Despite her best efforts, there wasn’t a moment Cora didn’t serve her Domina.

She mulled her conclusion over in her mind as she prepared their end-of-week bath. The servitude here was obvious and direct. Her Domina - the peerless and beautiful Jen Diwan, spiritual guide and Magister of the sanctuary city to which Cora and her gens were bound - wanted a bath. Cora, her sole slave, prepared it for her. It was a simple and direct exertion of labor for the woman she served night and day, a small expression of love for the all-loving Diwan.

Clean wash cloths and towels warmed at the rim of the freshly drawn bath. Clear glass containers of perfumes, bath gels, and oils sat atop them, in the order Cora most preferred. This was a sacred time for both of them, something they did at the end of every week in which Jen Diwan resided in her estate. 

“A time to reflect, review, connect, and conspire”. Jen Diwan would say when asked the purpose of such a luxury. Cora could picture the knowing smirk painted on her Domina’s strong features when she said it. Cora was well aware how blessed she was to be serving her Domina. A trueborn such as her would typically be served by Trueborn slaves - if not hired free servants in the first place. 

Jen Diwan was disdainful of the institution of slavery as it existed, and minimized it by purchasing Cora - whose lineage traced back to a glass tube of amniotic fluid in orbit, if she were even that distinguished - would have been lucky to even be a part of her estate. More likely, her lot would have been to knead dough and toil in the kitchens in a workhouse on the shore, like so many a can-born woman in this city. Instead, Jen Diwan had uplifted her. Plucked her from an orphanage, paid for her augmentations to connect to ConSensus, and personally educated her on how to utilize it.

Cora folded the final warmed towel over onto itself and laid it on the floor at the head of the recessed bath tub. She took one final pace around the polished marble floor, careful not to let her bare feet slip on the steam-slicked surface before taking her traditional kneeling position at the head of the tub. She signaled readiness to the estate’s network, receiving the expected reward ping to her ventral pallidum for completing her task on time. Cora rarely felt the harsh tugs of the addiction leash her implants shackled her with, but she was always aware of it. It was the price any can-born paid for being able to connect to ConSensus.

Cora crossed the threshold from servant to lover by disconnecting from ConSensus. It was disorienting, always. While connected, she was the estate. Her will touched every room, every appliance, sensor. She was in tune with the estate, and the world at large. An inherent sense of time, location, direction. She had access to every system, from the dish conveyor to the network connections. The act of disconnecting left those systems to their default routines. The transition from being networked with the estate to being aware of only her body was always jarring - like coming to a standstill after being in a moving cart.

Cora grounded herself by reflecting on her conclusion while she waited for her Domina. During their prior bath, her lover had told her to find a place in her life to be self-serving. To “steal a few hours”, cumulatively if need be. Try as Cora could, she was simply unable to feel as though she managed it. She had snuck extra minutes in bed. She spent an hour learning for leisure in the library. A stroll through the grounds, and then into the city, off-estate. She had even stolen a significant amount of time to pleasure herself.

It all felt like servitude.

Cora’s instincts told her that this is what her lover wished to show her. She was fond of these sorts of tricks. She would assign Cora a task or a question that would lead Cora to draw a conclusion, often on another topic entirely. ‘Classical education.’ She called it. Cora called them ‘brain tricks.’

Her attention was drawn outward as Jen Diwan entered. Cora couldn’t help but smile as she admired her lover’s nude form. Nearing her second century of life, her body was beginning to show age. True to her Trueborn genes, however, she could only age gracefully. Her formerly salt-and-pepper mane showed signs of giving up all pretense and simply becoming silver locks. Her toned body showed even as her sun-toned skin showed just the slightest hint of wear and  sagging elasticity. Most Alphas of her age bear scars from their years, nasty jagged wounds from their hard years. Not her lover. Jen Diwan was entering her last few decades of natural life, but nobody would be able to tell until her final years.

Her Domina crossed the arched threshold into their private sanctuary. Like many things, was a simpler process for her to transition between her conflicting roles in her relationship with Cora. She put little ceremony in reaching down to her kneeling lover and lifting Cora to her feet. With nearly ten inches in height and dozens of pounds of muscle over Cora, Jen Diwan would never be her equal physically - but she granted Cora the permission to become her equal in this space. Cora wasted no time and tugged Jen Diwan’s wrist, wordlessly signaling her demand for a kiss, to which her lover obliged. The peck left Cora wanting, but it also filled her with worry. She was hesitant, distracted.

“What’s wrong?” asked Cora, wasting no time. Her lover was never distant without something on her mind, and this time was too precious and scant for her to be distant during it. She responded by wrapping her hands around Cora’s waist and turning her around, pulling the smaller girl close.

“You never waste time testing our little ritual, do you, pet?” Jen Diwan nestled her lips into the crook of Cora’s neck and sucked. The vulnerable flesh sent pleasure-pain jolts through Cora, sending her hips back into Jen Diwan’s. She cried out, playing the perfect little conquest for her big, strong lover for the delight of being able to do so. She gasped as her pulse point was released and pressed back into Jen Diwan’s embrace. “No. We discuss heavy topics later.”

Cora’s heart sank a little. It had been some time since the two had to discuss ‘heavy topics’. It usually meant travel, and for a Diwan, travel was never a short affair. She felt an annoyance, too, at her question being dismissed - this was a time in which her demands meant just as much as the Magistrate’s. It was a gift from her lover, this time, but it was a gift she cherished and protected. She chose to trust in her adherence to the fiction they weaved, that the topic was best dismissed for after their joys. “Later.” She insisted.

