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Subject: {Joanna} The Code Of Tawr (10/10 MF  caution)
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Standard Disclaimer: Over 18s Only.

This is the final part of a serialized story. If you haven't
yet read the earlier parts, you've come in a bit late! As
usual, don't read unless you can cope with strong n/c
themes.



Joanna










The Code Of Tawr
by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com)
Copyright 1999
All rights reserved


February 1999

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



Part Ten

I sat at the computer not typing a word. My mind was a blank
and I had no idea how my story would end. Tears came to my
eyes; I was frustrated and upset: only one more part of my
story to write; all that effort and work: yet I couldn't
decide upon an ending.

There was a brochure upon my desk. From its page, the face
of an Adonis stared up at me, smiling, friendly. I gazed
back at him, dreaming that we were alone and that he held me
tight.

"You are very sexy," I told him.

"You are very forward," he teased.

"So do you fancy me?" I asked, pressing my body against him.

"Of course. Who wouldn't?" he said, appreciatively.

"But why? Why do you like me?" I pleaded, my mood becoming
more agitated. "Is it just because I have these?" I held my
hands upon my breasts.

"Is it because you want this?" I pulled my dress high with
one hand and pulled down my knickers with the other.

"You fancy me. But would you still love me if I were fat and
unshapely? Would you still think me sexy with a screaming
brat clamped to my breast?"

He didn't answer; he couldn't, for he had vanished. He had
left me already. Instead, there was a car in the drive. I
recognised from its sound that it was Paul. I wiped the
tears from my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. He
had opened the door and was ascending the stairs. I tried to
compose myself, to appear jolly and at ease. He appeared in
the doorway: wild, demanding and passionate. I looked across
at him. "I've just spoken to Sharon," he was saying. "Why
didn't you tell me..."

What did he mean? Of course I had told him. I had told him
in the Priory, "What if there's a baby?" I had asked.

I had told him in the tower. "You are as able to have
children as anybody else," I had written.

What did he expect? How could I tell him in words when I
couldn't face the truth myself? When I couldn't know whether
our conversation would end in adieux?

"It takes two to make a baby." I remember typing the words.

But it didn't matter any longer. For I had only to see him
and look into his eyes to know how my story would end. I bid
it a fond farewell, for it had allowed me to work through
feelings too sensitive to touch.

"Don't you remember?" I cried, tears of relief falling
across my cheeks. "'Tawr bequests fertility'. You told me
that as you held me in the tower. He has been such a dear
close friend. He has given us such a wonderful gift."

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

The Code Of Tawr

Final Paragraphs Of The Last Section...

"This is murder," Joanna screamed at the soldiers. "Can't
you hear what he's saying to me? This is not Tawr, this is
him!" she pleaded with the La cepern. "Don't you see, today
it is me, tomorrow it may be you. You must stop him. Please,
do something."

"Quite finished?" asked the Inquistador after her pleas had
again fallen on minds of stone. "You see it is quite
hopeless. You are condemned, and we all expect and
understand a little hysteria in such circumstances. But I
have to warn you; hysteria is easily confused with
cowardice. I would hate the La cepern to gain that
reputation."

"You pig!" she yelled at him.

He spoke again to the soldiers. "Didn't I tell you to take
her away? What is preventing you?"

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

The Code Of Tawr

Chapter Four, Part Two

She was full of hate and bitterness as the guards lifted her
and carried her from the room. Her hands were tied behind
her and she was bundled along the corridor. The soldiers
held her firmly by her upper arms and virtually carried her
in the direction she was to go. As they strode down the
flights of stairs she was aware of people standing in
doorways, by the side of corridors, wherever they could
view.

She was frog marched through the entranceway of the
headquarters of the Inquistadorial Guard into the square
outside. It was full of people; it was full of noise; she
was confronted with the most incredible commotion. She had
to squint because of the brightness of the sun, but she
could discern two rows of soldiers forming a barrier around
the door preventing the crowds that had thronged into the
square from pressing upon her. In the space in front of them
stood a cart harnessed to two stallions. This had been
provided to carry her the mere hundred yards to the
execution site. Two soldiers reached down and pulled her up
into it.

