Message-ID: <20011eli$9902170448@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Joanna De Brito" Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr ( 6/10 MF caution)(Corrected part number) 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: <19990217011351.3675.qmail@hotmail.com> Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only. This is part six of a serialized story. If you haven't yet read the earlier parts, 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 are 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) Copyright 1999 All rights reserved February 1999 Perhaps you may yet find me: I am so close; just the other side of the Portal... Part Six It was time to face my demons, to look them in the eye. Only if I first got them in the open, could I possibly shoot them down. For hours I toiled and struggled at my keyboard writing with emotion rather than thought. When I had finished I re-read what I had written and determinedly began deleting large chunks. This would not do. What I had written would not achieve what I intended. I began again, this time with more discipline and less passion. But I could not decide. Was I sure this was a good idea? What if it backfired? Half way through I closed my document and selected its icon. My finger hovered over the delete key. It would be so easy. To delete and begin again. But I had to know. I had to be sure. I took a break and returned a little later: more determined, better prepared. This had to be written; this must be done. That evening with heavy heart and printed text I went downstairs. Paul was there, where I had left him in the living room watching television. Silently I handed him my bombshell and watched nervously as he took it. I should stay, I should stay to see his reaction, but I could not, I couldn't wait. I went outside to the kitchen and busied myself with jobs that didn't need doing. I was too tense to sit, to be doing nothing. I had to keep occupied. Was he reading the story? What would he think? What would I discover? **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Chapter Two, Part Three It was the following day when Joanna finally returned to the Inquistador, the searching of conscience finally at an end. Emerging dirty, hungry, exhausted from the Place of Solitude, she had been given sustenance and allowed to bathe and change before being brought to the Inquistador's Committee Room. This was his main working room and it was an architectural treasure. It was huge and ornate, with elaborate gilt work upon the ceiling; ionic marble pillars down the longer sides, and, high upon the wall, there were delicate little figurines. Joanna had often reflected that these appeared to be both female and nude, but then had always dismissed the thought, for how could that be in such a holy room? In the centre was a long mahogany table, polished so that its top shone like a mirror. Its legs were also pristine, turned with all the skill and loving care of the best craftsmen the town could muster. She always thought it a lonely table in an empty room. Today though was different. For when Joanna entered the Committee Room, the Inquistador was not alone. Paul Bradley also occupied the room. He sat relaxing at the table, his back facing her as she entered. She glanced at him icily. She was exhausted, and at this moment, she did not trust herself in his presence. He induced within her feelings she could not explain. "I have invited him to hear the judgment," the Inquistador told her, answering her unspoken question. "That would seem only fair since he made the original arrest and might therefore rightly be viewed as an interested party. I have already explained how the verdict is to be reached, and although surprised, the Captain here will, of course, accept our decision." She nodded but she was not really listening. She was overcome with the enormity of what she must say and why she was here: the finality at what she must do. It was so terrible. Could she do it? Would she even now compromise? "Oh please," she prayed. "Let me be strong!" "So can you tell us your verdict?" the Inquistador asked, sitting down at the far end of the table and staring along it. She gulped. She had to be firm. With the length of the table between them, she had to raise her voice to be heard. "Yes," she began. "I find myself..." