Tales From A Far Country
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Tales From A Far CountryChapter 5 : A Question Of Attribution free porn video
THE VOICE
They take me from my cell. When I was at IWB, I was embarrassed to call the room, "my cell". There's no embarrassment now because this is not playing. I really am a prisoner.
We enter another similar room. It's just next to mine in a long corridor; just another featureless white square cell; empty, except for a mat on the floor.
The guard motions me to kneel on the mat. There's no point in resisting, so I kneel. He leaves. Silence.
Then there is the voice: Soft; firm; feminine; self-assured; confident; business-like. "Stand..."
I stand – actually, kneeling was getting uncomfortable – but the disembodied voice is unsettling. It seems to come from far away. It comes to me from nowhere: no loudspeaker: no sign of anyone speaking personally.
"Turn around..."
I turn.
"Kneel..."
I kneel again.
"Tell me about yourself..."
"No thank you."
"My advice is that you should answer promptly and honestly."
"Why should I? Who are you? I demand that you let me go immediately!"
This sounds thin and unrealistic even to my ears. I can hear the amusement in the softly accented voice: "You will be here as long as I wish - and you should answer the questions."
I remember my CIA interrogation by Connie almost with regret. At least on that occasion, there was a real person to react to. This time, I could be talking to a machine. The idea makes me feel cold. The whole room is beginning to feel cold and damp. I start to shiver.
"Tell me about yourself, Vyera."
"I'm not Vay – what you said. I'm Jennifer McEwan. Please call me by my right name. My name is Jennifer Karin McEwan."
I'm panicking. I can hear it in my own voice. Perhaps they have the wrong person. Of course they have the wrong person! Perhaps if I can convince them that I'm Jenny McEwan they will send me home?
"Tell me about yourself. As long ago as you can remember."
This seems to be an opportunity to persuade them. I start to speak. It feels comforting to hear myself speaking of familiar things into the white, cold, empty, unfamiliar, room. I say more than I intend to. I talk about Ely, Cambridge, parents, university, friends, my job. I talk about Joe...
I'm desperate to show that I'm Jenny McEwan. I am doing it to show them that I am not this "Vyera".
The voice asks about my brothers and sisters:
How many? How old? Do I see them? Do I hear from them? Do I like them? Do I love them? Would I like children one day?
The voice asks about Joe: How do I manage when he is away? How often is he away? Do I miss him? Do I have friends? Are they boy friends? Are they girl friends? Are they just friends?
The questioning goes on and on and I'm getting more and more uncomfortable. I'm cold, I'm disconcerted by what I'm being asked, I'm very sore from kneeling and I'm desperate to relieve myself.
"I'm sorry," I say, "I have to pee. Can I go? Please?"
"Of course," says the voice.
"But I ... but there is no..." I cast my eyes desperately round the cell and notice a floor drain. I know what this means; the same games that they played with me when I first went to Inward Bound. It feels every bit as humiliating as the first time I had to do this. I walk over to the drain and just let go. I seem to pee for ages and ages and the longer it goes on the more my face burns with shame.
"Kneel", says the voice.
I kneel again. My thighs feel damp, splashed with my own urine.
"Thank you, Vyera."
"I am not Vyera, I'm Jenny!"
"You are Vyera", replies the voice. The voice is soft, reasonable, unswerving, patient, implacable. The voice insists on what will be and I have nothing to resist with. Nothing to hold on to. "Your name is Vyera..."
Deep in my memory, there is a little girl, just three years old. She is hiding under her parents bed, pulling a blanket over herself and laying very still, undiscovered by her brothers who are searching for her. I fly back across the years to my old home. The little girl runs up the stairs. She slips inside the bedroom and under the bed. She covers herself with a quilt and lays quiet, still. One restless move and the Voice might hear her, might see her, might prize her out of hiding...
"Your future," the voice gently, insistently, implacably tells me, "is Vyera..."
SOME PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS
"Well, what do you think? Will she do?"
