Retreat

The large man speaks to Michelle, she nods in reply and somewhat haughtily, she spins on her heel and strides to the front door of the house. The man now looms threateningly toward Michael and Michael readies himself for violence. Already angry, Michael is not just prepared for an altercation, he needs one, and as the man nears, Michael rushes at him and throws a punch.

2

He awakens cold and shivering in a small narrow windowless room; it is empty other than a narrow single bed and a toilet. The first thing he is aware of is pain, he looks down to the source and sees his penis has a band around it, a band that has spikes on the inner surface pricking into the skin. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he exclaims in horror, What the fuck is this shite?" when the shock of his discovery wears off a little he then takes into account that he is naked and has nothing in the room of his, no phone and no clothes. The bed frame is old, made of metal of some sort, probably steel. The mattress is thin, encased with what seems to be a rubber or soft PVC outer casing only, no bottom sheet and with one single thin pillow and no blanket, nothing to cover himself.

Thinking, "What the fuck?" he tries to open the door and finds it locked, his earlier qualms of murder and slavery resurface bringing visions of Michelle forced to do things he would rather not think about. His fears for her make him feel powerless and impotent.

Panicking for her safety, he hammers on the door until his hands are bleeding and can take no more punishment crying helplessly, he sinks to the floor wondering what he can do to help his beloved wife.

He has no idea of how long he sits alone before a hatch opens in the door. A dish of something appears on a shelf in the opening, a voice says, "breakfast."

Michael is astounded, morning already, hell how long was he out? He shouts through the door asking, "My wife, Michelle, is she still alive? What have you been doing to her?" He gets no reply and he slides helplessly, sobbing to the floor. He concludes they must have drugged him to get him into the room, which would account for the chemical or metallic taste that he cannot seem to shake.

He looks at the food in dismay, the dish is paper and in it is a brown sludge next to the bowl is a plastic cup of the vending machine type, it contains what looks like orange juice. He takes it before he realises there is nothing to eat with, not even a plastic spoon, absolutely nothing. He is still standing looking at it when the hatch slams shut. Yesterday he had accused Michelle of taking him somewhere to be killed, or sold into slavery. He had not been serious at the time, but now it certainly looked like he may not have been wrong.

The metallic taste in his mouth presses him to drink the orange juice, but he cannot stop looking at the revolting looking sludge and the more he looks at the "food" the more he thinks it looks like diarrhoea. He looks at the dishes contents and the orange juice and a thought hits him, why would they serve up something like this shite to eat and a cold refreshing cup of juice?

He thinks a bit longer and begins to question some of the previous evening's events. He was supposed to have arrived hungry, would they then have served up some drugged food, would he have awoken in the same room in the same state. Was this food drugged?

What about 'Chell, what is happening to her, is she in the same position? Is she being abused, raped? These thoughts terrify him and he sobs letting the bowl and the cup fall to the floor.

"Bollocks!" he exclaims, now I've got fuck all and I could do with something to drink. He looks at the cup rocking on its side on the floor and then up to the toilet and back again several times before he thinks, fuck it, it should be clean water and I'm certain it won't be drugged."

He goes to the toilet, flushes it, catching some of the water in the cup, and forces himself to drink. He is shocked to find it tastes okay and drains the cup, managing to fill it again before it stops.

He flushes again and repeats the actions, and then scrapes the spilled sludge back into the bowl and then empties it into the toilet and flushes again, this time rinsing the sludge off his hands in the turbulent stream.

Over the next few hours he becomes convinced he was drugged as his head slowly clears. There are two things he is glad he did, the first, he had called his sister, the second he had sent and cleared a text upon arrival.

Things he was not certain of, were Michelle's involvement in his situation, where she was and what she was doing and when would his sister's wife would be home. These things keep him occupied until the hatch opens again.

A few minutes later a voice from behind the door says, "Put the cup and bowl on the hatch shelf."

Michael ignores the instruction, some more time passes and the voice says, bowl and cup, you get no more until you give them back.

