Ch.1 It Starts With a Slutty Selfie
For the last decade and a half, Samantha Steele had been a star in the conservative media scene. A staunch advocate for traditional values and a fierce critic of the liberal establishment, her no-nonsense approach and fiery personality had won her a legion of loyal followers. She was a regular fixture on cable news shows, a popular guest on talk radio, and a sought-after speaker at conservative rallies and conferences.
Her popularity had led to a book deal, and her debut tome, "The War on Men: How Feminism is Destroying Our Society," was flying off the shelves. She had a book signing scheduled at a local bookstore, and she was eager to connect with her fans and promote her message.
But as she stood at the table, pen in hand, she was surprised to see only a handful of people trickling in. She had expected a packed house, but instead, she found herself staring at a mostly empty room. A feeling of disappointment and confusion washed over her as she watched the sparse crowd filter in and out, some stopping to chat, but many simply browsing and leaving without a second glance.
The disappointment was compounded when she logged onto her social media accounts and found that her once-thriving follower counts had plateaued, and her engagement was down. She couldn't help but feel that something had shifted in her audience's perception of her.
Scrolling through her Twitter feed, Samantha came across a post from a young, blonde-haired influencer named Lily. Lily's message was one of sweetness and demure femininity, with a focus on modesty and traditional values. But as Samantha clicked through Lily's feed, she couldn't help but notice that many of her posts had a decidedly sexual undertone. Lily would post pictures of herself in lacy lingerie or skimpy bikinis, often with a playful wink or suggestive caption. Her videos were similarly suggestive, with Lily giggling and flirting with the camera as she danced and twirled around her room.
And the thing that really galled Samantha was that Lily had managed to build a massive following on her OnlyFans account. She had over a million followers, and they were all clamoring to pay $5.99/month for the "good stuff" as Lily coyly put it in her promotional materials. What's more, she insisted on calling her boyfriend "my king" or "my lord," and constantly bragged about how a man of his caliber preferred a submissive woman.
"What a whore," thought Samantha, fuming, "traditional gender roles aren't just some show of sexual submission. This is some slutty, smutty bullshit." She tried to ignore the burning in her cheeks and the creep of secret jealousy as she poured herself another glass of wine. She snuggled into bed, adjusting her laptop on her lap.
"Let's take a look at what she has on her OnlyFans," said Samantha, clicking through the links with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. She had to admit that Lily's content was undeniably provocative, but it was also undeniably effective at driving traffic to her website.
"Who would want to pay money for this crap?" thought Samantha, scrolling past pictures of Lily in various states of undress.
She scrolled to a series of pictures of Lily doing the dishes. She wore a revealing pink sundress, and tight yellow latex gloves that looked more like fetish gear than cleaning supplies. She had strips of duct tape plastered over her mouth in a big X, and her eyes were smiling.
The caption read, "good Christian girls do their chores and shut up when their King tells them. Sorry I talk too much, my Lord!"
A sickening twist of jealousy and resentment knotted up in Samantha's gut as she read the comments:
"This is how marriage is supposed to be. Let's make it a law!"
"Damn, I love a good girl who can do what she's told. Maybe these feminists wouldn't be so angry if they knew what pleases men: shut up and be a homemaker!"
"I wish I had a girl like you. I'm getting tired of these modern girls always trying to run things. It's a breath of fresh air to see a woman who knows her place."
"Wish my ex was like this, bitch always talked about my role as a man to provide for her, but never cleaned and never stopped talking."
That last comment broke her, and she started to gently weep as she thought of her last argument with Mark. The one he stormed out of and didn't come back till he wanted her to sign the divorce papers. The one where she asked him what that 20 year old stripper had that she didn't.
"Fuck you, bitch!" she screamed as she slammed the laptop's lid, "and fuck him too..." she sniffled and wiped her tears from her eyes with her pajama's sleeves. "I'm only 36. I've still got it, don't I? Maybe I can post some cute stuff too. Classy stuff, not like that whore..." she thought, "but then listen to me. How's a modest 36 year old going to get the attention that Lily's getting?"
She went to the bathroom and almost cried again when she looked in the mirror. She was still beautiful, but she was starting to show her age, and she'd just been crying. It was rough.
