The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

PROLOGUE

On a technologically advanced world, Thira, daughter of a leading scientist, continued her late father’s work into inter-dimensional travel. Shortly after her 36th birthday, she made a startling breakthrough. She not only discovered a way to break through the dimensional barrier, but also realized that the device to accomplish this task could be easily miniaturized. Unfortunately, her work was ridiculed by her male colleagues, who doubted that a woman, even one who studied with her brilliant father, could accomplish on her own what teams of University-based scientists could not. They refused to approve her grant requests to fund construction of the actual device and discredited her professional reputation.

Determined to prove herself, Thira sacrificed her small inheritance and sold her father’s patents to finance her work. Her dedication to this goal ruined her marriage, as her husband left her for a younger, less career-oriented woman. Nevertheless, Thira persevered, even as her work continued to be ridiculed by the scientific community.

Finally, after nearly eight years, she created a prototype device. Though scientific protocol demanded a multitude of tests before human utilization of the device, Thira had used up her financial resources and could not afford to wait through additional testing. She refused to even approach other intellectuals for assistance, determined not to share credit for her work in any way. Nor would she sell out to a corporation, as she believed that knowledge, not profit, is the only reasonable use of science.

Thus, she decided to test the device herself. Taking the device, which she has made to look like a wrist bracelet, she successfully traveled to a small number of parallel dimensions, including one much like our own. At each place, she recorded images and collected artifacts, with the intention of using them not only to provide proof of her success, but also that a form of English seems to be spoken in nearly every dimension.

She stored her data, as well as the plans for her device, in a special safe with computer encrypted locks, the encryption based on a type of music unknown in her world but known as “polka” on many others. Though she accumulated evidence sufficient to convince even the most doubting skeptic, she decided to visit one more dimension. This was her greatest mistake.

CHAPTER ONE – A DESPERATE FLIGHT

Thira repeatedly cursed herself as she tried to make her way out of the city. Her original plan had been to leave at first light, but at the last moment she decided to acquire some more artifacts from the market. Trinkets, really, they served no useful purpose, as she had already acquired sufficient data for her purposes, yet she had assumed a few more items would not hurt.

“Well, that was a mistake,” she thought, turning down a side street, hoping the riot had not spread to this district. For even as she ventured into the market that morning some sort of disturbance had broken out in the temple district. At first, nobody seemed to pay much attention, “Just the continuation of the recent dispute between some of the Temples,” one merchant had commented dismissively as news of the disturbance spread. “One god or goddess is jealous of another’s place in the Pantheon or some such nonsense and the next thing you know their followers battle in the streets. Soon it will calm and all will be well.”

The man, who wore the symbol of Prilep the All-Father, Leader of the Pantheon, had proven remarkably incorrect. Not five minutes after he spoke a mob had emerged from the main thoroughfare connecting the business and temple districts, overturning tables and assaulting all in their path. Thira had been fortunate to escape, rushing blindly down the nearest alley in her quest for safety. Behind her she heard the names of various gods being shouted, be it in anger or supplication, but soon she put the cries of “Prilep” “Clyte” “Udine” “Dukat” “Phallus” “Evia” and various other deities behind her.

More than once in the subsequent hours she regretted leaving the transporter hidden in her cache outside the city. Had she not feared losing it, through accident or thievery, it would have been around her wrist and she could have easily escaped just by ducking into an alley or building where she could remain unobserved for a few moments. “Hell, at this point I’d risk cultural contamination if it would get me out of here,” she muttered under her breath.

Taking refuge in an alcove she pondered her choices. She could try to take shelter in a home or business, but she could see the smoke from buildings set afire by the rioters. Being indoors was no guarantee of safety. Were she in the temple district she could seek refuge with the priests of Prilep or Radna, as leaders of the Pantheon their temples were inviolate. However, she had fled in the opposite direction, and the mob now lay between her and the temples. For much the same reason she could not return to the inn where she’d spent the last few nights. Her only realistic option was to try and find her way to the city wall. Even if she could not escape, watchmen were more likely to be found there and she could seek their protection.

Her decision made, Thira made her way down the street, hoping that at the intersection she could catch a glimpse of the wall and so get her bearings. Luck was with her, as not only did she see the wall, but also she saw that it was only a short distance away. Eagerly making her way in its direction, she failed to notice the sound of the approaching mob until it was too late.

