{Joanna} The Code Of Tawr (7/10 MF caution)

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From: "Joanna De Brito"
Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr (7/10 MF caution)
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X-Original-Message-ID: Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only. This is part seven 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 Seven Write her out, he had said, that had been quite specific.
With pleasure! This was something I would enjoy. But how
should it be done? I could, of course, just move on and let Rebecca quietly
fade from memory, but that would not please me. I wanted my
pound of flesh, to pen my revenge, to dig my dagger deep.
Within me there was a bloodlust of which I was not
particularly proud. She should suffer, as she had made me
suffer. Now was the time to exorcise her from my psyche. **************************************************** The Code Of Tawr Chapter Three In The Tower
A lady in a drab black gown glides effortlessly up the long
spiral stairs. It is dark despite her candle, shadows
flicker long and ghostly. There is a pace, a confidence
about her step that says that this is a place she knows
well: that she is not bothered by the gloom into which she
climbs. It is a pace that also suggests youth, for how else
can she sustain it? Reaching the top there is a corridor,
dark and unlit; but she strides even along this remote
avenue with familiarity of step. She is not lost; there is
purpose in her bearing. Neither is she alone; a man follows in her wake. He is not
so certain: his step is unsure and is guided by her lead.
This man we know; his garb is dark and somber and seems to
flow around him as he walks. This is the Inquistador, and he
is making a visit. There is a wooden door at the far end of the corridor. The
lady arrives with the Inquistador following, half hidden in
the shadow of the candle she holds. His silent guide unlocks
the door and pulls it ajar. Only her eyes can be seen
through the black veil that covers her head. They are pretty
eyes, he notices them, but they are fixed elsewhere.
Downcast, they venture neither approval nor disapproval, no
opinion at all as to the contents of the room or its
visitor. This lady has been well taught, but she knows what
she guards, and her heart beats heavy. Her head remains bowed as she silently listens. "Thank you,"
he says. "Please wait outside, Sharon. I will knock when I
need you." He steps past her into the opened room. As he enters, she is
pleased to be able to shut the door and sit on the chair
that waits in the gloom. She knows not how long she must
wait, but her patience is determined to be infinite should
that be required: only his knock will disturb her vigil. * Inside the prison cell the Inquistador paused, as behind him
the door slammed shut. The room was long and narrow with a
high ceiling that sloped at the far end and into which a
small bare window had been cut. Joanna stood against the
wall, part way between the door and the window. She had been
bound; her wrists were cuffed behind her and the cuffs then
attached to a fixing in the wall; her ankles were also
manacled to another fixing. She slouched, because she had
been left fastened like this for some time and she was
tired. Her face was smudged with dirt and her hair was
uncombed. The Inquistador stepped forward and
surreptitiously admired the beauty before him, a beauty
enhanced by distress. She was dressed in the garb of a convicted felon: a navy
serge robe that buttoned down the front. The fit was bad: it
hung like a tent from her shoulders to her knees. It was
also worn and stained with what looked like blood. Her feet
were bare and she was also gagged. Silent behind that gag,
the frightened eyes that watched him as he approached told
him that he had her attention. "Good evening," he said, with a preoccupied expression. Now that he was here, he seemed unsure as to what else he
should say. Whether he really wanted what he had come here
to seek. Angst consumed him. She, also, had angst of her
own. But her eyes remained fixed and told him that she was
still listening. But he said nothing. It was difficult to
know which of them was the more tortured. He glanced momentarily from her bondage to the window beyond
and stepped across to glance outside. The main courtyard was
below; and it was a hive of activity. To his left was the
market where there were people buying and selling and
haggling for the best price. Some had strayed and were
watching the more ominous preparations at the other end of
the courtyard in front of the Portal, those huge decorated
gates at the base of the white chalk cliff that were the
entranceway to the unknown. Here work was proceeding to prepare for Joanna's execution.
