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

  She had to go to the bathroom again after awhile, but it wasn't so intense, probably because she'd had nothing to drink and nothing to chew on but some other woman's sex-soaked panties.

  At last they stopped somewhere and put her somewhere beside another vehicle. It was an animal stall of some kind, reeking of whatever kind of large beast had been there.

  An even-toned female voice said, "I'm going to take the tape off now and remove the panties. There will be bowls of food and water on the floor that you can eat and drink from. You'll have 20 minutes to eat it, after that it gets taken away. Don't bother asking for more. Don't make any sound at all -- because the instant you do, just one word, or a scream or anything -- the panties go back in your mouth, and stay there."

  The voice did not ask if she understood, instead, hands removed her hood, then roughly pulled the tape from her face and pulled the panties from her mouth.

  She spent a few moments retching and blinking in the sudden light, then things adjusted and saw that she was in a wooden stall, still hogtied. The floor was covered with straw and the walls were made of rough-hewn wood. Beside her were two bowls of the sort usually used to feed dogs.

  Her captor, a woman in a black ninja suit who was only identifiable as a woman because of the way certain parts of her body stretched the suit, stood in the entranceway to the stall, arms folded behind her back, feet wide apart, watching her through mirrored sunglasses, a smile on her painted lips. Her chin had a little sag to it, probably she was a porn actress released from jail during the Great Reversal.

  She did not want to eat -- what if they had poisoned or drugged the food? But she knew she had to keep her strength up. She would show them how a real woman stands up to mistreatment. And later, she would see them all jailed again. Because that was where THEY belonged.

  If was totally humiliating, having to writhe across the floor in order to get her head in position to drink. To lie on her stomach with her arms behind her back and her feet pulled upward toward her wrists, and lower her head to the dish, first to drink, then to eat. She knew what she looked like, some kind of domestic animal, feeding.

  But she had to keep her strength up, and the water was so good. The stew was surprisingly good, too. She licked every drop of water out of the bowl and did the same with the stew, then licked her lips.

  She was lying on the floor resting when her captor was approached by another woman. She was wearing nothing but a big T-shirt that came down just over her crotch. No bra. She had enormous breasts, a big mane of blond hair and beautiful tanned legs. Probably a whore. She handed Eileen's guard a wad of pink cloth. Eileen's guard took it then smelled it in a gingerly sort of way.

  "Whoa!" exclaimed the guard, pulling her head back. "Funky!"

  "Yeah, well, I spent an hour doing myself with these things on, and at one point I pushed them right inside me with a dildo," said the woman in a proud little voice. "That's when I had my idea. I called James in and got him started with my mouth, then told him he could fuck me if he could do it through the panties. And you know, he could."

  "I see," said Eileen's guard, grinning. "You did a great job, Jenna. Want to do the honors on the bitch?"

  "Love to," Jenna said. She walked over to the wall and grabbed a roll of tape. Wide tape. Suddenly, Eileen knew what was coming next.

  "No, please," she whispered.

  "No talking!" shouted the guard.

  "Don't worry, I'll fix that," said Jenna. She knelt beside Eileen and took her head in her hands and rolled Eileen over on her back by slowly twisting her neck, forcing her to wriggle onto her back.

  Jenna anchored her palm on Eileen's forehead and placed her other palm on Eileen's chin, with the panties still gripped in her fingers. Eileen kept her mouth firmly closed -- she simply would not volunteer for the indignity of having those totally unsanitary panties wadded into her mouth.

  She saw that the panties were thong style. Figured. Respectable women didn't wear thongs, but the sluts --those evil women who found men attractive and whom men found attractive -- loved them.

  Jenna had a simple response to her closed mouth. She pinched Eileen's nostrils shut with two long, pink fingers tipped with red, red fingernails, while keeping her palm firmly in place on Eileen's forehead and holding her chin in place wither other palm.

