Рот Уайт - 400 Days of Oppression

“Did you hear what we said? Get going and fix this abomination!”

The Muslim cracked the cat o’ nine tails he carried across my hamstrings. The tails wrapped around the front, leaving livid, red welts on my thighs. I gritted my teeth and tried again to get Seymore moving. The WASP walked toward me with a deeply affected look of anger on his face that was meant to intimidate, but only managed to make him look even more ridiculous, like a boy pretending to be a man. He wore a full leatherman outfit, chaps and all, over a pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He pointed the cat at my face as he barked orders at me.

“I said, get to work and fix this shit! Do you want me to tell Mistress Delia what you’ve done to her land?”

I doubted she would care. If she gave a damn about this particular parcel of land, she certainly wouldn’t have placed it in my inexperienced hands. I didn’t reply and I didn’t look at the ridiculous boy/man. Instead, I tried to imagine an African slave on a Southern plantation, being faced with the same dilemma, a difficult and unfamiliar task and the threat of severe physical punishment if it wasn’t done perfectly. It was something millions of slaves had likely endured, and I would endure it too.

I tried again to get Seymore moving and again, he remained stubbornly seated. The WASP began whipping me relentlessly, striping my back, arms, ass, and thighs with the cat. He made so much commotion that Seymore finally stood and began to move forward. I grabbed the handles of the plow and guided him back over the same land we’d just plowed, but the two assholes weren’t done. The Muslim guy grabbed my arms and the WASP tried to rip off my corset.

“Get off of me! What are you doing?”

“We’re not done with you, bitch! You need to be punished. But I tell you what, you suck us both off, let us give you a nice bukakke shower, and we’ll let you go,” the WASP said, grinning at his Muslim buddy like the wild-eyed frat boy he’d probably been not long ago.

“You must be fucking high! Get the fuck off of me!”

“Hold her, Farrad! Hold her still!”

“She’s fighting, man. I don’t think she’s playing.”

“I don’t care. We paid our money, we’re fucking someone! No way anyone is going to cry rape at an S&M club. It would get laughed out of court. I’m fucking this cunt if she likes it or not! Now, hold her still!”

His hands were all over me, pawing at my breasts. I kicked at him, and he slapped me so hard I saw stars. That’s when I screamed.

“Heeeelllp! Raaaape! Raaaaape!”

This time, he punched me. His fist caught me behind the left ear and the world spun. I found myself staring up at the sky. Someone was tugging my shorts down and I looked up to see the WASP standing above me, unzipping his pants. I tried to scream again. The Muslim clamped a hand over my mouth and I bit it. I bit deep and jerked my head to the side, ripping a chunk out of his hand just below his pinky. He yelled and jumped backwards. I sat up quickly, still feeling woozy, and grabbed blindly for the WASP’s penis the instant it poked from his zipper. The man jumped backwards, but it was too late. My fingernails sunk into his cock. I dug them in deep, seizing his cock and twisting it. The WASP howled and struck me again, punching me in the top of my head. I leaned forward and jerked him toward me, dragging him by his penis.

“Fuck! Let go! Let go, you fucking bitch!” he shouted as I pulled him closer, tugging and wrenching on his cock, wringing it like a dishrag. I sank my teeth into his nutsack, biting down hard and feeling his testes rupture in my mouth like hardboiled eggs. His screams were horrific. He punched at my head and I could feel myself beginning to lose consciousness, but I refused. I bit down harder, biting through his scrotum. I could hear footsteps hurrying toward us as I ripped and tore at the WASP’s flaccid sex organs, tearing his testicles from his body and trying to pull his cock free from its moorings. Blood, urine, and semen rained down his thighs and dripped from my mouth as I chewed up his testicles and spit them down into the dirt.

“What’s going on?” I heard someone shout, followed by the unmistakable dull smack of knuckles striking flesh and a body thudding down in the dirt with a loud “Oof!”

I looked around for my savior. It was Constance along with the two male subs with the perfect bodies I’d seen in the stables the day I arrived.

“They tried to rape me!”

The Muslim guy, Farrad, was on his knees next to Constance, flanked by the two subs. He cradled his wounded hand. His eye was swelling shut, his lip was busted, and his jaw hung at an odd angle. They had kicked his ass before they even knew what he’d done. His face held a pitiful expression, like a cornered rat.

“I-I didn’t do anything!” he protested.

Constance whirled around to face the cowed and conquered Muslim guy and he cringed. Without a hint of hesitation, she kicked him in the chest, aiming her four-inch stiletto heel at his heart like she was trying to impale him on it. He pitched backward into the dirt and remained there, holding his chest and wincing. A trickle of blood leaked out from between his fingers.

The WASP was lying on his back, trembling. His eyes rolled back in his head, then swam back into focus briefly before rolling up again. He looked like he was going to die.

Good! I thought, and spit at his prone form. The two subs walked over and began kicking and stomping him in the face with their pointy-toed cowboy boots until blood leaked from his mouth and ears. Constance stared down at him with hard, unfeeling eyes, then she leaned over and gathered me up in her arms.

“Don’t worry, he’s not going to be hurting anyone else for a long time.”

Mistress Delia drove me to the hospital in her Escalade. My head and jaw hurt from where that asshole had punched me and the coppery, meaty taste of his blood and flesh lay thick on my tongue.

“Don’t worry about anything. I told the police what happened. Both of those assholes are being charged with attempted rape. Sorry, I didn’t get there sooner. Nothing like this has happened at the farm before,” Mistress Delia said. She was dressed conservatively in jeans and a sweatshirt that hid all her sensuality and made her look like just another fat chick. I felt bad for her and curiously protective of her, even in my own damaged state. I didn’t want people thinking my Mistress was anything less than the beautiful woman I knew her to be.

“They want you to have a rape kit performed.”

“But-but, I wasn’t raped.”

“You said, you blacked out for a second and when you woke up, one of them was holding you down and the other one had his penis out. You may have been out longer than you realize. Something may have happened. The police have your clothes to test for semen.”

I looked down at myself and only then realized that I was wearing different clothing. I had on a simple, white sundress. It was only then that I realized how much time had passed since Kenyatta and I began this game. It had been autumn when he took me to the slave auction and now spring was in full bloom. I had barely noticed the passing of the seasons, trapped in my own private hell.

“They are going to ask you about the winery, what you were doing out there alone. Plowing a field dressed in a leather corset. They’re going to try to turn this into some kinky sex thing. What are you going to tell them?”

“I’ll tell them I was helping you out with some farming. I was dressed like that because I was on private property and I can dress any way I damn well please and how I dress shouldn’t have shit to do with why these two assholes tried to rape me!”

Mistress nodded.