Message-ID: <56621asstr$1190693401@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Yahoo-Newman-Property: ymail-3 X-Yahoo-Newman-Id: 743984.28415.bm@rrr2.mail.re1.yahoo.com From: Grim Williams <grim_williams@yahoo.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Original-Message-ID: <552999.68142.qm@web59301.mail.re1.yahoo.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 24 Sep 2007 16:09:10 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} The Governor (Part 16) MF caution Lines: 779 Date: Tue, 25 Sep 2007 00:10:01 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2007/56621> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman ___________________________________________________________________________ _________ Boardwalk for $500? In 2007? Ha! Play Monopoly Here and Now (it's updated for today's economy) at Yahoo! Games. http://get.games.yahoo.com/proddesc?gamekey=monopolyherenow ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP) system due to inadequate formatting. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ <1st attachment, "Governor 16.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 Sixteen : "The Arabian Doctor" There was a ceiling, long, white, narrow, and far away; with bright florescent lights. Cecily looked at it. "Where am I?" she mumbled. She was light, floozy, swimming in a bath of warm air and her body was lead. She forced her eyes to open, made them, looked round, but it was hard and it took effort. Every movement was sapping her energy. "What have you done? Where have you brought me?" "You're at the barracks, Cecily," replied an echoey male voice. "We need to talk, but there's no need to worry. I'm sorting things out." She saw a face: fuzzy and out of focus, yet still she recognized it as Albert's. He was her boss, or perhaps her ex-boss, she wasn't sure which, because she'd jumped into a river, and somehow there had been a tramp and he'd stopped her. "I've brought along some technicians," Albert said. "And also a doctor to make sure that everything's legal and above board. This is Doctor Wilson. Say hello, Cecily, and greet him." There was a pain filling Cecily's stomach. Everything was blurry because someone had drugged her. Who? Why? And then she remembered the tramp and that he'd raped her. But what had happened next, and why was her memory blurry? "I don't need a doctor," she mumbled, fighting a terrible treacle filling her muscles. What had he given her and what had it done? "That's not true, Cecily. I can see that you're not well and that you need professional assistance." She groaned. "That's not true. I'm well and healthy, at least I was. I've never had a sick day in my life. You don't understand..." Never mind the tramp. She saw a heavy muscular man and that he was standing next to Albert. Was this the doctor? He was wearing a cream Armani suit and he didn't look like a doctor. His hair was shorn and he had an hard, unforgiving face. "Hello, Cecily," the doctor said in a thick, sickly Saudi accent. He had a lisp and he couldn't pronounce Cecily's name. Each of the sibilants was slurred and replaced with a hiss. "Cecily. The Major tells me you haven't been well." "I'm all right," she groaned, screwing up her face because of the pain in her head and the sickness in her stomach. "I don't need a doctor... I'm depressed. I just need to rest..." Who was he, this strange unfamiliar Doctor Wilson? It didn't make sense that he should be a doctor. He was an Arab and Wilson clearly wasn't an Arabic name. "You do need a doctor, Cecily," Albert corrected, and he was patient, like a calm, long suffering father with a disobedient daughter, but not a Western father with a Western daughter. This was a different culture altogether. "You've had a mishap and Doctor Wilson is here to look after you. You need help, Cecily. Doctor Wilson can give you that help." Cecily screwed up her eyes and forced them to focus. She saw that Albert was leaning across her and the doctor was a little way behind. There was a bright light behind them both and this blinded Cecily's vision. The light was coming from the Doctor. He had a torch and he was shining it into her eyes. "Oh my God! Where am I?" She looked around and she saw that she was in the middle of a corridor. The walls were endlessly white and she was lying on a trolley and she couldn't move her limbs. They were wheeling her along the corridor and the fluorescent lights were high above her head, shining down into her eyes. There were tiles: white tiles in the distance, and the tiles were moving closer as the corridor rolled away beneath the trolley. "Doctor Wilson is here to do experiments, Cecily, experiments with the mind. You've given us a nasty shock trying to jump into that river but we've been here before and these lapses will stop. It's embarrassing, Cecily. It hurts me that you run from us, and so I've asked Doctor Wilson to take a look at you and make things better." "God!" she muttered, twisting about in anguish on the trolley. She felt sick, ill, close to vomiting. "I don't remember..." "That's okay. You don't have to remember. All that matters is that we're going to make things better: better, Cecily. Doctor Wilson has kindly promised to assist you and that's why he must perform the experiments on