The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Embrace of the Goddess

Chapter 3: The Cracks

“I have nothing to report, Commander.”

“Nothing?” asked Orilana. She arched an eyebrow and turned to Iriel as though to ask, “can you believe this?”

“Nothing, Commander,” said Prim. She stood before Orilana, her feet close together, her hands behind her back, her chin up, and her eyes darting between the two women in charge of her.

“People are missing.”

“It seems from the evidence that they left.”


“Left, Commander.”

“You’re telling me,” said Iriel, “that people that are sworn to the Abbey, that have dedicated their lives to the goddess and her cause, have suddenly abandoned their vows?” Orilana circled around her subordinate. “That they just got up and decided it wasn’t worth it anymore?”

“After interviews and investigating the physical evidence, that’s what it looks like, High Priestess.” Prim smirked but quickly hid it when Orilana stepped in front of her.

“I find that hard to believe,” said Orilana.

“I’ve sent word to their families. We’re waiting to hear back. I’ll follow up from there.”

“Do so.”

“Yes, Commander.”

The three women waited in silence. Orilana kept circling, Iriel tapped her finger on her desk, eager for the conversation to be over, and Prim still smirked boldly and dangerously, flirting with disaster.

“Are you feeling well?” asked Orilana.


“Your hair, you’ve changed it?”

Prim smiled wider, but not enough to show her fangs. “Yes, Commander.”


“Because it pleases me to do so.”

“Why does it please you?”


Orilana stopped circling. “What made you want to do that?”

“To be pleased with my looks?”

“Yes. Vanity. Where did you acquire this vanity?”

Iriel cleared her throat softly and said, “It is not vanity to want confidence in one’s appearance.”

“In an Aasimar?” asked Orilana. She turned back to Prim. “Where is your devotion to Azora? Where is your commitment to the goddess?”

“Not everyone sacrifices their beauty on the altar of obligation,” snapped Prim.

Orilana froze. Her eyes darted to Iriel, but the Elf had to suppress a smile, biting the inside of her cheek. While it wasn’t true that Orilana was ugly, it was true that she could be one of the rare beauties of her generation if she took more interest in her appearance. Kohl and a few hundred brush strokes would go a long way to making her more … appetizing. Iriel had always been jealous of her friend’s beauty, but now Orilana looked tired. She needed a warm bath with Iriel and Zara, a long soak with Iriel carefully washing her skin, kissing her neck—

“Iriel?” snapped Orilana. Iriel looked up, taking in the room again. Orilana was still standing between them, her hands on her hips. Iriel expected Prim to look chastened, to at least pretend to be contrite, but her little vampire was smiling, almost showing fang to her superior officer. She was pushing it. Iriel would have to put her back in line soon.


“Are you going to let her speak to me that way?”

Iriel sighed. “Prim, if you could please—”

“What?” Prim rolled her eyes and sighed. “She’s giving me shit because of my hair, and I’m the one in trouble? At least I’m not being petty and—”

“Out!” roared Orilana. The silver glow of her magic wrapped around Prim, and though Prim’s face showed disgust and rebellion, her body obeyed the command and promptly turned, walked to the door, and left Iriel’s office.

Iriel smiled, finding it almost impossible not to laugh.

Then Orilana turned back at her, her chest heaving, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed. Iriel’s smile faded immediately.

“Can you believe her?!” sighed Orilana. She collapsed into the chair in front of Iriel, slumping down as the weight of her position faded from her shoulders.

“No,” said Iriel, hoping she sounded believable and comforting and consoling and surprised all at once. “What’s gotten into her?”

“I know, right?” Orilana ran her hand through her hair, neither remembering that she was wearing gauntlets nor that her hair was in a braid. She pulled her hand away, but it was snatched on her wild hair. She looked at it and roared with frustration. “Shoot. Help?”

Iriel laughed and got up, carefully untangling her friend’s hair from her armor. “Not that I’m saying she’s right,” she said as she worked, “because she was totally out of line, but—”

“I could afford to brush my hair more,” said Orilana. “Yes.”

“You’d look cute. Here.” Iriel undid Orilana’s braid and quickly ran her hands through it. Then, she darted to her quarters, attached to her office, and grabbed her brush. She brought it back and began to run it through Orilana’s hair. There were more than a few knots, and Orilana hissed when Iriel pulled on it, but soon the only sound in the room was the pleasant cadence of hair brushing and Orilana’s soft sighs.

