The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Aphrodite Organization

© 2006 Exx Zee

Part Two

Chapter 6

And then, it was morning. Silvia sat up reflexively, noticing after the fact that the mask was no longer connected with the bunk. In fact, it felt lighter, almost as if it wasn’t there, and had to reached up and confirm its presence. She looked around her, and the drones that had been reposing the night before were all sitting upright in their bunks. As she stared at them, words appeared over their heads. But it was the same word for each one, over and over: “Thrun-datu.” Beneath that appeared a smaller designation, for each one it was 002-200F, followed by a random letter of the alphabet. Over the set of them that fit within her vision appeared another word, slightly larger: “Thrun-da.” She stood up, stretched a bit after her night on the hard bed, then went back to the mirror to examine herself again. The drones seemed to pay her no mind as she did so.

The visage in the mirror looked somehow more familiar this time. Above it appeared the word “Thrun-el.” She tried pronouncing it aloud, softly: ”Throon-ell.“ The throaty word that emerged surprised her. The pronunciation of the vowels came easily to her mouth, and she wondered where she had learned how to speak them, for Silvia had known no languages other than English. They sounded important, mystical and imposing, an exotic code that made up the universe, like syllables of a magic spell, like a true name that tied around souls. Beneath it appeared another miniscule number, 002-200F-R, that struck her consciousness with hidden significance.

She heard stirring behind her. The drones had gotten out of their bunks and were forming themselves into a line of fifteen, with two standing in front of them. Silvia noticed that they both were wearing hair bands. The two called out, as of one voice, with authority that startled Silvia out of her reverie: “Tagzahl!” The word had a magic effect on the other drones, who instantly stood erect where they were. They all called out to answer, “Thruj tagzahl mun!” Their words were so matched with each other that it was like one huge, glorious voice.

One of the two leaders turned towards Silvia and barked, “Tagzahl! Rulundu thrun-il!” The ‘U’s were pronounced like a soothing “eww,” the ‘I’ became a long ‘E’, and the ‘A’s were all short and sharp.

Suddenly, before Silvia’s eyes, the being addressing her was of great power. Her stature seemed to grow to infinite proportions, her bearing becoming regal and of absolute command. Silvia felt like the most insignificant creature in the world compared to her. She almost leapt into line beside the others, her sudden desire to appease the overdrone was so great, and almost shouted as she tried to repeat the words the others had spoken, “Thruj tagzahl, uh, meun?” Her voice sounded quiet, weak compared to the echoing voice of the others, and her mistake in pronunciation shamed her greatly.

Wait a moment, she wondered, why am I ashamed? Why should she worry about these almost-naked hussies and their silly protocol? But she reminded herself, she was here for a reason, and since these drones had actually taken notice of her she’d best play along in case they were in communication with those who operated this place. The best way to do that was to fit in. She would just have to go native until her task was complete.

She hoped the leaders, whose auras she found almost unbearable to witness, wouldn’t have any more incomprehensible commands for her, but their only word for now was “Konku.” As they said it, the word KONKU appeared in front of her face and hung there, so she decided to konku for a while, standing as perfectly still as she was able, patiently waiting.

Silvia then realized that she somehow knew what the word meant: stand at attention and await commands. That came as a relief, at least she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She continued to stand and wait. Stand and wait. Stand and wait.

She thought to herself, how long am I supposed to konku? She searched around her brain for an answer. One came back: konku. So konku continued.

The next thought was, am I finished now? The response came back from the dark corners of her subconscious, konku.

As she thought about the word it seemed to lose some of its meaning, and after around three minutes she began observing the room around her. Konku lasted several minutes, during which time Silvia had three flights of observation.

First, she observed how she knew it was morning. The lights in the room had come up in a very natural-seeming early morning pattern. One direction shone luminous red, and even though there was no obvious sun to be seen she assumed that to be east. The other was still dark, and the blue ripples of the night were still in evidence. In fact, she now realized, she couldn’t see the walls anymore. The corner-crease behind the mirror was covered by an ionic column, something she felt sure she would have noticed before.

