Faith, Lust, and Hypnosis

"Odd. This world has become hazy... my home..."

Within a confined space between realms there stood a woman with golden hair and blue eyes, her surroundings undefined and blurred. She raised a hand to her forehead, her expression one of confusion. "Why can't I reconnect with my body?" she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of apprehension and wonder. "My home world… covered in darkness…"

Her beautiful face, a mirror image of Aria, the goddess and founder of the Aria Church, contorted with bewilderment. A delicate hand rose to her temple, slender fingers tracing the line of her jaw. Confusion clouded her blue eyes, as vast and deep as the cosmos.

"I don't understand," she murmured, her voice a soft ripple in the formless void. "My physical body... it remains on that plane. Our connection... it should be absolute, unbreakable." She tilted her head, a gesture of pure perplexity.

"I ascended from there, leaving my mortal shell as a conduit, a permanent link. Millennia have passed, and our bond remains unbroken. Yet, in these last few centuries... something has shifted. I can no longer feel it." A cold dread began to seep into her ethereal form, a chilling contrast to the warmth she'd always associated with her earthly connection.

The vibrant hues of her golden hair seemed to dim slightly, as if a light within her was beginning to flicker. "This… this darkness… What could possibly sever a Goddess' connection to her physical body?"

'I must investigate.'

Aria thought, her ethereal form shimmering with renewed purpose. She turned her gaze towards the swirling currents of energy that represented the flow of souls entering and leaving her home world. Countless points of light, each a spark of life, danced before her, some fading into the void, others bursting forth with vibrant energy as they embarked on their earthly journeys. She observed the intricate patterns, the ebb and flow of existence, searching for a solution, a way to pierce the veil of darkness that shrouded her world.

An idea sparked within her, a glimmer of hope in the encroaching gloom. She could hide a piece of herself, a fragment of her divine essence, within a soul preparing to enter her world. It would be a perfect camouflage, a way to move undetected amongst her people, to understand the nature of the darkness that had taken root. She could experience her world anew, through the eyes of a mortal, and uncover the truth behind the severed connection.

Her gaze swept across the myriad souls, searching for the right vessel. She needed a soul that resonated with strength, with resilience, one capable of carrying a fragment of her divine power. Finally, her eyes settled on a bright spark, pulsating with an unusual energy, a soul brimming with potential. It was a soul destined for a female body, a life filled with challenges and triumphs. This, Aria decided, was the perfect vessel.

With a delicate gesture, she extended a hand towards the chosen soul. A sliver of her own essence, a radiant shard of divine light, detached from her ethereal form and drifted towards the nascent spark. The soul absorbed the divine fragment, its light intensifying, its energy resonating with newfound power. Aria watched as the soul, now carrying a piece of herself, began its descent towards her home world.

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It wasn't too long after Ginova decided to terraform the world's history for the umpteenth time. Having obtained absolute control of this world's authority, she sensed it. A strange pulse in the air. Subtle and barely noticeable, yet it didn't escape her attention.

Sitting by her throne, an old homeless man, reeking of alcohol and urine, pounded her pussy with his wrinkled, veiny rod and jacked off her cock as she pondered the changes in the air. His ragged breaths filled the opulent chamber, a stark contrast to the smooth marble and shimmering silks. Ginova’s face remained impassive, her eyes half-lidded as she focused on the faint anomaly that tickled her senses.

“Faster,” she commanded, her voice a low, resonant hum. The old man’s hands moved with frantic urgency, his knuckles white rubbing against her rod. Ginova’s twelve-inch cock pulsed and throbbed, slick with pre-cum, as the man’s calloused hand worked it relentlessly. Simultaneously, his shaft pistoned in and out of her soaking wet cunt, his fingers occasionally brushing against her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body.

The strange pulse intensified, a ripple in the fabric of reality. Ginova’s brow furrowed slightly. It felt… familiar. Ancient. Like a forgotten echo resonating through time. She shifted her weight, her hips bucking against the man’s hand, urging him to a faster pace. A low growl rumbled in her throat, a mix of pleasure and annoyance. This unfamiliar energy, this intrusion, was distracting.

