Monday, September 23, 2013

Taken with Telekinesis

Originally, this was a request for fan fiction with Darth Vader. But it turns out that what was really appealing wasn't the Jedi of it all... it was the telekinesis, the power of the mind being used to control the physical.

Well, that's a fun idea. I've always wanted to be telekinetic, and while I'd rather be the one having it used on me, it was fun seeing how it might be used by someone particularly sadistic.

Taken with Telekinesis


            “Oh, I think we’re here.” I giggle a little bit and reach across the car. I unlock the cuffs holding him to the handle bar above the door, then get out, leaving him to put his own cock back in his pants. I walk into the warehouse, not looking back, as if I don’t care if he follows me or not.
  
          I know he will, though. From the minute he saw my boots, those hard leather military boots, laced up all tight, the laces wrapped around my leg just above the ankle, I knew he’d follow me. The sound they make, that creak of leather when I roll my ankles, I know that drives him mad. Besides, he let me handcuff him in the car. Let me tease his cock the entire drive here. Oh, he’ll come in. If nothing else, he’ll want me to finish him off.
  
          I flip a light switch, and the dense blackness is replaced by a dull glow. The lights need time to warm up. That’s okay; some things are better in the dark.
  
          “I have something to show you,” he says. His voice is a few steps away, and there is a harshness that wasn’t there before. A harshness that I’m not sure I like. Maybe I’ll beat him for that. Maybe I’ll tie him up at a weird angle. That’ll be easier to do if he’s unconscious. Lucky me, I brought a taser.
  
          I turn around, pulling it out of my pocket, and get ready to lunge for him. But he’s out of range. Standing just at the door, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets, he looks at the same time casual and very, very dangerous.
  
          “Do you believe in magic?” he asks me.
  
          I press the button on the taser, making the spark jump between the two prongs. I smirk and move quickly towards him. I dive for him, hand outstretched—
  
          And I stop. In mid air. My feet aren’t touching the ground, but I’m not moving forward. In fact, I can’t move at all. He smiles at me.
  
          “Dear oh dear,” he says, taking a step to the side, moving around me. I can hear his shoes on the hard floor of the warehouse. “This is a pickle, isn’t it?”
  
          The door, right in front of me, closes. There’s no one there to close it, no one to throw the lock, no one to drop the latch. But it happens.
  
          “You never answered my question,” he says, his voice getting louder as he comes back into my field of vision. “Do you believe in magic?”
  
          I laugh and try to gesture to myself. But I still can’t move. “Do I have a choice?”
  
          “Always,” he says. “You always have a choice.” His mouth is suddenly right at my ear, a harsh whisper that digs deep into my psyche. “Remember that when you let me force you anyway. Just say choice, and it all stops.” Okay; so ‘choice’ is the safeword.
  
          Then he leans back and slaps me across the cheek. It’s not a hard slap, but I can’t pull away even a little, can’t absorb the hit. It stings. Nearly knocks my glasses off.
  
          He takes the taser out of my hand. “Was this for me?” he asks, his face all innocent charm. He presses the button, and the sparks start to fly again. He gestures to it, and the electricity seems to spread out, stretching wider and wider. The light burns my eyes. Then he moves, and my body becomes part of the electric circuit.
  
          I can’t struggle, can’t even scream. It feels like every muscle in my body is tensing all at once. My nerves are on fire, my body wanting desperately to spasm but completely unable to move. He keeps the electricity coursing through me for a few agonizing, year-long seconds. Then he lets me go. He drops away the electricity, and drops away whatever it was that was holding me still.
  
          I land heavily, gasping for breath and lying at his feet. My muscles spasm the way they’ve been wanting to, and it seems to help dull the pain just a little bit. I hear him walking around behind me, and the hum of power as the lights start to warm up and begin actually lighting the room.
  
          “Quite a setup you’ve got here,” he says, looking around at all the things I had prepared to use on him. “Looks like you had a very interesting night planned.”
  
          His voice is far away, but I still feel a hand in my hair. I feel it yank me to my knees, then up to my feet. There are tears in my eyes, making my vision blur; I can’t see anyone here, just him, still half way across the room.
  
          “Do you like my new trick?” he asks, stepping closer. His voice purrs through the air, and I can feel my shirt starting to unbutton. “It’s nothing special. Just telekinesis.” His hands are back in his pockets, though I’d swear there’s one in my hair and another taking off my shirt and unhooking my bra.
  
          He gives me a wry smile. “Would you rather I use my hand, so you can follow what I’m doing?” He pulls one hand out of his pocket and points it at me, then makes a flicking motion. My shirt and my bra both fly off my body, shooting in the direction where he gestured. “I can do that if you like.” He smiles, taps his chin a little. “Though some movements are easier to just do rather than try to gesture out.” He reaches out again and gets ready to snap his fingers.
  
          “Think how hard it would be to do something like this.” He snaps his fingers, and every thread in every seam of my pants suddenly snaps free. The cloth flies off in all directions, leaving me standing in front of him completely naked except for the boots that I was so sure would entice him into submitting to me.
  
