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Cultist-chan was peeling desiccated paint off the walls of her filthy apartment when there was an unexpected knock at her door. Following Dranon's exasperated orders, she reached up and then down to make sure she had rudimentary coverings over her sensual regions, and then she threw open the door to discover a small, quivering Ork.
"Is your name Cultist-chan, Miss?" the creature asked her nervously.
Cultist-chan thought about it, her mind muddied by the paint.
"Yedth?" she finally answered uncertainly.
"Ah-he-he-hem." The Ork cleared his throat with gusto and then started to freestyle rap.
"Yo! Cultist-chan is the hottest bitch,
And I got orders from a rockin' witch,
To see you see Slaanesh tonight,
Y'all gonna party til mornin' light!"
The Ork finished his poem and there was an uncomfortable tableau in its wake. For his part, the Ork was desperately hoping for some kind of tip, as was customary from even the most vile denizens of Chaos – after all, what kind of monster doesn't tip? As for Cultist-chan, she was still humming the tune to the song, and she had no idea it was already over. She thought the stoppage was just a particularly long pause before an outro.
"This has been a service of Harry's Singing Telegrams, and I'm Harry," the Ork prompted.
"Whadth a thelelogram?"
Harry took a long breath and then sighed.
"Slaanesh-chan hired me to give you a message – you're supposed to get yourself ready for a girl's night out and then meet up with zhir in zhir Warp Cathedral. I guess my poem wasn't very good."
"Itdth was a whunderthul poem!" Cultist-chan protested.
"That's very nice of you to say. Now, about the customary remuneration?"
Cultist-chan still looked completely lost, so Harry finally broke down and asked aloud, "What about my tip?"
"Hoh!" Cultist-chan might be a corrupted Chaos devotee, but she was no monster.
She reached down and picked several rhinestones off of her bedazzled panties. She counted off two, three, four and then deposited them in Harry's outstretched hand. The Ork was briefly overtaken by the wild hope that they were really diamonds only to be crushed by the realization that they were plastic tchotchkes that came ten thousand to the credit wholesale. But, she was still his client, and he'd already been forward enough. He bowed deeply and then scuttled away to his next job, which was serenading a famous Chaos Marine with his fifth marriage proposal of the day for a young daemonette.
Cultist-chan allowed thoughts to overtake her at a glacial pace. A girls' night out was an unprecedented event, and while Slaanesh-chan was always bugging her to do strange things, it might be good to have a little unofficial fun with the inimitable deity while filling the void of boredom formerly addressed by eating paint slivers. On the other hand, the truth was that Cultist-chan was feeling especially vulnerable that day. Dranon had told her in no uncertain terms that she had no chance, and on top of that, she was so very near to her once-a-decade ovulation that she felt as if her pussy was screaming in her ear non-stop and no amount of vigorously humping her pillow seemed to sate it. In fact, she discovered that even as she thought, one of her hands involuntarily crept into her panties as if searching for buried treasure. She hastily withdrew her fingers and put them in her mouth.
If she went out with Slaanesh-chan tonight, who knew what terrible antics would ensue. But when a Warp God(dess) sends you a singing telegram inviting you to a girls' night out, "no" isn't really much of an option. Cultist-chan resolved to go out, but only for a couple hours so that Slaanesh-chan couldn't prey on her biological and spiritual malaise. She was chagrinned to discover that her hand had wandered into her panties of its own accord once again.
There was only one thing to do. Cultist-chan would have to wear her filthiest, most severe, most psychologically distressing outfit to ward off any potential suitors. Fortunately her small studio apartment didn't leave her low on options for fulfilling those criteria. Her door had no lock and whenever she was away, her apartment was used by her neighbors as a site for feeding, fucking, and flagellating, and often enough all three simultaneously. There were shredded and bloody clothes strewn in haphazard piles, and some of them had been left untouched on the grimy linoleum floor long enough to grow mold. She picked a tattered and bloodstained pink shirt that read, "Chaoticians for Chaos" and pulled it over her black brassiere. It didn't take her long to discover a pair of muddy khakis - the unsexiest article of clothing in the galaxy - and she topped it off by donning a green bathrobe on top of the whole thing. One, two, three haphazard swipes with a mascara brush (on her forehead) and she considered her mission complete. There was no way anyone would take advantage of her now.
Cultist-chan was surprised to find an aircar waiting for her when she exited her apartment and took the stairs down to the ground floor. A young boy wearing nothing but the helmet of a Space Marine opened the door to the passenger compartment as soon as he saw her approaching.
The boy waved, and his flaccid penis waved with him. "Cultist-chan! Zhir Excellency sent me to give you a ride!"
"Hokay." Cultist-chan still felt as if she were walking into some kind of trap, but nevertheless she boarded the aircar and settled in for the journey.
