The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It wasn’t a bad room. You might even say it was a good room. It was modern and the desks were arranged in groups, not rows, and it had all the modern digital aids to teaching. You couldn’t ask for much more.

The problem, as Elizabeth, or Miss Lucas to her students, saw it, wasn’t the room, no matter how much she wanted to blame it for the odd feeling she had, like an itch at the back of her knees. The problem was that she was the one sitting at the teacher’s desk watching as her last class before lunch filed out of the room. She still wasn’t used to that. She was only twenty-three. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been a high school student, talking about relationships or the latest streaming hit or what she’d be doing on the weekend.

She shook her head. She didn’t even want to be a teenager again. Sometimes they were just so young. Did five years give you that much maturity?

Maybe it does, the redheaded teacher mused.

And anyway, she was happy being a teacher. She’d decided that was what she as going to be when she was still in high school.

But just sometimes she felt as if she didn’t belong, her colleagues, all older than her, almost treating her as if she was a student, not one of them.

No point thinking about that, Elizabeth told herself. Instead, she peered at the screen of the computer on her desk. It looked like all her students had submitted the latest assignment. Which meant she had a few long nights of marking ahead of her.

Maybe I should have made it due Friday, the English teacher pondered. But that would have just traded giving up her nights to marking to giving up her weekend. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Not that she minded too much. She was happy to give up her time for her students.

Marking the assignments was going to take a while though, Elizabeth almost lost in contemplating the hours spent by herself.

She looked up in surprise as one of her students appeared at her side.

“When are we going to get the marks back, Miss Lucas?” Mia asked enthusiastically.

“You’ve only just handed it in, Mia,” Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “Give me a chance.”

The young teacher took the opportunity to examine the girl in front of her. Mia was probably the best student in her class. But she’d been hearing some disturbing stories about the girl’s behaviour. If even half of them were true it sounded more like the plot of some sleazy porn film than real life. Yet the girl’s marks hadn’t suffered at all. Elizabeth had even taken a quick glance at Mia’s latest submission. Her work looked just as good as ever.

Probably just rumours, Elizabeth reassured herself. Academically gifted students often suffered the jealousy of their peers. There was nothing the teacher could see in the girl in front of her to back up the stories that Mia had slept with half the boys in her year. And some of the girls. When students went off the rails like that their marks almost invariably suffered. Mia’s hadn’t.

“Okay Miss,” the student in question smiled back. Then after a moment the girl added. “You look really nice today. I like your skirt.”

For a moment Elizabeth wondered if there was something more behind the question. Something more to the light in the girl’s wide brown eyes than just her sharp intellect.

She dismissed the notion.

“Thank you, Mia,” the teacher replied, just a hint of reprimand in her voice. “But I don’t think you should comment on things like that.”

“Well, you do,” the slim brunette student insisted. “But if you say so, I won’t. It is a nice skirt though.”

Elizabeth wondered if she should have worn the skirt, pleated and not reaching her knees. She had good legs, or at least she thought she did. And the skirt showed them off. It wasn’t too short. Definitely professional. But nice. The colour went well with her red hair.

Maybe she shouldn’t have worn something that would draw her students’ attention to her legs. Or pleated, like her students. Even if hers was black and theirs was the school plaid.

“Bye, Miss,” Mia replied before twirling away, her skirt rising dangerously high up her thighs.

At least my skirt isn’t as short as hers, Elizabeth reassured herself. Not that Mia’s skirt was shorter than most of the other girls wore. No shorter than Elizabeth herself had worn when she was in school.

But there was something. An odd quiver shot through the teacher at the smile Mia flashed over her shoulder from the doorway. Elizabeth wasn’t interested in women and she’d never touch one of her students, but there was an intensity to Mia’s look, a hint of promise, that almost had her believing some of those stories.

Doesn’t make any sense.

“Mia, is there anything you want to tell me about what happened to you the other day?” Elizabeth asked.

“No, Miss,” Mia replied politely, looking positively waiflike as she lingered at the doorway. “I fell. Down the stairs. With Tanya. We got tangled up.”

