The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Scottish countryside zoomed past the couch window; also zooming past the car window was a variety of cars, tractors and trucks, which meant that Hector Arbarte couldn’t really even look at the zooming countryside anyway. He sighed, and fidgeted where he sat, attempting to get himself into a more conformable position. If there was one thing Hector didn’t like, it was staying still. To call it a couch was slightly inaccurate, because most couches didn’t have bars on the window. Around him, other people his own age sat listlessly in their seats too tried after three hours of driving to make trouble.

On the radio, the Minister of Education was been interviewed on the one last remaining BBC Radio Channel, idiotically called the “Beebio” as there wasn’t any point in numbers when there was only one. He didn’t know if it was the long car journey or the Minister of Education that was making him feel sick. “Minister, your governments support for the St. Lycurgus’ National Service School has been somewhat controversial despite the academic success of students there. The Shadow Minister for Education has compared St. Lycurgus’ to a Hitler Youth Camp, and attacked the idea of National Service Schools as ‘modern Workhouses for the modern lower classes’. How do you react to this criticism?”

Oh I’m sure he’ll change his mind, Hector thought darkly, just like all the politicians do when they realise there’s promoting bullshit. Oozing with the confidence of the Privately educated career politician, the Minster answered.

“Absolutely ridiculous Kris. Look, we all know that St. Lycurgus’ is strict, and we all know National Service Schools are a last resort. Under past governments, Labour and Coalition alike, we have let our young people get out of control. Every year we’ve had students rioting, occupations, teacher strikes, mass walk outs, class rooms in chaos and anarchy on the streets. We’ve even seen students bombing there own classrooms. Ever since 2011, we’ve been seeing street violence occurring again and again whenever the Police are overextended. Young people were learning nothing from their time in Higher Education and ended up unemployed almost immediately after leaving. We’ve gone from being one of the world’s best-

educated countries to the worst. Why is this? Is it just to do with Cuts? (Which are necessary). No, it’s because we in this country have lost the ability to discipline the younger generations. Frankly, it tells us everything we need to know about the Green Party had they should do nothing but complain when finally we have a school that’s working.”

“But you surely you recognise that the decision to send student demonstrators to what is essentially a mandatory reeducation center alone with common criminals would attract criticism? You know the National Union of Students are calling them political prisoners?”

Hector groaned. The last thing he’d been expecting when he’d agreed to go on a March Against the NATO Bombing of Greece was to be sent off to some Fascistic government project with a bunch of muggers and truants. He’d expected arrest and Police Brutality, of course, but not this! He looked over sadly at his fellow martyrs. He only knew a few of them well anyway. Most of the other Brighton students had got away and were probably offering petitions to have him freed outside the college gate, or more likely smoking pot and completely forgetting him. Most of the students here were from London, or not students are all. Holly was here, but they’d put here at the other end. She was sleeping, and he was sure no one would be forgetting her back home.

“Utter nonsense! You call them demonstrators, but they were all arrested and charged for crimes they committed during the riots, not for demonstrating. To call them political prisoners is just rubbish. They need to be rehabilitated just as much as anyone else who breaks the law does. And judging from the results so far, it’s working. St. Lycurgus’ is an experiment, of course. We wouldn’t have dreamed of introducing something as radical as National Service Education unless we knew it worked. However, I believe I can say with confidence that it’s now a very real possibility that in future we will see more National Service Schools all over the country.”

“Can we turn it off now?” Hector shouted at the top of his lungs, unnecessarily. It was the least he could do to make a fuss. He was bored and a victim of state oppression to boot. “Shut your mouth!” replied the driver “I already told you. You don’t say nuthin to me!”

“WHY?” bellowed Hector, hoping his heroics would inspire his lethargic fellows. He looked around to see if Holly was looking, and saw her rub her eyes and yawn. “You don’t know nuthin mate” said the driver “You lot don’t scare me. I’ve had real criminals in the back threatening to do all sorts of stuff you posh students don’t nuthin ‘bout, and even they act good as gold once them at St. Lycurgies get to ‘em. ‘Oh thank you driver’ they say to me when I see ‘em again ‘we don’t want to bother you driver. Please accept our apologies, driver.’ So, why don’t you just shut it!”

