The Interrogator

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Silence... darkness... boredom... thorough restraint... my mind seems to be the only functioning part of my body. By now I realize that such is intentional. Tight bondage has that effect and the likes of Miss Denise know that so much better than do I.

Memories return of that fateful late afternoon in Bangkok.

In hindsight, the prison had more of a medical look and feel than a place of incarceration. The woman police officer guided me into an elevator. When the doors closed, she whisked away the towel to leave me with nothing but hand cuffs. As we slowly descended, her nightstick was again drawn from her leather belt and its smooth surface used to first jiggle my testicles in a symbolic gesture of control, and then again diddle the sensitive underside of my glans p***s. To achieve the expected results, she pushed the stop button and thereafter toyed with impunity. Finally satisfied with my turgid stand she allowed the elevator to continue its long descent. The doors slid open to reveal a naked and erect prisoner under the total control of a cute young woman police officer.

I was thoroughly humiliated and it was purposeful. One is not given to draw attention through boisterous protest when so exposed, and all I could think of doing was to struggle against the cuffs and bring about my hands to cover myself.

Most effective.

A Thai woman in a plain starched denim uniform of blue stood arms akimbo as the police officer expertly kicked me behind my knees and I fell to the floor. Her effortless maneuver imparted no pain, but just forced the joints to unlock. She stooped to rest her knees against my calves to ensure I could not stand and worked the locks on my hand cuffs.

Meanwhile, the imposing blue uniformed woman uncrossed her arms to show me a baton-like device. She reached down, touched the tip to my scrotum and I instantly writhed in agony.

“Cattle prod,” her broken English explained. “You be good boy.”

Despite the pain, my erect p***s would not subside and the guard seemed to note that with enthusiasm.

The police officer departed with the cuffs, never to be seen again, but I am sure with stories to tell her girl friends.

“Hands on head,” the uniformed guard commanded as two other dour and uniformed women joined her. All held the same device; I was to learn they used it freely.

A very humble, naked, erect and obedient Robert Dawson followed every command and gesture as I was led into what I later knew to be termed the washroom. There, skilled nurses, quite adept at handling naked and possibly belligerent males, took me further down. With guards standing at the ready with cattle prods, I was searched, all cavities gruffly washed and shaven everywhere. A rather aloof British nurse particularly enjoyed handling me.

“Pediculosis... lice,” she explained as my head was shaven and clumps of pubic hair disappeared. “It’s the climate, hot and moist, almost anything can grow in the smallest patch.”

The ordeal with me ended lying on a table. Most thoroughly displayed to all as I was commanded to twist, turn and spread to expose every inch of flesh to a quick and sharp straight edged razor.

“Very good Mr. Dawson. You’ll learn here that obedience is best. The guards know little English so follow their hand signals. And be humble. If you don’t know humility, you will learn it here, quickly and painfully. And kiss their feet whenever you can. They find it to be quite becoming of the Caucasian male.”

Yes, the British nurse... pragmatic... completely insouciant to the male pride... almost cruel. I would see her weekly. The conversations were always light, but there would be no respite from the degrading treatment. She was all business in handling the male. But just to be free of my bonds made the brief moments in her presence seem like times of prolonged ecstasy.

Leaving the washroom, I was thereafter marched down a long hallway. The cavity search left my anus quite well lubricated, and I wondered if the squishy sounds of my cheeks could be heard. We passed numerous steel doors and arrived at what was to be mine... unmarked and nondescript. I shuddered with the realization of the relative anonymity. Who would know where I was to be entombed?

For some reason I remained partially erect, a phenomenon I still do not understand. The guards took turn amusing themselves during the walk, setting the cattle prods quite low and zinging away which though mild, still caused quite the stutter step when touched.

In hindsight, it was more than amusement. I was being trained to fear the consequences of the simple and quick electrical sting. And the guards seemed to be practicing, always reaching to apply the two prongs to my testicles, where the electrical charge was thought to be most effective. And it was.

The heavy steel door was pushed open. My cell was large, as described, with the metal chair in the center and a comfortable stuffed chair in one corner. Cabinets ringed the walls, filled with what I would later find to be frightful implements and devices all designed to break the will. There were no windows, and I judged from the eventful elevator ride that I was held well below ground level.

The youngest guard, Mila, stood behind the chair and just as Mae Lee had done, directed my bottom cheeks so that the impaling phallus split my cleft, briefly knocked on my rectum door and then as I was directed to lower myself, most painfully slid well into my anus. The women collectively laughed at my reaction, never before having been so penetrated. The straps, forearms... ankles... thighs... took seconds to adhere and there I was in a Bangkok jail in four point restraint.