As it all unfolded in front of me I was witnessing my beautiful wife being groped by each participant as they all undressed and exposed themselves and their very hard members. Trish was like a rag doll going from one to another as eager hands covered her and fingers probed her private parts, disappearing into her lovely orifices. The thoughts that went through my mind where; shut it down and get mad, let it play out, or get the hell out of there. Even with that, all I could do was stand there and watch. I was completely frozen and could not move or say a word. It’s still a bit of a blur to me. As I stood next to Jon while Trish disappeared into the center of the crowd, I finally remember her feet popping up into the air about 10 feet from us. When I saw that it all became very surreal to me and I just stood there in awe as I watched her feet bounce back and forth as she is being taken by one of the men in the group. I remember thinking to myself, “Should I go up and hold her feet so. My father would not do any damage to my body that might still be visible when I would be handed over to the Khan, so the pain I had to bear was mostly that of needles, even if my father knew how to use them with good effect, upon my nipples, my clitoris, or underneath my toe- and fingernails. I had to learn, he told me, to stay still, without movement, without a sound, when the pain threatened, when it approached, when it set in, when it grew and lasted and did not stop growing, but staying still was what I had already learned, what had filled a major part of my life, all those years since he had first taken me to see the Bey. And pain, I shrugged it off, it was just pain, an opinion held by a part of my mind, which I simply disagreed with, disengaged from, as I had learned to do, over the years, in my fighting lessons, of which my father had never known. But then, just before I felt complacency to set in at how easily I mastered this task, just before I began to wonder if by not.
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