Indoctrination

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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.

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Indoctrintation

by Night Owl

(Story Content: MM/f, Abduction, Bondage)

Chapter 24: The Rabbit and Hounds

       

The Acura crawled like a beetle along a lonely strip of winding road, its headlights gleaming off the black asphalt. Dave Roberts was driving with one hand draped on the wheel. His face in the blue light from the dashboard looked grim. In the back seat, Jason Clark had his head back and his eyes closed. Both men had been on the road for most of the day, and he was trying to get some sleep before reaching their destination.

The third occupant in the car was a pretty brunette. She was unconscious and lying on the seat beside Jason, his left hand caressing her right thigh stretched out beside him. Apart from her legs, which were naked to the hips, the girl was only a package. The skirt on her black, strapless dress had been lifted over her arms and head, then tied closed with a piece of rope. She was not bound in any other way, yet she lay quietly on her side, obviously drugged, her body moving sluggishly with the swaying of the car.

Twice, Jason felt compelled to have his partner pull over so he could 'examine the merchandise' a little more closely, then thought the better of it. Both men had more pressing business to deal with first.

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That business was Marco Sanchez, the third member of his team. Two weeks passed since they pulled their last job in Georgia and he still hadn't reported in yet. When Jason called Sonia and told her what happened, she too, became concerned. 

"Did you try his apartment?" she asked.

"Yeah, several times. All I got was the machine."

"And you used a pay phone, right?"

"Sure, sure, I know the procedure."

"Good,” there was a short pause on the line. “To be safe, we’ll have to suspend all operations until we find out what happened. I’ll notify Raven when he gets in from his morning ride. He'll want to see you and Dave as soon as possible to discuss this."

"What about that girl in New York? We were scheduled to pick her up Saturday night."

There was another pause. Sonia knew whom Jason was talking about, and after all the planning and arrangements, it would be a shame to cancel the whole operation now, especially if this business with Marco turned out to be a false alarm.

"All right," she finally answered. "Go ahead with the pick-up, but I want you to bring her straight here, no stops along the way, and make sure you switch vehicles before you leave New York. Understood?"

"Got it."

"And let me know immediately if you hear from Marco, regardless of what that idiot's excuse might be.”

"He's probably shacked up with a girl somewhere," Jason said calmly. "He'll show up."

"For your sake, I hope so."

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That was two days ago, and still no word from Marco.

In the backseat, Jason's eyes remained closed, though his hand seemed to move on its own, tracing the lines of the girl's black silk panties. It was almost impossible to get any sleep with this gorgeous parcel lying so close beside him. He moved his hand away from her thigh and shifted positions to give his hard-on a chance to settle down. Dave spoke to him through his rear view mirror,

"Do you really think it was necessary to tell them about Marco?"

"Of course it was," Jason answered without opening his eyes. "Something like this doesn't just go away, does it?”

"No . . . I guess not."

Dave's voice sounded nervous and rightly so. Jason was nervous too, but he refused to show it. People like he and Dave were paid top dollar because they were the men in the field, the suppliers. They conducted every search, set up the surveillance systems, and delivered the goods -- all at the risk of bringing the F.B.I and local law enforcement down on them and the whole organization. Yes, they were paid and treated very well, but because of the risk involved, they were also the most expendable. If there were any breeches in security along the line, then the board members would be faced with two options: make the necessary arrangements so those involved could lay low for a while until their new identities were established, or simply forgo any additional risk by eliminating them altogether. Each man's fate usually depended on his worth to the organization, so Jason was determined to stay calm and keep his head in Raven's presence. He needed to convince his boss that he had the situation under control.

His hand settled on the girl's thigh again. She squirmed a little under his touch, then once more, became still. Jason knew she would be out for at least another hour.

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The girl’s full name was Jacoba Fransisca Maria Smulders. Her friends called her “Cobie” for short. They first ran across her on a social networking website. Here, the organization had a half-dozen or so people on the payroll, most of them gawky, pimpled computer geeks, hired to surf these networks for any prospects, then track down a home address and obtain any other useful information by hacking into their personal profiles.

