The Interrogator

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Four point restraint. In law enforcement parlance that’s having both arms and both legs held immobile. So here I sit in four point restraint with the added feature of not being able to move my head. Is that five point restraint?

As I found years ago in Bangkok, when so secured, the mind seems to counteract the extreme bondage by wandering about uncontrollably. Experience indicates that thoughts will bring sadness, joy, paranoia, fear, mania. Over time, the brain becomes putty to be molded by those in control. They who control the straps. Any offer of freedom brings euphoria and untoward gratefulness to one’s captor. Just loosening a strap can warrant the kissing of one’s hand.

Prison regulations seemed to require close supervision when a prisoner is so incarcerated. Thus the physical cruelty is enhanced by the complete lack of privacy. Someone is always watching, and such simple deeds as urinating become a privilege to be granted by one’s captor. And to have one’s nose wiped, after hours of drool slowly oozing down lips and chin, can result in the most humble words of gratitude. The system of restraint is one of gradual but complete degradation. With the slowly building discomfort, one’s very soul would be traded for the temporary release of one limb... the unfolding of an arm... the bending of a knee.

‘Just my right arm, Miss... just for a moment... please...’

A plea unanswered, of course.

But then something happens within the brain and nervous system. Natural opiates flood the system and the body seems to numb. Thus, I learned the diabolical cruelty of eventual release. For most ironically, temporary relief, evilly timed to be offered after the limbs numb, resets the process. Yes, after each limb is returned to the straps, the discomfort would slowly build again. I would once again find myself groveling while a supervising guard patiently sat and waited until the opiates began to flow. That would signal the timing of another moment of release.

Thus, special people are required to keep a prisoner so secured. And in Bangkok, I had them... heartless... intractable... cruel. On occasion, I was given permission to speak simply to entertain with my groveling.

The door opens and suddenly I am immersed in light. My eyes clench shut against a powerful beam radiating from a ceiling spotlight above and to my front.

“Well, hello Bobby. Just like old times. Didn’t bring any lawyers with you?”

Miss Denise laughs with her ridicule. I pry open my right eye as a waft of wonderful perfume greets my nose.

She is radiant, dressed in a flowing white silk evening gown, a sparkling diamond necklace, hair perfectly coifed as always. The eyes bluer and brighter than ever.

“I have a little cocktail party to attend. Thought I’d have you acclimated for our chat while I socialize a bit. I see you’ve been introduced to Mae Lee’s hospitality.”

She approaches.

“And as usual, you’re not shy about expressing your enjoyment.”

I follow her eyes downward as best I can. Yes, during my reverie, the anal insert and the memories kept me most erect. She laughs at my priapic reaction to the bondage and with her ridicule, I squirm futilely against the ineluctable nylon straps.

“Don’t exhaust yourself Bobby. You know there is no escape. Three months in Bangkok proves that. This chair is identical. I grew rather fond of the one in Bangkok and had it duplicated.”

She steps to my side. The perfume invades and overwhelms my olfactory glands. I so much pine to be with her... free... there is need to be with her, but not while in four point restraint.

A gentle hand brushes my hair and tweaks my left ear. She tantalizes and teases so well. I struggle more.

“Mae Lee will check on you while I’m gone. I trust you didn’t have plans for the evening...”

The hand disappears from view, I hear the hissing of air and immediately feel swelling deep within. The anal insert is inflatable, just as the one in Bangkok. She has squeezed the air bulb just enough to send a message of control. The initial pain turns to the strange pleasure of prostate manipulation and my erection waggles. Miss Denise laughs, watching my uncontrollable and humbling reaction.

“You’ve kept yourself rather chaste, Bobby. Lots of fluid leaking.”

In my lower peripheral vision, I watch as a manicured finger dabs at the tip of my erect manhood. She holds up the gleaming finger, soaked in prostatic fluid, to ensure that I have noticed.

“Interesting. It seems your life style has changed a bit since our last chat.”

Meanwhile, the door again opens and Mae Lee enters.

“Keep him well watered, Mae Lee. A little food around nine. And there’s no need for him to be sighted.”

Words so casually offered but so meaningful to my comfort. I watch as best I can as Mae Lee moves to a cabinet.

“We have much to discuss, Bobby. In going through your file, I have decided to update it. Term it a psychologist’s affectation. After all, we too have our little peccadilloes.”

She laughs that ostensibly pleasant laugh that so irritates when one is held in four point restraint under her tutelage. And in referencing my foibles, my mind again begins to reel.

I suddenly realize I have remained silent during Miss Denise’s visit, reverting back to the rules of my Bangkok cell. And Miss Denise expected it. She neither asked nor expected me to utter a word, unless of course I was given permission to speak... which I was not.

The thoughts cascade as Mae Lee gently slides a hood over my head. It covers eyes and ears with a large hole for nose and mouth. It snaps onto my neck collar to ensure it cannot be slid off. I will be left sightless.

“I’ll be back. Then you’ll be given permission to speak. Be obedient for Mae Lee.”

Fingers brush my right n****e and teasingly give it a tweak. Miss Denise or Mae Lee? There is another hiss and more pressure on my prostate. Same question. Then, to the sound of that pleasant laugh which I have learned to both fear and covet, the door shuts.

I am alone... I think.