Elizabeth told herself that it had to be her imagination that made her think the girl had put an emphasis on ‘tangled’. Or that the corner of Mia’s lips had edged up at just that point.

The school’s nurse hadn’t been convinced that the injuries matched a fall. But neither girl had been willing to budge from their story.

“If anything is wrong, please come and tell me.”

“Yes Miss,” Mia smiled innocently, before ducking out of the room.

If the girl was being bullied it might be hard to get her to open up. But Elizabeth was determined to keep trying.

Through the windows that separated the classroom from the hallway outside Elizabeth could see that Mia didn’t go far, stopping to talk with two of her classmates, Alice and Sandra.

More targets for bullying. The two girls had come out recently. And they weren’t shy about flaunting their relationship. They’d had to be warned multiple times about too much in the way of PDAs. It was hard to know where to draw the line with the pair. Elizabeth didn’t want to tell them to not do things heterosexual couples amongst the students could do. But she didn’t want any of her students singled out for harassment.

She’d noticed Mia hanging around with them recently. Maybe there was something to the stories about the brunette. Or maybe Mia was just being supportive. Elizabeth had overheard Alice and Sandra talking at recess. Which had made her feel guilty, as they’d been talking about someone listening in to them. It had been an odd conversation, almost as if the pair were worried about someone getting into their heads, Alice reassuring her girlfriend that she knew how to stop them being overheard, Sandra shaking her head in disbelief. It had sounded almost like a classic reaction to bullying to Elizabeth.

She’d hurriedly left when Alice had lent towards Sandra, searching for a kiss.

Mia’s attention was focussed on the two blondes, particularly the shorter of the pair, Alice, the brunette staring at her raptly.

I wouldn’t go after her if I was you. Sandra doesn’t seem like one to share. Elizabeth shook her head. Maybe I’m over thinking this. It could just be three friends talking. If they were all being targeted for bullying, maybe they could give each other some support.

After a few more moments with Mia the two blondes headed into Elizabeth’s classroom, the young teacher wondering what had made them return. Her eyes slid to where the pair’s hands were joined, Sandra’s left hand holding Alice’s right.

“Sandra, Alice,” the teacher said, indicating their clasped hands. “We’ve talked about this. No displays in the classroom.” The line had to be drawn somewhere.

“Sorry, Miss Lucas,” the taller of the pair, Sandra, replied. The two girls let go of each other’s hand, but other than that the reprimand didn’t appear to have bothered them at all.

“So, what can I do for you?” Elizabeth asked. “I hope it’s not about the marks for the assignment. As I just told Mia it will take me a while to mark them.” The pair weren’t in Mia’s league, but they were good students.

“Oh no,” Sandra.

“We don’t want to ask about that,” Alice, added, an almost conspiratorial smile on her pretty features.

“We want to give you something,” Sandra finished.

There was something definitely strange about the two girls. From what Elizabeth’s colleagues had said they used to hate each other, rivals for social dominance amongst their peers. Maybe hate could turn to love that easily. But they’d developed an odd habit of finishing each other’s sentences. And the way they were looking at her wasn’t the way students normally looked at a teacher. Elizabeth was used to seeing fear and expectation and shame and resentment and concentration and a whole gamut of emotions on her students’ faces.

But the way the two blondes were looking at her wasn’t any of that. Elizabeth felt she was being evaluated.

That itch behind her knees was back again.

Alice and Sandra glanced at each other, blue eyes the colour of a summer sky meeting eyes that shone a jade green. Elizabeth could have sworn there were words and more than words behind that glance.

“You know you’re not supposed to give us presents,” the young teacher warned her students. “It’s lunchtime. You should get yours. And I’d like mine.”

“Oh this won’t take long,” Sandra said reassuringly.

“Not long at all,” her girlfriend added.

“And it’s only a little thing.”

“But Sandra did spend all weekend on it.”

“Let me show you,” Sandra declared.

As the blonde reached in to her bag Elizabeth went to tell her student no, but the word wouldn’t come. Sandra had something in her hand. It was a candle. Just a candle. There couldn’t be any harm in accepting that. Something was telling her that. The memory of the rule about gifts was there, but it didn’t seem so important now. She felt like she was falling, or something was falling away from her. The room was disappearing. There was only the candle.

