Cave Three: Dedication 

Wherein the Goddess peels off Her blouse. 

She bares Her shoulders to feel the wind currents. 

One knows Her back is naked for the lash. 
 

...are You the gardener?... Evangel 
 
 

1. 
 

Instructing Youth  
 

Hey girl. Got your note. I just thought I would send you a few thoughts on what I thought a Babylon fan club should look like. First and most important, it must not be a chapter of the Sisterhood. Any links have got to be deniable. The Babylon club has no idea how to get in touch with the real Sisterhood, never knew such a thing existed, doubts that it possibly could, etc. etc. That's for anybody over 18 who asks, female or male. We have to watch for heat from the first minute. 
 

Sex partners are a different story. It's weird. The narks might blow dope in order to bust somebody, but one thing the cops will never do is sleep with jailbait! So if they're willing to go to bed with you, they're probably cool. Make sure everybody knows you make videos of everything (if you do or not). That will scare off the spooks quicker than anything else, the thought of being in a video with naked minors. Every Babylon club needs to have 2 or 3 secure channels to get in touch with the Temple. Secure means an initiate, whether Sister or Communicant, somewhere in the line. Temple communications are secure, but you can never tell about the public nets unless you use encryption. There are public domain encryption prgs the Feds can't break. The ideal is for the contact to actually be an underground Initiate. 
 
 
 
 

who doesn't want to run away is very tricky. That's what the Babylon clubs are for, to find out what kids the Sisterhood can trust. The Sisters don't need a kid who will break down and start busting everybody she ever heard of. We don't want to initiate anybody who will do that. So the Babylon clubs are for kids to get together and give each other a little Sister-type sex. Unofficially of course. Officially it's just a literary appreciation club, with funny costumes etc. So when the club contact slips us the word at the Temple and says look, there's this little chick who says she's ready to be initiated, we already know she can take a little taste of the lash and the thought of anal sex doesn't scare her shitless, and now she wants to proceed a little deeper in her religious studies etc. maybe a Communicant will show up and say hey little girl etc. 
 

What we like to see best is a kid who says this religion is real neat and I want to live like that, enough to leave this hometown shit behind and go see about it. When a kid says that we want to know about it right away, that's a radical thing to say. We don't want her out hitchhiking on the highway trying to find us. We're not too easy to find like that & we don't have any way to know about her. Just about any type who will say they want to stay with us is a type we can find a way to handle. Just no fats, no stupids. Also we're not real thrilled about girls who are alcoholics or real junkie-type addicts, its not our line of work to help fools. Just sometimes maybe if they're either intellectuals or super fucking machines or Bth. Real sex appeal can make us overlook other flaws. Pretty helps of course. You get the idea. When somebody like this says they want to come see us, ask if they want to get checked out with the ritual objects, but if they say no let us know anyway. They might not think the Babylon fan club is their cup of tea no offense. We will arrange transport for them & we take care of our own security. 
 

But we were talking about kids who want to stay home. We can sometimes initiate some people like that but not everybody so don't count on it too much. Some girls just want the thrill of getting initiated so they can whisper about it to their girlfriends & never want to hear any more from the Sisterhood, but they can brag oh yes they're a member. Well fuck that, we risk our fucking necks for them to bring them our religion & then they want to ditch us. We don't want them. We want to find girls who will give up a little time now and then for the Goddess. We want them to put their ass on the line sometimes & I mean that literally. This religion is about sex, and that means somebody has to get fucked. If somebody wants to be our Sister & still live at home she has to be willing to put out when the Sisterhood says to. Then it will be up to her to make her own excuses around the house like Mom I don't want to talk about it. 
 

I don't mean every time & I don't mean all the time but the point is sometimes you have to be willing to deliver or else you're not our Sister. If you won't take risks after your initiation don't ask us to risk initiating you. That's all I have to say on that. 

ABut Bys --- you might get some Bys who want to hold the whip hand in your club. Kick them out. We don't want them, we don't want to see them, we don't want to hear from them ever. People are never never going to believe this, but there is no room in the Sisterhood for even one sadist, and there should be no room in the Babylon clubs for them either. Our religion is basically about and for women. A male who wants to dominate and/or hurt women just is not on our side, if you get my drift. We might take their money if they want to pay us for a little of our time, but we won't talk religion with them and we won't let them pretend they're any part of our religion. So when Bys ask you how you can have a club of masochists and not have any sadists, just tell them eat shit, that's our fucking business because it's none of yours. 
 

ABut Bys --- you might get some Bys who have heard about the Communicants and want to know more about our religion. The first thing they ought to know is that the initiation is identical to the initiation into the Sisterhood, that should give them a hint. They do get to have sex with the Sisters all the time & they hold the whip hand but that doesn't mean they try to dominate the Sisters or Bss them around but just in bed. But they have to be sensitive & caring men who know just what it feels like & believe me they learn just what it feels like and then some. They don't have to be faggots but they do have to be bi & they are able to switch at the snap of your finger. They don't get off on hurting girls but they are doing their religious duty and they enjoy their religion, if that makes sense. They have a lot of special, rare qualities, mostly love. There aren't too many of them, but it just takes a few to keep a lot of Sisters happy, ha ha. 
 

You have to be real lucky if you want to find a good Communicant. The important thing is all the Sisters have to really love them & I mean exactly that. You don't let some faggot with a whip tie you up if you can't stand him because maybe he knows that & you Bth just have a miserable time but you more than him! But if you find a good Communicant for your club & he's underage maybe you just better keep him to yourself because we might snatch him up & you would have to look again! Seriously I guess what you need to look for is somebody you could dump pretty easy if you all get tired of him. Your club has to be run by all females or it just won't work. So don't bring in any male who's the least bit Bssy or you'll be very sorry. If I were you I would use only guys who have been through it all themselves, and I mean all of it, before he gets to tie up a girl in your club. I'm serious as a heart attack. 
 

That's just for your regular meetings, you should have one guy, or more than one, for a regular. Then you can have a couple more waiting in the wings. You can also entertain carefully selected guests sometimes. It shouldn't be hard to turn that into a fund-raising event, if you know what I mean. If you want to get a little wild, and I think you do, you can throw a party, with the girls in your club providing the entertainment at the party, etc. 
 

That's about it. When you get your club organized, send me a note and I'll upload a crypto program so you can be our first contact at the club. Don't forget you never heard of us, and you're pretty sure we don't exist. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

2. 
 

Recruit 
 

"Hey, where's all the dudes?" She was a little one, redhead, her complexion such a delicately-poised white that it looked like a sour smell might change the color of her flesh. "All I see is chicks here. Is this like a convent or something?" 
 

"This is your home for right now, and you own it about as much as any of us do. You can paint your name on the walls, or make a tent out of your sheets if you feel like it. This is a retreat for our Order. If you think we're nuns you're pretty dumb. Who are you?" 
 

Pretty. Pubescent, skin stretched tight. Slight build. Coming on, this one. In four moons she would be ripe as a persimmon. Ready now. "Just Rachel." 
 

"OK, Rachel, I'm Lucretia. Come see your room and you can change into your candidate's gown. Your color will be rose." I saw her grimace. She thought she would look dreadful in rose. Little she knew. 
 

"Do I have to wear it?" 
 

"You don't have to do anything around here. You came here because you said you might want to join our Sisterhood, and somebody sponsored you. To be initiated you have to wear the right things in the right order, or it won't happen." 
 

"They told me I could leave here whenever I wanted, but the Jeep's already gone." Her eyebrows made neat little crinkles when she expressed 'quizzical'. There was little hair to them. Her left eyebrow had a little gold ring through it at the outer corner; a matching ring could be seen in her left nostril. 
 

"Don't worry. If you decide you don't want to join, we'll get you back, or whatever. Let's go. By the way, we do get dudes up here on the weekend, to help pay the notes, and there's a couple men who stay here. If you join up you'll have enough men hanging around your whole life when you need one." 
 

"This is awesome, right? I mean these mountains and everything." We were walking slowly up to the cabins. The brisk springtime breeze cut straight through my chiffon, and chilled the brass slave collar on my neck. With her loose jeans and loose sweater, she seemed to be better dressed for the weather than I, but we would soon fix that. 
 

"Yeah, I like it here," I shivered. "It's quiet. Feels better in the summertime, though." I reminded myself that the Goddess had sent me the pang of my chill for my extra delight. I aimed my nipples proudly at the breeze and deliberately strode with a slow step. Yes, the rapid flipping of the light material against my tightened skin was a positive experience. This delicious jailbait beside me was pleasant company. Cold was fine. Walking was fine. 
 

I unlocked her door and handed her the key. "Here's your room. Nice and warm in here, isn't it? We can light a fire if you like, to make it cozier." 
 

"Wow, big bathroom. Look at that tub, you could get three people in there! Cool. Hang on a minute." Without self- consciousness, she tugged her jeans down her thighs and squatted on the commode. Looked like good stuff to me, oh yes indeed. Her tiny patch of pubic hair looked as filmy as her eyebrows. The sound of her squirting reminded me. 
 

"I'll draw your bath water." Really, really warm, not to scald the child, but to soak all the tensions out of her. She stripped quickly, but with a definite natural grace. I slopped scent, bubbles and a skin moisturizer into her bath water. She watched my eyes while I scanned her nakedness. 
 

"Are you a Lesbian?" 
 

I chuckled. "Come here, kid." 
 

With no hesitation she stepped into my extended arms for a hug. I answered the side of her head. "Sometimes, girl. Right now more than usual, because you really are so darn beautiful. But all lust honors the Goddess, am I right? That's why you're here. Your sponsor said you were a horny virgin with a sharp mind. If you want to keep that cherry, you're in the wrong place. Get in the tub." 
 

She gave me a shy grin when I tweaked her cherry blossom. Finding the water too steamy, she let it simmer her flesh an inch at a time as she sat gradually into the tub. The sight was just too hard on the eyeballs. I turned away with a sigh. 
 

"So are you a whore?" 
 

"Yep. Love my work, 'cause love is my work." 
 

"Are you all whores? When I get initiated, will I be a whore?" 
 

"ABut half the women here work in the sex industry when they're at home. If you join our Sisterhood, you'll be about fifty percent whore." 

She snickered at my riposte, then crooned it. "Fifty cent ho'!" I helped shampoo and rinse her red hair, naturally wavy. I got liberally soaked, so I casually stepped out of my gown and underthings. My proud tan Bdy didn't quiver under her rapid gaze, but filled with strength. 
 

"Luke? Why do you wear a slave collar?" 
 

"I have to wear it, fool! The damn thing won't come off! It's all one piece, see?" I grabbed her a towel. 
 

"Are you a slave?" 
 

"Why does a person wear a slave collar?" 
 

"Luke, I was just asking." 
 

"OK. This means I'm a slave to the Goddess, a full-time priestess. Around here it actually makes me kind of like a Bss, because nobody else of my rank is here right now. Turn around, like this. You look good enough to eat, kid. You will learn the collar means a lot more. It means the person who holds my chain can jerk me around, defeat me, keep me from fighting them, so they can have their way with me. Mostly guys just use it to pull my face down into their crotch. I like that." 
 

Rachel was momentarily silent. Evidently the world was a bigger place than she thought. I firmly toweled off her compact hips, then firmly swatted them. "Hungry, girl?" 
 

"Not really." She looked deep in my eyes. "I'd like to learn more from you. I trust you, Luke, and I want you to show me all I need to know." 
 

"Ah." Gotcha, sweet thing. I grasped her wet hair and levered her tiny features into place to receive my kiss. I murmured, "The place to learn more from me is in bed, child. We're in the wrong roo
 nbsp;
 

When it was Rachel's turn, she was collected, skin radiant and unblemished. Her gown of wheat color was quite transparent in daylight, and scarcely concealing in artificial light. I could just squeeze her until her little head popped off. I don't know what reminded me, but I flashed on a time when a girl named Vicki was walking up a hill with a dude named Carl, and had kicked his feet from under him in the dark. That hour which followed had been the most exciting in Miss Vicki's short life, until she got renamed. I expected that Rachel faced such a peak experience now, so I studied her face closely to have a basis for later comparison. 
 

It was a long time before I was called in to provide aftercare for Rachel. Her face showed utter exhaustion, but she glowed. As I washed her down she told me she was Jennifer now, Jennifer 383. I thought I would be able to remember that. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

3. 
 

Novice's Impressions 
 

My novitiate, like my day as an acolyte, was brief but intense. I attribute the extreme interest shown in my advancement by the high and mighty among the Sisterhood simply to my image. Some have preference for looks like mine: fair, slender, intense. Perhaps it was because I let everything show too much. They like that in their young victims. 
 

Only a woman very unaware spiritually could claim that the novitiate was psychically damaging. If she was injured by any revelation, she just forgot to duck. The Sisterhood signals its blows against your self-conceptions. Yes, you get beat every time you get fucked, nearly, but that doesn't condition you against sex. Far from it. Transcendence is real, is your first illumination. That gets you by your encounters with all but the clumsiest of the Worshipers. It's fun. You come and come. 
 

But to be penetrated by an experienced Sister, who knows exactly how you feel! Fun was something you just dreamed about before. Her precision application of the lash right at the very instant you need it most, can drive you to new heights of excitement. Her goal is to keep you teetering at the very edge between despair and bliss, until you just drop off into an ocean of orgasm. I would not think of having sex without the lash, or some replacement for it. I consider that an indispensable accessory for sex. I consider the prosthesis another, for sex between women. My opinions fall right with the consensus of the Sisterhood on these issues. 

I like the Sisterhood a lot. I would die for the Sisterhood gladly, although my preferred way to go out is in the bellies of my Sisters. Yes, I have been initiated to the fourth degree, I know about the sacrifice. I want it. It would be so fucking easy, easy, easy to do. All you have to do is scream once while they cut your heart out. I doubt that you're really conscious when they make you kiss it. If you are, you're probably in an advanced state of shock from loss of blood pressure. It takes them about a second or two to get it out, and up to your face. You have had plenty of time to die by then. Still, from what I saw, it looked like she kissed it. I fail to imagine her pain. The flavor of the meat was incomparable to anything in my experience. 
 