“You know,” said Orilana after a long pause, “no one’s brushed my hair since I was a girl.”



“My sisters and I still brush each other’s hair when we’re together.”

“That’s nice.”

Iriel smiled. “It really is. It’s a nice way to help a friend, and it’s soothing.”

“Well, the ripping is less soothing,” hissed Orilana as the brush snagged another knot.

“Let me brush it tomorrow and the day after. It’ll feel like heaven soon.”

“Really?” asked Orilana. She turned around and looked into Iriel’s eyes.

Iriel smiled kindly. “Really. I miss it, you know? It’s nice to spend time with someone you love, taking care of them and letting them take care of you.” She reached a hand out for Orilana’s shoulder, letting her fingers lie carefully on her friend’s neck. For a moment, she thought about sending her power over Orilana’s skin, of pulling her friend towards her, towards darkness. Maybe Orilana was too pure to be tempted, but Iriel could test that. She could push the limits of her power.

“Maybe,” said Orilana. Then after another moment, “That would be nice.”

Iriel pulled her fingers away. Not now. Not yet. “It’s a date?” asked Iriel.

Orilana laughed. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

“Good. How do you want me to put this up?”

Orilana hesitated. “Just one bun?”

“Just one bun? As opposed to …?”

Orilana sighed. “I think the double is cute. But it doesn’t exactly scream authority, you know?”

“Your armor screams authority. Let the hair be cute.”

“You sure?”

“The sword,” said Iriel. “The sword helps with the whole authority thing.”

Orilana laughed.

“If you want to be cute, be cute.” Iriel started putting up the double bun without Orilana’s approval. “I am in full support of cuteness.”

Orilana laughed some more. When Iriel was done, she took her friend and showed her the reflection. Orilana’s rich tan skin was offset by her cornflower blonde hair. She was a warrior, thick with muscle and strength. She looked immovable. But now, with her hair up, there was a part of her that looked approachable, that looked delicate. Iriel smiled from behind her friend’s reflection. She couldn’t bring Orilana to her goddess, not yet. Prim was one thing: Prim was easy. But she didn’t want to see what monster Orilana became. She wanted her friend as she was, like this, but in her arms, will all the armor between them cast aside.

“So much authority,” said Iriel, turning her friend from side to side. Orilana blushed. “And cute too,” she added. “Cute authority.”

Orilana laughed and stepped towards the window. She looked up and caught sight of the sun. “What time is it?” she asked, sounding panicked.

“Almost noon?” Iriel moved to her desk and lazily sat down. Orilana was about to be all business.

“Shoot, I need to go soon.”


“We still need to talk about Prim and her report.”

“What about it?” Iriel gestured for Orilana to sit, and her friend obeyed.

“You’re not concerned?”

Iriel shrugged. “So far she’s right. There isn’t any physical evidence of anything sinister. They just left.”

“How often have people the Abbey of their own free will? Ever?”

“You make it sound like a prison.”

“How often?”

“It’s rare.”

“So now we have several cases of debauchery and several paladins decide to leave, which almost never happens? You think that’s a coincidence?”

“What are you proposing happened?”

“We both know what rests beneath us.”

Iriel clenched her first. “It’s sealed. We both checked.”

“I know.” Orilana deflated. “I just don’t—”

“You’d rather believe a dark goddess is slowly corrupting us rather than believe people are losing faith.” Iriel smiled kindly. She made her voice as matronly as possible. “And that is why your faith is so beautiful to me. You believe absolutely that Azora is good, that she is blameless, that no one in their right mind would ever step away from her. But sometimes people do. It’s sad, but it’s true. Sometimes they want something else, maybe not something more or something better, but something else.”

Orilana looked down. She nodded her head slowly and then stood to go. “Thank you, Iriel.”

Iriel smirked. “Not High Priestess?”

Orilana smiled. “Today I needed a friend.”

“She’s here anytime. Don’t let the pageantry fool you.”

Orilana nodded. “Tomorrow? For Hair?”

Iriel beamed. “Tomorrow for hair.”

Orilana headed towards the door, then stopped and turned around. “Iriel?”


“Thank you.”


