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From: "Joanna De Brito" <joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com>
Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr ( 2/? MF rape, caution)
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Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only.

This is part two of a serialized story. If you haven't yet
read part one, 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 will be n/c,
rape, and what are to me, macabre themes developed. Do not
read if such things squick you. However, no pedo; no incest.

On the other hand, if this kind of stuff turns you on:
enjoy!

Joanna









The Code Of Tawr
by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com)
February 1999

Perhaps you may yet find me: I am so close; just the other
side of the Portal...



Part Two

The next morning I told Sharon over the phone about the
story I had written, and how well it had worked both in
capturing Paul's interest and also how it was helping me to
identify his fantasies.

"So you reckon he's going to come straight back home after
work?" she asked. "To hear the second installment?"

"I reckon so," I replied feeling rather pleased with myself.

"Well, you're a right little Scheherazade," she observed
admiringly.

"What?"

"You remember, from the Arabian Nights. Don't you remember,
there was a king that had the habit of marrying a virgin in
the evening and then, presumably after having his way with
her during the night, of executing her in the morning. When
Scheherazade married him she was able to save herself from
the chop by telling him a tale, but she left it half told.
He was so hooked that he had to keep her alive through the
next day so that he could hear how the story ended."

"I remember," I said. "Yes, what I'm doing is a bit like
that.

"So how long can you keep it up?" Sharon asked.

"What, the story?"

"Yes. Scheherazade had to keep repeating that trick for one
thousand and one nights. It was only then that the king
decided to give her a more permanent reprieve. I can't see
you being that prolific. How can you spend your whole life
writing stories to entertain Paul? What about work? You know
you'll get exhausted, or bored, or writer's block or
something before long. It doesn't seem a very permanent
solution."

"No," I mused. "Maybe not. But let me get through the next
few days, and let me think about what happens next then."

After she hung up, I spent the rest of the day drafting and
writing and actually managed to complete the whole of the
first chapter. Not that I was going to tell Paul that. I
would have less time tomorrow; it was a workday so I needed
something in reserve. I printed out about half of what I had
written and left the rest safely hidden away on the word
processor.

I then thought about the issue Sharon had raised. If I had
to write thousands of words each day in order to keep Paul,
was he worth it? And even if he was, how would I keep up the
pace?

But let me first make sure I have him back, I thought. Then
I can worry about keeping him.

When he came in, Paul was unusually affectionate. He gave me
a big hug, which I spoilt by being overly suspicious.

"What are you after?" I asked.

"I'm not 'after' anything," he said, pretty angrily. "Why
should I be 'after' something, just because I'm making an
effort to be nice? Joanna, you sure know how to bear a
grudge."

"Well maybe I've good reason to bear a grudge," I snapped.
"Living with a man that has to shag anything that shows it's
got knickers."

That prompted a sulk that lasted most of the evening. I was
feeling a bit bad for starting the fight, so eventually,
when it was obvious that he wasn't going to apologize, I
decided to break the deadlock.

"So do you want me to read to you what I've written?" I
asked him finally.

He condescended to let me read.

So I put my feet up, glanced at him sitting in the chair
opposite, picked up my print out and read from where I had
left off the previous day.


****************************************************

The Code Of Tawr

Final Paragraphs Of The Last Section...


"Come on; strip. Take your clothes off."

Paul almost spat the words out, but she was still trying.
She had to protect herself.

"All right, then, I'll strip. But, please, not here, not in
front of all these men. Alone; just you and me." She was
laying it on thick, making her invitation clear. "No one to
see what's going on... or coming off. Just us... Please!"

She wasn't sure what she was going to do if he agreed, but
she had to lessen the odds, had to get him away from the
soldiers. One on one she had a chance; amidst this mob she
had no chance.

****************************************************

The Code Of Tawr

Chapter One, Part Two


Paul smiled at her. How he had longed to see this ignorant
bitch plead as she was doing now.

"Why, Joanna, I love you! The code, the chastity, the
modesty, it seems to be going the way I have mapped out for
your clothes. Did you really mean it, Joanna? How much will
you take off for me? Just to make sure I understand the
deal. How much Joanna?"

