The Vassal GroupChapter 6 free porn video

Dominique has traveled for the last five hours to get to training farm number one. Before departing the main office, she has called and told the Control officer at the farm to have Devon waiting for her when she arrives. A driver is sent with her, to insure she gets to her destination, and to insure she doesn't try and disappear with the secrets of the Vassal Group.

"We have a problem Devon." Dominique said upon entering control

"Hello Dominique, nice to see you, pleasant surprise and all of that." Devon said lightly.

"Did you hear me, I said we have a fucking problem." Dominique said again

"I heard you, I am just waiting to hear what the problem is before I panic and shit myself." Devon said just as lightly.

"Slave J woke up, she ran, her Master is dead, apparently self inflicted gunshot. She is telling the cops everything." Dominique said still agitated.

"Slave J? I've had a dozen Slave J's through here; I don't even remember the last two. Do you have a unit number or proper name?" Devon said calmly.

"Jeannette Sessions. Passed through here two years ago. Was sold to a buyer in Germany Does that jog your memory Devon?"

Devon leaned over a computer and typed the name in, after typing a password and then the decryption password he brought up the file on Jeannette Sessions.

"OK, here we go, yes, I remember her now. She had a rather unusual event. In initial anal training, she woke up. Almost four months after her first memory event. Long period in between. That was an anomaly but otherwise only the fairly common hiccups She responded in an above average way to positive reinforcement of potential. She liked to hear how Master was pleased in other words." Devon said reading the file quickly. "We abandoned that farmhouse over a year ago, and have been here since. She doesn't know that location, much less this one. Doesn't know any last names. One note, ah yes, I remember now it's a report of a conversation with me. It was the one time she spent the night in anal training with me. Sleep confirmation test. I noted it because I brought her to my regular room."

"OK, so how much does she remember?" Dominique asked.

"I don't know, would you be able to make an appointment for me to speak with her while the police are guarding her?" Devon asked.

"Devon, this is not a joking matter." Dominique said tightly.

"I have no idea what she remembers, I have no way of knowing. I can't see her, or talk to her to find out. I don't know what could have woken her up. She spent an above average amount of time in the chair. No one has ever woken up two years after leaving this facility. Most don't survive more than a year." Devon said just as tightly for once. "Until we know what she remembers, and is reporting, then I can't even begin to guess."

Dominique frowned for a while and then said. "I want the file, to take to the shrinks I want to know what they think she remembers."

"I'll tell you, names and faces of trainers. Some of the other slaves, some she interacted with. They are in her file; I'll include those files as well. She never heard anything but first names; she never heard any reference to location. I'll search for training video, and include that as well. If you have an hour, I'll have it all for you then." Devon said hotly.

"Devon, this is a fucking disaster. It's not my fault." Dominique said.

"No, this is expected. You can't really re-program an individual. We come as close as possible, closer than anyone will think is possible. We brainwash them, but a thousand different things hold the potential of reopening memory pathways Damn it you know all of this. I would like to know, was it a smell, a sound, or a sight. She seemed very visually oriented if I remember but that was some fifty slaves ago. God Damn it Dominique don't stand that and act like it's my fault, You know good and well I've never had this happen before None of us in this organization have. We have standing orders for our clients, retire the slaves at the first fucking sign of any awakening." Devon said locating files as he spoke.

"Devon, this isn't in the news, but it will be." Dominique said

"I don't think so, the feds will take over the investigation. They will keep it very hushed. I'll even bet they put her in protective custody. Somewhere safe from us bad old slavers." Devon said.

"Are you joking, the boss is blowing a gasket right now. He's screaming about Greta doing a special. Wonders if it would be easier to get her office space in the boardroom." Dominique raged.

