{Joanna} The Code Of Tawr (8/10 MF caution)
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Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only.
This is part eight 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 Eight
I sat before my computer feeling somewhat lost, like a
smoker without a cigarette. For weeks now I had come here to
scheme and type and read and edit. It had become my focus;
it had become my life. But now it was at an end. Paul did
not want my story, did not want to hear what it had to say.
I flicked languidly from program to program, idly selecting
items on menus and waiting for something to excite. Nothing
did.
I sighed, and laid down my mouse. What was to be done?
I considered Paul's rebuke, that I was, in effect, living my
life through my story, that I was hiding behind it.
Well maybe that is true, I thought. But it's also been a
therapy. It's allowed me to work through feelings that were
too sensitive to touch. Certainly it's been a crutch, but
doesn't the cripple need his crutch? And hadn't I been that
cripple, wounded by what Paul had done?
So what now? Where was I now? Well things are getting
better, I reasoned, but they're not yet right. Although I
had given him that hand job in the car, even now I hadn't
let him touch me. Whose fault was that? Mine or his? Well,
whoever was to blame, as time passed, the harder it was
becoming to change the status quo.
I sighed again. If the story was my therapy, I was not done
yet. I sat at my desk, a smoker without a cigarette. Well,
if not for him, for me, I decided. Now was not the right
time to quit.
****************************************************
The Code Of Tawr
Chapter Three, Part Two
There was a craving in the eyes of Paul Bradley as the door
opened and he saw Joanna. She was still tied as the
Inquistador had commanded. From her wrists a rope rose to
the ceiling where it passed over a pulley and from there
dropped to a fixing bolted to the wall. She hung with her
feet dangling several inches from the floor. There was
nothing to take the weight from her aching and stretched
arms. She was naked and her skin shone with a mixture of
sticky sweat and dirt, and there was a ball gag in her
mouth.
But even now was she beautiful, Paul thought subconsciously,
for some reason especially now.
Her hair fell about her shoulders in what would in normal
times be described as a disorganized heap. At this moment,
though, it embodied the invitation of her enforced pose,
framing perfectly as it did the open exhibition of taut
breasts pulled by her bindings high upon her chest and
complementing the splash of color at the base of her belly.
"How long has she been like this?" Paul murmured to the
veiled creature behind him.
"Just under an hour," came the answer in a deliberate flat
tone. "Everything is exactly as the Inquistador ordered,"
the lady added.
He reached up and untied the ball gag. "Joanna?" he
implored. "How are you? Are you alright?"
"Get me down," she croaked, ignoring his question. "Please,
can you let me down? My arms are so terribly numb."
"Untie her," he ordered the keeper. "Untie her now!"
Sharon was so apologetic. "I'm afraid I can't do that yet,
sir. Not yet. The Inquistador has said she must not yet be
released."
"Not released? But why not? Why has he done this? What is
going on? Tell me, Sharon!"
"That is not for me to say, sir."
He gazed expectantly at Joanna, an unstated pleading,
begging her to tell him what was happening. "The Inquistador
was demonstrating what was done to Rebecca," she whispered,
loyalty preventing her from saying more.
He didn't understand. "Rebecca?"
"She has been punished, whipped, for performing her
striptease a little too enthusiastically."
"Rebecca? This makes no sense. I saw Rebecca only a few
minutes ago. Rebecca is fine. This is ridiculous. I'm
untying you."
He took the rope where it was fastened to the wall, and,
quickly untying it, allowed it to run over the pulley. As it
unwound, Joanna collapsed grimacing to the floor and she lay
there, moaning softly and in considerable pain. Her arms
were numb and she couldn't move them.
Opening her eyes, she tried to control the conflicting
emotions that were preying upon her in her weak physical
state. "It was a test," she sighed, thinking of Rebecca and
not attempting to move from the cold stone floor. "Thank
goodness it was just a test."
"You must stop this, Joanna," Bradley said, sitting beside
her and trying to make her comfortable by lifting her naked
body to a sitting position, his strong arm cradling her
back. As he held her close, Sharon turned away self-
consciously, embarrassed at the physical intimacy.