your mind." There was blackness: darkness. Why couldn't she remember? Everything was a blur: floozy and sinister and dizzy. She remembered that Harriet had seen a red headed woman on her bed, and that Dominic had been fucking the woman's pussy. "You need help, Cecily. You've been ill. It's an illness of the mind. Why else would you have tried to throw yourself in the river? I've looked after you. I've cared for you and yet you keep disappointing me and I don't like it. Things must change, Cecily. Things must change a lot." She tried to focus, and there were tears in her eyes. She could see the Major - Albert; ah yes, and also the doctor; and two or three others, but what was that behind them? It came into focus. God. She saw it: a photograph hanging on the wall at the far end of the corridor. It was a woman with her legs apart and she was lying in a large cauldron of tar. The woman was submerged in it and beneath the cauldron was a fire. There were logs and flames and they were lapping at the cauldron's edge, and the woman's expression was one of confusion. There were several Arabs surrounding the pot wearing traditional thoub garments, that is, the white one piece costume frequently favoured by rich Saudi men. Each had his head covered by a shumagg - or a scarf - and an ogal - a head band - to hold it in place. These men were like overgrown schoolboys in drag. They were like witches playing with their toys and they were dancing around the cauldron, while in it a naked woman was covered with black, sticky tar that clung to her face, her legs, her breasts and her thighs. It was awful. The smell of it was foul, acrid, and dry to the lungs. It was hot and unpleasant, and the steam hung above the cauldron like a heavy, poisonous storm cloud. Cecily saw it and she sucked in her breath and she did her best to scream, for the photograph was disturbing and obscene. Shit. She discovered that the sound was gone from her mouth and that she couldn't scream. Shit. Not only that, but Albert was whispering to the doctor and the words wouldn't stick in her mind. "If she won't cooperate," he was murmuring, "then I'll put the baby into care and I'll train it to follow in the steps of the mother. I'll do it, Mustafa. By the time it grows up, I'll have transformed it into a torture girl." The doctor smirked at this and he looked at Cecily severely: at her flat belly and her Frankenstein breasts, and then down at her groin. Hmmm. He was excited. Cecily was wearing a satin blouse and a black pencil skirt with a deep slit at the back, but the Doctor's gaze held such power that he could see through her clothes to her flesh, and he wanted to fuck her. Cecily could read it, for his eyes were like darts, fierce, fiery and burning; and he had the power to pierce through her underwear to her bra and her panties and through these as well. He was exposing her womanly nakedness to his gaze; and Cecily couldn't cover herself and preserve her modesty because her hands wouldn't move. "I want to go home," she moaned, her voice weakening and shaking, for the doctor was visually exploring every inch of her body, and he was turned on. He was examining the peaks of her ruined breasts and the valleys and chasms in between, and the more he looked at her, the weaker she got, and the more visibly turned on he was. Oh God. She began shaking. He was studying her belly and her legs, and his eyes were lifting her dress and peering at her thighs and the tops of her stockings; nonchalantly peeling them away so that he could gaze at her without them, and then his eyes unfastened her bra and he tugged down her panties, dismissing both these garments as irrelevant, and he leered at her nude figure, staring at the space between her breasts and the other place, the lower place, the one between her legs, and he smiled. "I hope very much that we won't need to adopt little Ruth," he said. "I'm sure that given a few moments, Cecily and I will be able to come to an agreement, don't you think so, Cecily?" And with these ambiguous words, the doctor leaned to his side and he whispered into Albert's ear. "The clothes," he fawned, clasping and reclasping his hands. "We must remove them for the sake of the experiment. Do you wish to do it yourself, sir, or shall I?" Albert nodded gravely, his eyes haunted by lechery and pathos. He liked the idea of removing Cecily's clothes. That would be good. That would be special. "Ah yes," he nodded, well aware of how Cecily was clinging to his words. "Ah yes. How could I have forgotten? Let's do it. Let's do it right now." But nothing was forgotten. Nothing was forgiven. Everything was part of his play. "Doctor Wilson is going to remove your clothes now," Albert enunciated at her clearly, helping Cecily to her feet and hooking his arm into hers and helping her to move forward. "You mustn't struggle, my dear. You must cooperate with us, if only for your baby Ruth's sake. You wouldn't want for Ruth to grow up to follow in her mother's footsteps, would you? So listen. For Ruth: we're going to the laboratory now. Do you hear me, Cecily? Doctor Wilson is taking you to the laboratory and he's going to undress you. He's going to take your pretty picture and he's going to hang it on the wall." The colour rushed blankly to Cecily's face and