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This is a work of pure fiction. It involves elements of mind control and non consensual activities that may upset some readers.
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Carla was a Spanish teacher, fifty years old and nearly as tall as any of the men in the staffroom, standing proud at 5’7”. Her skin kept an olive glow all through the year, always looking tanned and standing out in the halls—there was no doubt about her Mediterranean roots. Her hair, a sharp black bob, matched the decisive lines around her mouth and eyes, a face shaped by time and never quite soft, no matter how much she smiled. The darkness in her eyes was nearly black, and her nose arched proud above lips that so rarely relaxed. Her chest wasn’t big or small; the years had left it softer and lower, like her hips and belly, the last roundness hinting that maybe long ago she’d been an athlete. Those days were behind her. Carla had never had patience for men, and over the years, that patience turned to cold contempt—especially when she watched her bright, beautiful students wasting their youth on boys who couldn’t possibly understand them. She watched the girls with eyes as sharp as her haircut, and she always found herself drawn to the ones who seemed in need of rescue, picturing how she might open their eyes and bring them into the world she had built for herself and women like her, a place where Carla was, inevitably, the queen.
Sophie, just barely eighteen, sat up front in Carla’s advanced Spanish class. She was the sort of girl mothers want their sons to marry—blonde, small, and delicate, her features just a bit too perfect, like she’d stepped out of an ad. Sophie was every teacher’s favourite on paper: top grades, captain of the cheer team, standing tall and straight-backed with her boyfriend (who of course captained the football squad) always on her arm. She made sure everyone knew—even Carla, which grated—that she was saving herself for marriage, no exceptions. To Carla, it was a waste. She couldn’t bear the thought of such beauty tossed away on some brainless boy. If she could have her way, Sophie would forget men entirely and learn how wonderful it could be to belong to a woman who truly appreciated her. That would be Carla’s crowning achievement—a perfect, obedient girlfriend who never knew what she was missing until it was too late.
Hidden under her blouse, Carla wore an old gold pendant, cool and heavy against her chest. It was far more than an ornament; it was a family relic, hung with a stone so clear it sometimes seemed to glow. If she concentrated, she could reach out with her mind and slip inside others’ thoughts, nudging their feelings however she liked. Using it was draining—her hands would shake, her head would pound for hours after—but for the right purpose, the pain was nothing. She never wasted its power on small things. She saved it for the big ones, for moments that could change lives. Sophie, she decided, would be her next piece of art, and the best thing was, she could start right away, setting little hooks in the girl’s mind behind the safe, ordinary mask of a teacher.
***
The afternoon dragged its feet, dust motes spinning in the stale air. Carla fussed with the blackboard, churning through her lesson about past tenses—“had walked,” “had eaten”—droning on with that buttery, schoolteacher patience. Her pendant—some ugly thing her girlfriend gave her—jabbed around in her coat pocket, like even it wanted out. Her mouth kept moving, but her eyes flicked across the room, again and again, and rested—always—on Sophie, all knotted up in her seat, scrawling into her notebook like whatever she was writing could save her.
Halfway through a sentence, Sophie just stopped. Her pen stuck in midair, the blue tip shaking above the page. Some weird chill rolled through her skull, like her memories had all gone ice-cold, pulled apart and dunked in a bucket of meltwater. Everything good in her life, the boyfriend, the smiles, just started feeling off, wrong-sized, fraying at the seams for no reason she could pin down. Her boyfriend—the golden boy, blocky chin and football hero swagger, everyone’s favorite party mascot—his face felt all wrong in her head. Even yesterday’s laughter at lunch, those fake little jokes, barely thudded at the front of her chest now, instead of echoing somewhere deeper. Something ugly and wet—doubt—gnawed around her gut. Had he ever wanted her at all? Was she just window dressing for team photos? Had she made the whole thing up in her head? But the sick, sharp feeling inside wasn’t even for him—it was for herself, for falling apart about it so fast, for not managing to stitch up her insides and just get on with things.
And then, like someone yanking a cord, her panic shifted direction. Out of nowhere, Carla up at the front seemed to turn magnetic. Sophie’s gaze flipped up and got tangled somewhere in the folds of Carla’s loose blouse. There, barely hidden, were soft, heavy globes pressing against the cotton, shapes she’d never kırşehir escort before considered worth a second glance. Now she couldn’t tear her eyes away, the air sticking in her chest like she’d swallowed too fast. She’d always thought attraction was a one-way street—she loved men, that was it—but these new urges hammered at her, making her want to stare, imagine, touch even, though it made no sense. Her cheeks burned. She looked down, knuckles white on her pen, but the urge wouldn’t shift. She bit at her lip, heart stuttering, her own body now alien and demanding. A tidal wave of heat and embarrassment pinned her to her seat.
