tagMind ControlMy Girlfriend Susie, the Witch

My Girlfriend Susie, the Witch


Warning: This story contains special powers and magic. It also has threesomes.


When I was just a lad, my father took charge of my education. My basketball education, that is. He seemed obsessed with it, although I was too young to realize it at the time. He was my dad, and boys do what their dads want, without thinking.

The strange thing about it was that my dad focused exclusively on ball handling: dribbling, and basketball moves to get around defenders. When I got older, I grew, and by the time I was 12, I was already quite tall for my age, looming over my friends at the height of 5'11." Only then, did my father put up a hoop in our driveway and start to teach me how to shoot the basketball. I was lousy.

We kept at it, every day after school, and for hours at a time on the weekend, and I got better, but I never got good. I stopped growing the next year, at 6 feet, but my friends continued to grow. Some of them caught up with my height and quite a few surpassed me. I got recruited to the high school basketball team nevertheless, and given my skill with the ball, and my sudden lack of comparative height, I was given the position of guard.

My dad's training changed, the day after my seventeenth birthday, during my junior year in high school. He kept telling me to focus on the ball. "Make yourself one with the ball," he told me countless times. I remained a poor shot. After some time, maybe two months of this, he told me that I had to "want the ball to go through the hoop." Of course, I wanted that! I did not understand. I remained a poor shot.

Finally, as the beginning of the season approached, my dad told me his secret. He said, "You need to will the ball through the hoop. Concentrate so hard that the ball becomes one with you and it will bend to your will."

My dad had trained me so hard that I understood what he was saying. I stood at the free throw line, concentrated, and missed. "Again," my dad said. We stood there for three hours before I got it. I swished the ball.

Was it luck? "Let's see," my Dad said. He bounced the ball to me and I steadied myself, bounced the ball in front of me a few times, took aim, and missed. "Shoot as soon as you touch the ball, son," my dad said, "And while the ball is in flight, will it through the hoop. You will have to concentrate hard for it to work."

I tried, many times that afternoon, and failed most of them. I was discouraged. My dad was undaunted. We tried again the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. The fifth day it rained all day, and we spent the late afternoon talking in the living room. "You have to will the ball through the hoop," he said for what was probably the 300th time.

"Dad, that's not working," I said.

"It will," my dad said.

"Yeah? Why don't you show me?" I said.

"Okay," my dad said, as he crumpled up a piece of newspaper into what resembled the shape of a ball. "Choose an impossible shot for me," he commanded.

I said, "Okay, Dad. Throw the newspaper wad into the coffee cup on the table." The table was maybe 15 feet away. The coffee cup was empty, left over from lunch. The wad was the size of the cup. He would have to have a perfect swish to make the shot. It was truly impossible.

"Eyes open, or closed?" my dad asked, teasing me.

I laughed. "First time, eyes open. I want to give you a chance," I said. "Although it's not much of one."

My dad carelessly tossed the newspaper wad into the air, mimicking a jump shot. It went right across the room and 'swished' into the coffee cup. I was astonished.

I retrieved the wad. "Again," I said, as I handed the wad to him. He did it again. We repeated this, and he ended up swishing the newspaper wad into the coffee cup five times in a row. "Now do it with your eyes closed," I said. He closed his eyes, gave it a toss, and it was another swish.

"How?" I asked, by this time so flabbergasted I was barely capable of speech.

"I willed it into the cup," was all he would say.

The weather cleared and the next day I made forty-five three throws in a row. The last forty of them were swished. "You're willing the ball in?" my father said. I nodded, proud of myself. That evening I swished the same newspaper wad into the same coffee cup my father had swished the previous day. I should have checked to make sure the cup was empty first, however, and my mom had a minor explosion at the resulting mess. I helped her clean it up. My father just smiled.

The next day we practiced three point shots. It seemed that as long as I concentrated and I willed the ball to go through the hoop, not only could I not miss, I swished my shots. All of them.

The next week my father taught me how to shoot while moving, or jumping, and how to bank my shots. I now felt as if I were a natural talent. I never missed.

