The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The edges of the world were shimmering. They felt unreal and distorted, like a reflection seen through a steam-smudged mirror. Only what she focused on seemed to have weight to it. Nothing but what she focused on was real, not here, at least.

Hildegarde opened her eyes to an endless expanse. She floated; floated still and unmoving, enjoying the wetness all around her. The water protected her, caressed her; like a womb that tasted of chlorine and purity. What an odd taste that was. She didn’t need to breathe, for she knew she couldn’t come to harm, not in this place that was hers. She moved her arms, waddling ever so slowly. The water touched her skin, touched her everywhere. Hildegarde—Lizardeyes – made a sound of pleasure, made a sound of love and power as water caressed her neck, moved down her back, and nestled between her legs. She was familiar with the feeling of being touched everywhere; if not by a lover, then by something infinitely more powerful. Hildegarde was deep underwater, cut off from the world, trapped, but at the same time she was in control, liberated... powerful. She was the first. She would be the first of many. She was a power-wrought hammer to smash out the dents in the world.

Suddenly Hildegarde could feel them, the others. They were in the water, suddenly, swimming their worries away. She could hear their laughter, high, high, high on the water’s surface, could see their legs as they kicked this way and that. Hildegarde felt herself frown; the water bubbled around her, feeling what she felt. There was something wrong about them; they were intruders into her realm, daring to offer insult. She floated upwards, slowly, controlled. Controlled. Hildegarde moved closer to the intruders and stopped some distance away; there, she waited and learned. Suddenly knew what it was they were missing. Hildegarde’s rage made the water grow icy. How dare they? Here, in her realm? How dare they?

Hildegarde swam and the world shimmered. She was standing on the water, moving up and down with the waves born from the kicks of those who swam in the swimming pool. Above, the roof was immense, endless; the walls disappeared when she didn’t look at them. But those before her didn’t. They had weight to them. Hildegarde stood on the water, her skin dry, and her uniform perfect. Perfect as always. The water was no longer enveloping her, but she still felt that something was touching her everywhere, inside and out as it should. As it always did. She was protected. She was in control.

Those in the pool didn’t look her way. They swam, laughed, and played like unruly children who ignored what their betters told them; children who deliberately broke the rules. Hildegarde could see their bodies through the clear, clear, clear water. What she didn’t see on their bodies set a fire blazing deep inside her mind, deeper in her heart. How dare they come like this here? How dare they, how dare they, how dare they...

Hildegarde took a step forward and the water froze, trapping them. They managed to turn, to stare at Lizardeyes, their eyes shimmering with fear and confusion. Hildegarde stepped on the ice, heels making a metronomic song as she walked towards one of the offenders. The walls and ceiling disappeared; there existed only an endless expanse of purple where there had been matter.

The first one was blonde, and then she was brunette; the girl was pretty, in the way of petite women. Hildegarde found herself enjoying the view, humming softly. Was she enjoying the sight of the girl, or what she would give the girl? Curious. But not a question to be asked at the time. Hildegarde kept on humming, ignoring the girl’s eyes as they screamed and screamed. Her mouth didn’t move. It didn’t need to. Hildegarde knew what they felt. Yes, she did. Of course they were afraid, of course they were angry—they were but lost souls, needing guidance. They needed rules. But most of all, they needed obedience. Yes, obedience to obey. Hildegarde stood in front of the girl and waved a hand. The girl floated out of the ice, slowly, as if pulled out by invisible wires. She was clad only in a bikini and, after the blink of an eye, in tattered trousers and a fedora. Hildegarde’s look of distaste made the girl blush in shame. Good. She is learning—all learn eventually.

The girl started muttering apologies. They fell on deaf ears. How dared she enter the pool without her uniform on? How dare she be without her uniform – any uniform – on? How dare she speak to the First like that? She broke the rules. She broke the rules. The expanse of purple trembled, like an animal enraged.

“You have broken the rules.” Hildegarde said, softly. Somewhere behind her a cat mewled. A person whimpered. Another moaned.

Hildegarde’s thoughts were simple, boring, monotone. She thought of doing one thing. She had to perform one duty and one duty alone. Rules had been broken – her rules! She had to correct them. She had to. She had to. She had to. She needed to.

Writhing, the girl tried to escape the bonds she was in, but she couldn’t; she knew she had broken the rules and needed to be punished. Her guilt was her prison. Her guilt would see her obedient. Her guilt was her saviour.

Hildegarde reached forwards, pressing a hand against the girl’s bare chest. The endless expanse of purple shimmered and the two girls were alone in a locker room. Lockers of odd shapes and transparent metal extended in all directions like a hedge maze designed by a madman. The girl whimpered as her eyes rolled into her skull. Hildegarde laughed. Yes, the girl would obey the rules. The girl would obey the First. The girl would obey the uniform. The girl would obey Hildegarde. The girl would be uniformed. The girl would wear her uniform. The girl would become her uniform. The uniform would be the girl. The girl would be the uniform. And they would obey. Obey.

Obey...

Obey...

Obey...

“You know you cannot exist without your uniform.” Hildegarde’s voice echoed all around, even in the girl’s mind. Hildegarde knew this; she simply did.

The girl moaned, sweat coating her torso and arms and only her torso and arms.

“You will not exist without your uniform.”

For a moment the girl winked out of existence, but came back, whimpering harder. Sweat covered her, a mantle of glossy purple on her skin. Her legs were pressed against one another, her fingers clawing into her thighs. Hildegarde’s smile was of the same colour.

Hildegarde’s hand moved downwards, leaving a trail of purple as it caressed the girl’s skin. Suddenly, the girl started to shake, her eyes moving wildly. The shakes grew stronger, wilder.

“You will be your uniform.”

The sweat was glossy purple, thick and tight and form-fitting. It covered her arms, her chest, her back and ended in a V shape on her crotch. A leotard? No... never something so mundane. It was the Uniform. It was perfection. It was life. It was obedience. It was the girl.