Carla, off by the window, caught everything. The corner of her mouth curled up, sly, almost taunting, while Sophie wriggled in her seat, as if ants crawled up her back—so restless, almost frightened by some foreign pulse running through her. The lunch bell shrieked and three hundred bodies lurched at once, feet and chairs scraping, everyone erupting for food or noise or the hell of movement. Carla hardly moved. She pressed two fingers to her pendant under the baggy sleeve, just keeping herself anchored while the final move lined up. She drifted an oily, jealous itch into Mark’s head—he’d been Prince Bloody Charming up to today. Then as Sophie tiptoed up, her face a question mark, he spun ‘round and snapped:
“You’re always around, Sophie, it’s suffocating. Gimme room, alright?”
Every head turned—tnot their business, but too good to pass up. Laughter slithered around the floor, ugly and shrill. Sophie, caught, tray rattling like she was about to drop it. Red stalked up her neck but rage flared in her eyes quick, all pride and salt:
“Wow, Mark. Real nice. After everything? This?”
Eyes glittering wet, mouth twisted half with hurt, half something harder. She slammed her tray—juice arcing straight onto the floor—and bolted out, heads swivelling after her, gossip already rolling in a dozen throats.
Carla hung back, a nobody with the teachers’ mob, grinning to herself. Whispered so only the air might catch it, “Boys are all the same. She could do worlds better. Anyone could see it.” There was a cold sparkle behind Carla’s eyes: busy with all the bright, wicked ways this could all end up.
End of the day. Classroom empty, air hanging still and muggy over the desks. Carla waiting at a weird angle on her desk, blouse lazily unbuttoned, hand hidden at her pendant again, keeping her nerves humming just right. Sophie drifted into the doorway, arms a knot, skirt wrinkled, still nursing the sting from before. Hollow-eyed, she just hovered.
Carla pitched her voice soft—sticky-sweet but bored, as if concern was a coat she tried on for show. “Bad day, hey? Must be rough, getting called out like that. Men never know when they’ve had enough of themselves,” she said, tone bending, dripping with a kind of lazy contempt. She leaned, blouse folding just so—knew exactly what she showed, made sure her eyes wouldn’t let Sophie look away.
She pressed with her mind—look, notice, crave, just like that.
Sophie blinked, gaze snapping to the bits of bare skin Carla let slide into view. Shame flashed—hot, stiff—but her eyes dragged back, stubborn as gravity. Her hands fidgeted down by her hips, cheeks burning. This isn’t me, she thought. Not like this, not with her. But her body paid her no mind.
Carla let her voice drop, caught on some jagged rib of amusement. “Eyes up here, darling, unless you’re so desperate you can’t help yourself.” A soft laugh, mean in its gentleness. Sophie stammered, “I—I don’t know why, Ms. Carla, honest, I just can’t—” Her mouth wouldn’t listen—her eyes kept bouncing back, pulled helpless. Carla watched, wolfish, pleased down to her bones.
Now Carla’s voice softened, nearly sweet, but Sophie could hear the steel under it. “Here’s what—come by my apartment after school, just a bit of extra help with the lesson. Wouldn’t want a smart girl like you to slip behind, all because of some silly, ungrateful boy.” Still wrung out from Mark and wrecked by all these new, twisted desires, Sophie only nodded, no words left. Carla’s look was thick with approval—she knew the girl was already past the point of resistance.
***
That evening, Sophie came to Carla’s small apartment. The apartment had heavy shelves with old books on them and dark furniture everywhere. Everything in the apartment looked serious and private, just like Carla herself. Earlier that day at school, Carla had used her pendant to put a thought in Sophie’s mind. The thought was to wear something bold and showing a lot of skin that night.
Sophie had always dressed in clothes that covered her up. She wore things that did not show much of her body. But now she was standing there at Carla’s door and…well, she had on a crop top that was really tight. It could barely hold her chest in it. And she had on this tiny denim skirt that showed most of her legs too. This was the kind of thing she would wear to some wild party with her friends, not for just visiting someone at their home. When malatya escort she stood there in Carla’s dim apartment that had books everywhere, Sophie’s bare stomach and her bare thighs…they looked really out of place.
