The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Everywhere she turned, vague titles and algorithmically-tailored, so-called content would appear all over Melissa’s life. Facebook was a mortar strike of faux-emotional baits with no hook; and even proper news sites seemed to be like a sad gourmet meal, all texture and disappointingly bland. As such, click baits had become an ignored constant in Melissa’s life... well, barely ignored. It wasn’t so much that she paid them no mind, but rather that they had become so conspicuous as to unironically circle back into a state of invisibility. Octopi and chameleons hid in plain sight, after all, and that served those critters well. But like a their prey, Melissa’s eyes would not see through the camouflage and she would be sucked into half-truths, the distancing of expertise and meatlessness all presented with a lot of flowery, unnecessary prose praising the greatness of the individual’s experience without the sort of cavalry charge that made reader-foot soldiers cry out a single Fuck! to the sky in a sudden, adrenaline moment of extended cheer curiosity: what now, they cry as the cavalry charges.

Left empty as her expectations turn into nothing, Melissa’s distracted click would turn to a banging on a keyboard that had seen better days, and a grumble not unlike a dying badger. No content drove Melissa mad. No meat, no flavour, no nothing. Worse was that she still fell for it and worse than that was that she put herself inside the shooting range. But after wasting the last half-hour to some interesting-sounding list of things off The Independent’s website, she would just ask-trick herself into thinking that it was mathematically impossible for all such material to be pointless... right? Stockholmism might be the word for it, or something else, for Melissa just didn’t stop. She might miss out the one gold nugget in the river bed if she didn’t click on that one interesting-sounding thing. She just might.

Metaphorical language was a good indicator, or so Melissa thought, of whether the link would reward her trustworthiness and expectations. Vagueness was to be avoided, lists were cheap vodka to a discerning palate. Eyebrows lifting in surprise and confusion, Melissa stared at the title of the link for a little while—an eternity of internet time—trying to see beyond what it offered at face value. It was a click bait title, and Melissa’s efforts were of mind desiring any form of distraction from the productivity monsters. Right there on her messenger it read: “Become a Good Schoolgirl with these Easy Steps”. She could ask what it was, but then, as she often did, the only answer would be Just bloody read it. It must be a metaphor, of course. They couldn’t literally mean... She looked at her productivity monster, looked at the lower right corner of her computer screen were seconds were not shown and finally clicked.

“Did you know that all you need for success is discipline?” It began.

“Well, duh,” Melissa said out loud. She paused and looked about. She was going insane, talking to the walls. She read on what little there was to read with a gut-clenching sense of future disappointment. Tiny, littered and stolen truths in there, obviously copy-pasted bits from other, properly researched articles. The bare minimum of effort. It wasn’t original; it was a listicle, less than dirt. Not even the tabloids would have it. And so it remained in its unsources, uncredited loophole of some server somewhere cheap. Then, why did it a chord got struck inside Melissa’s mind?

“However…” She whispered, looking over the mess in her room. So she kept reading.

The article made that sort of demented sense that could be elaborated through terms such as “point-of-view”, “proselytizing” and “subjective relativism”. The author, machine or human, explained that a great non-existent They need to take the term schoolgirl back from the clutches of post-modernity. Sexualized and pornified? Weakened by bratty bitches? Not anymore! The writer wanted to take it away from sexualisation and the connotations of disempowering traits that many people gave it. Why should a schoolgirl be taught of as porn candy or just a silly girl who didn’t know anything? No. The piece was littered with solipsistic ponderings, truths that would revolutionize the world—valuable, untested, unwarranted, undefended opinions. Yet, had she bibliographed correctly maybe she would appear on magazines. Morbid curiosity passed for engagement, and again Melissa kept reading. Unlikely as finding a listicle that used the medium as a means to get an interesting point to a wider audience was, Melissa was curious.

“We all want to get things done. To go places. To have the money. To be free from laziness. Really, do you like being in your pajamas all weekend doing nothing? What about planning a trip? Why don’t just get up and do things? Well, I can tell you that becoming a schoolgirl—a person who sheds the idea of laziness like a cicada sheds its old shell, disciplined in all manners of life, and trained in key lifestyle skills—not only will you be happier, but you will get things done.”—was perhaps the least inspiring of the paragraphs in the article. And yet…

CLICK HERE TO BEGIN YOUR TRAINING—in big, bold, flashing letters just under the paragraph. Advertisement littered the page. Her antivirus wasn’t that great, and ad-blocker just couldn’t cope with the nightmare. Link to the next part of the article read more like a soapbox shout of “give me add revenue, however nightmarish the user interface”. But nothing like having and unfinished task in your brain. Intrigued, Melissa clicked, as images of a schoolgirls in short skirts and performing oral sex littered her mind. Hot, but not what she wanted. What was it about this productivity and happy fulfillment through discipline that this article spoke of, and why was it so appealing? She had nothing to lose, really. She closed the productivity monsters on her computer and read on. The screen went white and then loaded.