  Eileen tried to wriggle and tried to escape, but bound and held as she was, there wasn't much she could do, and eventually she had to open her mouth to breath, which was when Jenna moved quickly to place the panties in her mouth. Eileen kept trying to open her mouth a little wider to suck in air, but every time she did so, Jenna stuffed in more panty, until Eileen was on the verge of blacking out and the panties were entirely in her mouth.

  Then and only then did Jenna release her grip on Eileen's nostrils, and she was able to inhale deeply and fully. She was too starved for air to mind the rich, cloying scene of male and female sex that she brought into her lungs with every inhalation. She responded with pure instinct, inhaling deeply to get precious air into her lungs.

  While Eileen recovered from her oxygen starvation, Jenna held the panties in place with her hand until she was able to slap a patch of tape over Eileen's mouth. Then she took the tape and wrapped it entirely around Eileen's neck several times, being careful to cover her mouth with the tape each time, but not her nostrils.

  When Jenna was through she smoothed the end of the tape down very carefully, so that it didn't present any surface that could be worked on and rubbed off eventually by a bound woman desperate to get a pair of sex-soaked panties out of her mouth.

  Jenna sat there for a moment and admired her handiwork while Eileen recovered from her loss of breath. Recovering was almost as bad as losing one's breath, because she became fully conscious for the first time of how truly sex-soaked the panties in her mouth were. They had a rich, overwhelming, cloying smell of sex. Worse yet, there were spots on them that were cool and kinda slimy to Eileen's tongue and palate. God knows what kind of disgusting male and female secretions were jammed into her mouth on those panties. Eileen worked the panties with her tongue and jaws, but they were truly lodged in her mouth, and the tape around her face wouldn't budge.

  She was stuck with these disgusting panties and their foul secretions until her captors chose to remove them. It was just the sort of disgusting thing she would expect the kind of people who'd captured her to do. It was why they all belonged in jail. Decent people didn't do such things.

  "I think she's OK now," said Jenna. "She really fought those panties -- it was so much fun putting them in. Can I play with her for a while?"

  "Sure, just stay in the limits we were told about," said Eileen's guard. "If you go too far, playtime's over."

  "No problem," said Jenna. "I have an idea that will be loads of fun but will cause her no injury at all."

  "That'll be fine, then," said Eileen's captor, and Eileen realized with a chill that they were talking about the legal limits on what could be done with her, and her guard had just said Jenna could do anything to her short of killing or wounding her.

  What was she in for?

  "Did they tell you about the panties, Eileen?" Jenna asked casually as she looked down at Eileen.

  Eileen made no response. She had nothing to say to this sadistic whore.

  Jenna reached down and gave Eileen's labia a sudden, painful pinch, causing Eileen's entire body to stiffen and then writhe in pain while a surprised shriek was turned into a muffled little whimper by her gag.

  "Do I have your full attention now?" said Jenna. "Nod if I do, if not I can give you another tweak."

  Eileen nodded "yes" quickly. She did not want to feel another tweak.

  "Good," said Jenna, sniffing delicately at her fingers. "You know, your pussy is just splurting with juice, you must be enjoying this. I know I would, under other circumstances, of course. I love playing pirate and slavegirl."

  Eileen was horrified to hear her body described in such terms. It was almost as bad as being naked and bo
und and having her mouth stuffed with used panties, because it was a public statement of what was happening to her. Eileen would have preferred that it remain unstated, a sort of secret between her and those who had done this to her. But her captors didn't have any decency about such things --they'd DONE them to her in the first place, why should they cavil about talking about what they'd done in front of their victim?

  "Now, did they tell you about the panties, Eileen?" Jenna asked patiently.

  Eileen shook her head "no" immediately. There was no telling where she would be pinched if she did not respond.

