The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Prologue

Christina Mcdowell slipped from her chair and met the cold tiled floor with a sigh of exultation. She squirmed through the rush of arousal which had taken hold of her body, and relished in the joy it brought her. The very act of prostrating herself triggered a sudden, orgasmic flash that erupted inside her like thunder. She bit her quivering lip and nearly drew blood. Her legs came apart while she whined softly, and she ground her hips against the floor, raw pleasure lapping at her cunt like a tongue of lust-flame.

The quietude of the empty library study was shattered by the words of her Mistress. “Well done Christina. I’m very impressed with the extent of your research. I can see you are as pleased with the results as I am.”

The answer rose from Christina’s lips, a cry of exquisite rapture. Pleasure throbbed inside her, sizzling like the afterflash of lightning.

There was precious little left in Christina’s mind to analyze the meaning and implications of the words spoken to her. Had she retained a shred of understanding, a fragment of her wasted life, safekeeping antiquated volumes in the university’s special collections department, she would have derived even greater pleasure in knowing how closer her Mistress was to achieving a perfect understanding of the divine power She harnessed. The thought of Mistress’ impending mastery over Her followers, the thought of Her excitement in nearing the fulfillment of the Sacred task would no doubt have triggered another wave of consummate bliss in Christina, but in this instance, the mere sound of Her heavenly voice proved enough.

She raised hungry eyes and feasted upon the ravishing and desirable figure standing above her. Her words came like a profession of Faith, burning with fanatical devotion and love.

“Obedience is my only choice. It is my life. There is no pleasure without obedience. There is no existence without obedience.”

Mistress smiled at her wickedly.

They began the chant together.

1.

Sister Nadia dutifully clasped her hands together and remained as still as possible, her spine as straight as the rigid back of her chair. The silence had gone on for several minutes, punctuated here and there by the heavy sighs of the Mother Superior, who shuffled through the papers piled haphazardly on her desk.

“Pray tell, Sister,” the matron inquired at last, “what possible reason would a scholar have to visiting our remote community? I recall no such request ever being presented to our convent before.”

Sister Nadia managed a faint smile, doing her best to ignore her customary nervousness as she heard her superior’s exhorting tone. She pointed a timid finger towards the papers on the desk. “The formal request describes the reasons for the visit in greater detail—”

“You seem to have gone over all of this already. Enlighten me.”

The Mother Superior raised her head and squinted through black rimmed glasses she had no need for, relying on them to accentuate the stern and exacting image she sought to project. Her fingers interlaced precisely as she settled her hands on the sweeping mahogany surface. Every gesture in her betrayed the fact of her unquestioned authority, second to none save perhaps God himself. To her, the convent of St-Helena was more than an isolated nunnery lost in the foothills of the Italian Alps; it was an isle of peace and tranquillity, a place sacred and cherished above all else. That very real belief was reflected with unmistakable clarity in the cool gray of her eyes.

“Well?”

Nadia swallowed, wondering if the Mother’s disdain for electric lighting in her office had anything to do with a desire to cultivate an oppressive, medieval atmosphere. The lit candles resting on either side of the desk, pillars of milky-white with thick rivulets of wax frozen in mid-descent, threw gloomy shadows that danced around the shape of the large crucifix hung on the far wall.

“It... is a request for access to our library. It would seem that records of some significance to Ms. Hemmington’s research can be found there.”

“A Medieval History professor?” the Mother Superior remarked suspiciously. “I doubt she would find anything of interest here. We holds no records of any kind dating back that far.”

“Begging you pardon, Mother Superior,” Sister Nadia offered meekly, “but the workers who were contracted to make repairs in the cellars six months ago did unearth such a thing.”

The Mother Superior frowned in thought for a moment. “Documents of historical significance?”

“Sister Marielle seems to think so. She believes they were left by the Benedictines, sealed away and forgotten. There was no mention of them or of the sealed crypt they were found in when the abbey was bestowed to our order in the last century. She forwarded a letter to scholarly authorities, as well as the nearest Benedictine monastery in Nîmes-with your approval, of course.”

