Sally’s Subject II: Put to the Question
Too Much
When Denny opened his eyes and looked around, he found nothing to offer him hope or explanation. He was sitting in a very small room, barely more than a closet, propped up in a corner with his back to the wall. The floor was cold concrete, there were no windows, and the one door was a solid metal barrier with no way to open it from the inside.
When he tried to raise his hands, he discovered his situation was far worse than he imagined. A riveted manacle was clamped around each wrist. A single link of what looked like a tow chain held his hands close together. A connecting chain ran down to a heavy steel ring set into the floor. His ankles had received the same treatment, riveted shackles with a short connecting chain, the center running through the same floor ring.
The ominous part were the rivets. There was no lock visible anywhere. He was permanently bound to the floor, with very little freedom of movement. A quick jerk confirmed the solid look was no illusion. That was the sum total of his clothing; his clothes were still missing. The only good news was the nightmarish chastity belt, his electrified “belt of agony”, was gone.
If this was part of Mistress Edith’s dungeon it must be a very private area, for he’d never seen it before. The last he remembered, the always silent assistants had taken him down from the “Doorway to Heaven” suspension frame and thrown him into what could only be described as a minimal jail cell. Exhausted he had crawled onto the pad and fell asleep. At some point they must have moved him while he was unconscious. Did they use drugs on me?
That scared him. This went beyond one of his typical visits. It bordered on the criminal, which if true meant they weren’t worried about police or legal action. The implication was unavoidable; his chances of coming out of this alive were steadily diminishing.
Painted on the floor was a white line, an arc running between the two walls that met in his corner. Gauging the length of chain and the ring on the floor he concluded the arc was the limit of where he could reach. It didn’t leave him much space.
What is going on? For some unexplained reason Mistress Edith had confined him in this tiny cell, without an explanation. Up to now their sessions had been very professional, almost impersonal. His treatment today made no sense.
After experimenting to verify the line did indeed act as a boundary marker he returned to the corner. Leaning back Denny closed his eyes, trying his best to come up with some plausible motive for his predicament.
That other woman, Sally, was she somehow involved? The odd way she spoke, referring to herself in the third person, something wasn’t quite right with how she behaved. One moment she had been so polite, and then the next sadistically cruel in the way she activated the belt. Though she had been justified, according to the dungeon rules. I do bear some responsibility, Denny reminded himself. I tried to mislead her.
All of which brought him back to the present. A careful examination of the shackles led to the conclusion he was well and truly stuck. They were a close fit, impossible to slip off, and even if he had a lock pick and the skill to use it there was no mechanism to manipulate. He ran his fingers over the smooth, rounded tops of the rivets. Only brute force, aided by a hammer and chisel, would free him.
Denny grasped the chain in both hands and pulled with all his might. The ring in the floor didn’t budge. With some effort he might be able to stand, except the short chain to his wrists would force him to bend over, forcing his hands to stay near his knees. If he lost his balance, he’d likely break something. For now, he’d have to be content sitting in his corner.
Planning
Gary, better known as Mr. G to his patrons, turned off the display. “Okay, Sally, now what? How long do I have to keep him? And what do you want to do about his creature comforts?” Mr. G was known in select circles for his exclusive retreat deep in the barren Anza Borrego desert, southeast of Los Angeles. It catered to special guests, by invitation only, who sought out the more extreme limits of bondage and confinement in an isolated location.
Sally, better known to her detractors as Psycho Sally, sat on the edge of her chair. It was by necessity due to her short stature, since her feet barely reached the ground. She knew about the nickname, though it didn’t bother her. In some ways it was beneficial in reinforcing her reputation. She smoothed out her simple dress before turning to Gary. Men liked that; it gave her an edge in dealing with them.
“Our Denny must be exhausted from his trip, even though he was unconscious. Remember, Gary, he may still believe he’s in Edith’s warehouse back in L.A. He’s dazed, confused, and not a little anxious about what’s happening to him. In my professional opinion what he needs is some quiet time to himself, without interruptions. Hmm, let’s wait till this time tomorrow. Then go ahead and give him a hearty meal. He’ll be hungry and thirsty. Make sure he gets all the food and drink he can manage. Find a way to insist he finish every bite.”
