Message-ID: <20198eli$9902250427@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "Joanna De Brito" Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr (10/10 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: <19990223112436.24434.qmail@hotmail.com> Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only. This is the final part of a serialized story. If you haven't yet read the earlier parts, you've come in a bit late! As usual, don't read unless you can cope with strong n/c themes. 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 Ten I sat at the computer not typing a word. My mind was a blank and I had no idea how my story would end. Tears came to my eyes; I was frustrated and upset: only one more part of my story to write; all that effort and work: yet I couldn't decide upon an ending. There was a brochure upon my desk. From its page, the face of an Adonis stared up at me, smiling, friendly. I gazed back at him, dreaming that we were alone and that he held me tight. "You are very sexy," I told him. "You are very forward," he teased. "So do you fancy me?" I asked, pressing my body against him. "Of course. Who wouldn't?" he said, appreciatively. "But why? Why do you like me?" I pleaded, my mood becoming more agitated. "Is it just because I have these?" I held my hands upon my breasts. "Is it because you want this?" I pulled my dress high with one hand and pulled down my knickers with the other. "You fancy me. But would you still love me if I were fat and unshapely? Would you still think me sexy with a screaming brat clamped to my breast?" He didn't answer; he couldn't, for he had vanished. He had left me already. Instead, there was a car in the drive. I recognised from its sound that it was Paul. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. He had opened the door and was ascending the stairs. I tried to compose myself, to appear jolly and at ease. He appeared in the doorway: wild, demanding and passionate. I looked across at him. "I've just spoken to Sharon," he was saying. "Why didn't you tell me..." What did he mean? Of course I had told him. I had told him in the Priory, "What if there's a baby?" I had asked. I had told him in the tower. "You are as able to have children as anybody else," I had written. What did he expect? How could I tell him in words when I couldn't face the truth myself? When I couldn't know whether our conversation would end in adieux? "It takes two to make a baby." I remember typing the words. But it didn't matter any longer. For I had only to see him and look into his eyes to know how my story would end. I bid it a fond farewell, for it had allowed me to work through feelings too sensitive to touch. "Don't you remember?" I cried, tears of relief falling across my cheeks. "'Tawr bequests fertility'. You told me that as you held me in the tower. He has been such a dear close friend. He has given us such a wonderful gift." **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Final Paragraphs Of The Last Section... "This is murder," Joanna 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?" **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Chapter Four, Part Two She was full of hate and bitterness as the guards lifted her and carried her from the room. Her hands were tied behind her and she was bundled along the corridor. The soldiers held her firmly by her upper arms and virtually carried her in the direction she was to go. As they strode down the flights of stairs she was aware of people standing in doorways, by the side of corridors, wherever they could view. She was frog marched through the entranceway of the headquarters of the Inquistadorial Guard into the square outside. It was full of people; it was full of noise; she was confronted with the most incredible commotion. She had to squint because of the brightness of the sun, but she could discern two rows of soldiers forming a barrier around the door preventing the crowds that had thronged into the square from pressing upon her. In the space in front of them stood a cart harnessed to two stallions. This had been provided to carry her the mere hundred yards to the execution site. Two soldiers reached down and pulled her up into it. They led her to a wooden plank that ran the length of the cart at a height of about thirty inches. This plank was upended so that its thickness of about half an inch lay horizontal to the ground. Joanna was lifted astride it and then dropped upon it. She grunted in pain as her naked vulva fell directly upon its edge. There were other soldiers also in the cart and while the first held her steady, the others fastened manacles to her ankles and secured these to eyelets that had been screwed to the base of the cart. They wanted her to be seen: to be exhibited to the crowds as an example of what happens to one who betrays the Code of Tawr. And any and every device would be used to this end. The shift she was wearing was made of thin white cotton that hung loose about her. Its very lack of shape and design was its design. It was provided to cover and nothing more; to protect the pious who might otherwise be inclined to carnal lust, while at the same time signifying her new status as something alien, no longer worthy to be accorded the honor of