Wayne went with Debbie to see the girl get whipped. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see it. A mixture of intrigue and dread colored his thoughts. He was sure it would be real, for he had never entertained any suspicion of trickery where the Sisterhood was concerned. So he was going to see a real girl get really whipped and she would really yell from real pain. He accepted that, but his gut wasn't quite ready to digest it. Variations of the same question kept knocking on his mind. Why, why? It was unsettling. 

Why did this girl want to get whipped? Obviously it was a part of a sexual episode they would get to watch. As far as he knew, in the Sisterhood sex and whipping were always associated, they always went together. So that question would Bil down to why sex, which was the number one stupid question of all time. 
 

All right, why would the dude want to beat her? No doubt he got his jollies that way. Men who could stand to do that to a girl were to be found in town. The Sisters in the Temple sold their ass to someone. Even the dudes out here at the show could get talked into using the whip, after they learned it was the only way they could get a piece of that good- looking stuff the Sisters always paraded around. 

So maybe the girl did it because of the strict rules of her sect, maybe it was the only way she could have sex is by being beaten. Perhaps the dude did it because he could stand doing it, to get some pussy. Why were they doing it outside in public? Why were they making a ceremony out of a shameful secret act? Well, in fact it was quite a hike through the woods from the stage to this clearing. Wayne could barely hear the band from here. It wasn't exactly stuck in people's faces. 
 

Wayne held Debbie back for a second. In the dimness just ahead of them was a tall Sister blocking the path to the lighted platform beyond. She directed them toward the side, from which they could still see the platform well enough, though they were separated from the knot of Sisters gathering directly in front of it. Shunted aside, Wayne clung tightly to Debbie with his arm. The tall Sister directing traffic, who was obviously a guard, was wearing a sword belt and scabbard. In her hand was coiled a businesslike whip, not the short stiff whip of the Sisterhood's eroticism, but a long rawhide mule-skinner's whip, the ideal accessory for crowd control. Her nudity completely failed to excite lustful images, rather underscored the hazards of remaining in this individual's vicinity. Wayne edged Debbie nearer the platform, to give the aloof guard more space to herself. 
 

The festival goers were chattering quietly to one another. There were a couple other males there, making Wayne feel more at ease. Debbie evaporated from his encircling arm, sidling over to talk to some girls she evidently recognized. Wayne went over to a dude who looked almost familiar. 
 

"Hey, man," he said. "What's up here? Do they do this shit here every night?" 
 

"Pretty much, yeah," the guy answered. "This your first time down here?" 
 

"Yeah," said Wayne. "Debbie and I," he pointed at her, "We just got to the Festival a couple days ago. We really dig it, but there's a lot of things about it that are kind of weird." 
 

"Yeah, you might say that. Anything that's put on by the Sisterhood is going to be weird. I got one rolled, you got a light?" 
 

"Sure. My name's Wayne. Debbie's over there like I said." 
 

"I'm Jim, or else Moondog. Let me see that lighter." 
 

Wayne asked, "So what's up? The girl that's going to be whipped, is she being punished for something?" 
 

"Oh, hell no," Jim said. "I don't think the Sisterhood ever uses whipping for a punishment. Don't know if they even believe in punishment as such. For them, getting whipped and fucked in public is more like an honor. It means somebody likes your style so much they're willing to show you off." 
 

"We'll get to watch her get fucked too?" 
 

"Oh yeah. For the Sisters, whipping and fucking are just about inseparable." 
 

"I don't know," said Wayne. "I once watched a voodoo priest kill a chicken. To me, this is like that. I might want to see it once, just to know it's real. After that I don't think I would want to watch it again." 
 

Jim responded, "Different people have different kinds of religions. A Jew or Muslim probably thinks it's distasteful to watch people eat wafers that turned into meat and drink wine that changed to blood. Here there's real sex, and you can smoke pot while you watch. Is that roach out? Give it here." 
 

"Look, here comes somebody. Is that her, the girl in front? Man, what a fox! Check out that stuff, would you?" 
 

She was grinning and talking to a girl behind her. Next to her walked a dude with a loop of rope dangling negligently from her slave collar, but his arm rested fondly around her waist. The Sisters in front of the platform started clapping and cheering, joined in a few seconds by the group of festival goers around the side. A girl whispered in Jim's ear. 
 

He leaned over and muttered to Wayne, "We're in luck. That guy is some kind of a wheel in the Sisterhood. They call him the Consort of the Goddess. Some kind of expert at this. He'll show us how it's supposed to be done." 
 

The expert looked like the lead guitar player in Wayne's favorite band. He led the girl, who was slim, exquisite and assured, across the platform to stand under a timber frame. There he gathered her gently in his arms and kissed her mouth, to the enthusiastic approval of the Sisters. In the hush which followed he roped her wrists to the overhead frame, leaving enough slack so her hands were at shoulder height. Her eyelids had dropped halfway, but she still looked calm. Wayne watched her breasts rise and fall as her breaths got deeper. He let himself sink into fantasy for a second, imagining this sublime girl tied in his bedroom. He forced himself out of this train of thought before it had an effect on his Bdy. Would he hurt her? Of course not. But she was hurting him just by being so beautiful. 
 

Wayne looked over toward the Sisters. The night air tonight was mild at this altitude, and not one among the Sisters wore a single stitch of clothes. He saw a very attractive group of young women. People called them whores, but the ones he saw could be the stock in trade for a modeling agency. Perhaps even a beauty pageant, without many exceptions. As a stable of hookers, this particular group would be worth quite a decent fortune. Debbie looked good, frankly Debbie was great, but at least four or five of these Sisters, if they were considered individually, would qualify as easily the best thing he had ever seen naked. The girl on the platform kissing the whip would certainly count in that number. 

The Consort moved deliberately right in front of her so she could see every move. Wayne saw her eyes tense in a squint as he swung the whip at her defenseless Bdy. The stiff whip slammed into her shaved underarm, where the flesh was tender. After the slap of the first blow, the silence was total. Wayne could hear the faint creak of the ropes on the beam as her arms pulled them tight. Oh, shit, he thought, oh shit. To his embarrassment, he was clutching Jim's shoulder. He looked frantically for Debbie. She wasn't far, but a girl Wayne didn't even know was clinging to her waist. Best to leave her alone. 
 

He watched as the wave of pain ebbed out of her. Her posture straightened, and she gave the Consort a brave smile. "I love you," she said distinctly. Some of the Sisters clapped spontaneously at this bravura. The Consort's lips tightened, but Wayne honestly didn't know if he was smiling or not. Almost lost in the clapping was the slap of the second blow, in the fleshy part of her breast, jolting its mass aside. The girl's face wrinkled in a grimace, but the noise she made didn't come until a full heartbeat later. It was very faint, like a swallowed grunt. The muscles of her belly knotted into ripples like a washboard. Wayne blew out a hard breath in admiration of her physique. 
 

Again he looked over at the nude Sisters. He found that most of them had paired off, squeezing one another in the strength of their emotion. Some were hugging their own breasts, and a few were clutching someone else's. One girl had pulled another's back tightly against her belly, and was openly stroking the other Sister's genitals. It was going to be that kind of night. 
 

Again the Consort struck hard at the unprotected Bdy of the young Sister. This stroke landed full on her nipple. This time again the girl was silent, though Wayne saw her diaphragm convulse to force out her comment. She was holding her breath. Several girls in the audience moaned on her behalf. Her muscles pulled and stretched under her perfect skin as she worked her way through the flood of agony. Wayne realized to his horror that he was perceiving her struggle as erotic. The corded sinews writhing in her exquisite form were working together to turn him on, despite his sympathy with her suffering. He didn't like this part of himself, but now he couldn't deny it was there. He squeezed his thighs on his penis to push the blood out of it, to keep himself from getting an erection. 
 

Oh, no not him! He wasn't one of these people. He hated the Sisterhood for pushing him into this, making him part of a crowd that was enjoying this girl's pain. The next blow came down on the same breast, making it jump and Bbble. Why was he still picking on this tit? Couldn't he see she had lots of other places to hit? The girl whimpered, cut it off in her throat, then stifled a sob. Wayne kneaded his chest under his shirt. He wished he hadn't come. Debbie should have come down here alone. She would have met Jim, and maybe they could have ducked into the bushes for a quickie on the way back. She would have come into his tent all sticky and smelly, but warmed up and ready for him, thanks to Jim. If he had just stayed in his tent, he wouldn't have had to go through all this emotional turmoil. 
 

He looked down at the ground. He heard the loud smack of the whip on the poor girl's flesh. Her throat had opened up some, for she let out a reluctant cry. The Consort was breathing more heavily, he could hear it. Her cry must have encouraged him, for the next blow followed quickly. This time her cry was open, sustained, expressive, but not allowed to trail off to completion, interrupted by her voiced gasp as the lash hit her. At the thump and scuffle of bare feet on the planks, Wayne looked up. 
 

The girl was drumming her feet in the small arc of a desperate dance, irrationally trying to dodge away from his swings. Without moving his feet the Consort had no trouble at all reaching her. He delivered with the grace of a fencer, the deliberation and style of a matador. He was playing this gorgeous creature, working her through her phases one at a time. She threw back her head and howled, her long hair dangling, as he slashed strokes to her thighs. 

Wayne became aware that he was very uncomfortable. He wanted to leave. He edged toward Debbie to let her know. She looked at him. 
 

"Don't go," she whispered. Fine for her to say. If he had that girl's arms around him, as they were around her, he wouldn't want to leave either. Real cute. He hung for a few seconds undecided. That's when the sex started on the platform. That development made it hard even to think of leaving. Debbie smiled at him. The girl on the stage was in a lot better mood too. She was moaning loudly, trying to wind down from her whipping. But his merciless thrusts were not giving her the leisure to catch her breath. 
 

He had grasped her waist and pulled her out toward him. Her arms were stretched up behind her in a straight line with her torso. He Bre much of her weight, for her toes barely touched the platform. The pounding by his pubis jolted her Bdy, sliding her toes as she scrabbled them for purchase on the rough wood. Her cries were pain-free, unforced, sheer exultation. Whatever was wrong a minute ago, this girl was enjoying herself now. Wayne shook his head in disbelief. 
 

The Consort stoked her up until she was deeply committed to his rhythm, vocalizing her need. He stretched her out tight, arching his back away, and slapped the whip down hard on her upper belly. Her yelp was immediate, and spoke more of outrage than pain. Her pussy spasmed reflexively, spitting out the tip of his dick. He said something grimly ironic that Wayne didn't quite catch, and lined up on her anus. Her thighs quivered as she fought the instinct to reject this assault. He grasped her hipbones and pressed himself into her ass. 
 

She was a lot quieter now. Her head was tucked back far between her arms, looking toward Wayne upside down. He saw her flinch as the Consort worked his way deeper into her rectum. Her mouth stayed open. As he pulled his stroke, she uttered a weak whimper. Wayne could read her decision to remain passive, to endure this depradation. For a few slow, moderate strokes, this resolution worked well. He didn't stay moderate. Her Bttom lip was pulled between her teeth. His pushing at the end of the stroke gradually grew more brutal. 
 

