The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ishikawa wasn’t the first teacher to find ‘evidence’ of my pranks. At the end of this detention, she would learn why you don’t threaten the heiress to the Irvington Candy fortune.

Ishikawa dropped an binder onto my desk. ‘No, no, Ms Irvington, don’t look up from your phone,’ she said, when I gave no indication of doing so. ‘Just listen.’

My phone flashed brightly. Only a few days I got the screen fixed (i.e. I ordered a maid to take it to the shop), but I would prefer a cracked screen to this flashing and screen-tearing.

‘You’ve been a very naughty girl,’ said Ishikawa as the screen flashed. She opened the binder to read from the first document. ‘Sharon Prince “voluntarily” transferred schools last term, after developing an online romantic relationship with Hannah Thorne, who turned out not to be Hannah Thorne. When Sharon Prince confessed her love to the real Hannah Thorne, well, we know how that turned out.’

My phone flashed. I felt a pin prick my arse. I willed myself not to yelp or squirm—couldn’t have Ishikawa thinking she had me on the hot seat.

‘I think of Karon every day,’ I said, thumbing through my texts. ‘But I hardly see what this has to do with me.’

‘There has been quite a coincidence,’ said Ishikawa, sliding under my nose a document. ‘The catfish “Hannah Thorne” operated only from IP addresses associated with your friend group.’

‘But not my IP address, I am sure.’ This bitch had a sharper nose than my other accusers.

‘Fantina Bhatt,’ she read from a new document, ‘a recognised piano prodigy, would have performed at the Tennyson Opera House. She suffered severe food poisoning at a friend’s eighteenth birthday party. I have reports of you handing money to the kitchen staff.’

My phone flashed. Twin pins stung my arse. As nonchalantly as I could, I adjusted my skirt, but the pain wouldn’t fade.

‘I was merely tipping them for their hard work.’ Blech! Tipping staff for doing their job—even saying it makes me wretch.

‘Daisy Zhou-Forester,’ Ishikawa continued, ‘was on track for a scholarship, until it was discovered her prize-winning essay was plagiarised from an obscure blog.’

‘And I always thought she had such integrity.’

‘What a coincidence,’ Ishikawa continued, ‘that a few days before this obscure blog published the “original” article, Ms Zhou-Forester’s handwritten drafts went missing. You very often went to her house, didn’t you, Ms Irvington?’

My phone flashed. A bee seemed to stab my arse, and I couldn’t contain a yelp. What the fuck was wrong with this chair?

‘Ms Ishikawa, I understand you wish to readdress wrongs’ I said, a bit less calm than I’d like, because my arse cheeks were screaming. ‘But insinuating against me with only circumstantial evidence is not justice.’ I stood up and looked down on her. ‘If you continue your accusations, daddy’s lawyers will teach you the definition of “libel”.’

Before she could respond, I strode out the room. I didn’t care what Ishikawa had to say, and I needed to scratch my arse. I went to a bathroom and locked myself in a stall. I scratched my bum’s most stinging spots, but it was like squeezing a lemon on a papercut. I rubbed, patted, squeezed my arse, but everything just inflamed the pain. Had an insect bitten me? I pulled down my skirt and pants, and looked at my bum in my compact mirror. There was nothing, no bites, inflammations, patches. It was just my normal and, if I may say so, fine bum. Without thinking, I slapped my bum, and immediately regretted it. I screamed.

‘Are you alright in there?’ came Ishikawa’s voice from outside the stall.

In that moment, I knew this bitch was responsible. Maybe she’d coated my chair in some special chemical.

I put on my skirt before flinging open the stall. ‘If my daddy’s lawyers find you’ve done anything to me,’ I hissed in her bemused face, ‘then libel lawsuits will be the least of your concern.’

‘Then let’s get the “libel” out of the way,’ she said. She held up the binder and began reading from it, going through a catalogue of my victims so exhaustive that I’d forgotten about some of them. I would have walked away, would have told her to shut up, but at the end of each accusation there was sting in my arse, cumulating, intensifying, till I could only whimper as I shifted from foot to foot.

‘Stop!’ I managed to yell, but she kept reading. By the time she finished the binder, fire ants gnawed all over my arse. ‘What did you do?’