Anatoly leans over Sveta's shoulder as the both watch Jenny's image on the computer screen.
Sveta turns the microphone off, and spends a few moments more studying the image of a young naked woman on the computer screen.
"Well, Tolya, she is a nice kid. I think she might do well as a nanny. Her answers corresponded to your background information and she is ... has a nice personality as far as I can tell at the moment. I like her. Her tattoo is nice ... but that's not the point. The point is, is she the right person to be our nanny? The right nanny to help Alana?"
"So what do you think, Sveta?"
"I think she has absolutely no technical knowledge or family experience to draw on, so she would be useless in the period just after Alana's baby is born except to help with the routine housework. After that ... I just do not know. Maybe. Maybe not."
This is clearly not the answer Anatoly was hoping for but Sveta is not going to be over optimistic or unrealistic just to make him feel better.
"Tolya, go get her trained and let's see how she gets on. By the way, she is going to needs a regular shaving if she is going to stay as smooth as she is now. Maybe ... maybe we ought to have her hair lasered? It looks as if her natural hair colour was brown, so that will make the hair removal particularly effective and that will mean she has a lot less maintenance to do. More time for her to concentrate on her work. Maybe start on her legs and work gradually up."(1)
Sveta chuckles, turns to Anatoly and winks.
"Let's just watch and see how long it takes her to realise that we are going absolutely all the way up. Perhaps she will try all the more to please her trainers, to see if she can stop the inevitable!"
Now Anatoly chuckles in return. If he ends up selling the girl, at least he will have had some fun with her.
"Take me back to bed Anatoly. After that I need a good fucking!"
Buried in that exchange, the teasing remarks of one lover to another and the conversation which went before, there is a lot of history. Sveta is very anxious for Alana. The precious child she wanted, the child that made her like other people, part of a real family, the child preceded by so much pain and unhappiness. When Alana was safely delivered, Sveta knew that the little girl would be her only child. Sveta knew she was not strong enough to face any more suffering to do with children, any more miscarried babies. Sveta has secreted a knot of iron in her soul to protect her from a ghost which occasionally still taps her on the shoulder, the ghost which walks when she is in the company of other small children even now.
Anatoly likes children. He would have liked more little ones of their very own he but understands exactly why this is a task beyond the strength of his outwardly tough and decisive wife. How he would like to see her healed from past hurts! They say a trouble shared is a trouble halved but Sveta has never shared and Anatoly has wisely let her be, waiting patiently for Sveta to tell him the story of a very particular past unhappiness, in her own time. He had thought of becoming an active benefactor for orphaned children but that would only inflame yet other painful memories for his wife.
Instead, he has indulged his sexual appetites to create his own extended family. It explains why he takes a very personal interest in the welfare of his slaves far beyond what their commercial value might lead you to expect. He always tries to arrange matters so the new life the slave goes to, is in some significant way better than their old existence. It is also an enterprise which does not open Sveta's wounds in fact quite the reverse: she finds her dominant urges slaked in a very satisfactory way.
This new girl ... she is so sparky and attractive and kind! From what he has learned about her, she should be just the person to help Alana and might even be what Sveta needs ... He hopes so.
A TRIP TO THE DOCTOR'S
A guard comes for me and I am returned to the white room. My cell. It is definitely a cell. There was some food waiting for me: bread, fruit and tea (in a plastic mug) and that's all. The food makes me feel better. Perhaps my answers to The Voice have been satisfactory? Perhaps they are just checking the answers before they can let me go? It must be an hour or so after I have finished my meal when the cell door opens. Release! There is a woman standing outside. She is older than me. Perhaps Prof's age? She has dark hair combed back from her face and tied (as far as i can see) in a pale blue scrunchy.(2)
For some reason I step back away from her. She smiles and enters the cell.
"Please", she says and holds out her hand. "Can you come with me now? You have had a long journey and we must see you are fit and well."
So I am going to be released! They are checking me over to see I have come to no harm.
