The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When I left school I did so with good qualifications and a desire to go to university, Becky began. However, having seen very little of the world, I wanted to go travelling first, so I took a GAP year, starting off working in a school in France for six months. During that time, working with high school students in Paris, I perfected my French and picked up a smattering of other languages, but nothing really good… I could get by in Spanish, German and Italian but only really talk fluently in French.

Anyhow, during those six months I pretty much learnt how to act and be French, to the point that I could swing between an English accent and a French one instantly, well enough to fool natives in either country. During that time I also met a girl, another teacher at the school, called Catherine Loire. We had a relationship, nothing too serious, in fact, it was quite like my time with you at school… two different people thrown together who enjoyed each other but didn’t have a great deal in common.

Of course, by the end of six months, we did have a fair bit in common and Catherine and I kept in touch afterwards. She was most impressed at how French I’d become. So was I, in fact. I could seemingly turn from English to French in the blink of an eye. It was quite uncanny really. That ability, to switch between nationalities, came to me whenever I spent a lot of time in one place, whether France, England, Canada or the Midwest of America, but those other places came later, first was the problem with my father…

He managed to lose everything on some bad investments. Not only that but he was going to be prosecuted as a criminal because of it. The shame for him and my mother was unbearable. She left him and, soon after, he committed suicide. It left me very emotionally messed up, not least because I now had no one to pay for my lifestyle. I have to admit it… losing my dad was terrible, but losing all my friends as well was almost worse.

They abandoned me, one and all, refusing to even see me let alone help. I also refused to go to my mother or her side of the family for help either, because of what I regarded as her betrayal of my father, and that left very few people I could trust. My dad was an only child and his parents were both long gone. Even my few genuine friends from school, like Natalie and yourself Tanya, were gone… disappeared to America and Thailand and unaware of what had happened.

With no friends, no money and my own prideful grief keeping me from my mother, there wasn’t much left for me. But, at that point, Catherine emerged from nowhere to arrive and pay for me to go back with her to Paris. I did and we spent six months in Paris, passionately in love. But it wasn’t to last. Her parents wholly disapproved of homosexuality and, when they finally found out about her and I, Catherine was forced to leave me. It looked like I was back on the street, all alone, in Paris this time, with nothing and no one waiting to help me.

But my lover had one last gift for me. It was unacceptable for both of us that I return to England to my mother but there seemed to be little choice. However, Catherine had a sister, a twin, who was mentally handicapped, called Amélie. Although we both felt terrible about it at the time, Catherine secretly applied for papers and a passport for Amélie, using my photograph. Not only that but she knew some relatives of her mothers in Canada and, given that my ‘new mother’ was half Canadian, I didn’t have to worry about a visa or anything. They hadn’t seen their cousin for some years but knew that she had two daughters, although they didn’t know about Amélie’s disability. We arranged for me, as Amélie, to go and live with them in Canada.

During my time with Catherine I’d got a job teaching at a different school in Paris. Transferring again and leaving Catherine’s apartment, I got a new job as Amélie and took my teaching qualifications in France, passing them with flying colours and doing especially well in the English section. Bidding goodbye to my lover, I left, 2 years after first meeting her, and went to Canada as Amélie. I never saw Catherine again, although I spoke to her on the phone when I could.

Canada proved a place of rebirth for me. It is a truly wonderful country, a place where you can find every type of weather and every type of person. My new family were a bit surprised with me, finding me very different to their memories of Catherine’s mother. She, and her two daughters, had both been short, petite and dark haired. I was tall, rather more amply curved and blond! But they accepted my explanations, such as they were and welcomed me with a kindness I shan’t soon forget.

I taught French and English in their town’s school for a year. During that time I began to save money and soon had enough to move out of my adopted parents’ home and into an apartment of my own. The school was small but fun and, though I missed the hustle of the big city, not to mention female companionship, I was happy. I’d also, and I solemnly swear this, not done any hypnosis since I’d been with you. But that was about to change.

After a year at the school it became clear that I was both a good teacher and vastly overqualified for what I was doing. Bilingual and with a broad knowledge of French and English literature, a promotion was beckoning and, with it, came the seeds of my downfall, in a fashion. I was offered a placement in a much larger school in a different city by a forbidding looking head teacher, Olivia Townsend. She was only about 33 at the time but had a great deal of ferocity to her soul! But, accepting my French credentials, she offered me a job.

