Bullets And Butterflies: A Cult Story (Part 2 Of 3) free porn video

Part 2: Butterflies Through sheer will Thom forced his mind awake before it was time to rise. Eyes closed, he lie perfectly still except for the mimicking of deep sleep breathing. This time to himself alone was important. It was the only moment in the day he could center himself and hold onto the core of his personality. But his keepers also seemed to be aware of this possibility, which is presumably why they gave him (and everyone else he assumed) a sedative every night; nearly every waking moment must conform to their design. The Blue Mistress would be here soon. She referred to herself as Hayley, but part of making sure he stayed anchored to his fundamental identity was giving everything a name of his choosing, even if he only used it internally. "Always use your definition of reality, not theirs" was a central tenet of resisting cult style brainwashing. He walked into the bathroom and looked at himself. Not a strand of body hair to be found. He stepped into the shower. It was not just the typical cult play book of using repetitive prayer and common mind conversion techniques at work here. As he soaped his shrinking dick and teen sized breasts, he understood he was being forced onto a fairly heavy chemical regimen as well. Clean and dried he opened his closet donning the grandmother coverage panties and peasant like burlap dress. Dressed he moved each hanger approximately one finger space to the right from where it had been the day before. There was no real way to gauge time here, nothing even to carve marks to count the passing days. The system of marking days by moving the hanger placement every day was crude, and undoubtedly inaccurate, but it at least gave a ballpark idea. Based on the hangers' position and the progression of estrogen effects on his body, Thom estimated he had been here a little over five months. The Blue Mistress Hayley appeared in his room. Privacy and modesty were two of the first barriers they knocked down. She, despite her roll in all of this, was quite pretty. The all blue outfit, with the blue sheer stocking and high blue pumps, tight skirt, tight blouse, was enticing in a modestly sexy way. He allowed himself to imagine being in clothes like that, wearing those lovely shoes ... He shook the thought out of his head. Focus. Thom's practiced resting face was that of devoutness. He could tell it was convincing because the Blue Mistress always seemed pleased enough. Tying the leather scarf around his neck (Thom noted the single thing that could be used for suicide, was left out of the underlings' control) they headed to prayer. Kneeling before the statue of Achelois Thomas began his daily mental coercion through repetition in the form of chants and prayers. A basic concept really, say something enough times and it begins to make sense. But this prayer was supplemented by the Elixir of Truth, a heady drug cocktail by what Thom could work out. Undoubtedly, some combination of Aldactone, Estrogen or some other similar type hormonal drugs to create the "miracle" of becoming more female through prayer and piousness. There undoubtedly would have to be anti-depressant in there, and from the euphoria Thom felt sometimes when kneeling before this Greek statue, a mild hallucinogen to aid in the "eureka" moments of spiritual break through. All of this topped off with a heavy sedative at night. The drug combination was criminally dangerous under the best of circumstances, no less without the guidance of medical professionals. But if an evil version of Professor Elliot were asked how to run this cult most effectively, he would have told them not to change a thing. ++++++++ More days, more prayer, more drugs. He was thinner, less muscular. In his hands he held his soft breasts (all his skin was soft for that matter) and they were just large enough to cup comfortably in his hands. He didn't bother looking to see if he needed to remove hair, that had passed weeks ..? ...days ..? ago. The effects of the hormone cocktail were chugging right along. He stood still in front of the mirror, wondering just how his new form would look in those cute bras he had at home. He would have to get a smaller cup. And, wait, was his bottom plumper too? He was becoming so cute and so not the man he was ... You're losing it. Focus. Estrogen was playing havoc with his emotional state, heightened by the other drugs he was subjected to. Mood swings were frequent. He found that sanity and peace in an increasingly busy mind came from concentrating on the words while in daily prayer and staying out of his own head. It was not an ideal solution, but it was a solution. Opening his closet, he was stunned. His burlap sack dress was gone. But more distressing his hangers had been pushed all the way to the left by someone when his clothing was removed. His partially drug confused mind could not remember where they were positioned last night. He no longer knew how long he had been here. The door swung open. It was Hayley. No. Not Hayley, Blue Mistress Hayley, stay focused. She was carrying an ornate trunk and was followed in by a large group of women in all manner of different, although singularly colored, outfits. They were to a woman beautiful. He knew they existed, of course, but Thom had not seen another living soul outside of Hayley. Something big was happening. At the center of attention was a woman in purple, from the looks of her priestly garb and the deference given to her, a woman who