Recursion C.4.

RECURSION

C.4. 

Elaia is led by the Temple Guardian into the ritual chamber. She is nervous and excited and her skin tingles with sacramental oils and the inky calligraphy of the divine text written on her nude body. Today she will be Sanctified and made into a Divine Vessel, the culmination of… her ordained mission, yes. 

The Guardian guides her through the carved archway and into the Sacred Chapel. Elaia shivers and glances around her new home: white stone walls carved with a motif of the divine lotus, plain stone pillars bearing symbols of life and pleasure and the feminine knot, and a white marble altar bathed in light from an oculus in the domed ceiling. She glances back at the Temple Guardian and asks, her voice quavering slightly, “Shall we begin?”

The Guardian nods her black canine head. The guardian is tall and muscular, with tanned ropey arms and a chiseled torso, her uncovered breasts hang below a wide Usekh collar of gold and jet, and she wears a sword belted over her white linen kilt. Like all Guardians she has been divinely altered, granted the head of a dark hound, the countenance of the Goddess in her Minor Aspects of Protection and Loyalty, as well as a long black canine tail, which swishes calmly. The golden bracers on the Guardian’s arms glint as she gestures toward the altar.

Elaia takes a deep breath and climbs up onto the cold stone.

***

Iōanna gestures at the altar and watches her fate-crossed beloved climb onto the cold marble surface. She admires Elaia’s slender pale body, the familiar constellation of freckles across her shoulders and back, now peeking through ritual lines of sacred script written across her skin, like a starry sky glimpsed through a cage. Iōanna feels a stirring under her kilt and her tail starts to wag, but she reists the urge to pant. She wonders if Elaia can recognize her?

Elaia lays upright upon the altar, long body spread, and smiles nervously a little, a look of trepidation and expectation that makes Iōanna’s heart flutter. A rogue part of her yearns for the time before, the time when Elaia was the fourth daughter of a minor lord and she was still the cherished daughter of the palace gardener, when the two girls had trysted with carefree youthful love. Iōanna had always known it was a game, a fleeting moment of romantic play between maidens and not something destined to last. Elaia was noble and her duty was to wed for political advantage, whether it be to a lesser noble son, a successful merchant, or a useful warlord. However, Elaia was Elaia, and she was filled with the lusts of the Goddess’ Carnal-Aspect, greedy with her appetites, trysting across the estate with anyone beautiful enough to catch her fancy. Elaia’s mother knew that even if they kept her daughter’s fornication a secret, her future marriage would be unhappy and marred by infidelity, and so Elaia’s mother hatched a merciful plan: she decreed her daughter would promise herself to the Goddess. She thought it was the only way to protect Elaia from herself.

Iōanna had been heart broken: despite Elaia’s wandering lusts, Iōanna truly, totally loved her. She breathed her, subsisted on her, lived for her. Who was Iōanna, if not the lover of Elaia? She had always planned to follow Iōanna as a faithful servant and secret lover, as so many handmaids were, but Divine Vessels kept no servants and were not permitted a private life. How could they ever be together? Elaia needed to be with her, somehow, some way. And so when Iōanna had left to join the cloister, Elaia had run away, fled her parents and obligations and the great estate that was her home, and went to join the Temple.

While Elaia had come to the Goddess for the exalted role of Vessel, Iōanna as a commoner could only be a lowly temple servant. She knew it was her only path to stay near her beloved, so she worked and studied diligently, a model servant, until she gained the notice of a High Priestess of the Loyalty-Aspect. The High Priestess possessed the Eye-for-Truth and had confronted Iōanna, had drawn out her confession and Iōanna’s honest motivation for joining the Temple. Rather than become mad the High Priestess had been thoughtful, perhaps even moved by her loyalty. The Priestess made Iōanna an offer: she could be reunited with her dearest Elaia but only if she forsake her humanity and became a Temple Guardian.

And so Iōanna had spoken the Oaths of Protection and Service and taken on the Aspects of Loyalty: the physical strength, the canine bodyparts, the head of the black hound which had replaced her own. She was a monster, an inhuman Guardian Beast, now and forever a creature of the Goddess and the Temple. But with that transformation came a new purpose: to protect and serve the new Divine Vessel, to protect and serve Elaia. They would both be different, divinely altered, but this way they would be together, inseparable.