There was an open bottle of beer in the armrest next to her seat, and Cultist-chan started gulping it with gusto. To her amazement, it was at the perfect temperature – ice cold. She was perpetually broke and almost never had an opportunity to drink alcohol. A flood of joy welled up in her heart as the intoxicating liquid percolated into her brain and joined the patina of hallucinogens that had ended up coating the paint of her walls. She watched with quiet amusement as dust motes danced in time with the semi-functional air conditioning, and then she discovered that she'd let down her guard once again and was masturbating vigorously. The boy caught her eye in the rear-view mirror and quickly went back to driving.
As soon as the aircar was over the bloody ocean, Slaanesh reached out from the Warp and drew the vehicle through it towards zhir Cathedral. Cultist-chan loved everything about the Warp. The vertiginous sensation of penetrating into the psychic domain, the motes and sparkles that flowed over her like pollen in the unshielded ship, and even the sudden, almost orgasmic comedown of exiting out of its poorly-defined domains and into the shadow of Slaanesh-chan's Cathedral. The boy quickly scrambled out to let her out of the passenger seat, and he leaned hopelessly up towards her in hopes of securing a kiss from the strange Chaos worshipper. She gently patted the top of his helmet and made her way into the Nave of the Cathedral.
The building had changed little since the last time she'd visited. The finest silks in the galaxy hung from white marble columns, occasionally stained red from the blood trickling from Slaanesh-chan's numerous living statues. They writhed in torment or pleasure in accordance with their level of devotion to the Warp deity, and a careful system of sluices and channels had been devised in order to keep visitors from getting splattered with blood. Slaanesh must have heard her arrive, because zhe was already gliding across the marble floor of the Nave, each step of her high-heeled shoes echoing around the vast, garish church. Slaanesh was in her most decadent getup. Zhe was wearing a striking blue satin dress, which complimented the long red hair and blue eyes zhe was wearing today. Zhir ample breasts were held up by a black corset, and her dress was cut low enough to expose just the tops of her soft pink areola. Almost against her will, Cultist-chan peered down at the deity's crotch, but today there was no telltale outline of a penis pressed against zhir skintight dress.
"Cultist-chan!" Slaanesh exclaimed, leaning forward to kiss her cheeks.
"Idth good to thee you," Cultist-chan replied politely.
Slaanesh took a step back and then examined the devotee from head to toe.
"You're not really wearing that, are you?" Slaanesh asked.
"Hwue where hopingth to keep hour dignidthgh."
Slaanesh-chan was aghast. "Oh, sweetie, but there's nothing dignified about going out looking like a trainwreck. You simply must allow me to patch you up."
"Budth…"
"Please?" The deity put on zhir best puppy-dog eyes. "Besides, we're meeting Emeraude and Helothefer at the club, and they'd be scandalized if you showed up looking like that."
Cultist-chan vacillated. The other two women Slaanesh named were upper class tarts, and Cultist-chan would be humiliated if she didn't demonstrate that the working woman of Chaos could still be just as stunning as the aristocracy. Plus, with Slaanesh-chan offering the help, she was totally confident of her ability to outshine those self-absorbed cunts.
Cultist-chan finally consented, "Hokay."
Slaanesh clapped enthusiastically. "Yay! I'm so glad you're going to be a part of this. You're one of my favorite followers, Cultist-chan."
The girl blushed furiously at the deity's praise.
Slaanesh lead her into zhir private quarters in the western transept of the Cathedral. Little imps scurried hither and yon, ensuring that everything was always measured out just to the deity's liking. There were no doors or screens separating her private quarters from the rest of the Cathedral – after all, the entire building, nay, the entire Warp, was the personal property of Slaanesh. Heedless of the lusty stares of slave and prisoner alike zhe slithered out of zhir dress and corset, and Cultist-chan noted that today, Slaanesh was all woman. A small patch of auburn pubic hair folded upon her glistening pink lips. Slaanesh-chan looked at her follower expectantly. More than a little self-conscious, Cultist-chan dropped her green bathrobe, and then the shirt and khakis until she stood wearing only a pair of bright pink and mostly bedazzled panties.
"Come on, dear," Slaanesh urged. "I don't bite. Ugh, when was the last time you took a shower anyway?"
Cultist-chan bit her lip and thought about it. "Thanuary."
Slaanesh shuddered and made a gesture with her hands, and Cultist-chan's panties melted off her body and out into the imperceptible Warp. Cultist-chan reached down to cover herself, but something about the way Slaanesh-chan was standing made her stop. The other woman was cool, confident, and completely without shame. Every movement the goddess made was a story written by grace. It wasn't Slaanesh's physical form that made her the most beautiful being in the galaxy, it was something much more subtle; Slaanesh would be just as beautiful with messily cropped hair and half her guts fallen out, if only she kept the same shameless and joyful demeanor as she had at that moment. Cultist-chan let her hands fall away from her pussy.