The last lesson was how to get by a defender, to get open to take one of my 'can't miss' shots. This was the trickiest part. The coach had told us to watch the mid-section of the defender, not his eyes. My father told me the opposite. "You have to use the concentration you use with the ball in order to get into their minds," he said. "Suddenly you will know what he thinks you will do, and then do something else."

My father asked a tall friend, who had played basketball in college, and one year even as a pro, to come over and to help. His friend and I practiced for four days straight before I learned how to get inside his mind, and after that, I got by him every single time. His friend was stunned. "Your son is a natural," he said, and this time both my father and I smiled.

I got switched from a playmaking guard to a point guard, and quickly I became the go-to guy on the team, and the leading scorer. I was scoring 40 to 50 points per game, and that is huge for high school. Nobody could stop me. My father had warned me to miss the occasional shot, because being perfect was not believable. My shooting percentage was 85%. It would have been 90%, but I occasionally had my shots blocked, being only 6 feet tall.

When I graduated high school, I was a sports hero, and everyone liked me, including the girls. That's when my dad told me the basketball thing was only life training. "I wanted to teach you the power of your mind. Probably you know by now that you have special powers (I did not know this). You can will objects to do what you want them to do, and you can see into other people's minds. Use this power carefully, and do not abuse it. Above all, do not cheat in college!" He then told me not to play basketball in college. He wanted me to concentrate on my studies.

Some more discussion led to my father's grand plan. "Being able to see into people's minds will make you a big success in business. Be sure to learn in college, so you have the knowledge to be useful in business, and then with your special power you will go far," my dad told me.

Throughout my times with my dad the subject of girls and sex never came up. I was glad. I did not feel comfortable discussing sex with my parents. I was interested in sex. The coach had warned us that sex with girls can ruin our concentration and dedication to the game. Everyone else ignored him, and according to my teammates' stories, anyway, I was the only virgin on the team.

We were always around the cheerleaders, and I was the star of the team. I guess I'm not especially handsome, but if girls like men's bodies half as much as we men like theirs, then at least my body must have had some sex appeal. I summoned all my courage and approached Stephanie, a blond cheerleader with a great body who was in a lot of my honors classes at school. She always had a smile for me. I asked her out.

Stephanie was surprised, and she looked at me. She was silent, while I was dying inside. I heard her say, "Why didn't he ask out Alexis? She had a crush on him. He could have gotten laid. Probably he does not know. He is so innocent, so naïve." This was hopelessly rude, but while it was her voice I heard, I heard it in my brain, but through my ears, and her lips had not moved. Finally, she spoke. She said, "Sure, Josh. I'd love to."

I took her out, and it was pleasant, and I enjoyed drinking in her beauty that evening, and I felt important to have such a pretty girl as my date. When I took her home, I tried to kiss her goodnight, and she let me, but her kiss told me she had not wanted to kiss me. Then again her voice entered my head and said, 'I hope he does not ask me out again. I don't want to hurt his feelings.'

I did not ask Stephanie out again. I got the message, which if you count her voice in my head was loud and clear. I realized gradually that my powers, the ones my Dad had talked about but exclusively in relation to basketball, let me hear their thoughts. This was what my father had been preparing me for. He used an innocent activity like basketball to teach me to use these powers. Clever guy.

I asked Alexis out. She looked thrilled to be going out with me. She was almost as pretty as Stephanie, but somehow, she was sexier. On the first date, I took her to the movies. I kissed her goodnight, and what a difference! If Stephanie's kiss goodnight had been a rather cool 40 degrees, Alexis' kiss goodnight was around 93 degrees. I heard her think, 'God, I hope Josh asks me out again.' So, I asked her out again, right after that sexy goodnight kiss. Alexis smiled and agreed.

On the second date, I took her up to the top of the hill, where there is a great view overlooking the lights of the city at night. Boys take girls there to make out. I was a boy. Alexis was a girl. We wasted no time kissing and feeling each other up. I got her blouse and bra off, but I heard her think, 'This is as far as I can let him go on the second date. Josh cannot think I'm a tramp who gives it away!' I did not try for below the waist, following Alexis' thoughts.

Anyway, this was the first time I had even seen a girl's boobs in the flesh, and moreover I got to touch them and massage them, and have a grand old time with her boobs. I felt as if I were in clover. I was a happy guy. Alexis gave me a passionate goodnight kiss. I heard her think, 'Josh is wonderful. He knows just how to treat me. How lucky I am!' Well, I thought in reply, I'm just listening to you, girl.

