The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hildegarde Canto literally stood at a crossroad. She had two options, both with consequences unique: down one road she would reach her home, and down the opposite she would find herself following her best friend. It had been a fun day, and one that everyone in the group had enjoyed; but Hildegarde noticed things only a friend of ten years could notice—the small things—and those things made her gut clench and her brow crease. There was something deeply wrong with her friend. She stared at the small figure disappearing into the distance for a moment. For some reason, a smile crawled upon her lips.

“She’ll figure it out.” She said softly. Hildegarde didn’t need to convince herself.

Hildegarde strolled down the broken sidewalk, passing walls and fences, empty lots and overgrown gardens under the watchful sky of a dying sky, the streams of red and purple making it look like the mangled remains of a body trampled by a warhorse. She walked until she found herself following a wall of thorny bushes; it had red flowers were stark against the nearly black leaves, and one could be tricked to think them pretty and harmless. Hildegarde had the childhood scars to prove them wrong.

She opened the tiny metal gate between the two massive walls of bushes, and walked towards the two-storey house. Her keys were in her hand, before she reached the door. Key met lock, something clicked, and Hildegarde walked into her dark and cold home.

The lights were off, the house still and silent. The air smelled homely, familiar, but at the same time foreign; the scents of home after a long trip abroad. There was a feeling of quiet emptiness that was both endearing and distressing permeating the dark hallway that would’ve confused anyone into thinking the place to be unwelcoming. A smile complimented Hildegard’s features as she made her way down the hallway, and left to the kitchen. Clean and spotless as usual, the kitchen was spacey and practical; there was a small table in the middle, and a counter behind it; everything else a kitchen needed was right there. Hildegarde might have very little alone time since her mother decided to work from home, but at least she lived in a fortress of order.

The sandwich she made was simple, yet tasty, and the plums she had were a nice compliment. It was a nice lunch, and it disappeared in the time it takes a dog to realise it is no longer sleeping. She washed her plate, made sure her mother wasn’t holed up in her office, writing away, and then finally walked into her room.

The door opened into her den, as she sometimes called it; a comfortable if practical living space. Across from the door was her closet, a space big enough to fit the few clothes she owned, and a body or two. She always smiled at how morbidly true that joke was. She had her bed, big enough to accommodate herself and only herself; and two small black couches on the walls opposite to the bed, facing one another. Right in front of the bed’s foot she had her desktop, with her computer, stacks of books, and papers strewn all over the place. By the desk she had a tiny cabinet where she kept everything else – it was a mess few dared open. To her immediate left there was a bookcase filled with more books and the occasional superhero figurine. Hildegarde enjoyed collecting those. It was a testament to self control the shelves were not utterly dominated by hundreds of those figurines.

She closed the door with a kick, threw her backpack over her computer chair and started undressing. She threw her discarded clothes at the hamper but missed by a good margin. Her t-shirt became the peak of a mountain of dirty laundry that was one foot away from being higher than the hamper itself. She stared at the mountain she had created the past week. “I’ll clear you up after a shower.” She said, before grabbing a towel, putting it over her shoulder. Had there been anyone to see, they would’ve blushed as her naked body walked down the hallway and into the bathroom. She locked the door after herself.

The warm water washed over her body, taking with it bodily and mental troubles. She moaned in joy and began lathering herself up. Whatever’s the matter with Liv, I wonder. She was thinking idle thoughts, all manner of things passing through her mind. Where did my mom go to? I should stop going to that store, the guard has a hang up about me. The water washed over her, and her mind just got rid of thoughts, reprocessed information, leaving space for new events to fill it up. Everything just flowed and moved, not clogging her mind to become a worry.

When Hildegarde walked back into her room, a towel wrapped around her hair, she felt like a new person. Gone were the nagging worries at the back of her head, and she felt like she could take on the world. Instead, she decided to finish work.

Dressed, dry and wishing she could get around things, Hildegarde found herself finishing a very mediocre school assignment she had been putting off for weeks. If the subject – geography of New Zealand – had actually interested her, or if her teacher wasn’t so terrible, she would’ve given some effort into creating something close to an academic paper. Instead, Hildegarde was forced to transcribe and rewrite things off of Wikipedia. Not something she would or could pride herself in – and Hildegarde loved to be able to find pride in her actions – but it would give her a decent grade. Why make an effort in something that would not be appreciated?

