by Pat Powers
The bench extended from the base of her throat to her hips, with deep, curved notches cut at either end so that her head and her nether regions were not supported by it.
The women braided her hair. She found this curious, until she noticed that they were braiding a rope into her hair. For some reason, this frightened her, and she made slucking sounds and moved around a bit, but tied down as she was, she couldn't move much. It made very little difference to the women braiding her hair.
She was also frightened when the women strapped a harness contraption to her head. It had a strap that went under her chin up the side of her face to the top of her head, and one that went over the top of her head, and one that ran from the back of her neck to hook up with the one that ran under her chin. But the thing that really frightened her were the set of things that projected out from either side of her head when it was fastened in place, like two horns. Handlebars, plastic grips like you find on a bicycle.
And affixed to the top of the strap over her head was a bright, pink fuzzy ball of cotton.
The woman who'd strapped the harness on her head grabbed the handlebars and used them to move Eileen's head around in various ways, then apparently satisfied, she casually patted Eileen's face and walked away.
A few minutes late, the first two men came in. They were naked. Their things were showing, dangling impudently in front of them. They were big things, much bigger than Tom's. They were big men and they walked like big men, with a swagger that sent their dangling dicks swinging. Eileen watched them advance toward her with a peculiar fascination that was composed of equal parts horror, fear and lust. She hated and feared men, especially men who were too masculine.
She had been attracted to Tom precisely because of his unmasculine qualities --his soft-spoken way of talking, his slight, thin frame, his general lack of body hair, his soft, gentle hands and most especially his big, dark eyes, his rich, full lips and his weak chin. How could she have known that for all his apparent girlishness Tom was in fact all man and thus repulsive to her, once she got to know him?
The men in the room now were the sort who had dark patches of hair, not just on their chests, but between their shoulder blades and in the small of their backs. Their bodies were covered with lumpy muscles, their faces craggy and hard.
They had a strong man-smell to them. It wasn't that they were unwashed or unclean, in fact, they looked fastidious in their nakedness. But they smelled like men, and Eileen found the smell both fascinating and repulsive.
God, she did not want them to touch her, but here she was tied naked to a bench that left her tenderest places open to their casual use. She actually found herself trembling as they approached. There was something about men that was so innately defiling, so harmful by their very nature. She had trained herself to shake hands with men and let them peck her on the cheek, but that was all she could really handle. Such men as these were the personification of evil and defilement of delicate feminine nature by sexuality that her fundamentalist parents had warned her about.
Now, it looked as if she was going to get thoroughly defiled, whether she was ready or not.
The first man approached her, the other walked to her rear. He smiled down at her. It was not a pretty smile. She wasn't able to face the cruel knowledge in his smile. So she looked at the floor, and saw his feet walk into her field of vision. She continued to tremble in helpless fear as she felt hands take the handles attached to her head and pull her head up.
Then there was no evading it. The man held her head up and rubbed his cock against her face, her face enclosed in straps. He didn't try to enter her mouth, because his cock wasn't hard yet. She felt it grow hard as he rubbed it across her face. Her every nerve screamed with revulsion and fear and horror at the sight, feel and smell of it, but there was also that undercurrent of sick lust, too. She was turned on by it at some deep level, just like the sluts she despised. God, had they made her one of them?
When his cock grew very hard, he pulled back for a moment, then guided his cock into the unresisting, in fact, slick with lubricant, lips of her homouth. Somehow when she had the homouth on, her ability to close her jaws was rendered almost nonexistent. They yielded to the slightest pressure, and she had next to no strength in squeezing her jaws together, so that even though she could feel her teeth behind the soft tissues of her homouth, she could do nothing to defend herself with them. She had found that out yesterday, with all those fingers probing her at will.
But this was not the only problem she was having. There was a man behind her, rubbing his cock against her wide-open ass. The weight bench forced her legs far apart -- it was almost as if she were doing a split. The man behind her rubbed cock against her exposed nether regions and ran his hands freely over her posterior, squeezing and fondling her ass. Soon, he grew hard, too.
The man in her face entered her first. He simply held her head still with one hand and guided his cock into her mouth with the other.
Eileen had never had a cock in her mouth before in her entire life. Tom had wanted her to do that, she had bluntly refused. It was demeaning and degrading to suck on a man's cock. Cocks were vile things anyway, what sane person would ever want one in her mouth? It was bad enough having them in her own nasty Down There place.
And now she felt the man's cock sliding between the soft, yielding things her mouth had become, into the slimy pink tissues that filled her mouth, and she was naked and tied down like an animal and there was nothing she could do as it slid on past her lips to the back of her throat.
In fact, she felt the cock sliding all the way to the back of her throat, felt his pubic shelf collide with her nose, felt his balls on her chin.
Eileen made strangling noises and tried to turn her head from side to side, but there was nothing she could do. The man had a firm grip on the handles that had been strapped to her head. She could not move her face away, could not escape the bulging thing that now filled her mouth. And as predicted, there was no gag reflex, just the sensation of his cock deep in her throat.