When Jason saw the girl’s file, he immediately assigned her case as a top priority. He sent two men to break into her apartment while she was at work. Covert pinhole cameras were set up in every room with 2.4GHz wireless transmitters linking the video signals to a van nearby. Her phones were bugged, and eventually, another camera was installed in her vehicle under the steering column. In the weeks following, her work schedule, daily routines, and any social activities she attended were recorded and documented. They observed her every night at home, even while she slept. Figuratively, she already belonged to them. All they needed was the right opportunity to make the pick-up, and that finally came during the fourth week of their surveillance when she was invited to a cocktail party in New Rochell. Through phone conversations, they found out the approximate time of her departure, the location of the event, and most importantly, how she would be getting there.

That Saturday, two days after his phone conversation with Sonia, Jason and his team were in place. Just one block away from the girl’s apartment, he and a new man, Bobby Terry, sat in a green van with the words Veldkamp’s Flowers and Gifts, Inc. freshly painted on the side. Dave Roberts was waiting at the pick-up point toward the end of the route she would be taking. Two more teams, one in a warehouse twenty miles away, and the second, just a few blocks near Jason’s location were standing by on their orders. Everything had been planned to the last detail.

Jason was glad Sonia gave him the go-ahead on this one. The girl was a classic beauty -- striking, pale blue eyes, wavy dark hair, fair china doll-like complexion, endearing smile, and a slender body with just a slight flair around the hips. Her tits weren’t quite as voluptuous as some of the others, but they stood out very nicely on their own, as he observed many times through the camera they had installed in her bathroom vanity.

Jason glanced at his watch. Almost two hours had gone by and Bobby was starting to get anxious.

“So how much longer do you think?” the new man asked, and Jason answered flatly, “As long as it takes. So relax.”

Another half hour passed before the girl finally emerged from her apartment, and both men silently agreed that the long wait had been worth it. 

Her dress was strapless, and of black velvet, simple and elegant. There was a thin necklace of diamonds around her throat and a diamond clip in the low V, which just exposed the jutting swell of her modest breasts. The dress tapered just above the knees and her 2” black heels had straps tied around each ankle. She carried a clutch purse and a black silk wrap draped over one arm. Her dark hair hung in loose curls over her naked shoulders. It would have been a shame to spoil such a perfect look, Jason thought, but this was business.

They watched her get into her car, a bright red Mustang convertible. Jason then started the van.

“Rabbit is on the run,” he spoke low into the microphone. “ETOA your position . . . about 45 minutes.”

“Got it,” came Dave’s voice from the other end.

They followed her through the crowded streets of Manhattan and out of New York, while keeping a safe distance so as not to be detected. So far, she was taking the same route they had anticipated. Jason alerted his partner on the radio again as they entered New Rochell.

“Rabbit approaching mile marker 221 . . . get ready.”

“Roger, I’m ready.”

The Mustang turned onto a lonely stretch of road that led to a development sparsely populated with large, ritzy homes. Just before reaching the turn-off, Jason slowed the van down and pulled over. A few miles ahead, Dave was waiting for the girl, parked on a hill overlooking the road and armed with a small transceiver box. In a few minutes the Mustang would sputter and stall, then glide to a stop, its engine computer, overloaded with a jumble of signals from the transceiver.

“Target in sight,” Dave said from his end, then a long pause. “Rabbit is down . . . repeat . . . rabbit is down.”

“We’re on our way,” Jason pulled the van back onto the highway. Bobby Terry had already taken his position in back.

They turned off onto the side road and followed the Mustang’s route until it was in view, parked on the shoulder. The hood was already up, and the girl, standing next to the stalled vehicle with her silk wrap drawn over her shoulders. She was trying to use her cell phone and apparently not having much luck with it.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart,” Jason spoke in a low voice. Dave had already scrambled her phone signal, rendering it useless.

Jason pulled off just ahead of her, carefully backed the van up and brought it within six feet of her vehicle. Then he got out.

“Engine trouble?” he asked.

“I’m not sure . . . it just died on me,” her voice was shaky. Not surprisingly, she seemed very nervous, being stranded in the middle of nowhere. Jason caught a whiff of her perfume as he approached. Up close and personal, the girl was even more mesmerizing to look at. He kept his head though and tried to calm her.

“Probably just a loose connection to the battery. That happened to me once. Sometimes a bump in the road is enough to jar a cable loose if it hasn’t been tightened down properly. Let’s have a look . . .”

Jason peered into the engine compartment. He then fiddled with some of the wires to keep the girl’s attention away from the back of his van.

“OK . . . here’s the problem,” he said. “It’s your distributor cap. You can see it right here . . .”