Orilana looked down at the floor, shuffling her feet a bit. “Well, for the hair and the compliment, but just … I suppose I was freaking out a tad?”


“Prim and all the disappearances.”

“I get it.”

“Right, but it’s just … I wasn’t just worried about them or the goddess or the Abbey.”

Iriel cocked her head. “Then what?”

“Well, I was worried about you.”


“Yeah.” Orilana stepped closer. “You look paler, and your hair.”

Iriel reached up and ran her hand through her dark hair. It was auburn now, almost maroon. Her glossy copper shine was gone along with the rich gold of her skin. “My hair?” she asked.

“Yeah, it’s just … like Prim and …”

“You think we’re all going to—”

“No!” Orilana stepped closer, her eyes panicked. “No, never. I just—”

Iriel stepped forward and took Orilana’s hand. “It’s okay. Worry is natural. It’s just … “Iriel stroked her thumb over Orilana’s gauntlet. Once again, the temptation to send a burst of magic through Orilana’s body seized her. It would make the magic that compelled Prim to leave look like a spark compared to a bonfire. She could have her friend whimpering and moaning, on her knees with her hands between her legs in a heartbeat.

But that felt so … wrong. Iriel couldn’t figure out why. Maybe she needed more time with Maloth, more time worshipping her own goddess and getting the stink of Azora off her.

“May I speak to you as your High Priestess and not your friend for a moment?”

Orilana nodded.

“Turn to your faith,” said Iriel after a long pause. Both women looked at their hands, but Iriel slowly pulled her own away, easing her own temptation. “Azora tells us that the world is not against us. There are forces bringing us together, uniting us in sisterhood. Don’t look for the narrative of a tragedy where there is only coincidence.”

“Yes, High Priestess,” said Orilana. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, go. I have my own prayers to attend to. And please be kind to Prim. Don’t chase her away.”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

Iriel was about to turn and go back to her desk, but Orilana stood, hovering. There was something else she wanted to say, maybe some question to ask, but she never did. Instead, she turned to the door and left Iriel’s office.

Iriel waited for a moment, but then went after Orilana, afraid she’d said something wrong, that she ruined something between them, but when she opened the door, only her guard, a new Paladin named Sariel, waited for her.

“High Priestess?” asked the elven paladin.

Iriel looked down the coiling hallway. She listened for the sound of Orilana’s footsteps but heard nothing. “Rella,” said Iriel. “Send me Rella.”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

“And Zara after that.”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

Iriel closed the door and went to her desk, sitting down to compose herself. She had to be careful, to be stealthy. Obviously Azora was nothing compared to Maloth, but an Abbey full of her followers was nothing to fuck around with. Iriel was powerful, but she couldn’t take down every single one of them if they came after her. They’d swarm her. Besides, she didn’t want to destroy the Abbey. She had a place full of women drawn to worship, looking to serve something greater than themselves, willing to pledge their lives, chastity, and bodies to a celestial being. Who would be better to serve Maloth? Criminals? All liars. Untrustworthy. No. If you want to start a church, you start with the devout, the committed. Here she had the devout in spades. She just needed to adjust them, to tweak them slightly. They needed a little nudge towards Maloth, and then all would be well. It was remarkably simple, and yet it would be highly effective. She had to slowly infiltrate their faith and guide them towards true religion. That was the way to resurrect her goddess, to finally descend into the beautiful nightmare she saw in the mirror.

That’s why Prim was a problem. Almost no one in the Abbey is more devout or zealous than Orilana. Upsetting her and drawing her attention was a certain way to threaten their entire movement. If Prim wasn’t more circumspect, there’d be no way to convert Orilana, not yet. They’d have to kill the commander and that was … contrary to Iriel’s desires.

Her fingers drummed against her desk. She couldn’t quite place it. Maloth had made so many things clear. For example, Sariel outside was not beautiful but there were roles for the ugly in Maloth’s paradise. She’d be beautiful in chains, maybe in a tight hood, masking her ugliness. She could serve with her tongue, with her body as a plaything. She could be left tied up for anyone who wanted to abuse her flesh. Yes. Iriel didn’t just find that appealing. She found that absolutely intoxicating. Weeks ago, Sariel was just a guard to her. Now, even if she wasn’t a beauty, she was an object of lust, property to be used for Maloth’s pleasure. For Iriel’s pleasure. The High Priestess found herself wanting to dominate, to bend, to break. Sariel could be delicious, even if she wasn’t attractive.

