His Honor the Governor

A work of fiction

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I pray that this being a work of fiction and with everything in this story being made up and not being based on any events, places or persons existing in real life that no parallels or similarities exist. But I have been wrong before.

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I wrote this story to be entertaining. It is not political commentary. I tried hard to use made up names and details, although the Unorganized Territory of Cimarron did exist north of 36" 30' until 1887 after the independent nation of Texas was admitted as the 28th United State (spelling not incorrect) in 1845.

(As historian Shelby Foote so eloquently said, "before 1865 'United States' was plural.") The characters are not parodies of any actual persons. The protagonist is an unethical disreputable cad, he uses power and influence to get what he wants, screwing everybody over in the process. That includes his daughter. I did not intend for him to be liked.

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All sexual activity in this fictional tale occurs between characters at least 18 fictional years of age.

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You have been warned, please turn back now before it's too late. Please.

You did not listen to me, now he's the Governor. Please! Don't encourage him. If he gets to DC we are all doomed.

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"I Rahauten Werhmweud..."

"Do solemnly swear..."

"Do solemnly swear..."

"To uphold the duties of my office and the Constitution..."

"To uphold the duties of my office and the Constitution..."

"Of the State of Cimarron, and of the United States..."

"Of the State of Cimarron, and of the United States..."

"So help me God."

"So help me..."

"God."

"Huh?"

"God."

"Oh... Yes."

"So help me God," repeated the Chief Justice.

"So help me God."

As I removed my hand from the Bible, I thought to myself that they must have had fun finding that book here at the State Capitol, probably had to send an intern over to B. Dalton. I looked at my hand and laughed to myself. No blisters as my opponent in the election last November, that looser, had famously promised to the media after being so discourteous as to deny me my congratulatory phone call, proof that he lies about everything.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Governor of The Great State of Cimarron," the voice of the Speaker of the State Assembly boomed from the speakers in the plaza.

Fools say that this state was formed from that part of Texas lying north of 36"30' latitude because of the language contained within the Missouri Compromise. But it's really more than that. Cimarron is the ultimate no-mans-land, the second most populous state in the nation. We are both everything and nothing at the same time. A territory not in rebellion we were ignored by uncle Abe's proclamation of 1863, slaves here today are just called by a different name, resident.

I turn and kiss my beautiful and wealthy socialite wife, respectably, not ravenously as I do before or after massaging the sensitive head of my penis through her neck while it is inside of her throat. We walk past our adoring crowd of supporters in order to board the limo that will deliver us to the Gala Ball at the Ritz-Carlton, a few blocks from the old Spanish Colonial Plaza.

It has been a long time since we had been alone together, my wife and me. I have been very busy as of the last couple of months with my succulent Baby Girl, my resourceful Chief of Staff. In between fucking my gorgeous daughter and receiving really, really, wonderful blow jobs from her talented mouth we have somehow managed to find an hour or three to spend discussing the gubernatorial transition currently underway.

I entered the white limousine with my wife, arguably the hottest fifty-one-year-old piece of ass in the whole United States let alone the State of Cimarron. Once there I handed her a tiny bottle of spring water from the mini fridge separating us saying, "I have a surprise for you." I turned the radio up slightly as I pressed the little button closing the window and thereby isolating the driver in front seat from us in the rear.

It was the size of a shoebox and wrapped in fancy golden yellow tissue, she removed the paper and stopped cold. Inside of the fancy tissue was a heavy weight brown cardboard box marked in large black letters 'EVIDENCE Cimarron City Police Department,' and in smaller in black pen 'Case number A-3...'"

"What is..."

"Open it up, it's yours. To do with as you see fit."

The foil tape seal on the box had been neatly cut, so she opened the lid and slowly removed from the inside of the box a folded blue jacket that legal documents are normally contained within. Opening the jacket, she saw that it was three pages of typed affidavits. Each page was dated twenty-nine years ago and said near the top of each page, "Sworn statement of..." It was on top of an old and now slightly rusty tagged Fairbairn-Sykes knife in a plastic bag. The kind of knife that the OSS issued to its operatives during its brief existence. It looked like and it probably was her grandfather's.