          He takes a step closer, and I feel like I’m being dragged towards him by the hand in my hair. In just a second, he has his hand on my throat, holding me off the ground. I can breathe pretty well, and there isn’t that much pressure. He’s not holding me with his hand. He’s holding me up with his mind. The hand is just there to choke me a little.
  
          His teeth sparkle at me as he carries me as casually as can be over to the suspension rig I’d taken so long to set up.
  
          “Please,” I say. He squeezes a little harder. Not hard enough to completely cut off my air, but hard enough to stop me from making any other noise.
  
          “I’m sorry,” he says. “What was that?” His eyes glint with malice. “Unless you’re choosing to get away, I don’t think I gave you permission to speak. Did I?”
  
          I try to shake my head, and he smiles. Then I feel rope sliding around my skin like a snake, slithering its way around my ankles, up my legs, around my knees and thighs. My legs shoot apart as the rope spreads me out. He lets me go, but the pressure on my throat doesn’t change. He just steps back and watches in admiration as the rope lashes my arms together behind my back, tying at the top of my palms, at my wrists, forearms, elbows, and even shoulders, pulling so tight that I feel like they are almost ready to pop out of their joints. Then both my arms are tied to my right leg, which hooks onto the suspension rig. My left leg leans out far, the end of the rope tying itself at an angle that is both awkward and uncomfortable, but that leaves me completely accessible to any part of him.
  
          He smiles at me, and it’s like there’s something magnetic about him. I start stretching out, pulling against the rig and against gravity, leaning closer and closer to him. Soon I’m at a strange angle, and my head is—well, it’s at the perfect height.
  
          “I don’t like being teased,” he says, unzipping his pants. “You might,” I feel a finger start to gently tease my pussy as his cock, still fully erect, slips out of his pants and into my line of vision. The grip on my neck tightens, completely cutting off the air. “But I don’t.”
  
          Suddenly, the pressure on my throat is gone. I take a deep gasp of breath, and he thrusts his cock into my mouth just as I do. My vision is a bit blurry, but I’m pretty sure it’s his real hands in my hair this time, gripping tight so he can pound away at my face.
  
          The tickle between my legs picks up tempo, but never enough to put me over. Just enough that I can’t forget it. Enough so that his cock deep in my throat isn’t enough of a distraction. Not even when he pushes it in so deep that I can’t breathe, that I choke and have to focus on not throwing up. Even when he does that, I can’t forget about the pressure between my legs, about the slow tease and the pleasure that builds up a promise that it never delivers.
  
          His thighs pound against my cheeks as he pushes his cock all the way into my throat again and again, fucking my face so raw that there are tears in my eyes. My glasses are smudged, and I wish I could take them off, but there’s no chance of me moving, even if he wasn’t holding me outstretched the way he is. He curls his fingers into fists in my hair, pulling at the roots making my eyes water even more.
  
          “I do love your hair,” he says with a grunt as he pushes all the way in, holding his cock there, so deep in my throat that I can’t breathe. “It really is a nice a place to grip, nice handles for me to use when I put your mouth to the only useful purpose it can serve.” He slides back out, almost all the way, far enough for me to take a breath. But just one, and then he’s all the way back in again.
  
          “Although,” he says, “I don’t suppose I need you to have hair anymore, do I? I can hold you with my mind. What’s the point of having to actually use your hair as a handle? Maybe we should cut it off.”
  
          I can feel his cock pulsing. He pulls back enough that I can get air in through my nose, then pushes it in again, leaving my tongue to trail desperately along the shaft in the hopes that maybe he’ll let me take another gulp of oxygen.
  
          “Just shave you bald,” he says. He pulls back, but then reaches down and pinches my nose. My eyes shoot open, and I start to struggle almost immediately. He laughs and lets me go. Pulls his cock back far enough that my tongue can reach the tip. If need be, I could push him out of my mouth. But I won’t, and he knows it. “I always thought bald chicks were hot. And it would make it easier for others to see you for what you are. Don’t you think they’d like that? Maybe we could write what a dirty slut you are all over your bald head. Then everyone would know. They wouldn’t be able to look away.”
  
          His voice is getting a bit more gruff as he gets closer and closer to orgasm. He reaches down and gently takes off my glasses, tossing them to the side. I don’t hear them land, which is probably good. He starts pumping into my face again, dragging my whole body up and down his shaft.
  
          “Besides,” he says, his voice becoming strained. I can feel the throb of his cock as he comes towards that edge, the edge he has me dangling over with the pressure between my legs. It hasn’t let up, hasn’t slowed down, but hasn’t sped up either. It’s almost enough. Almost, but not quite. Never quite enough. I moan onto his cock, hoping he’ll let me cum if he does.

But he doesn’t. He moans, and I can taste the very beginning of his orgasm, but then he pulls his cock out of my mouth. The cum spurts onto my face, ropes of it landing on my forehead, my cheek, my right eye. Some of it gets in my hair.
  
          He gasps a few times, breathing heavily as the orgasm pumps through him and onto me.
  
          Then he staggers a step or two backwards, and I find myself swinging back to where gravity wants me.
  
          He laughs, and I can almost hear the endorphins of his orgasm in his voice. “Besides,” he says again, “If you were bald, we wouldn’t have to worry about washing the cum out of your hair.” He takes a deep breath and laughs again.
  
          “Would we?”

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