Shackled

I can't move an inch. Arms tied behind me, ankles shackled. This gag is so tight I'm choking.
My wife is talking to someone in the kitchen. Now the other woman is speaking. I think I recognize the voice. Our new neighbor, Anastasia. Louise can't stop praising her. She happens to be an interior decorator.
I was supposed to clean out the garage Saturday. I decided to go golfing. Louise had an issue with that. She never raises her voice and that was the case this time. So I never expected to be whacked over the head with a pan this morning.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in this chair.
I sense they are getting excited in there by the tone of their voices. I can make out one word repeated several times.
Lye.
Now I hear nothing. Except kissing sounds. Soft moaning. Louder moaning.Cries of ecstasy. Furniture is being knocked over. Never trust anyone named Anastasia.
I am beginning to feel superfluous.