Yet she couldn’t muster the same feelings for Orilana. She didn’t want to gag and fuck her best friend. She didn’t want to humiliate or degrade her. She couldn’t stand the thought of Orilana becoming cruel and dark like her or Prim. There was something safe about the commander, something whole that Iriel wanted to preserve. Something in brushing her hair, in grabbing her hand. Something new like all of Iriel’s cravings but still different. Something new in her that didn’t come from Maloth at all.

There was a knock on the door. “Enter,” said Iriel, stirring from her inner mind. The door opened slowly, and Rella entered. Iriel sighed at the sight of her most zealous acolyte. She was still covered head-to-toe in her thick white veil that covered everything except for her eyes. The veil was too small, hugging the woman’s curves tightly, but they never betrayed her intended modesty entirely. They had a comical effect, making it appear as though Rella was about to burst through the veil at any moment. Iriel smiled at the thought. She’d like to see that.

“You asked to see me, High Priestess?” she asked.


Rella stood by the door, hesitating. “Uh … um.” She bowed suddenly. “Blessed Dawn, Your Eminence.”

“Right,” said Iriel. “Sit.”

Rella straightened but froze, not moving closer to the seats in front of Iriel’s desk. “Your Eminence?”

“Sit,” said Iriel. Rella didn’t move. “As in, take a seat? As in sit and bend the body, taking a reclining posture. Sit as in the imperative form of ‘Rella is about to sit before her High Priestess?’” Rella didn’t move. “Sit as in ‘you need to move right now, or I’ll have you scrubbing toilets for the next year.’”

Rella moved quickly as Iriel’s tone sharpened. She collapsed in the seat in front of her High Priestess and muttered “Blessed Dawn.”

“Blessed Dawn,” replied Iriel. Is that what this was about? Iriel sighed. “Have you completed your Penance?”

“Yes.” Rella bowed her head, keeping her hands clasped between her legs.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No, Your Eminence. I learned my lesson.”

“Shame,” said Iriel. Something in her wanted to break the girl. Not just to fuck her, but to drive her perhaps to the brink of insanity. How close could she draw Rella to the fire before the zealous acolyte begged to have the fire shoved down her throat? Iriel smiled at the thought. It was a hot image.

“Shame?” asked Rella.

“I’d hoped you’d enjoy the punishment.”

“Enjoy it?”

“It brings you closer to the goddess. Even the pain is a form of transcendence. Perhaps you should go back until you learn pleasure from it.”

“I-I-I-If you wish it, Your E-m-m-m-m-minence.”

Iriel smiled. “Good girl, but no. Not yet. Step out of line again, and perhaps I’ll send you there long enough to reach that point, but for now, you seem quite obedient. Is that right?”

“Y-y-yes, Your Eminence.”

“I need you to do something for me, and this will be a test for you, a test of your obedience. Let’s see if you learned the proper lessons from your Penance, yes?”

Rella nodded quickly.

“Yes, acolyte?”

“Yes, Your Eminence!” she squeaked.

“Good girl.” Iriel allowed herself a small laugh. For so long, Rella treated her like she was the goddess Azora herself, taking everything Iriel said as new scripture. Well, if she was going to be a blasphemer in her heart, might as well make her one in body and deed, right? “Do you want to know what the task is?”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

Iriel’s smile widened. “Then beg for it.” She clenched her thighs as she heard the words escape her lips.


Iriel let the magic build on her chest. “Beg,” she commanded, and a similar spell Orilana had used on Prim burst from her like dark purple smoke, wrapping around Rella. The young woman didn’t seem shocked by it but sat still as the smoke entered her body.

“Please, Your Eminence.”

“Please what?”

“Please tell me what the task is.”

“What task?”

Rella bounced up and down in her seat. “The test! You said it was a test. Please. Oh please. Please tell me. Please give me a test. Test me, Your Eminence. Please.”

Iriel looked at her nails, trying to appear bored, but her body was thrumming. This was almost as good as brushing Orilana’s hair, almost the same tingle of holding her hand. But it was different. It was thicker, making everything fuzzy. Iriel’s vision blurred a bit, and for a moment she thought of a new command: strip. She could have Rella naked and blathering, crawling under her desk and begging to lick Iriel’s cunt in just a moment. Hell, she might not even need magic for it. What kind of depraved slut thinks someone getting a glimpse of her ankles will give them impure thoughts about her? Only someone that has impure thoughts, right? Only someone aching to be naughty and needing a veil to keep them in check, right?