Sister Nadia paused for a moment, hoping the Mother would remember. It was quite apparent that she didn’t.

“The Benedictines are entitled to the documents in question. Sister Marielle tells me they have expressed mild interest in examining them, but it seems that they are in no special hurry to do so at the moment.”

The Mother Superior’s frown betrayed fierce concentration, until she remembered a thin, apparently inconsequential sheet of yellow paper requiring her signature.

She raised her eyes to the heavens a moment later, as if to seek forgiveness.

“One must wonder why this professor is so anxious, then.” She waited the length of a pregnant pause, possibly to avoid giving her subordinate the impression she was grasping at straws.

There was a hint of resignation as she shuffled through the papers once again. “Has this professor offered any letters of recommendations along with her request?”

Sister Nadia leaned forward, fishing out two separate papers from the pile. “One letter from her University, cosigned by her Department Supervisor as well as the Headmistress. Also, a personal letter of endorsement, signed by the Bishop of Northampton himself.”

“Anglican?” the Mother Superior sniffed.

“No. Catholic.”

A genuine smile dawned upon the Mother Superior’s lips as she drew the letter from the pile and held it up to the candlelight with a definite sense of approval.

“Ah. Well then. This changes things somewhat.”

2.

The chamber was narrow, its confines made even smaller by the heavy oak door swinging inwards to allow entry. The cot in the left corner was a basic wooden frame, covered with a coconut hair mattress. A thick, grayish wool blanket covered it, folded in quarters, next to a heavy pillow. Nudged against the bed was a simple table and chair, plain and rustic as could be expected. The oil lamp resting on it threw pale circular reflections as sunlight from a tiny window caught in the glass; dashes of blue, green and yellow colored a tiny, frameless picture of St-Francis of Assissi hung a few inches above it.

Florence Hemmington seemed to welcome the austerity of her surroundings, as if desperate to flee the distractions of modern life. The short walk through sweeping corridors imbued with Romanesque flourish all but dispelled the notion that a world existed outside of the cloister’s walls.

The professor glanced about with a satisfied smile before taking two short steps to the table, setting down the attaché case containing her computer, and a satchel filled with spiral notebooks and extra batteries next to it. She took a moment to peer outside, through the small iron grille, and beheld the breathtaking spectacle of snow-capped peaks against a purplish sky.

She took a deep breath-fresh mountain air-and exhaled with a sigh of contentment.

Sister Nadia followed behind her, maneuvering to the bed and gently dropping a heavy shoulder bag onto the bed.

“There you go, then. Home for the next too weeks.”

Ms Hemmington was a tad younger than Sister Nadia had expected for someone of such credentials, but there was an air of indisputable professionalism about her, which incited immediate trust.

Florence bowed her head slightly as she smiled. Mille grazie, Sorella.

Sister Nadia’s eyes brightened. Her Italian wasn’t bad.

“You are most welcome, Ms. Hemmington. I trust the ride up from the village wasn’t too difficult?”

“Not nearly as smooth as the drive from Milan, I’m afraid. Twenty minutes riding my own private earthquake, but a small price to pay to finally be here.” Florence kept her gracious smile as she began pulling out spiral notebooks from her satchel. The pages were wrinkled, the bottom right edges withered by use.

“I hope you’ll find something useful in of that pile of old parchments” Nadia offered sincerely. “I’ve read a few of your published papers-I was very interested by your work on the evolution of monastic life through the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.”

Florence looked up, genuinely perplexed.

“Where—?”

Sister Nadia clasped her hands behind her back. “I did make the request for an hour of computer time to Sister Carmen so I could read a few of them online. Promised to cover her kitchen chores for a week in exchange.”

Florence seemed both honored and surprised. “Thank you. Err...”

“You see a glaring contradiction between our cloistered and the ownership of a computer?”

“Forgive me... the thought did strike me as a bit odd.”

