The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After I finished my school homework, I went onto Facebook and looked at the walls from all the girls at school. I knew what the wealth of our nation was. The girls’ soccer team had won the state championship that fall, so they knew they were queens of the universe until the end of the year. They ruled the school with an iron fist. They could get away with anything and took full advantage of it. So I went through each profile, looking for an appropriate target to help knock the soccer team back down to the level they deserved.

Then I remembered something about Kylie and looked at her old posts. Of course that bitch in history just likes the tight jerseys! she’d written after Katie 1/20/84—no, Mrs. Ward, I had to think of her as Mrs. Ward when I was thinking about school—had attended one of their games. She’s such a freak! she’d written after her birthday, when she had met with Mrs. Ward and received her copy of The Wealth of Nations, but been too stupid to understand what it meant. God is great! ended every post. And I realized that she had to be the one who was slinging mud about our teacher. Not just that, she was the starting goalie, with a scholarship to Washington. And she was the biggest bully out of all of them, to boot. She would be the perfect lever to use.

I cracked my knuckles and got ready to move the invisible hand. I scrolled back through her history to get a better idea of what I needed. Hope for my position, Becks for my heartthrob, and Mia for all time! was posted a few times to the favorite player question. Yeah, that summed her up pretty well. Going through the roster, I saw that seven of the players on the team were seniors who had Mrs. Ward as a teacher. So seven copies... now, term papers were due in a week. I downloaded a few random ones—and of course, one on The Wealth of Nations for Kylie. Then I forged up the covers, making sure to change the fonts every so often to match their individual styles, and bound the plagiarized papers into them. I would have to get to school early to make this work, but I would do what was necessary to make the correction.

I dialed the number and slept naked to the mantra, letting it soothe me, empty me, and fill me. I faded into the shadows, into the invisible hand, into sleep.

The pantyhose felt amazing against my skin as I slipped on my denim miniskirt and striped shirt and headed off to school. I knew the soccer team had the same locker bank, and Kylie had a nameplate on the outside of hers—against school policy, but who was going to go after the golden girl who’d saved what would have been a game-tying goal in the state final? I opened the lock by feel and slipped the papers into her unopened history textbook, then strolled away.

“Damn, Kylie! Papers off the web? But this totally sounds like me! Where you get these? God, I was so fucking stuck on that weirdo’s economic stuff—she’ll love this!” I heard Elise tell Kylie.

If Kylie had a brain in her head, she would have realized that she was being set up, and might have told her teammates that she didn’t come up with these papers, but she got greedy and decided to take credit for them. “Yeah, figured that way we wouldn’t have to actually think about her stupid shit,” she said, handing them out. Not the move I expected—I thought Kylie would keep them all and drop them on Mrs. Ward’s desk with a smirk of self-satisfaction that would slowly wither as Mrs. Ward recognized that the reports were so obviously not theirs and went berserk. In the end, it turned out much better.

I waited for the results through days of boring classes and nights of reinforcing the mantra that was already the bedrock of all of my thoughts. Friday, the storm broke. If she hadn’t been in full Mrs. Ward mode, I would have thought that Katie 1/20/84 was trying to command the class, with her short phrases and rapid-fire quizzing.

“Who’s Franz Ferdinand? And if anyone says that they’re a rock band, they’re going to the principal’s office as fast as I can send them,” she snapped.

The class, much to my surprise, handled it with flying colors. Even Willa got by, despite being on the wrong end of Mrs. Ward’s death glare all class long. Finally, Mrs. Ward explained herself at the end of the “review”. “So it’s not knowledge some of you stole off the Internet, just what that knowledge means. Those who worked hard will be rewarded. Those who didn’t... they’ll know what their punishment is when they’re in the principal’s office, and they’ll be lucky if that’s all they have to suffer for it,” she said at the bell.

It was amazingly simple not to show emotion at the dire warnings, since I was acting as an innocent student who’d sweated blood over her paper, not a junior member of the invisible hand. I got up to leave class when Mrs. Ward stepped in front of me and nudged her stocking-clad knee into mine. Just like that, she was Katie 1/20/84 and I was a docile tool with a brain full of colors and a head full of mantra. “Wait for everyone to leave,” she ordered quietly. Not quietly enough, though; Luke heard her, and the stunned look on his face might have broken my heart if I still cared about him.

When the room was empty, she spoke. “Did you write this?” she asked me sternly, showing me Kylie’s report.

