Chapter 3: The Third Day

The two were still entwined, jumpsuits around their ankles, when lights returned and “Wall” command was given. They pulled up the suits and were against the wall before the jumpsuits were completely buttoned up.

The gruel no longer smelled noxious. Amy realized that she hadn’t had anything to drink since her arrest. She needed nutrients if she was to survive. She dipped the bread in the gruel and ate ravenously. The cockroach swimming in the gruel didn’t even give her pause. She picked it out and flicked it against the wall. The cockroach scurried into a corner and disappeared.

Time was fading. She wasn’t sure of the date anymore. She tried to remember how long she had been in this hell hole. She wasn’t sure it was day or night. Only the on - off of the overhead light and the delivery of the food gave her any sense of time.

The door clang sounded. Amy and her cellmates were back facing the wall. This time, it was Amy who was dragged by the hair. The hood descended. Strong arms held her in place as the jumpsuit and her bra were stripped off. It seemed only an instant before her hands were cuffed behind here, leg irons and chains attached. A muffled Noooooo! escaped from under the hood as she was half-dragged half frog marched naked out of the cell.

She was dragged along a number of corridors. At times, the guards would stop and shove her face to the wall and drive her to her knees. She sensed that some one was walking by, but she couldn’t be certain. The guards picked her up each time without explanation. Suddenly, a metal door opened. Amy was pulled through the door. It slammed behind her.

Footsteps echoed off the concrete floor. She was led deep into the room. Her hood was pulled off. A guard pointed to two circles painted in the floor about two feet apart. He indicated that Amy was to stand with a foot in each circle. Once positioned correctly on the floor, the guard uncuffed Amy and placed her arms straight out from the shoulders and parallel to her feet.

She started to lower her arms and received a sharp crack on her back from a thin cane. It hurt like hell, but Amy understood that she was not to move her arms. The hood was replaced before Amy had any chance to peer about the room. For a moment, a wry thought occurred that here she was a female version of DaVinci’s Vitruvian Man.

The wait seemed interminable. It was interrupted time and time again by piercing screams coming from nearby cells. The floor was ice cold. Goose bumps formed on her arms, legs, and back. He nipples had hardened into pencil stubs. She started to lower her arms to hug some warmth into her body when she received another sharp lash across her buttocks. The arms straightened. They felt like lead.

The First Session

The room was suddenly flooded in light. Her hood was removed. She tried to focus, but three search lights were aimed directly at her face. She squinted. She could barely make out a large table and the outline of a man in a military uniform sitting behind. Although she couldn’t see his face, she knew that he was staring at her naked body.

Amy felt an intense shame consume her. She blushed and felt a warmth spreading over her upper chest despite the cold. Amy was grateful for her dark bush which she hoped concealed her lower labia. She wanted to cover her nakedness but fear of the cane held her to her vertical spread eagle. The urge to pee dragged her attention back to her pussy. Amy prayed that the interrogator didn’t know her need.

A guard approached from her left. He held a portable scanner that quickly read her wrist band. The interrogator opened a folder. He picked up a cell phone and said something into it.

The cell door opened. Feminine footsteps approached the table. A woman was carrying a duffle bag and a plastic basket dumped the contents on the table. Amy could see gloved hands extending from the shadows that framed her interrogator. He carefully examined each piece of jewelry. Her watch received special attention although Amy couldn’t see why. Then, her blouse was carefully examined. The hems and stitching carefully inspected. Next it was her skirt. The same procedure was followed for her socks and tennis shoes. The clothes were returned to the duffle bag. The jewelry went back into the plastic basket.

The interrogator spoke. Amy stared blankly and received another slash with the cane, this time across the from of her thighs. She screamed and dropped her hands only to receive another strike across her abdomen. Arms flew back, outstretched.

The woman said something to the interrogator. He seemed to be considering Amy more closely now. They consulted again. Finally, he said: “Amerikan?”

Amy nodded, fearing to speak.

The two consulted again. The interrogator made a signal to the guard and the hood was replaced. The klieg lights were doused. Amy heard receding footsteps, the iron door opening and closing. She started to lower her arms, but was stopped by a stinging blow to the buttocks. Under the hood, tears were streaming down.

A guard neared from behind and lowered Amy’s arms. He fastened the handcuffs behind her back and reattached the linking chain from her leg irons. He led her across the room to a freezing wall. She was forced down to her knees, nose and breasts to the wall. The hood remained in place.

The urge to pee was building. She was cold. An ear shattering scream pierced the darkness. With that, Amy’s bladder gave way. Streams of piss hit the wall and splashed back against her pussy. It ran down her thighs and puddled around her knees and calves. Amy never moved from the wall.

The screaming from afar was louder now. It was a continuous wail. The pain was visceral. It was joined by another deeper male voice. Amy was shaking more than ever before. She needed her mommy. She wanted desperately to be somewhere else. She wanted to go home.