by Pat Powers
But she could scream now, and she did. Maybe it was helpless, a futile gesture, but just on the off chance that it was not, she screamed. Maybe some passer-by on the road out there would hear her, and hear the fear in her voice, and write down the tag number of whatever vehicle she was in.
The response was swift, so swift that they had clearly been expecting her to try something like that. She felt a hard plastic ball being thrust into her mouth. She tried to shake her head from side to side, and continued to scream as best she could. But there was a hand holding her head still and the pressure was strong and in a moment the ball was all the way in her mouth.
She expected to feel the ball strapped or tied behind her neck, but she didn't. Instead, she felt a hood being pulled over her head, a much tighter hood, so tight it pulled her hair as it was pulled over her.
She knew what it was. A bondage hood. She'd worn them before. In a moment the hood had been worked carefully over her head. There was an opening for her mouth. Some of the straps that held the gag ball in place got tangled in the hood. She had to lie still while they pulled them out, scraping against the skin of her face, but not, so far as she could tell, breaking it.
A finger or a hand kept her from pushing the gag out with her tongue as this went on. She felt the collar at the base of the hood being buckled into place, heard the soft "snap" of a lock being fastened on the ring at the back of her head where all the straps came together. Now there was no way to remove the hood, even if her hands were free. Which they weren't.
Finally, she felt the gag ball being strapped into place. Whoever it was knew what they were doing. But she was surprised to feel indentations on the ball where it pressed into her tongue and lips. It was a wiffle ball gag -- one of those hollow plastic balls pierced with holes. It wouldn't be as effective at silencing her as a solid rubber or plastic ball would have been. But she was grateful for it, nonetheless. Because it was a lot safer. If her nose clogged up she could breathe through it.
Wouldn't help with the slobbering, though. She was going to do a lot of that. Also, crying.
"Let's feed her before we put her away," said the second voice. "Won't have to mess with her for a while, then."
"I thought it was your inclination to mess with women under such circumstances," said the first voice teasingly.
"Not these circumstances," said the second voice sharply. "It's nonconsensual."
"I still don't quite get that," said the first voice silkily. "How it's different for you? I understand that you're not part of the patriarchy, but you sure appear to be imitating it."
"As a womyn," said the voice, "I do not carry the apparatus of the patriarchy. I can engage in the same acts that members of the patriarchy engage in because there's no history of oppression behind them. For example, if I open the door for another womyn, it doesn't mean I'm reinforcing her subservient status in relation to me, because womyn have never oppressed womyn in that way. It just means I'm showing my respect for her as another womyn."
"So, when you truss another womyn up like a Thanksgiving turkey and fuck her brains out, it's just you she has on top of her fucking her while she can't so much as twitch, not you and the whole patriarchy."
"Exactly," said the second voice. "Your analogy is clear though your analysis of the dialectic is weak, as usual."
Inside the bondage hood, April rolled her eyes. She'd been kidnapped by fucking feminist blabbermouths. Ordinarily talk of being taken while trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey would be making her horny, especially while she was half naked and trussed up. But this was too scary and these women didn't sound at all appealing.
"We're going to feed and water you now, slave," said the second voice. "We're going to take your gag out to feed you. If you scream, we push the gag right back in, and that will be it for food and water for quite a while. So keep quiet and eat and drink while you have a chance."
April remained silent when the gag was removed. She was not all that hungry, but she didn't want to be all that hungry while tied and helpless, and this could be her only chance for a long time.
She could feel the ball, cool and wet with slobber, resting on the skin of her clavicle below the hood she wore. Then they rolled her over so she was face down. One of them raised her head in the air and the other shoved a bowl under her face.
Food pressed against her lips as her face dangled in the bowl.
"Eat, slave," said the second voice. "You have ten minutes."
April extended her tongue and tasted the food. Tepid, greasy, garish flavors. The food of slaves. Meat Entree Helper, or as Gorean slavegirls liked to call it, Pantie Helper.
April lay with her head in the bowl and ate the food quickly and easily without the use of her hands. She was a Gorean slavegirl, it was a skill she had developed years ago.
Next came a bowl of water, which she was able to suck down easily. The water got the exterior of the hood wet and also soaked the interior of the hood a bit. It was also smeared with food, but she couldn't see it.
"That'll be enough," said the second voice.
"Thank you, Mistress," April said softly, from long habit.
"Don't talk," said the voice.
That reminded April.
"HELP!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Help me! He...mmph!"
And once again the ball gag was shoved into her mouth and buckled into place. She could still "Mmmmph!" quite loudly, and she did. But her Mmmphs, though clearly audible inside the vehicle, were hardly enough to carry outside the vehicle, especially if the vehicle were parked and its engine wasn't running. Which wasn't the case.
"I hate this," said the second voice as the gag was buckled behind her neck.
"You, of all people..." the first voice began.
"Yes, ME of all people," said the second voice. "I'm the one who knows about the difference between consensual versus nonconsensual in ways you can only imagine, because I've lived with it for years. I only agreed to help out to protect her from the rest of you, you know.
