Message-ID: <19728eli$9902060444@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Joanna De Brito" Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr ( 2/? MF rape, caution) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19990205212916.13189.qmail@hotmail.com> Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only. This is part two of a serialized story. If you haven't yet read part one, I strongly suggest you go back and start there. As this is a serial I don't want to give too much away in the story codes. What I am prepared to say is that the story will be (almost) entirely MF, and that there will be n/c, rape, and what are to me, macabre themes developed. Do not read if such things squick you. However, no pedo; no incest. On the other hand, if this kind of stuff turns you on: enjoy! Joanna The Code Of Tawr by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com) February 1999 Perhaps you may yet find me: I am so close; just the other side of the Portal... Part Two The next morning I told Sharon over the phone about the story I had written, and how well it had worked both in capturing Paul's interest and also how it was helping me to identify his fantasies. "So you reckon he's going to come straight back home after work?" she asked. "To hear the second installment?" "I reckon so," I replied feeling rather pleased with myself. "Well, you're a right little Scheherazade," she observed admiringly. "What?" "You remember, from the Arabian Nights. Don't you remember, there was a king that had the habit of marrying a virgin in the evening and then, presumably after having his way with her during the night, of executing her in the morning. When Scheherazade married him she was able to save herself from the chop by telling him a tale, but she left it half told. He was so hooked that he had to keep her alive through the next day so that he could hear how the story ended." "I remember," I said. "Yes, what I'm doing is a bit like that. "So how long can you keep it up?" Sharon asked. "What, the story?" "Yes. Scheherazade had to keep repeating that trick for one thousand and one nights. It was only then that the king decided to give her a more permanent reprieve. I can't see you being that prolific. How can you spend your whole life writing stories to entertain Paul? What about work? You know you'll get exhausted, or bored, or writer's block or something before long. It doesn't seem a very permanent solution." "No," I mused. "Maybe not. But let me get through the next few days, and let me think about what happens next then." After she hung up, I spent the rest of the day drafting and writing and actually managed to complete the whole of the first chapter. Not that I was going to tell Paul that. I would have less time tomorrow; it was a workday so I needed something in reserve. I printed out about half of what I had written and left the rest safely hidden away on the word processor. I then thought about the issue Sharon had raised. If I had to write thousands of words each day in order to keep Paul, was he worth it? And even if he was, how would I keep up the pace? But let me first make sure I have him back, I thought. Then I can worry about keeping him. When he came in, Paul was unusually affectionate. He gave me a big hug, which I spoilt by being overly suspicious. "What are you after?" I asked. "I'm not 'after' anything," he said, pretty angrily. "Why should I be 'after' something, just because I'm making an effort to be nice? Joanna, you sure know how to bear a grudge." "Well maybe I've good reason to bear a grudge," I snapped. "Living with a man that has to shag anything that shows it's got knickers." That prompted a sulk that lasted most of the evening. I was feeling a bit bad for starting the fight, so eventually, when it was obvious that he wasn't going to apologize, I decided to break the deadlock. "So do you want me to read to you what I've written?" I asked him finally. He condescended to let me read. So I put my feet up, glanced at him sitting in the chair opposite, picked up my print out and read from where I had left off the previous day. **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Final Paragraphs Of The Last Section... "Come on; strip. Take your clothes off." Paul almost spat the words out, but she was still trying. She had to protect herself. "All right, then, I'll strip. But, please, not here, not in front of all these men. Alone; just you and me." She was laying it on thick, making her invitation clear. "No one to see what's going on... or coming off. Just us... Please!" She wasn't sure what she was going to do if he agreed, but she had to lessen the odds, had to get him away from the soldiers. One on one she had a chance; amidst this mob she had no chance. **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Chapter One, Part Two