The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hildegarde had spent the past couple of days in a frustrated haze. Her fascination dreams increased to a maddening point, and she was running out of ways to vent out her frustration. She had first tried calling Martie, but the sometimes-actress had already booked the weekend to spend some time with the boy she was dating.

“Well, if you’re busy...” Hildegarde had said for the twelfth time.

“I am, Hilde. I am sorry, but I am.”

Hildegarde didn’t even bother to say goodbye before throwing the phone against her bed. Typical! She always prostrates herself to spend time with a guy she likes. She had thought.

Following that failure, Hildegarde tried Liv, but she was nowhere to be found. No email was answered, nor text; and every time she tried phoning her she was greeted by the same three empty tones of an disconnected number. There was one option left, though, but Hildegarde dreaded calling that person. Not that she didn’t like or get along with Marylin, it was just that... She just couldn’t stand being alone in the same room with Marylin for long. People had very good friends, and people to hang out with. Marilyn was one of the latter, and that just barely.

A finger hovered over the phone, ready to dial. Her lips were compressed into a thin, thin line as she looked up at the second floor above, straight at where her room was as if she could see through wall, floor and boxes and into a closet. She ached to go into her closet. The couch squeaked as she moved.

The house was calm, quiet. Too quiet. Hildegarde’s mother was at the Power of Art, her store, as was her custom every two Saturdays, and she would be back late in the afternoon. For the whole morning, Hildegarde had the house for herself. And she was sitting on a couch, trying to contact people.

“How interesting my life is!” She shouted to the heavens. She feared someone would reply and compressed her mouth again.

She could’ve been in her room, using her computer, or reading. Actually, she could’ve been reading anywhere in the house but she simply couldn’t summon the desire to read, or do anything at all. Oh, she wanted to keep on reading that wonderful fantasy series she was following, but, like everything else she had tried as of late, the thought of the blasted uniforms would crawl into her mind and push anything else away with unwanted arousal. Even thinking about thinking about the uniform was making her tingly all over.

Hildegarde now accepted that the uniform wasn’t entirely what she thought it was. Reluctantly. Martie had helped see the stupidity of thinking it was a magical mind-controlling item, but that didn’t take away the sexual desire she had for the object. The erotic catalyst of mind control might’ve been gone, but the alluring kink of the uniform itself was still there. No longer was a fear of mind control holding her back, but a silly restraint that didn’t amount to anything. She wanted to try on the uniform, just to see how it looked, and perhaps touch herself in a special place while she did, but at the same time she didn’t want to get near it.

I know what will happen.

Hildegarde was blushing out of embarrassment and arousal, her eyes as wide as they could be. Quickly she stood, putting her mobile in her pocket. I could go upstairs and... She thought, half smiling. Nah. I think I would rather see if I can get something done in the garden. She shook her head, trying to convince herself.

Hildegarde stood and stretched, realising how much she needed to move around and actually do something. Her joints popped, and her muscles strained. The slight light-headedness she felt at just stretching reminded her of how little exercise she had done in the past couple of months.

She walked into the garden, promising herself to work out more often.

Liv was pacing up and down her room, sometimes muttering a curse, sometimes nervously clapping or snapping her fingers in response to half-formed ideas. It calmed her down. Usually repetitive sounds produced by her own body parts would create a relaxing sensation, like that of running water in the background or white noise; but since she brought that package home calmness had been as elusive as a gecko in the jungle. It felt like having an ever-present pair of eyes watching your every move, knowing every little dirty secret. Liv wondered that’s how some people would feel if Uatu the Watcher were real.

Liv stopped moving, shook her head and laughed nervously. She was feeling so jumbled that she was wondering such ridiculous things. She laughed nervously again. Things were not all right.

Calm down, Liv. Breathe deeply, and calm the fuck down!

On her disorderly bed, sitting next to a pair of socks, wrapped in a transparent plastic bag, was a purple school uniform. Over and over she thought about it, her actions played in her mind over and over; and yet she didn’t know why she had taken the uniforms from Hilde’s closet. Curiosity was one reason, of course, infectious, powerful curiosity. But did it justify stealing? Was curiosity the mother of thievery? The need to know if what she had read online was not a lie had become consuming, painful even, and, like her yellow-eyed friend, she needed to know. And thus she had taken the uniform.

