The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Catch #1

“A package was delivered for you, Ms Gretz. I put it on your desk.”

“Thank you, Matilda,” Jean Gretz replied automatically and didn’t think any more of it until she entered her office and saw the large flat box occupying the majority of the free space on her desk. It looked, if anything, like an old fashioned dress box, the type that stores didn’t use any more. Slightly curious, she unslung her handbag and put it down before moving around to open the box.

The full sized lid came off with a slight sucking of air to reveal a layer of pristine white paper. Jean put the lid to one side and pulled back the paper to reveal a coarse dark grey fabric and she was almost certain now that the package had been delivered to the wrong place. But that didn’t abate her curiosity and she pulled the garment out to discover it was a dress.

A gymslip to be exact. A school girl’s gymslip but in her size. It took Jean a moment to realise that it was exactly like the one she had worn at Hazelmere, the boarding school her parent’s had inflicted upon her as a child.

Was it some kind of sick joke? Or more rationally, perhaps the school had made a mistake sending a uniform out to a new pupil and had accidentally used her address from the old school roles. She knew they had her current address, they sent letters asking for donations often enough, as though she owed any loyalty to her old school.

Slightly annoyed now, she draped the dress over the back of her chair and had a quick rummage through the rest of the box’s contents, a white blouse, school tie, black stockings and surprisingly a pair of black high heeled pumps. They certainly weren’t part of the uniform.

Emptying the box there was no docket or invoice to be found, and scrutinising both sections of the box revealed no name or address, either sender or intended recipient. That didn’t make much sense unless it was hand delivered. Jean was just about to call Matilda in to her office when the phone rang.

“Hello, Moritz Insurance Brokers, Jean Gretz speaking,” she said automatically as she answered the telephone.

Tinny music replied and Jean felt anger wash over her at being put on hold by someone ringing in, then she noticed that the music seemed familiar somehow.

Matilda carefully cleared her desk, stationery into one drawer, pens and other small objects into another. Ms Gretz was very particular about this, she insisted that any desk not currently in use should be clear of any item other than computer or telephone. Patting down her dress she double checked everything was in order and then approached her boss’ door.

“Ms Gretz,” she said quietly, then slightly louder when she got no response. “I’m going now unless you need me for something else.” Silence, which Matilda took as an excuse to slip away, she really didn’t feel like doing any more overtime tonight. Had she been a bit slower to escape the office she would have seen the strangest sight of her young life.

The door to Jean Gretz’s office opened a crack and then all the way as a furtive figure checked that the coast was clear before making her escape. Matilda would have barely recognised her stern boss dressed as a school girl, a guilty and slightly scared school girl who didn’t think she should be where she was.

Jean slipped down the stairs, managing to get out of the building without anyone seeing her and then stood at the curbside for several moments in confusion. Should she go home? Then she remembered, she went to boarding school, her home was in another county and she wouldn’t be welcome back during term time. She had to get back to school, hope to get in without being spotted, hope that they hadn’t noticed she was missing. What could she have been thinking off, daring to play truant. She bet that Rachel Thomas was behind it.

Which way? Jean looked around wildly. Towards the clock tower, she seemed to remember a voice telling her to go that way. She didn’t take any notice of the people staring at her, Hazelmere was an exclusive school and that alone was enough to attract people’s attention. At the clock tower she turned right, another two blocks and then left again, it felt like she was following directions someone had just given to her but she couldn’t remember who.

Up ahead she could see the side gate to the school and she picked up her pace to a gentle run, as much as she could manage in her shoes without appearing unladylike. For a moment the sign above the school gate seemed to flicker, to become a gaudy neon sign saying “Kay’s Exotic Nite Club”. Jean blinked and it was back to what it should be. Barging through the door she found herself in the dining hall and was hit by a moment of panic when she saw another girl.

But it was her chum Leslie, she wouldn’t tell on her. And another chum, Chantelle, called her name. Jean turned, all ready to boast of her exploits in going out of bounds when she heard a line from her favourite song ...

Catch # 2

Graeme Pelson arrived home to find the lounge furniture had been moved. It didn’t surprise him, his wife Leslie had taken to rearranging the house on a nearly daily basis. There was no smell of dinner however and that was enough to warn him of what course their argument would take.

He had barely had time to put down his briefcase and loosen his tie before his wife emerged from the back garden clad in her baggy and stained track suit, her shoulder length hair pulled back in a rough knot. She was still in good shape he had to admit, although that was more to do with her mania for activity rather than any desire to look after her figure. She walked, she exercised at the gym, she swam, and she endlessly reorganised the house.