Elizabeth tried to think why her mouth moving and no words coming out meant something.

“See?” Sandra announced brightly, placing the candle on the desk.

Elizabeth did see. She couldn’t take her eyes off the candle. It was green. Jade green. A wisp of a memory told her that she’d seen that colour before. Somewhere. Recently.

It didn’t matter.

Only the candle mattered.

And the voice. She wasn’t sure whose voice it was. She wasn’t even sure if she was hearing the voice or it was inside her head. She recognised the voice. It was someone she knew.

“You want to look at the candle,” the voice said.

She did. It was a very pretty candle. All vibrant green and with markings carved into its side. It was so easy looking at the candle. Even if something told her she shouldn’t.

“You want to listen to my voice.”

Elizabeth did. It was a nice voice. More than that. It was a beautiful voice. One you could just listen to.

“You trust my voice.”

Of course you could trust a voice like that. The candle was telling her she could. It was her candle. It was important. The voice was telling her things. She trusted the voice. Because she was looking at the candle. The voice and the candle were all that mattered. Elizabeth wasn’t even sure where she was.

For a moment she thought she’d been somewhere important. Somewhere that she shouldn’t just be staring at a candle. A candle shouldn’t make her feel like this. She shouldn’t trust a voice that she couldn’t even decide if she was hearing with her ears or was in her head. Voices shouldn’t be in her head. She had to look away. A panic rose in her, like a startled bird taking flight. She had to…

The thought fluttered and died, snuffed out like a lost light in the darkness. The candle’s flame was so bright, so green, and the voice was so beautiful. The candle, with its brightly burning wick, held her gaze. Wouldn’t let it go. Elizabeth couldn’t remember when the candle had started burning. It didn’t matter. The flickering light was so pretty, casting green shadows around the room.

Elizabeth didn’t even think why that might be wrong.

The voice was flowing through her. Through every part of her. Down to her fingers and toes. Filling her up. It was soft and warm and commanding all at once and she was soft and warm and Elizabeth could listen to the voice for days.

There was a tingle, somewhere deep inside her, at her centre.

That wasn’t right.

The voice said it was. So it was right. It felt so nice to feel that tingle. The tingle meant something. It was spreading out. Up through her stomach. Down her thighs. There was something in her head, something about a skirt.

Her skirt looked nice on her thighs. That was good. The voice said so.

The tingle spread further. To her breasts. The feeling was warm and soft, like gentle fingers caressing her breasts. Elizabeth hoped her breasts looked nice too.

“Are you into girls?” the voice asked.

Elizabeth had to reply. She couldn’t disappoint the voice. She had to tell the truth.

“No,” she declared. Even though she had to reply it had been so hard to form that one word. Doing anything other than gaze at the candle and listen to the voice was so hard.

“Oh.”

A little piece of Elizabeth cringed. She could hear the disappointment in the voice. She didn’t want to disappoint the voice. If she disappointed the voice the candle might be taken away. Elizabeth didn’t want that.

Its green flame was so pretty.

“You are into girls,” the voice said.

There was a strange feeling in Elizabeth’s head. Like the inside of her head was warm and mushy and parts of it were moving around.

It was nice to feel warm.

“You’re into girls,” the voice repeated.

Elizabeth frowned. Just a little. Maybe it was only a slight crease in her forehead. She trusted the voice. And the voice had said she was in to girls. But that wasn’t right. She’d only ever been into boys. When she was in school it had only ever been-

“Only girls,” the voice declared, cutting off Elizabeth’s thoughts like a candle snuffed out in a storm. “You love girls, women. You love their bodies. You love their faces, their hair. You love their tits. How they look, how they feel, how they smell. They’re all you want.”

Elizabeth tried to frown again. The voice couldn’t be right. But the voice had to be right.

She trusted the voice.

“They turn you on. Pretty girls. Beautiful women. They turn you on so much.”

If the voice said they did, then they did.

Elizabeth stared at the candle.

She trusted the voice.