But that wasn’t it, exactly.

“Or am I just being lazy about my life?” She whispered to herself, her sense of responsibility nagging at her. Was it lazy of her to stop struggling to keep up her grades, to search for a crutch that would make her life easier? Find what was slowly bleeding out from the cold carcass of her life somewhere else? Was it wrong to find something to help her attain the future she wanted? She found herself staring at a pile of books in a corner, gathering dust and crumbles and things she was ashamed of. She used to read them every day, she used to clean her room every day. But what for? She knew she wasn’t going to be living in it come the end of the year. And that scared her. That scared, and pained her. She had worked so hard to get that scholarship, she had worked so hard to eventually become independent, and what for? To see everything start to crumble around her?

She barely could remember getting on her car and driving to Hilde’s, and even less so what exactly she did to end up with the uniforms in her bag. Just recalling it made her want to slap herself. How could she have allowed everything to affect her so?

“I want everything to be the same, to be as I had imagined it to always be.” Liv could feel the walls pushing down on to her. The sound of an empty house was loud and painful to her. “Is it so bad to look for a shortcut? To cheat once in a while?”

Liv stopped walking and sat on the bed with a heavy sigh. “To stop thinking, and let something else do things for you?” She whispered. Things jumped slightly, waves of motion rippling through the mattress as the springs did their job. She gave the wrapped purple fabrics a passing stare and slowly moved her right hand across the bed. She stopped inches away from the uniform.

“Goddmanit, Liv. Get a hold of yourself.” She muttered under her breath, not really feeling it. They were only clothes! She thought, scolding herself. It wouldn’t affect her in any way. It was impossible. Utterly impossible.

But...

Impossible...If she really believed it was impossible, then why was she hesitating? Why had she stolen the uniforms in the first place?

She needed to calm herself down. Taking a deep breath she remembered. Find the river... She thought. Her eyes closed, her breathing relaxed, her hands stretched. In a second her body was relaxed. She concentrated on the river – a calm stretch of running water in a beautiful vale. And as it stretched and twisted, as it slowly made its way down the slopes of hills, it calmed Liv. Find the river... she thought once more and saw herself as water slowly dribbling down the mountain side, ever stretch of her journey making her breaths come in less and less often. She lost awareness of her body, and time and her own thoughts. Where she was wasn’t relevant; where she had to be didn’t matter. She had found the river, she was the river, and she was slowly going down the mountain side.

Time blurred. What could’ve been a minute stretched to an hour, and what could’ve been an hour was reduced into a minute. Finally, a smile curled up her lips. She took a deep breath, a gasping, happy gasps as her hand darted towards the plastic package, like a snake attacking prey. She tingled all over, knowing she had found her answer. She needed this.

Liv grasped and pulled it close to her chest. She opened her eyes just as the plastic tore. A delicious scent of new clothes bathed in aromatic wonders and artificial perfumes assaulted her sense. Liv breathed in the niceness, and moaned. Why had she been so tense before?

“Oh,” She shuddered some tingling sensations away. “That is way too nice.” She tried to frown, but instead grinned; she would’ve liked to be angry, but that scent was way too nice to guarantee a negative reaction. It had been a while since she had felt like this. It had been so long since the River had made her relax so much. What was she really holding?

Liv started to remove the items from the bag. The moment she touched the purple cloth a slap of electricity went up her arm. She stood, frowning, holding one hand.

“Son of a fuck!” She cried, loudly, pulling her hand back and letting go of the package. She stared at it for a while before slowly settling down again. Liv hissed more out of surprise of being shocked than actual pain, Liv started sorting out the items in the bag.

The uniform consisted of five elements, each one a beautiful jewel that complimented one another perfectly. There was the prominent pleated skirt that would not crease regardless of how much she folded it. It’s metallic sheen and the shades of purple of the ever-straight lines locked in a plaid pattern gave the skirt properties akin to those of a single star in the night sky – alluring and eye-catching. It was difficult for Liv to turn away from it. In fact, she didn’t feel like doing so. Didn’t need to look away. The thought didn’t even occur to her until she remembered there was more to see.

