The Breaking of Jill Valira

The Breaking of Jill Valira

2nd Edition

by

Aaron Majewski

Copyright, © 2009 by Aaron Majewski

The right of Aaron Majewski to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

First Edition Published 2008

2nd Edition Published 2009

Smashwords edition 2011

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

WARNING: This work contains strong, graphic content of an adult nature, which some readers may find offensive. It is intended for mature audiences, who do not mind graphic depictions of violent\sexual situations.

The Breaking of Jill Valira

PROLOGUE

Jill shivered uncontrollably, she was naked and her feet were absolutely freezing. She stood before the tiny bunk bed, her sweat-stained clothes in a neatly folded pile at her feet as she began to dress in the gray PJ’s provided. The windowless barracks were hot, heated by sleeping bodies and the small stove in its middle. It was dark and shadowy, only a pair of forty watt bulbs making an island of light above the stove and nightlights at ankle height by every fourth bunk.

The bunk beds were small, meant to sleep a single person but Jill knew she’d be warmer soon, as they were being slept three to a bed. The compound held almost a thousand girls and several hundred young men she knew, having been checking carefully. This barrack had about a hundred sleeping forms, crammed together on tiny bunk beds. Around Jill ten other girls were quickly changing into their own PJ’s; they were the work detail.

Jill was an intelligence agent, a specialist in open infiltration; which meant presenting herself as the target organization’s desired personnel type and allowing them to ‘recruit’ her. In this case that had meant playing a starving, desperate, homeless runaway junkie. She was twenty-six but could still pass for eighteen if she tried and she was playing a twenty-two year old for this mission.

She’d been in for the last four months, solely gathering information. She hadn’t yet done anything to disrupt the One True Light’s operations; it was too risky. She was just learning about them at this point; feeding information out to her handler and awaiting an opportunity. She was ready, really ready, to assassinate the crazy fucker who had built this cult; but things were much more complicated than anticipated and they wouldn’t authorize it.

She was so cold because she had spent the last ten minutes chopping wood in the -30 temperature without gloves, socks or boots. She had delayed sending her standard ‘hang back and wait’ contact till the last minute. Tonight’s cover had required her to ‘accidentally’ throw her axe over the fence and she’d known she’d be punished for it. She slid the PJ bottoms on, not looking at any of the other girls. Others who had received similar punishments for minor infractions were crying openly. Jill, at least ten years older than most of the girls, wanted to comfort them but she knew she couldn’t.

She was angry with herself. She’d had to stand and watch as one of the wood-choppers on tonight’s work detail had cried just a bit too loudly for the guard’s sensitive hearing, or perhaps his boredom. Jill could do nothing but play the part of a weak-minded and broken street kid as the guard had the attack dogs rip the other girl apart; first teasingly sending her jogging toward the main camp pretending he was sending her back early for a hot chocolate treat, before sending the dogs after her.

She felt weak and sick. Jill had undergone extensive pre-mission resistance training for this cult. The leader was an unknown but apparently he was perfecting standard brainwashing techniques. Jill knew they had decided she was a suitable candidate for their experimental process. She hadn’t found out much about it yet, and she was afraid she was going to learn the hard way if her handler didn’t authorize something soon. The girls always knew who was next to disappear with a flimsy or no excuse, the girl who suddenly always got late night work detail and extra shifts of the hardest labor; the one who was punished badly for literally nothing; the one put on half rations for a week. Jill hadn’t eaten properly in over four months, just the bowl of high protein gruel the children, the eldest of them maybe twenty, were usually fed. She’d been getting half the usual amount for more than a week. Worse, that half had been cut to a quarter for the last four days and she knew she was literally starving. She was aware they were still refining their process, it was why the girls were never seen again and almost a week ago Jill had warned her handler she was clearly slated to be next. She hadn’t been allowed a proper night’s sleep in days either, some excuse always came up for them to wake her.

