The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Author’s Note: This is the first story I’ve submitted here. I’ve been reading other people’s stories on here for a while, so I figured it was about time I paid my dues and wrote my own. This first part may be a little slow since I have to set everything up, but it should pick up pretty nicely in the next part. And if you like this and want to see the next part faster, then send me an email and tell me so! Encouragement is always appreciated and is a really big motivator for me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

One Day in the Life of Clarissa Clairmont

Part 1 – Clarissa isn’t Having a Great Time of It

I woke up with a feeling in the pit of my stomach like someone had my intestines in a vice grip. I sat up slowly, my hair shifting around my face as I brought my hand up to rub a bleary eye. In a daze, I swung my feet up and over my bed, and padded off to my bathroom. When I woke up all the way, I already dressed for school, heading downstairs to get breakfast. I went into the kitchen and made myself a quick bowl of cereal. My dad was already awake and nursing a cup of coffee at the table. I said something noncommittal to him and sat down to eat.

I had to choke down most of the cereal, since each bite made me nauseous, like the food was getting caught in my throat. I’d read somewhere that your stomach shrinks after you haven’t eaten for a while, but trying to force a spoonful down my throat made me feel like my stomach was about an inch across. I had to fight not to gag after every swallow, but eventually I managed to choke all of it down. I cleaned my bowl in the sink, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. Walking out, I was pretty sure that my dad had said some goodbye to me, but by the time my still-mostly-asleep brain processed it, I was already outside, and with how tired I still was and my stomach starting to cramp up, I figured it would be easiest to just pretend I hadn’t heard.

It was a short enough walk to school, and by the time I was there, my stomach had stopped feeling like it was tied up like a balloon animal, leaving only a dull ache coming from its pit. I was relieved, since I’d been worried that my period was starting, a full two weeks early. I was pretty sure that wasn’t good. I walked down the sidewalk to the school building, feeling the cold, morning wind play across my face. Class started in about fifteen minutes, so there was a crowd of people swarming just inside the doors. Vaguely, I wondered where they’d all come from, since I hadn’t seen hardly anyone on my way down.

I considered myself a fairly shy person, but I liked being in crowds. There was something about being lost in a sea of people, swept forward by the current, blending in seamlessly with everyone else – it gave me a sense of calm. No one noticed you, and you could get where you were going without even making eye contact with another person. This morning, though, I had the weirdest feeling like people were looking at me, so I looked up from the ground. To my horror, my feeling wasn’t wrong: everyone was trying to catch glimpses of me, some out of the corner of their eyes, some with blatant, straight-on stares. I turned my head down, blushed, and tried to calm myself. I looked up after a few seconds. I was overreacting, really, only a few people were looking. But that was still way too much! Way more than the usual none, at any rate. I put my head down even lower, and wondered what was going on.

I wasn’t a great beauty, I’ll say that much up front. Sure, people had told me I was cute, but that was almost entirely relatives that hadn’t seen me in a while. All the rest were from incredibly creepy guys that I made it a point to avoid. It was pretty pathetic, but after somebody told me that, I would always try to find what they meant. I’d spent way too long looking myself over in the mirror, wondering what they were talking about. I could never find it. All I could see was the same mostly-plain-bordering-on-funny-looking girl that had been looking back at me my entire life.

* * *

Thinking about it put me in a bad mood as I rolled around to homeroom. Yeah, I know. Trust me, I’m wondering why high school seniors need a homeroom, too. Really, it just boils down to taking attendance and doing college applications stuff, which I guess was necessary, but did you really need a whole class for it? It was the absolute most boring class I had to take. And that was saying something. The only slightly redeeming thing about it was that I sat right next to my boyfriend.

“Oh, hey, Claire!” Speak of the devil. He walked through the door, lifting his hand in a friendly wave before navigating around a few desks and sitting in the one next to mine.

“Don’t call me that,” I bristled. He thought his nickname for me was cute. I thought otherwise. He raised his hands up, as if to say ‘my bad’.

“My bad,” he said. “I forgot you didn’t like that name.”

I just groaned and looked away. His name was Ryan Greene, and he was a nice enough guy, I guessed. He just had a bunch of inconsequential-but-still-annoying habits. Like the nickname. And he was always trying to pressure me to do things, mostly sexual. Just a bunch of little things like that. He was pretty good-looking though, which I guess made up for a lot of it.

“Hey, is something wrong? You don’t look so good.” And he could be pretty caring when he wanted to.

I sighed. “Sorry, I just had kind of a rough morning.” I told him about the walk to school, how I was cramping up, and how exhausted I was after I’d stayed up late working last night.

“Geez, sounds like you had a tough time of it. Do you want me to make it better?”