"This has got to end," Paul repeated. "I spoke with the
elders last night. When the Inquistador assigned judgment to
you, that will have included the authority to pardon. You
can undo this mess, there is still time."
His appeal was met with an intransigence he could not
understand. "Why are you doing this?" he pleaded.
"Because it is the right thing to do," she replied with
simplicity.
"That's not true. We both know that you were not to blame. I
raped you."
She was grimacing again because feeling was beginning to
return to her numbed arms; there were spikes of pain searing
through them. "Why are you so suddenly interested?" she
asked. "You told me that you were looking forward to the
spectacle of my death. You raped me though I pleaded with
you, despite knowing that for me it would be a capital
offense. How can you be sincere?"
"Joanna, there is much you do not know."
"You even went that extra mile and made a public spectacle
of me just to be sure that nothing could be swept under the
carpet. That's what sealed my fate: not what happened on the
mountain. What happened there could be concealed; I have...
I had friends. But you drew everyone's attention, forced the
scandal, there is no way back for me now."
"Look, whatever I did I had my reasons. But there is a way
back. I can show you."
"My life is Tawr. You think I can betray him? I might gain
my life, but what kind of life would that be if he were not
in it?"
He was dismissive. "Your life was Tawr. Tawr has given you
to the fire. Tawr desires you no longer. I on the other
hand, wish to rescue from the ashes. I," he stumbled over
words born out of great pain. He held her more tightly. "I
desire you very much."
Sharon crossed to the window and looked out. Although she
was listening, she pretended she was not. Joanna shuddered,
remembering Paul's erection looming above her, wanting her.
"I remember," she said. "But if Tawr demands my life, I have
already vowed to give it."
"Joanna, how can you consent to your own destruction?"
"Because I have a higher conviction. I don't think you will
ever understand because you do not live, you do not breathe
the code."
He looked over helplessly to Sharon for assistance. But she
had her back to him and was not even aware of the tacit
request. "Joanna, I can't allow it."
"You cannot stop it."
"Why not? I have already made you do something against your
will. Why should I not do so again? To prevent you from
committing this great self abuse."
"Paul, please. Allow me to make my own informed choice. I
know what I am doing. I wish I could have lived, but since
that is not to be, at least let me die in peace and
dignity."
That riled him. "Dignity?" How can you say that? Dignity?
You would like to die with dignity? If that were only true.
If only you knew how I've agonized over this. Do you think
that it's possible to be burnt with dignity?"
He paused, looking piercingly into her eyes. They were so
close to him, yet she was so far. Why was she so stubborn,
why would she not yield? He had to dissuade her. Perhaps if
he could make her see the reality, the holocaust ahead, she
might yet give way.
"To be burnt with dignity is a contradiction," he continued.
"They will give you a long white cotton dress to wear to the
stake: simple, dignified you may think; but nothing
underneath, naked beneath. That's the way it's done, the way
they will insist that it's done. They will give you no
choice. Why do you think that is? Your punishment is not
about giving dignity; it's about removing it. If the day is
sunny, and I rather think tomorrow will be sunny, then that
dress will become semi transparent in the sun. 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.
"And then a man in a black hood will approach with a torch
in his hand. And your eyes will follow every movement of
that torch, for it is the tool by which your embers will be
blown to the four winds. It symbolizes more than simple
death; it promises torture, then annihilation. He holds it
beneath the faggots, and for a moment they defy the fire,
but it is only for a moment.
"The flame springs up and becomes a life of its own. At
first it has a childlike curiosity as the flames begin to
play around your legs, they flit, first here, then there."
As he spoke his free hand mimicked the movement of the
flame. "At first they are slow and graceful. They don't find
you, because you know the game and sway from their path,
just as, yes, like that, just as you do right now from my
hand. But then, as it grows into pubescence, almost by
accident it misses its beat and stumbles upon skin."
She had twisted from his embrace leaving her legs nearest to
him. The back of his hand touched the outside of her calf
and gently ran across it.
