The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

October, 2015

Morgana sipped tea. She studied the woman beside her over the rim of her teacup. In many ways the other woman reminded Morgana of a younger version of herself.

Heidi Munsworth was young, entering only her second year as an instructor at the small, elite preparatory college where Morgana had recently become headmaster. She was also quite pretty: rich blonde hair, big hazel eyes and a show-girl figure. When she wasn’t actively smiling, which was rare enough, she perpetually looked like she was about to, as if being serious required sustained effort.

Morgana set her teacup in its saucer. “Thank you for dropping by,” she said, as calmly as possible. “There is an issue come to my attention that merits . . . well, some concern.”

The two teachers were sitting on the sofa along one wall of Morgana’s office. Morgana had deliberately left her desk, with its implied sense of power. This conversation required a certain delicacy.

Heidi set her own teacup on the coffee table. Lipstick marks redded the white porcelain. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that now?”

Morgana’s young prot‚g‚e was dressed in a silvery-white blouse and a close-fitting skirt that ended well above the knee. Smooth, tight hose glistened on her legs. She wore white pumps with platform soles and tall heels.

The fetching blonde had always been style-conscious. Again, Morgana was young enough to remember dressing to show off a little herself. That was before maturity and her senior position drove her to more sedate apparel. Morgana’s skirt was calf-length. It had a row of buttons up one side.

The headmaster spread her free hand. “You have been with us for, let’s see, since last autumn?

Heidi said, “That’s correct. This is my third term.” She crossed her knees. Her tight skirt slipped up one thigh. The overhead lights glinted on her hose.

“Long enough,” the headmaster went on, “to fully realize that a teacher must always maintain a certain distance from her students. To be seen not as a friend but as a role model, a coach, a paragon of maturity and sense. Even if she herself is young. Do you follow me?”

“I’m in the same room,” Heidi replied, smiling. “Though I’ve never thought of myself as a paragon.”

Morgana smiled in return. “Perhaps not,” she said. “My point is only that a teacher must be aware that her students look up to her; that they will take cues from her about how to behave, even if she doesn’t realize it. They may even begin to emulate her. Beginning, perhaps, with her fashion choices.” She looked down at Heidi’s shoes as she spoke.

Apparently, the younger teacher missed the implication. “Oh, do you like these?” she enthused. She flexed one foot back and forth. “Aren’t they absolutely darling! Simple yet classic. I love them! And the heels make me look taller, which is another plus.”

Morgana looked at her over her teacup. She had never heard Heidi become excited about a pair of shoes before. “Yes, they’re lovely,” she said cautiously. “Are they really, well, practical, for school?”

Heidi looked amused. “Oh go on, they look ace. What’s practicality got to do with it?”

Everything, of course, Morgana thought, but did not say. She was on her feet all day in heels like that? Lately, Heidi’s fashion sense had become all fashion and no sense.

A closer look at today’s fashion statement grounded Morgana’s concerns. Heidi’s white blouse was both tight and thin, making no secret of her pert breasts. It seemed to be missing several buttons. The matching miniskirt was far too brief, especially with those street-walker heels.

Heidi’s decision to start dressing like a teenager’s fantasy was all the more surprising because it was so unexpected. The young woman’s teaching qualifications were first rate; she had sailed through her challenging first year with aplomb; and she soon established herself as a disciplined, enlightened and respected teacher.

Now she was sitting in Morgana’s office, showing enough leg to turn heads on the street and growing excited about high heels. This peculiar behaviour was the reason Morgana had asked Heidi to her office. Or rather, one of several reasons. She was working up to the biggest one.

Morgana decided on a change of tack. “Look, is it possible that you have underestimated the degree to which, as a young, stylish teacher, the women in your classes may look to you for guidance on their own comportment? They’re young, they’re impressionable, they’re experimenting. They see their favourite teacher in heels every day so they decide to try it themselves. Maybe that would explain the recent problems with the dress code?”

Indeed, something odd had been happening at the traditionally conservative school. The college where Morgana was now headmaster was an elite academy. It allowed strong students to transition from high school into high level classes at prestigious universities, or even professional programs. It attracted serious, high-performing students of nineteen or twenty years age who generally shunned frivolity.