“It is about The Wealth of Nations, but there’s nothing in there about the invisible hand,” I replied.

“I know. I was testing you. You did adequately. I will see you Sunday. For the future, know that we are invisible. We strike without warning or signal. You wanted to show me what you had done, not knowing that you were not supposed to. That pride will be trained out of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said.

She poked me in the knee again, and it was like she’d pushed play. She was Mrs. Ward again, and I was Tina Clark, and my boyfriend was waiting outside and wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing.

“Don’t tell me you were the one she got her panties in a wad about for cheating,” he said.

“Hell no! I was the only paper worth reading that wasn’t taken off the Internet. She just got paranoid and wanted to test me, so she asked me all these questions. Sorry, hon, but if it was only a C paper, I know you didn’t cheat,” I teased him.

“Hey! I think I resent that remark!” he replied with a smile and a kiss. He wouldn’t even notice I was going to be gone all Sunday.

Church dragged on and on, giving me plenty of time to think. Tina Clark was becoming just a front, I realized, the first of the many identities I was sure to take during my life. I was proud of the task I had completed, and I couldn’t wait to describe it to Katie 1/20/84. Somewhere in the deepest part of my mind, the part that would keep me from playing in traffic or drinking antifreeze, I understood that I was being taken and changed, like something out of the movies my mom would never let me see, but it was real, and it was better than anything I had ever imagined. Whatever was taking me was also making me more confident, more logical, and a better person.

As if God himself was trying to warn me, the sermon was about greed (but our first lesson said that we stopped greed, or turned it against its creator) and how the love of money was the root of all evil. He railed against making a deal with the devil. Well, Katie 1/20/84 might be horny, but no tail, and not red, so she’s probably not the devil, I thought. Faith had no relevance to me anymore. I had something real and tangible to worship, and the only invisible entity I was interested in was the invisible hand.

Katie 1/20/84—and I understood that I had switched over to thinking of her by her true name because of the intrinsic different in me—wasn’t there, and it made me happy, since that meant she was getting ready for me. I had to fall more deeply into the role of Tina Clark to keep from squeezing my legs together in church, but I thought I was doing a good enough job when trouble came and all but hit me in the face.

“Asking Him forgiveness won’t help when you’ll never get it from us,” a blonde in a church dress that didn’t go with her fierce scowl muttered to me—Bee, the only senior on the soccer team I hadn’t set up because she wasn’t of the clique that went to the megachurch, posted racist nonsense on Facebook, or used her position on the soccer team to set herself up as something more than she was. She came closer and hissed, “Do you like that Kylie lost her scholarship? She was Washington-bound, and now she’s going to have to spend a year on the farm just to make it to Moscow! Yeah, I know it was you.”

“Judge not, lest ye be judged,” I said, playing innocent.

“Oh, save it. You’re the only one who seemed to believe that teabagger train wreck sh-tuff! Yeah, Kylie ’n them were idiots to try and turn them in, but of course the real Mrs. Ward has to set up my teammates just to please her!” she said hysterically. “At least that idol-worshipper doesn’t stain the Lord’s house!”

At that point, I was starting to wonder if I should have taken the whole team down—but no, the seven who had class with Katie were enough and would serve as sufficient warning. Bee could never prove anything. Kylie’s locker had been locked, and their names were on each paper. I’d even taken the time to make some errors that I knew they would make.

Just to try, I thought about it all the way to Katie 1/20/84’s house, but I had no remorse, and the only second thought I had was that I should have included Bee. I rang the bell, ready to shed my outfit, when she answered.

“Remorse?” she asked, wearing one of her black skirtsuits. The line between Katie 1/20/84 and Mrs. Ward was blurring in my head, and I winced in confusion.

But my answer was clear. “None,” I told her.

“Do you understand what you did?”

“I know that Kylie lost her scholarship.”

“Her soccer scholarship. She’s nothing but a cheat now. She had hope of being Hope. Now she’s hopeless, helpless, and broke,” Katie 1/20/84 said sternly.

If she wanted remorse from me, she would have to order me to have it. “Bee told me this after church. Kylie is a bully. She used the honor she was given to bring misery,” I said. Part of me wanted to say more, but I stopped, as if my common sense was being run by the pantyhose on my legs, not my brain.

“And?” she pressed.

“Nothing else is relevant. They required correction. Their greed was ruinous to the gifts they were given. They had to suffer the consequences of throwing the balance off,” I said. I could feel myself falling into the mantra without any prompting.

“No feelings about me?”