Paul smiled at her. How he had longed to see this ignorant bitch plead as she was doing now. "Why, Joanna, I love you! The code, the chastity, the modesty, it seems to be going the way I have mapped out for your clothes. Did you really mean it, Joanna? How much will you take off for me? Just to make sure I understand the deal. How much Joanna?" She winced; her breathing coming in short gasps. "Everything," she murmured. She didn't like the way this was going. "What was that, Joanna. Can you repeat it so that everyone here can hear? Hear the words of a suppressed La cepern slut." "Everything," she repeated, reacting angrily to his description of her, but not daring to protest. "Everything," he repeated raucously, just so all the men could hear. "Why that's music to my ears. And just once more, so that I can be sure that there's no confusion, no misunderstanding. When you say 'everything', what precisely does that include? Because, of course, we can only see that tip of the iceberg above the water, so to speak. Tell us about what lies beneath. List for me what you would take off. " She gulped hard. "My blouse", she said, her face agonized and in torment. "And my shoes." "Yes," he said, as she paused. "You said everything." "And the jeans." "And?" "And, and the bra." "Ah, so you are wearing a bra. And what will I see when you take off your bra for me?" Silence. "Come on, what is that I will get from you removing your bra? What are you going to show me?" "Eventually she murmured quickly, "My breasts". "Ah your breasts. And are they worth seeing, your breasts?" She blushed. "I, I guess so. For a man." "Mm, I've often imagined watching your breasts I always imagined them to be pert and firm, with puckered pointing nipples." "Do you have such nipples, Joanna?" "I... Yes" It was simpler to agree. "Good And isn't there something else? Something else for you to take off for me?" She paused. "And my knickers." "Ah," he said. "You see. I said that would be a word that you would be getting accustomed to. So you would take off your knickers? Voluntarily; just for me?" She said nothing. "I'm waiting." "Yes." She finally said. But inside she screamed 'no'. Every answer was a violation of the code; every answer a betrayal; but it was a gambit she was playing for the greater good; at all costs she must protect herself from being touched by these men. If that were to happen, she knew she could never qualify to receive the ceremonial gown. "And what do they conceal? What will I then be able to see?" "My bottom." Another violation. "Oh, you're bottom, is it? That's a bit too dainty for us this afternoon. Do you mean your cunt?" "Y-Yes" "Then say what you mean. What does it conceal?" How could she do this? She knew that to use the word would mean severe penance. "My cunt," she sobbed. "And is your cunt nice and naked, or is it covered in lots of cunt hairs?" She was finding it more and more difficult to continue the conversation. "It has hair." "So," he said. "Let me repeat this, because I am trying to imagine, to picture what it is you're offering, and I do so want to get the picture right. I'm seeing you, Joanna, afterwards, with your clothes in a pile on the ground, and you're standing totally naked, I'm looking at your pert breasts, and your nipples are pointing straight at me, and they seen to be begging me, pleading with me to do something. I wonder what it is that they want me to do, Joanna? But I haven't time for them now, because I'm more interested in what's at the top of your legs. Triangular fuzz that says come and get me. Is that what it's saying Joanna?" She was agreeing to everything now. "Yes", she choked. Well if you have been arousing curiosity. You have succeeded. You have aroused my curiosity. In fact I think it true to say you have aroused the curiosity of every man here. And I think it would also be true to say that you have aroused much more than just our curiosity. Show us." She lifted her tear-strewn face in anguish. "But you said..." He smiled. "No way, baby. You're too clever, the mysteries of the La cepern and all that. I want you where you are, where everyone can see you, before ten pairs of eyes. We don't want any of your little tricks, do we? Take off your clothes." So if that had been her last card, she had lost. "But, please...." "Get on with it. If you don't start right now these men are going to do it for you. I think we've been very patient so far." She looked round once more, but there was still nowhere to go. It was reduced to a choice between two evils, between who undressed her, her or them. And she didn't doubt Paul's statement about the manner the Guards would go about the task: with considerable relish. She shuddered. There was no choice. If they touched her, there was no way back. Tawr would denounce her and she would be cast off, with all that