What held her eyes next were a pair of white pantyhose. Liv had seen white pantyhose before, and worn them, but never before had she seen something that looked so clean, so white, so antiseptic—so perfect. A tingle went down her spine at the word. It did look perfect. As if it wasn’t meant to be touched. She didn’t dare touch the garment. How can anyone dare touch something that seemed to tell you to never get it dirty, or fear the collapse of reality itself? And yet she felt a tingling at the tip of her fingers that felt like it was the nylon’s way of communicating a desire to be touched and worn. It seemed like every thread had been specially crafted and made to fit against each other, it seemed like the light caught just on the right spots where her body would be best appreciated, it seemed like it would be so comfortable it could be worn for months at a time.

It was perfect.

She wondered how her legs would feel encased in the hose, as they should always be.

“As they should always be...?” She repeated in a low voice, wondering. Where did that come from? She shook her head, but slowly. It seemed like the River had taken her farther down than she needed.

Equally white was the long-sleeved, white shirt. With its transparent buttons and V-neck, it couldn’t be confused for anything but a school uniform shirt. It was pure, pristine, and strangely it didn’t seem to let any light through it. As white as it was, the fabric seemed to be thick enough that if she wore black underneath it wouldn’t show. A touch confirmed her suspicions on its quality, and taught her just how soft and silky it felt, yet strong and resilient. And how electric touching it was. This time, the jolt of electricity was expected and greeted with a happy sigh.

“Really, Hilde paid so little for these? The quality is amazing!” She exclaimed. It is perfect quality. For some reason the word made her feel even better, if that was possible.

Contrasting with the pure whiteness of the shirt, and to ascertain Liv’s suspicions about colour showing through the shirt, the uniform included a metallic purple bra.

“That is odd.” She said, eyebrow raised. “Why include this... unless Hilde gave her size to the site?” Logic threatened to bleed into her peaceful thoughts, but she didn’t allow them to.

Liv looked at the underwear included and simply knew that Hilde had not expected it to be included. It just wasn’t her friend’s size. The bra was shiny, and she couldn’t seem to pull her brown eyes away. Her lips curled into a smile. “I can’t believe this is rubber... or is it latex?” She took the bra in her hands, delighted in the rubbery feel of it, on the smoothness, the perfection. She had often wondered about the material.

Try it on.

Her hands fidgeted, and slowly moved the garment closer to home, to where it belonged. It needed to be there. Her hands moved, as if posessed, closer and closer to her chest. Time seemed to stretch.

She stopped inches away, shaking her head. “What am I doing?” She chuckled nervously, estranged she had even thought about putting on such a big bra. Yet the allure of rubber... Her heart was beating faster, and it was not until she dropped the rubber garment that she really realized what she had tried to do. She couldn’t keep the abrasive feeling that something was wrong away from her mind.

She mustered her strength and managed to pull herself away from the uniform. Something was off. She wanted so much to touch it but something was telling her to stop right now lest she do something stupid. What’s can be stupid about putting on a harmless uniform? The uniform seemed to reflect light, to hum an alluring tune. But it isn’t so harmless, is it? The uniform had shocked her – though that could’ve been static electricity – and it was forcing her to try it on... It was advertised as a mind-controlling uniform...

Liv straightened, brown eyes as wide as they could go. Her eyes closed shut and she doubled over, laughing loudly. How incredibly silly she had been! Uniforms that control your minds... Hah! Of course it was her own hand.

Liv rubbed a hand against her face, chuckling lightly. She was flushed, red with hilarious self-shame and misplaced blood. She was letting the whole idea of mind-controlling uniforms get to her—control her—and not in the good way. How hilarious was it that she, Liv Faun, actually believed in uniforms that could change how she saw the world? She broke into another fit of giggles. Nervous giggles, that were not entirely in tune with what she felt.

The giggling faded, slowly, like a city-state’s golden age. Her brown eyes stared with no emotion or thought behind them; the wall seemed interesting all of a sudden. After a while, she sat on the bed, legs crossed, and closed her eyes. A skirt was dangerously close to her legs. She suppressed a need to touch it.

Liv Faun was swallowed in thought. In memories. Floating images came and went, flowing as if trapped on the enraged torrent that was a river after a flash flood. Not the River she knew and loved. No, this was an angry thing made of childhood memories and emotions running wild. Echoing forth from the depths of the murky waters, the water clattered and detonated against brethren that were stronger; the river sang a heavy metal song, because it brought trees and rocks and things best left unsaid. This was a storm-born beast.

