by Aya DeAniege
I glanced around, ever on the lookout for reporters or people who might be lingering too closely.
“You being upset? It's not going to help anything. You need to breathe because the prosecution has to cross-examine you, and they're just doing their jobs. They aren't here to make things worse, but if you don't calm down, you might have your back up when they ask you something."
Mr. Wrightworth looked down at his feet and sighed out. “I know, you're right. Doesn't change how I feel.”
“What is it now? Five more months?”
The man smiled slowly. “Yes, five more months and the contract is up.”
“All right, so let's take a breath and get back in there,” I said.
He refused to take food, but he did sit on the step beside me. We sat there together, my eating a small snack that Susanne had brought for me. Just a little energy bar that came from a vending machine in the courthouse's entrance.
It seemed that anytime a recess was called, someone tried to feed me. I grew used to eating small snacks, if only so that they wouldn't assume that I was sick and attempt to return me to the estate before I was ready to go.
The prosecution opened first by confirming that Mr. Wrightworth was under contract with Albert Edwards and asking if that ever affected his day job.
It did, in some ways, but only really in behaviour. Mr. Wrightworth wasn't allowed to 'bring shame' in any way to Albert, failing at his job would be viewed as bringing shame. The contract made Mr. Wrightworth dress a certain way, eat at certain times, and take a week off every six months.
Moving from there, they delved into my contract and the exact wording. They even played the video and asked Mr. Wrightworth for confirmation that it was me on the video, and him reading the terms to me.
“Could you please explain to the court, in the clearest terms that you can, what exactly the contract ended up meaning to Nathaniel Edwards and Isabella Martin?”
“They agreed to a basic dominant-submissive relationship. The terms of that relationship are between them, but in the BDSM community, lending a sub can happen with the sub's permission. The terms change between Doms. Even if Isabella agreed to consensual non-consent with Nathaniel, that doesn't mean those terms would apply to anyone else who played with her."
“And the BDSM community has safe words, correct? Some word that normally isn't said in conversation so that they can enjoy such play without worrying about crossing a line?"
“That is correct.”
“Do you know Miss Martin's safe word?”
“Her safe word is 'banana,' which Nathaniel chose because it has a ridiculous reaction from Miss Martin every time she says it. Or hears it."
Mr. Wrightworth likely added the last part because, upon his saying the word, I almost laughed in the courtroom. It ended up sounding more like a cough, and I had to cover my mouth with my hand because I wanted to smile. Doing that, at that time, would have been highly inappropriate.
“If you don't know what a submissive's safe word, is there a default word?”
“Most use the colour systems, like traffic lights. Yellow is approaching a line. Red is full stop. Nathaniel chose to go another route with Miss Martin because she knew nothing of the community."
“And did you ever play with Miss Martin? That is what it's called, correct? Playing?”
“It is, yes. And yes, I did play with Miss Martin while she was at the Program building. It was brought to my attention that she had suddenly become clumsy. I worried she might take matters into her own hands and end up causing herself permanent damage. As a member of the community, I knew how to handle a submissive.”
“Could you explain to the court about Miss Martin, in your own words?”
“Miss Martin is still exploring what she is, but I believe her to be a switch, which means she can switch between submissive and dominant for play. She won't play with just anyone and will submit to few."
“There are different kinds of submissives, are there not?”
“There are, yes. So far, she presents as a masochist, meaning that she enjoys pain. She is not, however, a true masochist. You need to bring up the point of pain. Just beating on her does not bring about pleasure in the least. She hates blood play or knife play, meaning no cutting into her flesh. She's squeamish about needles, but impact play or even whipping is fine."
“You bring up her dislikes, why?”
“Because I watched the video documentation from Albert's estate. It's a requirement of my job. Anyone who is abused while under contract is seen as a failing by me. Something I don't protest.”
Everything went cold. To hear those words spoken out loud was devastating. The mirth of only a few moments before was completely stripped away. Yes, I had heard him say those words before, in his office as he gave a report to the police officers at the beginning of the whole mess. Every time I heard it, it had the same effect as that first time.
“And you witnessed Albert Edwards doing things to Miss Martin that you know, without a doubt, she would never agree to?”
“That is correct, yes.”
I stared into my lap, witnessing the trembling in my hands as I sat there—alone.
Mr. Wrightworth was the only one from the community who attended the court with me. Susanne didn't really count as 'being there' because she wasn't a member of the community and didn't know what it was like.
As I had said before, Nathaniel wasn't able to sit with me. He had to sit near his father and support Albert, at the same time he had insisted I not sit near Albert. Nathaniel didn't want to put me through sitting so close for a good reason. I wouldn't have been able to handle being that close to my abuser.
I had never felt so small in my life. Alone, yes, but not so small, so fragile. A light breeze might have made me fall over.
“Have you ever done consensual non-consent with Miss Martin?”
“No.”
“Is that an interest of yours?”
“It is, yes.”