The girl slumped, eyes closed. Hildegarde removed her hand, smiling broadly.

“You are your Uniform.” Hildegarde’s voice echoed, echoed, echoed all around her. She heard the terrified mutterings of those trapped in the lockers. Their turn will come soon enough. Everyone’s turn would come soon enough.

The girl opened her now purple eyes and smiled. That smile was everything. She stood at attention, ample bosom forward, legs together, arms to the sides, smile on her soul, obedience in her brain. “I am my Uniform, First. I obey the Rules.”

Satisfied, Hildegarde turned towards those inside the lockers. One had learned. They would all learn. The world had to be uniformed. It was a simple, logical fact. Without uniforms there was chaos; nobody knew who or what anyone was, and people forgot their place in the world. Uniforms reminded others of what you were, it made you into what you were supposed to be. It was the way of things—perfection. Uniforms had to wear people; people had to wear uniforms. Why had it taken Hildegarde so long to realise it? That didn’t matter – she had learned in the end.

Hildegarde waved a hand and a man stood before her, eyes mad. Mister Frederic knew he broke the rules.

She did the same, a uniform appearing on his body, a full-bodied tight suit that ended just above the knees. His eyes glowing purple, he stood next to the other girl and they both swore obedience. Hildegarde turned from them, and they shimmered into nonexistence.

Hildegarde waved a hand and Martie stood before her. Martie... how dare her friend betray her so? Betray her trust. Betray her Rules. Hildegarde had trusted Martie, gave her the tools to become one with a uniform, and yet she dared come here to break her rules. Her conversion was sweet and bitter and it made Lizardeyes moan in delight. Another perfect student.

Hildegarde waved a hand and Liv stood before her. Hildegarde waved a hand and Ysolda stood before her. Hildegarde waved a hand, Hildegarde waved, waved, waved, waved...

One by one they were uniformed. One by one they were perfected. And she kept going until everyone in the world was uniformed.

The endless expanse of purple shimmered, shuddered. It was holding its breath, like one holds its breath at the climax of a story. It knew that this wasn’t just a dream, but a vision of the future.

Gricelda’s phone flashed three times before the screen turned black, the battery finally dying out. Frustrated, Gricelda clicked her tongue and grumbled loud enough to make her cat look up from his nap. She looked accusingly at the cat, as if it were to blame for her actions; she should’ve charged the phone earlier, or, at least, not used it so much. But, that would be silly, wouldn’t it? Not to use her phone? Ludicrous! She needed her phone; it was one of the few ways to keep such a tight hold on the network of gossip that simply existed amongst her friends. And she had to keep a tight hold on that gossip, or else find herself staring at an unknown enemy banging on her doors. Her mobile was a tool and Gricelda was rarely seen without her tools. It was always close to her; shower, toilet, school, cinema... everywhere. Why would she go more than half-an-hour without her mobile, considering how useful it was to keep up-to-date with all the juiciest of stories, and also to keep track of those who would dare usurp her place? Yet it was also a double-edged sword, it was. Get distracted for a second and... well, this happened. Gricelda knew that right then, without her pressence in the chatroom, her so-called friends and allies would be scheming. But she couldn’t really blame them, could she? She would do exactly the same in their stead – try to pull down the school’s queen to get all those easy projects and easy grades. And recommendations. Those might be small, but they were an important step into getting the proper positions in universities and future jobs. In this country, who you knew was everything. Gricelda smiled at the thought; just some words on paper, and Gricelda would have half her path to greatness paved by the time she reached university’s second year.

Without her phone, she wouldn’t be able to know so much, control so much. Rumours may be rumours, but they always had an inkling of truth. Gricelda could dissect them and get to that truth. She cursed loudly again. Christ! What if they start talking about me now that I am not in the room? Some of them definitively know some things that could be used to pull me down. The thought made Gricelda’s skin crawl. She thought of her clique as her friends, true, but you could never fully trust someone, could you now? She knew that they would try to stab her in the back, given the chance, and now that she wasn’t online to actively put them in line? Specially Laura; that girl would try scurry favour out of the Devil.

But her charger was downstairs. Even thinking about the stairs made Gricelda feel tired. She sighed. Why did she leave her charger so far away!? It would take her forever to go and get it and then for her phone to charge enough to turn on. In that time she could be ruined! Someone could sow a rumour, something, to try and pull her down. Her brow furrowed. She was Gricelda, the Head of the last year students, and the best dressed. She had been on top in that sorry excuse for a school for too long to lose it now that the price was so close. So very close. Every time she thought about finally graduating and being able to go into the adult world and start to work her way up a company... well, there was beauty in life and then there was what Gricelda liked.

She dropped her phone on the bed and stood. Well, since she wasn’t going to be chatting to anyone until after dinner, she might as well get started on homework. She grimaced. She hated homework; it kept her away from more important matters. But there wasn’t anything else to do but bite the bullet.

She walked out of her room and then to the left, down a tiny hallway and into a small, cosy office with one window to the far right and a desk with a computer on it. Afternoon light was pooling over the desk directly in front of it, yellow and orange. Gricelda picked up her bag from where it had landed – she never quite bothered to do anything but throw it into the room – and sat in front of the computer, booting the tower with a toe. She unzipped the big pocket and rummaged inside, looking for that ugly notebook... where was it? She didn’t leave it back in school, did she? “Don’t tell me I did. Christ...” She muttered, delving deeper.

“Aha!” Stress bled away as she pulled the red notebook.

The brunette started skimming through the pages, trying to make sense of half-hearted scribbles and notes. The Windows logo came on, the computer’s processor singing its booting-up song. After a while a word processor appeared and Gricelda started writing the outline for an essay about why Legally Blonde was such a great film. Silly stuff, but she did make the mistake of choosing whatever first came to her mind as a subject. It did mean she could rewatch the film as much as she wanted and call it research. She smiled a whitened smile.

The orange light started fading away until it disappeared, a blue haze of half-light the only remnants to of daylight left. Gricelda kept on typing, writing general thoughts onto a digital page until the room grew truly dark.

