The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“So then. This is what discipline has come to,” Mrs. Baxter said, scowling across the big oak desk. She tried to recapture the sense of furious shock and outrage that had propelled her into the headmaster’s office. Retelling her experience with the amorous students had unexpectedly refreshed the memory in her mind. She found herself getting very warm. She could feel her nipples pressing against her bra.

“Sex right here in the building! Students coupling like animals! Where does this fit in your new educational theories, Mrs. McLeod? Did this idea come up at one of your Student-Teacher Committee meetings? This situation must not be tolerated! Those students must be punished for such scandalous behaviour, and you, madam—are you listening to me?”

The headmaster’s eyes were unfocussed. Her head lolled about. She was making little thrusting motions with her hips, still largely hidden behind the desk. “Hmmmm? Lis-listening?” she said indifferently. “Oh! Oh yes! And I love it. It’s so good. I want to—to hear it. Please, don’t stop now!” She was breathing through her mouth.

Mrs. Baxter stared at the clearly aroused headmaster in wonder. Had her report about the two oversexed students turned her on so much? It was a hot story, she had to admit. The way Leanne looked so sexy in her super-short skirt and striped stockings, the confident, masculine way that Tommy guided her onto the sofa and worked his way into . . . .

With an effort, she forced her mind away. This was no time to be daydreaming! This was an outrage! Something had to be done! And you would think, with all the money she paid for this dress, they could have cut it a little shorter so it didn’t cover the best part of her legs! Wait, what did that have to do with it?

She came back to the present when the headmaster emitted a gasp. Jimmy’s hand had succeeded in reaching the top of Mrs. McLeod’s silk stockings. Now he was teasing over the little space at the top of her thighs, between the dark bands of her garters and her black bikini panties.

She had succeeded, while the Baxter bitch was rambling on about Tommy and Leanne, in hitching her skirt up over her bum, so it no longer impeded Jimmy’s questing fingers. She gasped when one finger found the wet spot on her crotch. She quivered as it slid along the length of her silk-covered lips. The presence of a Board inspector, and the impending disaster to her career, were becoming less and less important.

Thinking back, Mrs. McLeod clearly remembered when she had first decided to dress like a real woman and started wearing stockings instead of pantyhose to school. Her husband had thought it a little strange at first. She had always been so conventional. He thought it stranger when she started wearing the expensive silk ones, and then insisted on wearing them every day.

Eventually she had mentioned her husband’s concern to Jimmy, before a Committee meeting one day. He suggested she invite him over for supper. Her husband thought that was odd too. But he didn’t realize that Jimmy was an exceptional student.

On the evening of Jimmy’s visit, Mrs. McLeod had drunk too much wine with supper and tottered off to bed early. Jimmy and her husband had stayed up very late talking. Jimmy must have explained things to him because the next morning her husband made no objection at all when she slipped into a pair of red, fish-net hose and a matching garter belt. In fact it seemed to turn him on. It turned him on rather a lot.

Jimmy came back for supper once more a week later. This time all three of them stayed up late, drinking and talking and laughing, until her husband fell asleep, glass in hand, in his favourite stuffed chair. Mrs. McLeod herself was feeling no pain from the drinks. She and Jimmy had a delightful little fuck on the livingroom rug while her husband dozed.

After that night her husband started helping her choose her underwear each morning. He liked to help her slip on her stockings and shoes, while his wife sipped fresh orange juice he made for her and enjoyed the feeling of being pampered.

Dressing her seemed to get her husband awfully worked up. He was usually rock-hard by the time he was done. Sometimes she let him make her late for school. Lately, she preferred to make him wait until she came home at night and he had spent the day suffering. Sometimes he even called her from his law office just to tell her how hot she looked.

Not surprisingly, it was Jimmy who responded to Mrs. Baxter’s last complaint. Now he became very serious. “Mrs. Baxter,” he said, “I do not mean to minimize the seriousness of this incident, but I think there are two sides to the issue.”

He leaned forward in his chair, at an angle which incidentally gave him better access to Mrs. McLeod’s centre. “These are young people, full of emotions, and they sometimes make mistakes. We get carried away sometimes, I admit it. That’s why we need direction from adults, from teachers and parents. Those students are classmates of mine, I know them well. Perhaps they shouldn’t have been skipping classes, but they are very much in love.” If that were true, then Tommy had been very much in love with at least three other girls that week, but once again Jimmy’s sense of tact prevailed.