“Harder,” she hissed, her grip tightening on the arms of the throne. The old man grunted, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He whimpered, his eyes rolling back in his head as he teetered on the edge of orgasm. Ginova paid him no mind. Her focus was entirely on the strange pulse, trying to decipher its origin, its purpose.

The old man grunted, "Oh…! Ohhh…!" He pushed his hips as deep as he could, his wrinkled cock disappearing almost entirely into Ginova’s slick heat. A string of drool escaped his open mouth, landing on her thigh. His body trembled, his thrusts becoming erratic, uncontrolled. He was close. Very close.

Ginova remained impassive, her eyes still fixed on the unseen disturbance that pulsed around her. The man’s orgasm was of little interest to her. A fleeting distraction. A momentary amusement. She’d had countless orgasms, forced countless men to their knees in pleasure. This was nothing new.

“Cum for me, worm,” she purred, her voice laced with a hint of boredom. The words were a command, an inevitability. The old man’s eyes widened, his body convulsing. He cried out, a guttural sound that echoed through the chamber, as his seed erupted into her. Wave after wave of thick, milky cum filled her pussy, spilling out and running down her thighs. The stench of his release, acrid and pungent, filled the air.

He collapsed against her, his body slick with sweat and semen, his breathing ragged. Ginova sighed, her annoyance growing. The pulse, the strange energy, was becoming stronger, more insistent. It was a buzzing in her ears, a pressure against her skull. She pushed the spent old man off her, his limp body slumping onto the marble floor.

“Clean this mess,” she commanded, gesturing towards the pool of semen that stained the floor. Two hermaphrodite guards, clad in revealing leather and steel, entered the chamber.

They bowed, not with their heads, but with their entire bodies, prostrating themselves before their goddess. Their eyes, however, were not on the floor. They were fixed on Ginova, on the glistening trails of semen that painted her thighs, on the puddle of spent seed that pooled between her legs. Their gazes were hungry, reverent, filled with a lust that bordered on worship.

The first herm, a statuesque figure with rippling muscles and full breasts, crawled towards Ginova on hands and knees. Her tongue darted out, a pink flicker against the creamy white of the spilled semen. She lapped at Ginova's thigh, savoring the taste of her goddess's pleasure, the salty tang of the old man's offering mingling with the musky scent of Ginova's own arousal. The herm’s tongue traced the curve of Ginova's inner thigh, moving upwards, closer and closer to the throbbing apex of her clit. Ginova shivered, a low moan escaping her lips, but her eyes remained fixed on the unseen disturbance that pulsed around her.

The second herm, smaller but no less eager, turned her attention to the floor. She knelt beside the puddle of cum, her fingers dipping into the sticky mess. She brought her fingers to her lips, sucking the semen clean, her eyes never leaving Ginova’s face. Then, with a low growl, she lowered her head and began to lap at the floor, her tongue working with a fervor. She licked the marble clean, savoring every last drop, as if it were the most precious nectar. Her tongue darted into the crevices, cleaning the grout between the tiles, leaving no trace of the old man’s offering. When the floor was spotless, she rose, her lips and chin glistening with semen, and knelt before Ginova, awaiting further instruction.

Ginova watched them, her expression a mask of cool indifference. The herms’ devotion, their eagerness to consume the remnants of her pleasure, did little to stir her. Her mind was still consumed by the mysterious pulse, the strange energy that continued to thrum through her being. It was a distraction, an annoyance, but also… a curiosity. What was it? Where did it come from? And what did it want?

Something stirred beyond the veil of Ginova's dominion, a tremor in the fabric of her reality. An anomaly, unwelcome and unsettling. Not entirely unfamiliar, yet far removed from her immediate control. An invader, perhaps? A challenger to her absolute authority? The thought sparked a flicker of amusement in her cold, calculating eyes. She wasn’t accustomed to surprises after all these years, let alone threats.