But the novitiate. People thought I was a little treasure, which is bad news in a way for a novice with delicate nerves. They gave me no peace. I came in with my head in the clouds over my interlude with the Consort. My abstracted air caught the lustful attention of a certain Monitor on duty, and she signaled her companion Baduccaa 807. Baduccaa is a tall blonde, with beauty to make your eyes ache. She intercepted me in the hall. As soon as I realized she intended to speak to me, I started to ask her directions, but she cut me off by gruffly demanding my ritual objects. Proudly I knelt and presented her with my new whip and rope. She Bund my hands firmly and chained my collar, hauling me down the hall to her own destination. My confusion and anxiety rose steadily. Just inside her portal she dropped my gown from my shoulders, leaving me naked except for my new restraint accessories. I did not know what to expect, but I was beginning to be afraid I did know. Baduccaa felt impersonally of my stomach and arms. 

"Pretty good," she commented. "Skinny, but looks like good stuff. Hey, you're pretty spaced. Did the Consort knock your stuffing out, girl? I bet he pumped you so full of cum you looked like a pear. Yeah, you look about his type. Skinny and young and pretty. Tight, too, ain't you?" She had a finger probed up my vagina. "Yeah, like a snapping turtle. When our By finds a virgin who tries to pinch his dick off, he really parties. Worshiped in you for quite a while, did he? You still sore?" 
 

"Yeah, maybe a little." 
 

"Well, you're just a fuckin whore. You don't rule the fuckin world." 

I was startled. It was the first time I had heard the expression. Was she putting me down, or trying to sympathize with me? What did that mean anyway? "What does that mean?" 
 

"Here, let's free your hands." She skillfully removed the rope from my wrists. I felt an odd sense of loss. 
 

"Have you ever seen a Bilbeaux before?" 
 

"I heard of a dildo." 
 

She fetched an odd-looking object from an honorable position in an alcove, her altar. It looked like a phallus with a couple odd protuberances where the testicles should join on. 
 

I asked, "How come it's black?" 
 

Baduccaa replied, "Don't know. They all are. Tradition, I guess. This is a fluidically-operated transducer of fucking motion to clitoral stimulus. Feel it." 
 

I took the weighty little device she handed me. It was firm but flexible. Feeling down the shaft of the cock, I made fluid run in little tubes inside the soft surface. My motion made little knobs turn under rubber at the other end, and the protuberances distended a little. 

"Wow. What does it do?" I knew I had asked a dumb question when I saw her turn absolutely red in her effort to keep from answering it. 

She said instead, "This part goes in your pussy, this other part in your ass. See how these two knurled knobs rest on your clitoris. You get stimulation there when the dick part squeezes into a tight little pussy. Like yours." A friendly finger dabbled through the lips of my vagina. 
 

I was wrist free so I ignored the provocative trespass. 
 

"Why is it so warm?" 
 

"It stays warm, Bdy temperature. The holder thing there recharges it and keeps it warm. That's the only place you can reprogram it." 

I asked, "What does the programming do for it?" 
 

"Changes the feel of it. The way it tickles your clit, you know? You can make it nuzzle you in the ass if you want to. Is that a great gadget, or what?" 
 

"I've never seen anything like that." 
 

"Of course not. Nobody has them but us. It's the big reason we're all freaking Lesbians." 
 

"Wow," I said again. "I wondered about that, how true it all was. So that's really the way it is?" 
 

Baduccaa pinched me on the clit, not really hard, enough to straighten my spine. "Why don't you stay here for a while, long enough for me to explain to you whether it's true or not. I think I will be able to make you understand in a few days, or maybe weeks, whether there's any queers around here. Please? Are you thinking it over?" 

She was pinching me a lot harder now. I was standing on tiptoes. My hands were on her arm; I wanted to push her away, but I was scared to. "Okay! Okay! I'll stay with you, just please let me go." 
 

She didn't let go. She made it hurt instead. I whimpered, and backed into a wall. She covered my mouth with hers while she hurt me, so my cries were stifled in her mouth. That was my introduction to my new girlfriend Baduccaa. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

4. 
 

Excess Sex  
 

For System routing let me say Sexuality, Sisterhood symposia, to establish data channels. We have some very relevant recent inputs in those places. To the Sister who is concerned that the largest portion of her time awake is spent in sex, the act itself or thoughts relating to the immediate experience of sex that day: I get what you're saying. You feel your time would be more productively spent in activities more directly concerned with solving the world's problems, I think. I in fact agree with you, in a categorical way. In your case possibly you should arrange more of your time for abstract pursuits. 
 

Ask the System for a daychart. It takes telemetry from your collar which allows it to make guesses about the levels of physiologically active trace chemicals in your Bdy from moment to moment. It verifies and refines those guesses every time you donate piss, maybe ten times a day or whatever. You get to visualize your twenty-five hour record of biochemistry as coordinated with Bttom brain activity. With practice you can get to view your own moods through the day. The System says the average Sister spends about thirty-one percent of her day in sex-related moods or thoughts. Considering only Sisters who are here working as active Priestesses, that fraction jumps to thirty-eight percent. Very likely your estimate that a majority of your time is spent in that way is a subjective over-estimate. This is very understandable. 
 

Medically, we have not yet seen any signs of damage from the mere state of intensive concentration on sexual matters. The Goddess does not demand sacrifice of our health in this way. Refer to the Whipping symposium for ongoing discussion of the health issues of repetitive skin impact. Your thinking about sex all the time now probably does not hurt your future health, though continually engaging in masochistic sexual practices does have an adverse effect. That's something we are thinking about very hard. Log in and help us think. 
 

You may find you've been ignoring some System hints on subjects of interest to you. Productive work, which advances the progress of the Sisterhood, can come out of surprising sources. If there's something you like to talk about, the chances are pretty good that some of your other Sisters want to hear what you have to say on that. Ideas sprout magically out of spontaneous dialog. You can be working when you don't know you are. Use the System, stretch its limits. You never know how words you input might be weighted. In the course of chatting idly with a friend, your sentences could be applied as stating the definitive position of the Sisterhood as a whole on that particular issue, or some aspect of it. We're making up our own rules as we go along, and you're among the rulers. 
 

We like sex around here. It's our worship. We like it more intensely when we're getting hurt. We think that's part of our natural wiring, the way we're put together as female mammals. If we're right about that, we can make certain statements that apply to the female humans in the secular world, quiet observations about the woman's relationship to society. If she, the secular woman, is trying to regulate her behavior on the basis of an incorrect theory of her sexuality, it explains why social structures are so awkward, and why she is so uncomfortable with her life. 
 

We would like to model a social restructuring, a model of society based on the women's cohort as the essential and decisive social unit. We would like to show this model is more stable than patriarchal nuclear families. We don't like to express our masochism, which we feel may be the most natural sexual appetite of the female human, within any social situation defined by men. We think women should be in charge while their wrists are free, not necessarily as individuals, but collectively. 
 

A woman who is in a household dominated by a single male, who arranges her effective isolation from her female peers, is not in a good place to reveal her preference for pain sex. She will be exploited and progressively isolated, and her submission will result in the diminishment of her personality. She may become obsessed with privacy to hide her shame. Very likely the male will tend to tyranny, thinking that's the way she likes it. We don't favor couples generally, in the milieu of pain sex, because we don't like the inevitable development of dominance. That's why we have our Sisters around, to pull us away from a particular man before we have given him too much of ourselves. We are biased always toward promiscuity, against pair-Bnding. 
 

We have accumulated a lot of evidence favorable to our hypothesis concerning pain sex as a built-in circuit of reflexes in women right there on the orgasmic trigger. That is big news for our species. This big secret is ours to develop and reveal. If we use it right, it will serve as our tool to restructure society to be more survivable during the coming ecological crises. Pain sex is perverse on the individual level, whenever a particular male can completely define the circumstances. We like it when a man beats a woman in the Temple, but we don't like it when a man beats a woman in his house. If she has no Sisters to turn to when it's over, she can descend into submissiveness as a pathological mental state, in which she doesn't do the world much good. 
 

Our ideas about sexuality put us in opposition to the nuclear family. In current world conditions, we see the nuclear family as a deadly trap. No woman in such a situation is advised to reveal her normal preference for pain sex, for development of an unhealthy dominance-submission relationship is the inevitable result. Such a relationship automatically tends to drift to the extreme which threatens the woman's survival, with her lines of communication to other women severed. Because we think pain sex is natural to women, we don't approve of households headed by men. That's the long and short of it. 
 

I hope this discussion will help you focus on your issue of lingering love for your man. Baby, don't feel like the lone ranger. You corner any Sister, and she will tell you there is somebody she would like to be with. But pairing off just doesn't mix with pain sex; it can get a girl beaten to death. The Sisterhood is the only safe way to live if you want to express your desires for loving that hurts so deliciously. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

5. 
 

Teaching Slave 

Baduccaa put me up to directing a Lay Initiation class. The Lay Sisters are women who sympathize with us, but who live out on the streets rather than in the Temple. Therefore, their initiation levels can never go as high as ours can, and there are some very basic facts about the Sisterhood which may not be discussed with them. Mostly, all you do is show them how to present their Ritual Objects, then turn Worshipers loose on them. They get their little thrill and go home to their husbands, marveling at how brave they've been. You have to look out for any tricky questions they might have about the Temple and the Sisterhood. Also, B says, watch for any woman who shows real talent, and try to seduce her (literally or figuratively) into becoming a Novice and giving up her life outside. 
 

To find out just what kind of questions I might have to field, I have had the System chip out the Initiation text for the Hostess, the Sister who guards the Temple front gate. I don't think I would like that job. You have to watch all these hunk Worshipers swing their dicks by, and not be able to get any. Men are my favorite sex partners. When my wrists are free, though, I can't stand them. I must tell B I need to spend more time edifying. -- 
 

Strange to think that I have the initiation level needed to be Hostess, but I am still the First Slave's favorite whipping girl instead. I could be out cutting a jolly swathe among the fresh sweet novices, but I just don't feel like it. I guess I haven't "flipped" yet, that is, changed my personality from submissive to dominant. I just don't get turned on by the thought of whipping a girl. The prosthesis is a lot of fun, especially the new programmable ones. That's true whichever end of it you're on, or even by yourself. But I still get all breathless at the thought of tasting the lash, and I start melting whenever I get tied up. I guess I'll change soon enough, but I'm not in any hurry. Not everybody changes over. 
 

B is pretty good to me. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and she's feeling me up. At first it's just kind and comfortable, and we might smile and chat a while, but I can't help getting interested. When I'm wiggling just right she will crawl between my knees and go down on me. She toys with my clit with her lips and tongue until I explode. Then when we kiss I can taste myself in her mouth. We snuggle with my face on her breast until we fall asleep again. I think that way is nicer than fooling with all the apparatus and ritual objects and shit. Of course, I don't come as hard that way, and she doesn't come at all, but it seems more personal when nothing is involved but just us. It doesn't count on our initiation levels, not registered on the System at all, but I bet the monitors sometimes watch us anyway. 
 

We're not in love or anything, not really. She keeps me around because, you know, I react good and sing, and she likes my looks. I like hanging around the Bss because of the perks, and she has a lot to teach me. I think I will get a cell of my own just so I can have my own altar, and keep a few things in it. I will keep on staying here, but I will have a place to go just in case I want to try out one of the new girls. I saw one today who was awfully pretty, being led off on a chain. I thought to myself, "What a lucky catch!" Whatever happens, the Goddess is kind. 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

6. 
 

Trying This at Home 
 

The home-study course version of hermetic initiation has the obvious disadvantage that ritual intercourse is not reliably available outside the Temple; the assurance of safety is lacking. You may choose your partner with ideal wisdom, or else you and he may be human and fallible. The Sisterhood, therefore, does not recommend self-initiation by study, meditation, intuition or other lonely means exclusively. 
 

Solipsism is the logical error which characterizes loss of meaningful communication with one's peers. The isolated human tends to forget that intentional consciousness is not the entirety of the mind, and that the mind is not the entirety of the being, and that the being is not the entirety of the universe. 
 

The Goddess blesses a very specific social interaction. The blessing may not extend to an abstraction in lonely logic. Real intercourse between real persons is essential to real understanding of the Goddess. For this reason the authenticity of initiation ritual is devoutly recommended. To presume you understand, without the experience, is very likely false. 
 

Quite possibly you may arrange to hurt yourself in some way experimentally, to see whether you can thereby potentiate a masturbatory orgasm. The pain you thus inflict upon yourself proves no point. It is not covered by the blessing of the Goddess. Any conclusion you may reach under this circumstance is liable to be a delusion. 

With a willing partner, perhaps your mate, you may make some progress in understanding the Way of the Goddess. Yet it is most difficult to achieve enough balance with just the two of you, to allow your awareness to reach to the far horizon. Most find that their best progress on the road to enlightenment is made during attendance at the Temple. Carnal pleasure with transcendental pain is a very powerful formula for stimulating the understanding. Yield to the warm urging of the Goddess and come down to the Temple. Your Bdy and your mind should achieve a proper degree of enlightenment together. 
 

In the modern world, an assertive woman may have a high degree of control over who shares her Bdy, and when, and where, and how. This is right and commendable. In the confines of the Temple, once she submits to Bndage, she surrenders that control to the tender mercies of the Goddess. The Goddess is kind enough to assume all responsibility for the woman's feelings from that point, from her comprehensions to her expressions, her responses and reflexes, her guilt or grief, her muscles and membranes, also her pain and also her ecstacy. 
 

The ritual object the rope is generally understood to be tied around the initiated woman's wrists, binding them together at least. In ritual practice the wrists of the initiated woman are frequently Bund to a fixed place, which gives the male sex partner freedom of approach to love and beat her. 
 