“Hi,” he started out, hoping to head off the inevitable, “How about we do a dinner theatre tonight?” He really didn’t feel like going out, he was shattered from a long day chasing foreign currency but at the same time he did feel guilty about his wife’s boredom.

“I want to do something different,” she fired back.

“A movie?” he suggested weakly.

“You know very well what I mean. I’m sick and tired of this village, it bored me when I was a kid here and I was glad to see the back of it when I left school. Its your job that dragged me back here. I want something more out of life.”

“If it really means that much to you, you could help out at the local charity.”

“I want something more fulfilling than hanging around with old biddies and noveau rich women doing their duty by the community. It was their sort that I left behind a decade ago.”

“Look, ... oh, someone at the door,” Graeme said with relief as he heard the doorbell. It wasn’t lost on his wife.

“Go! Make yourself a drink! Disappear into your study!” Leslie burst out in exasperation. “I’ll deal with it.”

Graeme picked up his briefcase again and retired directly to his study, the drink could wait. Leslie watched him go and spent the moments to compose herself. She didn’t want whoever was at the door to know of the argument. Suitably set she opened the door and was surprised to find no-one there, just a large flat cardboard box on the step. She glanced up and down the street, but other than a woman getting in to a car nearby she couldn’t see anyone who could have delivered the package.

“Strange,” she thought as she picked it up and took it inside. Not for one moment did she think that it might be a surprise present from her husband. He was far too conservative and unimaginative to try anything like that. A sad indication of how predictable he and her life were.

Opening it she was surprised to find it was a dress, in a familiar grey fabric. And then her cell phone rang ...

Graeme had just settled down to watch the news when he became aware of furtive activity in the room beyond the lounge. Expecting his wife to join him he instead heard the kitchen door open and close and the soft clop of hard shoes on their back path. More curious than anything else he got up and arrived in the kitchen just in time to see a female figure in a grey dress disappear over their low back wall into the service lane.

A school kid playing a prank? he wondered. Although she looked far to big to be from the nearby school. “Leslie?” he called out to see if his wife could shed any light on the matter. Silence greeted his call. “Leslie?” he repeated and still no answer. Puzzled he went through to their bedroom and instead of his wife he found the recently delivered package, open and empty, and his wife’s clothes on the floor.

Concerned now, and with only one lead he hurried out the back of the house, vaulted the garden wall and looked up and down the service lane. He was just in time to spot a blur of movement down the far end and he hurried after it, wondering what on earth his wife was up to, and even whether this was his wife that he was following.

Catch #3

Bill Tarlow snorted and shifted on the battered couch to get more comfortable. Something was keeping him awake, a pounding that wasn’t just his hang over. It took several moments for his beer-addled brain to put together the clues. Someone was knocking on the front door. For the vaguest of moments Bill considered getting up and doing something about it, then settled for “’Tellie—get the fuckin’ door!”

Chantelle meandered in from the kitchen, still clad in her tattered bathrobe and oversized slippers despite the lateness of the day. She didn’t even glance at Bill as she shuffled past, barely noticed the reek of his sweat over the other smells in their dilapidated house.

Yanking open the front door she maintained her bland expression as she took in the woman standing on her step. Courier uniform, dark glasses, her hair hidden away beneath an overlarge cap displaying some company logo. Chantelle really didn’t care, she was more interested in the large box the woman had at her side.

The delivery woman looked surprised for a moment, taken aback, but quickly recovered herself. “Chantelle Lomas?” she asked in a gruff voice, too deep to be natural.

“Yuh.” It had been a while since anyone had bothered with her full name.

“Package for you.” the woman said, picking up the box and holding it out to her.

“Gonna cost?” Chantelle already knew it wasn’t hers, but if she didn’t have to pay for it then she was quite happy to gain from the deliver’s mistake.

“No. Already paid in full,” the woman replied, her voice stilted by the unnatural way she was using it. “You’re not on the phone?”

“Got cut off.” Chantelle replied lethargically, accepting the box.

“There’s this too,” the woman added, pulling a small portable cassette player out of her pocket. “Its got a tape you have to listen to.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Chantelle said taking it and retreating indoors with her two prizes. She waited until the delivery woman had gone, apparently none the wiser, before taking the box through to the bedroom. She had no intention of sharing her bounty with her defacto.