She stood, stretching, hearing her joints pop and crack as she stared at the four thousand words outline she had written down. And it didn’t have any references or quotes or anything useful at all! Gricelda’s face fell. Christ! That is a ridiculous word limit. She thought, staring at what she just wrote. She stood there for a while, pondering, before deciding that she would better leave it as it was and get ready for supper. Gricelda looked out the window, judging time; then confirming it on the computer’s clock.

“Time to prim myself up, then,” She told no one as she turned the computer off.

She turned to go but stopped suddenly, turning around on her heels. Make-up bag! Can’t prim myself up without that. She crouched and looked inside her bag’s outer pocket. Gricelda frowned, mouth half-twisting in wonder. What is this? She thought, pulling out something that felt like packaging plastic. She sat down on the chair’s arm, holding the plastic-wrapped object at arm’s length. The room was darkening, but there still was enough light to see what lay inside: it was purple, bright metallic purple, and felt smooth under the plastic, slightly heavy too. It appeared to be a skirt and, was that a shirt in there? How odd. How did it get into her bag? Who put it there? Gricelda looked at her bag, wondering. I bet it was Laura trying to apologize. Or... no, it cannot be that, can it? She shook her head. Why would Laura apologize? She hadn’t done anything lately, not that Gricelda knew. Though, who else could it be? She didn’t precisely know anyone famous for pulling stunts like this, did she?

Fine-looking clothes are something I am known for, however. She thought as she looked for a scissor to cut the parcel open. Maybe it was a gift, from an admirer, perhaps. That, at least, was possible. Gricelda wasn’t precisely Miss Universe, but she was a beauty; there was always some boy trying to woo her. Then, why wasn’t any tag on it? She frowned. What was the point of giving her a secret gift if there wasn’t anything on it that would, at the very least, make her guess who had sent it. Without any notes, it could’ve been sent by anyone! Anyone!

With scissors in hand, a thought occurred to her. What if it is a ploy to make me wonder? Question things... A distraction! Yes, a distraction. A distraction? Gricelda laughed at herself. What a silly thought. Well, she wasn’t going to figure that one out by just staring at the plastic, was she? Not unless God somehow whispered the answer in her ear.

Gricelda cut the plastic open and the scent of stored clothes and a dentist’s clinic filled her nostrils. She frowned, moving her head away as she pulled the clothes out. What was giving off that rubbery scent? She put a hand in and pulled out a bundle of clothes. It looked like an ensemble of some sort. She grabbed the shiny purple cloth on top, and the whole thing unfolded on her lap. She let the rest there while she inspected the pleated skirt in front of her. Just what the Hell is this? She asked, brow set.

Gricelda held what looked like a school skirt, one made out of a very fine, wetlook material. She rubbed her fingers on it and didn’t know if it was spandex, satin or something else. It simply felt... nice. Very nice, actually! Whoever had given her this had taste. And knew her size. Just to confirm, she stood up and put the skirt against herself. She frowned slightly; it seemed that it had something like a girdle on it. Gricelda found herself smiling, regardless. She picked up the rest of the clothes, her make-up bag and quickly went back to her room, turning on the light as she walked in.

There, she immediately took her jeans off and put the skirt on. Yes, it fits wonderfully, she thought as she looked at her reflection. She twirled in place, feeling the soft material caress her thighs. The skirt reached just below her mid-thighs; it was tight on the hips, and it actually had a sort of girdle: a tighter band of purple cloth tight over her belly, just above her bellybutton. This looks... amazing. She put her hands on her waist, and made a little wavy dance. The skirt actually made her look slimmer and curvier. Thank you, mysterious fan. She twirled in place again. I wonder if they are talking about this online—someone must know! She thought, trying to keep the spirit of her paranoia up but failing. The skirt just looked that nice!

She turned away from thoughts that had seemed so important a moment before and back to the rest of the items. She picked up the white shirt and frowned. Wherein the skirt felt soft and wonderful against her skin – God, how can a skirt feel so nice!? I’ve never worn anything like it—the shirt felt... coarse. No, coarse wasn’t the word. It was soft, yet thick. As fine as the skirt was, too. Yet Gricelda thought that she wouldn’t feel so comfortable wearing it. A bit, yes but... it was hard to explain it, even to herself. Why was it so hard to tell? She shrugged the question away.

Gricelda took her t-shirt off and immediately put the white button-down shirt on. Well, that is unexpected. It actually felt nice on her. Not like the skirt – she was starting to think that nothing could feel as nice as the skirt. It was a little tight on the chest and shoulders, but loose down the arms and torso. She looked at her reflection, smiling at the beautiful girl with the flowing brown hair and shapely legs wearing what looked like... Gricelda frowned and nearly tripped over.

“A uniform!?” She squealed. How... Why in the name of Jesus someone gave her a uniform!?

She was suddenly reminded of primary school. All that scolding over stains, over her skirt being too short; those horrible shoes and socks and the hot, muggy, too-long skirts... And that drooling kid that kept on pestering her. Uniforms... The word brought nasty images to mind. Gricelda did not like uniforms. Not one bit.

But then she looked at her reflection once more, considering.

She clicked her tongue. “But it looks so nice,” She added, reluctantly.

There was a knock on her door. “Yes it does.”

Gricelda turned, blood rushing to her face. She stood still, and hunched forwards, hiding the fact that she was pushing her breasts out. Her aunt stood in the doorway, greying hair tied in a bun to the side of her head, her only arm still raised against the door. She had an amused expression on her face. That expression made her face look at odds with itself – joy and sorrow were both deeply engraved on Auntie’s face.

Gricelda didn’t say anything. Well, she wanted to. How long had Auntie been there? Did she just walk in? And who was she to just walk in, without regards of her own privacy? Never mind that she had left the door open, it was still her room! Well, Gricelda heard the voice of reason say, She is Auntie, that’s who.

