The Interrogator

“I’m not necessarily trying to frighten you, Bobby, just suggesting

that mercy is not part of the Asian culture. The young girl, accused of adultery, crawled to her execution led about by the noose that was to end her life. And she crawled heartened by the realization that the tiger bed would be endured no more.”

Miss Denise arose and stepped to the door. She knocked in an apparent signal for Mila to return. The door opened and my young and pretty tormentress entered.

“Mr. Dawson... our Bobby... needs some encouragement, Mila. I want him kept in a nice stiff neck collar, keep him hooded and plug his ears. Clamp the tongue for a few hours a day so he’ll be more inclined to use it. A visit or two to the discipline chamber should also help to loosen it, and I’ll have a talk with the nurse.”

“And in a few weeks we’ll try again. There’s certainly no rush. And Mila... he’s had enough food for today.”

Yes, such a impressive demonstration of her control over me. ‘Enough food’ barely amounted to a spoonful.

I was surprised to see the look on Mila’s face change to one of concern. She had been so insouciant over the past weeks, almost calloused. What could Miss Denise have mandated to bring forth empathy?

I was to find out.

Chapter Thirteen

I learned that Miss Denise’s words were commands.

After that one visit and my perceived belligerence, Mila found a thick and high neck collar in one of the cabinets. Thus my head was immobilized and shortly thereafter my ears were plugged and I was hooded.

The inextricable four point restraint continued, of course, with the loss of sight and sound and the motion of my head. When on one occasion I wriggled my fingers, one of the guards spent inordinate time and effort encircling my hands with heavy tape to assure that my digits could not move. My toes received the same fate.

The middle aged guard could no longer flash me, of course. But the boot licking continued and whenever I felt the back of my chair being lowered to the cell floor, I knew who was on duty and that my tongue was to be extended to perform its task.

Sometime after Miss Denise’s visit, the exact period lost in my new world of total silence and darkness, my chair was lowered and I felt warmth about the opening in my hood where nose and mouth protruded. There was no smell of leather boot, but instead the perfume of the feminine sheath. With taste and smell as my only remaining senses, even touch being limited, the awakening of those senses was most stimulating. My tongue extended to touch warm, moist and smooth flesh. I licked of course. And when I failed to lick again in a timely manner I felt the all too familiar surge of the cattle prod. So I licked and licked and soon found the opening to my hood engrossed in warm flesh.

The guard was sitting on my face!

She nestled down and I could not inhale. But lips dutifully sucked and my extended tongue endeavored as if paying homage to the finest of boots. Over the next few hours I received speechless lessons on how to satiate the concupiscent denim clad woman. For only when I properly swished, swirled and sucked was I provided a timely respite for air.

Her essence flowed and I greedily took in all, more greedily than the paltry portions of rice which barely sustained.

I remembered wondering whether there were nutrients in her copious spendings. Perhaps I could sustain myself by serving orally between the thighs of an insatiable woman.

Thereafter, the daily cunnilingus became my sole exercise, between the weekly visits to the nurse.

As before, the passage of time was measured through such visits to the washroom. And it seemed Miss Denise had indeed had a talk with my aloof British friend. For though I reveled in the relative freedom and movement afforded by the washroom tribulations, her treatment harshened.

Yes, I was introduced to the severity of the cold water enema, the resulting cramping causing much internal distress. And then on the second appointment after Miss Denise’s ‘talk’ the nurse catheterized me.

“You’re going to find there is nothing we can not and do not control here, Mr. Dawson. You may find the injection of ice cold water into your bowels to be painful and degrading, but there is more... much more.”

She spoke matter-of-factly as the catheter painfully slid past my prostate and forced its way into my bladder. The three guards stood by with prods at the ready and looks of self satisfaction in seeing the vaunted male receive his comeuppance. Tubes were connected and checked; the nurse conducted herself in a most professional manner, as always. But one could observe the same conduct from an executioner, I remember supposing at the time.

For when she smilingly opened the valves, freezing water slowly siphoned, first into my rectum and next through my penis into my bladder. The chill cannot be described. The sensation of vulnerability is complete. And as the bladder fills, though the body warms the liquid, the need to excrete overwhelms.

Within minutes, I was groveling for mercy that I knew would not be forthcoming. Still I begged, and my behests brought laughter.

“Save your words for Miss Denise,” was the haughty nurse’s retort as her knowing hand rested on my lower belly and her eyes watched various gauges.

“You see, Mr. Dawson, we know the male anatomy and know exactly how much pressure can be induced. Your pain and discomfort have no influence on the process, much less all the groveling. Ever stop to think how many steers are given a reprieve from the slaughterhouse?”

She laughed at her comparative question and indeed it seemed to be an apropos thought. To her, I was a piece of beef.

Gratefully, she turned off the valves and just let me fight the incredible sensation of cold and fullness. I squirmed and lurched about, oddly thinking that perhaps sitting hour after hour in sightless, silent four point restraint was not as mentally challenging after all.

And then despite the torment, despite the desperate need for relief which only the nurse could afford, my penis hardened. The guards gathered around and the abject humiliation of so many feminine eyes watching me abase myself caused the process to hasten.