dignity and modesty merited by one of Tawr's creatures. They wanted the throngs that lined the way from her prison to the funeral pyre to sense her degradation. She had been shown to be sub human, a betrayer of Tawr, and now she must bear that cross. And keenly did she indeed feel it. She had been inculcated with the principles of modesty and chastity from the youngest of ages. Therefore, to be attired in a gossamer cloth with nothing beneath was itself a humiliation. But a humiliation made an order of magnitude more unendurable by the fact that the sun shining from behind rendered her shift translucent. And it was no comfort to reflect that when she had arrived she had been nude. This was worse than being naked. Certainly she had been humiliated then. But the effect of the sun was to make her into an object of intense eroticism. Far more erotic is to glimpse what should be hidden than to pore over what is openly displayed. Her exposure was compounded by the way they had trussed her to the cart: with her hands tied behind her back she could not hide the shadow of nipple against muslin, and her feet tied apart augmented the effect of the light shining from behind. At first she could not properly see where she was going because of the crowd, but the soldiers were pushing folk back to form a causeway through which the cart could move. As the seas of people were moved aside, she could see through the divide for the first time the stake that awaited her in front of the Portal. It arose from the ground as an obscene phallus; an iron pole surrounded at its base to a height of three to four feet by an assortment of firewood. To one side was a ladder leading to a temporary platform of wooden planks that ran about a foot above the faggots from one side of the stake to the other. Upon this platform there were two soldiers who were already awaiting her arrival. The whole was encircled by yet more soldiers keeping the crowd to a prescribed distance. The cart pulled to a halt in front of this nemesis. Immediately, the soldiers rushed forward and with practiced hands pounced on the bracelets about her ankles and loosed them. From behind something long and sharp prodded her forwards and off of the cart. All round her were people, pressing and pushing, propelling her towards the heinous instrument of torture that overshadowed her. Her eyes filled with terror as it loomed ever closer and she was forcibly confronted with the inevitability of her fate. Someone pushed her roughly to the side and she found herself suddenly in front of the Inquistador. He was dressed in his full ceremonial garb. His chest was bedecked with jewels and color and splendor. "It is time for due sentence to be passed," he said. "Hypocrite," she spat. "Pig!" He was the cause of her suffering, of that she had no doubt. He was punishing her, seeking retribution for the wrong he felt she had perpetrated against him on the mountain. But those that heard knew nothing of this background and were suitably aghast, shaking fists and shouting abuse. He smiled. "Let me show you around," he said. "I want you to feel at home. Notice the faggots. The wood is as dry as tinder. No smoke. We must allow you to breathe so that you may scream. How ironic should you asphyxiate rather than feel the full extent of the flame. The faggots burn with incredible heat. They will burn you and cook you, and then, there is that magical moment when your body becomes fuel for the fire and bursts into flame. Your melted fats ignite and you become a human torch burning until you are gone." As the full extent of the horror was driven home by the Inquistador's explicitness she fell in a faint, but was held firm by the two Guard's assigned as her escort. For a moment, darkness washed over her and she prayed the light would never return. Still faint, at the Inquistador's instruction she was hauled up a set of steps that led to the temporary platform. At the top the appointed executioner waited with the two soldiers. He wore a mask that concealed his face and rendered him infinitely more evil. As Joanna came round they began to place her into the demonic device they had created. The stake had been made with a crosspiece of about eighteen inches protruding from its front. By the gestures of the executioner it was obvious that she was to straddle this crosspiece and it was this that would keep her at the correct height above the faggots and the flames, preventing her from sliding down the pole to the ground. The executioner knelt and took hold of the bottom of her shift. For one terrible moment Joanna thought he was going to tear it from her leaving her to face her final torment in the nude. What he did instead was nearly as bad. He took hold of the shift at the bottom and tore a split to the level of her thighs. It was so that she could be placed with the iron crosspiece between her legs. It was at a height some three or four inches below the top of her legs and the executioner gently maneuvered her into place so that she stood in front of the stake with the crosspiece beneath her. As he did so there was someone behind who was untying her hands. As they came loose her arms were quickly and roughly pulled around the stake and then immediately refastened, this time chained