The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘What the fuck was I thinking? Damn it, I know better!’

Going public with her takeover of Adrianna’s family fortune, Angelina’s private investment firm AND Megan’s cutting-edge technology company had definitely been a very stupid thing to do! Helena was extremely pissed at herself for breaking one of her few cardinal rules, specifically, to never, NEVER go public with ANYTHING that was in ANY WAY related to being the Royal OR that would give ANYONE a reason to look more closely at her affairs, be they personal or business. And now she knew it would be a minor miracle if it didn’t cost her everything she’d accomplished over the last few months. Only days after announcing that, in addition to taking over The Forsythe Foundation and Adrianna’s very old and even larger family fortune and Angelina Donner’s very substantial, private investment firm, The Donner Group, she announced her take over of Megan Dupree’s high tech firm, North Star Technologies. Already dealing with the S.E.C., the F.T.C., the I.R.S. and even the damn Department of Commerce concerning her acquisition and absorption of Angelina and Adrianna’s firms into her own investment firm, The Rothridge Group, thereby assuming control of their combined and very substantial cash balances and large, powerful and influential stock portfolios and, what was apparently a far more concerning issue to the federal governement, was her sudden and complete acqusition of all proprietary technologies, trademarks, patents and copyright information held by these three very well-funded, large scale and internationally located financial and high tech firms. The obvious resultant possibility for deliberate stock manipulation of and or outright and hostile acquisition and control of multiple very large, publicly traded American companies across several industries, the possible monopolistic consequences of said stock manipulation or acquisition, that she and her “brigade” of attorneys was dealing with, she now had the D.o.J, the D.o.D, several Pentagon officials and high-ranking military officers and over two dozen of Congress calling her! Helena couldn’t believe how badly she had... “royally” fucked up by publicly announcing her takeover of their firms and companies, instead of staying “in the shadows” and running those companies through the enslaved owners that she controlled. Now she had every government agency that could create a reason to get involved looking at her wealth management company, her investment firm, ALL of her other companies, businesses and especially into any and all of her other business and legal partnerships. In addition to her business and personal life, they were now looking at her foreign travel, down the list of her business associates and personal friends, and looking up her...

“As Mistress commands!”

“Yes, slave, attack me again. And don’t hold back!”

Even as she commanded Angelina to attack her, Helena was deep in thought. Just as she’s done for years, whenever she got this mad at herself for making such a stupid and costly mistake in college, in business, when she lost money in the markets due to a bad company analysis or just doing something very stupid in either her personal life, her legitimate business life or in her ‘career’ as the meta human super villain, the Royal, Helena had started the day determined to punish herself. She started by getting up at 2:00 a.m., making the drive into the city, going to Valor tower and putting herself through a two hour workout in the Valor tower’s rather unique weight room ( instead of her normal one hour program that started at five a.m. in her own impressive home gym ) she then followed that up by being pushed to her limits in an hour long martial arts... session against her slave, the former, 3X W.M.A.A ( World Martial Arts Association ) Women’s world champion, Adrianna Forsythe, with and without weapons, on the mats in the Valor Tower’s gym. And after quickly moving to the tower’s combat training room, two floors up, she was now over an hour into a series of ‘combat rounds’ alternating between Angelina Donner and Katherine Williams, or Frost. They were at Valor Tower instead of Helena’s home gym simply because she knew that Megan had designed and built this part of her building specifically to withstand the Valor Force’s various powers and abilities so they could train as realistically as possible without destroying the building in the process. Even as Angelina used both her meta human strength and speed to attack her Mistress again, Helena was still so mad at herself that she had... seriously considered releasing Angelina from her enslavement, giving her time to realize that she and the others had been captured and enslaved by Helena and Emma, allow her to get her “bearings” and then allow her to fight for real for her and her team’s freedom. But, having been knocked to the floor after falling for Angelina’s excellent shoulder feint and, instead, taking a sudden and surprising high kick right to the face, Helena laughed as she quickly decided NOT to follow one idiotic decision with another. As she got back to her feet, she could only laugh as she considered the rather... amusing thought that facing, defeating and enslaving the five powerful and beautiful heroines of the Valor Force was nothing compared to dealing with the United States Government!

‘Alright, Helena, just take a deep breath and relax. Yes, you fucked up when you decided to do a little “dick measuring” of your own and go public with your take over of ALL three of their companies, but you will survive this. You will learn from it and you will keep going, just like you always do. That is, of course, assuming that due to all of this very unwanted extra scrutiny, someone DOESN’T finally figure out who you actually are and you end up back in prison, again!’