"Maybe some makeup. Maybe I'll put on a cute dress and post a selfie, see if I can get some attention. Maybe even let a nipple slip out, by accident,'" she thought as she began to apply her makeup. Her tears stopped as a new determination grew. "Fuck it, why should men like her just because she shows some skin and does some slutty dance. It's the women who have class that they're really after, isn't it? But I'm so tired of being a classy woman and getting no attention for it."
She took a deep breath and put the final touches on her lipstick. "But maybe if I act like that around men... just to show the feminists the way they need to be... I'll be a hit, and a hero, too."
A sly smile began to spread over her face as she stood in her bra and panties, admiring herself in the mirror. The wine and the jealousy were making her head spin. The wine was giving her courage. She had a crazy idea, and the wine carried her into her garage, where she rummaged around in a bin until she found a roll of clear packing tape.
She walked into the kitchen with her tape. "No one will ever see," she thought, "this is just to see how it looks."
Samantha grabbed the roll and bit her lip. This was crazy, but the alcohol and the jealousy had her feeling wild, and desperate. She knew that men liked this type of thing, and maybe if she just did it for the picture, it could be her ticket back to relevance. Her hands trembled as she brought the roll of packing tape up to her mouth.
She gently placed the sticky edge of the tape on the left corner of her lips, and carefully smoothed the tape over her mouth. The sensation of the tape on her skin was strange, but not entirely unpleasant. She pressed it firmly down, ensuring that it covered her entire mouth, leaving no gaps.
Samantha stared at herself in the mirror. She couldn't help but notice how good the tape looked on her mouth, her pink lips displayed squished slightly against the plastic backing, her lipstick slightly smeared. Slightly whorish, she thought.
"Fuck me, I look so dumb," she thought as she looked at her frozen lips and blank expression, "I look like a whore. Oh god, am I a whore?"
A small whimper escaped her lips, a gentle "mmmmph" that she felt in her lips and cheeks as the tape contained the sound. She felt a tingling in her crotch and her heart racing. She had always been vanilla in the bedroom, unlike a certain slut who had stolen her husband, she imagined. She had never been gagged before, and she felt the sudden need to scream, the way you need to scream when your face is covered in something and you feel like you're drowning.
The feeling in her pussy grew as she whimpered. "I am so wet. Why am I wet? This is disgusting. This isn't for women like me. It's for sluts, but why does it make me so wet?" She shook her head as if to clear it. "This isn't right. I have a reputation as a serious woman to maintain."
Mark's words echoed in her brain, "you always take everything so seriously, and you always talk over me. I want a girl who's still fun, who's still a GIRL, not a bossy uptight bitch."
She shook her head and looked at the camera, trying to clear the tears welling up again.
She turned to the camera, trying to capture the perfect shot. She wanted to show off the tape, to make a statement about the importance of keeping one's mouth shut, of respecting traditional values and not always challenging men. But as she posed in front of the camera, she couldn't help but feel a bit silly. She looked like a cartoon, some overdone caricature of a "bimbo," a silent blonde with her mouth taped up, posing for the camera in her underwear.
Samantha couldn't deny that the tape on her mouth made her look incredibly sexy. Her pouty lips, which had been a focal point of her beauty in the past, were now accentuated by the clear tape, giving her an exotic, unattainably hypersexualized look. It was a strange sensation, feeling the pressure of the tape on her skin. It was uncomfortable and yet oddly liberating, as though she had made a decision to stop being bossy, so uptight, so...her. And she was following through with it.
"It's just a political statement, anyway," she thought to herself as she zoomed the camera in on her face and gave a wink, "I just HAPPEN to look sexy. That's how I'll play it. If it doesn't work, I'll just say I wanted feminists to shut up." She thought of Mark's new 20 year old girlfriend. She had blonde hair, and looked like a dumb little bimbo, and she wore makeup to make her eyes look big and innocent. Like she needed to be taken care of, and would listen, would follow. Would obey.
She tried to imagine how Mark would respond to the picture, if she sent it to him. She hit the shutter button, and then took a few more pictures for safety.
She walked to her room, attaching her favorite photo to a twitter post and captioning it, "what feminist women can never do" with a winky face. With one last look at her mute, pink lips and airheaded wink, and a twinge of shame and excitement, she hit send.
"Maybe the men who saw this will like it. I'll bet I can get more followers than that stupid little Lily girl. Maybe even more than the little slutty teenager who stole Mark from me."
