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  1. #1
    Join Date
    Feb 2006
    Posts
    118

    Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 4 (f/f and f/m)

    Welcome to Part 4 of “Temple of the Torture Goddess” — the shortest chapter yet! As always, a heartfelt “thank you” to everyone who has read it, left comments, or contacted me.

    Just to recap…

    Part 1

    Part 2

    Part 3

    The description in the title says f/m and f/f. That’s probably the most concise description I can give. Amongst the general sexiness going on, there’s tickling, teasing, and I guess what you might call orgasm denial. It’s pretty hot, but not that “graphic.”

    The characters Raisha and Mistress Foxy appear again in this “chapter.” You can find images of them down the thread in pars 1 and 2, respectively.

    But now, without further ado…

    ------------------------------------------------------

    Temple of the Torture Goddess — Part 4

    My time as a slave-apprentice fell into a routine. During the day, I worked the laundry, and when my duties were finished, I took a meal in a huge room with the rest of the slave-apprentices. After that, we were taken back to our little cells, unless there were other tasks we had to perform that night.

    On four occasions, I was called upon to wait on a priestess and her acolytes at dinner. Along with another slave-apprentice, I served food, cleared plates, and poured drinks for the priestess and five or six acolytes. Initially, the prospect of being around a priestess and her bevy of acolytes made me nervous. I imagined grabby hands and pinching fingers, excited acolytes eager to demonstrate to their mistress how much they had learned about making some poor soul suffer. But the meals I served at were pretty sedate affairs. The women talked and laughed easily among each other, and seemed to ignore me and the other slave apprentice. Still, I tried to not draw attention to myself, performing my servant’s duties as discreetly as possible, waiting quietly off to the side when nothing was required of me, and never speaking unless spoken to.

    Sometimes, Foxy would send me on errands, delivering messages or items to another mistress. A few of these took me to the laboratory of Priestess Sesselia, Mistress of Alchemy. She was a tallish, slim woman with curly chestnut hair who concocted the potions, powders, and ointments for the Temple. On my first errand, I brought a small box of empty vials for her. Before I had even reached her door, I heard cackling coming from down the hall.

    The large room had a number of heavy rectangular tables set out, all of them covered with equipment. A couple small vats bubbled and fizzed on a table nearby; pinkish smoke rolled heavily from a set of vials; spiraling tubes connected one beaker to another. Two acolytes in their yellow robes busy at work, a slave apprentice assisting them. The cackling was coming from another slave apprentice, who lay on her back on the floor, frantically scrabbling her feet against the stones.

    “…ahahahaa… mistress please… l-let me wash it off!…”

    “Perhaps this will teach you to be less clumsy with the powders,” Priestess Sesselia said as she left the table where she was working and came over to me.

    “… it wasn’t my fault, mistress… hahahah…”

    “Oh, very well. Go ahead.”

    The slave apprentice scurried across the floor to a large bucket of water, submerging her feet with a loud sigh.

    “And what brings you here?” Priestess Sesselia said to me.

    I handed her the small box. “From Mistress Foxy.”

    “Very good.” She noticed me looking at the shelves that lined the wall, all stocked with a bewildering array of jars and vials. “If I was feeling devilish, I’d give you a little sample of something before sending you back to your mistress,” she said, taking the box from me. “Maybe something to make you even more responsive to her training than I’m sure you already are. Or maybe I’d sprinkle a little of that powder this silly girl got into on your feet. Or somewhere else.” She laughed at my look of alarm. “But I don’t think Mistress Foxy would appreciate it.” She dismissed me. “Please give your mistress my regards.”

    “Yes, mistress.” I hurried away.

    During my regular routine, I was able to pick up a little temple gossip, though I was generally too nervous to pay a lot of attention, and didn’t understand much of what I did hear. By overhearing idle chatter while I was serving, I got a little bit of an idea of the lands beyond the temple and the town at the other end of the bridge. From what I understood, the Temple of Zyriss had dominion over the lands, making the High Priestesses the rulers, though I gathered they didn’t concern themselves much with the daily daily running of the country, leaving the noblewomen to rule over their little fiefdoms. Every so often, the noblewomen would come to the temple to pay their regular tributes, and the temple would welcome them with a large banquet and celebration — the latest of these was happening soon, it seemed. It didn’t sound all that different than from where I was from, but I wondered what a festive occasion would look like at the Temple of Zyriss.

    I also came to realize that some of the priestesses and other mistresses of the temple weren’t quite as dogmatic or strict as I had believed. If they indulged themselves in sensual pleasures in the privacy of their own chambers, I certainly didn’t see them — as I said, the temple was quite disciplined — but some of them seemed a bit more lenient, less stern than the impression Foxy had given me of a Devotee of the Goddess.

