The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The port was in utter chaos.

The accident the team leader had referred to had been every boat in the harbor suddenly racing towards the docks, crashing into the ones already tied up, snapping the long spars of the outriggers and making every slot on the pier an untenable tangle of splintered bamboo.

Nothing bigger than a rowboat would be leaving for hours.

I had to find a way to beat Collins to Manila, but Boracay didn’t have an airstrip. It might be possible to land a plane on a stretch of road, but not one that could get here on time.

There was a way, but... I did some math and grimaced. I had been isolating myself and they weren’t going to be happy, I just hoped he could do it.

I pulled out my phone and dialed.

“McNair charter boats,” said a pleasant, lilting voice, “this is Betsie, how may I help you?”

“Betsie, it’s Hunter.”

“Well, well, well,” said a much less pleasant voice, “would you look at who isn’t dead.”

“I know it’s been a while...”

“A few weeks is a while, months is forever.” Her voice softened, slightly. “You know how much he drinks when he doesn’t know if you’re alive.”

“He drinks just as much when he does.”

“But he’s nowhere near as maudlin about it.”

“Look, Betsie, I need to talk to him.”

“Fine. Just sayin’ email is damn near effortless.”

There was a click as she put me on hold.

Sam McNair was my mentor. He had been the poor bastard assigned to ensure I knew all the ins and outs of being a tracker before they let me out on my own. He was the best I’d ever known and would still be in the field if he hadn’t lost a leg—no, it wasn’t on the job. He’d been pinned between two cars when an old lady mistook the gas pedal for the brake in a WalMart parking lot.

Twenty years of chasing after some of the most dangerous men in the world and he was benched by a poor old woman who had no idea she shouldn’t be driving—at least she took the hint.

He’d been medically retired and now ran a charter boat service off the northern tip of Malaysia. Shit, I’d still take him at my back over just about any other tracker in the service, peg leg and all.

“Hunter,” said his gruff voice, “why ain’t you dead?”

“Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, but I need a ride—a fast one.”

“Where?”

That was Mac, he knew I wouldn’t be calling for a favor if it wasn’t important. He’d take care of what needed taking care of, then, when it was all over, he’d finish chewing my ass.

“Boracay to Manila bay. I have to beat some bastard getting there the more traditional way.”

There was slight muffling as he put his hand over the receiver.

“Betsie, get off your ass and tell the twins to get The Thunder ready to go, we push off as soon as it’s gassed up.”

I had my first ray of hope. The Thunder was a large, highly modified twin hulled rocket that broke pretty much every law there was, including, it sometimes seemed, the ones having to do with physics. Mac liked to push it to its limits, subsequently, it spent most of its time in drydock.

“It’s gonna take almost three hours to get to you, maybe another two for the run to Manila, depending on conditions. How much lead time does your target have?”

“Maybe an hour or two, it’s gonna be close... depends on how long it takes him to catch a flight out of Caticlan.”

“I’ll give you a call on the sat phone when I’m close.”

“The docks are a mess. I’ll meet you outside the port on whatever I can find that will float.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

After saying good bye, I went in search of a boat I could use to meet up with Mac and I didn’t have to go far to find a fisherman who was doing some minor maintenance on his small craft. The twenty foot version of the bigger ferries wasn’t very fast. I think he had stuffed a small motorcycle engine in a more or less watertight compartment in the bowels of the boat, that’s what most of them did. They claimed they were “marinised” but I had no idea what that meant—they still looked like small motorcycle engines.

The boats were, however, remarkably stable and allowed even these relatively tiny craft to take their crews of two or three far enough out to sea to set tangle nets in deep water. The water looked calm enough today, but even rough seas were no problem, it just slowed them down even more—and I didn’t need to be very far out.

I ‘chartered’ his services for the next couple hours, spending about five thousand pesos of the money I had tried to give Anna. While I normally like to conduct business with average locals cleanly, I did use my talents to ensure he would agree to my overly generous offer, whether he wanted to go out this afternoon or not.