"I thought about just destroying them, but I thought it would mean more to you this way."

"What do you want Rahauten?"

"I am releasing you from any debt you have to me because I want to make you an offer that I hope you accept."

"It's been in there that box, you have had this, holding on to it, for thirty-one years?"

"I have kept it safe."

"As an insurance policy?"

"There is no statute of limitations on... Well there isn't. I don't think anyone could possibly get a criminal conviction based on that object with it having such a hanky chain of custody, without the tag and box you can frame it and put it on the wall. Those affidavits however could be construed as what we call 'a statement against penal interest,' they are likely admissible. They could destroy you and our daughter. Do you see who signed them."

"My father... My mother... Dad's attorney..."

"I have already burned mine, so like I said, they are yours. But I think you should burn the affidavits, the box and the evidence tag."

She looked and saw that there were small remnants of the missing sheet retained by the staples.

"What are you up to?"

I had timed it perfectly, my words arrived just as the limo pulled up the front door of the Ritz. "My offer to you is 'First Lady Wehrmweud.' Think about it."

She quickly reached to lock the door as the driver reached for the outside handle.

"You? President Rahauten Werhmweud?"

"Why not, nine years ago I was Councilman Wehrmweud," I said unlocking the door for the confused driver to open.

"After you my dear." I said as the driver opened the door. "Give our daughter that box, we wouldn't want for it to get lost, it cost more than this limo."

She looked at me. "She knows?"

"Who do you think wrapped it up so pretty?"

We did not see much of each other during the proceedings of the inauguration ball because I had lots of hands to shake and photos to pose for, lies to exchange and people to thank. I was also quite busy doing my due diligence in filling the open position for the Chief of Staff to the new Governor in the room rented for the interview procss.

"The Byzantines believed that your pains in hell would be offset by the suffering you successfully endured on earth."

"What daddy?"

"If God exists, if hell exists my Baby Girl... Well outside of the third ward where we both already know that it does. Although I doubt it severely, my never having been struck by lightning... Then you and I are going there. But I can make it easier for you," I said as I firmly slapped the wonderful round buttocks of my gorgeous and naked twenty-eight-year-old daughter who was bent over my lap. My right hand was giving her hard-stinging blows, left then right, left then right, while my left was fingering her soaking cunt while fondling her swollen pussy lips, and blood engorged clitoris.

"Oh, daddy. Daddy... Daddy..." She pants.

"You did an awful thing," I said as I withdrew two and returned three fingers into her oozing wetness, my thumb riding back and forth atop her clit and my little finger on her perineum. I pumped her hard and furious. "You just helped a dybbuk, a soulless ghost to get elected."

"Th... That... Is... Nu... Not..." She is trying to argue, but words fail her as I now have all five digits of my left hand inside of her. Squish, squish, squish, it's such an adorable sound that I am making while I am fist fucking my daughter. "Ahhh... True..."

"Its OK Baby Girl, daddy will make sure you have a zero-balance on judgement-day."

"Daddy... You do... Do have..." She said gasping and panting like crazy and squirming at the end of my arm like a sock puppet doing the hula. "A soul... Daddy"

"Yeah, right."

"But only... Mom... And I can... See... She said as she coated my slacks in the prettiest smelling substance I had ever encountered. Slick, fragrant and tasty. Ahhhh... Oh... Ah... Fuck... It..."

"That's a good Baby Girl," I said as her vaginal muscles gripped my fist as she came very hard on my lap. Good thing I brought a spare set of trousers, I thought as I took these off.

"You just keep it hidden," she said before taking my fingers into her mouth sucking her own secretions from them and then just like her mother giving me a long tongue-dancing kiss before finally swallowing our mixture.

Then my Baby Girl went to work taking care of me, throating my penis while massaging it with her right hand inside of her throat while I held the back of her head with both hands and pumped.

"Ahhh, here I..." That always gets me.

Our encore, and the final phase of her interview consisted of my using two fingers of each hand to retrieve her pussy lube and spread it on my penis, and around her anus as she laid face down on the bed. I climbed atop her and with my pubic hair making intermittent contact with her reddened and hypersensitive buttocks I pushed my way in.