Sister Nadia nodded, not at all offended. “Our Mother Superior had a few objections at first, but it was donated to us by the town school nearby. The children-bless them-were quite adamant, and they were obtaining a replacement for the classroom in any case. It is somewhat old, but very useful. We’ve embraced a life of meditation and prayer, but we do like to keep in touch with the world.

“And besides,” she added with a wink, “how else would Sister Carmen brings us the latest football results?”

Both women shared a sudden, sincere laugh. The initial atmosphere of formality dispelled somewhat, replaced by a hint of simple familiarity.

“I apologize for my preconceptions,” Florence added after a moment, “most of my research has led me to some very-how do you say?—orthodox places. This is my first visit to a religious congregations headed by women. I supposed you aren’t used to outsiders yourself.”

Sister Nadia shrugged. “We house a number of postulants every year, and we visit the nearby villages when we can. Everyone is very open and friendly. It isn’t the same as the city I suppose. Far less people and all...”

“And a lot more peace and quiet,” Florence added. “I’m eternally grateful for this opportunity, Sister. And for the welcome.”

Before Sister Nadia could answer, a distant ringing echoed through the passageway behind them.

Sister Nadia perked up at once. “The call to mid-afternoon prayer. I must leave for the chapel right away.”

“Yes, of course. Will I see you later?”

“I’ll stop by before the evening meal. We have made arrangements in the refectory so you’ll be able to join us if you wish. I’ll introduce you to Sister Marielle, who has been safekeeping the documents in question. It’s probably best that you be escorted about for the first few days, so I’ll see to this as well.”

Florence nodded. ”Arrivederci Sister Nadia. And thank you. For everything.”

She watched Sister Nadia go, and pushed the door shut. The lock settled in place with a sharp clang, and she turned to survey her tiny chamber once again.

The smile was still on her lips, but its casual charm had melted away, replaced by excitement and anticipation. She let out a shaky breath as her hands made for the hem of the drab gray skirt she’d worn on purpose, deftly slipping underneath. Her knees came together as she pulled her panties down, which were now utterly soaked.

Wetness tricked inside her thighs as she struggled out of them.

Her fingers were too impatient, and her ankles remained caught as she began to indulge. She inhaled deeply, already breathing in the wantonness of her own sex. The walls reeled around her as her body cried for release. Star of dark lust shone in her eyes as she easily slipped two fingers inside her pussy.

Waves of ecstasy exploded inside her when she thumbed her clit.

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... C’tonn Sheva stehm...”

She grunted between the strange utterances, her entire body quaking with need. The old manuscripts she’d already read had taught her much, and with luck, she would learn more.

Her clit screamed its pleasure, and she finally withdrew dripping fingers from her cunt, playing them over her button in rapidly quickening circles.

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... Rehann Mirka stehm...”

The wicked grin slipped away as Florence surrendered to the power of her words, her mouth quivering under to the spell of her fingers. The power of the ancient ritual guide them, she knew.

She reached up, desperate to pinch her nipples through her blouse. Her other hand continued its tireless dance...

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... Lann’drah.. ughh.... ughhhhh...”

Her rapid breath could no longer carry speech. Her whole body shook at last, the sweet orgasm overtaking her senses. A wellspring of darkness surged from her cunt, drenching her fingers with hot, sticky juices.

Florence collapsed on her bed at last. She stared beyond the wall, straight into infinity.

A smile flickered across her lips. Her fingers were still glued to her cunt.

She allowed their dance to resume, slowly. Her legs twitched as she found her clit once again.

She knew, without a doubt, that her darkest designs were nearing completion.

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... C’tonn Sheva stehm...”

3.

The spiral staircase spun downwards twenty two steps. Sister Nadia kept her elbows to her sides, brushing the stone facade as she carried the tray, keeping it carefully even. She reached the bottom and hurried before the damp chill of the cellar could get a hold of her. She made her way to a nearby alcove, and balanced the tray one handed while she gave a good pull on the door’s brass handle.

