is.

"Yeah, I'll be your fleshlight. Make me your fleshlight," sophomore coos, sounding like she means it.

One hand on her hip then the other hand feeling her up through her clothes, sheathed deep in her and pulsing, the mellow sounds of the lecture and the student questions around us but oblivious.

Cumming inside her and nuzzling the back of her neck and holding her by both hands as I cum inside her.

So many points of contact, a circuit of energy through our bodies, my hands holding her hands, my cock in her cunt, her hips on my lap. So much energy, so much connection. Plugging her open sex and releasing, pulsating semen inside her, coating her, lubricating her, loving her. True intimacy.

Never kissed her.

Don't know her name or anything other than I approved of her looks and her perfume today.

I hold her close anyway and snuggle her there. She smells so good. I hold her on my lap until I'm soft, and then she slips her thong back in place and her skirt down and returns to her seat in one smooth motion.

She looks at me and smiles at me, shocked and surprised at what we just got away with.

I feel like I've just run a half-marathon, and then received a world-class massage for ninety minutes.

She has such a nice smile, I take a photograph of her with my digital camera, no wifi access. Straight to memory card. I go through phases, when I'm more involved or less involved in mementos. My life is pleasure, so my memories will be pleasures.

Once I've composed myself, and if I'm no longer interested in hearing the lecture or the class discussion, I tell the sophomore, in my special way, to "feel good about herself and her studies, to pay good attention in all the rest of her classes and to take good notes. To always be able to focus during class no matter what else was going on in her life."

Technically, these are just "suggestions," and while I'm not going to be around when she has to go forward with them, I'm pretty sure she's going to take these suggestions, whomever this lovely lady truly is.

I think it's something in how I say it to her.

So, after I bless her life, or prophecy in her life, however you'd like to say it, it's time to wander around, get to know people and their secrets.

How? Just ask. It takes only a little push in the right spot at the back of the medulla that opens up those psychic passageways. College students want to talk about themselves. They're adults but still in a playground. The cognitive dissonance needs release for the tension.

I help these young women release their tension.

I help them find absolution over things they feel guilty about. To make sure their newly restored confidence and acceptance is here to stay, I reach into their minds to make sure. Checking my own work.

If I'm sleepy, I love a nice, unexpected nap in a dorm bed. I don't worry anymore about anyone showing up to surprise me, if I don't know whose bed I'm napping in. But there's no bed so nice to nap in as the bed of a woman's, still warm and, considering these college students, likely unmade from the night before.

And, because of how shy and awkward a college this was and is, almost certainly the night before was a celibate one.

I loved returning to familiar grounds because when the mind needs to hold so much together, taking away as much of the new and unfamiliar as possible takes away some of the effort necessary to hold it all together.

Knowing the nooks, knowing the crannies, knowing the happy places to find what I was looking for, this all made the whole experience far less stressful.

Created a comfortable place to relax and explore.

To develop a preference for favorite dorms, because they still had the most group-friendly showers.

To renew acquaintances with beloved faculty members, especially if you might have gotten carried away and left one or two pregnant. They were trying at the time in their lives with their spouses, taking fertility enhancement prescriptions, but they and their new children were happy now, no one the wiser and no one asking questions.

To pursue a connoisseur's fetish, such as desiring to take so many cherrys and open so many hymens in a weekend.

Again, because I wanted these to be sweet, romantic, meaningful encounters and positive memories in my lover's lives, I kept them to a reasonable number, no more than between three and five deflorations on a weekend's visit.

But sometimes, especially on those impromptu return visits, coming back because I found myself trapped nearby and was unable to get where I wanted to be, on those occasions, I came back just to fuck and frolic.

Getting there from the scary, weary road is usually fairly simple.

I get myself to the nearest major city, which is a big one. It's easy there to find someone who has a nice, comfortable car and will either let me drive, or be a very good and safe driver for me.

There are a few suburban mall and commuter rail parking lots that I prefer, places where it is easy to find nice cars and nice companionship.

I like to tread lightly on people's lives, the better I might stay out of sight, so the first thing I get them to tell me, when I press on that internal spot that makes them tell the truth, is what the rest of their day is supposed to be like.

I'm great at getting people to cancel unimportant plans, and to call their colleagues or spouses or other family members and pretend to be stuck in traffic, to have to be taking a big detour out of their way, to be having car trouble, to having a phone that just died, whatever is necessary so no one will be looking for them.

I always return them intact, but I need to borrow them and their vehicle to head back to the alma mater, and if they were cute, maybe have some fun with.

In this case, I did not have any fun with her until the end. She was a chubby milf, driving back to a small city near my school's campus, about an hour out of her way, if she only dropped me off. She had some interesting sexual secrets in her past, about cheating on her ex-husband early in her marriage before she stopped and he never knew.

She spoke beautifully about it, it was very sexy and she often masturbated thinking about this other man and their affair, but also about her husband, now divorced, at that age. She was making him compete and he was at his best.

Then the other fellow moved away and died and it was very sad, but a safe fantasy, she felt, to keep coming back to.

I took a photograph of her driver's license out of her purse with my digital camera, and recorded most of her story with my digital voice recorder. I love hearing their stories later.