Liv saw her father arguing with her mother, nearly screaming, nearly pleading. She saw herself walking in, listening in shock at a horrible truth. The murky river took that memory away, and the trunk of the tree shattered, exploding like an ill-timed grenade, as the memory was washed away against a rock of stronger foundations.

Liv saw herself crying over a failing grade, and saw a letter that had followed that grade. The words in the paper were a sad reminder that the real world had no regards for her troubles, and cared not for who she was or could be, but only for results in a flawed system. The words floated on the river, drifting, drifting, but never sinking. Liv saw them, felt her chest tighten, but couldn’t let the scream escape her lips.

Liv heard the car drive away; saw her mother standing on the threshold, staring through lenses of tears at the driver’s face. Liv saw herself asking her mother what was going to happen now. A face red with anger, red with the things sons and daughters everywhere have never been able to understand faced her. Liv saw herself understanding change. Knowing it like a lover knew your body.

Liv opened her eyes. She brought a finger to her cheeks and felt the damp slowly trailing down her face. A miniature river. She stared at the teardrop on her fingertip, just making out the memories that had given it birth. Suddenly, Liv understood that her actions were not an escape. A silly escape. Well, the part about changing a whole school was silly, but not the part about changing herself. Liv stared at the uniform, feeling a pang of guilt. Her parents were divorcing and her only true reaction had been to allow her grades to slip and to let her college scholarship to melt between her fingers. She felt angry at herself for doing that. She was supposed to be a perfect student, with perfect grades, and unfazed by change. She was supposed to be a stronger individual than that. She was seventeen, she was Liv...

The muddy, flooded river had taken away her stability and her grades and everything she had worked for, but it had not taken away her strength, not all of it at least. Liv hid her worry very well, though, from her friends and herself. Specially herself. Her safety net would soon be removed, her parents would split, and her comfortable and easy life would suddenly change—she had to chose. And she needed to change if she wanted a good life in the future. She had to change if she wanted to make the right decision. Yet she wasn’t strong enough to do it on her own. For the love of everything that is holy, Liv Faun is only seventeen and she doesn’t know what to do.

She stood at a crossroads.

So much to think about.

So many possibilities.

So many outcomes.

Go away, or stay. Study or give up.

Scholarship, jobs, uniforms...

Liv started hyperventilating.

She summoned the River; not the heavy metal-sounding river with its worrying memories, but the other river, the one she knew best. Its calming, clear waters drifted down her mind. It left her with only one thought, one answer.

Liv needed help.

When she opened her eyes again, she couldn’t her hear own heartbeat, her face was calm and skin pale.

She turned towards the uniform.

Liv had arranged the items; she had taken them out of their bag. She might as well get on with it. Liv needed to get it over with. Besides, the parts of the uniform did feel rather nice – really nice. She brushed aside a strand of blonde hair, thinking about that reaction she had had towards the bra with a smile. Had she been the one moving her own hand? Was it the uniform controlling her?

Did it matter?

No. Liv seriously had no idea what to think anymore. She had been exposed to the uniform for all of ten minutes and already she was acting strange. And, quite frankly, she didn’t care. I’ll do it, she promised.

With her lips puckered, she decided to play it as if she didn’t know anything. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and decided to forget, momentarily, of what she thought she knew about the outfit. The River had never left her. It carried away her doubts in its calm current.

With a lopsided smile, Liv undressed down to her skin the shade of milk, if milk had a slight green tint to it. Flimsy was a good adjective to describe Liv’s appearance, as she looked unable to carry anything heavier than a bag full of books, or walk uphill without getting winded. And, in fact, that was true. But her strength wasn’t of body.

A bit flushed from what she was doing, Liv reached for the pantyhose and started pulling it over her legs. Slowly, with a strangely ceremonious flair, her toes were swallowed by a motherly caress of shiny nylon. A tingling, pleasant sensation made its presence felt, and Liv’s toes curled and a girlish giggle came forth from her mouth. A thousand soft kisses, a thousand hands massaging her calves drifted upwards, ever upwards, as her legs were transformed from sickly white into perfect, shiny white, so pure and pristine it felt unholy to look at them. As pantyhose met knee, and as pantyhose met thigh, Liv wasn’t able to contain herself anymore; being vocal was the only thing she allowed herself, short of touching her entire body in manners akin to what is forbidden in religious texts.

