The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tess was in an upbeat mood when Iris arrived at her door a few days later. She was test-driving the schoolgirl look, trying to fathom what was behind Iris’s odd behaviour. Today she was dressed in a white blouse and a red plaid skirt. The skirt stopped well above the knee. Tess frankly liked the way it showed off her legs. She figured it was modest enough for a fashionable young teacher to wear.

Certainly she was not about to start modelling those shameless little kilts that so many of her students were wearing lately. How did they get away with it? Earlier that day she had passed a counselling session with a girl in a skirt so short Tess could actually see her panties as she sat in the chair across from her. The panties were green plaid, the same as the skirt. Tess didn’t even know they made plaid underwear.

She had to admit, the outfit was scorchingly sexy. The girl was wearing a thin, white blouse that favoured her pert breasts, and a school tie, also green plaid. Her white socks were long and tight, stretching up over her knees but leaving her thighs bare. How did the male teachers concentrate with nubile young beauties in every class dressed like this? She made a mental note to ask some of her colleagues about it.

Once again Tess became so engrossed in analysing, and appreciating, her young charge’s wardrobe, she missed something of what she said. The girl didn’t seem to mind. Giggling, she assured Tess she would try to keep her mind off boys and dates long enough to pull her grades back up. Tess said something reassuring. If the girl kept wearing skirts like that one to class, half the boys would start flunking too.

Still, she found herself admiring the girls moxy—and her plaid underthings. The student stopped to adjust her stockings as she walked away. Bending a little, she treated Tess to one last look at green plaid stretched tightly across her darling teenage ass. It was an image that lingered.

Tess’s bright mood dimmed a little when Iris appeared at her door. Her formerly sober friend was wearing a pleated tartan skirt even shorter than before. When her hand was at her side the hem barely reached the base of her thumb. The matching top was deliberately too small. The tails of her foreshortened blue tie ended at the eye-catching swells of her breasts. She wore white kneesocks of shiny nylon and mirror-black mary-janes, modified with platform heels.

Standing in the counsellor’s doorway, looking like an erotic schoolgirl fantasy come to life, she shrugged and said: “I think it’s getting worse.”

Tess could only stare. “I should say so,” she replied. “Come in and sit down.”

Iris stepped carefully into the room in her tall platforms and short-short skirt. She giggled. It was the first of many.

Some time later Iris gave Tess a long, warm hug before heading off to class. “Thanks so much for all your time, Tess,” she whispered. “You’re a doll.” She held her friend tightly. Tess could feel the press of Iris’s breasts against her own and smell shampoo in Iris’s blonde hair. Her friend kissed her on the neck affectionately.

When the hug finally ended, Tess stumbled backward, a little dizzy. Iris held both her hands. “I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll talk again, ok?” she asked.

“Yes . . . tomorrow,” Tess replied. She was still reeling from the hug. Her nipples were rising. Iris gave her a wave as she tottered out the door. Two male students stopped talking and stared as Iris wiggled by. Her tartan skirt swished back and forth with every step.

God she has great legs, Tess found herself thinking. How does she get away with that skirt? It shows everything. Why doesn’t the Principal reprimand her? She made another mental note to ask her male colleagues what they thought.

Not that Tess’s skirt was particularly long. She was wearing a red plaid kilt that she had picked up on her most recent shopping trip. It was shorter than her others. It had a big, decorative safety pin in the front holding it together. She was wearing it with shiny red kneesocks and cute white tennis shoes. Tess told herself the outfit was still within the bounds of what a fashionable young teacher could wear. If that were true it sure crowded the line.

The outfit wasn’t exactly sensible school attire. Tess thought it was cute. So, evidently, did everyone who watched her walk by. The tennies weren’t like high heels, but she could bounce up on her toes for a moment when she wanted to flex her legs. She did that a lot.

Over the past few days Tess had been testing a range of variations on the schoolgirl look. It was part of her inquiry into why Iris was so besotted of the style. To get it right, she reasoned, she had to emulate not only the uniform aspect, but the girly-vamp tarting-up that made it so sexy. That was the rationale for the higher hemlines.