held high station in the hierarchy here. Glancing at her for permission, Hayley opened a trunk full of gray, simple, but pleasant looking clothing. "You have not earned a permanent name. Not yet. But you have earned a secret name, title and the honorary female gender of 'she' amongst the believers. We will call you 'Near Sister Tawny.' Its similarity to your name of old will remind you of where you once were and how far you need to go." Hayley handed Tawny a pair of panties and bra with small cups. She all but jumped into the underwear, smaller and more form fitting than the tents she had been forced to wear all this time. She allowed her hands to run across them once on. The cotton material, while plain, felt so much better than what she had worn before. She sighed audibly. She quickly slipped it on the bra. The sensation of her very own bust, not padding, sitting in these soft cups was overwhelming. In all the times getting dressed in the attic, it was never quite like this. There was giddy festive laughter. Some in the room were covering their mouths to stifle laughing too hard. Tawny looked down and saw she had been holding her bra cups in her hands. The priestess spoke, it was supposed to be a solemn moment, but she too could not help herself. "Welcome Near Sister Tawny. The joy and spirit you received these gifts will long be remembered." +++++++ Captains Walters had been putting on his jacket to finally get home to the game. He really didn't have time for a phone call like this. "Mary," he said as he walked out of the station doors, "Let me remind you first that there's an 'ex' in front of the wife thing. I'm really not obligated to tell you much. And secondly, even when you kids were married - and off the record I always thought having kids and marriage that young were always headed one way - but as I say, even when you kids were married, I wouldn't give out information like this. And either would Thom." "Alex," she corrected herself. She was no longer the person who went to his backyard barbecues, "Captain Walters. It's been months. Months. And I know he was going undercover." "He told you that? Of course he did. The joint custody thing." "Right. He had an obligation to tell me for Christian's sake if not mine." "Okay. Let's say, hypothetically, he's gone deep dive undercover which is taking longer than we expected. And let's also say, also hypothetically, that efforts to get someone inside for back up to check on his wellbeing has been unsuccessful because these bastards are far trickier than we imagined." "You're telling me you lost him with no support?" "I'm telling you, Mary, our autopsies gleaned that this is a cult that shows no evidence of resorting to torture. So if anyone this side of the CIA can resist the mental aspects it would be your husband. Ex-husband. Hypothetically. Look I appreciate your concern. I get it. But ongoing investigation and all that. I really have to go. Fleming is pitching." +++++++++ It was called the Ceremony of Acceptance. Four men were lifting Tawny to a gray sheeted bed while a fifth stood ready to plunge his cock into her ass. The professor in Tawny could marvel at the psychology of it, even as she dreaded it. The trappings were all religious; a variation on Old Testament scripture mixed in with a sprinkling of Greek mythology and a healthy dose of girl power spin. But the religion was window dressing, it was a profoundly psychological play. Thomas saw it for what it was: It is far easier for minds to digest the myth of being a budding woman accepting a man into her as a road to power over men, than what it really was: a man ass fucking a held down man, while his legs were spread apart by four other men in front of an audience. The severe psychological schism created would make a drug addled Near Sister reach as hard as she could toward the female definition of this act, rejecting all aspects of maleness just to live with it. It was darkly genius. The Near Sisters rubbed Tawny with oil, singing, chanting; and using slick fingers, preparing her hole for entrance by what was a quite sizable cock. The raging boner she saw told her these men were never on any hormones of any kind, no matter what the Church of Achelois told these poor souls. They're purpose in life was this. Tawny closed her eyes, her mind reached for, and fully embraced, the hallucinogens that were floating around in her system since day one. It was now Mary who stood above her with an immense rubber strap on harnessed between her legs. All the bitterness from the end of the marriage was gone. There was never a Tony. There was no breakup. There was just Mary appreciating how lovely Tawny looked in her small gray skirt and her plump little melons with their painfully erect nipples. She caressed Tawny's long lovely legs, taking time to appreciate how comely her feet looked in these ultra-high heels, arching her feet with their beautifully gray polished nails, nearly to breaking point. Mary slid into Tawny, Tawny arched and moaned appreciatively. The church was gone. Then men were gone. The Near Sisters were gone. It was just Tawny and Mary in their old bed at home. Mary slid her hand taking Tawny's nipples between her two fingers, before flicking her tongue across their stiffness. Her hips never stopped their fluid, loving, motion of dipping in and out of Tawny, while Tawny's ass gripped her pseudo cock with aching pleasure. "Your tits, there so adorable, like a little teenage girl. You're very pretty you know that. You're growing