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From: Grim Williams <grim_williams@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Governor (Part 4) MF caution
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Date: Tue, 07 Aug 2007 19:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "=?utf-8?q?Governor=204.txt?=" begin>

This is a fictional story depicting images of consensual rape
and torture. Don't read if these are likely to offend, or if
you are not an adult.


The Governor
By Grim Williams

email:   grim_williams a yahoo . com

Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

Chapter Four : "Ladies in the Rain"



Major Albert Steiner was raised in Belfast at the height of
'the troubles'. He was staunchly protestant and 
vehemently anti-Catholic, and he came to England at fifteen 
after dropping out of school. After two years spent labouring 
on various building sites, drifting from one job to another 
and being fired from them all, he joined the army.

It was a plea for help, an attempt to escape from the long 
downward cycle he'd been taking towards the gutter, and 
it worked. Twenty five years later, he was unrecognisable, 
a changed man, respected and feared in equal measure, 
especially among the people he trained.

One of those people is already known to us. His name is
Lieutenant Howard Pendrill, and this gallant soldier has
recently been appointed as troop leader.

Truth to tell, however, the Major was ambivalent to 
Howard at first. He recognised too much of his
former self in the Lieutenant. He considered him weak,
soft and easily led, a serial womanizer and a drunkard
destined to dawdle the lower ranks.

But like the Major before him, Howard gradually changed. He
was melded by the army regime, rising to new and 
difficult challenges and conquering each of them in turn. 
Slowly, before his eyes, the Major saw his young protege 
grow into a mature, cool headed man.

The Major was further impressed by the emergence of Lucy
Caldwell in Howard's life. He always found it illuminating 
to note which type of womon was drawn to his soldiers, and 
he would reflect on whether they were flighty or serious, 
fun loving or sombre, and it would tell him much about the 
man, just as the movements of a distant star can reveal the 
existence of invisible planets orbiting around it.

In Lucy's case, he was particularly intrigued because he'd
encountered her before. She'd been one of the so-called 
'pink protesters' who'd popped up during the weeks before 
the second invasion of Iraq. Pink Protesting was a term 
for women who took off their clothes as a tactic for 
gaining publicity for their cause.

One of them famously rode a white stallion across Westminster 
Bridge on the day of the big vote. She was nineteen, at 
university, and stark naked, and, of course, her bold bosoms 
made every one of the next day's papers. Another 
heavy-breasted lady managed to bypass the Prime Minister's 
bodyguard and plant a kiss on his lips. His embarrassment 
was sublime.

In Lucy's case, she was involved in an incident in the West
Country involving the climbing onto a tank, the unfurling of
a banner, and a gun.

She too had been unseasonably naked, which was one of the
reasons the Major remembered her. The other was that
he'd been personally involved in trying to grab hold of 
her, and she'd resisted.

The attempt had been clumsy and embarrassing and the
pictures had obviously made the national papers, although
most, although not all, had been cleverly censored in the 
necessary areas. Even now, long after the heated emotions 
had subdued and faded, that uncensored picture of Lucy 
sitting on a Chieftain tank and being accosted by an 
unknown, unnamed army officer remained in the Major's top 
drawer. Here, he could access it whenever he wanted to. 
In the grainy photograph, Lucy was sitting astride the 
gun turret, a soldier's hands gripping her breasts, and 
the gun disappearing into her pussy and an excessive gasp 
delighting her face.

It had been a particularly undignified arrest followed by a
hasty, stage managed release, but Lucy had profited well 
by it. In fact, on the back of the notoriety of that single 
incident, she secured work singing arias in a sleazy strip 
bar in the centre of town. It wasn't much, and perhaps she 
could have done better, but the Major discovered her there 
one evening and he watched from the back of the room. He'd 
been a faceless nobody amongst a heaving sea of nobodies, 
all of them jerking their cocks in the darkness and watching 
while Lucy sang her rich songs and posed naked and played 
with her pussy.