The voice was a female voice. Somehow Elizabeth knew it belonged to someone pretty. Did the voice’s owner turn her on? The voice’s owner was a pretty girl. Pretty girls turned Elizabeth on.

The voice told her that.

So it must be true.

Elizabeth was turned on.

Her head was still warm and mushy and she was so aroused. She could feel her pussy heating up and her nipples hardening to tight points, her breath catching in her throat as desire flowed through her. Her whole body ached to be touched.

It felt so good.

The voice told her that it did.

Elizabeth believed the voice.

“They’re all that turns you on. Not boys, not men. Never. Only women, girls. You want them so much.”

Elizabeth was sure that wasn’t the first time the voice had told her that. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d heard the words. She wondered why the voice was telling her how much she was into women. Elizabeth was gay. She knew that. She’d always known that.

The voice was telling her that, too.

“You trust me.”

Of course Elizabeth did.

“You’ll do what I say.”

When the voice told her only the truth, of course she’d do what the voice said.

Even if the logic of that didn’t seem quite right, it was what the voice wanted.

“You’ll obey me.”

Elizabeth frowned again. Harder this time. No matter how much she trusted the voice, no matter how much its owner turned her on, that didn’t sound right. Agreeing with the voice was one thing. It was so easy to agree with the voice. The candle, that pretty, pretty, green candle, told her she should agree with the voice. Agreeing with the voice was right. Agreeing with the voice turned her on. As much as pretty girls turned her on. Maybe more. But the voice came from a pretty girl, so that was alright. But obeying?

That wasn’t right.

The green shadows leapt higher.

“You obey me,” the voice repeated.

Elizabeth wanted to say no, no matter how much she loved the voice. But something inside her felt so soft.

Maybe it was her mind.

Something shifted in her mind.

Her head didn’t feel so mushy any more. Warm and soft but not mushy. Things seemed a little clearer.

Like she should do what the voice said.

She needed to listen to the voice.

She obeyed the voice.

“If you do what I say, that means you obey me.” That made sense. “If you obey me, I own you.”

Elizabeth couldn’t even frown this time. But something in her wanted to. Something in her told her this wasn’t right. But everything inside her was so soft. She could feel her thighs, against the chair, as she sat there. And the skirt. There was a pleasant tingle where the hem of the skirt lay across her thighs.

“It feels so good to be owned. Warm and snug.”

It did. Like the warmth of a hearty fire and a thick blanket, wrapping around her, keeping her safe.

And if the flames of the fire were green, jade green, well, that didn’t matter.

“You want to be owned, you really do.”

For a moment Elizabeth wondered if that was right. There was something wrong about the idea. Being owned seemed strange. But the voice was telling her that she wanted to be owned. She trusted the voice.

Being owned was nice. It meant someone took care of you.

Kept you warm and snug and safe.

“You’ve always wanted to be owned.”

She did. Elizabeth wondered how the voice knew so much about her. Being owned was what she’d always wanted, deep down in the secret places in her mind. In the dark of the night, alone in her bed, she’d fantasised about it. Being someone’s possession. The idea sent a soft, dark, shiver through her,

She had those memories.

The voice told her that.

“I own you.”

The voice did own her, delight spreading through Elizabeth. It felt so good to be owned. So right.

It was all she’d ever wanted, to be owned.

The voice told her that, too.

“Just sit there,” the voice ordered.

Of course Elizabeth would sit there. The voice told her to. She trusted the voice. The voice owned her. Which meant whoever’s voice it was owned her.

Oh God, I’m owned. I’m a possession. Elizabeth could barely stop trembling with joy. She was finally owned. She’d waited her whole life for this.

Even as a little girl, playing with her dolls, she’d wondered what it would be like to be like them. Have someone play with her. Take care of her.

Own her.

Elizabeth could remember thinking all that while she played with her dolls. The voice told her that she could remember that.

“Look at me.”

Much as Elizabeth wanted to keep looking at the candle, she couldn’t disobey the voice.

She looked up. At her owner. Sandra. It was Sandra. Looking at Sandra was as good as looking at the candle. Sandra’s eyes were the same green as the candle, jade and beautiful and Elizabeth could lose herself in those eyes.