"The boss is acting like a fool. Tell him the Feds will consider this an active investigation they don't release information on sex crimes, especially women's names. They hope to build a case. I don't think they can, even if she sang like a canary about all she saw and did since she was abducted, she doesn't know anything. Not where we were, not who picked her up. Not anyone's last name. Devon isn't that common of a name, but it's also not my real name. No one here ever used his or her real name. What can they have? A few sketches of us trainers. How accurate will those be? I don't know. Let's assume massively accurate. So fucking what? They don't know where to start looking. There are millions of farmhouses around the country. Are the 4,000 or so agents of the FBI going to kick down all of those doors looking for slavers? No, are they going to put our faces on TV? Let them, we never leave the house. In a month, this will be old news, and Jeannette will be learning her new name in protective custody spending six days a week in therapy to deal with this." Devon said. "That is my assessment. Have security present you with one, it will be five pages long, and reference a dozen different examples, but will say pretty much the same thing."

Dominique looked doubtful as she accepted the flash drive with the training file on it.

Devon sat and sighed. "They are overreacting right now, calm them. Get security to do the assessment. Their conclusions will be what I said, won't it control?"

"My initial impression, yes. I don't know about the details, but generally speaking, none of the slaves are ever exposed to anything to identify the person No DNA could be available after all this time, so that is out." The security lead on duty in Control sighed and said. "She can tell a story that will have shrinks around the nation licking their chops dreaming about getting in here and studying our techniques, but otherwise, nothing."

"Where will they put her if they protect her, to get her that kind of help?" Dominique said.

"I don't know, ask the shrinks who the most famous of them are. See who gets published and does a lot of consulting work. Probably somewhere around DC, but that's a guess. LA, San Fran, Chicago, possibly New York. I'd go with a large or medium sized city." The security guy frowned and said "Didn't they send Sammy the Bull to Phoenix? Wherever, there is a chance our surveillance teams will spot her. Do I send a picture to center to get out to them?"

"No, I'm going back there, a driver is waiting. She's been having to pee every time I do. I think they're worried I'll try to run" Dominique laughed. "Where would I go? If I was dumb enough to turn myself in, I'd get life in the electric chair for all the shit I've done. No, I'll stay until it's time to retire."

Devon sighed "That's the story with all of us." Shaking his head he continued. "It's much to early to even consider retiring anyone Calm the boss down, get security on that assessment. Make the request loud and proclaim it. Open our files to security. Control, check everything to make sure I've copied it all."

"I already did sir." The agent in control had said. He had sent all the files Devon had selected to the Security Control at the Central office hours ago when the first flash of a lockdown came in.

"One more thing Dominique, I would like to know what the shrinks say may have triggered this event. I've never heard of anyone shaking their training after this long." Devon said.

"Does that matter Devon?" Dominique asked acidly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I don't know, and won't know until we have more information. I'd like to be kept in the loop on this. I don't suppose you could manage that could you?" Devon asked.

Dominique considered. "Let me guess, professional curiosity?"

"Something like that, the more I know, the better I can do my job." Devon said simply.

Dominique took her leave and joined the driver in the hall, who walked behind her to the car. Dominique climbed in the back seat and as they drove off casually asked. "Since my retirement isn't ordered yet, would you like to grab something to eat on the way back?"

The driver looked into the mirror and shook her head no.

In the mean time, people were going bananas at the Department of Justice. On Monday Morning, they presented the Attorney General an assessment if the initial information was correct. With two others traveling from the training facility, and a total of more than ten at the "placement" or auction center, then it could be clearly shown that there were at least three training facilities. A cursory scan of missing persons reports showed that some 900 people who were reported missing each year fit the basic profile that Jeannette Simmons had, and to process that many, the group which took her would need at least 20 training facilities.

The Attorney General read the assessment and ate some Rolaids as he looked up. "Jesus, are you telling me that there are 20 of these, farms, around America where people are kidnapped, raped, and brainwashed?"

The Deputy Director hesitated and said. "It might be worse sir."

"Worse than this, what in God's name could be worse than this?" The Attorney General asked holding the folder up.