The leading wave of rioters spilled out of a cross street less than 100 meters ahead of her. Turning in terror, she ran back the way she came. Though many rioters ignored her, a sizable number followed. She would have escaped had she not fallen and injured her ankle, allowing the mob to come upon her. Some time later, when the street cleared, Thira’s prone body lay among the rubble and debris, beaten and bloodied, stripped naked and violated even after she had lost consciousness. Yet unlike many others on this day, Thira still lived.

CHAPTER TWO – RESCUE?

That evening, as the violence finally ended, from out of the temples a steady stream of priests, priestesses, acolytes, and others came forth to tend to the injured. While tensions existed between many of the temples, at times like this most differences were put aside so that mercy could be shown to those in need. Eventually, these caregivers reached the district where Thira had been attacked.

Villach rose from yet another body. Far too many of those he now sought to assist were beyond his help, and not even his god could aid them now. It had been close to an hour since he had been able to truly help anyone and he was rapidly losing hope. Behind him his three young acolytes, Ryon, Padr and Tarik, said nothing, but he knew they shared his despair.

Nevertheless, he moved down the street, coming at last upon the body of a middle-aged woman. She looked to have suffered tremendously, yet from the rise and fall of her chest he knew she somehow still lived. Motioning to the acolytes to assist him he crouched down to examine her injuries. Though his god was not a healing god, every acolyte and priest received basic medical training in case they were assigned to a temple without a Healer. Villach just hoped his skill would be sufficient to help, at least long enough to get her proper care.

His initial assessment was not promising. She showed signs of broken bones and internal bleeding and he feared he was too late. To his surprise, as he wiped some of the grime from her face she began to stir. “Be calm. Don’t try to move. Help is here,” he soothed. It was clear, however, that the woman did not sense his words; she was disoriented and babbling. Villach paid little heed to her words, concentrating instead on doing what he could for her, but suddenly his head jerked around as he heard what she was mumbling.

“Transporter, . . . getaway must . . . make gateway, go . . . home, . . . dimension,” she babbled, repeating some of the words over and over.

Villach stared in amazement at the woman. Could it be? Her words matched nearly exactly those in the prophecy revealed to the Hierarch, news of which had reached the temple only yesterday. Was it possible that she was key to the prophecy, or were her words merely coincidence? Villach did not believe in coincidence, but he did believe in the power of his god, who had obviously led him to this point.

His mind made up; he quickly reached a decision. “Padr, return at once to the temple. Inform Pentarch Mandot that I am returning with this woman, and that he is to prepare quarters for her in the priests’ wing. Go, and don’t stop for anything along the way! Ryon, Tarik, we must find something to make a litter so we can carry her back to the temple. Move! This is no time to delay!” The acolytes, themselves unaware of the prophecy, did not understand his urgency but knew better than to question a priest and rushed to obey.

Hours later, Villach stepped out of a small room in the priest’s wing of the temple. A small group of older men awaited him in the passageway. “Does she live?” asked their leader.

“Yes, Pentarch. She lives, and should recover, though she will remain feeble for some time. It is fortunate that we have such a skilled Healer among the Servants, else her injuries would have proved mortal. As it is, she should be able to talk after a few nights rest, and we can see if she is indeed the one.”

“If she is, Villach, the Hierarch will surely reward you. This woman may hold the key to our god’s future.”

“But what if she refuses to cooperate, Pentarch?” one of the other priests inquired.

His companions merely smiled, even as the Healer emerged from Thira’s room and awaited their pleasure.

CHAPTER THREE—RECOVERY

Thira was frightened. She had awakened in a small, strange room, lying naked on a cot, her body covered with bruises. She tried to get up to discover where she was, but found herself too weak to even roll over, much less stand. Remembering something of what had happened to her on the streets, she supposed she should be thankful she still lived, but she wondered who had rescued her.

Soon, however, the door to her room opened and a kindly looking, middle-aged man entered.

“Greetings. I am Villach, a priest of Phallus. I found you after the riots and brought you here to our temple so that we could treat your wounds. I hope that you are well.”

Thira could only gasp and nod her head in response. She had heard the priest’s reference to Phallus, and began to wonder if she would have been better off at the hands of the mob. She had found out little about this particular sect, but the stories she’d heard in the street did not bode well. Phallus was the god of male sexual pleasure and, according to the tales, his followers believed in the inherent superiority of men over women.