With a fond farewell I moved away from my adopted family and into the relatively nearby city where I took a position in its larger school teaching older students. I went from educating twenty 14 year olds in a school of a hundred people to lecturing over a hundred 16, 17 and 18 year olds in a school of about a thousand students. I was barely twenty two. Temptation was everywhere and wore many faces, none more so than vulnerability…

Her name was Rachel. By the time I first met her she was sixteen, incredibly beautiful and utterly miserable. Her time at school was horrendous, her sweet, innocent nature badly mauled by the cliques and infighting of a large school. Academic rather than sporting and not interested in boys, Rachel was teased, bullied and outright harassed. She took both my classes and was the best student I’d ever taught. She was also the prettiest and the one most crying out for help.

It started innocently enough. Rachel’s mother was only thirty five and had to work 12 hours a day to support Rach and her sister. Do not ask me where the father was, unlike the world I’d seen up to that point the school I found myself in was predominantly made up of less privileged children. Most were studious but not that bright. Some were clever but downtrodden, like Rach. A few were outright hellish.

It was these last kids who particularly picked on Rachel, apparently because she was American but, in reality, because she was alone. It seemed her father had dragged his family all the way up to Canada from somewhere in America, Georgia as it happened, looking for work and had promptly abandoned them for a cocktail waitress. Americans and Canadians have never been hugely fond of one another and this meant that Rach had to bear the brunt of an entire school’s animosity, which she was ill equipped to do.

Her mother was too busy finding them money to live by to help and was bad at noticing there was even a problem, let alone intervening. Rachel’s sister became highly disruptive in her classes, she was only 14, and Rach herself soon despaired of ever amounting to anything. There was a lot to empathize with. I became her confidante, the person she would speak to about her problems. Naturally I helped as best I could, mostly offering a shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear, but soon it became clear that I would have to do more or nothing at all…

The sister was expelled for trying to burn down the school. It was a pack of matches in the girls’ lavatories but she still managed to set off the smoke alarms and that was a big problem. The poor girl was kicked out, but fortunately her mother, with a little of my help, found her a place in another, much smaller school. Unfortunately it was over ninety minutes drive to get there.

Rachel’s mother focussed on her younger, problematic daughter, ignoring the older, equally distressed but quieter one because of being so busy just trying to help her family survive. It was not my place to step in but what was I to do? Abandon someone who I liked and who had been so poorly treated in life? I offered my services as a halfway house, somewhere that Rach could stay when her mom was delayed, even a bed when needed. The two of them were so grateful it almost hurt.

This compromise was fine during the summer. Rach would finish her work then hang around the school for me and we’d head to my home, which was only ten minutes’ drive away from the school. There we’d do some French and English or other such things, waiting for Rachel’s mother to show. I think that was Rach’s happiest time, up to that point, in the school, the end of that summer term. She turned seventeen, her thin, slightly gawky body filled out some more, she grew a little and became even more beautiful. Her sister seemed happier too, doing well at the smaller school, although her mother was still far too overworked. But there was a major cloud on the horizon.

Winter in Canada is not for the faint hearted and, what before was a drive of ninety minutes, quickly became untenable. Rachel’s mother took to staying in a cheap motel with her daughter during the week and working in that town at night. Rach had no choice but to stay more or less permanently at mine. But it seemed to work, at first. She was incredibly bright, doing well in her classes, if not socially, and had flowered from an extraordinarily pretty girl into an astonishingly beautiful young woman.

Medium height but vivacious, charming, polite and friendly, she combined these winning characteristics with brains and a body that really reminded me of yours, Tanya… Slim without being bony, she had the most beautiful curves and high, full breasts with an ass that… And her face! Again, like you, she had a dark skinned complexion with wide, inviting green eyes and a shock of straight brown hair that could be groomed and beautiful or tangled and girlish… To tell you the truth Tanya, she reminded me of you through and through!

