President Slavegirl: Billionaire's Toy: Book Two of The Homouth Series

  President Slave Girl: Billionaire's Toy

  Book 2 of The Homouth

  copyright 2014 by Pat Powers

  In Book I of The Homouth Series

  Eileen MacCammon was elected President on a wave of sexual morality that followed the Second Great Depression, as automation and robotics took over human labor in field after field. One of the few fields that was not subject to automation and which paid well, and which ordinary people could perform. was sex work. The sex industry boomed in an economy where jobs were almost impossible to get in other fields.

  MacCammon and her moral conservative friends had long been allied with feminists in opposing sex work. Together, they succeeded in persuading the voting element of American public that the cause of the recession was the moral weakening created by all the pornography and prostitution that was going on. The old and stupid among the voters went for it wholesale, and MacCammon and her allies were swept into office.

  Arresting and jailing pornographers and prostitutes by the tens of thousands turned out to harm the economy rather than help it, but MacCammon was a true believer and so they started arresting the customers of prostitutes and porn viewers, which turned out to be just about everybody. They also used more than mildly illegal techniques against their political opponents.

  Even the most well-financed political campaign couldn't keep people from voting to keep themselves and their loved ones out of jail. MacCammon and her supporters were swept out of office at the end of her second term. MacCammon, instead of being honored as a former President, was tried and convicted of violating many laws while in office (which she was definitely guilty of, in her zeal). MacCammon was given a new sentence that she had created while in office: no jail time, but all her Constitutional rights were stripped from her except her right to life.

  She thought she had won a victory. Although having her Constitutional rights stripped away meant she could be captured and enslaved by anyone, she was sure her friends could protect her. However, shortly after her friends tuck her away in a safe house, she was kidnapped by enemies. Those enemies, the sex workers she had persecuted, now persecuted her. They put a homouth on her, a vagina where her mouth ordinarily would be, using advanced nanotech. Sex workers had adopted it, because they were able to control it, switching between a normal mouth and a homouth with ease. But MacCammon could not control her homouth, she could get rid of it only by performing degrading acts of sexual bondage.

  Even worse, in some respects, the nanosets they put in her cranked up her sexual responsiveness by an order of magnitude, leaving her the helpless slave of the sexual impulses she had fought to stifle all her life. And then the sex workers sexually worked her over, for weeks on end, all her victims now able to get their revenge in the most graphic and satisfyingly obscene manner possible.

  Eventually her captors discarded her, returning her to her friends like a used sex toy, leaving the homouth on her face. That's where our story picks up ...

  Chapter 1

  Embarrassing Affronts

  In the van, Eileen made it clear to Joan that she would like to borrow the scarf she wore around her neck. Joan quickly handed it to her, and Eileen tied it around her face so that it was stretched over her nose and hid the lower half of her face, like the kerchiefs cowboys once wore, or perhaps still wore, to keep the dust from cattle herds out of their lungs.

  Eileen signaled her thanks and Joan gave her a brief, wan smile. Clearly, she would be washing that scarf as soon as Eileen returned it, if she didn't burn it.

  Eileen didn't blame Joan. In the company of the wicked men and women who had captured her, she had not been so aware of her homouth -- these were people who'd had them installed intentionally. But then, just the sight of herself that one time in the mirror had been enough to make her scream as best she could with a homouth where her lips should be.

  But now she saw the horror reflected so clearly in Joan and Melissa's eyes. And she did not blame them for their responses, not a bit, because they were the same responses SHE would have if their situations were reversed -- a mixture of pity and horror and loathing fascination.

  When they came to the dusty porch everyone was there to greet her and hug her. Some wanted to kiss her on the cheek, but Eileen was too self-conscious about her homouth to let them. They might brush against the pink, oozing folds of tissue where her lips should be, and shriek in horror.

  So she carefully moved her head to the side when they tried to kiss her, but did let them hug her. That was fine, that felt really good, because these hugs came from love, not the predatory embrace of the sexual monsters she had worshiped as goddesses just 24 hours ago. It was strange, but as soon as she had realized she was free of her captors, she had reverted to her old, pre-imprisonment view of them.

  When everyone was through hugging and cooing their pleasure at her return, they went inside and sat around the living room.

  "What's wrong?" asked Naomi, as always the one who would ask the obvious question. "What's wrong with your face? What did they do to you?"

  Eileen pointed at Melissa, who had been there when she'd removed the gag.

  "She's got, a, her sexual organs where her mouth should be," said Melissa.

  "A homouth?" Naomi asked.

  Eileen nodded vigorously. A homouth. That is what they'd called it.

  "Most homouths you can call up and get rid of at will," said Naomi, showing entirely unmaidenly knowledge of the subject. Then again, she was their lobbyist, she had to know about these things, if only to combat them. "Can you remove yours, Eileen?"

  Eileen shook her head, "No."

  "You mean it's just THERE and won't go away?" Melissa asked.

  Eileen shook her head, "No," then signed for some writing instruments.