Her fingers fidgeted, her eyes looked everywhere at once, and her hands pulled the nylons faster and faster up her legs. The sound of nylon sliding over skin was intoxicating, delirious, like the first time you listen to your lifetime favourite song. And when her hands, moving on their own, finally pulled the nylons all the way over her waist, Liv Faun lost consciousness.

Sighing happily, feeling her every muscle relaxed, and the pleasant feeling of not wanting to do anything but lie down and read Hildegarde stood naked in front of her closet, her not-quite white, not quite-brown skin wet where she had failed to dry it after her shower. With a finger over her lips, she looked around her closet for something that “wear me today, and you’ll win”. She would’ve already been dressed and doing something productive, anything at all, if she knew where anything was.

“Damn you, mom. Why do you move things around?” Hildegarde said. Finally she got fed up of feeling a chill go up her spine, and of her eyes not looking at the hanging clothes but at a pile of boxes on the back of the closet. To look for them, instead of hoping for them to magically appear, was the best course of action.

Though, as she opened her underwear drawer she was meet with a strange sight. Grey pantyhose. Hildegarde frowned, deeply, golden-eyes shimmering in the evening light and pupils becoming little more than lines. This is... not mine? Hildegarde thought. She owned no pantyhose, at least not that she was aware of. More relevantly, it had been years since she had worn any, for reasons regarding a door and a laughing boy.

She reached out to throw them away, hand outstretched as if a mechanical claw. Her fingertips brushed against shimmering soft nylons and she stopped. The pause was minuscule, tiny; so short Hildegarde didn’t even realise her body freezing in place and her eyes going blank. She didn’t even blink or shake her head as she regained consciousness. Hildegarde moved as if nothing had happened and pulled the pair of grey nylons out.

“The uniform has pantyhose.” She found herself whispering. “It would be a good idea to get used to wearing nylons again, I guess.”

Blinking in surprise, standing straight, dropping her hands and pantyhose with them, she screwed her face. What the hell am I thinking? Hildegarde wondered. That sounded too much like a decision. She had no idea what was inside the plastic packages, and she very well didn’t want to wear any pantyhose. They itched and were hot and made your toes press against each other. And, did the uniform even have pantyhose? She hadn’t even seen inside the packaging! Besides, to get used to wearing nylons? That implied that she would wear the uniforms frequently.

“I did buy a couple.” Hildegarde found herself looking, not a the pile of boxes, but through them. She licked her lips, still standing naked, clutching a pair of pantyhose in her hands. “It would be a... waste to not wear them.”

There was a moment of silent contemplation. On one side, she hated nylons; on the other, it would be a waste to not wear something she owned. And there was the even stranger question of how the grey pantyhose found their way into her drawer. She had definitely not opened up her uniforms... then... Hildegarde looked at the nylons, studied them. She brushed her fingers over them, felt the texture, the softness. She couldn’t deny they felt soft. Shaking her head from side to side, she decided to try the pantyhose on.

“These are grey... They just cannot be part of the uniform.” She said, her voice slightly nervous. It was a statement to calm that fear she had not been able to shake off regardless of Martie’s insistence that the uniforms were just clothes and nothing more. Soon enough, she forgot about that.

Hildegarde quickly put on underwear, and then slid her long legs into the pantyhose. They slid slowly, a little too slowly for someone who disliked the garment, but Hildegarde couldn’t bring herself to do it faster. They just felt... nice. So very nice. The look she gave her reflection on the mirror, as she smiled and showed off her legs to an invisible audience, was quickly changed by forced distaste. Her legs looked foreign to her as she studied her reflection. She looked fashionable, and... different. She shivered. Quickly, she put on the oldest, most comfortable shorts she had; and to add to the image of Lizardeyes, she put on an ACDC t-shirt. She liked to feel metal on weekends.

Hildegarde felt as if a weight had been removed from her shoulder. Relaxed all of a sudden, as if she had avoided a bullet. There simply was no way she would allow herself to feel fashionable. No way.