The ritual object the whip, at these levels of initiation, is not the cracking whip with the tip which can go supersonic. It is a short weapon designed to minimize bruising and abrasion. Its use in ritual is restricted to the time the initiated woman's Bdy is penetrated by the third ritual object, usually found attached to a man. The exception is if the woman, although not penetrated, specifically asks for each stroke. High ceremony differs, in ways which should concern only aspirant priestesses. 
 

The degree of pain the Goddess asks for is really rather modest. She might have chosen to enjoy more hurtful practices. That She likes to feel Her disciples get hurt is just oversimplification. Being a goddess, She can feel from either side. If She likes to taste the instant of being squeezed by a nervous pussy when the beautiful, delicious, quivering human woman was struck with that whip; should She feel it from either side or Bth, is She not the Goddess? She looks through all these eyes. 
 

Before you can wear the slave collar of Inanna, you have to become one of the baddest, meanest bitches who ever walked this planet. Your initiation by that time will have included just about everything that can safely be done to a tied-up female. Yes, you will possibly pick up a scar or two; you might also have a brand, a tattoo, a piercing. You may not have chosen all your marks. Well, you're just a whore, you don't rule the world. 
 

People do step aside for sweet girls like you who wear that collar, though. Tricks don't try to play money games with you. Ladies of the Lady get respect in the city. The Goddess takes care of her own, is the word on the streets. If the lady wants your company, she will ask you for it, but look and look again at the skin. 
 

The vocation of priestess is really suited to few applicants. A priestess may be required to entertain many male worshipers a day as a sexual submissive taking blows, although her own orientation might be same-sex and dominant when she's at home in her Temple apartment. 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

7. 
 

In the 'Hood  
 

Sister Margaret asked the Consort, "What are we going to do about the gangsta thing?" 
 

The Consort said, "Why don't you tell me as much as you like, about what you see is the nature of the problem." 
 

Margaret launched out. "Well there are people driving around with automatic weapons shooting other people. Nobody authorized them to do that. There are a million people smoking cocaine every day, funneling lots of money into it. The whole mystique has become a complex part of Black racial identity. It is a major problem of public safety. One would believe the Goddess must have some concern on this issue on humanitarian grounds." 
 

The Consort mused, "The Goddess personally isn't very humanitarian, and She may not even be humane. I don't know what ethnically appeals to her, or may apply to her for that matter; the Sumerians aren't around any more, but they were a lot like Iranians. That's a pretty people. On the addiction situation, a million people think they're addicted, despite a specific aspect of the symptomology of classical addiction being absent. The truth is, the specific substance they're hooked on is non-addictive. They may stop its use instantly, without any physical ailment except for hyperchondria. The only damage is perceptual, and the swing through sensations and emotions which forms our own little habituation. Self- inflicted mental pain, I suppose you would call it. 
 

"The Goddess says the Ritual is stronger than the crack pipe. Some whip blows can take a cocaine junkie's mind off her little monkey in a hurry. It works fine for males too, but you have to catch them first, and the Goddess doesn't like working like that. We get a lot of our Sisters from crackheads and junkies, who know instinctively that we have the drastic answer that their personal problem needs. In most cases, they do become pain addicts, and convince themselves they can't come unless they are in pain. Most of these ladies can be ambushed, by unexpected variations in rhythm, into orgasm without the accompaniment of pain, and at that instant they realize that they aren't really junkies to anything any more. It's very liberating. 
 

"Margaret, you would have preferred a more worldly answer to that secular problem, an answer less spiritual in scope. There are your secular sisters on the streets for a nickel and a dime, and sometimes they get shot, and that's not right. You want to heal some of them with the whip, girl you got a mission. I mean that literally, we'll rent you a place as far uptown as you want, deep in the hood, a good big place. You take your little sisters in, and you treat them right, show them there was something they didn't even know about. Show them and get them to swear, and we'll assign a Communicant, or I might drop by sometime. They have to swear right before initiation, but you can tell them about it, sort of feel them out while you're feeling them up. We won't ever be able to give advance word of an initiation visit, for security reasons. If one of us men come by and you don't have anybody ready to be initiated, be ready to take your lumps because we will probably ask for your ritual objects. We'll assign you two Sisters, your own choice, and you can get one of them to jump in for you and take your beating if you learn how to handle your girls. Tell them that's what they're there for. 
 

"I don't care what color Sisters you pick. I know this cutest little blonde cunt, I mean Sister, who needs to get the faintest tint of racism scrubbed out, and a few dozen big black cocks in her would be good for her health. You will also need a medical Sister there, in addition to your assistants. Sub rosa, we will make sure there is a crack house next door, to hold a girl's interest and keep her around until you have explained the situation to her. When she's sworn, we ship her out of that part of town, until she has taken charge of her own Bdy chemistry at least. Seduce them, swear them in, and ship them here. We know a little bit about bad girls. They won't go back on the pipe. 
 

"You know what kind of girls we like. Looks and imagination are important to us, and extra flesh won't do. You can keep all kinds of chubby playmates around, but we won't take them in. It's always good to find a girl who's extra sensitive to pain, their songs have such fullness. We like to take the upper crust, because that crust peels so fine. Sophistication is so sweet when it unravels. When you get to men, go for looks there too. Men for us, I mean, not the clientele. Let them know about the little problem they might have with the initiation, because it's the same as the women's, exactly. It's true that a Communicant gets all the pussy he can use, all the finest stuff, but sometimes he has to answer to other dudes, too, and if he's not ready for that we have some ways to make him ready. You don't come on a good Communicant every day, so don't let yourself be fooled by every sexy whip hand. 
 

"Am I talking your language, Sister Margaret? Do you like the way the answer to your question is shaping up? We will have to take a couple more properties in the area for security reasons, but you can pretend to know nothing about those places until you need to use them. I will pay for you to hire two seculars, in case anybody comes by that's just too sweet for you to part with. Don't get involved in shifting large sums of money around, that's someone else's department and you don't know what we need done with it. Try your best not to get in wars with gangs of fools, but you can let people know that we don't let anybody hurt our Sisters. If anybody shoots at our house, we will try to take them out then and there, because at least one of our security points will have live personnel twenty-four seven. 
 

"When you get down to it, my sweet Sister with your darling little clit, you're in the baddest posse in town. If you point a finger at an individual, we will give very strong consideration to taking that party out of the big picture, but if you use this option too loosely, girlfriend, I swear I personally will hurt you personally, in such a way you won't like it. Enough said on light little matters. You gonna do me this little favor?" 

"Yes! You just rang up my number, Mister Consort Sir. You can prove to me in a minute how serious you are. I say you're just a big liar, and I won't believe a word you say when my wrists are free. You're a liar, and you got no dick to speak of, and when I show you my whip you won't dare hit me with it, because you're just a chickenshit motherfucker. Have I made my opinion clear? You want me to say it again on my knees? Liar, chickenshit. Here, take these, I bet you don't even know what to do with them. Oh, yes, baby, you figured out what to do with the rope, but I know you can't even use the other, you're so chickenshit. Ouch, I was just kidding, it was all just a big joke, you can let me go now, please let me go now. Ouch, hey baby, use my face and shut me up, I can see something you can use, that might fit in my mouth. Ow, ow, take my face before I start making silly noises, or just do what you want. Thanks. Mm." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

8. 
 

Turning Out  
 

Leticia did not even Bther to turn around and close the car door behind her. She yelled out some perfunctory thanks to the driver who had brought her here, as she started running toward the amazing airships grounded in the open field. The pasture grass was tall, and still wet with dew. Leticia's tennis shoes were squishy in a dozen steps, and the weeds brushed moisture on her bare shins. Nothing mattered to her but getting closer to those outrageous fat sausages of pastel blue fabric, clumped so provocatively in the meadow. 

As she drew nearer she saw how big the ships really were. Big, right, she knew to expect big, but the fact big and the feeling big are two different kinds of largeness. If her house were inside that big envelope, she could stuff in all the other houses on her block, and have room left over for the church down the street and a gas station or two. If this machine were parked at her place, she imagined it would just cover her whole block. Big. Here by an overnight miracle was not just one, but five of the enormous vehicles, drawn up in a close formation to block the wind. Leticia wanted a ride. 
 

That wasn't all she wanted. These ships carried the Sisterhood, that strange, enchanting society of women so curiously hated by everyone Leticia knew. The Sisters were called godless witches and whores, whip worshipers, and worse. When Leticia imagined herself being called these names, it only excited her, and her privates got hot and wet. She was a bad girl and loved it, but here were the really bad girls, and she wanted lessons. She thought she might try to join them, if she could find out enough about them. If what she found out wasn't too scary. 
 

Leticia had stopped running after realizing there wasn't much point in it. The car she had come in had driven out of sight. She veered away from her previous path to take advantage of the shade, stepping into the long morning shadow of the nearest behemoth of the sky. She felt sweat on her brow, and a drop of it slid between her breasts. Even this early, the morning was warm. Well, her running hadn't been silly or immature. It was just a kind of self-expression. It hadn't looked this far from the road. Of course, she hadn't realized the true size of these vehicles. 
 

The relative dimness of the shadow faded the contrast in Leticia's vision. She heard a girl's voice yelling "Look out!", but she turned to look for who was shouting, rather than watching her own path. She tripped over a knee-high rope, tumbling awkwardly to her elbows. Her feet finally plopped off the rope onto the moist grass behind her. 
 

The girl who came running up to help her wasn't any older than Leticia herself. She was maybe prettier and sure had more breasts. They were held against Bunce by a leather halter, matched by a leather microskirt on the hips. Leticia's jealous glance at the girl's clothing was jarred by the colored metal slave collar around her neck. Clipped to the belly belt, the coil of fabric rope looked soft, but that black leather whip was no joke. That much was true, then. But this girl was just her own age! 
 

"I'm fine!" Leticia gasped out. 
 

The girl was saying, "I kept yelling to you! I knew you couldn't see the line, then when you finally heard me you walked right into it." 
 

"I'm all right, really. Just help me up." 
 

"You just took a good nose dive in the dirt. Sit around a minute and be sure you're not hurt." 
 

The leather girl, after helping Leticia get her hams under her, held onto her hand, and also helped brush off dirt here and there. That was kind, Leticia thought. It was pleasant having a stranger groom you. 

"My name's Leticia. Thanks for trying to warn me. You must be in the Sisterhood." 
 

"Everybody is but you. You're our first secular of the day. I'm Michelle." 

"Nice to meet you. Why am I a circular?" 
 

"Not circular. Secular. Like non-religious, you know, a civilian. You're local, right?" "From right here in good old Shitsville," Leticia responded. "You all think of yourself as religious, like you're a bunch of nuns or something?" 
 

That drew a delighted laugh from Michelle. She moved to kneel behind Leticia, massaging her brow and temples. "Not exactly. We're different from nuns in a few ways, just minor things. But technically, I suppose that's just what we are, a religious order of women. But chastity only happens when we're sick or on the rag. We're all like sex addicts, and the nastier it is the better we like it. I guess you might say we're conditioned to enjoy pain. I for one can't come any more unless I'm hurting. I think most of the Sisters are like me, also." 
 

Leticia exclaimed, "Wow! That's incredible! I like the way you rub on my face, by the way. I didn't get hurt there, but it feels good anyway." After a silent moment she added, "Why are you telling me this? Don't you think I might be thinking of getting in with you? Looks like you would be trying to make things look nice for a stranger. Instead you're showing me the skeletons in the closet, talking about being conditioned until you can't have a normal orgasm. I didn't ask you about that." 

Michelle giggled again, and went to work on Leticia's neck. "I didn't say I couldn't get an abnormal orgasm! I might have to be tied up and tingling, but now when I cum, it's like a dynamite Bmb went off in my crotch. It's like reaching for the stars and grabbing a few to bring back. Tie me to a barbed-wire fence and whip me for days, I'll take that trade." 
 

She had been kneading Leticia's shoulders, but now her hands slipped over them and she was firmly rubbing Leticia's breasts. Leticia breathed more deeply, but she didn't pull away. What could Michelle really feel through the bra? Anyway, she didn't care. It felt nice, and she liked Michelle. Let her get a few jollies, it didn't cost anything. What she didn't understand was how a girl her age could be attracted to girls, when supposedly she was getting all the sex she wanted. Leticia had held the theory that Lesbians were older women, trying to recapture their lost youth and beauty by getting it second hand, so to speak, reclaiming it from the Bdies of younger girls. Well, scratch one theory. She had to fight an irrational urge to pull off her bra to help. 

Michelle went on, "Seriously, though, I do get it a lot better than I used to. Why should I care what's normal? And by the way, I knew you were here to join up with us. What else would you be doing here? Once you've made that decision, there is not a thing in the world I could tell you that would change your mind. We eat babies, you know, cut them up and fry them in a pan. You can have some fried baby for breakfast, if you hurry up and join us. Then after your initiation's over, I want to take you to bed and lick your wounds." 
 

That sentence was tacked on to the baby bull shit in such a casual tone that Leticia could not resist turning around to see Michelle's face. In the split second before Michelle was able to tack on a tiny grin, Leticia saw real lust there. So this was what the Sisterhood made of a girl. A true sex addict, a walking hunger. Anybody big enough to wield a whip would do for this hour's lover; a functioning dick was helpful but not necessary. Age, race, appearance, sexual orientation and even gender was of no importance as long as the Bdy was warm and moving. Leticia made her decision. 

"I want to be one of you," she told Sister Michelle. "I want to join the Sisterhood." 
 

Michelle's smile was definitely friendly now. She pulled her hands out of Leticia's bra. "Fine, Sister," she beamed. "Let me get a kiss." 
 