    This knowledge, however, didn’t change my behavior. I followed orders, did my duty, and tried not to stand out. I was sometimes surprised by the risks some of the other slave-apprentices took, like talking loudly in the laundry, or engaging in a little tickling or teasing. As horrified as they were by some of the harsher punishments meted out to rule-breakers, that didn’t seem to dissuade them.

    Raisha was sometimes in the laundry. The day after my ordeal, when she had shown me such kindness, she told me her story while we were working. She was originally from a village in a remote valley deep, deep in the woods, a long way from the Temple of Zyriss, and not part of a land ruled by a queen or anyone else. Raisha had caught the fancy of a chieftess from a tribe of forest girls, who had kidnapped her. After a long while, she had managed to escape, only to get lost in the wilderness, eventually falling into the clutches of some river pirates. They had traded her to a tavern owner in the town across the across from the Temple… “But she was up to no good,” Raisha told me. “She was cheating on her tithes, so they seized her assets — including yours truly — and gave her hot butt a stay in the Temple. She was released eventually, but Mistress Lafay took a liking to me. Something about my laconic manner suggested I might make a good devotee of the Goddess. It seemed a better deal than having to make my way on my own…”

    I was still reluctant to tell her my own story, but she had taken considerable risk the day before. To repay her the kindness she had shown me, I gave her a short but true version of the trouble that had lead me to flee my parish and go into hiding in the wilderness. She chuckled as I started telling her about my night journey across the lake to the temple. “Let me guess,” she said. “You thought you were sneaking over to some paradise of sensual delights, didn’t you? Maybe stumble upon some hot slave girl who would be sooo grateful to her rescuer…” She laughed. “You’re not the first to come to this place with the same idea. Or choose to be a slave-apprentice rather than a prisoner. You’re probably not so sure now, though.”

    “But… I thought they only kept prisoners for a short while…”

    “For a trespasser like you? Yeah. It would feel like a long time though. They’re merciless to the prisoners.”

    “But they’re merciless to us,” I said. “I feel more of a slave here than an apprentice…”

    “I won’t disagree,” she said. “But this is a better option than spending who knows how long as a practice piece for torturers, then being let go to fend for yourself.”

    “I suppose,” I said. “I feel like a prisoner, though.”

    “We’re not quite prisoners… but I know what you mean. Submit to a horrific ordeal followed by an uncertain future, or this. Doesn’t seem like much of a choice,” she dropped her voice even lower, keeping her eyes on her work even as she spoke to me. “Once upon a time, this seemed like the preferable option. Now, I don’t know. I don’t have it as bad as some, but still… If it sets your mind at ease, I don’t think any of the priestesses would care that much what your ‘real’ reasons were for coming here. They’d probably find the notion of you rescuing some poor supple slave pretty amusing, but they’re used to outsiders having all kinds of wrong ideas about the Temple.”

    “I’ll admit, it seems kind of foolish now.”

    “You didn’t know,” she said. “Besides, I’m sure there are more than a few girls here whose devotion to the Goddess is perhaps not as strong as they would like our mistresses to believe. Maybe if you had stumbled upon one of them while creeping through the grounds… well, she’d probably be very eager to be rescued, and quite grateful to her rescuer.” She gave me a quick, soft pinch. Startled, I looked at her, but her attention remained on the garments she was washing, the expression on her face unreadable. She continued talking as if nothing had happened.

    “But… don’t be too generous with your trust here, or with what you share with others,” she went on. “That story you told me, for instance, about the troubles you ran into where you are from… someone might think… well, I don’t know… maybe they might think you want to go back, make things right with your friends. I’m not saying that’s true. But maybe, if a priestess or Mistress Foxy questions your commitment to the Goddess, maybe they’ll think that’s the reason why… that you regret running away… that you want to go back…”

    “What are you…”

    “Oh, I’m just trying to offer a little friendly advice,” Raisha said. “Just… you must do whatever they tell you. If you want to keep out of trouble, then obey. Do not give them cause to doubt your commitment to becoming a devotee of the Goddess.”

    The exchange unnerved me. Raisha seemed to be offering herself as someone I could trust. As I said, what she had done for me after I had been tortured on the X-frame was strictly forbidden; it happened sometimes among the salve-apprentices, but the punishment if you were discovered was severe. So Raisha had taken considerable risk. And she had certainly hinted that, if the idea of escaping the Temple of Zyriss entered my head, she’d love to come with me and help me out. That’s how I interpreted some of what she had said anyway. At the same time, though, she was telling me I couldn’t really trust anyone. I didn’t know what to make of it. I was well aware that it could be some elaborate ruse to test my true commitment to becoming a devotee of the Goddess. But why would they go to so much trouble?