Tess had tried a different outfit every day this week. Sometimes she even changed into a different mini-kilt after work. She was still looking for the perfect outfit to use in her experiment. She figured she would know it when she found it.

When Iris was gone, the pretty guidance counsellor sat down at her desk. She wanted to spend a few minutes going over her conversation with Iris. They had talked for quite a while—the better part of an hour, by Tess’s watch. She had missed an appointment.

Oddly, she couldn’t remember much of the conversation. There had been something about . . . how good it felt to let go and immerse herself in the personality of a giggly teenager. How hot and sexy she felt all the time. How she felt liberated from the cares and responsibilities of everyday life, even as she felt her adult personality slipping away from her.

Iris had leaned back in her chair and let it all spill out. She spoke in a faraway voice while Tess watched the light reflecting off her shiny black shoes. She had her knees crossed. The toe of one platform maryjane caught the light with every movement of her foot: flash . . . flash . . . flash . . .

Tess shook her head. She had drifted off into reverie again. Why couldn’t she remember the rest of the conversation? She decided to check her notes. She picked up the spiral-bound notebook sitting on her desk. Her eyes opened wide.

The page was almost blank. After a few lines her handwriting became illegible. Then it drifted off into a wavy line. The rest of the page was empty. Tess saw her pen lying on the floor beside her chair.

Where she had dropped it.

What was going on?

Puzzled, Tess crossed her knees and tried again to remember the conversation with Iris. How could they talk for most of an hour yet leave her with no memory beyond how much she liked Iris’s gorgeous shoes? She found herself studying her own shoe as she bobbed one foot up and down on her knee. The sport shoes were brand new, and immaculate. She liked the way the white canvas contrasted with her crimson socks.

Tess decided she liked kneesocks. She liked kilts too. The outfits made her feel cute. Tess hadn’t realized that one could feel cute—as opposed to looking cute—but when she slid her shimmering socks on in the morning and laced up her sneakers she felt a flush of girlish excitement wash over her. Was this what Iris meant when she said her personality was being swept away by a boy-crazy fifteen-year-old?

Tess paused to adjust one sock. She stretched out her leg and flexed her toe downward. She did have fabulous legs. They were her best feature. If she had decided to be a teenage vamp when she actually was fifteen, she could have mesmerized every boy in the class. Maybe even distract a few teachers.

She giggled to herself as she imagined the scene. She would be sitting in the front row, of course, where her handsome teacher could see her. She would be dressed like she was now, with eye-catching red socks and a short kilt. She would pratice looking innocent and pubescent, but at the same time smoulder with barely repressed sexuality. Catching her teacher’s eye, she would nibble on the end of her thick, pink pen, fixing her befuddled teacher with a heavy-lidded gaze while she crossed and recrossed her legs, each time letting the teasing skirt slip a little higher . . . .

Tess opened her eyes. She was breathing hard. What had begun as an idle reflection had quickly morphed into a vivid day-dream. She let out her breath, then brushed back her hair. All this business about over-sexed teenie tarts was getting to her, it seemed. She was getting worked up in the middle of the day.

The sound of commotion in the corridor outside her office reminded her that classes were changing. She decided to step out for a few minutes. She needed to cool down. She got to her feet, adjusted her socks, smoothed down her miniskirt, and stepped out into the hall.

Tess stepped back into her office a few minutes later. She was no calmer than before. Now she was perplexed too. She had been watching the girls. Ordinarily she paid no particular attention to teenage fashion. Today she noticed something different. The Catholic schoolgirl look seemed to be everywhere. Had she missed a trend?

The standard outfit was a tight white blouse and a tartan kilt or pleated skirt. The skirts were always short. Some of the girls were wearing kneesocks, others those sexy, over-the-knee stockings that emphasized both the curve of their coltish legs and the brevity of their skirts. Shiny pams or block-heeled slip-ons graced their feet.

Tess found the outfits surprisingly attractive. There was something bold and sexy about the look—not the uniform itself, but the way the girls wore them. Most of the kneesocks were white, but some girls were experimenting with red and blue and pink. A few wore cute pink or white pumps with two-inch heels. The shoes with socks looked just garish enough to give the impression of pubescent darlings trying to look grown up. The big earrings and eye shadow only amplified the effect.

