My Thoughts are Your Thoughts Ch. 01

Looking back now, I realise I always had the gift, but never gave it much thought, or understood its potential at the time. It just seemed completely natural to me; I thought everybody was the same, so it didn't occur to me that what happened around me was in any way out of the ordinary.

As a child I often seemed to get what I wanted, whether it was sweets, or a toy, or whatever trivial things children wanted, but I must stress, not always. I could, it seems influence, but not command, the thoughts of those around me. If my mother or father thought that something wasn't good for me, or I didn't need it, then the decision was theirs to make, which probably stopped me from becoming a totally insufferable and spoilt child. My psychic powers, for that's what I now know them to be, lay almost dormant. Weak and latent, but things started to change as I approached puberty.

Throughout my high school years my 'powers' grew stronger, but I kinda ignored them. I was too busy doing school activities, playing football and having fun with my friends. There was one small incident, where I, 'influenced ,' one of my teachers, a newly qualified young Australian woman, Miss Jones. I saw her masturbating, after normal school hours in her big walk-in store cupboard, rather than something I took part in. She gave herself an orgasm, and only then did she notice that I had seen her. She swore me to secrecy, 'our secret,' she said and that was the end of that. I never betrayed her, and I virtually forgot about it until I met her years later at a wedding reception. However, Miss Jones was eventually to become one of the most important women in my life, but all will be revealed in due course.

I had always been artistic rather than scientific or mathematically inclined, not that either is mutually exclusive of the other. Just think of Leonardo Da Vinci for instance, but I was hopeless at maths, whereas I was usually in the top two or three for English and Art. As my interests developed and were nurtured at secondary school, I realised that I wanted to go to Art College and become a painter.

My parents, although supportive, tried to persuade me to at least follow my talent for English, rather than art. They knew that it was almost impossible to make a career of art unless you ended up teaching, and as teachers themselves, that was the last thing they wanted me to do. However, do teenagers ever listen to their parents? I was determined to go to Art College and study painting, and that's exactly what I did. To their credit, my parents supported me in my, "folly," by taking an interest in all I did, and supporting me financially as well. They did all, and more, than any parents could be expected to do, and I was not ungrateful.

My time at Art College was well spent, for I was determined not to let my parents, nor indeed myself down. I studied hard, painting and drawing virtually non-stop, always practicing and honing my skills, which paid off in my final year when I picked up one of the major prizes for painting. These prizes were awarded to the top students in each discipline; painting, sculpture, and design, etc, who had impressed the adjudicators in their final year. It was my good fortune to be awarded the prize for painting, which allowed me to travel and study in Italy during the long summer holidays. I came back home, inspired by what I had seen in Rome, Florence, Sienna, Padua, and Venice, but inspiration or not, I had to find some way of supporting myself until I set the art world on fire.

I chose some of my best Italian and Scottish landscapes and had them reproduced as limited-edition prints. The prices I set for these were not too cheap, but not too dear. Too cheap means people have no respect for your work, but too dear can be just as bad, deterring the impulse buyer, or at best making them think too hard about buying. I placed some with local art shops and took a stall at craft fairs and such like. I also painted a few portraits of friends and family as samples, with the intention of marketing myself as a portrait artist.

After a year or so of continually working at promoting myself, things began to pay off, and I began to receive substantial commissions for portraits. For some reason my work seemed to appeal to the corporate market, and my work now hangs in the boardrooms of quite a few major company headquarters. From there it was a short step to picking up private commissions from the wives of executives who had seen my work in the company boardrooms. One thing always leads to another, and I was continually aware of the need for the dreaded, but essential "networking," which paid off when I was recommended by existing clients to their friends.

