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From: Grim Williams <grim_williams@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Governor (Part 9) MF caution
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Date: Sun, 26 Aug 2007 05:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "=?utf-8?q?Governor=209.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 Nine : "The Fifth Commandment"




As soon as Lucy arrived home from school, she knew that
something was wrong. There was an atmosphere in the house.
Something had happened. She glanced anxiously at her mother
and saw that that she'd been crying. Her face was flushed,
and she wouldn't look at Lucy directly, and so Lucy was
anxious.

"What is it? What's going on?" Lucy demanded, but her mother
would only say that Lucy should go see her father.

He was in his study.

That's what she kept saying over and over. He was in his
study. Lucy should go see her father.

So, somewhat perplexed, Lucy went to her father's study and
she knocked tentatively at the door. Immediately, there was
a mighty roar, and it was obvious to Lucy that her father
was angry, impatient.

"Come in!" he yelled.

He was snarling, ordering that Lucy stand in the middle of
the room, and then, without explanation or preamble, he told
her to strip.

Lucy was horrified. The demand was alien for he'd never
abused her. "No! Daddy! Please! No!"

He'd never acted like this, and it seemed to her that maybe
he'd been drinking, for there was a half empty bottle of
whiskey on his desk. Lucy pleaded with her father. She
wanted an explanation, a reason. She begged that he
reconsider, but he would have none of it.

He kept telling her to strip, and Lucy kept wondering what
she'd done to deserve such anger.

She was crying now, and her father remained irrational and
angrier than Lucy had ever seen him, and the injustice of it
was that he refused to talk to her or explain why he was
behaving so abnormally. He just kept swigging at his whiskey
and telling her to undress. "Come on, Lucy. Strip. Let's see
that bare ass. Let's see those cute tits. I want your
clothes on the floor, and then you'll receive thirty strokes
on your behind; thirty strokes across the pussy and thirty
strokes on each of your breasts. You've been asking me for
it for months, babe, and today you're going to get it in
full measure!"

What had she been asking for? Asking for months? What was he
talking about?

"I've asked Daniel to apply the strokes," he snarled. "It's
time that he learned about such things. A man needs to learn
how to discipline a woman and it's time that your brother
learnt because he'll soon be a man. So get out of those
clothes and drape yourself across my desk."

"Papa!" Lucy could barely utter the word. She was weak
bellied. She was incredulous. She was ashamed. She blushed
violently and stammered: "Please, papa. No! Stop it. What
are you saying?'

Her father seemed not to notice that she was a young woman
and therefore it was inappropriate for him to tell her to
undress or ask her brother to punish her in that way.

Once again Lucy pleaded with her father. She reasoned so as
to soften his heart, and although he made out that he was
amenable and listening, he wasn't. His mind was closed,
locked up, sealed; and so purposely he added another five
strokes to her punishment.

He did it to discourage her from more protest and it was for
dissension, he said. Did she want more?

Lucy shook her head miserably, angrily, knowing that her
father wasn't being fair. She wiped her nose, and then she
wiped her cheeks and her eyes. Her father's mind was
decided. It was made up. He obviously expected her to obey
him because that's what daughters did - it was there in the
fifth commandment, children obey their parents - and the
more she argued and pleaded with him, the worse it would be.

Her father bared his teeth and dared her to delay. "Strip!"
he repeated, and he leered at her and glared at her clothes
in utter contempt. "Show me your pussy," he spat. "Play with
your tits. I want to see them close up on my desk."

Lucy was confused because it was her father talking to her,
and because of the drink he was acting like a stranger and
not like a father at all, and yet she had to obey.

It was there in the fifth commandment, and so Lucy did as
her father asked her. She undressed and lay across his desk,
with the cold hard wood chafing against her back and her
tits poking provocatively into the air.

She did it nervously, self-consciously, leadenly removing
her clothes and afterwards, when she was naked, she climbed
on to the desk and positioned herself upon it,
uncomfortable, ill at ease, allowing her father to tie a
handkerchief across her eyes.

"Okay," he rasped. "Now I must get your brother, so stay
still. You better not move."

And then, he'd gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts,
and the silence was frightening. What was going on? What was
happening? Lucy could neither see nor hear anything. She
could only fill in the gaps left void by her senses, and she
imagined her father walking around the house, searching for
Daniel and finally finding him in the yard, tinkering with
his car. What would he say? How would he react? What would
Lucy's father tell him to do?

Jesus.

Lucy lay shivering with her legs and her feet hanging loose
across the edge of the desk, and with her breasts pointing
up towards the ceiling and her arms clinging to her sides.
She lay there imagining the worst for what seemed like
forever, asking herself what was taking her father so long
and why was he doing it at all. Had Daniel gone out? Or was
it something else? How long must she wait?

And then, after what seemed like forever but probably
wasn't, Lucy's father returned with Daniel in tow.

"It doesn't matter what your sister's done," her father was
rampaging. "I want you to hit her. Hit her, Danny. I want
you to hit her tits and beat her pussy. I want you to stick
the fucking birch right up her crack and twist it all the
way in if you have to... I want it to hurt..."

