Brigit Part 01 - I Meet The Goddess Brigit free porn video

Brigit Part 01

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Copyright Oggbashan June 2004

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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BRIGIT

I was driving to my cold lonely house on a February night. My windscreen wipers were working hard clearing the sleet. My headlights didn’t show enough of the twisting road so I was driving slowly.

I saw a shape standing beside the road. I slowed to a crawl as I came near. This was far from any houses. Anyone out here must be lost or in difficulty. I stopped beside the swathed shape, rolled down the car window and asked.

“Are you OK? Can I help?”

A woman’s voice answered me.

“Yes. You can help. Can I get in?”

There was a special tone to her voice. Whoever she was, even as a d****d shape, she was making me feel things I hadn’t experienced for years.

“Be my guest,” I said automatically, opening the passenger door.

As she got in I saw that she was wrapped in a sodden cloak hooding her head.

“There’s a car blanket on the back seat if you want something dry around you.”

“Thank you, Raymond,” she said. She didn’t take the blanket.

“You know me?” I was really surprised. I still had twenty miles to go to my house.

“Yes, Raymond. I know a lot about you. Thank you for inviting me into your car. That makes it easier.”

“Easier? Why?”

I was puzzled. Her words seemed to have more meaning than the superficial.

“Yes. I could not enter without your permission. You went further. You made me your guest. That word is important.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that. I suppose I had accepted some sort of responsibility for her by picking her up but she seemed to imply much more.

“Who are you?” I asked. “How can I help you?”

“I am Brigit. I need your help, not for me, but for one of my namesakes.”

“And what does the other Brigit need? I can take you where you want to go, but what does she want?”

I thought I’d humour her. She seemed strange, not deranged, but very different.

“You don’t know who Brigit is, do you?” she asked. “You ought to know. You have visited Ireland.”

“I have heard of Saint Brigid or St Bride…”

“I’m no saint!” she laughed. “Those saints are pale imitations of the real Brigit. They are good enough women but good. I’m not ‘good’. I just am.”

“So who is this Brigit I should know?”

She threw back the hood of her cloak. Her beauty dazzled me. Her red-gold curls waved around a perfect face. I had never seen a perfect face before. I shielded my eyes with my hand. I shrank away from her.

Her laugh sounded in my ear.

“You should have asked ‘What is Brigit?’. I might have admitted. I am the triple goddess Brigit of Ireland. This is one of my more attractive manifestations. You invited me in as your guest, so here I am.”

I tried to speak. Was I dreaming? Was I delirious? One didn’t pick up Goddesses by the roadside in the twenty-first century, did you?

“You did, Raymond.” Brigid answered my thought.

‘O shit!’ I thought. ‘She can read my mind.’.

“Yes, Raymond. I can. Don’t worry. I’m an earth goddess. I know what men are like. Nothing you can think could ever shock me. I came to you for help that you can give. For that help I will reward you.”

‘O shit’ I thought again ‘A goddess’s reward can be fatal or at best dangerous’.

“Don’t worry, Raymond. I won’t harm you. I am your guest and guests have obligations, just as hosts do. Now, can we go to your house, please? You need a stiff drink.”

She was right. I did. A good Irish Whiskey.

“That’s the idea. Now drive!” she ordered.

I drove. I made it in one piece despite her presence beside me. I dared not look at her. I’d never look away and would crash.

I pulled in front of my isolated house and opened the car door for Brigit. I took her arm and led her to the front door. She seemed small beside me but her presence was massive. I knew that she was far more of a woman, or goddess if that is what she was, than I could cope with. I unlocked and opened the front door. The hall lights came on as the sensor detected the door opening. I sensed Brigit hesitate.

“Are you coming in?” I asked.

“I need to be invited in,” she said quietly, “and preferably carried over your threshold.”

“OK.” I said. “Brigit, will you deign to enter my house?”

She nodded. I gathered her up in my arms. She was a lightweight but a heavy responsibility. I felt awe as I carried her inside, pushing the door shut behind me.

“Now you are in my house. Would you like a drink? An Irish Whiskey? I need one.”

“Yes please, Raymond.”

I carried her through to the living room, nudging the switch with my elbow. I didn’t want to put her down but I couldn’t get the drinks with her cradled in my arms. I lowered her to the settee. It hurt to let go of her. I poured two generous measures of whiskey and returned to sit beside her. I raised my glass and said:

“To the only goddess I’ve ever met. May she always get what she wants.”