The school had a uniform: brown shirt and khaki trousers for the men, brown shirt and pleated, tan skirts for the women. Knee socks or brown hose were required. Teachers generally looked the other way when rebels wore running shoes or chunky lace-ups instead of the flat loafers prescribed. Recently though, more and more girls had ditched their pams altogether in favour of dress shoes with heels. Lots of heel. High heels were popping up all over, like daffodils in spring. The shift in footwear seemed to have broken out spontaneously, like a dance number in a Hollywood musical.

There were reprimands. Students got sent out to change. Yet the trend continued. Heels got higher. Shoes got narrower. Formerly sensible students showed up for class wearing dancing shoes in party-balloon colours and wild styles. Brooding goth girls shuffled into class wearing open-toed, plastic slides in hot pink and royal purple. Math nerds wearing spectacles tittered and wobbled from one class to the next, unfamiliar even with how to walk in heels, but suddenly eager to try. Morgana could hardly send them home fast enough.

The headmaster remembered the morning when she stepped out of her office to inspect the students as they arrived for the day. The clip and clatter of heels was everywhere. The girls chattered to themselves as they prepared for their morning classes. Their bright fashion footwear clashed with the sedate brown uniform. Nobody seemed to care. They were more concerned with re-learning how to walk.

“Morning Morgana!” a cheerful voice called. Morgana looked up to see Heidi Munsworth strolling toward her, smiling as always. She had a purse over one arm and a big satchel full of assignments over the other. She was wearing a navy blue blouse and a matching skirt, rather short, and tight-fitting around her hips. On her feet was a pair of mirror-black pumps with endless stiletto heels.

“Heidi, what is with those shoes!” Morgana blurted. The Munsworth leg show had caught her off guard.

Heidi’s smile never dimmed. “They were on sale at Carlene’s.” The shoes were apparently from some designer label. “Aren’t they ace?” Heidi gushed. It wasn’t a question. Morgana watched her toe-walk down the hall, turning the head of every male student she passed. How did the lads in her classes learn anything?

As the students clattered away to their morning classes, Morgana returned to her office. She turned on the public address system from her desk. She issued an edict, in her sternest voice: “Further violations of the dress code will not be tolerated!”

Some women complied. Morgana at least managed to re-establish a two-inch limit. Anything lower than that was simply unenforceable. Morgana did notice that more and more girls were slipping outlandish heels back on the moment they walked out the door.

Heidi was still sitting with her knees crossed, displaying her own dramatic heels, and the curvaceous legs above them. Was it possible, Morgana wondered, that this one woman was the source of the whole outbreak, a kind of Patient Zero in an epidemic of Stiletto Madness? And if so, why was she herself suddenly so enamoured of fashion footwear?

Dressing to the nines every now and again, for whatever reason, was understandable. But every day? Heidi had started wearing miniskirts and high-highs to the basketball games. Bizarrely, so had the cheerleaders.

“It was the squad’s idea,” the coach explained, perplexed. “I couldn’t talk them out of it. We had to re-learn all the routines. The girls keep falling over. We don’t even try to make pyramids any more.”

“But Myra, you’re the coach! Why didn’t you simply tell the girls that the whole idea was preposterous and have none of it?”

“Well, they were very persistent. They kept insisting it was in Chapter 4.” Beneath her tracksuit, Myra was wearing white trainers with platform soles that rose higher in the back.

There was something deeper going on here, Morgana decided. Her suddenly fashion-conscious students mincing about on their toes all day seemed less rebellious than giddy and confused. They couldn’t even explain why they were doing it. A few days later Morgana suffered an odd conversation with a pretty senior who had been called down to her office—for about the fourth time—for wearing outrageous heels to class.

Morgana’s frown reflected frustration as much as rebuke. “Kaylee, haven’t we been over this? You know you can’t dress like this to school. We have a uniform, remember?” Kaylee was wearing a pair of black, cage-style sandals with tripping-hazard heels. The many straps were inlaid with studs and rhinestones. Kaylee came from a wealthy family.

She looked at the floor. “I, I know,” she mumbled. She brushed back long hair, nervous. “It’s just that, like, I saw these shoes in a shop window and . . . they looked so cool and . . . heels are pretty . . . right? That’s Chapter 4. Heels look good, and like, flats are so boring, and I know like I’m supposed to wear the uniform but Chapter 4 and real women always wear heels and so I thought, like, you know . . .”