Still, it seemed odd that such a deliberately feminine fashion should sweep away ordinary blue jeans and cargo pants. The schoolgirl outfit was a look. It demanded careful attention to pull it off. Yet it seemed to have caught the imagination of many girls, not just the fashion-conscious ones. Even some of the goth girls and serious students were trying it out.

Tess sat down at her desk, puzzled. At once she crossed her knees so she could admire her legs. What was happening here? Was there a schoolgirl trend going around that Tess had failed to notice? Was Iris tapping into that trend to act out some repressed sexual rebellion? What did any of this have to do with Harry and his theory about—what would one call it?—a “behavioural virus”? It was altogether strange.

Tess lifted her leg straight to adjust her knee sock. She turned her leg back and forth, flexing her toes downward. Her own experiment to fathom the attractiveness of the schoolgirl look was providing enigmatic results. She enjoyed the style more than she had expected. It was freeing to not have to think very much about what to wear in the morning. Iris, on the other hand, was getting so turned on she was playing with herself constantly. That was a private thing to confess, even to a close friend.

Tess was still admiring her raised leg. She remembered the way the boys in the hall had gawked at her when she walked by. Teenage girls were no competition for a mature woman’s figure, no matter how much they abbreviated their skirts.

Tess felt warm. She let her fingers tease along the hem of her mini. Maybe, she considered, she should try a little hand-play herself, to see if it was as intense as Iris alleged. She was certainly in the mood.

Her door was closed. She had no appointments for a half-hour or so. There was plenty of time. This was all a test, she reminded herself, as she settled back in her chair, to try to understand Iris’s dilemma. She spread her thighs and draped one leg over the arm of her chair. Her fingers slipped up to her surprisingly damp panties. She should get some new ones, she decided, that matched her skirts. Like that sexy show-off she had been counselling the other day.

The thought was arousing. No point in wearing panties like that if they didn’t get flashed, at least occasionally. What a wicked idea. Adjusting her kneesocks provided the perfect excuse to bend over when she knew someone was watching. The flippy skirt would hide nothing.

Tess’s fingers were under her silk now, and probing inward. It felt good. Tess leaned her head back and slipped a couple of those fingers into her lubricating pussy. The other hand was free to dive into her blouse. She sighed happily. This was so outrageously naughty. Oh, now it felt divine. As her thoughts drifted off into sex-soaked adolescent fantasies, Tess decided she would do a very thorough test.

Later that afternoon, after convincing herself that self-love in a schoolgirl outfit was intensely satisfying, Tess finally got around to asking one of her colleagues about the matter. It was late in the day and classes were nearly done. Tess made her way down the uncrowded hallway to an empty classroom. A woman was sitting at the teacher’s desk, grading papers. Tess smiled. She was always grading papers.

“Janet,” Tess said from the doorway, “May I talk to you for a minute?”

The other teacher looked up. “Oh, Tess, not you too!” she exclaimed. She adjusted her glasses with one hand, looking Tess up and down. Janet was a few years older than Tess. She was a stern and sober teacher, respected by everyone.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Tess said, stepping into the room. “I’m wearing this”—she swept a hand down her body—“as an experiment. I’m trying to figure out what the attraction is. Why, uhm, a friend of mine is so taken with it.”

The older woman only scowled. “An experiment? What kind of counsellor are you, Tess? You don’t need an experiment to know what’s appropriate attire and what isn’t. I have enough problems with my students dressing wild, but you—I never expected it.” She shook her head in disbelief. “What on earth has got into you!”

Tess thought for a moment. Janet was clearly upset. That was unhelpful. If she was going to have a sensible discussion she needed to calm her down.

She pulled up a chair and sat down. “Look, can we talk about this? I know you don’t approve, but I’m trying to figure something out here. This situation is . . . strange.”

