The protagonist of the below story is a man gifted with the ability to control the minds and bodies of others. If you are the sort of person that likes to know the features and limitations of his power, read the author's notes at the end.
WARNING: The story below is long - 22 thousand words and change. About 95% of those words describe graphic non-consensual sex. If you are not okay with that, don't read this. If you are looking for stories with plots, character development and deep world building, don't read this.
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All characters and events are fictional. Many are illegal, immoral and/or impossible. Never try this in real life. You do not have mental powers.
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One of my favorite pastimes is people-watching. Sitting somewhere comfy and watching the world go by. Because I never stay more than a few nights in any one town I am often in coffee shops, cafes, bars and such, so I guess it's good that I enjoy it.
Some people like to make up stories about the lives of the people that pass by. I don't, because I'm a telepath. I can read the real stories, pulled straight out of a person's head.
That guy over by the pedestrian crossing, for example - a 45-year old insurance claim clerk who considers himself a washed out failure. The only reason he hasn't chugged a bottle of vodka with aspirin chaser is his kid, standing beside him on the sidewalk. Unfortunately the kid hates his fat loser dad - he much prefers the nice friend of his mom who visits when his father is out to work and always has candy.
... Okay, not a great example. Let's pick another from the pedestrians waiting to cross the road. Old lady thinking about buying a present for grandson, no. Obese goth chick heading to the doctor about an infected piercing, hell no. Small mousey man in brown suit, dreaming up an impressively detailed torture machine for use on his neighbors who keep him awake every night with the sounds of their vigorous lovemaking... on his way to the hardware store. Hmm, gotta follow your dreams I suppose.
I contemplate encouraging this last guy to go play with the traffic - I can not only read minds but also control them to a limited extent - but I am distracted by the thoughts of the middle-aged woman next to him. The woman herself is unremarkable, but her thoughts are occupied by images of young women. She is leafing through a mental index of different teenage girls, obviously people she knows, comparing and contrasting their physical health and attitudes.
I leave my table at the sidewalk cafe where I have been peoplewatching and follow the woman at a discreet distance as the lights change and she crosses the road. Digging deeper into her mind provides the explanation for her train of thought - she is the coach of a high school swim team, and she is planning activities for a training session tomorrow. There's a contest coming up, so they will be training the whole day, starting bright and early at the local pool.
I've always had a weakness for female swimmers - they train for whole body strength, giving them endurance without losing their essential feminine proportions. I pull the meeting time and address of the pool out of her mind and let her go. I have some shopping to do, and then I think an early night...
The next morning is cold and gray and raining heavily. Not the best conditions to be huddled in a bus shelter opposite the entrance to a swimming pool, yet here I am. The coach from before is the first to arrive. She stands at the entrance out of the rain.
Now comes the moment of greatest risk for me. I cannot control more than one mind at a time, so in order to control a group I have to give mental commands to each person in turn - a slow process. That's why I am here waiting for the swim team to meet instead of just waltzing in and putting them all under control at once.
I reach into the coach's mind and order her to stand and be silent. Her face betrays her shock and fright about no longer being in control of her body, but fortunately the rain reduces visibility enough that the young women who arrive at the pool do not notice the coach's expression until too late.
(I am unable to control expressions or speech - perhaps the required motor control is too precise, I don't know.)
As each girl arrives I reach into their minds and order them to stand still and quiet, in a group around the coach. The coach is expecting seven people, and so I wait until all seven have arrived before ordering each in turn to cross the street and follow me. I walk to the modest hotel at the end of the street and the women follow a few steps behind. It isn't far, and the early hour means the street and hotel lobby are empty (except for the hotel receptionist of course, currently face down at the desk enjoying a deep telepathically-induced sleep).
Normally in such occasions as these I book a room for my entertainment, but this time we head for the stairs to the basement. My earlier visit here had established that the hotel's basement is taken up by a gym for the use of the guests. Today there is a sign on the door apologizing for the gym being closed for maintenance, and as the group of women head down the stairs I close and lock the door behind us.
At the bottom of the stairs two doors lead to male and female changing rooms. I command the women to go through to the women's changing room, remove their jackets and stand in a line so I can get my first proper look at my acquisitions. Before me, standing in relaxed poses that belie their inner turmoil at what is happening to them, I see:
1. A middle-aged coach, short and loose-fleshed. Perhaps she looked better in her youth but if so the years have not been kind to her.