Immediately in front of the Portal a number of men were
driving a metal stake deep into the ground. Other soldiers
were stacking wood against a wall while a third group was
marking a huge semi circle where these wooden faggots were
to be laid. The Inquistador paused, fully a minute, watching the morbid
attractions below. "They're very busy down there," he observed finally, "just
like ants. And all in your honor. I know you can't see, but
I guess you can hear the activity." He spoke slowly, reflectively, the grim preparations
stirring painful memories. "I always knew you would be
different," he murmured. "Even when you were just a gawky
adolescent. I would see you with your father; there was an
aura about you that the others didn't have. That's why I
arranged to have you moved here from Dayton Priory." He stopped: the activity he was observing through the window
prompting his mind to recall old painful memories. "I only
remember this being done once before," he said. "It was not
La cepern then, she was from one of the junior orders, I
don't recall exactly which now, it was a long time ago. I
was a priest down by the coast at the time. So I didn't get
to see 'the event', as it was called. Though as you might
imagine, the gossip mongers spread every morbid detail
afterwards." He paused, his mood melancholy. "I knew her. She was a very
pretty girl, full of life; she liked to have a good time,
not unlike you. They said she had sinned and that her lover
had denounced her. He had a conscience and although he still
loved her, he could not bear to live alienated from the love
of Tawr. He had faced the dilemma of having to choose
between destroying the woman he had come to love, or
upsetting the God he had been trained to serve. "They say that she denied it to the end. According to her
she was convicted on the word of a vindictive admirer who
had leveled a false accusation in a moment of spite. Of
course, she said, once the charge had been laid it was
impossible for him to rescind it because then he would
receive the punishment intended for her. After all, that is
the code." He looked questioningly at Joanna. "What do you think? Which
story do you believe? I heard she suffered unimaginable pain
before she succumbed to the flames and that when they had
subsided her precious beauty had been reduced to an ash
indistinguishable from that of the firewood." He blinked back a tear, returning suddenly to his previous
thread. "As you grew older you reminded me of her. I really
thought that you held an admiration for me. I managed to
help you in lots of small, silly ways, without you ever
knowing about them. I made sure no obstacle hindered your
progress through the order. "I'm not sure what I expected, really. I enjoyed making you
the one thing I denied myself. I yearned for your body but
took greater pleasure in self-denial. The expectation was so
intense that I knew that it would be an anticlimax to
fulfill it: that to possess my jewel would be to destroy it. "And then Mister Bradley came on the scene, dashing; good
looking; athletic; a mysterious stranger. What more could a
woman ask? I saw the way the heads turned when he passed. He
had the pick of any unattached young lady, I wanted but one.
Then I saw the way that your head turned too - don't try to
deny it - many things I may be, but I am not blind. "Then, so quickly, the tables were turned and it was you
that had his attention. That was too much, to lose my most
precious possession to, to, him. And why, why did he take my
little lamb when he had such choice? "But never did I think he would take my treasure and then
crush it in his claws. Never did I believe... You thrilled
to feel this man inside you? You told me that. You were
electrified by his touch? How could you be so cruel?" He stared piercingly at her, and, not seeing whatever it was
he was searching, he was visibly fallen and disappointed.
"What I admired and esteemed died somewhere out there on the
mountain." She was trying to talk. There was so much he had said that
just made no sense at all. He was expressing impossible
feelings; how could the Inquistador have harbored such
craving? He was no fallible creature like herself: he was
the Chief Representative of Tawr. He was supposed to be
above such human frailty, to have learned how to control
tawdry emotion. Noticing that she was trying to speak, he reached to pull
the gag out of her mouth. "A La cepern, who ceases to be a
La cepern up here," he said as he did so, tapping the end of
his forefinger against his forehead. "Is already dead. That
is what happened to Sarah. That is also what I had to tell
Rebecca." She was confused. As he pulled the gag from her mouth, she
asked, "Sarah? You mean the lady that was burned? And what
have you, what have you done with Rebecca?" He sighed. "Rebecca has also spent some time in the tower." She was shocked. "What for? What has Rebecca done?" "You saw what Rebecca did. Have you ever seen anything so
shameful?" "You mean the striptease? I was surprised that she obeyed
you, but that's the point. She did it to please you. You
asked her to be exciting! She only did what you asked of
her, what you told us beforehand she would do!" He sighed, sadly. "She stopped being a La cepern in her
head. I asked her to be a stripper: so that's what she must
be. If I had asked her to whore: then that she must do, she
must beguile or seduce and play her part. But she must never
confuse the part with the substance; become what she feigns
to be. That was Sarah's sin. It is also Rebecca's sin. They
did it for real: Rebecca became a seductive stripper, but it
wasn't an act." "So is it fair that you condemn her for that? She did her
very best to obey what you had asked of her." "It was her trial. She failed the ordeal." This was insanity. Where would it end? "Please, show mercy.
What are you planning to do with her?" There was a noticeable change in his mood as he considered
her question. The melancholy disappeared, replaced with a
threatening menace. He smiled cruelly. "Planning? Nothing.