“Forgive me, Mistress! I am so sorry! I did not mean to hurt you, my Mistress, Please forgive this clumsy slave for her grievous error!”

As Angelina dropped to her hands and knees and bowed low at her owner’s feet at having actually, physically struck her Mistress, Helena laughed again as she wiped her chin, looked at her hand and reflexively checked for blood.

‘Damn good thing my invulnerability is part of my physical condition and doesn’t have to be consciously ‘turned on’.’

She laughed at both Angelina’s plea for forgiveness for doing exactly what she had told her to do and for allowing herself to get so distracted by her self-chastising thoughts that she literally got kicked in the face. She looked down at the powerful, meta human woman and former super heroine known as Lady Blue bowed down at her feet and smiled.

“Get up, slave. Relax. You only did what I told you to do. Now, let’s go again, shall we?”

“As Mistress commands!”

While Frost waited to challenge her owner again and with Adrianna and Stacy watching from the “sidelines” along the left hand side of the very large, open, two-story room, Helena and Angelina faced each other again. Taking a deep and much needed breath, Helena smiled to herself even as she took a moment to appreciate the sheer irony of this moment. Angelina Donner and Katherine Williams, or Lady Blue and Frost, are both founding of Valley City’s only recognized team of super heroes, the Valor Force. Both are powerful and proven meta human super heroines. Frost has given the Royal all she could handle, and then some, in the few encounters they’ve had and Angelina is Helena’s long time nemesis. And even now, having been her devoted and obedient slaves for several weeks, they are both STILL kicking her ass! And even knowing that she could stop the fight and have her on her hands and knees and literally kissing her ass and licking her boots with a few words, that still didn’t stop the very real sense of apprehension that came over her as she watched the powerful Lady Blue charge directly at her again. Her obedient slaves or not, Helena would readily it that she would much rather face Lady Blue than Frost. Frost is the ONE super hero that has always given even the Royal... pause.

A little over an hour later, a very tired, sore but now calm and clearer-thinking Helena was relaxing in the dry sauna two floors below the gym with her slaves. Angelina, Adrianna and Katherine were also relaxing and recovering from their part in Helena’s self imposed early morning ‘torture session’. While they relaxed and enjoyed the sauna’s heat, Helena was enjoying Stacy’s devoted attention. Helena, Angelina, Adrianna and Katherine were all nude and seated or laying on large, thick cotton towels. While they were enjoying the relaxing heat with their Mistress, an equally naked Stacy was using a towel as she knelt before her Mistress with her face buried in Helena’s pussy. Leaning back against the sauna’s shoulder high, second row seating, Helena was holding Stacy by the head with both hands while she ate her out.

“Mmmm. Thaaat’s... it, ssllaave. Yes, deep... per. Shove your... tongue in there. Ffuuucck! Oh yeess. Ssuuck my clit, you little... Mmmm... Emma’s right... Y-you ARE getting... b-better at... that! Harder! Har... haarr..., Ooohh ffuuuck.. I’m... I’m... mmmmm...!!”

As the orgasm surges through Helena’s entire deeply tanned, five foot, eight inch body, she can only “hold on and enjoy the ride” as she pulls Stacy’s face tighter against her pulsing slit. After enjoying the very satisfying orgasm that Stacy just gave her, Helena smiles as she leans over and gives Stacy a long, dominant and tongue-filled kiss. Pulling away from Stacy and looking into her eyes as she licked her lips and tasted herself, Helena just smiled as she kissed her sexy slave girl again. Sitting up, Helena knew it was time to go to work. Knowing what was in store for her from literally the very moment she stepped into her office about an hour from now, she stood up, closed her eyes, took a slow, deep breath and centered herself. Wrapping the large, soft, Egyptian cotton towel around her nude, sweat-covered body, she focused her mind on what she had to do. Now mentally “ready for war,” Helena Marie Rothridge walked confidently out of the sauna. Without a word from their owner, her slaves silently followed her out of the sauna and across the hall to the showers just as she knew they would.

