The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

KAIDEN WAGNER

I chuckle at the laptop screen.

Vice Principle Rivera chides me from the front of the room. “Mr. Wagner, if you’re not going to take detention seriously, you’re going to have a lot more of it in your future.”

I look around at some of the other people in here with me who appear to be just staring at the walls, mindlessly — Brianna Rogers, Faith Phillips, Cora Jackson, Damian Long — before I drone out a compulsory, “Yes, Ms. Rivera.”

I then return my attentions to the task at hand — the corruption of Clara Neal.

To understand just how much of a goody-goody Clara is, you should know that she’s never been to Abstinence Club. Not because she doesn’t believe in abstinence — that virgin most certainly does — but rather that she feels like even talking about “it” is unclean. It being, you know, “sex.” I’d love to blame it on her parents, but they seem pretty cool from afar, not like some restrictive preacher types who forbid her from dancing and modern technology or the like. No, Clara seems to have come to this holier than thou state of mind wholly on her own. The real crime of it all is that Clara is a looker. A real natural beauty. Though she doesn’t spend time on her hair or wear any makeup, her god-given looks make her a real head turner. She has nearly white blonde hair, lovely (though judging) green eyes, and her womanly curves are accentuated by a slight and short frame. In other words — nice face, great tits, and a stellar ass with little to no fat elsewhere.

And that’s why I’m cloning one of her favorite teacher’s — Mr. Lincoln’s — email addresses to send her a very special link from a very special website.

I hope that the goody-goody will discover a whole new self and hopefully one that’s more to my tastes and more inclined to accept my advances.

CLARA NEAL

“Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come out with us for ice cream?” My dad asks, as if asking me again is going to change my mind.

“No, dad. I got an email from Mr. Lincoln asking me to review something for class tomorrow.”

“And it can’t wait?” My mom asks. You’d think the way they’re treating it, it’s the last chance the three of us will ever have to go get ice cream as a family. There’s always tomorrow and the day after that, so I just close my door on them, shifting my attention from my phone to my laptop so that I can give whatever Mr. Lincoln sent me my full and undivided attention.

I’m prompted for my name and I enter it.

I’m prompted to confirm my gender and that I’m over eighteen.

I guess he doesn’t want any underclassman finding out about whatever assignment this is ahead of time. That would make sense about the whole eighteen thing. And since he sent it to me, he’s got a fifty-fifty shot of weeding out nosy students if they click that they’re “male” and not “female” like myself.

I feel momentarily vertiginous, but that passes when some text from some sort of story appears on my screen.

Your apprenticeship in the Dark Arts is off to a stunning start, having lost your way and arriving late to your orientation. The general course load for first year students only allows for one elective, many of which have already been picked over, leaving you limited to only a pair of choices.

Clara, do you choose:

Corruption of the Body

Corruption of the Mind

My mind is a precious thing, even in some kind of fictional story. There’s no way I would ever go for anything that is the corruption of the mind.

I select — Corruption of the Body.

It’s weird to think about, and I’m not really sure why, but I feel a tinge of remorse for all of those times I’ve judged girls or women who wear makeup, dye their hair, have piercings or tattoos… I mean, it’s not for me, personally, like… at all… but it’s their bodies and they should really be able to do with them whatever they want without judgment — mine or anybody else’s.

You arrive to your first lab class and meet your partner. She seems a lot more self-assured than you. The professor says that, to begin, one of you will need to spill a small amount of blood into the collection vase at your station.

Clara, do you:

Opt to spill your own blood

Let your lab partner spill hers

I’m not one to let anyone else do the work for me. A) I like to be in charge and B) I don’t really trust anyone else to do it correctly.

I select — Opt to spill your own blood.

I adjust one of my three ear piercings in my right ear, specifically the helix piercing. There was something about the sting that kept calling me back. Three in the right ear, four in the left, one in the nose, one in the tongue. The tongue was the hardest because I didn’t like the way I sounded for a couple of weeks after. Eventually, I figured it out. I can’t stand the attention they draw to me, but I can’t deny the call towards more and more. I’m leaning towards piercing my nipples in the colder months so there’s more time to heal before the reveal.

You feel the sweet sting of the sharp edge and you spill one, then two drops of blood into the collection vase at your station.

“The next element is a couple of strands of hair. You’ll need to blacken them with flame before dropping them in,” the professor tells the class.

Clara, do you:

Use your hair

Use your lab partner’s hair

If I’m not about to use my partner’s blood, I’m surely not going to use their hair either. All in, so far, this story has far too simple choices. I shake my head at the screen and have to move some blonde hair away from my eyes.

I select — Use your hair.

As I push the dyed black hair away from my eyes, I think about when I first started dying it. It wasn’t that long ago. I’d been walking in front of the mirror in the hallway outside of my bedroom and I caught a glimpse of myself. Have you ever seen yourself and thought, “That’s not me?” That was the feeling I had. The pretty girl with the soft blonde hair just didn’t work for me anymore. I’d outgrown her at some point. I had to put her away with my dolls and toys. I was mature and my black hair visually sells that to everyone else for me.