She’s my student. For a moment Elizabeth thought that being owned by one of her students was wrong. But she’d wanted to be owned, for so long. All her life. To just be a thing. Someone’s toy.

And Sandra was so beautiful.

“Wow, she went down quick,” Alice exclaimed. Elizabeth didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t care. Alice was important. She was Sandra’s girlfriend. But Sandra was her owner. Sandra would tell her what mattered.

“Hey, that was me being good at this,” Sandra huffed back.

Of course Sandra was good at this. Even if Elizabeth didn’t know what her owner was talking about.

“You think she’s done?” Sandra asked Alice, suddenly sounding doubtful.

“You’re the one that said you were good at this,” Alice replied with a roll of her eyes. Then she grabbed Sandra’s face, planted a kiss on the taller girl’s lips. Elizabeth watched, mindless, as the pair sank into each other. “My girlfriend is so clever,” Alice whispered, their lips parting for a moment before joining again.

“Oh,” Sandra grinned at Elizabeth after the pair finally broke the kiss. “Was there a problem with us doing that? Kissing?”

For a moment Elizabeth thought there should have been. Something about things Sandra and Alice shouldn’t do in the classroom.

Sandra was her owner. There couldn’t be a problem with anything she did.

Elizabeth needed to answer her owner. “No,” she managed. Speaking was so hard. “No problem.”

“Good,” Sandra nodded, a short, sharp movement, before her hand reached out to Elizabeth.

She’s going to touch me. My owner’s going to touch me! Joy swept through the young teacher at the thought.

Sandra’s hand paused, Elizabeth mewling in disappointment. “Yes, I know she’s going to need more times,” Sandra huffed. “And that it’s not going to stick yet. She can join our after school group. Having a teacher there will make things easier.”

It sounded like her owner was talking to someone. But Alice hadn’t said anything.

Elizabeth forgot all about it as Sandra’s hand landed on her breast and squeezed. “Oh God, it’s so fucking firm!” the blonde student exclaimed.

Her owner liked her breast! Elizabeth almost moaned in joy at the thought, but her owner hadn’t told her she could say anything. She could just drown in the sensation of Sandra’s fingers exploring her chest. She did whimper as Sandra withdrew her hand, a wicked smile on the blonde’s face.

“God, I want to rip her clothes off,” Sandra grinned.

“Well, just do it,” Alice shrugged.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to say. Or if she was allowed to say anything. If her owner wanted to undress her she could. But someone might see. And Sandra would get in trouble. Elizabeth didn’t want her owner getting in trouble.

“I could,” Sandra mused. “But you only get one first time, right?” She grinned wickedly at her girlfriend before turning back to her teacher. “You just let me, okay?”

Elizabeth knew that meant her. Somehow, she knew what Sandra wanted. She could hear Sandra talking. But she could hear Sandra in her head, as well. It was so good to hear her owner both ways.

Her owner wanted her to just sit there.

The tall blonde moved around behind the seated teacher, lifted the redhead out of her chair. Elizabeth flopped in her arms.

It was what her owner wanted.

Sandra laid her face down on her desk, papers and computer mouse knocked aside, the monitor flickering pointlessly. Elizabeth’s torso lay across the desk, her legs dangling down so her feet reached the floor.

She wants me to wear higher heels.

Something more the voice told her.

Elizabeth could feel fingers running up her thighs, slowly, gently exploring. Feminine fingers. It was all she wanted. Not a man’s. Never a man. They were her owner’s fingers. It felt so good. She could just lie there forever.

But something welled up out of her mind. Something important. Something she had to say.

“See,” she whimpered. “Someone might see.”

The whole wall between the classroom and the hall was lined with windows. Anyone passing would see them.

She couldn’t let her owner get in trouble.

“You let us worry about that,” Alice laughed. “No one is going to see us.”

Elizabeth turned her head, looked at her owner. Sandra smiled back at her reassuringly, a warm glow suffusing the young teacher.

Sandra’s fingers had reached the hem of her skirt.

Elizabeth was sure she was dripping. A pretty girl was touching her. Pretty girls turned her on.