Her fingers moved with remarkable speed over the keyboard as the final touches were added. She left the paper printing, and decided that instead of taking on the world she would entertain herself. Her browser was started, and she was soon looking over the many venues of internet entertainment; YouTube, Tumblr and a long list of webcomics passed before her eyes. Her Skype icon flashed incoming messages, and her email sung of a full inbox, but Hildegarde didn’t want to deal with the world she knew at the time. She would rather learn about the world she didn’t know.

Eventually Hildegarde found herself looking around an online store. Her love of superhero figurines was deep, but her pockets weren’t. It was a strange day when she could afford one. So, she fed her envy by checking for the strange sale in the many online stores she frequented.

In her eyes, DC Comics figurines were boring, and even the latest McFarlane fare looked repetitive. She had a taste that she could not put a name too, and so it was difficult to find things that appealed to her. She jumped from website to website, and before she realised it she stopped looking at superhero figurines and looked at everything else.

Night fell, and time passed.

Hildegarde was engrossed in to what she could not have, the demons that pulled you in with suggestions of things you liked but had never found. One thing led to another, one page to the next, and soon enough Hildegarde was looking not at figurines, or art, or music or articles, but at outfits. Hildegarde liked costumes, if only for the promise of a different self they gave. She owned no outfits, or costumes, and had a passing fascination with them. They’re, however, close to what I really fascinate about. The idle thought made her gigle.

In time she was reminded of a dream, and the dream reminded her of a fantasy. A tingle went down her spin, and she shivered.

“If only I could find something to fulfil my fantasy and...” Hildegarde whispered. The rest of her wish was left unsaid.

She kept browsing, looking at outfit after outfit, imagining herself wearing them. The shivers turned into tingles that came in a rhythm the more costumes she looked at. Every now and then her eyes would turn into golden slits in a sea of gold as they fell upon something she was particularly fond of that looked even better on the bodies of the many models than they had any right to. Hildegarde bit her lip, wishing she could beat the women wearing the outfits, and be the one sporting the super heroine outfits, or the fairy tale dresses, or the uniforms, or the armours...

It was late when, somehow, she found herself staring at the gold and white layout of a webpage she had never heard about. Both good and bad, to her reckoning. Why is it that the trustworthy sites are the ones that use light colours? Hildegarde thought as she looked at the main page. It might not be true, or have any scientific backing, but Hildegarde believed that trustworthy websites always used eye-burning colours instead of dark ones.

She clicked one item.

And a second.

And a third.

She never stopped looking

Her heartbeat increased, and goosebumps painted her skin in obvious emotions. She clicked on one item, read, then went to another. Comments confirmed, and each succession of images and descriptions only helped to excite her. Her black pupils became but slits, becoming more reptilian as she read.

“Can’t be real...” She whispered, as she looked at a military-styled costume. She read the description to the right of the image, and then the increasingly interesting comments on the bottom. Her finger hovered upon the buy option.

“This has got to be a joke!” Hildegarde exclaimed, suddenly on her feet. She needed to stop holding that mouse, lest she lose a month’s savings with a click.

She paced up and down the room, her hand twirling her black hair, her feet pushing against the overflow of dirty laundry from the pile next to the hamper. Her thoughts were in a similar disarray. How could this website be real? What they sold!? She stopped and turned to look at the gold and white, eyeing the comments. Thousands of them. How can a fake website have so many comments, both negative and positive... unless... unless it was real.

“But, if it is real...” She stopped, her hand dropped, and she felt a tingle go down her spine. She bit her lip, containing the involuntary moan. She shivered.

In the blink of an eye Hildegarde Canto was in front of the computer, eyes glimmering golden and black. In the blink of an eye she let go of the chains, released the locks, and opened the gates of personality. Control was forgotten, and her fingertips typed. The browser knew what to look for, what things Hildegarde kept secret from many. It now held a secret Hildegarde liked to keep. For some reason, that intensified the delicious tingling slowly taking over her.