I gave him a weird look and a small laugh. “What do you mean?”

“Here, it’d be better if I showed you. Do you want me to help?”

“Um, sure?” I had no idea what he was talking about, but it would be easier to just let him get it out of his system. He reached into his backpack and after a few seconds of rummaging around pulled out what looked like a small clicker, like something a teacher would use to play a slideshow. It had two buttons on it, one big and one small. I couldn’t tell much more about it, or what it was. I was never very good with technology or any of those sorts of things, but Ryan was pretty nifty with them. We actually had really different interests, now that I thought of it.

“Okay, you ready?” he said, looking up from the clicker. “Here goes.”

“Ready for wha—”

* * *

My sentence was cut off when it seemed like the whole world flickered for a second. I blinked my eyes a few times, and I felt weird for a few seconds, like something was... off. Then I realized that I felt wide awake, like I’d just had a shot of espresso. And even better, my stomach felt completely fine.

“Woah,” I gasped under my breath. Then I turned to Ryan. “What did you do?”

“’What if you could go back in time and replace all those hours of pain and darkness with something better?’”

“What’s that from, Back to the Future?”

“Nah, Donnie Darko. Here, try to remember back to this morning.”

I did, and... huh, that was weird. I distinctly remembered waking up this morning feeling great and well rested. My parents made me a big breakfast, which I ate all of, and then they both saw me off to school. Hell, I’d even seen my little sister, apparently, and that never happened.

“What...” I tried to say something, but I couldn’t think of any words. It was like there was a faint buzzing inside my head instead of thoughts.

Ryan looked at me expectantly. “So, how do you feel?”

“Really good… I think. What did you do?”

Ryan grinned. “It’s all right here.” He held the little clicker out on his hand. “It works on account of multiverse theory. See, what it does is it creates a superposition between two similar manifolds from the membranes of two universes made parallel and collapses the wavefunction between—”

“In English?”

He frowned and thought for a second. “Basically, I can replace anything in this universe with any corresponding thing from another universe. Memories, physical things, anything.”

“So the morning I remember now...?”

“Happened to some corresponding you in another universe, yes.”

I squinted and put my head into my hands. Did he seriously expect me to believe that? I guess the proof was in my head, though. He really did change my memories. At least, I was pretty sure he had. Everything was a little fuzzy to me right then.

“How’d you get that thing, anyway?”

“Oh, uh… my dad made it. I, eh, borrowed it.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hand.

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning that your dad did research like that.”

He shrugged. “We’re, uh, not really supposed to talk about it. That’s what he said, anyway.”

“But...” I wasn’t entirely convinced, but it was getting really hard to think. My head was filled with overpowering white noise. “Ugh, it’s weird. I remember the morning being good, the version that apparently came from another universe, but... I also remember that I remembered it differently at one point, and – gah!” The buzzing in my head resolved itself into a sharp point that was driving itself through my forehead. “What did that thing do to me? Why does my head hurt so much?”

“Oh, um, it’s probably cognitive dissonance. See, you have two conflicting sets of memories, and your brain is going around in circles because of it. Calm down and you should be fine.” He sounded assured, but his face told a different story.

I did what Ryan said and took a few deep breaths. He was right, the pain did start to go away. My head was still spinning, though, and I couldn’t really focus on anything. Ryan still looked concerned as I laid my head down on the desk, looking forward blankly. I was vaguely aware that the teacher, Mrs. Anderson, had walked in, and my eyes followed her from the door to the front of the class. She was definitely on the wrong side of forty, and she bulged in all the wrong places. She took her things out and sat down behind her desk, droning on about something that may or may not have been related to class.

Ryan leaned over and whispered to me, “Hey, sorry about that. Are you okay now?”

I smiled at him. The pain in my head was pretty much all gone, and otherwise I felt fantastic. “Yeah, I feel good, actually. Um, thanks, I guess.”

He smiled back at me, and then seemed to notice that Mrs. Anderson had started talking. “Ugh, this class is so boring.”

“Well,” I said, hesitant, “you could always... spice it up a little.” I was still in a bit of discomfort, but this was the most interesting thing that’d happened to me in a long time, and I was too curious to pass it up.

He raised an eyebrow at me and smirked. “Are you suggesting I—?”

“Mr. Greene!” yelled the suddenly strident voice of the teacher. “I do not appreciate you talking in this class! Please, approach the front of the room.”

He winked at me, and grabbed the clicker, holding it behind his back as he stood up. “All right, then...”

* * *

I blinked a few times, then looked back to the front of the class. Standing where Mrs. Anderson had been just moments before was a supremely adorable little girl. She looked to be around seven or eight, with blonde pigtails on either side of her head. I looked around, but none of the class seemed to be phased by it at all.

