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

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

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  President Slavegirl: The Homouth

  Book One of the President Slavegirl series. See also Billionaire's Toy, Corporate Training, The Slut Whisperer and President Slave Girl (all four books collected into one volume).. Visit Pat Powers' International Bookstore and see a list of all of the stories and books he's written and where to find them.

  Copyright 2016 By Pat Powers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Author, except where permitted by law.

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  No one may permanently enslave you, but you can be temporarily detained.

  Eileen MacCammon maintained the calm, relaxed demeanor she believed was proper on an occasion like this, but her mind was a welter of anger, fear and a desperate but hopeless desire to cling to her old life. And even though she knew her cause was lost, there was a glimmer of hope that one of her lawyer's legal tricks would work, and the judge would be lenient. She was rich, after all, and everyone knows rich people do not thrive in prison.

  True, the arguments were all over. She had been found guilty. And she had done virtually everything she had been accused of. It was just a matter of interpretation. She was proud of all she had done, and felt that it was exactly what the American people wanted her to do. The people who were in power now thought she was a criminal, her actions evil.

  The judge -- a male wastrel no doubt, totally unfit to sit in judgment of a decent woman -- was at the sentence portion of the trial.

  "Will the defendant please stand?" the bailiff said.

  She rose to her feet. She would accept the judge's decision with dignity, the better to demonstrate its cruelty and wrongness in the months and years ahead. They had beaten her on this round, but she would see that it cost them so much that a defeat would have been preferable.

  "Eileen MacCammon, the jury of this the federal court of Washington, D.C. has found you guilty on all counts," said the judge, peering down at her from his position of authority -- how these men loved their games! This was really the easy part of this trial, as the facts were never in dispute, only how they were to be interpreted.

  "It has been very clear that you do not consider yourself to have committed any crimes, that you never considered any of your actions censurable in any way. But it has also been very clear that you treated those with whom you disagreed in ways that were extralegal in nature. That you subverted the rule of law in your zeal to stamp out ideas and attitudes you disagreed with. That you ultimately violated the very laws you swore to uphold, willfully and intentionally, so great was your pride and arrogance.

  "I have thought long and hard about the proper sentence for your crimes," said the judge, giving her the full benefit of his arrogant male gaze. "Your crimes arise from your total disregard of the rights of others, which you believed were superseded by your moral imperatives. You destroyed the lives of men and women, their husbands, lovers and children, in your fanatical desire to weed out those who did not attain your standards of moral purity, standards which turned out to be so high that almost everyone eventually became fodder for your witch hunts."

  Fodder for witch hunts, ha! She had only imprisoned a measly few tens of millions of people, most of them men, the rest women who had strayed from God and become tools of the Satan and his evil Patriarchy, as her sisters in the Church of Jesus Christ the Purifier had maintained. She knew what the judge meant. But she had only been following the best course for everyone. So many of her supposed supporters had turned out to be weak. They told her that she could safely prosecute internet site owners, producers and actors, as well as publishers and bookstore owners, as much as she wanted. But that arresting their customers was playing into the hands of her opponents.

  She had ignored her advisers. If you should prosecute publishers and distributors for producing porn, you should prosecute users for buying it, just as it was right to prosecute the johns who buy the services of prostitutes, along with the prostitutes. If the Swedish model worked for prostitution, it should work for porn. She believed her advisers' claims that for porn to be the billion-dollar industry that it was, its customers had to be just about everyone -- or at least, just about every man. But so what, the problem was still the porn. She figured that porn buyers bought porn tapes and used them to feed their fantasies of lust, rape and power, eventually becoming the rapists and batterers whose activities had swept her to power.

  Sure, some said it was a carefully orchestrated publicity campaign consisting of lies that made a tiny minority of rapists and batterers seem to be an overwhelming tide of crime. But she knew differently. She knew that all men were rapists and batterers at heart. A few had learned to hide it, and a tiny minority had been able to subjugate the beasts in themselves and become useful, but the male lust still lurked even within them. Even the best of them would sometimes look at you with a male gaze -- the male gaze of Satan himself!

  She still thought she was right about porn. But she'd been wrong about the political consequences of arresting porn customers -- she could admit that standing there in the docket. The police video tapes of porn users being cuffed and dragged off to jail by armed cops while their children cried and their wives looked bewildered may have had the intended effect of frightening porn users. But apparently most everybody had some kind of porn tapes, as her advisers had said, because in the next election cycle she and her political allies were swept from power, almost to a woman, and replaced with political enemies, having lost the backing of the powerful corporations and wealthy individuals that had swept her to power.