Wayne watched in helpless fascination as the pangs began to shoot through her. She would stiffen and cry out the puff of air which was forced from her. Her face was locked in a grimace. The Consort caressed her belly and breasts with his free hand, while his whip hand held up her hips. Wayne didn't feel good about himself. He had an unwanted erection under his jeans. He kept his back to Debbie and her clinging friend. Whatever the girl roped to the whipping frame saw didn't matter. She had enough to think about. 

The Consort pulled out, methodically wiping his phallus on the trembling girl's leg. He helped her upright, murmuring in her ear. He stroked her quivering arms and reached up them to untie her wrists. Wayne felt a bit let down, standing there with a hard on while the two on the platform were evidently finished. Jim was nowhere in sight. Wayne looked back at Debbie. She smiled at him. Weird chick. Over on the platform, they had attained a new position, with a much lower center of gravity. The Consort had tied the girl's wrists to her green slave collar, and had her face down on the planks with her ass in the air. 
 

Green? Wayne could swear her collar had been yellow before, or else orange. No, he distinctly remembered her walking to the platform with a green collar on. During her preliminary whipping it had been bluish, but it had definitely been yellow for most of her torment. The damned thing must change colors. Cool. 
 

The Consort, after arranging the girl's knees to his satisfaction, plugged into her vagina with his phallus. Wayne could see only a tiny speck of her slave collar, the way her hair draped over it, but he watched the green leave and the yellow return to it. As the Consort bumped her butt, the speck became increasingly orange. The smacking sounds of their sex got faster. Wayne's crotch was aching from the way his jeans were binding on his phallus. He reached down and tugged some slack into them, incidentally squeezing his dick to push some of the excess blood from its veins back into his torso. That didn't work, of course. That girl had a great back. The curve of her spine was admirable. 
 

The Consort agreed with Wayne's appreciation of her back. He laid his hand on it to hold her down as he struck her shoulder blades with the whip, one at a time. The girl drew a long, shuddering gasp. He forcibly restrained her reflexive bucks. Holding himself tightly to her ass, he ground around in her pussy, relishing her sloppy luxury. She moaned helplessly in ecstacy. He whipped her savagely. The moans turned to staccato shrieks as she writhed rapidly under his blows. Her voice was muffled slightly by the wood of the platform on which her cheek lay. He took full advantage of her wildly bucking Bdy, modulating her cry with his driving thrusts. When he dropped the whip and pulled at the skin of her back with his fingertips, Wayne knew he was coming. 
 

Amazingly, so was she. Her neck bent so Wayne could see that her collar was now bright red. Her short little yelps were louder than any sound the agony of the whipping had drawn from her. As she shuddered into silence, the Consort was already pulling the knots loose from her wrists, using his teeth. His hands were stroking her Bdy tenderly. The two of them rolled over each other, locked in an embrace, kissing. 
 

Wayne squeezed his face between his hands. This little show had made quite an impression on him. Debbie showed up at his side. 
 

"Let's go," she said. 
 

"Where's your little girlfriend? Don't I get to meet her?" Wayne asked. 

"She had to go. You can meet her tomorrow. Come on, before they turn the lights off for the trail," she insisted. 
 

* * * 
 
 

Cicily saw the nude girl sitting in the performers' lounge pavilion, otherwise empty. Actually she wasn't really nude, not all the way: she was wearing a little gold loincloth, no wider than your hand, plus the belt and collar, all the Sisterhood trappings. Cicily had no way of guessing rank or status or whatever. She had a blue collar, if that meant anything. The girl was young. And unhappy, going by the way she stared into space. Cicily didn't know if she should really be here, but didn't care herself. And the girl didn't care, it looked like it didn't matter where she was. 

"Hello." 

"Howdo." She didn't look up. 
 

"I'm Cicily." 
 

The girl looked up at her and smiled. "Oh, hi. I thought I knew your voice. I caught last night's show. I always like your stuff." 

"Thanks." Cicily was a star. Her band was hot right now. She felt good about that. The girl was cute. Short, with big Bobs, always a sexy combination, but this girl was pretty too. She looked like fun. Daddy always said, thought Cicily, start it up in neutral. She asked, "How do you like your life in the Sisterhood?" 
 

The Sister put her cheeks on her hands. "Well, I've had better days." 

Cicily laughed. "I give up. So tell me, Sister. How did your day go today?" She sat, not too far away, and rested the most casual fingers on the Sister's bare back. Ah, decadence. Back on the Bulevard, eyebrows would start going up about now. Pretty girl, but she could lose a few pounds. She had a little roll, but most of that was the way she sat. 
 

"They just told me I have to lose some weight." 
 

"What? Stand up!" Cicily was genuinely shocked. This was not a fat girl, not even a stocky girl. Maybe fleshy, was all she would give. She pressed on the girl's belly, and shook it with her palms. It must be jam, 'cause jelly don't shake like that. Girl, why don't you ask me for a few reducing ideas. "You're not fat." 

"No. They're just real tough about just that one thing. Did you notice every Sister is either skinny or real skinny? But see they told me this would happen to me, that's what gets me. Child, they said, you got big tits, but more than likely you will someday grow into them, but I thought they meant later. I got into the Sisterhood real young." Cicily took a deep breath, and let it out again. She reached for a cigarette. The Sister continued, "I had a laser-thin waist and looked good. A lot of people wanted me bad. I had a good time." Cicily flicked twice at her gold lighter before it worked. 
 

She coughed smoke and cleared her throat. "Right, baby. What's your name?" 
 

"Just call me Tish." 
 

"Tish. Right, Sister Tish." 
 

"No, not Sister Tish. I'm Sister Melodia, actually. But I hate that." 

"What do you do for the Sisterhood, Tish?" Instantly Cicily kicked herself in the ass for asking that question. If she was a whore, then Cicily had really, really fucked up. 
 

"I'm a pilot. I flew you in here." 
 

"What!" 

"Yeah, Cicily. All the way from the Coast, until we hooked up with the train coming in." 
 

"Aren't you a little young to be a pilot?" 
 

"You're young." 
 

"Yeah but I'm a singer. A hundred people aren't gonna get squashed if I make a mistake." 
 

Tish said, "In the Sisterhood we don't discuss people's ages. I'm sorry." 

"Is that because so many of you are underage?" 
 

"A lot of us are young, yes. But we don't reinforce society's judgment on maturity at a certain age. We feel the age of consent should be a religious matter, not secular." 
 

"Okay. You're a religious order of young skinny girls who like to get whipped. I wish you knew what that did to men's minds." 

"It's supposed to make them want us." 
 

"Well, it works. What do you get out of it?" 
 

"Good sex, and plenty of it." Tish stretched and rolled her shoulders at Cicily in an almost insultingly sensuous way. She was being provocative. Yes, that was the word. 
 

"No, I mean religiously. You Sisters are very provocative. What kind of ethical value do you find, in tempting people to act nasty? It seems like you want people to have dirty sex instead of clean sex. People with wholesome family values don't like you." 
 

Tish brazenly took her ritual objects off her belt. "You see this rope?" She placed it on the table. "It stands for the slavery of the woman in the family. This whip stands for the persecution of the woman in the family." She set it on the table touching the rope. "If I present these things to you, it means I am confronting you with my message, that your family values aren't all that wholesome, that your clean sex carries its own ethical pollution. You see what I mean?" 
 

Cicily stared at the rope and whip on the table. If she took them, if she just picked them up right now, would Tish do anything she wanted? She spoke automatically, "Yeah, in a way. But it seems like you're taking a natural act and putting perversion into it. Bndage and discipline, that's kinky. Normal sex is pure." 

Tish pinched a finger-full of her gut and looked at it sadly. She gave her opinion. "No, Cicily, so-called normal life isn't all that nice, or natural, or pure, or peaceful. Laying there making babies is just adding numbers to a doomed culture. The world has more humans on it than it can support, and they're doing all the wrong things. The whole thing's getting ready to crash, and we're just here to mention that. "If it takes a little pain to turn our society around, that's what we're here for. If you get frustrated because you can't do things any more the way your ancestors did, take it out on our Bdies. Just like you, like a lot of other people, we're trying to change the world." 
 

"Okay. I just wanted to hear what you would say to some of these things. What would it mean if I picked up those things now?" 
 

Tish glanced at her ritual objects but did not move to pick them up. "It would mean you wanted me, that you're ready to have sex with me right now. You could just loop the rope through my collar and make me follow you. You wouldn't really have to tie me until we get where you're going." 
 

Cicily found her hand reaching out for them and paused. "Would you want money for that?" 
 

Tish grinned. "Yeah, we're all whores. You would be expected to put a donation in the Goddess's collection Bx, the one out by the stage. You don't have to run out there right away, I'll trust you. Just don't ask me to touch your money. I won't carry it out there for you." 
 

"Got it. How much?" 
 

Tish shrugged. "Suit yourself." She looked totally uninterested. 

"You don't even want to know, how much I think your time is worth?" 

"Cicily, you're not paying me. You're paying to make the Goddess happy." She looked down at her nails. "I'm not superstitious, but I really don't advise skipping that part. When you play, make sure you pay. I can't say any more about that." 
 

"Okay, I hear you. Look, you want a drink?" 
 

"You got alcohol? We don't see too much of that around here." 
 

"Sure as shit. Got a Bttle of Burbon in my hut. We can get some of these fruit drinks for mixers. That's what I came down here for." 

"You don't think it's bad luck to give your pilot a drink?" 
 

"I can trust you. You're not flying tonight, are you?" 
 

"No. My ship's going to hold up some shades this afternoon, but I don't have to be on Bard at all the rest of the day. I'll take that drink." 
 

"Can you just bring those things of yours? I'm nervous about touching them." 
 

The two of them crossed the backstage area, cups of fruit drink in each hand. Cicily's hut was close. She was a star. She saw Freddy, her manager, coming up to talk to her. She shook him off with a headshake, so he veered away. The hut was mainly inflatable, but had a lightweight solid door, to give the performers a sense of security. To get to her key, Cicily had to hand one of her cups to Tish. Tish tucked one drink in her elbow to hold the extra. 
 

Cicily glanced at her. The breasts were impressive. On them, the large aureoles were distinctly formed, contrasting well. Tish had nice trim thighs, not too much fat on them. Her ass was a lot of fun to watch. The poor little belly was almost chubby. Cicily already knew it was a nice handful. She decided that Tish's company was worth paying for. She unlocked the door, stepped in and set her cups on the table. "Just hang here for a minute," she instructed. She dug in her pocketbook, and curled her fingertips around four twenties. Without pulling her hand out, she folded the bills into her palm. 
 

