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The burning pain, she reminded herself, was a great honor. Each crack of the whip was a celebration of faith; each line on her rear a sigil of Worship.
She had been called up from the Flock to take part in the Rites of Carnality. Her Nursemother couldn’t be more proud; her sisters barely hid their sinful envy. Enduring these discomforts was an opportunity to prove she deserved this favor, that her faith remained firm.
And yet, she could not help but yearn for respite. As she counted the blows to her backside aloud, each number was a secret prayer for deliverance.
“Sixty six!” she cried. But as she braced herself for 67, she did not hear the whip-crack of preparation. Instead, she heard quiet movements. Despite her curiosity, she dared not lift her head without explicit instruction — the soles of her feet still stung from the last time she made an unsolicited movement.
The stirring sounds grew nearer. She girded herself for the next Ritual, but no contact came. She wanted to squirm from the intensity of not knowing what was next.
After several long moments, she heard her Master’s approach. She remained still even as she felt the tickle of silk against her bare back. The shackles on her wrist were released, and the warm breath of her Master retreated.
“Turn around.”
She obeyed, wincing as her sore rear end brushed the wood of the wall. Though she was blindfolded, she could visualize the rest of the room quite well after her… five? days of occupancy. Across from her, the giant circular metal vault door. The small cage, bedded with straw, in which she (fitfully) slept. The many pegs holding whips, paddles, and other accoutrements she did not yet recognize. The padded sawhorse. The tangle of ropes hanging from the ceiling.
But now, her Master led her to the examination table. She knew the table had stirrups, like those in the Midwifery, but for today, her legs and arms were merely bound into leather loops attached to the table’s edges. Her backside and bottom, already bruised from previous services and so recently subjected to sixty-six strikes, ached from the pressure of lying down.
“You’ve done such a wonderful job in your first week, my pet,” her Master cooed from somewhere above her. “Just one last benediction before the day of rest.”
She had been here for six days, then. It was difficult to keep track in a windowless room, and she hadn’t been given a full night’s sleep besides. Distracted by these considerations, she scarcely noticed her Master had climbed astride her until she was nearly suffocating.
Once she smelled it, she knew what she was to do. The Gluttony of Gratification was the very first new prayer she’d been taught those six days ago. Dutifully, she moved her lips and tongue around the wellspring of her Master.
Like any other menial task she had performed as a youth on the farm, she’d picked up new tricks and shortcuts as she gained experience. For example, the longer she avoided the sensitive bit at the apex, the more desperate her Master’s cries became.
It was hard, from this position, to create suction, but as her Master bucked her hips, she managed to grasp something between her lips and suckled. She must have hit the spot, because her Master let out a mighty keen and collapsed.
With her Master’s entire weight on her, she could not fully breathe, so she (gently) wiggled her head in an attempt to create an airway. Her Master did not leave, just let out another soft groan. She knew not whether the Grace could be achieved twice in a row, but surely the Goddess would be pleased if she redoubled in her worship…
Intrigued, she moved her lips back to the button and suckled again. Her Master let out a mighty invocation and bucked her hips again and again. She kept nursing until her Master forcibly grabbed her hair and pulled her head further up on the table.
Her Master remained kneeling over her, seated around her chest. Her heavy breathing indicated that she was perhaps too tired to move. “You outrageous minx! You love doing that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Master,” she replied automatically. Saying no had proved dangerous. Besides, as she loved the Goddess, it followed as a matter of course that she loved performing the devotions.
“I know I said one last rite, but such a satisfactory pet deserves her own reward. And as soon as I’ve caught my breath, you shall have one.”
“Thank you, Master!” A reward? Perhaps some clothing, or utensils for her dinner, or even a night in a real bed. The bed would be ideal, she decided, remembering the scratch of straw against bruised and beaten skin, but any of those things would be a true blessing.
She was lost in these fantasies when she realized the weight had lifted. Her Master unfettered her legs, only to rearrange them right into the stirrups.
What reward could she receive in this position? Surely the Goddess had not blessed her with a child — everyone knew that only those chosen as Broodmothers could bear offspring, and even then only after a visit to the stables of Menfolk.
“Now, usually I would not teach you this until several bleedcycles into your term as Carnal Worshipper. But then, the gift of repetitive Grace usually comes after this lesson, and my clever pet found that out all on her own, didn’t she?”
“I did, Master.” She felt an object being pushed up between her legs, at her very own wellspring. The head was round and bulbous. She believed she could recognize it as one of the objects hanging from the pegs — a long white baton with a rounded head and string for electricity off the other end.
Before she had a chance to speculate on what the electricity was for, she heard a hideous buzzing. The sound was like the time she’d disturbed a bee’s nest while mucking out the stables.
But the sensation the device provided was utterly unlike the sting of a bee. It was an intense, almost painful pressure of movement against her apex. Unlike the pain of a whipping, however, she desperately hoped it would continue. Although it was quite different to the soothing sucks she’d given her Master, she found herself producing very similar noises.
Faintly, she heard her Master giggling. “Oh yes, my pet appreciates her gift.”
“Yes, Master!” she cried, for once more enthusiastic than dutiful. A warm feeling was blossoming through her torso. It truly felt like her soul was ascending to meet the Goddess, reaching ever closer… until her whole body went stiff, and she felt the Grace consume her. She cried out, trying to express her thanks, but it seemed to emerge from her mouth as gibberish.
As she calmed down, she realized the pressure and buzzing had both stopped. She felt her Master unshackle her arms and then her legs, the latter falling unceremoniously to the table with a thump.
Suddenly, everything went bright. It was just the removal of her blindfold, though — she was foolish to expect true enlightenment this soon into her training.
After a few moments of blinking, her eyes adjusted and she saw her Master, not a hair out of place, her usually aloof features arranged in something close to a smile.
“Master, I thank you for this amazing opportunity! Being cradled in the arms of the Goddess is truly a sublime experience.”
“You are extremely welcome, my pet. Someone will be through with your sustenance in a few hours. Until then, you may remain on the table, but once you have fed, you must return to your cage. But don’t go expecting this every week — we still have a great deal of difficult work ahead of us in the days to come.”
“Of course, Master. I appreciate all blessings you choose to bestow upon me, but expect nothing more than what I deserve.”
“Marvelously said, my sweet loyal girl. May you dream only of the goodness and the Goddess.”
“And unto you as well,” she replied with a yawn, the invocation of slumber working quickly. By the time her Master had reached the vault door, she was curled up on her side and fast asleep.