Indoctrination

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

WARNING! THIS IS A WORK OF EROTIC BDSM FICTION. IT IS ADULT ORIENTED MATERIAL OF A SEXUAL NATURE. The copyright of this story remains with the author, Night Owl. This posting does not give you the rights to post this on any website without obtaining the author's permission first.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indoctrination

by Night Owl

Chapter 21: The Man With Two Names

FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.

Special Agent Phil Trask stepped off the elevator with the latest case file in one hand. He had half a dozen missing person files come across his desk, but this one offered several new leads connecting the disappearances of at least six young women to a mysterious underground sex slave ring known as The Organization. More importantly, it uncovered their first suspect in the case.

Trask sat down in his chair and turned on the light. The name on the file was Heidi Strobel, reported missing in Buffalo, Missouri just two weeks ago. A single thumbprint found in her home the day she disappeared had already been sent to the lab and identified:

Juan Omar Vizquel (alias: Marco Sanchez)

Age: 24

Place of Birth: Brownsville, Texas

Last Recorded Residence: Austin, Texas

Trask then skipped down to his arrest record . . .

According the report, he spent two stints at the Juvenile Detention Center in Austin, Texas, first for breaking and entering, and then statutory rape. After his release, Vizquel virtually disappeared. There were no employment records, no tax returns, not even a driver’s license registration under that name.

Agent Joe Kelly, tracked down the mother and found out Vizquel was living under an alias, Marco Sanchez. The agent also got a current address from her - a nice 3-bedroom apartment in upper Chicago. Whatever he was doing, he was getting paid well for it. Trask had been working on a theory that Vizquel was recruited by The Organization, shortly after he got out of the 'juvi' center in Austin, then gave him a new identity, a driver's license, possibly even the apartment.

After obtaining a warrant, Kelly and his men searched the place and found stacks of S&M magazines and videos, two pairs of handcuffs, a ball gag, rope, and a box filled with photos of nude women, all bound in various positions with different restraints. None of the models, however, matched the six missing girls in their files.

The sole witness to Strobel's abduction was a neighbor. The elderly woman claimed she saw two deliverymen carry a large crate out of Strobel's house the day she disappeared. The name on the truck was traced and no listing of the business was found. Agent Kelly then showed the neighbor some mug shots. She identified one of the deliverymen as Juan Vizquel, alias Marco Sanchez.

A twenty-four hour surveillance was set up at the suspect's residence, but as yet, he hadn't showed. Trask feared Vizquel might have been tipped off somehow. Against his better judgment, he decided to go back in and have a look for himself. The place had been picked clean of evidence from the first search, but there was always a chance that something might have been missed. As it turned out, Trask was right. Hidden in the back of a DVD drawer, he found a disc with no label, only the letters K.K. scribbled on the front with a marker.

Trask immediately phoned Jill Wagner, another agent on the case, and told her to check the national database for any missing girls, ages 16 to 35 with the initials "K.K."

"K. K.?" she repeated, "that's not much to go on."

"I know, but give a shot," he said.

He then placed the DVD in a plastic bag and took it to the lab to be dusted. The only prints found were those belonging to Vizquel.

Back at his desk, Trask pulled the disc out of Heidi Strobel's file. He was about to pop it into his computer to view it when Jill came over with her note pad.

"I ran those initials and found one possible match from the database."

"Let's have it."

"Kristen Kroonenberg," she read from her notes, "age 19 . . . residence, Littleton, Colorado . . . last seen, May 31, 20xx . . . she was camping with a few friends, southeast of Grand Junction . . . no leads as yet," Jill tore out the page with her notes and handed it to Trask.

"Did her friends see anything . . . like a black van?" (Witness reports in two of the disappearances mentioned a black van parked nearby).

"No. They didn't see a van or anything else. The group was swimming in a river nearby and last saw the girl heading back to her tent only 200 yards away. When she didn't return, everyone thought she had just gone for a hike or something. Two hours later, they went to look for her, and then finally decided to get help. I guess one of the kids had to walk a mile to the nearest farmhouse just to call it in."