She leaned closer and read what appeared on screen. The tingling intensified and, with the cages open, she allowed herself a moan. It was a good moan.

“Bloody hell,” She whispered loudly, lying back on the chair. “It is real!”

Hildegarde stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Were the words actually real? Were they an illusion? In a serious-looking website nonetheless? She started to rethink her idea about bright colours and websites. But… if anyone was willing to invest money in a store that sold such outfits, why would they lie, and tempt a lawsuit? Why would anyone create such a thing... why would there be so many customers?

It had to be real.

She pressed her thighs together.

She bit her lip and contained a good moan.

Hildegarde was not one to dismiss things, regardless of how impossible they seemed, before she could form her own opinion. Was it false advertisement, or did the products’ descriptions have some truth to it? Hildegarde never allowed a first impression to decide how she would act towards whatever created the impression. Unless the first impression was irreparably negative, of course. But... it was just so appealing to let this first impression sway her. Too specific.

“Mind controlling outfits...” She whispered, once more going over the outfit’s description. “What if...”

She had to be sure.

Her fingers typed, and the browser kept her secrets. From one item to the next she moved, from one fantasy to the next. She had so many, but few were ones she held dearly. Every now and then an idea would occur to her and, with a wicked grin, she would type ‘dildo’ or ‘bondage’ or ‘hoods’ on the site’s search engine. The results were varied, like sand grains in the beach, or the patterns of melon skins, but all shared a similar, albeit varied theme. No matter if it was a tame ballgag, or a phallic object that could be mistaken for a barbarian’s clobber, or a simple hat with a fake feather on the top, or erotic outfits and costumes that could be mistaken for any State’s official uniform; all were items that could control your mind.

Hildegarde clicked the link on another outfit – a latex wedding dress – and waited with growing curiosity. The dress in the picture was beautiful, obviously crafted by someone who understood latex and what made wedding dresses attractive. Even Hildegarde, who found the idea of weddings full of pointless pomp, had to admit to the outfit’s beauty. Fine embroidery, a built-in corset, intricate designs on the hems, built-in gloves. Any bride-to-be would envy the outfit, until they realised it was made of tight, tight white latex. Quickly, Hildegarde’s eyes turned to the description: Ever dreamed of your wedding day, of your wedding night? Ever wondered what it feels to think, act and be a bride? Look no further: this dress will make you believe you have always and will always be one. Eager, perpetually happy, ever expectant, and, as a twist, secretly aroused. To plan an event would be exciting, to wear the outfit would be arousing. You will become the perfect bride!

Hildegarde smiled, bemusedly. The perfect bride? What in the blazes of hell does that mean? Regardless, Hildegarde was utterly intrigued. And excited. She had kept at least one of the metaphorical chains, if only so she could type comfortably. But soon enough she would have no free hands. This was too akin to her fantasies. It was scary, as if someone had made it specifically for her. But that only made it better.

She let the webpage on the description and read it once, twice, thrice. She no longer needed to convince herself this was real. She felt it to be real. She knew it. Her loins knew it. Her nipples knew it. Blood in her arteries moved like cars in a motorway, and she was starting to feel the attention craving tingle of her body. She had not just found a simple website selling erotic outfits, but rather a way to truly fulfil all manner of fantasies.

They had outfits that could control you. Change how you perceived yourself.

And they must’ve had the one she wanted the most, the fantasy she has had the longest. The idea she had secretly masturbated to for so long..

But as she typed her dearest secret, as her fingers wrote the sweet words that nearly pushed her over the edge every time she read them, she could not help but think about everything she had found. Hildegarde had once read of such things, hell, she had seen it thousands of times in cartoons and fiction. Mind control. Hypnosis. Brainwashing. And all of it made her so wet. Could it be true? Or was it all one giant placebo wrapped around someone’s kink?

Her kinks.