That’s when she saw that the floor beneath her feet was made of marble, not the plain sheet metal she had seen last night! All around where the walls of the room should have been was just what seemed like a great empty space, hanging above a vast lake. There was a horizon at the end of the great flat blue, topped with purple mountains and orange skies. She had been moved to an island of stone in the middle of a tremendous sea!

Had she really been moved? There was a clothes cabinet here on the island, positioned right about where it had been before, but it was ornate and inlaid with bronze, and its surfaces were a smooth, milky green, rippled with irregular bands of darker green. The mirror was in the same place on the island as it had been in the room, but now its border wasn’t straight metal, but a frame wrapped and twisted like bronze vines in a flowing design, curved inwards on each side, punctuated at the corners with what look much like rubies. The bunks were where they had been before, appeared as if they were levitating in place at the edge of the island instead of joined to the wall. Their appearance was greatly changed, the light gray cushion now a rich and luxuriant red, with a frame of thick brass approximately as thick as Silvia had remembered the shelves to have been the night before.

The drone-women in the room were likely the same ones from the night, the two Africans and the Asian had similar hair styles from the night before, and both Peter Pan and Billiard Ball were also still in attendance. The door through which she had entered the night before was completely missing, replaced by air and water, and in the distance a horizon topped with those luminous mountains. From her standing place the water looked as if infinitely deep, and she considered walking over to it and peering down into the mysterious water.

But before she could do so she realized, the konku still held her.

Second, she observed that the view through the mask was somewhat different than the night before. There was also a subtle throbbing in the display, somehow reminding her of the night, something important, but it did not trouble her. Its steady rhythm soaked through her thoughts, and she soon realized it did nothing but aid her. The pale swimming-pool-blue was a lot more subtle now, and she had to pay close attention to even notice it. She thought to reach up with her arm and make sure the mask was really there.

But she could not do that she realized, for the konku still held her.

The word konku echoed through her thoughts, obliterating observation. She had just noticed the third thing when it disappeared from her mind, dropped like an old penny. She considered picking it up again, but thought, no. The konku still held her.

The leaders mouths suddenly opened, and announced sharp and clear, in unison like doublemint twins: “Hrullen rul im Eanniea thrun. Rulundu!” The other drones chanted in unison “Thruj Eanniea thrun!” again as one voice, the voice of consensus, the overvoice that could never be wrong. As if reacting to the spell thus intoned, the water where the door would have been were this the same room rippled and distorted, and became a walkway leading out and to the right. The drones separated into two parallel lines, one of eight and the other of seven, and as if choreographed, began filing out into the walkway, leaders at the fore. Silvia followed the shorter line, had to hurry to keep her place beside the eighth in the other column.

The words “Eanniea thrun” appeared before her eyes. Something about the word Eanniea, other than its heavy vowel composition, struck Silvia as important. The leader drone had uttered it with a peculiar sigh, almost of reverence. Silvia turned it around in her head, in didn’t seem all that special—

Then it hit her, it was Eanniea, and it was everything. It would fill her arms and legs, loins and buttocks, body and soul, they would all throb with the imperative Eanniea. It was need and fulfillment, her sole purpose, and she could refuse it no more than an object fell to earth. She didn’t walk towards their destination but merely fell towards the essential, consuming Eanniea, her feet finding their marks by gravity. It was the climax of her entire existence, and when it was over, she would be nothing until the next Eanniea, should she be privileged to encounter it once more. Silvia would embrace it in final totality, offer herself up to the Eanniea, be a vessel for the Eanniea. Whatever it was….

She blinked and shook her head, and something dislodged. What was she thinking again?

She awoke from a dream, and the memory of the aching longing needing vanished. Her steps fell out of rhythm with the others, and she had to focus on walking to avoid destroying the rippling effect of their sandals hitting the floor. She noticed, however, that the subtle throbbing in the world in front of her eyes matched perfectly with the moment her feet were to hit the ground, and this fact was of assistance to her in keeping up with the others.