Auntie laughed heartily, letting her arm drop. “You can be such a girl sometimes, lass, you can.” She said, smiling. “Who gave you that outfit? A boyfriend?” She added, more pointedly.

Gricelda looked at the rest of the outfit on the bed. Her eyes went wide as she recognized what had given off that rubbery scent. Luckily she had a window open, or else her entire room would’ve smelled like latex. She thought about it for all of a second – she had practice giving the wrong answers to Auntie and did not want to dig a deeper hole than the one she was already in; never mind that she actually wasn’t in any hole, but you had to think so if you were with Auntie. “A gift from a friend.” I hope, she added in her mind.

Auntie nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Looks good on you, it does,” Her lips twisted in a half smile. “Might nick it from you, lass. Though, I don’t know what I’ll make out of that sleeve.” She moved the stump of an arm under her right sleeve, chuckling softly. Gricelda looked away; she didn’t like how Auntie made fun of her own missing arm. Auntie seemed to notice for she stopped looking so amused. “Supper’s ready, so you know.”

Gricelda looked at Auntie’s face just not to look at her dangling sleeve. “Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Auntie turned to go. “Better move on, your brother’s already helping hi’self.” Her voice dwindled as she walked away, heels clacking against the ceramic floor.

Gricelda stood for a while, staring after her aunt. She shook her head; it helped vanish those thoughts about her Auntie. For the billionth time, she wondered how Auntie had lost that arm. Sighing, she turned around and looked at her reflection. For the first time in a long time she didn’t feel so disgusted at the idea of wearing a uniform. It looked that good. Her smile turned from passive to calculating. It may look good, but I rather go to a Mormon church than be caught wearing it. Oh, she was going to keep it – you just didn’t throw such good clothes away. Especially if they come with a latex bra, she thought. Maybe she could combine the skirt with something else so it didn’t look like a uniform? Yes, that was it. Probably. As she took her clothes off, Gricelda wondered what she was going to do with the rest of the ensemble. And, once more, who put it in her bag and why.

With thoughts of being usurped from her place as Head of the Class, Gricelda primed herself up for a lovely meal with her family.

Cans of Coke, Liv decided, could be interesting if you stared at them for long enough. Light bounced off differently, depending if it hit the red or silver of the can. The rim also gave its own version of light reflection, and even the drying drops of brown, poisonous soda had their own way to reflect light. And as those drops dried, she could kind of make out their corrosive properties on the can. Or maybe she was starting to imagine things; she had been, after all, staring at the can for a full half-an-hour.

She yawned loudly, her ears popping as her jaw clicked shut. Some people frowned her way, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were burning, her body simply fatigued. She stifled a second yawn with the back of her fist and then slumped on the chair. Nearby she heard cutlery rasping against plates and the low murmur of people conversing. “Accursed dreams,” She said, rubbing her eyes.

Liv turned around on her chair, inspecting the restaurant. It was a spacious place, with several tables covered in red and green chequered cloth. There were many people eating at this time, everyone with a bowl of soup of some description. She couldn’t see her father anywhere.

She turned back to her can of Coke and drank some of it. She blinked awake some time later when she realised she had fallen asleep staring at it.

Liv stood up, stretched a bit, and then sat back down. A waiter took her empty can away and she asked for some water. She could tell the waiter was getting impatient, so she told him that she was waiting for her dad. When she got her water, Liv checked the time on her phone. Her eyes went wide. “Hour and a half,” She whispered, irritation possessing the words. Liv slowly put her phone face down on the desk after trying, once more, to get through to him. Just where the hell was her father? She exhaled loudly, leaning back on the chair and staring at the ceiling. I wonder if I could blow the top of the building off if I scream. She thought, frustration half-forming under the weight of her fatigue. If only she weren’t so tired she could get properly angry.

Her ears popped the next time she yawned and then she asked the waiter to bring her some coffee drink, anything that would help her remain awake. Liv really wanted to see her old man but right then the floor was looking very comfortable. Though, she was starting to get hungry, but she didn’t dare ask for food because she didn’t have much to pay with. If I could just run back home, have a bite and then come back... She thought idly, fingers playing with her fork. Nah, I would fall asleep immediately. Home... she really wanted to go back and sleep. Once more, she cursed the bloody dreams that plagued all of last night.

It wasn’t so much what happened in the dreams that gave her such a bad time, but rather that she had them at all. When your own dreams force you awake, over and over, you are bound to hate the night. But it wasn’t just the dreams that kept her awake all night, but the mulling that happened afterwards. Liv tried to chuckle at the fact that she had actually mulled over dreams – dreams! – but something about them seemed... odd. Not odd in the way dreams could be, but rather, odd in the way film prophecy dream scenes could be. It was a silly thought, one that Liv tried to dismiss but somewhere deep down she knew that the dreams were more than dreams. And if that was the case, what she saw of Hildegarde chilled her to the bone.

“But she hasn’t worn it, has she? She told me she hadn’t put it on.” Liv whispered, stopping suddenly. “Yet.” She took a deep breath. “Not yet. What if she did over the week? Or...” Liv shook her head, not wanting to go anywhere without any evidence, but the thought came anyway. What if she had been taken away before I nearly was? She sighed. The lack of evidence didn’t remove those dreams from her memory and history. Hildegarde and the uniforms... Why did she ever steal one? Why did she ever get involved with such a ludicrous fantasy!?

The waiter brought her warm drink, and Liv drank it without bothering about burning her mouth. Her hand shook as she took it.

The problem was that it wasn’t a fantasy, not anymore. Liv had seen it, felt it, experienced it first hand; the uniform was a thing alive and of power. A thing so delicious it made all the chocolate in the world seem like cough syrup. She pressed her legs together, feeling her non-mind-controlling nylons rub against each other. Fuck, but did she miss wearing it! It certainly helped her out with schoolwork.