prettier by the day." Mary took Tawny's ass in both her hands and lifted her off the bed to better glide as deeply as her ass would allow. Her fingernails dug into the soft round flesh of her firm butt. Such bliss. "I could stay inside of you like this forever my little gorgeous apple." Mary reared all the way back and thrust in one last time screaming in climax. Tawny tiny little penis dribbled out her appreciation. Mary pulled out and licked Tawny's little girl dick clean, turning her over, let her tongue go far into where her rubber penis had just been. "There," Mary said. "All clean." "Near Sister Tawny," it was the voice of the priestess. The vision of Mary melted away as reality returned. "I have been to my share of naming ceremonies. I have been to just as many Ceremonies of Acceptance. But you, you truly seem to embrace all that we offer. And I say that with all honesty. Tonight, when we drink and dance, I shall lift a glass toward you." ++++++++++ This must be one of the main gathering or entertainment halls Tawny guessed. It was not as explicitly adorned with trappings of the religion as the rooms she had seen so far and had a large semi-circular raised stage to the front. Large black speakers hung from the ceiling. Chairs had been moved against the walls of the giant room, and there was a table where women poured wine into plastic cups. It gave it a feel not much different than a middle school dance. No, not middle school dance, thought Tawny, it was more reminiscent of a modern version of a dance following a barn raising in some of the stricter religions of old. A burst of joy and community to bring everyone together and make them of single purpose and mind when facing the austerity and binding rules of most of the year. Aside from the wine which flowed freely, she imagined this was no different. The music was loud, festive and surprisingly up to date. Tawny wondered impassively, what this amount of alcohol was going to do to all the drugs these women were pumped with. It was one thing hearing about the movement's set up, but another seeing it. For a cult which needed to be as tightly controlled as this one on a daily basis, it was large. By Tawny's best guess it was in the high hundreds. This number of members, this size structure, plus this level of control meant they must be isolated Jim Jones style. Tawny was willing to bet if she jumped whatever real or metaphorical fence they had set up, she would find herself in the middle of the California desert with quite a prohibitive, if not fatal, walk ahead. She knew that there were six levels marked by both color and increasing lavishness of dress, but she had never seen them in one place at once. The gray of the Near Sisters like herself, were obviously the rank and file, marked by simple cotton tops and long cotton skirts. They were the largest in number by far. Each group mingled largely amongst themselves so there were clusters of pink and blue with purple rounding it out. Each, except for the priestesses in purple who were keepers of the faith, was a direct step up from the color below. Of course, there was brown, the lowly basement dwellers in burlap sack dresses without even a secret name, who were not represented here at all. Then there was red. Little was known or spoken about these women, at least at her low rank. And what little conversation there was seem tinged in awe. Of the hundreds of women here, Tawny could only make out four red women. They arrived together after the party had been going sometime, surrounded by priestesses of Achelois like a ring of bodyguards. Tawny made way toward them to get a better look, but with a royal wave, they were gone as quickly as they had arrived, less than two minutes all said. Mingling clearly was not in their purview. A woman grabbed Tawny by the wrist pushing a plastic cup of wine into her hand, "It's your night Near Sister, enjoy!" Her haircut was expectedly identical to Tawny's, all Near Sisters' were; but her blonde hair and full lips, with two sparkling blue eyes that shone outward like headlights, made her a much more appealing package than the others. "Near Sister Tawny. You've made quite a splash. You're the name on everyone's lips. A real woman in the making, I'm told. Dance with me, I want to be seen with you. I'm Near Sister Danica." "Pleased to meet you Near Sister. Let's Dance." The number of hours Tawny in her former life spent twirling and dancing in front of the mirror in dresses and heels, far surpassed even an army of twelve-year old girls with a hairbrush microphones in their hands. Near Sisters had been wearing dresses and heels for weeks and months, Tawny on and off for decades. In fact, as everyone here was "carved from the foul clay of man," there likely wasn't a single person in this room as comfortable as she was right now. Near Sister skirts were long but were light and loose cotton fabric. It was time to show off. Tawny holding Danica's hand up high, twirled on her toes with speed, her skirt caught wind like a parachute and rose showing all her upper thigh. Her equally loose cotton t-shirt flowed upward exposing her midriff to the room. Tawny had long been fascinated by the movement of Bollywood dancers. They had an ability to derive the extremes of sexiness and femininity with clothing and movement that on the surface appeared overly modest. Through their fluidity and grace, they stood as a counterpoint to their Western equivalents who did so through skimpy outfits and unconcealed sexuality; and this