“They went some place to make out and they got carried away. An unfortunate scene. But what about you, Mrs. Baxter? You saw what they were doing, why didn’t you interrupt them? These young people needed morale guidance at that moment, and you just stood and watched. Why? Why didn’t you stop them from doing something they will both regret later? Why did you just stand there?” This time it was he who glared across the desk.

Mrs. Baxter was taken aback. “Well, I never—I mean, I couldn’t . . . there was no time to . . .”

Jimmy interrupted her. “It’s easy to come in here and complain afterward, but I can’t help thinking you had a chance to do the right thing and you blew it. Could it be that you actually enjoyed watching? That you were spying from the corridor while these two innocent lovers got it on for your amusement?”

The pretty blonde’s face was red. “No! No, of course not. It wasn’t like that at all!” She looked about, trying to collect her thoughts.

There was no use appealing to Mrs. McLeod for support. The headmaster was lolling in her chair, quite obviously lifting herself on her arms to thrust her hips behind the desk. She was gasping, “Hunh! Hunh! Hunh!” in time with the thrusts. Jimmy now had two fingers inside her sex. The freckled brunette was shamelessly goosing herself on his digits, very nearly oblivious to her surroundings.

“It wasn’t like that, not like you’re saying,” Mrs. Baxter defended herself. “The point is they shouldn’t have been there at all! And if proper discipline had been maintained from the outset they never would have come to such a compromising position! Letting the boys strut around like little kings, and the girls wearing their skirts so short.”

Not that there was anything wrong with a fashionably brief skirt, she amended privately. Not, that is, if it were worn tastefully, by a woman with dynamite legs. Like hers. Maybe with shiny nylons and a new pair of shoes.

She shook her head. Where did these thoughts keep coming from?

“Mrs. Baxter,” Jimmy said again, pausing to slip a third finger inside the panting headmaster, “I think we have answered your complaints well enough. Lovebright’s is going through some growing pains, to be sure, but the Academy is still in good shape. And as for Mrs. McLeod, well, we are all taken with her openness and ability to accept new ideas.” His arm pistoned steadily as he spoke.

“Oh fuck yessss!” the headmaster gasped. She lumped down in her chair. “Gimme some more! More i-ideas!”

Mrs. Baxter was confused. The headmaster was acting like a woman who was getting a dandy little finger-job. Above the desk she could see Jimmy’s arm moving back and forth, in and out. She knew she should be terrifically upset, outraged in fact. It seemed harder and harder to hold onto her sense of anger. She kept thinking about shoes.

Jimmy had more or less dismissed her, but she knew she had more to say. It had become so difficult to keep it all straight. Flighty, irrelevant thoughts kept slipping through her mind, flipping against her consciousness the way a really short skirt would flip against her thighs as she walked, reminding her with every step of how deliciously sexy she looked.

With an effort she shook off the wandering thoughts, again. She cried out, “Wait! There’s more! There are other things! I just can’t quite . . .”

Concentrating hard to keep her head clear (high heels were so sexy!), she tried to remember what else she had seen that had shocked her so. Those suspicious-looking plants growing in neat rows in the greenhouse; the new selection of trashy romance novels and fashion magazines in the library, and the foxy young librarian more concerned with combing her hair than the laughter and necking going on around her; the male teacher sitting behind his desk between classes, yakking and flirting with two pretty, provocatively dressed students who were sitting on the arms of his chair; the obedient, identically dressed young girls walking behind the seniors.

That was it!

With the memory Mrs. Baxter’s composure, and some of her anger, returned. Ignoring the steady moans from the sexed-out headmaster she glared at Jimmy. “Let’s see you explain this away, Mr. smart-ass scholarship student,” she challenged.

Classes changed again shortly after Mrs. Baxter returned to the main hall from her side trip to the stairwell. Once again she found herself engulfed in a swirl of boisterous, cheerful students, laughing and talking as they ambled to their next class or stopped at their lockers to comb their hair or change books. In the old days noise at this level would never have been tolerated. Once again the young housewife was amazed by the shameless uniforms the girls were wearing, the revealing tops, thigh-baring skirts, fancy nylons and sexy shoes. Once again she marvelled at the male students, each with his steady entourage of giggly girlfriends.

