The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rachel was right. The enemy had chosen to abandon their original plan and shift to a different hideout. She even guessed the right one.

Dusk was approaching as we pulled to a stop in a residential neighborhood out of sight of the house where Rachel had told us they were likely to be. The neighborhood was so pretty – all the houses were well taken care of, the lawns well manicured. It was not a rich area, but middle class – and you could tell the residents cared about their homes.

The SEALs, except Tom and Wayne, moved out. Arlene stayed with her vehicle while I, against Butch’s advice, followed the men. They moved so fast that they were already busting down the door of the yellow ranch house by the time I turned the corner and the house came in view.

It was a cheerful, one story rambler with blue trim and a wide, grassy lawn. Flowers lined the driveway on the far side. I could just make out the tail of one van, mostly hidden by the house, while the other was parked in plain view behind it, nearer to the street.

I crouched down and did not approach any closer. As Pete kicked in the front door, the calm words of the SEALs on my headset were replaced with shouts and gunfire.

As events began happening so fast and yet, seemingly in slow motion at the same time, I became divorced from the chaos of the next few minutes; I noticed what a beautiful sunset it was, as automatic rifle fire sang out from the house.

Two men, dragging a woman, stumbled out the front door. Rifle fire followed them and one went down. The other pushed the woman to his front and put a handgun to her head, using her as a shield as he backed rapidly toward the van nearest the street.

Butch and Pete came out after him, shouting at the man to let her go, their rifles trained on him.

A door opened in the house kitty-corner from our target and a face peered out.

I saw the man who had gone down earlier raise a rifle. I thought to shout a warning but before the words left my mouth slugs ripped into the backs of Butch and Pete and they went down.

I saw the woman kick the man’s leg and run. She sprinted in my general direction and bile rose to my throat as I saw it was my mother.

Dogs were barking all over the neighborhood and trees swayed gently in a cool breeze that made the evening pleasant enough to take a quiet stroll, if one was so inclined.

Motion slowed further as the man rose up from his injured shin, his pistol coming up with him. I saw the gun buck in his hand, three times. I saw my mother pitch forward, her arms spread wide, and go down. I noted that she slid a foot or two on her face.

Behind me a tree was in full bloom and the wind carried its pleasant scent to me.

I stood up straight as the man got in his van and peeled out of the driveway.

One of our SUVs rounded the corner, almost toppling over as it took the turn at high speed. It didn’t stop until it rammed into the van, knocking it on its side. The noise of the crash was deafening.

I didn’t move as Arlene jumped out and approached the van, her rifle ready. She shouted. I couldn’t hear her words, but the man who had shot my mother climbed out his window, his hands in the air.

As he lurched to the ground and straightened, he drew his pistol from behind his back. Arlene shot him once, hitting his shoulder and sending the pistol flying. Then she stood unmoving, holding him at gunpoint.

Our second SUV came up fast then and stopped near my mother. Wayne got out and sprinted to her.

My legs started working again and I slowly walked up to where he tended her. He looked up as I approached. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly, “She’s dead.”

I nodded.

He hesitated, then turned and quickly made his way to Butch and Pete. I walked toward Arlene and the man.

“This guy says his name is Mac,” Arlene said, “I think he’s the leader.”

Again, I only nodded. I picked up Mac’s handgun from where it had fallen, walked up to him, and put a single round through his brain.