The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There was a girl sitting at a desk, in a well-lit room that extended towards infinity, yet was no bigger than a big room. Its walls had nothing but drab colours and dirty windows, and nothing that would interest the girl. She was looking straight ahead, almost robotically so. She neither moved nor breathed, for she had not been told she could.

A bell rang in the distance, a horrible sound that came like the lovechild of a train engine’s song and Mahler’s Symphony No. 10. The bell rang and the girl at the desk stiffened, nervous and expectant. Jubilant, even.

A door opened. From where it had appeared, none could say; if the door had existed in the first place, the girl had not recognised its existence. It was a lonely door, she knew. The door opened, and, standing against a source of light that could make a blind person turn away, was a silhouette that made the girl jump in fear and excitement. The silhouette walked into the infinite room, with its closets and beds and computer desks. The room was no longer infinite, but small and cosy, with a pile of clothes that, if you stared closely, resembled a mountain.

The world shimmered, like hot air.

The girl stood, naked now, and bowed respectfully. Why she did this, the silhouette didn’t know, but it made it happy in the manner that such things could make you happy. The silhouette walked into the familiar room; her eyes were yellow and chatoyant, and her clothes were perfect. Her clothes were an image that made the bowing girl blush and stifle a moan. The silhouette in the schoolgirl uniform smiled warmly.

A question was asked, but soon forgotten. The answer to that question was the girl’s ‘yes’ and then a sort of begging that could only happen in the most discreet and secret of ways. The schoolgirl silhouette with the glowing yellow eyes took the girl’s hands, slowly, ever so slowly, those hands were placed on the silhouette’s hips. The silhouette said something, and a copy of the skirt was on the girl’s waist. The girl seemed to like this, as her voice became an enjoyable rendition of Paint it Black by the Rolling Stones. Things became a blur, and only the most powerful of details were discernible. The silhouette then pushed the girl onto a bed, and she moved in the way many a lover does. The silhouette’s hands were expert and easy-going, knowing where to attack to maximize the experience, and where not to. Those hands cupped the girl’s breasts, and when they moved away something purple and slick covered them. The silhouette pressed her chest against the girl’s torso, and kissed her collarbone. When the silhouette moved away something white and constrictive and button-down covered the girl’s torso. The girl trashed, but in a good way, delighted beyond waking understanding. She begged for something else, for something to complete her—for, you see, she was incomplete—and the silhouette of the schoolgirl said yes and she completed the girl by wrapping her legs around her legs and leaving two gifts that left the girl a heap of moans.

Riiiiiiing...

A bell rang, echoing, breaking reality, sounding like the child of what comes when you mix a train engine and Run to the Hills by Iron Maiden.

Riiiiiiiiiiiing...

The bell came again and the silhouette shimmered. The girl stared, wide-eyed, aching, crying.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing... the bell came again, and the silhouette was gone.

Hildegarde woke at this point.

There was something off about her outfit, something that had been bothering her for hours and she just couldn’t place it. Hilde hadn’t really dressed any differently today, had she? She usually wore trousers, as well as black shoes. Well, she usually didn’t wear the black leather shoes, except when it was a dreaded social event or when a mandatory force required it, perhaps once every year. She had had the shoes for a long time, and recently she’s had this curiosity about wearing them more often, to see if she would like them and if anyone would notice the sudden change. No one had, and her feet didn’t complain. But the shoes were not the source of her worry. Was it her white shirt? Had she not been wearing it on and off for two weeks now she would’ve said yes. If the trousers and shoes and shirt were not the cause, then it must’ve been the bra.

“I am so dumb, sometimes.” Hilde whispered. Sometimes, I scare me. Sometimes, this whole deal scares me. She decided to focus on what was worrying her in the present and not the past. Really, how could she have been so blind! Hilde slapped her forehead in a moment of clarity as she became aware of the now familiar tightness over her breasts. She ran her hand over her chest, feeling what lay under the shirt.

Under different circumstances Hildegarde would’ve found it passing strange that a purple bra had magically appeared in her underwear drawer. Yet, since pantyhose that felt too good to be simple pantyhose had been appearing on and off, from nowhere, apparently, for the best part of two weeks, as well as shirts, the materialization of clothing stopped being a surprise and became more of an asset. However, after closer examination, which meant that Hildegarde had simply made a mess of her closet, she had discovered that several of her t-shirts were missing, as well as some underwear. Adding two and two together was easy.

Hildegarde knew that she should be freaking out and getting rid of the ghost clothes, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. Being unable to rid herself of them, nor question their existence, didn’t seem to worry her either. Hilde had started wearing the pantyhose more frequently, and she had to admit she liked the feeling of nylon on her legs. And over her sex. Naughty thoughts, Hilde. Careful there. She contained a giggle. But the bra was different. She mostly wore denim and cotton, but had worn nylon before so it wasn’t such a shocking thing, but the bra was made of a fabric she couldn’t quite get a feel of. It felt like cotton, but clingy and tight, unlike anything she had ever worn. Perhaps it was that feeling of strangeness that made her feel so out of place. Hopefully it was that feeling. She wouldn’t like for something utterly bizarre to be the cause of her discomfort.