Lucy was listening and panicking. What was going on? She was
naked and her heart was thumping and in turmoil, and at any
moment Daniel would speak... He would say something...
Things would be explained.

Surely...

And then Daniel did speak, but it was only to say: "Look,
Luc! Christ! Look at you! You look so heavenly sexy that
I've got an almighty hard-on! I don't know what you've done
to upset Dad, but I'm glad that you did. I know it will hurt
when I beat you, and I'm sorry, but I wish you could see my
cock..."

Her father interrupted. "Okay, Lucy," he said. "Open your
legs and keep them well apart. Nice and wide. Give Danny a
big target to aim at. If you close your legs or try to
wriggle I'll add extra strokes to your score, lots of extra
strokes... Do you get the picture, Lucy? It'll get worse...
Now open up or I'll add another five strokes..."

Lucy hurriedly opened her legs although she knew that Daniel
was looking at her there, but she was more frightened of the
extra punishment. Oh God. She waited for the first stroke,
the scream of the birch, very aware of how badly it would
hurt her.

Oh Jesus. Oh fuck.

It didn't come yet; not yet.

She felt herself shaking and she could hear the terror of
her heartbeat.

She could hear Daniel picking up a birch and then
practicing, swishing it several times. She was blind. She
couldn't see him, but she could hear. She could hear the
birch. She could hear its swish, and he could see her. He
could see. He could see her spread open pussy vulnerable and
waiting to be hit. He could see her quivering tits - another
swish - and she tensed, her legs wide open, anticipating the
pain, the shock, the attack: while he looked in pleasure at
her nakedness - and swished.

Oh fuck. Why was this happening? What had she done? Why was
her father so angry?

The seconds passed - another swish, more violent this time -
and then, out of the blue, it came. The birch sang through
the air and it crackled and burned. Lucy screamed at the
first stroke and she felt her legs close. They snapped shut
automatically to keep out the pain, but Daniel stayed calm.
He merely paused while he reflected on what she'd done, and
then he forced Lucy's legs apart, while her father added
five more strokes to the count.

"Noooo!!" Lucy wailed, covering her face with her hands, but
even as she cried, there came a swish followed by the second
stroke, and she fought to keep her legs apart, but she
couldn't; and then a third stroke, and a fourth, and a fifth
and all the others. She felt them raining down blow after
blow and tearing her apart; the miserable humiliating pain -
and she heard the noise without being aware any longer - the
terrible swishes - for so bad was the pain - and the only
relief came because she couldn't take the blows and she
closed her legs to bring a stop to the relentless battering
of the strikes.

She was crying, panting, out of breath, out of puff, but the
pause was temporary. Daniel patiently opened her legs each
time she closed them and her father added five more strokes
to the count.

He took a picture of Lucy's bruised and swollen cunt and
then, when he'd taken it, her punishment continued with
Daniel aiming again at her pussy.

It seemed to go on and on, the number of strokes never going
down, until eventually, Lucy's father took another photo and
then, when the picture was taken, he seemed to take pity on
her and he turned her over and Daniel started again,
whipping Lucy's ass. This was easier because it didn't
involve Lucy opening her legs and taking the strokes across
her tenderest parts, but it hurt nonetheless.

Oh God, it hurt, and again her father took a picture, this
time of her ass.

Finally, when Lucy was hurting all over, Daniel turned her
one final time and aimed at her breasts, the strokes
beginning with the breast faces and ending in the middle,
square on her teats.

Thirty strokes across each of her tits, he delivered, and
when he'd finished, Lucy's father took another, final
picture as Lucy lay soaking in her sweat and her panic and
the countless bloody weals; and he congratulated Daniel on a
job well done and he even promised him a copy of the
photographs.

Oh Jesus. Lucy couldn't breathe. She couldn't talk. She
couldn't move. She was in tears.

In all her dreams and fantasies and in all her years alive,
she'd never considered the possibility of having to strip
and put out for a brother she couldn't see; a brother who
would forever hold that advantage over her, and he would use
it in school.

It was done with the permission of her father; and the
prospect was galling and it gave Lucy butterflies.

She'd never imagined such pain and emotional cost.

How could she possibly face her brother after this? For
surely he would tell the boys what he'd done and they would
tell the girls... and struth. Why had her father allowed it?

So many questions...

Having bathed and rubbed ointment into her swollen bruised
skin, and having lain in the tub for hours, Lucy emerged
from the bathroom and she found Daniel sitting at the
kitchen table finishing his homework. Lucy blushed, and she
turned abruptly and returned to her room where she turned on
the stereo and played her music to cover the sound of
crying. She couldn't look at her brother. She couldn't talk
to him. She couldn't think about him.

This wasn't imagination or fantasy. This wasn't part of a
make believe world. This was real and it was too much.

At dinner, Lucy kept her head lowered and she sulked, eating
food without joining the family conversation. She didn't
look at her father, or Daniel, or even her mother.