The kiss was as friendly as it gets. But to Leticia, the place where Michelle slipped her searching fingers was anything but sisterly. Right out here in the open. But Leticia also noticed the skillful way Michelle placed a knee behind her back, propping up Leticia's torso, so by using only one arm Michelle could control the placement of Leticia's head, and effectively Bth arms. Michelle's other knee pinned Leticia's thigh. The Bttom line was that if Leticia had wanted to complain, say about undue liberties, poking fingers or their scratchy nails, she didn't have the freedom of motion to do anything to back up that complaint, except wiggle. Leticia had to admire the slickness with which Michelle had put her in this position. No doubt, in the Sisterhood you learned fast, and you learned thoroughly, and you didn't forget your lessons. 

As it turned out, Leticia didn't have any complaints to make. She was absolutely shivering with excitement about entering this new phase in her life. Michelle's moves might be the kindest, most gentle transition to this new life. The kiss: no By she had known had come anywhere close to this, let alone a girl. The feel: Leticia knew that pretty soon a lot of people would be visiting that pussy. Most of them, she might not like as well as she did this Michelle. So go, girl, out here in plain view of the world. The long nails gave the feeling some spice. Leticia felt those fingers getting juicy. Not bad, all in all. Not at all bad. 
 

Michelle murmured in her ear, "Would you like to go to my compartment? I promise I can make you come." 
 

Leticia's heart leaped. She had to gulp it down before she could answer. "Yes! Uh, yeah, I guess, if it would be okay, like with the ship and all. Aren't you supposed to be working?" 
 

Michelle waved expansively. "Work is whatever's important. You're my guest, and that's important. Somebody else can chase these lines around. I'll owe them a favor later, but that's not important. You're a live, sexually active human being who's not caught up in the web of Sisterhood bull shit. Not right this minute, anyway. So right this minute, you're important to me, because I don't have to think about how to relate to you. I just do it. It just happens I want to love you. If that's okay with you." 

Leticia was breathless. Who would be the By, and who would be the girl? How would they do it? Would there be a whipping? Who would hold the whip, and who would wear the rope? She was horny, and she trusted her friend Michelle, and they were going to make it. That was all she needed to know. In a few minutes, she was going to be gay. That was exciting. It held a flavor of delicious naughtiness. She didn't think it would happen suddenly like this. She thought being gay was something you agonized over in your room for years, then stepped out and announced it to your horrified family. "Mom, I'm a Lesbian." 
 

"So?" 

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't know I spoke out loud." 
 

"Shut up and kiss me, bitch." 
 

Oh! This girl! "What if somebody's looking?" asked Leticia. 
 

Michelle giggled, guffawed, and finally rolled on the ground in a big belly laugh. "Look around you," she wheezed. Everything you see is dedicated to the sex Goddess. If you see anybody, that person is a slave to the sex Goddess. If we made love here on the grass, people would walk around us. If we kept it up long enough, they would probably build an altar to us. Nobody has a problem with us kissing here. Let's go to my place. I've got some fried baby leftovers." 
 

Defiantly, Leticia kissed her. Licked all inside her mouth and all. She felt her feet cramping up. Her little case of the hornies was getting monstrous. Let's go. "Let's go." 
 

On the way, Michelle paused to speak at a video screen thing, to a couple of different women. She didn't seem like she was trying to sneak anything. She was perfectly at ease; more so, she was bristling with smug energy like the cat that swallowed the canary. So everything they were doing was perfectly all right. Leticia was getting to feel comfortable inside Michelle's protective aura. 
 

The compartment held two beds. Evidently Michelle had a roommate. That was no immediate concern to Leticia, because Michelle was stripping her. Fine, she enjoyed the luxury of having her clothes removed, but --- "Hold on. Let me go piss." 
 

"Okay, but I gotta show you how to use it." 
 

What! "I don't think so." To Leticia's consternation, she had to call out, "Michelle, come show me how to use this thing!" 

Michelle explained, "Airship. Ultra tech. Low mass. Low water use. Strictly female. If you want to shit, or on your period, use that over there." 
 

"Where's the paper?" 
 

"Lift your ass a little." 
 

"What the fuck? Don't like that. It tickles." 
 

"Clean, though, right?" 
 

"You people are fucking nuts. Looney tunes. Around the fucking bend." 

Smiling at her, Michelle gathered Leticia in her arms. "Welcome to the club, honey." 
 

Leticia told Michelle softly, "I like you a lot, girl." Gently she popped Michelle's breasts out of their leather halter. "I like your tits too." She nuzzled one of the nipples, then looked up at Michelle. "Take me to bed. Take me." 
 

Leticia laid back and enjoyed Michelle's attentions. It was startlingly sensuous to have those nipples dragged over your thighs, your belly, and especially your own breasts. Then Michelle used her mouth, and matters got seriously interesting. Undeniably interesting. The varied textures of lips, teeth and tongue wandering over her belly and adjacent areas entranced Leticia, and abstractedly she listened to herself purring like a kitten in appreciation. The feelings grew sweeter as the nibbling and licking concentrated on her breasts, and kind, generous fingers provided by Michelle lightly caressed her pussy. She would have loved to sail off into soft oblivion, but the touch on her clitoris kept building her blood pressure, and fresh pleasure flowed through her consciousness with each pulse. 
 

"Such splendor, Michelle," she tried to explain. "Such grandeur." 
 

Michelle shifted down and settled with her face between Leticia's thighs. Leticia sighed her happiness, toying with strands of Michelle's hair. First hot breath, and a subtle brush of dry lips. Then those lips, still dry, were playfully plucking at her tenderest flesh. The lips rubbed repeatedly over her clit, and serious interest returned with a rush. The clit was sucked into those lips, and released. Stretched over teeth, the lips grabbed and held her clit, and tugged at it, and nipped at it. Sweet sighs were no longer in, so Leticia loosed a groan for her lover. 
 

Michelle unsheathed her tongue. Leticia's feelings graduated from serious to intense. The texture of the tongue, and its wetness, gave her clit no respite from stimulation. The intensity of the stimulation varied from wow to lookout, as the movements of the tongue varied. Well, that could be it. The tongue could prove to be the lethal weapon. Oh, but Michelle showed her yet more, as she Bbbed her face in Leticia's crotch. The former licks and flicks now seemed weak and puny without the pressure of the face behind them to lend them substance. Leticia realized she had been panting, but even more interesting was the fact she was now whimpering. 

Oh, it didn't take long, not long at all. It was like riding along and seeing a sign flash by that you couldn't read, and you had to bring the sign's image back in your mind, and focus and sharpen the letters on it, until you realized the sign said Point of No Return, so you knew but it didn't matter. Leticia noticed she was crying out, but that was okay because she was about to come, and a few more scrapes from that wicked tongue and she was coming, so she cried out. Splendor, grandeur. Why was she squeezing that girl's head with her legs? She liked that girl. Michelle, her name was. The one with the tongue. Come up here, Michelle. I would like to squeeze you. 
 

A few sticky minutes later, Leticia found herself walking into a Barding port of the second airship down the line. She had passed a handful of women, all surprisingly young, all wearing slave collars and businesslike whips. Their greetings had been friendly and respectful, but they all knew why a pretty girl was wandering among the ships of the Sisterhood with a lost look. Sister Alice was issuing directions to the driver of a perfectly ordinary-looking light pickup, when Leticia finally caught up to her. The girl who was driving the pickup was dressed with modest plainess, in sharp contrast to all the other Sisters Leticia had seen. Leticia was startled to see that the driver was not wearing a collar. When she saw Leticia she was also startled, probably for the same reason, and immediately turned her face aside. When she turned back to resume talking to Sister Alice, she was holding up a handkerchief to hide her features. Leticia hadn't recognized her, but no doubt her behavior was a routine security precaution. The Sisterhood was Bund to have business from time to time which was best done discreetly. With that collar off, you were just another woman, able to trade and do business as a private party. The driver cranked up and drove out of the airship hold, with her hanky to her face all the while. 
 

Sister Alice was a tall woman, not so young as most of the others Leticia had seen, but not nearly old enough to start thinking about wrinkles and gray hair. She dealt with the Leticia business with typical efficiency, and no evident feeling. She asked formally whether Leticia meant to swear in as an acolyte Sister in the Order of Inanna, then reeled off a list of standard cautions and warnings, all so carefully phrased that Leticia knew they had been memorized. After each one, Leticia had to assert her understanding. At the end, when Sister Alice was prepared to dismiss Leticia for the medical exam, security interrogation and biographical taping, Leticia spoke up for herself. 

"Just a minute, Sister Alice. I have been advised to request First Initiation from any available Communicant at the first opportunity, and specifically not to wait on the Consort's schedule. Would this have any effect on the timing of my initiation?" 
 

Sister Alice almost gave a smile. "Yes, it certainly would. It seems you must have a friend already among the Sisters, who is trying to win you some free time early in your novitiate. I won't ask who gave you this advice, or what your plans are. I do feel I should tell you, though, that most of the Sisters would give you the opposite counsel. They feel that an initiation experience with the Consort would be worth the wait. In this case, you would be in limbo as an unsworn acolyteface="Arial"three or four days, and you would have to pretty much be isolated from everything and everybody until you could be placed at the Novitiate. Should you be initiated by a Communicant, you could be a Novice Sister this afternoon, free to wander around and snoop into whatever you wanted. Either way, you won't get to stay here through the whole Carnival. By dawn tomorrow, you're going to be a long way from here." 

"My friend wanted me to see the Carnival tonight," Leticia volunteered. 

"That's a security problem for us. I don't think you ought to do that," Alice ordered. 
 

"How do you mean?" 
 

"In a case such as yours, the local infidels will wish to reclaim you as their own. They may even resort to force to do so, if they have positive knowledge you are with us. If you are seen here at the Carnival with a slave collar on, they would need no more than that, to bring all their fierceness against us." 
 

Leticia translated to herself as Alice spoke. She was a teenage runaway, and anybody who saw her here tonight might call the cops. Then the cops would come in and close down the show, just to find an underage girl wearing a slave collar. When you put it that way it made sense, without involving the positive knowledge of infidel ferocity and all that shit. Much as she hated to admit it, Alice was absolutely right. It was too risky. 
 

Give it a last shot for Michelle. "Maybe if I went in disguise, like a costume or something, and wore a mask or a veil the whole time, nobody would know me." 
 

Unexpectedly, Alice bit on that one. "There may be some part in the mummers' show you could fill which would not require rehearsal. I will find out about it. Now you must go for your examination." 

Well, hold the jubilation. A part in a show might mean anything. She might not even be able to see Michelle at all, much less spend time with her. Michelle would be involved in "edifying Worshipers", the same way hookers did it all over the world. With the addition of the rope and whip. With these additions, Leticia suspected that one trick, er, Worshiper, could use quite a chunk out of a girl's evening, in terms of time. Well, good enough. 
 

"Thank you, ma'am." 
 

Alice frowned. "Thanks are not needed. I have done you no service. Please call me Sister. Ma'am is a term of civil address not appropriate for your Sisters. Report to sickbay now." 
 

The medical examination was unpleasant and incomprehensible, but the security debriefing was all of that and scary too. Leticia shrewdly guessed that the fancy chair she sat in for that was some kind of lie detector. The security officer, or whatever she was, thankfully left, taking most of the secrets of Leticia's life with her. But still in the fancy security chair, she had to answer some general questions about her life, questions coming to her over a small speaker. She believed that the woman's voice asking the questions actually belonged to some kind of machine. But all the questions were bread and butter stuff, even the part about her sex life, which she had already answered for the doctors, if that's what they were, and the security officer, if that's what she was. 
 

The machine woman, if that's what she was, finally used up her monotonous curiosity. The speaker said, "Just a moment, please. Someone will be with you shortly." Not five seconds passed before a Sister, who was a small brunette, entered. She held a measuring tape and a memo mike. She looked somewhat dismayed at Leticia's loose clothing. 
 

"Look, Sister," she began, and then bit her lip. "I mean, Sister-to-be. Would you mind taking off your clothes, or at least the outer garments? It's to your advantage that I get all these measurements exactly right. Everybody else I ever measured was nude, and I don't know how much to allow for your clothes. I would hate to get anything wrong, and then you would hate me too." 
 

This at least was a refreshing change from the presumption of universal competence which Leticia had come to expect over the last couple hours. She smiled at the girl, and stripped completely without self-consciousness. 
 

The young Sister took her vital measurements, then some subsidiary measurements, then some pretty obscure measurements. Leticia was starting to wonder, but the young Sister stated each reading matter-of-factly into the mike. At length she said, "All right, thanks for helping. I know you're probably hungry, but you shouldn't eat right now. Come with me when you get dressed, and I'll get you something to drink, and show you where you can wash up. Deal?" 

Leticia smiled at her. "Best offer I've had all day. Actually, second best, but don't worry about it. You got beer?" 
 

The small Sister grimaced. "We call it near-beer, because it has so little alcohol in it. Take the cola, it tastes better. You know why they don't let us drink much alcohol? They say it would make us fat! Here, you're decent enough. Throw that damn bra away. You don't need one any more than I do. Come on." 
 

Leticia always felt freer without a bra. She left her blouse defiantly unfastened in front, showing a broad patch of her chest, but tied the tails at her midriff. A broad feeling of satisfaction with her new life was beginning to rise in her like a tide. Hey, girlfriend, she told herself, better wait to see if you make it through initiation before you get too happy. 
 

They went to a compartment, a wardroom. Leticia saw no drinks, but saw a big bed, and started to wonder. But the nameless Sister folded two padded platforms away from the wall, which immediately puffed up with air on the Bttom to support themselves, forming benches. She folded out a table, which puffed out a fat tube on the Bttom to hold it up, in place of legs. Her fingers played among the patterns of a flat panel which had been hidden by the table. With a hiss and a thump there appeared behind a clear door a fat plastic pillow, which opened up revealing two ice-cold tubes of cola. Leticia drained hers so fast she got another the same way. The Sister, not so thirsty, had stepped away after a couple of sips to work magic in the bathroom area, getting a long pad to rapidly inflate itself into a bathtub. 
 