The sound of running water brought her back to reality.

Hilde splashed some water over her face. She looked up at her reflection on the school’s restroom mirror; drops of water dribbled down her long eyebrows, and nose. Recently she had realised just how long her eyebrows were, and it kind of disturbed her. She thought about plucking them out, but she didn’t quite like doing that kind of things. Well, except on her legs and armpits.

She placed her hands on the table built around the sink, and then pulled them back quickly—there was something sticky and green covering the makeshift furniture. Typical, she thought, looking around the restroom. The walls were stained black with leaks and fungus, and the floor was the colour of old vomit. Hildegarde sometimes wondered if the floor had been eaten away some years ago and what she walked on top was actual dried vomit perfectly spread over the place. It could be; that’s the worst part.

Manoeuvring her way out of the cesspool that passed as a restroom, Hildegarde made her way to the water fountain, which, strangely, was well kept. Students and teachers alike made fun of ‘the water fountain’, as it was a testament that the school could indeed keep up its facilities from developing a biosphere of its own. Some said that it was a sin to have a good, clean place to drink water, for it made for a painful contrast with everything else. If they could keep one water fountain up and running, they could do it for other minor things around the school, namely paint the walls. She thought as cool water went down her throat. She had seen the same peeling colours on those walls since she was twelve, for crying out loud!

The water was cool as it made its way down her throat, and Hilde relished the small quiet time when she could escape the confines of the classroom. She looked down to the right, and saw an empty hallway; the only evidence of it being a school was the slow hum of many voices behind walls. She looked to the left, and raised an eyebrow at the smartly dressed woman discussing something with a man that looked to be a contractor.

Hildegarde checked her watch. Ten minutes. That is quite a lot of time, for a bathroom break. She thought. Mister Frederic would be cross if she didn’t show up before he started his daily rant about what a horrible bunch of students he had, and who would be seeing him in vacations after failing his class. That man can stuff it. Hilde already knew that she was amongst those who would repeat his class, se there really was no point in listening to his horrible voice. So, quite innocently, Hilde walked towards the smartly dressed woman, intent on eavesdropping. She stopped behind a column.

For some reason, Hilde was reminded of the previous principal; an old, shaved-head man who had become too senile and too lazy to do his job well before she had even started attending the once-pristine place. Hilde could remember him disapproving her interests and looking at her eyes the same way a Catholic Spanish must’ve looked at a moor in the 1400s. She was glad he had been ‘forcibly removed’ and replaced by this woman. Hilde wondered what kind of political in-fighting had gone on behind the scenes but realized she really didn’t care. I am off this cesspool in a year, after all.

Short of stature, with strong shoulders and a deep voice, Headmistress Shiva Valiente had started as a particularly troublesome teacher that had a knack for not only contradicting what other teachers taught students, but forced her students to contradict and question everything that was being taught in the sorry, decadent place. Hildegarde hadn’t shared a classroom with her, much to her disappointment, but she had had seen her from a distance and talked to some of the students she taught. Those kids were, if nothing else, a little more difficult to trick and lie to. When the previous Headmaster was removed, everyone agreed the school needed a fresh perspective to return to its former glory. Not that that it had anything more than smudgy lustre when the man left.

“Miss Canto,” The Headmistress said without looking away from the papers the contractor was showing her. Slowly she raised her head and gazed directly at Hilde. She had beautiful cinnamon skin and eyes that seemed to slap you if you didn’t pay her the attention due. “Escaping classes, are you?”

Hilde stopped dead in her tracks and ever so slowly she turned towards the Headmistress. How did she...? No, she just guessed. But how could she have... But Hilde’s mental musing was stopped when the Headmistress smiled.

“Hildegarde—can I call you Hildegarde?—what class are you in?”

Shit! “Ehm,” Hilde tried looking for words. “Calculus. With Professor Frederic.“

“Ah.” The Headmistress had a look on her face that was one of understanding and apologizing. “I see why you are roaming the halls instead of being in class; that man can be a bit... overbearing. But, Hildegarde, you should go back to class soon, unless you want to be on the wrong end of one of his lectures on what is a good student.” Hilde thought she heard something like a tsk sound.

Did she just complain about Mister Frederic? Hilde was surprised—not one teacher or professor in that school would agree to their colleague’s faults and mistakes, but the Headmistress doing it? That was major. That was interesting, if not hilarious.

“Well, he does like to talk about himself and his student’s failings.” She said, smiling warmly, in a way that let Hilde know that she didn’t think there were any failings at all. Or at least not that many.

Hildegarde wondered why she had never conversed with this woman before.

The Headmistress nodded and turned to look at the contractor’s notebook. “Do you believe we could hide those pipes sticking out of the ceiling?” Her head moved upwards.

The contractor looked at the woman in the same way a dog trainer would look at a misbehaved dog. “Lady, if I canna fix it or change it, I build it. And if I canna build it, then, you bettah give God a call and see if he can help us.” He looked up at the slab of concrete overhead. “I can hide those pipes, and even go as far as to put them where they belong if you want.”

