The Story of My Telepathic Life Ch. 07

I was having such a great time with my new and understanding husband!!!!

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Age 31

And that was fucking everything that happened to me at age 30. The year started with my mind getting fucked over by an alien, having a giant dick inserted into my cunt and having an alien baby squirted into me, and then watching said alien baby emerge from my cunt and fuck Mom & my sister Audrey, and then getting rescued by Tom, moving in with Tom, revealing I was a telepath to Tom, breaking up with Tom, getting back together with Tom, and getting married just before I turned 31.

How can so fucking much happen in one year? It seems impossible.

And yet, it did.

My 31st year on this planet was boring by comparison. Life with Tom was a paradise, although even paradise had a few bumps from time to time. Every month when I went into Michelle mode I would clearly sense Tom thinking of me as a bitch, a whore, a cunt. Every time I had one of those findings I simply smiled lovingly at my husband. I no longer believed them.

I tried to keep Tom happy at all times, and that included when I was on my period. I wasn't an avid cocksucker, but as I mentioned earlier during my period Tom's thoughts about my wondrous blowjob lips wore me down. He kept feeding me images, intentionally or not, of me sucking him off. The erotic nature of these images wore me down and before long I was sucking him to completion. I hadn't enjoyed it with Julian and yet somehow, as Tom moaned and gasped and grabbed the bed sheets, I found that I was the one in control. During these times I was the one who controlled Tom's orgasm, and when or if or how he got it, and it made me feel so womanly, so powerfully, to know that with just a little suck here or flick of my tongue there that I could make him groan powerfully and his body dance to my tune.

I continued to grow closer to Mom, a process which had begun shortly after Dad died. I still had appalling memories of Mom eagerly embracing Us, eagerly taking the giant Revered One's penis inside of her and getting impregnated with alien life, smiling down at me and Audrey while we were going hot and heavy at it.... But I guess if Mom could forgive me for bringing her into Us, I could forgive her for embracing it so quickly without a fight. When I saw her I still got flashbacks in my mind of Mom smiling serenely as the Revered One's giant cock reamed her. Thoughts like that were hard to forget.

But now as I got older Mom treated me (somewhat) more like an equal, and that was welcomed, and we talked (somewhat more) as adults, rather than a mother and a child. I realized Mom's limitations--her love for the World Government and being told what to do by a central authority were still strong--but she was my mother and I still loved her. Kind of.

I also saw Clay and Claire on a regular basis. The one sore point was Audrey. Mom didn't talk much about Audrey, but she did see my estranged sister from time to time. Henry and Audrey had a baby and everyone was invite to see it... but me. It really hurt to hear that. All Mom told me was that Audrey needed more "time" before she would be ready to see me again. I had no fucking idea what that meant except for the obvious conclusion, which is that my kid sister I loved so much would never, ever forgive me for what I did to her.

********

We never quite talked about it, but Tom and I were also trying to have a baby.

Tom knew I wasn't on birth control, that I had never been on birth control, and I knew he wasn't taking testicle blockers. And so every time we had sex there was a chance we could create a baby.

I knew that Tom wanted it; every time he came inside of me, filling me with pulse after pulse of his homemade sperm, he would think, with satisfaction, maybe this is the time I shoot her down. After we had sex, and I was walking around the house in a flimsy nightie which showed my pubis and titties quite clearly, Tom would think, with great satisfaction, She's carrying a part of me inside of her. Even now my sperm may be inching towards their inevitable destination, ramming Shelly's helpless egg.

I certainly wanted a baby too. I first felt the urge after Dad was killed by the Laquintan fanatic (sorry: the "mentally disturbed person"). I've read that the urge to replace a lost one with a new life is only natural.

My urge to have a child only grew stronger when Claire gave birth to Demetrius. Demetrius was so cute, with his wide nose and little afro! I knew that any children I had would not benefit from all the advantages in education and job placement that Demetrius would, but even if I gave birth to a plain-Jane white baby, I still wanted it! In my mind, I also felt it would cement my love to Tom, and prevent him from ever leaving me. (Of course, Tom had had Megan with Melissa, and that didn't stop the two of them from getting a divorce... but I knew my marriage to Tom would be different).

And yet, I never talked about having a baby with Tom. For some reason both of us avoided the subject, I'm not sure why. We just kept at it, working as hard as we could to "make reproduction occur", as We might have said.

********

I got to know my new husband well.

Intimately well.

Some women hated cooking for their husbands. I loved it; not because I liked to cook (I didn't, not really) because I wanted to cook for Tom to show how much I loved him. That first year of marriage I was so insecure that I would cook him dinner every night and suck him off during every period and hug him every morning to bind him to me in every way I could think of.

Tom never had to tell me what he wanted for dinner. I just always knew. I knew when he was getting tired of steak and wanted hamburger. I knew those rare occasions when he got tired of red wine (Tom loved red wine!) and wanted to switch to white. As Tom sat down to dinner every day, he would look at his food, and look at me, and his thoughts would be priceless.

You know exactly what I like. You're taking care of all my needs like no woman could.