Meanwhile I continued to paint the occasional landscape, and market the limited edition prints in any way I could. I also began to make a name for myself in the world of fine art as a painter of nudes, but I'll tell you about the nudes, a lot more about nudes later. With all these irons in the fire it may seem like I had my nose to the grindstone, but I loved painting, and it was no hardship for me. I had a great social life too, with a few short to medium term relationships, but they always fizzled out for various reasons, not that I was particularly worried. I felt I was too young to "settle down," and had a long way to go before I was financially stable and established as a serious painter.

I guess I should explain my psychic powers before I go any further. I have the facility to think something 'towards,' another person, and 'plant,' that thought in their head. I cannot make them do anything they wouldn't normally do. So, to explain it in the most crass and shallow terms, if I was talking to a young woman I was attracted to, I could plant the thought in her head of playing with my cock. Or sucking my cock, or being fucked by me. I couldn't turn her into a zombie-like creature, and anyway, who in their right mind would want that, but I can certainly plant an erotic idea in her head, and influence her just a little bit in my favour.

It was around this time that Miss Jones (remember her?) came back into my life for one glorious weekend. It was at the wedding of one of my former classmates, Jennifer Riley. Jennifer had been a favourite of Miss Jones and had kept contact with her throughout the intervening years and invited her to the wedding. I saw Miss Jones at the church, and thought she hadn't changed a bit, still beautiful, only more mature, and elegant. Her blonde hair was up in formal style, and she was wearing a cream silk two-piece suit and a lacy camisole type blouse below her jacket. The skirt was short, but classy, her legs were bare and tanned, and just as long and shapely as I recalled. She looked stunning.

I had just turned twenty-four and figured that Miss Jones must be about thirty-four or a little older. Not too old my lecherous mind thought, and so, to cut a long story short, I spent the entire forty-five minutes of the ceremony just a couple of pews behind her, in the church, reminding her of her, 'indiscretion,' in the school cupboard, and how she's been seen by me, while projecting the thoughts, 'at,' her.

My powers were much stronger now, and I also added a few more thoughts and fantasies of my own. After all, I knew what I wanted from darling Miss Jones, now that I was old enough to know what I wanted. I watched her get ever more restless and agitated until she turned around and looked at me. I saw the shock on her face and smiled at her as of old. She blushed but gave me a dazzling smile back. Our secret, I thought.

Later, at the reception, I talked to her for a while before we sat down for the meal. We didn't mention what had taken place at school. Frankly, I didn't need to talk about it with her, because all through the catch-up conversation, while I was telling her what I had done at school, Art College, etc, I kept guiding her mind to think of sex. She was trying to maintain a normal conversation, but I knew her thoughts were of masturbating openly for me, playing with my cock, and much more. There was a definite sexual 'tension,' between us.

After the main course, Miss Jones, or Emily as she asked me to call her, got up from the table and left the reception room. Determined not to lose her, I followed a moment or two later, and caught up with her in the corridor. 'Miss Jones... Emily, you're not leaving just yet are you?' I asked.

'Oh James, it's so difficult for me, seeing you again after what happened. I keep thinking about it and I feel so embarrassed,' she said.

'No, no, you can't leave now. You know, I kept our secret, never told a soul, but I thought of you, no... I think of you often. It's still one of the most erotic things I've ever experienced, and look at you now, you're still as sexy as ever, just as beautiful,' I rambled on, playing for time as I sent the most lurid, sexual thoughts 'at,' her.

'Thank you, James. Yes, I sometimes think of it too,' she admitted, sounding a little breathless, looking at the floor, obviously embarrassed. I just smiled, knowing she'd been thinking off it almost non-stop this afternoon, because I'd placed the thoughts in her mind. I knew she was almost certainly very aroused, so I pulled her closer to me and kissed her there in the corridor, and she kissed me back. Breathless, but looking very surprised, she just said, 'James,' and held me tightly.

I took her hand, leading her into the deserted toilets. She protested all the way as I expected, but I kissed her again and pulled her into a cubicle, kissing her deeply and passionately once more. Again, she kissed me in return, just as eagerly and I slipped my hand up under her short skirt. 'No, no, please don't,' she said, but it was a token protest and with only tiny panties and no tights to contend with it was almost too easy, and by then it was far too late anyway.