Now, that is a man who knows what he is on about. Hildegarde thought, getting closer.

The Headmistress gave the man a smile and chuckle. “I knew it was a good idea to call you.”

“What are you getting fixed, miss?” Hilde said, curiously. It was obvious the Headmistress was fixing things, but she wanted to know exactly what.

“Oh, I am not fixing anything. That job falls on the short mister to my right.”

The contractor nodded, and chuckled. Hildegarde raised an eyebrow. He is so short!

“But if you need to know, the truth is that I don’t know yet. I am getting prices down and what it would cost to get the whole school...” The Headmistress took in the area round them. “Somewhere along the lines of habitable.” The woman sighed and the lines on her face seemed to deepen. “Not an easy thing to do.

A little late for that, Hildegarde thought. The school had been in disrepair for a long time, too long a time. But at least this woman was working towards fixing things. Hopefully she would succeed. Shame Hildegarde won’t be around to see it.

“Well, that is good.”

Suddenly the Headmistress’s expression changed. She looked away momentarily and then turned towards Hildegarde with a look she could not quite read. Hilde felt her hairs stand at an end and some voice inside told her to run. It was a conspirator’s look, and Hilde realized that a second too late to run away.

“I’ve heard about you, Hildegarde. Many professors say you have in your skull a weapon of mass destruction, or a tool of grandeur. Perhaps what is needed to fix this place—not that they would agree this place needs fixing, mind you. But they all agree you are bright, if lazy.” The Headmistress laughed. The contractor looked as if he wanted to go, but wasn’t sure if it was polite to do so. “Laziness is a curse, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hilde looked at her suspiciously, smelling the trap of reasonability opening its maws. “What are you getting at, Miss?” Hildegarde refrained from refuting the laziness remark.

“How would you like to help me turn this school around?”

All of a sudden the contractor cleared his throat. Both Hilde and the Headmistress turned to look at them. If he found Hilde’s golden stare, or Shiva’s hard eyes more threatening no one could tell. He swallowed before saying, “I-if you would excuse me, I’ll keep on doing my job.” Not waiting for a reply, the man walked away.

The Headmistress turned to look at Hilde. “What do you say?”

It was an odd question to ask a student. A big question to add a student. But, for some reason Hildegarde had expected it. The Headmistress simply stared at Hilde in a way that made a tingling sensation crawl up her legs and chest, and it was that tingling that bespoke of things she would rather not think about when she stood in front of an older woman. An older woman who seemed to be crazy. She, the most cynical person in the school, was being asked to help? She who completely despised the place? Correction, this woman is mad!

“Why?” Was the only thing Hilde could say that didn’t include reeling back in or running away.

The Headmistress placed her hand on Hilde’s shoulder. Hilde tensed and that seemed to tell the older woman to not touch her. They started walking back down the hallway towards a flight of stairs.

“I know how you feel about this place, Hildegarde. Retrograde, backwards, disgusting—I mean, I’ve seen the restrooms. I don’t go to the toilet in this place, ever.” The Headmistress seemed to have made a joke, but her face was set in stone. “I believe this school could be much more, if everyone did their part; students, teachers, administration. It can be a good place. I know this doesn’t really concern you, seeing how it is your last year, but it could help others after you.”

“Miss, I have no idea what you are talking about.” Hilde said, blatantly.

The older woman stopped a second and stared at Hilde. For a stretched moment, Hilde thought she was going to spend the rest of the day in detention. Wouldn’t surprise me. But, intead, Shiva Valiente chuckled. “Yeah, I am not good at explaining myself.” She shook her head. “Anyhow, I am asking if you could help me. I could even make it into a sort of project so you wouldn’t need to go to certain classes or something around those lines.“

Hilde stopped and considered the woman. That is one nice offer. “What if I say no?“

The woman’s smile was knowing, and her eyes were hard. Hard eyes, if they didn’t look away one bit when she stared into Hildegarde’s eyes without looking away one bit. That disturbed Hilde. “I know you won’t. But think about it, Miss Canto. I am not forcing you.”

Just like that, and without a goodbye, the Headmistress walked away. Hilde stood at the top of the stairs, looking as the woman strutted after the contractor.

“She is insane.” Hilde thought and made her way back to class.

He took a theatrically deep sigh.

His fingers were kneading his forehead. “Time and time again,” He began and then paused. Slowly his hand was removed from his forehead and his eyes pierced into the collective mind of the classroom. “Time and time again have I told you that if you do not pick yourselves up no one is going to. You’re alone in this world, kids, and no one will look out for you.” Another pause. He looked at the papers in his hand and shook them high in front of him, arm extended, for everyone to see. “Failure!” He shouted. “Failure will only get you to selected places, and their names are summer school, prison, McDonalds, and shanty town. And, as far as I am concerned, I do not want to see any of your ugly faces next year, or during summer, if you dare fail. I might consider killing myself if that were to happen.” Mister Frederic’s voice carried over the room and his students’ imagination like blood carries neurotoxins. “Here are the results of the last test and I must say I am not disappointed, and only because I stopped having expectations out of you lot years ago.” The stack dropped on his desk. The sound that filled the silent room was the rumble of a collapsing cathedral taking with it a town’s faith.