Michael almost sniggers at the threat, he is in the habit of having no breakfast before going to work for a twelve hour shift and he often has no lunch, not eating until his evening meal, so food will not be an issue, true he maybe hungry tonight but he knows he will cope. He also knows he has to be at work on Tuesday morning, so if nothing else, at the latest, he will be able to get something to eat on their way home the day after tomorrow.

Without warning, the door opens and two men walk in the room, neither the same man as he saw upon arrival, but both about the same stature, he thinks about rushing them but catches a glimpse of a hypodermic syringe in the hand of the man furthest away and decides to do nothing other than lie on the bed.

Without a word the two men leave, when the door is locked, one of them speaks, "You've missed lunch, dinner will be served around nineteen hundred hours," the next thing Michael hears is the hatch slamming closed.

"Ah well, at least Saturdays half over," he thinks to himself and settles down to wait for, what he expects will be the next donation of slop.

Nineteen hundred hours is announced and as promised another bowl of the same insipid slop is in a bowl on the shelf of the open hatch, with it another paper cup, this time containing something that looks and smells almost like warm coffee.

As soon as the hatch slams shut, he scrapes the bowl into the toilet bowl and pours the cup in with it, having learned to drink the water from the swirling bowl from his cupped hands. When the hatch again opens, he obediently places the cup and bowl on the shelf and returns to the bed. A little while later, he hears a voice say, supper at twenty-two hundred and the hatch slam shut.

Supper is almost a repetition of the other meals, the only difference being the drink is something almost, but not quite unlike malted milk, it seems to smell okay, but his suspicion is that it too is drugged, and again he disposes of it and drinks from the toilet.

Lights are turned off a short while after he replaces the cup and bowl on the shelf, the same voice informing him that breakfast is at zero seven hundred as he settles down on the bed, it is not long before he notices the room has chilled down. He lies awake wondering how on earth Michelle's assertion that this "couples retreat" is in any way making him love her more. He feels that the only reason he could possibly have to see her, is to retrieve the car key so he can leave. These thoughts keep him awake for a long time. All too soon, some unidentified clamour stirs him and he is presented with the intrusive glare of the naked light bulb.

Shortly after the lights come on, the hatch opens and the same voice calls "breakfast."

He did not think he had slept at all and yet the time he lay in bed did not seem anything near to the eight hours his gaoler's voice had said. He was also not as hungry as he should be for what now is just under thirty-six hours with nothing to eat.

Michael collects the "meal" and flushes them into the sewers as new questions develop in his head.

Its arrival is a high point in the day so far and disappointedly, it lived up to all his expectations, the same can be said for the dinner and supper provided. The "empties" are collected with the threat of lunch at thirteen hundred hours.

Monday brings his third breakfast but Michael, although now feeling hungry, disposes it in the usual manner. Lunch arrives and is treated with the same respect, however when the bowls are collected the door is opened and he is told by one of the men to follow him, the other man steps back allowing Michael to pass him and then follows the pair along a windowless corridor, past several closed doors, through an open area. There he is paraded past three women, all laughing at him and pointing at his nakedness making comments about his genitals and the painful ring around his penis.

Eventually he is led to a room where a bespectacled, officious looking woman in an overly tight business suit sits behind a large antique oaken desk. A folder sits in front of the woman and enticingly a bottle of water stands in the centre of the side facing him. On the wall to his right is a mirror screwed in place underneath a clock showing the date, Monday: 27: May 2019 and the time, 15:38.

"Where's Michelle, you fucking bitch? He screams at her.

She stares at him over her glasses, unflinching, he stares back at her and eventually she speaks.

"You are no doubt wondering what this is all about."

He continues to stare at her.

"No answer, I am not surprised, your wife told us you were somewhat difficult on the journey here."

Michael continues to stare at her.

"Your wife first contacted us four months ago as she felt the spark had gone from your relationship."

Michael gives a snort of disgust.

"She relayed to us of her love for you and voiced her concern that you not only had lost interest in her physically, but that you no longer loved her." She stares at him, he sees nothing but malice in her eyes, "She told me of your neglect, your disinterest in her and anything she could have done to involve you, engage your enthusiasm. She is a good woman, a loyal wife and so it was not easy to get her to reveal your failings in the bedroom and how rejected you have made her feel.