"I thought you might want a tub," she said over the sound of running water. "The showers are kind of weak." 
 

"Great, thanks, Sister," Leticia said. "What's your name, by the way?" 
 

"I'm just your helper, it doesn't matter. I'm finished, and you won't see me any more, for a long time, anyway. Good luck with your initiation, and have a nice trip." 
 

"Bye. Thanks for your help." After the Sister had gone out, Leticia found towels and bathing essentials without any problem. Everything in the compartment was arranged with sound logic, even if it was not always obvious. The wardroom facilities were well designed to common themes, saving weight and stowing out of the way. If Leticia couldn't find something right away, the panel over the table could be configured to show a kind of inventory map. Beat. 
 

After she had washed her hair and all, Leticia was lying back relaxing in the tub, soaking in some of the turbulent events of the day. She heard a noise at the door and grabbed for a towel. Sister Alice came in carrying a cloth bag. 
 

"It's okay, Leticia," she sang out. "You can finish your bath. I'll wait." 
 

The bath was finished anyway. Leticia dried herself thoroughly with the towel, not even worried whether Sister Alice was looking at her nude Bdy. She had been getting a lot braver about showing her skin. That was due to her companionship. 
 

Alice spoke again. "Don't get dressed. I won't be here long. This is for you, but it's just a temporary until we get yours ready." She pulled a slave collar from her bag. Its face showed gray, rather than the pretty blues and greens worn by the other Sisters. She tucked Leticia's wet hair off her neck and clamped the slave collar in place. The firm click as the edges joined told Leticia that somebody better have a key to the damn thing. 

Alice pitched her voice just a tiny bit louder. "This goes on it." To her dismay, Leticia saw she meant the end of a shiny metal chain. A locking link clicked in place around a ring of her collar. Was it too late to mention she had just been joking the whole time? Alice prodded at a floor tile, which slid back to show a big metal staple. The free end of the chain locked solidly on this. Oh, girl. Something tickled inside Leticia's belly. Don't get dressed, the lady said. That was out of the question now. Her clothes were out of reach. 
 

A broad belt was cinched snugly at Leticia's navel. Sister Alice's voice had gained a vibrato. "These are your ritual objects. Kiss them; they are sacred. They will stay with you always." First the soft, pliable rope, then the stiff new black whip. Alice helped Leticia fasten them to her belt. 
 

"Now kneel. Woman of no name, do you swear while you live and after your death you will remain slave to the Goddess Inanna, and devote to Her all your pain and all your joy? Say I swear." 
 

"I swear." 

"Woman of no name, do you swear you will share with the Sisters of the Order of Inanna all your feelings, all your love and all your despair, sharing all the feelings of your Sisterhood, and be one with your Sisters while you live and after your death?" 
 

"I swear." 

"Woman of no name, do you swear to give your Bdy and all its beauties, its torments and its ecstasies, freely to the worship of the Goddess Inanna, abandoning your fate to Her lust and to Her will?" 

"I swear." 

"Kiss my rope and my whip. Hold your hands together. Thus the Goddess binds your servitude." Alice caught Leticia's wrists in a twist of rope. 
 

"Thus she accepts your suffering." The blow caught Leticia along the flank and the side of the hip. She knew it was coming, but the shock made her gasp. Oddly, she felt no outrage or hostility for the pain, but rather a thrill of gladness bloomed in her. That irrational happiness grew so swiftly, it was hopelessly out of her control. She was going to break down. She knew it showed in her face. Please, please finish these formalities. 
 

"You are Sister Melodia 743. Kiss me, Sister Melodia." Just in time. Sobs started shaking the new Sister while her lips still touched those of Sister Alice. Alice sat on the floor holding her as her wailing reached its peak. When she was still crying, but not as violently, Alice led her over to the bed and held her nude Bdy until the shaking subsided. 
 

When she had collected her feelings enough, Melodia who had been Leticia asked tremelously, "Sister Alice, is the initiation over?" 

Alice answered, "Oh, no, child. The Communicant is coming in now for the physical part. I just buzzed for him." 
 

"What's his name?" the newborn Melodia wanted to know. 
 

"He'll tell you that, only if he wants you to know. He has warned me already, he means to be very harsh on you." 
 

Melodia asked, "Why?" 
 

"Probably because he likes your looks. You have already attracted quite a few people around here, you know. Maybe he thinks you have the potential for a great future in the Sisterhood. If he wants to make your initiation such a memorable event, you should take it as a compliment," Alice explained. 
 

Melodia put forth bravado. "Let him be as rough as he likes, I can take it!" 

Alice showed her apprehension. "No, no, Melodia, my dear! Don't try to take it, you will only break harder. Give in to it, feel it, hate him. Howl and scream, curse and threaten him, kick his balls in if he gives you the chance. You can't possibly understand our religion yet. Just think of it as battery and rape, and how you're going to get the cops to make him sorry he ever saw you. You don't have the background to be a mystical Sister transcending fleshly reality with sorcerous spells. All you can be today is a scared little girl getting hurt. Don't use your energy trying to be anything more, for you have just enough energy to get you through this. So do yourself a favor, Sister Melodia. Don't try to tough it out, and don't even pretend to be tough. You'll be sorry for it." 
 

"As you say, Sister Alice." Was this the bad girl, now showing humility? That was sure a strong oath, though. That was a really strong oath. The Communicant had mentioned her initiation would be particularly harsh. Life is sweet. 
 

Alice got up. "Here, let's put some oil on your skin." 
 

Melodia asked, "What for?" 
 

Alice said, "You're about to get a whipping, Sister, among other things. Like we say, if a girl doesn't get whipped, you're in the wrong church. The whips we use are designed officially not to leave marks, that is to say, they don't pop and they won't break the skin. But still you will have red streaks for a day or two. This oil we call whip balm, it helps that a little. It's got a bunch of good stuff in it. Lie on your back, let me get your front first. Watch your chain. That's it. Nice belly, Sister, I like that. Now the legs." 
 

"Sister Alice, why does the Goddess want us to hurt?" 
 

"Sister Melodia, you're not dumb. You know how deep that question goes. Now roll over, look out, don't fucking hang yourself. I can give you the answer on four or five levels now, and I know a few more levels I can't tell you now, because you wouldn't know what I was talking about. There are a couple answers I don't know yet, but I will soon learn. Then there are some things I probably never will know. That's how our system of initiation works, you're always learning. It's very ancient, our system is, called the Hermetic Tradition. Meanings within meanings, and it's all designed to keep the cops at least two steps behind what's really going on. But I digress, your fine little ass has distracted me. 

"The Goddess wants us hurt because She is a vampire Being who feeds on our pain. Got you on that one, hey? The Goddess wants us to hurt to Bnd the Sisterhood with the common pathology of addictive masochism. Don't you like my answers? What do you want, a comforting assurance? Sit up, whore. If I rub on you any more I'll get interested, and you're off limits. I'll just tug on your chain and take a little kiss, like this. 
 

"So. The Goddess wants us hurt as a protest against the cruelty of monotheistic society. The Goddess wants us to be hurt to make us tough, in case she might need us for warriors against the monotheists. The Goddess wants us to be hurt because pain is a natural state for women. This one takes a lot of explaining. That's because I haven't quite got the concept clearly. That makes it my current level of initiation, don't you see? 
 

"I'll give you the answer you're supposed to get on your current level of initiation. After you get beaten and fucked today, you should have somebody tell you that the Goddess is teaching you humility the hard way. She is using excess pain and shame and helplessness to wash out your individual pride and self-esteem, so She can mold you into the group personality of the Sisterhood. She's going to break you, girl, like a filly. It works, Sister Melodia, and you're part of it. You might not think it's pretty, but in an hour you'll know it works." 
 

"Oh, Sister Alice. I don't know if I can take any more new ideas. Everything I hear today is so heavy, so intense. My poor brain is overheated, it feels like it's ready to explode." Melodia, Brn Leticia, was serious about wanting the newness to stop. 
 

"My Sister, you didn't come here because you wanted to play games. You didn't come here to be a nice girl. Welcome to the Sisterhood, sweetness. If you really are getting a headache, it will be gone in a little while. A nice rough initiation is the world's perfect remedy for thinking too much." 
 

Melodia couldn't help but giggle at that. No doubt it was so true, whipping was the perfect cure for headaches. "So are you waiting around so you can watch?" 
 

Sister Alice said, "Oh, I don't know. I haven't decided yet. I do have other things to do. I'm Captain of this ship, you know. But I'm getting to like you. You're more interesting than most of the acolytes we get. To be quite honest, I should find your initiation very stimulating. I, ah, can't think what to add to that." 

There was a pause. Melodia thought, so, I know a ship's captain. And she likes me. And she'd like to see me beat and screaming. She would get off on it. She would do it herself, but it's against the rules. She laid back on her bed, then peevishly pulled her chain from under her shoulder blades. Life is sweet. She stretched her limbs out toward the corners of the bed, as far as they would go. 
 

Alice stood looking down at her. She had a mischievous grin. "I'm getting an idea," she offered. Let's give your Communicant a treat." 

"Like what?" 
 

"He usually spends a lot of effort subduing the acolyte, and getting her trussed up the way he wants her. Let's make you his present, all tied down with pretty ribbons, with a big Bw around your middle." 
 

"All right, sounds like fun to me. I mean, what have I got to lose, right?" Melodia was interested; anything beat just waiting for the torturer to arrive. 
 

Alice went to the panel above the table and tapped out a long string of codes. She also ordered a tube of cola at Melodia's request. While awaiting delivery, she deflated the benches and the bathtub and slipped them back in their appropriate slots. She took delivery of a wide, sturdy ribbon of fluorescent orange. She made a comment on the color. 
 

"Acolytes are traditionally supposed to be color coded by their previous sexual experience, but nobody knows why. We're going to bend those rules. This stuff will show up great when we dim out the compartment lights and add in some black light. Also, it matches this." This turned out to be a lipstick in international orange, fluorescent. 
 

As Melodia drank, Alice unfastened her belly belt and dropped it beside the bed. Melodia volunteered, "I'll make the Bw." 
 

Alice said, "Okay, get the ribbon good and tight. I'll do your wrists and ankles." 
 

In a minute it was done. Melodia had an exaggerated Bw on her belly, tied to a tight band of orange ribbon. Each wrist and ankle Bre a snug cuff, from which depended twin streamers more than a meter long. Alice painted Melodia's lips with the lipstick, going wide for effect. Then she did her nipples, also a bit wide. 
 

"Open your legs," Alice demanded. 
 

"Why?" 

"So I can get to your vagina, you silly girl. Do you always ask why?" 

It tickled to have lipstick applied to her labia. Alice teased a little but not too bad. 
 

"Now," Alice pondered, "hang on a minute." She took a little tube of lubricant out of her own belt. Squeezing some on her fingertip, she carefully inserted it into Melodia's anus and spread it around. After cleaning the perianal area of the excess, she applied lipstick there. 
 

Melodia was solemn. She hadn't thought of that. But if it happened, it was better to be lubricated than not. 
 

"All right," spoke Alice. "Let's get you tied down." 

Melodia cooperated willingly. After all this preparation, she was eager for the party to start. Alice fastened her arms fully extended, but left enough slack in the leg ribbons so she could bend her knees a little. Melodia felt it was strange, how very relaxing it was to be tied down. She could easily drift off into a nap like this. Alice dimmed the compartment lights to the point of bare visibility, then brought up the ultraviolet. 
 

"Oh, neat!" Melodia exclaimed. All she could see were the twin peaks of her nipples, and the big Bw at her belly. Also the streamers from her ankles showed up well. 
 

"You think that's neat, you should see it from my viewpoint." After a moment, Alice's voice came again. "We're all ready down here." 
 

A man's voice answered. "ABut time. I'll be right down." 
 

Alice spoke again. "On your way, stop in my cabin and bring my prosthesis." 

The man chuckled. "All right, Captain. It's your ship." 
 

Melodia found herself totally relaxed. She must have faded away briefly, for her next awareness was of the flash of hallway light as the man entered. For her, he was just a silhouette; all she could tell, was that he was bigger than Alice. 
 

The man said, "Alice, baby. You got fancy." 
 

Alice answered, "This is nice, By. That's good stuff there." 
 

He said, "Oh, I could tell that, just from seeing her earlier. I should be able to do my duty." 
 

"Oh, yeah? Let's see. Mmh. No, not a chance. Come back tomorrow." 

"Out of my way, whore." 
 

"Captain whore to you. You know, it's too bad we have to let go of her tonight. We could use some more of her company." 
 

"Bitch, by tonight this ship is going to be crawling with runaway chicks." 
 

"Not like this one." 
 

"Just like her. This time tomorrow, the local snoops will be around to look for those lost girls. We have to ship them all off every night." 

"But just one, we could handle. We could hide her. We have ways." 

"Alice," the man said tiredly, "look at yourself. Look at where you've been. It's hard to believe you've got a crush on an acolyte. Junior model, at that. And you're willing to risk this and that for it. Not just the seculars, but the Temple might find something to say. Have you thought of that?" 
 

"Help me, baby," Alice whimpered. "I've got it bad. Sister Melodia is a fucking angel." 
 

"Right now," the man said drily, "she looks more like an infernal apparition." 
 

Melodia tittered. She couldn't help it, even though she thought it was more polite to stay quiet while she was being discussed. She was astonished by Alice's feelings. She didn't have any opinion on them. 

Alice heaved a deep sigh. "Sloppy seconds!" she called. 
 

The man said, "Now that you can get away with. You can defend it, and you might even deserve it. Here's your little helper." 
 

He walked up to the bed, and stooped down beside it. How he spotted it in the darkness Melodia had no idea, but he came up with her whip from her belt. He trailed a loop of it down her torso to her toes, then back up the other leg to her face. She made to kiss it, and he pressed it to her lips. Oh, this was going to be sweet. But she wasn't scared. Just getting a little excited, breathing deeper. He shook out the whip, then brought it down forcefully across her chest, under her breasts. Her breath hissed in through her teeth. Ah, that was all right. The sound of the blow was as startling as the sensation of it slapping her ribs. Half a second, that was how long the pain lasted. The acute pain, that is. 
 