The girl moved in beside him to look for herself. Suddenly the back door to the van flew open, and Bobby leaped out. He grabbed her from behind. She tried to scream, but the cloth he thrust against her mouth muffled the attempt. Her wrap slipped down her arms as both men forced her toward the van. Then she went limp, the chloroform having taken effect. Her body was lifted into the back, and Bobby crawled in with her before Jason shut the door. He got back into the driver’s seat, turned the key and gravel spat out from under the back wheels as he drove the van off. Immediately after, Dave pulled up in his vehicle. A fourth man climbed out with a tool kit. Within minutes, he reset the ECU and got the Mustang running again. Both vehicles then sped off in the same direction as the van.

Jason and his team made their way to the warehouse where two mechanics were waiting. The other men began disassembling the Mustang, while Jason and Dave moved the girl to another vehicle, which was the Acura. Normally, they would have taken her to a safe house for two or three days, then bring in a truck with a secret compartment in back and an elaborate restraining system so the cargo could be transported safely to its destination. However, given the whole Marco situation, they were now under orders to bring this one in as quickly as possible.

“Shouldn’t we tie her up at least before the chloroform wears off?” Dave asked.

“No time,” Jason pulled out a small medical bag, took a syringe and gave the girl a sedative. Then he pulled the skirt up over her head and tied it closed. When they were safely on the road again, he made a call with his cell phone.

“Rabbit is in the cage,” he said. “Get to work.”

“Got it,” came the other voice. The fourth team immediately went to work in cleaning the girl’s apartment of all evidence and removing the surveillance equipment. Like so many others before her, the police would be baffled with her disappearance. All Jason had left to worry about now was Marco.

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The Acura turned off the main road, then after two more turns, pulled up to a gate. The sign read Dark Oak Manor. Jason watched his partner roll down the window and press the intercom button.

“Can I help you?” It was Sonia’s voice on the other end.

“It’s us.”

“Go around to the back of the house and I’ll meet you there.”

The gate opened and Dave drove up the long, winding drive to the house. As instructed, he pulled around back where Sonia was waiting.

“Any problems?”

“None,” Jason untied the rope around the girl’s skirt. “Everything went off without a hitch.”

“Good. Bring her in.”

The two men pulled their limp package out of the car. While doing so, she began to moan.

"Quickly," Sonia told them, "before she wakes up."

Dave draped the girl over his shoulder and hooked one arm around her knees, while Jason gathered her purse and silk wrap. Inside the house, Sonia opened the secret door underneath the winding staircase. Another muffled moan sounded. Dave smiled and gave her tush a pat with this free hand, drawing another moan, her arms swaying limply behind him as he followed Sonia and Jason down the dark, narrow steps to the dungeon. Tony was waiting for them in one of the rooms.

“Put her over there,” Sonia ordered.

Carefully, Dave laid her down on a long wooden table. Her skirt was bunched up around her thighs, yet no attempt was made to fix it. Jason almost felt sorry for the girl. Her naked legs looked so childlike and defenseless as she lay there. Her pretty brown eyes were just starting to flutter open. Sonia removed the diamond necklace, then took a knife and cut away the matching jewelry from the dress between the girl’s breasts and put them both in a bag with the rest of her personal items. She turned to Jason and Dave.

“Tony will take over from here. You two come with me. Raven is waiting for us in his office.”

The two men flashed each other a nervous look, then followed her up the stairs again, leaving Tony alone with the girl.

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“I don’t know why we can’t finish this tomorrow,” Heidi complained. She and Amber were sorting laundry that evening and it was getting late.

“You’ll be lucky to get five hours of sleep tonight,” Amber replied, “or any night, for that matter.”

There seemed to be no end to the housework – bed sheets laundered, bathrooms cleaned, floors polished, the house was always immaculate. Outside, the grounds also had to be tended to, and the stables, so at the end of each day, the house slaves were too exhausted to even keep their eyes open.

“It’s no wonder all the women here are so spaced out,” Heidi offered her opinion. “Nothing like a little sleep deprivation to mess up the wiring in your head, not to mention the food they give us. I studied nutrition in school, and what they’re serving here has very little protein in it, if any at all. No B vitamins either . . .”

“Shhhhhhhh . . .”

“I know, I know, they’re watching,” she shot a glance up to the camera and blew a kiss.

