President Slave Girl: The Homouth -- Book 1 of the President Slave Girl series

by Pat Powers

  She started crying then, because she could do nothing else.

  When they came for her she refused to eat. Eating would make her live longer. Not her goal.

  They did not give her to the sisters that day. They put her in a room where she was used sexually by various men and women. Compared to the Sisters of Mercy, it was heaven, although she still experienced deep revulsion at the touch of a man, and the men did considerably more than touch her. But even standing bent over in a pair of stocks while one man fucked her right up the ass and another stood in front of her and reamed her homouth so vigorously that his balls bounced against the underside of her chin ... even that was a joy compared to the Sisters of Mercy.

  She got to hear about a lot of other men and women who had been jailed under the Obscenity Laws during her administration. One of them talked about the fact that her party had forced the rest of Congress to go along with it by threatening her veto of the budget. He was right, too.. He accentuated his points by ramming his cock up her anus with extra vigor, enough to get muffled grunts out of her, and she was pretty tired by that time.

  She was exhausted but still able to walk when she went back to her stall. And still they staked her out spreadeagle with her head secured to the floor.

  But before they did that, they took her to another room, where they tied her to one of those chairs that hairdressers use to wash customers' hair at salons. Then one of them brought in one of those steel rods with rollers that hospitals use to hold IV drip solutions above patients' heads. This one held a large funnel, from which a flexible plastic hose like the kind seen in vacuum cleaners. Except the nozzle at the end of it seemed kinda small, about an inch and a half in diameter.

  "Woman wearing a homouth oughtta know better than to refuse to eat," said the guard who held the nozzle as she jammed it deep into Eileen's homouth. She wrapped tape around it so that it was taped in place inside Eileen's mouth. Without the use of her hands or her tongue, she couldn't get rid of it, anyway. She could only stare up a the woman as she pressed a lever near the nozzle and she felt the gruel begin trickling out of the nozzle and down her throat.

  Force feeding. Of course. They did not intend her to die.

  The gruel was periodically washed down by what seemed to be huge amounts of water, and Eileen swallowed it all because she had no choice. After they were through, her guard wiped her face clean with a towel and then wrapped a piece of duct tape around her whole head several times.

  "Better try to keep it down," said her guard. "Vomit is bad for your teeth, I hear, and if you barf now, it's got nowhere to go."

  So she would not be throwing up, either.

  Later, lying spreadeagled and with her head bound to the floor and the tape gag still wrapped around her head, trying not to gag, she decided she would eat from now on. Then she went to sleep.

  The next day, at the mere sight of the Sisters of Mercy, she wet herself. Her guards brought her to the room and they chained her to the ring, just as before. She cried brokenly as they did so. Whatever courage or resolve she had was gone in the face of her helplessness, and her knowledge of what these women would do to her.

  "I like that gag on her," said Sister Cinnabar. "Let's leave it on her, for the time being."

  "Agreed," said Sister Willow. "Make breath control a little easier, too."

  "Don't care for this situation, Eileen?" asked Laurel, leaning forward to playfully squeeze Eileen's nose shut. "Have you been in your little stall, fearing that you'd wind up here? Knowing that you'd wind up here, but helpless to do anything about it? I bet you have. Good. Now, I want you to imagine that you're Rosie-- I'm sure you remember Rosie, we told you all about her -- sitting in her cell. Hearing the key fumbling in the lock. Knowing she's going to be brutalized and raped. Hating it as much as you hate what's about to happen to you. And as helpless as you are to do anything about it. Worse yet, knowing it could go on for YEARS. Because no one believed the claims of sexual mistreatment of women sentenced under the Obscenity Laws. I want you to think about that later, Eileen, because really, that's what this is all about. This is all about Rosie and others like her. If not for her, we wouldn't be here. You made a mistake, and we're here to ensure that you regret it."

  The hands pinched her nose shut while the other hand held her head still so she couldn't work her head free. With the tape over her mouth, it was even worse. She descended into blackness again.

  Many long hours later, they dragged her out. She left a pool of sweat and a little blood and lot of urine where she had been chained. Her eyes were blank. She could not walk.

  It had been every bit as horrible as the first time. Worse, because she had known what was coming and could do nothing like it. Her nipples, her vulva and her anus felt just raw from use. Her whole skin hurt. Her muscles and joints hurt from the unnatural way she'd been chained. Her wrists and ankles hurt from straining against the cuffs that had encircled them, soft and lined as those cuffs had been.

  She fell asleep before they had even finished chaining her to the floor.

  "Nothing like having someone greet the sight of you with tears and wetting themselves with fear," Willow said sourly after she left. "I want to wash my soul."