Protecting themselves against any legal action I might bring if they had been careless? The woman is dressed a bit like Celia was at Inward Bound. This woman wears pale yellow scrubs beneath a white coat and white medical clogs. I smile in return and happily follow her.
Father down the corridor we reach another room. The door stands open. It's a doctor's surgery or something very like it. She smiles and motions me to sit down,
"May I have something to wear?" I ask.
"Wear?" She replies, her tone of voice suggests she is mildly surprised by my question "But we have seen all there is to see!"
"Yes, I know but I would feel better to be dressed. I do have clothes."
"Hmm, presently," she replies and then gets down to business.
"I have to examine you, to make sure you are quite well. Please – over here."
She takes me to some digital scale and weighs me and then measures my height. She takes my blood pressure and makes some skin fold thickness measurements. Well, I have never had that done at the Doctors!
"I have to take a sample: Please."
She offers me a pan to pee into. It's a little demeaning but I comply, anxious to provide no excuse for them to delay sending me home.
A lot more follows. She checks my vision, my teeth, my throat, my tonsils and my ears. The doctor - as I assume she must be – has me lay down on a medical couch - and takes my blood pressure, listens to my heart, feels my pulse, feels my tummy and checks my reflexes. She takes blood from my arm. She is nothing if not thorough.
"We are almost finished. Please – spread your legs."
"Look surely, I mean if you are just checking me over, do you really..."
"It would be better if you can cooperate," she replies but I notice her voice has taken on a hard edge. I want to argue but I let it pass. I just acquiesce. She proceeds to eaxamine my vagina and then I realize: this will show that I have not been violated in any way. I suppose they have to?
"One last observation," she says. "On your knees now..."
I sigh. Well if this is the last. Really the last?
I get onto all fours. I feel her press gently on my back and I push my bum out towards her. I feel the inevitable cold slippery feeling of lubricant being spread over my anus followed by her finger inserting itself into my rectum. She probes and stretches and withdraws.
The lubricant is wiped away and her smiling face confronts me.
"Thank you. I have finished. Come with me..."
I follow her out of the medical room and back to the cell. I expect to find my clothes, perhaps coffee and forms to sign. I will sign anything, just let me get home!
The door of the cell opens outwards into the corridor. She places her hand on my bum and encourages me back into the cell – which is just as bare as when I left it! I turn quickly around: "Look I have made it quite clear that I am not ... that I am Mrs Jennifer McEwan..."
But by the time I have turned and got into the middle of my speech, the doctor has almost closed the door! She peeps around the side, smiles and shuts the door.
It thuds closed. It's a very solid thud and I can hear a latch engage. I have been locked inside once more. Alone. Well, perhaps there is paperwork to complete, before they let me go?
THE IMPORTANCE OF POLITENESS
How long have I been here? After 'The Voice' had finished with me, and after I was taken back to the cell by the doctor, I have just been left here. I am worrying what Joe and my parents and everyone at work must be thinking. I have not been able to return the call to Joe. The call which was interrupted when I dropped my mobile. What will he be thinking? What will they all think?
How long am I going to be kept here? Perhaps the things I said to 'The Voice" (as I call it) are still being carefully checked. Checking that what I said was true. Then they will know that I am not Vyera. That I don't know anything. And then I can be let go? After they have finished with their paperwork?