together in an iron manacle that would remain firm in the flame. A soldier standing below reached up to hand the executioner a metal chain with which to bind her to the stake. Taking the chain in one hand, his arms encircled her as he girded the chain about her. As he did so, his face came to within inches of her face; his body was almost touching hers. At that moment their eyes met and she felt with humiliation and disgust the lust in his eyes. This man was enjoying his work. He was enjoying committing her to ashes. The belt was fastened and she was chained about the waist to the stake. The executioner checked first that her hands had been securely manacled together, then he checked the tension of the belt holding her to the pole, and, deciding that it was a little loose, he tightened it further, although she still had room for movement. Now that he was content, he ordered the guards to descend the steps from the platform. He followed, and she was left alone. Desperately, she appealed to Tawr, called to him, pleaded with him. Not for clemency, which she knew would not come, but for strength: the strength to endure, to be calm, to dull the pain. Soldiers were pulling the supports from the temporary platform upon which she was standing. A plank fell from under her left foot, and she swung suddenly to that side, her movement stopped abruptly by the belt digging into her right side. She moaned as she regained her balance. A moment later the other plank dropped from under her right foot and she dropped the three or so inches onto the crosspiece. She groaned: agony consuming her as her fragile pudenda took her full weight as it fell upon the crosspiece. After the pain came the cold. It felt icy against her inner thighs. But she knew that it would not be cold for long. There was a hush in the marketplace as the assembly awaited the execution of the sentence. The Inquistador stepped down from a platform decorated with an excess of brightly colored bunting. On it sat the elders of Tawr. They were all dressed in their ceremonial purple, eating and drinking and joking. She remembered what Paul had foretold. "Lined up before you will be the elders, all of them. Not one will be missing. As you hang terrified they will be watching, sexually aroused; inspecting your shaking body through the transparent cloth." She could not have felt more exposed; she could not have felt more humiliated. Her teeth were chattering in fear; warm urine trickled down the inside of her shaking legs, ran across her feet and dripped onto the firewood below. The Inquistador crossed the front of the pyre to where the executioner was lighting a wooden torch, its end doused in a flammable liquid. After a word in his ear, the Inquistador took it from him and approached the pyre, the fiercely burning torch in his hand. Petrified through terror, Joanna eyed the angry blue flame burning fiercely at the end of the torch. "Goodbye, Joanna," he said vengefully, holding the torch to the heaped firewood. The dry wood resisted for a couple of seconds, then ignited and burst into life. As she saw it, Joanna screamed. She had meant to be controlled, to contain her fear, but the moment had overtaken her. She struggled against the belt and the manacles holding her to the iron rod of death and they rattled at her efforts. But the contest was uneven and she only succeeded in scraping her wrists against the bare metal. She looked to heaven and began muttering a prayer, anxiety caused her words to tumble out and run over each other. Suddenly, in front of her there was a loud explosion and a huge plume of fire was thrown into the air. It came from within the firewood, from where the edge of the flame had reached. She gasped as the fire now roared with renewed frenzy, closing in on her by the second. But something was not right. From where the original ball of fire had exploded, molten fire was now being hurled towards the crowd. She could not think what was happening, but it was as though gunpowder had been buried in the firewood. Firecrackers too! Deafening salvos of erupting shrapnel were hurled skywards. These seemed to slow in the air and halt before crashing down into the crowd. The people at the front were the first to panic. As the fiery missiles began falling in their midst they pushed back in an effort to retreat. There were people screaming and pressing and trying to escape. The reason for the intensity of this alarm was that somewhere within this mass of people there were those that the finger of fate was dealing a cruel hand. The burning projectiles falling from the sky had victims, to which the inhuman screams and cries of terror bore testimony. These people had nowhere to go, nowhere to duck, because at the back people were still pushing forwards in an effort to see. "Get the people back!" the Inquistador yelled in the direction of his Guard. But positioned near the front as they were, they were hopelessly placed to begin an evacuation. The flames were now scorching Joanna's shift. She could scent the smell as it began to burn. She could feel the heat of the approaching conflagration. There was a noise below and behind her: despite the rage of the inferno and the screams of the crowd she heard it; someone was approaching. She knew