As she finished tying the knot on the PJ bottoms she looked around at the other naked girls. Like her they were all emaciated, kept constantly on the edge of hunger, skin slack, muscle tone fading, skin yellowing; hair lank and greasy as they showered communally once a week. It wouldn’t take much to break any of them. Out of the corner of her eye Jill saw the Denmother standing by the stove, she held a bowl of porridge in her hand, ladle in the other, scooped up from the bubbling pot on the stove. Jill’s stomach growled as she thought about food. The late work detail was to be fed now, a meal before bed; and all the girls needed it desperately.

This was a punishment detail. All these girls, Jill among them, were exhausted and weak. Even Jill, highly trained and excellently conditioned, was beginning to feel the strain on her body. Top in her hand she tensed as the doors at the end of the barracks opened quietly. Some of the sleepers nearest the door stirred and murmured but every girl here was utterly worn out and none woke. The three men were the Master’s henchmen, his favored lieutenants; Mutt and Jeff, brothers apparently actually named that, very large powerful men, they rarely spoke. Herkle was the cultist’s second in command. He you had to watch, Jill knew. Like the man calling himself Mordicia Jed, (they knew it wasn’t his real name, the question was, who was he?) Master to his girls, little was known about Mutt and Jeff; but Herkle was a professional, an assassin and terrorist he worked for a cause and his current cause was helping to prefect a near perfect sleeper.

Jill quickly pretended nervousness, easily; emulating the other girls who tensed in fear as they continued to dress. Jill didn’t have to work hard at the act, she was afraid this was finally it. Her employer had waited too long and now they would have to brief a new agent.

A calm voice called softly, Susan.

It was time, Jill knew; she looked up at the sound of her cover name. The Denmother (a file her superiors had, showed her to be a really dangerous woman, a trained psychotherapist who had lost her license for participating in illegal human experimentation) crooked a finger at her.

Jill dropped her top back on the bed and obediently approached. She was a pro, she wouldn’t break cover; something could be salvaged right up until they killed her or she actually told them who she was. As she came to stand before the fortyish woman, the three men moved to surround her. Herkle stood on one side, the large Mutt behind her and Jeff on her other side. Jill, Susan, ignored them calmly, giving the Denmother her attention as she was supposed to.

Topless, submissively Susan spoke, Yes Ma’am?

Warm but firm. Be a good girl and don’t resist, that’s an order, okay?

Butterflies in her belly clawing up towards her mouth, Jill said nothing but remained pliant as the men gently but firmly grabbed her in a practiced sort of way. Mutt took her by the upper arms as Herkle slipped a cloth bag over her head, shutting her in snug darkness. She didn’t fight as she felt her legs grabbed, and the pair lifted her off her feet.

* * * * *

A small hole in the bag admitted a small amount of light; but the cloth was still thick enough to prevent her from making out anything more than vague blurs as the three moved around her. She held still unresisting as she heard metal buckles and straps shifting while the men firmly strapped her in place. She hissed a quick indrawn breath of pain as needles were slid smoothly into the backs of her hands, each hand getting two needles. She heard tape ripping then pressed firmly to the needles to hold them in place.

She knew she had to play her part, no bravery just a frightened young woman, Ow!, as the first needle slid in. A pause, Owwie!, then a half sobbed, Owww!

Herkle spoke to her firmly, soothing, It’s okay Susan, we’re just showing you a movie.

Jill was scared, knowing she was about to undergo brainwashing; and it was always a process there was a danger of failing to resist, as she’d learned from other cults she had infiltrated. Yet at the same time she was reassured, their actions strongly suggested she hadn’t lost her cover but had simply played a pliant submissive woman a little too well. Jill felt the firm straps holding her body as the men finished restraining her, clad only in pajama bottoms with thick leather straps around wrists, elbows, ankles and knees, another pair just under her breasts and beneath the swell of her belly. Electrodes were taped to her nipples, and Jill knew electro-shock would be part of the process: aversion therapy, the carrot and the stick; she wondered what unusual refinements they had in store for her. Every cult had its own brainwashing recipe. She had read about them all, and experienced many.

