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The sound of a car coming closer bombards my ears and I feel wet tears slide down my cheeks. Within moments, I find myself forcibly shoved into some kind of large car. A van, maybe, or an SUV, for a split second I am free of my captor, but only for a split second. Then he is there, fighting me to wrestle my hands out from under me. Its a fight I will loose, I already know it but struggle nonetheless. More hands join in, as the car starts to accelerate, and Im confused. I have no idea who these people are or what they want, but I now suspect there are at least three of them. I start to shake, my arms are roughly extended over my head and secured with rope. For whatever reason, at least one of my captors notices and places a reassuring hand on the small of my back, slowly rubbing up and down. The gesture is comforting in an odd way. The solace is fleeting, however, when I feel rough hands turn me over, and begin shredding my clothes until I have nothing covering me but whatever it is. Well, my sissy name anyway. I couldn't make outeverything that was said, which made my situation that much moredisturbing. I heard them go to the kitchen and figured she was offeringhim one of the beers I'd had to stock for his return. She'd made me dothat right away, when he had left, so every time I opened the fridge Iwould be reminded of him. Naturally, I wasn't allowed to touch them.Not that I'd want to. My capacity for handling alcohol is very limited.Still, the idea of having two six packs taking up space in our fridgeand being told to keep my hands off them, knowing who they were for, wasanother blow to my already crippled pride. Maybe she was pouringherself a glass of the wine I'd bought.My wife said something and Duke laughed. I heard them approaching thebedroom. More than anything, I wanted to stand up. Even though I wouldstill appear ridiculous, at least I'd be on my feet. But I knew better.I sighed and tried not to think about how she had attired me and the.
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