She winced; her breathing coming in short gasps.
"Everything," she murmured. She didn't like the way this was
going.

"What was that, Joanna. Can you repeat it so that everyone
here can hear? Hear the words of a suppressed La cepern
slut."

"Everything," she repeated, reacting angrily to his
description of her, but not daring to protest.

"Everything," he repeated raucously, just so all the men
could hear. "Why that's music to my ears. And just once
more, so that I can be sure that there's no confusion, no
misunderstanding. When you say 'everything', what precisely
does that include? Because, of course, we can only see that
tip of the iceberg above the water, so to speak. Tell us
about what lies beneath. List for me what you would take
off. "

She gulped hard. "My blouse", she said, her face agonized
and in torment. "And my shoes."

"Yes," he said, as she paused. "You said everything."

"And the jeans."

"And?"

"And, and the bra."

"Ah, so you are wearing a bra. And what will I see when you
take off your bra for me?"

Silence.

"Come on, what is that I will get from you removing your
bra? What are you going to show me?"

"Eventually she murmured quickly, "My breasts".

"Ah your breasts. And are they worth seeing, your breasts?"

She blushed. "I, I guess so. For a man."

"Mm, I've often imagined watching your breasts I always
imagined them to be pert and firm, with puckered pointing
nipples."

"Do you have such nipples, Joanna?"

"I... Yes" It was simpler to agree.

"Good And isn't there something else? Something else for you
to take off for me?"

She paused. "And my knickers."

"Ah," he said. "You see. I said that would be a word that
you would be getting accustomed to. So you would take off
your knickers? Voluntarily; just for me?"

She said nothing.

"I'm waiting."

"Yes." She finally said. But inside she screamed 'no'. Every
answer was a violation of the code; every answer a betrayal;
but it was a gambit she was playing for the greater good; at
all costs she must protect herself from being touched by
these men. If that were to happen, she knew she could never
qualify to receive the ceremonial gown.

"And what do they conceal? What will I then be able to see?"

"My bottom." Another violation.

"Oh, you're bottom, is it? That's a bit too dainty for us
this afternoon. Do you mean your cunt?"

"Y-Yes"

"Then say what you mean. What does it conceal?"

How could she do this? She knew that to use the word would
mean severe penance. "My cunt," she sobbed.

"And is your cunt nice and naked, or is it covered in lots
of cunt hairs?"

She was finding it more and more difficult to continue the
conversation.

"It has hair."

"So," he said. "Let me repeat this, because I am trying to
imagine, to picture what it is you're offering, and I do so
want to get the picture right. I'm seeing you, Joanna,
afterwards, with your clothes in a pile on the ground, and
you're standing totally naked, I'm looking at your pert
breasts, and your nipples are pointing straight at me, and
they seen to be begging me, pleading with me to do
something. I wonder what it is that they want me to do,
Joanna? But I haven't time for them now, because I'm more
interested in what's at the top of your legs. Triangular
fuzz that says come and get me. Is that what it's saying
Joanna?"

She was agreeing to everything now. "Yes", she choked.

Well if you have been arousing curiosity. You have
succeeded. You have aroused my curiosity. In fact I think it
true to say you have aroused the curiosity of every man
here. And I think it would also be true to say that you have
aroused much more than just our curiosity. Show us."

She lifted her tear-strewn face in anguish. "But you
said..."

He smiled. "No way, baby. You're too clever, the mysteries
of the La cepern and all that. I want you where you are,
where everyone can see you, before ten pairs of eyes. We
don't want any of your little tricks, do we? Take off your
clothes."

So if that had been her last card, she had lost.

"But, please...."

"Get on with it. If you don't start right now these men are
going to do it for you. I think we've been very patient so
far."

She looked round once more, but there was still nowhere to
go. It was reduced to a choice between two evils, between
who undressed her, her or them. And she didn't doubt Paul's
statement about the manner the Guards would go about the
task: with considerable relish. She shuddered. There was no
choice. If they touched her, there was no way back. Tawr
would denounce her and she would be cast off, with all that
that entailed. If she did as they said, perhaps all would
not be lost. There would be penance; serious penance. They
would beat her. She knew they would beat her severely for
allowing herself to be immodestly seen. But at least she
would still get her gown.

