The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After four straight nights of staying up all night and obsessing over the thought, Jackie realized that this behavior might be a little unhealthy. Swallowing hard, she texted Neve. Need to clear my head. Can we talk?

Of course. Bookstore in an hour? Neve texted back.

An hour later, Jackie headed down to the bookstore. Neve was already there, going through the clothes of the taken on the discount rack and setting aside a few outfits. When she saw Jackie, she pulled out a green soccer uniform with a high school logo and the number 12 in white on the front and said, “Played soccer, now a cheerleader.”

“How you know she’s not on the team?” Jackie asked.

“I could lie and say that the NCAA gets bitchy about selling jerseys of student-athletes, but in this case it’s because the shorts would be fetish length on our players, but the medium jersey indicates a small, athletic body with an incredible rack. In other words, a cheerleader. Now, take these jeans. Bootcut, likely skintight, so she was proud of her body but wanted to be able to walk around. Probably taken by Phi, they prefer the leggy type.”

“So you fantasize about the dead? That’s, uh, a fun way to pass the time,” Jackie said nervously, not wanting to get on Neve’s bad side.

“You played with Barbies when you were a kid, right? Of course you did. You’re a girly-girl. Some people never grow out of that phase, you know. It’s the Barbies that grow up instead. And people love their grown-up dolls. Rip their clothes off, dress ’em up, rip them off again. Pose them however they can bend, find new ways to bend them, ignore when something’s a little wonky. They can’t be realistic, of course. Who wants reality in their little fantasies? So stretch them out of proportion, distort their being, put them in a pink and pretty doll house, drive them around in a pink Cadillac or a little red Corvette, let them live in their own happy fun world where everyone can play with them. And Barbie needs her Ken, of course, all smooth and bright and smiling, always there for her even when she’s fucking a stranger. She’s got her little plastic friends, too, all colors but all the same mold—you know they use the same mold for Teresa and Kira and Christie, right? Just different colors to attract different people... because that’s all that matters, getting more people to buy more Barbies and make more toys. So make them look smart so the little girls will buy them. Make them look ambitious so the little girls will think it’s okay to be Barbie—no, so that they want to be Barbie and played with and given a shiny job with a shiny title.” Neve came closer and put a hand on Jackie’s shoulder. Jackie was too afraid to move. “Doll clothes, Jackie, that’s all these are. Unwanted, unstylish, unsexy doll clothes. Don’t mind the soul who once inhabited these jeans, or this jersey, or that dress. Can’t you see how happy they are? They never stop smiling. Of course, you and I know the truth. They can’t stop smiling...“

“Yeah, okay,” Jackie said, trying to edge away.

“Their bodies are just machines now, doing whatever they’re told, and if there’s anything left in there, it’s wallowing in loneliness. Did you give your Barbies personalities? Some of them, right? Because you wanted some way of telling them apart when you’d stripped their clothes off and put them in new outfits, right? Or maybe the clothes were the personality. The dean knows his business. There’s nothing left of the people who used to be here, except these clothes. So do these jeans fit my legs?” Neve asked, holding up the jeans against her waist.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Jackie said.

“Good. That Lucy Chang, she had good taste. Just couldn’t resist the temptation, or the boys. I can’t blame her,” Neve said, her tone dreamy, as if she wasn’t all there, and Jackie honestly wasn’t sure where she was.

“Please tell me you were at least in a class with her,” Jackie said, white as a ghost.

“Oh, you think I think I hear their voices? Her name was on the waistband. College freshmen do that, and it doesn’t wash out. But they’re there. Somewhere. This is the hall of lost souls, Jackie. You should come here more often. It’ll strengthen your will. I take it you’ve been fantasizing about the system?”

“A little. More wishing that my annoying roommate would step through the door because she’s a bitch, even though I know I shouldn’t,” Jackie explained with a bright but strained smile.

“You’re there to end up here, you know. Just another set of just-out-of-season doll clothes for another little girl to paw through. Not saying you should or you will, but they think you have the highest odds. That’s why you’re in front of the door. Does it make you want to touch yourself? Watching it? Opening, closing, opening, closing?” Neve said, her voice dropping almost into a purr but her eyes wild.

Out-of-season? Bitch, I will stomp your face in one of these days for that, Jackie thought. “Um, no, of course not.” But she blushed as she said it. “I’ve been reading the gray matter, if you know what that is.“

“I’ve looked up guys in the green pages, if you know what that is. Just to see how it feels, just a little dazzle to see if there’s anything left. There isn’t. Just lost souls in empty pairs of jeans. C’mon, let’s head to the counter. Maybe Lucy can get me through another couple of months before I leave here for good. I’ll miss it. Or I won’t. Maybe I will.“

“So is this how you defend yourself? Hide back in the bad parts of your brain? Make yourself untouchable and sanity unthinkable? Or is this just how you keep from going up the clock tower and putting the girls out of their misery?”