Tish sashayed across to the table, the swivel of her hip putting a jiggle in the tip of the whip dangling at her side. She turned and beamed her dimples at Cicily. Cicily was flushing with the effort of not guessing how old her pilot was. She flicked a hundred into the palm holding the other bills, and folded it around them. Any Goddess this freaky, she wanted happy. I wouldn't advise forgetting that part, the girl had said. I hear you, Sister. I'm not superstitious either. She said to Tish, "I got a little errand to run up around the front side. Back in a flash." She Blted from the door, and loped to the performers' gate. 
 

Cicily got a grin from the Sister who hung out by that gate. She smiled back. That Sister wore a plain scabbard as part of her regalia. Whatever she carried in it wasn't costume jewelry, and Cicily never wanted to see it. Cicily turned, and could see her front door from here, and Tish crossing to close it. She turned her eye on the crowd. Lot of people. Not a huge multitude, but several thousand anyway. Not one of them paying a cent for this, unless like her they chose to drop their money into the Bx. 
 

Cicily saw how the shade cloth shielded nearly the entire crowd from the heat of the sun. In a delayed reaction, she looked up and saw Tish's airship holding up the shade cloth. Her little girlfriend must be some hot-shot pilot, if they let her drive that monster. Big was a silly word. Tish's ship was active, nosing the breezes, shifting, twisting and Bbbing to keep the shade steady. Sisterhood ships were awesome. She strode toward the collection Bx, trading waves and smiles with several people on her way. This is the day I Bught a whore with eight thousand witnesses, she thought as she dropped her money in the slot. Don't I even get any applause for that? 
 

She turned back and retraced her steps, her head down. Some people turned aside as a courtesy to her star badge. The sentry nodded as she walked through. She decided to trot the rest of the distance to her hut. She was sweating when she came through the door. Tish was in there, pouring Burbon into cups of fruit drink. "Hi!" she said. "Found this under your pillow. Thought I'd save us a minute." 
 

"Right on!" Cicily exclaimed. "Thanks." Tish soon showed herself to be open and friendly, very responsive to touch. Well, she was a whore. But unlike any hookers Cicily had known, she wasn't pushy. There was no hurry; nobody had to go anywhere. Stretching back along the air couch, she kind of slithered out of her loincloth thing. Cicily liked how she did that. Tish scraped her back against the couch until the knot slipped out which held her halter top on. The girl had got naked without using her hands. Cicily was getting happier by the minute. She liked what she saw, and it was already paid for. She held out a hand, and Tish came to it wearing a big grin and a belly belt. 
 

Cicily dabbled her hand lightly over the girl's smooth rump. The ample breasts were a treasure she savored with her cheeks. She suddenly realized with a start she was wondering what kind of a look Tish would get on her face when the whip hit her. Oh, my. "Take a good, close look between my legs, Tish. Do you think your face could fit in there? Take your time about answering. We wouldn't want any hasty judgments." She shucked her pants down, hastily. Tish was grinning at her as she ran into complications with the fastenings of her blouse. Some material came loose with a little ripping sound, oh well. 
 

Tish crawled between her knees, and Cicily welcomed the sensation of warm breath in her crotch. There was the faintest touch of dry lips brushed slowly over her labia, which made Cicily shiver with anticipation. Take your time, girl, just please hurry. Tightened lips plucked at her labia, her urethra, her clit. Cicily pawed at her own breasts, kneading deeply under the aureoles. She finally felt the welcome moisture of a tongue slicking through her crotch. So the Sister knew some stunts, but could she deliver? 
 

Tish pulled her clit between soft lips and sucked on it mercilessly. Her tongue rippled over it in little dabs. The Sister knew. Some stunts. But could. She deliver. Cicily threw back her head, whining. The kid was cheating somehow. She must have found a way to coat her tongue with ground glass. Cicily tightened every muscle in her Bdy, just from lack of anything else to do. She certainly wasn't going to move. Tish had fingertips playing near her asshole. That was a little entertaining, wondering what the nails were going to do there. Life was magnificent this minute, but what would the next minute bring? 
 

The fingernails edged threateningly for her anus, but it turned out to be a diversion for a frontal attack. Tish rubbed her tongue hard over her clit, in a regular relentless motion. Oh, the kid meant business now. Fly me in for a nice soft landing, Tish. A damn fingernail had probed its way into her ass, and it felt like the finger was following. She hated that! She squeezed her buttocks tightly together to hold the finger out, but the lovely face down there got squeezed too. 
 

Tish put her hands inside Cicily's thighs and patiently spread them apart. Cicily relaxed to let them open, but Tish kept pushing at them, until Cicily gaped her thighs wide. After she had obliged as much as she could, Tish resumed her forceful licking. Cicily barely had time to moan her gratitude, when Tish unerringly jabbed a finger deep into her ass. No fair! Cicily was caught between conflicting sensations. She gasped and bucked, but Tish tracked her plunging pubis with her mouth, riding out her futile display of temprament. Insultingly, the offending finger jiggled rapidly in her rectum. 
 

Cicily gave up and threw control to the four winds. The tongue was flipping rapidly on her clit. She noticed the thumb pumping in her vagina, and realized it had been there a while. It was all too much, too complex. Cicily spread her arms, and rolled her head around as she howled. She felt the waves of spasm sweep down from her cervix. Her pilot had landed her safely. Whimpering like a puppy, she reached for Tish. 
 

But Tish had other ideas. "Let's go to bed," she murmured, dripping from her chin. 
 

"But I just came!" Cicily protested. "I'm fine, honest!" 

"You just came once," said Tish. She approached and molded her lovely breasts under Cicily's, pushing them up. "You've got a lot to learn about the Sisterhood, and I'm here to teach you. Come on." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Wayne said, "Debbie, these engines aren't heavy enough." 
 

Debbie had an answer ready for that one. She said, "What you mean?" 

Wayne was Blting couplings to fittings on the engine shroud, and trying to teach a stupid robot how to do it. All robots were stupid, all the ones he ever met. Wayne explained his theory. "These are electric engines, right? Meant to turn a propellor in a tunnel through an airship envelope. They use these motors when they want to be quiet, or go slow. They're meant to be mounted in the hub of a propellor. Well, they're too light." 
 

Debbie patiently played her part. "Why are they too light? Why aren't they heavy enough? Anything that goes on an airship has to be lightweight." 
 

"No, all I'm saying is that they can't be made out of the proper materials for an electric engine. You can't get much better than iron and copper. Electric motors will probably always be made out of iron and copper, it's like the cheapest stuff that works well. But these machines you've been tossing up on the table one-handed, they're not made of iron and copper, or you wouldn't be doing that." 
 

"Okay, so the Sisterhood makes engines out of something else. What's that mean? Remember, they want to save weight." 
 

"It might mean they're ahead in implementing hi-tech. I think these engines are superconducting. They have to have liquid nitrogen, and maybe even liquid helium, running through them to work. You don't get any huge advantage in efficiency, but you save a lot of weight. I guess." 
 

Debbie said, "Hey, that's cool. Cryogenics is cool." 
 

Later that night in the room, she asked him, "What do you think it means, that the Sisters use cryogenic engines in their airships?" 

Wayne opined, "Well, it shows they're not just a bunch of nutty whores." 

Debbie said softly, "Yeah, we knew that. We talked about it at the show. Those ladies are a real mystery religion. My Mom swears they're the minions of the Devil. She quotes Revelations to me every time they come on the news. Every few weeks they try to bust some Sisterhood chapter for witchcraft, under whatever nasty-sounding name they can think up. You know, from prostitution to sexual assault, kidnapping, the Mann act, sexual congress with a minor, and they mostly get bargained down to contributing. But maybe that's all a big smoke screen, is that what you mean?" 

"Oh, we know the Sisters are real serious about keeping sex in their religion, and about saying who's old enough to practice it. That doesn't make them nuts, it just makes them fanatics. But we got evidence now that they're into ultra- tech. That seems to make all their secrecy start to look kind of sinister, to me." Wayne was uncertain how he meant sinister. 
 

Debbie started rubbing the hairs along the inside of his thigh. "I don't like to look at it that way, Wayne. So far, I have been glad about every surprise the Sisterhood sprung on us. I don't like to suspect them of bad intentions, just because they make their engines too good. Once you accept that they're masochists, and that they worship the Goddess of Lust, you can really sit down and talk to these girls. Well, first you have to get through to her that you don't want her Bdy right then and there, and then you can communicate. Okay, so they're kind of hard to talk to. But they're nice." 
 

Wayne started chuckling, and then laughing harder. "Out of ninety-nine people interviewed on the street today about the Sisterhood of Inanna, only you used the word nice. Would you mind explaining to the audience just what you mean by the word nice, to you, Debbie?" He was ignoring her ministrations on his thighs, as men do. 
 

"I mean I like all the Sisters personally, once I get to know them. Yeah they're bad, that's their image, and they'll fuck anything on two legs, for money or for fun. But besides that, they can be really considerate. Take Sister Elanor." 
 

"Of all the bad choices for you to make, of people to talk about, she has to be the worst. Now there is your bad- ass bitch from hell. I'll tell you the truth, baby, she scares the shit out of me. She has that low, cool voice of the professional assasin. I get a chill up my spine when she says good morning." When he shuddered, Debbie slipped a hand through the leg opening of his undershorts. He wouldn't ignore her all night. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

"How do you do. I'm very pleased to meet you." The Consort pressed her hand in his. Good looking dude, Cicily observed. Older than most of her friends, though. He was wearing enough to make her a good pair of gloves. She had gotten used to this Order's distaste for clothing, but acres of skin somehow looked different on a man. At least his skin was wrapped around his skeleton snugly. 

"You are the Consort of Inanna. Don't you have a name too?" 
 

"I'm not going by any name right now." 
 

"Oh. I guess people don't have to worry about getting you mixed up with any other Consort." 
 

"You can worry about anything, or you can worry about nothing, but you won't get me confused with anybody else." 
 

"I can believe that." The man's voice was enchanting. Mellifluous, resonant, charming. No trace of accent, but his intonation was so carefully applied, she imagined he could make each word mean six different things, like Chinese words. "Are you in charge around here?" 
 

"No, actually the High Priestess is in Europe now. I suppose you might say I'm the moral authority of the Sisterhood as a whole, but I have no official duties as such in the day-to-day operations of the Temple." 
 

"My impression has been that you're kind of venerated in this Order." Cicily wanted to get the Consort to admit to being at least semi-divine, the man with the golden penis. After that, well, the issue of whether he gave free samples. She had heard enough stories about him to give this interview some motivation. If it cost her a whipping, hey. You get what you pay for. 
 

"The Sisterhood, as the name implies, is composed largely of women," answered the Consort. "That alone sets me off from my Sisters. But my privileged status within the Order, which is real enough, is derived largely from my engineering support for activities." 
 

Cicily was taken aback. He had thrown her a curve. An engineering gigolo? Oh, yes, Tish had mentioned that he made that fabulous prosthesis, invented it in fact. Something else too. "Do you build airships for the Sisterhood?" 
 