The browser was loading. Her arousal was escalating. In the back of her mind, her thoughts turned to old news. Years ago there was a fad of programs reporting, in all the serious tone and journalism integrity they could, stories of towns in the middle of nowhere where everyone was turned into one kind or other of twisted sexual fantasy. News from people owning other people after breaking their minds to such an extent they couldn’t say no. Once, in a talk show, Hilde watched in amused attention as several men who had not seen each other in their lives came together to tell the stories of how a woman would mentally dominate them in bars and then take them to their houses and use them in ways they were ashamed to speak of. Back then Hildegarde drank those reports like some sci-fi nut would drink new Arthur C. Clarke books. Hildegarde believed in those reports, if only slightly, and watched them for the inherent entertainment and to feed something inside her she never knew was there to begin with. They had been wood for her fire.

But Hildegarde’s doubts had always been there. She had doubted every report. From the report of the town with people in leotards, to the one about a plot to reduce girls’ intelligence and turn them into “sportbots”, girls dedicated life and soul to one sport. It was all so... silly.

Yet... yet she wanted it to be real.

Her mind blanket, and gone were such thoughts. There was something in front of her, something beautiful, something she had dreamt about for nearly a decade. And not but one thing, but many. A lot of them, in fact. Hildegarde got several queries on schoolgirl uniforms. She could barely contain herself. One hand travelled and started to caress her special places.

Why was one outfit different from the other? Hildegarde scrolled down the page and her question was answered quickly. There were various types of uniforms, from the misogynist fantasies of slutty schoolgirls, to the spoiled brat. The fires died down, slowly. No uniform was the one she needed. Yet that did not kill the need altogether. She actually felt exhilarated—she could spend more time looking for what she wanted. She moved the mouse to close the window but just before she clicked a pop-up window appeared.

“Fuck!” She exclaimed, slamming her closed fist against the desk. “I always think I am rid of these things.” She moved the cursor as to close it, but then realised what the pop-up was about.

“Schoolgirl uniform special sale’” She read, and smiled deviously. Could it be that this item could meet her criteria? “It doesn’t hurt to try.” She added, her voice husky.

And as she clicked the link, a satisfied smile painted her face.

She moaned.

Hildegarde paced up and down her room, thinking. She was far too excited to make a real decision, but the opportunity was just too good to pass. It all seemed so... fake, but the reviews and customers’ comments all indicated that the website was real. And, most importantly, she felt it to be real. But what if the uniform was what she had always dreamed about? What if it wasn’t? Could she allow herself to be absorbed by that fantasy? Would she regret it?

“Forty dollars,” Hildegarde said as she sat down, the words rolling in and out of her mouth like fine wine. She twisted her lips in what could’ve been a smile, her eyes narrowing. A special sale on the outfit she had dreamed of for years. Five pairs, and two extra uniforms—all for forty dollars. She could afford them. She could afford a sexual fantasy. She tried to ignore a tingle between her legs. She didn’t. A hand stroked it.

Again, she eagerly scanned the description of the purple and white uniform: The perfect schoolgirl uniform is our most special outfit on the schoolgirl range of items. Not only will the outfit itself mould to your body, but it will also mould your mind to its form. Being obedient, being studious, being proper – all of the ideas that make up the mindset of a perfect schoolgirl will become part of you. One with you. Once you try this uniform on, you will become the perfect student: always worried about her uniform, always needing to study, always obeying the rules.

This outfit not only will help you find the exciting side to doing schoolwork, but will completely change your outlook on life.

A favourite for both the bedroom and daily life. A recommended purchase with real life and fantasy uses.

What were the chances for this to happen? For a sexual fantasy to take on shape in the real world, exactly as you wish it—as you need it—and then find it when you least expect it? It was so improbable, yet here she was, staring it in the digital face. What she read was not just the description of an item, but her complete and utter fascination with school uniforms described perfectly. To become studious, to be aroused at wearing her uniform, being unable to resist, being obedient to a set of rules... Hildegarde’s finger moved as only she knew how to move it. She moaned.

She had to have the uniform.

The Universe was telling her to.

Special Sale! It read, like a prophecy. Only for a limited time will you be able to get five complete uniforms for the price of two, plus the complementary Perfect Swimteam Member Uniform and the Perfect Gym Class Student Uniform. These two complements will expand the schoolgirl experience towards utter perfection.

“Forty dollars to fulfil my fantasy.” She mused to herself, hand hovering over the mouse.

She was aroused, unable to think logically, and in a frenzy. A decision made now would be a very dumb mistake.