“You are part of the invisible hand. I am part of the invisible hand. We are the same. I was told to correct what needed correcting.”

“And you corrected it in spirit, not in fact. B-plus, emphasis on the Bee. But you will learn that today. Follow me,” she said, shedding the outfit and becoming Katie 1/20/84 in full as she led me into the den.

Russ 7/19/82 was completely naked and waiting for us. “Was the execution satisfactory?” he inquired.

“As satisfactory as could be expected. Some elements of her previous life influenced the execution, but she was accurate in identifying the necessary lever, and the results are more than adequate,” Katie 1/20/84 recited.

“Sufficient, but still too much to be included. She was identified. Even with no proof but childish rage and rumor, she was still identified. Complete the correction before your graduation,” Russ 7/19/82 said. The first hint of emotion I saw from him, and it was rage.

“No one passes on the first try,” Katie 1/20/84 pointed out in a calming tone that reminded me very much of Mrs. Ward.

“Keep the process fair!” Russ 7/19/82 said to her, and she froze solid at the anger in his tone. “Report, recruit,” he snapped at me.

“Kylie lost her scholarship. Meredith lost her parents’ support. She’s selling her car just to afford the junior college. Tess, Marnie, and Kitty are all farm girls. Tess and Marnie both look like they’re going to drop out and farm for the rest of their lives. Kitty’s parents have their own way of dealing with failure. Betsy’s reputation is ruined. Her boyfriend is leaving her, and no one will speak to her. Becky’s dreams of going to Los Angeles and being a city girl are gone. Boise was her safety school, and they’ve rejected her application. All but Marnie went to the megachurch, so all those families will have to bear what their daughters did as well,” I recited. I barely heard whispers about half of it, but Katie 1/20/84 nodded and verified everything.

“Collateral damage is irrelevant. It is nothing but part of the correction. We do not commit violence, yet millions have died from the invisible hand; we do not steal, but the invisible hand has recovered all that was left behind. For control to be restored, sometimes things must break,” Russ 7/19/82 snapped.

I did not move, even to flinch. “I understand,” I told him, and I could hear how empty my voice was—but how determined it was as well.

“No break in her resolve. You have done better than I first thought, Katie 1/20/84. There are still corrections to be made and lessons to be learned. Undress, recruit,” Russ 7/19/82 said, and the trace of emotion in his voice was something closer to pride now. As I removed my clothing, he asked, “What is your excuse?”

“My parents believe I drove out to Boise to visit the school. They don’t expect me back before they go to bed,” I told him as I removed the pantyhose.

“More time than I had expected. Very well. Observe, but do not touch,” he said, taking Katie 1/20/84 and laying her on the couch, spreading her legs, becoming hard just by beginning the motions.

As he mounted her, the mantra came into my head. I could see the act bringing Katie 1/20/84 under to an almost comatose state, her face losing all expression as her eyes grew into black voids. She remained passive and motionless as the pleasure built. Her moans grew quieter, not louder, as she was brought deeper, and she came in silence, her body going completely rigid then completely limp. Her eyes drifted closed, and only the occasional sigh as she lay there gave any sign of life.

Two flicks of my fingers against my clit would have brought me to climax, but I remained as still as a statue. Russ 7/19/82 had ordered me to observe, not touch. I observed without touching.

“She dreams of her place. Pleasure affirms our obedience. At our level of experience, our pleasure centers remove the burdens placed on us to fit into society. We are simply part of the invisible hand, no more conscious of the world than a fingernail,” he explained.

If drooling could be considered a sign of jealousy, I was in total envy of Katie 1/20/84, transported to her own world, turned off from the strain of reality, completely thoughtless and mindless, free from any stress put on her by the mundane world.

“Do you understand the process? You will always keep your first name, but you will be anyone, anywhere as needed, as you grow more experienced and your corrections grow larger. We are at war. When greed exceeds truth and all parties seek nothing more than everything, we go to war and destroy as needed to keep order and control. We were part of the last war and stayed active because we had the ambition to keep order even when others were no longer necessary. We were assigned to each other. We will procreate, raise a child, and be the eyes of the invisible hand while living an otherwise mundane life. You are one of our replacements. If you are to replace one of us, I demand perfection. I am less convinced than Katie 1/20/84 of your potential, but I see the desire to be controlled and to do the bidding of the invisible hand. You are not perfect, yet. But you are currently sufficient. Katie 1/20/84, stand!”