Carla had on a tight tank top and some stretchy leggings that were showing all her curves. She looked at Sophie’s eyes with this slow look that showed she was pleased. Really pleased. It was pretty clear that Carla liked the outfit Sophie was wearing.
“Let’s start now,” Carla said in this cool voice. She was holding her pendant in her hand…squeezing it. She led Sophie over to a small table that was pushed into the corner. Once they sat down at the table, Carla stared at Sophie really hard. She used her powers to make Sophie’s eyes wander. Sophie could not control it. Her eyes moved to look at Carla’s chest. The tank top Carla had on…it showed almost everything. Sophie found that she could not look away from Carla’s chest. She tried, but she just could not do it.
Sophie’s heart started beating really fast and she began moving around in her chair. Her mind was going crazy with thoughts—she did not know why she could not stop staring at her teacher’s body like that. Carla’s lips went up in this smile that looked hungry. She then pushed another thought into Sophie’s mind. It was this weak urge to pull at her own clothes.
As if on cue, Sophie started pulling her top down and exposing more of her legs by moving her skirt up. After a while she began feeling self-conscious of how much skin she was exposing. She wanted to pull her top back up, tug her skirt down and cover herself. But her hands just wouldn’t respond. They felt heavy and useless.
Carla’s control was getting stronger and stronger over her. Sophie could feel it taking hold. And it showed on her face – the fear, the panic, the way she was completely trapped.
Carla stepped up closer, voice dropping so low it was almost like a secret. “You’re shy now?” she whispered, her arm nearly brushing Sophie. That warmth pressed close. Carla’s blue eyes ran up and down, staring at every patch of skin Sophie couldn’t hide. “Look at you, wandering around in that tiny outfit. Hoping some teacher would get an eyeful?” Her mouth curled in a mean, little smile.
Carla’s fingers closed around her own pendant. Sophie’s own hands moved straight away, tugging her top even lower, dragging her skirt higher up her thighs. Her hands seemed to belong to someone else now. Sophie’s face burned when she realised how much was uncovered, and she tried to snatch her skirt down, just for a second—but Carla caught the movement with that icy stare and froze Sophie in place. Panic jumped out in Sophie’s eyes. She didn’t understand why her arms would not move, could not pull the skirt back. She just stood there, put on display, unable to move or look away.
Carla’s smile got wider when she spotted the panic over Sophie’s face. “You really do have a lovely body, Sophie. All soft, all those sweet curves. It’s good to finally see you let it out a little,” she said, her voice smooth like honey, then almost sing-song: “Is this what you want? Showing off for another woman? Or does it just feel nice, having me watch you?”
Sophie’s cheeks went a deeper red. Carla’s teasing spun her around inside—this was not her, none of this was her, and not with her teacher. But her body would not budge, wouldn’t let her cover up, nothing but heat and shame running through her.
Carla came in even closer, her breath brushing over Sophie’s ear. “You can’t stop staring at me, can you?” Carla’s voice turned soft and taunting. She threw back her shoulders, making her own tank top pull tight over every curve. “Maybe you haven’t seen much before. Maybe you’re not as straight as you thought?”
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut, swept along by a heavy mix of shame and confusion. Still, Carla’s voice in her head was stronger than anything else—Sophie’s eyes stayed locked on Carla’s body, every muscle burning with embarrassment, every nerve screaming from being held there, utterly under Carla’s spell.
Carla’s smile grew. “Breaking up with your boyfriend at lunch… quite a scene. But Sophie, he’s not worth a thought. Boys like that never are. Forget him—he never deserved you. Why bother with men at all?” Carla’s voice sank into Sophie’s head. Her fingers tightened on the pendant. Something deep inside Sophie felt a firm push to let go of her last feelings for her ex. Sophie’s brow wrinkled. “But I—I like men, I—” she stammered. Carla put a finger on Sophie’s lips. “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t hide. Let what’s real out. Listen to your heart,” she whispered insistently. The pendant’s power seeped deeper. Doubts swirled: Had boys ever made her happy? Or was that just what she’d been told? Hadn’t something always been missing—something only a woman could give? Everything turned confusing and strange.
Sophie avoided Carla’s eyes. Her hands balled into fists. “I… I don’t know… I always thought… but now… why am I…?” she whispered shakily. The words spilled niğde escort out in pieces. Her years of believing she was straight fought desperately against the new feelings—images flashing of women, especially Carla’s confident body. Each one unsettled her. Her breath came uneven and shaky as she struggled to hold onto the familiar. But the tempting new feelings wouldn’t let go.