"An internet search shows that there is some rumblings about Gladiator fights. Whispers mostly, but they are fairly consistently found by Predator, the email intercepting system, about twice a year." The Deputy Director answered.

The Attorney General paled and said. "Tell me you don't mean, those who are about to die and all that shit."

"We don't know." Was the unsatisfactory answer. "We're trying to get more information now, but we can't go much further without some warrants, and this doesn't qualify under the Foreign Intelligence Court's jurisdiction, they ruled that just about an hour ago."

Vassal Group Security took three days, and their report was six pages. In essence, they concluded after examining the training records and video provided, that the recently awakened subject could do little damage. Names and faces, with the names being false, and faces able to be adjusted easily. While retirement may be an option, one made at the executive level, it didn't seem warranted at this time. A decision could always be made later after additional information became available

The three psychiatrists argued for a long time, and in the end decided that without further information, guessing as to how and why the subject woke up from the training state was futile, mere guessing in the dark. The training records indicated that the subject received above average time in the wash chair, with the message modified according to Devon's style, but not outside the normal and established manner previously used. No experimental drugs or techniques were used.

Dominique argued that the client must have missed the subtle signs of a pending awakening. Those signs were described in the literature and training that the client received as part of the sale. The client knew for example if a slave woke up, either return her for additional training, or eliminate her. The client obviously did neither It could be argued that when the client found Jeannette missing, that he took his own life.

Jeannette had spent three days talking to a German cop who spoke English. She told all she could, which wasn't much. She didn't know much. Every night, she wept silently as she tried to sleep. She had displeased Master, and no matter how many times she told herself that he raped her, tortured her, enslaved her, she couldn't get over the guilt she felt over displeasing him to the point of his committing suicide.

She spent a full day with medical personnel who took swabs of her orally, vaginally, and anally for any evidence that might support her claims against the men who had kept her prisoner for the last two and a half years. During her discussions with the Doctors, one of the nurses excused herself from the room. She was experienced at handling rape cases, but never before had she heard anything so brutal, so barbaric, as the story this girl told.

The Doctors reported that there was significant evidence of Jeannette receiving extremely brutal beatings, scarring showed numerous beatings with heavy straps, sticks or canes, and other items.

Jeannette spent three more days talking to the FBI agent Mathers, and answer his initial questions while diplomatic issues were addressed. Then she was given a passport, she'd never had one, and flown to the United States with another FBI agent. Then she spent three weeks at a hotel while a parade of people came to ask her questions. Jeannette wondered if there was group of people who used alphabet soup to name agencies.

Finally she got frustrated when a woman came from OSHA. "What's OSHA?" Jeannette asked.

"The Occupational Safety and Health Administration." The woman answered seriously. "It would appear as though even minimal worker safety rules were utterly ignored."

Jeannette started to laugh and cry at the same time and then screamed at the woman. "Occupational safety? Are you fucking kidding me? I was a goddamned slave. They beat me and raped me for three fucking years. I was brainwashed and put through the most dehumanizing series of activities you can imagine. Do you really think that they were going to put Occupational safety at the top of the fucking list?"

The woman left at the suggestion of the FBI agent who was assigned to her at this time. A woman named Charlene who made sure that Jeannette knew she was going to be protected by the full weight of the Federal Government.

Finally the US Marshall's showed up. "Jeannette, until the trials, when we find them there will be trials, here and probably in Germany, we're going to put you into witness protection." Deputy Marshall Ken Blackburn said

"OK, what's that mean, I live in a hotel with someone for however long?" Jeannette said looking out the window.

"No, it means you get a new name, an full identity with it, and live in a city somewhere in the country." Ken said.

"Oh, that's worse. Charlene is telling me that this group must have surveillance teams all over the country to check out potential slaves. Now I'm going to be out there waiting for the teams to stumble across me. That way they can finish murdering me." Jeannette said. "Here's an idea, why don't you take an ad out in the paper, tell them exactly where to find me. Better yet, why don't you shoot me in the head now."