not how he got there for the fire blocked access to all. She could feel him unfastening the clasp of the chain round her waist. It fell clanking to the ground several feet below. She was now able to twist her body, and she saw it was Bradley. Where had he been? How had he got here? These were fragments of thoughts that dashed through her mind as it tried to catch up with what raced through her senses. He was standing on tiptoe upon the pile of tinder attempting to reach the lock that bound her wrists. She tried to push her arms and the manacle closer to him, but pinioned as she was this had little effect. "How had he got the key?" The thought was so irrelevant, but it flashed through her mind. He was speaking, calming, but his words were a blur. As the skirt of her dress caught light, she heard the snap as one of the manacles opened and her arms were released. Holding the stake for support, she swung her leg over the crossbeam and jumped down onto the tinder pile. Her right wrist was still cuffed in the manacles, and, as she fell, the heavy iron bracelets clattered against her shoulder. She felt nothing; every thought was concentrated on escaping the inferno that raged around her. "Hurry!" Paul cried. Pandemonium reigned. On the other side of the blaze the Inquistador was apoplectic in his dilemma as to whether to order his guards to help the burning people or to pursue Bradley. "Shoot him. Kill him. Get them," he screamed from the safety of some distance. But the guards were simply unprepared and could not obey him. They had come for a spectacle, not a war. Their guns were unloaded, and the flames prevented them from closing in. They shouted and pointed but were powerless to act. Joanna's dress was still burning. It was thin and cotton and flammable. Bradley took hold of it at the collar and pulled with great force. It ripped open and Paul pulled it from her, throwing the torn burning shreds to the ground. "This way," he cried. One hand still cuffed, but the key safely in its lock, she blindly followed where he led. How were they to escape? There was nowhere for them to go. Nowhere to run. Everything was commotion, emotion, nothing was clear. She froze. For suddenly she knew his plan. This was crazy! He was pulling open the enormous double doors of the Portal. "No," she cried, pulling back. "Not there! Tawr would never forgive! Sacrilege!" But it was too late. He had opened the gates and was pulling her hesitant frame through the enormous opening and into the darkness beyond. "Do you realize what you've done?" she screamed at him from the other side of the gate. "This is sacred ground. We have not been cleansed, we're not ready to pass through the Portal!" He slammed the heavy door shut behind her, sealing them both in the darkness. There was the slam of a bolt, or a bar, or something, she could not tell which in the gloom. Gone were the sights and the sounds that had been pounding her senses: the intense blinding hues of the seething inferno, the angry chant of a delirious mob calling for blood, the eerie screams of the dying and the roaring clamor of the approaching soldiers hunting her down. In one moment it was all gone. If she listened carefully she could still hear, but the noise was cut to a whisper. And they were in darkness, a cold blackness that stuck to her skin. She groaned. "What have you done? Do you know where we are?" "Safe," he grinned. "But Tawr..." "Yes," he said lightly. "I've been waiting here all morning, and I've yet to meet him." "What happened?" she asked, her breathing so heavy that she was close to hyperventilating. "What's going on out there?" "A little diversion," Paul said. "Just in case you had second thoughts. The more I thought, the more I realized that for the Inquistador, a pardon was not an option. If you'd kept your resolve, well, it would've brought a speedy end. After all, what is a pyre without some pyrotechnics?" "But how did you know?" "That you wanted out? Calling the Inquistador a pig was a big clue." In the silence, they could still hear the faint sounds of the furor on the other side of the gate. There were shouts of soldiers as they tried to quell the fire; there were the shouts of the masses who had been denied their taste of blood; and somewhere Joanna imagined she could hear the frustration of the Inquistador as he demanded to know who was responsible. They could hear it all, but these were the sounds of a far off world. "We need to get away from here," Paul said. "I don't want to be standing here when they get round to opening this door." Joanna shivered; it was much cooler here, and she remembered that she was naked. Paul had torn her only clothing from off her. Despite the darkness, she instinctively pulled her arms across her breasts to conceal them. As she did she realized that her nipples were as hard as bullets. And it wasn't through cold. She was hyped up with adrenaline and endorphins and a cocktail of other natural chemicals that now had nowhere to go. All the emotion and tension and fear that had washed through her left in its wake the most intense sexual arousal she could bear. "Later," she said huskily, putting her arms round him and holding him close, rubbing her naked breasts and belly against him, wantonly rubbing