The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

On the Tuesday of the fourth week of classes, Hetty prepared herself for that day’s lecture. Class would be starting in an hour, but she wanted to leave fairly soon, because she always liked to be in the classroom by at least a half an hour before. Or at the very least, twenty minutes.

She had yet to dress for the day; she had only so far gotten up, eaten a quick breakfast of some toast, and then finally brushed her teeth.

Now she actually had to dress, and then do her hair, which for now was still falling in, what seemed now to her, “luscious black waves,” as Russel had called them. She was still trying not to look at the way she flushed in response to the memory.

She moved to her closet, and looked inside. The casual clothes she wore in her off-time, and particularly when she went out with Gerard, her long-term boyfriend, were hanging towards the back of the closet.

In her mind, she ed Russel telling her how he wished she would dress this way. Casual all the time, since she preferred a more friendly, open style of teaching which aimed for approachability.

“Would he like to see me in things like this?” Hetty murmured to herself, only letting herself fancy it for a brief second.

But she was not going to dress that casually for her workday. No matter how casual she was in her manner, she would dress as she always had.

She reached, as per usual, for something more formal. Her hand was moving in the direction of yet another skirt-blazer-blouse trio, this one a tan skirt and blazer with a gold blouse, but she hesitated as she was still reaching.

Her eyes had fallen on the dress that hung on the hanger next to it. Still in the half of her closet nearest to reach, reserved for the work-clothes she wore every day.

“This is still formal,” she mused to herself, her hand suspended in air, frozen in its arcing towards the first outfit she’d intended. “But it’s slightly less formal than the others— maybe— yes, I could wear this.”

She shifted her arm to reach for that hanger instead, and took it off her closet-bar.

She was quick to get out of her pajamas then, and into the dress. Then she had to go into her bathroom anyway, since she had to do her hair, so she just head straight for there. No use wasting time looking in her bedroom mirror to see how the dress looked on her; she’d be standing in front of the bathroom to do her hair, as it was.

Once in the bathroom, she appraised herself. This dress was blue— there was no real neckline, no dipping down— that was partly what made it look so formal. The same line that cut across the sleeves over her shoulders ran parallel from one shoulder to the other, so that flat line just ran straight across the lowest part of her neck; so no part of her skin could be seen there, let alone any of her cleavage.

But it was more informal, because it had capped sleeves on each shoulder— only capped by small caps, but still capped; however, after each shoulder was covered, the entire rest of each arm was bare, and visible to sight.

And the dress as a whole was pretty conformed to her body; it hugged her hips, hugged about her chest— and the hem of it never made it all the way to her knees, stopping only about halfway to them.

The blue was a vibrant blue, in a deep tone— like sapphire, but just a solid, block-color. It suited Hetty’s complexion, and suited her hair.

Since her wrists would be visible today, as all of each arm would be, save her shoulders— Hetty decided she would wear her thin silver chain bracelet on her right-wrist.

Once this was on, Hetty nodded at her appearance in the mirror, in approval.

“And maybe Russel will like it too, and think I look more comfortable this way,” she posited.

Then shook her head at herself. She shouldn’t indulge whatever this ridiculous fixation with Russel was. He was 19. He was a student, and above all, he was annoying and she mostly disliked him, even now. Just because he was pleasant to look at, maybe…

She wasn’t going to think about how she felt any further.

“Now, for my hair,” she spoke, getting herself back into a focused state.

What she typically did was take all those… “luscious waves…” and coil them up into a bun, which she then twisted into place on the top of her scalp, and then pinned there. She had done that as recently as yesterday, for the class she taught Mondays and Wednesdays, and which Russel was not a student of.

But as she had hesitated at the dress, she now hesitated here. There wasn’t a question of putting her hair up or not. She would put it up. But did she have to put it up so high and pin it so tight? Instead of coiling it and then twisting it up to sit on her scalp— what if she gathered her hair up into a pun, and then just pinned it at the nape of her neck.

It would be up— but it would be lower— and like the dress, while still being formal, it would be slightly less formal— so she’d still feel dressed up to teach, but just not quite so much as she usually was.

The dress on her looked good. The silver chain bracelet on her wrist looked good. She should at least try pinning her hair differently today. It would probably look good too.

She gathered her hair back into one section, then coiled it around and held it, circular, at the nape of her neck. She kept it there with one hand, and with the other, reached for her hair-pins.

