Teleinesis

Many thanks to MormonJack for edits and crits.

Chapter 4

One unexpected effect of my sexual experiments was that I was getting a reputation around town. Women talk. Who knew? Apparently, that included women I'd fucked and whatever. I had become a hot item. Did you know this happens, guys? I hadn't known, but I was a quick study. Take, for example, Carrie. While doing errands in my neighborhood I noticed someone following me, a small, busty, olive-skinned woman with dark hair in a red top and shorts. Was I being stalked? To test that hypothesis I went into the local hardware store. Sure enough, she followed me in. I let her catch up to me at the end of the gardening section, behind a display of tall plants of some kind. Hey, I'm a neuroscientist, not a botanist.

"Hi," she said. She didn't seem at all embarrassed at being "made", as they say in detective stories. Her red tube top crammed to overflowing with woman stuff didn't help to disguise her.

"You've been following me," I answered. "You owe me money and you want to pay me back? Great."

That lame attempt at humor got the inattention it deserved. She came close to me and pressed those very nice tits into my abdomen. She was quite short. She reached up and pulled my head down to her, where she French kissed me as if we were long lost lovers. "You're Jordan's friend, aren't you?"

"Sure," I lied.

She saw right through me. "Blonde, skinny, biker."

That clicked. I remembered a loft that seemed to be half bike repair shop. She liked cowgirl, IIRC, then had me come on her tiny tits and would spread it over them as if it were some kind of magic growth potion. "Sure. Of course."

"She told me about you."

Uh-oh. Had I done something horrible? I still wasn't sure about the name but I did remember that the biker had me photograph her on a very pretty red machine, wearing her helmet and bike shoes. And nothing else. "Did she like the photo?"

Carrie laughed. "Yes!"

Phew. So, I got the right Jordan. We stood together in the secluded corner of the hardware store with the aroma of damp foliage and pesticide.

"I want you."

That was not a shock, given my recent history of interpersonal relationships and her mention of one of my most recent experimental subjects. I felt, however, that I had to play hard to get at least a little bit. I leaned back against a counter and waited for her to say more.

Instead of a verbal reply she looked around briefly then knelt on one knee as if genuflecting at church and kissed my jeans right on the zipper, Frenched me a little there as an echo of the previous kiss, but with more teeth action. She stood and looked around again to make sure no one else had seen anything. "I want you."

I was supposed to be in the lab redoing a chromatography run that I'd messed up yesterday. But clearly Carrie's needs took precedence. We went to my place. After some preliminaries during which she told me about her work as a nurse and stroked my thigh, and about a recent visit to some family back in San Diego while she massaged my crotch, she said, "Would you like to see my boobs?"

Would the Pope like a VIP suite in heaven? I was mostly a leg man, but when that red fabric was tossed on the couch along with a bra that seemed multiple sizes too small, I was transfixed.

She put my hands on them. "You like?" She felt the built-in hotness gauge in my pants. "I think so."

With that remark all pretense evaporated. She pulled my pants off and knelt at my crotch. "I'm very oral," she announced and began a blow job that I knew immediately would be one of my all-time favorites. I wish I could describe some the spectacular things she did to me, but when every nerve cell's ecstasy meter is pegged at max and in danger of frying, life becomes a white-out of pleasure.

She let me descend back to Earth for a minute. "So delicious. Do you like tit fucking?"

Does Godzilla like stomping on Tokyo? It was with undeniable pride that she guided my hard meat between her soft flesh. She knew just what to do with her beauties, burying me in them then bending down to lick my tip as it emerged. The afternoon became a series of paralyzing hallucinations of angels and goddesses queuing up to fly me to each one's private heaven, each with its infinite vista of endless paradise, interspersed when my eyes fluttered open by a moon-faced beauty worthy of a Renaissance visionary oeuvre. I had to wonder if Renaissance painters also got tit fucked by their models. That would explain why so many of those old paintings had so many naked, buxom women.

A long, long, deep suck that just kept going and going forced me to open my eyes squeezed shut from the intense pleasure to reveal that tit paradise was now in the rear-view mirror. Next stop, Mount Orgasm.

