All kinds of things were going on there. Real kinky stuff. Accusations,  promises, declarations. You couldn’t get a word in. They cut you off as soon as your mouth was open. No talking on my part. Just sat there in silence. Waiting. Just waiting.

For what?

My moment.  A split second to leave. Quietly exit, he lit a cigarette. No sense in staying when they want to abuse you like that. Like I said, real kinky stuff.

How many people were there? he asked, poured himself a whiskey.  Just a round about number. A guess.

Let’s see. There was myself, some bloke from God only knows. An Indian fellow. And those hideous men, telling us what to do.

What to do?

Yes. Bossing us around.

What did they tell you?

I’d rather not say. I was scared for my life. Real bona-fide fear. Pulled out a whip and was swinging it around like some kind of king, keeping his peasants in line. This was not what I paid for.

Real kinky stuff?

Yes. Real kinky stuff.