She recoiled from his touch but her movement was severely
limited due to the weakness caused by her bondage. "You
scream. Suddenly the flame becomes more excited having
discovered that it can make you dance its tune. This is a
much better game. It flickers higher and faster. Who knows
what tune it will choose? Nothing sedate or graceful you may
be sure. Given your beauty, I think, for you it will pick a
fast dance: raucous, strident and dissonant. A dance
unrestrained and carnal. A flame curls its tongue around a
fold of your long flowing dress and holds it fast. You
scream again. The fire is aroused; it lusts for your flesh.
The dress smolders and then dissolves before a fascinated
audience in flames. The game has suddenly become more
interesting. At last the dance has a name, and striptease is
that name. Your body convulses as it tries to free itself
from the burning cloth. Dancing an involuntary beat that
casts the remnants of your dress to the fire.
"At last you know why they make you wear the dress. So they
can watch it disintegrate and burn in the flame, and ogle
your naked shaking body without breaking the code. You
scream and beg and blaspheme against the mighty Tawr himself
as your skin begins to blister and roast. Your body will
shimmy and gyrate in a manner base and obscene and you will
be powerless to prevent it.
"Nearby, our eminent bystanders will make a visible display
of being appalled at the sound of the expletives gushing
from your lips, will denounce the vitriol pouring from your
mouth and condemn the obscenity of your final death-throes
and thus will justify themselves and all that they have
done. You will die naked and seen and shamed, for the crime
of allowing yourself to be seen without clothes. Where I
touched, the flames will caress. As there was no escape on
the mountain, there will be no escape now. You will writhe
and be raped by the flame as you writhed and were raped by
me. Dignified? That dance will be anything but dignified."
Joanna had been silent throughout and remained silent. Her
cheek twitched; the sole indicator of the emotion she was
controlling inside.
"You may be right," she said at last. "That still does not
mean I should betray my faith. Please, go! Get out, please!
I cannot bear this any more. Just leave me alone!"
"I don't think you mean that," Paul said softly. "How do you
think I will feel if they destroy something so, so,
beautiful?"
His eyes wistfully wandered upon her nakedness as he spoke,
over the rise of her breasts and the flat of her belly.
"Please believe me that this is not something you care to
endure," he said, his eyes finally resting at the hidden
crevice near the top of her legs. "Not really. I think you
would rather like to pay my price. What do you have to lose
now? What can they do to you once they've burnt you? Isn't
there something you wanted, but missed out on before?"
She looked at him angrily, still upset, but didn't answer.
"You would like to know what it would have been like," he
whispered, "if you could have cum. Why don't you find out?
Let me show you? What have you to lose, even if I am not as
sincere as I promise to be?"
"No," she said flatly. She was aware of what the Inquistador
had ordered her to do, and that this was her opportunity to
obey, but deep inside, her id rejected the idea, was
repelled by it. How could she masturbate for the pleasure of
this man?
"But why not?" he responded.
She shook. "Because I cannot trust you. Because I hate you,
that's why. Because you are the reason I'm here. Because you
raped me. Because you have taken from me everything good I
felt about myself. Do you want more? How many reasons do I
have to give?"
"But haven't you wondered why I did those things? We'd known
each other for years. I think we were friends. Weren't we
friends? Didn't you ask yourself, what is making this man
act like this?"
"Of course I did. It's made me question my ability to judge
character. But whatever the reason, I know for sure what you
did to me."
"During all the time we were friends, didn't you even once
wonder how I felt about you being La cepern? No, I can see,
I can see that you never did. Ever since I met you I've been
told that you were forbidden, that it was wrong to think of
you the way a man normally thinks of a woman. I was told
that you were already promised to this mighty deity, Tawr.
How do you think that made me feel as I came to know you and
came to love you?"
Sharon coughed, but didn't look round.
"Paul, you have no right to think of me like that."