fascinated her. She spent countless hours online studying their every gesture. In her former life these skills meant her very rare forays into public were met with appreciative, not gawking, eyes for her femininity. But now it made her the admiring center of attention of hundreds. She glided, she dipped, she lifted her skirt just below her knees and stepped quickly from side to side in a shimmy, her hands waved smoothly and hypnotically to sound of the music, she spun Near Sister Danica in her arms. It was the type of moment that she had often daydreamed about in the past while standing in front of a full-length mirror in her female garb. But the reality back then was always one step too far. Here, now, she radiated a joy and abandon that energized the entire room. There were a few Near Sisters dancing adjacent to her before, but the floor flooded as Near Sisters grabbed Near Sisters, Pinks grabbed Pinks, Blues, Blues, and the entire room became swirling joyous laughing pandemonium. Decorum as it was, it was only the priestesses who did not join in, but even they stood clapping their hands to the music happily. The music stopped and Tawny bowed to her dance partner. Caught up in the exuberance and thrill, Danica pushed away the hair that had fallen in Tawny's face. "When Man with Penis is removed by fire, it shall be Woman who shall couple with Woman." And with that she gave Tawny a kiss squarely on the mouth. "Well," Tawny thought to herself, "that's the damndest pick line I'll probably ever hear." +++++++ In the weeks after the dance, Tawny and Danica found reasons to be in each other's company quite frequently. To the church at large, this was pleasing, as Near Sister Danica and Near Sister Tawny seemed a very good match. There were even outlandish whispers that they would be the first Near Sisters in history allowed to commit to each other in a Joining Ritual. But that spoke more to their status among the Near Sisters than reality of any sort. And for the two women, this attention and status accompanying the relationship was a mutually agreeable arrangement. Tawny had been slipping in and out of women's clothing with a studied passion since she was seven years old. She not only watched women her entire life for what they were but also how they were, with the keen analytic mind that defined her life. As showcased at her Acceptance Ceremony dance, she had a grace and comfort in even in this simply made Near Sister wear, that some higher levels in far more feminine clothes could not display. Her body also took exceptionally well to the dosages of hormones she was given, her womanly form seemed more developed and distinct from many others. In a religion that believed her transformation was a gift and not drug driven (although someone somewhere knew better), she seemed touched by God. For her part, Near Sister Danica was a heartfelt true believer. She could recite scripture (that which she was allowed to see at her level) forward and backward. Danica spent extra time in prayer and was always the first to volunteer to maintain shrines and prepare rooms for ceremonies. There was a connection to Tawny on a personal level, but she also enjoyed sharing the company with someone looked upon so favorably by the divine powers. Perhaps she would learn too, what it took to make such a miraculous transformation this early in the long process. So, it was no surprise that the afternoon as soon as prayers were over, Danica could be found mopping the floors of the Central Temple after some gathering. It was a tedious job, but she would be the first to tell you work for the church was its own reward. To her surprise a body pressed against her and a pair of hands cupped her small breasts. "Near Sister Danica," whispered Tawny in her ear, "you're going to have to do a lot more praying and a lot less mopping, if you want these preteen size things to sprout." Danica laughed, "Shush you. You'll get us caught." Romance was not discouraged in the movement; most were happy for the two of them. Excessive public displays outside of those specifically Joined however were frowned upon. The reasoning seemed sound. There were those who were alone who would never find a special other. Feeling left off the wheel of romance caused jealousy and hurt. The church was a complete family of love, and everyone openly pairing up and making another feel outside that love was a true sin. Tawny gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "Caught? I doubt that. There's too much work to be done here. We won't see another Near Sister within a mile. Let me help you. Where are the mops?" Tawny, for her part, first told herself this escalating romance was a manipulation. Someone to get on her side in her mission to unravel the cult. But she quickly pushed that lie aside. The truth was simple: people need people. She was alone, in a world not of her choosing, and Danica was a lifebuoy of feeling. Someone she was growing to really care about. And unless she got better access to further her infiltration mission, or the LAPD came crashing through the wall with one of their battering ram tanks, this was her life for now. And life is to live. Tawny was wiping a table when Danica let out a gasp verging on a scream. The sound of her mop hitting the floor rang through the room. Spinning on her low heels she saw what had startled her. Four women stood in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. Four women wearing red. Tawny contained herself but wanted to let out a low whistle. Her