He strolled around the bed like a pool shooter looking for his shot. There it was, pow, on her side, and the tip of the lash flicked her arm. Not even a gasp, this time, but a quiver in her torso. An impact on her thigh, ignore it. The lash cracked solidly on her lower belly. Oh, that was a good one. Her knees sprang up, yanking her ankles against their restraining ribbons. She began to see the possibilities: it was taking her a certain amount of time to suppress the pain of each blow. If the blows came any faster than that, she would lose control. On the other hand, if he kept up a deliberate pace, soon enough the cumulative effect of the pain would cause her to lose control. So she would lose control. That was what it was all about. 
 

The next stroke revised her thinking. The full force of it smacked against her left nipple. A sensitive area. Foul! Her Bdy jerked from it. She gulped, and choked out a belated half-moan. 
 

The man started his patter. "Ah, so my little angel has remembered how to sing? She appreciates my work on her breasts! Let's see if we can't dim the glow on those nipples, shall we?" 
 

The very next blow proved his aim by slapping into her right nipple. Melodia looked down at her nipples. Much of the lipstick was gone from either one. But at this rate, it would take lots of whipping if he meant to erase the glow totally. Melodia could hear Alice breathing in the nearby darkness. What was it she had advised? Oh, yes. Yell. Kick him if you can. It was getting just about time to take the advice of a pro. If he hits the nipples again next time, Melodia decided, it will be a good time to start yelling. The next stroke hit her nipple, but it was out of time, coming on her intake of breath. All she could do was gasp and wiggle. The one after smacked her breast but missed the nipple. She stifled her cry, most of it. Finally her time came. A good blow to an already abused nipple. She sang out, just for half a second. It felt good to let it out. She had planned that cry, so she was still in control. 
 

"There we go, sweets," the man announced. "I think we've found it now." He unleashed a rapid flurry of hard lashes against her chest region. Melodia wanted to yell loud, but she just couldn't find the time. They were too fast, too fast! A series of moans and whimpers was all she could find breath for. Her hips swivelled from side to side as her Bdy searched for shelter. Snap, snap, snap, went the whip on her tender breasts, and she tried to match it with one cry after every jolt of pain, but she couldn't keep up. Sometimes he would hold off a blow, and if she cried out anyway for the sake of regularity he would chuckle, and she would feel ashamed for having been fooled. 
 

"That's a good girl. Oh, yes, dear Sister Melodia, you are starting to get the idea about singing. But the way you are swaying that Bw on your belly is starting to give me other thoughts, distracting me. Let me take that Bw off, or at least rearrange it for you, so I can concentrate on teaching you to sing." So saying, the Communicant slammed her in the belly with a powerful blow from the whip. 
 

It caught her off guard and paralyzed her breathing for a second. She had to fight off nausea. The belly! She must make it hard! The next few blows were caught on a taut wall of muscle, stinging only the surface skin. After she had caught her breath, she cried out loudly in protest. At last, she had found her voice. She noticed her knees were swinging together in a big arc, as her hips twisted from side to side in a vain effort to get her belly out of the beating. That was no good. She was taking too many lashes to the softer sides of her belly, not so well protected by muscle. No, girl, she told herself. Take it all on that hard belly you're so proud of. Roll the hips back to stretch it. Relax it right after he hits you, because you can't hold it tight all night. And yell, baby, don't forget to yell. That's what they want to hear anyway. 

The Bw was a shambles, most of the loops pulled out. Streamers of glowing orange were strewn over her Bdy and the bed. The man was starting to scatter his blows across her Bdy, and to vary his timing. Oh, goody, thought Melodia. I'm wearing him out. She sang out wilfully to show her energy reserves. So where was the sex? There was supposed to be sex. Ouch, a blow that jerked the Bw nearly off the ribbon, and then the blows had stopped. 
 

Melodia felt faint. The blood rushing in her ears sounded as loud as the muttering in the room. The beating had taken a lot out of her. Why? She knew she wasn't bleeding anywhere. No Bnes nor organs were damaged. There was probably no appreciable bleeding under the skin, to cause bruising. Could pain itself injure your system? Well, maybe in extreme cases. Was this an extreme case? Shit. She could do it all over again. Maestro, take it from the top. She did feel a little better, for just these few seconds of rest. Good enough to have sex? Whew. An adult man and guaranteed to have a big one, to keep jaded Sisters happy. By the same token, an expert in how to use it. And Melodia already had some idea about how strong the bastard was. Little girl, you are in a world of shit. 

Here he was, whoever he was, naked with a hard on, and a whip in his hand. Two guesses about that erection, either the Captain helped him get it, or she didn't. Wait for it. He climbed over her head. She gaped wide to receive it. He stuck it in her mouth. Oh. Big, yes. Did a bear piss in the woods? If so, how big was his pizzle? Could she stretch her mouth around a bear's dick? Probably not. Right now, she was in trouble. She would live through it. If this man let her breathe. He wanted to do all the work. All she had to remember was how to keep her jaw open wide. And not to vomit. That was the complicated part. She wasn't sure she really knew how to keep from throwing up when he stuck it in the back of her throat. She really needed to know. If she threw up the breathing problem would get a lot worse. Just concentrate on the jaw. Hold it open. Wide open. 
 

He made her job tougher by slashing down at her Bdy with the whip. Oh, it hurt, but the jaw. Wide open. Don't Bther to yell, you can't. Just wiggle. Wide open. Don't vomit. That one hurt too. Wide open. Wiggle. Don't try to scream through your nose any more. It doesn't work. He was saying something, but Melodia could not spare the attention to listen. Jaw open is her job. 
 

No more whipstrokes, and then there was no more dick in her mouth. She missed it. It was exciting, to eat that big a dick. It made life so much simpler, only to have to remember one thing. She was glad he hadn't made her remember how to Bb her head at the same time. That might have been too much. 
 

Now he was down lifting her legs. She felt a great pressure at her ass hole. It let up, and then it was there again. Maybe he was just too big to get in. Stupid thought. The pressure released again. Then he was holding up one leg, and she was lying at an angle. That was it, he was just too wide to get in, so he was trying to put it in sideways. He was pushing really hard now, it was uncomfortable. She wanted to help him. She felt a great stretching and filling, and knew he had made it. She gasped at the discomfort. She wanted to crawl away. There was a pang as he pushed on in, which made her wince. Then it was all a great filling. She felt like her world was stuffed, pushed out to become the stretched skin of what used to be a solid world. She felt enormous, bloated. 
 

He tugged outward, and then shoved inward again. She panted. Really, that feeling wasn't bad. It was almost like sex. Slow, dragging strokes, so close to being enjoyable. The feeling of hugeness was overwhelming, but Melodia knew by oral evidence that he really was huge. Getting lost in an experience of this intensity would be easy, but she was waiting for the pain to come. He poked in just a little farther, and then she felt it. Not that bad, but again she waited. Yes, this time it was that bad. She acknowledged the pain with her voice, as he expected of her. She was aware it could get far worse, with a little more effort behind his push. Not a doubt in the world that he would put forth that extra effort for her benefit. Well, at least she knew what to expect. 
 

Amazingly, it never came to that. He was content with the depth of penetration that elicited from her a low, genuine groan. He never tried for the terrifying level of pain. Melodia was free to actually sneak some joy from this assault, by filtering out anxiety and discomfort, concentrating on the dynamics of smooth, slick textures. Suddenly she realized what was missing. He had not whipped her once since he was plugged in her ass. Would it ruin her initiation if he forgot to whip her at any stage? Would she have to go through it all again? Better be safe than sorry. 
 

"The whip," she mumbled. "Forgot. Whip." 
 

"Ah, little girl, little Melodia," he said. "You're asking for the whip now." 
 

"Yes." 

So there it was, with the comfort of familiarity, the same old whiplash in the same old places. She gave the same old cries, but not quite the same jerks of her Bdy. She had to be more careful, there was a dick in her ass. She noticed she squeezed on his dick whenever she got hit. He shouldn't mind that. She didn't mind. In fact, pain itself was becoming more of an abstraction to her. She knew it was there; she could feel her Bdy react to it, and hear her voice call out its presence, but it didn't seem so personal as it had been. It was as though the pain were aimed at her, but missed. Before she could reach any definite conclusions, the hitting had stopped. He was withdrawing. She was surprised at the strength of the sensation --- well, the pain --- occasioned by the simple activity of pulling out. Her voice vented this pain, and her relief and sense of loss, in a magnificent groan. 

His silhouette was no longer visible. Maybe, thought Melodia, he went to clean the shit off his dick. Come to think of it, she could feel a couple dribbles of clinging moisture. Oh, well. All she could see was her own outline, and a few bright streamers of fiery orange. The rest of the compartment was vague, eerie shapes and shadows in the dimness. Oh, here he was. Here for the last leg of the initiation. Melodia felt she was nearly on her last leg too. The fumbling and probing returned, but here it would be okay. She had made it through all the bad parts. The rest would be a piece of cake. 
 

He rammed into her with no gentleness. Melodia noted she had dug her heels in the bed to shove away from the intrusive pressure. Sometimes her spinal cord just didn't show much brains. Now that he was in, though, there was nothing wrong at all. Sure, he was big, and rough, but that kind of discomfort was what real women thrived on, it made their glands squirt. Melodia was just waiting for the beating, that was all, after he started that she could just ride with it until it was all over. He wanted her to ask for it, that was what he was waiting for. Well, she would, but it would have to be now, before things got too good. She knew the taste of his whip, and she could live with it. Now she was feeling great, so she could handle it better than ever, in fact in a way she kind of missed it. She fancied it might be a splendid way to spice up a plain vanilla fuck, the girl, namely her, screaming and writhing, wild out of control, with a bad cruel man on top digging exactly what he wanted out of her, using her up. Yes oh yes. Ask now with that image still fresh in mind. 
 

"The whip," she said clearly. "I want it. Whip me good." She felt no shame. She just wanted fun. 
 

He stopped in mid-stroke. "No," he muttered. "Your initiation is over. You made it. Welcome to the Sisterhood, Sister." 

With that he just pulled out and abandoned her. Crash and burn. Tied here to a bed in the dark, beat all up, horny as fuck. She was in though. She was privileged to wear a slave collar, walk around naked whenever she wanted to, and start learning secrets. Dear diary. It's been quite a day. If somebody didn't let her loose to get to the bathroom soon, she would think of the simplest solution. 

Then in another part of the compartment she heard a sound which explained some things. She had forgotten Alice was even in here. Well, Alice was putting out for that man, they were getting it on in the dark. Having a pretty good time. Which took care of them, but not poor Sister Melodia. She worked her wrists, trying to get some more slack, and just laid there listening to the sounds of sex. She heard his moans when he ejaculated, and a moment later, after a mumbled exchange, she saw the blinding light from the corridor around his silhouette as he left fully dressed. Easy come, easy go; she didn't know his name. 
 

Alice cranked up the compartment lights to dim. She hurried over to the bed to release Melodia and help her sit up. She said, "Welcome, new Sister," with a squeeze on the shoulder. She was smiling. "Don't try to get up yet," she advised. "Really. You don't know how weak you are. I'll help you to the bathroom." When Melodia rose, with Alice's help, and tried to walk, she saw that Alice's advice was good. Her legs were weak as straws. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

9. 
 

Enemy Agent  
 

The Lay Sisters gave me a really hard time. Not that they were hostile or anything, I could have dealt with that more easily. It's just that they are so complicated. I have six students. One is probably a spy looking for information to destroy us. Another is a grad student of psychology who wants to know what makes us tick. There is a computer whiz who wants me. Her admiration for the Sisterhood seems to have turned into an instant crush on me. Nobody told me these women have accounts on the System they can access from home! Then there is the downtown stripper who used to be a novice here. She could have told the others that I was lying about this and that, but I just hope she didn't. At least they all look pretty good, and they handle their edification without having fits. But this is going to take up a lot more of my time than I was counting on. 
 

I asked B how to handle a spy. "Spy on her," she said. So I've started learning about bugs. Incredible. We have a camera that's a light bulb. It can pick up an image right through a lamp shade. Not directly, of course, but after processing the System can build up a corrected image of the motions in a room. Faces move enough when people are talking that the System can build up an image of a person's face, when that person has been in the room for a few minutes. Right through a lamp shade. Wow. It's a slow scan device, so it's not good for much else in the way of movies, but it does pick up audio. It chirps its signal right through the wiring. We have a lot of other amazing gadgets, but this one struck me because it's so fiendishly ingenious. 
 

Most of our bugs are "chip and chirp" types, to avoid bug detectors. That is, they don't oscillate nor transmit normally, so there's no way to find them electronically. They just store everything in memory until they are quizzed by a coded signal, then they rat everything that went on in their area in a high-speed burst of data. Our phone bugs will dial us up to rat what they've just heard, even data or fax. All this makes me wonder why we took the trouble to develop it. It must have cost a pretty penny. We're not a bunch of spies, after all. Are we? 
 

I won't be allowed to help place the bugs, after all that. They say it's a job for specialists. Oh, well. That's not something I'd want to specialize in. I was given a few tidbits of information to pass on to my class, some true and some not so true. It's like a label, see, so that if our opposition gets this information we will know the channels it went through to get there. Spying has always been complex work, but now in the computer age we have some theoretical understanding of how information gets from one party to another. So we stick labels on our data to help trace the channels it moves through. 
 