Paul licked his lips and felt a further discomfort in the
region of his groin as he saw the resigned look that
flickered across her drawn face, and the thin delicate
fingers that began to toy with the buttons of her blouse.
The tiny buttons slid through and parted company with their
holes and, suddenly, for the first time, her cleavage
beckoned. As the blouse opened and the deep plunging chasm
appeared, the jaws of the teenage Guards dropped in
accompaniment. A vision of gossamer cream lace adorned her
breasts, elastane straps crossed shoulders and back, but
without stress, for the bra was in no way intended or
provided for support, it simply wrapped Joanna's
musculature. It was a necessity to the modesty of every La
cepern, though who had invented such a ruling could not have
given consideration to either Joanna or the garment she
modeled. For it did nothing for modesty. It highlighted and
aroused. Nipples were clearly discernible through the lace.
But then, there was no consideration that a La cepern would
be wearing her bra as an outer garment. Slowly she undid it
and took it off. As she pulled the blouse from her shoulders
her breasts were thrust forwards. Bradley groaned inwardly.

One of the guards took the garment from her, wondrously,
reverentially.

She watched shyly as masculine fingers wandered the lace
searching for hidden pockets or anything sewn into the
seams, but there was nothing.

The guard looked at Bradley and shook his head. Unperturbed,
Bradley, casually gestured for Joanna to continue.

She reached down for her boots. They were solid, yet light;
for though the terrain was rough, the weather was hot.
Joanna first unlaced, then pulled them off, along with her
socks, handing them each, one at a time to the Guard who
inspected and discarded: nothing.

There was an imperceptible indecisive movement of Joanna's
fingers as she grappled with what to remove next. Suddenly,
the embarrassed silence broke into a conspiratorial whisper
as it dawned for the first time upon the fledgling Guards
that the impossibility of what they were doing was maybe not
so impossible after all. That this was actually going to
happen. They were actually going to see Joanna naked. And
they were in consternation at the possibility. Every fiber
of their upbringing told them that this was wrong: that it
was offensive to Tawr. Equally, their military training had
inculcated into them the necessity of obeying a superior
officer. Two inviolable tenets were in conflict for the
first time in their young lives. They must choose which
would remain inviolate at the end of that day. But the
umpires were not impartial; the vote was rigged. For one
course required action, the other inertia. And inertia held
out its own prize that held them in morbid fascination; they
would not be men if they didn't find the stripping of any
lady intriguing, or the stripping of a La cepern Utopia.

Joanna though could not take her face from the ground; such
was her embarrassment and the humiliation she felt. If only
she had foreseen this would be the result. She would never
have consented to be carrier for her father.

Everyone followed the movements of her hands as they reached
for the buckle of her trousers, undid it, then unzipped the
fly before pulling them down over her hips, down her knees
to her ankles. They fell to reveal underwear of a matching
nature to her bra: a brief band of nylon that was stretched
tight across her hips; that formed a narrow swathe about
her. These were the knickers that Paul had spoken of. The
denim hit the ground in an untidy heap. Joanna extricated
her legs from the twin pipes of cloth with a little
gawkishness. But her audience made her feel awkward, all
hands and legs, as they avariciously watched her pull the
trousers off. A soldier reached down and picked them up It
took a fair while for his fumbling fingers to search them to
his own satisfaction: still no message.

Joanna glanced up quickly from the grass to Bradley to see
if there might be a small chance of him relenting, she
longed to hear him say that it was a joke and to get
dressed. But what she saw was the furthest from her longing.
His face could not have been more unrelenting. It was
charged with sexual excitement aroused by her body and her
actions.

"Come on, let's see your boobs, Joanna" one man
expostulated, his tension manifest, and it gave the others
courage. Her vulnerability was giving them confidence. Her
enforced strip was not only taking her dignity, it was also
sapping her authority and that of Tawr. No longer were they
hiding behind each other, caught by the horns of their
consciences. They were becoming a mob, feeding from each
other; growing in confidence; inventing ever demeaning and
crude comments centered about her bust.