The pulse, faint yet persistent, faded as quickly as it arrived, leaving a lingering echo in its wake. But Ginova, with her absolute authority over this world, had managed to pinpoint its origin— a flicker of energy far to the east, in a land purposely untouched by her 'culture' of hermaphrodites, a kingdom to 'produce' normal men and women.

With a casual flick of her wrist, Ginova exerted her authority, bending the very laws of space and time to her will. The world around her blurred, distorted, and then snapped back into focus, revealing a vastly different landscape. Gone were the opulent chambers of her palace, the fawning hermaphrodites, the pungent aroma of spent seed. In their place was a rustic village, small and desolate, clinging to the edge of a vast, untamed forest. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the perfumed air of her court.

The pulse, the source of her curiosity, had led her here. To this insignificant speck on the map, this forgotten corner of a foreign kingdom. But the village itself was not her target. Ginova’s gaze, sharp and piercing, settled on a large, imposing mansion that stood apart from the humble dwellings of the villagers. Its walls, built of dark grey stone, rose high above the surrounding trees, casting a long, ominous shadow over the landscape. A local noble’s residence, perhaps? A wealthy merchant’s retreat? It didn't matter. Information was a trivial matter for a goddess of her stature. A mere thought, a whispered command, and the details of the mansion's inhabitants, their secrets and their vulnerabilities, would be laid bare before her.

'The pulse came from… a person?'

The mansion's defenses were mere illusions to Ginova. Gates swung open, not with the creak of hinges and groan of metal, but with the silent acquiescence of reality itself. Doors unlatched, not with the click of tumblers and the rasp of wood, but with the smooth, effortless glide of a dream.

Ginova moved through the grand halls, a phantom in silk robes, her bare feet soundless against the polished marble floors. Servants, their eyes glazed over with an unseen veil, moved around her as if she were air, their bodies parting like water around a stone. They didn't see her. They couldn't see her.

Their perceptions, their very reality, bent to the will of the goddess, erasing her presence from their minds. It wasn't invisibility, not in the traditional sense. It was a deeper, more profound absence. As if she had always been there, a fixture in the house, so ubiquitous, so ingrained in the fabric of their existence, that they no longer registered her presence.

She walked with an aloof expression, drawn by the faint pulse, the subtle thrum of energy that had led her to this place.

Her footsteps led her deeper into the mansion, past the works of art hung on the wall and pedestals, through rooms filled with the hushed murmurs of unseen conversations and the faint clinking of glasses. The air was filled with wealth and privilege.

Finally, she arrived. A nursery, bathed in the soft glow of a dying fire, its walls adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and talking animals. In the center of the room, a cradle, gently swaying back and forth.

And within the cradle, nestled amongst soft blankets and plush toys, lay a baby. A girl, no older than a few months, with a halo of golden hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. She slept soundly, her tiny chest rising and falling with each breath, oblivious to the presence of the goddess who stood over her, her eyes fixed on the child with an intensity that bordered on predatory. This was the source of the pulse. This tiny, innocent creature, radiating an energy that was both familiar and utterly unique. This was what Ginova had been searching for.

Staring at the baby without uttering a word, Ginova fell into deep contemplation. The infant’s serene slumber, the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest, belied the power that radiated from within, the energy that had drawn Ginova across continents, through dimensions, to this very spot. It was a familiar energy, a primal force akin to her own— perhaps even stronger, yet unawakened, slumbering for unknown reasons. Ginova’s brow furrowed, her mind racing, sifting through millennia of memories, searching for a precedent, an explanation.

She had seen countless souls flicker into existence through her life. She had manipulated the very fabric of reality, reshaped worlds to her whim, and tasted the essence of power in its rawest form. But this… this was different. This tiny, unassuming infant possessed a spark, a potential that could dethrone her from her authority, her goddesshood.