She smiled down at me. ‘A problem with being an entitled brat, Ms Irvington, is you don’t inspire loyalty in your servants. For a hundred pounds and the pleasure of spiting her mistress, your maid gave me your smashed phone to fix. I pondered, “Why not fix the owner as well?” Those flashes and glitches have been rewriting your vicious little mind for the past week. Now you don’t even have to look at your phone for this—’ She recounted how I drove one of my maids into a divorce. A bee stung my arse. ‘—to punish you.’

‘You fucking bitch!’ I yelled.

‘You see the problem with corporal punishment, Ms Irvington, is that, ordinarily, you cannot punish a girl every time she does something naughty. The lesson she learns is “hide my sins from the rod”.’

‘“C-corporal punishment”?’ I said.

She smiled. In a sing-songy voice she said, ‘Show me that naughty bum’

I straightened my posture. My legs marched me to the sink, my body bent at the waist, my arms spread along the sink top, so I was bent over with my arse facing Ishikawa.

She flicked up my skirt, and pulled down my pants. The pants’ fabric sliding over my tender skin made me whimper. But that pain was nothing compared to -

SMACK!

I screamed, screamed so loud that Ishikawa jolted and yelped. It wasn’t just my bum, the pain erupted through my body. When the shock of the spank faded to the throbbing stings I started with, I realised that it hurt less. It still hurt like fuck, but at least I didn’t want to amputate my own arse.

‘Do you feel that?’ said Ishikawa. ‘Every misbehaviour, disrespect, or just plain brattiness will build up in your bottom. The only cure for the pain is my palm.’ She chuckled. ‘Now you have an incentive to be disciplined.’

I wasn’t going to give in, wasn’t going to be asked to be spanked. My dignity was worth more than pa- ‘Ahhh-hhh!’

She had dragged her finger across my arse cheeks. ‘Imagine that pain,’ she said, ‘every time you sit down, every rub of fabric against your naughty bottom, every—’

‘Spank me!’ I said. What words would get her going? (I lost no dignity if I manipulated her.) ‘I have been such a naughty girl, and my bratty bottom needs to be spanked!’

‘Good girl,’ she said, ‘but no.’

‘What!?’ Whatever held me down to the sink evaporated. I spun round to yell in her face. ‘I’ll—’

‘You’ll what?’ She grinned. ‘Tell daddy’s lawyers your mean old teacher won’t spank you? And besides—’

The toilet door opened, and a teacher popped her head through. ‘I was upstairs when I heard a scream,’ she said.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said with a big smile, ‘a spider fell on me, but Ms Ishikawa dealt with it.’

When I could no longer hear the teacher’s footsteps, I threw the smile off my face.

‘And besides,’ said Ishikawa, ‘do you think I’ll let you do anything?’ She grinned at me. ‘This will be a learning experience for you. For the next twenty-four hours you’ll go through the world like someone with a conscience. But where normal people’s consciences sting them in their face, neck, and soul, your new conscience lives in your arse.’

She patted my cheek, told me to meet her after school tomorrow, before she ordered me to go straight home and think about everything I had done. As my body moved on autopilot homewards, I thought of all the ways I could beat her mind games.

Getting home was a bitch. My panties rubbed against my arse like sandpaper against tinder. I sneakily slipped off my panties, but that just made it worse. Every step made my skirt pat my arse, which felt like a spray of lemon on a burn.

As I went through the doors of my mansion, a maid greeted me, and because I couldn’t deal with any shit today, I told her to shut up. Luckily that’s how I greeted every maid every day, so she suspected nothing. I glanced back at her. I can never tell the staff apart, but wasn’t she the one who got my phone repaired? The one who literally gave my arse to Ishikawa?

‘You! Girl!’ I barked at her. ‘Over here!’ She came, with the right amount of fearful deference in her eyes. Oh, the look on her face when I tell her daddy will fire her, how he’ll spread the most poisonous character reference to her every potential employer. ‘Thank you, so much, for getting my phone repaired!’ I took out my wallet, and gave her a hundred-pound note. ‘That’s for going above and beyond.’

For as long as she suspiciously examined the one-hundred-pound note, I couldn’t drop the smile from my face. Ishikawa wouldn’t even let me take revenge on my own staff. When the maid bowed and rushed out sight, I huffed into my room.

I locked the door, before stripping naked. I laid silk upon my downiest pillow before sitting down. Didn’t help. Speers rammed up both arse cheeks. Even standing, I was fidgeting with pain. Did Ishikawa expect me to stay awake and livid until detention tomorrow.

