Gaelic Goddess

Rhiannon was immediately entranced. She asked him soft questions about the movie, and the idyllic images of the Shire made her sigh happily. Soon, however, she was nodding off to sleep. Tom paused the movie and turned the TV off.

"Let's get you ready for bed," he said quietly. He went into his linen closet and pulled out pillows, sheets, and a heavy afghan that his Grandmother Morris had knitted. Working quickly, he made up a bed for Rhiannon on the sofa.

"I don't care what you say," Rhiannon said, talking through a deep yawn. "I still think Gandalf was stupid to let Saruman trick him like that."

"Mmm hmmm," he murmured. "I'll be going to bed in a little bit as well. If you need to use the bathroom, you'll have to go through my bedroom, but don't worry, I'm a heavy sleeper. And I'll leave a light on so you don't hurt yourself in the dark. Do you need anything else?"

"No, Tom," she said. She paused, then reached out and held his hand. "Thank you for your care of me."

He looked at his feet, but could think of nothing to say. Finally he looked up, muttered "Goodnight," and went into his bedroom.

***

He read for a while, but could not concentrate on his book. His mind constantly turned over the bizarre occurrences of the day.

Twenty-four hours ago all you had to worry about was passing the bar exam, he thought bemusedly. Now you have an immortal Irish goddess sleeping on your couch.

And the contract! How could he break it and free her? As lovely as Rhiannon was, he did not fancy her as a permanent guest. She was too strange. Too odd. It was like going to a pet store to buy a cat and coming home with a leopard.

His mind ran over the clauses of the contract, seeking a escape, some way to render it void.

It has to be in there.

He couldn't see it yet. But I will.

Fuck it. I'm going to sleep.

Making sure the night-light in the bathroom was shining, he turned off his lamp and went to sleep.

***

It was the screams that woke him.

High, shrill, and piercing, they drilled into his head with frantic force. He clawed his way up into consciousness and staggered out into the living room, half-expecting Rhiannon to be fighting off a burglar or rapist.

She was, but only in her mind. Huddled into a naked ball on the couch, the blankets kicked onto the floor, she screamed as if her heart would break, caught in the terrible grip of a nightmare.

"No. No. No! Please, Mick, have mercy. Please! Stop hurting me. I will do whatever you want. Just stop hurting me!"

His heart aching with pity, Tom crouched by the sofa, easing her fisted hands open, speaking softly to her, hoping to reach her through her suffering.

"Wake up, Rhiannon. Wake up. I'm here. I'm here. Mick is dead and gone and buried. You're alive. Wake up. Please, wake up."

At length, her cries stilled and her eyes fluttered open.

"Tom?" Her voice was as soft and confused as a young child's.

"I'm here. It was a nightmare. He's dead. He can't hurt you any more."

She shuddered, a deep, bone-wracking spasm, clutching his hands. "By Lugh's Spear! I wish he was alive just so I could have the pleasure of killing him."

"Do you...do you want to talk about it?"

Her face was solemn as she looked at him. She shook her head. "Let me forget. And have it be forgotten. There are some things you do not need to know, young one." She reached an arm down to pull her blanket off the floor, exposing her chest.

Tom looked at her and gasped in shock. He rocked back on his heels, the blood draining out of his face, leaving him light-headed with horror.

Seen nude, Rhiannon looked like an anatomically incorrect doll. Her gorgeous breasts had no nipples. Instead, a smooth expanse of barren flesh covered her mounds. Her pubic area was similarly disfigured. In the area where a human woman's labia was, instead there was only the smallest hole, suitable only for excretion.

Eyes blank with dismay, he looked at Rhiannon. She smiled bitterly.

"A gift of your grandfather. Even in death I cannot escape him.

"He was determined that I would never find any joy from our relationship. Or even from myself. So he ordered me to change my body. I was forced to emasculate myself. To take away the parts of a woman's body that I could use for my own pleasure. My nipples. My nether lips." She blushed. "My woman's bud.

"Only when he ordered was I allowed to have them. And that was seldom. Most-times, he would simply order me to please him with my mouth. Or he would take me from the rear, causing as much pain as he could, then leave."

Tom's eyes swam with tears, dripping onto her hands as he held them.

"I was an object. A receptacle. Something that could be used to slake his lusts, but would never be able to find pleasure in return."

"God damn the man. Damn him to hell. Damn him for eternity," Tom whispered, loathing the very blood that he shared.

"He made you do this to yourself?"

She nodded.

A sudden, fierce joy swept through him. "Then I can undo it?"

"Yes, Tom, you can."

"How?"

"You order me to. Or ask, if you are feeling polite." Her lips quivered uncertainly.

Tom took a deep breath. "Rhiannon, I ask that you return your body to the form that most pleases you."