"I understand you're upset." Ken said.

"Upset? Marshall Baker, allow me to explain something that I just realized. I'm still a prisoner. I haven't left this hotel room in a week. Before that, I was in a different hotel for two weeks. A parade of people have marched through here telling me how hard they're working for me. The best one was a woman who said that the slavers who kidnapped me and raped me for three years were probably violating occupational safety rules. Now, I don't know about you, but if the FBI, and a dozen different law enforcement agencies are after me, I don't think that violations of the OSHA regulations is going to be a major concern." Jeannette ranted. "I'm a prisoner, still a prisoner, of them. I can't go anywhere, I can't do anything. All I can do is sit here and try to be good, which is what they wanted of me."

"Jeannette, we really are doing everything we can, honestly. I'm going to be your control officer, which means that only you and I will know the details of your old identity. A contact nearby will know your new identity, and that is who you call if you have any trouble." Ken said.

"Really, so when they show up in the middle of the night, this time to put a bullet in my head, I'll have someone I can call. Great." Jeannette said tears in her eyes.

"I've got a good place picked out, there's a Doctor there, one who has experience in dealing with victims, and he'll be working with you, helping you." Ken soothed.

Jeannette just nodded. She was starting to see a pattern. Passed from one to another, each one promising to be so helpful, and none of them actually doing anything.

Jeannette was briefed on her new name, and fake history. She sighed as she once again put Jeannette away, this time becoming someone else entirely. This time she was Nancy Jamison, a single woman from Philadelphia who was moving to Oklahoma City to get a fresh start on life.

Jeannette moved to Oklahoma City, and was put into an apartment that had been gotten for her by the Feds. She just knew they had wired it with cameras and microphones. She looked but didn't find any, but she always felt like she was back in the cells, during training at the farm. She always felt they were watching her. The car they had gotten her had a GPS tracker on it, they told her so, to protect her. The cell phone also had a tracking function, again they told her to use the thing for her safety. If she had a problem, was in danger, push and hold the 9 button for three seconds. That will send a panic alarm to the nearest office of the US Marshall's and they would come running.

Her Bank account, was given to her by the Feds, and money would be deposited by them every month without fail. After her therapy, perhaps she could work, but they would protect her always. The thing that really bothered her was that this identity was a temporary She would move and change names after the shrinks were done "helping" her.

The shrinks were good, decent and concerned. However the layers of programming was quite extensive. Even with Hypnotherapy, almost no real progress was made, and the resulting lack of progress led to an increasing sense of frustration, and resentment in Jeanette.

Jeannette hated the name Nancy, and no matter how much time she spent with the shrinks, couldn't remember her childhood. Couldn't remember her Mother, or her life before. Her name, and a few vague details were all she had of before. What memory she had of after gave her nightmares.

The shrinks started to report that Jeannette was withdrawing; in danger of becoming psychotic. They increased the appointments in an effort to help. This only pushed her further into her shell.

Jeannette surfed the web now and then. She found bondage sites and read stories, but the stories were just words, and her life was not words, it was a living nightmare since she had woken up. One day, she surfed the web looking for lion statues. She had remembered the picture that Devon, Master Devon she automatically corrected herself, had on his wall. In just over an hour she had found the right statues. She read about them, and found the legend of their names. She understood Master Devon more now than at any other time.

Jeannette skipped an appointment with her shrink one Tuesday, and he in a near panic over her state called the Federal Marshals to inform them of her pending collapse. If she didn't show signs of improvement soon, he would have to suggest that she be committed for her own protection.

Ken appeared at her apartment Wednesday evening, having flown in from Washington to talk to her. "Hi Nancy" He greeted her.

Jeannette glared at him. "There are a half dozen people who know my real fucking name, and the one who I'm supposed to trust the most doesn't call me by the one god damn thing I do remember about my life before."

"OK, Jeannette, how are you doing?" Ken asked.