The trick of course wasn’t to resist the brainwashing; she had been trained for that, an even more rigorous training process than usual for this mission. But now the real trick, Jill knew, was to resist but at the same time eventually make them buy her succumbing; otherwise they would kill her.

A moment passed in silence, and then the bag was whisked off in a burst of light. Jill blinked rapidly, accustoming herself to the brightly lit room, high ceilinged with dark beige walls and floor. It held only two items of interest Jill could see. One was the wooden ladder backed chair she was strapped to. Various medical equipment sat next to it, like the drip bags full of drugs already leaking into her veins. She would feel it soon, she knew, but she couldn’t slip into a meditative trance while they watched; she hoped they wouldn’t actively monitor the entire process, it was unlikely. Fluorescents in the ceiling filled the room with a harsh, shadowless light; a sixty-seven inch wide screen TV dominated the wall before her. Mutt and Jeff stood beside and behind her. She looked up feigning terror as Herkle looked down at her with, she knew, false compassion. Out of the corner of her eye she noted Jeff held a pair of tweezers. She heard Mutt playing with more straps and buckles.

Soothingly her captor spoke. Good girl Susan, that’s it. Just relax, we’ll just put this on now. He nodded to his men.

She held still not fighting as Jeff with the tweezers, gently gripped her jaw. Herkle spoke again, Careful now, don’t hurt her.

Don’t damage the merchandise, Jill thought, the test results might not be the same if I’m injured. She knew perfectly well physical injury could offset the process, making an otherwise perfect subject temporarily immune to brainwashing, the throbbing pain of a broken arm or a damaged jaw distracting their mind from the process they were being forced to undergo. No, they wanted only controlled pain like from the electrodes taped to her nipples. Carefully regulated and delivered at specific times, with specific other stimuli, for a specific response.

Working together all three fitted a leather and plastic mask over her face, her eyelids lifted and gently clipped to the mask so she couldn’t close her eyes, but only watch helplessly whatever they felt like showing her. When they were done her head was immobilized, eyes wide open, straps under her jaw forcing her mouth closed. Two small plastic tubes gently leaked clear fluid into her eyes very slowly, taking the place of blinking.

The other two began to leave, but Herkle lingered fitting small earphones into her ears. Enjoy your movie. Only warm sincerity in his voice.

He left and Jill heard the door (directly behind her, out of her sight line) close. Instantly the TV flicked on. Music played in her headphones, music she couldn’t shut out. Jill instantly fell into the rhythmic breathing she had learned oh so long ago; preparing to drop into a trance-state in order to fight whatever they were going to do to her. Still, she had no choice but to look at the screen unable to close her eyes, and she needed time to blank her mind to external stimuli. She only hoped she had enough. If the electro-shock started too soon, she wasn’t good enough to slip into a deep trance while being shocked, it was so very difficult. The TV showed her a painting, an artist’s conception of the Garden Of Eden, a naked Adam sat on a rock looking down on a naked Eve, kneeling before him washing his feet. A warm strongly soothing commentator began to speak to her in the headphones as Jill desperately raced through the steps of auto-hypnosis, attempting to retreat to a dark and warmly safe place.

In the beginning God created Eve to serve Adam’s every need. A pause, music swelled and faded. Women are meant to serve men. The TV began showing still pictures and snatches of video, hard porn, maids, housewives… The sole point of women’s existence is to perform any task a man may choose to set for them. As such there are improper jobs and actions women must not engage in.

The TV showed a female judge sitting on the bench. A loud hum, Jill gasped and jerked against the straps as a painful shock coursed through her body, breaking her concentration. The shock ended and immediately the TV replaced the female judge with more slideshow of various submissive women, naked slaves collared and leashed, whores and more.

The commentator droned on… Women are simply inferior.