She was just as wet as I expected her to be, as my fingers slipped inside her panties, found and opened her sex. She moaned and held me tighter, trembling with arousal, while I pulled her skirt high around her waist with my other hand. After a minute or so of this, she obligingly pulled her tiny panties down and stepped out of them, spreading her legs, reaching for the zip of my trousers, opening and finding me, feeling the hard length of my cock in one easy move. It was frantic, fast, and heart thumpingly exciting as my cock slipped between those fondly remembered pussy lips at last.

'Miss Jones,' I whispered in her ear.

'Oh James,' was all she said, before I heard her whimpering and moaning like I had all those years before, but louder, so much louder, as she came again and again.

Later, we re-joined the reception, all thoughts of her leaving early, now forgotten. We eventually left the reception earlier than most, but only as far as the room I had booked at the wedding hotel. I wanted to enjoy the company and body of the lovely Miss Jones as much and as often as possible.

When the hotel room door closed behind us, she turned to me, almost shyly.

'I honestly don't know what I'm doing here. You're so much younger than me, and a former pupil - this is crazy, I can't believe what I'm doing,' she tried to protest, but I wasn't about to let her go so soon. I stepped closer and put my hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer.

'Look Emily, maybe it's just unfinished business, call it what you will, but I want you and I know you want me too, so let's not analyse things too much. Let's just allow our inclinations to take us where they will,' I offered. I put my arms around her, pulling her into me and kissed her once more. Again, she responded eagerly, and when I pulled back from her, she was trembling and breathless.

'Still want to stop?' I asked and she shook her head, saying nothing. I slipped the cream silk jacket off her shoulders and, threw it on a chair, she shivered again, but not from cold. Next, I unbuttoned the lacy, camisole, slowly revealing her expensive white bra, and pulling the blouse from the waistband of her skirt; I slipped it off her shoulders and threw it on the same chair. She reached down, unfastening the opening at the side of her skirt herself, and let it fall to the floor. Only her bra remained, her panties, removed in the toilet, were still in my jacket pocket.

'Oh my Miss Jones,' I whispered, 'you look simply stunning.' As I said it, I pushed the straps of the bra off her shoulders, and she reached behind to unfasten it herself. The bra slid down and off, revealing lovely small titties. Not too small, but beautifully shaped, with brownish nipples, which were erect and swollen. I caressed her breasts, savouring the moment, and the smoothness of her skin, and again she shivered, moaning a little when I squeezed her nipples.

Still standing, I kissed her deeply and passionately, letting my hands wander all over her slender body. She reciprocated, touching me, my back, my bottom. Kissing my mouth, my face affectionately, finally slipping her hand down to feel my cock and my balls, letting me know she was as eager for this as I was.

Next, while I kissed her and played with those amazingly beautiful tits and hard nipples, she did something wonderfully erotic, Still holding my cock, she stepped as close as she could get, opened her legs a little wider, and rubbed my cock against her pussy, stimulating bot her and me, using me like a dildo, I could feel her wetness, making me slippery in her hand as she rubbed me back and forth.

'Oh my god James, I'm so fucking horny,' she gasped out, 'let's get onto that big bed, and fuck like there's no tomorrow. I need this,' and she squeezed my dick just a little bit harder so I could be in doubt what she meant.

She sat on the edge of the bed watching as I undressed, until naked, I went to her. She reached out and took me in her hand, one hand cupping my balls, the other feeling my hardness, tentatively stroking me. She pulled me to her, closer still, and took me in her beautiful mouth. I gasped with the sensation as her lips and tongue combined to give me so much pleasure. Tangling my hand in her hair I pulled her back.

'Miss Jones,' I said, 'that feels wonderful, but I want to bury this in your gorgeous pussy first.' She looked up at me and smiled.

