Embrace of the Goddess Ch. 03

"You want a test?"

Rella mumbled something.

"What? Speak up."

"Yes, Your Eminence."

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

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

"Maloth. Get used to saying it, you're going to say it more often."

"The Dark One?"

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

Rella hesitated.

"Do you want the test or not?"

Rella still hesitated.

Iriel smiled. "Perhaps you can go back to Penance?"

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

"Better?"

"Y-yes, Your Eminence."

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

Rella wrote diligently.

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

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

"Good. Any questions?"

"May I ask why?" whispered Rella.

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

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

"No."

"Or perhaps that exposing these ideas will corrupt the acolytes?"

"Are you worried about yourself, Rella?" Iriel leaned forward, her expression darkening. "Are you worried that you'll be corrupted?"

"N-n-no, Your Eminence."

"Then what is your concern?"

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

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

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

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

She would wait. For now.

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

"I'll start on this at once, Your Eminence."

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

Rella froze and turned.

Iriel smiled. "When it's just us, goddess is fine? Understood?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More, hissed Maloth. Bring me more.

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

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

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

"High Priestess?" came a soft voice from the door.

Iriel froze, but she didn't pull her hands away from her nipples. She wouldn't dare. "Zara?"

"Yes, High Priestess. You called for me?"

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

"Yes, High Priestess."

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

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

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

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

"Yes, High Priestess."

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

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

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

"Did I hurt you, High Priestess?"

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

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

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

"Again," ordered Iriel.

Zara obeyed.

"Again," moaned Iriel.

Zara obeyed.

"Again."

Zara obeyed.

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

"Harder," she growled.

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

Worshippers, she heard the whisper. More.

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

It was boring.

"Fuck me," she growled. "Fuck me hard."

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

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

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

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

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

"Zara," she said. "Kiss me."

Zara hesitated.

"I need air," lied Iriel. "Resuscitate me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Worshipers, hissed Maloth.

"Yesss," moaned Iriel. "Worshipers."

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

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

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

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

"To serve?"

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

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

"Then go," said Iriel. "Flow and fill the cracks."

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

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

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