The commentator continued to talk, telling how and why women were less than men, as pictures and snatches of video continued to roll across the screen. The commentator spoke at length, making his points with jolts of electricity at random unexpected times, always accompanied by pictures of strong independent women. Jill fought but she was unable to drop into anything other than a light meditative trance, not nearly deep enough; and she was shocked out of it regularly. She had no choice but to look at what was on the screen, she was unable to shut the droning, continuing voice of the commentator out. Jill knew this could take hours. Fortunately she knew this was only one step of a very long process. She was going to suffer but there would be other chances to resist. And brainwashing was delicate, easy to disrupt.

Still she had to listen as the commentator told her in great scientific, but easily understandable detail exactly why she was a lesser being and had to do as she was told. He continued to make his point with regular jolts of electricity, stinging her bare nipples. She was forced to watch a twenty minute black and white film of Nazi footage. Ninety young Jewish women were taken stark naked into a corral; emaciated as Jill herself was. They were made to jog in a circle while young SS officers laughed and urged them on with crops. Every minute or so some of the slower women would be dragged into the middle of the corral and hung on a gibbet. Any woman foolish enough to object was summarily shot. After twenty minutes more than half the women had been executed and the survivors, exhausted, were pulled down and raped. The commentator explained to Jill throughout exactly why what was happening was right and proper.

As he droned on, Jill felt the drugs seeping through her system, making her calm, muzzling her thoughts, swaddling her critical thinking in a thick haze of muggy unknowing. She found she couldn’t think up any coherent argument against what he was saying. She tried to resist but no longer could think why she should do anything but sit there and simply listen.

The commentator droned on, Jill wondered how much time had passed; she always did have an excellent internal clock, useful in her line of work. She thought maybe it had been an hour but a small voice in her head told her she’d been sitting there for almost a day, just listening. Jill was shocked, that can’t be right. But as she thought about it, she knew it had indeed been a long time. She felt weak, shaky. She hung slack in her restraints and she realized she hadn’t offered the slightest mental resistance for a while now, simply allowing the commentator’s words to seep into her psyche unchallenged by any critical tests. She wasn’t even quite sure what he’d been telling her; just that she’d been mentally going along with whatever was said, unchallenged.

The commentator had stopped speaking, the TV was off. The door opened and Herkle came in. He stood before her and slowly released the mask strapping her head in place. Jill realized she was soaked in sweat, but worse her bottom was wet, at some point her bladder had let go.

Well Susan, what did you think, did you agree with the movie? He asked softly.

Jill knew she had to continue playing her part. She wasn’t sure what part she was playing or why, it was too hard to think; she only knew she had a part to play.

She let instinct guide her, Please just let me go.

He smiled as he reached out to caress her cheek, Oh no Susan, you’re not going anywhere. You’re a worthless slut and you are staying right here until you learn that. He pulled a flask out of his back pocket and held it up, Thirsty. It wasn’t a question.

She nodded, Yes sir.

He uncapped it and offered it to her. She opened her mouth and he slipped the flask past her lips. It was water (possibly drugged, but she didn’t think of it until he was recapping the flask). He gave her a good long drink.

Are you hungry bitch?

Jill forced tears to her eyes, Yes sir, please, please I’ll behave.

He slapped her calmly, her face stung, her ears ringing. Shut up cunt. You get fed when we decide you deserve it.

Yes sir, Jill replied, knowing it was the proper response; she dropped her eyes.

Better.

The video became interactive then. She watched helplessly as Herkle adjusted her restraints, doing something to a machine beneath her chair. He then sat behind her and the video started again, different this time. The commentator began asking her questions, and if her response wasn’t the right one Herkle used a little control in his hand to shock her. Apparently they hadn’t yet designed a computer program to do it she thought. But that thought soon fled as the new set of drugs he’d started dripping into her arm went to work.