She felt an aching, deep longing in her chest, the pain of losing him and of knowing that the dumb little girl who replaced her would see this picture. Good, maybe it would make her jealous if the post got a lot of attention. Maybe Mark would like it, that bastard.
She almost took a sip of wine before she realized she'd left the tape on. Once it had been on her mouth for a while, it felt natural, like it wasn't even there. That was funny.
She ripped off the tape, finished her glass, and settled into bed with her laptop.
Her heart was racing as she opened twitter, eager to see what people thought. "This better not be a mistake. Maybe it won't have many likes. Maybe no one's seen it." she thought.
When the page finally loaded, Samantha was surprised to see that her tweet already had over a thousand likes. Her phone buzzed with notifications of comments, shares, and retweets.
The twitter feminists HATED her. They commented things like "another example of right wing women oppressing themselves to make men happy!" and "she's such a slut for male approval." She pinned a comment from a male leftist influencer that said "finally this bitch shuts up" and replied "funny how Democrat men seem into the idea. Maybe feminists could keep a man if they learned a thing or two from us traditional gals!"
The right, her base, and apparently every incel in north america LOVED it. They wrote "it's nice to see a woman finally accept that her place is silent and obedient" and "this woman is an icon" and "finally someone tells these feminazi's what's up!"
Some of the more lewd comments made Samantha uncomfortable and excited. Well, at least she was finally getting the attention she wanted. And the comment section was an absolute flame war! Samantha was excited, but worried, "if this goes viral, am I going to be known for this forever? For a picture of me gagged with tape, not for all the books I've written or debates I've done?”
One of her favorite male pundits wrote "Samantha Steele, the woman every man wants to find next to his pillow." It was disgusting and flattering. What did that mean?
But she couldn't argue with the results. Her follower count had already grown by 20%, and her notifications were flooded with people sharing and commenting on her tweet.
Samantha was excited, and a bit unnerved, but she couldn't deny that it felt good to be in the spotlight again. And if she could keep this momentum going, she could prove to herself, to Mark, and to the world that she wasn't some has-been influencer.
She logged off and fell asleep, a smile on her lips as she thought of the attention she'd get when the post went viral.
Samantha was excited and nervous to see the results of her latest social media stunt. Her tweet, in which she'd taped her mouth shut, had already gained significant traction overnight. As she checked her phone, she saw that the post had gone viral, and her inbox was filled with messages, both from her followers and from other influencers.
She had been up all night, unable to sleep, thinking of her post. "It was definitely the right thing to do," she kept telling herself. But she wasn't sure what to think. She felt like a woman on the edge of a cliff. If her fans didn't like what they saw, she might fall into a pit of irrelevancy from which she might never escape.
As she scrolled through the messages, Samantha couldn't believe what she was seeing. Some were supportive and excited, while others were angry and outraged. But what surprised her the most were the ones that seemed to be sexually interested in her. One message from a man named Steve stood out among the others, saying that he was interested in a "domestic arrangement," where she would cook and clean for him and submit to his every whim. He sent a picture of a big diamond ring and a collar with a chain attached, asking her if she would marry him. It made her skin crawl. "This is gross," she thought to herself, "I'm an accomplished conservative woman, not a submissive housemaid." She quickly deleted the message and blocked the user, but it left a sour taste in her mouth.
Samantha had never engaged in kink or anything like that before. She was a staunch traditionalist and looked down on deviance and sexual experimentation. The tape was just to prove a point, and get some attention.
She had never been one to shy away from controversy, but the response to this stunt was something else entirely. Samantha felt a strange mix of emotions; she was exhilarated by the attention, but also uneasy. She had never expected such a visceral reaction from her fans. The ones she liked and the ones who sent gross DMs. She wasn't used to this kind of attention, and she wasn't sure how to handle it.
She was shocked to see that Julia Powers, a firebrand liberal senator, had retweeted her post, saying "this is the sick goal of the right: to silence women and reduce them to sex objects. Shame on Samantha Steele and shame on the right for this misogyny." This was huge, and it made her suddenly as relevant as she'd been in her heyday.
Her eyes went wide as she saw that Lily, the girl she'd been so jealous of, replied, "you know you're doing the right thing when Julia Powers goes on another feminazi rant at you. Good for you, Samantha! Let's make this a viral trend, that'll really piss off the libs." Attached was a picture of Lily with duct tape over her mouth with the words, "try this, feminists" scrawled across the tape in sharpie.
