Heavenly

Phoebe felt drained but truly freed from all pressure, sexual shame now free to give in to her urges. She loved like true sisters the one who had freed her; she stroked their hair and kissed them passionately.

The sisters were sorry to have to abandon Phoebe's affectionate requests, the recovery.

• Sister, we must perform ablutions to finish purifying you for the Sabbath. The mistress and master would have it otherwise.

Her lips still trembling with pleasure, Phoebe let herself be guided to the purification pool, her wobbly legs tracing furrows in the thick steam. The younger sister poured rose-scented water over her dripping shoulders, each hot drop of which made her hypersensitive skin tingle. "Bend over, beloved sister," the older sister murmured, wrapping a firm arm around her waist while the other hand slid a silk sponge down her spine.

The sponge slid between her quivering shoulder blades, the warmth of the amber soap mingling with the last traces of their embrace. Phoebe let out a shaky sigh as the older sister's fingers traced the hollow of her waist, tracing slow circles where her skin still held the memory of their mouths.

• Breathe, the younger sister murmured, pouring a trickle of rosewater between her breasts, the drops trickling down her stomach, still racked with post-orgasmic shivers.

The younger sister's fragrant fingers followed the path of the water, brushing against Phoebe's still quivering curves with an almost religious devotion.

The younger sister's palms moved up her sweaty sides, tracing skillful arabesques where the sweat mingled with the rose essence.

They applied the rose water for a long time, Phoebe felt as if she were floating on a cloud, her body freed from the burdens that had always encumbered her.

In a soft voice, the older sister announced:

• You are purified, my sister; the Sabbath can begin for you.

The younger sister brought the white toga and sandals, the immaculate fabric rustling like a prayer between her fingers. Phoebe felt the cool silk slide down her still-quivering shoulders, each fold of the sacred garment hugging her curves with silent devotion.

The soft leather straps of the sandals encircled her ankles with the same gentleness the sisters' hands had done earlier, forming a bond between them.