She was honest, the Major remembered that. Honesty was her 
appeal and why he liked her. She didn't fake it. If she 
didn't feel up to more than one or two orgasms, she would 
say so and the punters would jeer loudly and slip her a 
tip. On other occasions, she would spread her legs, give 
them a cheeky smile and she would bring herself off eight 
or nine times, and everyone knew it was real. 

The Major counted the climaxes religiously and he recorded 
them in his diary.

So now she and Howard were an item, the Major was impressed. 
He was also pleased for them both, and he mentioned
Howard's name in various high powered circles to people he
knew. Howard was a man to keep an eye on, he pronounced. 
Howard was a man for the future.

Well, the individuals concerned took note and conveyed
Howard's name to other important personages and it wasn't
long before the Major received a nod and a wink and Howard
was sent on a journey that he could never, ever, in his 
wildest dreams, have contemplated.

The Major left nothing to chance. He was a man of
process and detail, of management and planning, and so, at
2:00 AM precisely, Howard was awoken and given five minutes
to dress. It was amidst the barking of dogs, the ringing of
bells and miscellaneous impatient demands. Once the five
minutes had elapsed, Howard was frog marched out of the
dormitory, with the Major shouting and bellowing orders,
escorting him outside, and there Howard found himself
confronted with an appalling night and a mighty wind that
hit him from the moment the Major threw open the door.

Shit.

It flew at him, blowing sweaty and easterly and bitter in
his face. The rain drove rods to the ground and it clattered
against the tin roofs and dug deeply into Howard's chest.
The Major led him away from the dormitory and through a
sequence of puddles and thick muddy tracks, all the while
pointing his sharp darting torch and its chaotic light and
prodding the darkness and indicating the path they must
walk.

There was a wall in front of them, Howard noticed, and then
a gate, and they rounded a corner and walked through it, and
then they marched on to a secluded corner behind a fence,
through some trees and up a sharp incline, where to Howard's
amazement, he found six female officers standing at rigid
attention alone in the darkness.

He didn't see them clearly at first. They were in a wet mist
and they grew from the darkness and the cold night, and
suddenly, there they were situated three feet apart in a
line, placed there like grey stone monoliths, and picked out
by the uncertain eye of the Major's torch. They were silent
and miserable and shivering in the wind: their backs
straight and their eyes focussed and grey, their green
uniforms streaming with water.

The Major explained that these women had been waiting for
several hours in the deluge, and he invited Howard to see
for himself that they were drenched to the point of
saturation, that their hair was plastered to their heads and
that the rain was running in rivers down their necks and
seeping into the delicate layers of clothing beneath.
Everything about them was clammy and cold, even to the most
intimate garments of all.

Howard gazed at the women in sodden bewilderment. Here they
were in their late twenties - one or two a fraction older,
but none of them was more than thirty. Each was in uniform,
and the uniform clung to their curves, and if you looked
carefully, you could ascertain that they were officers.

The Major whispered into Howard's ear and confirmed it, his
words lost in the furious tempest. "These ladies are senior
to you," he informed him softly. "But see how obediently
they wait? They remain in the rain and the dark and they'll
do so until you're finished, laddy, so take your time and be
leisurely - because they won't complain or mutiny or throw
any tantrums. They're standing here for you to gawk at and
for no other reason, and if any of them don't like it,
they'll be whipped and brought back here tomorrow, and we'll
do everything again."

It was difficult for Howard to absorb what the Major was
saying because of the violence of the storm and the noise of
the wind. He thought he caught the jist of the Major's
words, and the flavour of his phrases and the tang of his
meaning, but he wasn't certain because what he was hearing
couldn't be right! They were to be whipped? What about their
rights? How could this type of thing happen in a modern
Western country?

"Who are they?" Howard inquired of the Major, wiping copious
water from his eyes. "And why are they here?"

"Wrong question, my boy," the Major declared to him
solemnly. "What you should be asking is what gives me the
power to bring them here, reducing them to slaves and taking
away their will, for undoubtedly I've done it. Give them an
order and see what they do - how they obey immediately and
without question, and ask yourself why that should be."