“What will you give me?” she asked, pretending to yawn.

“Anything,” said Rella. She grabbed at her veil, clawing at it. “Please. Oh please. I want to prove myself. Please. Give me a test. Test me, goddess. Test me.”

Iriel’s eyes flickered up. “Goddess?”

Rella sank in her seat, her body going still. “What?”

“Did you just call me goddess?”


“No, what?” Iriel’s voice was low, a growl, a warning.

“No, Your Eminence.”

“Not your goddess?”


Iriel waited, watching Rella. She let the silence build around them, let it grow in weight and size, let it get just heavy enough to threaten to crush her little acolyte. Rella squirmed, trying to straighten out her veil without standing up. She kept her eyes away from Iriel, but every moment or so they darted up and then darted away. She was scared but still curious.

“You want a test?”

Rella mumbled something.

“What? Speak up.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“Good.” Iriel slid parchment and quill to Rella. “Write this down.” Rella took up the quill and moved her chair closer to the desk, readying herself to write. “I want you to investigate everything you can about Maloth. Not just what is known or common knowledge. I want you to treat it as historical research, not theological.”

Rella looked up, her hand and quill still hovering above the parchment. “Did you just say—”

“Maloth. Get used to saying it, you’re going to say it more often.”

“The Dark One?”

Iriel sighed and rolled her eyes. “Say Maloth three times, right now.”

Rella hesitated.

“Do you want the test or not?”

Rella still hesitated.

Iriel smiled. “Perhaps you can go back to Penance?”

“M-M-Maloth, M-M-Maloth, Maloth,” said Rella. She gulped and her whole head moved with the motion, making her look like a fat white bird.


“Y-yes, Your Eminence.”

“Good. Now I want to know everything about her. Her powers, her effects, how people worshipped her, how she corrupted people, etc.”

Rella wrote diligently.

“I don’t just want accounts. I need to know the spells. The incantations, the components. Everything. No detail is too small or too forbidden.” Iriel snapped her fingers and gold filigree writing appeared on another blank piece of parchment. “This will make sure anyone who bothers you will go away. It will open doors to restricted sections, magics, and knowledge. Understood?”

Rella stopped writing and took the new parchment, her pass to intellectual freedom. “Yes, Your Eminence.” She said it like a prayer, and Iriel didn’t suppress her smile.

“Good. Any questions?”

“May I ask why?” whispered Rella.

The lie came naturally and quickly to Iriel. “We’ve had some trouble in the Abbey. People leaving, some cases of debauchery, and —” Rella gasped at the mention of the sin of debauchery. Iriel rolled her eyes. “There is a rumor that there may be a new cult to Maloth that is trying to corrupt our acolytes. I need to be armed with knowledge.”

“Do you not fear that uncovering these secrets could expose them to the cult?”


“Or perhaps that exposing these ideas will corrupt the acolytes?”

“Are you worried about yourself, Rella?” Iriel leaned forward, her expression darkening. “Are you worried that you’ll be corrupted?”

“N-n-no, Your Eminence.”

“Then what is your concern?”

“These magics are forbidden for a reason, are they not? We should not resurrect what has been—”

“Remollio,” whispered Iriel, and the spell took effect immediately. Rella dropped the quill, her body slackening and melting into her chair. Once again, dark purple smoke wrapped around the veiled woman and slipped casually down her throat. Rella’s eyes glowed a faint yellow and then retreated to their bright green.

Iriel smiled. This could be it. This was her chance. She could take Rella right now. Her mind was softened. She was already eager to please. She’d taken a Command spell with little-to-no resistance. She didn’t even complain or notice once the spell was gone. She was eager to serve. Iriel could have her strip right now. She could bend her over the desk and fuck her like this. She could have whatever she wanted with this girl and...

No. Not yet. Soon, but not yet. She needed Rella to do research, and if Rella started going around like Prim, out of control and slutty and horny and rude and dark, people would notice. Could she get Prim to put on a veil and pretend to be modest? No. How could she ever hope to convince a turned Rella? How could she convince others that everything was normal if Rella had gone wild?

