The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to Million Dollar Cherry! Our returning champion, Gwendolyn Oerland, returns for her eighth and final round, and her chance to win our top prize of... one million dollars.”

As the wild applause settled, the host continued, “And, joining us this round, let me introduce our next challenger, Brandie Wilkins!”

Brandie jumped. She had expected that a round where the champion was going for the grand prize would use one of the solo challenges, so she hadn’t really been paying attention for a contestant call. Getting her brain into gear, she jumped again and rose to her feet, putting on her best show of enthusiasm as she ran up the steps and approached center stage.

Gwendolyn stared at Brandie, clearly taking the measure of this upstart standing between her and her million dollars. The blonde champion looked the newcomer up and down, with a confident expression declaring her dominance.

It made Brandie feel as if Gwendolyn were preparing to take possession of her. Not literally, of course. One of the program’s coterie of panelists, not the victor, would enjoy the loser’s wagered sexual favors. But perhaps Gwendolyn got off on the idea of sending Brandie backstage as a plaything, even if she wasn’t her plaything.

She took a slow breath and told herself that she was not going to be outpsyched. She stared back, telling herself that she would—figuratively speaking—make this woman her bitch.

The host had held back, allowing the moment of silent drama to play out for the cameras. However, it was now time for the show to go on.

“Now, Gwendolyn, you are just one more round away from winning the grand prize. However, you have already won five hundred thousand in the past seven rounds. If you wish, you may end it now, and go home with your cherry...” The host indicated her contestant’s keepsake trophy, crowned with a bright red cherry the size of a grapefruit. “...and your current winnings.”

“Or...“ The host paused dramatically. “...you may choose to risk your cherry one more time and attempt to double your winnings to the maximum one million dollars. However, if you lose, you will give up your five hundred thousand, and you will go backstage with one of our guests, who will have his or her way with you and send you home without your cherry.” A low but reliable level of snickering greeted the show’s running gag.

“Gwendolyn, you have a decision to make. Do you want to play it safe and go home with your current winnings and your cherry, or do you want to try for the million dollars?”

Loud cries went up from the studio audience, as advocates for both options tried to shout down their opposition. “Take it!” “Go for it!” “Stay!” “Keep Going!”

The host watched the champion’s expression intently. Her mind had been implanted with a definite inclination to play the game out to the end, but left with enough free will that she could still choose to back out when expressly offered the option. If so, she would be escorted to the office to pick up her check, and discreetly taken aside for a quick booster treatment to insure that she would never suspect that her participation had been other than fully voluntary.

The show had occasionally lost an entertaining contestant to this safety valve. But the important thing was that they’d never experienced an explosion of resistance onstage... or, worse, backstage.

The champion showed no signs of doubt, and seemed to be hesitating only to hype the drama. “I’m going for the million!”

As the audience broke out in applause, the host turned to the new arrival. “Brandie, you heard what I just explained to Gwendolyn. Remember, you have no accumulated winnings at risk. However, you have your cherry.” An assistant—her nametag identified her as “Lucia”—walked up with another one of the contestant trophies. “This was yours from the moment you first set foot on stage. If you wish, you can walk away now, and keep your cherry. Or... you may choose to try to win the five thousand dollar first-round prize, along with the opportunity to return and double it to ten thousand. But, as I explained to Gwendolyn, if you lose, you will accompany one of our guests backstage, and give up your cherry to satisfy his or her appetite.”

The audience snickering was a bit muted this time, and a scattering of yells encouraged Brandie to enter the game.

“And now, I ask you: Do you want to keep your cherry and walk away, or are you willing to risk your cherry and play for the five thousand?”

Brandie paused for a long moment. The host awaited her decision. This first stay-or-go choice was the acid test of Brandie’s mental programming. If she stayed now, she would almost certainly remain for the duration, and fully cooperate at each step up to and including paying the loser’s forfeit. If not, well, the management would limit its losses to one free vacation trip and its risks to practically nil.

Audience opinion was almost unanimous in urging her to go for it. Even the other potential contestants awaiting their own turns urged her onward out of a sense of solidarity.

Finally, she spoke up. “I want to play!”