Sally’s smile sent a cold shiver down Gary’s back. He’d seen how Sally’s acts of kindness usually turned out. Not for the first time he regretted doing business with her, but the money was keeping him solvent and his dream alive. I’ve sold my soul to the devil. It was too late to change his mind now.
Sally stood up and reached over to turn the display back on. Gary took that as a dismissal, giving him an excuse to hurriedly leave the room. The less time he spent in Sally’s presence the better.
Leaning forward in her chair, Sally studied her newest Subject. How strong was his ego, his self-identity? Would he present a challenge in a test of wills? She looked forward to finding out. The journey was every bit as enjoyable as reaching the final destination, when she could look into his eyes and see the mental spark being snuffed out.
But first she had some homework waiting, to prepare for the upcoming verbal sparring. Picking up her tablet she scrolled down to the email from a contact in Ottawa. Denny was a U.S. citizen, so using her American sources was ruled out by legal niceties. But Canada was also part of Five Eyes, the international intelligence sharing network, with whom she often had deniable, undocumented business dealings. Unlike the FBI or CIA, Canada’s CSIS had no legal restraints when it came to foreigners south of the border. After decryption, the summary contained a wealth of information. She made a mental note to see to it a large envelope of untraceable thanks was delivered to her helpful researcher.
Denholm Pritchard turned out to have an interesting past. Her assessment of Denny was coming together. After winning his trust, and the oh so critical dependency on her help, putting him to the question would be highly entertaining.
She was aware Mr. G found her distasteful, though all that mattered was for him to uphold his end of their business arrangements. His sole responsibility was to be the silent villain she would confront on the Subject’s behalf.
In any case Mr. G’s opinion didn’t matter to Sally. He was only a “useful idiot”, to borrow an old Soviet phrase often used in her line of work. If he became a problem there were ways to deal with it. In Sally’s world people existed to be used and then discarded.
Mealtime
For Denny boredom quickly set in. It didn’t take long to scrutinize every inch of his tiny room. The floor had a slight angle to it, towards a drain in the center, well beyond his reach. Why it was there was a mystery. The door was distinguishable only by the thin outline where it blended against the wall. And that was it, the sum of his miniscule universe. There was nothing to occupy his attention other than speculation on why he was chained to the floor.
For what felt like hours he sat there, trying to keep his mind from dwelling on an uncertain future. By now someone must have noticed he was missing. They could trace his whereabouts to Mistress Edith and her dungeon…
Except he’d taken great pains to keep his appointments a secret. He knew about cell tower tracking of phones, and the GPS logging hidden in newer cars. Before every visit he placed his phone in a shielded bag, and he knew enough about electronics to disconnect the car’s GPS. He even took the precaution of varying his route in case cameras picked up on the car. No, the cops wouldn’t have much to work with. He had been so careful in protecting his secret; he never expected it to work against him.
Time dragged on. The overhead lights never varied, making it impossible to determine if it was day or night. At some point he dozed off, still sitting upright in his corner. When he woke up nothing had changed. Had they, whoever “they” were, forgotten about him?
And how long had he been in here? It felt like two days, but without a clock there was no way to tell. The hungry growl in his stomach was a sure sign he’d gone without food for some time. All that was secondary to the dryness in his mouth from lack of water. If someone didn’t show up soon, he was going to be in real trouble.
Denny had just about given up any hope when the door suddenly swung open. Looking up he saw an unknown man standing in the doorway, arms folded. “Please, water…” Denny pleaded, barely able to croak out the words.
The man didn’t react. Mr. G stood there, watching Denny, without offering any explanation for his presence. After a moment he stepped to one side and gestured toward someone Denny couldn’t see.
A young woman entered the cell, carrying a tray. The aroma of a freshly cooked cheeseburger left no doubt as to what she was delivering. She stopped well outside the white line, placed the tray on the floor, and carefully slid it toward Denny. As soon as it was close by, he managed to reach out and pull it close.
The first item he grabbed was a bottle of water. He downed a third of it the moment he unscrewed the top. The tray offered up a feast, not one but two large hamburgers piled high with lettuce, tomato, pickles and cheese. The traditional hot French fries, a large serving, were supplemented with several cookies for dessert, and a second ice cold bottle of water. The first hamburger disappeared in a few bites.