More hours passed as Jill answered the commentator’s questions, agreeing she was worthless, meant to serve, had no reason for being but to please men etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Herkle was replaced by Jeff, replaced by Mutt, by other lesser henchmen. All shocked her if she hesitated or gave an improper response. Jill felt herself failing, energy flagging, drugs fogging her mind. She couldn’t think, could only react, and the only way to stop the pain was to immediately give the right answer as the same basic questions were asked again and again in a variety of ways. It was the carrot and the stick but all stick and the only carrot in sight was the stick hovering over her without actually descending. Finally, after a second straight day of answering the commentator, she passed out.

* * * * *

She came to lying on the floor, unbound. Herkle stood over her. She looked up at him; he held a steaming earthenware bowl in his hands.

Hungry bitch? He asked.

Jill lay still on the floor and simply nodded. She was starving and exhausted. She had no idea how long she’d been out but she didn’t feel rested.

Your Owner has decided to rename you; he thinks Sara is a better name for you. What’s your name?

Jill opened her mouth, tried to speak, and gagged. Finally she choked out in a small voice, Sara, sir.

He put the bowl down next to her. She could see it was filled with thick stew; chunks of meat and potatoes, carrots and peas in a thick meaty gravy. Her stomach growled. Her limbs trembled as she levered herself up sitting on her ass, hovering over the bowl. There was no spoon. Hesitantly she reached out to pick the bowl up.

You’re not to touch it with your hands, he said in a quiet, ominous voice.

Jill looked up at him; she knew what he wanted her to do. She nodded and slowly, painfully she got to her knees. Palms flat on the floor on either side of the bowl she brought her face down towards it. The thick meaty aroma wafted up her nose. She took a deep breath, heaven; she didn’t care if it was drugged. They had effective physical control of her, she couldn’t prevent them drugging her. There was no point in trying. She heard Herkle move around behind her as she bent further forward, bum lifting into the air as she began to lick at the contents of the bowl. He watched her eat for a few seconds. She gobbled, burning her tongue and not caring, desperately needing the nourishment.

He spoke harshly, Did you wet yourself you dirty bitch?

She looked over her shoulder at him, still playing her role, the drug fog actually making it easier, I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t help it.

He reached out to cup her ass through her now dry but sticky PJ bottoms. You disgraceful bitch, you pissed yourself.

Jill knew it was stupid but she felt a wash of shame flood through her. Her buttocks clenched as her stomach fluttered, she felt tears sting her eyes. I’m sorry.

He snapped his fingers. Get your fucking pants off bitch.

Hurriedly Jill took the pants off, hoping against hope she’d be allowed to finish the bowl. He held out his hand and she gave him the bottoms and sat there naked.

He sneered at the PJ’s. You sick cunt. Weren’t you even taught manners? What, you were raised in a barn? Look at this!

He shoved the bottoms into her face, rubbing them in. Jill could smell her urine as she fell to her back. He chased her, grinding the thin cloth into her face. She could feel his palm through the thin fabric. She didn’t try to fend him off, knowing he’d beat her. Instead she let herself start to cry; an acceptable response. He continued to rant at her and even though she knew he was doing it as part of a plan to break what she appeared to be, with the drugs still seeping through her system making her feel vulnerable, heightening her emotions and throwing her mentally off balance, Jill felt like a stupid dirty child as he railed at her.

Desperately she retreated and let the half-built but convincing shell that was Susan, the cover built to let her worm her way into the cult, a cover built to the point it could pass - giving convincing answers while exhausted or drugged during normal brainwashing processes. Jill let it take control. Susan sobbed, cried, pleaded, promised to do better, begged pitifully and implored his forgiveness. Finally he relented. A tray had come into the room with him and a steaming bowl of hot water sat on it with a rag. Crying, Jill watched as Susan under his direction, scrubbed her ‘dirty pussy’ clean with the hot water; scrubbing herself thoroughly, her dark bristles glistening with the liquid as she mopped at her private places.