The library itself was situated in a well enclosed space, the temperature and humidity carefully monitored. The low hum coming from the generator room was barely heard, the solid foundations proving an effective barrier against sound. The stacks were lined up in two rows, affording enough space to browse the shelves provided claustrophobia wasn’t a problem.

Sister Nadia stared up at the low ceiling the moment she stepped in, wondering if some problem with the electrical wiring had shorted out the lights. She could hear a distant shuffling noise off to her right, and waited while her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She glimpsed a faint glow at last, and took careful steps forward.

She turned a few corners and made for the open area in the far corner. As she emerged from the stacks, she found Florence sitting at a table, engrossed in the reading of a dusty volume. A candle flickered nearby, providing just enough light to discern thick, gothic characters, carefully penned in black ink upon wrinkled paper.

Sister Nadia drew nearer, and settled the tray gently upon the table. The aroma of herbal tea simmered from the pot, and quickly drew Florence’s attention. The professor looked up, suddenly surprised to see the nun watching over her.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The professor put down the pencil she held next to her notepad. “Not at all. I’m very glad to see you, actually.”

She smiled kindly, and it lingered on her lips as she sat there, unmoving.

For the last four days, as far as Sister Nadia knew, this had been Ms Hemmington’s sole occupation. Toiling in the library with Sister Marielle night and day, she’d hardly been seen about. It seemed a little strange to watch her like this, polite, focused, without the hint of an urge to reach for a cup. She didn’t even stretch, or rub the fatigue out of her eyes.

“You seem... quite absorbed by what you’ve found.”

Florence’s piercing stare did not waver. Something else crept into her smile.

She crossed her legs, slowly, and raised an arm before leaning it on the chair’s backrest.

“Absolutely fascinating, I must say. The reading is slow and difficult, but the value of the content exceeds expectations.”

Florence shivered on her chair, purring as she spoke. The thrill of discovery, Sister Nadia supposed.

“Take this passage for instance,” Florence indicated with a sweep of her hand, " auto-da-fés relating to Inquisition trials which took place in the region. I’m amazed that such detailed testimonials would find their way into Christian tests... the litany of heretical and sexual offenses borders on voyeurism.”

Sister Nadia blinked while Florence’s enthusiasm sparkled in her wide set eyes. Twin flames of orange yellow appeared to glow inside them, the reflection as clear as the glass surface of a lake.

She could see shadows dancing inside Florence’s irises, too... light, chasing dark, chasing light...

“I... wasn’t aware that these were... Inquisition documents.”

She couldn’t hold back a note of disappointment. The notion of a professor researching heresies made her uncomfortable. The world was filled with enough horror, and the search for terrible mistakes committed in the distant past would only bring more pain.

Part of her felt betrayed that Florence would show such interest in the subject.

The twin flames continued their mirror-dance, while Florence’s smile grew. Sister Nadia tried to blink, but this time her eyes were unwilling to interrupt the strange spectacle that held her attention.

Had she felt a pang of resentment a moment ago?

“The description of the rituals are explicit... and very sensual,” Florence continued, her eyes widening with every word. “I doubt the Benedictines bothered to keep such records. They were most likely left here by other agents of the clergy.”

“S-sensual?” Sister Nadia asked, before she could remember why.

Florence stared on, filling Nadia with warm reassurance. “Yes. Shocking, even, for the time, and for the people involved. The clergy was clearly alarmed by a woman’s embrace of physical pleasure, as well as a philosophy of mutual, carnal worship. To say nothing of the rituals which inducted women into the Sacred rituals.”

Her voice was soft, barely audible. Nadia was struggling-from far away, it seemed-to hear every word. She tried to shake her head, hoping to clear her mind, but the relaxing trance worked its way deeper into her mind.

“They were scared, Sister,” Florence breathed, “as men often are when confronted with something they cannot understand... Primal forces of creation... beliefs... a need to worship and revere beyond anything they can imagine... a commitment of the soul that transcends a woman’s self and leads her to grateful acceptance and surrender...”