“I only ask to make a clearer image. You knew Miss Martin wouldn't be interested in consensual non-consent, so you didn't attempt it, correct?”
“If she ever was interested, I do believe Albert Edwards destroyed that desire," Mr. Wrightworth said. "In my experience, many women harbour fantasies of being held down and pleasured against their will. Few have fantasies about being held down and fucked for his pleasure and not their own."
“Let me try another way. If there was something you wanted to do to Miss Martin, how would you go about it?"
“Ah, I didn't realize that was what you were alluding to,” Mr. Wrightworth said. “The community, while being about domination and submission, tries to make everything equal and to protect the submissives. We model ourselves as best we can after the community that existed before the collapse.
“This means that we have conversations with our submissives before we start to play, before we ever get into a bedroom even. The conversation is about wants and desires. We draw up lists. These lists are usually referred to as yes, no, and maybe."
“So... soft and hard limits? You draw up a contract that both agree to adhere to?”
“Fucking hate those books,” Mr. Wrightworth muttered under his breath.
I only knew what he said because I had heard him mutter it so many times before.
“Sorry, what was that?”
Mr. Wrightworth cleared his throat as I watched Nathaniel lower his head, hand over his mouth. This time, there was no doubting that Nathaniel was snickering at Mr. Wrightworth's testimony.
“We typically don't encourage adhering to the rules written in erotica books from before the fall. Many portrayed abusive relationships, the types of relationships that we strive to avoid. We Doms are not here to prey on weak-willed women. We aren't here to keep them secluded or away from friends and family."
“But Nathaniel's contract restricted her ability to see her family, correct?”
“The concern with Miss Martin visiting her family was that she might di
sclose what was going on. We suspected, but couldn't prove, that Albert had spies in the slums. It was also partially done because it was evident, even at that point, that her family... they looked at her and saw a cripple."
“Miss Martin is crippled?”
“She had an accident but didn't have access to the medical aid necessary to correct the problem with her leg. Through months of hard work, she can walk without a limp, but if you have her on her feet for more than a few hours, she starts favouring the leg. She couldn't work the jobs she had been trained for, didn't have the temperament to work the jobs that would allow her to sit."
“And her friends?”
“She had none upon entering the Program, which was difficult, as the contract allowed written word to friends. I was then to check on her and establish a friendship, or at least enough of one to be able to find her actual friends, either in the community or at the Program.”
“So you actively sought people out to place with her? Where are these friends now?”
“They are part of the community, them not being here doesn't mean that they don't exist or don't support her, so much as they need to protect their identities. It could destroy their work and personal lives to be outed.”
“Does Miss Martin do anything with these friends of hers?”
“There's the book club—that meets every Sunday. They often meet for coffee other days as well. I'm not exactly privy to their conversations as I once referred to one of their chosen books as drivel. I've since been banned for smartassery."
“Was it a romance?”
“It was,” Mr. Wrightworth muttered in annoyance.
“The prosecution has no further questions for Mr. Wrightworth.”
“Then the court will call its next witness, Isabella Martin.”
Is it too late to curl up under a rock and die?
Chapter Fifteen
“Miss Martin, you enjoy pain, don't you?”
Fuck you, you cunt punting asshole.
“I'm sorry, enjoy it in what way?” I asked.
I sat on the witness stand, in my little summer dress. Truthfully, I hadn't thought they'd call me that day. I thought they'd recess until the next day, as they had for some before. Given my instability during the whole trial, I don't understand why they would call me then, in the middle of the day.
Though I had been warned it could happen, I wasn't quite prepared for it. Once upon a time, the defense and prosecutor would call their witnesses, with either party determining the order and when the witness was called. That wasn't the case for my trial.
I think because they believed that Albert's lawyer would call me in the middle of the day, or when they knew that I was especially unstable. Still, it happened.
“You find sexual pleasure in pain.”
“No, I don't believe that's true.”
“Mr. Wrightworth describes you as a masochist.”
The defense was allowed to go through his list of question's first. While sitting there, I had an internal struggle not to scream at the man. He genuinely seemed to enjoy sneering at me. I wouldn't have been surprised if it had come out that he too had been murdering women, that he was a protege of Albert. It never happened. Or at the very least, I never heard about it.
He was just a creepy man.
“That doesn't mean I enjoy pain, just that I react to his causing me pain. Nathaniel striking me has the same effect, but if, say, my father hit me, I find absolutely nothing pleasurable about that. If you were to strike me, I'd punch your smug face back, and I'd enjoy that but not being hit by you.”
The defense wore a black suit with a bright red tie against a white shirt. It was a combination that I had never seen before, and it was eye-catching, which I suppose was the point. His suit was perfectly tailored. His balding head had not a hair out of place. Not even an attempted comb over. He was shorter than both Nathaniel and Albert, and a little more round as well. Not a great deal, but his body was that of a man who didn't have to do physical work.