“The only thing strange is that you haven’t been suspended,” Janet replied. “This is completely out of line!” Her eyes flicked downward for a second. Tess realized she was noticing the big silver safety pin in the front of her skirt. She had her knees crossed. She bounced her leg up and down, letting the pin catch the overhead light. It was helpful if Janet had something to focus on. That would help calm her down.

Using her counselling training, Tess spoke to her fellow teacher in measured tones. She matched her voice to the motion of her foot. She let the safety pin flash. She did her best to get Janet to calm down. Then she could ask her about flirty teenage fashions.

It worked. Janet relaxed and lost her angry edge. In a few minutes she was positively serene. She smiled and nodded as Tess explained Iris’s predicament and her own experiment. The older teacher watched the pin catch the light. She breathed slowly, in and out, eyelids drooping. Tess kept her voice low and even.

At length she got to her feet. “Thanks Janet,” she said, “you’ve been very helpful.”

“Huh? What?” Janet replied, momentarily confused. “Oh, right. Well, I’m glad we had this chat. I’ve been so worried about how my students are starting to behave.”

“So have I,” Tess replied sincerely. “So have I.”

Iris was late for her next session. At least, Tess was pretty sure she was late. She had forgotten to write the time down in her calendar. She was making that mistake a lot lately. It was hard to keep her appointments straight. Anyway she was in the middle of a slow, lazy finger fuck when the knock came on her door.

What a nuisance. “Who, who is it?” she called, without removing the fingers stroking her cunny. Tess had already cum once, quite powerfully, but she felt she needed a second one to get through the afternoon.

“It’s me, girlfriend,” Iris’s voice said through the door. “I have an appointment, right?”

“Just a sec,” Tess replied. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from her love nest. Happy time would have to wait until later. She dried her fingers on a tissue, lifted her leg off the desk and sat back up. She straightened her skirt and refastened a couple of the buttons on her blouse. She ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it out a little. Then she got up and opened the door.

Iris was standing there, grinning crookedly. Tess was no longer surprised by her outfit. Today she wore a white lace top that left her midriff bare, coupled with a yellow-and-black plaid mini-kilt about the size of a table napkin. Her white, thigh-high stockings had bands of yellow-and-black plaid around the top. Instead of pams or loafers she was wearing shiny black slings with yellow stripes across the open toe.

“I hope I’m not like, interrupting anything,” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Course not. I was just—mmmmm!” Tess’s reply was stifled by warm, red lips. Iris had stepped forward and kissed her firmly. Caught by surprise, Tess forgot how to respond. She stiffened and squirmed. Iris’s kiss was long and sensuous. When she finally let her go, Tess stumbled backward, dazzled.

“You—you’ve been drinking!” she blurted. She didn’t know how else to react. The kiss was utterly unexpected—and unexpectedly pleasant. Tess tingled all over. She wasn’t at all into girls, but Iris looked damned hot in that outfit.

Iris giggled carelessly. “One of my boys tried to sneak a flask into home room. Naturally I had to confishcate it.” She giggled again, then hiccuped.

“But—Iris you can’t go around drinking at school!”

Her friend merely giggled again. It made her tits bounce. “Tessie-girl, you are like, way uptight,” she swung her purse off her shoulder, snapped it open and withdrew a half-empty pint bottle. “You could use a drink yourself.”

“No!” Tess rejoined, louder than she intended. “Put that away! Do you want to get us both sacked? Look, sit down and start acting sensible. We really need to talk.”

Iris shrugged again. “Oh all right, sourpussy.” She helped herself to a generous swig from the bottle. Then she flopped lazily into a stuffed chair. She crossed one perfect, white-stockinged leg over the other, careless of what her skirt revealed. She let one high-heeled sling dangle. “Let’s talk, girlfriend,” she said, eyes twinkling.

Tess sat down in a chair across from her. She tried not to think about how gorgeous her friend’s tits looked, pressing through her snug white top, or how easy it was to see right under that little plaid skirtlet. She focused on the dangling shoe instead. It had too much heel. It was the kind of thing a clothing-conscious teen would wear to school to see what she could get away with. Tess was still tingling from the kiss. The dangling shoe swung back and forth, back and forth.