herself against his cock. "We'll do all that later." "What are you doing?" he asked, his attention switching suddenly from what she was doing to his cock at the front of him to what she was doing to his arms at the back of him. There was a metallic snap, and instantly he realized that she had fastened the manacles round his own wrists. She withdrew the key and held it tight. "What are you doing?" he repeated angrily. "You're not safe yet. They're all just feet away from us on the other side of the Portal." "Worried?" she asked. "I don't think they'll follow us through. They have not been cleansed either. I'm willing to gamble that the Inquistador won't be able to reinterpret the code on this one. Not with so many people out there. It would be too big a shift for them to swallow. That's the bet. This time it's my game. Are you brave enough to play?" Now that his arms were secure, she used her empty hand to find and massage his cock through his trousers. "Tell me the rules," he said. "Well," she said, her eyes flickering. I'm as randy as hell, and I'm planning on getting laid. I've decided that I shall rape you, right here. Of course, if they open the gate, they'll burn us both; but," she shrugged her shoulders. "If they don't, what a game!" "You're in there. I know you are!" They both jumped at the voice of the Inquistador only a matter of feet from them. They remained frozen. Would he open the gate? Would he follow? "He won't give up," Paul whispered, keeping his voice low just in case the Inquistador could hear. "He'll never give up. We're inside the Portal. He's petrified that we'll do something that will stop them getting their precious seed. Without it the Galsip people will die." He was still there, somewhere; they could feel his presence. But Joanna was on her knees, unzipping Paul's pants. She pulled out his penis. It was still limp and she seemed disappointed. "What use is that?" she muttered, and began to gently stroke its length. Quickly it began to expand to her touch. "This is madness," Paul objected. "He's going to come in. Any moment they'll be here. He'll be upon us." "And they will kill the pair of us," agreed Joanna. "Do you really want to leave?" "Yes!" Paul persisted. "Good," she said. "I want you to be truly unwilling. Just like I was that first time." "Joanna!" She had taken his penis and was lightly kissing it. "You really want this don't you?" he said. "How many times do I have to tell you?" "But perhaps I don't want to..." "Good." "Rape is violence. It removes a person's dignity. It steals..." "Shut up. I can feel your cock responding to the touch of my lips. You're enjoying this, you hypocrite." "A physical response is just that. No means no." "I haven't heard you say 'no' yet." She placed the tip of his cock into her mouth. "No. No. No." She flicked his glans gently with her tongue, familiarizing herself with the taste and with his aroma. Her jaws relaxed and she allowed it to slide over her lips and into her mouth. She held it there, feeling its compass, enjoying its weight. She felt its underside with the flat of her tongue, savoring the throb she sensed there of his racing pulse. There was a loud bang on the door of the Portal. It was followed by the cry of the Inquistador. She could tell he was mad. "You've not escaped," he screamed. "You think you've outwitted me, but Tawr will deliver you to me yet." Joanna only stopped for a moment, that moment of initial surprise at the nearness of his voice reverberating through their unlit cavern. She began to suck gently upon his cock, then gradually more greedily. "We must get away from here," Paul panted. "He will not be long." In answer Joanna rolled backwards, falling onto her back, that back that still carried the marks and bruises from her initial assault. Holding firmly to Paul's trunk as she did so caused him to topple into her welcoming embrace. She moaned softly as his weight pressed down upon her body: she could feel the warmth of his chest against her breasts, the strength of his erection in her hand. She kissed him passionately on the cheek, searching for his lips, searching for his mouth with abandon, with eagerness. Discovering it, her tongue darted inside, bestowing many urgent kisses. Her legs were apart and he lay between. With her hand still stroking his cock, she positioned it at the entrance of her cunt while with the other hand she pushed him inside. She gasped. It felt so good to feel him back. She squeezed upon his girth, pushing her hips forward and impaling herself upon him, lubricating as her muscles sensed that turgid masculinity. She took hold of his hips and with her arms controlled the motion of his body, pushing where she needed him to go to create the stimulation she aspired. Neither could see the other, neither spoke, they were each in a world of their own. Joanna's eyes were vacant and she stared into the lightlessness, her mind and body at one, consumed in the emotion her arousal was releasing. She wanted him to tease her nipples, to caress them with his fingers, but with his hands cuffed behind him, that would be impossible. She brought one of her own hands to her breast and massaged it herself, while with the other she kept him inside. Her clit was ablaze; she squeezed him