400 Days of Oppression (20 page)

That was all the detective said as he closed his notebook and stood.

“Get out! Both of you!”

Eileen smiled and placed her business card beside me on the nightstand.  

“Call me if you need to talk.”

I snatched her card off the table, ripped it in half, and threw it at her. Then the phone rang. I snatched it up, hoping it was Kenyatta, ready to pour out my misery to him and have him make it all better with a few soothing words. For him to say he was on his way to rescue me, take me home. Love me. But it wasn’t him. It was an angry spiteful voice, the voice of the man who’d tried to fuck me against my will.

“You’d better tell them it wasn’t rape, bitch! You hear me? Do you know how much I’m worth? How much my family’s worth? I’ve got the best goddamn lawyers in the city and what the fuck have you got? You were at a fucking fetish farm! The jury is going to say you were asking for it because you were. You know you were, you fucking slut! You wanted it. Why the fuck else were you there? What did you expect? They’ll all call you a whore! Whores deserve to get raped. That’s what they’ll say.”

I don’t know why it took me so long to hang up the phone. My hand was shaking when I did and tears were streaming down my face. I should have told the police about the call. I should have had him rearrested, his bail revoked, but I just felt so exhausted and ashamed. Very ashamed. What the fuck was I doing there? Why had Kenyatta sent me there? Why was I doing any of this? I was thinking about what the asshole on the phone said.
“They’ll all call you a whore. Whores deserve to get raped.”
I was thinking about the trial ahead. And all I wanted to do was sleep. Where was Kenyatta? Where was my protector? I closed my eyes, and cried until the dreams faded to black.

C
HAPTER
XII

Kenyatta could not believe what he was hearing. Someone had dared to touch his woman, his property.

“Who are they? Where do they live? Are they regulars?”

“This was their first time at the farm.”

Kenyatta put both hands on Delia’s shoulders and squeezed gently, but firmly, compelling Delia to meet his stern gaze.

“Delia.” Kenyatta relaxed his features, letting the tension out of his expression, forcing a smile as he brushed the hair from her face and caressed her cheek with his palms and fingertips. He cradled her face in his hands, gently, like he was holding something delicate, precious, invaluable. He licked his lips. Then kissed her lightly on the mouth. He could feel Delia tremble in his grasp. Cruelty she could take. She was part of an industry of staged, consensual fantasy violence. In her world, violence was something passionate, even romantic, but she knew he could see it in her eyes, she knew that the cruelty in his eyes, though passionate, would be neither romantic nor consensual. “Tell me.”

“I-I don’t know what you want.”

“Yes you do. You wouldn’t let strangers stay at your home unless you checked them out.”

“I have their name and credit card on file as well as their billing address but—”

“Give it to me.”

“King...”

“Give it to me!”

C
HAPTER
XIII

Farrad Ali sat at the bar, the same bar he and his frat brothers used to frequent in college. A table on the other side of the room was filled with young kids from his old fraternity. He didn’t know any of them and they didn’t know him. The oldest of them was probably still in high school when Farrad had graduated. Still, he felt a kinship with them. He and his friends used to sit at that same table talking about the same teachers, classes, parties, what girls he’d fucked, would fuck, wished he could fuck, how much money he would make when he graduated, how he’d buy a condo with a view of the bay, and what kind of bad-ass bitch-magnet he would drive and all the high quality pussy he would get because of it. All the shit these fools were shouting loudly back and forth to each other. Farrad knocked back another shot of tequila.

On any other day, he might have gone over to that table and showed them the Greek letters branded on his bicep. He would have told them that he was the one who’d put the brass Buddha with “Fat Fuck” stenciled on his belly in “The Fat Room” and made it a tradition to stick it outside the door whenever you were in there fucking someone you normally wouldn’t be caught dead with. Then they would swap stories about the chicks they’d done in that room. But not today. Today he sat at the bar, head down, shoulders hunched, casting nervous glances at the TV behind the bar, hoping his picture wouldn’t suddenly flash on the screen with the caption: “Accused Rapist in Sex Farm Scandal” emblazoned on the screen below it.

I can’t believe I let Michael talk me into this shit,
Farrad thought.
My life is ruined!
“Bartender! Line up another shot!”

There was a large black man sitting across the bar facing him. He was dressed all in black; black, buttoned-down, short-sleeved shirt, black jeans, even wearing black leather gloves and dark sunglasses that wrapped around his head like
The Terminator
. His muscles bulged through his shirt like Arnold Schwarzenegger, and the man appeared to be staring right through Farrad, but he couldn’t be certain because of the opaque sunglasses. Farrad tried to stare back, but when the man didn’t turn away, Farrad averted his eyes. He didn’t want to be the one to start shit with a guy that huge. He had enough trouble without getting his ass kicked in a bar fight.

Farrad continued to drink, growing increasingly suspicious of the man in the dark sunglasses. He could feel his bravery increasing with each shot of tequila.

I should ask this guy what his fucking problem is,
Farrad thought, but he wasn’t quite drunk enough for that. He asked the bartender for his bill and settled his tab, then staggered toward the door. He cast a glance behind him as he opened the door and stepped out into the night. The large black man in the sunglasses had turned his head toward him. Now there was no question whether the guy was staring at him.

“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?” Farrad yelled, then turned and rushed out into the street before the man could reply, fearing the huge man would come after him. Once he was outside in the parking lot, he wondered why he thought he’d be safer out here than inside where there were witnesses. He stumbled over to his vehicle and fumbled his keys out of his pocket and into his car door, looking over his shoulder to make certain the man wasn’t coming after him. Once Farrad had opened the car and slumped behind the wheel, feeling the madness of the day and the alcohol coalesce into a deep existential malaise, he let out an exhausted sigh and looked back toward the bar. His blood pressure spiked. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

The big black guy was standing outside the bar, staring across the parking lot directly at him. The man began walking toward him.

