That Sounds Perfect 10

Lorraine was the village beauty: radiant hair, fabulous figure, laughter like a thousand wind chimes, and a smile that put the sun to shame. All the men wanted her. But only John, brooding, dark, John, had her. They married not too early, not too late, and their young daughter Jenny took after her mother: care-free and beautiful.

John's brooding had become worse as the government shifted to the right. Freedoms were evaporating, and fear flooded the streets. Stories of detention centers circulated, along with horrific details of captives' treatment. John started making contacts with resistance groups, meeting fleetingly at constantly-changing locations. Lorraine feared that government reprisals might endanger her husband, and therefore, her family. She tried to steer John away from these populist activities, but to no avail.

Then it happened - early one Tuesday - the knock on the door, a squad of police bursting into their home, John handcuffed and led away. Lorraine looked panic-stricken.

"When can I see him?" she pleaded.

"I'll come back later today, and we can discuss it," the police lieutenant growled in reply.

It wasn't until Wednesday afternoon that she was brought into the cell where he was being kept. It was dimly lit and stank of urine. At first, she couldn't believe her eyes. There was her husband, naked, strapped to metal chair. His arms were outstretched in front of him, and he was holding metal rods with wooden handles. The rods went through two small holes in a metal plate, held in place by vertical wood posts. Wires ran from the metal rods and sheet to a large electrical box on a table, and more wires ran from the box to the underside of the metal chair's seat. The box hummed faintly but menacingly. It had a large wheel with a pointer that was set at 30 on the dial. The dial went up to 100. John was groaning and shuddering.

"John, oh, John! What are you doing? Why are you sitting like that?"

"There's a metal thing ... up my ...ass. If I - agh - move my ... arms, I ... get bad shock." He rasped out the words, gasping for air in between.

"What? What do you mean, there's something up your ass?" She felt her insides twist in an unfamiliar way. She thought she might pass out.

"An electrode ... up my ass. Shock from that ... box... Can't let my ... arms move... Muscles on... fire."

"John, that's crazy. They wouldn't do that. The police lieutenant explained very nicely that they wouldn't interrogate you or anything. They just wanted you off the streets. Look, I'll show you." She pushed down on his left arm, making the rod contact the metal sheet. John screamed. Fresh urine splashed from the metal chair.

"Oh, my God, John, I'm so sorry. I thought you were kidding." Her heart raced in her chest, and her face was flushed. She had never experienced anything like this before.

"Please, undo... straps. Ahhg - let... me up. Please!"

Lorraine went behind the chair and inspected the chest strap. She saw that it was just a buckle. She considered what to do.

"I'd better not, John. I could get in trouble. What if the police decide to hold me, too? With both of us in custody, what would happen to Jenny?"

"Just ... for... a... minute..." he begged.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I really shouldn't. They could come back in at any moment. I'd really hate it if they did this to me."

"What day... is it?" John panted, trying to breathe through the pain.

"It's Wednesday afternoon. How long have they had you like this?"

"Put me in... right away ... more than... a day now..."

"Where did you sleep?"

"Can't sleep - can't even... relax."

"You mean you've been like this for more than a day? Without sleep? Unable to rest your arms?"

"Agggh ... yes..."

"And when your arms relax, you get shocked?" She pushed on his arm again, holding it down a little longer this time. John screamed.

"Fuck! What's... the matter... with you? This ... is ... torture." He was trying to understand his situation, but his mind couldn't grasp the enormity.

"John, I told you your secret meetings would get you in trouble. You wouldn't listen. And now you think there's something the matter with me. I think the matter is with you." She poked his arm briefly. In reaction, his arm bounced up and down several times, making and breaking the contact repeatedly.

"The lieutenant was very nice. He came over to explain the situation, and stayed to make sure we were OK."

"Stayed? What?"

"Yes, he stayed the night. He didn't have to. I thought it was very considerate of him."

John groaned.