Pretty much every morning and evening I spent with Rachel, excluding the weekends. We managed to keep our arrangement a secret from all of the faculty members who were only too grateful that the annoying, problematic American was being handled by someone else. As for the students, by their final year most of them had moved on from casual cruelty and were more worried about college and exams. Rach was as well but was guaranteed to score highly when she took the papers thanks to her natural brightness and my extracurricular coaching.

For the first few weeks of winter everything went ok. Of course I occasionally saw my young guest getting out of the shower or wearing revealing clothes and such like… but I was on top of my feelings. It was only when she started to masturbate that the problems started… I was as diplomatic as I could be, ignoring all the cries and such like and urging her to go out to try and find some people her own age, but that argument held little water.

She had no interest in any of the boys or even the girls in her class as, pretty much universally, they all reviled her. But she did have sexual yearnings and only one real outlet for them… Unfortunately, hearing her gave rise to my own yearnings and, please remember, I was only 23 at the time. I’d only got the job because Amélie, and Catherine, were a good four years older than me and it was their age on the passport.

There was scarcely six years between us. I’d been alone sexually since Catherine and, though I’d enjoyed my own attentions, the thoughts of Rachel’s began to dominate my mind. Her affection for me was very real and her lack of desire for men was something she’d openly discussed with me, though perhaps without any real insight into the only viable alternative. I began thinking of her all the time, imagining her young, beautiful body and what I might do to it and it to me…

My imagination quickly needed more than just thoughts and I sought out occasions to see her body, walking in while she might be dressing, showering or what have you. I wasn’t desperate and only did it on occasion, but my weakness served my raging desire well, encouraging it more and more. Not least of this was my increasing belief that my desires for her were reciprocated from her to me…

She would deliberately leave her bedroom door ajar while dressing, seemingly intentionally allow her towel to slip to reveal her wet, naked body or calculatingly hug me closely, pushing our bodies into immediate proximity for longer than necessary… The hugs were what finished it, really. She’d always liked to hug when she could, holding me close and feeling my arms around her.

When I’d first started taking a more active role in her life I’d envisioned that the hugs were a way for her to remind herself that people still cared for her, that despite her parents’ absences, whether by choice of enforced, she wasn’t alone. In time that belief melted into the most insidious of thoughts… she wanted to be close to me, she wanted me to see her body, she wanted to experience mine and, when she touched herself at night, it was me who she was thinking about.

What could I do? There was nowhere else she could go in winter, to send her alone to a hotel was both expensive and hurtful and, up to that point, I had done nothing untoward. Despite our unusual relationship I was still in a morally defensible position. Of course, there was one way I could find out who she was thinking of when she touched herself at night… but my promise held me even there…

To hypnotise Rachel would’ve been to succumb to making love to her. Just to imagine her entranced was enough to make my thighs wet! No, I would have to wait it out till the snows thawed. But there was still a great deal of winter to go and my desires only kept getting worse. From hugs we began to kiss, a peck on both cheeks French style. It had started out as preparation for a French oral: how do French people great each other…? Well… and from there we had ‘our little secret’ which we did whenever we met, even inside the school, albeit in private. The end was nigh…

From there it was a short journey to my suggesting that particularly close friends might share a kiss on the lips. It was said in jest but she seized on it. By her admission Rach had never kissed anyone before, save her mother, sister and father, least of all on the lips. That evening we drove home in silence. In my body I could feel the warmth of lust cloud all judgement and I could feel it in Rachel too.

We arrived at my apartment and went inside, closing the doors and quietly making the place ready for bed, despite the earliness of the evening, taking off our heavy winter clothes and getting into lighter garments. I wore tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt over my matching white lingerie. She was in a brown, knee length skirt and light coloured shirt, on her feet only slippers, mine were bare. We made supper, in near silence, with only the very tiniest of small talk. It gave way to an hour’s television whereupon, at ten o’clock, Rach announced it was time for bed.