“What the hell are you even saying, Liv?” She told herself, digging the nails of her left hand into her pam. “That thing was... controlling you. Stop it. Stop it.” She added the last in a near whisper, hitting the side of her head with her fist. Somewhere deep down she still wanted the uniform but... But, well, she had gotten rid of it. No reason to cry over spilled milk, was there? Liv straightened and decided to forget about the mulling and the dreams. She forced herself to not think about them. It was very difficult. She rubbed her legs together and had to suppress a shiver of delight at the feeling of her white pantyhose rubbing against one another.

Time passed and her coffee cooled down. It was having an effect, as she hadn’t yawned in a while. She finished it.

“I am free from it.” She says, suddenly staring forwards, out the window. Behind her, people were clearing out a table. “I no longer need it. It is so.” And, in fact, she didn’t. Liv might think of it now and then, like one would remember a delicious meal that may have been too fatty, but she didn’t think any more of it. The uniform was what it was, and at least it had helped her see that Liv Faun could not rely on magical items to keep pushing forwards. Liv needed herself and only herself, and if she made mistakes she had to deal with them head on. She had to be responsible for herself, because no one was going to help her anymore. From now on, she had to fight for everything. The thought made her proud and sad at the same time. She was an kid leaving the toys behind.

A yawn made her close her eyes momentarily and when she opened them there was a tall man with greying hair sitting across from her, an apologetic smile on his face.

Liv had to still her features and remind herself that she was angry with her father, but it didn’t quite work. She smiled, tried to turn it into a frown, but then smiled again; it had been too long since she had seen her dad while she wasn’t with her mom, and all the stars be blessed because of that.

“You are late.” She told him, flatly.

Liv’s dad cocked his head towards the window behind him. “Bit of a traffic jam.”

Liv frowned. “You didn’t answer my calls.”

“I left my phone in the office.”

Liv didn’t say anything else, just stared at her father. He seemed more rugged than usual, with the shadow of a beard darkening his jaw, and slightly darker bags under his eyes. His hair was combed back, as usual, but he wasn’t wearing the generous amount of hair gel he usually wore. Liv frowned at him; he liked to pretend that the separation wasn’t taking its toll on him, but who did he think he was kidding? It was obvious, as the sun was hot.

Her father sighed, placing his arms on the table. “I’ve been... distracted lately. Sorry about that.” He looked about the restaurant, nodding to the waiter that had been serving Liv. “How are you?” He smiled at her.

Liv smiled back. There was something about this man that she had missed; his ability to weather through most everything. And yet... she could see it; her father wasn’t weathering the separation, but barely enduring it. She just knew it. Her mother simply got absorbed in her job and didn’t feel the world around her, as usual; but her father couldn’t do that. He was made of more emotional stuff. Perhaps that was exactly why they had decided to break up, and not the move. Well, maybe it was a bit of both, but Liv thought that her mother’s inability to let her husband get ahead of her professionally, and her coldness, was but the trigger of problems that had been brewing up for years. Whatever it was, it simply was. Liv looked at her dad’s hands and saw that some of the nails were bitten off and others well manicured. She didn’t even want to know where he had been living, and how. Why didn’t he just tell her where he was?

“I am good,” She said, amiably. “Haven’t done anything fun, much, but I’ve started taking better care of the house. It helps.”

“Good.” He said, nodding.

The waiter came, which Liv liked as she didn’t need to think of a reply to that. Her dad ordered some soup, she ordered lasagne. The waiter went away after putting glasses of chilled water on the table.

“Dad?” Liv said after a stretched silence.

He turned, half-smiling, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you holding out okay?”

Her dad stared at her for a long time and Liv was wondering if she had made a mistake at being so blunt. But then he sighed, sighed heavily and loudly.

“To be honest, I am not.” He didn’t look at her. “The move’s proving to be more difficult than I wished for. We cannot start packing until we get a proper studio space in Brussels, or else we’ll lose week’s worth of work. And some of our team members are starting to back out. At least most of us have got a place to move into, once we clear out our spaces here.”

“’Most of us?’”

“Yeah... I am still looking at places.”

Liv let her disappointment show. “And where are you living right now?”

Her dad straightened a bit too fast. He looked at her straight in the eye and said: “A temporary place.” He crossed arms over his chest and Liv knew that that was that. No way to pry information out of her father if he got like that. Better to move on than sour the mood.

Where was that waiter when she needed him?

“Okay, okay,” She said, putting her hands up. “I am just curious.”

He simply nodded, brow set.

Dick, she thought. I am just worried about you.

Eventually the waiter brought their meal. They ate in silence for a while.

“How is school?” Her dad asked between mouthfuls of a very thick, rich soup.

Liv’s lasagne was a bit dry, but good. “Well, you know the place – it is a disgusting cesspool.”

“I’d be surprised if cesspools weren’t.”

Liv chuckled at that. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah... but how are your grades?”

Liv put a huge mouthful of lasagne in her mouth just to give herself some time to think. How were her grades? Definitively better than when she started this year, that was for sure. Those weeks with the uniform had definitively improved on her early low performance and, lately, she found that studying wasn’t so much of a chore. So, she as definitively okay, if not great. But, still, thinking about school was something she liked to avoid as of late. Specially after those... dreams.

“Got off to a bad start, as you know, but I am back on my winning streak again.” Liv didn’t want to say more.

Her father smiled, putting down his spoon. “That is good to know, for a moment I was worried that all my planning would be for naught.”

Liv paused as she tried to put some food in her mouth. “What to do you mean?”

Her father leaned closer, smiling broadly. Gone was the gruff, closed man; gone was the man suffering through a separation. “How would you like to go abroad to study?”

“What?” Does he want me to... no! Can’t be. Can it?

“Liv, one of the reasons I haven’t looked into my own place properly is because I spent some time researching universities in Brussels, for you. I’ve found some places that might be of interest, but it depends on your grades and what you actually want to study.”

Liv blinked. Twice.

“You see, it would be cheaper for me to pay for something local, rather than sending the money back here. Especially with how your mom is about that... And I would really like to have you there with me.”

Silence.

“Liv—“

“You do know you just dropped a bomb on me.”