In the back of the classroom, making an effort of ignoring Mister Frederic’s tirade, Hildegarde sat quietly, concentrating on her own thoughts. Spacing out, looking at the wall, she wished she could look out the window, but even if she were sitting next to it there would only be grey concrete to stare at. Everything in this school looked so drab and washed down, she considered, even the people. She shook her head. Do not even consider it, Hildegarde. You’ve got too much on your plate to pay attention to a crazy woman like the headmistress.

“Do you think you did alright, Lizardeyes?” A voice cut through the distance that was her daydreaming.

Hildegarde turned to her left to look at her classmate. He looked worried.

“I have no idea.” Hildegarde said and meant it.

“I really hope for something... decent.” He said, twiddling his thumbs. “I really do not want to repeat this fucking class again.”

“Makes two of us, Clark.” Hildegarde agreed.

Mister Frederic kept going. “Now, remember that if you can prove I made a mistake grading this—which, looking at the grades, I doubt you would be able to anyway—you can come up to me and see if you get some extra points. But I doubt that you...” He trailed off. “Well, let’s see how you all did.” His smile was too eager.

The bastard is enjoying this, Hildegarde though, frown set. She wasn’t feeling particularly tolerant, not after the strange things happening recently. She stared at the tall, lanky figure of Mister Frederic and wished she could walk up to him and slap him and call on his bullshit without a consequence. Teachers should not act that way; Hildegarde didn’t know why, but she just knew it wasn’t... perfect.

Hmm... I used to find his rants amusing before. She thought, one eyebrow raised.

Mister Frederic handed out the tests in the same fashion he always did: calling a name with cold bitterness, staring into their souls, and making them sorry they had ever met the man. But when it came to Hildegarde, there was something alien in his voice—warmth—and when he looked into her eyes, there wasn’t a shameful reminded that she had once been a good student. “Good job, Canto.” He praised, and if Hilde needed any reason to feel afraid, there it was. I must’ve taken too long to get from the restroom, to his liking. Or he just has it up for me this month. But when she sat down and looked at the mark on her test she felt her voice go away, which was a good thing since no one heard the silent squeal of utter joy that would’ve come out. Hilde heard someone scuttling closer, and noticed Clark looking at her test. “Oh, you fucking fuck!” Clark exclaimed, a little too loud. But Mister Frederic didn’t care, as he was back to explaining something on the board for a student what was actually interested in calculus but could never do good in his tests. “How did you do it?” Clarkson added in a lower, incredulous tone.

I have no clue, Hildegarde thought, staring at the test. There was not a single mark of red. I didn’t think it was physically possible for him not to use red, she thought. It was the first time in three years that she had seen a test without a single cross. A perfect mark. A ten. An A. What was next, diamonds growing out of her fingernails?

“If I knew, this wouldn’t be my first good grade in years.” Hildegarde replied in a tone that made Clark grow quiet and return to his moping. She realised what she did and turned around, meaning to apologise, but the boy was already swallowed in self pity and staring at a paper that was more red ink than paper. I have to watch out my tongue sometimes. Clark isn’t so bad. She blinked, feeling her ocular muscles relax; her eyes had taken that look that made her mother fall silent. No wonder the only boy in class that actually dared be friendly to her had fallen so utterly silent. That stare was just... inhuman. I have to control that, she thought. Not his fault I... shit, I should be happy, not frustrated.

She sighed and let it go.

Ten minutes to go before the class ended, and in those ten minutes Hildegarde pondered. She considered her recent actions, and the only logical conclusion was that her recent study habits had indeed worked. How that could help, she had no idea. But there was no denying that trying on the pantyhose, or whatever else appeared in her drawers, while studying helped. She wondered how twisted a psychologist would find that. Oh, yes, I can only study if I am chanting a mantra that makes me all wet, while I wear clothing that looks like what came with a supposed mind-controlling uniform I bought off a website. She shivered as a beautiful harmonious warmth spread inside her. Not here... She thought, legs pressed together as the memory of sitting, reciting line after line of pointless information like a mantra, one hand reaching between her legs threatened to take her into a amalgam of studying and arousal.

Hildegarde shook her head and bit the inside of her mouth, and forced her eyes to go back to normal. She couldn’t get like that in school. She didn’t need nor want another rumour to make people stare at her like a three-headed pariah; it was enough with her eyes. Bloody windows to the soul, these are.

The test shook in her hand. She stared at it until the bell rang.

Walking alone down the hallways, she saw the strange scene of a smiling Martie, rushing down a hallway, skirt and hair flowing in the wind with an erratic grace. Most likely to meet up with the chubby fellow. He wasn’t Martie’s first fancy, Hilde knew, but it was the first one that made her face brighten up when she talked about him. Perhaps there was more to Barbo than she herself had seen when the two used to hang out.