Even her mother... She must have known... She must have
guessed... How could she not have known? She'd told Lucy to
see her father in his study. So why hadn't she stopped it?

Why had she allowed such an outrage?

Lucy was mortified. She imagined Daniel as he'd looked down
at her slit with his stupid selfish grin and then his red
swollen face as he'd whipped her.

And tomorrow Lucy would be the butt of every mocking taunt
and every crude innuendo at school, and not just a laughing
stock, but an irrelevance.

For a while after dinner, Lucy kept herself to herself up in
her room. She sulked. She moped. She cried, but then her
father summoned her again to his study.

He was more subdued now, more reasoned. The anger had
passed. He was almost depressed. "We must talk," he said.

Lucy gazed at him uncertainly, cautious, overcome by a chill
as if a door had opened, or closed, and she shivered,
knowing that he might punish her anew.

"I think that I should explain a few things," he said, and
he wiped his brow. "Because then you'll understand about
Albert."

The name caught Lucy by surprise. "Albert?" she cried.

"I know that you've been reading your mother's diary." her
father said, but then he paused and sighed. "I'm not stupid,
my dear. Your mother wasn't circumspect because she wanted
you to find her diaries. She wanted you to know..."

"Oh," Lucy exclaimed blankly, and she waited.

"Albert is a soldier," her father continued, glancing
irritably out of the window. "He works at Lodes Wold in a
secretive unit called SJ6, and for a while, your mother
worked there too. That's how she met Albert. We didn't tell
you before because I didn't think it right, or necessary -
but your mother thinks that it's time that you know, so...
Your mother worked there as - and this is the phrase that
they use - as a torture girl. It's a popular occupation in
these parts - good for some, bad for others. It gives women
a buzz... tickles the endorphins...

"Anyhow, SJ6 is clandestine and important. It protects us
all against terrorism and insurgency - or so the government
says. I don't know how much of it is true or what goes on,
except that there are men up there who are taught about
torture, sexual persuasion and rape. It's part of what they
learn and I know about it because I've been asked to
assist... for my sins. God, I wish I'd never set eyes on the
place. It's been a thorn... a thorn in my conscience, an
unholy alliance, because, you see, SJ6 requires a steady
stream of women volunteers to practice on, and these women
aren't easily resourced - not the kind that they want.
However, our women are perfect and ripe for their needs.
They're God fearing, principled and obedient to husbands and
fathers, and they can be trusted not go blabbing to the
press. So, for my sins, I helped them and I found them their
women. Are you with me, my dear?"

Lucy nodded cautiously, and she was looking at her father
with a serious and thoughtful expression. "Yes, sir. I think
I am."

"I got my hands dirty, you see. I'm ashamed of it now and I
regret it. I worked with Albert and I let him have your
mother and the other women too, because I was tempted; just
as the Christ was tempted... We can all be tempted. Are you
still with me, my love?"

"Yes, sir. I think so... I believe so."

"So it was in this context that your mother met Albert. He
was young, ambitious and tough, and attractive too: a rough
diamond. He had dark hair and he came with plenty of Irish
blarney, and he had a soldier's physique, which can appeal
to a young woman, especially a woman who's na<ve and... Yes.
Well. You see. It's time. I want you to meet Albert."

Lucy felt lost. This was the moment she'd always been
dreading and it was suddenly upon her. "Albert?" she mouthed
silently. "Are you saying I must meet Albert?"

"Yes. Definitely. You must. It's time. Your mother thinks
that it's the right time and Albert wants to meet you too.
Personally, I'd rather that you met the Devil but who am I
in all this? Eh? You'll serve your country and do exciting
things and have a good time, I'm sure, and you'll be with
Albert. Are you with me, my dear?"

Lucy blushed bright beetroot. "Yes, father. I think so."

But she wasn't with him. She thought she understood what he
was saying, but she didn't. She had no idea what her father
was talking about at all, as he could tell.

He sighed. "My dear. You're not listening to me. Listen to
me. Listen to what I'm telling you. The thing is, I always
wanted to be your father. I wanted it so much, and so I
thought that by supporting you, by helping with things like
your homework, by giving you moral fibre, I thought that I
could mould you... But I'm not your father, my love. Albert
is your father. Albert. That's why I couldn't hit you - and
I'm sorry that I was angry with you earlier, but Albert hits
all the women and they love him despite of it, perhaps even
because of it, and I selfishly thought that I must do it
just once, just to see what it's like, to see if it works,
if it helps, but I couldn't. I let Daniel do it, because you
see, I'm not your father, and the sight of you lying on the
desk with your pussy twitching in front of me, it was too
much for an old man to endure, because you're not a girl any
more but a woman, and... my God... Albert is your father and
he'll discipline you and he'll hurt you and you'll love him
for the pain, as you're mother loved him for the pain... and
you'll move on. You'll move on, my love, and you'll learn
that undoubtedly he's a good man with much to teach, and
you'll enjoy the things he teaches, for you are so like your
mother. That's why I was angry, my dear, because she was
addicted to the physical stuff too, and I loved her once,
and look at us now..."


**

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