You're not the only psychic on the train

You spend the next couple of minutes trying to gather your thoughts and experiment with your stuck hand.

As you already deep down knew to be true, you cannot move your hand at all. Some deep-seated part of your brain is just abjectly refusing to travel on a train without gripping the handle above your head from now on.

That is not a good sign.

You need to learn how your powers work, and fast, lest this happen again, with something even more serious.

You also need to, well, process the fact that you're now a busty sueprheroine called Rina and presumably will be forever more. Unless you can find another genie. Which you don't expect to be very likely.

So, what is this new world you're in? What is your new life? Why does this train make this loud hum that blocks out all sound but doesn't hurt your ears? So many questions, and right now, no way to get answers.

Surface level thoughts from the other commuters continue to float in and out of your mind.

'I should try running a few more land, that way I won't get mana screwed so much.'

'I cannot aford to pay for this roof repair...'

'Everyone is going to hate my outfit.'

Nothing particularly interesting or important, but you haven't yet worked out how to shut it off.

And then, you detect something different with your powers. Not a thought, but more like a hand reaching out from somewhere, but not a real hand, just, like, a mental one.

And then, to your shock and horror, you sense that hand somehow mentally phasing through your outerwear, seeing straight through your blouse and skirt. It suddenly feels like you're standing on the train in your underwear.

What the fuck! What the hell is-

And then, most shockingly of all, you feel your panties suddenly vanish. In real life. Gone, as if pulled away by the psychic hand. Someone has just used some kind of crazy teleportation magic to steal your underwear, and you're now commando under your skirt on the train!

What the fuck!!!

You don't know what's more unbelievable - that there have been THREE criminal perverts in this same train carriage, or that someone has the power to steal underwear without even touching their victim.

What the hell is this world I've found myself in?!

And then, things get even worse. Because you feel the psychic hand returning to your personal space. It sneaks up your leg, and before you know what's happening, there's a totally-not-real hand touching your vulva. And since you're brand new in this body, this is for all intents and purposes, the first time you've ever been touched down there.

A spark of shameful pleasure shoots up your body, straight from your sex, up your spine, and to your brain. This psychic touch not only feels completely real to your nervous system, but it also feels incredibly pleasurable.

No! No! Don't you dare make me feel good, you bastard!

The telepath's finger finds your defenceless clitoris, and begins circling it gently. Strong jolts of euphoria flood your body as your love button experiences its first ever act of intimacy.

Oh fuck... So goood... Why does it feel so good?!

Your left hand - the only hand you have available, as you're gripping onto the handrail above you with the other - shoots down to your exposed sex, touching your clitoris with a real, corporeal hand. As soon as you do this, the sensation of being touched by the telepath's hand shuts off.

I've blocked him! The psychic touch can't override the real sensation of touch. Now to find his thoughts!

You rapidly search the minds of the people around you, trying to find anyone thinking something naughty. But you can't find anything.

And then, you feel a weird fuzzy feeling in the hand you've got touching your clit, and you realize that he is trying to telepathically touch you there once more, but failing because your own real hand is in the way. Using some deeply embedded instinct, you fire a mental blast at the fuzziness. One of the businessmen in front of you, on the other side of the young women you just saved, a man who hadn't even been looking in your direction, collapses to the ground. In his right hand, is a pair of women's panties.

Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

You want to move and retrieve your panties, but you can't get to them without letting go over the handrail. And your body still won't let go of the handrail. So you watch in dismay as a young, scruffy looking guy who was right next to the psychic molester, stares at the now collapsed man, and then notices the panties. You grimace and snarl and silently scream as this weird creepy teenager yanks the panties out of the **** man's hand, sniffs them, and then with a really disgustingly perverse face, stuffs them into his pocket.

Fuck, I'm not getting those back, am I...

The train lurches again, and then the humming begins to lower in intensity. You see the buildings out the windows going past slower and slower with each passing second.

The next stop must be approaching, at last.