Villach recognized the fear in Thira’s eyes and spoke soothingly. “I can see that you know something of our god. But you should know that what is accepted as common knowledge is sometimes wrong. For example, women are more than welcome to join our church. Nearly one third of our congregants are women, and are treated with respect and honor. No one here will do anything to discomfort or harm you, on that you have my word, backed by the terms of the Great Compact.”

Only somewhat comforted by these words, Thira still sounded concerned as she weakly replied. “How long have I been here? I feel so weak and can barely move.”

“It has been nearly two days since I found you and brought you here. You injuries were very serious and were it not for the skills of our Healer you likely would have died. Still, it will be some time before you can regain your strength. For now, rest. The Healer will return shortly to check on you, and when you are ready Pentarch Mandot would very much like to speak with you.”

Thira felt uncomfortable with this last statement, but before she could voice her concern or ask any more questions she found herself slipping back into unconsciousness.

When she next awoke Thira found she was not alone. However, the priest she had seen earlier was gone and in his place was a stunningly beautiful young woman. Her full, firm breasts, narrow waist, and wide hips were barely covered by a sheer, white slip. As she bent over towards Thira, the woman’s long, dark hair framed a round face with wide, green eyes, a small nose, and full lips. She looked concerned, but Thira’s first thought as she looked into those green eyes was “Something’s missing.” She said nothing, however, as the woman gently ran her hand, her wrists adorned with bracelets, along Thira’s forehead, pushing the prostrate woman’s hair out of her eyes.

“Phallus be praised. It is good to see you awake. I had feared my skills would not be able to heal your wounds, but He guided my hand and let me bring you back from Negrest’s door.”

“Who are you? . . . What’s going on? . . . I had a dream, there was some sort of priest, and he said I was in the temple of . . .”

“Phallus.” The woman finished Thira’s sentence, the reverence evident in her voice. “You were not dreaming. Master Villach rescued you and brought you here. I was honored by being summoned to heal your wounds, and with the help of the God, this was done. It will take some time for you to regain your strength, but with Phallus’ help this will be done.”

Even as she spoke the woman had taken a cup from a small table beside the bed and held it to Thira’s lips. “Drink. This broth will help you grow strong. Acolyte Padr brought it himself just a short time ago.”

Her unease forgotten for the moment, Thira thankfully sipped at the broth. Though the taste was unfamiliar, she welcomed the nourishment.

“Thank you . . . um, did you tell me your name?”

“I am sorry. My name is unimportant, but you may call me Jilava. I am Healer for the priests of this temple.”

“Thank you Jilava. Please, call me Thira. When will I be able to leave? It is very important that I return home as soon as possible.”

It was not Jilava who answered but rather Villach, who at that moment entered the room. “I’m afraid you will not be able to travel until you fully recover, Thira. Until then you will be our guest.” Turning to Jilava, who had prostrated herself on the floor upon his entry, he asked “When will she be strong enough to speak with the Pentarch?”

Jilava did not look up as she replied “She has just awakened, Master Villach, and has not yet eaten anything but broth. Once she has some nourishment she should be able to do whatever the Pentarch requires.”

“Very well. I shall return with the Pentarch shortly. See that she is ready.” Turning back to Thira, he added, “Do not worry. Pentarch Mandot is just concerned about you and wishes to assure himself you are well.”

As Villach left Thira could not help but sense that the priest was not entirely truthful. Before she could ask Jilava about Villach or this “Pentarch”, the Healer was back at her side with the cup of broth. “You must drink. It is very important that you are ready when Master Villach and the Pentarch arrive.”

Between sips of broth, Thira managed to ask, “Jilava, why did you bow to the priest? And why do you call him Master? Are you a slave?”

The young brunette laughed. “Oh, no, Thira. There are no slaves in the Temple of Phallus. I am merely a Servant of Phallus. Since my Initiation my life is dedicated to His service and the service of His priests. It is only right that I address them as Master.” Thira could “hear” the capital letters as Jilava spoke, and the woman said no more on the subject, as if her brief statement was all the explanation needed. As Thira finished the broth, she wondered exactly what would happen when the priest returned.

CHAPTER FOUR – PLANS AND REVELATIONS

Villach and Mandot stepped out of Thira’s room and closed the door behind them, leaving an exhausted Thira alone on her cot. The two men walked slowly down the passageway, Villach a half-step behind the Pentarch, until they reached Mandot’s quarters.