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, then started again. "After due deliberation I find this defendant, I find myself guilty as charged." She began to shake as she said it, her arms took on a life of their own and they convulsed violently. She tried to control herself, but the awfulness of what she was saying was too great. She was also so self-conscious at the smallness of her voice: it was frail and was lost in such a large place. She stammered on, her brain almost freezing in her terror. "I find no mitigating circumstances, as much as I tried." "I see," murmured the Inquistador, so softly she barely heard him. Had she imagined it? For a moment she thought that he might even have been pleased. It was just something she read in his reaction, perhaps because she did know him so well. But he was talking. "And what sentence did you find?" he asked gravely. Joanna's legs were shaking too. She knew that if there had been water in her bladder it would now be dribbling down the inside of her legs. Such was her absence of physical control. "The code is quite clear," she said, almost choking. "The defendant, the defendant must be burned." The Inquistador nodded softly. "I understand. I am very sorry." She looked up at him, blinking back the tears. "May I ask," he inquired. "What caused you to reach this decision?" She reddened. In addition to fear she now felt humiliation. How could she tell him? How could he ask that? "I would rather not say, your holiness." She stole a fleeting glance at Bradley before adding. "Not in present company." A knowing look passed between the two men in front of her and she shriveled inside, she felt so small, so wretched. What did it matter now why she had reached her decision? "It is something I need to know," the Inquistador explained. "I must endorse the decision you have just made, and to do that in good conscience I must know a little about the way that you feel." She gritted her teeth and said, "Well, the main reason, your holiness. I felt I was not entirely innocent." "In what way, not entirely innocent?" he pursued. "Do I have to say?" she pleaded with him. "Yes. I insist." She tried once again to swallow, to dampen her parched throat. But as her mouth had dried and now held no moisture, she found no relief. "I felt that my mind did not sufficiently hate what was being forced upon me," she said, her eyes never once catching those of Bradley. "Not sufficiently." The Inquistador grimaced. "Then, you enjoyed it?" "No, your holiness. However there were aspects, aspects..." "That you enjoyed." She couldn't endure them to think that. "That I didn't hate." "You enjoyed," he repeated for a third time. She squirmed, yet knew she could not lie. Finally she was forced to admit, "Yes, sir." "I see. Then, yes, I understand the way you feel." "Thank you, sir." If only she were already burned. Then she would not be suffering now. He rose from the table and replaced his chair. "If you'll just excuse me for a few moments. I must now inform the elders. They will enter the decision for us into the Volume of Justice." She had not been mistaken. With an air of smug satisfaction he turned and left the room. There was an embarrassed silence between her and Bradley that she was certain she could not break. Finally he said, "That was very brave. I must say I'm impressed. I must confess I didn't think you would do it." She looked at him with consternation, she did not understand. Why was he now complimenting her when before he had been so vindictive? Was this still some macabre game that he was playing? "Some of us are interested in doing what is right," was her troubled reply. "This isn't right. It's stupid," he avowed with passion, a passion that perplexed her even more. He sounded sincere. She knew she was stressed, perhaps her own thought processes had become choked. Why had he returned her to Lahf Tawreos if this were not what he wanted and expected? Why this sudden change of mind? Was he simply being contrary? "To a non believer it may appear stupid," she said carefully. "But the non believer thinks perverse thoughts." "You're talking about me, right? Perverse thoughts? And condemning yourself to death is the result of normal thoughts? It's you that are crazy, Miss Fancy Pants!" "And you think I wanted to condemn myself?" she cried incredulously. "You think I enjoy being in this situation?" "Wanted? No. I don't think that. Neither do I think you're enjoying it. But you did it anyway. And it's that that's perverse. It's also stupid and irrational." The Inquistador had chosen that moment to return and had obviously heard the last comments. "It may be irrational to you as an outsider," he interjected. "But you see, Joanna had no other choice. Her thinking has been molded by the code. It affects every move that she makes, every word that she speaks. She can no more betray the code, than you, Mister Bradley, as a foreigner, can understand it." Bradley was annoyed at what to him was stupidity. "This is foolishness," he insisted. "You make it sound as though she is an automaton." "In many ways she is. Joanna does as she has been wired. She does, more specifically, whatever I desire." "I do what Tawr desires..." Joanna protested. "And who informs you of what Tawr desires? Is it not his Chief Representative? My will and that of Tawr are so intertwined you don't know where one begins and the other ends. And therefore you must do whatever I tell you for fear of offending Tawr." She was tired and flustered and confused. He smiled. "I could make you do anything I ask. I don't need to be so crude as to take a battery of Guards to a remote mountain pass and there force you against your will. A person taught to believe implicitly in the will