that entailed. If she did as they said, perhaps all would not be lost. There would be penance; serious penance. They would beat her. She knew they would beat her severely for allowing herself to be immodestly seen. But at least she would still get her gown. Paul licked his lips and felt a further discomfort in the region of his groin as he saw the resigned look that flickered across her drawn face, and the thin delicate fingers that began to toy with the buttons of her blouse. The tiny buttons slid through and parted company with their holes and, suddenly, for the first time, her cleavage beckoned. As the blouse opened and the deep plunging chasm appeared, the jaws of the teenage Guards dropped in accompaniment. A vision of gossamer cream lace adorned her breasts, elastane straps crossed shoulders and back, but without stress, for the bra was in no way intended or provided for support, it simply wrapped Joanna's musculature. It was a necessity to the modesty of every La cepern, though who had invented such a ruling could not have given consideration to either Joanna or the garment she modeled. For it did nothing for modesty. It highlighted and aroused. Nipples were clearly discernible through the lace. But then, there was no consideration that a La cepern would be wearing her bra as an outer garment. Slowly she undid it and took it off. As she pulled the blouse from her shoulders her breasts were thrust forwards. Bradley groaned inwardly. One of the guards took the garment from her, wondrously, reverentially. She watched shyly as masculine fingers wandered the lace searching for hidden pockets or anything sewn into the seams, but there was nothing. The guard looked at Bradley and shook his head. Unperturbed, Bradley, casually gestured for Joanna to continue. She reached down for her boots. They were solid, yet light; for though the terrain was rough, the weather was hot. Joanna first unlaced, then pulled them off, along with her socks, handing them each, one at a time to the Guard who inspected and discarded: nothing. There was an imperceptible indecisive movement of Joanna's fingers as she grappled with what to remove next. Suddenly, the embarrassed silence broke into a conspiratorial whisper as it dawned for the first time upon the fledgling Guards that the impossibility of what they were doing was maybe not so impossible after all. That this was actually going to happen. They were actually going to see Joanna naked. And they were in consternation at the possibility. Every fiber of their upbringing told them that this was wrong: that it was offensive to Tawr. Equally, their military training had inculcated into them the necessity of obeying a superior officer. Two inviolable tenets were in conflict for the first time in their young lives. They must choose which would remain inviolate at the end of that day. But the umpires were not impartial; the vote was rigged. For one course required action, the other inertia. And inertia held out its own prize that held them in morbid fascination; they would not be men if they didn't find the stripping of any lady intriguing, or the stripping of a La cepern Utopia. Joanna though could not take her face from the ground; such was her embarrassment and the humiliation she felt. If only she had foreseen this would be the result. She would never have consented to be carrier for her father. Everyone followed the movements of her hands as they reached for the buckle of her trousers, undid it, then unzipped the fly before pulling them down over her hips, down her knees to her ankles. They fell to reveal underwear of a matching nature to her bra: a brief band of nylon that was stretched tight across her hips; that formed a narrow swathe about her. These were the knickers that Paul had spoken of. The denim hit the ground in an untidy heap. Joanna extricated her legs from the twin pipes of cloth with a little gawkishness. But her audience made her feel awkward, all hands and legs, as they avariciously watched her pull the trousers off. A soldier reached down and picked them up It took a fair while for his fumbling fingers to search them to his own satisfaction: still no message. Joanna glanced up quickly from the grass to Bradley to see if there might be a small chance of him relenting, she longed to hear him say that it was a joke and to get dressed. But what she saw was the furthest from her longing. His face could not have been more unrelenting. It was charged with sexual excitement aroused by her body and her actions. "Come on, let's see your boobs, Joanna" one man expostulated, his tension manifest, and it gave the others courage. Her vulnerability was giving them confidence. Her enforced strip was not only taking her dignity, it was also sapping her authority and that of Tawr. No longer were they hiding behind each other, caught