“Oh shit!”

Farrad jammed the key in the ignition and started the car. The man in the sunglasses reached for his car door. Farrad stomped down on the accelerator, spitting bits of gravel and asphalt from his tires as he drove out of the parking lot, flipping the big guy in the sunglasses the finger as he pulled out into the street. He breathed a long sigh of relief when he could see the man in his rear view mirror, shrinking in the distance. Farrad’s BMW Z4 convertible sports car roared down the road and he thrust both of his middle fingers into the air.

“Fuck Yooooooou!”

He didn’t see the man climb into the black Chrysler 300 and follow his vehicle down the road.

When Farrad pulled into the underground parking garage at his high-rise condominium, he didn’t notice the Chrysler pull in behind him, reversing the electric gate before it could close. Farrad was still pitying his bad luck, getting involved in an attempted rape, being arrested, wondering how he would explain it all to his employers, if he would lose his job. When he stepped from his car he was trying to think of a story to tell his fiancée, who didn’t know about his predilection for sadism, but thought he had gone on a fishing trip with some old college buddies. Then something struck the back of his head, the ground rushed up to meet his face, and everything went black.

Farrad had a lovely dream in which he and Michael hadn’t tried to rape the girl with the huge tits, but she’d willingly given herself to them instead, crawling to them with a whip clenched between her teeth, begging them to use it on her, just like he’d imagined it would be at the farm. And after she’d been whipped into submission, she’d begged them both to fuck her, and they’d taken her in both holes, double penetration, Farrad raping her asshole while Michael fucked her from the front. It was quite a wonderful dream, until Farrad was awakened by a slap across his face.

“Wake up, motherfucker! Time to play!”

Farrad was naked and bound. It took him a moment to orient himself. His head hurt and he was dizzy, but he knew the feel of leather, and he couldn’t move his arms or legs. There were restraints around his wrists and ankles, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He was wrapped from head to toe in plastic; mummified.

“Wh—” He tried to speak. But there was something gagging him. He tasted latex and felt something long and thick filling his mouth, almost touching the back of his throat to the point where he would have gagged and probably thrown up and drowned on his own vomit, but not quite there. It didn’t take him long to figure out what it was in his mouth either—a dildo. Someone had shoved a dildo in his mouth.

There was something over his eyes, and that increased Farrad’s terror. Immobilized, gagged, and blindfolded, the voice that had woken him up did not sound friendly. It sounded downright pissed-da-fuck-off.

“You and your buddy like to rape women? Well, tonight you’re my woman!”

That didn’t sound good either.

Farrad couldn’t feel anything. The plastic wrapped around him from wrists to ankles, cut off all sensation, at least until his captor cut a small, six-inch square in the plastic, right below his navel. Then he felt the unmistakable sting of a razor blade. He’d been cut before, but it had never hurt like this. With all his other cutaneous senses numbed, he had no choice but to concentrate on the pain, the pain and the malevolent growl of his captor. Farrad tried to scream, but the effort seemed to make the dildo slide further into his throat and he almost choked. The cutting continued, it felt like he was being eviscerated. The pain was excruciating, his guts twisted in knots and Farrad imagined his torturer had cut open his belly and was squeezing his intestines with bare hands. Then another spot was cut open. This one on his chest, right where his nipple was or rather, where it had been. This time, Farrad did scream, despite the dildo in his mouth. He emptied his lungs, inhaled, then screamed again, a shrill, high-pitched sound he’d have never imagined himself capable of. It didn’t fit at all with his self-image of a strong, successful alpha male with all the opportunity for success a mere arm’s length away. This was the sound a woman made. And he made it again, when his torturer cut away another square of plastic, right over his groin.

Farrad had never been circumcised. That wasn’t something they did in his culture. But in a matter of a few agonizing minutes that made Farrad wish he was still unconscious, still locked behind bars, or even dead, his torturer relieved him of his foreskin. He had turned him from a Muslim to a Jew, but thankfully, not a eunuch. Then Farrad felt something else that made him scream even louder than before, that made him pray to Allah to save him. A large square was cut from around his buttocks and something cool, wet, and slippery was slathered on his rectum. Lubricant. Astroglide by the smell of it. There was no mistaking it for anything else.

“I told you I was going to make you my woman. Let’s see you tell the cops what I did to you. Tell them you were kidnapped and raped. Then, every time someone, a friend, co-worker, employer, girlfriend does a web search on your name, that’s what will come up, that you got raped by another man. See, if I just kicked your ass, you could tell someone you got sucker-punched. You could tell them you got jumped by a bunch of guys.”

Farrad could sense the man leaning over his shoulder, then he felt the man’s hands on his hips, felt something hard, long, and thick, part his ass cheeks and thrust deep into his bowels. Farrad cried. He wept from the pain and humiliation as his asshole was rhythmically violated.

“But are you going to tell them that you were raped? You going to tell them a man came in your ass? Is that what you want following you for the rest of your life, accused rapist and rape victim? Oh, and what if you get convicted and go to prison? Do you know what will happen to you if all those inmates know that you were raped? You’ll be getting raped every day. But, if you want to go to the cops, I’ll make sure there are enough DNA samples if you really want to press charges. I’ll make sure there’s no doubt what was done to you.”

He felt the man’s cock thicken, felt the hard body pressed against his backside go rigid, and then he felt the warm explosion in his loins as his attacker ejaculated inside him. Farrad could not stop crying. When his violator began to beat him, punching and kicking him, Farrad was beyond caring. He hoped the man would kill him.