The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Heather? Don’t answer out loud, that would get you in trouble and I don’t want to get you in too much trouble. At least not yet. If I ask you to answer, just give me a “uh-huh” in that soft breathy voice. The kids will just think you’re talking to yourself.

They’re taking the test, now, right?

“Umhumm”

Great. Dont’cha just love these handless sets? You can just sit back behind your desk and no one hears a thing. Of course, we both know it’s against school policy to use them while class is in session, but that’s half the fun, isn’t it?

Now, we’re going to have a lot of fun during the next fifteen minutes or so, Heather. Fun with all the horny teens in your class. All those hormones.

Teenaged boys are just little animals, you know. Show them a picture of a naked women and get their underwear all messy. They spend all day in their little classrooms just waiting for a chance to see a creamy thigh or nipple slip. But, hey, that’s what educators like you are for, Heather.

Now, you are wearing the purple dress, right?

“Uh-huh.”

Excellent! Cut low, but not too low. I want you to “accidentally” roll a pencil or pen across your desk until it falls on the floor in front of your desk by the first row of chairs. Try and make sure it makes enough noise to bring some heads up off the tests. Will you do that for me?

“Ummhumm.”

Now, you’ll casually walk around your desk, making sure that you’re facing the class...and bend down to pick it up. And, Heather, bend at the waist as much as you can...

Damn, I bet at least half a dozen high-school cocks shot up at just that moment, didn’t they, Heather?

As I said before, it doesn’t take much, you know.

Now turn back away from the class and stop in front of your desk to replace the pencil. You are wearing the thong, right?

“Uh-huh.”

Kindly, nonchalantly, bend slightly over your desk and adjust your thong at the waist. Just to give extra credit for those paying attention.

Damn, that makes you wet, doesn’t it, Heather? Knowing at least four or five hungry sets of eyes care more about you than they do a silly English test?

“Uh...?”

Oh, come on, Miss Wheatley, of course it does. It makes you positively nasty to know five or six kids under your charge are going to go home tonight and yank off because of you. It makes your nipples hard. Makes your face and chest turn beet red to imagine that, maybe even fifty years later, some kid from one of your classes is going to remember you. And it won’t be because they got an A in English...

“Uh...”

Oh, that’s fine. You don’t have to realize that now. You’ll have time enough later. What I want you to do now is much more fun. You are going to walk back around your desk and sit back down in your chair. Will you do that for me, Teacher?

“Uh-huh.”

Excellent.

First, I want you to scan the classroom and tell me if any of your students seem much more interested in you than they do your class. And if they are, I want you to announce it quite loudly so that all the little ears hear it.

“Daniel, eyes on the test!”

Ah, quite nicely done, Miss Wheatley. I salute you. If nothing else, teens reject authority. That pretty much assures that even the studious will be wondering what the fuck is going on.

Oh, this is going to be quite precious.

What I want you to do, my little pet...I know your sweet little pussy is hot, but it’s going to get much, much hotter. What I want you to do is to put both your hands down behind the desk where the little perverts can’t see them. No, no, plenty of time to do it for real later...but what you will do right now is to make them think in their fertile little imaginations...yeah...fuck...that’s right, Heather.

Sweat a little.

Slowly move your feet apart in case some especially perceptive little hard-cocked boy is glancing under your desk from the rear of class.

Fiddle with your desk knobs if you have to do something with your fingers. Moan a bit.

Under your breath, of course.

Close your eyes and imagine what it will be like when you finally get release. Picture in your mind what some of them will be thinking...that the subject of their nightly jack-off sessions is playing with her pussy right there in class! Prim, proper, Miss Heather Wheatley...moving her fingers in and out, teasing...

Makes you shudder inside, doesn’t it? Maybe one of them has a phone camera focused on you, right now. Will come to you after class. Threaten to put it on the net...

That’s right, makes your face turn red, doesn’t it?

Good. Better to teach them what a real grown woman looks like as she gets ready to cum.

Give them a show they’ll remember. See how many of them can pretend to be marking scan sheets when they’re really scanning your lovely body for signs of things they can only dream of at this point in life. Hell, even some of the girls will remember this. Of course, they’ll talk. You remember what it was like. You were secretly jealous back then, weren’t you? You think times have changed that much? Ha! You’ll be the hot topic in the cafeteria before the week is up.

But that very thought makes your toes curl until they hurt, doesn’t it?

Speaking of your toes, I want you to slip your lovely, slippery nylon feet out of your pumps. One at a time. Rub your painted pretties against the wooden desk legs. Bring one hand up slowly to your mouth and lick a finger. Stretch your legs out under the desk. Slowly. Arch your back until the swivel chair makes a tell-tale noise no one in the class can ignore. Bump back against the blackboard if you have to get the attention of the A students.

And when you are finished...let me know.

You still there?

“Uh.....huh....ummm.”

Excellent! If I know you, and I do, my imagination probably doesn’t do you justice, Miss Wheatley. I bet mothers never even dreamed when they stuck their children with names like “Heather,” that one day their kids would grow up to be true innovators...but that’s beside the point. What you have painted in this fifteen minutes is a picture that every non-attention deficient student in your class will recall until...well, until they have masterpieces of their own to paint.

Maybe even after...

Now, my pet, you will do your best to pretend to...no, I imagine you will really have to compose yourself. Smooth out your dress. Rub your hands across you temples in a vain attempt to wipe away the color from your face.

Cough, softly, to eliminate that uncomfortable lump in your throat.

Even if you don’t need to.

Excellent. Imagine all the underwear—and fragile psyches—you just messed up. Feels great, doesn’t it?

Powerful.

Not exactly the kind of thing famous pupils will admit to publicly in future biographies and such, but we both know what horny teens really remember, don’t we?

What I want you to do now is rise from your chair and swagger to the windows like a junkie who has had her ultimate fix...and...

“Uhhh.....”

Turn your back to the class and...making sure your shadow is making a mark on the far wall...bend down slowly over the air-conditioning vents near the window...cool your sweaty neck and face, giving the little shits a really good view of your ample backside...

...then...

“Uhh...yeah....”

Take your hair down.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Let it fall in all its glory into the imaginations of every boy and girl in your sixth period class.

“...and...?”

Put it back up.

Wrap the beret around your fingers like the weapon that it is. Pick it up strand by strand. Twirl it when you feel you need to because all the girls in your classes are old enough to know the code...

...you’re hot.

In a way they may never grow into. But secretly long to be...

Sexy.

Heaven sexy.

Heather sexy.

Teacher Heather sexy.

Sexy enough to be remembered in wet dreams long after any of the boys in your class recall the awkward blow jobs behind the Dairy Queen on Friday football nights.

Sexy enough to be remembered long after they marry their childhood sweeties and move out to the suburbs.

Oh, yeah, and when everyone comes up to you to hand you their test sheets, be sure to go out of your way to “accidentally” rub up against Daniel’s butt when he gives you his scantron sheet...

Just because...