"You're beautiful," Slaanesh told her
Cultist-chan was embarrassed. "Thadth hour line."
"I mean it!" Slaanesh reached out to caress her devotee with a single finger. "Your cheekbones are so strong, yet still so feminine. And they reach down, down, down to a long, sensuous neck."
Cultist-chan shivered.
"Below that, a well-muscled collarbone. So much more beautiful than the arrogant, stick-like proportions of my other followers."
The finger continued to move, and Cultist-chan was helpless to stop it.
"I'll tell you a secret, dear. I love small breasts like these."
Squeeze.
"They're pretty but not crass – you should see some of the things some of my other followers do. They have their own dignity, their own personalities, their own secret confidence to make up for what they lack in size. And, of course, your strong tummy."
Cultist-chan giggled.
"The belly of someone who works for a living. Someone who has known hardship and heartache and loss. Hehe, I can feel you flexing your muscles!"
Cultist-chan was totally embarrassed by her own movements, and she tried to shy away. But even thought she was completely immune to the goddess' enrapturing psychic power, with just one well-educated touch the other woman could still bring her to the throes of ecstasy without even touching the girl's – Cultist-chan gasped.
"What beautiful lips you have," Slaanesh whispered.
Slaanesh broke the spell and straightened up and gave her devotee a quick peck on the cheek.
"I think a shower would do us both some good," the goddess said.
Cultist-chan was struck nearly dumb. "A-anythingth you thay."
Slaanesh clapped her hands twice, and a pair of daemonettes materialized from seemingly nowhere and started collecting the clothes the two women dropped on the floor. Slaanesh's dress was going to be recleaned and repressed, while Cultist-chan's outfit would be burned with extreme prejudice. Her servants didn't get to where they were without anticipating Slaanesh's wishes in advance, and there was already a hot shower steaming up the mirrors of the goddess' ample bathroom. Slaanesh giggled and dragged the dumbstruck girl into the shower with her.
"Oh, dear," Slaanesh muttered. "Your hair."
Now Cultist-chan felt self-conscious for a different reason. Slaanesh pulled a pearl comb out of its emplacement in the granite wall of the huge shower. Biting her lip and calculating, the goddess suddenly thrust forward and jammed the teeth of the comb halfway through Cultist-chan's skull. The devotee yelped, but Slaanesh was ruthless. She pulled time and time again, dragging knots and mud and blood out of the girl's ratty hair. Cultist-chan tried to struggle but it was no use. Something about the goddess' touch made her helpless to resist, and bit by bit her hair was cleaned and straightened.
"Thadth hurth," Cultist-chan protested with tears in her eyes.
"It's for your own good, dear. And – by my pussy! When was the last time you shaved?"
Cultist-chan shrugged. Her apartment didn't have a bathroom, and it was never high on her list of priorities anyway.
"If you're going to show those soggy cunts what for you're going to have to lie down and let me work on you," Slaanesh ordered.
Obediently, Cultist-chan laid back on the warm granite floor of the ample shower and crossed her legs. But, with a single gesture, Slaanesh somehow convinced her to open up, and allow the goddess access to her most secretive area. In a flash the deity leaned down and made some rapid but precise swipes with a straight razor, and black hair fell away like magic at the touch.
"There," Slaanesh announced, satisfied. "Now you look less like an untamed jungle and more like a carefully managed garden."
Cultist-chan looked down and saw that it was true. Somehow, Slaanesh had managed to shave her legs, armpits, and pussy without her even noticing. Cultist-chan now had an elegant landing strip just above the pink of her lips, carefully pruned eyebrows, and somehow, the goddess had even managed to slice off all her split ends in a few impossibly fast strokes. Almost all the grime on Cultist-chan's body had been washed off and down into the labyrinthine drains of the Warp.
"How do you feel, dear?" Slaanesh inquired.
It wasn't a question Cultist-chan got asked very often. She thought about it furiously before offering an answer.
"Kindth of… nicth," she admitted.
"That's what I like to hear! Now get up and stand still while I give you a good soaping."
Cultist-chan obediently followed her deity's orders. In no time at all Slaanesh found a loofah and started lathering soap all over her body. The pungent tea tree oil stung her skin at first, but Cultist-chan felt the last of the grime and oils dissolve and wash away under the multiple shower heads of the giant enclosure. Slaanesh pulled no punches – every square inch of Cultist-chan's body was scrubbed pink by the ruthless lather. Finally, the goddess was satisfied with her handiwork, and the two dripping women got out of the shower and admired themselves before Slaanesh's full length mirrors on one of the walls. A daemonette followed them everywhere and carefully sopped up all the water they left in their wake.