Hilde stood against the wall, waiting for the crowd of people to flow away, and staring at her friend trying to shove her way out of the school. Hilde’s face twisted as something inside her sank. She had tried talking to Martie about what happened on Sunday night, but the multicoloured-haired girl evaded the questions every time. It was as if Martie was scared of talking about the uniform. And she no longer talked about it as a fake or a hoax; every time she mentioned it, there was anger and caution in her voice, as if it were something dangerous. It is, after a fashion. Hilde’s hand tightened around the backpack strap. She knew now that the uniform was a powerful item; the dreams, the studying, the flaring, delicious warmth that spread all over her body and mind when she thought about wearing it and studying and her fingers over her sex... all helped confirm the fact. The uniform was dangerous. Yet, why in the name of everything that is holy and grand couldn’t she rid herself of them?

The uniform helped me in that test, She thought, walking out into daylight and leaving the gloom of a ruin of a school behind. But it doesn’t mean it can help me with anything else. It doesn’t mean it can do anything but put me in the right mindset. Does it? Hilde could see a closet in front of her, could see a queen lost in it. What if it can do more than just make me a perfect schoolgirl? A shiver went down her spine, and Hilde had to press her hand hard against her chest to avoid shaking visibly. She became all too aware of the latex bra she wore under her shirt. Of the pantyhose she was wearing. Of the thing she had done as of late that left her skin as tender sensible as a bubble, and her nipples tingle and her sex hunger.

She became all too aware of what was happening.

And she felt powerless to stop it.

When Liv saw Lizardeyes walking in her direction at the end of the school day she quickly crouched as if to pick something up and then kept walking in any direction away from Hildegarde. She just couldn’t face her friend right then. Or at any other time, as of late. She was avoiding her friend and everyone else, for that matter. She simply wasn’t in any mood to deal with people! But sometimes the Universe conspired against our best laid out plans and made it impossible to avoid just what we don’t want to face. It had been lunch hour, and Liv had managed to avoid meeting with anyone she knew and found a quiet, secluded spot near the overgrown park. She sat on the wooden park bench, hoping it wouldn’t break while she ate, when a voice made her lose her appetite.

“Oi, Liv!” Liv heard and cringed as if she had tasted something awful. “I be looking f’ya.”

Slowly, Liv looked up to see Marilyn standing right in front of her. She cast a big shadow over Liv, and her face could barely be seen. Oh, not her, Liv thought. Marilyn had grown out of town, in several towns actually, and they left more of a mark in her speech than she had in those places. If there was someone Liv didn’t want to deal with today, it was Marilyn. Couldn’t deal with. The girl not only knew how to get on Liv’s nerves, but deliberately did it.

Liv looked up from her meal. Her golden hair was a mess, and her eyes were threatening. But Marilyn was not the type of girl to shy away from a stare. A stab hurts more than a stare, she would usually say. Why she would use such a disturbing phrase, Liv didn’t want to know. Who knew what the girl had learned in some of those towns, considering how she talked.

“Ya know about that lab class we be havin’ later on?” Marilyn pronounced about like ‘aboot’ and later as something incompressible.

Live nodded, not quite knowing what to say. Oh, go away. Please, go away.

“Yes? Okah. As I was a-sayin’, ya and I be partners. That dude Marco ya usually party yourself with? He sick. He called me this mornin’, asked me to partner with ya.” She spoke in a quick way, but at least she managed to pronounce all the words instead of mashing them together. Barely. “What ya say? Wanna be in a party with moi?” She added, scratching her neck with long, long nails. Liv stared at Marilyn’s nails as if her stare could not just clip them but remove that desire to have long nails out of the girl’s brain. How can she have such long nails? Why is she still here, can’t she see I do not want her to be near me? Why does she even exist!?

Liv stared at Marilyn for a moment and gave up. There was no point in wasting energy. Better to bite the bullet and be done with it. “If we are going to do this lab thing together,” Liv started, slowly placing what was leftover of her sandwich inside a Tupperware container. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin before continuing. “then we need to establish some ground rules. You cannot write to save your life, Marilyn, so you are going to be doing the practical bit and I will write everything down, okay?”

Marilyn frowned, deep lines forming around round, brown eyes, set in a round, brown face. As she crossed her thick arms over her chest, and everything jiggled like jell-o, she seemed to grow in size. Had Liv not known Marilyn she would’ve thought the girl was about to become an erupting volcano. She was ashamed to admit she knew the girl.

“Now, ya hear me, Liv girl.” The words came quick, like a barrage of bullets from an SMG. “Me English may be shot to hell and beyond, but that means not Imma gonna do all the dirty work and let ya do all the easy stuff, ya hear me? I know how easy it is for ya to do be writing all over the place, so Imma not gonna let you just do the easy thingie. We both are gonna work in this party of ours, with this lab project thing. We both a-work on the practical whatevers and we both a-work on the essay part. Understood?” Marilyn nodded hard, harder than her stare.