I liked to imagine that he half-assedly maintained his body, thinking that his wealth alone would draw women in. I knew it was women because his eyes would linger on me whenever he saw me. Whether he knew I was watching him or not, he didn't care.
He's living out a fantasy of torturing me like Albert did. Getting off on it.
“So what are the terms for you enjoying pain?”
“..." I stared at the defense attorney, completely floored that he would ask that.
I didn't have an answer for him. I'm still not sure that I do. I would just look at a man and know if he was able to do that to me.
Even though Nathaniel and Albert looked similar, there was absolutely no denying that they were related, Albert never brought that out in me.
There was something about how each man held himself. How Albert always seemed to sneer, how I felt like he believed I was beneath him. I know before hand, my gut instinct was to submit to the man, but he was a predator. That's the instinct of so many subs when they meet a predator.
Submit, or be destroyed.
That kind of submission is never about anything more than living to see another day. Doms would run or fight, subs kneel and take the beating, hoping the predator will get bored and move on.
It wasn't just looks, I knew that, but I couldn't put words to what it was that caught my attention.
“I don't know.”
“You can't tell us what it is that draws you to men who want to hurt you? What the difference is between Nathaniel and Albert Edwards?”
One's a fucking asshole. The other should be fucking me more often.
I stared at the man for too long before I realized that I had to answer.
“That would be like explaining what makes one man more attractive. Just because I can't say what makes it that way doesn't mean there isn't a standard. I'm new to this. There are lots of things that I know I don't like, but don't know why I react the way I do."
“That's convenient.”
Cunt fucking asshole.
The running stream of constant curse words inside my head helped keep me stable. It kept me from freezing up as I was asked about coming into Nathaniel's estate. That stability broke down, however, as the defense went through my time with Nathaniel and then came to Albert's arrival.
“So, when Albert took you into his vehicle and to his estate, what did the pair of you talk about?”
“Nothing... he... uh..." My eyes fell onto the floor as I struggled to remember. The prosecution hadn't asked me about what happened in the vehicle because it hadn't mattered. "He had child locks on the doors, and I didn't know how to get out of the vehicle. I was in the back, and he had a driver, so he was in the back with me. I didn't know what was going on or where I was being taken."
“And how did he get you from the car, into his estate?”
“I don't know,” I said, the confusion and frustration plain in my voice.
“You don't know how you got from Albert Edwards' car, and into his estate? You don't know how that happened, is what you're claiming before the court?”
“I don't remember. There are gaps in my memory from that time.”
“Once more, that's convenient," the defense paused to look at the jury as if to ask if they were paying attention to just how ridiculous my testimony sounded to a sane person. "How do you know, then, that you didn't give consent to the acts in question?"
In a country that made it illegal to participate in BDSM—though it was in a sort of don't ask, don't tell way—the man dared to ask such a thing. I legally couldn't have given consent outside of the Program's contracts to being caused such pain.
For a moment, I held onto that, and then everything withered away. If Albert could convince the jury that I had consented, he would be charged only with assault. Not with rape, kidnapping, torture, and murder. I almost started crying right there on the stand.
“I know my mind.”
“In the BDSM community, there is something called consensual non-consent.
Do you know what this is?"
“Of course I know what it is. Nathaniel Edwards made certain that I was educated in the terms for the community.”
“And is it true that you once agreed to participate in consensual non-consent with Nathaniel Edwards?"
“I did not agree to it. He brought up his interest in it, in the fact that he wanted me to be comfortable with the idea. He wanted to acclimatize me with the thought before he asked me to place it on one of my lists.”
“But you didn't immediately say no.”
“No, I did not say no.”
“Why not?”
“He's attractive to me. The idea was not automatically disgusting."
“Albert Edwards has often been described as a handsome man.”
“Not to me.”
“Not to you, of course not,” he said in a patronizing tone. “So you were willing to participate in consensual non-consent with someone who looks a great deal like Albert Edwards.”
“At the time of the meeting, yes. But it was made clear to me that I would have the ability to withdraw consent at any time. Nathaniel then made it clear to me that no means no."
“And banana means no?"
I almost smiled, but then I realized who was saying the word to me. His uttering the word did not make me happy or giddy in the least. My joy died in my throat and was replaced with a burning hatred for the man. He had no right to use my word, not in any place, not at any time. Once more, I wanted to scream at him.
Instead, I straightened myself in the chair.
“And red means no, and yellow means slow down, and sometimes when I cry out in pain that also means no. Sometimes the tone of my voice means no, sometimes dropping a ball means no, sometimes, very rarely? When Nathaniel says no, it means no. There are a hundred ways for me to say no. If he had untied me for longer than a moment, I would have proven—without a doubt—that I meant no.”
“You mean you would have assaulted a private citizen?”
“He kept me tied up for two weeks. I'd be doing nothing to him that I didn't think was necessary to slow him down long enough for me to get away. Besides, a man who gets kneed in the groin ought to consider how he earned the knee between his legs."