"But why not? Who says I have no right? The code? Who wrote
the code? Some predecessor of the Inquistador on a flight of
fancy? You've been brainwashed, Joanna. It's no easy matter
to counteract indoctrination from birth. I still don't know
whether I'll succeed. I knew I had to unbalance your way of
thinking, make you question every principle you had ever
been taught, make you feel things you had never felt. I had
to tap into a side of your being that was so deep and dark
that you would never admit to anyone, not even yourself that
it existed.
"I did that by raping you. Why is it that you condemned
yourself to die? You admitted it to the Inquistador. Do you
remember what you told him? You said that you enjoyed what
happened. As violent and horrifying as it was, you found
having to submit totally to someone you trusted, and yes,
even now I think you do trust me, unbelievably exciting.
"I know you find that thought repulsive, but for better or
worse it's a chink in the door of Tawr's hold on you and I
intend to push that door wide open. Life is for living. Most
people just seem to take their life and do nothing with it.
What part they don't use for sleep or work, they spend in
eating or else waste. I was told that what I wanted was
unavailable: that you were promised to this thing, Tawr. I
went out and unpromised you. I wanted you and I took what I
wanted."
Her eyes wavered for just a moment, but her voice was still
icy. "Then you stole. You say you regard me highly, and I
must believe you since you say it. But how can you tell me
that on the one hand, while on the other you trample on that
spark that makes us unique? Trample on the most basic of
human rights? Do I not have the right to be wrong? If I
believe in the code, yearn for a ceremonial gown and take
seriously my responsibility as a La cepern how can you snuff
that out? You stole my virginity; that was mine to bestow as
a gift to Tawr, even to a man if I so chose, but you stole
it and I can never reclaim it. I am civil with you because
that's how I have been told to be in adversity, but whatever
you may have intended, this is why I hate you."
He retaliated ardently, resolutely, passionately. "You
accuse me of stealing. But you are being robbed of something
just as valuable. Why do you suppose the Inquistador is so
decided that you must die?" He waved away her protest. "I
know, it is you that made the decision, but it was him that
set you up to it."
"It was because of what I did, what you did."
He contradicted her. "It was because you might be pregnant."
She laughed derisively. "You are wrong, and I can prove that
you are wrong. The Inquistador isn't worried about pregnancy
because he will know that it is impossible."
"It's not impossible at all."
"It is. As a La cepern I will have been prevented, at birth,
from ever bearing children."
It was his turn to laugh. "So that is what they've told you,
is it? And where did this priceless piece of nonsense
originate?"
He noticed that brief look of uncertainty again, but then it
was gone. "What are you trying to say?" she asked. "The
Chief Priestess told me. Why would she lie to me? You are
saying this to weaken me!"
He reached across and pulled her to him, she tried to resist
but it was only half hearted. He sat by her side with his
arm round her shoulder and spoke confidentially, his voice
reassuring and paternal.
"Listen, Joanna. There is something important I need to tell
you. Sometimes there are things that we never get told,
sometimes because those that do know feel that we will not
cope, sometimes because we are happier not knowing, and
sometimes because knowledge imbues power. For instance, if
you were to ask a little boy where babies come from, maybe
he would say that storks bring them. His parents don't tell
him the truth either because they are embarrassed by it or
they think it unsuitable for his childish ears."
He took a deep breath before beginning again. "You were
never tampered with as a baby, and as far as I as a non-
practitioner can tell, you are as able to have children as
anybody else, La cepern or not. Don't interrupt, it is true.
The Chief Priestess has jumped to a wrong conclusion. The
reason that La cepern never conceive is not because of
anything to do with them. It takes two to make a baby. The
problem is not with the La cepern: it is with the Galsip men
folk. You see, they are sterile."
The idea was ludicrous to her and she was suitably
contemptuous. "Sterile! But that is rubbish! If all the men
were sterile then there would be no children at all!"
"My poor naive Joanna! You really do have no idea! Why do
you think you were to be sent through the Portal? Why do the
Galsip people sacrifice so many of their fairest daughters
to Tawr? Why do they offer their children to the Orders,
when they know that at their bloom they will forfeit them
forever? It is not simply blind devotion! It is because Tawr
bequests fertility. In return for his many brides Tawr
provides the precious sperm that prevents extinction of the
Galsip race. Everybody knows, apart from those in the Orders
themselves. But nobody says. It is a public secret."