She was so used to putting up her that within three minutes, the bun was there, at the nape of her neck, pinned into a neat, coiled circle of hair.

Hetty turned her head first this way, then that. It did look pretty— as pretty as the dress, and as pretty as the bracelet— she should wear like this today instead, she definitely should.

The thought was in the back of her mind— that it had only been knowing Russel would be there in class today which had made inspiration strike. Yesterday for her Monday class, when she knew Russel wouldn’t be seeing her, no such inspirations had struck.

She shoved the thought away. Thinking of Russel, still, but now, only of the fact he was going to be in her class. That made her stomach drop, made it twist in nerves. And not in the pleasant kind of nerves that accompanied even the most frivolous of attractions. Her stomach was dropping in dread. He was irritating and he was pushy and he never cared about how he was inconveniencing her, and she really was dreading having to see him today.

She wished he had never signed up for her class. He was so unlikable. Beauty and good looks packaged up that unlikeability— but it was a personality issue. He was unlikable to the core, and completely selfish, completely inconsiderate.

Then, after she’d got her heels on, Hetty drove to campus with her teaching materials on the enger-seat beside her.

She made it to class by the timeline she’d projected for herself. She was in the room thirty minutes before the course was due to start, and she spent that time situating herself to receive her students, and to lecture to them.

About ten minutes before the class start-time, they began filing into the room. Two minutes before start-time, Russel entered, one of the last, straggling students to do so.

The second that Hetty saw him, she felt the dread in her stomach worse than ever. He wouldn’t make eye-, she hoped— and especially, she hoped that he wouldn’t stay after class this time to try and talk to her, or to try to ask her anymore of his irritating, sometimes downright offensive question.

She didn’t know if her second hope would come true, although she was still holding out for it. It became immediately obvious that her first hope had been disappointed. When Russel came in, and she looked to him, as she’d looked to each student entering in the same way, he did make eye- with her— held it for an instant, and then his eyes dropped down, and scanned her entire ensemble— her hair, pinned at the nape of her neck, instead of atop her scalp. Her dress, showing her arms and part of her legs, the bracelet on her wrist.

He raised his brows to her, and gave her an open, appreciative smile.

It made her recoil, and also— something else. She recoiled, but she felt…

On fire, actually. Not a raging inferno, by any means; but a pleasant simmering. Or if she were a pot of water, a pleasant bubbling, not a full boil yet— just warm, just good— in the instant she thought that she had done something approved of, in the instant she read his approval on his face, in his smile, and in which it seemed a light casting on her, and which she basked in.

She had a class to teach. She reigned her thoughts in, made no expression in response to the smile which had seemed desirous of eliciting one from her, and faced out to all her other seated students, deciding she didn’t care where Russel sat or if she looked at him for the entire rest of the class. What a nuisance he was.

“Good to see you all,” she welcomed them. “A reminder your essay is due tomorrow, and next week will be Week Five of this course. As you all know, we only have sixteen weeks together, so three weeks after next, at the eight-week point, we’ll be having our midterm.

“I’ll review with you more in the coming weeks to prepare you for it, but really most of this preparation is up to you. I won’t be telling exactly what you should be studying, or where you should be looking. If you’ve been keeping up with the readings, the discussions and discussion groups, and the assignments, you should be able to judge for yourself what information would be the most important to review. Part of historiography is assessing sources and determining which sources are more important to a historical narrative, and which are less so.

“Part of historiography is also comparing sources to each other and deciding which ones are more solid, more reliable, and which ones less rigorous. So my giving you only vague guidelines to follow for your exam preparation is also going to help you hone your judgement, your contextualizing skills. And that will only make you all better historians.”

Some of the students looked nervous at this idea— Hetty knew in a lot of their other courses, their professors told them everything, down to the last detail, which would be on their exams and quizzes.

But all those other professors weren’t trying to train future historians— if any students in this class did ultimately decide to stick with the discipline. It had been a pleasant surprise over the years, though, to hear from so many former students of hers who had gone all the way with it. Especially when she heard from those ones who told she was the one to make them realize they loved the field.

“Enough of that,” Hetty said— to her students, in reference to the notice she’d just spoken for them, and to herself, because now wasn’t the moment to reflect on her legacy as a professor. “None of us have to worry about the exam this week. Let’s get one with today’s lecture.”

They did.