As they walked down the path, Silvia thought it looked slightly familiar somehow. The walkway was lined with pairs of ionic columns at regular intervals. Silvia let her fingers run across one as she passed it, and it felt strange and cold, and flat, as if it were metal. She was intrigued by the effect. Then Silvia realized that they were merely walking down the hall she had seen the night before! It was all an analogue reality constructed by the masks. She hadn’t been moved in the night at all, it was just that all the things she had seen before now looked different through her winged viewport. She let her hand drag against the air as they walked, and noticed that it was all an invisible stretch of metal, broken periodically by seams placed roughly midway between the columns, which must bracket the locations where the doors into the drone barracks were hidden.

Her deduction of the true reality of the place served as an anchor for Silvia’s foundering identity. Purpose, and memory of Corinne, seeped back into her. Her stride broke and her steps became stumbling and unsure. How would she know she wouldn’t walk full speed into a wall and bloody her nose? The drone column ahead of her cut a path of certainty through the virtual air ahead, away from her, and Silvia quickly deduced the only way she could maintain her facade, the only way she could be sure her steps wouldn’t send her headlong into a concussion, was to follow. She hurried forward and did her best to maintain appearances.

The walkway amidst the vast sea ended abruptly before them, but the leaders of the column showed no signs of slackening their pace, and neither did their followers. Just before they would have plunged off into the bottomless deeps, the air before them shimmered and twisted. Without breaking stride they stepped through the sudden portal, emerging into such a confounding space that Silvia gasped when she saw it.

The room was gigantic. It outstripped her imagination in a way the sea and horizon she had seen until now did not, which seemed larger in size but comparatively featureless. Here the landscape was filled with an infinite array of variety and detail. It was more brightly lit, the colors jumped out at her through the mask, and the land was filled with trees. More than just filled, it was forested, and the ground was composed of roots, grass and soil. She surreptitiously let her leg drag across one the rough bark of one of the trunks as she passed it, the procession continuing on oblivious to the wonders around it, and unlike the hallway’s cold metal, this felt real. She thought she even spotted, out of the corner of her eye, a panther lurking in the brush.

There were cool breezes here that brushed cold against her naked skin, and she almost shivered from the sensation. The sky was blue and laced with clouds, clouds in the shape of threatening animals, of monsters, of demons. She felt an irrational relief that she was with a group that would protect her, and fastened her eyes on the reassuring, gilt-draped shoulders of the girl ahead of her. Together, the group continued to stride.

Up until now Silvia had had explanations for all the phenomena she had encountered, but this one put a strain on her reasoning skills. She was in a South American jungle, even though one was impossible here, even though they no longer existed anywhere on Earth. While she was sure there was an explanation somewhere, fans to create breezes, advanced plastics that replicated the texture of wood, prodigious processing power to create every leaf of the hundreds of trees they passed, each time she tried to think on them they spun away from her, lost in a hazy cloud of disinterest. Eventually, she had to settle for calling it magic.

Studded in the dirt beneath their feet were infrequently-placed stone slabs, that clattered as their sandaled feet struck them in rapid succession. The path began to lead up an incline, their march started to turn into a hike as they were led deeper into the impossible jungle. She lost all sense of location as she followed the thralls ahead of her, who blindly followed their pony-tailed leaders. The path continued ever on, ever upwards, and the woods to the side became dense and impenetrable.

As they marched, Silvia caught sight of other things that she found difficult to explain. Small lights like fireflies buzzed around from time to time, and one that passed close to her face seemed almost to have a human form. A small circular spectrum sprang from the head of the silhouette of the shape as it danced through the air. They passed a clearing along the way where she saw a small cluster of grazing horses and a couple of masked male attendants, but when she blinked for a moment, she realized the masked ones and the horses were actually one in the same, a herd of centaurs.

Shortly after the centaurs, Silvia had a brush with a force for which she had even less explanation. Their stone path went through a stand of trees that seemed different somehow, more vibrant, with branches that swayed against the breeze instead of with it. The other marchers paid it no attention, but something about the pattern on their bark drew her attention as nothing else they had passed had. As they passed the trees she noticed that the light filtering between the trunks as she walked formed a strange and thrilling pattern, and the warmth of the sunbeams tickled her bare skin. She began to walk more slowly, falling out of formation, in order to remain longer within the bands of warming light as she crossed them.