Several couples had seized the few minutes between classes for a quick session of making out, or more, in some darker corner. The senior male students, of which there could not have been more than a dozen, were particularly popular. As she watched, Mrs. Baxter found herself thinking there was something different about them. Then she saw it.

The senior boys were not carrying any books. In addition to whatever number of female companions he happened to have, each senior was accompanied by another young woman, juniors by the looks of them, that patiently followed him around as he made his way to the next class. These girls were all dressed in a foreshortened version of the school uniform. They all wore navy blue, garterless stockings that stopped just at the edge of the mini-length kilt, and simple black pams. The trailing girl carried the boy’s books, and sometimes his jacket or whatever else he handed to her. They didn’t seem to mind at all.

Mrs. Baxter drew in her breath in shock. Why, those girls were being used as servants! This was beyond belief! Appalled, yet fascinated, Mrs. Baxter followed one girl as she in turn followed her senior. She stayed with him faithfully, making way for any other girls that came over to talk to him. She waited patiently in the hall, without setting his books down, when he ducked into the washroom. While she waited, she chatted amiably with another girl, similarly burdened, who was waiting for a different senior. After a few minutes the boy came out, bent down to give his girl a quick peck on the lips, and headed off to his next class, the girl still following brightly.

It was all too much. Mrs. Baxter’s anger, which had been building steadily since she entered the school, finally boiled over. How could anyone tolerate what had happened to the school? She would not stand idly by while her beloved alma mater was reduced to a mocking nonsense of a prep school with no moral fibre or discipline whatsoever.

It was that new headmaster, McLeod, she was responsible for this. And by god she would pay. Mrs. Baxter swore she would have her head! Her fists clenched in anger and her face red, the slender blonde marched down to the main office to vent her rage on the headmaster.

Now she glared furiously at the complacent student sitting behind the headmaster’s desk. She was by now certain that he was responsible for Mrs. McLeod’s descent into panting delirium. She snarled at him: “Treating girls like servants, Mr. King. Like servants! I am speechless with anger. You and your hellish headmaster have destroyed the integrity of this once fine school and you will pay. Heads will roll, I promise you. Mrs. McLeod, I guarantee you will be fired before the week is out, and I will see that you, Mr. King, and all of your ilk are expelled!”

The student raised his free hand. “Mrs. Baxter, do try to stay calm. Those seniors you are referring to are prefects. They have been appointed to lend a hand to maintaining the rules and guiding the younger students through academia. This is a long-standing tradition at Lovebright’s.

“And, as the saying goes, those that are given the most have the most to give. We, the privileged members of society, must not forget we are bound to a lifetime of service to the community. The sub-prefects, not servants as you mistakenly called them, are learning the importance of service to a greater society by spending a little time in the service of others. They compete scholastically for the privilege, and in time many of them may become prefects themselves.”

Once again Jimmy was being tactful. The junior girls did indeed compete for the limited number of sub-prefect positions. Scholastic aptitude, however, had never been a strong suit with Lovebright students. It had proved simpler to substitute a bathing suit competition and a kissing contest and then let the senior boys each decide on their preferred proteges. It was rumoured that a number of the wealthier but less well endowed girls had undergone medical enhancements to improve their chances of making the list.

Mrs. Baxter became aware that she was staring. It was all too unbelievable. The boy spouted this nonsense as if it were actually true. For a long moment she was simply dumbstruck.

She could feel the press of her slim dress against her legs. For some reason that got her thinking that the nice thing about short-short skirts was that you could wear them with anything. With heels or flats, sandals, slip-ons or even a pair of slick, knee-high boots.

The sleek blonde fought off panic. “Mrs. McBoots!” she shouted at the headmaster, “I mean, Mrs. McLeod, do you, do you believe any of this?”

The overheated headmaster looked back at her through wild eyes half hidden behind the hair that had fallen across her face. “Oh fuck it, I’m going to come!” she cried. Pushing back from the desk, she threw one leg over the arm of her chair.

Mrs. Baxter rose to her feet, eyes round in astonishment. For the first time she could see clearly what was going on behind the desk. The headmaster’s legs were spread wide. Her tiny black thong was pushed aside. Jimmy’s fingers were slipping in an out of her pussy, quickly now, pausing occasionally to lightly tickle her clitoris as they went by.