And Hetty felt the lecture went pretty well, on the whole. The kind of things they were saying, first when the class was discussing all together as a collective, and then the things Hetty was overhearing as she wandered between groups once all the students had broken off, it made her sure that she was going to be reading some good essays the next week.

It sounded like a lot of them were really grasping the concepts she wanted them to understand; it seemed they were all at the place in their learning she had hoped they would be, by now.

Finally, the class-period was over, and again, as so many times before, Russel was the one student who stayed behind.

Hetty sighed, glad at least she was standing behind her desk so that he couldn’t get any closer to her.

“Yes, Russel?”

“I wanted to thank you for the monograph you recommended to me. It really was the perfect one to pick, and I think you’ll be very happy with my essay next week.”

Guilt twisted in Hetty’s stomach, ing she had given Russel a helping hand that she had extended to no one else.

“Your gratitude is appreciated. I hope you have a nice day!”

Russel shifted his text-book, where he was cradling it in the crook in his arm.

“I also wanted to tell you I think you look good today. In that blue dress, with your hair done differently. You’re looking a little more casual. A little more comfortable. See, this is the way you behave in the world already. Why shouldn’t you present yourself like this?”

Hetty shook her head. “I don’t care what you think of how I dress, Russel.”

But it was a slightly different story inside, and she wasn’t saying that out-loud. That feeling of getting his approval…

She hoped he wasn’t seeing her flush.

“You know, though,” Russel mused to himself. “You could dress even more casually than this. It goes without saying that you look beautiful as well. But, well, maybe you’d want to dress the way you would when you’re out around town. Each student seeing you will see you looking like they’ve just run into you somewhere. At the supermarket, maybe.”

The clothes toward the back of her closet she’d looked at this morning…

No! It was ridiculous enough that she’d even thought of Russel at all while she was getting ready. She would go on dressing formally.

“Your advice is unwelcome, again, and I don’t think I’ll be changing that.”

Russel shrugged. “That’s fine. It’s a pretty bracelet you’re wearing today, though.”

Something leapt up inside her— she wanted him to know about it, to know what he would know through it. Had she secretly warn it hoping it would open up the topic of conversation? That was the kind of thing she did when she was going through a stupid attraction to somebody.

Which this was.

“Thank you for that compliment, at least. It is a beautiful bracelet, isn’t it? My boyfriend gave it to me for our one-year anniversary.”

Was saying that victory for her? Showing that she was taken and always would be? Or a victory for Russel, when earlier she had refused to share anything from her personal life with him, and yet now she was?

Russel seemed to perk up, so Hetty figured he was taking the second meaning from what had just happened.

“And your boyfriend is… good to you?”

Hetty felt a flash of protectiveness. “Yes, he’s very good to me. We’ve been dating for five years now. We don’t live together, but our lives fit better when we keep our on separate homes. And I love him. I love him, so, so much. I love him so much, it’s in a way I never even knew love could be.”

Russel’s next smile irked her. “You say it so vehemently it’s like you’re trying to convince yourself of your own words.”

“They’re true words,” Hetty said, in a tone that dripped defensiveness. “I love Gerard and he loves me, and he gave me this bracelet, and I think it’s beautiful.”

Russel nodded. “If we’re sharing our feelings, can I tell you one of mine?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “You mentioned the midterm today in class. I’m already nervous about it. It sure would be nice to know specifically what the test will cover. Even though none of your students will get to.”

Hetty puffed up her chest. “That’s because no student is going to receive that information.”

Then she watched him suspiciously. But he just shook his head. “I guess no student will ask you for it, either,” and then he seemed to drop the subject.

He was back to the earlier one of his choice.

“You really would look lovely, though, if you dressed just the way you did when you’re out about the town, living your life. Or if you dressed the way you did when you go to see your boyfriend. I’m sure you dress yourself up for him, and make your appearance beautiful.”

“I do,” she said, defiantly.

Russel just shook his head. “Too bad you won’t dress that way for all of us— I’m sure it would be more comfortable for you as well.”

Then there was a moment— Hetty felt how she was breathing quickly, looking at him across the desk from her.

And he was stepping around the desk, and she was turning to follow him with her eyes, and he stood right in front of her.

“You’re a nuisance,” she told him, once he was so close. “I don’t like you, and I wish you would stop staying back after class.”

This was true. It was also true that her heart was now racing, and that she was looking at him, with his golden looks and golden beauty, and feeling her stupid, stupid attraction.