Hildegarde Canto had done stupider things in her life.

Click.

“Thank you for purchasing. We know you will enjoy your new uniforms. Soon you’ll become a perfect schoolgirl.” The confirmation email read. She had to steady herself at how hot the phrase made her. There was no music, but she seemed to be hearing sombre bagpipes in the background.

Once everything was done, Hildegarde turned off her computer and readied herself for bed.

She barely slept as her hands didn’t let her relax.

Three days later the postman left a package and several letters at the Canto residence. The air was permeated by early morning; crisp and chilly, a thing to wake your senses and pull you with a wonderful sigh into a new day. Hildegarde’s mother found the box as she breathed in the grey and orange colours of the morning. After checking on the letters, she realised the box was addressed to her daughter; curiosity and motherly protection nearly took over, and she very nearly broke a promise. She left the box on the kitchen table, thinking to the shouting contests that had broken out so many times because she had invaded her girl’s privacy.

Footsteps made Ysolda stand and occupy herself with something in the kitchen. She started to put away the dishes as Hildegarde entered the kitchen, looking like the mattress was riding on her back. Her black hair was combed, looking sleek and shiny as a mirror, but the rest of her was a mess. A pair of tight jeans that had once been black wrapped around her legs, a t-shirt that could’ve been used as a washcloth covered a black tank top that had once been grey; Hildegarde was not a morning person. Ysolda smiled broadly, giggling against the back of her hand.

“Late night?” She said, not meaning to complain about how late Hildegarde had come in and how much sleep she needed at her age.

Hildegarde mumbled something and went straight to the fridge. “Liv keeps odd timetables on the weekends.” She disappeared behind the fridge door, remained there for a good ten seconds, and then came out holding nothing.

Ysolda raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you want something to eat?” She said as she reached to put mugs in an overhead cupboard.

It was amazing how people who were not entirely awake could react so fast. Hildegarde stopped moving, then her eyes went wide, then she smacked her forehead, and finally muttered a “duh!". All in a second. The smack seemed to wake her, slightly.

You need to sleep, Ysolda thought, giggling silently. “Oh, Hildegarde!” She said, half-mindedly. “You’ve got a parcel.” Ysolda put a skull-shaped mug in the cupboard and then turned her attention towards her own mug full of coffee.

Hildegarde stood upright immediately. Her eyes were alert, like a predator about to pounce. Only her head turned to look at the package, and only her eyes turned to look at her mother. Thin flints of black against a field of gold. Was that anger or fear, Ysolda wondered as her own eyebrows met for a second, mouth tightening. Now, just what is in that box? Now she really wanted to know what her daughter had ordered.

“I didn’t open it.” Ysolda said and Hildegarde relaxed visibly. Ysolda sighed. Still doesn’t trust me with post... Just what was Hildegarde hiding?

Hildegarde straightened when she realised what she did. “Oh, eh... I wasn’t thinking that, mom.” She said, averting her stare too quickly for someone who had looked like her eyes could shoot lasers just a moment before. She took a step towards the parcel, making a show of not staring at her moth, head hidden between her shoulders.

“Well... I’ll, eh, put this in my room.” Hildegarde nearly ran up the stairs.

Ysolda stared at her daughter with a mix of emotions. Worry, curiosity, amusement. Hildegarde had many idiosyncrasies that stood out, but she was not a secretive girl. “What would she get that she doesn’t want me to know?” She asked her coffee. Eventually she would learn what her daughter had acquired, though. She wouldn’t pry, nor spy, but one way or the other she would find out. She was a mother, after all. Hildegarde thought she kept things secret, when she tried to keep them secret.

Ysolda started humming to herself as she prepared breakfast.

Hildegarde could hear her heart pounding in her ears, her breathing coming in gasps, her skin prickling as if sweating. Not from running up the stairs. Hilde locked the door behind her. She didn’t want her mother interrupting. Interrupting what? Well... She still locked it! Not that it was needed, though, but caution had avoided many embarrassing situations in the past.