She would wait. For now.

“Do the research for me,” she whispered. Her words came out of as puffs of smoke and each one floated towards Rella and down the acolyte’s throat. “Work quickly. Tell no one. Let no one discover what you are up to. Commit yourself to this. Dedicate to this.” Iriel bit her lip. She couldn’t resist one more. “And find pain to be pleasurable.” The final words seeped into Rella and the spell ended. The acolyte gasped and sat up.

“I’ll start on this at once, Your Eminence.”

“Good. Go.” Rella stood, grabbed both pieces of parchment and left the quill. Before she got to the door, Iriel said, “Oh Rella?”

Rella froze and turned.

Iriel smiled. “When it’s just us, goddess is fine? Understood?”

Rella bowed, tried to say something, but stuttered too much and left the room in one quick flash. Iriel laughed. She was pushing it. It was too easy. Too fun. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? She had to keep secrets when she wanted a hundred tongues lined up to serve her pussy. She had to work in the dark when she wanted to strut through the Abbey clad in nothing but a whip, breaking each acolyte for Maloth, for herself. Twice today she’d been with two women she couldn’t break. She was getting restless. She was getting hungry.

She stood up and paced around the room. She didn’t clench her thighs anymore and casually rubbed at her clit through her clothes as she walked. She was soaked and hot and hungry and had no one, absolutely no one to take it out on. She went to her bedroom, intending to masturbate, but stopped when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It’s true she was paler. Her hair was darker. But she was nothing like the form Maloth had shown her. She was nothing like the true beast of darkness and lust that she craved to become.

She stepped forward and peeled off her robe. She had abandoned undergarments now. Soon she planned for this to be true throughout the Abbey. But instead of giving the tongues of her followers quick access, it just gave her frustration. No tongues were offering today, and yet she could have power over any one of them.

“Show me,” she whispered at the mirror. “Show me what I will become.”

What I will make you, hissed back Maloth, but as she spoke, the image in the mirror wobbled and changed. Then, standing before her, was her future self, her true self: cloven feet, curved horns, pale purple skin, black hair, pale pink eyes, and a pointed tail. She was naked and glorious, her body covered in piercings connected by tiny chains.

She ran her hands over her body, and she could almost feel — she swore she did feel — the chains. She felt the piercings in her nipples, small circles that held the chains up. She ran her hands over her nipples, and it seemed like lightning leapt through her body. She arched her back and moaned. Holy shit. She ran her fingers over it again. Her knees buckled, and she lost her balance. Instead of catching herself, she rubbed her nipples more, collapsing to her knees and moaning, running small circles over her sensitive breasts. It was magic. Not the magic of heaven, but the sweet pleasure of hell.

She needed this to be real. The horns and hooves and tail she couldn’t rush — Maloth would bless her with those when she earned it — but the piercings? She could go into town and get pierced today. People may talk. They may whisper about the High Priestess of the Abbey getting her nipples pierced, but she’d destroy them first. She’d incinerate the town or maybe enslave each and every one. She could do it. They didn’t know magic. She could have them all bowing before her pierced breasts, begging to suckle on them and—

More, hissed Maloth. Bring me more.

“More what?” moaned Iriel. She writhed on the floor. The mirror was a memory, but the image was affixed to her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her true self, her final self. She would become that. She would do whatever she needed to become that.

More worshippers. They give me power. Power gives you your fantasies.

“Yes, Goddess,” moaned Iriel. “Oh, yes, Goddess. I’ll bring you more. I’ll bring you anything. Just give me this. Give me this body. Give me this power. Give me this—”

“High Priestess?” came a soft voice from the door.

Iriel froze, but she didn’t pull her hands away from her nipples. She wouldn’t dare. “Zara?”

“Yes, High Priestess. You called for me?”

Iriel smiled. “Yes.” She sat up, slowly taking her hands away from her own body. “Prepare my bath.”

“Yes, High Priestess.”

The pale blue watery form, still covered in her simple white dress, drifted easily to the tub, and began to fill it. She drew the water straight from herself, and a typically normal act for the Abbey became erotic to Iriel instantly. How long had she been bathing in Zara’s fluids? Is everyone bathing in naiad? Honestly, that’s kind of hot.