Howard paused. He was hoping for a fuller explanation than
this from the Major, but none came. Instead, the Major egged
him on to take advantage of the women: "How often do you get
a chance like this?" the Major said. "Never. That's how
often. So tell them to undress, that for a start. One at a
time, or however you want it. Tell them to give you a lap
dance or a hot steamy show. Why not? They'll do it to the
best of their ability, even out here in the rain, anything
you want of them."

"But what's making them do it?" Howard wondered privately,
as rain tumbled through the women's hair and ran through
their clothes. He was convinced that this couldn't be real,
that it was a joke, a test. "Why would they listen to me?"

The Major laughed in his face. "Choose one and try her," he
insisted, and the rain lashed at him and his eyes shone
leery and bloodshot. "Make her day and tell her to undress!
Hurry, my lad. Don't you fancy some sport? Don't you like
wet pussy? Which will it be?"

Howard listed but he was confused and not absorbing it all.
He glanced at the women afresh, unable to stop himself,
first at their faces and then at their busts, and finally
down at their groins, and he wanted them all. "Choose one?"
he asked.

"Yes, laddy. Choose one. Which do you fancy? Point to her
and let her see that you want her and she'll do the rest."

God. He mustn't be greedy. He wanted them all but he had to
choose one: only one.

"I have the power to bend a woman to my will, my boy," the
Major shuffled mischievously, as Howard tried to make up his
mind. 'They do as I tell them and I tell them to bend. I
bend them until they snap, and when they snap, they make a
noise; so listen, and listen to me well. Politicians,
executives, religious leaders: they don't know what we're
doing here, what I'm telling you tonight, because our
illustrious masters follow the rules and live by the law in
their blissful Godlike ignorance. They know that if they
break it they'll pay the penalty, but while that may be true
for them, it's not for me. I'm above the law and those
perfunctory standards: like God, and if you don't believe
me, then laddy, ask one of these ladies to strip. Don't look
at me and doubt my sanity, just do it. I'm outside the
controls; and it's tolerated that I take the odd liberty for
the sake of our freedoms. I can bring these lady's here and
make them stand in the rain. I can command them to undress
and play with themselves and fuck them. I can turn them into
whores and they'll do it because they've learned that they
have to. So, listen to me, laddy, and listen to me well. The
key to this power is belonging and being known to the
Department. Officially - and listen to me, boy - the
department is known as SJ6; but unofficially, it's just the
department. If you can belong to it, then like me, you can
think of a girl and imagine her naked, and immediately she
will be. All at once, you have her; you can bend her; any
time, any way, any position, no questions asked, and no
penalties to pay. Think of that, laddy: to have your own
private whorehouse and have any girl lying in it you fancy.
It doesn't matter whether she's married and it doesn't
matter if she's a nun. You have her. You own her. That's the
scale of the privilege that comes with belonging to the
Department."

The Major pointed to the six female officers who stood
facing him, who stood awkwardly, uncomfortably, awaiting
Howard's orders and past caring what happened to them now.
Their backs were arched and their knees were bent. Their
chins were clenched and chattering, and they were frozen and
dishevelled and dripping with water. "This is just a trailer
for what I have to offer you," the Major explained softly.
"Just a trailer. They officers are awaiting your orders.
Tell them what you want of them. Tell them to strip and play
with themselves; tell them to suck cock and swallow your
cum; tell them to do anything you fancy. The Department's
orders are there to be obeyed and honoured, no question."

The Major shone his torch and illuminated each of the women
in turn, focusing on their legs and their busts and then on
the bits in between. He pointed his light up their skirts
and into their blouses, and it seemed to Howard that he was
in ecstasy which was a strange spot for him to be in when it
was raining so hard, and perplexing too; because Howard was
remembering how he'd promised to be faithful to Lucy, and
while he wanted to be part of this strange new world, he
knew he would have to decline this offer, because of Lucy.

34 inch bust, 34 inch hips, 23 inch waist. Dancing.
Stripping. And Lucy had a tanned Mediterranean appearance,
and beautiful olive skin.

Dancing. Stripping.