The headmaster’s black lace garter straps stretched across her thighs. On her feet were shiny black sandals with towering platform heels. Spaghetti-strap laces wound across her foot up to a big bow knot at the top of the ankle. “Jimmmy!” she whined, thrashing about in the overstuffed chair, “Oh Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Jimmmmmmy!” Her voice rose higher and higher, finally fading out as her body arched and shook in orgasm.

Standing before the desk, watching the other woman climax in her chair, Mrs. Baxter clung to her senses. She stumbled backward toward the door. This was unnatural. She had to get out of there!

But Jimmy was speaking again.

“Look, Mrs. Baxter,” he said, withdrawing his hand from the sighing headmaster, “I know you mean well, but if I may so, I wonder if you are seeing the situation here with unbiased eyes.” He wiped his fingers with a tissue. Beside him Mrs. McLeod, still out of breath, began to slowly straighten her clothing. Her face bore a satisfied smile.

Jimmy said, “I wonder if you are really prepared for the sexual awareness of the young generation. In fact, I wonder if you are not just projecting your own sexual insecurities onto the school.”

“Now just a minute! How dare you—”

“It isn’t unusual for a woman of your age and position to be a little bit uptight. After all, any kind of sexual liberty threatens your own cosy little world, doesn’t it? A supportive husband, nice home, and no need at all to confront your own sexual inhibitions, however debilitating they might be.”

Mrs. Baxter lost her temper completely. “Sexual inhibitions! Why you impertinent little fucker! You haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about! I’ll show you who’s sexually inhibited you little twerp!” Reaching behind her she unfastened the button on her designer dress and pulled the zipper down. Staring fixedly at Jimmy, she pulled the dress down her arms and off her torso, then pushed it down her hips and onto the floor.

“How’s this for sexual inhibition, asshole,” she taunted, pulling off her slip. “I bet you haven’t seen a body like this since the last time you drooled over Playboy!”

She took a deliberate step toward him. She unfastened her bra and let it slide down her arms. She held out the brassiere in one hand and posed in the middle of the office, one leg thrust forward, wearing only knickers, pantyhose and heels. “You were saying something about sexual inhibitions?” she challenged.

The bra joined the pile on the floor. “What’s the matter, smart-ass,” the half-dressed housewife scoffed, “nothing to say? What’s happened to all your glib explanations, eh?” She cupped her small, upturned breasts in her hands. “I can show you sexual stuff you didn’t even know existed, you half-baked kid.”

For once Jimmy looked abashed. “Why, uhm, Mrs. Baxter, I’m, I’m amazed. I guess I misjudged you completely. I’m terribly sorry about what I said. I, I just had no idea.” He got to his feet, looking contrite. But here was a definite bulge in his school pants.

“Course you didn’t, you little fool. You’re just a kid. You need a real woman to show you what sex is all about.” She took another step toward him, deliberately swinging her hips. “Ready to lose some of your sexual inhibitions, youngster?” she cooed, playing with his tie.

“Well, I, I guess so. Where do we start?”

“With this,” the blonde husked. She pulled him toward her by his tie and locked his lips in a deep and lust-inspiring kiss. “Mmmmmmm, not bad for an amateur,” she whispered a little while later. “Keep it up!” They kissed again, longer, while Jimmy’s hands explored her tight, smooth curves.

After a few minutes of heavy necking Mrs. Baxter was breathing hard. “Wow, you learn fast, baby,” she whispered. “Let’s move on to the main event.”

He pinched her left nipple. “Great idea.”

“Oh! How do you want it?”

“Here, turn around. We need to get these off.” While the trim blonde giggled above him Jimmy knelt down and slowly peeled off her pantyhose, making generous contact with her skin as he went. She let him pull the material off her feet, then impulsively stepped back into her Italian-made shoes. “Now lean over the desk,” Jimmy instructed her.

“Lover!” Mrs. McLeod said with amusement in her voice, “You’re not going to take her here, from behind?”

“Why not? She’s up for it, aren’t you Mrs. Baxter?” He slapped her buttocks playfully.

The rich housewife wiggled her hips in return. “Course I’m up for it, kid. You think I’ve never had a simple doggie-fuck before?”

Jimmy unzipped his pants and let them fall. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Mrs. McLeod when his dick sprang free. He pressed forward toward the inviting pink folds below Mrs. Baxter’s round buttocks. She was well lubricated and he had little trouble slipping into her. They fell into a gentle, unhurried rhythm. The slender blonde leaned over the side of the desk and bucked back at Jimmy to drive his strokes deeper. Little groans of contentment fell from her mouth.

