A curious entreaty

It was two and a half months before you saw Teana again. You had almost slid again into your apathy and loathing when she hurried into your chambers, a wide smile upon her face. "My Goddess, I've found something!" she cried, waving something she held clasped in her hand excitedly. You blinked and moved closer; duly she opened her palm so you could see the small crystal orb that mortal pleas to divinity take the form of in divine hands. Nothing unusual in itself, you could create crystalline rivers just from the minority of these matters that warrant some form of direct action, but for Teana to be so excited...

There is no harm in looking, you decided, and so you reached out to touch the orb yourself.

What you found was the prayers of a new nun of your faith, who had joined not more than a week prior to Teana's arrival. She had joined because she found herself enraptured by fantasies that all around her told her she ought not to have, and so she prayed that you might take those fantasies away or at least show her how to live with them. Unusual, but not revelatory. You went further and sought out what those fantasies were.

The first thing you see upon delving deeper is a throne. It glints golden, yet indistinct - unimportant to the whole, except that it is there. And on that throne is a figure, masculine and humanoid at the moment but you can see the potential for others, feminine, elvish, orcish, demonic, divine. All that truly matters is that you can tell the figure has power. Authority.

The figure beckons. And you move almost without thought to answer. Only now do you gain awareness of yourself. There is still the room for variation - in moments you can feel shifts; sometimes metal is pierced through your nipples and labia, sometimes you can see a tattoo upon your womb, sometimes you are merely nude. But there are three constants: your arms are bound behind you. Your ankles are shackled, a chain softly clattering as you walk. And a metal band around your neck, weighty and certain. You know you are collared. You know you are owned by, obedient to, this figure on the throne. And so you approach. You kneel. And you take the figure's cock in your mouth, and push as deep as you can go, seeking the figure's pleasure.

The fantasy shifts. The collar remains on your neck, but at the moment your arms and legs are free. You are lead to a pillar, not by the Figure but by those acting for them. Turned to face the hall, chains dangling from above are latched to cuffs around your wrists and ankles, and you are hoisted upwards helplessly. You are maneuvered a motion back towards the pillar, and there is just enough time to notice the curved metal rod attached to the pillar before you are dropped upon it, drawing a moan from your mouth. Looking at the pillars across from you, there are others similarly mounted and moaning - decorations, for the pleasure of the Figure and their guests.

Another shift. A polished wooden V digs into your snatch, joyous and uncomfortable; a whip cracks into your back, and the pleasure and pain leaves you reeling. Another shift, and you are bound bent over, hands and feet planted on the ground while something forces up your middle, as someone - the Figure or someone they've allowed - thrusts into you from behind, and you thrill at being used. Another shift, you can feel someone resting their legs upon your back - nothing but your own limbs holds you up, and you remain firm. Another shift, and you kneel before the Figure on the throne again. Always, the collar remains. You bow before them, pressing your head to the floor, and you hear them stand and walk towards you - and feel their foot step on your head. And you are happy.

You pull yourself out of the fantasy, out of the prayer entirely and back into reality. You know you do, it is something you have done uncountable times before, you are familiar with the sensation. And yet - and yet -

You still see it. In your mind's eye you see yourself, on your knees, looking down at some great figure's feet. Your clothes are as yet upon you, yet they feel so light, so little; you know they are no longer yours, that they will soon be taken away if only the one before you wishes it. They may order you to do whatever they will, and you would obey eagerly. And as the figure tilts your head so you might gaze upon them, you feel a band of metal around your throat.

Once again you jolt yourself back to reality, finally recognizing the fantasy as your own. It has been so long since you fantasized about... anything, really, at least not with anything akin to that degree of specificity. Your cheeks feel strangely warm, and your breath comes in short, shallow pants. You don't even need to breath if you do not wish to, but it feels correct.

You look back to Teana, and pause, taking her in properly this time. Her own face is a faint pink, you now notice, and her robes are somewhat askew. In a way that cannot be explained just by her rush to reach you, for correcting one's appearance is a matter of a moment's thought. It is pulled lopsidedly low over her chest, startlingly close to exposing herself, and the gap near her legs where the cloth folds to itself is somewhat wide-

Ah. You see. Well it is said that those angels who usually experience a First Fall are the most creative and imaginative of their siblings. And that it allowed her to bring this to your attention, you certainly have no complaints. For "This is exactly what I was looking for," you tell your daughter, gratitude in your voice.

She turns a deeper pink as a wide smile spreads across her face. "Thank you, my Goddess," she says. "What is our plan from here?"