She was in a battle now. But how was she going to compete with that young, sexy blonde girl? Samantha was an older woman who'd built her career on serious issues. It would look silly to try and compete on that level with someone half her age.
But then she got a message from a company she'd never heard of called HaremCo.
"Dear Samantha, we've seen the way your audience responds to the latest direction of your brand. We represent the growing number of people in this world who believe that the traditional family structure, in which men lead the household and women submit, is the best arrangement for society and the healthiest relationship model. Our company specializes in creating content and products that promote submissiveness and obedience in women. We want to show the world that the happiest and most desirable a woman can be is in her natural feminine role of serving a man who protects and provides for her."
Samantha rolled her eyes, but kept reading.
"We've seen how well you connect with this audience. We'd like to partner with you to promote our products, which we think are in line with your recent shift. Our company has a wide range of products in services, from workshops, couple's consultations, and life coaching to fashionable accessories and of course, our patented discipline gear designs. We want you to promote them on your social media platforms."
Samantha's jaw dropped. This was crazy. It was like they wanted to take the feminist's caricature of conservative women and make it real. She thought back to all her years of writing, speaking, and arguing for the right. And in the end, her base abandoned her for younger women the moment she hit her mid-30's.
She pulled up the HaremCo website, biting her lip nervously in anticipation of what products they might be selling.
The home page was elegant, tastefully designed, with an attractive woman wearing a collar and chain around her neck. She had a strange, glossy pink plaster of some sort over her mouth, and the outline of her lips were visible through the form-fitting material. There was a giggle in her eyes, and a slight smile in the imprint of her lips; trapped as they were, it seemed the plaster stretched with them.
"What the hell is on her mouth?" thought Samantha, perplexed, "it's not any tape I've ever seen...is it glue? Some kind of goop? It kind of makes her lips look fuller, more puckered...sort of like when the clear tape squished my lips together. She looks natural, pretty even, but there's no gap in her lips..."
Samantha hovered the cursor over a button below the picture that said, "Hi! I'm Chloe! Let me show you around!"
Samantha hesitated, then clicked. A video started, showing Chloe in her red pigtails and collar, and the pink plaster on her lips, waving to the viewer and giggling, "mmm hmm hmmm! Hmmm!"
Then a man walked in. "This is Chloe," the man said, "and she's going to show you around. But it looks like her master hasn't taken her gag out yet. Isn't that right, Chloe?" The girl giggled again, trying and failing to peel off the plaster on her mouth. The man explained that it was HaremCo's "permaseal plaster" that had a special super-strength formula of latex and superglue that looked more attractive and less obtrusive than a ball gag. It was a perfect gag, he said, because it wouldn't let a girl make a sound, but didn't look as obvious and offensive as a ball gag or muzzle in public. What's more, even with her hands free and unbound, a woman couldn't remove the ultra-sticky plaster, and she couldn't stretch her lips to work the permaseal off, as the latex material would stretch and conform to her movements.
"I'll give you a million dollars if you can get that permaseal off your mouth. Give it a try!" the man mockingly said, giving her a patronizing smile.
"Mmmph," Chloe said as her hands grabbed her face. She pulled and stretched her cheeks and lips and worked her jaw. It looked airtight and secure, Samantha thought. The plaster stretched and contorted as she strained her jaw, puckered her lips, and worked her tongue around trying to pry her lips open. Her fingernails pried at the edges, but slipped uselessly over the edge every time. Eventually, Chloe blew out as hard as she could, puffing her cheeks out comically, but the plaster stretched tight over her lips and cheeks, refusing to give.
"HHMPH!" grunted Chloe as she began to pretend to pout cutely. Samantha could see her eyes smiling and a suppressed grin behind the plaster as Chloe gave up on her show of defiance. She tried to talk, mumbling and whining as she looked to her master pleadingly.
"Nope," he said, chuckling, "no way for a girl to get out of that. Not without this," the man produced what looked like a glue stick of a tube of chapstick from his pocket, "HaremCo's proprietary lip glue solvent." The man explained as Chloe looked at him adoringly, "with one swipe of this, our lip glue formula, which we call permaseal, melts off like butter." The man gently rubbed the solvent over Chloe's lips. She closed her eyes and worked her lips against his fingers as the solvent worked.
