The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

They’ve been chasing him all the way from Minnesota. He thought he could escape them by taking the bus through the labyrinthine corridors of the convention center’s garage, but they’re waiting for him, more aggressive than ever. And he’d though that the worst thing he’d have to deal with here was other controllers, not the horde of reporters who dogged his every step.

But Anson Barnett, née Anton Barnevsky, is willing to pay that kind of price for the success and attention Northern State gets. Still, he just wishes they could accept the answer he’s given them twice already. “It’s not a big deal,” he’s said time and time again. “I’m proud of Jo Mac, and I think she’ll do a great job at Indianapolis.” Of course he’s lying through his teeth; the former lead assistant for their women’s basketball team isn’t ready to be a head coach yet, and he’ll laugh every time his school beats hers until she comes crawling back to him. But the press won’t shut up about losing his top assistant to an intra-conference rival. They don’t want to talk about all the titles he’s won- nearly a sweep except for women’s soccer, men’s lacrosse, and football, because he knows what lines not to cross.

He can’t let them hang out here, or there’s going to be a lot more out of the bag than he’d like. So he comes off the bus and addresses them. “Hi, everyone! Funny how we keep running into each other, isn’t it? I’m absolutely thrilled that Jo Mac took the job at Indianapolis, and I think she’ll do a great job there. I relish the idea of Northern State alums holding the first two spots in the conference- almost as much as I relish emphasizing our own greatness by beating her. Any more questions?” He puts a little edge on his tone to discourage them, but they override him. “Yes, I heard about her hiring Cryme Dawg. That’s great for her and just shows the greatness of Northern State and the connections we build within the school community. He was a fine player for us, and a very good coach out in Cincinnati.”

A very good coach... Anton nearly chokes on the words, because that’s one of the biggest lies he’s ever told in this job. He can guess why Jo Mac went after Cryme Dawg first: he has a knack for induction, but no ability to control, making him a perfect recruiter but not a great coach, and Anton suspects that he’s been feeding information to the Mindcrime division. Not that he’s likely to do that anymore; Jo Mac might not be ready for an entire team, but if she can’t ride herd on one weak mind, Anton and JC haven’t been doing their jobs properly. “Any further questions? Yes, you in the back? What’s that? No, I’m not afraid of Indianapolis. Really, my friends, EVERYTHING’S GREAT AT NORTHERN STATE!”

He raps out the code phrase that ends press conferences cold, because he does not have time for this crap. He’s got a booth to set up, and the longer he has to hang out here, the better the odds that someone will ask why he’s got all his coaches with him, along with seven athletes from five different sports, and why they’re all in trance. The real reasons are obvious. The coaches need to go trawling and sharpen their skills. Kereee-L and Long Arm Law need to be tested and tried so he can see if they’re really worthy of continuing to learn the craft. As for tennis queen Ogle Me Olga, his two “Russian” track stars, and the volleyball duo... he knows as well as everyone else that contributing to the entertainment is a critical part of participating in the meetings. As it always does, the trigger phrase works, and the reporters scatter like scared pigeons. He waits for them to clear the lot before unloading the bus and running for the entrance to the convention center.

As soon as the door clicks shut, a black and gold limo comes flying into the garage, and the reporters converge on it. It skids to a stop, perfectly placed where the Hummer named Tasha had been. The driver pops out and opens the door for a slightly built blonde in a spectacular, elegant black and gold evening gown. Less confident women might put a hand to an upsweep as massive as hers, but Jo Mackey struts out as if this were the Oscars and she just hit the red carpet. Being on top is nothing new for a Northern State alumna- but being the head honcho is, and she’s taking full advantage of it. She teases the press at every step, laughing as they bombard her with questions about why she left Northern State and if she really thinks she has a chance to take down even one part of the Big Red Machine of Minnesota.