“What’s that?” Morgana asked. It was hard to make sense of the girl’s ramble. “What was that about Chapter 4? Chapter 4 of what?”

Kaylee looked up at her. “What? I . . . I don’t know.” She seemed puzzled too.

Morgana’s frowned deepened. “This is your last chance to avoid expulsion. Go out to your locker, remove those ridiculous shoes and put on your regulation flats.”

“I—I can’t.” Panic simmered in her voice.

“Why not?”

“I threw them all away.”

Back in Morgana’s office, Heidi was still twinkling. “Morgana, really,” she said. “While I would love to believe that my students think so highly of my sense of style, it hardly seems likely. I think it’s more Chapter 5. As you said, they’re experimenting, exploring how to be attractive, learning for themselves how woman should dress and behave. It’s all perfectly normal.”

It hardly seemed normal at all to Morgana. Everyone becoming enamoured of heels at the same time? She was distracted by something else. “What was that . . . about a chapter?” Hadn’t she heard that reference before?

Heidi waved it off. “It’s nothing. Morgana, are you seriously concerned about a few young women—all of them adults, after all—nudging the dress code with new shoes? Maybe they’re at the age where they want to look pretty.”

Morgana said: “I don’t think a yearning to look pretty quite covers it.” It was more like a mass religious conversion. “And you know shoes are not the only problem.”

Indeed, it turned out that the high-heels episode was merely the first foray in an all-out assault on the dress code. About the time Morgana finally established some reasonable limits on footwear, or at least got the students out of party-girl platforms, or failing that, at least forbade shoes with sparkles and glitter, the girls decided to lift their hemlines instead. It was as if the school had tamped down some strange gusher of immodest behaviour only to have it burst out somewhere else.

The problem began with a few proud young women rolling up their uniform skirts a few inches, perhaps to see if they could get away with it. They couldn’t of course; the school rules were not in abeyance. Once again a stream of prodigal students found themselves called down to Morgana’s office. They hung their heads as she lectured them.

Yet this time reprimands were ineffective. The same students returned a day or two later with their skirts even shorter. Their male classmates noticed. Their female classmates noticed the guys noticing, and raised their skirts too.

At about the same time, traditional knee socks began to be supplanted by shiny, over-knee socks that ended at mid-thigh, which was frequently now an inch or two below the edge of the skirt. The gap of bare leg between sock and skirt made the wearer look accessible and vulnerable. Those women who preferred hose began replacing staid brown with black lace, ornate patterns, or flower-petal colours that drew attention to their legs.

“Stacey, what are you doing?” the headmaster demanded of one senior, whose legs below her insufficient skirt were coated in sunset orange pantyhose. “You’re one of our top students, you know better than this!”

Stacey was plump and wore glasses. She looked down at her legs like she hadn’t really noticed them before. Her black loafers had short heels in the back. “Uhm, it’s a nice colour,” she mumbled, “and . . . uhm . . . Chapter 5?” She raised the chemistry textbook in her right hand, as if that might explain something.

“Get back to class,” Morgana said. “And show some common sense from now on.”

The next day Stacey came to school in a shorter skirt and shiny white stockings with lines of red hearts up the sides. Morgana sent her home. In fact, Morgana sent so many students home to change she should have hired a bus.

When she finally managed to subdue mini-mania, which had by then spread to the theatre group, the chess club and the pre-med society, it was only by conceding several inches of leg above the knee as meeting “acceptable” standards. “You are all still expected to wear the school uniform,” she explained over the school public address system one morning. “And further violations will not be tolerated.”

Morgana was fully aware that in the war on the dress code, she was losing ground. She rationalized it as a update of the traditional uniform to suit modern sensibilities. Perhaps the students were rebelling against fashions they felt were antiquated and confining. Or that didn’t include enough pink. She was also aware that shortened skirts and heightened heels (the women were aware of the two-inch rule, but tended to add another, for insurance) proved a major distraction in the classroom. The guys were always gawking, and bumping into things.

A few days later came the first reports of women students arriving at school bra-less.

Morgana had had enough. Instead of sending yet more students away to put on their underwear (which they were inclined to “forget” after gym class anyway), she took to the airwaves again. “The college uniform was established for good reasons, it is integral to our school, and it will be respected!” she declared.

