Рот Уайт - 400 Days of Oppression

“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.

“Fuck that bitch! My lawyers will eat her alive. That fucking slut won’t get a dime from me!”

“She’s not after money, Michael. She’s pressing criminal charges. You’re going to be tried for attempted rape.”

“That’s bullshit! We were in a sex club! On a goddamn S&M farm for Christsakes! She wouldn’t have been there if she didn’t want to get fucked!”

Michael’s father shook his head, placing his palm against his forehead and closing his eyes.

“Something is not right with you, Michael.”

Michael smirked.

“I’m just fine, Dad.”

“No, you’re not. You need to see a therapist, a psychiatrist. I’m not going to have my son turn into some kind of rapist or serial sex murderer or something!”

“You’re overreacting, Dad. Me and Farrad just went to a fetish farm to check it out and see what it was like. Chicks go there to live out their fantasies of being overpowered and dominated. I was just giving that bitch what she wanted. Who knew she was going to freak out like that? It doesn’t matter anyway. I told you, I’ve already got a lawyer on this. Nothing is going to happen. You’ll see. I might even sue that bitch for what she did to my sack. They had to sew it back on!”

Michael Evans Sr. looked his son in his eyes, placed his palm against the boy’s cheek, then ran a hand through his own thinning hair, before dropping his head into his palms and letting out a sigh that appeared to empty his body of all vitality. He wilted into the brown leather recliner he was sitting in, looking as if he’d aged thirty years in a matter of seconds.

“Maybe something should happen. Maybe you should go to jail.”

“Dad!”

Michael looked at his father.

“You don’t mean that.”

Michael Sr. seemed to diminish even further, folding into the plush brown leather recliner, collapsing in on himself.

“Maybe I don’t.”

Michael nodded. He patted his weary father on his stooped shoulders.

“It’ll be okay, Dad. You’ll see.”

Michael bent and kissed the bald spot on his father’s bowed head, turned and left the room. He snatched a thin windbreaker from the coat rack, protection against the chill breeze and late night fog. It still amazed him that it could be seventy degrees during the day and drop into the forties at night when the fog rolled in. To Michael, the weather in San Francisco was every bit as fickle as its citizens. He grabbed a bottle of Grey Goose vodka off the bar, took a swig, and carried it out with him to his car.

Michael’s cell phone rang as he stepped from the apartment and hurried to the black Porsche parked at the curb.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Farrad.”

His voice sounded hoarse, weak. Farrad trembled, choking back sobs. Michael had never heard his friend sound so…weak, so defeated. Pussy. Some guys just couldn’t take the heat. Threaten them with prison and they fell the fuck apart.

“What’s up, bro? You all freaked out about getting arrested? I told you, my lawyers are the best in the business. They are handling it.”

There was a pause. A strangled sob. Then a whisper.