She pushed play on the tape deck and music hummed out through the speaker, strangely familiar music she thought.

Bill didn’t even stir as the timid figure crept through the room, casting wary glances towards the slumbering man as she made her escape.

Catch #4

Norm picked up the box that had been left on the doorstep and turned it over to see if there was any label on it. Not finding one, he shrugged and took it inside. A moment later the telephone rang.

“Yo!” he said into the receiver. A woman’s voice came back.

“Is Tina van Hasen there?”

“Nope, sorry. She moved out about a week ago, didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

“Oh well, can’t have everything I suppose.” the woman’s voice came back down the line, quiet as though she was talking to herself more than anything.

“Pardon?” Norm prompted.

“Never mind, thanks.”

And the line went dead.

Catch Can#

Graeme Pelson hesitated at the door, his uncertainty mistaken by the doorman for an aversion to the admission price.

“Its defint’y worth it, mate,” the solidly built man encouraged, “Very pretty girls and the outfits are somethin’ else.”

“Um, yeah ...” Graeme fished out two notes to cover the cost, more than he had ever paid for going anywhere in his life, night club or otherwise. The doorman smiled knowingly and opened the door for him to go in.

Graeme’s first impression was that of an up-class bar, a series of small tables with only two chairs apiece filled the main floor, there was the bar along the length of one wall and the usual haze of cigarette smoke was muted by the small number of patrons.

“Table or bar, sir?” an attractive young woman asked as he stepped forward. Her outfit, a tight silk blouse that clung to her well proportioned figure and short black leather skirt, was certainly sexy but Graeme didn’t immediately click as to what it had to do with the door man’s comment. Then he saw one of the waitresses wending her way between tables with a tray of drinks.

She was wearing a grey gymslip, white blouse, beret, the full school girl get up and she was giggling like a naughty teenager as the patrons made lewd comments. Graeme’s face took on a look of horror as it struck him what he may have walked in to. The woman beside him read the expression, had probably already encountered it several times already, and was quick to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, everybody here is of legal age, especially the staff. This is purely a theme club.”

Overcoming his initial shock, Graeme could indeed see that the ‘school girl’ was a full grown woman, probably even in her thirties although the ponytail and mannerisms concealed her actual age. Knowing that the woman beside him was still waiting for an answer, and still with his own questions to resolve, Graeme opted for the table and was escorted to an unoccupied one.

“A hostess will be with you shortly,” the woman informed him before returning to her station just inside the door.

A moment later and another school girl skipped up to him, her uniform identical and somehow strangely familiar. She did a coy little pose in front of him, giving him time to determine that she was probably in her mid thirties although once again the illusion of youth was quite impressive, not so much in looks but in poise.

“Can I get you a drink, mister?” she chirped, holding the edges of her skirt as though bashful but in reality causing it to ride up just enough to give him a glimpse of her stocking tops.

“Um,” Graeme had to swallow to moisten his throat. “What do you suggest?”

“We’re not supposed to drink anything with alcohol in it,” his waitress replied perkily, then added with a hushed voice, “but I like shandy.” She seemed to derive some guilty pleasure from that admission.

“How about a beer?”

“Okay, mister. I’ll be right back.” And she skipped away again, the effort to flip up the back of her skirt to reveal her panties not lost on either of them.

Graeme settled back to bide his time. He still didn’t know what was going on but it seemed too much of a coincidence that he had followed someone dressed like a school girl to a place staffed by them. Craning his neck around, he froze in position as he suddenly spotted another ‘school girl’ who looked very much like his wife.

“Mind if I sit here?” a soft woman’s voice enquired, causing Graeme to jerk his gaze away from the waitress he took to be his wife. He found himself looking up at a conservatively dressed woman also of about his wife’s age. Conservative at least in the sense that she wasn’t dressed as a school girl or waitress. Her dark jacket with its squared shoulders still had a plunge to the neckline that showed off a well-rounded cleavage and her dress skirt was still well above the knee. For a moment Graeme wondered if she was staff or customer, and why she looked vaguely familiar.

“You’re Graeme aren’t you—Graeme Pelson?” she said in a casual tone as she sat down without awaiting acknowledgment.

Graeme was more than a little startled to be recognised and for a dreadful moment he thought that she might be from his work. He would have a hell of a job explaining what he had been doing in a kinky club. Then a few more gears turned over in his head. The school girl waitresses all of a similar age and somehow as familiar as this woman.

