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part 3
Next day began with rain once more hammering on the window as the lift chuntered as it fetched up the two caretakers Dee and Dum. The shorter one bearing coffee and a plated breakfast each which the girl and myself gobbled down hungrily.
The smaller man who to our surprise we now knew spoke English and whatever the girl spoke as well, was left on his own with us, and produced two huge bottles of juice, whispering conspiratorially that he had seen how we had been treated and, knowing they wouldn’t think of our needs, to prevent us drying out here was a drink now but to get it down us before his mate came back!” saying it was “to be a long dry day” and that we would “be ill if we didn’t drink,” then gave us each a large bottle, which we both drank rapidly, thinking he was being genuine and learning from the thirsty lesson of the day before! We should have known better than trust these bastards, it was all part of a cunning ploy. He whisked away the empty bottles just as his mate returned and we were completely taken in.
One by one and two by two the lift disgorged the team once more, by then we girls had toileted and showered again. We were told to do our hair and make-up. Which together we did.
The little fat slug of a doctor appeared, who by now I had nick named ‘Mengele’…and my humiliation on this day started with the insertion of a catheter. ‘Mengele’ showed me the thing, a thin tube with an inflatable end that ensured the pipe end was firmly anchored in the body. This he said, “was because I had peed myself the day before and they didn’t want that again today did they!” I was later to find out that more importantly it was as a wonderful means of controlling me and causing me pain of unimaginable levels without laying a finger on my body. I was held down by the two minders and the camera was used to film ‘Mengele’ s’ work, he inserted that catheter fast and hard and then injected saline solution into the surrounding tissue to ensure a tight seal, though I suspect it was just for ‘Mengele`s’ benefit as he appeared to enjoy his work, I know I didn’t, as it was savage and painfully done causing me to scream and shake-about, which seemed to excite him and cause him to smile…
Using a small syringe, he then, blew up the tiny balloon deep in my bladder no doubt to hold the catheter tightly in place. After which with glee the greasy little shit attached to the tap a short hose and a hand pump, before filling my bladder with water from a bucket, till I thought I would burst.
After filling me, till I was beginning to cry he disconnected the pipe and took the short hanging tube with its small plastic tap now turned firmly off and taped it to my right inner thigh.
I realised this was to control when and if I was allowed to pee. He smiled and said, “now we let nature take its course madam!” bowed and went to the girl for something I couldn’t see. Realisation dawned, the kind escort with the juice…the crafty shit!
I was allowed to stand, now it must be said, in a lot of discomfort before being taken next door were the two men I had come to think of as ‘the executioners’ took over and reattached me to that wretched cross. Under the gaze of the two fixed cameras.
They were laughing as they attached me, telling me I could scream here all I wanted, as they would be too busy with my young companion to be bothered with me till at least dinner break at 12, two whole hours away
Then they left me, completely alone, hung spread-eagled on this barbaric cross, in a warehouse god alone knows where with only my thoughts, two all-seeing cameras and a newly hung wall clock which after a while I realised ticked loudly, as each minute passed. It was to be a torment that near drove me to distraction.
If I thought my bladder was full as I waddled to my position, imagine my position as the big bottle of orange juice and the coffee began to arrive into an already over-full bladder.
Those cameras recorded every tiny grimace every grunt every groan, as slowly, oh so very slowly, my torment increased from mild discomfort through painful to excruciating, and way beyond.
I have no idea what was happening to the girl though I could hear her near hysterical screaming in the other room, no doubt they had left the doors open so we could hear one another, though I suspect we soon had other things on our minds than one-another`s distress as it was not long before I too was screaming loudly, begging them to release the pressure, and ease my suffering as my body began to overfill itself and the pain increased.
That dammed clock ticked away, I became fixated as I am sure now that they knew I would be, TICK…TICK… TICK, I realised no one was coming to my aid however loudly I screamed TICK…TICK… TICK, wretched clock… come on hands… move on hands please move on, make it dinnertime, make them come and open that bloody tap. I willed the time to pass, my pain now becoming unbearable, I tried thinking of other things, home, hubby, that bastard of a master who had sold me to these shitty madmen, but each time my eyes returned to that clock face, the clock and its relentless ticking that slowly took over my mind, with its second-hand clunking away the moments in a slow agonising pattern, TICK…TICK… TICK,
Once again I read the name, of the manufacturer, smiths of London, watched the hand clunking away time oh so slowly as it TICK…TICK… TICK,ED its way around the cream face, she was screaming again, be quiet, shut up please , there was another scream now, higher pitched, the voice begging for help, suddenly I realised it was my own, was I going mad, a man appeared at the door, one of the technicians , he smiled placed his finger on his lips in a gesture for me to be quiet then stepped back and closed the door. alone again just me and the clock with its TICK, TICK, TICKING! the sun made a brief appearance through the filthy windows, brightening this pain filled charnel house where I was convinced I should end my days, I recited a poem from my school days, “twas brilleth and the slivey toad did gyre and gimble…” TICK, TICK, TICK
I had the desire to bring my legs up into the foetal position to ease my poor bladder, but of course the securing straps held my ankles apart, and all I could manage was a small writhe, and a cry that no doubt pleased whoever was watching through the cameras.
I called to god, I screamed for help, I felt that I was about to burst, my treacherous body still relentlessly filling my stretched bladder slowly and inexorably making things worse, TICK…TICK… TICK, 11.45, fifteen minutes at least, that’s if they didn’t run late, could I hold out, or would my bladder burst first? TICK…TICK… TICK, TICK…, SHUT UP, SHUT UP YOU WRETCHED CLOCK, my head slapping from side to side now, anything to ease this desperate need to pee, to relieve this terrible pressure TICK…TICK… TICK,11 50, come on COME ON, PLEASE, oh PLEASE, help me.