  * * *

  After about a week's time, if her sleep cycles had any relation to day/night cycles, Eileen finally began to understand her captors. They were right, of course, right about everything. She saw that now. It had taken her quite a while to see it, because after all most of what they were right about was about what a terrible person she had been before.

  But she had changed. She understood now. And she felt sure that once they understood that she understood, things would change. They'd stop all the raping and the torturing. She understood that they'd probably be more than a little suspicious of her, and that it might take awhile to convince them, but she could do that.

  * * *

  Some time later, she had stopped counting the days and/or weeks, she left the place of her enemies. In darkness and ignorance she made the journey, hogtied and gagged and with a sack covering her whole body.

  She knew she had arrived when she heard one of her captors say, "Prep her, we're almost there."

  All that prepping her meant was, they hauled her out of the canvas bag she had been tied inside. she was glad of it -- it had been stifling and the air had been close, and her own smells were very strong.. They'd hosed her off before departure, but somehow when she was tied up her womanly smells became very strong. Probably because she couldn't shift position much to dissipate them.

  One of her captors idly ran her fingers over Eileen's homouth as they completed the journey. Eileen did not shrink away -- her touch was light, almost a caress. She did not shrink from it because she knew that at an instant's notice a gentle touch could be replaced with a rough one, or a blow to the head.

  "We're there, take her out," said the voice.

  The dark interior of the van blazed with light as they dragged Eileen blinking into the sunlight. After her eyes adjusted she saw where they were. She was kneeling in the dirt alongside the road outside the farm in New Mexico where she'd been captured a lifetime or two ago. She was still hogtied and still had that ridiculous ball strapped into her homouth, hidden by the leather gag. She was still drooling because of it.

  Sister Joan and Sister Maureen were standing at the gaurdhouse with their guns drawn, glaring at her captors, who glared back and Joan and Maureen.

  "You're going to have to come with us," said Sister Joan, leveling her rifle at her captors.

  Eileen smiled at this, well inwardly at least. Her homouth just twitched. Perhaps she could start a dialogue between her captors and her friends.

  "I don't think so," said a voice from inside the van. The ugly barrel of a machine gun protruded from the side window of the van. "We're just here to drop off your dear ex-President,. If you try to use those guns on any of us, we will kill you."

  The voice was a man's, and that froze Joan and Maureen. With a woman, you coul
d always doubt that she'd pull the trigger. There was a lot less doubt with a man.

  Maureen glanced at Eileen and Eileen shook her head vigorously “No.” It wasn't worth bloodshed to catch one of them. Not Maureen's blood, anyway. Anyway, she understood her captors now and did not want them hurt.

  "Go, then," said Maureen, moving over next to Eileen.

  "Our pleasure," said one of Eileen's escorts with a wicked smile. "We had fun playing with Eileen. Maybe soon we'll come for the rest of you. You guys have a lot to account for."

  Eileen knelt in the dirt and watched her captors go. Maureen and Joan grabbed her and pulled her into their gaurdhouse and wrapped a blanket around her to conceal her nakedness. Joan called the house and kept her gun trained on her captors' van as it drove away, while Maureen worked on Eileen's bonds.

  Eileen was startled by the look of intense horror that Maureen wore when she finally worked loose the thick, heavy leather straps that held her gag in place and she saw the portion of Eileen's face that had been concealed by the gag, with the bright red ball coming out of it with a slurking sound and plenty of secretions. She had not seen horror on the face of any of her captors, only amusement, recognition, desire, that sort of thing.

  She had forgotten how normal people responded to such things.

  "Can you talk?" Maureen asked haltingly.

  Eileen shook her head "no." She could only make disgusting noises with the homouth on her face.

  Maureen undid the rope connecting Eileen's wrists and ankles. She had been tied up inside the bag for so long that she had to stretch her legs out slowly and carefully, and even then she felt her muscles cramping. She moaned and dropped to the floor with the pain of it and Maureen seized her legs and held he lowered them to the floor gently as Eileen moaned in pain, the moans made tiny by her homouth.

  Eileen was touched by the look of pity and consternation on Maureen and now Joan's faces, and she wanted them to tell them it was all right, but she could not. And anyway, it was not all right. She had been through the worst that she could have imagined. She did not know how deep the scars had cut her, but she knew damn well it was not all right. They had cut deep.

  A rising plume of dust signaled the approach of a van from the house. Maureen and Joan finished removing her bonds. They rubbed her hands and feet until the van arrived. Eileen could not thank them verbally and she was too stiff to hug them so she only nodded her gratitude before she was carried into the van and back to what she now knew was the precarious safety of the house.

  The End

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