"Oh?" said the first voice. "What do you imagine we would do that's any worse than what your ... tastes ... would lead you to do?"
"Tie her up in ways that cut off her breath so she strangles, just for starters," said the second voice calmly. "Or tie her up in ways that injure her. I know you wouldn't do it deliberately, but it's very easy to do, if you don't know what you're doing."
April was finding this whole conversation both heartening and frightening at the same time. Heartening because it implied that they really did mean her no harm. Frightening because it implied that she'd fallen in among the sort of idealistic, political types who sometimes did terrible things for reasons that didn't make any sense at all to normal people. They spouted slogans and catchphrases while they killed people. And kidnapped them.
The argument was also frightening because it had all the earmarks of an old disagreement that had been aired many times before, and was now being trotted out in front of her because it didn't matter what she heard. She wished it mattered more what she heard.
As they spoke, April heard a sliding sound, as of a large drawer rolling on casters.
"OK, let's put her away," said the first voice.
April felt hands grasp her shoulders and her legs. Then, with much grunting and gasping, she was clumsily lifted from the pad and half dropped, half lowered to the floor. Except it wasn't the floor. It was some kind of shallow, padded box. There was a thick pad, almost a mattress, on the bottom, which was what she rested on.
"I'll give Gorean men this much," said the first voice, panting with effort. "They aren't into waifs."
That hurt April's feelings, but only a little. She had seen the gleam in the eyes of men when she danced.
Once April was in the box, they sat her up and released her hands from behind her back. This was freedom of a sort and she struggled to escape, but to no avail. One held onto one hand while the other chained her other hand to a catch on the side of the box at about waist level. Then the remainin
g hand was chained. Then her feet, still chained together, were chained to the bottom of the box, which extended well beyond them. Finally, straps were wrapped around her legs just above her ankles and knees, and at her waist, and at her shoulders. They also tied down her head by attaching a rope to the ring at the top of her hood, so she couldn't raise it and bang it against the box.
Finally, they slid boxing gloves, or at least something that felt very much like boxing gloves, over her hands and laced them tight to her wrists.
When they were finished, she couldn't bang any part of her body against any part of the box to make noise except for her fists. And the boxing gloves over her fists made making noise that way impossible. She was well and truly bound.
April would ordinarily have liked that very much. But the evil intents of her captors took the fun out of it.
"OK, let's check it out," said the second voice.
She felt herself moving sideways. Not just her, but the whole box she was in. In a moment, the box stopped, and she felt as much as heard a soft click and the air got very still.
A moment later, she heard a CD player begin playing some lively jazz tunes from somewhere outside the box she was strapped into. That was nice, something to listen to her while she was imprisoned.
Obviously, she was in some kind of giant drawer. They had sealed her in so well that someone could come inside the vehicle and never know she was there. She could still mmph through the wiffle ball, though. It might just barely be hearable from outside the box, to someone who was in the room.
Then she remembered the radio. No way the noises she could make could be heard through the box and over the radio. That was why it was on.
She pulled cautiously at the restraints around her wrists and ankles, but they were well made bondage cuffs and she wasn't wriggling free of them.
She sighed, inside her hood, and relaxed. There was no prospect of escape until she was released, so she eventually slipped into the hazy, half-conscious state she often occupied when spending a lot of time in bondage.
Chapter 6
Perverted Little She-Beast
As she half drowsed, she remembered her early days with Kitten and Jeff, when she'd been spending that first two weeks with them ...
She remembered kneeling on the floor, panting with exertion from the dance she had just danced, naked, on her widespread knees, her hands extending toward Jeff, her forehead touching the floor.
April heard Jeff whisper something to Kitten, who had watched her dance while kneeling beside his throne. Kitten crawled over to April.
"Master was greatly pleased by your dance," Kitten whispered in April's ear. "His needs are much upon him. He commands you to serve him, under my instruction. Now, crawl to him and kiss his feet."
April found herself smiling into the carpet because the undisguised glee in Kittens' voice was infectious. April crawled slowly to Jeff's feet, keeping her face close to the carpet, her ass hiked up in the air, rolling her hips as she crawled.
"Very good, slave," Kitten whispered. "Now, bara."
Obediently, April held her hands behind her back and allowed Kitten to cuff them together.
"Now serve him as the she-beast you are, with only the use of your lips and tongue and your pussy," Kitten whispered.
This struck April as a very good plan, and she writhed the short distance to Jeff's feet and began kissing and licking them slowly and lasciviously.
"Do not spend all your time on your master's feet, you perverted little she-beast!" Kitten whispered. "Other parts need attention."
April had to grin again at Kitten's language -- perverted little she-beast, indeed! But she obeyed -- that was part of the fun -- and began kissing and licking her way up Jeff's leg, past his knees to his upper thighs. Soon she was kissing and licking his inner thigh as she made her way toward Jeff's half-engorged cock which bobbed above his loins.
"Stop," Kitten whispered, now kneeling at her side. "Look up at your master and beg him to serve his cock with your lips, using your eyes alone."