“Stir your tincture together, making sure that it’s completely mixed.” The professor says while she walks the floor, slowing meandering through and around every station. “Once that’s accomplished, one of you must drink the mixture and the other must focus on one of their physical features.”

Before you can grab the fluid, your partner, feeling left out of the process after you’ve used both your blood and your hair, grabs it and quickly downs it, leaving you to have to focus on one of her physical features.

You take her in, this girl you know nothing about.

She wears all black, including heavy black makeup on her eyes and lips, and you see a tattoo peeking out from her shirt sleeve.

Clara, do you:

Focus on her eyes

Focus on her mouth

Focus on her clothes

Focus on her tattoo

I’m sure I’d be fascinated by her heavy black eye makeup as that’s something that has never interested me nor have I ever even experimented with. The same could be said for the rest, but even story me noticed her eyes first and I’ve always thought — first answer, best answer.

I select — Focus on her eyes.

Feeling a little wave of tiredness, I rub my eyes, but then I check my desk side mirror to make sure I didn’t smudge them or give myself raccoon eyes. Once I started dying my hair black, I felt like something was missing on my face. Something to tie my hair into the rest of my look. When I discovered, mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow, I felt like a whole world opened up to me and I could finally see me in my reflection.

“Whatever role you played in preparing the last concoction, I want you to give to your partner,” the professor tells the class and you wonder what feature your partner will focus on.

You watch as she pricks her finger, burns her hair, and adds both to the mixture.

Unlike last time, the professor comes around, and while investigating, sprinkles something into each mixture.

“This is mirror root. That changes the effect so that the drinker will be the recipient of the change their partner focusses on.”

You worry about what your partner will change, especially as she licks her lips in anticipation. You want to draw her attention to an area you’d feel comfortable with her changing.

Clara, do you:

Present your lips

Present your clothes

Present your arms

Present your legs

I would never be in the mood and of the mind to present any body part to another, story or not. I hope that she’ll appreciate my standard wear of turtlenecks and long pants, covering as much skin as possible.

I select — Present your clothes.

I shift in my seat and feel a waft of cool air as my t-shirt lifts above my skirt. Once my hair and eyes drifted towards black, my wardrobe soon followed. My closet has a lot of options — short black skirts, black concert tees, black stockings and fishnets, and black heels of various shapes and heights.

Your partner took the bait and her gaze lingered on your clothes until they shimmered and shifted to match hers. It wasn’t too much of a change, but the magic is undeniable.

Class ended, you walk alone towards the cafeteria. While in the hall, your eyes land on a painting. As you settle your look on it, you hear a faint whisper emanating from it. The only word you can make out is your name — “Clara.”

Clara, do you —

Get closer to the painting to hear what is being said

Ignore it and continue on your way

It’s just a story. I’d hate for a mystery to go unresolved — that would really irk me and I’d constantly wonder so…

I select — Get closer to the painting to hear what is being said.

The sting of the piercings was nothing like that of the tattoos. I didn’t consult anyone and started with one of the most painful places — my ankle. It was a place that I could hide it if I chose to. However, getting tattoos, I found out, is an addiction. Once you have one, you start to think of what else would go with it. You can’t have a tattoo on one foot without having one on the other — it throws off your whole symmetry. So I have a rose petal on each ankle and a rose head on the back of my neck with a thorny stem stretching down the length of my spine. I’m not done, not by a long shot, but I’m waiting for my next inspiration to strike before I add to the canvas that is my body.

You get close enough to the painting to touch it, but instead, it reaches out and touches you, pulling you inside.

“I was wondering when we’d get to talk,” the woman in the painting says to you. “You’re the new girl I’ve heard so much about.”

“And you are..?” You ask.

“You’ll come to know soon enough, dear. Did you know you’re special? Your an adept. You practically sweat magic. As such, you’ll attract some unwanted attention.”

“And you are..?” You ask again, but with a smile.

“Early warning service, actually. There are forces at work, dark forces who will want to use you. Be on guard.”

You look around, before saying, “I can’t believe I’m in a painting.”

“You’re in another realm, girl. I just appear to be a painting to your perception so as to not fry your mind.”

“What do you really look like?” You ask.

“I don’t think you could handle that.”

Clara, do you —

Accept that as truth

Push the issue, insisting that you can

It’s probably dangerous, but again — hey, it’s just a story, right?

I select — Push the issue, insisting that you can.

You know what I hate? Authority. Can’t stand it. Can’t stand anyone telling me what to do or, even worse, anyone telling me what I can’t do. This is probably why I keep racking up detentions. Things like flipping teachers off and telling teachers off are just a natural, knee-jerk reaction for me. Punk music is the music of my soul. I’m just a Sex Pistol at heart. My default look is bitchy resting face.