That line was the opening salvo in a fifteen minute lecture. Morgana laid down the law. She threatened and she thundered. She declared that in future any student abusing the dress code would be expelled forthwith, even those on the honour roll. She almost added a bark at the guys to stop hanging around in the corridor where the girls had to bend over the drinking fountain.

Morgana wondered sometimes if she was being unreasonable. “Do you think perhaps I’m being unreasonable?” she asked in the teachers’ lounge one day. “The whole student body suddenly seems so determined to flout the dress code. The women anyway.” Now that she thought about it, the male students had pretty much carried on as usual.

“Maybe they’re confused,” offered Rita, a young geography teacher. “Maybe the rebellious ones need better role models, adult women who can show them that femininity and maturity can live together. They’re at the age where looking sexy is their top priority, Chapter 6, but that doesn’t have to mean vampish.”

Morgana frowned. “What was that about a chapter . . . ?”

“See these shoes?” Rita interrupted. She pointed at her feet. She was wearing mirror-black pumps with stacked heels. “They’re standard office attire. They’re feminine, but serious too. I’m trying to show the young ones that they don’t have to go overboard to be womanly.”

None of that seemed entirely convincing to Morgana. In what standard office did women strut about in heels like that? Yet there were murmurs of agreement around the room. For the first time Morgana noticed that all the women were wearing skirts and dress shoes. All the shoes had high heels. That number included Myra, the girls’ athletic coach, who was wearing classy black slings below spandex exercise tights. Morgana never saw her in track suits anymore. “I slip on my trainers for gym class,” the coach explained.

Over the next few days Morgana reflected on Rita’s position. Did the young women in the college need role models who could show them how to dress attractively, yet sensibly? It was not easy to parse. She was repeatedly distracted by references to chapters. Hadn’t someone said something about Chapter 5? Or Chapter 6? What source were they referencing?

Once, walking down the corridor toward her office, she got so lost in thought that she forgot to scowl at the flagrant disregard for the dress code going on all around her. “Love your new shoes!” she heard a female voice say. “Those are like totally Chapter 6!”

Eventually Morgana decided to join the other teachers in their plan to lead by example. She decided it couldn’t hurt to dress a little more formally. Anyway it was best to present a united front. The next morning she set aside her usual trousers and pantsuits and wore a skirt to work. She matched the skirt with hose and dress heels.

The more traditional look felt surprisingly natural. The heels worked their magic of emphasizing the curve of her legs while shaping her torso and encouraging tall posture. The result did feel comfortably feminine, despite the small loss of speed and practicality.

Morgana quickly became accustomed to wearing skirt and heels to work every day. It was important to present a consistent image. Over the next while she refreshed her wardrobe with more colour. Sometimes she kept her heels on after work, if she were going out again for errands or groceries. She bumped into students in the shops all the time. After a while she started wearing heels at home too.

Morgana kept her heels reasonable though. Her fanciest shoes, the new ones she wore outside the college grounds, were less showy than what the students were wearing when they thought they could get away with it. She certainly avoided the wobbly stilettos that many of the other teachers were experimenting with. Especially Heidi Munsworth.

Every day it seemed Heidi’s shoes grew brighter and her heels taller, even as her skirts grew shorter. Was this providing an example of mature womanliness for the students to emulate? Heidi’s appearance almost seemed to encourage further outrages to the dress code. Morgana decided she needed to have a talk with Heidi.

Events in the school deflected her decision. Before Morgana could find time to have the younger teacher into her office for a chat, she was distracted by yet another issue of student misconduct. This time the problem was “public displays of affection”.

The outbreak was hardly surprising, given the increasingly provocative dress and flirtatious behaviour of the female students. Classes were an endless leg show. Young women had grown more interested in showing off than learning anything, and more adept at it. They basked in male attention like a sleeping cat basks in sunlight. They winked and they teased and they flirted, with just about any fellow within range. Their romantic attitude encouraged amorous advances.

Those advances, when they came, were seldom resisted. Giggles and whispers in the lecture halls quickly advanced to couples making out everywhere: in unused classrooms; behind the stage in the theatre; in the cafeteria; on the tennis courts; and eventually pretty much anywhere offering a shade of privacy. Inevitably, as kisses grew longer and hands wandered, the make-out sessions began to blossom into impromptu sexual encounters.