Finally when he decided she was clean enough it was time for further degradation. He had her kneel, and then he took her by the back of the neck and forced her to bend forward again. Susan cried but didn’t fight as he pressed her face firmly against the floor, his other hand cupping her bottom, making her lift it. She sobbed as he slid into her from behind, a swift thrust rough and brutal as he raped her cruelly, intentionally hurting her as much as possible.

When he finished, he told her to sit back in the chair. Susan, sobbing, obeyed. She was too weak to fight and mentally beaten down. She cried and asked wretchedly if she could finish the stew as he began strapping her in place. Almost gently he told her she didn’t deserve it. She moaned and cried, head hanging as Herkle finished restraining her.

* * * * *

They moved onto the rules then, teaching her that her Master was the Way of the Truth and the Light; again drugging her and impressing the point more firmly with electro-shock. Looking back on it years later Jill was amazed just how easy it was to break her; they repeated everything step by step, slowly. Everything from how worthless she was, got repeated again and again. Days passed turning into weeks.

Her captors were experienced and careful, ensuring that the latest lesson was firmly entrenched and holding her at a plateau of learning for a while, before moving onto the next level. They broke her systematically, knowing exactly what they were doing. Drugs and electroshock coupled with force fed lessons she had to memorize and repeat. They kept her constantly on the edge of starvation, controlling her sleep patterns, irregular in duration and timing, completely throwing off her bodily clock. They often gave her hours just to sit and absorb the latest lesson, followed by intense questioning and refresher courses as necessary.

It wasn’t long before Jill herself had to go far away, retreating deep within her mind, allowing Susan to come fully forth in order to hide who she truly was, for they would kill an intelligence agent immediately. Of course however, breaking Susan was their goal anyway and unfortunately for Jill, breaking Susan involved taking away who and what she was. Which was almost nothing as Susan was merely a thin shell covering a more complex person. It wasn’t long before Susan learned that when they changed her name to Sara, they really meant to make her over into Sara. She wasn’t allowed simply to call herself Sara when asked and answer to the name. Her Owner expected, required her to become Sara.

She tried many things to resist, calling upon every little trick Jill had ever encountered or been taught in an attempt to stave off conditioning. They systematically stripped each little defense from her; everything Jill could think to try was defeated easily. She didn’t know exactly what drug cocktail they were using but it wasn’t quite like anything she had experienced before. She always felt clear headed, except she couldn’t actually think. That combined with the steady unrelenting indoctrination process and the electro-shock conditioning, simply wore down her defenses, breaking them from her and leaving her bare. Finally Jill was reduced to using the sung ABC’s in an attempt to drive out the voices pounding words at her from all sides, attempting to drown out the commentator, Herkle, the Master, driving them back with a simple little ditty every child knew. They took it from her, a few days of electro-shock conditioning, as well as a gag while she was patiently lectured, made to feel foolish; until finally merely the thought of singing the ABC’s made her feel like a horrible, worthless, ungrateful child.

She had a moment of true panic when Master as he made her call him, moved from simply drugging her to trying to hypnotize her, using threats to attempt to make her cooperate (hypnotizing someone without their cooperation being almost impossible). Susan tried to relax, as she did when she was absorbing yet another lecture, she tried to open herself to her Master even though Jill knew a single session of hypnosis would kill her. Fortunately the Master was unable to hypnotize her, but he didn’t seem surprised, seemed almost to expect it; and Jill knew he knew exactly what he was doing. He couldn’t honestly expect Susan to open herself to him yet, but he was wearing her down, and as time passed eventually there would come a time when Susan truly gave herself to her Master, really became Sara, and then Jill would be gone.

Jill couldn’t fight, she tried but as the weeks passed, Susan came closer and closer to truly being Sara. And as she fought, winter became spring, then summer.

* * * * *

A small circular room, the ceiling was lost in darkness as are the walls. A high-powered spotlight twenty feet overhead gave the only light. It shone down balefully on the center of the room throwing the rest of the chamber into deep shadow. Jill stood on a little pedestal in the middle of the room; stark naked but covered in sweat. Nine metal folding