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Ron spotted his father.“Carter,” Ron said, “this is Matthew Quick, my dad, and Connie and Steve Cottor, my sister and brother-in-law. Folks, this is Carter Hannigan, April’s dad.”“Pleased to meet you. Come in.”Steve led them to a table with a wooden box of casino-quality gaming chips, a cardboard box and two decks of cards. On a server was an ice bucket holding bottles of beer and a bowls of pretzels, potato chips and onion dip.Ron picked a Sharps from the ice bucket. “So, what does Gloria have planned for April?” he asked his father.“She has some sort of a hen party planned with her friends from the condo. They’re not all oldsters like her and me. April might make some friends.”“Are we going to stand around or play cards?” Steve said.“You buy in for five bucks,” Ron explained to Carter. “Five bucks gets you five hundred in chips.” Ron took out his wallet. “I’ll buy in for myself and for Carter.” He took out a ten-dollar bill.“Small bills, please,” Steve said.Ron replaced the ten and. ?How wonderful to meet you at last.? Her hands were bony and cool inmine. She gave them a little squeeze. ?Would you mind slipping yourcourts off, darling, only the heels mark the floor.?I did as I was told, there was no question of doing otherwise. She hadthat air of armoured confidence that many parts of the middle classesenjoy. It was nice to get my feet flat again and I wriggled my toesgratefully, stretching the nylon around them.?You never said she was so pretty, John,? she said.Then, with a slight squeal of rubber on the hard floor, John?s fatherwheeled himself into the room. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Johnstraighten and clench his fists, just for a moment before I saw hisfingers relax.His father might have been gaunt, emaciated even, confined to awheelchair and depending on a clear oxygen line running from a concealedbottle to his left nostril, but I saw the resemblance immediately. Forall the wreck of his body, his eyes were bright and his thin mouthquirked into.
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You look like you haven’t been wearing your sun block.? The couple hurt too much to respond to their tormentor’s words. ?Help me get her down and over to the bench,? Dave ordered his spouse. ?I’m not done with her yet.? The tormented woman was released from her bonds as her own husband watched. John was too preoccupied with the pain in his own balls to offer any comments. He only wished he could just curl up into a ball in the corner and cup his hands over his tortured genitals, protect them. Weakened by the beating, Marsha was easy to move across the room to the low narrow wooden bench that Dave had moved to the middle of the room. She was made to lay the sore, naked flesh of her breasts and stomach against the old, splintery wood of the bench. Once in position, her knees and arms easily touched the cold stone floor. Leather restraints were used to secure her wrists and ankles to hooks driven into the four legs of the bench. Obviously, this bench was.

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