Iōanna nods her canine head at Elaia and approaches the Altar. It was her Sacred Duty to finish the Ritual…

***

Elaia lays back on the stone altar and stares into the column of light falling from the oculus. Her back prickles with cold from the altar, but her skin feels flush and charged. She feels sick with excitement, her stomach in a twist, her mouth cottony, and her vision a little too bright. Her voice quavers with a lie: “I-I’m ready.”

The Guardian makes a noise like a bark and touches Elaia at the base of her throat, a clawed finger pressed into the soft cavity. Elaia flinches and gasps as the finger is drawn down her body in a caress, along her chest, between her breasts, down over her soft belly, and between the lips of her pussy, ceremonially bisecting her. Elaia feels a tingle spread through her skin, something electric and strange that dances along the inky writing on her skin. “Ah,” she whispers. The Guardian siezes her wrist, lifts her arm, rotates and tugs, and Elaia moans and feels a sharp pinch and a burst of pleasure as her right hand comes free of her wrist. She gasps, panting, eyes darting between the smooth blunt end of her arm and her gently twitching insensate former hand. The Guardian holds Elaia’s detached hand to her muzzle and licks her lost fingers, before setting the useless thing aside like a memento.

“Goddess,” Elaia breathes, turning her newly blunted arm and studying the smooth end of her wrist. She shudders and aching heat flows through her belly, “This is really happening…”

The Guardian nods and grasps her other arm, caresses it from shoulder to wrist, leaving a trail of arcane shimmers in Elaia’s skin. Elaia bites her lip, clutches at the Guardian’s hand, one last rebel movement before there is a tug and another joyful pinch, and her hand comes away from her body, just another lost object. Elaia moans and waves her truncated useless arms, clumsy, helpless…

The Guardian sets aside the second hand and presses Elaia down onto the altar firmly by her right shoulder. Elaia squirms, heat throbbing in her crotch, and gasps as The Guardian pulls on her arm, sensations of stretching, of peeling, and a burst of blinding pleasure and light. She arches her back and writhes, teeth clenched, and is only dimly aware of a new emptiness, a sudden lack, her left arm and shoulder manipulated, tension, and a second obliterating wave of euphoria! Elaia is swept away….

***

Iōanna sets aside the removed left arm of her beloved and stares down at her reduced body, her smoothly armless shoulders, rounded and perfect as if she was born this way, a creature of art instead of commerce, a decoration. Iōanna’s long tongue hangs out of her canine mouth, she’s panting. Her keen nose can smell Elaia’s sweat and fear and her desperate arousal. Iōanna’s heart hammers in her chest and she can feel the heat stirring under her kilt. She growls at herself, reminds herself she has a Divine Duty. The ritual is not yet complete.

Iōanna reaches down and grabs the delirious Elaia by her right hip and elevates her long slender leg, her familiar soft inner thigh, her supple calves, her delicate ankle, and slim foot. Elaia writhes, hips wriggling, free leg kicking a little, and Iōanna presses her hip firmly into the altar, grips her ankle, pushes and twists and pulls, and with a tug the entire leg seperates from Elaia along seams drawn in sacred ink. Elaia wails in orgasm! Her single remaining leg kicking, body twisting, eyes unseeing…

Iōanna drops the useless detached leg to the floor and grabs Elaia’s final limb by the ankle. The leg kicks and bucks, aimless and feeble as if fighting for its life, but Iōanna flexes her Guardian muscles and wrestles it still. Iōanna presses her palm into Elaia’s left hip and pulls, the leg smoothly splits from body, separating and making Elaia whimper and writhe limblessly on the altar. Iōanna straightens, still holding her beloved’s former leg and stares down at Elaia, reduced to a beautiful face above a slim amputated torso with pooled breasts and narrowed waist, her hips presenting a hairless exposed engorged cunt, like an offering plate bearing a treasure. Elaia is helpless, a woman broken down to a creature of sex, a divine plaything, the Carnal-Aspect made flesh. Elaia pants and trembles and Iōanna’s tail wags and her crotch pulses and aches, the ceremony is still not finished…

***

Elaia is afloat, adrift on an ocean of ecstasy, ripples and eddies of orgasm sparking through her cunt and body. She twists and feels strange, different somehow. She blinks open her eyes and sees the Guardian looking down at her, wonders what exactly has been done to her. She cranes her neck to look, tries to rearrange her body to prop herself up, and nothing moves, not her arms, not her legs, just a sad abdominal crunch that doesn’t remotely finish the task. Elaia can’t even feel her limbs, no touch, not even the ghost of sensation, a total lack. It dawns: she’s been reduced! Her arms and legs have been ceremonially removed! She’s completely limbless! Helpless!