"What do you think?" Slaanesh-chan asked happily.
Cultist-chan looked at herself very carefully in the mirror. The change was astonishing. Everything that had been filthy, or ratty, or hairy now wasn't. Her naturally magenta hair was still short, but now it looked cared-for instead of just hanging like a mop on the top of her head. In fact, it did compliment her high cheekbones very nicely, and Cultist-chan experienced the shocking relvelation that she could actually be beautiful. She looked pleadingly into Slaanesh-chan's eyes, unsure of what to do with this new information. Slaanesh reached out and poked her in the nose.
"I think I have the perfect outfit for you," Slaanesh announced with satisfaction while two nervous daemonettes toweled the pair dry.
The daemonettes scurried off, and Slaanesh lead Cultist-chan into her gigantic closet. Since the Warp had no need to conform to any standard law of physics, the closet was bigger than the Cathedral that housed it, and it dwarfed Cultist-chan's apartment by orders of magnitude. Cultist-chan watched in wonderment as Slaanesh made a very complicated series of gestures with her hands. The room reoriented itself around the pair. With expert grace, Slaanesh led her to a rack of clothes and then rifled through it until she found a thin, strapless black dress.
"Try this one," Slaanesh suggested.
At Slaanesh's urging, Cultist-chan pulled the dress down over her head. The fabric felt like smooth cotton, and it was the finest texture she could ever remember putting over her skin. The dress cupped her small breasts perfectly even without a bra. To her renewed embarrassment, she discovered that the bottom hem only barely covered her ass. Cultist-chan squirmed and pulled at the edges, trying to reposition the dress so that it had a better chance of protecting her modesty. Slaanesh had little regard for her worries – instead, the goddess was comparing two pairs of panties, holding them up near the girl's hair to determine which would better compliment her magenta locks. She finally came to a conclusion and tossed them both to the floor.
"None at all!" she said out loud. "It'll be much more fun to watch you squirm while you try to keep yourself covered."
Even though she was far more dressed than the still nude Slaanesh, Cultist-chan still turned red with embarrassment. And maybe, just maybe, she was just a little flattered.
Next, Slaanesh fitted Cultist-chan with a pink-trimmed black garter and a pair of boots that perfectly walked the tightrope between elegant and proletarian. The deity stepped back and carefully regarded her charge from head to toe. Cultist-chan was clean, sharp, and pretty, and Slaanesh was pleased with the results of her efforts.
"Still…" Slaanesh pondered, "I think there's still something missing. Oh, I know!"
The Warp fluctuated under the pressure of Slaanesh's psychic power, and it quickly showed the pair what she was looking for. Row after row of cabinets spread out before them, and Slaanesh quickly dug through one of them for the perfect choker. After some searching, she found the one she was looking for. It was black and lacy, but there was a prominent skull fashioned out of platinum positioned right in the center of the necklace. Cultist-chan stood obediently while Slaanesh fastened it around her throat.
"There! Perfect."
Cultist-chan shifted nervously. "Hwe hour pretthy?"
Slaanesh giggled. "Oh, very much so. You'll give those uptight sluts Emeraude and Helothefer a run for their money. Now, alas, it's time for me to get dressed as well."
Cultist-chan followed the deity back out of the closet. Sure enough, Slaanesh's daemonette slaves had cleaned and pressed her blue satin dress back into perfect shape despite her only having worn it for a few minutes. She donned her corset, a pair of white cotton panties, her dress, and finally her white high heels. After a few minutes of precision engineering in front of the mirror, her hair and makeup were done. Cultist-chan was taken aback when Slaanesh suddenly rose and mashed her mouth into her own, and then, with astonishing abruptness, all of her defenses were washed away and she returned the goddess' kisses with enthusiasm. Slaanesh was elated – everything was going according to plan.
"Mmph," Slaanesh said, pulling away. "That was wonderful, but we mustn't be late to the club."
"Huwhere our hwe goingth?"
"Club En Vogue."
Cultist-chan was secretly relieved. Slaanesh was known for flights of whimsical fancy that resembled a medieval torture chamber more than a nightclub, and places like Cleopatra's Needle had drains installed in the floor so that the blood and other bodily fluids could be powerwashed off the walls. Club En Vogue was relatively tame in comparison; you could order a cocktail without having to worry about blood dripping into it from the ceiling.
"Dzo hwue needth a purth?" Cultist-chan asked tentatively, suddenly remembering that she had no money.
Slaanesh laughed, a melodious sound that resembled diamonds tinkling into a champagne flute.
"Of course not, dear," Slaanesh-chan said, patting her arm. "Nobody in my party is ever expected to pay."