Then she looked up towards the ceiling, no— the sky itself and beyond. Her gaze pierced the ornate woodwork, the layers of plaster and stone. She saw the swirling vortex of clouds, the vast expanse of the cosmos, the infinite stars that stretched out before her like a shimmering canvas. And beyond that, beyond the physical realm, she caught a faint glimpse of something else.

'The realm between…'

Ascension. A way to leave this world and explore the others.

'Aria. Have you truly returned? After thousands of years, leaving nothing but a broken legacy on this world, you came back to infiltrate this world that I had painstakingly claimed as my own?'

How mighty was Aria? She had ventured out into the realm between, expanding her influence into other worlds. Ginova felt a prickle of inadequacy, a flicker of doubt she hadn’t experienced in centuries. Facing Aria directly… a fool’s errand, perhaps. It would be naive to assume she could hold her own against the original goddess simply because she’d obtained the world authority of this particular plane. Aria… Aria was something older, something… more.

It was at that moment Ginova understood. This baby, this seemingly insignificant infant, was Aria’s proxy. A vessel, carefully prepared and sent into this world to reclaim what was lost. A tiny seed planted in Ginova’s meticulously cultivated garden, waiting to sprout, to grow, to eventually overshadow and consume everything she had built.

If she were to hurt the baby, Aria would know. The old goddess would be alerted of another's presence just like her own. That would be problematic.

But what if…

“Aria’s body… her original body is here. Within my control.” Ginova’s fingers tightened around the armrest of a chair nearby. The infant, radiating that unsettlingly familiar energy, slept soundly in a crib nearby, oblivious to the currents of power swirling around her. The child was a risk, a potential spark that could ignite a rebellion Ginova couldn’t afford. But Aria's body… that was leverage. A bargaining chip. A weapon.

Ginova reappeared in the heart of the Aria Church's sanctum, a place hidden from the world, a secret known only to a select few. The chamber was circular, its walls lined with ancient texts and arcane symbols, the air thick with the scent of incense and something older, something… divine. In the center of the room, bathed in a soft, ethereal light, was Aria’s original body.

Her physical form, once a beacon of grace and purity, was now a grotesque parody of its former glory. Arms and legs outstretched, cemented into the cold stone walls. A blindfold covered her eyes, obscuring the azure blue that had once captivated millions. Her mouth, stretched wide open by a metal gag, dripped a steady stream of saliva onto the polished marble floor below.

Despite the passage of time, despite the obvious desecration, Aria’s body remained pristine, untouched by decay or blemish. Her skin, smooth and soft, glowed with an unnatural luminescence. Not a single scratch marred its surface, no sign of the countless indignities it had suffered. It was as if time itself held no sway over this sacred vessel.

Ginova’s gaze fell upon Aria’s exposed genitalia. The once delicate clitoris, now pierced and stretched, pulsed with a subtle rhythm, engorged and sensitive. It resembled a small penis, a grotesque mockery of Ginova’s own hermaphroditic form.

Aria's body twitched and convulsed, her every orifice impaled by a hardwood dildo, thick and unyielding. The phallic invader stretched her, filling her to the core, its surface slick with the goddess's natural lubricants.

Ginova watched with an unwavering gaze, taking in the spectacle of Aria's trapped form. She ran a hand along her bare thigh, the skin soft and supple, untouched by the passage of time. The body quivered at the goddess's touch, responding with instinctive arousal despite its empty state.

Aria's breasts heaved with each breath, her pierced nipples, hard and erect, brushing against the sheer fabric that covered them. The sheer cloth, once a symbol of modesty, now served only to highlight the sensitive peaks, the rosy hue of her areolas, and the swell of her bosom. Her curves were accentuated by the subtle lighting, casting shadows that danced across her skin with each movement, each tremor of pleasure.

The hardwood dildo protruded from the pussy to her asshole, converging into one, connected to the wall behind. It served as an anchor that suspended her body.

Despite the absence of a soul, the body continued to respond, its nervous system alive with pleasure, each cell remembering the touch of the goddess, the sensation of being filled. Aria's thighs quivered, her back arching slightly as her body instinctively sought more, craving deeper penetration. Her moist lips, stretched wide by the gag, released muffled moans.