Lucy's mother was Italian, like her daughter, and the issue
was, despite Howard's good intentions, he had no choice. All
of a sudden, the women around him were undressing and
removing their jackets and their regulation blouses, their
green skirts, and their wet black stockings.

Howard hadn't asked them to do it and there hadn't been an
obvious command to serve as a trigger, but they were
stripping all the same. Amidst the darkness and the rain,
there was a swirl of discarded female clothing dropping to
the earth, and all at once the women were reduced to their
lingerie and reaching for their bras, their expressions
revealing emotions too raw to describe, and the Major was
shining his torch and illuminating their flesh. These poor
creatures hungered to be elsewhere, somewhere warm,
somewhere safe, not here, undressing in the rain and being
humiliated by the Major. These stripteasers were senior
officers and important personages. They were used to
managing underlings and issuing orders, and yet they were
being forced to undress. They were being made to remove
their bras and they were doing so begrudgingly. They threw
them to the ground and despite their bad attitude they were
topless and showing their titties.

Howard was gob smacked. He was tight in his stomach and
nervous because suddenly he was confronted by a range of
extraordinary female anatomy: big juicy tits, droopy tits,
tiny bitchy tits; so many types. And six female officers
were bending, their breasts dangling and their nipples
swollen, knowing what had to be done. They were being forced
to undress: their panties now. God. They were hooking their
thumbs into their knickers and they were lowering them to
the floor, and moments later, they were showing their
bushes: Brazilian and Mohican; and it was all Howard could
do to remember his promise to Lucy.

Lucy.

He pleaded with them to stop. "Please don't!" he wailed,
watching the six women and unable to stop the beast he'd
created, for he was a man, and how could he refuse such
temptation? He tried to explain to the Major about Lucy and
his promise. He tried to interrupt. He tried. He tugged at
the Major's arm and begged for his help, but the Major
wasn't noticing.

"Look at them, laddy," the Major growled leerily, flashing
his torch with intimate disdain at the humiliated women and
their bare boxes. "All this flesh and it's yours laddy, as
much as you can handle. Yours to do with as you want,
wouldn't that be fun? Six harlots all at the same time,
working you off, their long juicy slits there to be
plundered, wanting to be sucked. Don't you think you could
rise to the challenge, my boy? Don't you think you could
fuck them?"

What could he say? How should he answer? Howard was tempted.
There was a knot in his groin and he was aching to touch
these poor naked women and kiss their pussies and squeeze
their bare tits. He yearned to screw them until he'd done
all six. He wanted their asses sitting on his face. He
wanted them to be sucking his cock and rubbing their tits on
his chest. It was a fog, an impractical haze in which he
thought these things, and yet moments later, the women were
standing to attention with piles of clothes jumbled by their
feet. They knew the reason for their nakedness and they were
expecting him to command them to do it and there was nothing
but the embarrassment of their sodden skin to prevent him.

"Look at them, my boy," the Major cooed, staring at their
goose pimpled breasts and cold shivering butts, and Howard
could see that the women's nipples were hard and rigid from
the cold, that they were shrunken in the rain and that the
water was dripping from their points.

"Look at them, soldier," the Major refrained. "Take your
time and when you're done, tell me which of them you most
want, and she shall be first. We'll punish her together and
the others will follow."

The Major focussed his torch on the six women's pussies and
he gave a constant commentary of what he thought of each
one.

"It's meat, my boy," he sniffed, shuffling along the line.
"If you want to take these cunts, then you must take it,
whip it, fasten it in handcuffs and hang it from rope.
Wouldn't that be fun, my lad? You hang the meat like in the
days at Tyburn when women would struggle and kick for a
crowd of forty thousand, and when the performance was done,
they'd chop her down from the scaffold, strip her naked and
toss her onto a dustcart where they'd drive her to the
anatomy halls for dissection. Do you fancy it, my boy?
Anything you like, anyway you want it.

"Anything means that, my boy: anything. You can fuck them,
slice them up, hang them round your neck and do whatever
turns you on. Just say the word and they're yours, no
questions; these brave intelligent officers."