No! I am Livia Irvington. I’ve gotten teachers fired for less than what Ishikawa’d done. I will not let her dictate what happens to my arse. I smacked my arse, screamed, and swore when the overall pain didn’t diminish. Maybe if someone else spanked me? Daddy? No, he cared too much about me. He’d ask questions. I could order a maid to do it and keep qui- Hahaha! A maid having any power over me was too ridiculous to consider. Maybe…

I dialled on my phone. ‘Hey, bae…’

My boyfriend came in fifteen minutes. He knocked on my bedroom door. Still naked, I opened it. I managed to mask my throbbing pain as barely contained arousal. I grabbed my boyfriend by the collar, kissed him, and threw him onto my bed. He started unbuckling his trousers, but I stopped him by putting my hand on his lap.

‘No, not yet,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve been a very bad girl.’ I kissed him. ‘I need to be punished.’ I hopped over his lap. ‘Spank your naughty girl!’

He raised his hand, without bringing it down. I craned my neck back to see his face caught between lust and terror. He was terrified this was one of my tests. I’d trained my boy-toy too well. Every second he considered his self-preservation was another second of Ishikawa’s curse.

‘Oh, Jesus,’ I moaned. ‘I’ve been thinking about this all day, you just smacking my arse, me, entirely at your mercy.’ The tent in his pants grew even harder. ‘I know I’ve been a bad girl, teach me a lesson.’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he squealed, ‘you’ve been a naughty little bitch—’ Throughout his dirty talk I had to stop myself from punching him in the face. Just spank m-

SMACK!

My scream killed his boner. And his spanking did nothing for the throbbing, flaming, mind-melting pain in my arse. I kicked him out, got dressed, and got in my car. Finding Ishikawa’s address was a cakewalk.

Driving at night while hovering your bum above the car seat was a good way to get into an accident. Seven near-death experiences further shattered my pain fractured mind, so that when I pulled onto the curb outside Ishikawa’s house, I wanted to bury my crying eyes in the gutter. I didn’t do that, of course. I would not have Ishikawa chancing to see me out her window, utterly defeated as she intended.

I wasn’t defeated. Livia Irvington crushed weaklings. She was never crushed. Asking my teacher to spank me was not defeat, for I was doing it on my terms, not hers. She would have me hop over her lap at her leisure tomorrow afternoon. I rung her doorbell, ready to force her to spank me right then and there.

She opened her door, wearing nothing but a bathrobe.

‘Spaaa-aaaaa-nk meeee-eeee!’ I’d meant to sound dignified, but relief was so close that the pain felt so much worse.

Ishikawa’s eyebrows raised in surprise. She sighed, and told me to follow her to the living room. I was about to order her to spank me, threaten her with every blackmail I could dredge up or fabricate. Then she shrugged off her bathrobe. Good God, she was stunning.

‘I try not to reward impertinence,’ she said, tilting my head up to her eyes. ‘But, like you, I’m very eager.’

‘Just spank me,’ I spat.

‘That hot bottom must be making you foolish.’ Ishikawa shook her head. ‘What bargaining power do you have?’

‘If you don’t spank me,’ I said, going through all the pranks I had stored away just in case a teacher got on my bad side, ‘I’ll, mmm, gmmm, mmmm.’ My lips had glued shut.

In a teasing voice she said, ‘You can’t threaten me, you can’t do anything against me. Before I began taming you, I defanged you.’

‘Why not just brainwash me all the way? Why bother spanking me if you can make me act good?’

‘Because I don’t want to enslave or replace you. I want to make you, the you you are now, better. With my help, but ultimately through your own will.’

‘Ms Ishikawa? Meow,’ came a voice from the hallway. It was Annabelle Foster, wearing flannel pyjamas, cat ears, and with a cat nose and whiskers painted on her face. When she stopped rubbing the tiredness from her eyes, she realised I was in the room. ‘Oh, meow-it!’ She leapt behind a sofa.

Foster peeked her head up from behind the sofa.

‘Oh! Is she the one you’re going to spank, Ms Ishikawa?’ Foster’s eyes rolled back as she purred in pleasure. ‘You’ll love being spanked, nyah.’

‘Anna,’ said Ishikawa. ‘What do you call me outside of school?’

Foster blushed as she stammered out, ‘S-Stephanie.’

