Anya’s power was a precise, vicious gift. She couldn’t touch thoughts, but she could command flesh. Every muscle, every nerve ending—they were hers to puppet. And tonight, her puppet was Lena, the sleek brunette who’d stolen Anya’s ex with a flick of her hair and a false smile.

Anya found Lena alone in her minimalist apartment, sipping wine. From the shadows of the adjacent building, Anya focused. Her mind slithered out, a phantom wire connecting to the warm, living machine of Lena’s body.

It started with a twitch. Lena’s hand jerked, spilling Cabernet on her white blouse. “What the…?” she muttered.

Anya smiled. *Now for the real show.*

She sent a command. Lena’s back arched violently, thrusting her tits against the soaked fabric. Her own hands, now Anya’s instruments, flew to her chest. Fingers, clumsy at first then deft, pinched her own nipples through the silk. Lena gasped, “Stop…!” but her body disobeyed.

“I can’t stop you thinking he’s yours,” Anya whispered to the night, “but I can make your cunt drip for me.”

She forced Lena’s hand down, past the waistband of her tailored trousers. Lena’s eyes were wide with horror, but a low moan escaped her lips as Anya’s will made her fingers plunge into her own soaked pussy. Anya worked her roughly, curling fingers to grind against Lena’s G-spot with brutal, expert rhythm. Lena’s hips bucked, a traitor