We went out past the shallow water, but stayed close enough that I could still hit a cell tower, and dropped a few hand lines to pass the time. Fishing is conducive to quiet contemplation, which is usually a good thing—but not when you have something to worry about. I felt like I wanted to jump out of the small craft and run across the ocean to Manila

It was just under three hours when my phone rang—though it seemed like much longer.

“Almost there,” he said without any greeting, “Where are you?”

“A few clicks south of the jetty-port, just into deep water.”

“Call me when you hear me.”

We hung up and about ten minutes later I could hear Thunder’s engines and by the time I had made the call I was pretty sure I saw him.

I stood and waved and he confirmed he had me.

The long craft slowed quickly has he neared. Two tiny brown beauties scampered out of the enclosed cockpit to toss me a line. Moments later I was clambering aboard.

He was accompanied by May and Bell, Malaysian identical twins who moved to the bench seat at the rear of the cockpit, while I took a seat next to the pilot. Mac made offhand introductions as his attention was on getting the big boat moving the right direction as quickly as possible.

Once out on open water he pushed the throttle nearly wide open as he studied the various gauges.

“That should keep the engines from blowing up before we get there,” said, his eyes focused on the stretch of ocean before us, “so, what’s the emergency?”

“Had one get by me, Mac. He got to woman traveling with me and...”

“He killed her?” His eyes studied me closely.

“No... he...” I couldn’t look at him. “I...”

I couldn’t say it. I didn’t have to, Mac could see it all over my face.

“Jesus. What’s this guy’s story?”

“It’s Collins.”

“What?”

I told him what I knew and how the past few days had unfolded.

“I fucked up, Mac, I fucked up bad. Now he’s after Elenita.”

“Shit.” He tapped a couple gauges and eased the throttle forward just a touch. “Maybe I can get a little more outta her.”

I sat back to try and gather as much focus as I could. Mac had the radio playing at a low volume. He found it hard to do anything without rock and roll in the background.

Wrong Side of Heaven from Five Finger Death Punch began, and as Ivan Moody screamed out his angst, he told my story.

What have I become?

What have I done?

Shit, I’d known I was on the wrong side of heaven for a long time, but now I wasn’t even sure I was still on the righteous side of hell.

If there was a Heaven or Hell.

If there was a God.

I thought about praying with Anna.

What the hell...

God, I don’t know if you’re up there, or, if you are, if you ever get involved with shit down here, but if you are and you do, then you gotta help with this.

I don’t know if I have what it takes—this guy used to be one of the best.

But he has to end... what he does to those girls...

So I’m asking for Your help.

I’m not asking for me... I don’t care what happens to me...

If tonight, the sun sets on my rotting corpse and my soul has been cast into the deepest, darkest pit Hell has to offer... then so be it.

Just let me kill this motherfucker first.

Because if you are there, and you do get involved...

Then you let today happen...

And you owe me this one, you son-of-a-bitch.

I didn’t think I was getting any better at praying.

I just hoped it helped.

I thought again about Collin’s left turn.

If someone like him could take such a fall...

Was I on my way to making that left turn?

I’d seen a lot of left turns as I rode the bastards’ minds into oblivion and I knew you didn’t always see them coming—sometimes you just made them... sometimes you made them and never knew it... until you find yourself wondering how the hell you wound up on the road you’re on.

By then it’s too late.

Was my left turn imminent?

Had I already made it?

Anna?

My stomach turned and I had to fight the urge to open a cockpit window for some fresh air—we were going far too fast for that.

No.

Anna had not been my left turn. What I had done was necessary—I just hoped it had not been in vain.

Elenita.

I knew what I had to do to avoid that fatal left turn.

At that moment I knew that if we both survived this, I would do what she wanted. Not because it was what she wanted, but because it was what I needed. I needed her to keep me sane.

But if we were to survive this, I had to focus like never before. I was about to go into the first fair fight I’ve had outside of training in years. Collins had every advantage I had, plus he had the benefit of being a totally psychotic sociopath.