When she drove me to campus, we kissed and made out in the front seat of her car for awhile. We parked in a remote corner of a remote parking lot. She was a good kisser, and I liked feeling her up through her clothes. The casual cottons and polys of modern, casually corporate clothes.

The lovely feeling of her bra through her shirt. The underwire and the pillowy promise of her lusciously lace-enclosed tits.

A cute chubby milf, on her way home from a business trip, children grown and in careers of their own, she working towards her retirement.

"Let's go as far as third base," I said, and she nodded into my kisses and guided my hand down the front of her open pants and under the compress of the tights she wore under her pants for a smoother line, and under the satin panty she wore under her hose, and through the matted hair of her milfy bush and then deep, immediately deep into the sopping wetness of her milfy pussy.

"You're sopping wet," I tell her, the words mangled among our kissing lips.

She giggles like she's still college age, "I know," she says. Her arousal fully activated. She is ready to fuck. However I want, whomever I want, so long as it is soon.

She's about to suggest the back seat, and I don't need mind control powers to tell that.

I need to be fair. Enough teasing. "Thanks for the ride, I know how to find you," I tell her, my lips still kissing hers, my fingers playing with her other lips. Even confined by her bottoms, she's spreading her hips wider to welcome me.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," she pouts. "Does that mean you're not going to fuck me?"

"I'm not going to fuck you now," I say, emphasis on the now, implying the later.

"Oh, good," she says. "Because it has been a while, and you do need to fuck me." Big kiss on my lips. "Soon."

"Yeah, well, gotta get to class, you know, hey, clean me off," and I take my fingers out of her, hold them up to her lips, and feel her entire mouth take both of my gooey, sugar-coated fingers into her mouth at once, sucking hungrily like it's actual sugar on my fingers and not her sugars.

"I knew it, I knew you were a college student," she says, once she thinks she has my fingers spit-sucked clean again, "no wonder you get me so turned on."

That was her telling me her own story about this encounter, which she would definitely be remembering. My gift. I was the college student she gave a ride to and went to third-base with once, and that would explain if we never met again.

Her spirits were lifted, her groove was back.

She drove off, again on her way to her original destination, her home an hour away, and I wandered across campus, into an academic building. Into one class, in progress--ugh, too much work, and then into a classroom next door, which looked like students were waiting to get into, but a class was still finishing up in that room.

I could wait, too. And I did.

I slipped inside the class finishing up, sent out a basic "don't notice me" pulse to the professor and students still there, and sat and waited for the next class to arrive, so I could have an entire hour or so for my play without interruption. Setting myself up properly like that, it was easy to turn off the consciousnesses of everyone as they entered. This was blondie sophomore's class, and no wonder I was ready to go with her, after that milfy appetizer.

Once blondie sophomore was absorbing all my positive vibes, my positive messages, and was positive for my semen, I could slip out of class, and wander about, doing good deeds as I saw fit.

Learning of problems, fixing problems. Getting a group of friends hanging out on the lawn to start making out like mad.

Who could say how I might spend the day?

Giving long-lasting suggestions like I did with that sophomore, learning secrets like I did with that morning's milf, or just causing titillating scenes to amuse myself: coming home to alma mater brought out the best in me.

Of course, I would wander over to the student union eventually for lunch.

Chillax, sit with some cliques and mine them for all of their gossip. That's where the digital voice recorder came in handy again. Not to cause trouble with, but because it is such a beautiful sound, the sound of gossip, the sound of secrets, the sound of shock and shame.

After lunch, time to chill and get ready to fuck again.

Wander through a dorm, seeing what people were getting up to.

The choice, to get high and get baked on some dank weed? Depends on the weed, let me inspect that stuff first.

Lay back on a dorm bed, chilling watching a movie? Depends on the movie, and is there a dorm cutie to cuddle up with on that bed, while watching the movie?

Spilled something on the only clothes you're traveling with, the ones you're wearing? Depends on the dorm, but then it's time for naked laundry, and once we're stripped and fucking in the laundry room, making sure everyone who next enters the laundry room has the irresistible urge to rip off their clothes and join an impromptu orgy. The famous orgy in the laundry room that would go down in history for thirty-eight lucky people there that day: thirty freshmen, three parents, one older sister who is a senior on her college's campus, a local pizza delivery guy, one female campus safety officer, one male campus plumber from the campus services department, and one female cleaning lady assigned for that year to that dormitory building.

Or maybe meet two perfect roommates, or two besties who should be roommates, or two or three or four young scholars who look like they would be great together.

And then taking them to some nice, comfortable place, sometimes a dorm room, sometimes someone's off-campus apartment, sometimes the nice house of a trusted, faculty member, friend, and lover.

But whatever the combination, always fucking my balls dry before dinner.

Then dinner, then more fun.

Is something interesting happening on campus? Do I just want to go to the library and read peacefully for hours, until it's time to find a bed and a bedmate(s) for the night? Or do I just want to crash back at the dorm with my new friends? Learning about them and loving them and blessing them with my words and my thoughts and my cock and my cum.

"Your skin will be clearer, your hair will be brighter," I tell them, and they laugh but they believe it. They believe it because they know it is true and they can feel it already.