  Moments later, pad and pen in hand, she wrote, "The homouth can be made to go away, but only under certain circumstances, which I don't want to go into just yet. I have to have help to remove it, though."

  She passed the note around, suddenly painfully aware that the people she was among would be the last to help her with her problem. Not because they didn't want to help, but because doing so was the very last thing their morals permitted.

  She realized with a sharp pang just how fiendish the torment she'd been subjected to was.

  "They did this with nanotech, didn't they?" asked Virginia, her doctor.

  Eileen nodded "Yes."

  "What can be done with nanotech can sometimes be undone with nanotech," said Virginia. "We have some top people in the field allied with us. We will take you to them."

  Eileen nodded "Yes." For the first time since she'd seen that horrible thing on her face, she had hope. Maybe there was a way out.

  "Do you want to rest now?" asked Virginia.

  Eileen nodded "Yes," but then wrote a note. "I want some writing materials. I will describe my experiences and you can read them."

  "There's the terminal in the bedroom," someone suggested helpfully.

  Eileen shook her head "No." If she could have talked to a terminal, she wouldn't have needed writing materials in the first place. Of course, there was probably a keypad for the terminal lying around someplace, but Eileen had never learned to type. Typing was for techies and low-level office people. Eileen was a people person, like most politicians. Technical skills, even very simple ones like typing, were beneath one such as her. She would have to use handwriting.

  In the bedroom, Eileen wrote out exactly what had happened to her since being kidnapped, sparing no detail and no indignity. She had often had to sit and listen to women describe the h
orrors they had been subjected to after men had been inflamed into ravening beasts by porn. She or some other member of the committee would have to pry the lurid details out of the poor creatures so that the disgusting sickness of porn could be made plain to all, justifying the campaign to eliminate it, and the people who thrived on it in various ways, sadly, in ever-increasing numbers since the Great Collapse, as it was one of the few industries not heavily dependent on credit.

  Now she pried the disgusting details out of herself and committed them to paper. She would spare herself no modesty, because she knew the people who would be reading it were her friends, and needed to know what had been done to her. She was certain that her captors had done something to her which might be a hook upon which they could be hanged.

  When she was finished, she opened the door. Naomi was there, waiting.

  "There's something I need to tell you, in private," Naomi whispered.

  Eileen nodded "Yes" and opened the door. Naomi entered, took Eileen's hand, and sat down on the bed next to her.

  "Maryann and Gail and I have been talking, along with some of the others who've been around for a long time," said Naomi.

  Eileen nodded. The old hard core, who had started with her when the campaign that swept her to the White House had begun back in Cincinnati.

  "We are certain that we've got at least one traitor among us, possibly more," said Naomi. "We've put it all together, and there's no way they could have done as smooth a job of taking you as they did without knowing exactly what they were doing, the sort of information they could only have gotten from one of us."

  Eileen nodded. She had surmised as much some time ago, while lying naked and bent over a hobbyhorse with her ankles chained to her wrists, sperm dripping from her nether regions as she waited for her next tormentor. Someone had to have turned on her, it was the only way they could have gotten at her so easily.

  "We don't know who it is," said Naomi. "The problem is, there are too many suspects. A lot of people who are members of our group, while fully agreeing with our aims, felt we moved way too fast and too far during your administration."

  Eileen nodded "Yes." Strangely enough, she now saw their point of view. In fact, she now saw the opposition's point of view. One thing she had not understood as President was that the people whom she was jailing loved their families just as much as the ones who supported her, and were loved by their families as well. The stereotype she had bought into, that sex workers and their supporters were wastrels spurned by their families was not true. She had experienced the raw, visceral hatred her captors had for her, for what she had done to them in separating them from their loved ones, and their loved ones from them. And she understood that they wouldn't have felt such hatred, if they hadn't been so deeply attached to their families.

  She had had no idea. She had thought the liberal types who liked porn had been divested of all family feeling. Giving in to unbridled sexual passion destroyed families, everyone knew that. Families could only be created and nurtured by people who controlled their sexual feelings and kept them to a bare minimum, that was obvious. It was why she had ignored her advisers about not going after porn customers. Most Americans had families, clearly they were not porn customers.

  Now she understood, at last, why some of her supporters had hung back from the logical extension of her campaign to eliminate the poison of porn from American society -- arresting the users as well as the purveyors of porn. She understood the fury and fear that had aroused in the American public. When so many feared jail, when so many could see people just like themselves arrested for doing pretty much the same things they did -- it was a wonder she had gotten so much as a hundred thousand votes in the last election. It was no wonder at all that her most fervid opponents had been swept into office, or that they had moved with such swiftness and severity to totally destroy everything she and her sisters had worked for.

  And now they were destroying her, the center of the moral cleansing movement and the target of their most intense hatred.

  "We have to get you out of here," said Naomi. "The people who did this to you may not be the only ones who know you are here. Word gets around, and there are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on you."

  Eileen nodded.