against it, wriggling her hips under him to maximize the burning inside her. The Inquistador was outside. She heard him ordering guards to cleanse themselves according to the ritual of the La cepern. That was his compromise. Then he would order them in. "You're going to burn, Joanna de Brito," he yelled. "I'm going to make you die. Just think, I'm going to set you on fire." "But I am on fire," Joanna gasped. "I am. I really am." Her nails dug deep into Bradley as the ecstasy reached its peak. "I'm coming," she cried. "I'm really coming." As the tidal wave of her orgasm hit she held her breath and tensed her body, she was in paroxysm for the briefest moments in time, before riding the down swell of the wave. Paul drove into her again and again as her breathing began to slow and recover. But she knew she wasn't finished yet. She still desired, more. And Paul still had not come. But then that magic thought was born, why should he? Wasn't that how he had left her? Despite every physical inclination of her body defying her, wanting him inside, wanting his sex, she pushed him away. Manacled as he was, he had only his weight with which to resist her, it was easy to roll out from under him. "Ouch," he said, as his shoulder banged against the floor. "It hurts doesn't it," she said unsympathetically. "What are you doing?" "You said we should get out. I was taking your advice." "Your timing is lousy," he said, pondering his throbbing erection, but he said it ruefully rather than with any anger. "You could have waited a little longer." "That was my reaction when you raped me. But today I had a beautiful orgasm." "Touche, I guess" "Never mind," she said, unlocking the manacles that bound his hands. "I'm still as horny as hell. Feel free to fuck me at the first opportunity, but there'll be no opportunity if we don't get away from here first." She threw the manacles away; there was an echoing clank as they clattered against the chalk. She threw the key into the darkness in the opposite direction. The time for such games was past. "Perhaps next time," she said, placing her hand suggestively around the girth of his failing erection. "Both of us will be free." "Don't do that!" he pleaded. "Not unless you intend to bring me off." "Oh I couldn't possibly," she said, withdrawing her hand. "Now," she added. "Have you any idea what we do now?" "None," he replied. "But hundreds of La cepern come in here and they never come back. They must go somewhere." "They become handmaidens in Tawr's Sanctuary." "I don't mean to offend but, well, never mind we'll find out soon enough, I guess." Bradley was staring at her in the darkness. His eyes had now adjusted and he could just see the outline of her naked figure. As he stared, his penis still semi hard, he found his thoughts filling with lust. But this didn't surprise him. For he had lusted for Joanna de Brito since the first time he had laid eyes upon her and been told that she was forbidden. The Inquistador interrupted his erotic daydream. He was again shouting through the door in his frustration. "I am Tawr's chief representative," he called. "There is nowhere you can go to escape me. You will always fear. I will always be around the next corner. I am in the shadows. I will destroy you." "Let's get away from here," Joanna said to him from out of the darkness. She had already entered a little further into the nothingness. Bradley followed the sound of her voice. Behind him the Inquistador was still ranting. "You will not get away," he yelled. "We will follow you. We will find you." "Paul, where are you?" Joanna asked. Bradley replied from just behind her. "Here," he said. She held out her hand and he took it. She held his hand tightly and doing so brought a warm glow inside. As they moved away together from the Portal the Inquistador was still shouting. He was so near. "Perhaps you may yet find me," Joanna thought anxiously. "I am so close. Just the other side of the Portal." "But," she thought, suddenly relaxing and gripping Paul's hand tighter still. "But then again, nothing is certain." **************************************************** We moved from the darkness into the light by the window, hand in hand, and I pulled him to me, holding his naked body close, kissing him softly upon the cheek. "Can we do it again?" I asked. "It's been so long. I'm still as horny as hell. I want you so much." "Shortly," he said. "Let me hold you first. I just want to hold you." We held each other tight, I felt his strength, his muscular arms enveloping me, protecting me. I sighed. I knew not what the future held, but at last it beckoned me benignly rather than with menaces. Paul placed me upon our bed. I felt his kisses upon my breasts, I felt my breasts strain to meet his lips. His kisses slowly traced a path across my stomach; he tongued my navel. His mouth moved lower, he gently chewed the down of my hair, kissed firmly upon my mound. I gasped. He inched lower still. He kissed me there. I shuddered. I could not breathe. "I am so close," he murmured to our child. "Just the other side of the Portal." THE END. The Code Of Tawr by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com) Copyright 1999 All rights reserved -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----