Decisions

I opened the door, saw her immediately, my wife, still dressed in her work clothes, on the floor, bound, gagged.

"Mmmmggggfffff," was all she could say through the gag.

"What," I asked, taking two steps towards her, hardly able to comprehend what I saw. Who did this, what happened, why was she bound like this.

"Mmmmggggfffff" she yelled again.

"She said leave her like that," a masculine voice from behind me spoke.

I spun around, heart pounding, saw a well dressed man sitting casually on the bench at the other end of the hall. "Who the hell are you," I shouted, more in surprise than anything else, my first thought being that he was the best dressed burglar or a rapist I'd even seen, that he didn't even have a weapon, that I should run for the phone, the car, out of the house, to get help. I took a step away from her, towards the door.

"The man who is going to make both of fantasies come true, sissy," he said, uncrossing his legs, standing.

I froze at the last word. Sissy? Sissy? He said it far to casually to mean it as a general taunt, no, his tone, his inflection was serious, specific. "How did you..."

"She told me, sissy, she tells me everything. Everything.

"I..."

"You have two choices. One, tell me she's wrong, that she's been lying to me, and I'll walk out the door, now. Or two, get out of that suit, get dressed in something more appropriate and bring me a drink while I get some of those clothes off her."

I looked towards my wife, saw the begging in her eyes, begging me to...

"Scotch," I asked him, looking downward, deferentially.

"Perfect, sissy, perfect."