“Later.” Jen Diwan promised. She wasted no time pressing Cora towards the tub. She led Cora down into the pool of warm water, settling her down into a reclined position in the heated tub. Worshipful hands ran over Cora’s body as the heat from the water settled into her. She felt every muscle relax, her body trusting, yearning for that touch. Her yearning was carnal - of course it was, her core clenching at the memory of years of this ritual. Probing fingers and knots, exhaustion and fluids. Jen Diwan seemed to know her body the way she knew the Estate. She was played like an instrument - how could her yearning not be tinged with lust?

It was more, however. Trust and love and understanding that could only happen here, that could not happen without their ritual. Cora was Jen Diwan’s slave, even now. Jen Diwan was the sanctuary’s Magistrate, and she was the Diwan atop that. These were realities that could never change - but that didn’t matter. Here, Cora was an object of worship. Years ago, it had been a novel and terrifying feeling. Overwhelming. Cora would shiver and shake and shy from a lover’s touch. It had taken nearly a year of patience, of the ritual, for Cora to fully surrender to it. To understand Jen Diwan and trust in the paradigm shift. From servant to equal, from slave to idol. From Domina to…

She still didn’t know what Jen Diwan was. It was her role to take. Lover. Worshipper - as laughable as the idea had seemed initially. She knew what she was - adored and coveted and possessed, possessed on a level beyond the material way a Domina owned her slave, a way that required shedding that concept.

“What did you do with your stolen hours, my love?” Cora was jolted back to her body by Jen Diwan’s words. She gasped, fully feeling the jolts of pleasure her tongue pulled from her taut, wet nipple. Hands invaded the crevice between her hip and pelvis. Cora’s body rocked, playing its part as her mind caught up, pulled from its dissociative introspection.

“I couldn’t steal.” Cora’s breath was breathier than she had expected. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment at how wanton she came across - though the effect was only new to her, she realized. Her body played its role even as her mind folded over the nature of their relationship. “I- I-“ A thumb pressed to her clit and a tongue rolled over her nipple at just the right moment to interrupt her speaking - a game that her tormentor loved to play when she was running Cora through her brain tricks.

“No?” the idolater crooned, subjecting the object of her worship to a jolt of pleasure as she rolled a tongue over her nipple. How does she do that while speaking? “It’s a simple task, isn’t it?”

Cora was victim to another press of thought-terminating pleasure, her core clenching around empty space as she applied pressure just above her clit. Her hips bucked to no avail before she regained control over herself, gasping for breath in the humid air inches above the tub. Fingers teased at her sensitive lips, seeming to demand and answer while working against their own demands.

“No!” Cora cried. It was embarassing how quickly she had become this - from slave, to woman, to object. It wasn’t always this way, she reasoned with herself - but it was too easy. Another hole in the fictional equality between the two. “I - I can’t…” She whined.

“And why is that?” Jen Diwan questioned in a voice that knew its own answer. Her wolfish smile reached her eyes as she looked up at Cora, nearly head nearly submerged beneath the steaming water.

“Because - because…” She breathed deep, trying to calm herself against her worshiper’s demands. She winced as her core clenched around nothing - again - slickness threatening to breach her lower lips. “I - you - you love me…” The conclusion felt like a defeat. She couldn’t place exactly why.

“Mmmhmmm…..” Her croon demanded a continuation. A thumb pressed ever closer to her clit - the pressure causing just a quiver of friction, a tease of a jolt of pleasure - promised a reward.

Cora arched her back and cried out, whimpered - she hated this part. When her teacher knew the answer. It made her feel stupid, even as she stretched her mind, adjusted to the ideas, the new conclusions Jen Diwan brought her to. She was always so keenly aware of the differences between the two - Jen Diwan was Trueborn, a noble, her Magistrate. She was university educated, she was ordained by the College of Diwan - she knew things about the inner workings of the universe that Cora didn’t even know she was ignorant of. Without that,  there was more than a century and a half of life experience between the two. Cora knew she was being lead. She could only trust that it was to a secure place.

“Your love makes selfishness an act of servitude.” Cora spoke, putting words to the conclusion she had been drawing for days now. “Your worship, your idolatry - any act of self care, of self improvement - it’s serving your wants.”

“That’s right.” Jen Diwan’s fingers pressed inside Cora, as though they had always been meant to be there. “Good girl!”

---

Cora rested her head against Jen Diwan’s shoulder as she lay atop her, warm water and freshly oiled skin took the edge off the ache in her body. She kissed at the inside of her lover’s neck - transitioning from the object of worship into her equal once again.

“Heavy topics.” Cora insisted, kissing again. If Jen Diwan could play with her body while dragging her to conclusions, she could take her kisses while delivering bad news. “You’re going on a pilgrimage, aren’t you?” The worry had sat within Cora. It had happened before, many times - her role as Diwan demanded regular visits to the holy sites. Her role as sole ConSensus link meant Cora could not travel with her. It was one of the many unfair burdens imposed by their roles outside of this ritual. While her love wasn’t able to be flustered as easily as Cora was, Cora took pride in the goosebumps she raised along her taut neck even as she felt Jen Diwan’s spirit sink.

“No.” Cora’s hopes cautiously raised as she heard the denial. A pilgrimage meant months of separation for the two. “It’s…” Cora could see Jen Diwan harden her spirit. She tightened her grip around Cora’s waist and shifted, knot softened enough to pull its way from inside Cora. Cora let out a full-body shiver as she did, feeling her love’s seed leak into the tub. There was a time she felt shame over the feeling.

“It’s worse.” Jen Diwan sighed. “We’re being audited.” Cora furrowed her brow in confusion, not understanding the implication that Jen Diwan intoned.

“We have a pair of inquisitors arriving tomorrow. We’re being investigated.”