“-and that’s why Labour Parties and the Conservative Parties partnership in government is as strong as ever and any rumours of the Coalition splitting up over Income Tax is utter nonsense” continued the Minister for Education, oblivious to the one-boy unrest Hector had been stirring up. If only I was more like Che Guevara, thought Hector glumly, he never have any any trouble stirring up unrest.

“Forget it Hector” said Holly from the other end of the couch, weariness in her voice “He isn’t worth the effort.” Oh Holly, always so bloody nice. She could make anything into a compliment, even if she was telling you to shut up. He would be sitting next to her, but he was strapped down in his seat and until the Privately employed Guards sitting in the front with the driver unlocked him he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yeah” said a London biology student who’d stolen a TV during the riot as if it were possible to hide that kind of thing from the police “Trying to get some sleep.".

“Hump!” said Hector, scowling. He stopped he harassment of the driver, and turned back to the countryside/mass of moving metal outside. This was all unbelievable. He was actually been sent to some freakish super-strict school where everybody had to wear uniforms and march around in line just for protesting. It was unfair, because his brother and sister had never been sent anywhere when they rioted back in the 00’s. It was scary, because no one really knew what St. Lycurgus was really like. Sure, there were promotional videos of it on the schools website and Politicians would visit it on the News. But all that showed was students beaming at the camera and looking like clones in their uniforms and identical haircuts. Apart from that, and that was freaky enough for any teenager who loved their witty T-

Shirts and odd hair styles, nobody really knew anything about it. It had a policy of all-year round and compulsory broading, and the Press were refused access to students without supervision from teachers or too film classes. No one knew anything much about the ‘methods’ employed to subdue the unruly students imprisoned there, apart from the occasional Pro-government article in the paper waffling on about ‘cutting edge methods informed by the latest developments in behavioural psychology’ and ‘a ethic of fairness and discipline.’ As it was for ‘criminals’ (only for the moment, mind, ‘National Service’ implied that the model was designed to be universally instituted) no one was allowed to leave until they finished their “term”. Even though it was called a ‘School’, all students inside around the age of Six-Form College and University Students, and someone had told Hector that you weren’t allowed out of National Service Education until you were twenty two. Hector was eighteen, and that meant he would be in there for four years. The thought was utterly terrifying. It wasn’t for nothing distraught parents were calling it a prison.

There was something weird about the uniforms, he thought as a thousand high-speed faces glanced up with unreadable expressions at him. They weren’t like the silly things that most schools in England had made kids in Primary School; there was something very stylised and even suggestive about them. The female ones looked as if they were from a Japanese Fan-Service Manga, and the male ones just looked fascist. They clung to the body tightly, and seemed to somehow define the person wearing them. The students moved oddly in them, and there expressions seemed to have a kind of semi-

aroused glaze to them. The female ones seemed oddly revealing for a supposedly strict school, and the male ones seemed to project aggression. That and the matching hairstyles he’d seen on the videos made the students of St. Lycurgus’ look as if they were half-citizens of a dystopian dictatorship, half-fashion models preening themselves on the catwalk.

Soon, the couch turned away from the busy motorway into a seemingly empty road leading up into the hills. Somewhere around the top of the second hill, the Couch entered a thick forest. The sky partially vanished behind the dark green roof of countless tree branches, and Hector felt as if this would be the last time he would ever see the sun as free individual. He didn’t know why he felt like that, but in his gut he was afraid of what four years of National Service Education would do to him. Four years was a long time. He’d changed from a child into who he was now in four years. What would he be like after four years of uniforms, identical haircuts and ‘cutting edge behavioral psychology’ change him into? Four years without seeing his family, sleeping in his own room and reading his own books? What would happen to Holly? Bright, clever Holly who planned all the meetings and organised the Marches. Holly who’d never been scared of any authority. What would happen to her after four years?

If anything, that boy drastically underestimated what was about to happen to him when he looked out and saw the sun disappear behind the leaves.

