It took off its shirt.
Unsnapped its bra.
As it pulled the bra off …
Its wide, pained eyes.
Scanned the room.
For a moment …
Settled on me and Mrs. Rosenberg.
“Motherfucker,” I said.
Mrs. Rosenberg had a more direct response.
She came off the sofa like a jungle cat.
Moved quickly to the slave.
And slapped it in the face.
The slave staggered.
Its mouth dropped open.
And it crashed to its knees.
Mrs. Rosenberg knelt down beside it.
Grabbed its dark hair.
And ground its face into the carpet.
And said …
“You listen close, you worthless piece of shit.”
Mrs. Rosenberg quickly punched it twice.
In the belly.
It whimpered into the carpet.
Mrs. Rosenberg’s voice had chilled to sub-zero.
“If. You ever. Look. In my eyes. Again. I. Will. Destroy you. First. Your cunt. Then. Your. Asshole.”
She bounced its head on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Eve. I just bought it. It still needs seasoning.”
Then she laughed.
“What?” I asked.
“Seasoning,” Mrs. Rosenberg said.
“Back when it was a woman, its name was Rosemary.”