Soon she had stopped completely, and stood before one exceptionally large birch whose roots had grown between the stone of the path. The heat of the sunlight on her body warmed her bones, and sent a shudder of comfort up her spine. She stretched her arms up languorously, lifting up her breasts and causing the cloth draped there to shift, exposing them to the sun. She twisted and stretched, and her rear loincloth fell over at one corner, exposing her right cheek to the glorious rays. The shaft of yellow light divided her thoughts into pieces, fragments already beginning to depart from her, her loyalty towards her new sisters vanishing as she lost sight of them, having disappeared around a bend in the path.

One of the trees that lined the path suddenly grew a human-like face, the first she had seen since coming here. It was unmasked, female and exotic, eyes slanted, green pupils beckoning and huge, a glossy ocean of promise and desire. A small, green-tinted hand stretched forth, and Silvia’s knees buckled as her feet turned towards it without her conscious effort.

The compulsion of the ever-ascending climb left her as a competing drive, dark and wild, seized hold of her limbs and attempted to carry her off. The throbbing in the mask suddenly switched, becoming rapid and passionate, beating in a heavy double-cadence, less suitable or marching, more suitable for something unknown. The face spoke words that she couldn’t make out, words even more incomprehensible than those of the drone-women but even more compelling, and Silvia almost stepped into those fathomless woods, hand-in-hand with the nymph.

Before she could leave the path, lost forever to her thrun-sisters, her senses returned. She turned and looked ahead, back up the trail, and the column was there waiting for her. One of the leaders had left her position at the front of the line and held her hand forward and upraised, palm outward towards the tree in a gesture of banishment. The figure that had almost carried her off was now just a tree once more. Without a word of explanation or admonishment the leader returned to her spot at the front of line and they began moving once more. Silvia, filled with gratitude, yet also lingering regret, hurried after them.

Strange odors wafted though the air, and her steps came easier as she caught them, more fluid, and easier to match to the rhythm of her group, but as they continued their ascent Silvia noticed that the others still walked differently. They almost pranced up the hill, their buttocks slipping from side to side in an effortless display, while Silvia trudged. Then she noticed a small line of symbols at the bottom of her vision, flashing in a complex syncopated rhythm. When the girl in front of her pressed her left foot against the ground, the symbol at the far left of the line flashed. Likewise, the symbol on the far right seemed to match with her right footstep.

Still not sure why she was doing so, she tried to sync her own feet with the symbols, and attempted to step in time with the beat-counter. As she did so, she noticed that the other flashing lights seemed to also match integrally with different phases of the marching process. Further, staring at them, trying to focus on their pattern and follow their orders, she realized she could just almost understand them. They were a collection of sequenced muscle movements, and if she watched them intently, she discovered she could flow into them, she could flow into them, she could step along and obey and step and obey and step and obey. Silvia’s own knees, feet and buttocks locked into the flashing symbols, and her gait became precisely synchronized with the others.

By the time Silvia next became aware of her actions, they were almost at the end of the path.

At last the woods fell away behind them, and they reached a big structure at the top of the hill, resembling an ancient Mayan pyramid. Without pausing the barely-clothed procession began to ascend it, and Silvia followed fearfully. Vines riddled its surface, and ducked into cracks only to emerge from others. The steps had loose bricks in places and yet seemed perfectly sturdy as they climbed them. The ascent was an arduous one, and she was nearly panting for breath by the time they reached the top—she didn’t, but she wanted to.

It was at the top where Silvia met gods for the first time.

Chapter 7

They were bathed in a glorious, yellow-white light as they stood at the summit of the pyramid, and there were two of them, one male and one female.

The male was a great creature of utmost desire, seven feet tall yet lithe, a rapturous being of flesh and muscle. He wore a deep brown loincloth like the male thralls Silvia had seen earlier, but it was studded along the sides by glimmering gemstones, and was framed on the left and right by ripples that suggested peerless thigh muscles. Above it, his simple belt was buckled by a large green emerald set at the waist, and was covered by an intricate golden pattern. Beneath it lounged a tremendous round bulge, promising nepenthe. Hanging from his belt on his right side was a small sack of deepest black, tied with gilt thread. On his head he wore a golden circle, laced with laurel, with nine precious gems spaced regularly along its length, of five different colors: the two on the outside were red, then blue, then yellow and green, and in the middle, a huge white diamond at the base of a pinnacle that would have been golden, had its true color not been purest sanctity. He too wore a mask, like the moths borne by the lesser males, but larger, with wings that swept upwards off his face and towards the sky. Visible through the wings at the places eyes would have been were piercing yellow pinpoints that burned into Silvia’s retina, equal in power to the brightest sun. His radiance blasted the stones around him, and he struck fear to the core of Silvia’s being.