It was on the third date that Alexis wanted me to try to do the deed. I had wanted to do it all along, so it was easy to comply. I came prepared with rubbers, just in case she was not on the pill. Reading her mind, as was my wont, I discovered she was impressed I had come prepared, but happily she was on the pill. She was my first, but I was not her first. Alexis taught me about sex that evening, and by the time the evening was over, I read her mind about my sexual talent (or lack thereof) and she said to herself, 'He's not bad.'

Okay, so Alexis did not think I was a stud. But we continued to date, and after a few more wild times in the sack, Alexis was more impressed with me. I decided to try something new. I tried to implant in her brain the idea that she should tell her friends how great I am in bed.

I think that the mental plant in her brain worked, because suddenly every slut in my high school was coming after me. They weren't really sluts, they were just not like Stephanie and her cohort. These were girls who wanted to date a sports hero and wanted a good time. Part of a good time was sex, and they understood that. It was my senior year now, and after basketball season, so I showed quite a few of those girls a good time, and I had some good times myself, I must say.

After all, I lived in Indiana, and being the best at basketball was a huge aphrodisiac, I can assure you. I was the first boy in the history of my high school to be all state in basketball. To have me on your arm meant something with those girls.

I went to college far from my dad, and his much too strong influence over me. I did follow his advice, however, and did not try out for basketball in college, focusing instead on my studies. Without the constant distraction of basketball practice and the games, I had a lot of time to study, and I did well. I spent long hours in the library, and in the labs, trying to "will" the knowledge into my young, supple mind.

Sophomore year of college everything changed. Some friends in my chemistry class organized a party after midterms were over. The theme was Chemistry meets English, and they invited over a bunch of English majors, all girls, of course. Why English majors? Because those girls knew how to dress. They dressed sexy, without looking cheap. Rumor had it that they liked sex, too. That was fine with me, if the rumors were true. Personally, I doubted that they were. The girls were not like the basketball groupies of my high school days.

Suddenly sublimation was no longer working, and as I gazed out at that panoply of luscious beauties at the party, I got a raging hard-on under my trousers. I went over to introduce myself to the closest one, and as I smiled and said, "Hello. I'm Josh," I heard her think, "Oh shit. Another jerk. Smile, Claire. Be polite."

I was stunned. Not knowing what to do, I said, "Claire, if I'm not intruding, can I get you a drink?"

"How do you know my name?" Claire asked. Her attitude seemed to be changing. She seemed to be less hostile, more like she was intrigued because I had known her name?

"I'm not sure," I weakly said. "Maybe we've met before? Your name just came to me. You look like a Claire." Lame, Josh, lame, I thought to myself.

"Well, my name is in fact Claire, but everyone calls me by my middle name, Susie," she said. "It's a bit disturbing you know my name is Claire. Even my best friends don't know that."

"Maybe we met in a previous life," I joked.

Claire nodded sagely, as if I had been profound. Was she making fun of me? I guessed not, because next she said, "Yes, maybe that's it. Well, I'd love a drink, Josh," and she gave me a smile that was so pretty I almost fell over.

I spent the rest of the party with Claire, calling her Susie at her insistence. I could hear her thinking and talking to herself. When she spoke to herself she called herself Claire. I felt creepy seeing into her mind like that. I hadn't felt creepy about it in high school, as I used it to great effect to get laid repeatedly. After all, I just let the girls guide me, via their thoughts, to do for them what they wanted me to do. But with Claire/Susie, I felt as if I were invading her privacy.

Claire's smile was bewitching. The more she smiled the more bewitched I was, and I found myself doing whatever I could to get her to smile, the entire evening. At the end of the evening I had fallen for this vixen, and I suspected that she knew it. Actually, I knew that she knew that I had fallen for her because, despite my efforts not to do so, whenever I relaxed a little I saw into her mind. It was as if she were an open book.

It was getting late, and people were coupled off and leaving two by two, hand in hand. Well, not everyone. Quite a few single men and women were also leaving the party. I was still with Susie/Claire, and she was smiling at me. I was lapping her up.