"I'm going insane, haven't you talked to the fucking shrinks?" Jeannette asked just as hotly.

"What's wrong?" Ken asked.

"I have a temporary life. I can't make any friends, because one of these days I'm going to up and disappear with no warning, which is how this whole thing started. Then I'll be in Detroit for all I know as somebody else. I can't go out on dates, because what if they see me. Oh and if I start to like the guy, then that's worse. I disappear and what do you know, I get a broken heart in addition to a broken life. Gee Ken, what could be wrong with me?"

"Jeannette you have to settle down, you have to relax. I know it's hard." Ken began.

"Do you? Do you know how hard it is?" Jeannette turned on him in a rage. "Do you have any fucking idea what it's like? How many times do you wake in the middle of the night screaming in terror? How many times do you walk into a store, and nearly panic because someone is looking at you. Some guy might find me attractive, and for all I know he's recognized me and is calling it in. Every night I go to sleep I expect to be woken, if not by them, by you all, and taken off who knows where. Tell me what your life is like, wife, girlfriend, all the things you call home. I have none of it, nothing. I have a bunch of appointments with shrinks who listen and tell me it's all OK now. It's not ok, it never will be. When I have a more permanent identity, that could be temporary too can't it? If I think I've been recognized, I can always get another one and start over again." Jeannette sat and had tears rolling down my cheeks.

"I'm free, but I'm still a prisoner. I can't live my life, I can't date, get a job, or do anything because they still have me, only this time they have badges instead of whips." Jeannette sobbed. "All I can do is sit here and read books, watch TV, or surf the net. Some fun."

Ken looked at the living room of the apartment. A cheap laptop she had bought was there, and a small television they had provided with the apartment. A row of paperback books was on a shelf. Obviously the books she had read.

Ken tried to comfort her, tell her it was OK, but it wasn't working. He could see her getting more upset as the night wore on so he finally gave her a sleeping pill, and left the apartment.

Jeannette slept, and as she did, the completely unexpected happened again. Jeannette's old personality, which consisted mostly of her name, merged with her programming to become something new. Slave Jeannette.

Jeannette woke and knew what she had to do. She was lighter when she talked to the shrink on Thursday, not telling him anything about her plans. She had one now, and would put it into effect this very Saturday, when her monthly pay would go into the bank. Saturday, she would escape, and find Master. The plan fell into place quickly enough. She knew the Feds were tracking her movements, and would try and follow; she would throw them off the trail.

First, she would ditch the car and phone at the mall, taking a taxi to the airport. At the airport, she would take another taxi to the bus station, and leave town by Greyhound St. Louis was a first stop, then to Chicago. In Chicago, she would take an express run to New York City.

In New York, she would put an ad in the NY Times, Master had to read the times, and let him know she was waiting for him. Take nothing, buy new clothing at the mall, and take all the cash from the bank, she would need it to find master.

Jeannette spent part of the week considering one thing that she couldn't plan out She didn't know if Master would kill her outright. He just might, she knew that slaves were regularly killed when Master's became bored with them, or they displeased the Master. Jeannette wondered if she still wanted to die, she did some time ago, but did she now? She didn't want to live like this, afraid, and terrified that she had displeased her Master. She was afraid of being punished, but living knowing she had displeased Master, that was worse. At least if she was dead, perhaps Master would be pleased.

Saturday she went to the bank and withdrew nearly all the money in her account, and then went to the mall. She dumped her cell phone in a garbage can. Bought some jeans and a shirt, and then a light jacket. Changing into these clothes, Jeannette called a cab and waited for it. She told the driver airport. She was running, running away from the Feds, running to her Master.