of Tawr will bend to my desire of their own volition." She could not accept that. "I will obey you because your will is at one with Tawr. I believe that." "Do you also believe that I could make you undress and dance naked for me, or kneel and take my cock in your mouth and then suck me to heaven. Do not take it so personally, my dear. This is not a fault in you. The same would apply to all La cepern, and the priests besides: they are also under compulsion; they do exactly as I direct. In effect, I am Tawr." She was outraged. Was he even now testing her? "This is blasphemy!" "It would be if anyone else were to say it, but since I say that is not, then it is blasphemy no longer. Tawr has spoken." "How can I listen. This speech is, it's shocking." "Don't you see the logic in what I say? You require evidence?" He addressed Bradley, but was looking thoughtfully at Joanna. "I choose to leave any demonstration of my control of Miss Joanna until another day, but she will do things such as I have just described, and quite willingly before she succumbs to the flame. But so that you can see the extent of my power, and she can agonize over what I will demand, I will provide you with a small demonstration. Go outside, Mister Bradley, and ask one of the La cepern ladies you will find working there to come in." He was still looking at Joanna, looking for a reaction. "Pick whomever you like. Any girl who takes your fancy." Bradley went to the door and looked outside. It was the period of meditation and there were twenty to thirty girls there in silent contemplation before the statue of Tawr. At random he picked a girl, a pretty girl: Rebecca was her name. "The Inquistador wishes to speak with you," he whispered in her ear, sneaking a peek inside her low cut dress. Obediently, she rose and followed him into the Inquistador's room. "Ah, Miss Rebecca," the Inquistador said agreeably. Then to Bradley: "You find this girl attractive? More so than the others?" "She is very attractive," Paul agreed. "More so than the others? More so than Miss Joanna, for instance." Joanna listened with baited breath. "I wouldn't know," he said. "I didn't care to look too closely." The Inquistador shrugged. "In whichever case, she will do." He looked at the large swell of her breasts. "She will do very well." Joanna felt rather guilty with Rebecca in the room. They had argued some weeks back and the matter had never been properly resolved. Well, now is not the time, Joanna thought, to set such matters straight. Yet, if not now, with so little time left for her, what time could there be? Rebecca was young but already with a buxom figure. She had not yet graduated into the primary orders and so wore a pastel knee length dress buttoned down the front. Her legs were stockinged and she wore plain black shoes upon her feet. And her breasts... her breasts filled the bust of her dress. The Inquistador glanced away from her chest. "Which order are you in?" he asked. "I'm La cepern." "Which level?" "Sixth. I'm sixth La cepern." "Then you have much training still to complete before you reach first La cepern and receive your gown." "Yes, your holiness." "Today, I think you will gain experience that will stand you in good stead in your future training." "Thank you, your holiness." "How old are you, my dear." he asked her, circling round and looking at her from behind. Her ass was firm and small and now she was flustered. "Seventeen, your holiness." "Just seventeen," sighed the Inquistador. He seemed pleased as he admired the shape of her posterior. "You find this girl the most attractive?" he asked Bradley again. "Yes. She is certainly attractive," Bradley agreed from his repose at the table. The Inquistador smiled. "Will you please ask Miss Joanna's escort to enter," he commanded Bradley. Then, as Bradley obediently rose and went to the door he spoke to the girl. "You know who I am?" "Yes, sir." "Mister Bradley has a problem," he explained. "I need him to handle a task for me, a matter of discipline in the tower, a task for which he will need purity of thought. Unfortunately, as you may know he is a profane man with profane thoughts. I therefore need to ask, on behalf of Tawr, if you can help him control these thoughts." "Of course, your holiness. If I can be of service, I will do whatever you wish." "Fine. You are obviously progressing extremely well in your training. Do you remember the lesson where we learned that at times Tawr asks of us things we find hard to understand?" She nodded, reciting from memory. "We cannot fully know his thinking or we should be his equals and not his slaves." "Exactly. You also know, of course, that I substitute for Tawr on this side of the Portal." "Of course." He paused for a moment because Paul was returning with two Guards. The Inquistador gestured that they should all be seated at the table. The Inquistador spoke again to Rebecca. "I am sure you will find my next instructions difficult to understand. But do not try to make sense of them. Simply obey as you have been trained. Can