Denny finally took notice of his waitress. Judging by appearance she was under thirty, attractive but no movie star. She wore a simple halter top dress that ended above her knees. What was most striking was the distinctive metal collar fastened around her neck. Denny could see it was no kind of jewelry the moment he spotted the same rounded top of the rivet holding it together. That rivet was identical to the ones on his shackles. It was clearly there to proclaim ownership.
She looked back at the man in the doorway. With a nod from him she backed out of the cell and disappeared when she stepped away from his line of sight. She must belong to him, Denny thought.
“You have twenty minutes to finish your meal. You are directed to eat and drink everything provided for you. When you are done place all the trash on the tray and push it out past your boundary line. If you fail to comply with these instructions your next meal will be delayed indefinitely.” Before Denny could ask a question, he slammed shut the door, cutting off any hope of finding out what was happening.
What Goes In
Since Denny didn’t want to wait another three or four days for the next drink of water he cleared the tray, downing both burgers, the cookies, and emptied the bottles of water. He carefully returned the empty bottles and the paper wrappers to the tray before using a foot to shove it as far out of his reach as possible.
With a full stomach he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. A large meal like that always made him sleepy. In his head he began composing a long list of questions, focusing on the legal repercussions of kidnapping and false imprisonment. At some point he dozed off.
When he woke up the tray was still in the same place. So much for the time limit, Denny thought. Typical double standards, one set of rules for me, another for those in charge.
There was another, more urgent problem that wasn’t going away. All that water had filled his bladder to overflow. He needed to find a bathroom, and soon. “Hey!” he shouted. “I need to use the toilet, right away. Otherwise, there’s gonna be a real mess in here.”
There must be some kind of surveillance system, camera and microphone hidden somewhere, probably in the ceiling. What did they expect, after feeding him a big meal? Sooner or later, it comes back out. There wasn’t even a bucket for him to use.
Denny held out as long as he could, but no one came. In the end biology won out, with the result being he now sat in a smelly yellow puddle. It was embarrassing, but he consoled himself by blaming that mystery man for not thinking ahead.
If it was deliberate, and not an oversight, then it was one more way to add to his misery. He had already been in need of a shower; now it was essential someone better come to help him clean up. How that was going to occur while he was chained to the floor remained to be determined.
Once more he leaned back and closed his eyes, while trying to ignore the smell. What more could they do to him? If there was something coming, he’d find out soon enough.
Sometime later he found out that no matter how bad it is, it can always get worse. Apparently, those hamburgers hadn’t agreed with him. One more he yelled out for help, but no one came. Denny now sat in a full-fledged sewer, with the not so delicate scent of diarrhea added to the ambiance of his cell.
To the Rescue
Mr. G turned away from the monitor in disgust. This was not what he intended for his retreat. His dream had always been a place to explore the edges of submission to authority. Bondage, discipline, strict protocols, explicit roles, that was his focus. Sally represented an entirely different set of values. Deliberate cruelty repelled him.
When he stood up to leave Sally took no notice. For more than an hour she had sat there, staring at her Subject, not wanting to miss one second of his ever-increasing misery. “Sally is pleased with your work, Gary,” she called out before he could open the door.
“Look, I’m not into whatever you call that,” he gestured toward the screen. “I’ll honor our agreement, but I don’t have to like it.”
“Sally can see your point of view, Gary. Sally has her own methods, ones proven to work, though they are not for the squeamish. Don’t worry, this is temporary. Sally will move on soon enough. You won’t have to be concerned about compromising your values.”
Her subtle shift in how she spoke to him was more of a threat than any overt warning. Gary came back and sat down next to her. Although he was well-versed in handling people, normal people with some odd sexual proclivities, Sally didn’t fall into the “normal” range. She turned to look at him with those bright blue eyes and that disarming smile. He wasn’t taken in by her façade.
“Sally will start the next phase tomorrow at noon. The Subject should be in a receptive frame of mind by then. Will that work for you, Gary?”
She had such a soft, pleasing voice. He could listen to her talk for hours, as long as he ignored the content. In other circumstances he’d find her very attractive, although he’d never stray from his Irina. In this case Irina had nothing to worry about; romancing Sally was about as appealing as juggling baskets full of angry cobras.
