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From: Grim Williams <grim_williams@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Governor (Part 13) MF caution
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Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2007 23:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "=?utf-8?q?Governor=2013.asc?=" 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 Thirteen : "The Locket"




"Mr Pendrill. I want to play a game."

"A game?"

"That's right. A game. If you succeed, everything you desire
will be yours. If you fail, you return to your early morning
duties and you lose out on the fantastic opportunity that
I've been offering you. It's that simple. This is the big
one and it's for SJ6: the department, the whole caboodle.
It's all or nothing. Do you understand, Mr. Pendrill?"

Howard swallowed hard, and he straightened and stiffened his
back. "Yes," he asserted cautiously, confused: still
studying Cecily's nipples and wondering how they could have
swollen to such an enormous size. They were turgid and 
bulbous and still growing.

Was it because they'd been transplanted from that Egyptian
woman - an incompatibility, perhaps, in the DNA - or was it
for an entirely separate reason?

Howard braced himself for this new game that Cecily was
proposing, without knowing what it was about or what he was
anticipating.

"Do you see the locket around my neck?" Cecily asked him.

Howard did, and it was nothing special. It was a locket, and
it lay static and stationary, a long gold chain weaving its
limp, circuitous path from Cecily's throat to her chest and
thence into the deep cleft between her breasts. It lay
ordinary, oval shaped, with a filigree motif attached to the
front and a tiny clasp to the side - a common type of
ornament worn by a great many women.

Howard nodded tentatively, content to admire Cecily's chest
and those black, swollen teats as he looked at the locket.

"Inside is a picture of a young woman," Cecily told him.
"But who is it, I wonder? Is she my sister, or perhaps my
mother when young. That's the question I need you to answer,
Mr. Pendrill. You have thirty minutes to discover the truth
and to give me a name. That's all that I need from you: a
name. It's straightforward, uncomplicated and the clock is
now ticking. Unless you give me the young lady's name, I
must drop you from the program and you will kiss goodbye to
a life in the Special Forces. You won't be my conjugal, and
you won't be allowed to summon me to one of our country's
most elaborate torture chambers. In fact, you won't even see
me again. Everything will be gone, vaporized in a puff of
black smoke. On the other hand, Mr. Pendrill, if you
succeed, I promise to choose you as my partner and you, Lucy
and I will be happy in our various ways. Mr. Pendrill? Do
you understand me?"

Howard nodded cautiously, for he could hear Lucy's pitiful
screams from somewhere in the courtyard outside, and his
head was running with imponderable questions - big ones,
little ones, old and new ones, known and unanswerable -
every conceivable type.

Was Lucy really being stripped out there? Were her clothes
really being systematically removed by soldiers intent on
enjoying her body? Or did her screams have another
unidentified cause? Howard wanted to check, but Cecily's
black teats were like a curse that he couldn't escape from,
and they were drawing him closer.

Closer.

In his head he imagined himself, and Cecily, and Lucy living
together in a plush, third floor apartment near the centre
of town. He would fraternize with Cecily in the bedroom, and
Lucy would be his Cinderella. She'd be naked apart from a
pink, PVC apron that she'd fasten about her waist. She'd be
wearing her hair tied in pig tails and she'd care for the
house while Howard was out on assignment. She'd dust,
Hoover, and make beds, and when visitors came calling, she'd
open the door to them, her breasts exposed, and she'd offer
them the hospitality of her pussy.

"Thirty minutes," Cecily said, nodding towards a pocket
watch that she'd set on the table. "Thirty minutes. Not a
minute more. Do you understand, Mr. Pendrill."

She stood calmly with the locket hanging around her neck,
the ropes pinching her skin and numbing her circulation. And
from outside, Howard's ears became full of another woman's
screams.

It was Lucy.

Howard stared at the watch, noticing the time and the large
moving hands, that they jerked round the parched, shot face,
and he didn't know what he should do and where he should
start. He was hypnotized: and inside his head, the
struggling hands were ticking the time, while elsewhere in
another world, the disembodied voice of the Major was
barking his orders.

And into this strange, deviant world, wandered Lucy, wailing
and crying and telling Howard that he should do something to
help her.

"Search and destroy, sonny," the Major barked from an opaque
distant mist. "That's the mission! Show these girls what
you're made of and send them crying to their mammas. Do you
hear me, boy! Take them! Take them both! They want to be
tortured so torture them hard. Be a man! Strip them naked
and nail them to a tree! Prove to me that you have the
bottle to do it!"

In his vision Howard could hear Lucy's shrill voice
competing with Cecily for his attention. Her cries were
hollow, distant and muffled. "I'm frightened, Howie!" she
was sobbing. "Howie! Are you there? Oh God! Help me! Please,
help me! Tell these creeps, Howard! Make them let go of my
boobs! They've got their hands in my top! Oh my God! They're
touching me! They're in my panties! Jesus fucking Christ!
It's filthy, Howard! It's degrading! I beg you! Stop them!
Please stop them!"

What should he do? Where should he start?

And why was Cecily standing half naked in front of him,
hapless and vulnerable? Why had she ordered him to tie her
with so many knots and fasten her securely?

So many questions: known and imponderable.

She stood with her heavy Frankenstein breasts exposed, giant
lumps of Egyptian coal curling upwards and outwards. They
pretended to be teats; and hanging between them was the
locket: nestling and glinting.

This was the clue: the answer, and Howard was transfixed 
by the sight.

"How?" he muttered. "I mean..."

"You don't have the time to ask questions, Mr. Pendrill,"
Cecily replied steadily, although with a tired melancholy
exasperation. "I'm not your teacher, Mr Pendrill; your
counsellor, your mother, or even your lover - not yet. The
clock is ticking and time is becoming faster by the minute.
You have to act or you'll lose the girl, the department,
everything, Mr Pendrill. The whole caboodle. You have to 
act now!"

Howard heard the ticking in his head in that strange other
world, and he saw the regular jerking of the hands of the
watch, tearing away at the seconds. "I'm sorry." he said,
stony eyed and hard hearted. "What I meant was... How far am
I permitted to go... in persuading you?"

"No limits, Mr Pendrill," Cecily muttered readily, rolling
awkwardly onto her front. "We're not playing kiddie's games
now. This is bloodshed: real adult life and death games. You
must do as you must."

Howard sighed, because what she'd just said was rubbish, 
of course. There were always limits, and he said as much. 

There were always limits.

"Believe me, Mr Pendrill," Cecily said icily. "I know what
I'm saying. There are no limits today. None whatsoever. You
can do anything you desire. You can fuck me; rape me; nail
my tits to a tree. Anything you like. This is to discover 
what you are. I need to know if you can torture a woman."

Howard glanced again at the locket gleaming upon Cecily's
chest, and then up uncertainly at her taut expectant face.
He almost believed her, for it was a tragic, penitent face.
He understood that she would rather have been anywhere than
in that room, demanding that he hurt her. It was a strained,
anxious face: pale and gaunt.

Seeing that face helped Howard to understand that smeone was 
making Cecily do this. Someone. But who?

She didn't have a boyfriend, and so it couldn't be him. But 
she did have a governor. Who was it? It was time to ramp up 
the gears.

**


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