she struggled for balance, staring blankly and helplessly into thin air. God. They were going to undress her. Obviously. It had been bound to happen. How could it not? And if she resisted, then they'd take her baby and give her to foster parents, and those foster parents would raise her and they'd train her to become a torture girl. "I don't want to stay here," Cecily mumbled, struggling for breath. She could smell the overpowering stench of tar. "I want to go home." "What was that, Cecily? Can you repeat it please? I didn't hear you?" The two captors compelled Cecily to walk. They guided her across the floor towards a big white door on the far side of the room, but her feet were leaden and drugged and they were difficult to move, and they were becoming heavier and more leaden with each laboured step; and Cecily's balance was faulty. She saw blinds obscuring the windows and a nurse standing attentively, watching her steps. "I'm not letting you go, Cecily," Albert whispered into her ear, manoeuvring her through the door and stealing a kiss of her neck as he did so. "You're not well. You need help." But she was well. She told them again that she'd never had a day's illness in her life, but her lips barely moved and nothing escaped them. Oh God. She was in a second room now, a larger one. This room was the laboratory and it had plain white walls and equally harsh fluorescent lights. There were posters on the walls and books on the shelves, and a picture of a woman at the front, just as before. It was a different woman, sturdier, with bigger heavier tits, and she was naked just like the former one. Her legs were splayed open and her gash was covered in tar. But there was something else: she was heavy with child. Cecily absorbed the scene, knowing that she was being watched by both the Major and the Doctor, and she felt confused, because the more she tried to avert her eyes from the terrible scene, the more she saw it. Like the other woman, there was a cauldron of tar in the picture and the woman was being dipped in it. Cecily daren't look. There was something erotically obscene about the picture, something primal and base, something cruel, because the woman was in pain and she was being humiliated and yet, ridiculously, she was playing with her sex and becoming hot and aroused. "That's Harriet," Albert cried venomously, delighting to see Cecily's confusion and panic. "Do you recognise her? Eh? Do you remember her? Harriet's a torture girl and she became pregnant and she thought she could run away. Look at her! She's nine month's gone in that picture and about to drop. You can see the lump in her belly and the heaviness in her tits, but I taught her, eh, Cece, just like I taught the others. Harriet was tied to a rack and stretched, like the others were stretched, and that's how she endured her labour, being stretched, endlessly and relentlessly pulled apart, and electric current juicing her tits and zapping her pussy. When the baby finally popped out, I tarred and feathered her and I cut the nipples from her breasts." Cecily wanted to appear interested in this history, but in truth, she was more worried about he things happening around her than in what had once happened to poor Harriet. You see: there were four people in the room besides Albert and the Doctor, and one was a woman, and the woman was wearing a white coat and she was looking at Cecily like she was retarded or a recent scientific discovery. A man sat behind her and he was in front of a keyboard and he was trying to seem important, but it was the woman who held Cecily's attention because she was placing cotton sheets on a gurney, and the words "Harper Laboratories" were indelibly inscribed on the corner of each sheet. Cecily lowered her head involuntarily and she saw bunches of cable lying strewn across the floor, untidy and random. Another man, the second, pushed them out of her path, but Cecily was too dizzy to think and too tired to speak. She shuffled past the clusters of cable with every one of her steps being a mammoth effort facilitated by Albert and the Doctor. They were dragging her forward. "Please!" her lips curled because Albert was standing her in front of the gurney and leaning her against it. Her eyes were drooping and she looked at the woman and she begged for her help. It wasn't done loudly, but it was there in her eyes. Her lips moved silently and her heart cried aloud in pain, but the woman refused to look, to attend, and instead, Cecily felt cold hands on her back, unhooking her dress. Jesus. It was the Doctor. It was his hands that she could feel, his fingers, his icy caress, and Cecily felt sick. This vile man was touching her and undressing her. He was supposed to be a Doctor but Cecily didn't believe it and didn't trust him, so she kept begging the woman for help with her eyes, but the woman did nothing and instead, she moved away and typed something quickly on a keyboard and entered numbers and letters and acted as if everything were normal. Except that nothing was normal, especially what the Doctor was doing. That wasn't normal. It was unpleasant and sick, for there was a pounding in Cecily's ears and a crawling of her skin for the Doctor was touching her back and unzipping her dress. She felt the cold air and the clammy