you do that?" "I will try, your holiness." "Good, perhaps if you would start be standing on the table." "The table?" she asked uncertainly. "That's correct. Perhaps Mister Bradley can help you up." Rebecca looked at Paul and then shrugged her shoulders. The Inquistador had warned her to expect the unexpected. With the help of a chair as a stepping stone she climbed up onto the mahogany antique. She both looked and felt very uneasy stood upon the table. "Now you did tell me that you would obey as you have been trained, didn't you, Rebecca?" "Yes, your holiness." "Good. Then first, please, I need you to undress." Rebecca remained static for a moment, sure she had heard incorrectly, she was prepared for something unusual, but she had not anticipated this. She was confused. "Your holiness, how do you, what do you, where do you wish me to go?" "Nowhere, Rebecca. I don't wish you to go somewhere else to undress. I wish you to do so right here. Now." Rebecca nodded nervously, biting her bottom lip, but otherwise remained in a state of inertia. "Rebecca," he said. "Perhaps you can help me with a question. Do you know the difference between the two ways a lady can take off her clothes, between her stripping and her undressing?" Joanna was forcing herself out of introspection. For a moment she managed to forget her own anticipated torture as she saw the perpetration of a wrong. "This isn't right," she said. The Inquistador replied swiftly and firmly. "Please remain quiet, Joanna. This is not your responsibility." Rebecca noted the altercation in silence; she appeared stunned. The Inquistador fired his question back at the youngster. "Well?" She hesitated, blushing crimson, then eyed Joanna uncertainly. Finally she summoned the courage for a shaky nod. "And what is it then? Just to be sure that you've got it right?" Another long pause. "Stripping.... Stripping, is more of a show." "That's right!" the Inquistador beamed. "You've got it. Undressing is purely functional. Shedding one's clothes in a manner and order governed solely by convenience. Now, stripping, on the other hand," he lectured her contentedly. "Is for entertainment. When a lady uses all her natural rhythm, cunning and charm to excite and arouse her male audience. She combines the skills of actress, seductress and whore to produce her effect: the racing of the pulse, the thumping of the heart, the rushing of blood through veins and arteries. And who knows but that such effect will help Mister Bradley with the problem he faces. What do you think? Do you think you could strip, Rebecca?" "That's enough!" It was Bradley's turn angrily to protest. "You're not to involve me. Can't you see that you're humiliating the girl? This isn't necessary. What are you trying to prove?" "I'm surprised given your recent reputation that you should care," the Inquistador observed dryly. "I would also appreciate you not interrupting. I was merely asking a civil question." Paul clenched his fists, but he remained silent. He could not refute the Inquistador's argument that he was ill qualified to make a moral objection. Hadn't he taken exception to Simmons' interference on the mountain? "No, I must confess," the Inquistador admitted, instantly calm and amenable, switching emotion as swiftly as any actor. Joanna watched him in consternation. What was he saying? He was a holy man! "It was a silly question. One only has to admire the taste you show in choosing your clothes to perceive that enticing the opposite sex comes as nothing new to you." Rebecca was aghast at his insinuation. She had never set out to entice anyone, surely he must know that? "Your holiness, that isn't true," she protested. He ignored her. "So, perhaps, you would be as good as to demonstrate to us the reality of what I have just described, how intriguing a striptease can be." "What?" "Now don't be dense, my dear. This is what we have been discussing, as I'm sure you well know. Why else do you think you have been standing here on the table giving us all such a splendid view of your legs." Rebecca looked in desperation for help. Surely there was something someone could do. But either they couldn't help or they didn't care to. "Come on, my dear. I am getting impatient, and when you upset me, you also upset Tawr. I keep looking, as we all do, at the reflection of your legs in the table, and I keep wondering if that's a bit of white knicker we can see, and I don't really want to be kept wondering for long, it's very frustrating." Rebecca looked down in shock at the table. They could see up her dress? She shifted uncomfortably and closed her legs tight sealing off everything above hem height. "How ludicrous," one of the Guards teased, 'Neil Jones' the stitching on his jacket declared, a wry grin covering his face. "She's worried about a little bit of knicker fabric a few minutes before she shows us what's inside them. That's a typical woman." Rebecca glared hatefully at him. She knew him, of course. And there never had been any love lost between them, right back to when they had