Liv had simply stared and agreed. She could’ve said something and convinced Marilyn to work as she wanted to, but Liv didn’t have the energy to deal with people. She had agreed, picked up her things, and walked away. Marilyn simply stared at Liv, muttering something that didn’t make much sense in this part of the world.

Once the last bell rang, and the hordes of students made their way out the school, Liv calmly walked towards her car. Hilde hadn’t followed her, and she didn’t know where she had parked.

Her car door made a reassuring sound as it closed and soon enough her car was purring and slipping away from that dreadful school and back home. The streets were crowded, parents picking up their kids, buses setting out to deliver kids back home as if they were parcels, and she made slow progress back home. Even slower than usual. Her hands were shaking over the wheel, and she had to drive slowly lest she crash. The closer she got to home, the more her hands shook. Liv cursed what awaited her home once more. “Stop that!” She yelled in the confines of the car. A car behind her started honking and she simply ignored it. She had to control herself—she needed to. What kind of person would get all shaky and near on a nervous breakdown because she was not wearing her uniform?

The uniform must be worn at all times. The uniform must be worn correctly. She heard herself think, and realised to late that she had whispered it. She slapped her face, hard. She left a mark.

“Get a grip of yourself, Faun.” She said, turning on the stereo. Calming music started playing, and it did not help. She changed stations. Horrible, reggaeton music started playing. It only made her angrier.

It was a fake; all of it was fake! Hildegarde had bought a party trick, a Halloween costume, nothing more. Nothing more! The uniform was not controlling her, it just wasn’t. But... as much as Liv just wanted to sweep everything she had been feeling and doing for the past two days under the rug, she couldn’t escape reality. If she admitted she had a problem then she could take the appropriate steps towards correcting it. And her problem right now was the Perfect Schoolgirl Uniform. The name alone made her moan. She bit her tongue to punish herself.

Car tires screeched as Liv pressed the brake hard and fast. She somehow avoided hitting the walls of her tiny garage. She didn’t even remember arriving there. Liv quickly got out, but slowed down as soon as she felt her legs brush against one another. She just didn’t want to damage her pantyhose. She shook her head. Liv looked down at her legs and, for a moment, wished she could just rip them off her body. But that thought soon disappeared as she realised that ripping them off would damage such precious nylons. Besides, they were part of her uniform. Her uniform must always be cared for.

“Ergh...” She made a sound.

Breathing was suddenly difficult.

She leaned against a wall, holding herself upright as best as she could. It was difficult, with her legs as wobbly as they were. She was really thinking like that, wasn’t she? She wasn’t playing along with the fantasy anymore; she actually believed that the uniform was changing her. Believe gives things power, Liv thought grimly as she slowly made her way inside her house. But how could she not believe it when the evidence was so obvious! And I know the uniform is changing me. I cannot ignore it. I cannot escape it. It is not me, it is the uniform. A light breeze picked up and she shivered when her long black skirt kissed her nyloned legs. The sensation was small, almost nothing, but to Liv, who had spent her days alone wearing the uniform and slowly brainwashing herself without meaning to, that kiss of skirt on nylon meant a lot. She shivered, biting her lip, holding herself steady against a door. “God... if only... if only it were me doing it, then it would be better. Yes... it would be my choice but...” She didn’t keep up the lie. It had been her choice to steal the uniform from Hilde’s closet. Her choice to wear it. Her choice to keep on wearing it. And... Oh, God, she couldn’t think! That kiss of skirt on nylon felt so good!

Liv had not reached her room when the black skirt and the rest of her clothes had been discarded. She didn’t care where they landed; they were not part of the uniform. Only the uniform required such care. Only the uniform could touch her body. Only the uniform mattered.

Quickly, like she had done everyday for the past week, Liv uniformed herself. She had to be quick; she had to be a good schoolgirl before that annoying voice of reason and auto-control could reassert itself. It won’t stop me this time, she thought, grimly. She shook her head and turned towards the garments, neatly ordered on her bed. Like every afternoon when she came back from school, the uniform looked clean and ironed, like she had never worn it to bed. Liv sometimes thought about that; how come the uniform never smelled of her, never creased? But soon enough she would think about how good it was to study and the thought would disappear from her mind.

First came the rubbery purple bra.

Then came the white pantyhose.

The white shirt felt warm and soft, like it had just been washed and ironed.

The skirt slid up her legs with a sound that almost drove her mad with arousal.

Tying her hair into a ponytail was a new craving, but it felt utterly natural.

Being a perfect schoolgirl was natural, after all.

Liv’s hands moved over her uniform, caressing but never creasing the clothes. The uniform must be cared for; the uniform must be worn perfectly, just like it always had to be worn when in school premises. There was a sudden pause in her movements and the world grew very quiet. Slowly her eyes opened and her arms dropped at her sides. The uniform has to be worn in school premises. Liv thought and realised, to her shame, that she had never worn the uniform when going in school. She needed to correct that. She needed to follow the rules... but, what rules? She was a schoolgirl, she needed to obey the rules, but what were those rules? Where were they written? Liv started looking about her room, frantically searching for... for what?

“I need rules. I need to obey the rules.”