Iriel bit her lip but didn’t put much effort in stifling her moan as Zara filled the tub and began to heat it. The naiad either didn’t notice or didn’t care that Iriel was naked, that she’d been found touching herself, or that she was a whimpering mess of lust. Naiads were slow, closer to a force of nature than a personality. There was no one for her to report to. She served the goddess. She served the Abbey. She served Iriel.

“The water is ready, High Priestess,” said Zara in her soft, monotone voice. There was always a bit of a whisper to it, a slight discordance like running water.

“I need you to bathe me,” said Iriel as she stepped into the pool.

“Yes, High Priestess.”

Iriel sighed. Rella would have been more fun. The blushing and over-correction was half the fun. Zara was a servant. She was nothing. It was all too easy with her. Zara climbed into the tub with one smooth motion and slid behind Iriel. Her hands were already lathered with soap, and she went to work massaging Iriel’s neck and shoulders.

The High Priestess sighed as the steamy water and soft, almost liquid hands of the naiad massaged her body, loosening her up. She thought the invasion of Maloth into her soul had made her relax more, but apparently, she was still tense, still nervous. She could use a massage like this every day.

Zara’s hands went over Iriel’s shoulders and over her collarbone, going down and quickly cleaning Iriel’s breasts. Iriel moaned from it, clenching tightly and arching her back.

“Did I hurt you, High Priestess?”

“No,” whispered Iriel. “It feels good. Go slower.” Zara obeyed, drawing small circles over the breasts. “A little firmer,” said Iriel, and Zara obeyed. “The nipple. It’s filthy. Clean my nipples.” Again Zara obeyed, washing Iriel’s nipples, running her tender skin over it again and again. Iriel flinched; she flailed. The pleasure was too much. She splashed water out of the tub, but Zara didn’t comment or shame. She was simple, and this was her place.

“Hold me in place,” commanded Iriel, and Zara obeyed. The tub itself almost thickened, and though Iriel wanted to thrash while Zara “cleaned” her, the tub wouldn’t let her. It was too viscous, too strong for her to splash around anymore.

“Clean my pussy,” moaned Iriel, and Zara obeyed. The water around her thickened and slid into her pussy, cleaning it quickly and efficiently. Iriel squeaked as the thickening water fucked her, but it was over almost as soon as it started.

“Again,” ordered Iriel.

Zara obeyed.

“Again,” moaned Iriel.

Zara obeyed.


Zara obeyed.

Over and over Iriel commanded and Zara obeyed. Zara was fucking her, thrusting the viscous tendrils or water into Iriel repeatedly, quickly, stoically. Iriel moaned, trying to thrash in the water, trying to let loose in a sea of pleasure, but the water held her. Zara held her. She was immobile except for the pleasure. She was close. She was so close. A long day of resisting temptation, of not bending Orilana to her will, of not bending Rella over her desk, all of it was about to fade away. She just needed to cum. Dear goddess, she needed to cum.

“Harder,” she growled.

Zara gave the same speed, the same efficiency, the same pace. There was no enthusiasm. No energy. Nothing for Iriel to feed off of, nothing to sacrifice to Maloth.

Worshippers, she heard the whisper. More.

“Faster,” grunted Iriel. Zara did her best to obey, but she wasn’t fucking Iriel. She was cleaning her. It was clinical, careful, gentle.

It was boring.

“Fuck me,” she growled. “Fuck me hard.”

Zara’s pace slowed down and came to a stop. “High Priestess?” she asked. Her voice was the same tone, the same empty and blank expression.

Iriel’s chest heaved. She was close. She was so goddamn close. “Zara,” she said carefully, “I want you to fuck me hard. Use your tendril or tentacle or whatever the fuck it is. Make it thick and slide it into my pussy hard. Then repeat that quickly, pounding me hard until I orgasm.”

“High Priestess?” whispered Zara with the same inflection as before.

Iriel sighed. Nymphs don’t have a nervous system or personality. They’re manifestations of nature. If tamed, they obey. If untamed, they float around like leaves on a breeze with as much intention and character as said breeze.

Iriel smiled. Zara didn’t need to stay that way. Prim went from an Aasimar to a beast that fed on flesh and blood. What could she do to a nymph? What would Maloth do with her? If the goddess wanted more worshippers, who was Iriel to deny her?

“Zara,” she said. “Kiss me.”

Zara hesitated.

