Karl Rove Is Coming Back for His Leather Slave:
The phone calls started coming months ago. But when he answered, the other side would just hang up. Now he heard a half-huffed, "Hello there." That voice. That voice on the other end, so familiar that it comforted him and nauseated him. It aroused him exquisitely and caused his skin to crawl as his senses conjured the pains he had suffered. The voice said, "I've always known where you are. And you know you want to come back to me. Don't worry. It won't be long now. God, I can feel my balls slapping against your taint already. Life hasn't been the same without you."

Karl Rove's ex-leather slave threw his Android phone across the room. My god, my god, my god, he thought. How could this happen? He thought he had gotten away. He thought for sure that he had finally found freedom. The memories, which he worked so long to press down into a flapjack of agony, exploded and he was covered with their effluvia. When he was Karl Rove's leather slave, during the early, long-forgotten part of the millennium, he was kept in the basement of the White House, chained to Andrew Johnson's sewing table and next to a file cabinet filled with Woodrow Wilson's secret Socialist takeover plans (all stamped: "Canceled due to stroke"). Down there, for years, Rove wrecked his leather slave's anus constantly with cock, dildo, and Benjamin Harrison's silver-coated pineapple, among other implements, and used his mouth as a testicle cozy. The leather slave smirked a bit, thinking, "Karl Rove: Teabagging before it was cool." The leather slave escaped after the 2006 midterms, and he went about his life, constantly looking over his shoulder, constantly wondering when Rove would find him.

There was no way that Karl Rove was going to stay away for long. There was no way he would not want to manipulate the ship of state, the gears of power, to his ends, which, as ever, were the ends of his massively wealthy clients. Now, back and better funded than ever, unencumbered by attempting to get the dunderheaded Bush child elected anymore, Rove is about to launch his next great campaign: "an anti-Democratic barrage of attack ads that will be run tens of thousands of times, a final get-out-the-vote push with some 40 million negative mail pieces, and 20 million automated phone calls." Shock and awe, motherfuckers, shock and awe. It is all part of a long-term plan, one that will climax in 2012, to once more imprison his leather slave, to make him wear the hood or the ball gag or the chaps, depending on the cause, depending on the night.

Of course, at this point, after all the running, the ex-leather slave wondered if it wouldn't be better to just let Rove have him. He's noticed lately that he has others stalking him. At first, he thought they were spies sent by Rove, but he knows that Rove doesn't need men to do one's work when one has access to Pentagon satellites and FBI wiretapping. No, the ex-leather slave learned, from bricks tossed through his windows and crudely scrawled messages that these were a bunch of hillbillies who want to take him for their own. Sure, he tried to avoid them, going from Kentucky to Nevada to Florida, but no matter what, they keep appearing. He thought he'd be safe for a while in Dover, Delaware. Maybe safe from Rove, from the hillbillies.

At least he knows what to expect with Rove. He knows how Rove will fuck him, how Rove will beat his ass with a riding crop. Rove will shove a vibrator up his own ass and then sodomize the shit out of the leather slave. He'll make the leather slave lick him clean. With the hillbillies, it could just be constant gangbangs, with Rand Paul and Joe Miller tag-teaming him, high-fiving over his back as Christine O'Donnell smacks his face for making her think such filthy thoughts and Sarah Palin watches and rubs her cunt on Glenn Beck's spiky-haired head, over and over, and when they come, they all kick and punch the leather slave out of guilt. Only to invite more backwoods hillbillies over and do it again and again. The worst part is how sloppily and poorly they fuck him. Rove is good at it. Rove doesn't mind if he occasionally jizzes.

The devil you know versus the devil you don't, the ex-leather slave thinks. He knew that his liberty couldn't last for long. It's America, after all. No one stays totally free in this land anymore. The phone rings again. He walks slowly to it. He picks it up and answers. "C'mon, babe, you can't keep pretending. You tried, but you failed," Rove whispers. "I always win."