The seal was broken. Chloe worked her jaw to loosen it, then spat the plaster onto the ground and took a deep breath. "Thanks for taking that off, master! You're the best master I've ever had!" she said with a giggle as he rubbed her shoulder. "You've had other masters?" he asked playfully, and they chuckled. "You know, the master at HaremCo who trained me to be a good girl," she said.
"Now, let's tell the world how great it is for a woman to serve a man, shall we?"
Samantha watched the video with a mix of fascination and horror. It was clear that Chloe and the man were in a consensual relationship, but it was also clear that they were in a highly untraditional power dynamic. The way the man talked about "owning" Chloe and the way Chloe eagerly played the role of the obedient slave was unsettling to Samantha.
Samantha was interested, but she wasn't sure if she was interested in a way that felt right. This was not the direction she had intended to take her brand. She wanted to make a point about how women should behave in public and private. She was an icon, an influencer. But the video showed her that her fans, her fellow conservatives, were interested in a different type of message.
She realized she had stopped paying attention, and turned back to the video to hear Chloe say something that sent a tremor through her body, "that's right, Master Sean! With you as Senator Blume's chief public relations officer, and the support of all those masters and subs out there, HaremCo may soon have a friend in the White House! Then we can finally recognize submission as a lifestyle, and as a form of legal civil union."
Samantha's heart skipped a beat. Did she just say White House? This guy, Sean, was a major player in Senator Blume's campaign? This was absolutely huge. This might become a real movement, but it was still in its early stages...there was still a way to get in on the ground floor...
As she continued to watch the video, she found herself getting more and more invested in the message that the company was selling. She was starting to feel a strange pull towards the lifestyle that the company was promoting, and she was curious to explore it further.
She thought of her dwindling followers, her failed book tour. What would happen to her career, her message, if she just disappeared into obscurity?
Oh shit, her book tour! She'd almost forgotten she had another signing at her local Malibu library. After yesterday's dismal turnout, she'd almost cancelled, but she got so caught up in her little tape stunt that she'd forgotten about it.
Samantha rushed to dress herself and apply her makeup, hoping she could hide her lack of sleep and all the crying that she did last night without looking like a painted whore. She grabbed her keys, opened the door, and paused.
She didn't know what she was doing, she tried not to think about it. But before she left, she rushed to her bedroom, grabbed the roll of clear tape, and stuffed it in her bag.
Just in case. Who knew?
When Samantha pulled up to the library, she noticed something strange. There was a line to get in the door, and library officials and two police officers were talking to a small group of very angry looking protestors with cardboard signs.
The protestors were typical liberal activists: a couple of hippie looking young women, some black and Hispanic women, a lesbian couple with blue and purple hair, and a bunch of young men wearing t-shirts with slogans from radical left wing political groups. Samantha recognized the group as one that was notorious for causing problems at conservative rallies.
The protestors held up their signs, which read: "SILENCE YOURSELF, NOT US!" "FREE SPEECH FOR WOMEN" "DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY" and, her personal favorite, "SAM'S A SLUT."
"Typical, whiny, little children," thought Samantha, "probably don't have real jobs, either."
The group was clearly there to cause trouble. Samantha's mind began to race. Was she going to be in danger? She had been to these events before and never had to deal with such hostility. She had always been able to handle hecklers and trolls in the past, but this group seemed different, and the fact that there was police at the scene told Samantha that this was more serious than the usual hecklers.
Still, this was controversy. Controversy and angering liberals was her whole brand. This could be a big moment for her, and all because of that silly picture. Plus, look at all the people lined up to get in. Many of them were holding copies of her book, and a few of the women had tape over their mouths. One was obviously glaring at her boyfriend, a few looked embarrassed and shuffled their feet, but most of the gagged women held their heads high, glaring smugly at the protestors.
As she got out of the car, the group immediately recognized her, and began shouting at her.
"There's the bitch now!" said the woman with the sign that read "DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY," her nose covered in piercings, her hair a mess of blue and green.
"I'll show you the way women should behave!" said Samantha as she walked toward the library. She was confident that she could handle the situation. She was a conservative influencer, and she knew that her fans were on her side. But as she approached the group, she saw a man in a police uniform walking toward her.
"Ma'am, are you Ms. Steele?" he asked.
