The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d show them. That’s really the only reason I could come up with for why I did it. Growing up in the middle of Kansas just, well, sucked. Church and farming and family and farming and church and church and family and GAAAAHHHH! Still riled me up thinking about it. I’d threatened to run off the day after my high school graduation, go back-packing through Europe, stay in hostels, not shave my legs, hinted that I might be interested in girls. My family pleaded and begged and cajoled, tried everything short of slashing my tires to keep me in town going to the local religious university. Fuck that. I was escaping that mind-numbing boredom and living it up in college.

After intense negotiations and more than a few tantrums we’d finally compromised. I could have four years at college paid for by the parentals. All my extra curriculars were up to me. Suited me just fine, I could get a job, I was smart. I just HAD to get the hell out of there.

Once it was settled I started looking at colleges. I wasn’t concerned with any particular school of study or future earnings or anything like that, I was looking at one type of list: party schools. Seriously, my senior prom had a sheep at it! What kind of fun life was that?! College was supposed to be a blast and I was damn sure going to make that happen. One name kept appearing at or near the top of all the lists: Arizona State. Warm weather, college town. And I’m not going to lie, the fact that the mascot was a “Sun Devil” was just the cherry on top of the piss-off-Mom-and-Dad sundae. So that’s where I went.

Four years really flies. I’d come in with a pretty extensive “to do” list and crossed off damn near all of them. Kegger. Edward 40 hands. Wet t-shirt contest. Wear a bikini and get covered in body paint to get on television at a football game. Get a killer tan. I’d worked a string of jobs at bars, always the same. Start as a cocktail waitress, get promoted to bartender, sneak as much booze during and after shift until the liquor cost rose too high and I get sent packing then do it all over again. There was no shortage of places willing to hire a 5′10″ brunette with legs for days, muscles honed from farm work and a nice full C-cup rack that was always on display in some type of cleavage broadcasting shirt.

Yep, those four years had been an awesome collection of experiences all blended together into a collective fun haze. The only thing I hadn’t managed to scratch off my list was to, well, graduate. I was about halfway through my junior year at this point. Changing majors hadn’t helped. Neither had dropping at least one class every semester. And failing a couple. Here and there. It hadn’t come as a huge surprise when the time was up and I didn’t get another check from my parents. The time away hadn’t improved our relationship, if anything it was more acrimonious now, reduced to forced phone calls on birthdays and holidays and even terser e-mails. I hadn’t even been home in two years, staying in Tempe during the summer and theoretically catching up on some credits but I’d only managed to get back six hours in two summers. They thought I’d come slinking home, tail between my legs, begging forgiveness. I’d get the endless “why can’t you be like so-and so’s daughter” and get married and have kids and stay at home and do nothing. The list of “so and so’s” just got longer and longer, basically every girl I’d gone to high school with was married and pregnant. Sometimes not in that order. To hell with that. Like I said earlier: I’d show them.

When the show had announced they were doing special college editions, Arizona State was a logical place for an episode The screening process had been…strange. All the girls looked beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But they’d turned away most of the applicants so fast it made my head spin. Most of them gave some version of the same reason: “I want to be on the show to get some money for clothes/jewelry/a new car/a nicer place” or “I want to get some free enhancements.” So I really didn’t even have to lie when my interview came up. I told them the situation: My parents had offered x amount of money and it turned out I was going to need y amount to finish school. I might have played up the conflict a little and turned on some tears just to seal the deal.

And here I was: Dead center on the darkened stage, waiting for the curtain to rise and the lights to shine. I was going to be on Bimbo or Billionaire. I get the money to stay in school and keep having fun. Eventually I’d finish school but the true motive was to spite my folks and do what I wanted to do.

“And now…it’s time…for another episode of…” The emcee’s voice echoed throughout the arena. But the audience’s response was ten times louder.

“BIMBO OR BILLIONAIRE!!!”

“That’s right folks, is she a Bimbo or a Billionaire! This is a special-edition; we’re on the campus of Arizona State for a college edition of the show! And now, here’s your host: Jack!”