'As expected, the baby and this body share a connection. They must never meet. I'm not sure what will happen, but if there's even a sliver of chance that Aria will regain her power, then preventing their reunion is my absolute priority.'

The followers of Aria Church continued to worship Aria herself. This power of Faith flowed into this soulless body, to which Ginova claimed for herself.

'The real Aria must've obtained even more Faiths from different worlds… that's how she was able to return and infiltrate this world. Does she still receive the people's Faiths even when she's absent from those worlds? Or are Faiths absolute and not constricted by distance and dimension?'

There were many questions Ginova wanted to ask, alas Aria was the enemy. Questioning her directly would bore no fruits, rather isn't there a better way?

'Welcome back, Aria. I've put a lot of effort into overseeing and managing this world in your absence. Why don't you come closer, take a good look, and enjoy the ride? No need to be shy, hiding behind an innocent soul like this. I don't know how to put it, but I have a funny feeling that you might really enjoy it in the end. Perhaps…'

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…

I opened my eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling greeted me.

'What? Where is this?'

Raising my hand to my face, I saw small, tiny fingers before me. My voice, when I tried to speak again, came out as a soft gurgle. Panic flared, hot and immediate. This wasn't my body. My hands were long, elegant. My voice commanded respect.

A large face loomed into view, obscuring the strange ceiling. It smiled, a wide, toothy grin that seemed almost predatory. A woman's face, but etched with lines of weariness I'd never known.

"There, there, little one." Her voice, rough and unfamiliar, soothed me despite my fear. She lifted me, her touch surprisingly gentle. I stared at her, my mind racing. This... this was impossible. I'm Aria. Goddess Aria. I didn't do small and helpless.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" The woman moved with me, the world a dizzying blur of motion and color. I caught glimpses of a modest room, a fireplace flickering merrily, a wooden cradle in the corner. A cradle.

She brought me to her breast, a soft, warm mound pressing against my face. Instinctively, my mouth opened, seeking the nourishment. A strange, sweet liquid flowed, filling me with a warmth that chased away the initial panic.

As I suckled, I focused on the sensations, trying to understand. The warmth of the woman's skin, the rhythmic pulsing of her breast, the sweet taste of her milk... these were real. This tiny, helpless body was mine.

"You're such a good girl," the woman murmured, her voice thick with affection. I wanted to scream, to tell her I wasn't a girl, that I was a goddess, the creator of the very church she likely prayed to. But the words remained trapped, replaced by another soft gurgle.

I tried using my power. Accumulated throughout the millennia, a reservoir of pure energy waiting to be unleashed. But it was useless. A flicker of will, a mental command that once moved mountains, now resulted in nothing. My power, my abilities, weren't working. I felt it inside me, a dormant volcano rumbling beneath the surface. It wasn't gone, but simply… inactive. Locked away.

Panic flared, a wildfire in my tiny chest. This fragile vessel, this infant's body, was a prison. Trapped. Helpless. The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. I, Aria, goddess of love and righteousness, reduced to this… thing.

And then, against my will, the tears came. Great, heaving sobs that wracked my small body. I couldn't stop them. The frustration, the fear, the sheer indignity of it all poured out of me in a torrent of uncontrollable grief. The woman holding me stiffened, her rough hand patting my back awkwardly.

"Shhh, shhh," she crooned, her voice laced with concern. "What's wrong, little one? Are you still hungry?"

Hungry? I wanted to scream. I was starved for my power, for my freedom, for my self. But all that came out was a choked, hiccuping sob. I buried my face in the woman's breast, her warmth a small comfort in the face of this overwhelming despair. My tiny fists clenched and unclenched, a pathetic display of impotent rage.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I had a plan, a purpose. I chose this vessel, this life, to investigate. To understand. To reclaim what was mine. But now… what? What was I supposed to do? How could I possibly fulfill my purpose in this… state?

Just what in the world is going on…?