Message-ID: <20177eli$9902230425@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Joanna De Brito" Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr (9/10 MF 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: <19990222133954.22488.qmail@hotmail.com> Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only. This is part nine 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 Nine "How did you know I had it?" Sharon asked, as Paul stepped passed her and into her apartment. "Joanna was trying to tease me about the story," he explained. "But she let slip that you had read it," he explained walking into the sitting room. "I didn't know for sure, but I took a chance that you might still have it here. Do you?" "I have the first nine parts," Sharon conceded. Paul was visibly uncomfortable as he anxiously asked, "And can I take a look?" "Of course," Sharon said. "But why didn't you just ask Joanna for a copy. It would have been much simpler. You had only to ask." "Yes, well, I guess so. But she's waiting for me to apologise because we had this disagreement. I guess she has told you what happened? Yes? What I said about her story? Yes, I thought so. Anyway, during the last few days something has been bothering her, something else, that is; something new: and I rather thought I might find a clue in the story. She told me that she's still writing." Sharon nodded thoughtfully. "Yes she is still writing, and yes there is something bothering her. But it's nothing new. It's been there for the past month or so." "You mean Rebecca?" "No, not Rebecca. I'm not trying in any way to minimise the hurt Joanna felt over Rebecca, but Rebecca is just a symptom: by far the biggest symptom, but a symptom nevertheless. She is not the problem. You still don't see what's wrong?" He looked back at her blankly. "No." "OK. Maybe I'm being a little unfair. I forget that you haven't read as far as I have. Let me get you part eight. It contains the biggest clue. I think you might understand then." She reached over and opened a drawer. Her ass pulled tight across her jeans as she stretched, and Paul couldn't help thinking that in other circumstances... >From the drawer Sharon took a folder containing the first nine parts of "The Code of Tawr". She ruffled through it until she found part eight and then unclipped the sheets from her folder. "Here, when you've read this, tell me what you think." He took the sheets and sat there silently absorbing what I had written. Sharon watched him for a while, but then picked up a magazine and began to read herself. They sat, with Sharon waiting for what she described to me as being an eternity. She had visions of him being there the whole day, but, at last, finally he turned to the last sheet. "OK," he said, reaching the end. "What am I supposed to see?" Sharon sighed. "You still can't see? Joanna is telling you through the story that she doesn't see a future for herself. Does that help you?" He looked back equally blankly. "You mean she's depressed?" "Yes. She's depressed. But why is she depressed?" "Rebecca?" he guessed vaguely, clutching at straws. "No, not Rebecca. I told you, she's only the symptom. Can't you see it? It's staring you in the face." He shook his head. He couldn't see. "When was the last time Joanna had a period?" "I don't know, we haven't... My God, you mean... My God!" Sharon looked at him gravely. She handed him the sheets for part nine from the folder. "Now I think you'd better look at this." **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Chapter Four Burned To Ashes The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Lahf Tawreos was awash with color. It was the beginning of a pleasant summer's day, but a day that Joanna faced with turmoil, with anger, with terror; for today was the day that she was to be executed. It was terrifying: to know that never again would she witness the sun rising or the birds chattering; such simple things, but how important each one of them seemed now that they were her last. Her mind could not fully grasp the idea that tonight she would be no more, and somehow, because of that inability to comprehend, her brain tried to cocoon that thought in order to avoid it. However, what filled her with the greatest foreboding was the apprehension of those awful moments prior to annihilation: the horror and pain that awaited her on the stake and the fear that she would not have the strength to hold herself with dignity during those final minutes. Burdened with such anxiety, she had not slept at all. It had been a long night of arduous meditation. At times she had been self-pitying, damning Bradley, damning the Inquistador, damning the system. Then her mood would abruptly swing and she might be reflective, remembering past achievements, people she had known. Later her mood would change again, this time she might be tearful, wallowing in emotion and the unfairness of it all, allowing her feelings to vent. Throughout it all, though, the ominous image of the phallus in the square, now standing erect and waiting, was always at the forefront of her consciousness. >From the first faint distant echoes, she caught the tread of their approaching footsteps, heard them as they got closer and louder, and then the door opened and two soldiers entered. They saw her but their eyes