  "I didn't think so," said Jenna. "Well, each time you eat a new pair of panties will be stuffed in your mouth, so their taste and odor will always be nice and fresh for you. Each pair will have been worn by one of us who either was jailed, or who had a loved one jailed, because of you and your stupid Feminist Church Party from Hell. The pair you're enjoying right now is mine. I spend a year in jail for acting in XXX movies, even though I was out of the business for years. I had two kids. Saying goodbye to them before I was hauled off to jail was the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life. And you were responsible for it, bitch. Well, I think it's time you got to know one of your victims up close and personal."

  With these words, Jenna stood up briefly, then knelt down so that she straddled Eileen's head, her rear end resting atop Eileen, just below her chin, her knees on either side of Eileen's head.

  Jenna looked down at Eileen and smiled the coldest, hardest smile Eileen had ever seen.

  "This one's for me," she said, and she reached forward and seized great handfuls of Eileen's blond hair in either hand. Then she slid forward so that her private parts rested on Eileen's face. Eileen tried to turn her head to one side so that her nose and face wouldn't be in such direct contact with Jenna's naughty places, which were very damp. But Jenna had thighs like steel -- Eileen couldn't believe how strong they were. And she used them and her grip on Eileen's hair to hold her head absolutely motionless while she slowly and relentlessly ground her private parts into Eileen's face, giving special attention to her nose.

  The disagreeable closeness of Jenna's slutty genitals, with their rank smell of arousal, was as nothing compared to the inability to breathe caused by the fact that Eileen's nose was spending most of its time lodged in either Jenna's pussy or anus, or was surrounded by the rounded masses of flesh that were her butt cheeks. Once again, Eileen found herself writhing helplessly, her body straining against the bonds that held her, her head straining against the muscles that held it.

  She could not breathe, and now it was not her will that was being tested, Jenna was just torturing her. Time and again she would bring Eileen right to the point of passing out from lack of oxygen, then allow her a quick, slucking intake of breath from a nose only half buried in one of Jenna's nether regions. Then Jenna would press down again, and begin the game anew, keeping Eileen just conscious enough to writhe and wriggle beneath her.

  Combined with the pain as Jenna pulled Eileen's hair as if she were some kind of doll that could not feel pain, it was excruciating. Eileen lost track of time as she lay there writhing in the ropes, her only consciousness being of the need for air, the feel of fleshy weight pressing relentless against her face.

  At last there came a time when Eileen was breathing regularly again, able to think about something beside the struggle to breathe.

  Then she heard the words "The is for Annette," and the struggle for air began again.

  Another long interregnum of struggle against unyielding ropes and relentless muscle. Then a return to consciousness of a sort.

  Then the words, "This is for Mark," and the struggle began again.

  "All right, Jenna, get off her," said a distant voice. "Get off her. You've made her wet herself."

  "So I have," Jenna said in vaguely self-satisfied tones.

  Jenna climbed off Eileen's face regretfully. She had thoroughly enjoyed torturing Eileen. She cold have spent the whole night playing with her helpless captive. Having someone completely at your mercy, to whom you had absolutely no reason to show mercy, and every reason to despise, was fun.

  But Jenna was glad she had not killed or seriously injured Eileen. Doing so would have put her on Eileen's level, a person who ruined people's lives. She didn't want to be like that.

  Eileen's captor pulled her to a corner of the stall and laid down fresh straw where she'd peed, to keep the smell down. Then she disappeared for a moment, and came back with a garden hose in her hand. She hosed down Eileen, also to keep the smell down. Eileen was the one who supposed to be smelling body fluids, not her guard.

  As Eileen slowly returned to a normal state of mind, she found a new thought in her head. The guard at the front of her stall wasn't there to keep her from escaping -- Eileen wasn't going anywhere, bound as she was. The guard was there to protect Eileen from other people. People like Jenna.

  Eileen began to cry softly into her gag again at this realization. Some of it was self pity, and some of it was fear, and some of it was that things were simply too awful to do anything but cry about.

  Around midnight the shift was over and a new guard came in to replace the old one.

  The old guard did not leave immediately, however. She had watched Jenna tormenting Eileen. It had looked like fun. And although she herself had not spent time in prison, her husband had -- that was why she was here.

