The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sleep evaded Hildegarde. She tossed and turned on her bed, grumbling, not thinking and kicking. At one point she kicked her blanket away, sweat collecting under her armpits and between her legs. At another point a cold breeze came in through the window and Hildegarde had to look around for that blanket. On her side, face down, face up, head on a pillow or at the other end of the bed; no matter how she lied down, she found no rest.

Eventually she decided to rise. The room was dark, but she had been laying in bed with open eyes long enough to see in the dark. There were clothes covering nearly every surface. When had she become this lazy? A tiny bit of light pooled in through the curtains, shinning on top of computer and figurines. Hildegarde stood and walked towards her door, looking at the reflection on the mirror she had mounted behind the door. Her eyes seemed to shine, as if producing their own light, or absorbing all the light in the room. Outside, a sixteen-wheeler passed in front of her house, rattling it. It stopped Hildegarde from considering her own eyes. Seventeen years of having those eyes, and sometimes they were as obvious as a snowfall in the tropics. She unlocked the door and walked down to the kitchen.

Where is it now? She thought as she rummaged through the cupboards for her favourite glass. A slow drip was coming from the sink.

She rummaged for a while before stopping and sighing audibly. She was being silly. “This is not working.” Hildegarde said with a voice strained and croaky and dry. She could use any other cup, or mug, or glass, but Hildegarde wanted to drink from her favourite glass tonight because if she couldn’t sleep she might as well enjoy the insomnia hours with her favourite glass and that was as silly and stupid a notion as she had ever heard!

“Ah, there you are!” Finally she found it, hidden amongst the unused mugs.

The light from the fridge hurt her eyes, but at least the water felt just right, like a flooding rain after a drought. She drank more, refilled the jug and put it back in the fridge. She grabbed a slice of ham and ate it too.

“Amazing how dry one gets,” She whispered to herself, if only to hear words, and those words echoed down the hallway and up the stairs. She decided to grab another slice of ham before going back to her room.

Hildegarde stopped at the top of the stairs and looked down along the wall, where frames from family reunions and landscapes shared space if they were related in any way. The house was silent, safe for the creaks and moans of a building cooling down at night. It was a lonely house, come to think of it. Two women cannot fill it up, no matter how long and hard they try. The house might be filled with John Lennon or Megadeth during the day, but you could still find a quiet corner where all that noise couldn’t reach. A void. The house was too big for them, too silent, too lonely at times. “Why did mom get a four bedroom house?” She asked the old question and, finding no answer in the gloom of old memorabilia that crowded the wall, she turned back towards the bathroom.

Minutes later she was back in her room, squinting as her eyes got used to the flood of light, and holding a Spawn figurine a former boyfriend had given her as a parting gift. That had been four years ago, and in hindsight they had never been anything like boyfriend and girlfriend, just two very curious friends who pushed some boundaries to the breaking point. Hildegarde turned the figurine in her fingers, looking at the plastic cape, at the flying chains, at the red and the black... She grinned. She loved the figurine, even with the memories it came with. Maybe she loved it because of the memories. It was a great gift, and as ways to end a relationship go, it was amazing. She put it back next to the Hulk, Kal Drogo, a vulture, and some furry things whose names she could never remember.

For a long moment she didn’t look at anything, just remained next to her collection. A soft breeze was coming in through the window, stirring the curtains and kissing her bare legs. The room was quiet, too quiet. Hildegarde felt it against her body, that massive weight of silence. Maybe it had been the silence, the feeling of emptiness, that woke her. But she knew better than to blame other things. She could hear her own lungs taking in air, her own heart beating slowly, her own nervous system working its electrical magic. Sleep didn’t avoid her. She had scared it away with dreams.

There were so many things she could do before she drifted towards her closet and she knew it. Distractions would come in handy just about now, but they would just be that, distractions, delays. Why keep up the façade? Hildegarde knew why she couldn’t sleep. Knew it all along and felt the craving growing stronger. She was just bidding her time.

Slowly, as if possessed by another force, as if controlled by another force, her eyes turned towards the closet. She shivered and her chest tightened. Suddenly it was too cold. She was sweating behind her knees and the window had been left open to let the air in, but suddenly Hildegarde found herself underdressed in night that could’ve done with some air-conditioning. Suddenly she had a need to wear something that would cover her legs. Schoolgirls must always wear the uniform. She heard a voice in her head. Gooseflesh ran down her arms.

Quickly Hilde turned away from the closet. She stood before it for a while hands on her hair, nails scratching her scalp. A low grunt froze in her throat, teeth grinding tightly enough to keep it in. Slowly she walked towards the computer and sat down, obviously not meaning to stare at the closet as if it were a gorgon. Oh, but it is much worse... She thought. She could feel the air kissing her skin, kissing her legs and feet and even things it had no right to kiss. She could feel the pressure of her weight on the chair like she had never felt it before. Her mouth was dry again, and not from thirst. She was on the brink. So close. So, so close to falling, and all it would take was but one look at purple and white.

She would be able to sleep in peace again.

Hildegarde was so very tired.

Hilde needed it.