been children. As they had grown up, he had only ever had one thing on his mind. He had been the smarmy one, the one that always boasted of his conquests, a trait that put him at total loggerheads with her life and its devotion to chastity. She had blanked him entirely, and she knew he'd resented it. He was enjoying this all right, the bastard. Could she refuse to obey the Inquistador? She knew she could not. Stooping, she released the buckles of her black shoes and pulled them off one at a time. "Watch this," Neil grinned at Martin. "She can't get out of this one!" "Move to the front of the table so that Mister Bradley can see better what you are doing," the Inquistador added. As she did so, Martin, the other Guard said: "They're not white, I caught the reflection as she stooped. Green, I think." Her legs automatically closed to shut out the prying eyes and her face burned as she remembered Neil's sarcasm and heard his hearty guffaws. She knew he was right, it was pointless, but how did you suppress your reflexes, the result of a lifetime's training, because for once they were illogical? "Remember," the Inquistador reminded her. "You have not been asked to undress, you have been asked to strip." She tried to put Neil and Martin out of her mind and do what the Inquistador had asked. She moved woodenly from one foot to the other, a fish out of water, wondering what she should do. And the Inquistador was not pleased. "I am surprised," he reproached her. "And disappointed too. You are not prepared to obey the command of Tawr? Then I will find someone else to help Mister Bradley..." "No, please," she said desperately. "Don't do that. I will obey. I can do it." She looked down at Paul and then at Neil, who was looking up at her with that triumphant gleam in his eye. Suddenly, she had a brain wave. She knew what to do. She would ignore the others and do it for him. She would make him lust. She knew she had the power, she had often done it unwittingly when they were pubescent. But if she were to actually try to arouse him... She moved with renewed vigor, taking hold of her dress at the hem and shaking it gently about, using the movement of the material, its rise and fall about her stockinged legs to create a tantalizing effect. Yes! Her spirits rose. She had his attention! She lifted the hem, giving him the briefest of glimpses of long graceful legs, delicately covered in creamy silk casing, then when it had risen to upper thigh she let go and began again. The little pearl buttons: can you see them, she asked with her fingers; do you like them, she spoke in mime. Her fingers danced, played, showed him they were there, then she undid them singly, opening the material a little to show the slip that was beneath. Joanna watched astounded. She could not believe what she was seeing. How could a fellow La cepern violate the code in this way? "What is she doing?" she inquired of the Inquisitor. "Why is she doing this? It's against everything the code stands for." "That elusive spirit of the code," the Inquistador agreed, sitting down and beginning to write. "Why don't you ask her if you wish to know." "Rebecca," Joanna threw in, interrupting the other's concentration. "Why do you listen? What he is asking is against the code." "No, you are wrong," Rebecca replied whimsically, continuing to beguile the man sitting below her with her fuck-me eyes and wanton coquetry. "The code says I must be obedient, is that not so?" Joanna stepped towards her. "Yes, but it didn't mean to be obedient to anything. What if he ordered you to murder, or to act against Tawr himself?" Rebecca ran her hands down her body, rubbed them against her breasts. The words were for Joanna but she spoke to her man. "Where is your faith, Joanna? Can you not see? The Inquistador, he is Tawr's Chief Representative. What he says, Tawr says. Have you never changed your mind? Cannot Tawr do likewise? Yesterday he demanded my modesty. Today he desires me to be shameless and impudent. Where is the contradiction? I feel the desire; I see it in Neil's eyes. But what he finds so erotic is that before I was forbidden." The buttons were undone, so she eased the dress from her shoulders, eased the tight fitting bodice down to her trim waist, eased it over the bump of her hips, and then to the table. For the first time she revealed the embroidery of her green slip, around its bust and upon its hem. "She's right, by Tawr!" Neil sighed. "Can you think of anything that's more of a turn on than the idea of a La cepern stripping for you? Imagine that, a stripping La cepern. The idea is just so wild." Rebecca picked up her dress from the table, slyly caressing the material with the palms of her hands before swinging it in the air and tossing it in Neil's face. "Cheeky!" she admonished with smug satisfaction. Neil grabbed it and threw it to the floor. When he looked back Rebecca was swaying sensually, teasing him with her slip: raising it to upper thigh; lowering the straps over her arms. "They must be green," murmured Martin. "Green