“I’ll see to it the stage is set. We’ll follow your lead. Everything is in place. Did you reach a decision on giving him something to wear?”
Sally stood up and stretched. “No, I don’t think we’ll go that far. Leave him as is. Psychological disadvantage, Gary; it’s essential in manipulating the Subject. Naturally Sally will protest what has happened, but you must be firm. What’s important here is keeping him continually off balance, never quite sure what will happen next. But Sally is sure you employ the same techniques to entertain your guests.”
She turned back to stare at the monitor. “He must lose all hope before Sally intervenes. Watch his face, Gary. When that look of defiance fades and desperation sets in, then Sally will be there for him. Sally will be the lifesaver tossed to the drowning man. This time...”
Gary felt sick to his stomach. I should put a stop to this right now. Even as he thought about it, he had to admit he wasn’t going to intercede on behalf of her victim. If he acted it would only be a matter of time before he became Sally’s center of attention.
Outrage
Denny had reached the point where nothing mattered anymore. The hunger, the thirst, the aches all over his body from the cramped position, and worst of all the smell, they had sapped his last reserves. He didn’t even know why he was in this place, being treated this way. Time and again he had wracked his brain, looking for some hint at how he’d made such an enemy.
Denny was so far gone he didn’t react when the door opened. It wasn’t until he breathed in the fresh air that he opened his eyes. He fully expected to see whoever had been sent to finish him off. Instead, the outline of a small woman filled the entrance. When he managed to focus on her, Denny recognized Sally, from the dungeon. What is she doing here?
She recoiled in horror at the sight of him. “This is barbaric!” she yelled at someone Denny couldn’t see. “What possessed you to treat a human being this way? The smell! Clean him up and get him out of that chamber of horrors, now! How can you sleep at night, knowing what he’s going through? Shame! Shame on all of you.”
There was some kind of reply from a male voice, though Denny couldn’t make out the words.
“No excuses! Sally doesn’t care who ordered this. Can’t you see he’s starving? Sally doesn’t care who he is or what he’s done, she won’t stand for this kind of treatment.”
She turned back to look at Denny. “Don’t worry. Your ordeal is over, starting now. Sally will see to it you are cleaned up and fed. Someone will answer for this outrage. Rest easy, Denny. Sally is here to help you.” She disappeared from the doorway.
Denny fully expected to see the door shut for the last time in his life. How was she going to help? Those were empty promises; it was over.
That’s not what happened. Instead, two men came in, one tugging a hose; the other with a bucket and mop. The stream of warm water from the hose felt wonderful when it washed away the layers of filth surrounding Denny.
The second man started in with the sponge mop. The bucket contained soapy water. Between the two of them they did manage to scrub off the grime. For once Denny began to feel the return of hope.
After they finished hosing down the rest of the cell they left through the open door. They quickly returned, pushing some kind of cart with machinery on it. In short order the tops of the rivets on his shackles were sheared off. A hydraulic press pushed out the rivets, freeing him from his chains.
In other circumstances he might have tried to escape with a dash through the open door. Weak as he was, even standing up was out of the question.
Out went the cart of machinery, and in came what he thought was a wheelchair. They lifted him up and sat him down in the chair. That’s when he noticed the locking straps going around his wrists, waist and ankles. It’s one of those jail restraint chairs, like the kind on reality TV shows.
A bag went over his head, to literally keep him in the dark as to where he was going. Based on the distance they traveled, Denny had to conclude this was not Mistress Edith’s dungeon. There were too many rooms, spread out too far apart. Where am I?
He knew better than to ask. The men handling him weren’t going to tell him anything. “Why are we wasting time on this guy? Did you hear what he did? They ought’a drop him down a mineshaft and be done with it.” That was from the one on his left.
“I know,” the one pushing his chair replied. “We’re always the ones who have to clean up the mess. There were plenty of places they could have dumped him coming here. What difference would it make? He was unconscious, he’d never know what happened.”
What was that about? What had he done? Mineshafts, places to dump him, that must mean they were out somewhere in the desert. From the way they spoke it implied he wasn’t the first to be subjected to the same treatment.