She placed the box on her bed, and then sat on the chair by her computer, as far from it as the room allowed. Hilde stared at the box. She was too excited to notice her grin looked like the Joker’s. But how could she not smile? It was right there in front of her, the package that held one of her strongest fantasies! Don’t be silly, she told herself. It isn’t true. You just got swayed by the price and advertising. Hilde had had three days to come down from the cloud she had put herself on, and allow doubt to seep in. She had worried in vain; the box was here, and she would live with the consequences of it. A disappointment, yet... what if it was real? She didn’t need to ask the question. Nobody had to. It was in the air, in the back of her mind. What if? What if!?

Hilde hated being faced by a real life case of Schrödinger’s Cat. When Hildegarde couldn’t come to a conclusion on her own, bad things happened. If there was thing Hilde couldn’t properly cope with, it was indecision. And her mother being home all the time. And not being able to buy all the figurines she wanted. Or.... She shut her eyes tight. She was rambling.

With one kick she spun her chair around so she would face her computer. With her big toe she pushed her computer’s power button, and then waited a while for the computer to come alive. Hilde constantly looked over her shoulder as if she feared the package would come alive and walk away. The computer’s distraction was needed. She didn’t want to make another decision in a rush.Once her computer was on she started to distract herself. Internet, website, something... Hilde was simply stalling, letting time pass, just to avoid getting an answer. Yes, it could be real, but it could also be an expensive hoax. She was not prepared yet to deal with the disappointment the latter would bring.

Hilde nearly jumped out of her skin when she noticed she was looking at images of uniforms on the computer. She looked at the clock; an hour had passed. She was tingling in that pleasant way. That distracting, pleasant way.

Hild couldn’t bear it anymore—she had to know! She was excited, at the possibilities that sat on her bed in the shape of a box. She stood, almost toppling over her chair, and jumped on her bed. She wrapped her arms around the box, rolled on her back to the other side of the bed and then sat, feet rubbing against each other, hands a moniker of cartoonish villainy.

She looked at the cardboard box, at the plastic wrapping it, and wished she could be more ceremonial and orderly about opening post. Hilde chuckled at the silly notion and ripped open the box. There were moments to be subtle, and there were moments to let the animal in you take over.

The box made a satisfying sound as she ripped it open.

Inside was another box.

“Curse you!” Hildegarde said, angry yet amused. It seemed like someone had anticipated her excitement and had deliberately added another obstacle. Not that she couldn’t get through it, but the fact that a second box of a pastel green colour was between herself and her fantasy was annoying. Yet... The pause allowed her to think. She didn’t know what would happen, if anything was going to happen, to be honest. If the website was true to its word, she would change when she put on the uniform. Could she do it alone? What if she did slip into a trance of sorts and started trying on the uniform like the website said? Was it safe?

Hildegarde blinked, shook her head and smiled. “Heh. I am coming up with mad scenarios.” She giggled, but the idea was already planted in her head. If the uniform could indeed affect minds what was their limitations? How did they work? Did they only work if she tried one on or if she touched them? Would onlookers be affected also? Would being in the same room affect her?

Hildegarde gave the box a sideways look, eyelids squinting to glare, hands idly rubbing over her thighs because the other option would put her back into an mindless and aroused frenzy. She didn’t trust what was in the box, and she didn’t trust herself with it either. As much as she wanted to trust it, Hildegarde knew she will eventually break, considering her own fascination with the uniforms, but at least she would last a while. That addition of time would, she hoped, allow her to learn more about what she had unleashed. Or would unleash. Half disappointedly, Hildegarde rewrapped the second box within the first box and slipped it inside her closet.

Her hands flat against the wooden door, her head down, her eyes closed, Hildegarde let out a very frustrated sigh. She did nothing, said nothing, thought nothing, and waited for the tiny amount of arousal that had started to build up to subside before she let go of the closet’s door.

Hildegarde walked out of her room, wanting nothing to do with what she had kept in there, and decided to go out for a walk. At least that way she could think more clearly, and hopefully not so much about the uniforms she had acquired.

I feel horrible, she thought. Self-control was a horrible thing, sometimes. But wonderful in other ways. Yet, when your life was permeated with instances of too much control, it became a weight on your shoulders. She didn’t see her mom cooking as she passed the kitchen and walked out the door, hoping to clear her head.

It didn’t quite work.

Two weeks had passed.