Suddenly her concentration must have lapsed, because again I could hear her thoughts in my mind. "Is Josh going to make a move? What do I do if he does? What if he wants to take me to his room? Do I go? Does that mean sex? I just met the man! Oh God, Claire, what are you going to do?"

I grabbed Claire/Susie's hand and said, "Susie, there's a late-night coffee shop on Washington Street. I don't want this evening to end. I cannot get enough of your smile." I was being open and honest. "Would you be my guest for a coffee and a slice of pie, perhaps?"

Susie smiled, and she stood on her toes and moved to kiss me. Even on her toes she could not reach my mouth, but her free hand went up to the back of my head and gently pushed it down, and we kissed, right there near the door at the party. At that moment, my friends passed by on their way back to the dorms, and saw Susie kissing me, and each and every one flashed me a thumbs up.

I took a chance and cupped her behind while we kissed. Susie's body language showed no protest, but in her mind, I saw panic. "Oh my God, Josh is getting the wrong idea! Why did I so impetuously kiss him? Is he going to be my first? Why didn't you go on the pill, Claire, you idiot?" I heard her thinking. The words were arriving right inside my head. I was freaked out.

Then it occurred to me that Susie was expecting me to try to seduce her. She seemed scared, but interested, both at once. I did not know what to do with this knowledge. I decided to go with her body language, like any normal guy would have done. Act as though you cannot see inside her mind, I told myself. Be good.

By the way, Susie's ass had felt great. Firm, but with the type of feminine give I always thought a perfect girl's ass would have.

We put on our light coats since it was late fall and quite cool at night, and we headed to the one coffee shop that was still open at 1am. As it turns out, we were not the only ones from the party with this idea, and the place was packed with boys romancing girls, hoping to get lucky. Who knows what the girls were hoping? Maybe the same thing, but with a different interpretation of the word 'lucky'?

We had to join another couple at the coffee shop if we wanted to sit. I did not know them, but Susie was good friends with the girl, named Dot, which I learned was short for Dorothy. The guy Zeke seemed nice enough. He was a bit annoyed that we joined them and we were cramping his style, though. He had been building up to walking Dot home, hoping to kiss her at the door to her dorm room. Dot was hoping the same thing, as her thoughts accidentally slipped into my head.

Why didn't Zeke's thoughts enter my head? I realized just then that the thoughts of all my male friends (fortunately) stayed private. It seemed to be only the thoughts of girls that spoke inside my head. When I was playing basketball, however, I somehow knew the moves of a defender, allowing me to defeat him, so on some level I could get inside a man's head. But this level with the girls was a whole new level. I could hear them think. I heard complete sentences, in their own voices. It was amazing.

I remembered the movie "Groundhog Day." It was one of my mom's favorite movies, and we had watched it about 5 or 6 times, while I was growing up. I remembered Bill Murray relived the same day over and over again, and each day he tried to seduce this bombshell of a customer in the coffee shop, until he learned so much about her he finally succeeded. If I used my mind reading power, I might be able to seduce any woman I wanted to!

In high school, I had simply listened to what the girls wanted me to do. In some sense, they were in charge and I was simply following their wishes. They ended up being so impressed with me, because I seemed to anticipate their every need and desire, that it was easy to get them to seduce me! I never had to seduce anyone.

College, however, seemed different. The girls were different. They were no longer sluts, or at least not the same kind of sluts, wanting to lay the star of the basketball team. They were now more like Stephanie had been. Maybe it was a social class thing?

I remembered my father's solemn admonition, one he had repeated several times, each time looking portentive and deadly serious. "Use this power carefully, and do not abuse it," he would say. The words were ricocheting in my head, "Do not abuse it." I abused the shit out of it in high school when I laid those gorgeous sluts. Better late than never, though. I'm in college now and more mature. I won't abuse it, at least not too much, tonight.

We had fun talking with Zeke and Dot, discussing mostly nothing, telling stories about stupid professor tricks. Then Susie and Dot went on a rant about a professor they thought might be a sexual harasser. Susie said at one point, "Do you think Chloé slept with him for her A?" This really surprised me. Chloé was a smart, pretty girl, but she was under intense parental pressure to get all A's.

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