Nobody else in the room matters as you drape yourself across your Goddess’s lap, perfectly content to lay your head down on Her while She strokes your hair and the other woman lounges at Her feet.
She likes to keep Her most treasured possessions close at hand.
The other woman was once an important person to others—a chosen hero of some other, irrelevant goddess—but then your Goddess claimed her with a bite, putting an end to such foolishness.
Body, soul, name. She took them all, just as she did yours.
You were nobody special, only a priestess who witnessed Her divinity and fell to your knees in rapturous supplication. You never needed Her venom to inspire your worship, but you embraced Her gift with such breathtaking eagerness that She insisted on keeping you by Her side.
It’s no wonder why your Goddess’s guests—newly arrived in what was once their throne room—cannot stop staring in horror at the other woman, whose relaxed smile reflects her certainty that she’s exactly where she belongs, as a pretty decoration clinging to her Goddess’s legs.
They beg the other woman to remember herself—calling out her old, abandoned name—to fight the “mind control,” to save their kingdom.
You feel the precise moment when Her amusement turns to annoyance, when the hand stroking your head tenses an imperceptible fraction. You know how to read Her body language. Your first and only role is to please Her, after all.
The other woman responds readily, as always, to the touch of your outstretched hand, tilting her head back to look at you with languid eyes and an affectionate smile.
With your other hand, you pull up the hem of your Goddess’s dress, and Her venom inspires understanding between you. With flushing cheeks and parted lips, the other woman hardly needs your hand on the back of her head, guiding her between your Goddess’s thighs.
Let them see who their hero serves with that well-trained mouth of hers. Let them try to negotiate the terms of their surrender while trying to ignore the enthusiasm with which their hero performs her duties.
They haven’t the wisdom to beg for the opportunity to do the same.
But your attention is on your Goddess and on Her other treasure. You whisper your own quiet prayers of veneration and encouragement accompanied by the soft sounds of another pair of lips worshipping Her flesh.
Oh, how She loves making a show of the ex-hero’s devotion to Her.
At some point a squad of Her other faithful escort the noisy guests away. You don’t pay much attention until your Goddess snaps Her fingers, and the two of you stand and join Her, one precious bauble on each arm as She leads you both back to Her private temple.