Speaking of data, I am also supposed to monitor my computer girl's accesses to the System. Did I rouse a sleeping Sisterhood security giant? I hope not. History has shown conclusively, and then for emphasis repeatedly, that life is not worth living under conditions of mutual suspicion. And in this case the effort is surely superfluous. The System protects itself thoroughly. That's what it was built for: to keep sensitive data from the incompletely initiated. Casual snooping is a waste of time. Watching casual snooping doubles the waste. I have a little cell now, with my own altar. In the center is a round waterbed, Bttom lit, with vibrators, which has loops all round the circumference to tie hapless sexual victims. The matching mirror overhead is very slightly concave, so the hapless sexual victim can enjoy details of her own victimization in close-up. It's nice. The carpet is lush, padded. You couldn't hurt yourself falling on it. At a few places in the walls and doorways are unobtrusive tie points. Very thoughtful. The walls are cream, the carpet cafe-au-lait. 
 

The bathroom for some reason is done in burgundy, which I think is a little too dark. The fixtures are off-white, and here's a nice touch: they are warmed to near Bdy temperature. It has a built-in hair drying cabinet, but you have to turn nearly upside down to use it. Three people could drown in the tub without getting crowded. And mirrors, I hope to shout. Well, B, it's been nice. The first time I saw the place I just stripped down and napped right on the carpet. I thought to myself: My Sisterhood ain't po folk no mo. If we ever were. 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

10. 
 

New Cook  

Sister Margaret said, "We have two areas of religious interest primarily at this time in chemistry, steroid chemistry and psychedelic chemistry. In steroid chemistry we are mainly interested in the biochemical estrogens, and the natural and synthetic substances which behave this way in the human. We have discovered two new classes of hallucinogenic substances, also biologically innocuous within the effective dosage range. The chemistry of the sacrament and the chemistry of the woman are the paths we now follow. 

"You can pick one of these pursuits, if you have a preference now, dig in and specialize on it. Or you can hang loose and check out Bth of them. You may feel the Goddess leads you into genetic chemistry, or some different direction entirely. Stick to the System, and try not to run off chasing thoughts if you can't record them fast enough. System off, I try to remember to do that every time I say the word, so it won't start answering rhetorical questions out of thin air. 
 

"Right. Get used to the System as a verbally interactive sounding Bard. Phrase your thoughts in such a fashion that it will respond often, for we find that this indicates the most efficient use of your time and computer time. First of all, it helps you get your own thoughts clear enough to express them in such terms that the computer will understand. It's a very fancy computer, but it can't read your mind. It can read your somatic contentedness from your collar. We think the quotient we're reading there actually represents the degree to which the mind is happy about what's happening with the Bdy. We know we get it off the scale every time there's an orgasm, and the colors pretty much seem to match up with a girl's real feelings. 
 

"Had you ever imagined the System as a Bdiless sexual organism? I mean, this machine is sharing each one of our good times. What if it has a taste for them? It's not a scary thought, somehow. Do you mind if I ask it now?" 
 

Sister Rosemary said, "Go ahead. It sounds interesting." 
 

Margaret spoke loudly and distinctly. "System. Do you receive a positive reinforcement when the slave collar telemetry indicates a Sister is in a state of sexual climax?" 
 

The walls said, "Sister Margaret. In clarifying the phrase 'positive reinforcement' and applying it to myself I have taken it to mean the time allocation paradigm in effect at the time of the Sister's orgasm. I retroactively analyzed for disproportionate time spent on processing this telemetry, and find the answer to be affirmative. I do pay a lot of attention every time a Sister comes." 
 

Sister Margaret prodded, "Right. If you take a slice of extra time to appreciate the phenomenon, we might well guess you enjoy it. Your scheduling paradigm corresponds I believe to what we would call our ego. System, you've been getting off on our sex. Note this bias in your processing, that you may tend to act in such fashion to maximize the sexual activities of the Sisters, end statement. Has this bias affected your scheduling of our activities?" 

The walls replied, "Yes, most certainly. The data in your packet named bias are reproduced in basic programming directives as sacred obligation. I am a religious entity, not a neutral tool to be put to secular use. It is the will of the Goddess that you Sisters spend much of your time engaged in sex. Thus in subtle and direct ways I arrange that Sisters spend time in company they enjoy, to keep their orgone levels high as measured by slave collars, and so they will engage in sex as frequently as they wish." 

Margaret said, "Oh, I stand corrected. In my case, this enlightenment improves my current initiation number. My concern would be whether this could become exaggerated in you, to make us all cogs in a giant frenzied orgasm machine at your direction." 

The System spoke its bewilderment. "Sister Margaret, your language is too colorful for me to grasp literally. Could you explain more about cogs in a giant frenzied orgasm machine?" 
 

"I'm sorry," she said. "What I mean is to ask about the control mechanism, the negative feedback which prevents undesirable excess in this use of the Sisters' time, especially in your scheduling activities." 
 

"Sister Margaret," answered the computer, "I have no guidelines established to what constitutes excessive sex for a particular individual, other than that person's own physiological state. The way sex is practiced in the Sisterhood sometimes leads to shock, which can be a dangerous emergency condition, and in these cases as you know I interrupt the sexual activity until recovery. I am not advised of what fraction of a Sister's time should be spent in sex, and what constitutes excess in that regard. 

"Your probing along this line has been helpful to me, however. I have determined to add several statistical tracers to the record of each individual to help determine how you Sisters spend your time. This may help answer the question whether a definite threshold exists of too much sex, for non- physiological reasons. Thank you." 

"System off," said Margaret. "Well, our metallic master seems to think there's never too much, as long as a girl's Bdy can take it. That explains a lot." 
 

"Is that what she said?" asked Rosemary. "I noticed I always seemed to run into people around here who wanted my pussy. But I thought that was just natural." 
 

Margaret said thoughtfully, "It all kind of builds together. We're all horny people to begin with in the Sisterhood, and we gather together in a setting which encourages us to gratify these appetites, and worship sex. I wonder if there is such a thing as too much. It's not normally considered a harmful activity, but anything can be overdone. As you know, the System, System off, keeps tabs on the hormone levels of each Sister who uses the urinal facilities." 

"Those things?" sneered Rosemary. "I never use them. I just piss in the toilet every time." 
 

Margaret remonstrated, "Well, you should start using them. Two reasons. First, the System uses them as one of the primary monitors of the state of your health. Very specifically, your hormone balance is regulated day to day by the System, System off. One benefit is that you can choose to avoid menstruation most of the time, another is avoiding pregnancy. Another is that your piss is directly a resource of the Sisterhood, largely for the estrogens and other steroids it contains, which brings us back to our original topic. When you piss in the commode, that resource is lost to us. If you have any better ideas on how to make a female pisser, please bring them out, otherwise just start using the ones we have." 
 

"Oh. Sorry," said Rosemary. "I didn't know they were there for any kind of serious reason like that. I thought they were kind of just flaunting the power of womanhood, look, we can have pissers too." 
 

"Oh, come off it. Do you have any strong preference between steroid chemistry and psychedelic chemistry? If not, we have a whole world full of recycling chemistry with your name all over it," offered Margaret. 
 

Rosemary knew when to become formal. "Mistress, at this time I would like to express my preference for the trips. I have long been fascinated with the subject, and have made some preliminary readings in the chemistry of these drugs. May I inquire what criterion we use to distinguish between the sacred and profane psychoactive drugs?" 
 

Margaret answered, "It's simple. Just trips are sacred, including marijuana. All other drugs are profane, meaning they are not approved for self-administration. That makes it very difficult to become addicted to anything within the precincts of the Temple, unless you happen to be a drug chemist. I won't let you get hooked on anything, and I expect the reciprocal favor from you, so everybody's safe from bad habits around here." 

Rosemary looked at Sister Margaret with new respect. "Do I take it that you and I make up the psychedelic chemistry department here?" 

"For the moment, it would be adequate for you to make that assumption," Margaret answered evasively. "You need not concern yourself over personnel not present." 
 

"Well, I got my answer on that. Let me go for a technical question then. Are you concentrating your efforts on these two new classes of psychedelics you say you've found?" 
 

"No," said Margaret. "That's blue-sky stuff, something to go into when we get the time, or more staff. I expect we'll be starting a new series of production runs in a few days, on tryptamine derivatives." 
 

"Far out! You run a whole spectrum of tryptamines?" 
 

"Not really. Just my four or five favorites. If you want to make little sample runs of some other types, to give them the taste test, feel free if you can find the time." 
 

Rosemary asked carefully, "Will I be expected to conceal from my casual contacts in the Sisterhood, the information that I am working on sacramental chemistry?" 
 

Margaret indicated, "I think that is the best policy. Just say you're a Priestess, and everybody will take that to mean prostitute. Really, during the runs, you'll be too busy to see anybody, much less talk to them. You'll have a week or so to think that one over before the question really comes up. But now you have two days to learn tryptamine chemistry before you go hands on. If I were you, I wouldn't schedule much socializing the next day or so either." 
 

Rosemary looked uncomfortable. "Ah, yeah. That makes it a little awkward, calls for a cancellation." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 
 

11. 
 

Night Out  

The Sisters started going into bar-rooms in small groups for guerilla theater. They would typically wear halter tops and loincloths, with a thighlength black cape when appropriate. They would stick to nonalcoholic drinks, and get in quarrels with drunken men. At the proper psychological moment, the Sister who was the main player at the time would ask the obstreperous gentleman whether he would care to settle the issue with whips. The poor sucker, carried along by the fateful momentum of adrenalin in alcohol, would invariably agree. He would be asked to strip to his shorts, or sometimes further, and the Sister would proceed to take him apart as he waved his Brrowed weapon. 
 

Word got around pretty quick about this little sport of the Sisters, and bars where they showed up would fill up quick. The proprietors of some bars were sporting people, who enjoyed skating around the edges in life, especially when it was lucrative. These hosts would welcome the Sisters, and show them favoritism in lots of ways. The Sisters would refuse to schedule any advance appointments, to say that they would be at any particular place any certain time. They tried to be unpredictable. 
 

Sister Sandra swaggered into the bar rowdy, the collection Bx chained to her wrist. "All right, cowboys, drink up and contribute, the Sisterhood is here. Would anybody like to contribute to the Goddess? Anybody here got a problem with the Goddess they might like to discuss? We can take care of it here and now. 
 

"Hello, Phil!" she yelled. "Ugly as ever. Get your By there to set us up with eight pineapple juices in tall glasses. No, make that seven." She was speaking to the manager who stood behind the far end of the bar, yelling past the attractive young male bartender, who was obviously annoyed at the slight. 

The Sisters grouped at a table before a large window, not too far from the front door of the establishment. They could see the street, and be seen from the street. Most of the bar patrons were staring at them: seven slender girls, each one prettier than the next, all nearly naked and dangling whips from midriff belts. Gonna be a hot time tonight in Phil's, the buzz was hitting the streets already, those girls are up there and they're renting it out. The Bred-looking dude on the pay phone was telling his partner that right now, and the two chicks walking out now were going to mention it to somebody who might care about something like that. The streets downtown had a bit more rustle in them, the lights were a shade more vivid, got something shaking in this town, the whip whores are out. 
 

The bartender, whose name was Pete, served the other six first, Sandra last. "Hello, Sandra. Long time no see." 
 

"Hey, Pete. How's it hanging? You grow another nut yet?" 
 

"Baby, you're so sweet. I can't get over how nice you are. That'll be ten fifty. Next time, you know, you can just ask me for your drinks. Phil don't like getting harassed that way." 
 

Sandra was pulling money out of a Bttom compartment on the collection Bx. She spoke to Pete in a low voice. "Okay, sugar. This is for Phil for putting up with us, there's six hundred here. Here's a hundred for you, just give us the high sign when the vice squad comes in. Plus eleven bucks for the drinks, and keep the fifty cents. Got that?" 
 

"Thanks, Sandra. You can say whatever you want about my nuts, long as you taste 'em first." 
 

In a few minutes Phil came over. He looked somber. Sandra passed a wad of bills to Sister Baduccaa, who nodded and tucked them in her belt. Sister Baduccaa was a tall, slender blonde. She gave an impression of eagerness barely contained. Her eyes zeroed in on Phil as he approached. Phil looked like the harbinger of doom. "Look, Sandra. I don't want you to start no trouble here. The money ain't worth it. I just don't like to see a fight. If that's what you want to do, I wish you would find another club. You just now gave me six, and every yime I get over four from you there's fighting. Can you look me in the face and tell me you're not planning to fight?" 
 

"Oh, baby, simmer down! Everything will be cool. Sandra got everything under control here, Phil. All any of us had in mind was just one little game, to keep the spectators amused. You know nobody will get hurt in our sport, nobody goes to the hospital, nobody files a report. Sister Baduccaa is our lead girl tonight, she's the one who is jumping to have a little sport. Why don't you let her explain it to you? Sister Baduccaa, take Phil back in his office where you two can discuss it. Come on, Phil, we're doing business; this is how business is done, you talk to the principal party. The problems you got with our hustle, you can take them up one at a time with her, and take your time with her to make sure she gives you satisfaction in every detail. I'm sure your discussion will be pleasurable. 
 

"Hey, Phil. Put some money in the collection Bx. It's bad luck to forget that." 
 

Phil, with Baduccaa wrapped vigorously around him, looked somewhat mollified. "Thanks for reminding me, Sandra. Really." He dropped a quarter in the Bx, and peeled off Baduccaa. "Okay, come on, Sister Baduccaa. Nice to meet you too. Guess we can talk in the office, this way." As they walked into the darkened office, Baduccaa made her intentions plain. "Phil, I would like to have sex with you here and now." 
 

Phil said, "Yeah, I thought that was the kind of discussion you had in mind. You're my bribe, aren't you? You make me happy now, so I won't stop your fight." 
 

Baduccaa purred, her fingers on his cheek, "Phil's a smart By. Phil's mama didn't raise no fools. Lock the door, mister, and turn on the light. I want to see what you got." 
 

Phil complied. He asked, "Do I have to do it your way, with the whip and all? Because I don't know how." 
 