Sister Nadia felt lightheaded. Her thoughts spun with every sentence Florence whispered. She was intently focused, desperate to hear more. She had the strangest feeling the twin flames would still fill her own eyes if she looked away.

Thankfully, she didn’t want to, even when the sound of steps echoed behind her.

“Ah. Sister Marielle. So good of you to join us.”

Florence’s eyes never left Nadia’s as she spoke. The sister breathed a secret sigh of relief, intensely jealous of the beautiful whirlpools of light that held her in rapt attention. The pride trickled inside her, spinning, the awareness of it only increasing her undeniable delight.

“Have you read the parchments I’ve given you, Marielle?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Sister Marielle’s response was oddly phrased, a struggle between bashfulness and deep admiration. Nadia’s heart skipped a beat as she heard it.

“Have you read them aloud?” Florence asked, as she might a disobedient schoolgirl.

Sister Marielle’s moans filled Nadia’s unseen periphery. “Y-yesss Mistress.”

“You have learned the First law of Obedience?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You have learned the Chant of Worship? Spoken the Name of the Goddess?”

“Ugggh... Yes, Mistress. A thousand yes.”

“Sister Nadia should begin her lessons too, don’t you agree, Marielle?”

The whispers came in staccato breaths. “Yes, Mistress.”

Sister Nadia sensed a presence nearing. She could not move, she could not speak. Florence’s glowing eyes were watching her, keeping her in her place as they drank up the secrets of her soul.

Emptiness and void came and swallowed her. She could not form a single thought.

Marielle began to murmur softly in her ear.

4.

She floated in an eternity of pleasure.

Knowledge of her life, of her Faith, of her very being whirled in flux. She was a witness, lost inside herself, watching a spiral of memories dispassionately. She glimpsed an order of things. A beginning, middle and end.

None of it made sense to her.

“Rhasha el Ma’ktok.”

She recognized Sister Marielle’s voice.

Trusted, sweet, Marielle.

Unusual sensations tingled along her nerves, her entire body responding to a deep rooted instinct.

Her cheeks felt chafed. She was actually puffing. Her breasts, suddenly acutely sensitive, cried out for attention.

The physical stimuli registered, but seconds trailed by while she struggled to understand it.

She gasped when Marielle’s breath warmed the side of her face. A light kiss, lips trailing gently across her skin, made her heart flutter. Her body, knowing how to respond, flushed with intense excitement.

“Mistress will breathe lust in our souls... The change has already begun in all of us... She came to unlock the secret that will shape us into instruments of Her will... not just slaves, but bringers of enlightenment, each of us linked to the divine power she summons... I am First among Her followers... I serve Her as no other has before...”

Only half of Sister Nadia’s mind listened. The other half was fighting off the flood of ecstasy pouring into her. She squeezed her legs together quite involuntarily, and shook as an unholy moan escaped her lips.

“There... you can feel the Truth of Her Will shaping you, can’t you? Not simply a desire to serve Her, but to bring understanding to others... a power, growing inside you... a divine order, stretching before your eyes...”

Nadia found it impossible to struggle against the vision summoned by Marielle’s words. Her body was enflamed, crying out for pleasure with an intensity she had never known. She could already feel the power of the words, chanting incessantly in her mind, a circle of lust, constricting around her psyche until she had no choice but to give in, to accept it as the quintessence of her being... she could only moan on and on, as unable to resist it as she was to stop her hands from rising, and caressing her breasts.

“Rhasha el Ma’ktok,” said Sister Marielle.

This time, Sister Nadia understood.

What had seemed a guttural utterance a moment ago exploded into a symphony of language, a harmony of sensual bliss that swept over her like a shower of silken kisses. She blinked through tears of amazement and joy, repeating the words in the sacred tongue, feeling their power grow with each syllable...

“Your Temple is my body.”