“Now, Mithter Wyan, you’re in huge twouble! Got it?” She had a lisp that made her sound like a girl on some advertisement from the fifties.

“Yes, Mrs. Anderson, I understand,” replied Ryan, trying valiantly but failing to hide his growing smirk.

The little girl giggled. “Whothe Mitheth Anderthon? I’m Katie!”

“Okay, then, Katie, what do I have to do?”

“Hmm...” The little girl seemed to be thinking about it intently. “You have to... give me a piggyback wide!”

Ryan chuckled. “That sounds fun, but I think I have a better idea.” He pulled out the clicker, and aimed it at the newly-tiny Mrs. Anderson, who looked at it in confusion. Shock ran through me when I realized that everyone in the class was wondering what the clicker was. Ryan pressed his thumb down.

* * *

Ryan chuckled. “That sounds fun, but I think I have a better idea.” The girl that was once our teacher changed instantly, and I briefly wondered how he’d done it without using the clicker-thing. All at once, in the place of “Katie”, there stood what looked like a hypersexualized version of our former teacher. She was wearing a sheer, red blouse, through which you could see a lacy bra holding bolstered breasts that stood firm and tall, lifting the blouse off of her stomach, and a tight pencil skirt that hugged her newly rounded waist. Her face that was before stretched and saggy looked angular and sophisticated, but still managed to give off the impression that she knew how to give a mind-blowing blow job. She let out what could only be a moan of pleasure, and relaxed backwards onto the desk, holding herself up with one hand and thrusting out her breasts. She brought the other hand up to her vividly red mouth, laying a perfectly manicured finger aside her lips. Ryan was looking at her like a cat would eye a can of tuna that someone had just opened. I felt a mix of jealousy and anger. Mostly anger. That fucking asshole.

“Ohh,” moaned the slut, “You’ve been a bad boy, Ryan, and I’m going to have to punish you...” She reached over and picked up a piece of chalk and began writing on the board, My students should not be bad. I noted that, even though she clearly didn’t need to, she was still leaning over to write, making sure to thrust her barely-covered ass out behind her, letting anyone who wanted to get a good look up her skirt. And look they did. All of the boys and some of the girls looked at her like they’d looked at a teacher before: with their full attention.

She kept writing for about thirty seconds, while I sat in stunned silence. “There,” she said, finally finished, “I trust you’ve learned your lesson?”

“Oh, I most certainly have.” Ryan, his job done, walked back over and plopped down in his seat, smiling. Our newly sexual teacher continued with the class.

“What the fuck was that?” I yelled at him the best I could while still keeping it a whisper. “Why the hell did you do that?”

He shrugged and gestured up at our former teacher. “Class is sure more interesting now.”

“Yeah, but did you have to do it like that? You’re right in front of your girlfriend and you’re acting like a total horndog! You just turned the teacher into your little sex pet right in front of us!”

“Hey, wait a minute. I could’ve done anything I wanted to her, and I left it at that. I didn’t even touch her! What’s the harm?”

I found myself strangely unable to find fault in his logic. “Yeah, well... how’d you change her into that without using the clicker, anyway?”

Ryan looked confused. “I did use the machine, obviously... Oh, you know what, I was trying to take everyone’s memory of me using it away, I must’ve accidentally taken yours too.”

I didn’t even know how to react to that. “W—what? How could you... Why did... You didn’t even ask me about it!”

“Hey, it was just a minor little thing! You need to relax, Claire.”

“That’s not my fucking name, you bastard!” I was about two seconds away from ripping his head off, and I was pretty sure it showed. I just hoped the whole class hadn’t heard.

“You’re right,” he said, suddenly calm, “it’s not your name.”

He looked down and I followed his gaze until I saw he was holding the clicker. A sudden avalanche of dread came over me.

“Hey, what’r—”

* * *

“You need to relax, Claire.”

I sighed, exasperated. I’d always wondered where he got that stupid nickname from. “You know I hate it when you call me that! Still, I guess you’re right. Sorry, it’s just being in this boring class gets me aggravated.” It didn’t help that the teacher was Miss Anderson, a.k.a. the sluttiest teacher in the entire school. I swear she spent half the class showing off to us instead of actually doing what she was supposed to, even the little that homeroom actually required. I wondered why she didn’t just find some place to strip at and leave us all alone.

“Okay,” she said, in her usual breathy voice, “let’s call role.” She looked at the list. “Ben Atcheson?”

“Here.”

“Rebecca Crowe?”

“Here.”

“FunBags Dickgobbler?”

I raised my hand. “Here,” I said. I looked over at Ryan and wondered why he was having such a hard time keeping himself from snickering.