April looked up at Jeff. He was grinning down at her, soaking up the beauty of her face. He looked relaxed and in command, as a master should in this sort of situation. April wasn't sure how to beg with her eyes, so she opened them wide and gave him a "pretty please look" while licking her lips subtly. It's hard to be subtle when you're kneeling naked before a man with your hands cuffed behind your back while his cock bobs a few inches from your face, April thought. But she did her best.
"You may serve me," Jeff said, smiling with a certain gleam in his eye.
"A girl is grateful for the chance to serve her master," April said softly.
She moved to take Jeff's cock in her mouth.
"Stop, slave!" Kitty said, grabbing a handful of hair on top of April's head. "What do you think you are, a robin going after a worm?" (April couldn't help grinning at this, it was all she could do to keep from giggling. But she could tell from the tone of Kitten's voice that she was grinning, too.) "Express your gratitude to your master for allowing you to serve him. Kiss his cock lovingly and look up at him and let him know how pleased you are to feel his cock on your lips."
She was concentrating on the feel of Jeff's cock in her mouth, as ordered, when she felt Kitten's fingers sliding smoothly inside her. She still attempted to focus on Jeff's cock but it was hard to do with Kitten's thumb wiggling inside her ass and two of Kitten's fingers sliding inside April's pussy, as if her butt were some kind of fleshy bowling ball. Or more fittingly, a pair of bowling balls.
April let out a moan as Kitten began to work April's oh-so-exposed pussy with her fingers. The strange thing that April had discovered about becoming a Gorean was sex wasn't like a drug, it was like dance. Doing it a lot didn't desensitize you, it left you more sensitized, and better at it. Thus, when Kitten's fingers slid into April's body, they did so easily and readily, for April was well lubricated already, and both her pussy and anus had been "opened for the uses of men" as Goreans said, and then well and truly used a lot.
Which had left April very sensitive to such uses. So she moaned, as her feelings overwhelmed her, and gagged by Jeff's cock her moan was not a loud one, but it was heartfelt.
"Focus, slave!" Kitten whispered fiercely as she worked April's clit and labia expertly and fiercely. "Your master's cock rules you. He controls all. His needs are everything to you! Serve him. Serve him well."
With Jeff's hands wrapped in her hair, his cock filling her mouth, Kitten's fingers filling her nether orifices, and her wrists bound behind her back, April did feel very controlled. She loved feeling that way. Her awareness of how controlled and at the same time how exposed she was sent an inexpressible emotion lancing through her. Some combination of love, lust and joy and just a tinge of bittersweet.
Tears of joy began coursing down her face as she sucked Jeff's cock and gave her ass entirely over to Kitten's expert fingers, which built the warmth in her belly into a raging fire.
Jeff's hands pulled her head up and away from his cock. She was so focused on it that her lips reached out for it even after they had been pulled away, involuntarily seeking that goodness they had known.
"You are crying," Jeff observed. "Are you OK?”
Yes, master," April said, the tears rolling down her face. "My tears are of joy."
"OK," said Jeff calmly, "then you are ready to serve me more."
"Yes, master," April said. "Please, master." And she prepared to suck on his cock again.
"To the bed with you, then," said Jeff.
"Come, slave," said Kitten, pulling her hand out of April's ass and seizing her hair with it. "Crawl as your master directs you, with your head to the floor."
Kitten pulled April backward by the hair, and April toppled onto her side, as her hands were still bound behind her back. April rolled over onto her knees, her head falling to the floor, and began crawling toward bed table at the side of the playroom, a bed graced with a head board and footboard grace with many thick wooden curlicues t
hat made very handy hooks for securing rope or chains. It was a canopied bed with thick wooden posts on all four sides, with many very useful notches and stays, as were the wooden frames along the side of the bed. The boards atop the posts were not thin round rods designed only for supporting gauzy curtains, no, they were thick and sturdy squared off boards that could easily support the weight of two girls suspended from them.
This was not a bed made just for sleeping in, as April well knew, to her very great pleasure.
As she crawled, she felt a foot giving her a firm tap on the inside of her calf. She immediately spread her knees apart wider as she crawled. She was slave. She must always reveal herself to her master.
At the base of the table she halted.
"Crawl up on the bed, and sit on it with your legs dangling over the edge," said Kitten.
April did as she was ordered, sitting on the bed with her legs spread wide, her breasts jutting prominently because of her bound wrists.
"Open your mouth, slave," said Kitten.
April opened her mouth wide and Kitten picked up a double cock gag. It was a strange-looking device, a leather strap pierced by a black leather bar that was shaped like a cock on both ends. One cock was about a third the length of the other, though not narrower. Kitten took the shorter cock and casually shoved it into April's mouth. Because it was so short, it did not reach the back of April's throat and gag her. Because it was so thick, it gave her mouth plenty of purchase on it.
Kitten buckled the leather strap behind April's neck. Kitten pulled the buckle tight -- she expected there to be a certain amount of strain put on the gag. There was a smaller strap dangling from the front of the gag. Kitten buckled this under April's chin, sealing her mouth closed on the plastic cock now lodged in her mouth.