She smiled as I sank the whiskey in one gulp. I needed it. The face was that of the unattainable woman, the ideal of one’s dreams. The smile was like a bolt of lightning – fascinating but dangerous if close. I was really afraid of Brigit. Why? I didn’t believe in goddesses. Or I hadn’t believed in goddesses. Brigit changed my mind. I believed her and in some sense I worshipped her. But I was too close. Goddesses should be remote, not sitting beside you on a shabby settee.

“You still aren’t sure I’m a goddess, are you Raymond?”

How could I answer? She knew my thoughts. She raised her hand and the laid fire burst into flame.

“Could a woman do that?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“I’ll stop teasing you, Raymond. I’ll change into a more comfortable shape. More comfortable for you, that is.”

As I watched she changed into my wife, not as she was just before she was killed in a water-skiing accident, but as she was shortly after we married. Yet I could tell that Brigit wasn’t my wife. Brigit had introduced some small changes. Her appearance was close to my wife but could be a sister, if Mary had had a sister.

Brigit was right. I couldn’t have stood her perfection much longer without turning into a babbling idiot. She shed her cloak, revealing a dark blue dress girdled with a golden belt. Her dress was high necked and floor length yet it revealed the curves beneath. If my wife had dressed like that we would have never got to the function she had dressed for. Brigit was still desirable but it was a desire within my ability to control. She held out her glass for a refill. I filled mine as well. This time I savoured the whiskey.

I dared to ask the questions I needed answered.

“Why me? What do you want me to do?”

“You? Because you are who you are and I can give you a reward without hurting you. What do I want? I want you to visit the other Brigit and help her.”

“How?”

“You’ll know what she needs when you meet her. What she doesn’t need is another man who would exploit her. She needs a friend who will ask nothing from her.”

“And I’m to be that friend?”

“Yes. You could help her without wanting payment. She has nothing to give that you would want. You couldn’t take what she has to offer, could you?”

That was a sore place. Since my wife died I had been impotent. Nothing and no one could arouse me. No, I was wrong. Brigit had aroused me.

“But I’m a goddess. I have that effect. The other Brigit won’t have that power.”

She was answering my thoughts again. This was uncanny. Was I dreaming?

“No, Raymond. I’m not a dream. I’m real. You know that. You have carried me in your arms.”

Brigit leant towards me and kissed me on the forehead. I would have flinched but she gave me a mother’s kiss. I felt the love, care and protection that my mother would have given me. It calmed my mind like a long skilled massage or a serene piece of music.

“See? I can heal you. I don’t intend to hurt you, Raymond. I need to use you because… Never mind, just accept because.”

I nodded. I had a certainty that whatever Brigit wanted me to do would be necessary and I would benefit from it. Her kiss had been a sign that she would do as she said.

I slept on the couch. The Goddess Brigit slept (if Goddesses do sleep) in my bed I’d newly made for her. I awoke from a night on that couch feeling years younger. Brigit joined me for breakfast. Over our coffee cups she came to the point.

“Raymond, I want you to go to this address,” She handed me a piece of paper – heavenly missive, it wasn’t. This was written on one of my post-it notes.

“And…?”

“Just tell the woman who answers the door that Brigit sent you. She’ll be surprised but she’ll invite you in. You’ll know what to do.”

“I will?”

“Yes. Because of who you are, Raymond, you’ll know.”

So it was. Brigit (the goddess that is) walked out of my door half an hour later. By ten o’clock I was knocking on the other Brigit’s door. She had a council flat in a run-down area that was gradually being razed for new housing. Other flats nearby were boarded up. Feeling like an idiot I knocked on the door. It opened a bare crack.

“Who is it?” A whisper, too frightened to speak loud.

“Brigit sent me,” I said.

“What?”

“Brigit sent me,” I repeated.

“How? Who?” The whisper was louder.

“Brigit sent me. You prayed to her so she sent me.”

The door shut before opening fully to reveal a thin woman in her twenties in a torn and stained dressing gown.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “But you had better come in if Brigit sent you. I’d hoped…” Her voice trailed off expressing despair and loss of hope more eloquently than she could have put into words.

I stepped into the flat. A stench of wet nappy and damp hit my nose.

Brigit shut the door behind me. I followed her into the small kitchen. A baby sat in a high chair silently watching us enter. There was no animation in its face, just a smaller version of Brigit’s hopelessness. I pressed a light switch. Nothing happened.

“I can’t offer you anything,” Brigit said. “I don’t have anything.”