But the goddess was of even greater potency, a queenly figure of six feet composed of purity and white essence, and Silvia’s eyes were irresistibly pulled toward her. She had the most perfect figure Silvia had ever seen, her breasts were large and wild, jutting out slightly at an angle, barely contained by their deepest blue wrapping. The silver chain that supported the cloth crossed against her chest and looped up once around her neck. At the place where the chain crossed was a peridot so large and green that Silvia felt as if she could fall into it, fall forever and become trapped within like a mosquito in amber, her silhouetted form frozen in ecstasy forever in a captivating position, a spellbinding pose exerting its hold upon any glimpsing its charmed form.

Her crotch was covered by a deep blue strip that bent inward between her thighs so invitingly, that reached down to her knees, which themselves were each adorned by a silver shape that cupped them, and swept up to a point on either side. Her loincloth was held in place by a simple silver chain with an emerald in the center that illuminated her smooth, ashen belly. At her left side she also wore a gilt-tied bag of deepest midnight, like her counterpart. She wore a tiara, with two spires evenly spaced around a single diamond even larger than the one in her counterpart’s crown, her spires arcing upward gracefully. The rest of the tiara was ornate and wavy, intertwined with laurel, and her butterfly mask contained colors few mortals had ever been privileged to behold. Two enthralling green eye-orbs shone from within, not round but slanted into a vaguely Asian shape. Her power was not as overwhelming as the god’s was, with intensity enough to blast stone, but it extended further, blanketing the countryside and Silvia herself in a thick green layer of enchantment, a power that didn’t destroy but transformed, worked through by acceptance and redirection, undermining and shaping all to its holy whim.

Silvia was petrified before these terrible apparitions, breaking both the spell of her sisters’ scent and the rhythm that filled her vision, and made to flee. She bent her legs in preparation for an escape into the jungle, despite the dangers it contained.

But then both gods spoke at once, a mere whisper but one that pounded the landscape, blowing back the branches of the jungle and making the wind itself flee before them: “Konku.”

Silvia’s mouth gaped open as the shockwave rocketed down her spine and beneath her skin. Her legs turned to ice, her knees locked as if made from one bent piece of bone, and her joints welded tight and solid.

Then after a horrifying second of stillness and pain, they became as liquid as blood, not unfolding but almost flowing her into an upright position, arranging her spine erect and stiff, lifting her breasts with a pride alien to her, pointing her face forward straight and true, her eyes locked dead ahead, locking her gaze directly into the endless green depths of the female deity’s eye-lights.

Silvia stood and was bathed in the gods’ awful splendor, wind blowing outward from her divine captors, sweeping her upper-cloth against her chest and betraying the shape of her breasts in outline, two erect peaks showing against the blue. The dangling bronze chains flew backwards in the wind, and her rear loincloth flapped in the air. The air currents rustled between her ass-cheeks, which quivered and shook amidst the bracing gusts, informing Silvia of their visibility. But her attention was focused elsewhere. Forward.

She wanted to look away, please anything to look away, but her whole body was locked, and even her eyes were paralyzed and focused emphatically forward onto those awful, holy green orbs that contained and enveloped her. Her gaze was already bound to their service, and as she stared into them the world bent slightly. She bent slightly. The pulsing in her mask’s field of vision intensified, its force echoing in her thighs.

Then the two beings then spoke once more, louder than before. They spoke a second word of power that easily turned aside the wind and rent Silvia’s consciousness in twain: “Kahla.” She and the others were hit by a caressing hurricane, but they remained still. Fragments of stone from the masonry loosened themselves and flew back, and the noise would be deafening if it hadn’t been overpowered by the returning echoes of the Word, returning from the horizon. The wind threatened to whip her scanty garment clean off and leave her naked and defenseless before their majesty. The power of the Word struck her, and forced her eyes wide beneath her new face, and she could not blink, nor could she need to.