It is already done." She was filled with dread, fearing the worst, but not quite
knowing what that entailed. "What have you done? What have
you done to Rebecca?" His smile twisted and grew. "You do show a morbid interest,"
he suggested. "No. It's natural that I should be concerned about a fellow
sister. It would seem she has no one else to look out for
her." "A natural interest, eh? All right, then I shall satisfy
your natural interest. I will tell you what I did with Miss
Rebecca." Joanna knew she should stop him. He mood was schizoid and
impossible to predict. But she was anxious to learn what had
befallen Rebecca, somehow within her mind her own fate and
that of Rebecca had become inseparably intertwined, and so
she encouraged him to continue. "Miss Rebecca was brought to a room such as this," he began.
He looked round the cell, weighing the comparison. "Very
similar to this. Her wrists were bound with rope and then
that rope pulled over a pulley that we keep conveniently
located on the ceiling. Just like that one there." He pointed to an iron pulley of about three inches diameter
that was bolted into a ceiling joist. Joanna looked up,
blinking back a tear. "She was hauled up until her toes were just able to touch
the ground. Can you imagine the pain that soon begins to
rack her shoulders and her upper arms as they take her whole
weight? "And then we undressed her. She stared back at me with an
expression of pitiful pleading as we cut her dress and slip
with an open knife; she was wondering what we planned. The
questions were so clearly written in her frightened eyes:
would we use the knife to cut her? Were we going to rape
her? Seeing that expression, it was delicious." He smiled. "I fostered that anxiety: running the blade of
the knife across her bare skin, loving the fear it produced,
it was a drug to me. Shall I tell you what I had in mind for
her? I think you would like to know." Joanna knew she did not want to know. But neither did she
trust herself to stop him, so she just listened, tacitly
allowing him to carry on. "I was removing her clothes so that I could beat her with a
leather whip. Isn't that the punishment prescribed in the
code? Doesn't it say that should a La cepern allow her
nakedness to be seen, then she should be flogged? Tell me,
Joanna, is that not the law?" "Yes," she reluctantly agreed. "She was in no doubt about what we planned for her because I
held the whip where she could see. So that she could
anticipate its kiss upon her delicate flesh. I told her as I
sliced her bra from her breasts that during her beating it
would be her responsibility to get her more sensitive parts
out of reach. I would strike from the same position
throughout and whatever part was toward me would receive the
full weight of the lash. My secret wish was to be able to
lay a few strokes," the Inquistador said harshly. "Just
here", and he indecently placed the palm of his hand over
Joanna's dress where it covered her pubis. She gasped in
startled consternation at the effrontery but she could not
verbalize protest, such was her training and the dominating
effect of the Inquistador's office and manner. He left his hand upon her genitalia, watching closely the
discomfiture it aroused with enjoyment. He continued. "As I
cut her knickers off her I told her what I was hoping. I do
pray, I said, I'll get the chance to strike you here." His
hand pressed imperceptibly upon Joanna as he emphasized the
final word, and then, having made his point, he removed his
hand from its indelicate position. "It was a pleasure depriving her of her panties, she is very
pretty is she not?" The question was rhetorical, but Joanna interjected, "I
don't believe you could have done it. These are not the
actions of a holy man, they are the actions of a brute." "But I am not a brute, am I? I am the voice of Tawr. So what
does that mean, Joanna? What must you do? You must show
faith, trust whatever I say. And so much more faith is
required since I appear to you so brutish. You must trust
me. Is this not so?" "Yes," she choked finally in reply. For this was certainly
the case. How could she compel Tawr? If the mighty Man God
chose not to reveal to her his reasons for acting in a
particular way, who was she to say he was wrong? She had a
duty to maintain her loyalty. "Of course as I prepared to lay the first stroke upon her
she was careful to stand with her back toward me. I had
after all invited her to watch out. But there is one more
piece of information, Joanna, that I must give you," his
words were tripping over themselves in his eagerness to
communicate his cunning ploy. "You see Rebecca could only
just touch the floor with the tips of her toes. She had to
really strain to reach the ground. So when I struck her the
first time with the whip squarely upon her buttocks she lost
balance and spun round dangling on the rope. Of course, her
momentum turned her to face me and you must imagine her cry
of desperation as I became the object of her vision, as she
saw me with arm raised and about to strike. "She tried to swing round and protect her precious assets.