After dismissing the Servant who had awaited their arrival with a pitcher of wine, the two discussed their conversation with Thira.

“I apologize Pentarch. The stories the woman heard must make her truly fear our reputation. Her refusal to cooperate will make it difficult to determine if she is the one.”

Mandot leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. “No, Villach. I think you are mistaken. If she is the one, it is likely that she would have secrets to keep from whomever she encountered. I think she would be just as uncooperative were she in the temples of Prilap or even Clyte. No. And while I can not be sure yet that she is the one, there are some things I am certain of after our conversation.”

“What might they be, Pentarch?” Villach asked respectfully.

“She is obviously lying to us. She claims only to be of the ‘Southern tribes’ yet her body bears no clan markings as Jilava’s once did. She responded positively when I asked if her people ever dealt with ‘the renowned King Zenta of the Tyrhen’ yet the Tyrhen have not been ruled by a King for generations. And though she professed no knowledge when we referred to strange things such as ‘gateways’ and ‘transport’, her eyes indicated that she sought to deceive us. If nothing else, she knows the one we seek.”

“Yes. I see. I had not thought of it that way. What shall we do next?”

“Regardless of her true identity, it is clear to me that she does not follow any of the Pantheon, which means she is not subject to the Compact. We shall Initiate her as a Servant, and then she will be much more cooperative.”

Villach nodded in agreement, but then paused as a question came to mind. “But what if we are mistaken and she is subject to the Compact?”

Mandot waved his hand dismissively. “That is unlikely. If so, we shall pay the penalty. But I think it far more likely that by Initiating her we shall reap a great reward.” And with that the two moved on to the details of the Initiation.

An Acolyte, Thira thought his name was Tarik, led her from her room. She briefly thought of trying to break away, but simply walking slowly beside him was in and of itself a major accomplishment. Jilava had tended to her for over an hour, using various draughts and ointments, so that she could rise and all the time the Healer talked of “preparing” Thira for some sort of ceremony.

She knew this could not be good, not after her talk with the two priests. They had asked all sorts of questions about her and her background, and did not seem to believe her cover story. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought they knew about the dimensional transporter, given some of their questions.

So deep in thought was she over her possible fate that she barely noticed where she was being taken until her guide led her into a broad, more heavily traveled corridor. She could see a small but steady stream of people moving throughout the temple. Many were priests or acolytes who wore Phallus’ symbol but most seemed to be normal men and women. These people generally wore clothing common to what Thira had seen throughout the city, with the finer garb of some marking them as coming from the middle or upper classes. Thira briefly considered crying out to them but the acolyte strengthened his grip on her arm and gave her a look that implied doing so would be very foolish.

The rest of the people in the hallway consisted of young women of various heights, with a wide range of skin and hair colors, but all among the most beautiful women Thira had ever seen. Each had long, strait hair falling around her shoulders, framing round faces which reminded her of Jilava. Their bodies, with large breasts, narrow waists, and wide hips, also resembled the Healer’s, as did their simple white garments and jewelry which highlighted their beauty.

Some of these women were apparently engaged in cleaning and maintaining the temple while others moved about on their own. The vast majority, however, slavishly followed in the wake of the priests and acolytes much as a pet followed its owner, each with her adoring eyes focused entirely on the man in front of her. Even those engaged in other tasks seemed always aware of the location of the priests and acolytes and would, at the slightest gesture, stop what they were doing and hurry to his side, bowing her head submissively while he spoke to her.

After pausing for a moment in the entrance to the passageway and glancing around as if looking for someone in particular the acolyte summoned one of the women. The redhead rushed to him, seemingly eager to serve, and stood respectfully as he addressed her.

“Girl, what duties have you been assigned?”

“Master, I am to help keep the main passage clean, unless needed for more important matters.”

“Very well. The passage can be cleaned later. For now, you are needed to assist in preparing this girl for her Initiation. Take her to the Servants’ antechamber, bathe her, and otherwise have her ready for Initiation when I return for her. If she desires conversation you may speak with her, and answer any questions she may have, but be sure to have her properly prepared, as the ceremony will take place before evening devotions.”

“I understand and obey, Master.”

With that the acolyte handed Thira over to the woman and returned the way he had came, even as the woman, who identified herself to Thira as Beka, led the scientist into a small room down the passageway.

Inside the room, Thira did not speak as Beka drew a bath, removed Thira’s tunic, and led her to the bath. Only as the woman prepared to wash her did Thira find the will to speak.