were carefully averted. They moved to the side to allow others, the Chief Keeper and two La cepern to enter. The Chief Keeper held some folded cotton in front of her. Joanna had no need to wonder about it. She knew this to be her final adornment during her final moments. And then the Inquistador entered, cocksure and condescending. He didn't speak; he stood back and allowed the others to bustle. Someone closed the door and he stood against it, watching from the rear as the Chief Keeper directed her contingent. Joanna knew her. She knew them all. She was a small middle aged woman with wizened features. As Chief Keeper, she was responsible for all female prisoners, whether they were of an Order or otherwise. Joanna had in the past viewed her as witch-like both because of her peculiar physical appearance as well as her authoritarian manner. As she busied and bullied, neither was now any less pronounced. The others had been drafted for this one event. The girls were first La cepern who would enter through the Portal later this year. They were at the end of their training, but today would be a special test for them. The Guards, however, appeared entirely typical; Joanna could determine nothing unusual or unique about them. She had no idea why they had been selected for this unique 'privilege'. She was disturbed out of her distraction because the Chief Keeper was speaking to her. "It is time," was what she said. "We must dress you in this robe and cut your hair. Would you like a moment first?" "No. Do it." Joanna murmured, tears silently streaming down her face. It was pointless delaying the inevitable; it would only prolong the mental agony. What was to be done, should be done quickly. "Please," the Chief Keeper said, gesturing vaguely in Joanna's direction. "The dress." Joanna automatically put her hand to the top button, then hesitated, looking anxiously at the Guards and the Inquistador standing by the door. "Do they have to stay?" she asked the Chief Keeper nervously. "Whatever I have done, I am still La cepern." The keeper looked questioningly to the Inquistador. He was her superior; he would determine. "We stay," he said at once in answer to the unspoken question. "She may feign to be La cepern," he heavily emphasized the word 'feign'. "But this woman lost any claim to be known as a member of that Order when she fornicated on the mountain. She will be treated as what she is, a common harlot." "You are a monster," Joanna spat at him, her emotions in flux and free flowing. "A corrupt inhuman monster! You know that to be a lie!" The Inquistador cast a sigh in the direction of the Chief Keeper. "It begins," he said. "You see how it begins. Why do they never die with dignity? Their last hours are consumed with bitterness against the system that served them so well." He approached Joanna and walked round her, a cruel gleam never for a moment leaving his eye. He slowly looked her up and down, then, as he stood behind her, just out of her sight, he whispered quietly in her ear, softly so that the others could not hear. "So you don't want me here while you undress. I'm pleased to hear it. Your discomfort will make the experience for me so much more enjoyable. But I'm not intending simply to watch. I'm intending to help you." "No, please," she begged, still facing the audience of the Guards, the Chief Keeper and her helpers, not daring to turn and confront him. "But how can you deny me," he whispered. "When I've fantasized about this for so long. To tear away your clothes, just the words give me the hots. Do you realize that unlike Mister Paul Bradley and his Guard, unlike most of Lahf Tawreos, I have never seen you without them? So I'm going to unbutton your dress and pull it from you. And after I remove your petticoat, it all starts getting so interesting. Because I don't know what comes next. It depends what you have on underneath. That's why I accorded you the privilege of wearing your own clothes for your final night. So that I could have the pleasure of surprise. What are you wearing? Whatever it might be, it shall be gently undone and removed. All of it. And I imagine you naked, tied to that stake, about to be roasted alive, and it's enough to make me cum." As he spoke she lost her composure. She broke down in a series of sobs. "Please," she cried. "Please leave me alone. Let me be! Please! For Tawr's sake!" "Tawr will forgive me," he murmured. "After all I've done for him through the years, how can he accuse me for this one peccadillo?" "Please stop him," Joanna begged the Chief Keeper. But her expression was unflinching and without sympathy. She simply looked to the Inquistador for direction. "Excuse me," he said to his underling by way of answer to her unspoken request, while reaching over Joanna's shoulders to the top button of her dress. "I'm sure you won't object to my taking a personal interest in this being done correctly." He slipped the top button undone. His lips were to her ear. "Since your demise will bring to an end all of my wet aspirations," he whispered, his hands crawling across her dress to the next button. "It is time to reward myself for years of self control." She was in anguish; she was in tears. She could feel him standing against her, the rush of his breath loud in her ear and his stale aroma invading her