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