She looked in her drawers, on her desk. She looked under her bed, and flipped over her mattress. It wasn’t in her bathroom, it wasn’t anywhere. What wasn’t anywhere? What was she looking for?

As if someone had flipped a switch, Liv was suddenly aware of the constrictive pantyhose and the tight bra over her breasts. Her breathing increased, her fingers fidgeted, and her mind screamed.

“No, no, no, NO!” She whispered, her fingers fighting against the buttons of her shirt. For a second she thought they were alive. “What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing!?” She screamed the words and something tore; a white ball of drapery hit the wall and landed on the floor, one sleeve crumpled outwards like the arm of a dying man who had dragged himself out of the lion’s cave. Liv grew more and more frantic, jerking this way and that to rip off the metallic purple bra off her chest. Her fingers were slippery with sweat and she couldn’t unhook it. “No, no. Come on, get off! Get it off!” She pulled the straps off, removed the cups, and pushed both bra and skirt down her body. She stepped out of them, getting rid of the pantyhose in the process.

Panting, staring at the pieces of clothing waiting to see if they would come alive, Liv sat on the floor in a tight ball of naked flesh. Her light hair was dishevelled, the ponytail almost undone, and her eyes were wet with tears. Her skin was red where she had scratched herself, and quickly turning purple where she had bumped against the wall. Her mouth was dry, and her face red.

She tried to mutter and say comforting words that would help her make sense out of what she had just done, of what she had been doing for the past couple of days, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t speak. Liv tried to say something, but the words would just not come out of her mouth.

Her head turned and she saw her reflection on a mirror.

The image disappeared became a blur as tears swelled up.

She started sobbing.

There was a tree somewhere on the old playground outside one of the school buildings. This tree was tall and was a jungle on itself. It was leafy and verdant, so much in fact that from its top one could only see more of the tree. It had dark green leaves and whitish bark; brown vines spilled down from every and all branches like the hair of someone who had just gotten up from bed. And its smell! Oh, how wonderful it smelled. Sap and dirt, things left behind by animals and insects, and that scent of rotting leaves. It was wonderful. Barbo, self-appointed Lord of Trees, was lying down on an especially thick branch some four meters off the ground. The branch was really thick, and he had discovered it one day while skipping classes. It grew long, with several smaller branches growing to either side that made up for great railing, and turned the branch into a natural bed, if a little uncomfortable. It was the only branch in the tree that could properly support his weight for a long time without moaning dangerously. He didn’t mind the pain on his back in exchange for the scents of nature caressing his very being. He breathed in deeply, and sighed happily.

Near his head there was a fat, green caterpillar feasting on some leaves. It looked peaceful and dangerous. But not as dangerous as what he was hearing from bellow. Barbo shifted in place, listening intently to the thunderous sound of children and teenagers flooding into the streets after a day of classes. He had been up in the branches for about an hour, after he managed to sneak away from a very boring class on the Gulf War, and there were no signs of him getting off it anytime soon. He really loved being up on that branch. If it was up to him, he could remain up there for a whole day. The cacophony from bellow filled the world, and so Barbo listened, intently, for the one voice he actually wanted to hear.

Soon enough the sounds from bellow died out. Barbo checked his watch and considered it was the appropriate time. He wrapped his legs around the branch and, slowly, ever carefully, allowed his weight to shift towards one side. Still holding onto the branch with his hands, Barbo turned himself upside down and stared at the beautiful mane of multi-coloured hair that crowned the head of his beloved.

“Martie!” He called, his voice straining. This position was more difficult to maintain than he expected; his abdominal muscles were soon burning. Fuck, I am too soft there, he thought.

Martie looked around, holding to the bag wrapped around her arm. Barbo called again, and she looked up. They locked stares. She giggled.

“Barbo! What the hell are you doing up there?” Her voice was strained. Was that worry? How sweet of her!

Barbo was going to answer with a smile, but instead grunted. His legs were cramping and his abdomen was screaming. With an ease a monkey would envy, the big boy pulled his torso upwards, took a hold of the branch, and pulled himself onto a seating position.

Hiding his panting, Barbo said: “Waiting for you. It is more interesting like this.” And easier, too.

Martie’s lips twisted in what Barbo was starting to recognise as a smile—a true smile—unlike the smiles of some of the girls he had fancied in the past. He liked that smile.

“Want to come up here?” He said.

Martie looked around herself, probably seeing some stragglers and students. Perhaps she was looking at something else. Up there, Barbo couldn’t tell, and it made him a bit uneasy. Was she reconsidering climbing up the tree, or that they would be all alone up there? There was some ruffling above him, and Barbo looked up in time to see a couple of birds land on the topmost branches. He couldn’t quite make what they were. He heard another sound from bellow, and when he looked down saw Martie staring at the trunk in front of her. She looked at it, probably thinking where to put her foot and what to hold on to. Barbo was tempted to tell her, but decided that she was smart enough to figure it out.