By the time we entered Manila Bay, I was as ready as I would ever be.

With one hundred twenty miles of shoreline, Manila bay is huge, but what had seemed like an interminably slow speed out on the open ocean, now felt suicidally reckless as Mac roared through the bay, garnering quite a bit of negative attention.

“I’ll get you as close as I can,” said Mac, his attention fully focused on not dying in a fiery crash, “I can slow down quite a bit, but with all the hullabaloo I’m stirring up, I can’t chance coming to a stop, so you’ll have to jump.”

The twins helped me out of the cockpit and steadied me on the hull of the skipping craft.

The area of the port he was heading towards was part of Tondo, only a few blocks away from Elenita’s apartment.

I held my gun in my hand—Mac was slowing considerably but I was still going to hit the water awfully hard and didn’t think the heavy handgun would survive impact in my waistband.

He approached quickly, slowing even more and turning sharply. I launched myself off the boat, slicing into the warm saltwater as cleanly as I could with a big chunk of metal in one of my forward hands. I lost the gun and tumbled, becoming disoriented—I did manage to keep my pants on.

I regained my bearings, wrote the gun off as lost in the murky water and swam the short distance to the dock. With tepid salt water still dripping off me, I ran through yard, crowded with tightly packed shipping containers.

In moments I had scaled the concrete wall and was sprinting towards her building.

I crashed through the main entrance and ran up the four flights of stairs, gathering my focus like never before. By the time I got to her door, the time dilation was more pronounced than I had ever experienced.

I barely slowed as I kicked in the door. Bits of wood seemed to hang in the air as I saw him. Elenita was tied to a chair with actual bindings—no apparent injuries. He was holding her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes.

I took all this in as I rushed him. Getting him off of her was the only thing on my mind. He was fast and had turned to face me as I tackled him.

We hit the floor hard, tumbling apart in the relatively large space. I rolled up onto one knee as he clambered to his feet. That was when I noticed the bloody knife in his hand. His eyes flicked to my side, as did my own and there was a copious amount of blood pouring from low on my left side. I didn’t have long.

We were at one end of a longish room, the late afternoon sun shone through the large windows on the far side, darkening his silhouette and glinting off the menacing blade. I could feel my life rushing out of my wound and knew only one thing.

He had to be dead before I was.

I sprang forward just as he lunged. He thrust again with his knife, I stayed low and twisted as I closed so the blade sunk in just below my right collarbone instead of into my heart. I wrapped my arms around him, trapping the knife in my upper chest and making it impossible to pull it out. I straightened my legs, lifting his feet slightly off the floor and pushed forward. My head pressed to his chest, I could feel the thick hilt of the knife following the thin blade into the wound.

I was mortally wounded and he was unscathed. By all rights he should prevail, but I had control at that particular instant and all I had to do was keep it for a few more seconds—enough for maybe half a dozen steps.

With the time dilation and with what was at stake, these would be the longest seconds I would ever know.

I could not let him get his footing back. If he did that, I would be dead in moments and he would be free to continue spreading his terror. Neither could I let us fall to the floor. In my weakening state, he would quickly gain the advantage.

I had to keep him off balance, keep pushing him backward, right at the tipping point without going over—but to keep from toppling, I would have to pick up momentum with each step.

My right arm had no strength and my left hand clung desperately to my elbow. My knees were like jello as I gathered all my strength in my left leg. I pulled everything, keeping nothing in reserve for the next step—if this one failed, the next one would be rendered moot.

With everything I had, I pushed.

Then I did it again.

He squirmed and pounded my back—I ignored him.

I don’t know if God was with me or not, but I know my legs were moving by sheer force of will... drawing from my only source of strength... my rage and my resolve.

Rage at what he had made me do... left leg... push... harder!

He had to die before I did.

Rage at the death and horrors he had inflicted upon innocent, young lives... right leg... push, Harder.

He had to die before I did.

Rage at the thought of him touching Elenita... left leg... Push, Harder!

He had to die.

Rage... For Anna... Right Leg... Push HARDER!