Two haunted weeks, with haunted nights filled with dreams of the type one cannot hope to ignore. It is not the sheer number, but rather the repetitive themes that turn the beautiful images into haunting ghouls. Coming over and over and over, details changing, but everything the same at hear—dreams of schoolgirl fantasies haunted Hildegarde’s every resting hour. But, can they be called resting hours when the dreams themselves excite her beyond what simple physical caresses could? She believed she was starting to go crazy, or just simply borderline obsessive. Every sleeping hour, and a third of her waking hours were taken over with thoughts of uniforms and schoolgirls. Sometimes Hildegarde hated her fascination. Sometimes Hildegarde hated her very personality.

“Hilde.”

Then again, that personality was everything she was. Did she hate herself, or just a part of herself? No... that wasn’t right.

“Hilde.”

Hildegarde was nodding off over a history book. She hated feeling sleepy during daytime, but she had to admit it was an effective weapon against the latent arousal that had started to come whenever she sat down to study, like a shy rabbit smelling food. Silently she cursed the website and the uniforms – had she not found out about them, she wouldn’t find studying at all arousing! Well, not arousing, but she where boredom had once been now lived a new, pleasant feeling. Talk about placebo effects. The question was, though: what had really changed? Why did she now find the idea of studying arousing, when she had never thought so? Could it be that uniform in her closet was affecting her? Hildegarde shook her head, banishing such thoughts. Her arousal abated, slightly.

“Hilde!” A hand appeared before her eyes, snapping fingers. Hildegarde was suddenly aware of Liv in front of her.

“I am awake! I am awake!” Hildegarde blinked, stopped, and immediately started yawning. She stretched and popped her joints.

“Aha. You said so the last four times. What’s up with you, Hilde? You aren’t of the stay-up-late type. Or the get-up-early type, for that matter.” Liv’s thin eyebrows furrowed in worry and question. She had a pretty face, even when she twisted it in unappealing expressions.

Hildegarde’s yawn finally died off, and she laboriously dropped her fist onto the table. Her eyes remained closed, as if giving sleep time enough to settle in before they had to open to the world again. Hildegarde sighed. “More like I’ve had too much sleep.” She opened her reptilian eyes to stare at Liv’s. “Too much sleep and too many of those obsessive dreams, the type that haunt you all day long. You know how your body becomes groggy when you go into REM? That’s how I feel all the time.”

Liv smirked, thin lips twisting to the side. “I know what you’re going through, Hilde. I’ve had such dreams too.”

Hildegarde chuckled and shook her head. Not a chance in hell, Liv, she thought. Hildegarde frowned as she saw for the first time how the room they were in looked. Usually the place was clean an orderly. How had she failed to notice that it seemed like no one had cleaned the house in weeks? That was strange. This place is a mess! That is not right. Suddenly, Hildegarde was reminded to the last time they had hung out, and how haunted Liv looked as she walked away. Was there something to it? Instead, she said, “Heh. Thanks for the sentiment, but I doubt you’ve had my kind of dreams, Liv.” Turning to face her friend with a smile. She talked, if only to distract herself—she didn’t like to pry into her friend’s life on that level. “Or if you have, they are not as bad as mine.”

Liv closed her history book and placed it on the table with exceeding care. She always took exceeding care of things. She unfolded her legs from underneath herself, and leaned in closer to her friend. “Having, ehm, fascination dreams again, Hilde?” Her voice was but a whisper.

Hildegarde’s eyes grew wide and her heart skipped a beat. How does she know!? She thought but then remembered who she was talking to. Sometimes it felt like Liv was a mind reader, or an excellent detective. Sighing, Hildegarde admitted the truth. It seemed to help her relax.

“I thought you had ridden yourself of those after, you know, we got that plastic thing.” Liv settled back in her seat, her eyes moving away from Hildegarde’s. Liv’s penetrating brown eyes shifted and shimmered, as if uncertain on what to focus on. It was obvious she didn’t like to talk about the subject.

Hildegarde found herself smiling, “Oh, those dreams? Yeah. I got rid of those by getting the latex thing. And it is latex, not plastic.” Hildegarde pushed her history book to the side, and leaned against the table with her right elbow. “I am being hunted by a different sort of ‘fascination dreams’. New dreams. Interesting ones.” Why am I talking about this? Hilde, stop!