secret hobby had always been women's clothes. She had an attic that rivaled a section of Nordstrom's. But these women were dressed as well and expensively as she had ever seen. Unlike all the other women, upon closer examination their clothing was not completely in the red color of their rank but had splashes of color. The blouses were tailored to hug their individual forms perfectly and bore white trim around the collars. And based on what was peering out from the scoop necks, those were not breasts you gained from hormones alone. But even then, they looked modestly natural and well-shaped, not like, say, the balloon style bags favored by the bored cougars that littered the homes of upscale suburban Los Angeles. Nuzzled in each of those bosoms was a silver pendant in the image of Achelois; but not the more traditional Greek version found throughout the building, but a more modern, daresay sexier, interpretation. Their skirts bore, easily, the highest hemline of all the movement's clothing styles falling a mere two inches or so below the crotch line. And they wore their scarfs, not around their necks, but tied around their curved waists as belts. Their pantyhose was perfectly matching to each of the varied skin tones. If Tawny had to guess, they were perhaps Wolford brand or similar, running about ninety dollars a pair. The peep toe pumps, the highest heels she had seen this place, resembled Stuart Weitzman's style, so upward of five hundred dollars at a low start. The color of their nails was a neutral beige, not red, another nod to their distinctness and independence. There was an elegance and fluidity of movement unmatched by any here, except for perhaps Tawny herself. They reminded Tawny of the wives of the university presidents who made upward of millions a year. Tawny reached out and put a hand on Near Sister Danica's shoulder, partly to steady her, and partly to keep her from falling to her knees in some manner of bowing. Overawed Danica was speechless, so Tawny took the lead. "Apologies," Tawny began emphasizing the reverence, "we are still well on our way toward understanding. For give us our ignorance. We do not even know the respectful form of address." The African-American woman with hazel green eyes and shining tortilla colored skin spoke, "Woman. We are Women. I am Woman Olympia. Beside me are Woman Moira, Woman Cora and Woman Arabella." Tawny nodded in greeting and understanding, they were part of alleged final stage and presumably had vaginas. Another of the Women, the freckled pale redhaired Woman Moira elucidated, her accent was the faded mix of an Irish woman who moved to the States at a very early age. "We are all named and titled, as you know. One starts here without even a temporary name or title. The rest of the progression is simple: Near Sister, Sister, Near Woman, Woman. A Priestess, the keeper of the faith is a calling, not a progression. She can be a Sister or a Near Woman." Danica finally found her tongue, although her voice quivered with obvious nerves. "What brings you before us today? I've not seen a Woman this close in all the time I've been here." "It is you that brings us here, of course." Said Woman Cora, before Woman Olympia spoke again, "We have been monitoring you. Near Sister Danica, you have absorbed the Hidden Scripture at an amazing rate. Your devotion to the faith is unyielding. You would make a diligent priestess." It was Arabella's turn to speak. "And you Near Sister Tawny, no woman has rapidly moved toward the gift of vagina as quickly as you." That's and interesting thing to say, thought Tawny, as someone in her position had to know it was a crock of shit and Tawny was pumped full of hormones. "We believe," Moira said, "that you two are ready to become a Sister and don the pink. Feel honored, it will be two of the fastest elevations on record. We will have a priestess prepare you in the upcoming days." Danica was elated. Tawny was frightened. To disguise this, she threw her arms around Danica in a false show of delight. Satisfied with the reaction, the Women left. They were not ones to stay around and chat. Tawny wished she talk this out with her Near Sister without raising any red flags. But what would she tell her? Tawny knew Sisters in pink were often foot soldiers out raiding the world to bring cash into the criminal side of this movement, Danica did not. Tawny knew the she was an LAPD plant, Danica did not. Tawny knew that if she were to rid herself of an uncovered LAPD plant, she personally would rapidly promote her and send her out on a suicide mission with a faithful devotee that would shoot her (feelings or not) if she did anything too unusual. Danica did not. And yes, there was also the real possibility that there was stagnation in the Near Sister ranks and showing that two people could race through them would energize that group. Whatever it is, they would both find out. Because it was happening. +++++++++ Part 3: Bullets and Butterflies Near Woman Sophia's frustration was all consuming, the red of her face contrasted sharply with the blue of her outfit. "Sisters. Put your rifles down. I need you to listen. You are not Near Sisters, but Sisters. You do not clean bathrooms and pick up trash after ceremonies. You do not gather in circles and gossip like hens. You are the sword. The fire. The heart of all we are. You are God's righteous fist for the war that will come. Now pick up those rifles and squeeze the trigger, do not pull, but gently squeeze ...." "The smell of gunpowder