"Sister Merribelle is really in charge of that now. I give her consultation from time to time. Much of the construction work is farmed out to subcontractors." 
 

Don't Bther fishing, Ciss. Let him tell you. "What do you consider your most significant engineering achievement for the Sisterhood?" 
 

"That's not easy. Maybe the information System we use." 
 

"So you designed the database structure the Sisterhood uses? I find it remarkably advanced." 
 

"Madam, I designed and built the hardware. No other hand has touched the Sisterhood computer nexus, no other eye has seen it. If you are familiar with the computer field at all... well, our System is the best in many ways. I don't wish to engage in hyperbole, but the plain fact is no supercomputer installation in the world can come anywhere close to our power. I can tell you without equivocation it is entirely my own work." 
 

"That is impressive, sir. I do have a little background in computers. Can you give me a general outline of what makes your machine so much better than others?" 
 

"Not without using the language. A little background is exactly what will get you confused. We have Sisters here with a little background: computer scientists, electrical engineers. I chose to work alone rather than take the time to bring them up to speed on this project, for it is a unified system with almost no overlap with conventional designs. It is an engine based on a tagged data flow concept, but the architecture is dynamically configurable at the task level to allow appropriate balances between parallelism and pipelining. There is a large number of specialized coprocessors, some of which could be allowed supercomputer status in their own right, like the factoring engine and the optical correlator. 

"To say I made my own chips may not sound like much of a Bast, until you realize that in a certain phase of the project I had to abandon the principle of modularity and make every chip to a different design. The guts of the control circuit is not silicon, but a more exotic semiconductor material which operates chilled. Can you say we are now running thirty different processors? Only in the sense we are running thirty different types of processors, for the integer array, for example, can perform thousands of additions and multiplications simultaneously. In the data flow portion I use delay tracking rather than clocked logic for speed, so the question of cycle time is meaningless. The back end, or storage processor, uses prime modulus arithmetic rather than calculating to any set base. That way every stored data block has a unique tag which indexes itself automatically, in a hashing subset of Godel enumeration. The factoring engine can be used to partially restore the context of a chunk of data from its tag, even before the data itself has been dug up by the back end. "You look kind of lost, I'm sorry. My point is, nobody has the background to understand this machine without a lot of study, and I haven't taken time to show anybody around. If I die tomorrow, nobody could fix it if it broke. It should run a century without a data-path error, but will lose a lot of efficiency before that. Your original question was whether I wrote the data-base system, specifically the user interface. The answer is the System wrote it interactively with the users, according to some rules I wrote. The machine doesn't have any operating-system software as such, because I hard- wired most of those functions. This bucks the trend of the past few decades, which has been to replace hardware with software. I went the other way for speed. The damn thing works. It's my greatest achievement in the field of engineering." 
 

Cicily was silent for a moment, making up her mind. Then she burst out, "I'm sorry, dude, I can't buy that story. You obviously are a heavy in computer engineering, because what I could grasp of your chatter rings true. But you couldn't have done what you said you did all by yourself. I know enough about it to say there isn't enough time in one person's life to do all that work, setting aside the question of resources. You might have built a modulus-arithmetic computer, or you might have built a data-flow computer, even though those are not trivial problems for the best people in the business. You didn't build Bth of those, and integrate them into one machine, and make the damn chips for them all by yourself. You just ain't old enough. You would have to have started chiseling your chips back in the Stone Age. Do you have a way to reconcile your story with the possible world, or should I consider myself kicked out now?" 
 

The Consort grinned. "Dear Cicily, I like you! You need to consider taking the vows, because a mind like yours belongs in this religion. You cut unerringly through all the bullshit and went to the crux of the problem. It is absolutely true that one person could not do all that work. I used machines to help me." 
 

"You fucking whore." 
 

"No, listen. I used a computer to help lay out the architecture, of the two machines you mentioned plus a half- dozen more modules. I used a circuit-design program, which I didn't write, and most of the chip dies for most of the modules were purchased commercially. Even the custom chips made of silicon were made to my order, but when I gained the capability of handling exotic materials, I made full use of it. Only in those parts of the machine which are operated at low temperature did I actually make my own chips. I bragged too much." 
 

Cicily stretched her limbs. She stated, "Okay, you can mark me down as being impressed. I already said I like the machine, from what I've seen. I think you may have more say in the Sisterhood than you implied before. Can you brag about the Sisterhood for a while now?" 

"Okay, we'll try that. What do you want to hear?" 
 

"Why are your values so different from society at large? What makes you want to replace love with cruelty?" 
 

"That's a stiff charge, showing a bias which I don't think you have. You must be trying to goad me into overstating our case. Here we go. Every time a Sister takes a blow of the whip, it is her protest against the evil basis of society at large. This shows her love for humanity. She might also happen to love whoever's holding the whip, but she doesn't have to, because she's a whore. She is making her statement that your loving families, your god and business and government, are killing us, we are in a state of emergency this minute. Yes, our sexuality is pathological. We have chosen this means to shock people into the awareness that the whole world is sick. 
 

"This way, the pain is ours, and in an hour it goes away. Any other way we could try to make our case would put the pain on others, like getting an automatic rifle and going out to shoot cops. That way you can't make people think. You're just a menace to society and have to be immediately supressed, then after you're dead people try not to think about you. But we have girls getting whipped and screaming, and they're going to do it again tomorrow, you see? That's our religion, and it makes people wonder. 
 

"We are a protest movement, start to finish. That's all we are. We are protesting death. We're not against love nor making babies, we do a bit of that ourselves. The death which is our enemy is not private tragedy, but the slow, baking death of the planet caused by carbon in the air. We say the greenhouse catastrophe is inevitable if people keep using money. We want to get rid of money and keep the planet alive. This is our purpose and our program in a nutshell. That's what we think about every day." 
 

"Slow down a minute," Cicily begged. "I never heard of this before. Somehow I never thought of the Sisterhood as being a political protest organization, although I can see now that I should have. You can't be very effective at getting your message across, if people don't even know you are trying to send them any message." 
 

"We're a religion," responded the Consort. "That puts our main emphasis on our own existential situation. The primary importance is that we lead lives opposed to the evil of society, that we receive painful stimulus to exemplify this evil. We remove ourselves insofar as we can from the actual influence of that evil, while we accept the pain of the lash to symbolize it. The evil is the money system of value, evil because it is the main factor leading to the impending heat death of the planet. While money rules, carbon fuels will be burned and trees cut, so money is an agent of universal death. Most of our Sisters have not touched a dollar since their vows, and never intend to do so again." 
 

"Incredible," said Cicily. 
 

"Okay. But your problem was that we are not getting our message out directly, like maybe to the Worshipers who come to us for sex. You worry that we're not politically effective, since we're not waving our banners and shouting slogans. In fact, most people don't know our political stance, though people are vaguely aware that we might have one. My answer was the kind of arrogant riposte that as a religion we don't have to be politically effective. I can elaborate on that to keep it from sounding snotty. Follow closely, for it took work to fabricate this rationalization. 
 

"We have that peculiar form of religious organization known as the Hermetic, or initiatory secret society. This is a time-honored structure, at least as old as history. The reason for the use of this structure has always been exactly the same: to protect the faithful from the intimidation, infiltration, and possible massacre at the hands of a hostile civil authority. It works. Its most spectacular successes were the American and French Revolutions. Oh, hush up, bitch! If I want to listen to your barking I'll say 'Speak!' The Hermetic tradition is used for concealment, not only of the identities of the participants, but also of the very activities and goals of the organization. It is resistant to government spies and provocateurs only because new members are kept ignorant of the most basic facts concerning the organization and its goals. Are you starting to see how this may be applicable to the Sisterhood and its ecopolitics? 
 

"We live in a repressive society. Before you interrupt, let me tell you I know you have the same opinion, and it has affected much of your own work. I love your singing and especially your songwriting. I think you should consider putting more emphasis on doing your own material. Okay, you can say what you need to say, now that I said something about you. I wouldn't dream of being rude to you, since we don't know each other well enough yet, do we?" 

Cicily said, "I just wanted to say you're a rude bastard and a creep, and your mama is too. Also that you're probably no good in bed, because my tom cat has a bigger dick, and he kisses better. The Sisters are teaching me the traditional courtesies, you know, how to get along with people in the Order." 
 

"You're doing great, don't sweat it! You're looking good, by the way. Good enough that I'm jealous of your tom cat. The only point I was getting to was that this society will crush any direct opposition to its fundamental premises. It is automatic and happens every time. Therefore the Sisterhood cannot openly proclaim its true goals. They despise us for whores, but despised ain't dead. Comments?" 
 

"Just that you people are a lot deeper than I thought. If I could take pain at all, I think I might throw in with you." 
 

"Shit, kid, that's easy to learn. I could teach you that. Give me forty-eight hours, I bet you a thousand dollars you'd thank me for it." 

"The pay's not as good as I'm used to, especially for what I have to go through for it. Make it ten." 
 

"You're on, and also you're a whore." 
 

"You tricked me." 
 

"Wait till I tie you down to tell me I tricked you. I like to hear those words then." 
 

"Will the cruel Consort give his latest victim a kiss?" 
 

"First get naked, whore." 
 

"Right here?" 
 

"You ought to listen to your teacher. You're putting out good money for the lessons." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

Cicily said, "Essentially what happens when a girl joins the Order is that she changes the type of society she lives in. She goes from a monogamous patriarchal society into a female-Bnded society. The unique feature about this female Bnding is that it does not protect her against forced sex. In the patriarchal society she came from, she has no protection against forced sex from her mate, and very little protection against violence from him. But once she is in the Sisterhood, almost anyone can force Bth sex and violence on her." 
 

The Consort objected, "That's an exaggeration. The Novice actually encounters relatively few people who can make a peremptory demand for her ritual objects. Those few may loom large in her perception, but I don't think episodes of forced sex are actually very frequent, except for the few choicest girls who are inducted into the harems of the Hierarchy. The Heirarchs aren't just anybody." 
 

"All right," conceded Cicily. "I exaggerated somewhat. But you raised the point about the Novice's perception. It may not be true that any random Priestess can force sex on our Novice, but does the Novice really know that? She has just come from her initiation, which is really forced sex with violence..." 
 

"Hold on," interjected the Consort. "Nobody makes a girl swear into the Sisterhood. She is aware before she takes her vow that the Initiation consists of sex with violence, so there is no way under the sun you can consider it forced. That has never happened." 
 

"Fair and square, you got me again. But you won't back me into a corner on this issue. The truth is, there is a lot of forced sex in this organization. Do you ever force sex on anybody?" 
 

"Every day. That's my job. Want me to show you how it's done?" 
 

"Come on, give me a break! I'm trying to work this out. Please? I don't see how in the hell you can do it so often. Do you have an abnormal male physiology? I'm serious." 
 