Her “nine to five” workday ending promptly at seven thirty, Helena and her girls were finally on their way home. As Travis drove Helena’s Ice White, Bentley Mulsanne armored limo away from downtown Valley City and headed for her very large and private estate several miles outside of the City, Helena was already enjoying her second Absolut Elyx, her favorite vodka, over ice. She was leaning back in her seat and mentally reviewing the day’s events. To be honest, it hadn’t been as bad as she thought it would be. After she and her expert legal staff had spent the day almost entirely “on the phones” with most of the Government’s “alphabet soup” of federal agencies, Helena had been rather surprised at the results. In fact, as she approached her house, she was almost... laughing. After speaking to several federal agency officials, military commanders and a few Senators and of Congress, the solution had quickly become evident AND almost comically simple. All she had to do was to publicly return full control over and legal ownersip of their firms and companies back to Angelina, Adrianna and Megan. God, the sheer irony was almost... palpable. Finishing her drink, Helena ran the fingers of her right hand through her hair and actually laughed out loud.

“Oh Christ, I can’t fucking believe it! All I have to do to make this all go away is to “officially” return control of their companies to the very women that are my devoted and obedient slaves?! To quietly run their companies “from the shadows” just as I started out doing? Oh God, you can’t make this stuff up.”

A hungry smile on her face, she was looking very forward to seeing Emma when she got home.

‘First, I spend the day dealing with our... ‘dear’ United States Government, then, after a short stop by the mayor’s office to make certain she understands that she will, of course, choose Rothridge Investments to underwrite and manage the two hundred and eighty five million dollar bond offering for the new Valley City Storm Arena renovation project and now its home for drinks, dinner and... dessert with my beautiful lover! I wonder how Emma could’ve possibly spent her day today? If I know her, she’s probably been “tongue deep” in the sweet pussy of a certain tall, blonde slave all day! Hmm, considering Emma’s insatiable sex drive, I don’t know if I should be jealous of Gillian or... grateful?’

Helena could only shake her head and laugh again as she pictured how Emma had most likely spent her day. While she doesn’t really understand or, to be honest, care about “high fashion”, she has seen firsthand how Emma makes it work for her. Helena laughed as the image of Emma being “hard at work” while she sat on the couch in the living room, probably ‘dressed’ in all of a thong. And maybe... mmaaybe, a loose, open knee-length robe, or, far more likely, one of her sexy, female Anime character tee shirts, and getting her feet worshipped by one or two of her sexy, nude slave girls with the equally nude and collared but, singularly leashed Gillian Grey on the floor and almost certainly sitting between her owner’s legs while Emma watched some fashion show in Milan, Paris or Rome on the ninety eight inch, full color, digital, big screen television in the living room with a sketchbook and some colored pencils being the only “tools of the trade” she required. The image alone made Helena shake her head as she finished her drink.

It’s four o’clock on a still dark, windy and what is, even for Valley City, an unusually cold Saturday morning and that doesn’t include the rain that started falling over an hour ago. Probably one of the few people up at this ungodly hour and definitely one of the even fewer people in the city actually grateful for the foul weather, the meta human assassin known as Gun Show, is dressed in his favorite, black UTG 547 tactical vest containing his experience-taught, meticulously organized, personally selected and preferred load-out over head to toe black, tactical, BDU clothing including black, Hatch SOG-L50 tactical gloves, black Bates combat boots and a black, full face balaclava that leaves only the small area around his eyes exposed. He has been in his pre-selected and well positioned shooting nest and has been in his current prone position for over three hours. He is four hundred and seventy nine yards from the rear of the Valley City Criminal Courts building. Looking through the scope of his favorite and, more importantly, proven sniper rifle, the McMillan TAC-338A he has modified to his personal taste and use, he has a perfect view of the dozen plus heavily armed Valley City police and SWAT officers, the Criminal Courts building security officers and, of course, the laughably obvious F. B. I. agents standing watch. But more importantly for his purposes, he also has a perfectly unobstructed view of the only access point into the rear interior of the building. He laughs to himself as he appreciates the irony in the fact that they’re ALL waiting for the same person to arrive.