bra, green knickers, matching set. They must be." He was soon out of his misery. Rebecca, looking straight at him, lifted her slip, pulled it higher and higher as she swayed with her hips, past stocking tops, up until it was bunched about her waist. "How about that?" marveled Martin. "It works. They are green. I told you so." "You get my point," crooned Neil delightedly as Rebecca pulled the slip over her head. "What was the sense in hiding the reflection, when now we glory in reality?" Rebecca, not trusting herself to answer, kept her silence, dropping the now useless slip to the table and kicking it away. She no longer wanted to hide. She could feel the power she held over them, and the sensation of that power was exhilarating, exciting. Joanna had mixed feelings as she watched Paul staring agreeably at Rebecca's body; he was like a critic eyeing up a painting for the first time. Why did she watch him? Why did she care? Rebecca was certainly attractive, decorated as she was by the clothes she still wore: the cleverly cut bra, thrusting her breasts up and out, showing them off to their best advantage and only hiding, enough; the creamy stockings enhancing her shapely legs; the suspender belt, delicate and lacy; the silk briefs, hiding the ultimate. Rebecca pouted at the men, slowly gliding across the table, letting them look at her legs and accepting the occasional stolen touch. But now she was touching them herself, caressing her thighs, making them wish that they could do the same, releasing the suspenders as her small fingers passed. Caressing and easing, caressing and easing one of the stockings down, showing them one of her legs, giving them the tease, playing with the stocking, moving it through her hand several times, stretching it across her midriff before giving it away. Then the other: the identical slow treatment until that too was gone. And it wasn't much longer before her suspender belt was also history. "Your companion certainly has an extremely beautiful pair of legs, and unless I'm very much mistaken, which I don't think I am, there's also a wonderful pair of boobs hiding in there," the Inquistador whispered to Joanna. He received no answer, so he glanced away from Rebecca to Joanna, and was amazed to see that even she was riveted to the striptease. She may have been La cepern and a woman, but she had never seen a woman acting in a sexual way before, and whether it was the sexual promise or just human curiosity, she was transfixed. Rebecca hadn't stopped. She had them in the palm of her hand now; all attention firmly fixed on her bra. She was playing with them: easing down a strap, raising it; easing down the other, raising it. Repeating over and over again, each time holding their interest by showing a little more, but never enough. Then, ensuring that she held the cups in place, she reached behind and made a great show of playing with the fastener, before finally releasing it. Then again the playing, lowering and raising the straps. This time with the added bonus that they knew it to be unfastened, and she had only to misjudge and move the strap a little to far... Finally though, sensing that they were beginning to tire of her antics, she eased one cup off its breast, only to replace it with her hand. And then the same with the other. The tension was electric as she moved freely around the table, bra hanging obsolete from one hand, but those hands covering all. She turned to Neil and pouted, remembering his crude suggestions and her rude rebukes. Now, with no effort at all he could see the extent of her cleavage, only her breasts themselves were hidden, and then but partially. Her display had been for him, how she needed him to want her. She pouted again, turning her back on him and revealing just how naked it was, a vast expanse of virginal flesh spoilt by a mere green band stretched tautly across her buttocks. This alone separated her from total nudity. Retreating to the far end of the table so that her back was to them all she raised her hands high in the air, rocking her hips from side to side in a gentle gyration. The slow rhythmic movement continued for a number of seconds, before, still gyrating her hips back and forth, she turned towards them. "What a pair!" exclaimed Neil admiringly of the bouncing bosoms. "For once I find myself in agreement with you" Martin said. Her breasts were, Rebecca knew, high and firm and large. She looked down on them in pride despite her embarrassment and slowly teased the nipples. They enlarged and hardened. She played with her breasts, then danced letting them rise and fall in time with her quickening motions that developed into frenzy before slumping in a heap on the table. She rose, slowly. Her body was covered in a thin sheen from her exertion. She had but one garment left: now for the finale. She turned her back once more and began swaying again. This time she leant forward slightly so that her ass would stick out. She hooked her fingers into her knickers and slowly pulled them down at the back. When they