I look around the cell where I am kept. It is like a deep white hole. The ceiling is gently curved and too high to reach. The lights are recessed and covered with frosted glass or something and there is wire embedded into it, so even if I could get to it, I could not break it. There is no window and only opening in the white walls is the door. The walls themselves are brick which has been painted. It's cold to the touch and it makes me feel as if I must be deep underground. I am getting to feel more and more claustrophobic in here. There is a squatting toilet – like the one in my room at Inward Bound – and for taps for water. One hot and one cold. They do not work all the time, though. Then there is a bed. Not really a bed: just a raised platform with a thin mattress covered with grey plastic. The floor is the same sparkly blue plastic there was in the room where I woke up. The door is a very solid looking prison door with a peep hole. It is so quiet. Every so often the door opens (outwards into the corridor, so there is nowhere for me to hide) and there are two guards standing outside. They never speak. One of them waves me across to the opposite wall, pointing a sort of gun. It is like the weapon the girl in London pointed at me, when I was taken. Kidnapped. The other guard carries in a small flimsy plastic bucket with bread, fruit and water. He leaves the new one on the floor and retrieves the old one. He points to the right of the door, to show me where I am supposed to leave it when I have finished. And that is all that happens. Day after day. Actually, there is absolutely no way to know how much time has really passed. I have tried to follow how long I have been here using the lights-on/lights-off as an indication of the passing of days but are they turning the lights on and off each full day? Sometimes the lights seem to be on for a long time and sometimes the 'days' go quickly. Sometimes they feed me before I am ready and on other 'days' I am kept waiting for food and water until I am ravenously hungry or very thirsty.
All the time I am getting more and more frightened. What if they forget me? Forget to feed me? Let me alone to starve to death? But the nurse kissed me when she left me. Surely she would not kiss me if they were just going to kill me?
Without any warning, the two guards are back. They come right into the cell. One of them covers me with his weapon. The other one straps a broad leather belt around my waist, takes each wrist and handcuffs each behind my back onto the leather belt. I am now completely helpless. He snaps a thick leather lead to the front of the belt and pulls me out of the cell. His colleague, the guard with the weapon follows behind me. Are they going to let me go now? Is this all over?
They take me to another of the white rooms. I should be glad of the change of scene, but I'm not. I can't imagine that anything is going to get easier. And even though I have had nothing to do, I feel so tired and sleepy all the time.
The room is cold. I'm still naked. They released my arms from the waist belt and I have been secured once more, sitting up in a heavy chair. Thick leather straps across my arms, legs, wrists and chest, hold me in place. I can see the heavy metal buckles that keep them closed but I can no more reach them than fly out of here. I'm facing straight ahead looking at a plain, heavy, wooden table.
The minutes drag by. It may be longer. I don't trust my judgment of time any more unless I count my breaths. 15 maybe 20 breaths - that's a minute. As long as I stay awake. But sometimes I don't even realise that I've been asleep.
A man and... the girl both enter the room. It's the same girl who asked me for help in London! My jaw drops. I stare at her. She smiles back at me: a broad, confident, happy smile. She might almost be saying 'see I knew we would meet again'. He sits opposite and she sits behind his shoulder. They sit comfortably; I sit restrained. He begins to speak, but I can't understand what he says; it sounds like Russian but that's only a guess. The sounds of the words reminds me of the words Ylena used at Inward Bound and when the girl starts to speak in English, translating what the man says, I suppose - her accent sounds like Ylena's accent.
"Tell me your name..."
"Just wait a minute. I want to talk to the girl there, behind you." The events in London start to flow back into my mind, first a trickle, then a flood. Anger builds in me. I start to shout at the girl, writhing and squirming against my restraints. "You asked me for help! You said you were ill. I was going to do all I could to help you. What a lie! You lied to me so you could get me here. You took advantage of me. I was prepared to do anything I could for you and you took me for a sucker. How dare you!" I am opening my mouth to continue my tirade when the girl speaks on a mobile phone and at once a guard enters the room with a bucket. He throws the contents over me. It's icy cold. It takes my breath away. I cough and splutter and by the time I have recovered he is back, this time to pour a second bucket of the same icy water over my head. I sit there dripping, gasping, shivering.
"You must understand first of all, that we will not tolerate that sort of tone, language and behaviour. Your name", says the girl. "You were going to tell us your name."
"Jenny", I sob.
"Pardon?..."
"Jennifer Karin McEwan, and I will not respond to "Vera", whoever she may be." I don't know where I found the courage to say that after what has just happened. I scare myself a little by it and I'm proud of myself a little too, even though my voice is unsteady with sobs.