“Very good. We’ll have a brief break to set up for the game, and then we’ll see if our champion Gwendolyn takes the million dollars, or if our challenger Brandie begins her own road to the big prize.” The host paused, and beckoned another assistant toward the group. “Gwendolyn, Brandie, if you’ll follow Lucia and Selena to the dressing rooms...?”

Brandie followed Selena to a little room in the back, where she found a Million Dollar Cherry baseball cap and a rather skimpy bikini bearing the show’s logo on what little fabric it was made of.

Well, she was here to put on a show. She quickly stripped out of her regular clothes and got into the swimsuit. Selena led her back to the stage. Gwendolyn was already standing there, and shot her an impatient look.

Filming resumed with a standard post-commercial introduction for any viewers just tuning in. The host then declaimed, “Our reigning champion, Gwendolyn, is just one victory away from the million dollar grand prize. Our challenger, Brandie, is trying to snatch it away from her and take the first step toward getting the million for herself.”

Gesturing toward Stage One, the host continued, “We’re going to settle this with one of our ladies-only games: ‘Cuff Five, Muff Dive’. For this game, we’ll need a panel of three gals who appreciate our fair female contestants.” The curtain in front of Stage One opened, revealing three women each seated behind a small platform with a display panel at the front.

“With us today we have Vera Munroe, who I understand has one of her mystery novels coming out next month.”

Vera nodded. “That’s right. The publisher says they expect Murder Not Quite So Foul to do even better than the last couple.”

“Also joining us today is Xenia Moulikos, who has just finished directing on ‘Earth Shakers VI’. According to the tabloids, there was a bit of earth-shaking, or at least trailer-shaking, behind the scenes.”

She chuckled. “No comment. If what you’re implying were true, which of course it isn’t, I’d chalk it up as the casting couch for young starlets becoming a bit more inclusive.”

“Our third and final panelist is Clarisse Yasnoburg, who brings an interesting perspective to the issue of how women are depicted in comics.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Apparently, I’ve become the standard excuse for the guys. They can point to me and say ‘well, she draws superheroines with more and bigger T-and-A than I do, so why pick on me?’”

As the audience chuckles at the last comment died down, Lucia and Selena wheeled out a pair of small tray tables. Each table bore a pair of handcuffs connected by a length of silk rope, a somewhat larger pair of fetters connected by a rigid bar, and a device resembling a video game controller with one big red button.

“While our panelists review the predictions they’ve made about the final outcome of the game, I’ll describe how it’s played.”

The host made a theatrical wave toward the tables. “Each of you stand next to your table and pick up your hand buzzer.... Just hold it in your hand like this, keep your thumb on the button, ready to go the instant you decide you want to answer... yes, like so.”

“Our announcer will read off a recent quote or fact pertaining to one of our celebrity panelists. If you think you know which one it is, press your button. Whoever buzzes in first must then answer the question. Let’s do a quick equipment check.” A few tests confirmed that each gizmo buzzed and lit up when its button was pressed, locking out the other button for approximately two seconds.

“If you answer correctly, your opponent gets the next ankle or wrist cuff fastened. If you answer incorrectly, you get your next cuff fastened, and lose one article of clothing, from the top down. Your opponent then gets an opportunity to answer the question... which might mean that you get another cuff fastened. So be careful with your answers!”

After pausing a beat, the explanation continued. “But don’t dither, either. If neither one of you buzzes in within six point nine seconds, both lose one article of clothing—or collect another cuff if you’re already out of clothing—and we move along to the next question.”

Lucia held up the handcuffs and shackles from Gwendolyn’s table to give the audience a better view; Selena did the same for Brandie’s. “As you can see, each of you has four cuffs: ankle-ankle-wrist-wrist. If all four are fastened, you’re still in the game... but if you get one more, you lose. When you get ‘Cuff Five’, you go backstage for a ‘Muff Dive’ session with the panelist who best predicted the final score. Of course, that means no cherry for you.”

The panelists took a minute or so to think and scribble something. “Have you settled on your final predictions?” All three nodded. “Including the tiebreaker prediction of the contestants’ final state of dress or undress?” More nods.