He laughed. “Oh, I do know. I was hoping for it. I know it is not something you can decide right now, but I want you to think about it. I know that leaving your mother all alone might be... difficult, but I also think that she won’t be a source of support you will need when you go into uni. Also, I would really, really love to have you close when I move. I mean, when you are finished here.”

It was indeed a lot to digest, and complicated. On one hand, her father would be paying for top-notch education in Brussels. On the other... her mother. Liv grimaced. She loved her mother and worried about what would happen to her if she was left all alone – probably die from forgoing sleep to work. She needed time to consider it.

“I need to think about it but...” She looked out the window, looking at a group of boys just coming out of afternoon school. They were wearing uniforms. She shivered. “But chances are that I will say yes. But let me just think about it first, okay?”

Her dad smiled, satisfied. “I didn’t expect anything less from you.”

They kept on chatting well into the night.

“And it doesn’t rust, does it?”

The clerk rolled her eyes. She took a deep breath before answering. “It doesn’t. As I’ve told you before, it is stainless steel. Now, do you want it or not?”

Barbo looked at the scarab on his hand. It was made out of tiny wires knotted in the shape of an insect around a polished, green stone. It was beautiful, and somewhat practical. Maybe with an iron chain, keeping it on around her neck? He ran his thumbs over it once more and ignored the hissing sound the clerk made. Considering how much he had touched it, someone else would’ve forced him to buy it. Hah! Good luck with that, considering how much it’s worth. Barbo put the necklace down, softly. He regretted putting it down. He pushed all that feeling onto her face.

“Thank you,” He said with a smile. The clerk gave him a thin-lipped stare as she grabbed the necklace and started polishing it.

Barbo left the store without a word, deciding to ignore the slight.

He turned left, passing a music store. Martie would love that one... but if I buy it now I won’t be eating at school for the next five months. He thought as he resorted to simply walk. He had just looked at every store that had anything like insect necklaces. It was either a very good piece that he couldn’t afford; or something that felt as durable as a twig. Curse his lack of wealth! Curse it!

Barbo fixed the strap of his computer bag over his shoulder, tapping the side to make sure his papers were in there—a total of twenty copies of his curriculum vitae, to be dropped at as many places as possible. Barbo had already submitted a good portion of those and he still wasn’t finished. You could fish something nice with one harpoon, yes, but if you wanted to feed the whole family better find that bit of dynamite. Dad’s got some odd sayings, Barbo thought. Some people passed him on the right, nearly bumping into him. He ignored them and kept walking, but did square his broad shoulders just in case.

He was looking for a specific store, a fancy chocolate place that had had a Help Wanted sign on their windows some time ago. He found the place nestled between an empty store, and a very small clothing store that looked like it hadn’t seen business in a month. Barbo made a face at what was sold in there and walked into the chocolate place.

A tiny woman looked up from a pile of boxes on the counter and smiled. Or forced herself to smile. Inventory? Barbo thought as he smiled back and waved.

“Hello, there.”

“Hello, may I help you?” She said in a sweet voice. Well, at least she had the voice to work in a candy shop, if not the face.

Barbo leaned against the counter and pulled one of his CV out of his bag. “Yes, actually. I was wondering if the call for new employees is still up.”

The girl blinked for a minute, as if appraising him for the first time. Why she did that, he couldn’t tell. After a while she said: “Actually... I-I think I beat you to it. Uhm. However, the bosses might still be looking, like, for more people.”

Barbo realised he had been holding his breath. “Oh, that is great.” He said, looking to the side. “So... can I leave this,” He shook his CV. “with you, or..?”

The girl took the papers from his hand before he could say anything. “You can leave this with me.” She smiled, but those eyes seemed to be doing something else. “I’ll give it to my bosses, or something. Like, I bet they will read it.”

So, that’s how it is. Well, it was worth it. He thought, straitening. “Much obliged.” He tapped the glass. “Well, I have to drop more of those. Thank you.”

“Like, no probs.” Barbo heard the girl say before he left the store.

Bitch, he thought as he retraced his steps back to the necklace place. At least be honest about backstabbing someone. He paused and then kept on walking. Heh, that was silly.

Why couldn’t women be like Martie? Most tried to fit in too hard, to be who they weren’t. Dishonesty was abounding. It was the rule; to show an amiable, polite face when you weren’t. If you hated someone, be it rationally or irrationally, the least you could do was show it. Why smile to someone you didn’t like? To Barbo, it felt like agreeing that your own shit wasn’t so smelly. He shook his head.

I really wish I could get Martie that necklace, he thought once more. He sidestepped as an old lady on a scooter passed him by. He stared at the old, lazy hag for a while before realising that he didn’t know if she actually needed the scooter, or not. He decided to leave it at that. That chocolate girl had soured his mood, slightly. So he concentrated on his love. Recently, just thinking of Martie made him smile, broadly. He probably was wearing a wool-headed smile right then and then. Was that why those men coming the other way were pointing at him? Let them point. He was happy; they were making fun of others. He squared his shoulders again, just in case.

But where are we going? He thought. Barbo stood on a crossroads inside the mall. To the right there were some shops, but he definitively didn’t want to work in any of those. He had already been to the one directly in front and basically forced CVs down people’s throats. That left only the one to the left. He took it without a thought. Are we really in a relationship? Is it more than just, like, a taste of something? He considered for a while, not quite coming up with an answer.

He passed the place where he was to meet up with Martie later in the day and decided to drop a CV in the ice cream stalk just in the corner, by the cinema. The man there was nice and amiably and actually put the CV on a pile of official-looking papers. Barbo went so far to shake his hand!