Ralph “Salts” Morton was a very petty thief and small-time drug dealer. He was another nobody that had spent more time in prison than out since he was sixteen. Of course, all of that was before he found himself alone in a stash house that he NEVER should’ve been in. Looking around the room, he thought he had hit the goddamn, fucking lottery! He was so overwhelmed by the dozens of pallets literally stacked shoulder high with bales of clear, shrink-wrapped hundred dollar bills he was looking at that it never occurred to him to ask why there weren’t any drugs or much of anything else to be found in the room. In fact, he was so... mesmerized by the sheer amount of physical cash surrounding him that his mind never ed the fact that there weren’t any other people there either. There was no one counting, wrapping or stacking the cash, no one was moving the pallets in or out and even more odd, there were no guards! A literally cash-filled stash house and there is NO ONE there?! Seriously?! When he finally found out WHO the stash house and cash belonged to and exactly who he had stolen from, even he wished he was dead. Fortunately for Ralph, the owner of the stash house couldn’t have fucking cared less about the money he stole. Unfortunately for Ralph, the owner did care VERY MUCH about the two, black 5″ hard cover binders that were on a table next to the half dozen bill counting machines in the middle of the room. The owner of the stash house cared even more about the two DVDs that were in a plastic sleeve in the back of one of the binders. Ralph didn’t understand what he was looking at, but again, unfortunately for Ralph, thanks to the photographic memory he was born with and had wasted his entire life, he ed every neatly typed name, address, phone number, dollar amount and type-written word, including the subsequent, handwritten notes on the lined pages of the two binders he had, for some reason, looked through exactly once. He also ed what he saw when he watched the DVDs. Before the second DVD even finished playing, a VERY pale Ralph Morton grabbed the binders and the DVDs and ran as fast as he could to the first cops he could find and begged them to arrest (and protect) him! Now, four days later, he was the ONLY witness in a federal criminal case that was already so important, so involved, so wide ranging and so sensitive that the public, of course, knew absolutely NOTHING about it! The case was so important to the federal government, to national security and to the multiple federal agencies involved that the case was referred to by those involved or who had the clearance needed to even be aware of it simply as the “Alphabet Issue.” Ralph Morton had stumbled across and, out of habit had, along with all of the cash he could cram into two O.D. green, military duffle bags, also stupidly chosen to take the binders which had already been stolen from a seemingly random and typical black, government sedan that turned out to contain a lot of VERY sensitive information. Information that was very important to very highly placed people in the federal government, to those world governments considered friends of the United States as well as those considered... foes.

Considering the list of government agencies and the specific, highly placed individuals mentioned BY NAME in the binders, it was no surprise to anyone, except maybe for the sincere but seemingly very naive federal prosecutors that were under the grand delusion that this case would ever actually make it into a public courtroom and were, therefore, working diligently to put the case together, that the binders AND the DVDs had mysteriously been... ‘misplaced’ rather quickly after Ralph had handed them over to detectives who had then handed them over to federal agents upon their arrival. The disappearance of the binders and the DVDs meant that Ralph Morton was now the ONLY source of the information he carried in his terrified, photographic memory. He was being questioned and deposed by federal prosecutors who were basically transcribing his memory into a “hard copy” text that, again, only those with the highest security clearance possible would even be aware of, much less be able to view.

And that is why Gun Show has been waiting in the cold temperatures, the wind and pouring rain on the rooftop of a building nearly five hundred yards away from the back of the criminal courts building for the last few hours. He is here to kill Ralph Morton. Considering the suddenness and tight turnaround for this contract, the ever-reliable Witness was able to provide him with what was, even for her, a surprisingly detailed and very informative file on one Mr. Ralph Andrew “Salts” Morton and the F. B. I.’s very sincere and deliberate efforts to protect him. Gun Show, or Dane McAllister, is thirty five years old. He stands six feet, three inches tall, has steel blue eyes and still keeps his short, black hair cut in a military high and tight. He has a dark tan and a salt and pepper goatee that, like his hair, is already more salt than pepper. His primary meta human ability is a visually reactive, physical fighting ability that allows him to easily match any opponent’s fighting style almost instantly. He knows virtually every school of unarmed combat the world over. Karate, Judo, Aikido, Kung Fu, Krav Maga, Western Boxing, Brazilian AND Japanese Jiu-Jitsu, Muay Thai, Pencak Silat, Arnis, Russian Systema. You name it, he’s an instant expert at it. He also possesses greatly enhanced, but not super, strength, speed, stamina, endurance, very quick reflexes and reaction time, a strong healing factor and limited invulnerability. He can’t fly, shoot energy beams from his hands, read minds or walk through walls, but he IS a highly skilled and very dangerous man. He also had all the information he needed to confirm his target ident and acquisition, plan and execute his shot and make a quick and quiet exfil by any one of his three pre-planned exfil routes. When he sees the three blacked-out Chevrolet Tahoes pull into the lot, turn completely around so that they were again facing the street and park with the rear, enger side door of the middle vehicle lined up with the door of the building, he chuckled to himself.