In hindsight, this was obvious. Simply allowing the slaves and proprietors to live was payment enough if Slaanesh happened to show up in a bar. Slaanesh wove her arm into Cultist-chan's, and she fiddled with the Warp until it swirled around them, bearing them forward towards their destination. It was a little ostentatious to walk through the Warp unprotected but the thought merely amused Slaanesh.
"Fuck it," she reflected aloud. "What's the point of being a goddess at all if you don't sometimes use it for funsies?"
Cultist-chan recognized their location immediately when they finally exited the Warp. It was her own homeworld, Simi Secundus, nominally aligned to Chaos Undivided and ruled with an iron fist by the infamous Daemon Prince Ronald Reagan. The Warp had obediently spat them out right in front of the entrance to Club En Vogue, and there was a long line of impatient Chaos creatures waiting to get in. Everyone but Cultist-chan could feel the aura of holy radiance emanating from Slaanesh, and the doorman tripped over himself in his haste to usher the pair past the purple velvet rope and into the club. Slaanesh was feeling generous, and she tipped him with a smile that he would masturbate over non-stop for the next two weeks. Emeraude and Helothefer were already seated, and they waved the pair over to their enormous VIP table.
Emeraude was a picture perfect example of the upper class snootiness that became second nature to most Daemon Princesses. She was wearing a garish pink Lolita dress, complimented – if that was the right word – by a pink parasol at her side. She was wearing a tiny straw hat atop her light brown hair, with a big white carnation affixed right in the middle. Her eyes were vividly green, and she had the most powerful aura in the entire club aside from Slaanesh-chan herself, though Cultist-chan was completely blind to it.
Helothefer looked like an Imperial propaganda poster warning of the dangers of Chaos worship. Though she was an Ork and technically not gendered at all, she had nevertheless stuffed the fat green folds of her flesh into a little black dress that would have been embarrassingly similar to that of Cultist-chan if it had remained remotely in its intended shape. Instead, the Orkish flesh had torn through it in many places, leaving it a tattered mess that did little to cover her outsized frame. She seemed completely oblivious of her own ridiculous, and she immediately condescended to Cultist-chan with an exaggerated nod of her head.
"How wonderful, Slaanesh-Heika, you've brought a friend!" Helothefer enthused. "What's your name, dear?"
Cultist-chan blushed, surprised that Helothefer would use such an outrageously formal address for her friend Slaanesh. "Hwue are Cultisth-than."
"Yes, dear, but what's your name?" Helothefer asked with mild disinterest.
This was a challenge. Cultist-chan hadn't thought about her "real" name in decades, or more. Helothefer and Emeraude watched her uncaringly, while Slaanesh tried to hide her intrigue by choosing that moment to decide that her long, clean nails were a source of incredible fascination. As the silence got longer, Helothefer and Emeraude got less interested even as Slaanesh-chan grew more hopeful. Finally, Cultist-chan came to an answer.
"Hwue don'th know," she admitted. "Hwue are justh Cultisth-than."
The pair of socialites had already returned to their gossip.
"Did you hear about what happened to Roscoe Arbuckle?" Emeraude gushed. "He told Sarah, Duchess of York to go fuck a baboon."
"But she worships Slaanesh-Heika, doesn't she?" Helothefer asked.
"Of course! So you can guess what happened."
The two broke out into a peal of conspiratorial laughter.
"You really don't know your own name, do you, girl?" Slaanesh-chan asked reflectively.
"Thorrih," Cultist-chan replied. "It'ths not come upth a loth."
"Well, don't you worry about it."
A waiter, wearing an exquisitely tailored tuxedo shirt, jacket, bow tie, cummerbund, and absolutely nothing else approached their table to take their drink orders.
Slaanesh went first. "Death in the Afternoon please, angel."
"Midori Sour," Emeraude announced.
Helothefer answered next. "Screaming Orgasm, my love. Oh, you meant my drink order!"
All four women giggled while the waiter got a distinctly pained expression.
"A Screaming Orgasm is fine," Helothefer concluded.
Suppressing a shudder, the waiter turned to Cultist-chan, and almost hit her with his partially erect penis. "And for you?"
"PBR."
Helothefer raised her eyebrow, and the waiter had to think quickly about whether the bar could actually fill Cultist-chan's order. This was a class establishment, and PBR was known throughout the galaxy as the first national beer of Chaos – and also its grottiest. Behind every wife beating, grand theft spaceship, dorm room date rape, and Ork Waaagh! stood a can of PBR, and usually a pyramid of them. But customer satisfaction was the key pillar to maintaining a reputable business. And with Slaanesh-Heika in the party tonight, there was no possible way of denying one of her friends their order. He decided he'd have one of the slaves take a quick trip down the street to secure as many cans of the ghastly, pissy stuff as were required.
"Of course, madams," is what he said out loud.
"Please!" Helothefer interjected. "Madam was my mother."
