President Slave Girl: The Homouth -- Book 1 of the President Slave Girl series (8 page)

"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 could 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.

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