He slipped the ball gag over my head and buckled it in the back. Sometimes he just menaced me with the djambok because he knew I was afraid of it. Lo...d Michael had scarred my thighs with it already.Breathing hard through my nose I pressed my hands into the wall gathering my strength to take the sting of the cane or the blinding pain of the djambok. If Lord Michael were feeling generous he would start slowly. The first strike of the djambok brought tears to my eyes, but I blinked them back. I. I knew I was drinking to a problem, threatening my liver, my mind, the job I expected to start after Christmas, my plan for a master’s, a future. Mom and Dad must have seen it, but they didn’t say anything. They’d get up with me still asleep or in that like-sleep state and I’d awaken an hour or so later with a dirty, sour feeling. My hangovers didn’t hurt, they just depressed. I wanted milk then. I knew I’d done wrong. Perhaps Mom and Dad felt like I needed the release. Perhaps they knew I. More

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