She reached behind her back to unclip the bra.

The tears welled up inside her. But somehow she managed to
hold them back. To make an outward show of defiance that she
surely didn't feel. She was feeling very conspicuous; her
training and upbringing fighting each successive action she
was taking. She pulled off the bra and held her arms tight
across her chest, trying to conceal her breasts from them.
But this only made them worse. They had never seen breasts
before, not a grown woman's breasts: full and firm; that
stood proud on the chest. The fact they were so nearly
visible, but that she was preventing them from seeing made
them irritable.

"Make her show us," they said.

"I'll make her show us," someone replied.

But no one did anything but stand and leer at the semi-naked
forbidden fruit they had captured.

Eventually, the nearest guard reached forward. Joanna was
still holding the bra by one of its straps. It hung absurdly
from where her hand clasped her breast. The guard gently
pulled it from her, and Joanna, eyes fearful and full of
foreboding, allowed him to take it, keeping hands fast where
they were. For a moment he couldn't seem to take his eyes
from Joanna, from the fantastic vision in front of him, but
when he did he immediately saw the slip of paper stitched
into one of the cups. He tore it from its binding in
triumph."

"Bingo, you were right. They'll have to wait a long time if
they want this before attacking us."

Paul looked pleased. He looked from the paper in the Guard's
hand to Joanna who was standing still in the midst of them.
Dismay, embarrassment, hatred, it was all there. Her arms
across her chest covered her breasts as best she could, but,
he considered, the attempt was woefully inadequate in
maintaining her modesty. It made her all the more sexy. She
made his erection ache. She made him all the more
determined.

He waited. She was squirming in undisguised humiliation,
arms drawn tight across her chest, hands cupping her
breasts, swaying nervously, but otherwise unreactive to his
obvious expectancy.

Eventually, he prompted,  "Take off your knickers, Joanna.
This changes nothing."

"But you've got your message," she wailed. "What more do you
want?"

"I promised not to touch you. But that was conditional on
our not finding this" And he gestured to the paper. "But we
have found it. You failed the Trial by Divestment. So, all
bets are off. You know jolly well what I want now. So let's
start by seeing you pull those knickers down those nice long
sexy legs of yours."


***********************************************


I finished reading and placed the sheets of paper on my lap.
That was exhausting, especially since I didn't want to
reveal how turned on I was through reading this aloud. My
knickers were pretty damp.

You're not stopping there!" Paul complained.

"That's as far as I got," I lied.

"So what does she do? She has to pull her knickers down,
yes?"

"I'm not sure yet," I hesitated. "You'll have to wait."

But give me a clue!"

"Hm," I said, enjoying my role as storyteller. "Let's see.
Joanna, that's me, yes. I'm on this mountain alone and there
are eleven lecherous blokes who have just discovered that
I'm a traitor to my country and my people. Not an
ideological traitor, I've been duped somehow by my father,
but nevertheless I know what I am doing is wrong, thus, I'm
a traitor.

They've made me take off most of my clothes. They now want
me to pull down my knickers. They're unbelievably horny and
they've been told they can do with me as they like. If I'm
going to remain true to the characters what do you think is
going to happen?

"My God!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to, they're going to rape
you." He stopped for a second and I could almost see how the
idea of it was blowing his mind. This was a winner.

"So when will you continue?" he asked. "Tomorrow?"

I played hard to get. "My life involves more than simply
writing stories for you," I protested. "I'm not sure I want
to labor over this for a third day."

That sulk was back on his face.

"Tell you what," I compromised. "I'll write the next part
tomorrow, if you'll do something for me."

"What?"

"Get rid of Rebecca, your secretary."

"I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair."

"And was it fair that she stole my boyfriend. I want this
relationship to work, Paul. But it can't and it won't all
the time she's there between us."

"She isn't any more," he assured me. "That's over."

"Then get rid of her."

"And if I do that, then you'll write the rest?"

"Then I'll write some more," I agreed.



The Code Of Tawr
End Of Part Two


Part Three  ....Coming Soon!




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