This time the waiter couldn't hide his shudder, and he scurried off to fill the table's drink orders.
"So, what is it you do for a living, love?" Helothefer inquired of Cultist-chan.
"Hwue kapthur hworldth for KAY-OUTH!" the girl shouted happily.
This wasn't technically true. In her life, Cultist-chan had captured exactly zero worlds, though she'd destroyed three and brought untold misery to countless others. It was all by accident, however, so whether or not this counts is left as an exercise for the reader. Her biggest claim to fame was that she'd made the Imperium's Least Wanted six times.
"That sounds so… sweaty," Emeraude finally said. "I suppose someone has to do it, but you wouldn't catch me dead in some spaceship full of grunting, yelling, muscly, steely-eyed men."
Slaanesh deemed it time to break out the knives. "Oh, Emeraude, dear, everyone knows the only reason you're a lesbian is because you think it makes you seem more sophisticated."
Helothefer barked with laughter, and then suddenly silenced herself when she saw Emeraude's smoldering look.
"Oh, Slaanesh-Heika! I wanted to thank you for bringing along your dirty little pet," Emeraude said, casting a sidelong glance at Cultist-chan. "It provided a marvelous opportunity to see how the other half lives."
Cultist-chan was peeved, but Slaanesh was quick with a rejoinder.
"It's just a pity Ptaryn couldn't be here," Slaanesh replied in mock commiseration. "She got captured by the Inquisition, isn't that right?"
Emeraude darkened immediately. "You could have saved her."
Cultist-chan had no way of knowing it, but the aristocratic ladies were always like this when they got together. The parody of good manners was nothing but a childish mask for their incivility. It was hard to tell what brought the women together for the evening – in the end, maybe they'd just all been itching for a good cat fight. The waiter glided up with their drinks, and to Emeraude's abiding horror he mistakenly set the can of PBR in front of her while Cultist-chan was given the Midori sour. Seeing her chance to stick it to the haughty bitch, Cultist-chan took a big gulp of the sickeningly sweet beverage before Emeraude could protest the error. Emeraude lost her will to argue the point, and she took a sip of the foul, canned liquid with a wince.
The next two hours proceeded in much the same way. Emeraude and Slaanesh traded politely cutting remarks while Helothefer egged them on. Cultist-chan, whose natural state of extreme poverty left her rarely able to afford liquor, found that her head was swimming disconcertingly as more and more drinks were brought to the table. In spite of her previous cruelty, Emeraude tried to stroke Cultist-chan's leg with her foot, but Cultist-chan put a stop to that with a well-timed stomp with the heel of her boot. Still, there was no denying the alcohol had a certain… effect… on her already strained self-control. It was all she could do to prevent herself from masturbating right there at the table, though a few glances at the other patrons of Club En Vogue demonstrated that such an action wouldn't prove beyond the realm of social acceptability. But Cultist-chan refused to give the upper class twats the satisfaction.
"We should go to the Ombudsman," Slaanesh suddenly announced.
"That could be fun," Emeraude admitted in spite of herself.
Helothefer said, "I'm game."
The three looked at Cultist-chan, who winced. It wasn't that she didn't want to go to the Ombudsman club; in fact, the real problem might be that she wanted to go too much. Everyone on Simi Secundis knew what the Ombudsman was and all but the strangest and most depraved followers of Slaanesh tended to stay well away. You could get anything you wanted at the Ombudsman, so long as what you wanted was drugs, violence, and/or the kinkiest sex the most ardent followers of Chaos could possibly devise. Cultist-chan herself had been a couple times, mostly in her younger, wilder days and she wasn't sure how much she wanted to reignite those fiery memories. The three women looked at her expectantly, and that's when Cultist-chan discovered that the alcohol was going to make all of her decisions for her.
"Yedth, Hwue hwould lovfthe to goh!"
The four left Club En Vogue, and though they had no intention of paying their bill Slaanesh took a moment to give their waiter a tip – she wrapped her hand around the shaft of his penis, and left it with a warm, tingling sensation that would undoubtedly entertain him for weeks. They hailed an aerial cab and the four climbed giggling, into the backseat without revealing their identities. Emeraude brought along a half-full bottle of vodka she pilfered from the bar on the way out.
"Where to, ya drunk shits?" asked the cabbie. "And if you spill that I'll make you lick it up with your clits."
"The Ombudsman," Slaanesh answered in her most princessly tone.
The driver took one look at who was in the back of his cab, and he didn't dare open his mouth again for the entire drive to the Ombudsman.
Even the foyer of the Ombudsman was an outrage against all common decency. As soon as they entered the building, several men and even women on an upper floor did their best to hit new entrants with their pungent sexual fluids. Emeraude received a big gob of semen in her brown hair as the four hurried through the gauntlet of obscenity, and Cultist-chan only barely missed getting some on her black dress. Slaanesh, true to form, strayed behind and tried to catch a load of the sticky, stringy liquid in her mouth.