  "There's a hospital we want to take you to, where doctors may be able to help you with the homouth," said Naomi. "Moving there would at least get you out of this danger. We'll still have a traitor or traitors, but it's much harder to hit a moving target."

  Eileen nodded.

  "The helicopter arrives in ten minutes," said Naomi.

  At the hospital, she was carried in on a gurney, her face swathed in bandages that only left a narrow slit open for her eyes. Concealing her identity was paramount. She was listed under false papers, with a false illness, under the exclusive care of a set of doctors, nurses and bioprogrammers who were sympathetic to her cause.

  She gave many tissue samples, and urine samples, and blood samples -- if her body produced it, they wanted it. She spent time in various devices designed to allow the doctors to see inside her body -- she really wasn't sure what most of them did, even after they explained it to her, nor did she care. They were trying to foil the intent of the people who had put the homouth on her, that was what mattered. She was also injected with various potions though none of them appeared to have much effect on her.

  The account she had written of her treatment at the hand of her captors was made available to the doctors, so they could know the sort of things to look for. Her supporters were always with her in the room, the idea being that her enemies might be able to attack her at will, but they could not attack her supporters at will. Anything they did to one of her friends would be "actionable" as the lawyers called it. People could go to jail for just threatening one of her friends with the sort of things they had actually done to her without consequence.

  That told her more than anything else ever could about her status.

  The thing that bothered her most was something she just did not feel she could discuss with others, and that was the increasing carnality of her thoughts. In the extreme boredom of her confinement, she found herself slipping into erotic reveries, reveries in which she was once again bound and naked and subject to the irresistible attentions of a man. She would eventually "wake up" to what she was thinking and force such thoughts from her mind, but it was not easy. She would close her eyes and see a cock in front of her, stiff and erect and ready for her homouth, or sometimes, more disturbingly, her regular mouth..

  Sometimes, she would unconsciously sit with her hands behind her back, as if bound. Then the thoughts would come strongly and she would move her hands and think hard of other things, things that had nothing to do with spreading her legs for a man.

  When male doctors and nurses entered her room, she often found her eyes straying toward their crotches. She could not help it. The urges came bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her. She fought them off as best she could, but her sexual feelings weren't like they had been in the old days, when she'd been able to completely ignore them.

  These feelings were strong, powerful emotions that swept through her and carried her presence of mind away with them, leaving her almost breathless with desire. Worse yet, the feelings didn't confine themselves to her waking hours. Every morning when she pulled away her sheets, an overwhelming stink of sex would waft out from beneath them. Her pubic hair started out the day matted and sticky with what issued from her vagina at night. There was a telltale damp spot on the bed where her crotch was.

  But that wasn't even the worst of it. Her homouth behaved exactly as that other set of labia did at night. She would awaken with a sticky chin, cheek and neck, and generally there would be some fresh sex secretions adhering to her homouth's lips, leaving them shiny and smelling of sex.

  She was disgusted by her own face, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Then, about a week into her stay at the hospital, she awoke one morning feeling ni
ce and satisfied -- until she realized the reason she was feeling so satisfied was that one hand was at her nether regions, her middle finger probing its depths, and the other hand was in her homouth, three fingers probing its depths, the wrapping over her homouth pulled down.. Immense waves of physical pleasure radiated from her face and her nether regions.

  As soon as she was awake enough to realize that she had been masturbating in her sleep, Eileen had pulled her sticky fingers out of her body and washed them, crying as she did so. The bastards still tortured her, and they weren't even in the room with her.

  She knew that the nurses came in to check on her periodically. They had to have seen her doing shameful things in her sleep. Even if they hadn't seen anything, the smell was unmistakable. And there was the widening of her hips and the growth of her breasts.

  What was really annoying about the growth of her breasts was the nipples. They were huge, about as big around as magic marker pens, and sticking out three-quarters of an inch from her body at all times. And they were incredibly sensitive, sending hot waves of feeling throughout her body at the least provocation. She had not thought much of this when they had mentioned it, and in truth the homouth was a MUCH bigger problem, but still, their constant protruding and their constant throbbing with sexual need was hard to ignore in the quiet hospital room when no one was visiting her bedside.

  About two weeks after they'd put her in the hospital, shifting her from room to room and bed to bed under different names to confuse any possible trackers, she wound up in a conference room with her friends and supporters, her doctors, and some people she didn't know but who were introduced to her as bioprogrammers who'd been working on the code of the nano that had been used on her.

  "I'm afraid we don't have good news for you, Eileen, though we have discovered some things you didn't know, which may help you," said Doctor Giuterrez, who was her chief doctor. Eileen had a personal physician but of course bringing her in would have been like a red flag to her enemies. "We've looked at the nanotech that was used on you, and there's just nothing we can do to get rid of the homouth. We've tried everything we can think, of, and we really can't do anything to either get rid of the nanos inside you, or counter their effects on your body. I'm very sorry, but our bioprogrammers report that the people who put that nano in you were well aware that others might try to get rid of it, and they were apparently top-level biotech programmers. Do you understand about biotech programming, Eileen?"