He is like an animal, trying to stop the suffering by lashing out. ‘But what? What is it that you imagine I owe you?’ She cannot speak. If she opens her mouth, she knows she will break down, so she bites her lip and holds his eyes with hers, her shoulders set defiantly. She will not leave. To leave would mean losing him forever, and she is not willing to let that happen. The facade of coldness fractures and he raises his voice again. ‘Leave me alone, woman! I will strike you. I do not want to, but you leave me little choice.’ She lifts her chin but does not move. His eyes blaze and he steps forward again, grasping her shoulder, drawing an involuntary gasp from her lips. She’ll have bruises from his fingers there tomorrow. She doesn’t care. He lifts his other arm as if to strike her, but he has gone too far and come too close. He stops. It is as if all the fight goes out of him at once, leaving him weak. He drops his arm and leans into her, forehead touching hers. It’s the closest. I was right below the window. My heart pounded. As I carefully stood up from my crouch position the life I once though I had began to disappear. I saw the main room, the one with the stage. All of the lights had lowered from the ceiling. The cameras dangled down as well, A 4 foot by 8 foot mirror had lowered down over the stage. And my wife. My sweet wife. Laurel was on the upholstered leather stage. On her back. Fully clothed. Her sweater was pushed up below her breasts, exposing her soft belly and her blue slacks were open at the sipper, peeled back over her hips. Over her was the most massive human I had ever seen. He must have been 7 feet tall. Shiny black with rippling muscle everywhere. Shoulder that looked 4 feet wide and clutching the two small white hand. My wife's hands. A good 350 pounds of black maleness in the push up position. And hanging from his groin a massive penis, at least 14 inches and thick as my arm. And with the tempo of the acid rock music, as the lights.
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