They led her to a wooden plank that ran the length of the
cart at a height of about thirty inches. This plank was
upended so that its thickness of about half an inch lay
horizontal to the ground. Joanna was lifted astride it and
then dropped upon it. She grunted in pain as her naked vulva
fell directly upon its edge. There were other soldiers also
in the cart and while the first held her steady, the others
fastened manacles to her ankles and secured these to eyelets
that had been screwed to the base of the cart.

They wanted her to be seen: to be exhibited to the crowds as
an example of what happens to one who betrays the Code of
Tawr. And any and every device would be used to this end.
The shift she was wearing was made of thin white cotton that
hung loose about her. Its very lack of shape and design was
its design. It was provided to cover and nothing more; to
protect the pious who might otherwise be inclined to carnal
lust, while at the same time signifying her new status as
something alien, no longer worthy to be accorded the honor
of dignity and modesty merited by one of Tawr's creatures.
They wanted the throngs that lined the way from her prison
to the funeral pyre to sense her degradation.

She had been shown to be sub human, a betrayer of Tawr, and
now she must bear that cross. And keenly did she indeed feel
it. She had been inculcated with the principles of modesty
and chastity from the youngest of ages. Therefore, to be
attired in a gossamer cloth with nothing beneath was itself
a humiliation. But a humiliation made an order of magnitude
more unendurable by the fact that the sun shining from
behind rendered her shift translucent.

And it was no comfort to reflect that when she had arrived
she had been nude. This was worse than being naked.
Certainly she had been humiliated then. But the effect of
the sun was to make her into an object of intense eroticism.
Far more erotic is to glimpse what should be hidden than to
pore over what is openly displayed. Her exposure was
compounded by the way they had trussed her to the cart: with
her hands tied behind her back she could not hide the shadow
of nipple against muslin, and her feet tied apart augmented
the effect of the light shining from behind.

At first she could not properly see where she was going
because of the crowd, but the soldiers were pushing folk
back to form a causeway through which the cart could move.
As the seas of people were moved aside, she could see
through the divide for the first time the stake that awaited
her in front of the Portal. It arose from the ground as an
obscene phallus; an iron pole surrounded at its base to a
height of three to four feet by an assortment of firewood.

To one side was a ladder leading to a temporary platform of
wooden planks that ran about a foot above the faggots from
one side of the stake to the other. Upon this platform there
were two soldiers who were already awaiting her arrival. The
whole was encircled by yet more soldiers keeping the crowd
to a prescribed distance.

The cart pulled to a halt in front of this nemesis.
Immediately, the soldiers rushed forward and with practiced
hands pounced on the bracelets about her ankles and loosed
them. From behind something long and sharp prodded her
forwards and off of the cart. All round her were people,
pressing and pushing, propelling her towards the heinous
instrument of torture that overshadowed her.

Her eyes filled with terror as it loomed ever closer and she
was forcibly confronted with the inevitability of her fate.
Someone pushed her roughly to the side and she found herself
suddenly in front of the Inquistador. He was dressed in his
full ceremonial garb. His chest was bedecked with jewels and
color and splendor.

"It is time for due sentence to be passed," he said.

"Hypocrite," she spat. "Pig!" He was the cause of her
suffering, of that she had no doubt. He was punishing her,
seeking retribution for the wrong he felt she had
perpetrated against him on the mountain. But those that
heard knew nothing of this background and were suitably
aghast, shaking fists and shouting abuse.

He smiled. "Let me show you around," he said. "I want you to
feel at home. Notice the faggots. The wood is as dry as
tinder. No smoke. We must allow you to breathe so that you
may scream. How ironic should you asphyxiate rather than
feel the full extent of the flame. The faggots burn with
incredible heat. They will burn you and cook you, and then,
there is that magical moment when your body becomes fuel for
the fire and bursts into flame. Your melted fats ignite and
you become a human torch burning until you are gone."