Hildegarde dropped on the bed, and the sudden motion made a book she had on the edge of her bed fall down on the floor. She turned, clicking her tongue. She stretched to pick it up, across over the bed, but she didn’t even reach it. Her legs had brushed against each other.

“Hmm...” Hildegarde moaned silently, stopping in place. Her whole body froze, and she smiled deeply. That felt too nice.

Eventually, the tingles subsided, and Hildegarde sat upright. She looked down at her legs, and thought that they looked really nice in pantyhose. Really, really beautiful, to be honest. “They don’t feel scratchy or uncomfortable.” She said, running a hand over her thigh. Hildegarde remembered crying as a child, and throwing a tantrum whenever she had to wear hose. She would scream at her mother, complaining of how itchy and hot they were. But these pair, wherever they had come from, whoever had made them, felt really good. Soft, smooth, comfortable, and cool.

Hildegarde immediately decided to keep them on. She ignored the little voice at the back of her mind crying and begging for her not to do so.

She stood, and suddenly felt her body full of energy. Gone was her fatigue after a long day working in the garden, gone was her desire to simply lie down. She stood, and slipping her feet into a pair of sandals had never felt so good. All of a sudden a desire to simply do things took over. Turning around, Hildegarde surveyed her room. She could clean up a bit, she could get online. She felt as if she could take over the world! In the end, however, she simply started to clean her room, but that didn’t go too far. Any motion—every motion made her legs brush against each other. She couldn’t get anything done, as she would stop doing it to moan and relish in the wonderful energy dancing over her legs as if fireflies trapped in a jar. In the end she knew she would simply try and finish her book. Hildegarde took some steps towards her desktop and it was then that her eyes fell upon the heavy calculus book.

Reality came crashing down.

She had a test next week.

Mister Frederic’s.

Hildegarde sighed and moaned, annoyed. “Fuck!” She cursed loudly and thought, If I fucking fail this one, I’ll kiss goodbye my vacations.

Reluctantly, Hildegarde sat down with a loud humph. The chair complained. Even the textbook made a sound when she opened it.

Turning the pages in a slow fashion, Hildegarde started feeling more and more bored before even starting. How could she concentrate on such a drab subject? Such a useless subject? Though, it wasn’t just the subject that made it hard to study. The very idea of sitting down and reading about numbers didn’t excite her at all.

“Perhaps if I had the uniform on I could concentrate.” Hildegarde thought witch a chuckle. What a silly thought. The wear the uniform while studying...

She found the chapter she had to study and started reading. It was a theoretical test, and thus she only needed to memorize things. But, still, it was boring and soon found herself distracted.

Hildegarde brushed her legs together and suddenly she felt a powerful jolt shock her upright. Her eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Quickly her eyes shot down to look at the offending body part, or what she thought was the offending body part. Wiggling her toes, simply feeling the soft material over her skin, she waited. Nothing happened.

The delicious feeling subsided before Hildegarde allowed herself to stand. She immediately slumped back on the chair, her toes curling and her throat contracting in a spasming moan as that deep sensation returned, shooting upwards and inwards from her legs.

Her thoughts stopped momentarily. She simply relished in the feeling that had come out of the blue, blessedly. Slowly it resided, and slowly her thoughts returned, bringing a well-received visitor. An idea. Giving her closet and what laid hidden inside a look that would make any boy her age freeze in place, Hildegarde pushed herself away from the desk and, with her eyes locked over her grey-encased legs, ran her nails over the nylon, feeling each thread. That delicious feeling was back, and she allowed herself to moan happily. Moan a bit too loudly. She covered her mouth, fearing anyone else would hear.

“I wonder if this is how wearing the uniform would feel like...”

Again she waited until the feeling was gone. This time there were telltale signs of arousal, of excitement; but not just any type, but a very particular feeling. She knew it well. Her golden eyes shone like melted gold, as if they were more alive than she was. Her pupils were visible, faintly; trapped in the gold the flint of black was, telling more about what she felt than Hildegarde would ever allow herself to express with words. Those eyes were upon the pantyhose covering her legs; shiny, shimmering even; they were grey all over, the shade of grey that came from oxidised aluminium. Light danced over them, like fireflies in the night, like sunlight over a pond. Hildegarde couldn’t look away.