stays in my nose forever," Sister Danica said turning on the hot water, closing her eyes as it sprayed down onto her face. "And Near Woman Sophia acts like we should have been born with guns in our hands. I'd never even seen one before." With mischievous smile Sister Tawny checked the door, they were the last in the shower. Sliding up behind her pressing her breasts firmly against Danica's back, she lathered the Sister's melons with a bar of soap while swirling a soapy finger teasingly around her stiffened nipples. "It feels like cheating," she said between moans, "the breasts I mean." It was times like these Tawny wanted to laugh cruelly at her devout little lover. It was all cheating. None of this was by the hand of the divine. Their 'natural progression' was a drug cocktail that would give Hunter Thompson pause. Even now she could detect it has been rebalanced since the Near Sister days to bring out their inner warrior. Sister Tawny kissed Danica's neck, she gripped a breast in one hand, and allowed traced her finger all the way down her body before slipping into between her ass cheeks. "I love that you have nice sized breasts now. Quote the part about breasts in the Hidden Scripture, you know I get hot went you quote scripture." Tawny nibbled on her ear. "Don't blaspheme," Tawny halfheartedly protested, but quoted it all the same, "...'And what of me?' he asked Lord God. And the Lord God answered, 'Fill the wine bladders with water from the blessed well and wear them as breast of Woman for one hundred days with one hundred days prayer and I will return to you'." Tawny turned Danica around and shoved her tongue entirely into her mouth as her finger simultaneously slid into her ass. Danica blue eyes glisten with pleasure as she through her head back and moaned. Tawny removed her tongue from her mouth and licking, slid it all the way down taking her breast in her mouth. "See it's right there in the scriptures." Tawny sucked the Sisters breasts. "And your new breasts are wonderful. Don't you like mine?" "You know I do. But we don't have time to enjoy them. We better hurry up and get dressed." Tawny made a disappointed face but knew she was right. Sister Danica was having mixed feelings about the augmentations the Women had done to them to ready themselves as Sisters. Danica had hoped prayer and spirituality alone would do the job, which to Tawny was sadly laughable, because there was no god at work anywhere in the process. This was just more obvious than spiking magic water. But for reasons Tawny could reasonably understand, surgery had to come in at some point. That it was justified in allegory in the Hidden Scriptures ("Oh, to be a fly on the wall of the cult meeting that had to rationalize cosmetic surgery in biblical language" Tawny laughed to herself) was just a cover. The fact that they were never to mention there was surgery at all to other members, sat very poorly with Danica. It was dishonest. And it was the first time Tawny saw anything in the Sister resembling doubt. Danica may be ambivalent for reasons of faith, but Sister Tawny had jumbled feelings for entirely different reasons. On one hand she was unexpectedly thrilled with her new body. It was like the culmination of years of crossdressing made real of body. And the fact that the alterations were skilled and subtle; a barely C cup breast, a small rounding of the ass, a slight feminizing of the facial structure, modest childbearing hips, made it more enticing. She could see her old self in the mirror, but just a feminized more attractive version. But that same thrill terrified her. As did the life she was living. She warned herself not to fall down the rabbit hole, but she could see she was doing so, almost willingly. There was still the mission and being in the medical facility for so many days helped her stumbled across aspects of the assignment that had been invisible to her. Walking the halls as patients in recovery are instructed to do, she jimmied locks and poked her nose in rooms that were certainly not made for her eyes. In addition to the Frankenstein lab of hormonal hallucinogenic cocktails they were cooking up to serve up to all the women, there was a large drug manufacturing plant on the premises. Although she did not see it directly as it sat behind a key card and not a traditional lock, the scent of cocaine and cutting agents were so strong that there could be no mistake. And that she could smell and recognize it so readily behind a sealed door it spoke to it being massive. With just a handful of facts known to her she put together what she had. So, it was drugs for guns. Or, perhaps, drugs sold for money to buy guns. But guns had to be the point otherwise they would just keep the drug money and not need to put weapons in the hands of Sisters to go out into the world and rob. Or, maybe, more broadly creating soldiers was the point and the robberies were a profitable form of real-world training. Certainly, the moment a Sister slides into her first pair of pink sheer hose she is given access to the Book of Alexine; a book of scripture that far more liberally mixes obscure Greek myths with traditional biblical text. But it is most notable on how it moves the definition of Ascended Women not so subtly from teachers of truth and love to spears of a holy war. It was a lot to think about. +++++++++ "What did the policeman want mommy?" Mary Kane ruffled Christian's hair in her hands. He was getting so big. "That was Captain Walters honey. He comes by from time to time