Elaia moans, writhes as much as her little body will allow, just an arch of her back, a pathetic twist of hips and shoulders, not enough to move or escape, not that she wants to. Her heart beats and her cunt throbs with arousal, her pussy aches to be filled, to be used. She wants to reach out for it, to caress her clitoris, to wildly stroke, or to grab the Guardian and yank her canine snout into her pussy, make her lick cunt with that big panting dog tongue, but she can’t! Iōanna cannot! She has given up control! Become a living Sacrement! A Sacred Artifact! She gasps and bites her lip, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, the only touch she can still make. “Fuck… Oh Goddess…”

And there is the Guardian looming over her, holding something large and hourglass shaped, an amphora like the oil jars from the estate, but golden and decorated and engraved. Elaia gasps: it is a Sacred Amphora. A pot. Her pot. Elaia shivers, twists, tries to savor this last moment of limited freedom. She thinks of the life she had lived, the spoiled rich daughter with wayward loins, the idyllic home, her many lovers, her beautiful Iōanna, who she misses desperately and who always deserved better than her. She mourns for a moment all that she is sacrificing, her freedom, her family, her Iōanna, but then takes a deep breath and feels excitement for her new role as a Sacred Vessel. She blows out her breath and nods to the Guardian, “Please… finish the Ceremony…”

***

Iōanna rests the Sacred Amphora on its stand and grabs Elaia by the ribs and lifts her. She is so small, so much lighter! Iōanna clutches her in her arms, hugs her close, breathes in her familiar scent, the temple oils and perfumes, the musk of her arousal. Her skin is warm, her body so inviting. What if they ran away together? Elaia is unable to stop her. They could be a rogue Guardian and her plaything. But in that direction is Heresy, and what life could a dog-headed woman and a quadruple amputee hope to have? They’ve both committed to the Goddess’ path, taken Holy Vows and Oaths, best now to follow to the end. Iōanna takes a deep breath and holds Elaia out, makes eye contact, and then lowers her into the open spout of the Amphora.

Elaia screams, a joyous orgasmic sound, the sacred text on her body flaring like fire, and she melts, physically melts, body becoming molten and flowing like wax impossibly through the narrow opening of the vessel, like honey poured in reverse. Her eyes roll back and her mouth hangs open as her hips and stomach ooze into the pot, her scream trails away as her chest slithers in, lungs briefly kneaded flat, her utterance a thin hissing whine as her shoulders dissolve into the Amphora, until only her gasping, panting head is left outside the vessel, perched at the end of the tall stem. Elaia lolls, listless, insensate, and Iōanna studies her new form.

Elaia is a Divine Vessel now, a potted Priestess of the Goddess in the Carnal-Aspect. Her pretty head is left unchanged, her red hair cut chin-length and straight, her freckled cheeks flushed, her green eyes painted with kohl and her lips stained dark red. She is crowned with a golden circlet with a huge glittering sapphire gemstone and her ears are hung with wide beaded pendants. Her slender throat disappears into the tall necked pot, a heavy ceramic Amphora plated with gold. The smooth golden spout of the pot is taller than Elaia’s former neck, molded like a high collar, making her throat seem impossibly slender and long. The Amphora widens below, creating the impression of shoulders, with thick smooth rounded handles replacing her arms. At the base of Elaia’s throat the Amphora is decorated with a winged panel of jade, lapis luzuli, and carnelian beads, styled like an inset Usekh collar. Below this decoration the chest of the vessl is cut open with a window for Elaia’s breasts to spill out, enlarged and ripe like the Goddess, pale freckled skin and wide dark nipples exposed, heaving and free. The Amphora smoothly narrows from there, gathering toward a pointed base, embossed with carved rows of Sacred Lillies set with emeralds and Feminine Knots crowned with rubies, separated by slim belts of lapis and jade and carnelian beads. Where a true Amphora would end in a sharp sealed point, Elaia’s base is open, blooming to reveal the flower of her Holy Cunt, the pink folds of her fleshy feminine knot, hungry and wet and ready to be worshipped.