Her ears became hyper-alert to noise, their sensitivity unhampered by the gales parting around her. Her nose became sensitive beyond imagining, and the scent of the gods intoxicated her. Silvia felt as if she might swoon, but the iron Word stood tall and erect within her, it was a cold bolt of steel that lined her arms and legs, and forced them erect. She knew it was imperative to remain awake, alert, and receptive. The mask’s rhythm doubled in vividness, and Silvia felt her heartbeat match to it.

The god and the goddess then stepped forward and prepared their third and mightiest command, funneled through their thralls’ heightened perceptions, directly into their souls. A mad, overwhelming terror, a mortal pang sounded through the spaces of Silvia’s mind but escape was impossible, flight was forbidden, volition fading away, the end of all things immanent.

Then, to her horror, Silvia saw the goddess turn directly towards her and stare directly at her, into her soul, and Silvia realized that she knew. She had to, for she knew everything. Silvia’s soul was an open tome before her, and everything poured forth. Silvia was a petty deceiver before this final, reigning Truth.

And the goddess ignored it all, forgiving it in divine grace. It was irrelevant to her, as it would soon be to Silvia. Her infiltration of the building and desire to remove Corrine from it, her desire to hide from her holy agents, even the shameful lack of reverence for her thrun-da did not matter. They mattered not, Silvia realized, because they would soon be void, the memories and desires of another being that would not be her. One everlasting and crystalline, incapable of deception, embodiment of perfection. And Silvia then knew great love for the goddess, loved her so for stooping to help one as weak as she, for burning away from her that poor, conflicted ukarak-hood, and granting her strength and purpose as her priestess and instrument, a thrun-ul. Her mouth gaped open with adoration.

The word came, and it was the most compelling noise Silvia had ever heard: “Eanniea.” There was an explosion of light, the world became nothing but white, the trees and pyramid seemed to splinter and vanish in a field of white, the thralls were knocked back off their feet and were laid-out, splayed, on the white, the universe was all white except for the gods, and for themselves.

The creature that had been Silvia lay crumpled on the white, her garment in disarray, displaying her most private areas to the white. The mask was going crazy now, its rhythm directing her quickening heartbeat. The goddess drew close, was over her, reached down to her, reached to her chest, touched her, reached inside and grasped something. She pulled it out, a small sparkling object, weakly shimmering before the radiance, a tiny object in a blouse and a skirt, a pitiful doll lacking wholly the primal force.

As it exited her chest, the creature felt herself grow cold. The rosy, pale hue of her skin became a dull gray. Her mind slowed down, memories deadened and withered, her education, her boyfriends, her childhood, her earliest memories became empty husks. Her thoughts slowed and ended as her senses became everything, filling her empty mind with their report, and filling now was only the goddess’ great, bountiful form. The creature stopped, became a thing of pure existence, to be acted upon. To be acted through.

The goddess acted. She took forth her midnight bag and placed the weak, flickering object inside it, to await an unknown fate. She held forth her hand over the creature and chanted her irresistible spell: “Irwa ukarak. Nai-el nurahn thrun-ilath. Irwa ukarak. Kahla hul-ukarak im ean niea thrun. Ia!” A flash of green shone around the goddess’ hand, a vibrant outline against the white. She knelt down beside the creature, her divine frame folding with impossible grace, and showed her the thing that had appeared in her palm, a throbbing, vivid green object, its own sparkle regular and constant. It was like a miniature jade statue depicting a woman naked except for loose strips of cloth, wearing a tiara. It looked like the goddess herself, and had a butterfly for a face. Its unearthly pulsing matched the beating that careened across the creature’s vision. The goddess placed it inside the creature’s body, and the world around it shifted, realigned itself, set a new destination.

The color in her body returned. The world faded back from the white and she was atop the pyramid again. The changed being stood and tried to make sense of things, felt the contents of her mind for things that had always been there and found new things instead, blunt things, open and accepting things, but also determined and defiant, an adamant whip to be wielded by holy hands.