Jimmy spoke without breaking his stride, “Headmaster, I uh, think you had, ooof, better call, call Holly in with, uh, the re-report. I’m not sure how long, I can, l-last.”

Mrs. Baxter’s head was lowered over the desk. “Ooooh, you kids,” she teased. “No staying power.” But she was panting for breath.

The headmaster, who had been watching the proceedings with open fascination, calmed herself with a deep breath. She retrieved the telephone that Mrs. Baxter had been unknowingly gripping in one hand. She looked at her watch. “It’s three-thirty. I hope she’s not too drunk.”

She punched a single digit. “Holly? No, everything’s under control, Jimmy’s here and he’s taking care of everything.” She leaned against the desk and idly stroked Mrs. Baxter’s hair. “Did you finish that report we gave you? Good girl. Can you please bring in the good copy. Yes, right now. Thanks.”

“Oh lord you fuck good!” Mrs. Baxter cried. She raised herself on her hands and lowered her head, to look back to where Jimmy was doing his best. He leaned over her and reached around to toy with one breast. “So fucking good,” she wailed.

The door opened. A tall, long-haired brunette shuffled in. She had the slender good looks of a model, exaggerated by a tight-fitting, fuschia minidress. Her platform sandals were soft suede, also fuschia.

Holly’s large, expressive eyes went wide when her gaze landed on the couple beside the desk. “Lover!” she squealed when she recognized Jimmy. “You’re doin’ it right here . . . I mean, like, right on the desk. Oh god tha’s sexy.” She brushed back her hair. Bangles glittered on her wrist.

“Do you have the report, sweetie?” Mrs. McLeod asked.

“Wazzat?” She was still staring. “Oh, yeah, the report. Sure, here it is.” She handed the headmaster a slim sheaf of printed pages. The front page read “Mid-Term Report on Lovebright Academy”

“The date’s wrong,” Mrs. McLeod observed. “The girl wasn’t supposed to come till tomorrow.” She shrugged. “It’ll do.”

Without dismissing Holly, who was clearly getting turned on herself, Mrs. McLeod approached the blonde housewife getting plugged with Jimmy’s teenage cock by the side of her desk. “Mrs. Baxter, I thought we could save a little time. We took the liberty of preparing a report on your visit. It’s dated tomorrow, but that’s not a problem. It just needs your signature.” She slid the report beneath Mrs. Baxter’s perspiring face.

“Signature? What? Wha signatuuuuuuure?” Mrs. Baxter burbled, uncomprehending. “Ohmygod does he ever know how to use that thing!”

Mrs. Baxter sat down on the edge of the desk in front of her. “Perhaps you would like to read it first. “Here, I’ll turn the pages for you.” She flipped casually through the ten-page report. Mrs. Baxter’s sex-fogged mind caught the words “academic excellence”, “innovative and imaginative”, “maintaining high standards” and “extremely favourable impression”.

The headmaster flipped to the last page. “Just sign it here.” She pointed to the line above Mrs. Baxter’s typed name. Mrs. Baxter took the proffered pen and scrawled her name across the page, then tossed the pen away.

“Wheeee! I’m coming!” she shouted as her climax swept across her. Somewhere in the ensuing convulsions of pleasure she heard Jimmy cry out behind her. He was coming too, she realized joyously, shooting his load far up into her.

At length the couple separated. Mrs. Baxter collapsed against the desk while Jimmy caught his breath. “Well, we have the signature,” Mrs. McLeod said, showing him the report. “Just like you said we would. I’ll make sure this gets to the Board.”

She looked over at the naked, sweating housewife, who was still basking in the afterglow of her climax. “Do you want to give her another go round?”

Holly spoke up from across the room. “No! I wanna be next!” She had one hand up under the hem of her short dress.

Jimmy grinned. “I think I have enough for everybody this afternoon.”

The headmaster looked at him admiringly. Such a remarkable young man.

The Board of Governors had ample time to read Mrs. Baxter’s glowing report before the next regular meeting. The mostly male Board was very receptive. Mrs. Baxter herself led the discussion. She laughed and teased and flirted at the front of the room in her high-high heels and micro-miniskirt.