"Yes, officer. I am. I have a book signing inside. Are you going to get rid of these losers?"
"I'm sorry to tell you this ma'am, but they're here for your event, and we can't do anything about that."
"What do you mean?" Samantha asked.
"These protestors are here for your event," said the police officer. "We've already spoken with them and we've warned them not to disrupt the event, but we can't make them leave. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to go in there and face them."
Samantha wasn't surprised. She smiled snarkily, looked at the protestors, and said, "bring it on."
As she walked past the line into the building, a few of her followers whooped and hollered encouragingly at her. A young woman standing with her sporty-looking boyfriend waved her hands excitedly and bounced up and down as she walked past, squealing "MMMMM! MMMPHH MMMM!" at her through a wall of electrical tape she had wrapped entirely around her head over her mouth. It must have taken ages to wind the roll around that many times, and the taut plastic tape glistened in the light.
Her boyfriend had his arm around her shoulders and said proudly, "this is my girlfriend. I made her put that on before she came out today. I don't like my girls talking too much." The girl blushed, looking down at her feet. The tape was wound around her cheeks, squishing and smushing her face into an exaggerated duck face.
Samantha was shocked, but pleased. "It's good that a young girl is taking her relationship so seriously, that her man knows what's best for her." she said, and nodded her head in approval at the boy as she passed by. She made sure to smile and give a thumbs-up at the young woman, whose eyes lit up in excitement at the approval.
The young man leaned over, whispering to Samantha, "it took a few minutes and 30 layers of tape, and I'm hoping rather than deal with the pain of peeling it all off, she'll just keep it on when we get home. At least until the end of the football game," he winked, and the girl shot him a glare and grunted, "mmmmmph....umm-mmm," shaking her head no.
Samantha and the boy laughed, and she walked over to the desk and took her seat. She noticed a disturbance in the line, as a police officer grabbed a slutty looking woman with obvious plastic surgery and huge silicone lips by the arm. The woman was wearing a ballgag, and the officer told her, "sorry, miss, but that's public indecency. The tape thing is political, and it's protected...uh...speech, I guess...that's ironic. But BDSM gear can't be worn in public. You'll have to remove your gag, or leave the premises."
The woman was wearing a low cut blouse, a miniskirt, and high heels, her skin was bronzed, and she was wearing heavy makeup and false eyelashes. She rolled her eyes, removed the ball gag, and wiped the drool from her lips with the back of her hand. "Fucking prude cops, this isn't even public indecency, it's just my boyfriend and my thing," she said, as she sat down on the lap of an older, pudgy looking man, and crossed her arms over her chest in protest. The police officer looked at her, then at the boyfriend, and just shrugged, walking away.
"Thank you so much for having me here today," Samantha began. She was met with cheers from the crowd and some loud grumbles from the group of hecklers in the front row. She ignored the protesters and focused on the positive energy in the room. The hecklers had brought signs and megaphones and were clearly prepared to disrupt the event. Samantha, however, was determined not to let them ruin her book signing.
She started by introducing her book, "The War on Men: How Feminism Is Destroying Our Society," and talked about how it delves into the ways in which feminism has created a society where men are no longer needed or wanted. The hecklers booed, and her supporters taunted them, and she realized no one was paying any attention.
She might as well not even be speaking.
Her thoughts turned to the roll of tape in her bag...
"You know what?" she shouted to the crowd, "why don't I just let you men speak for me? After all, I know there's not a feminist in this world that's half as good a speaker as you are. You're real Americans, true conservatives, and your voice is my voice. And besides," she said, nodding towards the protestors, "it's clear that you're not listening to a word I say anyway." She grabbed a roll of tape from her bag and, with a smirk, peeled three pieces of tape from the roll, sticking the edges on the rim of the desk as she went. When she was done, she took them, one by one, and pressed them onto her mouth.
The noise was deafening as the crowd lit up. Cheers from her supporters and jeers from her detractors rang through the room. Samantha, satisfied, sat in her chair with a smile behind her gag. She picked up a book and started to write in it. The first person in line was the young woman with her head wrapped in tape from earlier, and her boyfriend.
The woman leaned in and said "MMMMMMMM!" doing a cute little dance with her hands and shaking with excitement.