"Daddy," she said as I entered her and began thrusting.

"Yes, my Baby Girl."

"Fuck my ass really hard." She was smart, like her mother. "Fuck me hard daddy." She was twisted like her father. "Harder." She knew. "Hurt me daddy." She knew that it... "Pound me daddy."

"Ahhh..." There and I laughed to myself thinking, "I just fucked those little swimmers too. No eggs for you to find up there."

Yes, she was smart my daughter, just like my wife. The randier she can get me the sooner and harder I will come. The sooner it will be over, and blue pill or no, two is about my limit for several hours

With all three of the previously unfilled openings in the Governor's new Chief of Staff filled, I went looking for my wife to continue our intentionally interrupted conversation. We were less than a dozen blocks from our penthouse home downtown. But really? What use are fame and position, influence and wealth, if you cannot flaunt them in an twelve-hundred dollar a night room you don't need. I eventually rejoined my wife and led her to 'The Presidential Suite' of the hotel.

"Rahauten, are you serious about making a run?"

"Yes, eight years from now twelve at the most I do truly see myself as President of the United States. Can you see yourself as First Lady? Because I can my dear, Mrs. Wehrmweud wife of one President mother of another."

"You don't have to convince me that you walk on water, you did that thirty years ago, but President?"

"You are free. I have a plan, several plans actually. But you get to decide your role."

"I don't understand."

"You can do what you want I just need to know. I don't need to know today so you can take some time to think it through, but if there is a split it has to be choreographed."

"Are you telling me to leave?"

"No, you are one sweet piece of ass, I am just planning for the future."

"For a run?"

"For all four of us. For me, which is what you said, for my legacy, for our daughter so she can follow in my footsteps, for you."

"Rahauten you just counted yourself twice."

"And so?"

"This is..." She said looking down at the box.

"A bonus for helping to get me here, and a chance for you to decide where you want to be eight to twelve years from now."

"You charlatan... Love, you can't say it, but can you really can feel it, this box proves it."

"No, my holding onto that box was smart. Now my giving it to you so that you can destroy its contents and be certain that they have been destroyed is smart. I am fifty-seven and want to be President by sixty-nine. Now that's not all that old today but it's not fifty either. You can't know, anything could happen some loony-toon could kill me out of spite. Where would that leave you or our daughter."

"You realize that you never asked me, in thirty years together you have never once asked me."

"A lawyer shouldn't ask a client a question that he doesn't want to hear an inconvenient answer to."

"I did. You know that don't you."

"Yes, I knew intellectually but not legally. Until just now I could honestly answer that I had never asked you. That you had never told me and that you have the right to not say anything about it."

"You Rahauten, answer a question honestly, get real. Inconvenient, is that all that it was?"

"No, actually it's kind of a turn-on, it shows me that you are not a sheep."

"That was almost romantic. You knew, but you saved me anyhow."

"There was a whole lot of upside in your predicament for me, proving myself to the firm and getting the political support of your parents, not to mention your very sweet tasty pussy and tight ass, and our Baby Girl. Lots of upside for me, don't read into the situation something that isn't there."

"My dad did not give you the money." It was a statement not a question.

"No."

"It must have cost a fortune." She said looking at the box.

"It did."

"Where did you get the money, you fake dutchman, you didn't..."

Its true I am not Dutch. I just make a whole ethnic group happy with that declaration, but don't expect me to repeat it in public. My father the mathematician, mathematician being what the spin-doctors advise me to call a retired numbers runner, made up the name. He also misspelled it which was good for three devastating television commercials on governmental incompetence, immigration policy, and bigshots screwing the little-guy.

During my first campaign for City Council the incumbent ran an ad saying that my father was a wanted fugitive, it set off a shit and firestorm that led to a forty-point victory, for moi. My father's business associates persuaded 'witnesses' to come forward before taking their all-expense-paid vacations in Vegas. Their attorneys also represented the Fontbonne and they 'found' employment forms 'proving' that while he was the head of the 'Police Review Board' my opponent lived in a luxury high rise where a wanted fugitive was employed under his own name and using his own social security number. As the doorman. That commercial was must see TV, it even got replayed for free in the news.