St. Lycurgus’ National Service School for Young Adults was huge. Holly reckoned that a least a few million pounds worth of funding had been used to just build the perimeter defences. Defences wasn’t really the word for them, as they weren’t there to protect the inhabitants within from the outside but to keep the inhabitants from ever seeing the outside. She glanced around quickly, taking in all the details just like she did when she was studying. She might not have read as much books and remembered as much musty leftist quotations as Hector, but she was observant and that gave her an edge over the book worm where it mattered. He was probably moping and feeling sorry for himself. First, she noticed the Guards. Same uniform as the ones sitting up front, must be from the same company. There military bearing told her they weren’t mere ‘security’ guards either. That means the Arms Industries probably involved here, and mercenaries aren’t easy to come by in Europe even after the collapse. That means Americans. She smiled, American Corporations trying to buy up and control Britain’s education system. Tell that to the Press and the Government would be going down. The walls were thick and covered in barbed wire. Clique, but quite a barrier to escaping. This told her that whatever went on in here it was one 1) terrible enough that students needed barb wire to keep them inside 2) not for the general public to see. This was even worse than American Corporations, most of whom only wanted to stick McDonalds Logos on School Computers anyway. It was also brilliant propaganda against the governments policy. She knew that this meant A) she would have to escape or B) she would have to wait it out and make sure by the time four years was up she still had the gumption to expose the goings on here or C) get a message to someone on the outside, who would duly send copies of it to the Guardian, BBC, Daily Mail and Green Party HQ. That or wait until something else exposed it. She settled on C.

The possibility that she would be the slightest bit changed after four years did cross her mind, but was so surrounded by so many other far more interesting thoughts she did not dwell on it far as long as she should have. Most of them focused on how the campaign for her own realise would shape up. She was President of a Student Union cell and had a seat in the Youth Parliament (not that anyone cared about that) and head of countless other campaigns and groups, after all. She wasn’t some vandalist or shop lifter sent off to learn citizenship from the wonder wizards of National Service Education, she was a political prisoner and only seventeen years old. She had over a two thousand Friends on Facebook. She was headline material.

The general colour scheme was white. Shinning, clinical white you’d expect in a Hospital. As the gates rumbled open to let the couch, Holly noted the number and shape of the buildings. Almost all of them had the same glaring white apart from a charming Mansion sitting in the center of the complex. There was about ten different buildings, all the seize of football stadiums and linked together by kris-crossing glass walk ways. In the shadow of the central Mansion, a regimented group of female students marched about perfectly in step as a older girl in a elaborate uniform snapped orders at them.

Too young to be a teacher, the girl seemed to be some kind of head-girl or class rep. Holly raised her eyes at her appearance. While the other girls were dressed in short tartan skirts that bounced up and down as they moved, crisp white shirts that closely clung to the shape of their bodies and smart black ties hanging down like discarded dog leads, the head-girl was dressed in what appeared to be a parody of a military uniform. None of them seemed to be wearing bras underneath. While the other girls wore only blue and white, she was dressed all in black and with gold buttons, and a ornamental braided cord hanging from her military like shoulder pads. Holly could hardly believe her eyes when she saw that the head girls waist was exposed and her collar was cut down almost to her cleavage, and that she wore nothing around her thighs but a tightly hugging black mini-skirt bound unnecessarily tight by a black belt. A black armband on her shoulder bore a symbol Holly couldn’t make out.

“Cor, look at the tits on them!” remarked the oaf seated next to her. She didn’t know him, and was glad she didn’t. But she did concede (inwardly) that the girls parading about like North Koreans were all rather attractive, in a huge breasts large ass little waist kind of way, which she knew from experience was the furthest extent of most boys’ idea of feminine beauty. However, even she had to recognise the head-girl had a strange kind of magnificence to her, she seemed to project authority and her body seemed so naturally shaped and perfect even Holly could see the attraction of her. All this while the couch had been drawing closer to the field where this parade of tits and ass was taking place. The Head-Girl snapped a few more orders, and the girls wheeled about to face the approaching couch and stop stock still with bright smiles covering their faces, beaming their welcome to the newcomers. Holly shook her head in disbelief as the Guards began to unlock the bonds that held the new students of St. Lycurgus’ National Service School for Young Adults into their seats.

She hadn’t been expected this.