A finger moved over the hose once more, and the sensation that followed it, as if the finger was breaking the surface of a crème brulé to get to the tasty interior, made Hildegarde’s back tighten and her voice disappear and her toes curl. Softly, every so softly, she whispered, “I must study.”

Hildegarde’s body shivered, her sex laughed, and she had to close her eyes as a wave hit her.

Once, twice, thrice...

Again and again.

“I must study.” She repeated.

It hit, powerfully, unstoppable. Her imagination had taken her to a special place, had lead her thoughts to an impossible place. Fantasies were powerful things. Hildegarde stared at her legs, encased in nylon, at her body dressed for a lazy evening; but she didn’t see old shorts and a t-shirt. She saw something else. Something more beautiful, and not entirely unreal. She ran her hands over her legs and muttered once more.

“I must study.”

It hit her again, like a hammer.

And she couldn’t stop.

She couldn’t look away.

She didn’t want to look away.

Her whole hand travelled over her grey pantyhose. Her grey pantyhose. It was hers, she owned it. She didn’t know why, or where it had come from, but Hildegarde knew it was hers, and should always be.

“I must study. I must study. I must study. I must study.” She whispered, not even caring if her mother would hear her. Was she even at home? She couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. The more Hildegarde’s raspy and deep voice repeated the mantra, the easier it rolled out of her mouth, the easier it was to lose herself in the sound of her monotone voice repeating the phrase, of the swishing music coming from the rubbing of her legs, and from the sensations filling her. Oh, the sensations were so strong.

And she didn’t stop.

Her eyes opened, focused, yet blank; concentrated, yet distracted; she looked down at her book, looked down at the words, and yet seemed to be seeing images that weren’t there, images that were more real to her than the feeling of air around her; images that came from dreams and fantasies. “I must study. I must study. I must study. I must study. I must study.” Hildegarde kept babbling as she settled over her book, conscious of what she was doing but unable to do anything about it. She had turned herself off, turned the world around her off; there only existed the book before her eyes, its contents, and the words that came out of her mouth with a voice that was more and more devoid of emotion, more and more alien to her own ears.

All the time Hildegarde rubbed her legs together, all the time feeling electricity fill her, but too far gone to actually feel it. Words moved over her eyes, or were they moving over the book? Could words move? She heard a voice now, not hers, but someone else’s, as if there was another woman in the room whispering in her ear. There was only the book. There was only studying. She had to study—the voice told her so.

Hildegarde studied.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

There was a hammering in her ears; a profound sound so loud it felt like it would break her. Liv woke, suddenly. She was standing, she realized as her body shifted her weight over her feet. Her wide eyes looked around just as her mind realized what had happened. I passed out! Quickly she started walking towards the door, for what reason she couldn’t tell, perhaps to find something that would either explain or help her with the blackout. But she felt something nice brushing against her legs; something so nice that it left her without breath and stopped her dead in her tracks.

Liv didn’t look down; she simply stared ahead, wide-eyed, blank stare not wanting to look at anything lest she distract herself from what she felt. She took two steps and felt the brushing sensation just above her knees again. It was wonderful in its pleasantness, and scary in its sudden existence. Why was she feeling this? What had changed? Brown eyes went wide as her memory answered the question, but Liv shook her head, denying it. Turning around slowly, she made her way towards the mirror.

Tall and oval, with metal work holding the reflective surface in place, and gifted to Liv by her deceased grandfather, the mirror was a beautiful piece of art. And, right then, it was also a window into an exact moment in time that would define her, change her. For better or for worse, what Liv saw reflected was so beautiful and important. Liv walked, slowly, every step carrying that brushing sensation that almost made her moan aloud. Finally she stood before the mirror and she nearly collapsed once more. Only her arm against a wall stopped her.

She was wearing the uniform.

She was wearing the uniform!

Gasping, Liv covered her mouth, unable to make a sound, unable to let that sound escape. Her eyes glistened with fear and delight and wonder. I... I... I look... She searched for a fitting word. The uniform fit her perfectly, extremely well, as if it had been tailored to her body. The pantyhose glistened on her legs, glossy and smooth. They felt incredible, too incredible almost. The plaid and pleated skirt brushed her legs just above her knees, looking as if something that had been with her all of her life. The shirt fit her as if a second skin, tight and almost form fitting, bagging around the arms and abdomen. It felt wonderful, like silk. It fit as a uniform’s shirt should fit: perfectly. And, as she had theorized, it didn’t let her bra show through. And the bra! Liv had to take a deep, deep breath when she realised that what she felt hugging her breasts, almost pressing against them, making them feel special and loved, covering them as if a hand, was but a simple bra. It felt... there were no words to describe it.