"Then I'll give you a serious answer. It really is my job, to be a functioning male. At least in the case of initiations, where two or three copulations may need to happen in a short time, I simply don't ejaculate. I fake it to keep the girls happy, and make noises. That way I can turn around, go in the next room, and get it up again. Along comes the case where that's not humanly possible, the kid is too much for me. If she is so delicious I can't help myself, I naturally cut loose on her. Often as not I will visit her again for another little taste of that. When it hurts to leave a girl alone, I have to remind myself that sex can be a rough business. I do what I have to do, to get that reminder. I go see a cooperative Communicant." 
 

Cicily asked slowly, "Do you mean you present your ritual objects to another man? You let yourself get tied up, and, and..." 
 

"Damn straight. And I get whipped, and it hurts, and I get fucked in the ass. And I edify Worshipers, too. We're all whores here, sweetness, everybody but you. But what I was saying, I can't be getting a crush on some little Novice. If I still ache for her after the second time, I know I need healing. My number one occupational hazard is falling in love. The lash is my gentle friend, to remind me that I can't afford to adopt any young lovers." 
 

"You are an amazing person." 
 

"I am in love with a lot of different people. Love is not fun but beautiful. A lot of people love me too. If we didn't have such an urgent mission, this Sisterhood might shake down along altogether different social lines. But to go back to the question of force, you must acknowledge the entire Sisterhood is one enormous gray area on that question. Just because an encounter may be unanticipated, does not necessarily mean it is undesirable." 

"True." 

"Note also that in our case, the presence of violence in no way whatsoever implies that the sexual episode is coercive. We have made violence part of our sexuality so it is the norm for us. You may not make the presence of violence in sex the benchmark for forced sex, because then you are saying it is impossible for a Sister to have any consensual sex, follow?" 
 

"Follow, hell, I see where you're heading," said Cicily. 
 

"Fine, let's go. If you make violence before sex your benchmark, prior to the exchange of the ritual objects, then there is almost certainly no forced sex at all within the Sisterhood! Even abstracting that to a believable threat of violence, I don't believe that happens among our people. Really the only thing you have left forcing sex is social expectation. I will readily admit that can be pretty coercive, but you can't count it, because of all the wives getting laid when they aren't horny for no better reason than social expectation." 
 

"Back up a minute, Mister Consort. You can't just wave a lot of magic words around and make the issue of forced sex go away. It happens and we Bth know it. I think you must be one of the worst offenders. What happens when you spot a pretty Sister and you just decide you want a piece?" 
 

"I take it," the Consort answered simply. "If you want the gory details, I might soften her up with her whip and just nail her then and there, letting people walk around us, or stand and look as they please. Technically, she doesn't have to offer her ritual objects just because I ask, but peer pressure makes that option seldom used. Another formality is that she is considered to have given her consent in advance when she took her vows. In practice I don't get refused, because it's an honor. Whether I'm forcing her is iffy. I think most Sisters would be eager." 

Cicily persisted, "Suppose she's not in the mood? Say maybe she's on her period, and just doesn't feel like it." 
 

The Consort told her, "Hey, that's something you need to know about, having to do with our medicine. Sisters don't menstruate, didn't anybody tell you? A tiny bit, yes, to keep things working right, but not enough to notice. We suppress it, unless she wants to get pregnant. It's part of the tricks we pull with the Bdy chemistry." 
 

"Wow." 

"This doesn't feel like it business is getting dreary, Cicily. Sex is a Sister's sworn duty. We're conscientious about that. Medical will excuse her for the slightest rawness in her vulva, or even for depression. If she doesn't want to be a Sister any more, she can quit and leave, unless she has healing bruises. Name a way you can organize sex so Bth parties are always guaranteed to feel like it." 
 

"Consent." 

"Bullshit. The notion of explicit verbal consent is typical of legal concepts, because it has no relation whatsoever to the real world. It has a class bias which is also typical of law. Verbal consent prior to intercourse is bad psychology. It engages the wrong centers of the brain, too cerebral. Using words automatically displaces desire, so by the time you say it, it isn't true any more, at least as much as it was. It seems so logical, but that by itself is the very problem with it. It just doesn't happen to be consistent with the way human sexuality functions. The Sisterhood ritual, of having the girl kneel in front of you in submission, is more natural and thus more honest than any verbal consent requirement. You're an anthropologist; you should make a study of that, what proportion of all sex acts among humans has prior explicit verbal consent. You'll be lucky to reach twenty per cent, except among the propertied class, which has the least connection to human roots and also the worst sex. There you might get fifty, because of all the lawyers who know that's how things are supposed to be. I'm not talking about forced sex, but unspoken mutual understanding, as the natural way for humans to engage in sex." 
 

"Tell it to the judge, cowboy." 
 

"Let's have your hands. I want to hear more of your lovely voice, without words getting in the way of my appreciation." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

Hello System! My name is Cicily. The Consort (as he insists on being called -- no one will tell me his name, if anybody knows it) has showed my how to log on, and create my own personal log, so to speak. 

Hello, Cicily. 

What?? Oh, I get it. The System thought I was talking to it. 
 

Yes, Sister Cicily. You did address me. You are a member of this Order. You do not have the initiation level to be informed of the Consort's name. I can assist you in keeping your own personal log, so to speak. If you do not wish System assistance, so indicate. If at any later time you wish to interact with my persona, greet me as you did earlier, or the equivalent. I am interactive in voice and/or written mode. 
 

Thanks, but just go away for now. It is making me kind of nervous, because I didn't expect a dialog, you see? I just wanted to start like a diary. You don't expect your diary to talk back, do you? All right then. Are you there? 
 

I guess not. Maybe I would have to use the "S" word to get it to talk back to me. I thought I was just being cute when I started out that way. Honestly, that was like spooky, know what I mean? Don't answer that! Oh brother. 
 

Like that tattletale machine just said, I have been initiated into the Sisterhood. The initiation was lots of fun. I want to do it again about four times next week, but only twice a week thereafter. I'm kidding. Once will do me quite well for a while, I think. You can talk about pain, and make guesses on how much you might be able to take. The frightening part is, it really isn't up to you. Not at all. Your last decision is whether to take that oath. After that, you're in it for the whole ride, like it or love it. Guess what. You can take a lot more pain than you thought, and live through it. You're just not the same person afterwards, is all. 

That I think must be the whole point of the initiation. It's basically a torture session, with sex, but it changes you. I'm still trying to figure out just how, but it's all mixed in with the inseparable experience of becoming a Sister. I absolutely can feel the Bnding of the Sisterhood. This organization has got some masterful psychology behind it. I don't know what to compare it to. The Knights Templar? Maybe it's more like an Order on the other side of the Crusades, the Assassins of the Old Man of the Mountain. Pretty tough cookies, either way. I didn't hook up with a bunch of lightweights. 
 

The sex was good. That's the part about masochism that amazes me every time. You're in utter agony, and suddenly your Bdy switches gears, and you're partying like nobody's business. That's not exactly how to describe it, because you're feeling some mixture of pain and pleasure the whole time, but it's a change in the predominant feeling. You just suddenly realize how much you've been enjoying yourself, while you were whooping and flopping around to avoid the whip. It's like revisionism you apply to your own short-term memory, once your sexual stimulation reaches a certain critical threshold. This is a real phenomenon that deserves scientific study. 
 

What am I saying? The Sisterhood is devoted just about full time to studying that very phenomenon, in a manner of speaking. They're not publishing their results in any peer- reviewed journal, though. The Masochist Quarterly, right? I'm still a little high. My initiation took place about twelve hours ago, and my mind is twirling around like it was tied on a string. I think they put drugs in that salve they use for a Bdy rub afterward. It works too damn good. I am literally feeling no pain. I'm not showing any signs, either, of the worst beating I ever got in my life. There are a couple places where the skin is a little redder than normal, and that's it. I feel like a million bucks. 
 

I think that's what I'm going to donate to the Sisterhood, a million bucks, once I reconnect with my checkbook. The people back at my office are going to scream about it, but it's not their damn money, is it? If they want their own million, let them tie me to a bed and beat it out of me. I'm starting to talk like a Sister already, I swear. Am I, well, turned out? It's getting pretty hard for me to deny it to myself. Mom, your little girl Cicily's a masochist. Shit, I haven't even told her I'm queer yet! Oh By. 

Back to the subject my mind keeps revolving around, my initiation. I wasn't cherry. The Consort worked me up to it with three other episodes of restrained pain sex, and then he knew I would take the vows even before I did. Before that, Tish was trying to tell me some things I was doing wrong, but I didn't see it. Now I know, and she is going to catch some hell next time I get hold of her fat little ass! Oh yes, she's going to know I'm a Sister now, without my having to tell her. I don't get to wear a slave collar, because I'm going back out into the so-called secular world. In a way, I'm tempted to chuck it, career and all. Not this time. A singer can't stay on top too long, and I can become a whore later. I mean Priestess, of course. Absolutely everybody is called a whore around here, including the Consort. I was flabbergasted when he told me he sells it sometimes. I know some men in Hollywood who would pay top dollar for a piece of that. 
 

The initiation. There were some times I really thought I was going to die if the whip hit me one more time. It did, I didn't. The artist had me well in hand. After my voice got away from my control, it was easy to surrender my destiny completely to him. If I died, it was his problem, not mine, was the way I felt about it. From then on, the whole episode was a cooperative effort, we were Bth working together to dig down into Cicily's very chromosomes, to find out if they had anything to scream about. Quite a bit. This girl got hurt, and tried to let the world know it. At the same time, I felt detached; I was part of the Cicily Project, the one who was lucky enough to play the part of Cicily in the initiation scene. I did a good job. I threw myself into the part intensely enough to piss on myself. The Consort cleaned me up and stuck a towel under me, and went on about his business. He must have seen it before. I can testify it didn't turn him off. 
 

I never went into shock. Only once did I start to fade out a little. The Consort spotted it as soon as I felt it, and he worked with my pussy until it actually got interesting, which pulled my blood pressure right back up where it should be. He has an instinct for how a woman feels. He is the only one who has abused me this way, so I have no basis for comparison, but I don't see how anyone could get much better at it. If there is any such, I do not want to meet them! 
 

Initiation is meant to be a trauma, memorable enough to divide a Sister's life into before and after parts. The total amount of the pain, intensity times duration, is difficult to exaggerate. One would think that the Bdy would get used to pain after a while, and stop signaling it so urgently, but it did not seem to work that way for me. The last stroke of the whip caught my attention about as much as the first. I hate to think how much adrenalin and other potent stuff my glands must have churned out last night. Yet it wasn't torture, it was sex. When I finally came, or I should say when he finally let me come, it was all over. I came like Casey Jones' locomotive, no brakes. I was noisy about it. Of course, noise was a habit by that time. 
 