"But that is preposterous! Children can't be born like that!
You are lying!"
"Of course I have given you no reason to trust me. I didn't
expect you to believe me, why should you? But it is the
truth."
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. "If it's the truth,
then there is even more reason why I must burn. If what you
say is true, and I don't believe it, then Tawr is father to
us all. And if I displease him, would he still give us our
children? How can I take that chance with the future of my
people?"
He listened with sadness, holding her close. "And nothing I
say makes any difference?"
She spoke more softly, though still with resolution; the
inner ice had melted. "No. I am quite determined. Tawr has
always been good to me."
He groaned. "Then I shall waste my words no longer. The
Inquistador said I would be wasting my time. He warned me
that whatever I did, whatever he did would make no
difference, that a La cepern will always listen to the code.
He proved that to me yesterday with Rebecca. I was wrong to
dispute with him. If loving you means allowing you to
exercise your free will, then I shall argue with you no
longer. I don't understand your thinking, but the decision
is yours. Your final kiss will be from the tongue of fire."
She shivered at his prediction. She was fearful, but
content. "Thank you, Paul." She cuddled up to him. "You say
you love me. There is a way you can prove it. Something you
could do for me before you go."
"Please, tell me."
"I find it hard to say..." She bit her lip through
embarrassment. How could she tell him?"
She looked across at Sharon who was still by the window. She
was leaning against the sloping ceiling, her face carefully
averted from them. "Please, Sharon. Could you leave us
awhile? Could you sit outside?"
Sharon nodded sympathetically. "Of course."
She then spoke to Bradley. "Just knock when you want to
leave."
They both watched her go, closing and locking the hefty
wooden door behind her. "Now, what do you want of me?" Paul
asked.
Again, Joanna nervously bit down on her bottom lip.
Eventually she spoke, her head was lowered to avoid any eye
contact. "The Inquistador has said," she began at last.
"That I must masturbate in front of you."
He could not believe what she had said. "The man is
despotic!" he exclaimed. "Where does it say that in the
code? He makes and breaks the rules to his own whim! You
must not do it, Joanna."
"Please, you said you would allow me to exercise my free
will."
"But this has as much to do with my free will. He is simply
humiliating you. Can't you see that? And he's using me to do
it."
"I know, but for once, please do this my way. You humiliated
me on the mountain."
"I know. But that was for a reason."
"Please, you will make it much harder for me. Wouldn't you
like me to masturbate for you? Doesn't the idea excite you?
I would have thought that you would have found the prospect
very arousing. I'm sure many men would."
"Of course it would be exciting, I can't deny it. It's not
that..."
"It's the thought that I'm under compulsion that you don't
like?"
"Well, yes, I guess."
"But, no, that can't be right. In fact I think that you
would consider it erotic that I should be forced to make
myself cum for your pleasure rather than my own. I think you
would find arousal in witnessing my most private moment.
Please, be honest. Admit this is true."
"It is true," he agreed. "But I also have the power of
reason and conscience. Whatever I may desire, this is
wrong."
"But it would be a terrific game. You taught me to play,
remember. We get so serious about matters of no consequence,
you said."
"I was drunk. It was a stupid remark."
"It was not stupid. It is true. Please play this game with
me."
He thought, then nodded reluctantly. "If that's what you
want."
She smiled wanly. "Thank you."
"What do you want me to do? I've never been asked by a woman
to watch while she does, does that."
"I don't know. I've not done it before either. I don't just
mean I've not done it in front of a man. I mean, this is the
first time. Help me! Will you please help me? "
He had not considered that she had never masturbated. Didn't
everyone do it?
"You've never played with yourself? I guess not. I keep
forgetting the code. You need to find somewhere comfortable.
I'll get Sharon to find you something soft that you can sit
or lie on."
He knocked on the door, and when Sharon opened it he spoke
quietly of their need. She left them and when she returned
she was carrying a large duvet type object, which Paul took
from her.