Michael glares at her.

"We are here to facilitate you both into a new, far more loving relationship, one in which she will be fully satisfied, both emotionally and physically. To do this your behaviour will need to be... improved. To do this we have a number of specialist professionals to aid with your rehabilitation. Now before we begin your education, I will need you to fill in this questionnaire."

She pushes a piece of paper in his direction; he ignores her action and remains motionless, continuing to stare at her.

"This is just the first of several questionnaires you will fill out during your education, I will record your answers for you, as experiences from other subjects and other cases suggest we should not allow you to have a pen."

"Now read the first question in full and give me the numerical answer."

Michael cannot stop himself from reading all the questions and chuckles audibly.

"What is funny?"

With his silence broken, he sees no point in remaining silent. "I just read the questions, if I had been given this when I got home from work on Friday, my answers would be different to what they are now, but I'll save us both some time I will say this now and I mean it. Fuck you, fuck your stupid questions and you can take them, wrap them around your water bottle and stick it up your arse... sideways."

"Now now, you need to keep your angry misogynist rhetoric under control, you have already incurred some forfeiture of luxuries and things can be far less comfortable for you. If you begin to accept your station, then the rewards can be exquisite. So it is in your own interest that you start obeying your superiors. Now... what is your answer to the first question?"

He briefly looks again at the paper, then for a little longer, he stares longingly at the water bottle, now revealing its coldness with condensation forming on its surface, and licks his lips with desire.  

Questionnaire c:394MD::CT0101

All questions 1= low 10 = high.

1. On a scale of 1-10 how much would you say you love your wife?

2. On a scale of 1-10 how much would you say you trust your wife?

3. On a scale of 1-10 rate your wife's personality.

4. On a scale of 1-10 rate your wife's beauty.

5. On a scale of 1-10 rate your wife sexually.

6. With 1 being low and 10 being high, where do you think you rate as a husband?

7. With 1 being low and 10 being high where so you think your wife rates you as a husband?

8. With 1 being low and 10 being high rate your relationship with your wife

9. With 1 being low and 10 being high rate how your wife rates your relationship.

10. If your wife was in danger, how far would you go to protect her? Would you

A. Run away B. Verbally only C. Physically D. fight to the death

11. If your wife desired something expensive that you could not afford? To enable you to buy it for her. Would you

A. Refuse

B. Cut back on your own expenditure to save until you can afford it

C. Work more hours

D. Get a better paid job that you hate

E. Steal

F. prostitute yourself

12. If your wife committed a crime that would guarantee imprisonment would you

A. Report her

B. Provide her with an alibi

C. Take the blame, even if it meant going prison

13. Your wife has a friend, a friend you find highly desirable, if your wife suggested that she is agreeable to you sleeping with this friend, how do you think you would react? (Y/N)

14. If she then asked to sleep with the friend's husband, how do you think you would react? (Y/N)

15. Assuming you are agreeable to both scenarios, would you wish to be in the same room? (Y/N)

16. Would you want to watch your wife? (Y/N)

"Fuck you," as he speaks, he reaches out and picks up the paper and the water, he tears the paper into pieces and throws it in her direction and then opening the bottle, he squeezes it, and squirts most of its contents at the woman and then tips the rest onto her desk.

The woman does not react; she does not respond immediately in any way and takes some time before she speaks. "Your childish tantrums will have no effect on you, but rest assured somebody will suffer for your actions, now what would you recommend we do?

"Well missy, you run along and fetch me some clothes and the key to this obscene cock collar and tell that bitch I'm married to that we are fucking out of here."

The restrained contempt in her eyes turns to anger and hatred, her voice becomes a low growl, she stands and leaning toward him says, "Now I don't like to damage the husbands too much, at least in the beginning, but you need to understand that you have no say in the matter, and as for your wife. Well she has told us exactly what it is she wants us to achieve with you and has acquiesced all the responsibility of evaluating you and assessing your progress until your eventual graduation. Until then, both you and she will only have contact if we so wish."