"I thought it would be a good idea to win him over, to get him on our side. I might be able to influence him and his treatment of you. After his kindness, I couldn't ask him to sleep on the couch, so he slept in our bed. Of course, you know I can't sleep on the couch, and if I don't get my sleep, I'm very grouchy. So, yes, we spent the night in our bed."

"What? You... unhg... How... could... you?" John choked on the monosyllables.

"When he watched me undress and get in bed naked, it was clear what he wanted. If I had denied him, it could have been really bad for you. So, yes, I entertained him for the night, but I only did it for you. I certainly didn't enjoy it. I let him do things I never let you do. I'm trying to help here. You certainly aren't doing anything to mitigate this situation."

John could be infuriating. His arrogance, so masculine and attractive early in their relationship, had grown tedious as the years went by. He wasn't so arrogant now, though. She looked at him, his muscles cramped and straining, gasping for breath, marinating in his own urine. The sight stirred feelings in her that she didn't recognize, couldn't admit.

"Yes, he stayed the night, and we made love again and again." She jabbed her helpless husband with the hot needle of jealousy. She was breathing hard, gasping almost as desperately as John was. Every thrust touched a hidden spot in her, a spot she had never known she possessed. "There's more. I put Jenny with Mary and Dave for tonight. Under the circumstances, they were happy to help. So I'm free tonight, and I'm spending the night in the police barracks. Twenty five young, healthy, officers, and one young, healthy woman."

"Agggh! Traitor! How... could... you?" The pain of Lorraine's infidelity had a strange, diluting effect on the physical agony. He felt like he was floating on an ocean of pain, allowing the waves to wash over him.

"The more police I can win over, the more influence I will have on what they do to you. Who knows how long you will be here? You've heard the stories. John, we need all the leverage we can get."

Lorraine eyed the electrical box. "I have an idea. I think I can help you, and they won't be any the wiser." She walked over to the box and rotated the control. As she moved away, John saw the new setting.

"You turned.. it..."

"Up. Yes. To 60." She was finishing his sentences for him, as he had done with her for so long. "Don't you get it? The shocks will be more painful this way, and will provide more incentive for you to control your movements. More incentive means less work for you. See how much it hurts?" She pushed his arm again. John screamed, biting his lip until a drop of blood trickled down his chin.

"And I think I understand why they told me to bring these." She showed him the wrist and ankle weights she wore when exercising. "They will make your arms heavier, and will stop that bouncing up and down thing." She fastened the weights around his wrists, closing the Velcro tightly so it wouldn't come undone.

"What are...you..."

"Doing? I'm just trying to help."

"No! Please... take..."

"Them off? No, I'm afraid I don't want to do that, John. They need to stay right where they are."

"This... is..."

"Terrible? Unbearable? Well, it doesn't matter. Here comes the guard, and I have to leave now. I'll think of you tonight." It was truer than he could imagine.

Late the next morning, Lorraine returned, this time accompanied by the lieutenant. Her hair was messy, but she was radiant, looking more beautiful than ever.

"Hello, darling." She ran to her captive husband. As she kissed his cheek, her breasts pressed against his arm, just enough to move it slightly and force a contact, extracting a muffled scream. She returned to the lieutenant's side, and allowed him to put his arm around her waist.

"Yes, my night was fine, thank you for asking," she said sarcastically. "I offered myself to 25 strangers, and they all took me up on it. But I thought of you the whole time."

She turned to the lieutenant and asked casually, "How long do you keep prisoners like this?"

"Well," the lieutenant began, affecting a professional air, "We usually keep new prisoners at the first level for three or four days. Sleep deprivation softens them up pretty well."

Lorraine's mouth fell open. "They go three or four days like this, with no sleep, no rest?" Lorraine imagined the prolonged agony her husband was experiencing and shuddered.

"Give or take."

"How long will you be holding my husband?"

"That's pretty much up to you. After all, you brought the charges against him."

