{Joanna} The Code Of Tawr ( 5/10 MF caution)

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From: "Joanna De Brito"
Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr ( 5/10 MF caution)
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X-Original-Message-ID: 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 ()
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!
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