New thoughts flared inside Nadia’s mind like exploding fireworks. Temple body lust desire pleasure yeeeeesss She let out another groan, finding the hardened tips of her nipples through her garb and rubbing them with renewed vigor. Instinct guided her fingerplay, searching for rhythm, searching for the secret gateways of her pleasure.

She did not see Sister Marille’s hand disappear inside the folds of her habit.

“The time is upon you Nadia... you shall be Second, as I have been First... obedient... trusting... loyal to Mistress and the Order She will bring into existence...”

Sister Nadia moaned her acquiescence, the spiral of need and bliss sucking up any and all thoughts that contradicted Marielle.

Marielle’s fingers touched, then slipped over Nadia’s lips.

Mmm... Warm. Wet.

Marielle urged her on. “Lick... lick of my essence... yeeeesss...”

Nadia’s tongue darted out in sensual abandon. She began to suck Marielle’s fingers into her mouth.

Warm and wet... Like... my... ooooohhhh...

The taste was exquisite. Sublime. Nadia thirsted for more. Desperately. With all her being. She wanted to-

Kneel. Drink.

Obey.

Nadia gave her nipples a vicious twist, the flush of a tidal wave bursting forth, swallowing the remnants of her resistance. She bit down her lip, while the full force of the orgasm crashed into her.

Rhasha el Ma’ktok was her last, conscious thought.

5.

There was no point in whispering in the galleried aisle which led away from the chapel, the strange acoustics of the buttressed ceiling above elevating all but the faintest of murmurs to an easily discernible level, but Sister Isabella made a special effort not to be overheard as she shuffled along. As always, she seemed unable to wait until she was in the ambulatory with Sister Carmen to share the latest gossip.

“Did you hear? The Mother Superior was furious. Sister Marielle forwent the midnight vespers service again. Some nonsense about the bell’s ring not reaching far enough down to the library. And that professor who hasn’t seen the light of day since she arrived... there’s something bizarre going on down there if you ask m—”

A figure surged from the shadows, and quietly sneaked behind the two. Sister Isabella immediately sensed something amiss, turned to face Sister Nadia, and managed a little ‘oh!’

“Bliss and Understanding be with you,” Sister Nadia offered, her hands joined in pious fashion. She wore a peculiar expression, but Sister Isabella didn’t make much of it, all too worried about what might or might not have been overheard.

“Hum, yes. God be with you,” the gabby Sister finally managed, not sure she had heard the other’s greeting correctly.

Sister Carmen stood nervously but said nothing. In the silence that followed, Sister Isabella suddenly developed remarkable interest in the tip of her shoes.

“I trust that the presence of Ms. Hemmington in our community is not proving too disruptive,” Sister Nadia said at last.

“Not at all,” chorused the other two Sisters.

“Certain allowances have been made for the time being, in order to accommodate our guest, you understand.”

“Perfectly,” Sister Carmen affirmed.

“Yes, very much so,” Sister Isabella agreed.

“And I don’t have to remind you,” Nadia continued, “of how this kind of talk might sound, especially to the ears of an outsider?”

Both Sisters shook their heads gravely.

“Very god then. I would suggest you be mindful of what you say, since Sister Marielle will need some help to provide Ms Hemington with what she requires. I was on my way to make the request to the Mother superior, but since I’ve run into you, I’m sure you won’t mind making your way down to the library...”

“At once, Sister,” Isabella was quick to offer. She slipped off in the direction of the cellar entrance with all haste, followed by Sister Carmen.

Nadia nodded to herself, while her mouth worded mysterious phrases complete silence. Her habit trailed on the floor as strode off. She turned a corner, a sinister smile gracing her lips.

6.

There was no sleep. There was no rest.

There was only lust and pleasure.

Sister Nadia thrashed upon her bed, the night air filled with the sound of her breathing. She closed her eyes and allowed its rapid rhythm to guide the thrusts of her hand. Her thighs jerked in the air as she found the right spot with her finger, pushed harder... harder... riding the orgasm... milking its pleasure... letting it transform her into a creature of perfect obedience.