Carla caught that spark in her eyes when Sophie’s face started twisting up with all that confusion—the little mumbles under her breath, the way her expression kept flipping between not buying it and something pulling her in. She dropped her voice down low, making it sound all warm and inviting even though it wasn’t real. “Hey, don’t just stand there like you’re lost in the woods, Sophie. Come on over here, sit down with me. We can have a real talk,” she said, nodding at the skinny dark leather couch shoved in the corner of her place. It sat there in the dim light, so tight in the space that you could forget about personal room. With a quick little push from her mind, using that pendant tucked in her pocket, Carla got Sophie moving over without a peep, her steps all jerky and unsure, but no way she could stop herself. Sophie plopped down right on the edge, way too close to Carla, her short skirt hiking up her legs.
Carla eased back, her tight tank top pulling against her curves, and zeroed in on Sophie again through the pendant. She pushed a clear thought right into the girl’s head: any touch from Carla was going to send these buzzing thrills racing through her, cutting off any fight with sharp jolts she couldn’t shake. Sophie’s fingers fidgeted in her lap, her gaze jumping around full of doubt, but deep down she picked up on this weird shift that had just happened. Feeling good about it, Carla let her bare arm graze against Sophie’s, just skin brushing skin—like it happened by accident, but close enough that it wasn’t going anywhere.
Sophie sucked in a sharp breath, whole body tensed and buzzing the instant Carla touched her. Her shoulders jerked up—spine stiff as a pole—eyes gone wild like she’d just walked in on some terrible secret. Her hips gave a skittish wriggle, desperate for an inch of space she didn’t have. She ended up wedged right there, no way out. Carla caught the way Sophie’s blush crawled high under her skin, and under the surface that flustered confusion was quick-flipping into something hotter, something helpless and alive. Carla let herself enjoy it, this private little show, and then slipped her right hand slow onto Sophie’s bare knee, dragging fingertips in lazy rings—up, up toward soft thigh. Her left hand barely grazed Sophie’s arm, tracing from the crook of the elbow to her wrist, just light enough to leave a tingle.
Sophie’s breath stuttered; she gave a little shudder, as though some live wire had pricked her core. Logic had her shouting to shove Carla away—teacher, what is she doing, hell, why am I letting this happen—but that protest only rattled faintly out her mouth. “I—I shouldn’t… this isn’t right,” she mumbled, so quiet it all but dissolved in the air, her hands making a feeble attempt at Carla’s wrists before flopping back, limp against her own legs. Every single spot Carla touched seemed to buzz, her skin almost singing, any trace of fight melting away. It didn’t matter how fiercely she screwed her eyes shut; the shivers just kept coming.
Carla moved closer, breath hot by Sophie’s ear as she murmured, “Your skin’s so soft, Sophie. Don’t you just want to let yourself feel it?” Her fingers kept up their slow drift, tracing over the warm stretch of Sophie’s arm and bare thigh, and Carla relished the way embarrassment warred with the tremors riding through the girl’s body. Carla drank it all in, letting her hands wander, knowing every touch, every word was shaking loose whatever little bit of resistance Sophie had left.
For a second, Carla just sat there eyeing Sophie as she shook. She shifted over till their thighs pressed together, her hand moving from Sophie’s legs up to her bare stomach where the shirt had bunched up. Carla traced these slow loops around the navel, her tanned fingers popping against the pale skin. “What a great belly you’ve got, Sophie,” Carla said, her tone full of that approving vibe. “All flat and silky.” The touches—still backed by that mental nudge Carla had planted—shot a warm rush through Sophie, lighting up her core like nothing else. Sophie sucked in a breath, her stomach jumping under the hand, as these unwanted tingles spread out, her head going fuzzy, no chance to think straight or break free.
Carla cocked her head and locked those dark eyes on Sophie, not breaking the stare. “You want to touch my belly, Sophie?” she asked. Her voice came out gentle, but underneath it was basically a command. Sophie’s body went rigid right away. She wanted to pull back, hit with this disgust and fear as her mind screamed not to go there with her teacher. Her mouth started to form a no, but Carla squeezed the pendant hard and suddenly Sophie felt this heavy wave crashing over her thoughts, wiping out what she really felt. Instead of backing off, she got hit with this urge to go along. Her head bobbed in a nod, face burning up with shame. She dropped her gaze to the floor, couldn’t look Carla in the eye, a deep blush hitting her cheeks for saying yes to something that felt so twisted.
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