Howard swallowed hard and followed the wavering torch as its
light rose to pick out the women's tits. He saw that the one
closest to him had big, heavy breasts and white chunky
thighs. Next to her was a tall flat chested one with wiry
arms and legs with no shape. After that the torch pointed to
a buxom one with monstrous teats; and next to her was a
dainty centrefold that Howard imagined might once have
appeared in Playboy, but probably hadn't. He examined them
lovingly and longingly, noting that all six showed signs of
a razor blade being applied to their mounds, mostly by way
of a trim, although one was as bald as a baby and Howard
wondered whether this was as she normally trimmed, or
whether she'd shaved especially for the occasion: for him.

And with that, he shuffled along, admiring the firmness of
this one's bosom and that one's stomach; the hardness of
another one's nipples. He observed remnants of makeup on
their faces, mostly dashed off by the rain, and yet made
erotic by its very imperfection. He saw scratched nail
varnish on the toes of one of the girls; and discovered the
faded scars of a Caesarean birth on the abdomen of the
Playboy centrefold and also a series of stretch marks on her
belly.

This was his Utopian fantasy. It was forbidden fruit to know
such secrets, and Howard walked along the rear of the women,
feeling their fear, their anguish and foreboding: their
cold. Two of them were covered in freckles, and the blonde
one had a mole caressing her right shoulder. Howard paused,
and he asked her to bend down so he might inspect her more
closely, and she did it. She didn't argue or fight: she just
did it, as the Major had suggested she would.

He told the woman to keep her legs straight and to touch her
toes with the tips of her fingers, and she did that too, her
cheeks naturally parting as she leant forward, but Howard
wasn't content with this. He wanted more. He spread the
woman's ass cheeks so that he could see her asshole and
everything she owned, and she didn't even object to that.

"What's you name?" he asked as he peered at the hole, but
there wasn't sufficient light for him to see into it.

"Colonel Jane Connors," came the terse reply from the other
end of the woman. The answer was clipped but polite, without
any trace of the bitterness that Howard had been expecting.

He slid a finger into her asshole, pushing it up to the
hilt, provoking her further, but still she didn't object, so
he moved his finger in and out of her ass.

"How does that feel, Colonel?" he taunted. "Does it feel
nice?"

"No, it doesn't! It's bloody uncomfortable."

Ah, he'd got a reaction. He'd touched her mind and so he
shoved his finger in and out of her asshole more violently.

"Are you married, Colonel Jane?" he insisted, gazing at her
goose bumps and liking that the rain was making her wet. She
had nice tits that hung towards the ground and begged to be
touched... and skin that glistened in the rain...

She remained bent double with her arms extended and her
fingers grazing her feet.

Could this woman really be an officer? A Colonel?

Her body shook more visibly and she was finding it hard to
keep her balance with Howard's finger pushing so hard inside
her, and yet she was measured, in control of her thoughts.
"Yes, sir, I'm married."

Oh God. His finger became faster, pumping her asshole. Oh
Jesus. She was married! The bitch had a husband! "So when
was the last time you were fucked by a man not your husband,
Jane?" he hissed. "Because I'm going to fuck you and I want
to know when was the last time you betrayed him?"

"I haven't!" she gasped, holding herself together. "I
wouldn't!"

Howard's trousers were touching her thighs and his belly was
in contact with her stomach. "Well, you're going to do it
today, Colonel, because you're going to be fucked, you're
going to get screwed, and you're going to help me every step
of the way. So, to start with, get down on your knees and
open your mouth! First you can suck me."

She gazed at him intently and blushed, because he was
roughing her nipples and making them sensitive, and she
didn't like that, but Howard smiled, and he became bolder
and more courageous, and he moved even closer.

"On your knees, soldier. I want you to think about your
husband while you suck me."

The young Colonel wrestled with herself, and for a moment it
seemed she was preparing to resist him, but then she mewled
and dropped to her knees, splashing in a cold puddle and
sinking into the slime.