“I need air,” lied Iriel. “Resuscitate me.”

Slowly, Zara wrapped her head over and around Iriel’s shoulder. Iriel caught a glimpse of Zara’s swirling and changing blue and green eyes before the naiad leaned forward, her lips spread, and kissed Iriel.

“Bless her goddess,” prayed Iriel, and as their lips touched, black smoke poured out if Iriel’s throat, forcing itself down Zara’s throat. The naiad stumbled back, but the smoke followed her, creating a long tendril extending and connecting the two women. Zara stumbled into the wall and the smoke forced itself into her. She writhed and tried to gasp, but none of it mattered. There was no escape. She was both a sacrifice to Maloth and a future acolyte. But in order to worship, one needed a mind. Iriel would bless the beautiful naiad. She would bless all the nymphs and tip the scales in the Abbey in her favor.

Iriel watched as Zara’s lips turned black first. Spreading from there, like black veins, the smoke spread all over the naiad’s body. Zara scrambled, pushing back on her hands and feet, but she was stuck between a wall and a goddess, and Maloth was hungry, almost as hungry as Iriel. Too long had they been deprived.

The black spread all over Zara, but when it reached her forehead, the naiad finally went limp. Iriel forced her hand through the thick water — almost gel now — that held her. She lifted her hands, and slowly Zara’s limp body floated up. Iriel curled her fingers, and Zara’s body floated closer to her.

“I’ve never made a mind before,” whispered Iriel. With the naiad limp, the water around Iriel thinned. She slid her free hand between her legs and pressed her fingers against her clit, drawing small circles over the flesh. Zara’s body grew closer, and Iriel twisted her fingers, crafting a consciousness out of nothing, out of nature, out of a desire to flow and fill, to float and run. Zara was once part of a river, a waterfall. She was never meant to be trapped. She was meant to run and be free.

“I’ll make you free,” whispered Iriel. “Though you’ll have to forgive my clumsiness. I don’t have a mind for details, and I’m overly concentrated on …” She gasped and sank deeper into the water, “on certain aspects of your personality.”

Zara’s skin blackened, going from grey to charcoal to black to midnight. Her skin drank in color, becoming the absence of color. The color around her swirled as the liquid nature of her being went from water to ink to oil. Little patches of color glistened as the light caught them, but her flesh drank in light, stealing it from the room. The dress falls away from her flesh as it molds to Iriel’s new depraved preferences: exaggerated curves and thin lines. A thin waist. Thin arms. Thin legs. But plump hips. Spilling breasts. She became impossible, spineless and breathless, something no elf or human could aspire to be, but something a naiad could be. In fact, each nymph in the Abbey could be like this. And why not? If they were going to serve, they should serve the way Maloth likes.

Worshipers, hissed Maloth.

“Yesss,” moaned Iriel. “Worshipers.”

Zara’s eyes opened, and they were thin slits of white against the black oil of her being. “Mistressss,” she hissed.

“I need a bath,” said Iriel. “You know what that means.”

“Yessss.” Zara stepped forward, each movement sultry and stretched, each milked for her oozing sensuality. Zara sank her hands into the tub, going up to her forearms. The pool of water turned black, spreading from Zara’s corruption, transforming into inky like the new nymph. Iriel sighed as it washed over her skin. It was cool and stinging, but it made her muscles relax and tingle.

“You know what you were designed to do?” asked Iriel.

“To serve?”

Iriel laughed. “Of course. But I don’t want you to fight your nature. You were designed to fill cracks, to flow.”

Zara’s smile widened revealing rows of sharp teeth and a tongue too long for her mouth. “Yessss, Mistressss.”

“Then go,” said Iriel. “Flow and fill the cracks.”

Iriel gasped as the black ink that surrounded rushed inside her, filling her pussy, her ass, holding her in place and pulsing into her, thrusting inside her. “Yes!” she squeaked. “Fuck me, Zara. Fuck me!”

Zara obeyed, fucking her mistress, and as she brought Iriel to orgasm again and again, the black ink stained the High Priestess’s skin, bringing it from a pale white to a lavender purple, just like her vision in the mirror. And as she came for the fourth time, her body stretched, immobile, and splayed for Zara to fill and service, her fingers dug into the tub around her, and she cried out in pleasure, her fingernails extended and curved, forming perfect onyx claws.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.