“Well, then, let’s begin.” Taking a stack of index cards from a pocket, the host read the first question. “Which of our panelists describes her current romantic situation as ‘girls-only open relationship’?”

Gwendolyn hit her buzzer. “Clarisse”.

Clarisse nodded. “Damn straight.” Scattered groans in response to the pun mixed with the ding-ding signifying a correct answer.

“Yes, and we’re careful to respect that when selecting Clarisse’ panel assignments.” Meanwhile, Selena attached one end of Brandie’s spreader bar to her left ankle.

The host cycled the stack of cards to the next question. “Shock jock Norton Limanek said that one of our panelists, quote, ‘nailed all but one of her sorority sisters during her senior year’. Which one?”

This time Brandie hit the button first. “Vera”.

Vera shook her head. “I wish.”

As the wrong-answer buzzer sounded, the host gave a little theatrical wince as Brandie’s other foot was fettered and her hat taken away. “Oh, this is not going well for our challenger! Gwendolyn, the question is yours.”

“Xenia.”

“That’s what he said,” she confirmed. As the correct-answer chime sounded again and the rope was handcuffed to Brandie’s left wrist, she continued, “And, for the record, I nailed that last holdout before all the finals grades were posted, so I say it counts!” Judging by the reaction, the audience concurred.

Gwendolyn was grinning from ear to ear, apparently confident that the million was all but hers. Brandie struggled to keep a poker face.

“Next question: Who said that some days, she has more trouble grooming the hair between her legs than the hair on her head?”

Gwendolyn’s hand twitched, but she stopped short of pressing the button. Brandie just stared. Finally, a deep rumbling buzzer sounded.

“Nobody got that question. By the way, the answer was ‘Vera’.” Lucia took Gwendolyn’s hat, and Selena undid the clasp of Brandie’s bikini top and lifted it away. Scattered hoots of excitement and approval rang out as the viewers got a first look at her naked tits.

Brandie glanced at her opponent, and saw a poorly concealed smirk on her face. She resolved to keep her cool. She would turn this around. Somehow.

“Next question: Who told Liana Virley that to properly play Amazogal, she needed to ‘act like she was torn between turning Madame Maleficia over to the authorities and just bending her over her knee for a good spanking’?”

Gwendolyn buzzed in a split second before Brandie. “Xenia.”

BZZZTT! “Brandie has the question.”

“Clarisse.”

“Correct. You may recall that Clarisse was working with Xenia as a consultant on that film.” Clarisse and Xenia exchange a glance suggesting that their meetings had been more than merely professional.

Now it was Brandie’s turn to grin as Lucia fastened both ends of Gwendolyn’s spreader bar and then removed her top to fresh cries of audience approval.

“It looks as if things may be turning around for our challenger, though she is still trailing a bit.” The host flipped to the next question card. “Who told her publisher to be sure to include ‘numbers of local escort services that provide women for women’ on her advance team checklist during her latest publicity tour?”

Gwendolyn looked thoughtful. Brandie jerked her thumb as if about to buzz in, but it was Gwendolyn’s hand unit that actually went off.

The host turned to her, “Yes, Gwendolyn?”

“Ahhh... errr.... Clarisse?”

Again, the buzzer sounded, and Clarisse shook her head. “It’s a good idea, though. I’ll have to make a note of that for next time.”

Lucia took the blonde’s wrist and fastened one end of the handcuff rope, then began tugging at her bikini bottom. The host turned to Brandie. “Your question.”

“Vera.” The chime sounded to indicate a correct answer, and Lucia cuffed Gwendolyn’s other wrist. She then yanked apart a couple of quick-release seams and removed the blonde’s final garment, to the sound of the longest and loudest cheering heard so far during the show.

“Well, this is quite a turnaround. Our challenger has brought the champion to the brink of defeat... but it could still go either way.” Pausing for a dramatic moment, the host took out the next card.

“One of our panelists once told a Washington Post interviewer, ‘Both times I had sex with a man, it was actually pretty good. But it simply wasn’t me.’”

Both contestants looked tense. A second went by, and then two, and then three. As the no-answer buzzer seemed imminent, Brandie hit her button. “Clarisse.”