I looked around. She spoke the truth. There was no food nor any sign there had been any. The work surfaces were bare. The open shelving held a couple of saucepans but no food. Everything was spotlessly clean but shabby.

“What do you eat?” I asked.

“Eat? Nothing. I haven’t eaten for two days. The baby had our last food yesterday evening. Now I have nothing. No food, no money, nothing.”

Brigit sank on to the only chair in the kitchen sobbing. I moved towards her, intending to put my arms around her. She flinched away like an a****l that has been hurt too often.

“I can see why Brigit sent me,” I said more to myself than the woman before me. “I’ll be back in half an hour. Stay here, please.”

“Stay? That’s all I can do,” Brigit replied faintly. “I haven’t the strength to run away. I wanted to… but where could I go?”

I left the flat and drove my car to the nearest supermarket. I rang one of my golf friends, a retired general practitioner, and asked advice about food for the starving. His advice helped me choose as I walked round the supermarket with my mobile phone to my ear. He agreed to meet me by Brigit’s flat. He did but I had hard work persuading Brigit to admit him.

Within an hour we had some food into the baby and Brigit, small quantities, but that was all they could take. My friend had examined both of them thoroughly. Lack of food was all that was wrong physically. Mentally? He diagnosed Brigit with reactive depression, a reaction to an impossible situation that she couldn’t change. But I could.

Slowly over the next few hours we drew the details from her. She had been widowed when her husband was hit by a drunk driver who didn’t stop and had never been traced. Her husband had been on his way home from the first day at work in four years. His benefit hadn’t been stopped when he died and Brigit’s benefit had been reduced to repay the overpayment that she had used to pay for her husband’s funeral. She could have claimed money to pay for the funeral but she hadn’t and now it was too late.

The authorities assessed her ‘need’ but then cut one third off for the overpayment. Then other ‘authorities’ assumed she had her full payment and demanded their pound of flesh for rent, heat, light and so on. Their deductions were more than she was actually paid so each week was a larger debt with no money in her hand. It was nonsense but she couldn’t fight it without money for telephone calls and stamps for letters.

As I listened I became more and more angry, not with her, but with ‘the system’. She had tried to meet every unreasonable demand. She had kept herself, her c***d and her flat clean and tidy until ‘the system’ broke her.

My first task had been easily solved. There was food in the flat and in them. There was no electricity. With my mobile phone and a knowledge of important people in the town I raised a furore in a couple of hours. By the afternoon the electricity was restored and the outstanding account written off. A housing officer and a benefits officer were on their way to meet me.

I was prepared to blast my way through opposition. There was none. Both official women came with bulky folders of paperwork showing how much they had tried to help Brigit. They had failed because they too were victims of the system that demanded proofs that neither they nor Brigit could provide and would not accept their word for the reality. They had willingness and dedication but they showed incipient signs of the depression that Brigit had writ large.

The housing officer beckoned me out into the hall.

“Mr Johnson. I should be telling you this but… Did you know that Brigit was ****d last month?”

“No,” I said dully. “Who did it?”

“Her husband’s brother. She asked him for help. He laughed at her for ‘choosing the wrong man’, threw her on the bed and ripped her clothes off her before…”

“What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing. Brigit is in no state to give evidence at a trial. His lawyer would crucify her. She withdrew the complaint. The police had to find her some clothes. He had torn everything she was wearing and she hasn’t any spares. She’d sold all she had for food.”

“Can’t anybody do anything?”

“We have tried hard. We got charities to give her clothes but she had to sell those again. What she needs is money and they’ll give her anything but that because they think the Government should ensure she has enough money. Some of the charities won’t touch her now because she has sold the clothes they gave her. They think she has spent on it drink. It’s not true but there are some unpleasant people spreading lies about her. They think she’s like her brother-in-law. He drinks and fights and is a bad lot. Her husband was a good man but had poor health until recently. The job gave them just one day of hope. His death broke Brigit’s heart and destroyed her. Even now you are involved she dare not hope. Do you know she thinks you are the answer to her prayer to a heathen goddess?”

“Yes. It will be my duty to make sure that her prayer is answered.”

“How DID you become involved?”

“Someone told me about Brigit so I came.”

“It is well that you did. Another day or two and she and her baby would have been dead. There would have been a public outcry and much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Perhaps even a public enquiry to conclude that everyone did their best but…”

“Everyone will do their best. I’ll make sure they do.”

“Mr. Johnson… May I call you Raymond?”

I nodded.