The Ombudsman was an enormous cathedral of carnal delights, and bright LED signs advertised all the latest in Chaos fashions. The building had a casino floor and numerous rooms devoted to every imaginable fetish, and some that were scarcely imaginable at all. The rooms were arranged alphabetically, otherwise the building would have been entirely unnavigable, and there was an index of available deviancies that ranged from acrotomophilia to zoosadism. There were also numerous pools, spas, gift shops, bars, lounges, and apothecaries. A slave wearing a choke collar to make it easy to get his attention skirted by, and Emeraude tugged on it, hard, and put in her order.
"Yes, milady?" the slave asked when he recovered his breath.
"A hundred milligrams of heroin," Emeraude demanded. "I so hate all that grunting and panting – I'd rather not feel anything at all."
"Of course. And your companions?"
Most human drugs weren't compatible with Orkish physiology, so Helothefer put in an order for some exotic stimulant that Cultist-chan couldn't pronounce if a bolter were held to her head. The waiter turned to her and looked at her expectantly. She didn't want to be left out, but since her head was still spinning from the alcohol, Cultist-chan simply asked for a cannabis cigarette. It was an indulgence she got to enjoy even less often than booze. The slave nodded and scurried off to fill their orders.
"Let's see," Emeraude said reflectively, pondering a sign that listed the current Ombudsman specialties and shows. "Oh! They've got a fascist fetishism theme tonight. You can roleplay with people dressed as Space Marines, Inquisitors, Adeptas Sororitas…"
"There's always the old-fashioned Terran Donkey Show," Helothefer suggested.
Emeraude politely shivered. "Just ghastly, love. I think I'll go check out the plushophilia room as soon as that slave gets back with my heroin… I'd really love to lie down on a big teddy bear right now."
"Suit yourself," Helothefer replied. "I can't really enjoy much of this human stuff, so I'm going to try my luck in the boxing ring. Punching the lights out of a few idiots is all the 'sex' I need. What about you, Cultist-chan?"
Slaanesh chose that moment to sidle up next to the girl. "Oh, I think she'll stick with me."
Cultist-chan might not have been so grateful if she knew what Slaanesh had planned for her. "Hwue hwould likthe thath."
The slave came back with their orders, and Emeraude gleefully stuck herself with the carefully measured quantity of heroin in the syringe. Chaos smiled on rampant drug use, and without any anti-drug laws there was no reason to be concerned about dosages and purity. The Ombudsman was a professional establishment and they knew they'd face the wrath of Slaanesh if they doled out anything but the highest quality ingredients to their customers. Cultist-chan picked up her joint and allowed the slave to light it. She took a big drag and then started coughing immediately; she couldn't afford to be a practiced smoker, and the two aristocrats laughed at her condescendingly. She scowled and forced herself to take another drag, which did nothing to relieve the faint spin the casino floor had somehow taken on.
"Oooh," Slaanesh-chan politely ordered. "Come with me, dear."
Cultist-chan allowed herself to be dragged away from the pair at the urging of Slaanesh. Her head was spinning too hard for her to read the signs, and she was quite surprised when Slaanesh led her into a nearly empty room. Cultist-chan had assumed she was being led someplace garish and loud, but Slaanesh had wisely chosen a sedate, tasteful room where the biggest outrage was a naked woman leaning back on a Roman-styled couch, allowing a slave to feed her peeled grapes. Another slave played a grand piano in the corner. Slaanesh led her to an unoccupied table and dragged the girl down onto a red couch beside her. The goddess leaned in gently and bit Cultist-chan's lower lip; she must have been successful in her earlier quest, because Slaanesh's breath smelled faintly of cum.
"Youh are hwour good friendth," Cultist-chan said, allowing her body to respond of its own accord.
She kissed the deity back, and the moistness between Cultist-chan's legs indicated that she'd already given up the fight.
"And I love you, very much," Slaanesh whispered, pressing her forehead against that of the Chaos Undivided devotee.
The room wouldn't stop spinning, and Cultist-chan had the sudden realization that there was more than just marijuana and nicotine in her cigarette. Slaanesh giggled at the girl's epiphany, come too late.
"Okay, I admit it!" Slaanesh said. "You've just been fighting so hard, so long, and for so little reason that I thought it might be okay to give you juuuuust a little push. But it doesn't really feel so bad, does it?"
Maybe there was a truth serum in the cigarette too, because Cultist-chan obediently answered, "Hwue are fvery happy."
