Interrogation 1

[handygent]

Bird’s eye view

I must record these things while they are fresh in my memory, either for use as evidence or to remind me that they did, in fact, happen.

I could not take it seriously at first, it all seemed like a weird dream or something, maybe it was the retro uniform I was wearing but these guys seemed to read more into it than could ever be considered remotely feasible.
True I was a mature female student, (if you consider 23 to be mature), at one of the foremost universities in the whole of South America and granted my attire at the time of my arrest could, by a stretch of imagination, be regarded as sort of military in appearance, but that was what it was intended to be, why would I wish to be the only woman at the party who was less than authentic in her chosen outfit?

Trouble was that these idiots take everything so seriously and are really quite touchy about national security and perceived subversive threats by outside forces that, once they had set their minds on a course, nothing on earth would change them.
They apprehended me just after leaving my flat and insisted that I go with them for questioning and I suppose that my attitude did not help the situation but then I am used to the authorities in my own country and were about to discover the differences in this one.

At first I took it as a joke and felt confident that I could vindicate myself with just one telephone call to a friend who would substantiate my story and vouch for the authenticity of my WW2 Leading Airwoman’s uniform being nothing more sinister than a fancy dress costume, but they would not listen to me and rushed me to some outstation in the suburbs.

I found myself in a small room, just a simple desk, a couple of chairs, filing cabinet and a central light, a bulb with no shade just like they have on the movies.

The guy who interviewed me in that awful room seemed reasonable enough, well at first he did - but things changed alarmingly quickly once I must have said something that annoyed him, or confirmed whatever it was that he seemed convinced I was up to.
In other circumstances I could have warmed to the guy, he was not at all bad looking, about ten years older than myself, and definitely not a guy to be messed with. He wore a uniform of sorts, short sleeved shirt with insignia, wide leather belt supporting tight riding type trousers tucked into calf length leather boots, but it was his face that fascinated me, changing as it did, from warm friendliness to harsh intolerance in a moment.

I answered his questions and attempted to prove my story by asking for a telephone but it seemed as though he would not allow me that privilege.
“How the hell do you expect me to prove what I tell you is true?” I yelled once my patience had expired for the umpteenth time. There is only so much a person can take after all and this man was beginning to annoy me.

My outburst took his interview to another level and the face of harsh intolerance came within inches of mine.
“It is I who will decide if you are telling the truth,” he hissed into my face so close that I could feel his breath on my face.
For a moment I thought that he was going to kiss me, how mad is that? But it is not often someone comes that close without some form of contact.
To be honest I was beginning to tire of his behaviour and wanted nothing more than to leave this place and to join my friends at the party, but if he insisted on this charade then he better either arrest me, or let me go.
I told him as much and that was when he left me alone for a while. As he left he assured me that when he returned, after I had been ‘prepared’, he would not be as polite or as accommodating and ‘now that I had decided to defy him’ he would call upon assistance in order to change my mind.

Of course it was all part of the interrogation process, I had read enough about the techniques to realise that there might be others to try and intimidate or coerce me to provide whatever it was they wanted to know. But nothing prepared me for the young woman, (hardly out of high school by my reckoning,) who entered the room shortly after.

She looked to be Chinese, or perhaps Japanese, a slim pale faced girl with her dark hair piled up high on her head and wearing a loose two piece costume of high necked top and loose baggy trousers.
She carried a clip-board in her hand that she placed carefully on the small table before taking a seat opposite to me.
Smiling she said, “He will be back soon and I have my instructions. Do you have anything you can help me with, anything that you feel he ought to know?”

Of course I shook my head and buttoned my lips as she continued following the instructions that she had been given, what I assumed to be the ‘softening up process’.

The girl picked up the clipboard and hovered her pen above the paper expectantly but when she saw my face she realised the futility of it.
Placing the board back on the table she leaned forward and patronisingly placed a hand upon my arm. That single act, designed to reassure me no doubt, repulsed me - it was false and hypocritical and I cannot stand that behaviour, it makes my flesh creep.

“I cannot help you if you will not help me” she said affecting a sweet smile of innocence and supposed friendliness that might fool a man but not a world-wise woman such as me.

I looked away, I had seen enough of this charade, but she kept on regardless.
“He will have his way you know. I have seen what he does to women and I would not want that to happen to you, now if you would just………………..”