were half way across her buttocks she turned and danced facing them, her feet about eighteen inches apart. At the front her knickers were barely out of place. She placed a hand inside and finding her secret place gently began to rub. Sighing, and with that hand still inside, she turned her back on them once more. Leaning forward she continued to pull the panties over her buttocks with her free hand. They could see her ass. She moaned and let her knickers fall down her legs. "Turn round. Tell her to turn round," Neil begged. She ignored him, however, as she moaned and continued to explore herself inside, carefully lifting her feet out of her pants and allowing them to rest on the table. As she continued swaying, nude upon the table, she began to turn, withdrawing the hand from inside, but holding it firmly across her mound. Aware of the searing eyes she continued to dance, watching each in turn and the longing in their eyes. Finally, she moved forward and stood before Neil, she wanted him to be the first man to see her properly nude. She had only achieved what the Inquistador had asked with his help, unwittingly maybe, but nevertheless only with his help. It was right he should be the first to see. Absolutely sure she had his attention, she moved her hands out of the way. The hair covering her pussy was silky and sparse, she knew he would be able to see her lips clearly. And that knowledge was delicious. "Wow," Neil said, and Martin applauded. "Well done, girl," he said. "I thought you would chicken." Rebecca stood naked before them, her clothes littered about the table. She stood upright, embarrassed certainly, but flushed with a strong inner arousal. The Inquistador crossed and studied her curiously. His gaze was different: it was cold and harsh. She wilted visibly under his scrutiny and her excitement cooled. In a very detached manner, he reminded them why Rebecca had just entertained them. "I assume you now take my point," he said generally. "Assuming you can still remember what the point originally was. The La cepern obey me: the voice of Tawr and my own are one and the same. Therefore, it is not blasphemy to say that I, in effect, am Tawr." He seemed impatient suddenly, his mood suddenly having swung again. He gestured to Neil and Martin that they should stand. "I have finished with the prisoner, Joanna de Brito," he told them, looking at her icily. "As her sentence has already been recorded with the elders, you may take her to the tower. My orders," he gave them the document he had signed during Rebecca's striptease. "Are to be given to the keeper there. Do you understand?" They did. He turned to Joanna. "This is where we say au revoir for now. I still have some business with Mister Bradley but I'm sure we'll both see you when you've settled into your new surroundings." When they were alone the Inquistador regarded Bradley with a superior air. "It would seem that we both have much to do. I have set the execution for two days time on Sunday morning. I must ensure that everything is ready. You have Joanna and the run of the tower until then." When Paul had left the Inquistador turned his attention to Rebecca, who was still upon the table, feeling exposed and naked now the flush of excitement had passed. She held her hands protectively in front of her. "Now", he said, a cruel glint in his eye. "What am I to do with you?" **************************************************** Paul came up and found me. As he climbed the stairs my heart was racing. What would he think? What would he say? When he entered his face was red and he was angry. "What's this about?" he asked. I prevaricated under the intensity of his question. "It's the next part of the story," I told him. "So why is Rebecca in it? You're not exactly being subtle. What are you trying to prove?" My heart went cold. Had I overplayed my hand? "Nothing. I'm not trying to prove anything. I thought you might like it. After all, you did like her. You did screw her." "But this isn't about me, it's about you. How many times have I said to you that I'm sorry? I've told you that Rebecca's history. I've tried to show you that I mean it. Why won't you believe me? How long are you going to keep her between us?" I began to cry. Why couldn't I be strong when I needed to be? "Paul," I explained unhappily. "I can't help being insecure. I wish I could. It would then be so easy. I see her all the time: on every corner of every street; when I dream she's there; when you're at work I imagine you together. She haunts me day and night." "But it's finished. It's over." "I need to find out how you feel, how you really feel. If you left me now it would be bad, real bad. But if I found out in two or three years that you were still carrying a candle for her, I just couldn't bear it." He spoke calmly, convincingly. "Joanna. Listen to me. It's over. I mean it." He held up my pages. "She does nothing for me. Write her out!" The Code Of Tawr End Of Part Six Part Seven ....Coming Soon! -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----