hands, and her arms wouldn't react and her hands didn't move. That wasn't normal. And then the doctor slipped her dress from her shoulders and pushed it down to her waist. He let it rest there awhile while he gawked at her, but then he teased it over her hips and he nudged it so that it floated down her legs to the floor. "What am I going do with you, my dear?" Albert exclaimed, bending down and lifting Cecily's feet from the dress. She could feel his eyes peering through her green panties, staring at her ass cheeks and the womanly divide. She could feel him, his hot breath and his dirty lascivious gaze; and her face grew angry. "Ah yes," the Major paused jovially, peering more closely at Cecily and her panties and her firm round buttocks. "That's the question. What do we do with you, Cecily?" She would have answered, but she was numb. Her lips wouldn't work, so instead, she hung uncomfortably across the gurney, slumped upon it and staring down at the tiled floor, tension building in her arms and legs with each thumping heartbeat. Albert and the Doctor were behind her and she could hear their interactive titters and she wanted to know what they were doing, but she couldn't, because if she'd tried to turn and look at them, she would have fallen flat on her face. This wasn't normal. There was no coordination in her legs or her hands. None. She was paralytic: no movement. As she considered this, Albert tossed her dress to the woman in the white coat, who accepted it and dropped it into a bag. Then, the Doctor unbuckled Cecily's stilettos, stroking each leg and ankle and foot, and he deftly removed the shoes handing each to the female technician. "I'm going to take your little girl," he jeered, and he touched Cecily leerily and without her permission, first her waist and then her thighs. Then he suggested that she climb up onto the gurney. "She'll go to school. She'll live a normal carefree life, and then, when she's grown up, when her breasts are filling her clothes, I'll hurt her. I'll break her." Two male technicians helped Cecily up onto the gurney, turning her this way and that until she was lying face up with her arms at her sides and she was staring upwards at the bright fluorescent lights. "You're going to be tortured, my dear," the Doctor grinned at her, and he glanced good-naturedly at Cecily, except that there was no goodness to his nature, just hardness and coldness and lust. "You're going to be tortured over and over, as many times as your body can take. Imagine that! And if you protest or fight me, I'll hurt your girl. I won't do it now, but when she's grown up and naked and tied up. I'll make her scream so pitiably that the sound will suck out your guts. Are you ready to watch your girl whimper and cry? Because I'll do it. I'll do terrible things. I'll hurt your poor little Ruth, and you'll sit there and watch me. That's her destiny, Cecily, because she was conceived at Lodes Wold and she'll return to Lode's Wold. She'll always be my dear little girl." Cecily heard these horrible threats and her vision became hazy and blurred. She couldn't see. She couldn't smell. She couldn't touch. She couldn't believe. She could only hear and pray. Oh God. What was he saying about poor, baby Ruth? In panic, Cecily became conscious of the female technician leaning across her chest and placing her hands in restraints, one on either side of the gurney, and buckling them up. "Be strong," the technician whispered softly into her ear, brushing Cecily's hair from her eyes and touching her lips. The woman kissed them. She wet them. "For Ruth's sake," she whispered. "Don't let these bastards break you. Don't give them that pleasure, because they'll take your baby and they'll train her. I know. Oh God. I know." Cecily heard the words but she couldn't acknowledge them. "Harriet was one of my favourite agents," Doctor Wilson interjected, casting a cold perverted eye on Cecily's restraints. He seemed pleased as he tested and tightened Cecily's knots. He checked her hands, and then her ankles, and then he got ready to hurt her. "She was sexy, pretty, but fucked up in the head, and she kept running and there was no reason to run. So we placed her in the cauldron and look at her! Look how high she is on the black stuff. She loves the heat burning her pussy and that it singes her minge. She loves that it's seeping into her holes and making her yell." Cecily felt nauseous. She took a deep breath, because the Doctor was playing with the clip of her bra, and he was unfastening it, and her breasts were wobbling around, and they were feeling like jelly. Cecily didn't like it that the technicians were looking at her tits, especially the male ones, but there was nothing she could do. The Doctor was playing with them and she was helpless. Then a moment later the Doctor grabbed the cups of her bra and he tugged them from her bosoms. He pulled the straps from her shoulders and he slid them down her arms and suddenly her bra was in his hands and he was looking at her black oversized nipples, and the top half of her body was bare. He stared at her slyly, meanly, touching her breasts where the terrible scars had become feint silvery lines, where she was at her most vulnerable and self-conscious. "We ought to play like this more