Hers, that is. This was a bit of a revelation. I knew from personal experience that there were women who loved to suck cock. But it looked like I was now in the control of a woman who loved nothing but sucking cock. Her eyes were closed, her hand was writhing in her pants, which she apparently felt no need to remove. Her concentration was so total that no sane man could doubt her intention.

In spite of being nowhere close to sane, I realized that although some TK energy was constantly leaking and could account for a portion of her enthusiasm, I had not yet deliberately used my special ability on her. Not once, even briefly. Yet here we were. Taking her head in my hands I tried an innovation. I sent a vibration into her and was able to direct it along her skin, through arms and spine, into a pussy I had not yet seen or touched but which deserved everything I could give it.

If Michelin had a rating system for cocks, this gourmet fellatrix would have given mine three stars and written to the company to urge them to expand the ratings to four or five. She opened her eyes but they stayed unfocused. I knew she was close. I was about to increase the erotic voltage but, as if she sensed something was about to happen, she stretched her lips wide, did some kind of adjustment with her neck and shoulders, and slid her mouth down my rod.

And kept sliding it, easing me further and further within until her lips were hidden in my pubic hair. Still looking straight into me, as if my eyes were transparent and she could look in to see what she was doing to my pleasure center, she swallowed me.

I mean literally. Peristaltic action from lips over teeth between jaws along tongue through glottis. She ate me. My mind was paralyzed beyond orgasm. My male body took over and sent back uncontrolled power through my cock that must have lit up her entire insides. It was her turn to squeeze her eyes shut and I got to watch her lovely face, full of cock, as she came. I knew I could have as many blow jobs as I wanted from this woman.

She wasn't done with me, though. Her hand still worked and worked in her shorts. She slid me out of her throat, over her tongue, out of her mouth, a long journey, took a breath, and gulped me back in. Over and over, coming each time she bottomed me out— or so it seemed when my entire length was suddenly clenched in the vice of her oral cavity. Each time triggered another bolt of high voltage erotic energy out of me. Positive feedback.

"Jordan was so right," she said at last.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Sitting on the hotel room couch with Kayla's mouth impaled on my cock, I could tell that there was no way my new sub was as experienced at sword swallowing as Carrie. She may have been willing consciously, but her body couldn't help trying to expunge the intruder threatening to choke her. Luckily there was a simple solution to her problem. No, not to release her head. This was my first session with her as a dom but I knew already that mercy was not a turn on for this woman. Much better was to give her a helping hand to power her through her difficulty. A hand that was positioned in exactly the right spot to do the most good. I made Kayla come.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

If you've followed my story this far you know I can make a woman come basically at will, pretty much as many times as she's physically capable of, and about as intensely as it's possible for a female human body to orgasm. What you may not have yet apprehended is that I had learned through exhaustive field work a variety of ways to produce that big O in my subjects. I could go slow and let it build, or attack with a sudden explosion; torture endlessly or satisfy immediately; force her when she least expected to come, or let her do almost all the work herself and just give her libido the tiniest nudge to push her over the edge to fall gloriously a million miles onto planet Nirvana.

That was great, totally awesome. But there was a problem, as I'd begun to perceive with Carrie: my body was sometimes sending out energy without my conscious volition. I was losing control.

For example, Ariadne and Cassandra. They deliberately sought me out. My growing reputation again. Ariadne texted me. I was getting a lot of texts from women. Besides talking about me, apparently they were also passing around my phone number. I'd stopped answering any call from a number I didn't recognize. My message app was turning into a personal Tinder. Many women sent photos. Some sent very nice photos. A few sent photos that made me wary of checking messages in public.

Ariadne's text caught my attention. No photo but a nice, grammatically correct, polite intro. And she talked about how "we" wanted to meet me. As Oscar Wilde so cogently put it, I can resist anything but temptation.

We met over coffee. I was afraid she might be bringing a bi boyfriend but no, my happiness was complete when two attractive women sat at my table. I guess my subjects were passing around photos of me as well as my phone number. I wondered briefly if perhaps my guinea pigs were taking over my lab. That thought, scary as it might be, could not withstand the sight of two attractive women in yoga pants, similar enough that they could have been twins, sitting down across from me, both with expressions of eagerness just to meet me.