Worst of all were the sensations that were coming back from her mouth. The tissues there were just like vaginal tissues in every respect. They transmitted waves of excitement and pleasure. Excitement and pleasure? At this? That was not the real her, that was some nanoset-derived parody of her. She didn't like this at all.
Meanwhile, she felt the other man's cock bulging hard against her thighs, her ass and her pussy. She let out a despairing moan as the man's cock suddenly began worming its way into her pussy. Her hands writhed in their bonds, seeking futilely to reach back and get that thing out of there. But her wrists had been secured to the strap running around her torso, and she could not reach down to get that thing out of there. She could only lie there and feel it probing her inner regions, sliding past her nether lips and feeling hard and hot between them. She was ashamed of how easily it slid into her -- she knew what that meant from reading about pron.
She could only lie there and take it as the other man began sliding his cock in and out of her homouth. All she could do was moan and wriggle, which was what she did, and it was what the men wanted her to do. But she couldn't help herself, tied there like that, it was impossible not to writhe with those cocks sliding in and out of her, making those intensely nasty sexual feelings rise while her intense revulsion continued.
Ultimately, the men were both all-out fucking her, as she'd never been fucked before. Tom had always been so gentle, so considerate, almost apologetic for his manly needs. She had always liked that about Tom. But these men not only were not apologetic, they used her like an animal, controlling her and thrusting themselves inside her vigorously. The one behind her slapped her ass every so often, the one in front literally slammed his cock in and out of her mouth, unmindful of how it might feel to have someone's cock thrust in and out of her face, their whole pelvis thrusting against her chin. The feel of the man behind her was hard, too -- his whole body thrust against her, pushing her groin into the bench. She moaned in part
at the pain of it, but mostly at the power of it, at the feel of having her legs tied apart like that while a huge meat engine thrust relentlessly at her tender pussy.
Eventually the men groaned and came. The one in the back was bad enough, spasming and thrusting, but the man in her face was horrible. He rammed his crotch into her face and moaned and she felt hot stuff coursing down her throat, and she knew it was his cum, and there was nothing she could do. He thrust back and forth a few more times and the reek of male cum was on his cock, which was right below her nose, and she smelled it, because she had to, and it was strong, too strong ...
When the man pulled his cock out of her finally, the contents of Eileen's stomach followed, spewing out of her homouth, a combination of water, gruel, cum and whatever strange love juices the homouth conjured up. She convulsed on the bench, retching, unable to control herself, while the man behind her finished. It had not been a gag reflex that had made her vomit. It had been sheer revulsion at being used so by a man.
She wanted to die. Why wouldn't they just KILL her and get it over with? What had she done to deserve this endless cruelty? She could not think of anything she could possibly have done. She had striven for a NOBLE cause, dammit!
The man stepped back and let go of the handlebars to avoid being splashed on by her vomit.
He was laughing.
"What the hell?" asked the man behind her.
"Bitch barfed," was the laughing response.
The other man laughed too while she lay strapped to the bend with her head hanging down and a thin trail of drool oozing out of her homouth .... which was changing back into her normal mouth.
Oh, that was right. When a man fucked her while she was bound, her mouth changed back.
"Better go tell them," said the guy. "Cleanup on Aisle 3!"
More laughter. They were laughing at her in her wretchedness, after having caused it. Men were every bit as bad as she had always thought they were.
The men left the room, and for awhile she laid on the bench, just glad that it was over, horrible as it had been. It was over, that was what counted.
Five women came in the room after a few minutes. They were all dressed in ninja suits and wore mirrored shades. Seemed to be the uniform here, when they bothered to wear clothes. They carried cleaning supplies.
"Damn, she did barf!" exclaimed one of them. "I know they told me that her gag reflex would be disabled by the nanoset."
"It was, said another. "I'll bet it wasn't the gag reflex that made her barf, it was disgust. I bet she's never sucked a cock before in her life."
"Probably not," agreed another.
They began untying her from the bench. Thank God, they were going to show mercy on her.
"You made the mess, you have to clean it up, honey," said one of the women. All of them had that slightly blowzy sound to their voices she had come to associate with the older women who had been arrested under the obscenity laws.
So they released her from the bench, but they attached long leashes to her wrists and ankles. One woman took the end of each leash in her hands and then they demonstrated their power over her by using the leashes to force her to lie prone on the ground and to gradually pull her arms and legs into a painful spreadeagle.
Then she had to clean up the mess, on her hands and knees, naked, while the women stood around and watched her and made jokes at her expense. Every so often one of them would give her leash a good yank and send her crashing to the floor. They'd all laugh as she rolled in the filth and struggled to get up.
After she had the floor cleaned up they walked her over to a corner and hosed her down. They used the leashes to make sure she stood with her legs and arms held wide apart, and that there was no part of her that didn't get the hose. They even stuck it up her ass for a quick and easy enema.