“What’s happening to me? What did that priest mean when he spoke of my Initiation? Please, all of this has been so confusing. I need to now what’s going on.”

Beka smiled as she answered. “You have been blessed! The God has chosen you to Serve Him and His church. This is the highest honor a woman can receive. After your Initiation you shall Serve the Temple, as do I! Is it not wonderful?!”

Thira could not share the other woman’s joy. Things were even worse than she had feared. From what she had seen, all the Servants were so dedicated to Phallus that, should she somehow become one of them she would be unable, and likely unwilling, to hide the truth about herself, including the hidden location of the dimensional transporter. The scientific and cultural contamination this could cause paled in comparison to what might happen if these priests possessed the ability to travel to other worlds. Yet she lacked the strength to even kill herself to keep the information out of the temple’s hands. Not for the first time she cursed the events which had led her to this point.

Resigning herself to her fate, she asked Beka, a touch of fear in her voice, “What will happen? I mean, how will I be Initiated? Will it hurt?”

“Oh, no,” laughed Beka. “There is no pain. In fact, my Initiation was the most pleasurable experience of my life.”

Beka then related how she had spent almost her entire life as a dedicated opponent of Phallus and His temple, but now happily accepted her role as a sexual plaything for the priests. As she helped Thira from the bath she even expressed puzzlement as to why those who shared her former views now rioted in the streets in hopes of securing her freedom. “Why would any girl blessed as I have been ever want to leave Phallus’ service? Serving Him is the reason I was born!” she said, sounding like the true believer she’d become.

Even as Thira realized this woman was very likely the cause of the riot which had led her to her own Initiation, the young acolyte returned. Beka immediately shifted her attention to him, prostrating herself as she said, “She has been prepared as you ordered, Master.”

Tarik gave Thira a cursory examination. “Very good girl. Before returning to your other duties, give this room a thorough cleaning. You girl, come with me.” Taking Thira lightly but firmly by the arm, he held her from the room. Thira turned back to say farewell to Beka, but the woman was already beginning to clean and paid her no attention.

CHAPTER FIVE – INITIATION AND JOY

Thira, still naked, followed Tarik down yet another corridor, this one not nearly so heavily traveled. Listening to Beka’s tale, and seeing how the once strong-willed woman was now simply a willing slave of Phallus had robbed Thira of whatever bit of hope remained. If Beka’s views could be so radically altered, what hope did Thira have?

Soon, she was led into a large chamber and gasped at the sight. One end of the room was dominated by a giant statue of a naked male. Standing at least ten feet high, the statue had a disproportionately large penis, leaving no doubt in her mind this was a representation of Phallus. Before the statue was an altar, around this stood Villach, Mandot, and a handful of other priests. Tarik guided her towards the group, stopping before them and bowing his head respectfully.

“Pentarch, the girl has been prepared as you commanded.”

“See that she is secured to the altar. You may then remain to partake in the Initiation, young Tarik.”

“Thank you, Pentarch. I am honored.”

With that Tarik brought Thira to the altar where, with the help of another acolyte, he tied her spread-eagled with a set of well-worn ropes. As she was secured, Villach came to her side.

“Do not worry, girl. You are about to receive the greatest blessing possible for one of your sex. From now on your life will be filled with joy and ecstasy.”

“Please, don’t do this. Don’t make me like Beka and the others! I’ll tell you what you want to know. I promise! I’ll tell you everything.”

Villach smiled as he gently patted her shoulder. “Of course you will, Servant. Of course you will.”

With that he stepped back next to Mandot, the two standing at the foot of the altar, with the other priests and acolytes in a semicircle behind them. Even as Thira continued to beg, the two began to chant, soon followed by the others.

At first, Thira paid little heed to the chant as she sobbed on the altar, but soon it began to permeate her senses. It was a harmonious, lulling sound which almost immediately had a calming effect on her, though she could not understand the words. Her struggles quickly ceased as she let the sounds wash over her.

Soon the chant changed, and Thira began to feel aroused, her nipples stiffening, and she felt a wetness between her legs. As she reveled in the sensations of her aroused body, she noticed the priests removing their robes. Thira gasped at the size of their erect cocks, feeling a desire grow within her.