Liv perked. “Oooh.” She said, curiously. “Do tell, about this sexy thing.” The last words came in an ironic tone. The books and homework were all but forgotten after that.

Hildegarde frowned. “What? No! I am not telling you about my sexy dreams.” She tried to sound angry, but her chuckle betrayed her. I won’t say. It will bite me in the ass if I do.

Liv dismissively waved her hand towards Hildegarde. “Oh, come on, Hilde. You know you will tell me eventually. You always tell me.”

“I do not. I hate talking about that with others.”

Liv gave her a flat stare.

Hildegarde’s eyes regarded her friend. Liv was a thin girl, with thin lips and thin eyebrows. Her eyes, unlike Hildegarde’s, were normal but piercing; wherein Hildegarde’s eyes could make people freeze in place, Liv’s brown eyes could make you curious enough to peek into the barrel of a gun. Her eyes, which were a dangerous weapon always threatening to shoot you, and the jovial yet analytical way she treated people made her a great person to be with. Why am I staring at her eyebrows? Hildegarde wondered.

Hildegarde tried to find any indication that Liv was going to trick her. Liv was a good person, but she never prodded someone without an ulterior motive, be it a good one or a bad one. Or that was what Hildegarde believed. Believing, and fact are not interchangeable terms, sometimes.

“So?” Liv said, not rushing, not calming. It was just a word.

Hildegarde sighed. To her, it was obvious Liv was going to do something with the information. Whatever it was, Hildegarde couldn’t figure it out. That was one reason to not say anything, but it had been a while since she had last slept well, or slept without waking deeply aroused. She needed to tell someone, or else go mad. Again!

Hildegarde risked it.

“Okay, remember about two years ago when I dressed like an anime school girl for Halloween?” She said, voice dry.

“How could I forget it? Marilyn made such a huge deal out of that that she still poke fun at you whenever she sees girls in uniforms.”

Hilde sighed. “Well, it was partially because I have a, ehm, fascination for uniforms.”

Liv paused a second, brown eyes wide. She then whistled, smacking her forehead. “Shoot me, I never realised it!” She smirked and paused. “Well, now I feel dumb; now that you say it, it was pretty obvious you liked the things.”

Hilde almost blushed, but she controlled herself. “Yeah, but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Liv’s mood seemed to darken. Her eyebrows crossed, if only for a second, before her visage took a neutral look. “When,” She started, her voice thicker. “have I ever given away our private talks, Hilde? Or anyone’s? I am not Marilyn, Hilde.”

Hilde was taken back. “I didn’t mean to…” Hilde was surprised – she hadn’t said anything to prompt this reaction. Well, I did question the trust I have in her. That pisses her off, usually, but not like this. Perhaps Hilde wasn’t seeing some deeper, more obvious meaning in the lack of cleanliness in Liv’s home? Something’s troubling her, Hildegarde thought. She didn’t know what, or if it even was something, or if it even was troubling her, but suddenly Hildegarde felt like she should be more observant of her best friend.

Liv smiled suddenly, waving her hand dismissively. A bipolar person wouldn’t shift moods so fast. “Never mind, I was out of place.” She met her friend’s eyes with smile that could make murderous bears friendly. “Now, you were saying?”

Hildegarde silently cursed.

“Oh, you know very well to not even try to escape my conversations.” Liv winked, prompting her friend to sigh.

“Okay.” Her tone was defeated, yet not broken. Although she didn’t quite want to tell her friend, Hildegarde had to, or else she would go crazy. It had happened before, with the ‘latex thing’. She had had dreams and nightmares for a long time, and it had affected her schoolwork and her social life; and it was not until she took it off her chest and Liv convinced her to buy one that she went back to a semblance of normality. That episode had lasted three months. How long could this new fascination last before it became a harrowing experience? No, it wasn’t new, it was just a stronger—thousand fold stronger – and older fascination. This fascination could be far worse. So Hildegarde spoke.

“I bought a uniform. A schoolgirl uniform…” Hilde began.

Liv’s grin could’ve outshone the sun.