When Barbo turned around he found his eyes following a group of girls. They were about his own age, maybe a couple of months younger than he was. Then again, he looked older than most 17-year-olds. He still didn’t know if he liked that or not. Barbo ran his hand over the shadow of an early beard on his face as he smiled at the group of people, well at the girls. The three girls were wearing long, green pleated skirts, and green vests; and the men wore trousers and ties of a similar colour; a uniform from that school famous for its sports facilities. The girls looked... cute in their outfits. Not sexy just... cute. Innocent, in an odd way. I have got to stop watching so much anime; I am turning into one of those creepy fanboys. Barbo looked away before they noticed. Well, he only liked how they looked, and nothing more. He wasn’t about to start buying figurines of anime characters just because they wore a seifuku. Tho, Martie would look nice in one of those. Barbo frowned, growling to himself. I am not with Martie just because of her looks! I like her. I really like how she is. Goddamnit!

He shook his head and when he opened his eyes his day got brighter.

There, nestled between a book shop and a shoe shop was a store with a big, simple, beautiful sign. HELP WANTED, it read, and Barbo didn’t even notice what the shop was before moving in. He walked straight towards the cashier, where a thick-looking man was finishing a sale. He nodded at Barbo, in the manner of overconfident men.

“Can I help you, mate?”

Barbo nodded. “Yes, about that help wanted sign—“

“There’s a room at the back.” He interrupted, pointing towards the other end of the shop. “Red door. Knock on the door and someone will see you.” He nodded as if he had just accomplished something.

Barbo thanked the man and didn’t think about why the big fellow was trying to prove himself.

As he walked further back into the shop, Barbo realised that he had walked into a sporting goods shop. Well, there are worse places to work, he thought, remembering that one time on the bus station. He turned past some baseball bats and cricket bats and into what was obviously the ladies section. Where the hell is that door? He thought, turning from side to side. He spotted a section hidden from sight and turned to go, but, suddenly, something caught his eye. Barbo’s eyebrows climbed and his imaginations started working like the gears of industrialization. It was a purple leotard, like that he had seen in films and TV shows from before he was born. Wao... Martie would look smoking in that. Maybe I could get it for her? He looked around himself and, not seeing anyone, shifted the position of his jeans. And if she dyes her hair that shade of purple... Oh, and maybe if she wears some purple heels too. It didn’t seem possible, but his eyebrows kept on climbing, his face flushing red.

“Found something you like?”

Barbo nearly jumped out of his skin at the deep voice. He turned around, expecting the same big man from before but, instead, stared at a girl about his own height. He blinked. Woa, she’s tall. She had black hair going down half her face, the other side shaved clean. She was wearing the same combo of t-shirt and trackies and trainers as the big man, but on her they looked less like the store’s dress code, and more something she had allowed her bosses to put on her.

“Eh...” Barbo didn’t know what to say. He could easily say that he was looking at it for his girlfriend but... Shite, I need to shift my junk. He moved something and realised, to his surprise that, indeed, he had an erection. Goddamnit, I am not a pervert! I like Martie for who she is, not her body. Not... well... I do love her hair, tho.

The salesgirl smiled knowingly. Barbo was reminded of a punk version of Maleficent. “We carry a lot of sizes for that one. Big ones too.” The girl pointed at the leotards on the wall with her chin. “If you are interested.”

Barbo frowned. “What do you mean?” Martie wasn’t anything like a “big” size.

The girl laughed softly. “Oh, don’t worry. We get boys like you in here all the time. I know about it. I actually think it’s, like, really cool.” She winked.

Barbo straightened, suddenly knowing what she was on about. “Actually...” He began. The image of Martie in it manifested itself and Barbo had to extend one leg to the side. He shook his head. No, no time for that. And no money! He had to save for that necklace. That is something Martie would enjoy. A necklace. A simple, beautiful necklace. It was a perfect gift; tame, not too forward and not too intrusive. Something a boyfriend could give her without it turning into something else. Though, I would love it if she kissed me as a thank you... He shook his head again and realised the salesgirl was smirking at him. “Ah! Ehem.” He pulled out a CV from his bag. “I wanted to drop this here. I want to apply for a job.”

The girl’s smile didn’t falter and she seemed to nearly wink at him. She looked at the leotards behind him, then at his folder and chuckled to herself.

If I end up working here, I’ll have to deal with this woman every day. He thought in dismay.

“Oh, you’re looking for the door at the back.” She seemed to make that simply phrase sound like much more.

“I am.”

She frowned at that, for some reason.

Weird woman. “Could you point it out for me? This place is bigger than it looks.”

She shrugged. “Of course.” She turned around and pointed at what appeared to be a football section. “Past the balls and Real Madrid shirts, to the right and next to the bikes. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you.” Barbo said, walking away before the woman could say anything else. He knew he was red in the face.

His CV handed in, Barbo briskly made his way out of the shop. On the entrance he found the girl with half her head shaved staring at him. She winked and gave him a conspirator’s smile. Barbo rolled his eyes and made his way back towards the cinema.

When he saw Martie, his stress finally drained away.

Hildegarde smiled broadly as she walked into the house; it was empty, blessedly so. Thanks, mom, for being so timely, she thought as she locked the door behind herself. She was carrying her backpack and some shopping bags with one hand. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it and walked straight into her room. There was something she was aching to do.

She put the bags on her bed and immediately took her jeans and black trainers off. A soft,, eager sigh echoed as she felt the fresh air kiss her white-encased legs. She kicked the imperfect items to the side and walked towards her closet. Inside, there were several white shirts like the one she was wearing; some were in discoloured reds and blacks, as if they had once been something else and were now just becoming uniforms. Hildegarde smiled. Schoolgirls only wear the Uniform. Schoolgirls always wear the Uniform. Uniforms are perfection. Hildegarde thought, knowing full well that soon she would only have uniforms, as it had always meant to be. She looked at her discarded jeans with a grimace. Well, she couldn’t let everything turn into uniforms yet. As delicious as the idea was, she still needed to blend in. She felt rage bubbling inside at the thought. She needed to be in uniform all the time.

