“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.”
XI
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.
We pulled up to the hospital’s Emergency Room entrance and a police officer opened my door. They had followed us to the hospital. Apparently Mistress Delia had insisted on driving me herself and wouldn’t let them put me in an ambulance. I could only assume she’d wanted to ensure I wouldn’t say anything to jeopardize her business while I was out of her sight. I preferred to believe she’d done it out of concern for me.
As I stepped from Mistress’s big SUV into a waiting wheelchair, she whispered to me.
“Uh, do you want me to call Kenyatta?”
It was an odd question. Of course I wanted Kenyatta to know I was in the hospital. I wanted him to come and hold me in his powerful arms, let me cry on his strong shoulders. I wanted him to punish those two assholes. The beating Constance and her goons had given them wasn’t enough. I wanted to see them humbled. I wanted my man to show them what a real man was. But something about the way she asked it made me pause. Would Kenyatta be angry at me for what happened? Would the experiment be over and what would that mean? Would he still marry me or not? I had no idea, no answers.
“Uh, um. Maybe we should wait a while.”
Mistress nodded as an ER nurse led me away with the police officer at my side.
I felt numb, physically and emotionally as the nurse swabbed my mouth, vagina, and anus for DNA samples and inspected each orifice for bruising. My cuts and bruises were treated then photographed by a victim’s advocate from the police department. Eventually I was led to my room to recover.
Before I was allowed to rest, I was interviewed by a police detective from the SFPD sex crimes unit along with the victim’s advocate, a plump and pleasant Latino woman in her late twenties.
“Are you feeling okay to talk?” the woman said.
I nodded.
“My name is Eileen Gonzalez and this is Detective Watkins from Sex Crimes. We have a few questions for you and then we’ll leave you alone and let you get some rest. You’ve been through a lot today. Would you tell us what happened?”
“I was helping Misstre—Miss Delia plow the field for her new grape vines when two of her other guests rode up on horseback and started teasing me and asking me to have sex with them.”
I saw the detective exchange a look with Eileen that was thick with judgment. He knew what kind of place Mistress Delia ran and had already decided that I’d been asking to be raped. It was all my fault. He probably thought the two assholes I’d bitten were the real victims.
“What kind of things did they say?” Detective Watkins said. The detective was a middle-aged, fireplug-shaped black man with thick muscular arms and shoulders, a big belly, and a growing bald spot in the center of his close-cropped, salt and pepper hair. His face had no wrinkles, but the lines around his mouth and those in his forehead were etched deep from years of worry.
“They said that I fucked up the field, that it looked like shit and I should give them both blowjobs to make up for the shitty job I’d done working the plow. It was my first time working a plow and I didn’t make the rows straight. I tried, but I couldn’t get the hang of it.”
“That’s okay. It’s okay,” Eileen said. “Then what happened?”
“I told them to go fuck themselves and then they attacked me. They started groping my breasts and then they tried to rip my clothes off. When I fought back, they punched me. The white guy knocked me down with a punch. I think I went out for a little bit.”
“Went out? You mean you were knocked unconscious?” the detective said.
“Yes.”
“When did he expose himself to you?”
“What? Oh, I was waking up after he knocked me out and he was standing above me, pulling his cock out of his pants.”
“Then what did you do?”