Garbled voices registered. The base and back of the metal chair gripped like a vice on the rear of Jay's neck and chest. Cold concrete numbed his knees and toes. Handcuffs dug into his bare lower back and the steel frame of the chair pushed hard on his broad shoulders. A groan escaped his dry throat. Bloodstained saliva fell to the floor, adding to the pool inches away from the two army boots in his sight. His mind fought hard to combat the pain and to comprehend his circumstances.
He heard the slow release of a zipper above his head. A hand grabbed the chain that linked his handcuffs, forcing his arms upward. Another groan escaped his swollen lips. He arched his back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. Cold metal whacked onto his lower back like a meat mallet on a chopping board. Shockwaves ascended his spine. He wanted to scream, but couldn't.
A warm substance smacked into Jay's hair and traced a line across the back of his head. The liquid made its way down through his ear and onto his cheek. A horrible little laugh commenced above.
'This is for headbutting my wife,' Primrose said.
Urine splashed into Jay's eyes and mouth. He tried to fight but his body wouldn't respond. His stomach shrank and the revulsion made its way toward his throat. Mucus drained from his nose and his throat rasped from gagging. The urine continued to target his mouth like a hose to flames. Laughter above forced the hose off target, yet it kept tracking back. He sucked the putrid liquid into his lungs with each gasp of breath. He forced his head down a couple of inches for momentary relief, but the urine followed him. He vomited onto Primrose's boots and roared like a wild boar to clear his lungs. His breathing eased and fingers curled. He caught the movement of the boots as they manoeuvred behind him. The laughter subsided.
'Now that's the kind of reaction I would pay to see,' Primrose said. 'Bet you haven't got that kind of reaction before from your prisoners, have you, Jay?'
'I...I...ca...' Jay struggled to articulate through his strained vocal chords.
'You're disgusting sometimes, Warren,' he heard Catherine say from behind. 'Get on with it before he passes out again.'
'Hmm, can't have him passing out again just yet; the fun is yet to begin,' Primrose said. 'Is everything set up, plugged in and ready to go, babe?'
'Yeah. You going to tell him?' she asked.
'I've got a better idea. Still with us, Jay?' he asked.
Survival mechanisms kicked in. His mind wandered to his own interrogation training six years before. He had learnt how egotistical some of the instructors were in the Army Intelligence Corps. There had been endless lectures from officers like Captain Warren Primrose, who had never used their skills in the field. Unlike Primrose, Jay had applied his skills in combat situations in Afghanistan and Iraq. Unlike Primrose, he had never needed to beat a prisoner. Never pissed on anyone. This was new to him. This wasn't in any training manual. He released another low muffled groan and felt the need to vomit again.
'I'll take that as a yes. Now my wife has told me all about the secret little liaison you two had last week. A couple of things you should know. One – I know about it because I set it up. Two – I have reviewed the tape, it turned out superbly.'
The words bounced through Jay's brain as he tried to match his recollection of the previous week. Yes, he had slept with Catherine Primrose. She had wanted him bad and wanted it rough; so he had given in to a weakness and obliged her. She'd called him while her husband was away, feigning loneliness. He had agreed to meet up with her; he had wanted her for a long time. An infatuation he couldn't explain. He knew it was wrong but those dark eyes and beautiful soft skin were enough. Irresistible.
The passion was palpable and the conversation short in the nondescript bar. Like a virgin teenager on a promise, he had taken up the offer of further drinks at her house. In the cab the silence was electric. She had gently stroked her nails across his thigh during the ten-minute ride. Blind to any warning signs, he had paid the fare and followed her into the house. They shared a hungry kiss as soon as the door hit the jamb. She told him what she wanted as she led him by the hand to the bedroom. She wanted to role-play. She as the victim and he as the intruder. That's the way I like it, she'd said. Ignore my screams, don't pay attention if I plead with you to stop, I need to be taken from behind like a whore, I'm desperate. My wimp husband can't get it up. Give it to me hard. There was nothing Jay wouldn't have done to satisfy the need to be with her. A mistake that had clearly come back to haunt him.
A rough hand brushed against Jay's exposed rear. 'This is a similar position to what he had you in, babe. Isn't it?'
Jay tightened, the humiliation momentarily forgotten. He held his breath.
'Minus the chair. Handcuffs are the same though,' she said.
Two rough hands grabbed his behind. A garbled scream escaped his cracked lips. His brain begged his body to move. Tears ran down his face like a slowly released tap.
'OK babe, start up your toy,' Primrose said.
He heard the burring of a small motor, like the gentle buzz of a vibrator. God no. Please no, he begged. No words came out. The rough hand slapped him hard on the rear. He vomited what small amount of fluid was left in him. His knees wouldn't, couldn't, move. With every ounce of energy left, he lifted his head and roared.
The buzzing stopped. The laughter recommenced. He hadn't been violated.
'Got you a good one there,' Primrose said.
Jay didn't respond, couldn't respond. His heart beat hard against his chest. Quick, shallow breaths grabbed at oxygen. He wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. Training wasn't supposed to be like this. But he knew it wasn't training. This was too much fun for Primrose. The sadistic little bastard will pay for this, he vowed.
Metal scraped concrete behind Jay and he heard whispering. Someone grabbed his arms and lifted so that his shoulders were fully extended. The handcuffs pushed high on his wrists. His hands slammed down onto a wooden table behind him and he felt the instant pressure through the bones on the back of his hands. He tried to push forward with his shoulders against the chair in order to slide his hands from the table. He managed to slide about an inch, but then the table was pushed toward him further and he realised that he'd lost ground. The twisting of his wrists was becoming unbearable and he pleaded to God to make it stop. The same God he'd never prayed to before.
'Now we play for keeps,' Primrose said.
A fist pushed hard on Jay's fingers and the palm of his left hand. His wrists twisted further in the handcuffs and pushed harder on the wooden table. A sharp point rested against the palm of his left hand. Like a fountain pen pushed into skin.
'You're going to be one of us, Jay, whether you like it or not,' Primrose said. 'Now I need you to stay still. This may tickle just a little. You might want to bite down on something. Start with your pride.'
A thousand razors raced from his hand to his brain, a competition to register first. The pain hit before the hammer struck the nail in a second terrific blow. A shrill from deep in his throat liberated his voice and a stream of urine gushed down his thighs. His eyes blurred.
The blackness fell upon him again.