As the full extent of the horror was driven home by the
Inquistador's explicitness she fell in a faint, but was held
firm by the two Guard's assigned as her escort. For a
moment, darkness washed over her and she prayed the light
would never return.

Still faint, at the Inquistador's instruction she was hauled
up a set of steps that led to the temporary platform. At the
top the appointed executioner waited with the two soldiers.
He wore a mask that concealed his face and rendered him
infinitely more evil.

As Joanna came round they began to place her into the
demonic device they had created. The stake had been made
with a crosspiece of about eighteen inches protruding from
its front. By the gestures of the executioner it was obvious
that she was to straddle this crosspiece and it was this
that would keep her at the correct height above the faggots
and the flames, preventing her from sliding down the pole to
the ground.

The executioner knelt and took hold of the bottom of her
shift. For one terrible moment Joanna thought he was going
to tear it from her leaving her to face her final torment in
the nude. What he did instead was nearly as bad. He took
hold of the shift at the bottom and tore a split to the
level of her thighs. It was so that she could be placed with
the iron crosspiece between her legs. It was at a height
some three or four inches below the top of her legs and the
executioner gently maneuvered her into place so that she
stood in front of the stake with the crosspiece beneath her.
As he did so there was someone behind who was untying her
hands. As they came loose her arms were quickly and roughly
pulled around the stake and then immediately refastened,
this time chained together in an iron manacle that would
remain firm in the flame.

A soldier standing below reached up to hand the executioner
a metal chain with which to bind her to the stake. Taking
the chain in one hand, his arms encircled her as he girded
the chain about her. As he did so, his face came to within
inches of her face; his body was almost touching hers. At
that moment their eyes met and she felt with humiliation and
disgust the lust in his eyes. This man was enjoying his
work. He was enjoying committing her to ashes. The belt was
fastened and she was chained about the waist to the stake.

The executioner checked first that her hands had been
securely manacled together, then he checked the tension of
the belt holding her to the pole, and, deciding that it was
a little loose, he tightened it further, although she still
had room for movement.

Now that he was content, he ordered the guards to descend
the steps from the platform. He followed, and she was left
alone. Desperately, she appealed to Tawr, called to him,
pleaded with him. Not for clemency, which she knew would not
come, but for strength: the strength to endure, to be calm,
to dull the pain.

Soldiers were pulling the supports from the temporary
platform upon which she was standing. A plank fell from
under her left foot, and she swung suddenly to that side,
her movement stopped abruptly by the belt digging into her
right side. She moaned as she regained her balance. A moment
later the other plank dropped from under her right foot and
she dropped the three or so inches onto the crosspiece. She
groaned: agony consuming her as her fragile pudenda took her
full weight as it fell upon the crosspiece. After the pain
came the cold. It felt icy against her inner thighs. But she
knew that it would not be cold for long.

There was a hush in the marketplace as the assembly awaited
the execution of the sentence. The Inquistador stepped down
from a platform decorated with an excess of brightly colored
bunting. On it sat the elders of Tawr. They were all dressed
in their ceremonial purple, eating and drinking and joking.
She remembered what Paul had foretold.

"Lined up before you will be the elders, all of them. Not
one will be missing. As you hang terrified they will be
watching, sexually aroused; inspecting your shaking body
through the transparent cloth."

She could not have felt more exposed; she could not have
felt more humiliated. Her teeth were chattering in fear;
warm urine trickled down the inside of her shaking legs, ran
across her feet and dripped onto the firewood below.

The Inquistador crossed the front of the pyre to where the
executioner was lighting a wooden torch, its end doused in a
flammable liquid. After a word in his ear, the Inquistador
took it from him and approached the pyre, the fiercely
burning torch in his hand. Petrified through terror, Joanna
eyed the angry blue flame burning fiercely at the end of the
torch. "Goodbye, Joanna," he said vengefully, holding the
torch to the heaped firewood.