“Well, that’ll be up to my players. I know they’re good enough-after all, Northern State tried to recruit Amber Morris and Shawna Fisher, and look where they are now.” She smiles coolly and raises her hands in the air, flashing seven fingers, then eight, to summon her two prize recruits. One had been a small-town country girl, the other city-born and raised, but as they step out of the car, the only difference between them is that 7 is black and 35 is white. Both of them wear knee-high black boots, black and gold minidresses, and gold earrings bearing the Express’s half-train/half-racecar logo. Each wears a necklace bearing her number- the only identity she has left.

“What’s that? I assure you, even if they have to look down at me, they all look up to me,” Jo says with a laugh, allowing her two six-foot-plus recruits to flank her and show the near foot in size difference. “You know, when I started at Northern State, people said I was too small to handle high-level play. But I made the all-conference team my final two years. If there’s one thing I’ve taken away from my time at Northern State, it’s how to get talented players to shed their egos in the name of greatness.” She winks at the press, knowing she has them in the palm of her hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got to get going.”

The reporters part like the Red Sea, and she enters the convention center with 7 and 35 in tow. Anton’s group is still going through security, each person taking their turn at the metal detector designed to check more fearsome weapons than any mundane could imagine. He lingers at the back of the line. As the door opens, his eyes dart to Jo’s two recruits and he laughs. “Congratulations, Jo Mac, you destroyed two great athletes and made them into useless dolls. Not everyone can be you. Even your old study buddy Robobirdie knows that one. You’ll never get a productive game out of everyone being like that. They need some freedom or they’re worthless, though I’m looking forward to watching them crash into each other because they don’t know how to get out of each other’s way. You always were overzealous and a control freak. Call me when you try to have to explain this to the parents, because I’ll drive right down to Indianapolis to see the look on your face.”

The patronizing, parental tone in Anton’s voice puts Jo’s teeth on edge, and her reply is even more sickly sweet than she planned. “Please, Anton, it’s just Jo now, or Josephine if we’re going to be formal. And I’ve already thought through the problems you described-you’ll see a little later. My girls are my girls. I know they’ll never run off to tell tales at Maryland, or need to be turned into cheerleaders, or, oh... take all the secrets of my program to another school in the conference, unlike some programs I can name. You should be thanking me for getting that rat Griffin out of your hair- oh, I’m sorry, you’d know him as Cryme Dawg, but he’s a grown-up now. It’s a perfect partnership- he could lead them to water, but he never could make them drink. But he’s fine for implementing my system.” Her smile is hard and cold and plastic.

“We’re among controllers, so save the code talk.”

“You were right about him being a snitch, you know. A simple induction had him out and rambling. I wonder how many of your secrets he’s spilled outside our network. But he’ll never reveal mine.” She looks at Anton coyly. “He really is back at Indianapolis, working on the program. It’s a bit of work, taking over a team that was such a work in progress.”

“You silly child, don’t you know you need to have a strong system to take a whole team who can see it coming? When I came in, I just made sure the seniors were replaced and the upperclassmen were benched. If they fell in, great; if not, the system would be strong enough to keep them from rebelling. But with your level of slavery? You’re lucky you picked a school with fans who are sheep enough without mind control.” He laughs, looking at 7 and 35, who haven’t moved a muscle during the entire conversation. The Northern State contingent continues going through the metal detectors, with not even the gold medals causing them to beep.

“I learned from you, old man,” Jo replies levelly. “Rabid, loyal fans are a critical part of the formula. But science marches on, and it’s time for the student to become the teacher. 7, 35, go through, then set up while I get our guest. We have a long day ahead of us, and a new recruit to break in!” She smiles again, and the fact that it looks more human than any other expression she’s shown is countered by the sheer level of madness it implies. Her two players step forward, and the shrill whine of the metal detector cuts through the air. 7 and 35 pause, then simultaneously reach for their earrings with choreographed giggles.

“You have been hanging around with Robobirdie too long,” Anton mutters, knowing exactly what it means that they set off the metal detectors while nothing else he’s seen has. Jo brushes it off with a knowing smile and heads inside with 7 and 35 following her in lockstep.