I was the god-ruler of the kingdom of Egotrip and this cafe was my palace in the middle of its capital, Stud City. If these two novitiates desired to consecrate themselves to the cult of phallus worship— my phallus— I was only fulfilling my sacred duty as their ruler to accept their offerings.

That is, I was feeling pretty good about myself.

My career was going to hell. Reports, analyses, experiments, grant proposals, that damned dissertation, even lab cleanup, it was all falling way behind schedule. I was supposed to, right now, be revising a journal submission my advisor was nagging me about. But before me were two fair-skinned, wavy-haired paradigms of feminine magnificence that even now, before I'd applied any of my considerable and growing powers on them, were visibly ready, very willing, and extremely able, if their slim figures were any kind of clue, to validate the most ridiculously narcissistic self-esteem my testosterone-soaked male brain could conjure. Can a testosterone overdose be fatal? I was about to find out.

I pinned them both, opening their pupils to the max. I was getting better at targeting, also at switching between targets, so I could keep them both fascinated in parallel. They were already not far from maximum dilation anyway.

They were sisters, Ariadne told me over a light lunch and a bottle of wine at a pleasant bistro. "We've heard so much about you," she explained, sort of. "We just wanted to, you know, meet you, find out what you're really like." Yeah, right. The way they might put on full wet suits and scuba gear just to dip their toes in the ocean to check the temperature.

Being a leg man, I found yoga pants to be a gift from the gods almost as wonderful as Daisy Dukes. The sisters' stretch tops, as the saying goes, left little to the imagination. Their nipples stood out plainly. I thought maybe I could even make out aureoles. But contrary to the saying, those sights were only fuel for my imagination. Such as the table becoming transparent so I could enjoy how the fabric caressed the topography between their thighs.

At the bistro, I gentlemanly refrained from arousing them down there. Wet spots in public usually ruined the mood. But afterwards when Ariadne suggested we "Just walk around and talk some more" I switched my targeting scheme. They weren't able to keep their gaze on me anyway and I didn't want them to suddenly find a storefront fascinating.

Not that I needed to worry. At an ice cream shop they treated me to dessert while also treating me to the sight of two very pretty women using ice cream cones to creamily preview how this afternoon could end up.

Just wandering around— of course totally randomly— I just happened to lead them past my building and— of course just by coincidence— they had time and would just love to see my place.

I opened a bottle of wine. My personal space, which they'd been encroaching at the bistro— touches to emphasize some remark, a bit of footsie— had shrunk during our walk, with them constantly brushing against me in a variety of ways. Now it seemed I had no private space at all. When I sat on my couch, they took their places on either side, all but cuddling me while downing my wine. It felt like most of my body was in contact with theirs.

"We're your princesses!" Ariadne again. Their family name was very common, Johnson or Jones or something, so their parents had dug up the most unusual names they could find, hitting on the theme of princesses from Greek myths. The sisters were quite proud.

"And I am your king," I replied. I thought I might be taking a risk with that remark and was prepared to laugh it off as a bad joke.

Ariadne, however, actually clapped in delight. "Yes!" She slipped off the couch to kneel before me. "Your Majesty."

I was trying to resolve the conundrum of how to suggest they do something lewd without risking an irrevocable faux pas when Cassandra cut my Gordian Knot. She'd been mostly quiet up to now, letting Ariadne take the lead. Without a word she leaned into me even further than she had been, undid my pants, pulled out my stiff and ready scepter, and presented it to her little sister.

Ariadne took it in her mouth as if it were a natural fount gushing ambrosia from Olympus. Again, I had the fear that my subjects were taking over the experiment from me. My body, without my conscious will, was becoming trained to shoot TK vibes out of my cock whenever it encountered a pair of willing lips at either end of a woman. Ariadne's lips were more than willing. She purred in joy. "Oh, Cassie, they weren't kidding."

Cassie put her head on my shoulder and watched her sister fellate me, still holding my cock the way a short while ago she'd given Ariadne a taste of her ice cream. The younger sister's mouth seemed to still retain some of the lubricious dessert. Or maybe my increasingly addled brain was too overwhelmed to tell reality from memory from fantasy. Cassie added to my confusion by sucking and biting on my neck.