The dry wood resisted for a couple of seconds, then ignited
and burst into life. As she saw it, Joanna screamed. She had
meant to be controlled, to contain her fear, but the moment
had overtaken her. She struggled against the belt and the
manacles holding her to the iron rod of death and they
rattled at her efforts. But the contest was uneven and she
only succeeded in scraping her wrists against the bare
metal.

She looked to heaven and began muttering a prayer, anxiety
caused her words to tumble out and run over each other.
Suddenly, in front of her there was a loud explosion and a
huge plume of fire was thrown into the air. It came from
within the firewood, from where the edge of the flame had
reached. She gasped as the fire now roared with renewed
frenzy, closing in on her by the second.

But something was not right. From where the original ball of
fire had exploded, molten fire was now being hurled towards
the crowd. She could not think what was happening, but it
was as though gunpowder had been buried in the firewood.
Firecrackers too! Deafening salvos of erupting shrapnel were
hurled skywards. These seemed to slow in the air and halt
before crashing down into the crowd.

The people at the front were the first to panic. As the
fiery missiles began falling in their midst they pushed back
in an effort to retreat. There were people screaming and
pressing and trying to escape. The reason for the intensity
of this alarm was that somewhere within this mass of people
there were those that the finger of fate was dealing a cruel
hand. The burning projectiles falling from the sky had
victims, to which the inhuman screams and cries of terror
bore testimony. These people had nowhere to go, nowhere to
duck, because at the back people were still pushing forwards
in an effort to see.

"Get the people back!" the Inquistador yelled in the
direction of his Guard. But positioned near the front as
they were, they were hopelessly placed to begin an
evacuation.

The flames were now scorching Joanna's shift. She could
scent the smell as it began to burn. She could feel the heat
of the approaching conflagration.

There was a noise below and behind her: despite the rage of
the inferno and the screams of the crowd she heard it;
someone was approaching. She knew not how he got there for
the fire blocked access to all. She could feel him
unfastening the clasp of the chain round her waist. It fell
clanking to the ground several feet below.

She was now able to twist her body, and she saw it was
Bradley. Where had he been? How had he got here? These were
fragments of thoughts that dashed through her mind as it
tried to catch up with what raced through her senses. He was
standing on tiptoe upon the pile of tinder attempting to
reach the lock that bound her wrists. She tried to push her
arms and the manacle closer to him, but pinioned as she was
this had little effect.

"How had he got the key?" The thought was so irrelevant, but
it flashed through her mind. He was speaking, calming, but
his words were a blur.

As the skirt of her dress caught light, she heard the snap
as one of the manacles opened and her arms were released.
Holding the stake for support, she swung her leg over the
crossbeam and jumped down onto the tinder pile. Her right
wrist was still cuffed in the manacles, and, as she fell,
the heavy iron bracelets clattered against her shoulder. She
felt nothing; every thought was concentrated on escaping the
inferno that raged around her.

"Hurry!" Paul cried. Pandemonium reigned. On the other side
of the blaze the Inquistador was apoplectic in his dilemma
as to whether to order his guards to help the burning people
or to pursue Bradley.

"Shoot him. Kill him. Get them," he screamed from the safety
of some distance.

But the guards were simply unprepared and could not obey
him. They had come for a spectacle, not a war. Their guns
were unloaded, and the flames prevented them from closing
in. They shouted and pointed but were powerless to act.

Joanna's dress was still burning. It was thin and cotton and
flammable. Bradley took hold of it at the collar and pulled
with great force. It ripped open and Paul pulled it from
her, throwing the torn burning shreds to the ground.

"This way," he cried.

One hand still cuffed, but the key safely in its lock, she
blindly followed where he led. How were they to escape?
There was nowhere for them to go. Nowhere to run. Everything
was commotion, emotion, nothing was clear.

She froze. For suddenly she knew his plan. This was crazy!
He was pulling open the enormous double doors of the Portal.