He waited until she had gone before placing it on the floor.
"Sit down," he said to Joanna, indicating the seat.
She sat awkwardly with her legs tightly closed shut. She was
stiff and tense and held her arms across her chest.
"Relax," he told her. "As you said, of what great
consequence is it that I am here? Experiment; caress
yourself, what feels nice? Allow your hands to wander
wherever they wish to go. Give them freedom. Allow them to
find their own way."
She began to do so, but she was still self-conscious. Her
hands were obviously avoiding anywhere faintly erogenous.
"Touch your breasts," he ordered her.
She leant back on the duvet trying to make herself
comfortable, cupping her breasts in her hands. There was
nothing she felt less like doing than this. All feelings of
arousal that she had felt on the mountain had vanished. She
felt conspicuous, embarrassed and foolish.
"I can't," she cried finally. "I just don't feel that way at
all."
"But you will," Paul said. "Remember the mountain. Remember
the feeling you had with me inside you. Don't deny it;
you've admitted that you deserve to die because of those
feelings. Allow them to do some good, remember how it felt,
use that energy to help you now."
"Please" she said. "I think it would help, could you let me
see your cock again."
"What?" Now it was his turn to be uneasy.
"Please will you make it go hard. I know that will make the
difference."
She watched as he unzipped his trousers and pulled out his
penis. It was fairly hard, but not solid. She gazed at it
open mouthed, rubbing herself for the first time with
spontaneity. "Stroke it," she said. Please stroke it. Make
it like it was."
She didn't take her eyes from him. If this was what it took
to make herself hot, then for him, for Tawr, this she would
do. She placed the palms of her hands in front of her
breasts, then allowed them to graze her nipples. Gently,
slowly she moved her hands back and forth.
Although she felt no sexier than before, she felt her
nipples begin to harden and extend, to reach forward to
greet her palms. He was looking at her. He felt torn,
guilty, at the feelings she was stirring within him. He
wanted her, but wanted her to be willing. We are a strange
species, he considered, to find eroticism in what we do not
have. Consensual partners find titillation in games of rape
whereas he had already played the rapist, and even now
possessed Joanna under terms of coercion: how he yearned to
feel her willing embrace.
Joanna was working hard to find the magic spark that would
light her fire. Looking at his cock she imagined him
spurting his load upon her, feeling his sticky cum upon her
body. Her hands moved a little faster over her nipples, and
contemplating her thought she began to open her legs, wider,
till they were gaping apart. He was certainly watching,
looking at her there.
Was this the first time he had seen a woman in this way?
Masturbating for him, totally exposing herself to him,
exposing her emotions and sexuality as well as her body. Was
she his first like this? She began to grind her hips from
side to side, while still massaging her nipples with her
hands, gently squeezing both nipples and the breasts
themselves. She allowed her fingers to wander lower, across
her stomach, then beginning a great circle circumferencing
the spot upon which he was concentrating as he pumped his
erection.
"Please," she gasped, remembering the Inquistador's
instruction. "Describe what you'll see tomorrow. Me, in the
flames. Dancing for them. Tell me how I cavort."
"I can't," he said, freezing in his movement. "It's
obscene."
"I need you to," she lied. "I need to talk about it. For you
to talk about it. I must talk to cope with my fear."
He was doubtful, and she appealed to him again. "Please.
This terrifies me. I have to talk and listen in order to
confront what will be."
"Later," he said. "After. This isn't the moment."
"No, now," she demanded. "Please!"
"They are all around you," he said unsteadily, beginning
once again to stimulate his cock. "There are hundreds,
perhaps thousands of people in the square. They have all
come for one purpose, and one purpose alone. Because they
know they will see a woman, naked, dancing in the flames.
"At first you know the crowds are there, how could you not
know, for the people are everywhere. They inhibit the way
you talk, you cry, you move. But as the flames begin to
kiss, your terror blinds you. You hear them, see them no
longer. Modesty is gone, decorum is dead, inhibition has
flown. You slave for the fire; he is your master, you know
no other. He choreographs every movement, every nuance,
every inflection, for him you degrade yourself absolutely.