The correct-answer chime sounded loudly and repeatedly to indicate the end of the game. The host stepped up to Brandie and said, “Congratulations! You have defeated our champion, and won five thousand dollars... your first step toward the million dollar grand prize!”

Brandie smiled sweetly, barely noticing Lucia and Selena removing her fetters and handing back her hat and top. Her attention was focused on Gwendolyn’s shell-shocked expression.

The host turned to the panelists. “Now, then, our final score is: Gwendolyn took Cuff Five, and Brandie won the game with only three cuffs. Let’s see our panelists’ predictions.”

Displays lit up in front of each of the little desks. Xenia had “Gwendolyn 1, Brandie 5”, Clarisse had “Gwendolyn 5, Brandie 4”, and Vera had “Gwendolyn 5, Brandie 2”.

“Xenia expected Gwendolyn to just take it going away and claim the big prize, but it didn’t work out, and now she’s out of contention. Both Clarisse and Vera correctly predicted that the champion would be going down. Clarisse expected it to go right to the brink at 5 to 4, and Vera was more optimistic about our challenger. Vera, it must have looked pretty grim at first.”

“I had a gut feeling she was going to win, but I thought about predicting she’d lose because then I’d have a chance of taking her backstage if she did. For a minute there I was kicking myself for not doing that.”

“Well, nobody is going backstage with Brandie today, so following your first instinct has left you in the running for a muff dive with Gwendolyn. Now... Clarisse and Vera each named the winner, and were each off by one in guessing her final score. To break that tie, let’s see your clothing predictions.”

Vera and Clarisse propped up their little whiteboards.

On Vera’s was written “Brandie: Fully Clothed,” annotated with a little frowny face, and “Gwendolyn: Topless,” with “(head & boobs)” squeezed in for clarification. Among the scattered giggles from the peanut gallery, the host said, “Actually, Brandie lost two items of clothing and Gwendolyn lost all three, so you were off by two and by one, for a total of three. Now, let’s see if Clarisse did any better.”

Clarisse had doodled little drawings. The one labeled “Gwendolyn” was a figure dressed in a full bikini, little lines around the head emphasizing its bareness, with spreader bar and handcuffs in place but not prominent. The other, labeled “Brandie” (with a heart dotting the “i”) showed a nude figure with her spread-bound feet up on tiptoe as the rope between her handcuffs held her suspended from the ceiling. Exaggerated hips, pubes, tits, and nipples were topped off with deer-in-the-headlights eyes and blush-shaded cheeks.

As the first wave of audience laughter faded, the host remarked, “Well, now I have a prediction. Clarisse is going to be a very frequent panelist for as long as Brandie remains on the show.” That got a bigger laugh. As the studio quieted down, the host looked thoughtful. “It looks like Clarisse is off by two for Gwendolyn and one for Brandie. That means they are both off by three, and still tied. I don’t believe we’ve ever had an unbroken tie in this particular game; I’ll have to check with the judges backstage to see what happens now.”

“Just a moment; I’m getting word now....” A triumphant music sting played, and the words “DOUBLE WIN” filled the main monitor.

Beaming, the host turned to Clarisse and Vera. “It seems that Gwendolyn will be doing the muff dive for both of you. You look like nice polite folks, so you can share and it’ll be fun for everyone, right?”

Clarisse said, “Oh, I think we can manage, if everyone involved is sufficiently flexible—”

Vera giggled and said, “Oh, you’re incorrigible!”

“And you have a way of incorriging me.”

The host waited for the resulting groans to fade away. “I’m sure you’ll manage to work out ways to keep all three of you busy.”

Clarisse smiled. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll come up with plenty of ideas.”

The host nodded, and waved to suggest that the winning panelists escort the losing contestant backstage and get the filming of the post-game show underway. They took the hint, and a few moments later they were leading Gwendolyn along as fast as she could amble in her ankle restraints.

Turning to Brandie, the host smiled. “You’ve been a very impressive contestant, and I’m sure that you will offer us some entertaining performances in the future.”

It was the best thing she’d heard for a long time. It felt almost as if she’d already won the million.