You are momentarily blinded as you feel yourself pushed out of the painting. Apparently, she was right, you couldn’t handle seeing her in her natural state. Thankfully, your mind isn’t fried and your lack of vision is completely temporary. While you’re standing in the hallway rubbing your eyes, someone bumps you and angrily says, “Watch it!”

Clara, do you —

Ignore their rudeness

Bump them back

You never know what kind of a day someone else is having. No need to compound misery. That person willing to run through someone and angrily say, “Watch it!” Is probably in the midst of a horrible day.

I select — Ignore their rudeness.

I’m glad that no one looks at me, sees how I dress, how I decorate my body, how I accessorize, sees my overall indifference and then decides to judge me… because I’d hate to have to not care about that as well. My apathy plate is full as it is.

You continue on your path to the cafeteria, hunger stirring in your belly. When you arrive there and fill your tray with food, you are then met with the decision as to which long table to join.

Clara, do you —

Join the beautiful students

Join the popular students

Join the kind students

Join the smart students

Join the outcast students

Only one group probably could do with another member, really.

I select — Join the outcast students.

I guess it all goes beyond simply not caring what other people think.I actually like being different. I’m proud to be different. I think that nonconformity is the best path to actually understanding yourself. I see doe-eyed blonde me in my rear view mirror and I feel sorry for her because she was a sheep, caged in by societal expectations. The moment I decided to start dying my hair black, to wear black eye makeup, to wear black clothes, to get piercings and tattoos — that was the moment I started to be free.

You are welcomed by the outcasts, a group of about nine, nearly evenly split down gender lines with your arrival.

The de facto leader seems to take a shine to you, welcoming you wholeheartedly into the fold. As lunch ends, she asks you, “We’re skipping the next class to make out, you in?”

Clara, do you —

Join your new friends in their make-out session

Go to your next class

I mean… There are things to be learned outside of the classroom.

I select — Join your new friends in their make-out session.

I squeeze my legs together at the thought of a hot, make-out session. Any thoughts of activity like that always turn me on and get me ready to put thought into action. I’ve progressively gotten more and more sexually adventurous as I’ve discovered “the real me,” embracing my womanly body and showcasing it to attract the opposite sex.

You follow your new friends to a quiet area outside of the compound. Once out of the watchful gaze of teachers, the make-out session begins in earnest. The boy standing next to you pulls you into a kiss that curls your toes. He expertly works his hands up, down, and all over your body. When you’re at a peek of arousal, he vanishes and you open your closed eyes to see the girl who invited you. She starts to move in on you.

Clara, do you —

Allow her advances

Rebuke her

I’ve never had feelings towards another woman, but it seems wrong to judge her or stop her because it might spell the end of my time with this group were I to do that. And so far, being an outcast has been hella fun.

I select — Allow her advances.

I don’t remember the exact moment when I discovered I liked women as much as men. I think I was watching some stupid, cookie cutter rom-com and started to vacillate between wanting the affections of the male lead and wanting the affections of the female lead. It led to some very personal exploration, emotionally and physically, directly after.

If you thought the heat generated by you and the boy was intense, the girl pulls down the sun when she starts her much more advanced ministrations. She finds sensitive spots on your body you were completely unaware of, bringing you to a blissful orgasm the likes of which you’ve never experienced — all of that with your clothes still on your body. Smiling, she says, “I think you should be my girlfriend.”

Clara, do you —

Agree

Disagree

Pulls down the sun, huh?

I select — Agree.

KAIDEN WAGNER

A weekend goes by leaving me wondering — did she open it? Did it change her? All kinds of scenarios run through my head. I try to catch a glimpse of her, going out of my way to go past her house at least twice a day, both Saturday and Sunday, but I catch no sight or whiff of her.

It’s only Monday morning, when I see her enter the school, that my jaw drops and my spirits lift simultaneously. Her pitch black hair a shocking shift from before, but no more than the clothes she wears. Black fishnet stockings lead into a short black skirt just barely past her fingertips and therefore “school appropriate.” She has a beat-up waiting room t-shirt with a stretched out neck to give the slightest hint of a tattoo running up the back of her neck when her hair sways to give view. I’m thinking that it’s possible this Clara will kneel in front of me.

I approach, hopeful. “Hey, Clara. Looking good.”

I wonder what’s gone on behind the scenes — in her mind.

She cocks her hip to one side, sizing me up. “Sorry, Kaiden,” she says to me, “Too much dick and not enough tit.”

She walks away before I can find even a semblance of words to form a response. I see her, down the hall chatting up one of the first girls in school to out herself as a lesbian.

Even if the changes don’t immediately benefit me, I can foresee myself picturing the two of them intimately intertwined for the rest of my days.

Also, now that I know the story works, I just need to find a girl who will answer all the questions in a way that will ultimately work in my favor…

And there are a lot of girls in these halls that could stand to go at least a shade darker.