Iōanna reaches down to lift the Divine Vessel, her loins stirring, eager to finally consummate this Sacrament…

***

Elaia comes back to herself, confused and aglow with ecstasy. She tries to stretch, to loll, to savor the bouyant afterglow, but nothing moves, she is held still, trapped, confined. Her throat is seized in a tight collar, held rigidly erect, her chin barely able to tilt, while her body is constricted, firmly embraced by something cool and hard that holds her like a cup, gives her form and shape, contains her. She cannot feel her limbs, not even the smooth nubs of her truncated shoulders and hips, and the muscles of her back and torso do not budge; she cannot tell if she still has muscles or a spine or bones. She breathes, can feel something lung-like expand and contract like a shallow bellows, something heart-like beats out an excited rhythm in her core. Elaia gasps and can feel her breasts rise and fall, and cool air caresses stiff nipples, and she can feel her cunt, her wet, pulsing, aching cunt, horribly hungry and seeming so much larger, so much more central and important, as if she has been concentrated around her pussy, distilled down to a wanton ideal. She blinks her eyes and with trembling lips moans: “Goddess…”

She has become a Divine Vessel, no longer a woman, but a Sacred Object made for Sacramental Worship, for Communion with the Carnal-Aspect.

Elaia startles back to reality as she feels herself lifted, held. She tilts her head the little she can and looks up, sees the Temple Gaurdian staring back at her, familiar-looking blue eyes in a black hound’s face, canine nose twitching, mouth open and panting, tongue hanging out. Elaia gazes stiffly down, past strong shoulders and heaving breasts, a muscular rippled stomach, and there, jutting out of a white kilt, an erect red canine cock, long and pointed and swollen with a bulbous knot. Elaia gasps and feels her cunt spasm in anticipation and marvels at the yawning hungry space inside her body begging to be filled. Her pussy leaks from the base of her pot like drool. “Goddess… yessss…”

The Guardian lifts Elaia by her handles, licks her face with her long hot tongue, and then slowly lowers her down to hip height. Elaia feels a shiver run down her neck and fade into a tingle in her potted body. She is tipped back, eyes skyward, and feels something hot and hard and urgent grind against her cunt. Elaia moans and then gasps in shocked delight as she feels her cunt parted, penetrated, impaled. She gags, overcome, her entire being stretched tight around the huge burning length of the Guardian’s cock. She can barely breathe, barely tolerate how much of her remaining body is clenched around that shaft, how much of her volume is filled by penis. “Puh-pplease…” Elaia begs and the Guardian begins to thrust, hips pushing up into Elaia, arms pulling her pot back down, canine cock and holy cunt smashed together, once, twice, again and again and again, over and over, faster, harder, Guardian panting and growling, Elaia whining and panting, helpless willing flesh in a gilded vessel, fucked, used, worshipped, mind carried away by sunburst orgasm, fucked harder, rotated to face the ground, breasts and hair flopping, fucked like a canned bitch, keening through another orgasm, and another, gasping at the sudden shock of canine knot smashing inside her, stretching her to breaking, and finally groaning deeply as the Guardian howls and her cock surges within her body, coming within her vessel, her first Sacred Collection of Seed for her Goddess!

***

Iōanna clutches Elaia’s golden pot to her muscular body, arms straining tired, her knot still swollen inside the new Divine Vessel, tying them together, crotch to cunt. Elaia makes a satisfied groan and Iōanna’s tail wags at the familiar sound of sated lust. She has completed and consummated the Ritual, filled the Vessel with her Seed and Ceremonially Bonded them.

Now Iōanna must present the new Divine Vessel to the Gathered Temple: the Prietesses, the servants and Guardians, the other Sacred Objects. Carefully Iōanna shuffles forward, cradling the Sacred Amphora to her body, cock still knotted inside her beloved Elaia, content and filled with love.

Gingerly she passes through the threshold>>>