Disclaimer: Do not read this if you are underaged, it would be illegal for other reasons or while operating heavy machinery. Don't try this at home either even if you are telepathic, which I doubt.
Annette stood frozen on the stage before me, dressed in a white bikini and heels. Short blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her lovely grey eyes did not register my presence; except for the steady rise and fall of her ample bosom she might have been a beautiful mannequin. Since she was now under my mental control, the image was not far from the truth.
Being a telepath has a number of advantages, most of which are illegal, immoral and extremely enjoyable. Chief among these is adjusting the minds of attractive young women for my own dishonorable purposes. Annette was my latest, having just been acquired during an audition for a nonexistent play. I was certain she would provide me with hours of fun, especially since I'd made a few alterations to her thought processes while she was... paused.
My thoughts flickered around her psyche as I made the final changes. You will not object to anything I say or do, they told her again. Nor can you even think of a reason to do so. One last scan confirmed that Annette was ready. I have always taken great pride in my ability to sculpt, whether in clay or other, more precious materials.
I snapped my fingers and watched her stir, unaware of either the time that had passed or change in her clothing. It was time to resume our conversation and start the game. "So you're a Theatre Major?", I asked.
She nodded. "Yes, I just declared this year, though I've known what I wanted to do since I was a girl. There's just something about being on stage that's so thrilling!"
Strolling over to her, I said "I imagine there is. Hold still a moment, would you?"
She nodded. My hand caressed her soft cheek, roamed to trace her lower lip. Moving downwards, it ran down her beautiful neck and began to follow her collarbone. I slipped it behind her and untied the bikini top. Her large breasts bounced as they were freed from their prison. "Yes", I said after a moment. "No doubt an audience feels the same way when you're on stage."
She blushed a little at my compliment. "That's very kind of you. Oh!" My hand had slipped down to give her buttocks a friendly pat.
"You don't mind?", I asked. One finger circled the base of her spine.
"Oh, not at all", she assured me. "That would be silly, wouldn't it?"
"Some people might not think so. They might say you were being treated like a toy - a living doll. Raise your arms above your head. What would you say to that?"
"I am not a toy!", she said as she complied. "That's not only stupid but insulting". Her breasts heaved impressively from her indignation.
Standing behind her, I reached around to cup both rounded cones. A gentle squeeze caused her to jump suddenly. "Well, you're going topless at my request and I'm certainly taking liberties with your delectable person", I pointed out, tweaking her nipples.
"What's odd about that? It's not as if it's unusual - why shouldn't you? And why shouldn't I do as you say?" She looked so cute with her arms held up as she said that.
"I see your point. Oh, you can lower your arms now. Turn and face me, please." I withdrew my hands with some reluctance as she did so.
Taking her wrist, I positioned her arm so that it was held at a right angle to her body and parallel to the floor. "After all", I said, "you are a fully grown woman."
"Exactly!", she said as I did the same with her other arm. "There is no way I'm somebody's toy!"
It was time to send some suggestions to her. You feel odd, I thought at her. Weak, as if you can't move easily from your position. She looked a bit puzzled.
"Something wrong?". I managed to keep straight face, which is not always easy.
"No - just a funny feeling", she said with a quick smile.
"Okay". More suggestions were sent. You see wires attached to your wrists, knees and shoulders. Another seems to be placed just above your buttocks. They go up but you can't see where because of the lights. There does seem to be a figure moving up there, though. He is definitely holding something; it seems to be a pair of crossed sticks. I haven't noticed and you don't want me to; it's very embarrassing.
She looked startled and darted a glance at me. "Marionette?" she gasped.
"Beg pardon?, I asked with a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
.... There is more of this story ...