She had lost track of the number of climaxes hours ago.

She slipped her wet fingers from her cunt and immediately brought them to her lips, playing them across her tongue as if she was fucking her mouth too. She lay there, savoring the taste, amazed at how alike it was to the honeyed sweetness Sister Marielle had offered her. She still yearned for it, even now, after hours spent frigging her horny little-

“Mmm... cunt. My horny little cunt.“

She giggled through her moans, amazed at the kick she got from saying it aloud. Cunt, slut, pussy, clit, whore fuck, so many words, once so forbidden to her she couldn’t even admit she understood their meaning.

Dirty, evil, depraved words.

The very same that now inspired limitless pleasure in her. Words that begged to be uttered as she played with herself, as she made her pussy scream for more with a stroke of her hand. She hungered for the simple pleasure of hearing them spoken in her own voice, shuddering in the throes of another cum, a celebration of the change Mistress had ordained.

She rammed her fingers harder into her mouth, and thought of Marielle. Of Sister Isabella and Sister Carmen.

Yes Mistress. I hear and obey. You are with me, always. Your Temple is my body.

Sister Nadia slipped the fingers from her mouth and shifted to her side. The bed creaked in protest until she lay still again. She slipped the middle finger across her skin, feeling the trail of saliva glide along her hip, round the flesh of her ass, and into the tightness of her rear.

Her asshole squeezed around her digit, and yielded sweet passage at last. She made soft cries as the tight opening accommodated the intrusion. Then, she began to drive it deeper and deeper, her body responding to the thrusts, her toes curling, her back arching in pleasure as she picked up the pace. Before long, Sister Nadia was swinging her hips back and forth, Her rasping breath warmed the side of her pillow while a colossal climax building up inside her.

A gift.

The gift of Bliss. The gift of Understanding.

The gift of Mistress.

She could hear sounds outside her door. The night was no longer still. It was alive with distant stirrings. Others, worshippers of the Goddess, touched by illumination as she was, keepers of the Sacred knowledge, were answering a silent call.

She needed to join them. Many others had not yet been touched by Mistress’ blessing, and needed to be awakened.

She didn’t even notice she’d begun chantin.

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... C’tonn Sheva stehm...”

Your temple is my body, Your Will is my reason.

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... Rehann Mirka stehm...”

Your temple is my body, Your pleasure is my existence

“Rhasha... el Ma’ktok... Lann’drah...”

Your temple is my body, as it was always meant to be

She rammed the finger in deeper... faster... fucking...

She greeted her final ascendance with a lustful cry.

“Sister” Nadia was no more.

7.

Sister Larissa slammed the door behind her, and hastily turned the lock. She had to concentrate to keep her fingers from trembling so much.

The Mother Superior looked up from her desk, keeping a hand near the flame of her candle to shield it from the sudden draft. “In the name of M—?”

“Mother! Quickly!” Sister Larissa begged, “I’ve just come from the chapel. I’ve... witnessed... I mean... I saw things...”

She was short of breath, and absolutely panicked, leaning against the door as if the lock would prove insufficient to keep it shut from the nightmare she was running from.

“What is going on Sister?” chided the Mother superior. “Please, calm yourself. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“The other Sisters,” cried Larissa, bolting forward and grabbing a hold of the desk to steady herself. “Piled upon each other... moaning...”

She shook her head in the hopes of ridding herself of the disturbing images etched in her brain.

“Piled upon each other? On the floor? Is anyone hurt?”

“No Mother... I only wish it were so. They... they’re engaging in...”

She stammered helplessly, her face contorted in embarrassment.

“They are gaining a new understanding of the secrets revealed by Mistress?” the Mother offered helpfully.

Sister Larissa’s mouth fell wide open. No scream would come out.

“Please, Sister,” the Mother offered graciously, “do not concern yourself. I admit, when Sister Marielle first came to me to share the Sacred gift, I was somewhat disturbed... I assure you such doubts will quickly pass...”