The door opened, ‘Mengele’ appeared with the head executioner, in his hands a rubber mask with a long clear plastic pipe attached, I didn’t understand the significance, of the pipe. Smiling he approached me, strapped the rubber gag round my lower jaw, like some bandits handkerchief from a badly made western, the pipe jammed firmly in my mouth, terror gripped me, I could only breath now through my nose or that horrible tasting pipe jammed twix my teeth, were they going to flood my mouth with water so I had to drink it or drown, I wondered, was it just to shut me up, but as even screaming was now impossible, I only had my eyes to beg them to release at least the terrible bladder pressure… hadn’t they promised?
‘Mengele’ filled the pipe with water from a jug, holding his finger over the pipe end, to keep it full, then tearing the tap from its taped position on my leg, he attached the pipe to the tap. Laughing now he opened that little tap and the pressure from my own bladder forced the water up into my mouth as he stepped back to admire his work!
Water flooded my mouth and I drank it thankfully, the pressure slowly forcing the urine up the clear pipe into my mouth, releasing itself from my bladder, easing the terrible pressure… thank you god… laughing hysterically the two tormenters walked away closing the door behind them, knowing my choice now was to drink my own urine, or have still more pressure in my bladder.
It was foul, and they knew it, but drink it I did, it was better than the pain though I knew ultimately the liquid would be recycled.
Breathing-however was not so easy, my nose being a little blocked, I supposed with dust from the warehouse.
Occasionally there were screams from the next room, god alone knows what they were doing to that youngster, though I had enough problems of my own to worry about. After some hours ‘Mengele’ looked in saying he was off and would see me next day, NEXT BLOODY DAY! sheer terror gripped me, would they leave me here all night? Would they leave a watchman? Would I be able to breath all night, there again would they care if I died during the night? My mind whirled, he left the door open, slowly the sounds diminished from next door, at least the screaming had stopped, the electric light was switched out and the lift then made its grinding decent taking the men… silence descended, then slowly the cold daylight went, the clock said just four thirty, its TICK…TICK… TICKING the only sound now in the big empty old warehouse.
The hours passed oh so slowly, that damned clock the only sound, TICK…TICK… TICK, driving me slowly mad… I wondered what had become of the girl, not a chain rattled, or a groan or a snore echoed around the place, either she was dead, or I was very much alone.
My legs began to ache, as did my arms, I became stiff, long hours in a set place making my muscles ache, my mouth like a sewer, forced to drink the foul urine regularly to relive the bladder pressure, the taste becoming slowly more and more strong. Dawn arrived, TICK…TICK… TICK, another hour passed then the lift whirled, and the men returned, something was wrong, I could tell as soon as they arrived, the men scurrying round dismembering the cameras, ripping out wires, all of them in gloves wiping the doorposts and any-where they might have left prints or DNA. The lift went up and down rapidly, they ignored me, despite my best efforts every time any one came into my range, TICK…TICK…TICKING away their glances at the clock told me they were terrified of something. Suddenly they all had gone, the silence became oppressive, and that bloody clock still TICK, TICKING, as time passing, twelve o`clock one, two, the hours passed oh so slowly… would I die here, forgotten? Would my body be found when they demolished the building?
It was as the light again began to fail that the old rattling lift broke the silence, by now my head was aching, my muscles screaming, as the lift-door clattered open, boots clattered into the place, guttural German orders, feet clattering, voices, calling one another across the other room`s, I`m in here… Over here…my heart beating like a drum now, more gurgling than screaming behind the gagging pipe, as I desperately tried to gain attention. Would they ever hear me? The door clattered open, the lights glaring as they, flickered on, cries of amazement, a police sergeant, taking charge, pictures being taken of me, still hung, men carefully removing that terrible mask, unshackling me from the cross, lifting me down, wrapping me gently in a coat, water fresh and from a bottle held to my lips.
A ride in the lift, carried by two burley policemen then a trip in an ambulance, an injection…
I awoke in a light bright hospital ward, a young nurse beside me, watching me, sunlight streaming through the window, a police woman, asking questions in English, I explained that I had been intending to visit a friend, (the master-some friend) and that I had been collected under false pretences, from the airport, about the whips, the girl, the bed, the chain, the pain, the sale, the whole nine yards! They returned my suitcase, called my husband for me, he flew out, two days of care saw me back at the airport and off home.
They never caught ‘Mengele’ or Mr Craggy-Face, and of the girl there was never any trace, though I often wonder what became of her.
Life returned to what in our house passes as normal, though I still had nightmares and I can still not stand a ticking clock near me, without instant tears and imagining that taste of warm piss in my mouth.
It was some months later when a letter and a cd arrived, post-marked `Budapest’, where an old friend, a contact of my husband, had found a copy of a porn video thought he recognised me and had moved it to cd and sent it asking if I was the person in the thing!
It was me, and my husband made a copy then sent it on to the German policeman in charge of the case. Sadly, there were no other clues, though the police did their best, it still did little good though no doubt they all copied it!
My husband by the way, loved it, though he would never admit it too me and I`m sure he watches it a lot when I`m not there. Personally, I have watched it just once myself, my memory has its own copy, complete with out-takes, but for me this was to be my very last atonement.

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