Try as you might, there are some people you meet in life that you just don't get along with, and Jody was one of those. I'd met her at Art College, where she was in the year below mine, and for some reason she just didn't like me. I don't know why, but it was a case of instant dislike on her part, and as for me, if that was the case, why should I even bother with her? There were plenty of other girls who liked me just fine and so I avoided her company, although I ran into her at the occasional party, which was almost unavoidable at Art College.
I never gave her another thought after I graduated, although I did hear of her occasionally when catching up and hearing all the latest gossip from my fellow graduates. She'd gone on to study fine art and art history, and had recently started working at a local gallery, one that handled quite a lot of my work. I thought this might cause me a few problems, problems I could ill afford when it came to the marketing of my work. Of course, I was sure I could find alternative outlets for my paintings and prints if need be, but it would be damned inconvenient all the same, so I decided to take the bull by the horns.
I went into the gallery, as I occasionally did to keep tabs on my sales, and also to pay her a courtesy call on her new appointment. Personally, I never had any problem with her, and I had always been open to the idea of liking her, after all she was a fine-looking young woman. About five foot six inches in height, medium build, a curvy, womanly figure, which I sort of lusted after despite her animosity, and the most stunning red, pre-Raphaelite hair. I never understood why she disliked me so much, but there you have it, and I wasn't about to lose any sleep over her antipathy.
Her first words when I entered the gallery were hardly encouraging.
'Oh, it's you,' she said, coldly.
'Aye, it's me,' I replied, smiling at her, amused in some ways by her attitude. 'Look Jody,' I said. 'I know you don't like me, you never have, I don't know why, and I've never really worried about it, but this is business.' She nodded but said nothing. 'Do you think we could manage to get along on a purely business basis, without this getting in the way?' I asked her.
Much to my surprise she agreed. Just then, the gallery owner came back, and greeted me cordially; after all I did bring in a fair bit of income to his business. He offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted, not that I was desperate for coffee, but I wanted to be around the lovely Jody for a little longer. I'd decided if any mind needed manipulating in my favour, it was hers. So, as we sat drinking coffee, making, 'art world,' small talk and as I regaled them with selected and heavily censored tales of my time in London, I started to place extremely dirty thoughts in her mind.
First of all, I suggested she lift up her skirt and show me her pussy. I knew she wouldn't actually do it, but she'd think of doing it, and she'd think of doing it over and over again in the next few minutes. As I talked to Malcolm, the gallery owner I kept glancing at Jody and was satisfied to see a puzzled look on her face and a fine flush of pink on her cheeks and at her throat. With the pale skin of the typical redhead, it was impossible to conceal that sort of change, not that she was aware of the signals she was giving out anyway.
'Are you alright Jody?' asked Malcolm the gallery owner.
'Yes... fine, just a little hot, it's warm in here,' she said to excuse herself.
'It's about to get a lot hotter for you,' I thought. I imagined her pussy, with a fine down of red hair, growing wetter by the moment as my hand stroked her labia and clitoris. Continuing to speak to Malcolm, I nevertheless kept an eye on Jody. Her eyes were almost closed, and as I watched her, breathing altered, becoming more exaggerated, her fine bosom rising and falling.
I knew I was getting through to her and decided to step up the, 'influence,' by adding an image of me fucking her senseless in the doggy position. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I continued to rub her pussy mentally, and then sent her a thought of reaching for my cock, and as I did it, she moved forward on her chair. For a crazy moment I thought she had lost control and was going to do it. I cut the thoughts off sharply. I wasn't ready for that step just yet. Not with her boss, Malcolm in attendance anyway.
She sat back in her chair again, and I immediately launched a thought of her sucking my cock, taking it in her mouth and licking along the shaft, her lips distended around my knob. Again, she looked at me strangely as if seeing me for the first time. I knew she'd be confused; after all, here she was thinking uncontrollable thoughts about me in the most wanton, lascivious way, when she disliked me intensely.
I sent her a thought of sitting where she was on her seat, completely naked, legs spread wide, touching herself, and I was delighted to see her knees, edge slightly apart, just a few inches, but enough to let me know she was thinking about it. Next, I stroked her cunt mentally again, and her legs inched apart another wee bit, but not enough to be obvious to the casual observer. She wasn't even aware that she was doing it. Finally, I gave her a mental orgasm. Her eyes closed, and a tiny moan escaped her lips. Malcolm looked at her sharply.
'Are you sure you're OK?' he said, concern in his voice.
'Yes, yes, fine, just a little bit of a headache,' she said, touching the side of her head, trying to cover her indiscretion. I had done enough for one day, but I resolved to come back tomorrow and sort her out again. I left the gallery, happy with my devious work. I had no intention of making her do anything against her will, but I did intend to make her think of me sexually in every lewd and erotic way, every single time she saw me. Now, you may think that's reprehensible, but she hated me on first sight, and for no reason that I knew of or could fathom, so a little readjustment of her bad attitude seemed perfectly excusable.
Next day I went into the gallery again. This time she was on her own, Malcolm it seemed had left her in charge for a couple of days while he took a short break. This time, although still not all sweetness and light, she was a bit more civil, so I figured my efforts of yesterday hadn't fallen on stony ground.
'Hello again,' she said, her tone flat and neutral, but not positively frosty like the day before. A big improvement I thought, immediately sending her a thought of kissing me passionately, tongues intertwined, while I massaged her full breasts. She got that fine flush on her cheeks again within minutes. As we talked, I thought of kissing and sucking her nipples, then a thought of me going down on her, spreading her legs and kissing her wet cunt. She stopped speaking, closed her eyes, and I went for her pussy again, thinking of finger fucking her, knowing she could literally feel it. Her breathing was all shot to hell as she stood with her legs open, swaying back and forth, hips moving in a fucking motion. I let the thoughts die, and as she began to come back to normal, I waited until she opened her eyes, and reached forward, taking her by the arms.
'Are you alright,' I asked, fake concern in my voice. She looked as embarrassed as anyone I've ever seen.
'No, I feel very strange,' she admitted, but I knew she'd be confused. She was suddenly aware that I was holding her arms and stepped back from me. Still not fully convinced I could see, but I decided she'd had enough confusion and lust for one day.
Next day I went back again. I knew, even though she didn't like me, that she must have been thinking about what had taken place yesterday and the day before. With any luck, she'd be even more confused today as well as pretty horny.
'Hello James,' she said matter of factly as I came into the gallery, which was positively gushing with adoration in comparison to a few days ago.