Sister Larissa took a step back, horrified.

“Of course, you’ll have to be properly initiated... luckily, Sister Isabella and Sister Gertrude were just here advising me on such matters...”

In perfect unison, lithe silhouettes emerged from the shadows, drawing forth on either side of the desk. The pale candlelight gave a warm, honey-yellowed glow to their naked skin, except for the tiny dark spots next to their rigid nipples.

A patch of wetness glistened between their legs.

They stood, arms to their sides, eyes filled with wonder and lust as they gazed upon Sister Larissa.

“You must join us,” said Sister Isabella.

“Yes,” agreed Sister Gertrude, her smile wanton and shameless. “You have heard the chat once already. You know, deep in your heart, that it is what you truly want.”

Larissa shrunk back, her fingers clutching the cross hanging from her neck. “N-no...”

“The chant is only the beginning, Larissa... then comes pleasure... and obedience... then more pleasure... and more obedience...”

Isabella was stepping forward, very slowly, her voice steady and calm...

Sister Larissa searched her mind desperately. Prayers of comfort would not come to her, only the meaningless chant she had accidentally overheard. She struggled against it, only to moan in desperation as the sight of the two nude females converging upon her filled her mind with terribly sinful thoughts.

“Embrace your fate,” Sister Gertrude whispered, as she stepped behind Larissa and carefully seized her wrists. “Feel the need to give in guide you on the path of Understanding.”

Sister Isabella’s hand cupped one of Larissa’s breasts, before snaking its way down to her crotch. It found an opening in the habit, slipped inside, and began to tease the Sister’s already soaked slit.

Larissa moaned. She no longer tell if it was fear or lust.

“P-Please...”

“Yes, Sister...” came Isabella’s depraved whisper, “You are beginning to understand at last...”

8.

By sunrise, the last of them knelt before Nadia.

“Forgive me Sister, for I have sinned.”

“Go on.”

The young woman sucked in a trembling breath. “I have lived a life of fallacy and deception. I have embraced heresy against my loving kind. I have worshipped a false god, and denied the pleasures of my flesh in his name. I have accepted a harsh rule, I have denied the Truth of my Mistress, and the Goddess whom she serves.”

Nadia shook her head. “You are mistaken. You have always served your Mistress. You have always worshipped your Goddess. You have always obeyed Her will. You exist to serve Her Will.”

“I exist to serve Her Will.”

“There is no pleasure without obedience. There is no obedience without pleasure.

“N-no obedience... without... pleasure.”

“Every act of self-worship, every kiss and lick upon another woman’s flesh is a celebration of Her glory over us. Her Temple is your body. It is your ecstasy, and your salvation.”

“It is my salvation.”

“You must save others by bringing this sacred Truth to them.”

“I must bring this Sacred Truth to them.”

“Very good,” Nadia whispered. “In obedience shall the Goddess absolve you...”

Nadia dug her hands into the soft hair and thrust her cunt forward, feeling the young Sister’s tongue slip into her cunt. She rode the young face hard, joining the cries of the others echoing from the distant chapel, where the Holy communion between all followers of Mistress had begun. In just a few lapping strokes, Nadia came hard, her juices drenching the young mouth servicing her so enthusiastically.

She could feel the woman shaking in the throes of her own orgasm, embracing her new life of obedience. Her first taste of female essence had sealed her fate for all time.

Then, realization struck Nadia. We all serve Her now.

The completion of the Sacred task brought tears to her eyes. And yet, there was even greater excitement at what lay ahead. Mistress had spoken with trepidation of other convents in the region, and of the few villages which littered the countryside on the way there.

It would be a difficult task to bring others into the fold, but she was convinced that Mistress’ soon-to-be followers would realize the error of their ways. Surely they would welcome a new, more profound Truth.

The tongue in her pussy slipped out and gave her clitoris and affectionate flick. Nadia couldn’t help smiling.

Confession is good for the soul, she thought.