A while later Tess found herself quietly contemplating her own shoes. She was wearing the cutest pink penny loafers along with pink slouch socks, bunched up around her ankles. The shoes and socks matched her pleated pink miniskirt. The skirt wasn’t much longer than Iris’s had been. Tess reasoned that she had to match Iris’s style if she was going to figure out why her fellow teacher was so caught up in dressing—and acting—like a sexed-up sophomore. Besides, she had dynamite legs so what was the problem?

That was more or less the reasoning Tess had used when she was getting dressed that morning. She rather liked the schoolgirl style. It was pretty and feminine and delightfully simple. She no longer worried about what to wear to work because she knew she was going to wear a white blouse and a skirt. It was easy. That was why it was called a uniform.

Well, almost. She did invest a little time into shopping for new outfits, after work one day that week. Actually several days. She spent quite a while in the teen shops, and later in her bedroom, trying on different outfits and seeing which combos worked. That was when she decided that the long sweep of legs between her soft pink ankle socks and her pleated pink mini would look even better in sheer tights, and that undoing a few buttons on her white blouse would show off the pink lace brassiere underneath. Not to mention the two plump boy-pleasers in the brassiere. She got that idea from one of the girls in her counselling sessions. They had mostly talked about guys.

Tess looked at her watch. A better part of an hour had gone by! How long ago had Iris left? Tess shook her head, passing a hand over her face. She must have zoned out completely. They had talked about —something. Hadn’t they? Try as she might, Tess couldn’t quite remember the conversation. Her notebook was sitting on her desk, unopened. She hadn’t even tried to take notes.

Her breath smelled like alcohol.

Something was going on here, no question about it. Tess got to her feet. The room swayed unsteadily. She hiccuped. How much had she drunk? Why couldn’t she remember doing it?

Tess paced about the office, trying to clear her head. The situation was perplexing. She was no nearer to understanding Iris’s strange obsession than she had ever been. The woman’s condition was getting worse. Her own experiment with the same style had revealed nothing except that dressing like a schoolgirl made her horny. At the moment she was giggly and light-headed, probably from drinking.

Why could she never remember her conversations with Iris? It was all a far-away blur in her mind, like a half-remembered dream. She had meant to ask her about Harry, and his theory that a behaviour could spread like a virus. What did that mean? Did it really have something to do with how Iris was acting? Or had she deluded herself into believing it, as Tess originally suggested?

Tess had seen Harry in the hallway a few days earlier. He had been strolling along between the rows of lockers, looking supremely self-satisfied. He had a girl on each arm. The girls had been dressed identically: tight-fitting, white tank-tops; low-riding, yellow-plaid miniskirts; white, thigh-high stockings with yellow bows on top; and yellow pumps on their feet. They even had their hair done in identical blonde ponytails.

Tess couldn’t help but admire the girls’ cool stockings, and how well they combined with the saucy skirts to show off their legs. She recognized the girl on the left. She was a senior, a perpetual member of the Honour Roll with ambitions of becoming a doctor. Now she was strutting down the corridor on the arm of Harry the Truly Weird, showing off her legs to the tops of her thighs, and laughing and flirting like an animated pin-up girl.

Not that Tess could truly condemn the girl’s lifestyle choice. She was enjoying her youth, which perhaps she hadn’t been before, with all that studying. Tess tried to imagine herself in the girl’s place. It would be fun to amble down the hallway in her yellow shoes, not a care in the world, watching everyone watching her and her identical partner. She would feel the slip and slide of her miniskirt across her behind, and the cool air caressing her thighs. Her friend’s heels would clip-clop along the floor in synchrony with her own. Tess could imagine the excitement she would feel, showing off her hot teen bod like that, flirting shamelessly and letting sensible thoughts float away on her giggles.

Tess shook the daydream out of her head when she realized she was gently kneading her left breast. Her other hand was stealing toward her crotch. Incredibly, she was horny again.

This would not do. Abruptly, she decided to go talk to Janet. The older teacher was a good listener, once Tess got her calmed down. Yes, talk to Janet; that was the right thing to do. She left her office without even closing the door.