  So she walked into the stall and casually pulled off her shoes and socks and pants and panties. Thong panties. then she rolled Eileen over onto her back, waking her from the light sleep she had been in.

  She did not tell Eileen why she was torturing her. She just enjoyed the sound of Eileen's sobs as she straddled her, then enjoyed watching her body writhe in abject helplessness as the torture began anew.

  The next morning, Eileen was roused by another blast from the garden hose. She felt miserable. She had slept badly. The hogtie had kept her from any kind of physical comfort, and the torture had given her nightmares.

  The strangest thing was that her throat felt strangely constricted and -- active. There were ticklings and pangs and all sorts of things going on in her mouth and throat.

  Still, she was able to eat from the bowl of mush and drink from the bowl of water that were placed on the floor near her head, but her mouth felt different, strange.

  She heard some clanking and two more guards came into the room.

  "Time to see the tribunal, Ms. MacCammon," one of them said.

  She untied the rope that connected Eileen's wrists and ankles, but left her wrists bound while she attached metal shackles to Eileen's ankles.

  Eileen thought she would find the freedom to move her arms and legs independently immediately gratifying, but when she stretched out her legs she immediately suffered horrible pains in her cramped muscles. She screamed into her gag -- it came out a pathetic mewling -- and writhed on the floor while her guard attached the shackles, unmindful of (in fact, enjoying) Eileen's suffering.

  "Work your legs slowly and carefully, prisoner," said the guard. "I want you on your feet in five minutes. If you can't walk we'll have to drag you, and that would be a pain for both of us -- but much more for you than for me."

  Eileen no longer had any doubt that these women would do with her exactly as they said, so she worked her legs carefully. It was mildly painful, but nothing like the hot agony she'd first experienced. And in about five minutes, when her guard seized her, she was able to struggle to her feet and stay there, and walk in the small steps that were all that her shackles permitted her, though she staggered a bit now and then and did a fair amount of moaning into her gag.

  "I can't BELIEVE how painful this is," she thought.

  At the same time, she dreaded whatever awaited her, largely because she had no idea what it was.

  Her guard led her down a few hallways, then up some stairs to a large room filled with people, mostly women. They were different from Eileen -- they had clothes on, though often the clothing barely serve
d to conceal their slutty bodies.

  The room was configured like a courtroom, with a single set of tables facing the bulk of the room, which had pews, and a single chair set in front of the pews. She was led to the chair and ordered to sit. Once she sat, she was tied to her chair at the wrists, ankles, waist and chest.

  These people really believed in security.

  Once she was securely tied, a group of women filed in from the back of the room, mostly early middle-aged women. Eileen recognized most of them -- they were mostly the major pornographers she'd arrested early on in her campaign, people who'd been given big show trials and matching prison sentences.

  They should still be in prison. But here they were. And here she was. A pang tore her heart as she realized how badly things had gone wrong for her.

  Once the women sat at the table, the woman who sat opposite her picked up a gavel and casually banged it a couple of times to silence the chattering of the sluts behind her.

  The woman who held the gavel was larger and fleshier than most of the women, with long, hippie-style blond hair and serene face. Right now it was trying to look stern, but you could tell by looking at her that she was the sort of person who would be happy if given half a chance.

  "We are a tribunal to pass the people's sentence on you, Eileen McCammon," said the woman. "We aren't a court -- your guilt has already been determined. But the sentence the judge meted out in your case was not really punishment, it was permission to punish. It remains for us, your victims and their loved ones, to actually punish you.

  "While it's gratifying to see you naked and in chains, this would only be a punishment if we kept you that way for a long time," said Bright, "which would violate the judge's order that you can't be enslaved. So we've come up with something better. And that's why we're here today, to explain to you the nature of your punishment, because it's a doozy."

  Eileen's heart sank a bit at those words. What would these degenerate women regard as a "doozy"? It boggled the mind.