When the police then arrived to arrest my father we had a second 'killer' commercial. The whole city saw videotape of my opponent's "personal Police Department" arresting a wheelchair bound old man, a combat veteran that he had greeted almost daily for years, but who was useless once that old man could no longer perform his menial job. Twenty cops to arrest a sixty-seven-year-old in a wheelchair, two eventually carrying him in the fireman's carry down the front steps to the police van.

Even in this campaign nineteen years later we still reaped rewards from that faux-pas. We ran ads accusing my opponent of being part of an organized conspiracy against me, the crusading lawyer. A racist opposed to Dutch immigration to the US. A communist opposed to small business. A corrupt official using old police files and his connections to his political advantage. An elitist trying to paint the up-and-coming son with the sin of the father. A manufactured sin at that, for the many conspiracy theorists, I track well with those wearing tinfoil hats. A liar and a fool.

"You did! You went to them for money. If you lost, if I had been convicted I would have gone to prison, but it would have been you, not me that got the death penalty!"

"True enough."

"Well then, if you don't love me then you made a really big mistake. Maybe now I will just have to dispose of an inconvenient witness. Heck, you just gave me the means to do so." She said toying with the knife.

"You won't. At least for four years because there is absolutely no upside to being the widow of the former Governor watching my running mate's wife move into your mansion. For the next four to eight years its totally upside with absolutely no downside for you. The governor's mansion is sixteen blocks from our penthouse, seven from City Hall. It's my gift to you for your loyalty. But Washington is 1463 miles from Cimarron City. I can make a split win-win if you don't want to leave your life here behind."

"1463 miles, you know the exact number of miles?"

"What do you think interns are for? Certainly not to make coffee, imagine being so incompetent you can't even make a decent cup of coffee. I don't have to imagine, I have a dozen of them right now, but if I got rid of one he might go over and volunteer for Beelzebub.

My point is that I have a plan. I have worked it out in detail. I would like to be sworn in as President of the United States eight years from now at sixty-five. I want our daughter to succeed me eight or twelve years after that, depending on the projections we make down the road. In eight years she will be thirty-six and just over the bar. Then she can appoint me to the Supreme Court once I convince one of those old fairies that it's time to retire."

"Wow, I know you like detail but..."

"I want you to come along for the ride. But to do that I have to have you know that I have nothing on you. That stick that you are holding has gotten smaller every year. I just gave what is left of it to you so you could burn it. I offer you in its place a salad of carrots. The next four years as our state's first lady are guaranteed.

If you don't want to uproot your life and move to Washington, we can engineer an amicable split just as soon as I am inaugurated for a second term, we can make our daughter a modern 'Martha Jefferson Randolph' if we have to and she can be my First Lady if you want to stay here, or don't want to be with me. We just need to have it happen when I will have the greatest support, and it is to your benefit too, it offers you an out should the unthinkable occur."

"'The unthinkable,' Rahauten, you are the only person I know who puts losing an election on equal footing with a nuclear war."

"Not so loosing would be worse, a crisis would let me show leadership."

"So, I can burn the box and its contents."

"Of course, it's your decision. I think you should, one never knows. I think a little ceremony with our daughter and I in attendance would be appropriate." Saying that I decided that that would be the perfect setting to have another three-way, although this time they would both owe me. That could make them more receptive to the idea of doing each other while I watched.

"Speaking of appropriate our daughter is twenty-eight, I know that you are fucking her eight days a week but shouldn't she appear to have a social life. I mean for appearances." And my wife was on-board The Wehrmweud Express, Washington by way of Cimarron City.

"That depends on your decision, if she is my Chief of Staff, yes. If we groom her to be First Lady no. That box you are holding it could destroy you without sending you inside the Graybar Hotel. It can also destroy the aspirations we have for our daughter. We are the only two people who truly love her. The only two people who truly know her."

"What a load of crap, we are two people who did not even want her."