“Leslie’s school reunion, four years ago!” he burst out with a startled gasp. He remembered the school uniform now from some old photographs of his wife, and he was sure that all the waitresses had been there, in fact they had all been Leslie’s friends. And that group had included this woman as well.

The woman just nodded and smiled enigmatically.

“Then that’s why Leslie slipped out of the house tonight without telling me.” Graeme stopped and shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. Leslie wouldn’t demean herself like this even as a favour to an old friend. There has to be more to it than that.”

“There is,” the woman’s smile remained. “Leslie, Jean, Tina, Chantelle and I were all chums at Hazelmere. Pretty much inseparable, except when we were bitching about each other as girls are wont to do. And like most teenagers we were in to every fad going, for the few days that it kept our attention. One of those fads was hypnotism, some mesmerist was doing all the tv chat shows, can’t remember who now.”

Graeme didn’t say anything, it seemed more important to hear the whole story.

“So anyway I boasted that I could hypnotise anyone and they called me on it. We were in a silly mood, more so than usual and I think Tina had pinched her mother’s sherry so we were probably tipsy as well. Whatever, I managed to pull it off, actually hypnotise all four of them. I put them through all the usual stuff, clucking like chickens and impersonating famous people.”

The woman paused to let a new customer go past escorted by the girl from the door, then resumed.

“Finally, on a whim, I decided to do a post hypnotic suggestion. At the time there was no other reason than I was being pretentious, having heard the phrase bandied about. So I set all four of them up that they would fall under my control again if they ever heard a certain bit of music.”

She sat back in her chair and Graeme realised that they had both been leaning closer to one another over the table to facilitate her conspiritual tale. Slightly embarrassed, Graeme moved back too and took a quick swig of his beer.

“Anyway,” the woman continued from a more relaxed pose, “I didn’t think any more of it until I was setting up this club. I needed a hook, something to pull in the paying customers, which is basically middle aged men. Loud trendy music was out and I didn’t have enough money left over to pay for specialist waitresses. A costume theme occurred to me and then I remembered the hypnosis session. It was a long shot but ...” She gestured expansively across the room to where two ‘school girls’ were happily teasing a balding man in a pin striped suit.

“But it worked.” Graeme finished for her. He was stunned.

“Better than I could ever have hoped. Unlike waitresses shoved into a costume, they really believe that they are school girls again, being just a bit naughty. They’re not terribly good as waitresses, but nobody has complained about them getting their order wrong.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Graeme objected, “I mean they’re flashing their knickers, letting strange men ogle them, giggling at all the lewd comments. You must have drugged them or something to lower their inhibitions.”

The woman laughed. “I didn’t have to do a thing, other than regress them back to our school days. We were the biggest bunch of tarts around, not an uncommon trait amongst private school girls. Given half a chance and we were down the local clubs with men twice our age. A few of them even got lucky if we really fancied them more than their money.”

“But ...” Graeme spluttered, memories of dating his wife coming back to him. She hadn’t even let him kiss her until they were engaged.

The woman read his expression well. “I know. Once we were out of school we were the models of decorum, as if that could somehow make up for our past indiscretions. We were such total hypocrites.”

Graeme was silent for several minutes and the woman slowly sipped her drink, letting him sort through his thoughts. Finally he sat up, squaring his shoulders in a visible indication of his determination.

“I could still go to the police, you know. My wife, and the others, are doing this against their will.”

“True,” the woman replied calmly. “I don’t think I have to tell you how potentially embarrassing that could be. Instead let me offer a more attractive alternative.”

“Such as?”

“Did you consider that your wife might be a bit more fun this way?”

Graeme did consider it. He couldn’t kid himself that he felt repulsed, guilty for the briefest of moments, but not repulsed. In fact looking over to where his wife was adjusting her stockings in full view of everyone he liked the idea a lot.

“Leslie, could you come over here,” the woman called to Graeme’s wife as the smile spread across his face.

Leslie trotted over slightly more subdued, this felt very much like a summons to the headmistress’ office.

“Leslie,” the woman continued, “This man is having some trouble with his trousers. Could you show him in to a back room and help him out?” The woman’s voice was quite matter of fact but the cheeky grin that took hold on Leslie’s face told of how she had chosen to interpret her instructions.

“Of course miss, right away miss,” she responded with an indelicate curtsy. She then practically pulled Graeme to his feet and off towards the back of the club. Several of the other club patrons looked up in interest as they went past but Graeme’s attention was elsewhere.

After all, his wife had said she was bored with being just a house wife.