*********

Likewise, I know how Tom wanted me to dress. He liked dresses which showed off my bare titties on some occasions, but what Tom really liked were shirts, tight shirts, which made my titties stick out more. It wasn't bare skin he wanted per se; what Tom found even more attractive was just the shape of my breasts. When they were encased in my breast control collar, they stuck out horizontally. I actually went to BloomingSteinFeld's and bought some Level 7 breast controllers; they made my breasts a little sore, but it was worth it the first time Tom saw them and pitched a tent in his pants.

Tom never asked for any of these things, mind you; I simply knew.

Tom liked me in anything the color blue (as he always did), but he liked other colors as well; and he also liked me wearing tight pants, which delineated what he thought of as "the delightful curve" of my ass, as well as the muscular shape of my thighs. Tom also liked it when I wore high heels, or boots.

As for me, I loved my man in anything and everything. I still got a chill when he came home in his Survey Service dress whites (he looked so handsome!) or even his black and blue dayshirt. On the weekends, he would wear tight shirts which would show off his broad shoulders which I also liked.

I also read Tom's mind to find out what kind of makeup he liked. Tom always told me that he didn't like me in makeup, but I was surprised to learn from his thoughts that that wasn't really true. When Tom said "No makeup" he really meant "minimal makeup". The first time I wore red lipstick around him and just a touch of rouge on my cheeks Tom thought, Wow! And asked me if there was something different about me.

"I don't know," I replied innocently, wiggling my ass as I made my way to the kitchen to fetch him dinner.

My mindreading abilities helped with everything, little things--such as when we talked about our weekend plans, Tom would often beat around the bush. Sometimes he wouldn't even know what he wanted to do. But I knew, because I could interpret his thoughts clearer than he could. At first he acted surprised when I suggested doing things he wanted to do, but then he quickly realized where I was getting my ideas from, and his surprise turned to gratitude, which relieved me.

I loved catering to Tom's every need. But please don't fucking think of me as a slave. It was the first year of my marriage to the man I loved above all, and I was insecure! I would continue to cater to Tom's unspoken needs for the rest of our lives, but never so meticulously as in that first year.

I sensed that Tom, however, felt a little distressed that he couldn't do the same for me, and sometimes he would anxiously ask if there was anything I wanted. I would brush his hair or cheek and reassure him I already had everything I wanted.

And then the issue of mental privacy reared its ugly head again.

********

Tom was having trouble at work at HomePlanet Security. His new boss was a lesbian Captain with big titties and an even bigger ego who seemed to have a grudge against Tom. His lesbian boss was a "man" lesbian, the aggressive kind with very short hair who used nuclear tipped dildos on their partners. She was making life unpleasant for Tom, dressing him down in front of subordinates, perhaps trying to pressure him to resign so she could appoint a more pliable deputy in his place.

Tom could resign of course; his tour at HomePlanet Security, meant to be temporary, had already lasted years. He had stayed so long because he liked his work and his superiors thought the world of him.

But if he resigned, he'd be returning to the Survey Service proper. Which means he'd probably be assigned to a starship, and spend most of his time away from me.

Tom agonized over his choice for days, and I felt the pressure on him. Finally I said, "Tom? If it's bothering you so much, why don't you just resign?"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "If what bothers me so much?"

I felt a tightness in my chest. Tom had never told me about any of this.

"You know, don't you, Shell?"

I was silent.

"How could you not know? You read my mind," said Tom. He shook his head. "I wish you didn't."

"But Tom, this is something that's really bothering you! Why didn't you want to tell me?"

"Because I want to figure it out for myself! Shell, you've made my life so easy, so wonderfully easy. I love every minute I've spent with you, but I feel like I'm in a prison, a maximum security prison, with my every waking thought monitored, analyzed, and interpreted!"

There was a silence between us. Tom's face fell as he realized the implications of what he said.

Tom felt like marriage to me was like being in prison.

I ran sobbing from the room.

**********

There was a knock on the door of the guest bedroom. I ignored it.

"Shelly!"

I kept crying.

Tom came in.

I held up my hand. "Stay away! Stay away from me!"

Tom ignored me, and scooped me up in his arms.

"Why!" I cried, futilely beating at him with my fists. "Why did you marry me?"

"I married you because I love you," said Tom, gently grabbing my hands.

My eyes were so full of tears that I could barely see him. "Why would you want to spend your life in a prison?"

Tom looked pained. "Shell, it was a bad choice of words. I've been under a lot of pressure lately, as you know."

"Then why not come to me? I'm your wife!"

Tom sighed. "Shell, I've spent most of my adult life apart from you. I'm used to thinking things out on my own." He paused, looking for the right words, thinking what he could say to make it right. "When you raised the subject, the subject I purposefully, and futilely, tried to keep from you, I was still surprised. It felt like an invasion of privacy. You've done so many wonderful things to make me comfortable... with your ability. And I appreciate that, Shell." He took my hand and squeezed it. "And I appreciate you. I love you, Shell, and always want to be with you!"

"But... you think of marriage to me as... as a prison?"

Tom paused again. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Yes, Shell. Marriage to you is a prison. It always will be, I suppose."

I dropped my head down. He raised my chin with his finger so our lips were almost level.

"And as long as you're the warden of my prison, I will never, ever want to leave!"

"Oh Tom!"

We kissed.

It's amazing how a single sentence can change so much.