That was all they volunteered, which left Denny seriously concerned about why he had been abducted. Was Mistress Edith in on this? And who was that woman, Sally? There must be factions at work here. Sally had rescued him from that hellhole, but why, and who opposed her? Nothing made sense.
Serious and Constructive
For once Denny wasn’t so bad off. Although still a prisoner in a small jail cell, he was being fed and the cells had a toilet and shower. He stood at the bars, trying to pick up any sound that might give him a clue about where he was.
He heard a door open, seconds later a guard appeared, carrying a chair. Seeing Denny standing at the bars he uttered a simple warning. “Back up. Don’t approach the bars without permission.”
Mindful of what they could do to him, Denny headed to his bunk against the rear wall and sat down. There was no point in antagonizing his captors without some reason.
The guard dropped the chair well outside the reach of the bars, then walked away. The reason for the chair was soon revealed when Sally came in and sat down.
“Hello, Denny! Sally must apologize for your treatment. The person who authorized it has been discharged. Please don’t assume that was standard practice; we are not like that here. Our purpose is to help people like you, Denny, people who seek out some kind of release for their inner torment.”
What was she talking about? I don’t have any “inner torment.” He started to say as much.
Sally held up a hand. “Please, Denny, let Sally finish. If we are to have a serious and constructive discussion, there must be some rules. Sally will begin with answers to some of your questions. When Sally is finished you may speak.”
Denny studied Sally from the vantage point of his bunk. Nothing suggested she was being deceitful. She was calm, with her hands resting on her legs just above the hem of her dress. Poised, not nervous, she seemed to be sincere in her intentions. He decided to hear her out.
“Excellent! Now that’s out of the way, Sally will try to explain why you are here. Sally’s friend Edith is concerned about you, Denny. While she might come across as aloof and uncaring, that’s her role as a dominatrix. She is diligent in evaluating her clients, like you, Denny.
“Sally has some expertise in cases like these. There is reason to act. If left to your dungeon visits, you risk an eventual breakdown as your guilt grows within you. Sally’s Ph.D. thesis was on the results of unchecked guilt manifesting in aberrant self-harm. You are a classic case, Denny.
“Edith pleaded with Sally to stage an intervention. And so here we are. Sally only wants to help you, as does Edith.” She leaned forward, hands on her knees. “Please, Denny, work with Sally to find your path to a healthier life.”
Outraged, Denny jumped to his feet. When he saw Sally recoil in fear he immediately started to apologize. “Look, I didn’t mean to scare you, but what you’re saying is ridiculous. I don’t have any deep, dark, secret guilt. I told you; I go to Mistress Edith to get rid of the stress, nothing more to it. I don’t know where you get all these wild theories about my mental state.”
Sally shook her head, a look of disappointment on her face. “Oh Denny, Sally has heard the cries of denial so many times. Sally is a trained professional. The signs are obvious. Don’t try to hide it, Denny. Sally knows about your wife and the car.”
Denny’s face went white. “How…how did you find out about that…”
Sally stood up. “Sally is so pleased at the progress we made today, Denny. You take some time to think about our session. Sally is looking forward to continuing.”
It Costs Nothing
“Is that true, Sally, about your thesis?” Edith asked. Despite their years of working together she knew very little about Psycho Sally. In their line of business personal questions were never voiced.
Sally started laughing. “Edith, Edith. I have the greatest respect for your skills at creating the most…unpleasant… situations for our Subjects. However, you will never be an interrogator. Remember, always tell them what they want to hear. It costs you nothing to lie, but it often buys trust or credibility. I count on you to create the atmosphere where I’m seen as the rescuer. Bad cop, good cop, as they say on TV. Leave the psychological side to me.”
Edith noticed how Sally skillfully deflected her original question. The message was clear, personal details remained off the table. “I listened in. He is very stubborn. Are you disappointed he isn’t working out?”
Again, Sally shook her head. “On the contrary, it really is going very well. Don’t be fooled by outward appearances, Edith. The strain is getting to him. Didn’t you notice his expression when I brought up his wife? It was just a guess, based mostly on the way he’s buried the incident. I don’t know the details of the story, but judging from his reaction it hit the mark. Now I have the leverage to get to him. He was put to the question, and he is nearing the point of confession. After that, we can proceed to the end, the test of faith, his faith in Sally being there for him.”