The other two guests were Diane and Cat, only they didn’t look quite as comfortable as the others. Both were blinking in the glare of cold white spots mounted on the walls, while everyone else was in warmer, more intimate pools of light. As Orla and I arrived, the two women, who were more or less facing the door, turned their heads up to face me, and I heard the soft susurration of chains, along with the whisper from Diane’s mouth of ‘Oh God’ and the familiar mewl of Cat’s arousal. The look on their faces was priceless, eyes wide, mouths open, the harsh lighting making their pale faces almost white. The chains that bound their wrists lifted their hands above their heads, and were threaded through loops screwed into the ceiling. Small hand winches set to the side suggested the chains could be tightened or loosened. At the moment, the two women were kneeling on piles of rugs and cushions, their arms vertical at the sides of their faces. Each movement they made caused the silvered. Sometimes she’d begin to cry due to the loneliness and the overwhelming sense of loss. Juan would hold her and console her. Juan’s over protectiveness manifested itself in mood swings. He’d even threatened to beat up men who looked at her. She was a very good looking woman. Juan and Lisbeth lived in a small apartment in a predominately Hispanic section of Brooklyn. It wasn’t much, but she kept it very neat and modern with furniture so family members visiting her wouldn’t look down on her. She didn’t want pity despite the misfortunes of her life so she’d made it a mission to improve herself. She’d get a good job and move to a better apartment in a better part of town eventually. There eventually came a lice infestation in the building. The city was having problems with bugs and numerous buildings had been infected. Dogs were brought in to sniff them out in some cases and in others fluorescent lamps were needed. Juan woke up one morning with a red rash which he’d gone to the.
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