air. She could feel his encircling arms enfolding her body and his fingers slipping open the second button of her dress, then descending over it from her neck onto her breasts. It was awful; it was unbearable, how could she endure it? "Time to unwrap dear Joanna," he murmured into her ear, the sweaty palms of his hands covering her breasts as he slipped the next button undone. "Your tits do feel very nice; very, very nice." His hands began to wander across her belly; he sensed her body tense and repulse at his touch: such ecstasy! "Expectation makes the pleasure so much sweeter, when it's finally experienced," he whispered, opening another button. "Night after night I've imagined this; pined for this. To be undressing you, to be touching you, feeling the warmth of your body." His hands were over her crotch, flicking the button there, lingering, fingering, sensing with his touch her shape and texture beneath the bikini line. Eventually, his hands moved on, descending across the skirt of her dress, his arms wrapping her legs as he unfastened the final buttons. With them all undone he slowly rose from his crouching position, his arms still enveloping her, feeling her, gently pulling open the sides of her dress as he stood. It was an action without benefit to himself for he stood where he could not see, but he watched and delighted in the thrill of her audience: those soldiers, so intent, so entranced. When he was done, he tenderly pulled Joanna's blonde hair back from her left ear and gently caressed the skin of her neck with his lips. Joanna stared lividly at the chief keeper in furious protest, but still seeing that one's disinterest, she kept her own counsel. The Inquistador took hold of Joanna's unfastened dress and pulled it off her shoulders, down her arms and over her hips. He then allowed it to drop to the floor. The Chief Keeper stepped forward and took it from between Joanna's feet, handing it to one of the two La cepern ladies who were demurely waiting close by. As she did so, the Inquistador stepped back to observe the result of his labor. Underneath, Joanna wore a thin pastel slip of similar length to her dress. He walked round enjoying the sight of her discomfort and distress before eventually returning to his position behind her. "So many layers," the Inquistador whispered in Joanna's ear. "But, as I say, expectation delayed makes the pleasure so sweet." He brought his arms round her again, allowing the tips of his fingers to graze across the material of her slip, across her breasts and the nipples beneath. She gasped in stoic wretchedness. "Please," she thought. "Please make him stop. Please make him go away." His fingers had returned to the thin straps of her slip. He took hold of them and slowly lowered them from her shoulders, kissing her upon the bare skin of her shoulder. She squirmed at his touch. Desperately she tried not to, for she knew that this was what he wanted, but she was fast approaching her emotional breaking point. "So sad," he sighed. "So soon no more." Letting go of the straps, he gently took hold of the slip just below her hips and began pulling it upwards, over her bust, over her arms, over her head. As it came off he folded it slowly before handing it to the Chief Keeper, who again gave it to the same waiting La cepern who patiently accepted it. He circled round and stood in front of Joanna for the first time. She wore a breath white chemise buttoned down the front. Reaching forward, the Inquistador began to unfasten it. They both knew she wore nothing beneath. "Shall we see what a pretty girl you are?" he said reaching the bottom of the buttons. He paused a moment and then delicately drew first one side, then the other from off her breasts. For some moments he stood and admired the display of her tits, making her wait, making her think. He then reached forward and took hold of one of her nipples, standing proud on her breast and gently squeezed it. His eyes were no longer on her bust, but on her face, watching her close her eyes and grimace as he increased the pressure upon that captive nipple, whether she did so in pain or humiliation, was to him irrelevant. "Your tits are everything I imagined," he whispered. "You could have saved them for me. You could have had me on a piece of string. You could have had whatever you wanted; I would have given it you. Why did you devalue yourself? Now you are worth nothing. By the end of the day there won't be a man in Lahf Tawreos that will not have seen these tits." He moved forward, standing almost on her toes. "Or will not have masturbated at the sight of your pussy." She only had a simple white pair of panties left. The Inquistador dropped to his knees before her, his face level with her pubis, this still invisible behind the briefs. He looked up, past her naked breasts to her tearful face. "Excuse me," he said with fake apology, taking hold of the cotton waistband. He held it still for a moment, savoring the anticipation before pulling it down over her hips and letting her pants drop to the floor. Her secret triangle lay exposed before him, his face only inches from her pussy. She could almost feel his breath upon it as he gazed upon its nakedness. "Please," she silently made petition of Tawr. "Please give me the strength to endure this." He would be