by the horns of their consciences. They were becoming a mob, feeding from each other; growing in confidence; inventing ever demeaning and crude comments centered about her bust. She reached behind her back to unclip the bra. The tears welled up inside her. But somehow she managed to hold them back. To make an outward show of defiance that she surely didn't feel. She was feeling very conspicuous; her training and upbringing fighting each successive action she was taking. She pulled off the bra and held her arms tight across her chest, trying to conceal her breasts from them. But this only made them worse. They had never seen breasts before, not a grown woman's breasts: full and firm; that stood proud on the chest. The fact they were so nearly visible, but that she was preventing them from seeing made them irritable. "Make her show us," they said. "I'll make her show us," someone replied. But no one did anything but stand and leer at the semi-naked forbidden fruit they had captured. Eventually, the nearest guard reached forward. Joanna was still holding the bra by one of its straps. It hung absurdly from where her hand clasped her breast. The guard gently pulled it from her, and Joanna, eyes fearful and full of foreboding, allowed him to take it, keeping hands fast where they were. For a moment he couldn't seem to take his eyes from Joanna, from the fantastic vision in front of him, but when he did he immediately saw the slip of paper stitched into one of the cups. He tore it from its binding in triumph." "Bingo, you were right. They'll have to wait a long time if they want this before attacking us." Paul looked pleased. He looked from the paper in the Guard's hand to Joanna who was standing still in the midst of them. Dismay, embarrassment, hatred, it was all there. Her arms across her chest covered her breasts as best she could, but, he considered, the attempt was woefully inadequate in maintaining her modesty. It made her all the more sexy. She made his erection ache. She made him all the more determined. He waited. She was squirming in undisguised humiliation, arms drawn tight across her chest, hands cupping her breasts, swaying nervously, but otherwise unreactive to his obvious expectancy. Eventually, he prompted, "Take off your knickers, Joanna. This changes nothing." "But you've got your message," she wailed. "What more do you want?" "I promised not to touch you. But that was conditional on our not finding this" And he gestured to the paper. "But we have found it. You failed the Trial by Divestment. So, all bets are off. You know jolly well what I want now. So let's start by seeing you pull those knickers down those nice long sexy legs of yours." *********************************************** I finished reading and placed the sheets of paper on my lap. That was exhausting, especially since I didn't want to reveal how turned on I was through reading this aloud. My knickers were pretty damp. You're not stopping there!" Paul complained. "That's as far as I got," I lied. "So what does she do? She has to pull her knickers down, yes?" "I'm not sure yet," I hesitated. "You'll have to wait." But give me a clue!" "Hm," I said, enjoying my role as storyteller. "Let's see. Joanna, that's me, yes. I'm on this mountain alone and there are eleven lecherous blokes who have just discovered that I'm a traitor to my country and my people. Not an ideological traitor, I've been duped somehow by my father, but nevertheless I know what I am doing is wrong, thus, I'm a traitor. They've made me take off most of my clothes. They now want me to pull down my knickers. They're unbelievably horny and they've been told they can do with me as they like. If I'm going to remain true to the characters what do you think is going to happen? "My God!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to, they're going to rape you." He stopped for a second and I could almost see how the idea of it was blowing his mind. This was a winner. "So when will you continue?" he asked. "Tomorrow?" I played hard to get. "My life involves more than simply writing stories for you," I protested. "I'm not sure I want to labor over this for a third day." That sulk was back on his face. "Tell you what," I compromised. "I'll write the next part tomorrow, if you'll do something for me." "What?" "Get rid of Rebecca, your secretary." "I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair." "And was it fair that she stole my boyfriend. I want this relationship to work, Paul. But it can't and it won't all the time she's there between us." "She isn't any more," he assured me. "That's over." "Then get rid of her." "And if I do that, then you'll write the rest?" "Then I'll write some more," I agreed. The Code Of Tawr End Of Part Two Part Three ....Coming Soon! -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----