He leaned in just a little closer. She felt her breath hitch— his lips almost on hers, and what would it be like if he kissed her, and he was pretty—

And then he just nodded his head at her, turned, and left the room.

“I’m not frustrated,” she said to only her own ears as she left the room herself, carrying all her materials with her. “I didn’t crave his kiss, and it doesn’t make me petulant or put me in a bad mood that he didn’t follow through and give it to me.”

She spent the rest of the day, in her other class, arguing with herself that every flare of irritation, every time her tone was just a bit too snippy— it was just because of logical, perfectly justified reasons. And not because she’d gone unkissed.

Her Wednesday classes were without incident— out of spite, she pinned her hail in a pile on top of her scalp, as was her custom, and she wore the tan blazer and skirt with the gold blouse that she had planned for the day before, until she’d changed directions.

And there was a whisper in the back of her mind which said you know Russel isn’t going to see you today, and she ignored it.

Then on Thursday, she woke and dressed to teach her historiography class again.

(And to see Russel again.)

He flashes through her mind— there he was, as she stood in front of her closet in reality, there he was in the abstract of memory, lifting his brows to her and smiling his appreciative smile.

Her skin burned. The bubbles in her pot rolled beneath the surface, everything so pleasant and so warm, everything, all of it, and she hesitated.

She had reached again for her more typical style. But now she found her mind wandered back to the last time she had been with her boyfriend— what she had worn then.

She allowed herself to walk towards the far-end of the closet, and to at least glimpse her casual clothes.

There, there was the top she’d worn. It was sleeveless, and it did have a neck that dipped, it did point to cleavage, the neck came down in a ‘v’ although at least it didn’t go all the way to her navel, only to the base of her sternum, and it was a narrow v, so it should no sides to her breasts.

But it did show them. They had always been substantial enough to show in that top, and the top itself was patterned in brown and white— brown base, white diamonds on it, of medium-size and geometrically spaced out. It was very casual, but she probably could wear to campus, other professors wore worse than this. And it would make her look beautiful. And it was free flowing fabric, free material that felt good on her body.

And it would make her seem more approachable— it was no kind of concession at all, really, was it? Or if it was, then only a small one, only a small thing to wear a casual top like this. Yes, when Hetty was in the company of Gerard, her boyfriend, she did dress down. But even with him, a man she let touch her and know her sexually, she still dressed for modesty— hence why the top’s cleavage v was still narrowed at its sides— so because it wasn’t inappropriate— she could wear it—

“I feel so warm, like before, just thinking about it,” she said in a hush, the tone of it one of wonder.

She was letting her foolish attraction get the better of her— a little but it was still under control. And why should she like Russel anyway, why like someone as odious as him, when so much about him was unappealing?

Unappealing but wrapped in a pretty package.

It had been nice at least that he hadn’t asked her for more information on the midterm. Something like respect, or consideration— was that— maybe— something small to appreciate in him?

She shook those thoughts out of her head, and reached for the top she’d most recently wore around her boyfriend. They had been walking on the street, heading for the upscale supermarket in the brick-brown building which was close to where Gerard lived— but she’d run into no students that day.

She put the top on, and had to it, even looking down at it, that it made her look stunning.

She paired it with the white capris she had worn it with last time, and put on sandals.

Then she drove herself to campus again, cheering herself as she went. She only had a courseload of four classes— she taught two on Mondays and Wednesdays, and two on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and if she could just get through today, she’d have basically reached her weekend. Sometimes on Fridays she still had to go into her office on campus and get some things done, but some weeks, she never had to go in at all.

There had been nothing turned in or assigned for this week which she might otherwise have been necessitated to grade and go through, so this would be one of her free weekends. It was just a matter of getting through her last two classes.

Historiography first.

The lecture went even better than the one on Tuesday. For only the fourth week of the course, Hetty was proud of how far her students had come.

No one seemed to react to the fact that she was dressed differently. The weather had still be nice enough to dress as though she were trying to keep cool— and she had been careful to avoid Russel’s eye entirely, and then to not look at him for the entire lecture-period.

When class finished, she called out to them all and reminded them of the essay they had do on the following Tuesday— and knew that come next Friday there would be a lot of grading for her to do— and then she dismissed them all.

She had stepped around her desk, so she was standing in front of it— she’d placed a few things a little too far out of reach, and now she needed to gather them.