“Please be gentle on the little people like us. We have to abide by the rules all the time. We try to bend them and we do care but we have no more influence than Brigit. If the paperwork isn’t right we will be fired no matter how good our motives.”

“I’ll try to remember but this makes me angry, really angry.”

“It does that to all of us, but we can’t change anything. You could if you wanted to.”

It was then I knew what the goddess Brigit wanted from me. Not just help for her namesake and her baby, but for all those like her.

The next few months I was busy. I was a nuisance to all my friends and my contacts. At the end of it the local authorities rules and procedures had been totally revised and integrated with those for the health service and the benefits agency. One piece of information such as a copy of a birth certificate signed on the back by one of the ‘little people’ who actually met those like Brigit face to face sufficed for all the agencies. A claim for benefits would trigger all the agencies’ resources and the reality of the claimant’s need would be known accurately. One unintended side effect was that fraud was reduced substantially. Those in need were better off and the authorities were doing better with slightly less money. Everyone was winning.

The needy Brigit was no longer desperate. The money she was getting enabled her to live and afford a very few extras. Her ‘debts’ had been written off. She was rebuilding her life slowly. It helped that her brother-in-law had been jailed on remand waiting trial for an old **** traced to him by his DNA. She didn’t need me any more. She was grateful but gratitude is no basis for a continuing relationship. I knew she was scared stiff of me, not because I was a physical or sexual threat to her, but because of my power in the community. She’d never met anyone like me. She was frightened of ‘them’ the authorities. I bullied ‘them’ at a high level. Once she burst into tears when she heard me telling the Mayor to do something physically impossible. She thought the Mayor’s minions would evict her as revenge. I explained that the Mayor and I had been to the same public school and we had shared a set. I might have been talking Chinese for all she understood.

One evening I was driving back to my house thinking that the results of my efforts had been worthwhile when I saw Brigit, the goddess Brigit, standing beside the road in the rain. I stopped I felt a sense of deja-vu.

“Be my guest,” I said automatically, opening the passenger door.

“Thank you, Raymond,” Brigit said as she got in. This time she was already in the likeness of my wife’s non-existent sister and wearing the same dress. I noticed that neither her dress nor her hair showed signs of the persistent rain.

“I’d almost forgotten about you,” I said.

“I intended that you should,” she said. “Pleased with yourself?”

“Yes,” I replied, “and no. I have only changed things in this town. I don’t have the contacts to go further. That is frustrating.”

“Don’t worry, Raymond. A report is already on its way to Whitehall. Being more effective, reducing fraud and saving money always goes down well with politicians. I just wish they could actually do it more often. This time they will. No one will thank you. That bother you?”

“No. I know what I’ve done. That is reward enough.”

“Is it, Raymond?”

I didn’t answer as I negotiated the entrance to my drive. When I’d parked the car I’d forgotten Brigit’s question. I held out my arms to carry her across the threshold. She snuggled up to me, arousing me for the first time since I’d last seen her.

As I lowered her to the settee she said:

“You didn’t answer my question, Raymond.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked as we arrived. Never mind. Answer this one. Would you have worked so hard if Brigit’s flat had been filthy?”

I thought hard. What should I say? Would it have affected me? I had to be honest with myself. This Brigit could read my thoughts. I imagined the flat as it could have been…

“No, Brigit, I don’t think I would. It is unfair of me, I know. The other Brigit was depressed and had lost all hope. Yet the flat showed she had tried hard. That fired my indignation that someone could be reduced to starvation through no fault of her own. The anger kept me going even when the obstacles built up. Why?”

“Why? Because I made her clean and scrub that flat the day before. She didn’t need to starve. Any of her neighbours would have fed her and the baby from what little they had. I told her to feed the baby with the last food and not go to the neighbours to help. I asked her that so that her condition would influence you to do what I wanted. Angry with me?”

“No,” I sighed. “Ashamed of myself that my Protestant work ethic got in the way of seeing that the state of the flat was unimportant. What was important was that she needed help. She shouldn’t have had to present her condition in a way that would appeal to me. It is MY fault that you had to ask her to do so much.”

“Good for you, Raymond. You are learning. I am a woman’s goddess. I didn’t like pushing her so hard to get you to respond. It worked but it hurt her and me. You wouldn’t have worked so hard if I had just asked you to sort out the administration’s mess.”

“No.” I was feeling even more ashamed. I had thought I had achieved something yet I wouldn’t have done it without being manoeuvred into it. It took away most of my sense of pride in a job well done.