I stood to say goodnight. She came close and we hugged, her young body pressed against my, almost equally young, body for several moments, her hands rubbing up and down my back while she squirmed ever so slightly, pushed against my aroused breasts. Next came the kisses. Maintaining the pressure between our fronts we leant towards one another, me stooping slightly to make up for her slight shortness in comparison to me, and slowly kissed each other’s cheeks, our mouths brushing by one another as we crossed over. There was now no doubt in my mind that Rachel wanted me. We turned to face one another, Rach awaiting her final kiss, eyes’ shut, mouth ever so slightly open... I tried, I tried so hard not to, but my desire for her was too much…

Bending down I placed a gentle kiss on Rachel’s mouth, taking her bottom lip in mine and feeling it tense and then respond, opening up to reveal her tongue. I was lost. I drove against her and gave full vent to my passions, causing her to moan through our kiss and go slightly limp in my arms. I broke off from her mouth and moved back from her body, but had no intention of stopping.

Keeping my right arm on her chest and feeling the firm, enticing outline of her left breast under my fingers, I circled her, grabbing her from behind. She turned her face to mine and we kissed again, aggressively. I took control, my hands quickly flicking open the buttons of her shirt while I investigated her mouth with my tongue. Underneath her top the firm, bouncy outlines of her breasts already had jagged points to them. Not only that but she was without a bra! The shirt quickly came away and, with it, Rachel’s innocence.

Naked from the waist up, held from behind by an older woman, the gorgeous little brunette, then too innocent to be outright sexy, allowed me full vent to my passions, nay, she demanded it! When I finally broke away from her mouth to kiss her neck, making her shiver and moan simultaneously, she reached around herself and grabbed my head with one hand, pulling me against her, while the other sought out my hip, my thigh and my ass, squeezing them all with several months’ desire. I needed no encouragement. Her breasts were firm and succulent beneath my fingers, large and springy with nipples like rosebuds straining towards the sun. They were very sensitive but aroused beyond pain, each tweak and touch causing the already vocal girl to gasp out loud, yelping my name and her desire.

“Oh Amélie!” she groaned, “Oh yes! Oh I’ve waited! Oh you… Oh… Oh!” It was nonsensical but such a turn on. Clearly she had been thinking of me all those times! Well I’d show her what experience counted for... Lowering one hand from her glorious breasts I sought out the clasp of her skirt. It was simple and direct, releasing the clothes entirely and leaving her… naked! I voiced my approval at her inventiveness before telling her exactly what I was about to do…

“I’m going to place my fingers in your pussy…” I told her in my most sultry voice, feeling the wetness on her thighs as I stroked her upper legs, “I’m going to make you cum and cum and cum ten times more!” Each word only redoubled her noise and her desire. Already her thighs were awash with arousal, the lips of her pussy moist and yearning. I touched the edges of them and was rewarded by a heartfelt groan as her body thrust towards my fingers.

“Please oh, ah please Ms Amélie!” she panted, “Oh please, ah please, yes! Oh yes please! Oh!” Quite turned on myself I inserted my fingers and began to pump, stimulating the teenage girl like I once did you, but with more skill and the control of age and experience over youth and vigour. All the while my free hand kneaded her breasts and my tongue patrolled across her back, her neck and her shoulders. She was sensitive all over and was soon panting in rhythm with the fingers of my right hand.

“Yes, oh! Yes… yes… oh ah… yes… yes… Yes!” The end was inevitable and came quickly. As my tongue found a particularly sensitive spot, just beneath her ear, my left hand’s fingers tweaked her throbbing nipples once again and my right’s flicked the tender edges of her clit, Rachel came with explosive force, showering my hand in her release not once, not twice but four times, her young body quivering and all but dropping by the last.

Having been sated of orgasms, Rach turned and kissed me with such genuine passion that any reservations I might have had at that point evaporated permanently. She really did want me and I wanted her. No moral or ethical concerns beyond that concerned me. We retired to the bedroom where she showed that I had lost quite a lot, not least in terms of stamina, in the years since I’d last made love to someone. Rachel was a quick learner too and more than generous. At no point did she become guilty or upset or childish. In fact, she told me how she’d been trying to instigate such a performance for months!

It was… invigorating, to say the least. Here I was, a lonely young woman banished from my birth home, living under an assumed identify in a foreign country. Yet, for perhaps the first time since I’d arrived in Canada, at that moment I felt truly alive. The consequences of my actions, although I was aware of them, had yet to be realised and, given that we’d successfully cohabited for so long, I could see no reason why we couldn’t do so and make love too. Oh how wrong I was…

TO BE CONTINUED…