  Even if she had still had it, not all the money of the wealthy oligarchs who had funded her Purity Party branch of the Democratic Party's elections could save her from people who were in essence voting to keep themselves out of jail. Plus of course, many of them were either on the brink of starvation or already there, being lazy and useless human beings. (They said the problem was automation, but she was sure they were just blaming machines for their failings.) Her advisers had warned her about the economy, too. And sure enough, starving, frightened, angry voters went for the despised Progressive Freedom Party branch candidates for some reason, despite all the lovely advertising her remaining wealthy PAC contributors had bought for her and her friends.

  Then the convictions of all the porn fiends had been overturned, and the trials of the more powerful and effective Purity Party people had begun, and now here she was.

  "Therefore, I have decided to sentence you to lose all your rights in this society, except for those few that are necessary to keep you alive, for a period of not less than five years and not more than ten years. You do not have a right to the pursuit of happiness, so far as we are concerned, though you retain your right to life and to liberty. But we interpret those rights very narrowly in your case. No one may kill you, but you can be endangered. No one may maim you, but they can alter you
cosmetically. You do not have any property rights, nor any right to Basic Income. No one may permanently enslave you, but you can be temporarily detained."

  "No one owes you pay for your labor, shelter from storms, or anything of that nature. The management of any store may decline to serve you, simply because you are you. Hotels may refuse you on the same grounds. You may labor for anyone, but wages are not due you. You will not be imprisoned, but you are entitled only that freedom which your friends may grant you. No one owes it to you. We as a society are done with you. Go now, and good riddance. But do not leave the U.S. You do not have freedom to travel."

  "Case adjourned."

  She could barely believe her ears. She was not going to jail! She would not be sharing a cell with some patriarchy-poisoned pornstar whom she'd jailed, under the hard eyes of men in charge of her. She was, despite the judge's words, for all practical purposes, free.

  Those supporters who remained embraced her, and they walked out of the court in triumph, though some in her crowd did not look at all happy, but she did not notice that in the glow of triumph, enjoying the way her persecutors glowered in frustrated fury at such a light sentence.

  Except for a few, who exchanged glances and watched her thoughtfully. But she did not see them.

  Chapter 2

  Snatched

  Three weeks later, she was snatched.

  It happened in the dead of night. She was in the safe house created by her friends in the Feminist Church of Decency. After the trial, her lawyers had quickly hustled her off to a hidden ranch house surrounded by armed believers. Then they'd told her in horrifying detail what the judge's verdict meant.

  She could be kidnapped by anyone. Not a crime, if she were the victim. She could be raped -- also not a crime if she were the victim. Although she couldn't be maimed, she could be whipped, if the whip did not leave permanent scars. In fact, any form of torture that did not maim or kill her could be used on her. Waterboarding, for example.

  She was legally any fiend's preferred victim, because she could recover civil or legal damages only for the very narrow range of things the judge had spelled out.

  "The judge put a big, stinking target on your back, Eileen," said her lawyer Naomi. "His sentence only seems light if you don't understand its implications. Sure, the law isn't going to do anything bad to you -- but it isn't going to respond if anyone ELSE does something bad to you. You have no legal rights. You're a slave in every respect, except that you have no owner. Whoever has possession of you physically can do just about anything to you. The judge said you couldn't LEGALLY be enslaved, but he did say you could be detained. Which means that you can be enslaved in every respect but formally. You are in grave danger, Eileen, and I'm afraid we're going to have to protect you around the clock until our appeal goes through."

  Naomi was certain the Supreme Court would overturn her sentence, if not the verdict itself.

  And so MacCammon's friends played a shell game, sent her around the country via different cars at different times, living in different houses, until she wound up in an adobe house on the outskirts of Taos, New Mexico. It was a very nice place in the evening and the morning when the cool night air still lingered. But the days were scorching.

  Her supporters in the Church were very careful to protect her, very solicitous of her comfort and safety. The younger ones regarded her as something of a martyr, crucified in the courts for trying to bring freedom from fear to womynkind.

  The older ones tended to take a more balanced view. Some, she knew, blamed her for the political debacle they had been through. She had Gone Too Far they felt. All had friends and some few had relatives who were in prison because of it. There were some heated feelings even among her supporters.

  One day she sat on the porch with Naomi.

  "What do you think would happen if I walked down the road into town?" she asked Naomi.