I cut her short. “Listen, you better just tell him to do his worst, why bother to go through all this? And you might as well wipe that false smile from your face, I can see right through it.”

She changed instantly. The tiny girl became a wildcat and I soon discovered her hidden talents as she placed me in a painful arm lock and twisted my hand sufficient to break it.
The pain was acute and I could not resist being forced forward on my chair whilst my arms were locked painfully behind me, a practised manoeuvre that gave her total control and the ability to bind my thumbs together with one of those plastic ties before securing them to the lowest crossbar of the chair upon which I was sitting.

I began to be frightened now, it was obvious that I would need to cooperate in order to be freed, those ties cannot be broken and I realised that someone would have to cut them off before I could leave that place.

One moment I was free and on my way to a party and in an instant I was a captive to these stupid people who had sinister intent if I did not do exactly what they wanted.

“I did warn you,” The girl said as she stood behind me, seemingly cautious of being within kicking distance of my feet, although why I would wish to anger her more, given my situation goodness only knows, except that these people do not think as we do.

“Look,” I said, trying to be reasonable now, “I have told you all I know, there is nothing more I can say so why not let me free and if I can help further then I shall.”

“I have my instructions,” she said, her fingers playing idly with my hair as though I were a novelty, or a plaything. “When things have reached this stage then we work as a team, he prefers it that way and so do I.”

Those fingers had now reached my face and were touching me, exploring me much as a blind person would do, but she was not blind and I found her sickening touch repulsive.

“You are enjoying this aren’t you?” I challenged her, expecting her to deny the accusation.

“But of course,” she said. “I have skills that you couldn’t believe, so you better believe it,” she said paradoxically.

I felt her fingers around my face cleverly avoiding my mouth, don’t imagine I did not think of biting her because I did but to do so would invite retribution and I sensed that this young woman was not one to be messed with.

“He enjoys the torture and I enjoy watching him,” she said as a mater of fact then, upon seeing my expression, added, “Oh yes, surely you realise that has to be the next step and that my purpose is to give you one last chance to avoid that – a chance that you see fit not to take?”

I suddenly felt sick and wanted to vomit but with my hands immobilised I needed to exercise control, not for the last time that evening, and swallow the bile that formed in my throat.

Meanwhile she dropped to her knees and approached my feet from behind, grasping each of my ankles in turn and, again using those plastic ties, fastened them securely to the chair legs leaving me powerless to move and a captive for whatever they planned to do to me.
Things had changed dramatically now and I became acutely aware that I was powerless to do anything to help myself, even an itch on my nose could not be scratched to bring relief. Silly things like that flood the brain when one is captive and panic is just a thought away. I have never been in such a position before and my mind was awash with so many conflicting thoughts.
I began, for instance, to feel like a pee and I knew that would be out of the question as they would not release me to visit the toilet and if I let my need be known then they would use it to their advantage, so I put it to the back of my mind and hoped it would not come to it.

She was just walking around me now, looking at me, sizing me up without saying a word. Occasionally I would feel her touch me, brush my hair with her fingertips or accidentally brush them against my breasts and observe my shame, again silently but all the more menacingly because of it.
It may have been accidental, at the time I thought it was, but it certainly put thoughts of needing a pee into the background as I was in great danger of revealing my weakness and to do that would, I knew, be playing into their hands.

My weakness, (or weaknesses), are my breasts, they are so sensitive to the slightest touch and the nipples have been known to stiffen by thought alone. I hate my breasts, they are of average size but the area around the nipple puffs up whenever the nipples are aroused, or sensitised, giving my breasts a sort of ‘cottage loaf’ effect that I really loathe but which has had the opposite effect with a couple of boyfriends in the past who adored them.
That ‘accidental’ brush forced me to try and blank my mind. Already I could feel the nipples beginning to harden and could imagine the pleasure that would provide for my captor. I tried to think of other things, about the car that I was interested in purchasing, about who might be going to the party that I was already late for but nothing seemed to work. What did work was a feeling of total submission and resignation to my fate, whatever that might be, and I must admit that this was something entirely new for me, and one in which I had no choice whatsoever.

I could feel a familiar tingle between my legs and my wilful nipples took their cue and became stiffer. I hoped that she could not detect the change and that the outline would remain obscured by the thick fabric of the Air Force blue blouse that was part of my costume. I hoped also that she would do something to take my mind away from my predicament and that my body would return to its norm.

(To be continued)