They always had.

Those fingers, her owner’s fingers, were lightly tracing over her arse, rivers of heat flowing from the contact. Elizabeth’s nipples were so hard as her breasts pushed into the desk.

My owner is playing with me!

“Don’t you want to see her tits?” Alice asked, more than a hint of impatience in the blonde’s voice.

“Patience, padawan,” Sandra shot back in amusement. “I thought you liked arses?” The blonde’s fingers continued their dance across Elizabeth’s arse, the contact driving the teacher wild with desire.

But she wasn’t allowed to move.

She could hear Alice shift, an impatient change of weight from one foot to the other. “I do, but…” Elizabeth was sure there was arousal in the girl’s voice. Was that arousal because of her? Was she turning her owner’s girlfriend on? Did that make her a good toy?

The voice said it did.

Elizabeth felt herself being turned over. It wasn’t rough. It was careful and gentle. Of course her owner would take care of her. As she stared at the ceiling she felt her blouse being pulled out of her skirt. Her owner wanted to see more of her.

One button one was undone. Then those fingers were stroking her thighs again. Elizabeth wanted to squirm in frustration. It felt so good. She was so wet.

Another button, fingers of one hand dancing lightly across her stomach while the other continued its attention to her thighs, need shooting through the redhead. The touches were lines drawn across her skin, light and soft and impossibly teasing. Arousal awoke, deep within her, burning, following those touches, her skin alive. The need boiling in her was nothing like she’d ever felt before, hot and urgent and she just wanted to give herself to the girl who was exploring her.

She didn’t need to give herself. She had already been taken and the fingers could have whatever they wanted.

Another button.

Her blouse was pulled away, just a little, delicate touches on the undersides of her bra-encased breasts forcing a moan from Elizabeth’s lips.

She mewled as the touch disappeared but then those fingers were stroking her panties. She didn’t know if her skirt had been pulled up or if Sandra’s hand had disappeared under the pleats. It didn’t matter.

“God, she wants it,” Alice exclaimed. “Look how wet she is. She’s fucking soaked”

Her skirt must have been pulled up. Alice had to be looking at her panties. Alice was her student. There was something wrong about a student looking at her panties. Especially when they were soaked. But if Alice could see them so could Sandra. So it was alright.

It was better than alright. So much better, Elizabeth’s eye lids fluttering, her back arching as Sandra’s fingers traced the line of her slit. She was so close.

She could cum for her owner.

If she arched her back just a little more maybe those fingers would reach her clit. Elizabeth didn’t even know if it was her clit anymore. She was owned. So her clit was owned.

The voice told her not to worry about it. Her clit was hers and Sandra’s, like a doll’s outfits belonged to the doll and her owner.

It felt so good to be owned.

A sound escaped Elizabeth’s lips, halfway between a moan and a mewl.

“Yeah, she does make nice noises, doesn’t she?” Sandra mused, her fingers feather-light on Elizabeth’s stomach. Again the teacher hadn’t heard Alice say anything. She didn’t know who else there could be that Sandra was talking to. “I’m glad you approve.” There was just a hint of resentment behind that last comment.

Fingers traced up Elizabeth’s body, raw heat radiating out from the touch, the last of her buttons undone. Her owner would be seeing her bra-encased breasts. Elizabeth hoped her owner liked what she saw.

“Um, the clip must be in the back,” Alice observed uncertainly.

“I could turn her over,” Sandra offered just as doubtfully.

“Why not just use these?” Alice asked, the hesitation of a moment ago replaced by wry amusement.

Elizabeth forced herself to look down from where her eyes had been glued on the ceiling. Her owner’s girlfriend was holding up a pair of scissors.

“What?” Sandra shot back. “She’ll have to go braless the rest of the day.”

“It’s only a couple of periods,” There was a mischievous light in Alice’s eyes “Wouldn’t it be hot thinking about it?”

“True,” Sandra grinned, snatching the scissors from her girlfriend and spinning back to Elizabeth.