'I wish you'd call me Emily' she smiled, 'Miss Jones sounds so damned kinky.'

'Yes, it does, but it's exciting too don't you think?' I said. She looked up at me, smiling again.

'Maybe too damned exciting,' she offered, a little shamefaced.

'Miss Jones, I do believe you're a dirty little bitch,' I teased. She said nothing, but turned round on the bed, presenting her bottom to me.

'Go on then "boy," fuck me from behind. Show your teacher what you've learned. Make me your dirty bitch, it's what we both want.'

I stroked the smooth skin of her bottom, pulling her cheeks apart, revealing her bum-hole and the wet pussy below. Her pussy was simply a delight. Shaven, wet and open, with a good, generous set of labia, which I couldn't wait to see wrapped around and sucking at my cock. Stepping up behind, I let my knob slip and tease along the length of her slit, liberally coating myself with her juices. She was moaning in anticipation as I placed myself at the mouth of her sex, which was opening up beautifully for me, and then fed him slowly and deliberately into her slippery depths, getting as much penetration as possible. She pushed back, eager to please, and I withdrew, before thrusting into her again. She whimpered and moaned as I ploughed into her, getting wetter all the time. Gasping for breath, meeting my thrusts with her own, she told me I was a good boy; I'd get a gold star for this.

'Miss Jones,' I said, 'you're a dirty, perverted slut.' She liked that a lot.

'Yes, yes, smack my bottom, I'm a bad girl,' she pleaded. Always eager to please my teacher, I spanked her, lightly at first, but she soon pleaded for me to do it harder. I did, until her bottom was bright red, and all the time thrusting deep inside her, varying the angle to reach every nook and crevice of her pussy. She came quickly after that, bucking and squirming on the end of my tool.

She was happy and let me know it; a very vocal lover was my dear Miss Jones. She collapsed face down on the bed, my cock withdrawing from her pussy with an audible, "slurp." She lay there for no more than ten seconds before turning, and once more reaching out to take me in her hands. This time she was not to be denied as once again, she took me in her lovely mouth. She held me close, her right hand cupping my captive balls, and sucked, licked and kissed me into a state of near delirium. I couldn't hold out for long against such skill and enthusiasm and came with a rush. She swallowed it all down, milking my cock, stroking along its length with her left hand, and all the time sucking eagerly for more. Totally drained, I collapsed on the bed beside her, and I think we must have slept for a little while.

We got precious little sleep that night. She was an eager, responsive lover, with a delightfully dirty mind, and we couldn't get enough of each other. I was still just twenty-four, and once more she played the part of the teacher, showing me so many things I still hadn't learned about a woman's body. I wasn't inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination, but she made me stop and think about what I was doing and what women liked. I came out of that hotel room a much better lover than when I went in.

We parted next day, regretfully, for it turned out that she no longer lived in the same city as me, having moved a few years earlier and had only come back for the wedding. 'James,' she confessed, as we said our goodbyes. 'I love it when you call me Miss Jones. It sounds so delightfully wicked and makes me go weak at the knees. I never want you to think of me as anything else, and you must always call me that when... if, we meet again. However, the truth is, I'm no longer a Miss. I'm married; I have been for quite a few years now.'

'Hey, you're married?' I said, gob smacked, but trying to sound mature and sophisticated. 'But... but,' I tailed off. She reached up and touched my lips to hush me.

'Our secret James?' she said, smiling affectionately, and hugging me.

'Our secret... Miss Jones,' I replied, kissing her one last time. She got into her car, started the engine, and rolled down the window.

'I love you James, you'll always be very, very, special to me,' she said, and we kissed hastily once more, through the car window, tears in our eyes. She waved goodbye as she drove out of the car park. Since that memorable day we've met at a few other weddings through the years, and my wonderful Miss Jones is still teaching me a thing or two. I no longer need to, 'influence,' her, she gets the right ideas all by herself now.