I definitely wanted to come in Ariadne's mouth. I also definitely wanted to come in the mouth that was now biting my ear. And those two pussies had to be on the required list of absolutely essential sexual utopias I needed to explore this afternoon. Embarrassment of riches didn't begin to describe my dilemma.

Speaking of pussy, Cassandra was rubbing hers through the thin spandex with her free hand. I replaced her hand. A little bit of tingling in that general area brought her to a state obvious to all three of us, especially the younger woman, whose head was the closest. A sisterly shared look, verging on telepathy, was enough. Cassandra sat up and peeled off her clothing to reveal one of the most perfect bodies I'd ever seen. I almost came in the younger woman's mouth just seeing the older woman's form. Ample enough breasts, which I fondled, perfectly shaved mound of Venus.

Little sister released my cock, which she'd been vigorously sucking, and like a goddess descending from Olympus Cassandra sat on my sword, taking it all the way in one motion.

Once again my cock responded with a shot of energy into her. I couldn't prevent it or even control it. It was like a lightning bolt from Zeus. Cassandra yelled, "Ari, I'm going to come right now!" Unlike the Greek myth, neither Ari nor I could doubt Cassandra's prophecy. She came in an instant.

That was her first orgasm but far from the last. How many times did the swan make Leda come? She pumped and pumped. Her insides turned liquid around my rod. Meanwhile her younger sibling was doing something to my balls, tickling or flicking, that was driving me beyond my mortal capacity. In self-defense I pulled her up to the couch. They took turns inflicting deep, strong, almost painful kisses on me that I knew were going to leave a mark. Ari undressed and I played with her very pretty pussy, also shaved but with a cute tuft above her clit.

Okay, I'm not a brilliant scientist, but I do have moments of inspiration. I managed to lie down along the couch while keeping Cassandra engaged and coaxed Ariadne over my face. She didn't need a high priest to understand what the gods intended for her.

Soon I was immersed in pussy paradise. The two were so alike I might have simultaneously, through some miracle, been fucking and eating the same goddess pussy. And thighs and everything else my roving hands could explore. I was truly lost in a pussy Elysium. All that massive dose of testosterone had no hope of withstanding their combined juices but my male body, once more taking over, shot as much energy up into their sexes as possible from both ends.

I returned to the present briefly when they decided to change places. Ari's pussy was maybe even tighter, or maybe it was just that she hadn't had my cock in her yet. No matter. And Cassie seemed to get off from licking even more than from fucking. I had no idea how long I spent under these women, nor how many times they used me to come, but I still wanted more when they at last released me and we untangled.

I sat up, cuddled between them, all of us recovering. Cassandra had my cock in her hands again, as stiff as ever. I'd been so immersed in their bodies that I'd forgotten to come.

"He's totally," from one. "Fabulous," from the other. Then giggling. I was just a sex object to them. But, hey, the best sex object in the history of sex.

"Ari, you were going to show me." From Cassandra.

More sororal telepathy. Ari bent down and began cleaning me. Cassie joined her and soon their tongues were yo-yoing along my length. They knelt over me from either side, taking turns showing me in the most thoroughgoing manner how much they appreciated my pleasure tool. Younger, older, Ari, Cassie, hard suction, soft licking, they swapped me between them. I didn't come only because each new incredible thing they did had to be the best ever, the sight of their lovely profiles dipping down promising something even more incredible, the continuing shock driving my nervous system beyond my ability to marshal an orgasm.

Ari raised the tension even further when she dipped her face between my legs while her sister was torturing my cockhead and made my balls light up like comets portending the imminent fate this goddess pair had in store for me. They released me together, a shivery shock in itself, looked in each other's eyes. Cassandra turned to me. "I'm going to do this to you."

Maybe at full mental capacity I might have understood her meaning. In my current bewildered state, with Cassie continuing to just stare into me, I could only wonder. But then, locked into Cassie's gaze, I felt her sister's lips slide down on me, sending waves of vibrating pleasure into and up my spine. Then down further, further. Cassie took advantage of my gaping moan to French me as deeply as a tongue could go as my cock slid even deeper into her sister's throat.