‘Oh, dear me! Which vehicle could he possibly be in? How will I EVER figure it out in time to take this very difficult shot? Thank fucking God for the F.B.I.! “Fucking Bunch of Idiots,” indeed! Okay, Ralphy boy, just step out of that S.U.V and show me that dog’s ass you call a face so I can terminate this contract, make my exfil and catch my plane to Turks and Caicos. I am in serious fucking need of a lot of clear, blue skies, deep blue water, bright, hot sun, soft, white sand beaches, several cold and very strong drinks with those pretty, little umbrellas and a lot of hot, wet and willing pussy after all of this fucking rain! This is NOT the fun kind of wet!’

As if on cue, the second and third Tahoes’ doors open and eight agents in very obvious tactical clothing and body armor and carrying either Colt M4A1 carbines or H & K MP-5s exit the vehicles and quickly establish a cordon around the trucks that leads right up to the rear of the building and the back door. When the rear enger door of the second Tahoe opens and another agent steps out, looks around and then signals for a second man to step out behind him and noticing the Kevlar vest he’s wearing, Gun Show grins to himself as he sights in on the man’s quarter-sized left temple and pulls the trigger.

‘Good bye, Mr. Morton!’

As the man silently falls to the ground already dead and the agents quickly react exactly as trained and Dane knew they would, the first Tahoe in line suddenly guns its engine and peels out of the lot headed for the street.

‘What the fuck!?! Why are you...?! Oh, don’t even fucking tell me...!’

Dane jumps to his feet, takes a second look through his scope and confirms what he already suspected.

“FUCK!! Seriously?! Four o’clock in the fucking morning, raining with a five mile an hour tail wind and nine steps from door to door and they actually use a damn decoy agent? Well fuck, you have to respect that! Wild guess, he’s in the first S.U.V.? Fine, make me fucking work for it!”

Gun Show turns and runs across the roof to the street side of the building just as the Tahoe makes the right turn out of the lot and guns it down the street away from him. Sliding his right arm and head through the sling of his rifle so that it lays muzzle down and snug against his back and over his vest, he grabs the rope he put in place beforehand, throws himself off the roof and fast ropes down the side of the fifteen story building to the sidewalk. Quickly reorienting himself, he starts after the Tahoe. As his enhanced speed allows him to close the distance on the fleeing S.U.V, he has a few choice words for his unplanned and very unwanted early morning run in the rain.

“You fuckers wanna fucking rabbit on me? Fine, I may not be in the same class as that mouthy, hotshot speedster in River City, but I can certainly catch a weighed down, most likely fully loaded and almost certainly heavily armored S.U.V! Head start or not. So, fuck you very much! Congratulations Ralphy Boy, making me run just means that you get the bullets that hurt!”

Laughing to himself, he catches up to the Tahoe and then backs off to pace them. Knowing that his enhanced speed and endurance will allow him to stay with the vehicle, he lets them stay several yards ahead of him as they continue to race through an empty downtown Valley City. He decides to “cat and mouse” things until he finds out how many vehicles and men will be showing up to provide for what he can only assume will be a covered, live fire ready extraction of their precious principal. To his surprise, after another few blocks and several twists and turns later, Dane realizes that there seems to be no cavalry coming.

‘Hmm, that’s very... odd?! Where the fuck are they? Why aren’t they...? HEY!! Fucking pay fucking attention to the fucking task at hand, you fucking, cake-eating asshole. Fucking try fucking focusing on the fucking job at hand and fucking kill the fucking fucker already, you fucking, goddamn, pencil-dicked, cannon-fodder, bullet-sponge, cum-for-brains tadpole!’

Hearing his most beloved Boatswain’s Mate Master Chief Daniel Newsome’s voice from his team days ever so lovingly chew his young, know-nothing, day-one, B.U.D.S ‘tadpole’ ass out in his mind for letting himself get distracted as he runs, Dane reaches into the holster on the lower right hand side of his vest and pulls one of two Glock 19 pistols he carries out of its holster, takes a steadying, two handed grip, aims at the Tahoe’s rear windshield, fires several rounds and watches as the window cracks and spiders but does NOT shatter!

“Goddamn it! Fucking tadpole..., indeed! Pay attention... you will see... this material... again!! You just... fucking said... the damn thing’s... armored..., you fucking... genius.”