She almost succeeded as well. My next stroke hit her across
the top of her thigh. You can't conceive how delightful her
cries as it bit. She tried to lift her leg to protect
herself from the next stroke, but how foolish, for she had
nowhere to hide, and again she lost balance and this time I
didn't miss. "That next stroke fell full across the flesh of her
unprotected breasts. What can I say? Her scream was heaven.
She tried again to turn and escape, but she could not evade. "Joanna, she danced such a very different dance to the one
she danced in the Committee Room. She was beaten soundly
with that whip. How many stokes, I cannot say. I didn't care
to count. But her legs kicked obscenely as she tried to
avoid it. And by the end her skin was raw and showed the
trace of every individual stroke. Her breasts," he stopped
and looked at Joanna's bust through the heavy serge as if he
were actually still looking at Rebecca. "Her breasts were
red and inflamed and I saw that even her nipples showed
where they had been struck." "How, how is she?" Joanna moaned. "Please say this was the
end of her torture. Please say you did not punish her more." The Inquistador laughed freely. "Joanna, oh Joanna, that is
so rich. She is alive and her pain is improving her, if that
is what you are asking. She will recover, and maybe, in time
she will even qualify for her gown. You see, I am not
entirely without mercy." He crossed to the door and knocked. Sharon, the veiled lady
that had brought him to this desolate corner of the castle
opened it. There was a Machiavellian twist to his expression when he
turned. "And now for you, my dear Joanna. I must tell you
what I have in store for you. I don't believe I can content
myself with simply letting you burn. I believe you deserve a
little extra penance. Mister Bradley showed you pleasure; I
will show you pain. Since you show such an interest in what
became of Rebecca, maybe you would like to feel a little of
what she felt." "No," Joanna gasped, struggling at the rope holding her
wrists. "Oh do not fret, I do not mean to have you flogged,
although," he said savagely. "Although it is certainly
deserved, you are safe because it would not do to take you
to the square tomorrow visibly damaged. I must therefore
constrain myself to a little something that will not be
seen." He spoke to the lady in the veil. "Sharon, string her up as
we did Rebecca. Let her hang by the arms until Mister
Bradley condescends to visit. I think she will anticipate
that call most keenly. And who can say, perhaps we will
awaken within him a lust for pain? What do you think,
Joanna? A man who can rape, might he not also take great
pleasure in making you sing to his command? I hope this
gives you something to ponder as you patiently wait." Once again he was about to leave, and once again he stopped
and turned back. "There is a final thing I would say," he
began again, a cunning gleam springing to his eye. "One last
act I wish you to perform. A final test. Perhaps if you
succeed, even now Tawr will be forgiving and guide your
spirit through the afterlife. When Bradley comes to see you
I want you to make yourself cum while he watches. Make sure
you do it properly. I shan't be here to watch. But Tawr will
see and know whether it is real or you pretend. And as you
do it you must ask him to describe all the things that will
be done to you tomorrow. I want you to see his arousal, his
excitement as he watches what you are doing, and to wonder
whether it is your naked abandon or the thought of your
burning body that stimulates his erection." He seemed pleased with his own ingenuity. "Remember, a La
cepern remains a La cepern even when she is stripping. She
remains a La cepern even if she should be made to hang naked
before me, her breasts ready for my pleasure. She remains a
La cepern even if I make her whore, or burn her. Even if I
show my total power over her by making her masturbate and
reach an orgasm to entertain a man that raped her. A La
cepern must never, ever betray Tawr. I know that the
daughter of Jean de Brito won't let down the order by
neglecting her penance." The keeper had retied her wrists to the rope hanging from
the pulley. As she took up the slack Joanna's arms began to
be forced above her head. The Inquistador nodded with
satisfaction and said with bitterness to the veiled lady at
his side, "Leave her trussed up and naked until Mister
Bradley comes. No, leave her there until he has agreed to be
entertained by her masturbation. That should encourage our
shy miscreant to action. As I say, I'm sure Miss Joanna will
find the humiliation of waiting for her lover and him
finding her in that exposed position rewarding." He left in a swift flowing movement, his cape sweeping
behind. Joanna could hear the retreating footsteps, the
creak of the rope upon the pulley above her head and the
commotion outside her window. She grimaced as the rope
pulled her arms upward, cutting into the skin of her wrists.