"What?" John barked. The effort made his arms oscillate, shocking him, and eliciting yet more screams. When he was finally able to keep steady, he accused, "You ... fucking... traitor. I'll... kill... you, ... you..." His gasps were almost as loud as the words.

"That sounded like a death threat," observed the police lieutenant.

"That's what I was afraid of," Lorraine moaned despondently. "First, meetings. Then violence. Then somebody dies. If they execute you, what will happen to me and Jenny? How could you be so selfish?" John screamed incoherently in rebuttal.

"What can we do? I'm so afraid. Do you have anything more... persuasive?" Lorraine seemed eager.

"We could move to the next level of detention," offered the policeman, trying to be helpful.

"What's that?"

"We suspend him by his wrists and beat him with rubber truncheons twice a day."

The image of her husband suspended by his wrists, his naked body beaten and bruised, suffused her. Lorraine drew in her breath in a long, slow gasp. "That sounds perfect. When could we start?"

The officer looked at his watch. "We still have about an hour on this shift. We could move him now, and he'd have his first beating this afternoon. Would you like to be present?"

"Yes, I'd love to be there for him, but I have things I need to do this afternoon. Would it be OK if I came back tomorrow morning?"

"Certainly. As his accuser, you're free to visit any time you like."

They exited the cell and traversed the corridor, his arm still around her. "How long does it take to get prisoners to talk this way?"

"They never talk this way."

"What? What do you mean, 'they never talk'? What's the point of doing all this if they never talk?"

"If we want to get information from a subject, we treat him well and get him on our side. When they see us as friends, they open up. No one has ever gotten any useful information through torture. It's only useful for extracting false confessions. We abuse a few rabble-rousers now and then, just to send a message to the populace. It's meant to be a deterrent, not an interrogation. Probably half the prisoners we bring in are turned in by their wives or ex-girlfriends."

"I had no idea." She mused about wives all over the country turning in their husbands for torture. Did they feel the same thrill she did upon first seeing his predicament? "So you just let subversive groups meet and do whatever they want?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, you don't imprison all of them, only a few."

"Yes, but the leaders of the various subversive groups are government agents. We organized the groups, did the recruiting, arrange places for them to meet. Everything. That way, we can keep an eye on all these low-lifes. No offense intended."

"None taken. You certainly seem to have things well in hand." They both laughed at the pun.

The next day, Lorraine was led to a different cell. There, as promised, was John, suspended by his wrists with a rope going to a pulley on the ceiling. His body was already bruised and swelling. There were two guards, breathing heavily, putting truncheons into their belts.

She rushed over to her tortured husband and threw her arms around him. "Oh, John, John, John." She lifted her feet off the floor as she spoke, adding her weight to his in the tension on his wrists. John groaned. "I know, I know," she said soothingly. After a few seconds, she put her feet down and left his hanging body.

"Am I too late? Did I miss it?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," a guard commiserated.

She looked disheartened. "I really wanted to be here for him, to provide moral support during his moment of need." She frowned momentarily, but quickly brightened. "When is the next beating?"

"This afternoon at three."

"Oh." The sun left her smile again. "There's a matinee I wanted to see. Rats! This is just not working out the way I had hoped. Say, could you give him another treatment now? I mean, I really would like to be able to offer him support, and it would be much more meaningful if it were during a beating."

"No, ma'am. The order specifically states, 'Two beatings daily'."

"Oh, please? It would mean so much to me. Isn't there a way?" She lowered her head and looked up at the guard pleadingly.

"Not really. I mean, our hands are tied. Sorry."

She sidled up to the guard and leaned towards him, putting her mouth next to his ear, and her breasts against his arm. She whispered for a bit. The guard's eyes widened, "Well, if you put it that way... Fred, let's do another one."

"Make it a full-length one, please. Don't cut it short. It would mean so much more if I were here for a full-length beating. I love my husband so."

"OK. Fred, set the timer."

"Oh, one more thing," Lorraine said as she removed her blouse, getting ready for the anticipated exertion. "Do you have an extra truncheon for me to use?"