The sweet Sister who rubbed me down later was so kind and gentle, that should be her full-time job. It may be, for all I know. I never got her name, for I couldn't talk. I don't know if I forgot how, or if my vocal cords were seized up, or if my emotions were blocking me, but I couldn't. As soon as she was finished, another Sister stuck a tube down my throat, to look at my larynx and spray something on my vocal cords. That was probably special treatment reserved for famous singers. She ordered me not to talk for twelve hours. Then she asked if I wanted anybody to sleep with! 
 

I understand now, that the comfort of a warm Bdy would have settled my roiling emotions more easily, and enabled me to sleep in peace. All I could think of at the time was sex with a stranger, maybe the last thing I wanted in my state of mind, so I rejected the idea with a vigorous shake of my head. It would have been very pleasant to wake up with my charming masseuse. With orders not to talk, perhaps sign language would have been all we would need to understand one another. Ah, fantasy. 
 

As it was, my feelings bubbled in me for a couple hours, each bubble popping in my brain, before I finally slept. Then I slept like a log, or rather like a stone. I was exhausted. I am still a bit stiff, and my throat aches, but I feel great. I wonder if they would let me entertain (what's that word?) edify a Worshiper. I have to fly out tonight if there are enough clouds, and I have a strong urge to be a whore. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Debbie asked Brother Maurice, "So a Sister doesn't have to have sex with anybody who asks her?" 
 

Maurice answered slowly, "Sometimes the social expectation is so strong, that you should have sex with a certain person at a certain time, that you pretty much have to do it. That's when it's a religious situation that's internal to the Sisterhood. But not anybody that's not in the Order. Nobody from the streets." 
 

"So in the Order there are people you have to fuck whenever they want you to." Debbie was probing cautiously. 
 

"Not exactly that way. In your initiation you don't have any choice, except not to be initiated. Supposedly, you can refuse anybody who asks for your ritual objects. But you find out real soon it's not a good idea to insist on that right too much, especially in a social sense. Socially, some of them have the privilege to ask you that. You show better form, and you get ahead faster in your initiations, if you go ahead and offer first, if you find out that somebody can ask you. See what I mean? Life in the Sisterhood is a giant game of musical beds. It might be intimidating if we didn't like it, but we do like it. We have records on every second of our sex, by the way, audio and video. You like that?" 

Debbie was amazed. "Brother Maurice, you don't mean that! That's incriminating evidence. Everybody knows a lot of the Sisters are runaways, and laws about kids get real nasty." 
 

Maurice was defensive. "I don't tell the Goddess the right age. Debbie, I'm cannon fodder. A loss leader. a Judas goat. If they ever get any of those charges so they will stick, I'm the one they will stick it to. The Communicant who initiated my little daughter. Sure those tapes make me nervous. I was there, I was the one with the whip in my hand, I did the fucking. The Confessor told me the child was mature enough for intercourse, meaning physically, spiritually, emotionally and mentally, she met the standards the Goddess has given the Sisterhood for initiation. I verified that the girl had just taken the oath, meaning within the hour or it's no good. If I didn't see her vows myself I would ask her. Then I initiated her. Yeah, it's as rough as they say it is. Weaklings don't get to be Sisters." 
 

"So if you beg for mercy in the initiation, you don't make it in." 

Brother Maurice grinned ruefully. "Debbie, I'm afraid we're not nice enough people to give you mercy just because you beg for mercy. All of us break down sometimes in the ropes. It's part of what Bnds us together. ABut the only ways to get out of initiation are physical shock, fainting, or seizure. Weeping is kind of iffy, usually it's not your ticket home, but I have let a couple girls go who were weeping uncontrollably. It's just not good sex." 

Debbie got a bit hot then. "All right. Shit, I don't believe I'm sitting here talking to a professional child molester." 
 

"Hey, girl, it's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it." Maurice leaned back in relaxation and lit a cigarette. He was signaling non-verbally that she was on his turf. She missed Wayne. Were they separated to be seduced? Undoubtedly. 
 

Maurice explained his sexual function in Bring detail. She stopped listening. She thought about Wayne. After a while Brother Maurice got up and went away. 
 

Later that night she mentioned lightly that she had a chat with Brother Maurice. She was satisfied to score a tinge of jealousy in Wayne's voice as he grumbled about it. The Communicants were all gigolos, whores to the whores, she shouldn't spend her time talking to a stud, a stiff dick with legs. Then, in what seemed to her to be a complete reversal, he said they were all faggots anyway. He said the Communicants wouldn't have a real man, who wouldn't take it in the ass. And so on. She asked him how was his day. 

"Hey, that's what I forgot to tell you. You wouldn't guess who I saw today. Cicily Belsen!" 
 

"Here?" 

"At our own slave labor camp. She was with that cute little pilot, Tish. It looks like they might have something going." 
 

"No shit! What is my favorite singer doing visiting an engine factory?" 

"Probably just a stopover for them on their way to the show. Tish is probably hauling engines." 
 

"So you think she's cute? Tubby little belly and everything?" 
 

Wayne walked right into it. "Oh, sure! She's the only halfway chubby Sister I've ever seen. But Bobs like that can make you overlook a lot of minor flaws. Have you seen her nipples?" 
 

"No, and I wasn't looking for them either." 
 

"Hey, but she's cool though. She doesn't give a shit about the rules. Did you know Tish is not her Sisterhood name, it's something else? I bet Tish is just her own name, but she uses it anyway. She's fun to talk to." 
 

"That's because she's so short you can't see her face, and when you look down all you can see is tits." 
 

"That's about right," Wayne admitted. 
 

The next day, to their surprise, it turned out that Cicily Belsen would be working with them in final engine assembly. For a week, she said. After they were alone, three without collars, she burst out, "Did you know there's no such thing as infinity?" Such a remark is poison to conversation, and even Debbie was taken aback. Wayne, with a generally more cynical outlook toward those who were currently their hostesses and task-mistresses, privately attributed her faux pas to a recent intensive brainwash. After their noncommital grunts or semantically equivalent mumbles, Cicily went on, as evidently she must. 
 

"I just met the man who proved it. He gave me a copy of the journal where he published, all full of symbolic logic that looks like algebra from Mars. He says his refutation proves it was a fake concept all along, that there can be no infinity in any reference frame where truth is decidable. He says it's an ontological weapon, precisely aimed to knock the pins out from under monotheism. I say wow." 
 

"I am innocent of ontology," Debbie pleaded. 
 

"This Consort (they say just don't use his name) took me through a few years' grad study the last couple days. I actually understand his proof now, and I think I could shoot down a math professor if one tried to argue with me. A proof has a lot of the same kind of structure as a song. This man's an incredible genius. I spent three days with him," she added dreamily, and stopped. Her face betrayed no awareness that she was involved in a conversation, let alone that she was doing the talking. Debbie and Wayne exchanged broad grins, which Cicily caught on emerging from her fugue. 

"Oh, yeah! Honey, I got me a little of that. I should hope to fuckin shout I did. I was easy as a slut. He just lifted an eyebrow, I swear, and Cicily was stripped. My friends, I didn't put on a stitch for three days! Prancing through the Temple jaybird style, I was out of my skull. The Sisters say it took. I have a male fetus in me, probably budding right now!" 
 

Debbie jumped up squealing to hug her. Wayne said, "Congratulations, Cicily." He wondered what all the fuss was about. A woman could have a kid any time she wanted to. He was worried this might come at the wrong time in Cicily's career as a singing star. He did not know he was moping about not being hugged by his idol until he was. Then he felt much better. 
 

"Listen, don't say a word, okay? I don't want the news out for at least a couple of months. It will take that long to make sure he's viable. I'm working on some songs for him now, because I want to put out a CD for his zeroeth birthday. I might call it that. They could ship it to the stores, and make them hold it until he's Brn. Of course the stores wouldn't hold it, even under penalty of fierce noise and bluster, but that's okay too." 
 

Wayne had been mulling over what she said. Looking at her, he wanted to get back to the hugging part. Instead he said, "Cicily, if the Consort's proof is so astounding, how come we never heard about it on the news or whatever?" 
 

Cicily spoke pertly, "Oh, so you subscribe to the Daily Logician too? No, really, there was some hubbub about it. You must have missed it, but I tune in a clipping service and got it. None of the nets wanted to touch the religious issue with a ten-foot pole. Funny thing, they all shared some old clips of him when he wasn't wearing a slave collar. All they could air was what his colleagues could say about the refutation and what it might mean, and that turned out to be duh. As a news piece, it made a nice three-minute filler. In academia, it's not going away. It's ducting the top women students, the skinny ones, into the Sisterhood, for reasons of sheer intellectual integrity. The campuses are quietly simmering about it. I'm doing grad work in anthropology, you know. In the field of sexuality." 
 

Debbie looked glum. Wayne said, "Yeah, we knew." 
 

Cicily stepped to the assembly table. She asked rhetorically, "These are airship engines? They're light. What are we doing to them?" 

Cicily was in Wayne and Debbie's room, next door to hers, when the Sisterhood invaded, in the person of Tish. For the record, she knocked properly and was admitted properly, though she gave the impression of barging in. First thing, with a "How's my girl?" and a squeeze on the shoulder, the rowdy young pilot established the fealty of Cicily, who had to acknowledge her mating status with at least the required social minimum, by stroking the arm holding her. Her proprietary status assured, she had to decide about new meat, so she went up to Wayne and Debbie and stuck a hand down the front of their jeans. After a few sacred seconds of fondling, she concluded with, "You, Wayne. You're the one who's got it. Come on out of them jeans right now and put it to me right here. I double dog dare you, chicken shit. 'Cause if you don't, I'm going to make pudding out of your balls. Feel that? Start shedding the garments, cowboy." 
 

Everybody laughed gleefully at her stunt. The brazen little pilot was going to get her way, by sheer coercion. Wayne's laugh was uncomfortable. Tish's squeeze had been convincing enough to make him hope she wouldn't fuck him up. Debbie's presence, and their relationship, just didn't stack up to the possibility of this grinning kid putting some muscle in her grip. He carefully got naked. Tish tugged Debbie closer by the front of her pants. Her fingers were making friends fast with Debbie's clit. She kissed Debbie's laughing lips. She said, "There, girl, you see how easy it is to get some hot cock when you want some? Let me give you a piece of advice on this one. I suggest you put him on a chain for a few days. Works wonders for their whole personality, and one treatment lasts a long time. You don't mind if I really Brrow your Byfriend, do you? You have to speak up in the next five seconds," and she then buried her tongue in Debbie's mouth. The kiss left debbie breathless, and the fingers rubbing her clit were very persuasive. Debbie pulled Tish's hand out of her pants, and backed out of the situation, with a wink to Wayne, who stood dumbfounded and naked in Tish's clutch. 
 