“First things first. The mindset. I’ve explained what it is to be a Schoolgirl. But the first step is yours. How do you get into the mindset of a Schoolgirl is really important. But how is that done? Well, by looking like one. Find a uniform. Something that helps you become this ideal you! You already know why you should do it. To become the best version of yourself.”

“Find a uniform…” Melissa whispered. Why did it want her to wear a uniform? A schoolgirl uniform? No. It wanted her to find something to help her get into that desired mindset. Training. Yes! This makes sense. To start training she must be in the right mindset. But a… uniform? Melissa blinked and looked at the screen. Time passed. She got up and went out.

When Melissa sat in front of the article once more she felt more in line with the words on it. She read it a second time and it the demented part of demented sense wasn’t there anymore, really. Ignore that there weren’t many primary sources, the author seemed, if anything, to believe that she knew what she was talking about. And sitting there, in her short black skirt and white, button down shirt and stockings disappearing into the hem of her skirt, Melissa did feel more like a schoolgirl. She was wearing something that helped her get into the mindset. A uniform. Her uniform. It made her smile. It made her feel so good. So ready to start learning.

“Your uniform will help you become a Schoolgirl, will help you be happy and productive. It is the first step towards getting into the mindset. You must always wear your uniform for this to be effective. You know what they say: thirty days, and a habit manifests. But what about every day? It will be so much better! Just enjoy feeling this good. I tell you, as soon as you allow yourself to get into the right mindset, everything else will be easier.” She read for a multiple of three. Perhaps the fourth time today, or the twelfth this week. She was in her uniform, always wore her uniform. Long-sleeved shirt ironed to perfection, tap shoes polished to an ideal. The black leather corset led the eyes to the white of her upper torso an arms, and away from the plaid patterns of her skirt. She was in her uniform. Always was wearing her uniform. “The article is right.” She told herself with a smile. “It is so easy.”

CLICK HERE TO BECOME DISCIPLINED.

Finally she could move on to the next step in becoming a Schoolgirl and, thus, a better person. She clicked. She read. She grew warm. She smiled. Fingers fidgeted.

“Now that I have learned to be in the mindset of a Schoolgirl, I can learn true discipline,” Melissa droned. “True education,” Melissa shuddered. “can only be done when one is in the right frame of mind. I have reached this point by becoming a Schoolgirl. I am no longer who I was. I am a Schoolgirl. I can now learn true discipline. I am allowing these changes to better myself. I enjoy these changes and want more, for I want to be a Schoolgirl. This Schoolgirl will follow the rules and become disciplined…” She trailed off. Nearly an hour later she got up, skirt swishing, high-heels clacking. Her room and house were clean, spotless, as was her mind. There was no work to be done, for all of it had been done. Procrastination had been expunged. She was free to become a better person. She was smiling. Free to become her true, better self. She was finally ready, but her uniform lacked still. True discipline began by imposing limits. Her spine was straight, her shoulders strong; the blouse so tight it limited her arm movements, the corset tighter still. The red ballgag matched her red, shiny stockings; it clicked shut in the same note the locks on her heels and corset sung. With speech gone she wouldn’t be able to talk herself out of this, could not distract herself from her work. The gag would stop her. The Schoolgirl would endure sessions of bodily discipline. Train her mind through her body. Longer and longer until she could last through the pain, through the discomfort and reach true discipline.

Much later she reached a new link in the article. The Schoolgirl didn’t hesitate; she needed to follow the rules. She was a Schoolgirl and must always try to become better. She needed to Obey.

CLICK HERE TO OBEY.

“I am a Schoolgirl. I obey the rules I impose on myself. I obey the uniform and everything it represents,” The Schoolgirl read from the article. Her jaw was sore and her mouth dry, but she could power through the discomfort. Her ballgag was an inch from her hand. Her back straight, her thick neck corset stopping unnecessary movement of her head. “My life is richer, happier, more productive because of the obedience to my rules. Being disciplined has freed me from the bondage of laziness. I’ve become a Schoolgirl. I obey myself. I obey the ideas I’ve embraced.” The Schoolgirl stopped, stopped, stopped just as the article stopped, suddenly. She looked away from the screen and looked around for a moment, brow furrowed.

Suddenly Melissa stood, uneasy, confused. “What... what the hell?” She said, circling her sore jaw. Memories a blur. What... how long?

She looked around the clean room. She saw the degree on the wall, framed, awarded, finally.

“I HAVE become a better me!” Melissa cried through seventeen emotions. “This… this article actually worked!” She said, bringing incredulous hands to her lips. “Waoh! I… I obey.” She said matter-of-factly. It felt good, so good to be right and having been rewarded and... and... “I obey because I am disciplined, because I am a schoolgirl. And this… this is good. I feel better than ever and…” A small solipsistic pause “I have to share it.” She droned to the written voice of the author.

Melissa sat down again and read the final line.

CLICK HERE TO SHARE.

FIN