Young men began wandering into class very late, dishevelled, and grinning dumbly. Their partners arrived even later. They had to stop off in the washroom to fix their hair and make-up. And sometimes change into a different pair of heels.

Groping couples getting carried away became a growing part of Morgana’s discipline problem. Once, walking back to her office from the library, Morgana had interrupted no fewer than three pairs of students in each other’s arms. Though Morgana had visited the Head Librarian to discuss budget issues, they spent as much time discussing whether “practical shoes” automatically precluded those with ankle straps. She decided to investigate some curious noises arising from a back table.

“Lance was helping me with calculus!” declared the pretty brunette there, hopping out of her partner’s lap. A maths text and notebooks lay open on the table in front of them. The woman was flushed. Evidently her long legs, displayed in white, mid-thigh stockings between a skirt and shoes that both challenged the two-inch limit, had diverted her partner to curves of a different kind. Lance looked almost dazed.

Morgana was almost back to her office, wondering seriously if she needed to call an emergency meeting of the trustees, when she heard muffled breathing nearby. Yet another tryst? She traced the sound to a storage room. It turned out to be someone panting. A plump, brown-haired student, a junior by the look of her, was sitting in an old chair among the stacks of maps and books. She was alone. Yet still Morgana was shocked.

The student was holding up a red-soled, high-fashion shoe (where did she get that?) in her left hand. She was staring at it adoringly, as if it were a sacred icon from some religion that worshipped sex appeal. Her right hand was under the waistband of her foreshortened uniform skirt. It was slowly stroking up and down. Her eyes were lidded and blank. She didn’t even notice the headmaster standing at the half-open door of the room. While Morgana watched, the girl began to caress the gaudy shoe against her cheek, then lovingly kiss the silver heel. Her right hand moved faster.

Morgana stumbled backward, astonished. She retreated to her office. There was definitely something going on here. Ordinary students with normal personalities did not develop sexual fetishes for designer footwear. Nor, like the shoe-girl’s coupling classmates, did they become so hormonal and boy-crazy that making-out became a curricular activity.

The staff idea to lead by sartorial example was clearly not working. Morgana herself was wearing a brown tailored jacket over a gold blouse. Her brown skirt was long but narrow. The row of buttons up one side was about half undone. Morgana had become fond of skirts with slits and gores that allowed her to show a little more leg without tarting herself out. Myra, the sports coach, had taken to alternating her spandex exercise kits with tiny, pleated tennis skirts that flashed white knickers any time she did anything athletic—like walking down the hallway. Her sports shoes had integral wedge heels.

Morgana unfastened one more button on her skirt. She considered her own shoes. She had set a small mirror against the side of her desk so she could look at her shoes from both sides at once. These ones were peep-toe slings in a sort of gold-bronze colour (to match her suit) and with medium heels in the back. Three inches or so.

She spent a long time admiring her feet. She assured herself that these narrow heels were not unreasonable for the school headmaster to wear. Her mind kept drifting back to the references to chapters that people kept mentioning. What book where they referring to? She almost felt like she should know. She liked her new shoes. Solidly Chapter 6.

Satisfied that her own footwear was in order, Morgana returned to the more pressing problem of her female students’ sudden pre-occupation with sex and sexiness. She wondered more than once how the staff were handling all this strange behaviour. The seductive personas of the women extended to more than just their male counterparts.

“They’re shameless!” exclaimed Trevor, a handsome chemistry teacher, in the teachers’ lounge one day. “They’re constantly looking for attention in class: crossing their knees, spreading their legs, giving me the eyes. At first I thought it was some stupid contest, see who can distract teacher, that sort of thing. But even the top students are doing it! I’m fairly sure a couple of the lasses in Advanced Inorganic weren’t even wearing . . . .” He straightened his tie, looking very uncomfortable. “What’s going on? I know it’s Chapter 6, but so help me, I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

Morgana shared his perplexity. Still, she knew Trevor was not so foolish as to respond to the girls’ flirtations, no matter how often the mini-skirted lovelies in his classes batted their eyelashes at him. She had similar faith in the rest of her experienced staff. At least she thought she did. Reports she had received most recently—circumstantial, highly unlikely, but still—were leading her to question that faith in her staff. The atmosphere in the school was becoming so heavy with sexual desire that anything was possible.

She decided it was high time to have a talk with Heidi Munsworth.