Slaanesh pushed Cultist-chan down on the couch and started grabbing her breasts furiously. Intoxicated by more than the drugs, Cultist-chan gave in, and greedily reached up to draw the auburn-haired goddess closer. Cultist-chan was in no position to understand her privilege, but a truth that Slaanesh could never admit, not even as an immortal deity, was that she was genuinely fond of the strange, stupid girl who lived in a vile apartment and worshipped Chaos with purehearted devotion. Slaanesh reached down and dragged the dress off of Cultist-chan, exposing her small, pert breasts and showing the world that there was nothing underneath the short hem of the bottom of her dress. Slaanesh buried her face in Cultist-chan's pussy and played at it with her tongue. Cultist-chan came at once, and years of stress and misguided defenses evaporated like morning dew. Satisfied, Cultist-chan tried to pull away, but she discovered the goddess was granting her no quarter.
"Hu, hu, hu… hwuat are youh doingth… hu…?" Cultist-chan asked, panting hard from the strain.
Slaanesh grinned and hiked up her dress. "I'm reminding you what it's like to be a woman, my dear."
And there, right where Cultist-chan remembered seeing it wasn't, was Slaanesh's firm, erect penis. The tip glistened with precum, and before Cultist-chan could protest the deity slid zhir shaft into her already quaking pussy. Cultist-chan let out an involuntary moan, and she found that her body was pushing back of its own accord.
Slaanesh fucked her mercilessly. The hermaphrodite's penis was covered in ridges and nubs that seemed specifically engineered for her pleasure. Cultist-chan moaned, thrusted, and even cried a few happy tears of relief as she allowed herself to be taken by the angel of Chaos. Slaanesh fucked her with a precisely honed mechanical rhythm, and Cultist-chan came time and time again, leaving red scratch marks and tearing the fibers of zhir blue satin dress. The pair relentlessly ground their genitals together, and Cultist-chan felt herself getting something almost like rug burn from the friction generated by Slaanesh's pubic hair. And then, just as Cultist-chan was closing in on climax once again, it was all over. Slaanesh grunted with animal passion as zhe squirted one, two, three times inside Cultist-chan's glistening tunnel. Slaanesh smiled and pulled out, and waited expectantly to see if zhir plan had been successful.
Sure enough, Cultist-chan had an evil look in her eyes.
"Hwue hwere thso cloeth to comingk again!" the girl protested angrily.
Slaanesh smiled with false magnanimity. "I'm so sorry! But don't forget my power. After all, I could have a hundred men in here to help you finish if you only say the word."
Cultist-chan was helplessly humping empty space, her pussy aching with unfulfilled expectations.
"Anythingth!"
Slaanesh whistled, and sure enough, there was no lack of devotees at the Ombudsman to heed zhir call. Men lined up, driven by unspeakable lust, and Slaanesh carefully repositioned zhir dress and gestured to Cultist-chan as the center of attention. The girl tackled the first human man who was foolish enough to get within her range, and she jammed his penis into her leaking lips, desperate to find the orgasm that Slaanesh had cheated her out of. Slaanesh watched with self-satisfied amusement as the girl fucked and subsequently discarded a dozen men. By the time she was finally finished, she had a puddle of used fluids under her ass and she was covered in sweat and cum.
"Here!" Slaansh said, tossing her a pair of Ombudsman branded panties. "Put these on; it's time for me to take you home."
Cultist-chan peered at them curiously. After quaking with one orgasm after another, she was completely exhausted, and an escort home did sound like a generous offer.
She looked down at her leaking pussy, smeared with the leavings of a dozen anonymous men. "But… hwue are… a messth."
"That's the id – I mean, uh, just look at the time! I haven't fed my tribbles today, they must be getting so hungry, those poor things. Look, do you want a ride home or not?"
Feeling guilty and a little embarrassed, Cultist-chan pulled the freshly bought panties up over her crotch, immediately wetting them with her dripping. At Slaanesh's urging, she put on her dress and her shoes, and the deity hurried her out of the club and into a waiting taxi. The ride home was a smelly, uncomfortable mess, and she could feel a big wet spot forming on the seat of the cab while Slaanesh kept casting her sidelong glances. Drunk, high, drugged, and finally filled with sexual satisfaction, Cultist-chan collapsed into the vile filth of her mattress and had a series of pleasant dreams.
Four months later, one of Slaanesh's chief biologists crept nervously before zhim to deliver his report.
"Yes?" the deity demanded impatiently.
"Well, um, as you asked, we've been collecting her urine for three months now and we've researched it thoroughly for any sign of pregnancy. Unfortunately, your Excellency, it appears that the girl might actually be infertile."
"Damn it!" Slaanesh hurled a full glass of wine against one of zhir priceless tapestries captured from the Imperium. "All of that work for fucking nothing!"
The man scurried out, and Slaanesh paused in bemused reflection.
"Well, maybe not entirely nothing…"