    Raisha wasn’t in the laundry the next day — I guessed she had served her time there to Mistress Lefay’s satisfaction. A few days went by, and I continued with my duties as before. I became less of a “tease-target” the more time I spent among the other slave-apprentices. The buxom blonde didn’t really let up on me, and a few others caused trouble occasionally, but many of the others were friendly and would chat to me, or help me out when needed. Most importantly, they spared me most of the pinching and tickling and groping I had been subject to when I first arrived.

    Still, no matter how much I tried to blend into the background, I couldn’t escape being chosen as the subject for a “training session” every now and then. These were like the first one I had been a part of — the victims were given a word, and our torturers would try to make us divulge that word in a certain amount of time, following guidelines laid down by a priestess.

    On one occasion, I was bent almost double over a padded bar, my wrists chained to the floor in front of me and my ankles chained similarly behind. An acolyte tickled the backs of my legs, my inner thighs, behind my knees. The torment was excruciating, and though my screams of laughter threatened to shatter every window in the Temple, I somehow managed to last longer than one of the other slave-apprentices, who broke before any of the rest of us did and earned herself three strokes of the pleasure whip.

    Another time, I was put in foot stocks, one of a row of five slave-apprentices that had been plucked from the laundry. Our toes were tied back with little strings, rendering our feet nearly immobile, while acolytes used small, pointed brushes to delicately trace letters on our soles. I had no idea what they were writing — I was laughing too hard to even try to decipher it — but once again, another slave-apprentice gave out before I did…

    But one torment had me enduring something totally unexpected. It started out simple enough — I was made to kneel on a small, padded platform about three feet off the ground. Chains dangling from the ceiling held my arms stretched out in a “Y” formation; my legs were spread, ankles locked in manacles behind me. Bound in the same position next to me was a slender, athletic-looking woman with straight dark brown hair. We were facing two other slave-apprentices we knew from the laundry, both similarly chained up and kneeling. All four of us had made the unfortunate decision earlier that day to take off our tops in the hopes of getting some relief from the heat and humidity of the laundry. Perhaps that’s why we had been chosen.

    As usual, a small group of acolytes were there with a priestess. Foxy was present, along with another trainer, a small blonde who, like Foxy, wore no top. We kneeled there, nervous in the chains, as instructions were given, Foxy and the other trainer whispered words to the women across from us, and I saw two acolytes go stand behind them. The sand dial was turned, and the two acolytes began tickling the upturned soles of their subjects.

    Curious that Foxy had not given me a word, or issued any kind of threat regarding reward or punishment, I anxiously waited for my own torture to begin, my toes curled in anticipation. I craned my head to look behind me, noticing the woman next to me doing the same. No one stood behind us.

    Puzzled, I turned my attention to the women across from us. Their giggles filled the room, chains tinkling as they twisted and squirmed. Though their laughter flowed freely, they didn’t seem to be getting tickled too hard, not yet at least. As I said, they were mostly giggling, breathy, light laughter interspersed with an occasional squeal or yelp.

    “… ohh!… ohh!… eeeheeheehee!… heeheehee!…”

    Throwing their heads back or tossing their hair, they writhed sensuously in their chains, arching their bodies and shimmying their hips like dancers. My anxiety over what might be in store for me faded as I watched. The girl next to me gave a slight groan. I shifted on the bench, my arousal growing at the sight of the two women across from me.

    “… eee-heee-heee-hee!… haahaahaa!… ohhh!…”

    The laughter of the two tormented women grew louder, their movements more vigorous. A pink flush suffused their skin. I felt my jaw go slack, my breath come faster. The girl next to me gave another tiny groan, and I snuck a quick look at her. Her mouth was parted, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, nipples swollen. She turned her head towards me briefly and I caught a glazed look in her eye.

    “…yeee-heee-heee-heee!… eeeheeeheeehee!…”

    So mesmerized was I by the undulating hips, heaving bellies, and jiggling breasts across from me that I didn’t see two acolytes leave their little group to come stand behind us. I didn’t even notice they were there until a hand reached up between my legs and started stroking me through the thin fabric of my shorts.

    I cried out in surprise, jumping in my bonds. I heard my companion next to me do the same. The strokes were steady — not too fast, not too slow — the pressure even. I tried to stifle my moans as I felt my hips begin to rock in time with the strokes.

    Foxy stood in front of us. “A devotee of the Goddess must remain dispassionate about what we do,” she said. “They must not be ruled by their desires. We’ve impressed this lesson on you often enough. Now is your opportunity to show us that we’ve been heard. Your are to continue watching the torture of these two slave-apprentices until the challenge is finished, but you are not to come.”

