It had to be. Stalling while I thought, I felt the collar, stiff and heavy in my fingers. The leather smelled rich, and the silver studs and buckle were cool. There was a ring attached to the buckle, so you could attach a leash to your dog. There was the possibility that Uncle Mitch wanted something more, something sinister. It was a visceral intuition, one that was more a feeling between my legs than a conscious thought. My brain felt deadened and confused at what was happening to me, and I couldn't think of anything else to do. I could not let Mom and Dad see me blowing Billy. That was the one thing I was sure of. Almost without permission from my conscious mind I lifted the collar toward my neck.Uncle Mitch didn't stop me. He didn't laugh, he didn't whip out a camera. He just watched, my somber grey uncle standing right beside me as I slipped the studded dog collar around my neck and under my hair. Swallowing hard, I fastened the little silver buckle on my throat. "Good girl,". The Predator watched the transvestite as she sat up and adjusted herunderwear; she stood up and moved over to the mirror and used the paperand some tap water to clean most of the semen off her hair and clothing;she went into one of stalls for a few minutes and then he heard a flush.He was thinking to himself that he had very much underestimated thistransvestite bitch; she had handled all of the circumstances that he hadput her in to and was gaining the upper hand with each situation. A planformulated in the back of his mind. Would she go for it? There was onlyone way to find out.The Predator held his hand out to the dishevelled woman and when she tookit he led her back to the ottoman and indicated for her to sit. She satdown and he sat beside her and looked at her face; still pretty despitethe messy makeup and unkempt hair. He slid a hand over her stockingedthigh and looked her in the eyes, "Michele is it? Well Michele, we areleaving here now and I'm taking you home. On the way we are.
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