"By that time, she could have been anywhere," Trask lamented.

"That's what the Grand Junction P.D. thought," Jill added, then handed him a photo printout from the computer. "This was taken about an hour before she disappeared. They should have the rest of her file to us in an hour."

"Good."

Jill took a seat and fanned herself with her notepad while Trask went over the notes.

"Damn it's hot today! Do you think they'll get around to fixing the air conditioner . . . like sometime before December?"

"We work for the federal government, kid," Trask smiled back at her, "I'd plan on December. Then the heat'll break down." He went back to skimming the notes, forcing himself not to stare at his partner's legs.

Jill Wagner was arguably the most attractive female agent at the bureau. The tall, leggy brunette could easily have been a model, and certainly knew it. She had a habit of wearing tight dress suits with the shirts cut no less than 6 inches above the knee, which always drew plenty of looks at the office. Trask even caught his partner Joe sneaking a peek once, and then jokingly asked, "So how's the wife doing?" 

Trask really couldn't blame Joe or anyone else for their interest, and to Jill's credit, under that feminine exterior, she was just as tough as the other agents.

"Did you check with Colorado for any similar cases?" he asked her.

"No . . . no, I didn't," there was a look of disappointment on her face for not remembering that part of the procedure.

"Why don't you do that? Start with Denver, and ask them to cover six months, prior and since."

"Will do," she quickly got up from her seat and went back to her desk. Since the a/c was out that day, Jill had her suit coat draped over the back of her chair, and the silky white sleeveless blouse she wore turned out to be even more of a distraction than the skirt, if that was even possible.

Trask set down her notes and picked up the photo. Six kids, approximately nineteen to twenty-one years in age, were posing in front of a sign that read, "The Little Delores River." Kristen Kroonenberg stood at the far left and slightly apart from the group, her body turned sideways in a sexy pose with one hand up, flashing a 'hang loose' sign for the camera. She had on a pair of cut-off Levis and a bikini top. All of them were dressed as if they were getting ready to take a swim in the river behind them and, judging by their behavior in the photo, probably had a few beers beforehand. The image seemed innocent enough though -- just a bunch of kids cutting it loose a little. Trask could remember what it was like when he was that young, back in the dark ages.

But underneath the innocence, there was also something eerie about the whole picture, in knowing the pretty nineteen year old flirting with the camera on the left would disappear less than a hour after the photo was taken . . . without a trace.

Setting the photo aside, Trask popped the DVD into his computer and turned down the volume. He had a pretty good idea what the content of the video would be, which was why he sent Jill away.

A title appeared on the screen in plain white text:

No. 1436-05

Female

Bedroom Session No. 2

Duration 11 Min.

Trask glanced quickly around the office. For a moment he considered taking the DVD home to view it there, but he really wanted to know who K.K. was. If it turned out to be Kroonenberg, then this would definitely link Vizquel/Sanchez with at least two of the disappearances they were investigating.

The first scene faded into a bedroom, brightly lit and elegantly decorated. The bed itself had a high canopy with four dark oak posts holding it up. Directly underneath the canopy, a naked woman was kneeling on the bed with her weight on her elbows and her head down. Her arms were also stretched forward in front of her and tied to something under the headboard to keep her upper body close to the bedding and her tail end up. Ropes had then been tied from each ankle of the woman's foot to an opposite post to keep her knees spread wide. More ropes were tied around other parts of her body, her knees, her thighs, belly, and breasts, then stretched and tied off to the bed frame and canopy above, creating an elaborate harness to keep her from escaping the 'doggy style' pose she was forced to maintain.

The camera moved in closer on the woman's face. Trask leaned forward, glanced quickly at the grainy photo, then back at the screen. She had a gag in her mouth, the kind with a shiny red ball used often in bondage. Her face was pressed against the plush bedding, her hair partially concealing it, so Trask couldn't tell for sure if it was girl in the photo. They both looked very similar - long straight brown hair, brown eyes, slender, very young looking, tanned complexion. The camera zoomed out and slowly moved around the bed to the girl's raised tush. Trask shifted uneasily in his chair. Her privates couldn't have been displayed more prominently for the camera, tied up as she was in that position. She had been shaved down there too. Trask read once that it was a popular ritual in the BDSM community to remove all of the hair around the genitals, both to make the area more accessible, and also to define a person's status as a slave.