The man doesn't rise to the jibe, but merely says " Vyera. Your name is Vyera" and then continues, "Tell me about Inward Bound..."
"What?"
He looks tired. Disappointed perhaps. Not angry. Just tired. "Please do not waste any more time..."
"Do you mean I can go after I have told you?" I know what the answer will be. I don't know why I ask. I just do not want to sit here passively, answering his questions.
The man just looks at me as the girl translates my answer back again. He doesn't say anything.
"Why don't you just answer their ad and find out?"
"Because I need you to tell me..."
I look at him and wonder what to do. Well, why not play their game for the present? I stare straight at him. "Again? I'm tired of being interrogated about Inward Bound." I chose the word "interrogated" deliberately. The man folds his hands together across his stomach and looks down. He's feigning lack of interest and I wonder how much he already knows about what happened to me at Inward Bound?
"Interrogated? Meaning what?"
"Meaning questioned." I am shivering violently now. It's hard to get the words out. "Under duress. Without reference to my rights. Surely you understand? Interrogated. By the CIA. Arrested and interrogated."
"By the CIA? About Inward Bound?..."
I nod. "That's who they said they were. That's what they said they were interested in."
The man glances down at some papers and wrinkles his face as he looks back up at me. I notice that both he and the girl have curly cords from an ear piece, disappearing beneath their collars. I do not suppose they are wearing i-Pods.
Every so often their questions and translations pause, as if they are receiving instructions from someone else, someone not present. It's like I'm speaking to robots. The creepiness of it makes me start to shudder again – that, and the cool of the room and because I am wet through from the cold water.
The man begins again. "So tell me about Inward Bound..."
It's my turn to look tired. "It's all in their ad. You can find the ad in Second Skin." I nod at the straps that are keeping me locked in my seat. "You might enjoy it. Get some ideas."
"You spent a long time there. You know more about it than that."
"What's to tell? Oh, yes. It's fun! More fun than here. The trainers are nice."
There's a pause after the girl translates. It seems to be an alien concept to them "Nice?..."
"Yes, they make it fun. They're tough but they make it fun as well as tough. It's like its name-sake."
"What?"
"Outward Bound. It's this British organisation which does adventure training. A bit like Army Training but without being in the Army. You'd know about that." I'm guessing of course and he knows it.
"I know The Outward Bound Trust." (3)
"Well, that's it really, except Inward Bound is for sexual submissives to explore themselves."
"And?..."
"And nothing else."
There's another long pause. I imagine them getting more instructions through their curly wires.
The questions tumble on, covering the same ground again, then the same ground from a different angle. Then the questions stop. The two of them depart. Someone else comes, unstraps me, secures my arms behind my back once more and takes me back to my cell. There is some food for me in a bowl, and water. By the time I have finished, my skin has dried but I am still cold. Then the lights go out.
SINGLED OUT BY QUESTIONNAIRE
Suddenly the lights are on again. I wake up but feel as though it should be the middle of the night, not daytime again? They take me back to the interrogation room. I'm strapped into the chair once more. There are two new people to question me. Two men this time. They don't explain themselves.
"Inward Bound. You weren't just there for the experience, were you? You spent time researching the methods used by Inward Bound. Didn't you?"
"I'm studying for my doctorate in psychology. This is my research area. How do you know?"
He ignores the question and responds with one of his own. "Pure or Applied?"
"Pure or applied what?"
The men are brought coffee. How good it smells! The Interrogator sips his slowly and suddenly the room seems even colder, as if I am sat under a waterfall of cold air. I start to shiver. He continues to sip slowly. The coffee steams and I start to realise how thirsty I am.
Perhaps if I get to the point, they will give me a drink. I could ask the Translator. His English is good. There is hardly any pause between my finishing speaking and him starting to translate. Never a pause in the Russian or whatever it is he is speaking. And the same when he is translating for the Interrogator. The Interrogator starts and the Translator starts right after. Neither of them pause. Whichever way the conversation goes. Questions into English or answers into Russian, or whatever their language is.
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