Her head dropped, and it was suddenly at the level of
Howard's crotch, and her face was in front of him, and she
was staring at his groin and he could see that she was
looking at the swelling, contemplating what she would do.
"Unfasten my fly, Jane," he directed her, pushing his lump
towards her face.

There was a girlish hesitation but then, moments later, she
obeyed him, unzipping his fly and hunting inside for his
cock, and out it came, swinging in a long lazy arc until it
pointed directly at her face, its knob catching globules of
rain.

"Don't blow it Pendrill," the Major warned, whispering into
his ear. He murmured hauntingly and wouldn't leave him
alone. "This is your life, soldier. The physical, written,
operational and psychological tests are compulsory, but
they're written for imbeciles. So commit them to memory.
Four tests you have to do, and you do them under the
supervision of a skilled operative. If you want the prize,
work hard and attain it. That's the way to go, my boy; and
you must believe it and grab it by the balls, and you'll
never regret it. Now give it to the bitch. Stick your cock
in her mouth and take her to heaven!"

Even if he lived to be one hundred years, there would never
again be such a moment: six women together at the same time
doing this.

Okay, he'd promised to be loyal to Lucy and this was for
King and country. This was his duty, but even so...

"Suck it," he ordered, pushing his erect, thick cock and
waving it at the young Colonel's mouth. "Lick it; take it to
the back of your mouth and give it your tongue."

She sobbed as it loomed in front of her and she was
confronted by its length, its ugliness and it size. Oh God.
She closed her eyes and opened her mouth and dipped her head
in the direction of the monster: despising what she'd become
but knowing she had no choice, and Howard pushed the knob
past her lips and her wet tongue, easing it to the back of
her palette; and suddenly there were five other women
surrounding him pulling at his clothes, unbuttoning and
tugging them off.

And the Colonel's head bobbed back and forth and took him
all the way to her throat.

Oh Shit.

He was tempted now, for one of the other women was kissing
his nipples and another had her tits in his face. They were
surrounding him. One of them was sucking his foot while
another was pressing his toes into a disembodied pussy.

He should have pulled away. He should have been decisive,
explained with strength and resolution that he'd vowed
fidelity to his girlfriend, to Lucy Caldwell, but how could
he do that when he wanted to be part of SJ6, determining the
rules like the shadows of Abu Graib who never got caught.

It was the way things were done here: in SJ6. You were the
right kind. You had the right background, the right family,
you knew the right people - whatever such phrases meant -
and they tempted you in with the prospect of sex.

Hard brutal sex.

Oh God.

It felt good to have these women's tongues kissing him in so
many places: licking and biting his chest; his face; his
hands; his butt; all somehow choreographed by the blonde
one, who was crying and red-faced and sucking his knob.

Lucy would surely have thought such matters 'unseemly'. Lucy
would have dismissed this improvised orgy as inappropriate
and wrong. Lucy had determined that there must be no sex
until after the wedding ceremony, and so Howard hadn't had a
woman in months. It was her fault that he was vulnerable to
temptation: Lucy's. If she hadn't decided on no sex, he'd
have had the strength to resist this blonde one.

It was Lucy's bloody fault.

Oh, yes, Lucy had given him an occasional hand job, but this
was infinitely superior. Colonel Jane Connors was giving him
her mouth unwillingly. He could feel the hate and that she
didn't want to do it, and that's what made the act so
special.

Howard reminded her that she had to swallow it. "Be good!"
he advised her, as his strokes became faster and faster.
"Swallow every last drop."

She must have known what was imminent because it was in her
mouth like a fish, jerking and electric. It was coming,
pulsing, erupting; and when finally it spurted, when he came
in her mouth, at the back of her throat, she coughed and
spluttered, but she carried on sucking, and she swallowed
him up.

Colonel Jane Connors. He would remember that name: the tits,
the ass, the mouth.

And afterwards when it was done, he did all six of them the
same way in the mud. He didn't do it properly because he
wasn't that prolific but he made them all smile, and they
sucked him in return.

And after that, the Major was laughing, for the Major had
achieved what he wanted.

His plan was on schedule.

***

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