The picture zoomed in very close between the girls open thighs and stayed there for an uncomfortably long time. The woman began to struggle with her ropes, which only made her shaved crotch even more of an attractive target for the camera.

Then, from somewhere off-screen, there was a man's voice,

"So are you ready for the lash, my pet?"

The woman moaned and squirmed again.

The camera moved out as the man came into view. His head and shoulders were carefully framed out of the picture though, obviously to conceal his identity. In one hand, he held a black leather flogger. Trask couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like there were silver beads on the ends of the tails.

Without another word, the unseen man swung the flogger over his head and brought it down hard on the girls raised ass, leaving a red bruise on one cheek. The girl yelped and jerked in her restraints. Again, the flogger came down, and again, each time striking her cheeks on a different spot until they glowed a bright red. Trask was amazed (not to mention alarmed) at the beating this poor woman was being subjected to. This wasn't just a tap on the body, carefully orchestrated with the recipients reactions to create the illusion of pain and torture, he was really striking the woman hard, and the beads left small wounds on her flesh that started to bleed a little.

The flogging then zeroed right in on the girl's smooth open crotch. She wailed and shrieked, her body squirming in agony against the ropes as the sharp blows ripped into her nether region. Trask turned the volume down a little more, then he glanced around the office again to make sure no one could see what he was doing. The only agent nearby within view was Jill and she was talking to someone on the phone, most likely the people in Denver. Trask watched her as she casually leaned back in her chair. The sleeveless blouse shifted around her breasts, and the black skirt showed off quite a bit more thigh now with her legs crossed. For just a moment, he pictured Jill being on that bed, her body bent over on all fours, naked. He could almost feel the leather flogger in his own hand.

Blinking several times, he quickly pushed the image out of his head.

The beating continued for another minute or so before it mercifully stopped. The mysterious man with the flogger then approached the girl and began massaging her tush. Each cheek was fiery red and bruised in some places.

"You've done very well, pet," said the voice.

The hand moved inward to her privates and roughly fondled the swollen, red flesh there. Trask could hear the girl moaning behind her gag, and her ass squirmed a little from the intrusion, but he couldn't be sure if she was still in pain or actually taking pleasure from it. The camera moved in closer as the phantom fingers groped and violated her vagina. There was a ring on the man's third finger. It was very large with a black stone and the gold plated image of what looked like some kind of a bird's head in the center – and raven or crow, perhaps.

He quickly drew a diagram on the back of Jill's notes.

The camera zoomed out again and followed the man as he moved around the bed. He took the woman's gag off, then untied one of the ropes so that she could straighten her back a little. Trask now had a better look at her, but still wasn't sure if she was the same girl in the photo. Wet strands of her own hair were matted across her face. The man reached down and groped her tiny breasts, kneaded them roughly between his fingers while she moaned. Then he held the handle of his flogger to her mouth.

"The handle, pet," he ordered. "Kiss it and thank me properly for this punishment."

The camera zoomed in for a tighter shot as she placed her lips on the handle; the man brushed her hair away,

"Thank you, Master," she whispered with tears still in her eyes, "for the punishment I have received."

It was her . . . Trask was sure of it now!

He quickly took notes as the video faded out, and circled boldly,

'K.K. video = Kristen Kroonenberg'

Leaning back in his chair, he popped the disc out of the computer. Just then Jill appeared at his desk again. Her presence nearly startled him.

"I ran a check on some missing girls in Denver like you asked."

"Anything?"

"I found one that looks very similar to our case:

Nanette LaFleur . . . age 19 . . . disappeared after leaving a party in Commerce City on March 13, 20xx . . . and a few witnesses noticed a black van parked on the street before she left."

"Get what you can from Denver and add her to our file," Trask ordered, "and put a nationwide A.P. on Juan Vizquel, alias, Marco Sanchez."

(continued)