to tell me about your dad." "Tony?" "No honey. Not Tony. Tony is a friend of mommy who mommy loves and lives here. Your biological ... I mean ... your first dad. My old husband. He went on a ... secret police mission two or more years ago. And Captain Walters comes by to talk to mommy about it every couple of months. To let her know if your other dad is safe." "I don't really remember him much. But is he safe mommy?" "Well sweetheart, they think he is. But since the mission is super-secret, your dad can't let anybody know. So, they're kind of guessing. But your dad was a really smart guy - that's why you're going to grow up to be really smart too - so he's probably fine. Now go play in your room." She watched Captain Walters car disappear down the street. "Damnit Thomas. Where are you?" +++++++++ A woman with a flaming sword slaying demons crawling from a chasm. A toga wearing woman, one breast out, standing with a foot atop a slain male foe much like the flag of Virginia. Spears sticking out the bodies of entire battlefield of dead naked men with oversized testes and huge grotesquely deformed members; and rising above them toward heaven in bathing light were hundreds of women with little itty bitty penises, becoming smaller the higher up they were, with the ones closest to god bearing full plump lipped vaginas. And of course, Achelois, but in this iteration tending to the injured women of some great war. The artwork in this classroom, Tawny observed not for the first time or last time, would make North Korea's propaganda minister proud. "They will not listen on their own, that is why we take message to them by virtuous force. We are the sword." Near Woman Sophia's voice rose in righteous indignation, which for her was default mode, "You are an ascended form of being. You are more than they. This frightens them. And what has man done for all of history to those things he fears and doesn't understand? He destroys them. If they ever capture you, they will beat you, rape you, torture you to betray your church, tear you apart on lab tables to try to discover the secret of your ascendency. Understand this Sisters, you can never let them take you alive." She closed her lesson book. "That is all for today." Sisters Tawny and Danica held hands as they walked down the hall to the prayer room. Unsurprisingly they had been paired off as strike partners; and unlike the rules surrounding the Near Sister ranks, strike partners were almost openly encouraged to couple and show affection. At this stage, good chemistry was everything. Their scores in what Tawny referred to as "boot camp in heels" were high enough that they could be sent into the field at any time, a very tricky bridge Sister Tawny would have to cross when it got here. Tawny was still not a great shot (as Near Woman Sophia let her know every single day), nor could she perform tasks like putting together a pistol blindfolded, but she proved to have a flexible tactical mind and could improvise well during chaotic practice scenarios better than anyone. Sister Danica scored better than her in most aspects and moved through exercises with a serene calmness that only complete belief in purpose could bring. It was her nearly perfect scores that pulled the strike team across the line. Outside the prayer room Sister Danica took both Tawny's hands in hers. "We have been Sisters for a long time now," she began, "our journey together has been true and devoted, our spirits move in a single direction like two drops of water in a river, our flesh is stronger together than apart. I want you to Join with me." Tears of joy? To Tawny's great surprise those were in fact tears of joy streaming unabashedly down her face. She was being proposed to. "Yes. Of course I will Join with you." She wiped her tears, she would find out just how waterproof her makeup was. "Even if you didn't get on one knee." Laughing, they threw themselves into each other's arms. +++++++++ "Special Agent Marcus Aaron out of the Los Angeles ATF field office." Captain Walters shook the agent's hand, to the Captain the man looked more of an accountant than field agent, but that was the way of Feds these days, as much brainy college boys as cop. "Captain Alex Walters. This is my precinct. I'm the one who gave your office a call. Coffee? It tastes like shit, but at least it'll give you heart burn." The ATF man chuckled. "Would love some. Black please." With a series of gestures, the Captain indicated for one of his officers to get him a cup of coffee. "My people tell me you have a break in the transgendered crime wave." Alex Walters smiled. "'Transgendered crime wave.' You have no idea how nice it is to hear it called something other than the Bonnet ... just never mind ... the meat of the matter is we've been working on the suspect we caught sometime back. Deprogramming him, her. It took longer than anyone suspected. The guy who is the best in the world at this deprogramming business by a country mile is undercover with the cult. But we haven't heard from him in, literally, years. He should be okay, he has no online presence at all ... but, still if they found out .... Sorry, I'm getting off track. We had to go with someone not at his same level of expertise is my point." Captain Walters paused for a moment as an officer presented the ATF agent with a black coffee. "But the real problem is the number they did on our armed robber. A lot of psychiatric big words were thrown around, but it boils down to a mix of religion, family - she even had a wife