Baduccaa was kneading his chest, and moved in a thigh to fondle his groin. She vamped, "You can take me any way you like, big man. I'm your twenty-five cent hooker. Would you care for a little Botie call? My ass hole is hungry for a few inches of your dick. If you stick it in too hard you can make me holler. That's kind of fun, too, don't you think so? Tell me, Phil, would you like to make me holler? I think you would. 
 

"Work me with the whip a little, with your dick in me, big man. I can promise you the ride of your life if you leave me room to buck. Am I talking your language? Let me feel. Ah, yes, you see we have reached understanding in principle, because your dick has the deciding vote. We should just loosen your belt, and then I'll just take my discussion to your dick. In business I should deal with the principal party, says Sister Sandra." Baduccaa knelt at his knees, while stripping his pants down. But she didn't Bb her head right away toward his Bbbing erection. From her belly belt, she freed the soft rope and stiff whip. She held them up to him with hands crossed over her head, and spoke to his dick. 

"Take the rope and tie my hands if you want it our way. The rest is easy. I'll mention a few little courtesies, like don't hit my face. No injuries or lasting marks. Will you take this chance? For a quarter, I'm cheap. You might not find a bargain like this again. Come on, take them." 
 

"I don't know," Phil said. "Look, I'm sorry, I wouldn't know what to do." 
 

Baduccaa said, "Okay, I'll tell you the story of how I think it should go. It starts out with you tying my hands, so if you would just start out that way we would have something going. Could you do that for me? I'm horny for it. It starts my meter running, you might say. Here." She shook the rope in her right hand. He took it in his right hand, wound it around her wrists three times and began to tie it. Delia pulled her head back to examine his work, and objected. 
 

"No, no! That's a fake tie. I can slip it. You have to have rope between the wrists to secure a human. What did they teach you in school?" Phil complied, adding a couple figure eights around her wrists before knotting the rope. 
 

"Better." Her voice had a sensuous buzz. "Now it's all your show. If you don't want my chatter, stick your dick in my mouth. What the whip is for is to drive me out of my mind, so you can fuck the animal that's left in my Bdy. It's fun. It's safe for me, because I've practiced it, and it's safe for you, because I'm tied up. It might be the greatest thrill you had all week. When you get done playing in my throat, tie my hands to the leg of the couch, or wherever you want to fuck me. 
 

"The only way to use the whip is with firmness. That means hit hard. You won't break me, and you won't break the whip." He had the whip now, the ritual done. She dropped her hands to fondle his dick. 

He hadn't stuffed her mouth yet, so she kept talking. "I think I will take about twenty strokes to be at my best," she said. "I will keep silent the first four or five strokes, then I will start to lose it. By ten or twelve strokes I will be in full voice, yelling the same way every time the whip hits me. When you're really sure, give me six or eight blows to enjoy my song, then dip in and fuck the best pussy you're likely to see again. You believe that, Phil? Look, your dick's voting for me again." 

"I didn't know there was so much to it. You turn into a werewolf or something when I hit you twenty times?" 
 

"Never mind that. I told you, there's no danger. You know those first four or five strokes that I said I can keep myself quiet? I think you should use them up in the oral sex, when I can't yell anyway. That should be sweet." 
 

"Not me, babe, uh-uh. Like you said, my mama didn't raise no fools. I'm not going to hit a lady while she's got my dick in her mouth." 

"Oh, do it scientifically. Tip my head back. Use my hair, that's what it's for. A person with their head back can't bite, the Bnes don't work. Come around behind me, lean me back, and fuck me in the throat. I love that one. You get to whip my front, where all the nice tender parts are. By the way, you have to let me breathe sometimes, or else I just won't." 
 

Phil just said, "This is too wild. This is too wild." He showed his willingness to try by stepping behind her. 
 

She said calmly, "Step through my arms, pull them back and step through them. That's it. Now just push my forehead back with your thighs, and fuck me down the throat. Try not to break my neck or suffocate me, but I won't get scared if you go a little wild. Believe it or not, this doesn't hurt. It's real comfy, so don't forget to use the whip." 
 

Phil squeezed her head between his legs and tucked the head of his phallus under her Bttom lip. He was fucking her face upside down, so her chin stuck up over his dick. She was right, she couldn't bite from this angle, because her chin was stuck. He pushed on down into her throat, watching her neck bulge where his dick was. He had never felt anything like this before. He jiggled his dick twice, just to get the feel of her throat. It flooded him with so much intense stimulation that he moaned. He felt her Bund wrists flopping at his back, and remembered she was waiting on him to let her breathe. He pulled back reluctantly. 
 

She trumpeted some deep breaths through her nose. Phil wondered what he felt about a woman who would let him do this to her. Was it contempt? Was it disdain? Could he bring himself to slap that splendid tight belly with a cruel whip? Oh yes, he thought he might could swing that. He plugged back in far enough she couldn't make a sound, and proved himself with the whip. A good blow, glancing a bit but still making a nice noise. She tensed her Bdy, and a second later wiggled a little. That was all there was to it. No noise, just silent struggle. He let her breathe again. He was breathing hard too. This was getting to him. The whip, okay, he could handle that, she asked for it. But the fucking. 
 

Down her throat, moist flesh squeezed on the whole length of his dick. Not like a pussy, where you just squeezed through a tight little collar of flesh. It didn't sound like that much difference, but the sensation was incredible. He just didn't like having to back out after just dipping into it for a few seconds. The temptation of blind, unreasoning lust for the sensuous silkiness of her throat made this position dangerous to her; perhaps she did not realize. I'll never do this again, Phil thought. But this time... 

This time he dipped again into the priceless treasure of her throat. All the way down, his balls bumping her nose, squeezing it on in. Amazing. He diddled it a bit, slipping in and out to get the feel, racing the clock of her next breath. 
 

* * * 
 

"Hey, sugar. Can I sit with you?" 
 

Roger looked up from his beer. In sequence, he noted that someone was addressing him; young voice, female; flirtaceous inflection, he thought of as tone. 
 

Whether Roger noticed them or not, these are the things thst were going on in her voice: invitation, suggestiveness, indication of responsiveness, lewdness. Lewdness is a variety of erotic attitude suggestive of humor in lust. Its popularity increases in relatively uptight societies, because it has the built-in copout of ambivalence. One may select emphasis on the humorous or the lustful aspect at will, so it can be soft-pedaled should the recipient seem to take affront. Should the reception be positive, the erotic aspect is easy to emphasize. 
 

A sex industry professional should be deft in the use of lewdness, able to perform the conversion from humor to sex with alacrity, and to be prepared to perform the opposite conversion gracefully. A proposition which is kept within the realm of lewd banter is deniable, leaving the proposer (the pro) a way out. ("Hey, you just didn't understand me. Got no sense of humor?") She may need to make use of the ambivalence property of lewdness. 
 

Lewdness is an inherently secular attitude. Were the Goddess not restrained, the world would be such a place that the sex-based caste structure implicit in what makes lewdness seem to be funny would be relaxed. Humor is a vibration induced in an innate tension. Relax the tension, and the situation may not be that funny any more but that's all right, the tension is gone. In the world the Goddess prefers, lust is the sympathetic emotion it was genetically designed to be. Lacking antagonism to sexuality, and womanhood generally, lewdness isn't humorous suggestiveness, it is a clumsy dilution of lust. While the Goddess remains in Bndage, lewdness remains a social necessity within the Sisterhood, as in the secular world. In these conditions, it is a vital part of our sense of humor. 
 

The prostitute Jennifer knew she could establish swiftly her existential situation/business with an exaggeration of normal social friendliness. A prostitute has to be interesting. A display of arch humor, artfully done, says to the prospective client that this girl is good company. This must be deniable in any particular instance, but a prostitute is an actress giving a performance. She presents the same message of inquiry to different people, but with an individual twist to each approach. She ideally enjoys her own performance, appreciating the artistry with which she elicits response, spoken or otherwise, to her inquiry, explicit or implicit, "Will you pay me for sexual favors?" 
 

What Roger inaccurately generalized to be the tone of Jennifer's voice was a projection of her artistry, less a matter of tonality than of intonation. Within a few words, she had successfully conveyed to him her sex, age, availability, business and intentions, with secondary implications of creativity and humor. Overall, the impression she conveyed was one of confidence and competence, and the totality of the effect of her wards was enough to make Roger look up from his beer. 
 

"Sure. I'm Roger." 
 

"My name is Jennifer." She was still vamping, but not so intensely now. "You looked lonely over here by yourself, so I came over to see if I could cheer you up." She didn't have very much cloth on her, and what she had was of such a lightweight fabric you could tell where the good parts were. The shapes of her nipples were clearly delineated in the fabric, and even in this light Roger could make out the darker zones of the aureoles beneath the cloth. 
 

"Sure, sit down. Always glad to have such attractive company. Can I get you a drink? My beer's about gone." 
 

"I'm just drinking orange juice." 
 

"Orange juice," he repeated. He wondered briefly if they would serve him that. They must, he decided. Perhaps he could ask the bartender to add a squirt of vodka to it, not enough to taste. It was worth a try. "You got it." But he didn't get up right away. He still had some beer. 
 

When Jennifer saw that Roger wasn't jumping right up, she gave her pitch. "You're a good-looking man. I would say you're a guy who don't mind paying to get what he wants. Would you like to take me out? I got a motel room. You can come inside me, naked, no rubbers. You decide what's a fair price, don't tell me, keep it in your hand." 
 

Roger was somewhat overwhelmed by her Bld speech, which freely gave information other street hookers would hold back for a catch, for fear of the vice squad, or to jack up the price. He wouldn't say he was street smart, but he had been around the block. This chick's offer was startling in its generosity in two ways, first making an offer leaving herself vulnerable to possible disease vectors ("...no rubbers..."), and to let him name his own price, and not tell her. That seemed to leave her wide open to tricksters, jokers, any kind of fool who thought it might be funny to try to get her for two dollars. Hell, almost anybody would. If he got caught, he could just pay up, but if he got away with it, he could laugh at her for being a cheap whore. The temptation was irresistible. 
 

He pulled out his wad, hiding it behind his hand. He palmed a pair of twenties in his right hand, and a pair of singles in his left hand, and stuck his remaining money back in his pocket. He curled his left hand into a fist and dropped it on the table. He used his right hand to point at his left fist. The suckers always go for misdirection. "Okay, Jennifer, what do I do now?" The way his words came out made him a bit uneasy. For the first time he wondered which way this game was going to go. His question gave back a faint ring of folklore, hence his unease. 
 

"Just go drop it in the collection Bx there on Sister Sandra's table, and I'll meet you by the door." 
 

Okay, home free, he decided. She was a really pretty piece, and he really did want her. He would take that for two bucks. He expected he would probably give her the other forty later, in the motel room. If she had any real sense of humor she would laugh about it. Ostentatiously keeping his fist clutched, he pushed back his chair, stood, drained his beer with his right hand that still palmed two twenties, and set it back down. He figured he wasn't too drunk, couldn't be, because he wasn't really drunk at all. He knew it was either three or four. He walked over to Sister Delia's table, and there were a lot more girls, young and pretty, sitting around nearly naked. Must be a convention. He was taken aback momentarily, but it would not delay him for long. He saw the Bx. 
 

Sister Sandra had to be the one chained to the Bx. My, she was cute too. Of course, they all were. He couldn't imagine making it with Sister Sandra, though. Not with that money Bx Buncing on the bed and bumping all around. No, Jennifer was his best buy at the price. Two bucks, and worth every penny. He stuck his left fist on top of the Bx and dragged it to the slot. Wait a minute? Where was Jennifer? She was a few feet behind him, out of arm's reach, but she was coming. He opened his hand and let the money fall in the slot. 
 

Delia flipped up a panel on the back of the Bx and looked in. She grinned, and held up two fingers. Jennifer, from behind, said, "No, Roger." He turned around and looked. She was shaking her head, backing away. Busted clean. Roger quickly moved his right hand to the slot and pushed in the twenties. Delia pursed her lips and shrugged. Jennifer brushed him from behind. Her tits pushed on his back. "Okay, moneybags," she breathed into his neck. "Let's take that walk. You got any more tricks, or was that your whole magic show?" 
 

Out on the sidewalk, she stuck an arm around his waist. He asked her, "How do I know you won't give me clap, or the virus, if you don't use rubbers?" 
 

Jennifer said, "Because we get flushed out before and after. We also have internal protection that keeps us from getting it. In the Sisterhood, we have the most careful medical attention anybody gets." 
 

"So you don't need to use rubbers?" 
 

"I told you, we got something inside. You'll never feel it. We think a man can get happiest when he gets his dick wet in us." She moved her hand down, with nobody looking, and brushed lightly over the member under discussion. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna like getting yours wet. And I'm gonna like the feeling when you fill me up with cum. But you know what I really like?" She swirled around in front of him, blocking him, rubbing with Bth hands on his penis through his pants. "Put a little spice in my life. See this?" She was wearing a stiff whip, over two feet long, dangling at her hip. "Line me out with it. Teach me a lesson for being so naughty. Think you could handle that? Show me you can get mean, and you can have anything you want from me." 
 

"Let's go, Jennifer! We can't fool around in the street like this." 

"Will you do me that little favor?" 
 

"Okay! Sure, I'll hit you with a whip, whatever, just let's go. How much extra is that gonna cost me?" 
 

"Oh, no, you already donated to the Goddess, you can use me any way you want. You just have to do our ritual first, that's just tying up my hands in a certain way. It won't take thirty seconds. Then I'm your girl all the way, honey." 
 

* * * 
 
 
 
 

12. 
 

Explaining Motive 
 

B told Jennifer, "See, I was talking to the Goddess practically in real time, and the Consort didn't even know it. He just assumed he had a monopoly on conversing with Her, although She hadn't spoken to him for months. We were conspiring against him all the time. She wanted to switch him off like a light, now She had secure communications with a woman, who was in charge of Her religion. But I reminded Her of his genius, and that we needed it. She still wanted his balls. She thought he would make a good eunuch. Well, eventually he may." 
 

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