She felt the strain on her shoulders and her ribcage
tighten. Again, it jerked upwards and her heels were lifted
from the ground, now she could only stand on the balls of
her feet. Sharon fastened the rope and approached Joanna. She
indicated her interest in Joanna's clothing. "I'm very
sorry," she said, noticing the discomfort of her charge
caused by that gesture, and she meant it because she wasn't
at all vindictive. "But he said I must, and," she shrugged
her shoulders. "You know I don't have any choice." Joanna nodded. She understood too well the need to obey
rules. Sharon began unbuttoning the front of her dress. She
did it tenderly: if that can be an apt description of the
unbuttoning of a dress. "You must not fret," Sharon said,
taking hold of a pair of scissors. "You must place your
spirit in Tawr's mighty hand. He will guide you in your
peril." She snipped at the shoulders of the dress, cutting
from there vertically along the outside of Joanna's up-
stretched limbs. She pulled it over Joanna's bust and hips
and it then fell to the floor. Sharon kicked it aside. "I know he can strengthen me," Joanna confessed. "But I
wonder if he will. Given that I have failed him so." Sharon snipped the straps of Joanna's bra, pulling it away
from her bust. "You are very beautiful," she breathed softly
as she looked at Joanna's topless body. There was no sexual
overtone in what she said. It was a statement of fact, no
more. "He will provide," Sharon said simply. "Through you he will
teach us all never to despair; that even as the ropes of
death encircle us, he will hold our hand and be our
strength." "Thank you," Joanna said. "Oh I do so thank you." Sharon snipped the waistband of Joanna's knickers and gently
pulled them away. "I must lift you from the floor now,"
Sharon said so apologetically as she again took hold of the
rope. "He said I must lift you from the floor." "Then do it," Joanna grunted. "I will endure. I promise, I
will." Joanna cried as despite Sharon's best efforts to be gentle,
the rope jerked her from the floor. Her weight was now
entirely borne by the ropes and by her wrists and by her
arms. Her face twisted in agony as her body spun slowly to
the gyre of her harness. Sharon looked and felt so guilty. If there was any way she
could withhold administering this torment she would. But she
had a duty to Tawr, and to the authority he used to
communicate his agenda. That duty came before any affection
she might have for Joanna or any other individual. "I must go now," she muttered, crossing to the door. "Please
be strong. I will petition Tawr that he will grant you
that." She bit her lip as she took a final glance back into the
cell. Her gaze rested on Joanna's breasts for a moment too
long. "You are so very pretty," she said. "It will be such a
shame!" She returned and kissed them both tenderly. "Pardon me," she
murmured. "But when I see such things how can I not be
tempted?" There was a catch in her voice as she spoke. Silently she
replaced the ball gag in Joanna's mouth before turning away
from Joanna and leaving without a word of goodbye,
concealing her face in her veil. The door slammed shut with
a reverberating bang, the keys rattled and the lock turned.
Joanna was alone. Her breath was shallow and strained. She
was so very focused on the pain of her tormented muscles.
**************************************************** "Do you like it?" I asked eagerly as Paul came to the end. "It's very good," he said. He hesitated. "But don't you
think it a little cruel?" "Of course, but I thought you liked it brutal," I grinned,
remembering his reaction to the first chapter. "I remember
how turned on you were after reading the bit where you rape
me." He considered that thoughtfully. "What I'm unhappy about,"
he observed. "Is that you seem to be enjoying the
brutality." I was incredulous. Was he serious? "So it is fine if you
enjoy scenes of cruelty, but if I enjoy them there is
something wrong?" "For me the cruelty is fantasy. I would never want to harm
you in real life." "And you think I do want to hurt someone?" This was even
more unbelievable. "Why did Rebecca have to be tortured?" "Rebecca? Because you told me to write her out of the story.
You think I would want to harm Rebecca?" "You make me wonder, yes. What you write isn't mere fantasy;
it's too close to real life. The fact that Rebecca and
Sharon and you and me, that we're all in it... Why is that?
It's as though you write to give yourself control over
things or people you do not like." "That's rubbish! I write because it helps me know you
better." "That was true when we began. But now I am not so sure." He
looked down at the pages resting on his lap. "You didn't
write this for me, what did you write here for me? You did
it for yourself. It made you feel better." He had upset me. "You told me to write Rebecca out." "You could have done that in a couple of sentences. But you
had her stripped and tortured. What are you planning next?
Another execution? Or a lesbian scene between you and
Sharon?" "That isn't fair." "The Inquistador tells you every detail, everything he's
done to Rebecca. Why does he do that? Why should he think
you care? He knows your thinking; he knows you'll want to
hear. Why? I've had enough. This has gone too far. I don't
want to read any more. I've had enough of your story."
The Code Of Tawr
End Of Part Seven
Part Eight ....Coming Soon!
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