in there - and drugs; they smash the brain and body hard as shit with all kind of drugs for years. Takes a toll. But as the shrinks tell it, usually they work with a guy from a regular cult and he wakes up one day and sees something like his old self in the mirror and gets on with his old life. These guys are something entirely different, a woman, boob implants and all. And they want to stay that way. The old life is right out. But our girl was a serious Catholic once. So, they pushed the cult religion out some and the old religion back in. It's not perfect, she doesn't know everything. Like we still have no fucking idea where they are holed up. But there's a pattern of sorts and we have enough information to possibly predict a few places they will hit next. It's not perfect. But it's a start." "May I speak with her?" "Of course Agent Aaron. That's why you're here." ++++++++++ If prayer was the lungs that breathed life into the church, ceremonies were the beating heart. And no ceremony celebrated the family as a whole more than that of the Joining. The vast hall sat buzzing as the two women stood facing each other. For most of the Near Sisters it had been many months since they laid eyes upon either Sister Danica or Sister Tawny. Based upon the ripeness of the Sister's bosoms, and the shapely undeniable curves of womanhood, they had ascended quite dramatically in this time. There was also a pleasing fitness of body, particularly apparent in the arms and shapeliness of their calves and thighs, that had also come about in the period since they donned the pink. They were beautiful. The tight V-shaped pink bodices cut in dramatically slimming at the waist and pushing their breasts together out outward nearly spilling from their tops. From the hips the long dresses split so that one leg perched upon pink six and a half inch semi translucent pumps could be clearly seen. Unlike the pantyhose worn daily, their legs were encased in pink sheer stockings hooked by garters underneath. Each Sister's hair was upswept and held in place by crown of fresh flowers. Around their tiny corseted bound waists were six thin ropes, each showing a color of the movement, even, surprisingly, brown. Priestess Karen stepped forward and greeted the two women. She asked them to hold hands and gently put their heads together so they were facing slightly downward temple to temple. "Your breath is now as one," she announced to the room, "as shall be your hearts, as shall be your spirit, as shall be your souls. When adversity steps in your path, you will look to Achelois, and you will look to each other. And as your breath is as now one, your trials, heartache, challenges and tests of faith, shall be to. But as two women Joined the adversities will be halved as your strength to overcome them shall be doubled." The side door of the temple open and the four Women wearing full flowing floor length gowns walked single file onto the stage. Each Woman kissed Danica and Tawny on their cheeks saying, "You are Joined," before leaving the stage and the room. The celebrants filling the hall moved to the edge of their seats. This is where the priestess will make the final kiss and wine will flow and dancing begin. "At the risk of breaking tradition, I am going to do something never done at a Joining. I am going to put down the scripture and I am going to speak from my heart," the Priestess began, "I am truly honored to be standing here. Never have I seen someone who has inhabited the very essence of becoming a woman more than Sister Tawny. And never have I seen someone who inhabited the very essence of our beliefs more than Sister Danica. It feels ordained. But what I have never truly seen before is such an ocean of love as is in their eyes when they look at each other when they think no one else can see," she smiled as Danica blushed. Priestess Karen kissed each on their cheek. "You are Joined." Then loudly to the room, "Let wine flow and music begin!" ++++++++++ Together in bed they were wrapped in each other's embrace. The elaborate Joining dresses were on the floor, but the panties, stockings and garters remained. "I think, I think I'm tipsy," Danica giggled. "Oh no! I'm going to tell Near Woman Sophia her best student drinks too much wine at ceremonies. The scandal!" Tawny teased. She ran her hand over Danica's breast. "That was really beautiful today, you were so lovely. And everyone at the dance seemed so happy for us. Tawny put her lips onto her joined partner's in a long passionate kiss. Her hands ran exploringly across her taut body. "I have something. Near Sister Victoria made us something," Danica interrupted. "Near Sister Victoria? From the workshop? She makes really nice candles. How thoughtful of her. But we're not allowed candles in our rooms. I can't believe that the good Sister Danica is holding on to contraband. First tipsy. Then hiding things in our room? You really are a villain tonight." "It's not a candle. Well it sort of is." Danica stood up and reached under the mattress. "It's a hard candle coated in a whole lot of rubber." "I'll say it's hard!" Tawny exploded with laughter. Devout Sister Danica so holy she made a priestess all but cry tonight, was stepping into a quite well constructed homemade strap on. She was a little embarrassed and awkward. It was so cute. "I wanted to ... make tonight special ... but we can't use our male shame ..." "God, I love you," Tawny said, pulling Danica down on top of her. "Now slide that thing in me you naughty girl." ++++++++