"You're full of shite, now I'm fucking going and I do mean now. If I have to leave with no wife and no clothes, well I don't give a fuck, I'm fucking going."

"I love the difficult ones like you; I know I will enjoy a real sense of achievement when you graduate, please don't make it too easy." The woman is speaking to no one, as the man lying on the floor cannot hear her and the man standing over him does not care as he replaces a taser in his jacket.

In darkness, he awakens on the bed again and notices that the pain from the device on his penis is hurting more than before, the mattress seems to have lost its rubberised coating and he has lost his pillow. He is not awake long before the lights come on and he immediately sees he is in a different room, if the other room could be described as dingy then this is less than squalid.

It is smaller and dirtier, the painted stone walls are peeling in many places and damp, there is also no flushable toilet, only a bucket with what smells like an antiseptic liquid in the bottom gives localised relief from the otherwise overwhelming smell of damp and mildew. He shakes his head in disgust and says to himself, "So that's their game is it? Toe the line, or things will get worse, well fuck them, I'll be out of here tonight and when I am, there'll be hell to pay. Breakfast is served in the usual manner and he is concerned as he should now be at work.

Aside from his new surroundings, Tuesday passes much the same as Saturday, but with one exception, he is unable to drink. Wednesday morning the first seeds of doubt begin to take root, as his hoped for release, had still not happened.

Wednesday morning passes much as the day before and come supper time, a resentful but much subdued Michael dutifully empties the slop he is given to eat into the slop bucket, telling himself he must have gotten the days wrong.

At thirteen hundred hours the hatch is opened and food and a brown liquid is put on the shelf and at thirteen thirty it is removed, Michael again makes no response to either intrusion.

Later, two men come to take him to the woman, they wake him and force him again to walk naked from his cell. This time he is not walked through the open area, nor is he paraded in front of women. Instead, he is taken to a wet room, and unceremoniously hosed down. As much as the high-pressure jet hurts, he is grateful for the water and takes advantage of the situation, scooping much into his cupped hands to quench his thirst. Afterwards he does feel better for being not as thirsty and clean. That is until a white liquid is poured over his genitals. He does not cry out although the liquid burns, he can tell from the smell that it is a strong solution of an antiseptic liquid.

A rough towel is thrown at him, but he is given almost no time to use it before it is pulled from him and then, much to his surprise, his clothes are thrown at him. He wastes no time dressing, a sense of satisfaction rising inside with the conviction that not only is his ordeal over but that in no small way, he has beaten them. He asks the man for the key for the painful steel adornment he is then marched through some corridors to the woman's office, but all he receives in return is a grim smile.

He is greeted with the same sights as his first visit, the woman, the folder, the water bottle and the clock, now displaying, Thursday: 30: May: 2019 and the time, 15:32. Until then, he had thought he had miscounted how long he has been a prisoner, but the calendar proves he has been here a day and a few hours short of a week.

As with the last meeting, she stares at him with disdain and contempt and somewhat rejuvenated by the intake of water he is able to summon the strength to match her stare, his gaze however, fuelled by hate.

An idea occurs to him and a small wry smile shows briefly on his lips.

"Something funny?" she snaps.

He does not reply.

"We have reported your progress, or rather lack of progress to your wife and I have to tell you that you boorishness is affecting her happiness an..."

"Good, let the bitch suffer." He interrupts croaking as loudly as his previously parched throat will allow.

He hears the door open behind him and sees her making a discreet dismissive wave of her hand; he hears the door close softly behind him.

"As I was saying," her voice becomes loud and piercing, "Your continuing lack of compliance and disrespect is adversely affecting your loving wife's happiness. Because you are being difficult, she has been unable to relax and let herself fully enjoy our facilities as fully as she should and this is preventing her from taking the steps to her new reality as a strong and independent woman, and we cannot tolerate that. However, she has begged for leniency and does not yet want us to take the next step, so you are to be given one weeks reprieve and if I were you I would seriously consider re-evaluating my attitude, you can start by eating and drinking the nutrition we provide."