Hannah opened her eyes as dawn gently lit up the Museum. She was nude, laid bare on the floor directly beneath a statue of her. In her (real and tired) arms were the bodies of two (equally nude) worshippers. They were once merely coworkers -- colleagues, friends. Perhaps, if the spirit of the statue had been different, they could have been lovers, even slaves would have been a more equal balance of power.
But to them, she was now the only goddess in the universe. The real form of a divine power which existed beyond the shadow of doubt. Something so strong that it could contort their muscles and pinch and tickle each nerve ending however it so pleased. The statue was the locus, but she -- she was the true embodiment of Gilira -- the goddess of fertility, love, the blessed release of orgasm, and the potency of surrender. The night before both of them had been entirely about themselves. Hannah had been acting a little strange and protective of her notes, but they just assumed that her behavior alongside her melancholy earlier in the day were symptomatic of some personal issues, and let it be.
The night before, she had to step aside to collect all her notes after her backpack spilled everything on the ground. Within minutes of her moving out of sight, though, the museum's lights had shut off as with most electronics in the building, effectively locking them in -- neither had their physical keys with them. The two had ventured to the exhibition they worked with Hannah on: "Beauty through the Ages." There was a blue-green phosphorescence bleeding out against the moonlit atrium, which both felt the need to investigate. The exhibition was just as it had been the day earlier -- the statue of Gilira, an ancient goddess of the Elamites was glowing.
While Hannah put her notes back together, Jane and Davis stood in awe of the possessed stone and saw runes inscribed at its base. By day, only a few carvings were visible. At night, while the stone glowed against the dark, a new plethora of symbols were clear -- the two put their minds together and rapidly came to the same revelations which Hannah had the night before. The spirit of Gilira awoke, and took hold of their minds and bodies. Just as it had done with Hannah, muscles went from weak to toned, skin cleared out, hair thickened and softened, vision cleared, and any few wrinkles were ironed out. But unlike Hannah, who was imbued with a new confidence and control, it saw these two as new worshippers to induct into the her fold.
As they saw the truth behind the words below the statue's feet, they felt an intense, overwhelming urge to remove their clothes. Jane and Davis, two graduate professionals, stripped bare and began to kiss the statue up and down as though it were their only lover. Both felt the need to compete for its ungiving attention -- having no knowledge that their actions elicited intense sensations in Hannah, just a few rooms over. After twenty minutes of debasing themselves against the statue -- both leaking lubricant all over the floor as they worked on it -- Hannah showed herself, and demanded their attention.
Their minds were gone the second they saw the statue, but upon gazing at its living representation, they were reduced below the status of slaves. They were nothing but the tools of a woman bent upon maximizing the visceral pleasure she could draw from the trio. Worshippers, objects, and with no desire to be anything but -- so long as the power of the statue held them.
Yet, as the morning sun arose, the towering figure of Gilira began to fade -- each symbol's light grew dimmer while the room brightened up. Hannah could only recall the faintest details from the night before, but the sensation and the visage of her two friends helplessly sticking themselves upon her -- that played out over and over again in a loop. She savored it, gripping them both tightly in her arms. She was their
goddess
-- not merely a domme, not merely a mistress, but a
goddess
. That truth would never leave her, but the rapturous power it imbued seemed to drain out of her with each passing second. She missed it, longed for it, but knew why it was gone. Intuitively, she knew the statue's power was strongest under the moon, and as the sun rose overhead, she lifted her back up.
The other two would wake up soon, and soon after that, the morning cleaners would come in and have questions. They needed to be gone before any of that happened. Her senses were beginning to come back to her and she tried to shake the two bodies on the ground awake.
Davis and Jane woke up in a start and turned over to face her. Their eyes were enthralled still -- like little devoted puppies. But the power of Gilira faded just as quickly as it had in Hannah. Jane was the first to speak,
"Holy... shit... goddess we need to... I mean. Hannah, mistress, we... fuck... sweetheart... I... I can't think..." Hannah put up a finger against Jane's lips and shushed her, pointing to the pile of clothes at the base of the statue.