As Katie 1/20/84 stood, Russ 7/19/82 became more of a commander and less of a lecturer. “I have found Tina sufficient. She must still finish her correction and her education before she is dated, but she is sufficient. Tina, lie down.”

I had no thoughts left except to lie down. My legs instinctively spread. Russ 7/19/82 grew hard with nothing more than a thought and prepared to take me. Then my vision went black as shades went over my eyes. The lights returned full force, robbing me of any thoughts except the pleasure entering me, thrusting in me, making me obey, making me stop thinking for myself, making me invisible to the world. All that mattered was the invisible hand giving me pleasure and binding me to it. I first wanted to hold him and thrust with him, but the lights in my eyes reflected the colors in my mind. I had to submit. I would submit. Every thrust pushed my off switch a little more. The memories of Tina Clark faded. The attachments of Tina Clark weakened. My focus was on being only a part of the invisible hand.

Finally, my body had had as much as it could stand, and I came with a soft moan. Russ 7/19/82 pulled out, taking with him the last thing I felt from the world outside. I was nothing but the remnants of the pleasure that affirmed the control over me. I lay there, seeing only outlines and hearing noises. They were not relevant until a male voice said, “Stand,” and I stood.

“Bedroom,” I was ordered, and I marched to the room with the screens, then stopped on the threshold. I had not been told to do anything else. I was lifted into the chair. The headphones were placed on my ears, and the screens came on. Some of the faces seemed familiar... no, all the faces were familiar, because they were part of the invisible hand, and therefore they were my face, no matter what they looked like.

“Purge. Four hours. Mixed,” an uninflected, sexless voice recited. The chair went flat. My body shook, and I felt myself breathe. I realized that my strongest survival instincts—the ones that kept me alive—had been activated. That was good. It meant that I would survive to be controlled to control and become a better part of the invisible hand. I was a part of the invisible hand. I did what the invisible hand wanted of me, and to do that, I had to be controlled.

I heard a mumble in the headphones, and I realized that some of us had recited the mantra. It felt so good.

A vibrator was placed between my legs—rabbit, to reach both my clitoris and my G-spot—then was activated as the lights came on and the mantra played in my ears until I climaxed and passed out. The lights awakened me to the mantra and another vibrating climax, then I was out again. Lights, mantra, climax, out. Lights, mantra, climax, out.

I lost count, then I lost everything. I was not Tina Ann Clark anymore. I wasn’t Tina Ann anymore. I wasn’t the person I had once been; I was no longer a person at all, just a controlled thing needed to be controlled so I could help control the world. I had no parents, no friends, no family, no teachers, no partners, no neighbors, no memories, no interests, no desires, nothing at all. Everything was emptied out and replaced with the invisible hand, replaced with the need and want to be controlled to control.

We moaned the mantra in our one voice, then I felt alone. My eyes were closed, but I walked perfectly down the stairs and down another flight into the basement that I had never been into. I felt the cold, but that was all, as I felt hands guiding me into the shower, cleaning me off, drying me, and then clothing me. “I am senior to you. You will obey. What is your name?” a female voice asked, soft yet commanding.

The only thing that hadn’t been emptied from my mind came to the fore. “Tina,” I droned.

“Clark,” the voice said. Thoughts stirred, but nothing took root until it was verified by the woman, by Katie 1/20/84, by Mrs. Ward, by my history teacher who was also teaching me interesting economics in my Sunday best. “You will act as Tina Clark,” she told me, and the life of Tina Clark flowed back into my mind to be used.

It was all real, all the principles, how to move funds, create economies, change the world with the slightest adjustment. But I was dreaming this. I was still motionless in a chair from being rendered a mindless obedient drone. But it was real. I was a bubbly, eighteen-year-old Idaho schoolgirl, madly in love with Luke Moyer, despising the soccer team, interested in Boise for college, counting the days to graduation.

I drove home to Tina Clark’s loving parents and told them all about the college visit I’d never taken and the school I’d never visited. I finished my homework, then took my skirt off and stroked through my panties at the latest in the girls’ soccer scandal and all the peripheral damage. I chuckled at the freshman who insisted on being the girliest of girly-girls from that day forward. Bee’s page had a rant on how it was a lesbian conspiracy because they dared win states with an all-straight team. Funny, I think Tess and Jacklyn might disagree with you on that one, unless it was a one-time thing, I thought.

Once I was done monitoring my correction, I lay in bed and returned to reality. As the mantra filled my head, my body froze and my eyes slid shut.