"Tell you what," said her jock boyfriend, pulling up his shirt to reveal a holstered gun, "if my girl and I can get a selfie with ya, me and my friends will protect you. Hell, we even brought pamphlets for Senator Blume. We'll spread the message for you too. So what do you say? I mean, not SAY, but...you know...selfie?" he grinned sheepishly.
"Mmm-hmm!" nodded Samantha, and the man and his girlfriend stood on either side of her while the girl snapped a selfie. The man produced pamphlets from his pocket, kept a hand on the grip of his gun, and motioned for his friends to come join him in protecting Samantha.
She couldn't help but get a little wet as the men rushed to her side, nodding approvingly at her and menacing the protestors, protecting her like warrior guardians.
She felt the need to say something, and felt the tape slipping off her lips as she instinctively moved them. That was weak, this tape would never really silence anyone by itself. She remembered that permaseal plaster Chloe had worn, and how it stretched and contorted with her lips movements, even letting her give little frowns and smiles. Maybe she'd have to look into that.
The next man stepped up and introduced himself. "Hi, Sam. My name is John, I'm from Texas, and I am a big fan of yours."
John was wearing a t-shirt that read, "Make America Great Again." He had a southern accent and was carrying a large, hardcover copy of Samantha's book. He handed her the book and said, "I want you to sign this for me.
As she signed book after book, taking several selfies with mouth-taped girls, most of whom were excited but a few of whom she'd gently consoled with a hand on the shoulder and a gentle coo from beneath the tape, the men guarding her handed out pamphlets and reminded everyone there to vote for Senator Blume.
The protestors left the event in anger and frustration. They couldn't believe that Samantha would agree to a partnership with a company that promotes women as slaves and men as their masters. The idea that women would be reduced to nothing more than sexual playthings was repulsive to them. And the fact that a woman as supposedly smart and educated as Samantha would allow herself to become part of this was even worse.
Samantha kept the tape on her mouth the whole way to her car, not wanting to seem eager to take it off, or too desperate to speak her mind. She had to put on a consistent front.
Still, she felt a massive relief as she peeled the tape from her mouth in the safety of her car, stretching her lips and jaw, which were raw and stiffened from the rigid plastic tape and cheap adhesive. She bet Chloe's face didn't hurt so much after wearing a permaseal. She thought of the girl with electrical tape wrapped around her face and shuddered. Poor thing.
She checked her twitter, which was, of course, still absolutely on fire. Thousands of pictures of women who had taped their mouths shut. A few, mostly OnlyFans girls or just sluts, wore actual ball-gags or even more intense fetish gear. One had a leather muzzle with a realistic pink dildo in its center, which she slid into her mouth, gagging slightly, then buckled at the back of her head. "That's a bit much," thought Samantha, "is that what these freaky people get up to? It can't be common...hope HaremCo doesn't think I'm going to lock a rubber cock into my mouth."
Still, the response was overwhelming. Men loved it. They posted the pictures on reddit and other places on the web, and the tweets and pictures were spreading like wildfire. Samantha couldn't believe that her little experiment had gone so well. But then again, it wasn't her own little experiment anymore. She was starting to think that it wasn't even her idea, and that her tweet had just tapped into something bigger. She thought of Lily and her little dishwashing picture with duct tape on her mouth and chuckled at having upstaged her.
Lily would have to up her game, she thought. Maybe that bitch should get a dildo muzzle, try and up the ante.
Samantha checked her email, and opened up HaremCo's response to her last message. She'd said she was interested, but needed more information.
The message was short, sweet, and to the point, just the way Samantha liked it.
"We're so thrilled to hear from you! Please take the attached file, print it out, fill it out, and bring it with you to our Hollywood compound. The address is attached. Once your consent waiver is processed, which takes about a week, you'll be eligible for our orientation process. Don't worry, we start our girls out slowly so they're not overwhelmed. In fact, while you're at the Hollywood compound, feel free to take a spa day at the HaremCo salon, our treat. Also, please accept this $300 voucher for products from our gear shop, and use it to buy some items to sample. You're not obligated to promote these items, we just want to treat our influencer talent well. We're sure that you'll enjoy our products, and the man in your life will love them too!"
The man in her life. Ugh. That stung a bit. But at least they still assumed men found her attractive.
In any case, with all the stress and her mind whirling from excitement, a spa day didn't sound half bad. She'd have to drive down to the compound tomorrow, after she filled out her consent waiver. Whatever that was.