"Look, Jane, Davis, we need to get the fuck out of her right now. Now, we can talk about what happened later, but go! Get to your cars and get back to... oh I dunno... um..." She scrambled for a place they could debrief.
Davis' eyes lit up and he suggested, "Your place, goddess?" Hannah was amused at him. Unlike Jane, he seemed to have no hesitation at using the epitaph.
"Sure. Just meet me there, ok? And wipe off the statue if you can!" The two had pulled off her smart watch, and after finding it, she sighed in relief to see it was barely past 5:50 -- the cleaning crews wouldn't arrive for another half hour. She stumbled out of the staff door, putting on her shoes while she walked to the car.
She wondered to herself about what had happened the last two nights. That statue had possessed her, yes, but why didn't it do the same thing to her friends. The answer boiled up from her unconscious just as quickly as the question had -- the goddess needs one priestess, one locus. But it needs
many
worshippers. Many devoted, eager, thirsty, horny worshippers, all ready to do anything for an encounter with her.
The thought elicited a shiver from her -- her friends as worshippers. How many could she have? What would she make them do? The dark recesses in her hindbrain suggested a plethora of delicious acts to demand, but her conscious mind flushed them. Right now, she needed to get herself home, get herself to safety, and get her friends checked out. They weren't her slaves, they weren't to be used like objects, they were people whose minds needed to be free and independent.
And yet, at the same time, they were
her
people.
As she turned right into her apartment's parking garage, she stomped her foot on the floor of the car. "No. They are my friends. Not my..." The darkness of the garage hid the sun from view, allowing the spirit which influenced her to stretch its phantasmal muscles.
"Oh, they are my worshippers." She licked her lips at the notion. She shook her head and focused her mind of repressing the thought. Darkness, or maybe just the absence of sunlight, seemed to allow it more ground. But was it bad to allow it ground? She wondered to herself -- it had done so much for her, transformed her, made her better. And beyond that, how could she really divide herself from it? It was her, she was it. She was Gilira, in a real sense, the statue was of her, and she was of the statue.
The puzzling thoughts riddled her mind for a while, but eventually she found her parking spot, and began walking to the elevator. Her posture was strong, upright, with confident strides. No one was around, no mirrors to embrace her image, just the wooden frame of the door.
Yesterday, it was only physical changes, but now these mental changes -- what if it was just a little confidence boost? What if that's all this was. Simply a certainty in her form. She knew she had the body of a goddess, and wasn't afraid to accept it.
"Yes." The word was hissed out inside the elevator rising up to the sixth floor.
The hallways were lit by dim light, and as she walked towards her apartment, the sunlight in the breezeway bled through. Hannah returned to her full self, and as she swung into the apartment and collapsed onto the couch, she felt the sunlight simultaneously draining her of energy and charging something inside her.
It began to connect. Just like the glowing algorite, she needed the sun to renew her, but only under darkness could the powers she now held be expressed. And when they could be, they
needed
to be. They pulled every string in her head, turning her from a hesitant, nervous student into the goddess her form reflected.
"What am I going to do?" She mused idly, while lazing on the leather sofa. No voice came. No spirit from outside of her. Just her and her slightly messy apartment. She wasn't happy about the mess. Between yesterday rushing out to get back to work and today's affairs, she hadn't vacuumed nor done her dishes, and as the boredom of lounging in the sun dawned upon her, she realized just how much deep cleaning needed to be done. Yes, the place was facially clean, but everything had little asterisks on it. Yes her bed was made, but the sheets could be washed. Yes, her laundry was done, but was everything wrinkle and lint free?
A devious thought crept into her mind, but she pushed it back. Her friends were not maids. She wasn't going to use them to clean out the apartment. That was below her, and it was below them. Even the powers she now held -- and which held her -- couldn't make her do that. Yet, the idea of having two devoted servants doting on her while she watched and waited had an undeniable appeal.