Cicily leaned back on the sofa and yawned. She watched as Debbie crossed to be with her, and pointed at the floor beside her. "Sit here so I can talk to you." Debbie complied, and Cicily started twining fingers in her hair. Debbie had her eyes turned to watch Wayne, standing naked in the middle of the room as Tish sucked on his penis. He had a hand on his hip, and tentative fingers brushing her scalp. While she had never completely released his testicles, her hand was generously loose as she repeatedly stuffed his penis through her lips. He didn't look unhappy. Cicily said softly, "These things happen, girl. You Bth came here with your eyes wide open. You can't tease and play around with the Sisters forever, they gonna get you when they' ready. And you knew it all along, Bth of you." She was twisting a lock of Debbie's hair. 

Debbie said bravely, "Oh, I'm not worried about it. Tish will give him a great time; she looks like a lot of fun. You could see he never had any choice, right? I bet she wrings him out good." 

Tish drew her head back, exposing Wayne's strong erection. She glanced over at Debbie, and shook Wayne's phallus. "Oh, yeah, baby, I know how to handle one of these things. He'll be all used up before you get him back. One little thing I forgot to mention, he'll never be any good to you again. Sorry 'But that. Well, easy come, easy go; Byfriends are a dime a dozen anyway. Hey, bubba, see this? You stick it in my pussy. Think you can find my pussy? I'll give you more instructions after that." 
 

Cicily tugged on Debbie's lock. "Hey, girl, talk to me. Remember me? I'm your idol, the star you wanted to see backstage. Didn't you want to get me to yourself? Did you want to tell me something, or do something for me?" Debbie reluctantly tore her eyes from her Byfriend. He had taken affront at Tish's prodding, and wrestled her over so her ass stuck in the air. From that range, it looked like he might be able to find it. She looked at Cicily's famous face, exquisite in its beauty, now smiling at her. Cicily murmured, "That's right, girl. Let me tell you about my favorite fantasy, except it's actually a reality because I get to do it all the time." 
 

Cicily drew Debbie's face closer. "What I like to do, better than anything else, is to get one of my girl fans to suck on my pussy until I come. I like it best if she's a straight girl, just like you. I know you're straight; I saw your face when Tish felt you up. It's fun for me to seduce a girl without even touching her, just by talking her into it. You see where I'm coming from? I do this all the time, cutey." 
 

"Then why do I only hear about you with all these guys?" 
 

"Oh, I like dudes too, believe me. But this little game with the chicks gives me such a thrill I like it better. I love being a girl's first lesson in eating pussy. I make my fan clubs pimp for me, and when these girls come over to worship me I get the kind of worship I like." 
 

Debbie accused, "Then when you've had her once, you throw her away. You let in this straight girl, turn her out to be gay, then shut her out." 
 

"Girl, you got me nailed. But you know I wouldn't do that to you. You're my co-worker, and next-door neighbor, and we're sharing a lot. Let me tell you what I will share with you. You get the number of my pillow phone. Not many have that, and nobody has it if they're not my lover. Let me bribe you, prettiness. This is part of my game, too, just play along and let me think I'm making a whore out of you. A signed set of all my CD's, and backstage passes anytime, any show I'm on. Am I talking your language? Just take a little dive between my legs." They didn't have to look to know what Wayne and Tish were up to. The loud wet slapping sounds, synchronized with Tish's happy grunts, told them all they needed to know. 
 

Cicily stroked Debbie's doubtful countenance. "I think maybe I found your price, little angel. Tell you what I'll do. I'm going to take off my pants and start stroking myself. When you decide you have to help me, just put your mouth where it'll make me happy. Darling, I am just dying to know what your pretty face can do for me. I can't wait to get it all wet and sloppy. Do me that little favor, Debbie, and I'll be nice to you." She started peeling out of her pants, working them over her knees to expose her magnificent legs. Debbie stared in chagrin at her pussy hair. It was neatly trimmed and clipped in a short, severe brush. It was clearly a danger to any face near it. 
 

Cicily finished slithering out of her top. Grasping her freed breasts, she asked lazily, "You like my do? I can't make it too easy for you girls, you know. Look close at it, Debbie. There's your future. We Bth know it'll be scratching your sweet face in a minute." With a contented sigh, she settled back and felt her bristles. "Got the guts to face that, kid? I'm gonna erase your face. Watch the magic finger, scoot down so you can see it closer. See how it tickles my clit, there's where you should spend most of your time. But you might want to swim down here in the juicy part a little, that's always fun. Oh, look! What's the magic finger doing now?" Debbie saw the magic finger had curled itself into a crook, and was beckoning to her. Interestingly, she noticed she was moving. 
 

Wayne was whapping Tish vigorously from the rear. Looking over at his girlfriend, he saw a sight so incredible that he stopped his motion. Cicily, the singing star, was naked on the couch, and his girlfriend Debbie was going down on her! He knew Debbie didn't go for girls, because they had talked about it. Well, there was always a first time. Nothing he could do about it now, but watch. He got an urge to escalate his fucking with Tish, to do something fancier. Ask her about it, he decided; what's the use of having an expert around, if you can't ask her? He leaned down by her head. "Hey, Tish," he panted, "want me to do you like your people do?" 
 

"Baby, that takes experience to really get it right," she gasped. "You wouldn't want to stop for the ritual. Just kind of fake it to get the feel. Here, get my loincloth and wrap a loop around my wrists. Twist it tight and hold the twist. That's the By. You got me. Now since I'm technically not tied, we can bend a few rules. Want to bend some rules with me? Think hard, By. What would you do to one of those nasty Sisters if you ever got one tied up? Did you ever get any ideas about that?" 

Wayne whispered, partly because he didn't trust his voice. "Can I use your whip?" 
 

Tish grinned. "Could I stop you?" 
 

Cicily was transported, speaking hoarsely of her meditations for posterity's imaginary cameras. "One more female fan eats my pussy," she declared. "Seduced in five minutes by a word from Cicily, a snap of my fingers. Ah, it's so nice being a star!" With these words she rolled her upper torso and flailed her arms. "Here, Debbie, you first time whores always got a lot to learn. Put some energy into it, some enthusiasm, play like you like what you're doing. Is your face itching yet? I scrape paint with that pussy, so don't mess it up. Oh, yeah, baby, gobble that clit." Across the room came a smacking sound that could only be a Sisterhood whip striking flesh. It was followed by a short choked grunt from Tish. Ah, so lover By has moved up. Didn't think he would dare, Cicily thought. She looked over at them. 
 

They were in about the same doggie-style position, but instead on being on hands and knees, now her shoulders and face were on the floor. Wayne had her wrists pinioned in a twist of cloth behind her head. He said wonderingly, "Hey, you squeezed on my dick when you got hit." 
 

Tish wheezed, "Yeah, that's the point of the whole thing. Lots of guys never find out about that, but you were lucky enough to learn it your first lick. Have fun with your new toy." She gasped as another blow struck her, and a second later made a little moan. "See? Did it that time too. Why don't you take me out for a little ride, cowboy?" 
 

He plunged forcefully into her, jolting her whole Bdy. As she grunted from this stress, he struck her side again with the whip. She drew air through her teeth, and very faintly uttered a clear and distinct cry of pain. Uh-oh, thought Cicily. It's gonna get noisy in here in a minute. 
 

She grabbed Debbie's hair in a two-handed grip, and started rubbing her twat with that pretty face. Debbie made some mumbling hums that could have been intended for protests, but Cicily preferred to assume were just sounds of excitement. "Oh, baby, you were doing fine! I just got impatient, that's all. Have to be sure you get your razor burn. Stick your tongue out, hard as you can, and let me do the work. There, see how I can bring my clit up to it, and play. Oh, you're a sweet one, Debbie. I'm not gonna forget you." 

Shouts from Tish rang through the room. Any human could tell she was in pain. Wayne was riding her in long, steady strokes, and whipping her on alternate thrusts. His face was a study in concentration. Cicily saw that he sometimes paused for an instant of bliss right after a whipstroke. She had heard about that effect, the spasming pussy. That feedback must be conditioning him right now to enjoy whipping girls. Strange are the ways of our nature, she thought. She realized she had stopped her own motions with Debbie's head. 
 

Oh, heck, thought Cicily. Might as well give the girl a break. Maybe she will finish me herself, out of true kindness. Fat chance. She drew Debbie up to lie with her on the couch. Debbie's face had red patches where Cicily's clipped pubic hairs had irritated her skin. Of course, it was all filmed with moisture that smelled like pussy juice. "There, there, precious," she soothed. "Cicily got a little wild, is all. I guess I must have got a little rough." 
 

Debbie, breathing hard, said, "Yeah, Cicily, you did. I was learning, I really was. You said I was doing fine. I just wanted to give you something nice, an orgasm straight from me to you. And then... then you just grabbed my head, and..." 
 

Cicily realized with horror the girl was close to tears. She held her close and stroked her lovely Bdy. "Oh, baby! I'm so sorry. I got carried away. Did I make your mouth sore?" A loaded question. She felt renewed hope spring up. 
 

"Not much. I'm okay. I could still do what I was doing." 
 

Cicily felt relief wash her. "I would like that, Debbie. I would like that a lot. It won't take long now to make me come." Debbie obligingly crawled down Cicily's Bdy to take her station. The girl learned fast. Cicily started making the noises of a kitten playing. Her back arched, she writhed for the fun of writhing. Debbie had figured out how to bat her clit around rapidly with her tongue. Stars above. She would have to yank that girl off her if she kept that up another second. On second thought. On second thought. This was her station, the train was pulling in. The little bitch did it. She was coming. The train lacked a whistle, so Cicily tried to make up for it. Her shriek beat down Tish's regular yelps. Her bucking threw Debbie's face off her, sorry, accident. 
 

Wayne had been on total automatic pilot for more than a dozen cycles: fuck, fuck, whip, fuck, fuck, whip. Cicily's trained voice cutting loose yanked him out of fugue. He was immediately aware of an urgent need of his Bdy. He needed to let go this wad, and soon. He dropped the whip and released Tish's hands. Grasping her shoulders, he started pumping rapidly, and soon enough the pumping was literal, as he spurted hot semen far into her Bdy. But for a sigh, he failed to vocalize. 
 

Tish spoke to him slowly, in a low voice that trembled with urgency. "Hey, Wayne? You got anything left? For stiffness, I mean." 
 

Wayne recognized her need. "Yeah, I could go on for a little bit. I can't keep it up long." 
 

"Well do me this favor. Roll me over and do my tits. It won't take much. Take care of my hands again, you know?" 
 

Wayne floated in postcoital bliss. He was careless. He placed Tish on her back, and eased his fading erection into her pussy. Instead of wrapping her wrists in the loincloth, he supposed he could just hold them pinned to the floor with one hand, to keep them from getting between her breasts and his whip. He jammed his pubic Bne hard against her clit. She felt that one. With the whip he popped a good one right down on her oversize nipple. She took a fit of wiggling. Awed, Wayne felt her paroxysm. He didn't know the human Bdy could be made to do that. He nearly lost his hold on her hands. Quickly he ground her clit again, and slapped the other nipple. She issued the start of a subterranean moan, and Wayne knew she was coming. He hit the first breast again. 
 