"No," she cried, pulling back. "Not there! Tawr would never
forgive! Sacrilege!" But it was too late. He had opened the
gates and was pulling her hesitant frame through the
enormous opening and into the darkness beyond.

"Do you realize what you've done?" she screamed at him from
the other side of the gate. "This is sacred ground. We have
not been cleansed, we're not ready to pass through the
Portal!"

He slammed the heavy door shut behind her, sealing them both
in the darkness. There was the slam of a bolt, or a bar, or
something, she could not tell which in the gloom. Gone were
the sights and the sounds that had been pounding her senses:
the intense blinding hues of the seething inferno, the angry
chant of a delirious mob calling for blood, the eerie
screams of the dying and the roaring clamor of the
approaching soldiers hunting her down. In one moment it was
all gone. If she listened carefully she could still hear,
but the noise was cut to a whisper. And they were in
darkness, a cold blackness that stuck to her skin. She
groaned. "What have you done? Do you know where we are?"

"Safe," he grinned.

"But Tawr..."

"Yes," he said lightly. "I've been waiting here all morning,
and I've yet to meet him."

"What happened?" she asked, her breathing so heavy that she
was close to hyperventilating. "What's going on out there?"

"A little diversion," Paul said. "Just in case you had
second thoughts. The more I thought, the more I realized
that for the Inquistador, a pardon was not an option. If
you'd kept your resolve, well, it would've brought a speedy
end. After all, what is a pyre without some pyrotechnics?"

"But how did you know?"

"That you wanted out? Calling the Inquistador a pig was a
big clue."

In the silence, they could still hear the faint sounds of
the furor on the other side of the gate. There were shouts
of soldiers as they tried to quell the fire; there were the
shouts of the masses who had been denied their taste of
blood; and somewhere Joanna imagined she could hear the
frustration of the Inquistador as he demanded to know who
was responsible. They could hear it all, but these were the
sounds of a far off world.

"We need to get away from here," Paul said. "I don't want to
be standing here when they get round to opening this door."

Joanna shivered; it was much cooler here, and she remembered
that she was naked. Paul had torn her only clothing from off
her. Despite the darkness, she instinctively pulled her arms
across her breasts to conceal them. As she did she realized
that her nipples were as hard as bullets. And it wasn't
through cold. She was hyped up with adrenaline and
endorphins and a cocktail of other natural chemicals that
now had nowhere to go. All the emotion and tension and fear
that had washed through her left in its wake the most
intense sexual arousal she could bear. "Later," she said
huskily, putting her arms round him and holding him close,
rubbing her naked breasts and belly against him, wantonly
rubbing herself against his cock. "We'll do all that later."

"What are you doing?" he asked, his attention switching
suddenly from what she was doing to his cock at the front of
him to what she was doing to his arms at the back of him.
There was a metallic snap, and instantly he realized that
she had fastened the manacles round his own wrists. She
withdrew the key and held it tight.

"What are you doing?" he repeated angrily. "You're not safe
yet. They're all just feet away from us on the other side of
the Portal."

"Worried?" she asked. "I don't think they'll follow us
through. They have not been cleansed either. I'm willing to
gamble that the Inquistador won't be able to reinterpret the
code on this one. Not with so many people out there. It
would be too big a shift for them to swallow. That's the
bet. This time it's my game. Are you brave enough to play?"

Now that his arms were secure, she used her empty hand to
find and massage his cock through his trousers.

"Tell me the rules," he said.

"Well," she said, her eyes flickering. I'm as randy as hell,
and I'm planning on getting laid. I've decided that I shall
rape you, right here. Of course, if they open the gate,
they'll burn us both; but," she shrugged her shoulders. "If
they don't, what a game!"

"You're in there. I know you are!" They both jumped at the
voice of the Inquistador only a matter of feet from them.
They remained frozen. Would he open the gate? Would he
follow?

"He won't give up," Paul whispered, keeping his voice low
just in case the Inquistador could hear. "He'll never give
up. We're inside the Portal. He's petrified that we'll do
something that will stop them getting their precious seed.
Without it the Galsip people will die."