    ‘… oh mistress please…” the girl next to me groaned. “… this isn’t f-fair… ohhh… n-not this… I c-c-an’t…”

    “Concentrate, Carrie,” her petite blonde mistress said. “Remember what I’ve taught you. You must focus on overcoming the pleasure you feel. A devotee of the Goddess is unmoved by the sight of supple, trembling flesh, the sounds of the tormented. Those are distractions. She must even overcome the sensations which may be inflicted on her own skin.”

    The moans and cries of my companion and I mingled with the laughter of the two women across from us. My hands clenched into fists. I twisted in my bonds. It felt so good. The caress of the acolyte behind me, the lusty giggling and writhing bodies of the women across from me, were an intoxicating mix. I wanted nothing more to let myself go. I wasn’t there yet, but I would be soon. I could only hope one of the girls across from me would yield, or perhaps that Carrie would come first.

    Foxy spoke up. “Focus, slave,” she said to me. “Our own pleasure distracts us from our devotion to the Goddess. The first step is learning to control our desires, no matter how strong they may be…”

    Foxy had said such things to me before during her nightly visits. These lessons had always seemed impossible to me, and they seemed more so now. I didn’t care about focus or control; all I cared about was avoiding the punishment that would follow if I didn’t hold out until the end of the lesson. “… ohh mistress… please, make her stop… ahhh…”

    “The acolyte behind you receives no pleasure from what she is doing,” Foxy said. “Her only pleasure comes from serving the Goddess. You must train yourself to do the same…”

    Judging from the steady, methodical way the acolyte was stroking me, Foxy was speaking the truth. It was almost like being tormented by a machine.

    Next to me, Carrie was chewing on her lower lip, eyes scrunched shut, chest heaving. “…ohhh gawd… ohhh…”

    Across from us, one of the women started to really scream. I gave up resisting, or rather, my body just made the decision for me. Sparks flashed in my head and my eyes rolled back… when the screams from the other side of the room suddenly brought everything to a halt. “…LEEEE-HEEE-HEEFFF!… HAHAHAHAAA!… LEAF! LEAF!…”

    The hand stroking me withdrew. Falling slack in the chains, I groaned in frustration. In the moment, I wanted nothing more than the hand to return and finish me. I heard Carrie’s heavy breathing next to me, heard her own frustrated whimpers and moans.

    They left us up there, panting and stewing in frustration, while the priestess talked to her acolytes. The two other women were released, one led off staggering by the guards, presumably to return to the laundry, and the other dragged out to be punished. I was too woozy to pay much attention or listen to what was said. The urge to beg for relief was strong, but I was trying not to let my desperate need show. The priestess and her group of acolytes departed after a short while, leaving Carrie and me alone with our mistresses.

    As Foxy strode up to me, I tried to brace myself for whatever she had in store. But to my surprise, she began to stroke me through my shorts. “…AAAHHH!” My hips thrust towards her. Foxy’s strokes were more rapid than the acolyte’s, but they were just as steady and dispassionate.

    Carrie let out a high-pitched noise somewhere between a sigh and a whimper as her mistress gave her the same treatment. “… ahhhh… oh thank you sweet mistress… ohhh thank you…

    I moaned out my own gratitude to Foxy, my head rolling back on my shoulders. “I am not displeased by what I saw from you here,” Foxy said to me. “But do not think of this as a reward, slave. I am doing this because I doubt Mistress Wynne would appreciate returning the two of you to the laundry in your current state.”

    It didn’t take long for me or Carrie; we came at about the same time. Afterwards, we were released and escorted back to the laundry by two guards. Mistress Wynne gave us both a small dose of the sinomon tea, and I was able to get through the rest of the day without much trouble.

    When Foxy came to my cell that night, she told me again she was not displeased. “I did not expect you to endure, slave,” she said as she tickled my knees, alternating swirling fingernails with pinching fingers. “Yet you did, just as you have the previous few times you’ve been used to help train the acolytes. Do not become complacent. What you have endured is nothing compared to what lies ahead. And I recognize, of course, that your motivation comes mainly from fear of displeasing me, your mistress, rather than a desire to please the Goddess. But that is a necessary first step on your path to devotion. You may yet make a true devotee of the Goddess…”

  2. #2
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    Great story!
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  3. #3
    Join Date
    Sep 2014
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    Victoria, Australia
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    Awesome jmills! Looking forward to the next chapter. Who knows maybe one day HE’LL be able to tickle someone

  4. #4
    Join Date
    Feb 2006
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    10
    love this story so much, I hope it never ends. I would love to hear more about the powder!

  5. #5
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    Apr 2005
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    wonderful story. thanks for it.

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