Ejecting the clip from his pistol, he reaches into the bottom, left-hand, second pocket on the front of his vest and switches it out for a clip dummy marked with A P rounds mid-step as he continues to run after the S.U.V. Smiling, Dane takes aim and shoots the rear windshield again. This time the A P rounds shatter the obviously reinforced but compromised rear windshield, which fortunately for Dane also creates enough of a distraction to cause the driver to lose control and slam into a car parked on the side of the street. As he closes on the stopped S.U.V, three agents exit the vehicle from the driver side rear door and the enger side front and rear doors. After quickly identifying the obvious and only threat, they engage directly with Gun Show. Suddenly finding himself engaged and actually taking fire, Dane takes three rounds to the chest and hits the pavement before he can roll over and duck behind a very convenient steel dumpster as the agents use a covered, stagger approach to advance on his position.

‘Fuck you very much, Mr. Murphy! You fucking, dickless, party crashing, pussy-starved, cock-sucking, gremlin, mother... fucker!!Goddamn it! This was supposed to be a simple long shot, “kill and confirm” and fucking exfil! I was never supposed to be in a goddamn firefight! I can’t believe I got fucking tagged!! And, yes, Master Chief, I know THAT’S why you ALWAYS plan your fucking load-out for EVERY op EVERY time in advance! Thank you very much! FUCK!! Well, silver lining, at least Syn isn’t here to see this. That tall, tasty, bitch would be laughing her sexy, Russian ass off and reminding me about this for the next hundred years if she fucking saw me get caught flat-footed like some half-ass, newbie operator! And by the fucking F.B.I no less! God, she’d NEVER let me fucking live THIS down! Well, could be worse, I guess. Could’ve been fucking Interpol!’

Laughing at himself as he very vividly imagines the pitying “You see? This is what I tell you, tovarisch, you fuck up and you get killed, so do it again.” expression on the smiling face of the tall, sexy Russian, meta human assassin he personally knows VERY well, Dane makes a quick reload, takes a deep breath and fires a few rounds into the air from his position on the near side of the dumpster before quickly spinning on a knee and coming to his feet on the other side of the dumpster. Breaking cover, he engages the agents. Mercifully, he drops all three men with a quick headshot to each ending the firefight. After visually confirming that all three men are dead, he continues forward through the to engage his primary target. After terminating the driver when he opened his door to engage him, Dane quickly “clears” the vehicle. He finds Ralph Morton ducked down on the rear, enger side floorboard. Finally engaging his intended target, he takes a moment to and confirm that the man in front of him is indeed Ralph “Salts” Morton.

“Well, fuck you very much! Hello, asshole. I have to say killing you turned out to be a lot more work than it was supposed to be Mr. Morton. You know, by my count, you got five good men killed tonight, Ralphy boy. And I, for one, have had more than enough fun on this fucking contract. Time to say goodbye, Mr. Morton.”

“Please! Oh God, No! Please don’t... I...”

Rest in peace, Mr. Morton. As the sirens signal the not so timely approach of local law enforcement, Gun Show secures his pistol and pulls up his current location on his phone’s GPS. Finally making his long-awaited exfil, he smiles as he heads for his hot sun, blue ocean, white sand beaches, cold umbrella drinks and wet and willing pussy. Then his phone rings. Looking at the caller ID, his smile quickly loses some of its luster.

“Hello Witness. How’s my favorite contractor? Perfect timing, as always, my dear.”

The synthetic, female voice responds without emotion.

“Contract is terminated?”

“Why, yes, my dear Witness, I’m fine. Thank you for asking. And yes, contract is terminated and I am island bound.”

“Negative, operator. Top tier client requests multiple operators for extreme risk target. Contract offered is equivalent to five times known operator minimum. Additional high bonus for positive result. Requests acceptance and confirmation of standby status soonest.”

His curiosity getting the better of him... again and knowing he should damn well just hang the fuck up and head for his sun soaked beach and soon-to-be pussy soaked tongue, this time Gun Show lets the money do the thinking instead of his...

“Five times!?! Fuck yeah, I... wait a minute. Five times MY fee?! That’s a cool half mill,... I assume you have a target ident.”

The immediate beep on his cell tells him how serious Witness is. He takes a moment to look at the very vivid, full color image on his phone’s digital screen. He stops mid-step when he instantly and easily recognizes the target. He literally has one foot in the air when he stops. He can’t believe it, but he definitely recognizes... HER!!

“Are you FUCKING serious!?! THIS is the target?! Extreme risk? I’d fucking say so!!”

“May I confirm stand by status?”

“I...”