“Please could I have a cup of coffee?” Brigit asked.

I blinked at the sudden change of subject.

“Certainly. That won’t take long.”

Brigit followed me to the kitchen. We drank the coffee sitting on the kitchen stools.

She put her cup down.

“The question you had forgotten was ‘Is that reward enough?’. She said out of the blue.

“Is what ‘reward enough’ Brigit?”

“The sense of achievement.”

“I haven’t got that now. You have shown me how close I came to not doing anything.”

“Poor Raymond,”

Her hand stroked my cheek.

“Feeling used and exploited?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s what goddesses do. I’m good at it. Do you want your reward that I promised now?”

“Do I deserve it?”

“Of course you do, Raymond. You did all I wanted you to do and more. I promised you a reward and you shall have it. Don’t worry. It won’t hurt or harm you or have unpleasant conditions. I’m a goddess, not a demon or a genie.”

“So what is it?”

“Come to the bedroom and find out.”

I followed her. She sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Undress yourself,” she ordered.

I don’t know why I just accepted her order. I undressed, folding up my clothes neatly.

She looked at me.

“Hmm. Turn round.”

I turned slowly.

“You are a mess, Raymond. You have let yourself go since your wife died, haven’t you?”

I nodded. The statement was hard to take from someone who looked so much like my wife. Unbidden tears pricked my eyes.

“I can do something about that but you need to help yourself as well. Goddesses who don’t have many worshippers don’t have much power. It will help if you become one of my worshippers.”

“How?”

Brigit lifted the skirt of her dress to reveal her red-gold bush. She pointed at it. My eyes were held there, fascinated.

“As a man should worship a woman. You know what to do.”

I dropped to my knees and put my face between her legs. My tongue licked her thighs. She hands cradled my head. She spread her legs wider and gently eased me closer in. My tongue parted the hair and slid between her lips.

“That’s good, Raymond. Further in, please.”

Her hands pulled me against her. I was enjoying her natural perfume and getting aroused as I tongued her. Her flesh began to warm around me, increasing the strength of her scent. I loved it. I pushed my tongue further into her now glistening sex. She leant back and her hands left my head. Her hands weren’t needed to hold me in place. I wouldn’t have moved away for anything short of a major earthquake.

I don’t know how long I enjoyed kissing her pussy. At some time her skirt slid down behind my head confining me in a warm scented darkness. That made the sensations even more passionate as I was aware of nothing but Brigit’s sex responding to me.

Later, in the dark, Brigit rode me to my first orgasm since before my wife died. I felt slightly disappointed but also relieved that it had been as good as it had been with my wife but not better. Surely making love to a goddess should be much better than with any human woman, no matter how much I loved that woman?

“You wouldn’t survive it, Raymond,” Brigit whispered in my ear. “I am here just as a woman. If I were here as the goddess you would die. No man, no matter how fit and strong, could survive a goddess’s lovemaking.”

I accepted her word for it. I didn’t want to have an experience that I could never repeat. To have made love, or to do anything, perfectly would ruin any subsequent achievement. I wanted to live as a human, not as someone trying to regain a lost perfection.

I fell asleep with my head cradled in Brigit’s arms.

Sometime during the night I became aware that one of Brigit’s breasts was in my mouth and her milk was flowing. The breast seemed much bigger than it should be, as if I were a small baby. Brigit rocked me back to sleep while I was still suckling.

The next morning I woke to sounds from the kitchen. The smells of a cooked breakfast hit my nose. I was up, washed and dressed as fast as I could. I felt better than I had done for years and I was hungry.

Brigit had made a big breakfast for both of us. Every taste seemed far more real than breakfast had ever done. I seemed more alive.

“Brigit,” I asked, “What did you do to me last night?”

She smiled at me.

“What I am doing this morning. I fed you.”

“I thought you did. But how…”

“I’m a goddess. Remember? I can do almost anything after a good dose of worship. You worshipped me last night. I repaid that with a drink of my milk.”

“But what has that done to me? I feel very different this morning.”

“So you should. Not every man gets to drink a goddess’s milk. What it has done? Healed you as far as it can. You will never catch another cold. Your body has had an overhaul and a tune-up. You need to do the rest with some exercise. A few weeks exercise and you will feel like a new woman.”

“Woman? I’m a man. What have you done?”

I was horrified. Had Brigit changed my sex? I thought I still had balls. I scratched them. Relief! They were still there.

Brigit laughed at me.