Finally, they took her back to the bench and tied her to it again. She started crying silently as they tied her. She did not know what was coming. But she knew that the head harness hand never been removed from her.
"OK, don't do that again or it'll go worse for you next time," said one of the woman as she made sure the collar was snug around Eileen's neck. "You've got a lot of men to take care of -- dozens and dozens, some of them several times. This kind of thing will hardly speed things along."
It had not occurred to Eileen that the limit on how long she would be on this bench wasn't about her -- whether or not they thought she had "learned her lesson" or not, but on how many men there were who wanted to use her in this way.
That could be a lot. In her heart of hearts, Eileen thought that all men wanted her like this. Even Tom had been faking.
Eileen was crying again.
"Anybody want to do her?" asked one of the women, "or shall I just use the clicker?"
The consensus seemed to be the clicker. Perhaps the sight of her cleaning up her own vomit had dampened their desires.
The woman pushed the clicker and in seconds Eileen felt the changes in her mouth. Her brief spell of normalcy was gone all too soon. The homouth was back.
A moment later two men entered the room. Big men. Naked men. Men with that same arrogant swing to their dicks that the other men had had.
The approached her, and she trembled anew.
Over the next several hours, the men took her in a number of ways. They tied her in many ways. Sometimes they slapped her and pinched her On several occasions a man whipped her while others fucked her. And they videotaped what they did to her. It was if they were proud of it. Sometimes the camera was right up in her face while a cock went in and out of it. Sometimes when she heard the camera it was whirring behind her. Once they tied her spreadeagled and pulled her pussy lips apart as far as they would go and filmed that.
Eileen cried a lot, and moaned a lot, and writhed a lot and wriggled a lot, and it all made no difference. They would treat her as they would.
Sometimes the men talked to her. Typically they spoke of loved ones imprisoned under the Obscenity Laws. She remembered some of the things they said vividly.
"Look up at me, bitch!" said a tall, rangy red-haired man. "I want to see you with my cock in your mouth. You put me and my wife both in jail. We just had a little website that showed the two of us making love. We weren't even charging people money to visit. We shut it down when the Obscenity Laws were passed, but you STILL arrested us and put us in jail. I'll never forget the look on my daughter's face when the cops busted into our house and hauled her mom and dad off to jail." (The man slapped her face hard at that point.)
"I got raped in jail," said the man. "So did my wife. Now I'm raping you. You see how it works? This is justice! Maybe the judge didn't sentence you specifically to be raped, but he knew it would probably happen. Just the same with me and my wife. He didn't sentence us to be raped, but he knew damn well it was likely to happen. Justice is about raping prisoners. I didn't know that until I went to jail. Now I know all about it. Now you're learning about it. Enjoy it, bitch." He slapped her again. It stung.
Later, she was crying, and the man who was fucking her face said, "Oh, have you found these last few hours hard, bitch? Well, you put my wife in jail for four fucking years you damned slut. You think the last few hours have been hard, you think about four fucking years in a cage away from your loved ones."
He slapped her, too. Sooner or later, they all slapped her.
She couldn't believe how much they all hated her. Sure, she was the one who had spearheaded the drive to pass the laws that put them and their loved ones in jail. But they had all been guilty. They had all been given trials and convicted by a jury of their peers. They should accept their punishment as just due for their transgressions.
Except that they obviously didn't feel they had done anything wrong. They seemed to think she was the one who had done wrong. Was this what Larranaga had meant by "culture war"? People of different cultures hurting each other as if they were people of different nations?
By the time the men finished with her, she was beyond exhaustion.
Her hands and feet hung slack in their bonds. Between uses, her head hung down so that her hair almost touched the floor. All she wanted was rest, and all she got was slapped, pinched, cursed, fucked and yelled at. Beyond a certain point the abuse became meaningless, piled too high, it collapsed of its own weight. It did not affect her because she was too tired to respond to it. What might once have elicited a squeal now elicited the tiniest of moans, if anything.
Finally, they untied her and dragged her to her stall. They dumped her there and hogtied her. Before they had finished tying her, she was asleep.
They kicked her awake the next morning, and she did not want to wake up, but she had to because they were kicking her, so she did. Once again she ate while naked and tied for an audience of grinning women who insulted her.
Still, she ate, because she was hungry and most of all thirsty. Still, she was depressed. The men who had used her yesterday had spoken of loved ones imprisoned for years. How long did they plan to keep her here?
She would never have imagined in a million years that things could get worse than they had the previous day, but ... they did.
Chapter 4
The Sisters of Mercy
The women freed her legs after she ate but left her arms tied behind her back. They took her to another room. This one was very different from the one she had suffered in yesterday. Its floors were coated with pillows, its walls hung with tapestries.
Then she saw that among the pillow where iron rings. And that there were iron rings set in the ceiling.