“It’s better than the alternative. Let me know if you need anything else. I see it in your eyes. You’re gonna make it after all, kid. You’re gonna come out of here better than you ever were,” Neve said in a fevered rush as she put the jeans in her bag and headed back to the dorm.

Jackie shuddered and went back to her dorm. Someone was exiting the passage as she came in, an Indian girl in a schoolgirl outfit skimpier than even Knee High 6 could get away with. Jackie looked at the afterimage in the light and wondered if ending up like Neve was really worth it.

But there might be other options too. She looked around the room thoughtfully. Breezy’s side was no longer a pink and pastel parody of girlishness. A small martial arts trophy replaced the huge cheerleading trophy that had been half as tall as Breezy herself. The sheets were a dark, sedate blue, and the girl lounging on them was a mousy brunette in a plain sweat suit like the RAs favored. Maybe resisting corrupts you and twists you in other ways, she thought darkly.

She turned her thoughts away from the dilemma and onto the reading assignment for her medieval history class.

Weeks passed. Jackie talked to Carlene briefly at least once a day, although they barely did anything off campus together, as Neve had suggested to them. They all settled into the routine of class and study and didn’t dare go out lest the popular kids work their wiles on them. Jackie turned down the RA many times when they brought over girls from Jameson for their floor parties. Even the trips to Hialeah had been curtailed; it wasn’t worth trying to sneak around just to get there. Jackie could cut the boredom with a knife. She didn’t have the option of going home for weekends the way many of her floormates did. Even her roommate did, despite having to drive all the way to Atlanta and back to do it. Jackie didn’t ask. They still weren’t on speaking terms, though the other girl had mostly let her hair fade back to brown and now wanted everyone to call her Bri. The few remaining flares of blonde reminded Jackie of Laura’s punkishness, and she started to wonder if insanity was setting in.

One Friday, Jackie looked more closely at the calendar she was marking with dates and times and realized that it was two weeks before finals and she hadn’t talked to Carlene in about three days. Worse, she didn’t feel anything unusual about it. They were both in hiding, after all, and one might attract too much attention to the other. Something about the survivalism of the challenge fueled Jackie’s competitive fire. Wherever she ended up, they would have to accept her as the best now, as a survivor, as someone who could make it through anything thrown at her.

That didn’t mean she didn’t need a little fresh air. She noticed the grumbling of her stomach and headed over to the nearest student center, checking to see what was most edible and what had been left over from Wednesday. With the long practice of an alpha female, she dodged the nerds, the freaks, and the downright ugly girls that no sorority in their right mind would take. They weren’t worth Jackie’s time.

Then she spotted one of the juniors, a girl from further up the hall by the connector to the academic buildings. Cassie Santiago—Jackie hadn’t spent a lot of time with her, but she was one of the few people that Jackie felt comfortable around. And Cassie was wearing a Dale Jr. shirt with the #8 emblazoned on it. It was worn and faded, not something that would have been released new or even as a reprint. Jackie almost dropped her tray in her hurry to get over to Cassie. “Where the fuck did you get that?” she demanded.

“Bookstore about a few days ago. Looked comfortable, but I think it’s a little big for me. Jeez, you’d think I grabbed it off a girl’s back,” Cassie replied.

No, just off her empty husk of a doll body, Jackie thought in panic, her heartbeat and her fear in a double-time rhythm with the pounding of her feet against the stairs of the dorm. She took seventeen flights in an adrenaline-fueled haze, running from door to door, looking for some hint of Carlene or her roommate Alex, but the only trace of a hint she got was a room with a blank card. She fumbled for her phone and cursed as she dropped it on the floor with a clatter. But the battery hadn’t dropped out and the phone was still on. Been a while. Talk to me? she texted, and only autocorrect kept the text looking readable.

Down in a minute, Carlene replied.

Down. Shit. Jackie was one floor above Carlene’s room. Old room. She realized as she trudged to the elevator and went back to her room with a heavy stride and fear of what she was about to see.

Her fears were justified. Carlene came out of the brilliant light looking like Penthouse’s version of an angel, her blonde hair jazzed up with bleach until it was almost white. She wore a pale blue sundress that cut off at the thigh and showed off her mountainous cleavage to full effect for anyone to curl up and take a nap in. A country boy’s wet dream, Jackie thought sadly.

There was no point in testing her. No point in asking what was up with the dress when she’d been so steadfast against them before. No point in asking about Liz or Hialeah or anything like that. No point at all. Jackie slunk back down to the lobby, texted Neve a plea for company, and headed off campus, looking broken by the world.