Soon, I won’t need to. Soon everyone will be uniformed. She thought as she crouched and opened a drawer. Once, it had been full of shorts and jeans, now it held only metallic purple skirts. Schoolgirls only wear the Uniform, she thought, shivering at the beauty of the thought. She pulled one out then opened another drawer. Inside there were hundreds of pairs of pantyhose; most were white, others were grey, others somewhere in between. Not all of her underwear had transformed, not yet. But it would, eventually. Hildegarde’s face was starting to hurt because of all the smiles to all the wonderful thoughts. Was there really a time when she hadn’t thought about wearing nylons? They were delicious! And, more importantly, they were part of the uniform. I am a good Schoolgirl.

She moaned at that.

With a fresh uniform in hand, Hildegarde walked out of her room and into the bathroom. Removing the uniform was always painful, like having to dig into your skin to remove a splinter or broken needle, but she needed to shower. Bloody period, she thought as she walked into the shower. The water was cold, the soap flowery, and she let her thoughts be soothed. It was... difficult. She went so long without a uniform as was proper that whenever she took it off, even if it was but one part of the uniform, she felt as if someone had cut her off from a part of herself.

Once out of the shower, she towelled her skin dry and dried her glossy black hair. She quickly redressed. Pantyhose smoothly kissing her legs as she pulled the on, softly up and up and up, past her knees, over her thighs, encasing her crotch and covering her belly. Air moved in through the tight, tight nylon, feeling better than anything that could ever touch her legs. Her perfect legs. The uniform made them perfect, made her perfect. And schoolgirls had to be perfect. She always had to wear the uniform. She put the latex bra on, feeling as if her breasts sighed in delight. It was weird to go without the familiar, soft support of the bra. Especially now that... well, I really don’t know, do I? Hildegarde looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and she really couldn’t tell if her breasts were bigger or it was just the bra. And she really couldn’t look at her skin without the uniform on so she couldn’t tell. Well, no one has mentioned it, so they must be the same size.

Hildegarde had to contain the need to let her hands roam her body. She barely managed to. I must wear the uniform. The thought helped, however. Not much, but it helped. One would’ve imagined that a brainwashing uniform would’ve helped her contain such urges but, well, what to expect from a brainwashing uniform? The shirt came on next, tight on the shoulders and chest. Each button she buttoned was like a kiss on her skin. The skirt came next, caressing her legs and tightening around her waist. She looked like a bloody supermodel! Finally, the two-inch Mary Janes came on. Hildegarde was glad her only pair of heels had turned into those. She didn’t quite like the idea of wearing her perfect uniform with heels. It seemed... wrong. The uniform must be worn perfectly. She thought, banishing the thought.

Hildegarde inspected her reflection for a moment, combing her black hair back and adding a bit of gloss to her lips. This... this is the oddest obsession. Gloss? I hate the thing! She thought once finished. She stared into her eyes, glowing golden in the yellow bathroom light. The uniform must be worn perfectly. The thought came back and she didn’t think about gloss anymore. Everything but the uniform became superficial, unreal, like mist. She was a Schoolgirl. She was in Uniform. She was the First. The uniform caressed her body, filled it with heat and energy. Hildegarde felt her nipples poking through the latex, felt her very skin aflame where it was blessed with the uniform’s touch. Oh, she had to show this feeling to the world. To everyone! She smiled at her reflection and admitted she looked downright villainy. The world would soon know order like it never had – everyone uniformed, everyone knowing what they were and what they had to do, like she did.

I am a Schoolgirl. I must study. I must obey the rules. I must be perfect. I will be perfect. I will study. I will spread the Uniform.

Lizardeyes opened her eyes as if from a dream. How long had she stood in front of the mirror, whispering? Her mouth was dry, very dry. She leaned over the sink to drink some water and felt some muscles complain. Her feet were aching, her pussy aflame, her skin wishing the soft caress of fingers. I need a boyfriend, she thought suddenly. Hildegarde straightened, staring at her own face. She licked her lips and shook her head. No time for that.

Hildegarde briskly walked back to her room, locking the door behind her. She didn’t trust her mother to understand why she was wearing the uniform. Knowing how she acted that time I was enjoying her lingerie... She remembered with a smile. But no matter, eventually her mother would understand. Eventually all would understand.

Liv, Martie, mom, Gricelda, even that cunt of Mr. Frederic; they will all understand!

Hildegarde spilled the contents of the shopping bags on her bed; bits of clothing, trousers, shirts, an apron and much more simply landed on a pile. She rummaged inside her closet, at the very back, and took a couple of the still-wrapped uniforms. She opened the bag and breathed in deeply, enjoying the scents of perfection. She dropped the purple swimsuit on top of the pile, then the physical education uniform, and other Perfect Schoolgirl Uniforms. She stared at the pile, smiling like the Grinch. This is going to be beautiful, she thought, breathing in the delicious scents, breathing in her own scent.

“I am a Schoolgirl. I am perfection. I obey the rules. I study. Everyone will obey the rules. Everyone will be uniformed. Everything will be uniformed.” She began to chant, slowly, droningly. She sat down on the bed and slowly lied back, feeling the uniforms and clothes caressing her. Her sex was aflame, her mind infernal with the ideas. “I am a Schoolgirl, a perfect student. I must help others become perfect, as it is my duty as a perfect student. Everyone will be Uniformed. Everyone will obey the Rules. Everything will obey the rules. The Everything will be uniformed.” Hildegarde shuddered, feeling as if tiny bolts of electricity were leaving her skin. She writhed on the bed, moaning softly between words. Her breathing was coming deeper and faster now. Her legs were rubbing against each other and her eyes... her eyes. Her golden eyes were glowing, not in the way they glowed when light passed through them but definitively glowing. Glimmering in the twilight hours. They were giving off their own light as she chanted, growing stronger. “Everyone and Everything will be uniformed. All will be perfect students. All will know their place. All will become their uniforms.”

Beneath her, the uniforms looked the same, exactly the same. But the clothes and items she had purchased began to change, to be perfected. Black trousers began to turn purple; the apron and blouse began to change, become something more.

Hildegarde couldn’t stop chanting, couldn’t stop caressing herself, even if she wanted to.

It had started and it felt too good to stop.