The goddess stepped back, and the god came to the fore. Beneath his loincloth rose a promising shaft, thick and long beneath its ornate covering, and his scent in the now-still air suddenly stung at the changed one’s nostrils. He spoke, in a deep, musical tone drenched in grandeur, “Thrun-ilath jukuloh,” and his eyes blazed yellow at her.

The new creature instinctively understood what was to happen and rose to her feet of her own accord, turning away from the god and planting her legs apart with solemn purpose. Her sisters were arranged in a semi-circle around her, urging her on, chanting ”Thrun-ilath nai-jukuloh, thrun-ilath nai-jukuloh,“ repeatedly, monotonously, but with rising intensity, their hips swaying in time with the words. Their new sister’s own mouth began to silently follow their words. The goddess watched them with pulsing green eyes. The new being felt her own hips begin to sway with the ordained cadence. Her hands reached down and with a simple motion, her loincloth fell to the stone floor.

She first felt his divine hands reaching up to fondle her breasts beneath their covering, their grasp regal and rhythmic. His chest pressed against the back of her neck, and his tremendous head bent down and kissed it. As his hands moved down her slender, accepting frame, they pulled gently at the bottom edge of the breast-cloth, and it and its supporting chain fell into a loose heap at her feet, undoing in a second what had taken her old self three minutes to accomplish the night before.

His hands, large and commanding, rested upon her waist and firmly stroked her sides, his touch electrifying what remained of her senses. The new drone-woman’s own hands reached back and found his corrugated stomach, and she laid her hands back flat against it in a luxuriant stretch. She found his sides and grasped them with wide, rhythmic kneading motions, then explored downward and found the deity’s tensed ass-cheeks, gripped them and cupped them, needful and ravenous. She pulled them forward towards her and her fulfillment, as the chant of her sisters, sounding together as a single group-voice, deafened her. Hesitant, she loose her grip upon the god’s buttocks, her longing fingertips tracing along his skin as they drew away, tensed her thighs and bent forward. She braced herself for the coming oblivion.

Naked except for her mask and remaining ornamentation, presented and bared thusly for her godly possessor, a tiny portion of Silvia remaining within the glorious drone-woman came into awareness, and realized what was happening. She did not quite approve of the proceedings, but she was powerless against the overwhelming emotions, the ruling radiance of her divine consort, and the commanding chant of her thrun-sisters, and was soaked deeply in those compulsions. But still it was aware, and experienced the god clasping his hands upon her flanks and taking her down to the stone floor, bending her firmly onto all fours, and placing himself over and behind her. She received the full magnificent brunt of his cock as it thrust into her, she caught and was shaken by the consuming pounding locomotion of his loins as they drove his shaft through her, then she herself melted into his overwhelming rhythm and became a vessel for his command, she herself reached orgasm over and over again as the seconds passed like minutes, as the minutes passed like hours, as the driving chants of the other drone-girls urged her on, until she herself became a mere extension of the gods, of the same material as they, only of infinitely lesser scale, all frailty and indecision burned away.

At last the god withdrew from her, left her a crumpled pile on the stone, much like her discarded garments. The god withdrew, and the goddess returned and ministered to her. She spoke but one more word, to her, quiet and tender, of infinite mercy: “Unuluun.” The world around the newborn drone faded to absolute black, and she knew no more.

When the creature awoke she was back in her bunk. The island and its enveloping sea were the shimmering blue and gray of night, and the other thrun-ulath were in their bunks, their faces fastened for the night. She felt around the inside of her mind and discovered a lot of things were missing. No, not missing, but covered over with stuff like sticky cement, a glue of the mind that filled all cracks, epoxy of the soul. She tried to remember her name but nothing came of it. She tried thinking of some means she could use to identify herself, and the only things that came forth were “002-200F-R” and ”Thrun-el.

Who am I? Thrun-el. What am I? Thrun-ulath. Who are we? Thrun-dath. Who where they? Nai-iloln im Nai-ilath.

Before she could go any farther, the word ”Unuluun“ appeared in the center of her vision, and her new world vanished until morning, while swirling patterns taught her still more, increasing the distance between her and all she had been.