“Here,” Amber handed her companion a basket. “Why don’t you take this load of whites down and get started on it while I finish up here.”

Heidi sighed and took the basket with her. A few minutes later, Tony entered the room. His presence nearly startled Amber, for she was sure he came to punish them both for their loose talk.

“Leave that for now,” he ordered, “and go down to the dungeon, second room on the right. I left a whip on the table for you. Sonia wants it greased and ready for a session tonight.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And another thing,” he added. “You’ll see a new girl down there, but that’s none of your concern. So don’t talk to her, don’t even look at her. Just finish the job and leave. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir,” she then rose from her knees and left the room, her eyes never leaving the floor.

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The woman was very pretty, with pale blue eyes and long dark hair. She was wearing a black, strapless cocktail dress and black heels. Her wrists were bound together high above her head with padded leather cuffs and chained to a pulley in the ceiling, forcing her almost to her toes. Sweat glistened off her face, chest and in her armpits, yet a faint hint of perfume still loomed about her. When she uttered a muffled plea through her leather gag, Amber said nothing and proceeded straight to the cabinet to get the mink oil.

Laid out neatly on the table nearby were about a dozen or so instruments of torture. The whip that she was to treat with the oil had been left aside just as Tony said it would be. She picked it up, examined it. The leather felt very dry, and even started to crack in a few places. There were other whips hanging in the dungeon, all them oiled and ready for use, but Amber understood that the real purpose of her being there was to make an impression on the girl, and it already seemed to be working. Her glassy blue eyes had the look of a frightened deer caught in the headlights.

Amber recalled her first whipping; how terrified she was. Since then, she allowed herself to be bound and whipped once, sometimes twice a day, first under Sonia’s supervision, then Raven’s, and then back to Sonia again. Each time, her body was pulled and wrenched into different submission poses by the force of the restraints, until every square inch of her had felt the searing bite of the lash at least once.

The daily routine followed this pattern with some variations. Soon Amber lost track of how much time had passed. She wasn't sure whether it had been weeks or even months since she arrived. What she was sure of was that she had been in a constant state of arousal. She awoke each morning from vivid sexual dreams and laid waiting for someone to release her bonds in eager anticipation of the first whipping and orgasm of the day. Sometimes she wore chains, and with every step or gesture, the movement of metal links subtly reminded her of the extent of her submission. A glimpse of a whip mark on her flesh or the reflection of her naked and hairless body in the mirror invariably ignited a fire in her loins. Amber marveled at how easily she had adapted to her new situation and how content she became with it.

She glanced at the girl for only a moment. Dressed as she was, it appeared as if she had just left a party or some social event. The only evidence that a struggle had taken place, was a tear in the front of her dress, as if something had been ripped away, and now with the stretching of her arms and body, the sinking bodice with no straps to support it could do little to keep her naked breasts from showing underneath.

Amber poured a small amount from the bottle into a sponge, took the whip in her other hand and worked the mink oil into the leather uniformly from the handle right down to the end of the fall.

“Leather needs to be nourished,” Sonia once told her. “Unlike our own skin, it is made entirely of dead cells. It cannot heal once damaged, nor does it need nutrition. It deteriorates over time, but by keeping it greased, you can prolong its useful life almost indefinitely.”

After applying the oil, she then wiped the excess off with a dry cloth. The girl whimpered pitifully as she watched. She began twisting her arms against the padded restraints above her head, and while doing so, unwittingly caused the bodice to slip a little more, exposing her pale, pink nipples.

Amber rolled the whip up into a neat coil and set it on the table. Just then, Sonia entered the room. She glanced at the girl hanging nearby.

“Very pretty, isn’t she?”

“Yes Mistress.”

Sonia took the whip off the table and inspected it.

“Good work.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

With the whip in hand, she approached the brunette and quietly assessed her trembling body, as if to determine where the first strike should land. By then, the poor girl appeared to be in a state of shock. Her flesh looked pale, clammy, almost bloodless in the dim torchlight, her face nearly covered by dark, wet strands of her hair. Sonia looked at the torn dress and smiled. She placed the whip handle under the girl’s chin, caressing it, and without even turning away, she spoke to Amber,

“Leave us.”

Amber bowed her head and quietly turned for the door. As she exited the room, she overheard Sonia speaking to the girl, and the first words were all too familiar,

“My name is Sonia, but you will learn to call me Mistress.”

(continued)