“Silly Raymond. I meant that you will feel like making love to a woman again, a new woman, new to you.”

“And where will I find this woman? And if I do, how…”

I was worried about my erection. Apart from in Brigit’s presence I hadn’t had one for years.

“She’ll find you, Raymond. As for your problem? It’s cured. It will work whenever it’s needed and probably when it isn’t.”

Brigit turned round to face me and with both hands she lifted the hem of her dress to show her legs to just above the knees. My reaction was instinctive and instantaneous. I had a rock hard erection.

I was still uncertain.

“Brigit. You are a goddess. Any man who isn’t dead must react to you.”

“And you aren’t dead, Raymond. You just thought you were. I’ve made you alive again. Can’t you sense it inside?”

I could. All my senses were working overtime. I could hear birdsong, feel the heat of the kitchen, smell the cooking and separate the different ingredients, see better than I had for years and the taste of that breakfast – sublime.

“Still not convinced, Raymond? Turn your back to me, please.”

I turned. I was looking out of the kitchen window at the forest.

“Now think about your wife.”

I thought. Before all my thoughts of her had been tinged with sadness and regret. This time I remember how we romped in bed. My erection sprang into life again. My thoughts were happy and sexy. My wife may have been dead but my memories of her weren’t. I knew that I could relive every sexual encounter we’d ever had. The pressure in my erection was massive.

Brigit’s hands clasped me round the waist. She spun me round. Suddenly she and I were naked, in the bedroom with her astride me on the bed and she had impaled herself on me. Her muscles clamped around my penis and held it inside her. She undulated around me, not letting me cum. Her breasts spread across my chest, teasing me with their soft warmth. I arched into her and shuddered as I climaxed.

The next thing I knew, I was fully dressed again and staring out of the kitchen window. Brigit’s arm presented me with a cup of coffee. I shambled to the kitchen table and sat down shakily.

“How…?” I asked.

“How did I do that? Easy. I’m a goddess. Didn’t you notice walking into the bedroom and getting undressed?”

“No. I was standing by the window then I was in bed under you then…”

“Enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

I might have said more but Brigit’s lips cut me off. I was back in the bed as she rode me again. This time I could hold on long enough for her to seem to orgasm several times but how was I to know whether she did or not? I didn’t know what was reality and what was illusion. I didn’t even know what Brigit the goddess looked like. She had controlled my every contact with her. At present she seemed to be human and enjoying herself. My thoughts were wiped away as she brought me to a shattering ecstasy…

I was back sitting at the kitchen table with Brigit standing behind me. My coffee was still too hot to drink. How did she do that? I didn’t know. Being ridden by Brigit was worth more than the answers to a few unanswerable questions.

“That’s the spirit, Raymond. Don’t ask and I won’t have to lie.”

I kept forgetting that she could read my thoughts. How could I contact her when I needed her? She answered that.

“Just think of me when you are in the right position, Raymond. I’ll come to you.”

“The right position?”

“Worshipping me. If you have your head buried between the thighs of a woman I’ll be close to you.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward for the woman?” I joked. “If you appeared when I’m busy eating her you might scare her out of her wits. I might get crushed between her legs if she panicked.”

Brigit’s arms wrapped over my chest. Her breasts pressed against my back. I enjoyed that.

“Don’t worry, Raymond. I’ll hear you and come when it is convenient. You never know. I might take the woman’s place if you are in urgent need. I could make sure that she wouldn’t notice the switch. You know I can make you experience anything I want. I can do things easier with any woman because I am a woman’s goddess. I had to be invited by you but now you have, I can do anything to you. I won’t hurt you.”

“How do I know that?”

“You don’t. You have to trust me. You have so far. Now I have to leave. Others need me. I’ll be back. Oh, and Raymond…”

“Yes?”

“If you really want to contact me you can just think yourself into the position. Just imagine licking a woman’s pussy – I’ll be there.”

“Thank you. It might be awkward finding a co-operative woman when I need you.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait long for the right woman.”

Brigit’s arms and breasts were gone. I turned round. So was she. I was alone in the kitchen with a still hot cup of coffee. I sipped it. Then I noticed that there was a second cup of coffee on the table. Why?

The doorbell rang. I went to the front door wondering. I didn’t have many callers this far from the village. I opened the door to see a woman I’d never met.

“Yes?”

“Raymond? Your name is Raymond, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Brigit sent me. She said you would have a cup of coffee for me.”

I opened the door wide and let the woman in.

The End for now.