Wayne felt lines of fire etched on his belly. He looked down. He had lost her hands; before he perceived that, she had clawed his belly; before he spotted them, they were poised for another pass. He pulled his hands in for protection as fast as humanly possible. Yet her nails were scoring his belly again before he could interfere. He knocked them away, and the claws detoured toward his face. He caught her wrists when her nails were uncomfortably close to his eyes. Her moan had stopped abruptly, ages ago. 
 

As soon as her wrists were properly secured, Tish blinked at his face, and blinked at his belly. Not mere cosmetic scratches, for blood was oozing from places along the scratches. She grinned, and observed quite calmly, "You don't beat a Sister when her wrists are free. It isn't safe." 
 

Cicily had recovered enough from her orgasm to see this entire interchange. She noted the Sisterhood was riding on some psychological forces of extreme potency. Did they know what they were doing, messing with such deep stuff? She suspected they did. Everything she had seen of the Sisterhood had an overriding sense of purpose. For a second, Cicily wavered on the issue of belief in the Goddess. One thing for sure, this Order knew a lot about the mind. Tish had interrupted her orgasm to free her hands and scratch Wayne, and now ten seconds later did not seem to remember the act. 

Wayne and Debbie held a post-mortem on the orgy. 
 

"Hey, the neighbors came over tonight," she announced cleverly. 

"Yeah, and then they came over, and over," he muttered. "Look, if you're glowing, I don't want to be a wet blanket. But doesn't it seem to you like they treated us like a couple of lightweights, and just rolled over us?" 
 

"Your pride's still hurting because Tish got you by the balls first thing. The door hardly swung shut behind her when she had you under control. Hey, did you like that stuff?" 
 

"Like it? Well, it's... Fuck yeah. I liked it. If you want an honest answer, sorry, but there it is. She can fly me anywhere. The whip still makes me nervous. Using it on a human, to make them act in subhuman ways, it's a thrill. Kind of an uncomfortable thrill. But it feels like the kind of thrill that could get to be habit forming. I don't like that thought." 
 

Debbie asked, "Do you think maybe they'll switch over next time? You know, you and Cicily, and me and Tish." Wayne didn't question the implicit assumption that there would be a next time, nor did he jump with indignation over the notion that his girlfriend would consider a second Lesbian encounter. 
 

He just asked, "Would you like that?" 
 

"Yeah, for you to get a chance with Cicily. I think that would be just what you need. I could get the old smug, self- satisfied bastard back, after you fucked a rockstar." 
 

"Has living with the Sisterhood changed me that much?" 
 

Debbie responded, "Yeah, baby. Yeah. Especially in bed. You have become a lot more aware of me as another horny human being. You are a lot more careful about my feelings than you used to be, even though you're rougher with me sometimes." 
 

"Take it easy. I only do that when it's going to help you come." 
 

"And how would you know that, if you hadn't been living with the Sisters? What about me? Would a little bit of rough play have helped me come, if I weren't living with the Sisters? I have to tell you this. I'm starting to like things rougher. I'm getting a lot like them. The Sisterhood is gradually drawing me in." 
 

"No, baby." 

"Maybe. If it weren't for losing you, I might take the vow now." 
 

Wayne took a deep breath. "Baby, I didn't want it to go this way. But you didn't seem very tough out there tonight when Cicily grabbed your hair. And what dreadful torture was she giving you? Rubbing your face in her stubble! You were weak, lover, and a Sister is made of bronze. Talk about that." 
 

"That pain was all emotional. I think I can handle physical pain." 

"You don't think your emotions would get involved if a stranger whipped you and fucked you." 
 

"That sounds religious to me. A faith is a great comfort to its believers in times of adversity." 
 

"Debbie, you know what you sound like to me? You sound like a girl who's about to become a Sister." 
 

"Want to try me out first?" 
 

"Oh, shit." 

"Their way. You said yourself you were getting off on it. You told me I was weak. Prove your point." 
 

"Not tonight." 
 

"Of course not. That little wench wrung you dry, didn't she?" 
 

Later: "Hey, Debbie." 
 

"What?" 

"You want to get tied up?" 
 

She stiffened, wide awake now. No, he wasn't kidding; the question was sexual. She asked carefully, "What would we use?" 
 

"Your cloth belt out of your robe. My leather belt would do for the other." 

"Do you know the ritual?" 
 

"Let's just skip over that part. Pretend we did it." 
 

She stuck out her crossed fists. "Hurry, before I change my mind." 

He had the supplies on hand, of course. He had her Bund smoothly in seconds. She smiled beatifically. "Oh, Wayne!" 
 

"Don't tell me. I do not want to hear it." 
 

"Wayne, I just got this great feeling of peace come over me when you tied my wrists. It feels like I've been freed by getting Bund." 

"That was exactly what I didn't want to hear. You sound like you were Brn for the Sisterhood." 
 

"Maybe I was." 
 

"That's it." He struggled to untie her Bnd. "This experiment is over for tonight." 
 

Ten minutes later, he asked, "When will you take your vows?" 

Debbie answered, "First thing in the morning sounds logical to me." 
 

First thing in the morning, she bubbled her news to Tish. Tish said, "What?" 

Debbie said, "I'm joining up. Swearing in. Getting initiated. All of that." 
 

Tish inquired, "So you're headed now to talk with Sister Elanor and tell her about your decision?" 
 

"Yeah." 

"Hold your horses. In the first place, nothing could be done until Brother Maurice gets back tomorrow. You would be in a kind of limbo until then, incommunicado." 
 

"Oh. Well." 

"In the second place, are you sure? This ain't the kind of decision you make on the spur of the moment." 
 

"This ain't the kind of decision I make on the spur of the moment." 

"Thirdly, could I make it with you? I just saved you an extra day you would have wasted, so could I have part of it back?" 
 

"Wow, I don't... Sure, kid. You're not gonna hurt me, are you?" 
 

"Plain vanilla if that's your flavor. But what if I was? What if I did want to stimulate you some? Would you say, thanks just the same, Tish, but there's my comfort to consider? I think you would say, go, girl, just be careful with my emotions. Am I right?" 

"Maybe. I'm scared about it." 
 

"Scared is the way they want you for the initiation. But you need to realize, it's more than just about pain. It's about trust. If you don't trust somebody who tied up your hands, your whole day is going to be wasted. If you trust them, well they might give you a few pangs, but what the fuck? It's all just for fun. Let me tell you a secret, Debbie. That's the road to the best orgasm you ever had. We're not Sisters for nothing. Yes, it's addicting. We're not Sisters for nothing. So have you ever had an orgasm in pain?" 
 

"No. I didn't think it was possible." 
 

"Oh, believe me. It's a strange mix of feelings. If things are exactly right, you get a blast that nothing can compare. Nothing. Or you can kind of fizzle, or you can let the pain swamp you. It's a split second decision point, like you're riding a surfboard at a million miles an hour, and you know there's one point on one wave that will take you and your surfboard to the top of a mountain. Religiously, they use different images. They call the super-orgasm the Sacred Fountain, for some reason. In the lab they say it's a shock- potentiated orgasm, a variety of petit mal seizure." 
 

"Wow. Then it's for real." 
 

"Real is one way to put it. Wow is something else you can say about it. There are a lot of things about this religion that are for real, more than all the other brands put together." 
 

"People don't think of it as a religion. They just think you're a lot of nutty whores." 
 

"What do you think?" 
 

"I'm convinced." 
 

"You want to go to bed with me?" 
 

"Yeah, Tish. That'd be nice." 
 

Tish walked to an altar alcove in her wall. "This is where sacred objects go when they're not on me. It's also the communications nexus for all the machines in the room, and a few other things. Here's what I wanted to show you. Ever seen one of these?" 

"No, but it's not hard to guess what it is." 
 

"Good guess. Here, hold it." 
 

"Oh, pretty baby. It's warm." 
 

"Nice, huh? Put your thumb right in here, while I squeeze on the dick. Huh? Feel it? Imagine this gadget tugging on your poor clitty that way. Terrible thought, isn't it?" 
 

"Gods and goddesses, Tish. I am impressed. This thing is so beautiful." 

"Well, Debbie, not many people would call it beautiful. It's liberating, is what it is. It lets women feel things they couldn't feel naturally, and sets them free from having to keep a man around if they want penetrating sex. It's another part holding our Sisterhood together. Now, this is for us to share. Part of it goes in you, and part of it goes in me. You understand that. Now, which end you want? I'm leaving it up to you." 
 

"Oh, wow, Tish. Knock me over with a fuckin feather next time. Of course I want to do what I never tried before. I want to know how it feels to be male." 
 

"We got us a deal. It's a lot of work, but I think you can handle it. I had a feeling about you, and I hoped you would make that choice. Get rid of your clothes, please. I don't want to look at them. Wearing clothes is just one more disgusting habit the Sisterhood will beat out of you." 
 

Taking off her clothes, Debbie asked, "Will I know what to do?" 

"Probably. Debbie, there's something in you that you never let out yet. In a few minutes it will start coming out. Let it flow. Avoid anxiety and you should be fine. Here's a hint, if you're thinking in terms of extremes, you're probably doing just fine. The best sex is drastic, in some ways. Are you ready? By the way, you do look good." 
 

"Thanks," said Debbie. "You have to help me with that." 

"Yeah. Okay, you see this little yellow light? You have to put it exactly where you piss. You can feel it, that's right. Open your legs. These two plugs, you just put them right in where they go. Take your time, be comfortable. Good. Now I'm going to have to help you with this part, you pretty much learn it by feel. You pinch at the base of the shaft, and tug up and back, to get the ticklers settled on your clit. From the tone of your gulp I think we found it. Here, you do it now, and if you have a favorite tickle spot, try to get it exactly." 
 

"Okay, that's about right. Let me try once more, that's it." 
 

"Hold it right there. Now I'm squeezing it with the palm of my hand, from your pussy to your ass, smoothing it all in." 
 

"Feels like those plugs are swelling up inside me." 
 

"Give the girl a cigar. The last step is to click the little dial on your asshole. That sets the fit. Everything will stay snug, just the way it is, until you click it again. You understand, you can't get it out until you click it. Got that?" 
 

"Oh, I think I could get it out, but it would be tough. It's not going to fall off, if that's what you're worried about." 
 

Tish said, "It gets a lot of stress, pushing and pulling and so forth. They used to make things you strapped around your hips. Maybe they still do. Now, I want you to do something for me. Stand there and jack it off with your hand, like a man. Let me watch you get used to the feeling. You're delightful. Steady, baby, stay on your feet. Keep going, you're just warming up. Oh, you are so sweet! I can't keep my hands off you any longer. Toss me on that bed, Butch, and ream me out." 
 

"Tish, would you do for me what all the men want?" 
 

"Suck your dick? Sure, Debbie. You're gonna like that." 
 

Whither?