"As the crowd knew that you would, as I know that you will.
You will shake and convulse without control, your open pussy
glimpsed whenever your legs kick out from the flame, your
breasts bobbing..."
He stopped. He was rubbing his cock furiously. His gaze was
upon Joanna, sitting upon the mattress, she was fingering
the area between her splayed legs. His breathing was
intense, his face flushed and discomposed. The Inquistador
had said that she would wonder whether his excitement would
be from her nakedness or from her torture. However, she did
not wonder, she knew by the detail, by the way he spoke, in
the lust he displayed, that he was aroused through the
contemplation of her torment, by the mental image of her
writhing in the flames.
But at that moment it was of no consequence. She was
enjoying the unmistakable excitement in his voice, the smell
of his body, and, yes, dare she admit, even the erection he
stroked. She was enjoying them, and was being warmed by
them.
Her finger was wet with the lubrication of her pussy. It was
her payment for the effort she had expended. That sweet
smelling finger caressed her clitoris and kindled the flames
of her lust. Her legs were immodestly open as she panted and
sucked and openly bared her arousal. She wanted him to
desire her; she wanted to excite him with a dissolute
display. She concentrated upon his pulsating erection, it
was pointing at her, wanting her, desiring her. His hand
gripped it at the base and continued to rub up and down.
There was chemistry between them as they each watched,
gaining arousal from the increasing signs of excitement and
wanton display of the other.
Joanna knew he was close, his breathing was rapid and his
cock was pulsating. Suddenly, he stopped and just held his
cock tight as it began spouting his seed. It erupted in
several large spurts followed by a series of smaller ones.
At the sight of his climax Joanna felt herself also begin to
cum, the ripples flowing through her from the epicenter
where her finger worked at her clit.
She waited for her orgasm to overwhelm her.
For a while thereafter they just watched, the one the other
as they recuperated.
"What's wrong," Bradley asked, sensing disappointment in her
demeanor.
She was hesitant to make any admission. Then she explained,
"I don't know. I thought it would be better, that there
would be more. But it doesn't matter. Please," she said.
"Please will you give me a cuddle."
He wiped the spunk from his tool and came and sat beside
her, putting an arm round her shoulder.
"Not like that," she said. "Properly."
They lay upon the duvet, holding each other close, enjoying
the affinity that nakedness brings after lovemaking.
They held each other for an eternity, comforting and being
comforted. When it was finally necessary to say goodbye, it
was with greater understanding, and not without emotion.
Later, Sharon returned with a change of clothing, and she
brought proper clothing rather than prison garb. "The
Inquistador said you could have whatever you wanted," she
informed her. "After all, he said, it is her final night. So
I went back to your quarters and got these from your room."
"Thank you," Joanna said. She looked at what Sharon had
brought and quickly dressed.
"Be positive," she thought to herself. But the words were
hollow and empty. "Tawr will help me be strong," she
thought. "Tawr knows best."
END OF CHAPTER THREE
****************************************************
"Why don't you just do it?" Sharon asked. "You hedge and
shuffle and you're no further forward at the end than you
were at the beginning."
"I know," I groaned. "I want to fuck him. I know now that
I'm ready, but whenever we're together I tense and chicken."
"But you're a woman and he's a man. Why don't you let nature
do its part? If you dress sexy and alluring surely he'll
make a pass, and then all you do is respond."
"I did that when we went to the Triticco on Valentine's Day!
What more have I got to do? I went without underwear; I gave
him a hand job on the way, yet when we got back he didn't so
much as kiss me. After the affair with Rebecca I told him
not to try anything and he's taking me at my word!"
"Interesting," Sharon said. "I wouldn't have thought he had
the control. In that case you'll just have to make your
invitation more obvious."
Easily said, but how? I thought back to what I had so
recently written in the current part of my story.
"Sharon," I asked. "I have an idea. But I need you to help
me."
The Code Of Tawr
End Of Part Eight
Part Nine ....Next Week!
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