Another rustling of leaves and Barbo looked up to see the birds fly away. When he turned his eyes downwards, she was climbing up the tree, a bit unsure of what to hold or where to step. Her backpack was hanging from a branch, too high for anyone to get to it. She thinks ahead, Barbo thought as he watched over her like a guardian spirit and told her what to hold on to and where to step.

She reached the branch he was sitting on, and walked towards on all fours Barbo like a squirrel would do, hands and legs working in unison to keep her from falling. She didn’t look down, Barbo noticed.

When she sat next to him, panting somewhat and staring at the treetops, Barbo wrapped an arm around her waist. He was blushing slightly, and hoped she didn’t see it—it was the first time he dared touch her like this. To his surprise, Martie said nothing and leaned against him instead, wrapping an arm around him. His heart was beating hard, and his sex was distracting him somewhat. He shifted in his seat. No, do not think about that! I am just holding her... just in case she falls, he thought. Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself?

“How did you get up here?” She asked.

He looked into her eyes and saw a bit of amazement. Or was it questioning? Barbo wasn’t very experienced in reading emotions through the eyes. He liked to ask what people felt instead of blindly guessing. Easier to avoid mistakes that way. Yet... he could just make out something on her face. Frustration? Confusion? Worry? No, that wasn’t right. Martie didn’t worry!

“I climbed. Though, I did it following the climbable face of the tree.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Some trees have climbable sides, others don’t.” He pointed at where Martie had come up the tree. “You chose the side that doesn’t have good footholds and the branches are flimsy. The opposite side is better.”

Her eyes grew wide, and then they relaxed. “And you let me climb up that?” There was a bit of anger in her voice.

He looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, if I had told you that you wouldn’t’ve climbed. So...” Barbo blushed, bringing one big hand to rub his chin, trying to hide the colour change on his dark cheeks.

He was expecting a slap, or some screaming; anything but a kiss on the cheek. Barbo turned, amazed, towards Martie. “What was that for?” He said, his arm tightening around her waist. Stop thinking that way, you fool!

“For being awesome without realising it.” Martie leaned closer, and he could smell her hair. It smelled of something chemical and unwashed scalp. It wasn’t a very nice scent. “You know you just helped me with a phobia?“

“You are afraid of heights?” He said, blinking fast.

“Not heights—falling.”

“Oh.” He looked away, ashamed. “Sorry.”

She poked the side of his belly. “I am thanking you. No need to apologize. Now, shut up and enjoy the moment.”

He did just that.

Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. Singing the song of rules and obedience, the birds calling for their mother. Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. They sing a song, a joyful, perfect song. Can’t you hear them? Oh, of course you can’t. She hasn’t gotten to you yet. Tweet. Tweet. The mother will come for you, and her song you will hear.

The children with their white legs and purple hips waited for their mother. They sang the song of rules and ideas they needed to believe in. They called for their mother, for they had one child for her. The mother liked new children, liked how their non-purple hips, non-white legs needed perfecting. The mother liked new children, for she loved to cover them with her purple and her white. The mother was one to perfect.

Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. The song of her children called her home. The mother arrived—the Purple Martin came flying home, with her perfect metallic feathers and her perfect mind. She looked at her children and sang to them, filling their heads with the thoughts they were allowed to think.

Tweet. Tweet. The song of perfection was sung.

The children stood, in their white legs and purple hips, and received their mother with clamour and love. They sang this, they sang that, and they all praised her rules and her dress of feathers. They loved that she had perfected them.

One child, a special, crazy child came forth. She had green Rorschach spots in her crown, and her eyes tended to get lost. But she was perfected and the Purple Martin loved her. The child spoke of a new addition to the family, someone who needed to be perfected, and soon enough a boy thick and strong was marched forth.

Tweet. Tweet. The song of perfection would be heard.

The thick and strong boy heard her song, and he looked at her plumage, and he resisted. The Purple Martin was amused and toyed with the thick and strong boy until the amusement ended. She extended her wings, and wrapped them around the thick and strong boy and sang once more.

The thick and strong boy had white legs and purple hips and he sang back, a song of perfection and a song of rules. His brothers and sisters praised him, and they loved him, and they lusted after and for him. The song of perfection was sung, and now it was time for the song of sexuality.

Purple Martin looked on, happy, prideful. She sang her own song, her own rules, and told the onlooker that it would soon be her who praised and worshipped and obeyed the rules. The onlooker was confused, the onlooker realised she was an onlooker. The onlooker looked at Purple Martin and didn’t know what to say.

For the song of perfection was sung, and soon she would be uniformed.

Hilde opened her eyes in a flash. The room was dark and hot, and a horrible sound was coming in from her window. She sat upright; slowly, groggy and sleepy, she looked out the window and saw a car speeding by, blaring its horn. She cursed at it, and then moved to turn on the nearby fan. Why was it so hot? She didn’t care. She wanted to sleep. She didn’t bother with going to the bathroom.

Hilde fell on the bed, face down on her pillow.

She fidgeted in place, turning over and over.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

Half-awake, and half in a dream, she didn’t notice when a thought occurred to her. She started singing, softly, a whisper she could barely make out.

“The uniform must be worn at all times.”

The song of perfection carried her into dreams.