able to smell her, she thought, he was so close. Never had she felt so naked, so humiliated as she did right now, as she awaited destruction at his hand. Finally he rose to his feet. But he remained so very close. She could feel the touch of his tunic against the ends of her breasts; the waft of his breath touching her cheek. His face pressed forward. For a moment she imagined that he intended to kiss her, but he whispered into her ear, so softly did he speak; so cold was his tone. "You are so very attractive," he hissed, almost inaudibly, his tunic definitely brushing against the bareness of her skin. "Without your clothes. But I guess you must know that." He remained static; she too held her breath. She could not breathe: she stood terrified. The closeness of his presence intimidated, controlled and dominated her. She was under his spell, the fly to his spider, the prey to his cobra. Paralyzed, she stared into those cruel, menacing eyes, those dark malignant darts that bore into her soul, into the very depths of her being. His piercing eyes stripped her bare, revealed that hidden essence, that secret inner self that none of us ever makes known to another. Oh what did he see? What did he discover? He blinked, and the moment passed, the spell was broken. He stepped away, turned his back upon her, his frame expanding as resumed his role of Inquistador. "Cut her hair," he commanded, to no one in particular, but with an authority that now expected to be obeyed. As if by magic, scissors appeared in the Chief Keeper's hands and the La cepern stepped forward and took hold of Joanna's arms. The Chief keeper grabbed a handful of her beautiful hair and closing the scissors scythed through it. "Keep still," she ordered, tossing the tresses away. "I don't intend to cut you, but if you move then it won't be me that cries." She held more of Joanna's locks and again sliced them away. Again and again she cut, carving and shearing, destroying Joanna's womanly glory as she worked. Only when Joanna was shorn, when there was no more to cut, did she stop to admire the results of her handiwork. She nodded to the La cepern holding Joanna's arms that she had finished. As they let go, Joanna brought her hands to her head, feeling the mangled stubble that was all that remained. She was still running her hands, feeling what they had done when she realized that one of the La cepern had approached and was handing her a white dress. "Put this on," she said, her voice low and indistinct, her head bowed. Joanna took it and pulled it over her shorn head, her mind and thoughts still with the hair that littered the floor. As she pulled her arms through the armholes and straightened the shift, the soldiers advanced upon her, rope in their hands. Unlike the La cepern, they said nothing: they didn't ask; they didn't demand. They used their strength to achieve their end: to force Joanna's arms behind her back and to tie her at the wrists. Instinctively, she pulled at the rope, testing its strength: it was unyielding and secure. The Inquistador had been watching with interest and increasing enthusiasm. Now that she was ready, he advanced gleefully. "You have danced the tune of Mister Bradley, now you will dance to my tune," he hissed at her. "It's not your tune," she protested tearfully. "It's the tune of Tawr." "Yet you must beg to me for clemency." She took a deep breath. "Clemency is not yours to give, it is mine to choose. You granted me the right to judge, I have the right to pardon." He laughed meanly. "So naive! So misguided! What is mine to give with one hand is mine to take back with the other. Listen! I revoke that authority I gave you. You have it no longer. Now where does that leave you? What do you say? Let me tell you. Now you must burn." He looked over to the soldiers. "Take her," he ordered. She struggled against them as they took her by her arms. "You gave me the right," she cried. "This isn't the judgement of Tawr. This is the revenge of a man." "Maybe so," he agreed. "But Tawr is forgiving." "This is murder," she screamed at the soldiers. "Can't you hear what he's saying to me? This is not Tawr, this is him!" she pleaded with the La cepern. "Don't you see, today it is me, tomorrow it may be you. You must stop him. Please, do something." "Quite finished?" asked the Inquistador after her pleas had again fallen on minds of stone. "You see it is quite hopeless. You are condemned, and we all expect and understand a little hysteria in such circumstances. But I have to warn you; hysteria is easily confused with cowardice. I would hate the La cepern to gain that reputation." "You pig!" she yelled at him. He spoke again to the soldiers. "Didn't I tell you to take her away? What is preventing you?" **************************************************** Paul sat in somber silence when he had reached the end. Sharon sat waiting for him to speak. Eventually he did. "What happens next? How does it end?" "I don't know," Sharon said, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't have any more. There is one more part. Isn't the outcome still in the balance? Isn't it now in your hands? How do you want it to end? You know, this is your story." The Code Of Tawr End Of Part Nine Part Ten ....Coming Soon! -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----