often," he commented wickedly, pinching her black teats and making them expand. They grew hard and became turgid, and he smiled and rolled them through his fingers. "It's not often I get the chance to experiment." Then, he folded the bra and handed it to the woman technician who dropped it into her bag. Again he looked at Cecily's breasts, teasing and touching her teats. "You'll go down well in the strip bars," he whispered, squeezing her breasts together and making them bulge. "These Arab guys love an old fashioned English Rose and they'll go mad for weird tortured tits like yours, and once I've finished my experiment, they'll be queuing for the chance to put a kid in your belly..." He smiled, and then he touched Cecily's final garment, her briefs, and he stretched the gusset, pulling it into her slit: "Shall we remove these, my dear?" he teased. "It's time we looked at your pussy," and then he pulled at the waist band, extenuating the shadow of her hair and the bulge. "You women huff and puff," he smirked jokily, tugging further at the waistband, pulling the crotch even deeper into her slit, making it bite. "But you'll sound very different once we've given you our babies..." And with that, he tugged at Cecily's panties and he pulled them across her hips and down her calves, and over her feet. It was done and over with in one sweet unbroken movement and in an instant, Cecily was naked, and her pussy lips were gaping. "That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" he leered, signalling to the woman technician that she should pull Cecily's legs apart. She did as she was told, pulling Cecily's restraints to the corners of the gurney and then tightening them up. This made Cecily's pussy open yet wider, and the doctor smirked at her cunningly. "Very nice," he smiled, his smirk broadening. He could see Cecily's feminine jewel gleaming from between her lips, and he made sure that she knew that he could see it. "How cute!" he exclaimed, peering at Cecily's bud as it peeped between her lower lips, and then he pointed and touched it with the tip of his finger. "Perfect," Albert agreed, checking the ankles holding Cecily's feet, and then looking at her himself. "Just perfect." Cecily mumbled. The saliva dribbled from her mouth. She was cold, shivering. God. Albert sat down and typed in a series of instructions and a television screen lit, double underlined, with Cecily's name and address, her age and countless other statistics, including her vital ones. 34-24-35, it said. Just numbers. More typing, more characters on the screen, apparently not interesting this time. Cecily felt uncomfortably exposed and she wished she wasn't cold. The men were all staring at her pussy, but hey, so was the woman. She thought she must say something, protest, do something, when suddenly, it was as if they'd given her an electric shock: a jolt that permeated her body and ricocheted from her toes to her hair. She gasped and immediately the shock was gone, replaced by something else, a strong throbbing sensation originating in her sex organs. She felt anxious and embarrassed. Why? What was it? What was she to do? Ideas of resistance were out of the question. The desire in her groin was too overpowering. Shit. She could feel an invisible hand reaching inside her quim and gripping it, while another caressed her groaning breasts. A whirlpool of desires exploded within her and her mind wouldn't concentrate. Jesus. A hand entered her cunt and a finger worked on her clitoris, rubbing it gently, except that there was no hand or fingers anywhere near her. She looked in panic at the Doctor and the laboratory technicians, uncertain, frightened, wondering whether they'd noticed, and what did they think? What was going on? What had they done? Was someone touching her? But no one was. Her eyes told her that she was hallucinating, except that she wasn't. She could feel a masculine touch. There was a hand, a man's hand, its index finger caressing her jewel and making her wet. She groaned under the weight of erotic feelings, beads of perspiration gathering between her breasts and in the small of her back. She swayed, consumed by the intensity of an unexpected passion. She grunted and screamed as she hurtled towards her climax and it sucked the energy from her lungs. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Jesus. An invisible hand was opening the inner lips of her sex and exploring inside, and the feelings induced by this hand pleasured her without any question as to their propriety entering her mind. She rolled around on the gurney, convulsing as if in an epileptic fit and being held by the restraints, except there was no fit, only an uncontrollable emotion. The female technician wiped Cecily's brow with the corner of a white paper towel, and then she wiped the sweat from between Cecily's breasts. She flannelled her stomach and her thighs, and then she dabbed her mound, wiping away the excess moisture from between her legs because Cecily was leaking. Fluids dripped from her pussy. Oh Jesus. The woman dried her and then she stood back to allow the men to watch Cecily's performance in silence, and what a performance it was. Cecily was getting hotter and hotter, and she groaned and she screamed, and she shuddered, and there seemed to