“Oh God,” the blonde breathed, leaning over her teacher. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Carefully she slipped one blade under the strap which joined the two cups of the bra. Elizabeth could feel the cold metal against her hot skin. Another way for her owner to touch her. Sandra’s eyes were inches from hers. The redhead felt so close to her owner. It wasn’t just the lack of physical space between them. Sandra was focussed on her.

There was a snip. Elizabeth held her breath as Sandra pulled aside the ruins of her bra.

“Oh, wow,” Sandra exclaimed.

She’s happy! She likes my breasts! Tremors of delight ran through the redhead.

Even better was the sensation of Sandra’s fingers exploring her breasts. Soft and gentle and of course it was a woman’s fingers. Elizabeth didn’t want any other fingers and they were her owners fingers and…

“You know both your dolls are redheads,” Alice observed.

Elizabeth tried to understand that. It was so hard, Sandra slowly rolling one of her nipples between finger and thumb. But it was something about her owner. Elizabeth was a redhead. And she was Sandra’s toy. She must be Sandra’s doll. But Alice had said there another one.

There was nothing wrong with that.

The voice told her that.

When she’d been a girl she’d had more than one doll.

So Sandra could have more than one doll.

Sandra could have as many dolls as she wanted.

It would be good to be one of Sandra’s dolls. She wouldn’t be alone.

The voice told her that too.

Maybe her owner would play with more than one doll at a time.

“So what if they’re both redheads?” Sandra shrugged. “All yours are brunettes. Maybe I’ll get a blonde for my next one.”

Alice must have dolls too. That made sense. Alice was Sandra’s girlfriend. They both owned dolls.

Maybe Alice and Sandra would have their dolls play together.

But it was so hard to think. It felt like her owner’s fingers were everywhere, dancing over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Her soaked panties. Elizabeth wanted more. She wanted her owner to touch her centre. To sink inside her.

But it wasn’t a toy’s place to ask.

The voice told her that.

“That all you going to do?” Alice asked at last, exasperation clear in her voice.

“I want her turned on,” Sandra smirked. “I want her so turned on she’s dying for it all afternoon. I want her dripping in front of her classes.”

If that’s what her owner wanted, then Elizabeth would do that.

“You’re going to think about me all afternoon,” Sandra crooned, Elizabeth quivering as one fingernail traced the edge of her opening through her sopping panties. “You’re going to be so turned on. Thinking of me.”

Her owner’s voice was warm honey, sweet and thick.

Elizabeth wanted to drown in it.

“She better be able to do her classes.”

Sandra was silent for a moment in response to her girlfriend’s warning, her lips a tight line. “Oh alright,” she muttered at last. “You’ll be able to teach. But the whole time you’ll be thinking of me. How much I turn you on. How you’ll do whatever I say.”

Yes! I will! Sandra was her owner. She’d do what Sandra wanted. All I’ve ever wanted is to be owned. The voice kept telling her that. Elizabeth didn’t know why. It was true. It had always been true. It was so good to be owned.

Being owned turned her on.

She’d always be turned on now.

“Enough,” Sandra said, disappointment flooding through Elizabeth as her owner’s fingers were withdrawn. “Don’t want you cumming until later. God, you look good like this.”

My owner thinks I look good! A warm, happy, glow spread through the teacher at the thought.

“I don’t know which of you is better,” Sandra mused. “Hey, I know. Lose the skirt and then kneel, on the floor. And look at the candle. Mia, get in here!”

At Sandra’s words Elizabeth could move again. She scurried to obey her commands, unzipping her skirt and stepping out of it. For a moment she didn’t know what to do with the garment.

It’s hers, too, she realised. She was owned. So everything of hers was Sandra’s. The skirt was Sandra’s. She was no more important than the skirt, they were both possessions. But the skirt was her owner’s possession. That meant she had to take care of it. She was no more important than it was.

I’m a thing! I’m owned!

The voice liked her thinking those thoughts. Maybe the voice had given them to her.

That couldn’t be right. Elizabeth had always wanted to be owned.

Elizabeth lay the skirt across the back of her chair, careful to avoid giving it any creases. Then she knelt on the floor behind her desk, hands resting gently on her thighs. She didn’t do anything about her unbuttoned blouse or her ruined bra. Her owner hadn’t told her to.