  "Nothing much, for awhile," said Naomi. "But even in farm clothes you'd be recognized eventually, because everyone knows what you look like. A burqa would work for you, but burqas are not popular any more, even in cities the sisters do not wear them. Even I can't go into town, for fear of giving our location away, and I'm not nearly as well known as you are. If you were to walk down that road, eventually a car, or more likely a van, would pull up alongside you. Men would jump out of it and grab you and drag you inside. Inside the car, you'd probably be beaten at least a little -- more probably, you'd be beaten a lot. They probably wouldn't use a gun or a knife on you because they might kill you, and that's one of the few things it's still illegal to do to you. If they wanted to hurt you, they would take you to an isolated spot, haul you out, maybe beat you, maybe rape you, probably both, or maybe just take all of your clothes off and drive away, leaving you naked and alone.

  "All of those things are legal to do to you now, Eileen," said Naomi. "You can be raped. You can be beaten. You can be robbed. All the perpetrator would have to do is show that you are who you are, a person stripped of her legal rights, and that would be it. Case dismissed. And there are a lot of people out there who hate your guts and would love the chance to do terrible things to you. I fear for you, I really do, because I know you're a good person and shouldn't have any of that happen to you. But the courts have made it so easy for all of that and worse to happen to you."

  "This is not the sort of thing that should happen to a woman like me," Eileen said, meaning not just a wealthy white woman, which was true enough, but also a political leader.

  That was when Eileen began to imagine the sinister black vans rolling back and forth down the road on the other side of the windbreak, looking for her. It gave her nightmares.

  It was a long way from being the most powerful woman on Earth, as she'd been called in several important websites and bios when she was President. She was now in essence a runaway slave hiding out in the fringes of the American Southwest.

  The intruders came in the wee hours of the night. Armed with military-grade neural scramblers, they took out the guards who patrolled the perimeter of the house, and the one outside her bedroom. Dressed in black ninja-style suits, they sneaked into her bedroom. The first she knew of them was when a black-gloved hand shoved a huge wad of cloth down her mouth. That was what woke her. A few wide strips of tape covered all of her face from her nose to her chin.

  She was ready to scream by this time, but it was too late. Only a few very muffled mmphs got through the gag.

  Her hands were tied together behind her back, her feet were tied together at the ankles and then a short length of rope connected her hands to her ankles. Then a hood was pulled over her head and that was the last she saw of her captors for several hours as she was first carried about on the shoulders of someone, then dumped in the back of a van with thick, heavy carpeting on the floor.

  MacCammon spent several hours riding in the van, mmphing plaintively as a cold knot of terror grew in her stomach. They could do anything to her. They proved that as someone methodically and carefully cut her clothes away from her and removed them, so that she was naked as well as bound, gagged and blindfolded.

  The worst part was the gag. It reeked of sex. There were cloth parts, probably nylon, and a narrow elastic band.

  Someone's panties, she realized. Not her own. They wouldn't have reeked of sex. These things tasted like someone had spent hours masturbating while wearing them.

  The thought made her sick, almost nauseous, a dangerous condition under the circumstances.

  The worst thing was, even if a police officer stopped them, all they had to do was show that she had been declared rightless by a judge and the cop would have to let them go on with her naked and bound, clearly against her will.

  It was the legal thing to do, where she was concerned. Only her well-armed friends could save her now. Wherever they were.

  The vehicle she was in arrived somewhere. Everyone piled out and left her tied up and naked within it for several hours. One of her captors had put a small plastic bedpan in her bound hands.


  "If you have to pee, use this," said the woman's voice. "Don't make a mess. You'll be punished if you make a mess."

  There was a certain glee in her voice as she spoke. She wanted Eileen to be punished.

  Hooded, gagged and hogtied, she had used the bedpan. And she had not made a mess. So far as she knew.

  What she did not know was whether or not anyone watched her as she used the bedpan.

  She had not been seen naked by anyone for years. She was a very private woman. To be naked was bad enough. But to be forced to use the bedpan while naked, and not to know if she were watched or not, was horrible.

  Not that her captors cared. Poisoned by the patriarchy, to treat a woman so.

  What really hurt was that the voices she had heard when she was captured were all women's. How could women treat another woman like this?

  Some time after that she heard her captors climb back in the van. The bedpan was removed and empty one placed in her hands.

  She was dreadfully thirsty, the panties having sucked all the moisture out of her mouth, but no one offered her any food or water. No one had to, short of starving her to death.

  Not that the thirst was her major concern, or the overwhelming sex smell from the panties. It was the pain in her muscles from being hogtied. She had never been tied in her life, not even as a child. People had to be careful of her, she was physically delicate, and now her delicacy was being destroyed by the ropes that wound around and around her wrists and ankles in so many bends.

  She worked hard at getting them off, but it was no use. Whoever had tied her had known what she was doing.

  They drove on like that for hours, changing vehicles several times. The pain lessened in intensity at times but it also came back. It never really went away. She heard the people moving around, but they never said much, and said nothing to her.