“No wonder I cannot sleep.” She whispered and licked her lips. Schoolgirls always wear the uniform. The voice repeated and this time it was more difficult not to enjoy it. Hilde rubbed her arms, but stopped immediately, a whimper caught inside bitten lips. Her skin was way too sensitive. It needs to wear the uniform. She barely registered that she had actually spoken out loud. Her fingers stroked her arms, and a smile took over her features.

“Schoolgirls always wear the uniform.” Hilde whispered.

The uniform called to her, had been calling for her to wear it since the moment it arrived in her home weeks ago. Had it just been a couple of weeks? It felt like half a lifetime. Half a lifetime since she had had a night’s sleep without fascination dreams or the dissipating memory of dreams.

“It doesn’t even matter if I try to resist.” Hilde said in a low tone. “My clothes are all changing. Given time, I will be wearing it regardless.” With each passing day Hildegarde found less and less of her own clothes—her favourite t-shirts were now button-down blouses, her favourite jeans getting shorter and shorter, changing fabric—and more and more of uniform pieces. “What’s next? Skirt? Shoes? How long before I am wearing a mockery of the uniform?” Even if she didn’t wear the uniform itself, she was slowly wearing her own version of it. Questioning why her clothes had changed had never even crossed her mind. Perhaps it was a way to safeguard her own mind from confusion—better not to question it and smoothly let the addiction take over, for the fantasy to replace the fear of corruption.

Hilde didn’t know anything save that she would eventually wear it at this point.

“Soon I’ll have it on and I’ll... I’ll b-become a perfect schoolgirl oh!” Her voice caught in her throat and her body shook. Simple words, with a simple meaning, but they held power of their own. Years of self-conditioning gave them that power. Years of looking at images, of masturbation, of silent contemplation, and active day-dreaming had turned a simple phrase into a key that would unlock everything.

“I’ll... I will become a perfect schoolgirl.” Hilde managed to say between panting breaths. Shaking, she repeated the words and this time her entire body shook hard. Her fingers digging into her skin felt wonderful, the words caressing her lips tasted of glory. Words alone could do this to her. Imagine what the uniform itself would do.

Yes, yes, yes. Say more. More! More! The voice in her head said and she obeyed it.

“I will be a perfect schoolgirl.” She shook again. Her lips moved on their own.

“I will become a perfect schoolgirl.” Her mouth was dry, her body cold with sweat, her fingers travelling up and down her skin.

“I...” She knew what she was going to say. She knew it, even if she had lost control of her mouth. “I am...” If she said the words, oh, the delicious words, she would be gone. She knew it. No, Lizardeyes, contain yourself. Don’t do it... just... The wind began to blow outside, moving the curtains, sneaking into the room. Hilde stopped thinking as a light breeze touched her hot, sensitive skin. Hilde moaned silently.

“I am a schoolgirl.”

It hit her like an avalanche, powerful, destructive, and all-encompassing. The dreams, all of them, every single one, coalesced into existence. They became real. They became her.

Hilde didn’t move. She flowed, like fish in water, like birds in the sky, she flowed towards what called her.

Later on, as she tried to recall the events of that night, she would be surprised by what little she could actually remember. Lizardeyes saw the grainy wood of her closet door, remembered the feel of a box’s corner against her hand, remembered the thrill at hearing the crunch of plastic, and little else. Thoughts flooded her mind, ideas, powerful ideas taking over, like foreign invaders from a far-off land.

There were voices—a voice, talking, whispering, repeating over and over and over. She knew that voice. It spoke, and it got stronger and stronger. As the nylons covered her legs, as the shirt covered her chest. The voice spoke, realities, new paradigms. Hildegarde’s new reality.

She was a schoolgirl.

Schoolgirls always wore the uniform.

Schoolgirls obeyed the rules.

Schoolgirls learned.

Hildegarde was learning, learning that she shouldn’t have ever waited to wear the uniform. It was so wonderful, so beautiful. Her body was on fire, as if it had been sent into orbit for a long time and was just now coming back down. Hildegarde was alive once more.

Hildegarde stood before the mirror, a smile on her lips, a look of faraway pondering on her eyes. She breathed in deeply and felt the rubber bra tight against her chest, felt her body testing the boundaries of her button down white shirt, and the metallic purple vest over it.

“I will study. I am a student.” Hildegarde told the reflection in the mirror.

A thrill went down her spine. Her metallic purple skirt, with plaid patterns and pleated folds, rested just above her knees, a beautiful contrast with the pair of white pantyhose, thick enough to let not a sign of skin show. They were shiny, too.

“I will follow the rules. I am a student.”

She had found appropriate shoes, shoes she hadn’t owned hours before. Her black Mary Janes had a three inch heel, and a metallic purple buckle.

“To wear the uniform at all times. To obey all above me. To command all bellow me.” Hildegarde’s voice lost its heat, lost its emotion. She repeated a litany she didn’t know she knew. “To study and be a perfect student. To help others study and be perfect students.” She paused, her golden eyes coming into focus.

A hand reached to touch her face, to caress her black hair, now in a tight ponytail. She was a schoolgirl now—the first schoolgirl—could she... Could she really do something like that?

A small moan rumbled in her throat. It was an old fantasy, it was, and she very much wanted to make it real. Hildegarde looked at the heap of clothes all around the room, noting their similarities to the uniform she was now part of.

“Yes, it will be done.” She told the schoolgirl before her.