Of course, this meant she was standing with her back out to the classroom. So she didn’t see it when someone stepped up to her— and jumped when she felt a hand lightly tap her shoulder.

She turned in the direction of this unexpected touch, and of course, it was Russel. Again, always Russel. Could she not have one class, once, where she didn’t have to worry about him hanging back.

But she saw the look she had been avoiding. The smile she’d ed this morning.

And at seeing his appreciation, feeling it, she could only say, “oh.”

Because it felt warm. It felt like bubbling up. It was a golden smile, like his beauty was golden, and his looks were golden. And she felt golden, cast in his light.

“You look very beautiful, today, Hetty,” Russel seemed to smile the words at her.

“Professor Mayhew,” she said stiffly. She was shaking. He was still smiling.

“But you like to be on a first-name basis with all of your students,” Russel stated.

“Not with you. For you— you should call me Professor because you look at me… like… that…”

Russel smiled broader. “Like what?”

“Like you meant to kiss me on Tuesday, but didn’t, and like you want to kiss me now.”

“You took my advice to heart, Professor,” Russel said.

“And that makes me feel very touched. Of course I’d like to kiss you now. But do you want to kiss me?”

It hadn’t been much of a concession… dressing like this… she still looked modest, still looked appropriate, fit in amongst all the other professors on campus. But it had made her look stunning. And it did have Russel smiling at her like that, did have her feeling young and frivolous of this ridiculous attraction to him.

Maybe it was a little more than attraction… maybe she appreciated the way he looked kindly on her— she almost felt like she did…

It hadn’t been much of a concession to dress this way, today. Would it be so much of a concession to kiss him?

Just a peck, just quick.

She was looking at him. And looking at his smiling lips. They seemed as beautiful as the rest of them.

No, it wouldn’t be much of a concession.

She leaned forward, shutting her eyes into it, and kissed him on the mouth.

She’d expected to kiss closed-mouth to open, but he had figured out what she was doing— and they kissed closed-mouth to closed-mouth, but it was quick. A pressing of her lips to his, and she didn’t want anything more than that. She’d dressed modestly, kissed him once, wouldn’t tell him what he should specifically study for the midterm, and that was all how she wanted it to be, and she wouldn’t change one part of it, wouldn’t change one part of it to be something other than what she wanted.

As soon as she pressed her lips to his, she was pulling them away, and opening her eyes.

She gathered her books— he looked like he appreciated her even more, approved of her even more, now that she’d kissed him.

She ignored the way that made her glow.

She left without speaking to him. For the first time, she was the one out of the classroom first, not left behind in his wake like every other time.

On Tuesday, all the essays for her historiography class were turned in at the beginning of the courseperiod.

When Russel handed his in, he shot her a look with his eyes that seemed to say, I know you’ll enjoy grading my essay.

She didn’t send him any kind of communicative look in kind.

And she had that day reverted to dressing more classically; again— only wearing a prim, proper dress— this time one that was green, an emerald-tone, with sleeves to her elbows and a hem to her knees. A looser, flowier thing on the whole too— sitting not so close to her body.

Still, when class was over, Russel was there— and she had done it once— he said nothing, and she said nothing, but she pressed her lips to his for a kiss. Quick, again— maybe one second longer than the last, maybe two seconds total instead of one, and she left again.

Thursday, nothing of note happened. And that was the fifth week of the course.

The next week was the sixth, and since the midterm was only two weeks away, she started to lay out for them all, in the broadest possible , what the midterm would consist of.

The kiss after Tuesday’s class that day was three seconds instead of two. And on Thursday, it was four instead of three.

And there was a concern in the back of her mind, always there, oozing like a wound that festered.

It pulled at her heartstrings, now, ing what Russel had said in the fourth week of class. ed him saying of the midterm, “I’m nervous about it,” saying how he just wished he could know… what specifically… like he just wanted a hint.

On the Tuesday of the seventh week of class, he leaned in to kiss her, and she held him back by the arms.

“Two specific chapters in your text,” she breathed, feeling the ache of that concern ease slightly. “The midterm will be centered mostly on them. Chapters Three and Seven.”

She was still a little breathless when she finished saying it.

Russel lay a hand on his heart. “Thank you Hetty. So much. I was so scared about it.”

“I know,” she said. “But if you study those two chapters, the midterm should be easy.”

When they kissed that day, two open mouths met each other, and two tongues brushed.

Hetty wasn’t just glowing anymore.

She felt like she was sparking inside, too.