He was still there, somewhere; they could feel his presence.
But Joanna was on her knees, unzipping Paul's pants. She
pulled out his penis. It was still limp and she seemed
disappointed. "What use is that?" she muttered, and began to
gently stroke its length. Quickly it began to expand to her
touch.

"This is madness," Paul objected. "He's going to come in.
Any moment they'll be here. He'll be upon us."

"And they will kill the pair of us," agreed Joanna. "Do you
really want to leave?"

"Yes!" Paul persisted.

"Good," she said. "I want you to be truly unwilling. Just
like I was that first time."

"Joanna!"

She had taken his penis and was lightly kissing it.

"You really want this don't you?" he said.

"How many times do I have to tell you?"

"But perhaps I don't want to..."

"Good."

"Rape is violence. It removes a person's dignity. It
steals..."

"Shut up. I can feel your cock responding to the touch of my
lips. You're enjoying this, you hypocrite."

"A physical response is just that. No means no."

"I haven't heard you say 'no' yet." She placed the tip of
his cock into her mouth.

"No. No. No."

She flicked his glans gently with her tongue, familiarizing
herself with the taste and with his aroma. Her jaws relaxed
and she allowed it to slide over her lips and into her
mouth. She held it there, feeling its compass, enjoying its
weight. She felt its underside with the flat of her tongue,
savoring the throb she sensed there of his racing pulse.

There was a loud bang on the door of the Portal. It was
followed by the cry of the Inquistador. She could tell he
was mad. "You've not escaped," he screamed. "You think
you've outwitted me, but Tawr will deliver you to me yet."

Joanna only stopped for a moment, that moment of initial
surprise at the nearness of his voice reverberating through
their unlit cavern. She began to suck gently upon his cock,
then gradually more greedily.

"We must get away from here," Paul panted. "He will not be
long."

In answer Joanna rolled backwards, falling onto her back,
that back that still carried the marks and bruises from her
initial assault. Holding firmly to Paul's trunk as she did
so caused him to topple into her welcoming embrace. She
moaned softly as his weight pressed down upon her body: she
could feel the warmth of his chest against her breasts, the
strength of his erection in her hand.

She kissed him passionately on the cheek, searching for his
lips, searching for his mouth with abandon, with eagerness.
Discovering it, her tongue darted inside, bestowing many
urgent kisses.

Her legs were apart and he lay between. With her hand still
stroking his cock, she positioned it at the entrance of her
cunt while with the other hand she pushed him inside. She
gasped. It felt so good to feel him back. She squeezed upon
his girth, pushing her hips forward and impaling herself
upon him, lubricating as her muscles sensed that turgid
masculinity.

She took hold of his hips and with her arms controlled the
motion of his body, pushing where she needed him to go to
create the stimulation she aspired. Neither could see the
other, neither spoke, they were each in a world of their
own. Joanna's eyes were vacant and she stared into the
lightlessness, her mind and body at one, consumed in the
emotion her arousal was releasing.

She wanted him to tease her nipples, to caress them with his
fingers, but with his hands cuffed behind him, that would be
impossible. She brought one of her own hands to her breast
and massaged it herself, while with the other she kept him
inside. Her clit was ablaze; she squeezed him against it,
wriggling her hips under him to maximize the burning inside
her.

The Inquistador was outside. She heard him ordering guards
to cleanse themselves according to the ritual of the La
cepern. That was his compromise. Then he would order them
in.

"You're going to burn, Joanna de Brito," he yelled. "I'm
going to make you die. Just think, I'm going to set you on
fire."

"But I am on fire," Joanna gasped. "I am. I really am." Her
nails dug deep into Bradley as the ecstasy reached its peak.
"I'm coming," she cried. "I'm really coming."

As the tidal wave of her orgasm hit she held her breath and
tensed her body, she was in paroxysm for the briefest
moments in time, before riding the down swell of the wave.
Paul drove into her again and again as her breathing began
to slow and recover.