Liv closed her eyes, breathing deeply, drinking that feeling. It was tingling, it was electric, it was powerful. She could feel it all over her skin, all over her mind. It was arousal, curiously. No, it is different... More. There was more to it, something deeper and stronger. It was but a simple uniform, and yet Liv was feeling aroused at wearing the uniform, at seeing herself in the uniform. But she was also feeling something else, something she couldn’t name. The uniform felt delicious, in more than one way.

She opened her eyes, and stared at her reflection. It was... Perfect. It is perfect. I look perfect. Liv thought, finally finding a word to describe how she looked. She took one step forward, placing a hand over her reflection’s face and then over her own. Her hair was brushed back, glistening as if oiled, and a black headband was keeping it in place – she wondered when she had decided to try on that old thing. She looked like herself, like Liv Faun, the girl who obsessed over keeping her books in good condition, the girl who drove a handed-down Sedan, the girl who couldn’t stand cold salads... and yet she looked like an entirely different person. She looked like a schoolgirl.

“No...” She whispered to her reflection, feeling her shirt tight against her body every time she breathed, her skirt kissing her legs every time she moved. “I look like a perfect schoolgirl.“

Liv remained there, staring at her reflection, drinking her image. She lost track of time. Dreaming, imagining, pondering, wondering. She was wearing a schoolgirl uniform, a perfect schoolgirl uniform. It felt really good to wear it, wonderful to wear it. Almost as if she had always wanted to wear it. Yes, that’s how it felt—why it felt so perfect. Liv had wanted to wear it, had always wanted to.

For a second she frowned. “Wait... Hilde was the one who wanted to wear it, not I.”

Her eyes fell on the image on the mirror once more. Acting like one would feel better, she thought. Yes, acting like a perfect schoolgirl – being a perfect schoolgirl – would feel a thousand times better. It made sense, after all; she had decided to try on the uniform because it would help her, and others, realise the importance of being good students. She had tried the uniform on because she had a fascination for them, had always had it. She had tried it on because she needed it, the help it provided.

Liv felt like studying, felt like applying herself in school, she felt like she was a real student in a real school. It works! She thought and suddenly felt a pressure lift off her shoulders. The muddy river came to her mind, and with it all those nasty memories and worrisome thoughts. Liv felt the uniform become something more; a force, a power that diverted that muddy river out of her mind. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and let out frustration. With the uniform on, it seemed, she could get into the right mindset, the mindset she needed to concentrate, ignore the distress and anger she felt at her parents’ break up, and establish a strong educational base for her future to be built upon. With the uniform on, she could finally be who she had to be. Who she needed to become.

Suddenly it became obvious. The relaxation, the lack of worry. Liv didn’t feel pressured like before. She didn’t feel worried about anything, or anyone. It was as if the uniform had somehow displaced those feelings. Like she had wanted.

Liv blinked, taking a deep breath. She was aroused. Deliciously so. She smiled at her reflection and struck a pose; her feet shuffled and she heard a clicking sound. Liv looked down and realised that, in her lack of appropriate shoe wear, she had opted to wear a pair of black high heels.

The uniform must be worn correctly.

“I need to wear proper shoe wear.” She said immediately, almost in a monotone.

The uniform must be worn correctly.

She giggled, completely ignoring the thought. “Oh man, I am even imagining rules for this.” Liv said, placing a hand over her mouth. But the giggling subsided and Liv realised that she, indeed, wanted to wear the uniform correctly, whatever that meant. She would make her best to correct the missing piece.

The uniform must be worn correctly.

Smiling, feeling vibrant and alive, Liv turned away from her image and looked at her room. Pouting, she realised that she could never get any studying done with the room in such a messy state.

Thinking of how much the uniform would help her concentrate in her studies, Liv started cleaning the room. The soft throbbing of arousal was ever present.

I am a perfect schoolgirl. She thought.

She studied for long hours after.