I never liked Annabelle Foster (she was a vulgar punk), but what the fuck had Ishikawa done to her? Was this Ishikawa’s idea of ‘better’, a literal sex-kitten?

An idea brightened Ishikawa’s face. ‘Anna, why don’t you take a seat? Ms Irvington need an audience.’

Foster sat on the couch, wincing as she did, as if she had been—Ah, shit, had I interrupted their sex games. Ishikawa snapped her fingers.

‘Look at me,’ she ordered. ‘Kneel.’

‘Don—’

‘Do not unless spoken to,’ she said. ‘If you ever want the pain to go, you will kneel.’

I steamed, before getting to one knee, then the other. Foster was enraptured. She had her hands on her thighs, clenching and unclenching. Ishikawa wanted me watched. She wanted me humiliated.

‘Look at me,’ said Ishikawa. ‘Prostrate yourself.’

I tried bending forward. I tried not bending forward. Dignity and rational self-interest warred. With nothing to think about but the pain in my arse, self-interest won out. I put my forehead to the ground.

She put her foot on the back of my head. ‘It is not enough to spank you. You must understand that I am in a position to spank you. You must understand that you are a little brat, and I am your teacher, and teacher knows best. What are you?’

‘I,’ I said, ‘I am a little brat.’

‘What am I?’

‘You are my teacher.’

‘And?’

I sighed. ‘Teacher knows best.’

‘No attitude.’

‘Teacher knows best.’

‘Stand.’

I stood. She led me to the couch opposite the one Foster sat on. Ishikawa ordered me to lay over her lap. Finally, she was going to get this shit over with. She raised her arm, and kept it raised.

‘Why are you getting this spank?’

I groaned deep in my throat. Just fucking do it! ‘Because I’m a bad girl.’

‘No,’ she said, arm still raised. ‘You are getting this spank for hurting Sharon Prince. How did you hurt her?’

‘I lied to her,’ I spat. Still nothing. ‘I told her I was someone else… I told her I was someone who loved her… I knew she wasn’t loved by that person… I knew she would feel humiliated when she realised… I knew she would feel completely violated when she realised—’

Her hand bashed my arse. I screamed, wanting to roll and squirm about the room in pain, but held down. As the spank’s fallout faded, so did the overall pain in my arse, slightly. I glanced at Foster, whose hands fidgeted in her lap. Foster was turning me, Livia Irvington, into pornography.

‘Why don’t you just wank yourself off already?’ I snapped at her. She shrank and sat on her hands. Ishikawa slapped me across the head.

Ishikawa raised her hand. ‘You are getting this spank for hurting Fantina Bhatt. How did you hurt Fantina Bhatt?’

And so it went. To get one little spank, I had to explain, detail by detail, how I had wronged these people. Sometimes it was easy to say how I’d hurt them. Other times it took me ten minutes to articulate exactly how I’d hurt them. Ishikawa gave me no help. She asked, I answered, and she spanked me, over and over, till time fell away.

SMACK! came her last spank.

‘And that is why you were spanked,’ Ishikawa said. ‘On your knees.’

I got off her lap, and knelt before her. My arse was raw, but now it was physical pain, pain you could come to terms with and eventually ignore. The hypnotic pain, the phantom fire ants on my arse, were gone. But there was still a pain I couldn’t shake. No, not a pain, a hollowness, not in my arse, but in my chest. It had been growing throughout the night, growing as I explained why I deserved to be spanked. Sometimes this hollowness swelled into an abyss, making me feel like the smallest insect. What the fuck was this feeling?

‘You liar,’ I said. ‘You said all the pain would go away after you spanked me.’ I told her about the hollowness in my chest.

Her eyes widened, as a smile grew. ‘You’re growing so quickly. That’s called guilt. And I didn’t put it there. For the first time in your life you’ve considered how your victims feel. And it feels like shit, doesn’t it?’

‘Make it go away,’ I said.

‘There’s only one way to fill that hollowness,’ Ishikawa said, patting my cheek. ‘Become a better person.’

I wanted to cry. She’d won. She’d infected me with weakness. When I glanced over my past crimes, my soul shrinks in shame. When I considered all the pranks I had planned, I felt dizzying relief that I’d not actually done them yet. There’s only one person, one person whose demise my ‘conscience’ doesn’t qualm at: Ishikawa. I will destroy you, Ishikawa, for destroying my happiness.