be a man's cock inside her and filling her cunt, spurting and spitting and filling her with seed... Oh God. It was coming. She was coming, and yet the men didn't touch her. They didn't go near her. They just watched... It was coming. Oh Jesus. She was full up with some strange man's cock and she was cumming and she cried out. Oh God. And then suddenly she saw a huge copper pot rearing up in front of her, equally as tall as she was, and the technicians were lifting her towards it. She was naked and aroused and wet and they were carrying her from the gurney to the pot, holding her by her hands and her feet. "You don't run when you work for me," Albert said as the technicians were strapping her to a hoist. "No one runs. Do you understand, my dear?" The hoist had a plastic seat and it could be lifted and lowered, and Cecily groaned, for she was being lifted above the cauldron, and she was swinging in mid air, and at any moment they would lower her into the tar. Oh fuck, she could smell it, the disgusting foul odour. It was getting stronger. She could hear the gurgling of its boiling and the crackle of the fire, the tar was simmering and it was wet and sticky and heavy upon her skin. Soon she would be dunked. Soon. Very soon... Oh shit. It was getting closer! She pulled up her feet. She curled up, but despite her best efforts, her feet plunged into the tar, and it was hot and burning, and now it reached her legs. Oh shit. The tar was creeping up her thighs and seeping into her pussy and into her ass, and she screamed again. It was too hot! Oh shit! It was creeping up her stomach and it was up to her belly button and she was sinking. Oh fuck! The tar was approaching her breasts. It was lapping against her bosoms, and still she was sinking. She was being immersed. How far would it go? She sucked in a breath. Soon it was up to her neck and she lifted her face to escape from the unavoidable tar. It was coating her hair, dripping, heavy and weighing it down, dripping and pulling at her neck. Oh Jesus. She was drowning... All that could be seen was her cheeks, her nose, her eyes, her forehead. The rest of her was submerged and gone and she was hot. She was being boiled alive, roasted, like some Roman courtesan of ancient Pompeii. Oh Jesus. She wasn't a courtesan... The female technician moved, and she was above her and her laboratory coat gaped at the front and that there was a green bra and a set of briefs through which Cecily could see a triangle of hair. Oh shit. Cecily couldn't breathe. Oh shhit. She was drowning and the tar was rising across her face, rolling across her cheeks, and hot, and burning, and the woman was bent down. "Cecily!" she inquired. "Do you know who I am?" The woman was olive skinned, and she had a fruity Mediterranean appearance. She had long painted nails and an abundance of gold jewellery, and she parted Cecily's legs and she reached down between them and she grabbed hold of Cecily's cunt. "Cecily!" she repeated softly. "Tell me who I am. Tell me my name." And as Cecily took one final deep breath and prepared to go under, her face rose to the surface and she whispered. "I don't know your name. I've never seen you before..." "You do know me. My name's Lucy." "Lucy?" "Yes, I'm Lucy, and I'm your boss, your mistress, your governor." "Yes. I understand. You're my governor..." The woman signalled that Cecily should be lifted from the tar. She commanded; she ordered. She watched as Cecily was lifted and then she leaned across her, deliberately exposing her cleavage and presenting it to the Doctor while she measured Cecily's blood pressure, her heart rate and pulse. She indicated that the hoist should lift Cecily up, and Cecily arose from the tar, and her mind became light and weightless. She was dazed and she felt herself being lifted back onto the gurney and wheeled along a long corridor. Harsh fluorescent strip lights shone above her, and wires came from her head, her breasts and her pussy. Occasionally Cecily caught a sight of herself in the reflection of a steel handrail, a panel, or a glass ornament, and she was confused because she didn't recognise that it was her in the reflection. Her eyes moved on, and her mind and her heart, and there was a door, and the trolley moved through the door and suddenly she was outside in the open with grey rolling clouds hanging above and buildings around her and a stiff cool breeze reminding her that she was naked. The trolley rolled forward and stopped and then rolled back, and then it slid down an incline and through a crowd of people. It turned, first to the left and then to the right and then the brake was applied. Cecily couldn't see the people or the technicians. She couldn't see the sky or the clouds or the buildings. She couldn't see, because rising up above her was a rich canopy of leaves, and they were green and broad and dense and they covered Cecily's nakedness completely. She was for some reason lying beneath a tree, an Oak tree, and Cecily saw that Lucy had a hammer in his hand, and also two nails, and she was handing them to a man, her boyfriend, and he was looking in the direction of Cecily's tits, and he was going to nail them both to the Oak tree, and then he was going to watch. ** <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+