But she knew she wasn't finished yet. She still desired,
more. And Paul still had not come. But then that magic
thought was born, why should he? Wasn't that how he had left
her?

Despite every physical inclination of her body defying her,
wanting him inside, wanting his sex, she pushed him away.
Manacled as he was, he had only his weight with which to
resist her, it was easy to roll out from under him.

"Ouch," he said, as his shoulder banged against the floor.

"It hurts doesn't it," she said unsympathetically.

"What are you doing?"

"You said we should get out. I was taking your advice."

"Your timing is lousy," he said, pondering his throbbing
erection, but he said it ruefully rather than with any
anger. "You could have waited a little longer."

"That was my reaction when you raped me. But today I had a
beautiful orgasm."

"Touche, I guess"

"Never mind," she said, unlocking the manacles that bound
his hands. "I'm still as horny as hell. Feel free to fuck me
at the first opportunity, but there'll be no opportunity if
we don't get away from here first."

She threw the manacles away; there was an echoing clank as
they clattered against the chalk. She threw the key into the
darkness in the opposite direction. The time for such games
was past. "Perhaps next time," she said, placing her hand
suggestively around the girth of his failing erection. "Both
of us will be free."

"Don't do that!" he pleaded. "Not unless you intend to bring
me off."

"Oh I couldn't possibly," she said, withdrawing her hand.
"Now," she added. "Have you any idea what we do now?"

"None," he replied. "But hundreds of La cepern come in here
and they never come back. They must go somewhere."

"They become handmaidens in Tawr's Sanctuary."

"I don't mean to offend but, well, never mind we'll find out
soon enough, I guess."

Bradley was staring at her in the darkness. His eyes had now
adjusted and he could just see the outline of her naked
figure. As he stared, his penis still semi hard, he found
his thoughts filling with lust. But this didn't surprise
him. For he had lusted for Joanna de Brito since the first
time he had laid eyes upon her and been told that she was
forbidden.

The Inquistador interrupted his erotic daydream. He was
again shouting through the door in his frustration. "I am
Tawr's chief representative," he called. "There is nowhere
you can go to escape me. You will always fear. I will always
be around the next corner. I am in the shadows. I will
destroy you."

"Let's get away from here," Joanna said to him from out of
the darkness. She had already entered a little further into
the nothingness.

Bradley followed the sound of her voice. Behind him the
Inquistador was still ranting. "You will not get away," he
yelled. "We will follow you. We will find you."

"Paul, where are you?" Joanna asked.

Bradley replied from just behind her. "Here," he said. She
held out her hand and he took it. She held his hand tightly
and doing so brought a warm glow inside. As they moved away
together from the Portal the Inquistador was still shouting.
He was so near.

"Perhaps you may yet find me," Joanna thought anxiously. "I
am so close. Just the other side of the Portal."

"But," she thought, suddenly relaxing and gripping Paul's
hand tighter still. "But then again, nothing is certain."


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


We moved from the darkness into the light by the window,
hand in hand, and I pulled him to me, holding his naked body
close, kissing him softly upon the cheek. "Can we do it
again?" I asked. "It's been so long. I'm still as horny as
hell. I want you so much."

"Shortly," he said. "Let me hold you first. I just want to
hold you."

We held each other tight, I felt his strength, his muscular
arms enveloping me, protecting me. I sighed. I knew not what
the future held, but at last it beckoned me benignly rather
than with menaces.

Paul placed me upon our bed. I felt his kisses upon my
breasts, I felt my breasts strain to meet his lips. His
kisses slowly traced a path across my stomach; he tongued my
navel. His mouth moved lower, he gently chewed the down of
my hair, kissed firmly upon my mound. I gasped.

He inched lower still. He kissed me there. I shuddered. I
could not breathe. "I am so close," he murmured to our
child. "Just the other side of the Portal."


THE END.


The Code Of Tawr
by Joanna (joanna_de_brito@hotmail.com)
Copyright 1999
All rights reserved






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