At the airport she went in departures, and walked to arrivals. There she got another cab, and went to the bus station. There she was just an hour early for the bus to St. Louis, and from there her plan was in flux. She didn't know if she wanted to take a bus or train. Both could be used with cash, and could be given false names She knew that the Nancy name would be on computer watch lists, so she used names she made up. Jeannette Bennington was first. Once in St. Louis, she was Jeannette Adams. In Chicago she changed again choosing the name Jeannette Rosenberg. Once in New York, she found a hotel that would accept cash, a hole in the wall joint that wouldn't remember her in a week. She rented the room under the name Jeannette Wilson.

After checking in, she found a branch office of the NY Times, and paid for an ad to run for five days. "Master Devon, Slave Jeannette is awaiting your fortitude with patience" She paid extra to have it put in the international edition and the online version of the Times.

The next morning, she bought a paper and sipped coffee as she read the ads. There it was, already. Buying the international version at a newsstand, she checked again. It was in that edition too. Jeannette went to the Public Library, and waited. She was there until just before they closed, leaving and going to her hotel. Tomorrow, she would change hotels in case the Feds were looking for her.

They were. As soon as the Federal Agents discovered that Jeannette's car was hanging out at the Mall, they tracked the cell phone. It was at the Mall all night too. They tracked it and found it was in a trash dumpster behind the mall. Sunday afternoon Ken was advised that Jeannette was missing. He issued the All Points Bulletin, and had the mall employee's canvassed to find out if anyone had seen anything. No one had seen anything. One clerk said she sold some clothing to the woman, but nothing else. A cab driver was found to have picked her up, alone he said, and taken her to the airport.

Monday had them checking security tapes looking for Jeannette; they didn't see her at the gates. It was Tuesday, the day she arrived in New York, that they saw her leaving the airport. A canvassing of the taxi drivers took another day, and found that one remembered taking her to the Bus Station. There they got conflicting stories, one person said she had gone to Dallas, and another thought St. Louis. It was Friday before someone in St. Louis remembered seeing her. The trail was getting colder. The person couldn't remember where she had gone. They scanned the lists and found five Jeannette's had departed St. Louis the day she arrived by Bus. All five were tracked to four destinations. Two had gone to Chicago The Chicago office of the marshal's was trying to find someone who remembered a brown haired girl who came through. None did. They checked the lists and found nine Jeannette's who had departed Chicago. None was the right one; they were off the trail good and cold now. Jeannette had taken the express train to New York Monday night. The Feds were looking everywhere, but finding nothing. They now even doubted that Jeannette had taken the bus to Chicago. They were thinking that they needed to backtrack to St. Louis and try to find her trail again.

Ken was frantic, looking everywhere. Jeannette had been missing for almost a week now, he gave her name, and a dozen other words to the tech guys to plug into the web crawling spiders to check for. Perhaps there was a web page up. Ken was certain that she was running, and he was afraid that the slavers would find her. Ken reported this to his boss, and explained that his witness may be having some sort of breakdown, running blindly away from the perceived threat.

Jeannette's ad was in the Wednesday NY Times. The Slaver's web crawler found it at 2am Thursday morning, and put it with the other links that had the keywords Master, Slave, Devon. A security man checked it at 5am, and he notified the head of Security for the Vassal Group at 7am. Something about it just felt wrong

Robert stared at it, and refused to believe it was their Devon, and their Jeannette. It couldn't be. If it was, it was definitely a set up. What the hell was the bit about fortitude and patience was the question.

Passing it to Dominique to get Devon's opinion, Robert waited for a reply and considered Perhaps Devon who trained her would have an idea. He opened the file on their missing slave. Jeannette was her name. Could it be a set up from the Feds? No, they wouldn't have something so subtle as a vague reference to patience and fortitude.

Dominique shrugged as she looked at the ad, it could be anything, and it didn't mean that it was their Devon, there were plenty of Devon's, and some of them must be playing at being master and slave with someone named Jeannette. She picked up the clean cell phone, and dialed this month's number to reach farm number 1.

Devon wasn't in control; he was downstairs working with a new slave, supervising her experience in the chair. A security officer got his attention and Devon passed the chair monitoring to Carl.