As the chant continued Thira became more and more aroused, as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her. The sounds of her arousal grew as the pace of the chant quickened, and Thira began to understand at least some of what they priests were saying. The word “Phallus” was being repeated over and over again, and each time she heard it Thira’s pleasure increased. Faster and faster came the chant, and faster and faster came the sounds of her pleasure, as she built closer and closer to an orgasm she desperately needed. But no matter how fast the chant, no matter how great the pleasure, Thira found herself unable to cross that threshold, unable to make herself cum.

Then, in a moment of revelation, Thira understood.

Only Phallus could bring her true pleasure; only Phallus could grant her the release she so desperately needed; only Phallus could make her whole; only Phallus mattered.

Raising her eyes to the statue above her, Thira cried out in a strained voice “Take me, my god, make me yours!” No sooner had she spoken than the priest’s chant reached its crescendo, and the statue’s cock glowed a deep crimson. Then, even as the priests climaxed, a white fluid gushed out of the statue’s cock, landing on Thira’s outstretched body. At its touch, Thira finally achieved release, spasming as she experienced orgasm after mind-numbing orgasm, all punctuated by her screams of pleasure.

So lost was she in her haze of pleasure that she barely noticed the changes her body underwent as it was completely covered by the white fluid. She appeared to grow younger, as the wrinkles and blemishes of middle age disappeared from her skin, which grew smooth and soft. At the same time, her breasts firmed and expanded until they matched those of Beka or Jilava. So too did the rest of her body, with the narrow waist and wide hips of a temple Servant.

All too soon, however, the priests ended their chant and the changes to Thira stopped. As she lay panting on the altar, she felt a pleasurable tingling in her nipples and between her legs, and realized that this was the blessing of Phallus. The God was responsible for her change, for granting her this wonderful form and allowing her to experience such pleasure. She knew, to the core of her being, that only through service to Phallus, by obeying His priests and letting herself be used as they saw fit, could she ever repay the God for the favor He had shown her this day.

She offered no resistance as Acolyte Tarik released her bonds, instead immediately prostrating herself before Pentarch Mandot and proclaiming, in a new, sensuous voice “I swear myself to the service of Phallus, now and forever more. May my body be found worthy to do His bidding.”

Mandot smiled lecherously at Phallus’ newest Servant. Despite, or perhaps because of, her unique origins, the God had chosen to make her even more beautiful than His other Servants. Completing the ritual, he told her “Your Service is accepted. All that you were, all that you are, all that you will be, belongs to Him, now and forevermore. Arise, and begin your Service.”

Thira rose to her knees, a contented smile on her face, happy to begin a life free of care and free of worry. Her smile grew even more as Pentarch Mandot indicated her first Service would be to service his most blessed organ.

EPILOG

A short time later, Beka was continuing her task of cleaning the small antechamber, which had not been so thoroughly cleaned in a long time. Humming contentedly to herself, pleased with being given the opportunity to Serve, she still sensed that one of the Masters was entering the room behind her. Quickly turning, she went to bow before him but stopped at his gesture and assumed an attentive position, one leg slightly ahead of the other, back strait, breasts thrust forward. As she did so, she recognized Acolyte Tarik, accompanied by a Servant she had never seen yet recognized immediately.

Tarik took a moment to eye the nubile Servant. He was quite pleased with what had happened to this troublesome whore, and looked forward to many years of enjoying her Service. But for now, it was just a pleasant coincidence that she was the girl he’d encountered in the passageway earlier. Turning to the Servant beside him he ordered “Girl, assist your Sister in her task. When you are finished, wait here until Pentarch Mandot summons you.”

“I understand and obey, Master.”

Tarik left without bothering to see if his command was obeyed. In the antechamber, Thira stepped forward and hugged her new Sister. “Oh, Beka, you were right. I feel so wonderful! I don’t know what I was worried about. Serving Phallus is all any girl could ever want to do!”

Beka returned the hug, full of joy that her God had chosen to bless another woman by accepting her as His Servant. “I’m so happy for you. I hope the Masters let us Serve them together!”

Giggling, Thira broke the hug and, along with Beka, turned to the task assigned her. “We will Serve as they wish us to Serve, now and for the rest of our lives.”

“That is true,” Beka said with a smile. “You have been truly honored if Pentarch Mandot wished your personal Service so soon after your Initiation.”

“Oh, while I Served him earlier he said he wishes to ask me some questions. I can not wait, for I have so much to tell him.”

With that the two women lapsed into silence, intent on Serving as best they could.