Jack entered stage left, looking very smart in a gray suit. As a tip of the cap to the school he was wearing a dark maroon tie and had a yellow rose pinned to his suit coat.

“Thanks Dan and thank you everyone for showing up for our remote broadcast.”

The audience was entirely men, as far as I could see. But I could only see the first few rows. We were in the basketball arena; it was the only place on campus that could handle the crowd. They’d tried to do it in one of the auditoriums where they had freshmen orientations but the tickets had sold out in three minutes. The football stadium had been proposed but they needed an indoor venue for the stage and equipment.

“Tonight’s coed contestant is not a native of Arizona but she wishes to extend her stay here, please welcome Jessica!”

Everyone had been able to see me as soon as the lights came up but the applause was still deafening. I was wearing the Collar of Fate around my neck, of course. It had been a little weird wearing it around for a week and letting it acclimate and prep for the show but I’d just said it was a special choker. And it was special, lets be real. I was also wearing an ASU string bikini. It was a deviation from the usual tube top and thong combination but the show’s producers had seen footage of me on TV and wanted to play up the college theme. Plus the maroon and yellow looked great against my tan.

“Jessica, why don’t you tell the folks a little about yourself and why you’re on the show tonight?”

“Thanks Jack. I grew up in Kansas and got here as fast as I could, staying home and raising a family isn’t exactly my idea of fun. I love it here and I want to get some cash together to be able to stay here and finish my degree. And if I end up having a little more…fun… along the way, well, so much the better.”

I ended with a beaming smile and a wink to the camera. I had no illusions about the show, I knew I was going to end up with some changes. But hair, make up, voice? No big deal. I was pretty, sure, but I wasn’t gorgeous, I wasn’t really remarkable in any way. What I had was working for me up to this point. Whatever happened going forward, well, I’d make that work too. I’d done some research, watching old episodes, and the audiences had always responded better when the contestant was polite and honest. Of course, those audiences hadn’t been a bunch of drunken frat boys. But I was one of these people, I was their peer. They wouldn’t want to mess me up too much. I hoped.

“Alright Jessica, glad to have you. As we’re on the road, we brought everyone with us. You’ve already met Dan, the emcee. Shout out to the technicians back stage, they’ll be providing the fireworks tonight. Of course the Man himself, the Accountant is with us tonight, watching from on high.”

One of the luxury boxes lit up and the silhouette of a man showed. He was impassive as ever, not even moving.

“And last but not least is everyone’s favorite, Chrissi!”

A spotlight beamed to my right and showed…nothing. Chrissi was nowhere to be seen. Bemused laughter filtered down but Jack was clearly not amused.

“Chrissi? Chrissi! CHRISSI!” Jack’s bellow was loud enough, the microphone made it ear splitting.

“Sorry Jack, I’m coming.”

The words had a bit of a moan to them, I thought. And from somewhere near the tunnel where the basketball team usually entered the court a disheveled Chrissi stumbled into view. Her sequined dress was hiked up and pulled down, showing her panties and one full boob, although her hand was covering that up, to the producer’s relief. Chrissi was panting and a little unsteady on her heels. I could just make out several guys high fiving each other in the gloom behind her.

“Sorry, sorry, I like, got lost since this place is so big and new and those nice boys were helping me find my way and one of them dropped a quarter and I like, bent over to pick it up and then, mmmm…”

She trailed off. Clearly the guys had used her for a bit of fun. But, well, she WAS a bimbo. 12 straight bimbo cases, the poor girl. Several stagehands were making her presentable while Jack swallowed a grimace and put his best face back on. I noticed as Chrissi was tottering on stage over to the 24 cases that her hair and makeup were absolutely perfect, even though the techs hadn’t touched them.

“Well, now that the gang’s all here, Jessica, are you ready to play?”

“I am Jack, lets get this show on the road. Go Sun Devils!” The audience roared again at that.

“Alright everyone, you heard her, let’s play the game and find out: Is Jessica a Bimbo…or a Billionaire!”

Finally. I’d show them.