From where Elizabeth knelt it was so easy to stare at the candle, her eyes level with it. Its colour was so beautiful, rich and deep. She could stare at it forever. As the voice told her what to be.

“Hands behind your neck,” Sandra ordered. “Yeah, like that,” she added after Elizabeth obeyed, the redhead basking in her owner’s approval.

“So, Mia,” Sandra declared. “You still think Sophie’s cuter?”

Elizabeth’s eyes went wide as she realised that their classmate had joined Alice and Sandra, Mia standing uncertainly before her. Being like this before Sandra and Alice was one thing. Sandra was her owner. And Alice was her owner’s girlfriend. They both owned dolls. But Mia was just her student. Surely Mia didn’t own dolls as well. Elizabeth shouldn’t look like this in front of a student, half naked, kneeling on the floor, her panties soaked and her boobs hanging out.

“Yeah, she’s hot,” Mia observed. “I mean, I’d do her. Who wouldn’t? Those tits look good and she has a great figure. And pink nipples? Who isn’t into that? I bet she tastes divine.”

“Mia!” Elizabeth managed. It wasn’t right, students shouldn’t talk that way about a teacher.

Even one who was just a possession.

Sandra’s head snapped around to peer down at Elizabeth, a malicious grin on the blonde’s face “Oh, don’t like students seeing you like this? Hmm. Why did you become a teacher Miss Lucas? God, it feels weird calling her that now. Anyway, answer the question.”

“I, I wanted to help my students. English is so wonderful. All the great works. I’ve always loved them. Helping students read them, understand them. Help them see what those words tell us about the world.”

Sandra blinked. “Wow. That’s pretty noble, actually. Don’t lose that. You’ll make a great teacher doll.” Idly she stroked the redhead’s hair. “But you wanted to be owned, remember? The real reason you became a teacher is you wanted someone younger than you to own you. When you were a kid your dolls were of grownups, right? So you were younger than them. So you wanted someone younger than you as your owner.”

Her owner was right. That’s why she’d become a teacher. Looking for just the right owner.

She’d found her.

Sandra.

“So you don’t mind Mia looking at you. In fact, when one of the girls in your classes looks at you and you think they like what they see it’ll turn you on even more.”

Elizabeth wasn’t looking at Sandra. She was looking at the candle. Everything Sandra was telling her the candle was telling her as well. Elizabeth didn’t think about why the candle had Sandra’s voice. Or why it had a voice at all. She was hardly thinking.

She didn’t need to think. Except the thoughts Sandra and the candle let her have.

Those thoughts were true.

So a pretty student looking at her with desire in her eyes would turn her on even more.

She’d be drowning in arousal.

“If we’re not playing with her, I want to go play with Mia,” Alice declared, a delightful pout on the blonde’s lips. “Want to watch?” she added, her hips swaying seductively.

“You know I do,” Sandra answered, a hungry light in her eyes. “But only if I get you afterwards.”

Something about the exchange seemed strange to Elizabeth, but she couldn’t think what. The thought slipped away.

“You better get dressed now,” Sandra declared, with a last pat on Elizabeth’s head. “And remember, you’ll be turned on all afternoon, thinking of me. And whenever a girl looks at you like that you’ll be turned on even more.”

The three girls walked out of the room, leaving Elizabeth alone, Sandra and Alice hand in hand. Mia shot their teacher a smouldering glance as she left, trailing the two blondes. Elizabeth’s knees went week, her arousal spiking.

With Sandra’s radiant presence removed Elizabeth’s head cleared, just a little.

I’m, …, owned, she pondered, the thought rolling around in her head. For some reason she stared at her hands, with their delicate fingers. They weren’t hers any more. Not really. They were Sandra’s. Like the rest of her. The thought felt odd. As if it wasn’t really hers. But she’d wanted this, for so long. To be owned. By a pretty girl who was younger than her.

It was all she’d ever wanted.

It had to be.

The candle told her it was.

The candle that was still sitting on her desk.

Staring at the candle, Elizabeth didn’t have any doubts.

(To be continued)