Rhiannon's head snapped back and she gave a low moan. She stumbled unsteadily to her feet, hunched around her middle, bracing one hand on the arm of the couch. As he looked on, wide-eyed, a golden glow began to form around her body, centered on her breasts and her groin. He was forced to turn away, his eyes spouting tears, the light too bright to face.

Rhiannon gave a sudden shout, piercing and clear, and with a last flash, quick as a bolt of lightning, the light went out, leaving them again in the dim light of his living room. Blinking, Tom turned to look at Rhiannon.

She was standing by the sofa, a look of astonished wonder on her face. In her hands, she cupped her breasts. But they were not the blank, featureless orbs of only a few moments ago, as incapable of supporting life as a stone. Instead, they were now capped by pale nipples, the flesh the delicate pink of coral.

Weeping openly, she stepped into his view, and his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the junction of her thighs. There, a delicately-trimmed patch of black hair could be seen, and below it, the lips of her labia, only a few shades darker than her nipples..

"By all the gods above and below, I thank you, Thomas Phelan," she said. She sank down onto his sofa and leaned back, one hand softly fingering the mound of her breast, the other softly stroking her belly, the fingers roaming toward the swell of her pubis.

Face flaming, he stood and walked toward his bedroom door. This was too intense. Too private. He felt like he had stumbled across a woman giving birth, or soulmates sharing their first kiss.

"Stop."

He halted in his tracks.

"Thomas," she said, her voice low and vibrant.

"Yes?" He said, but did not turn to face her.

"I would like it very much if you stayed here with me," she said.

"Are you sure?" he said nervously.

"Very much so. Who better to witness when Rhiannon, Goddess of fertility and the harvest, reclaims part of her legacy, than the one who made it possible?"

Tom nodded jerkily and sat down on the recliner, angled to face her. "If you are sure. But if you decide you would like me to leave, just say so."

She smiled at him in thanks, then stretched luxuriously, hands high above her head, her breasts standing out proudly from her chest, then lay down lengthwise on the couch. She flung one leg up on the headrest, and the other she allowed to droop to the floor.

"It's been so long, Tom. So long since I have taken any pleasure in my body." Her mouth curled in a smile. "We are a randy bunch, you know. Mick could have hardly gained a more complete victory over me than by denying me this. But as you said, he is gone, and I am alive."

Her eyes half-closed, she stroked the swells of her breasts, reveling in the rebirth of her centers of sexual pleasure. Her nerves, newly awakened, sent soft jolts of joy into her mind.

Tom watched, entranced, as she aroused herself, her hands playing on the curves of her body. He did not think he had ever seen anything more beautiful. From her chest her hands slowly slid down the soft curve of her white belly, combing through the short black hair crowning the rise of her mons. They paused briefly, then sank south, framing the sweet swell of her sex, the tips of her fingers teasing the inside of her thighs.

Tom sniffed the air of his apartment. There was a new scent, tangible even through the soft cool breeze which ruffled the curtains of his living room. Dark, rich, and earthy, it spoke of good red wine, and the sweetness of fruit, fresh off of vine or tree. The smell of meat, cooking on a grill, and of new-mown grass under a warm summer sun.

"Ohh..." Rhiannon moaned softly. Tom looked back at her. The lips of her divine sheath had parted, and a finger wet itself in her glistening folds. "I've missed this so much. To have it given back to me, when you could have withheld it...It is like water to a woman dying of thirst. Like a fresh loaf to a man perishing of starvation. Like the embrace of a loving mother to a weeping child."

Despite himself, his lips quirked. "Do your people always speak in threes?" he asked.

"I tell you three times," she breathed, "and what I tell you three times is true." In her hand, a pink nipple peaked, standing erect and turgid. Her fingers toyed with it, and to Tom's shock, a glistening drop of milk appeared on the tip. She gathered the wetness in her fingers, then raised them to her mouth, moaning as she took her essence within her again.

"That's...interesting," he said. "I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure that human women don't...lactate...unless they are pregnant or nursing."

"I am not," she reminded him, "a human woman. The milk of the Tuatha has many powers. But it is not my place to reveal them now."

Tom nodded his understanding and shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The sight of Rhiannon taking in her own breast-milk had him almost painfully erect. He chewed on his cheek, fighting the urge to go to her, to strip off his clothes and embrace her, to fall to his knees and beg her for the blessing of her love.

Don't be stupid. Just because she asked you to witness this doesn't mean she wants you. Hell, it could be her way of taunting your bloodline. A sign of victory.

As he pondered this issue, Rhiannon's hands and fingers worked on her body, their motions more frantic. As he watched, the lips of her sex opened to her probing fingers, the bud of her clitoris boldly peeping out from under its hood. Her skin blushed a deeper shade of pink, her breasts and groin growing flushed with blood and passion. Her legs spread, and suddenly Rhiannon's stiff fingers were plunging into her cleft, her thumb circling her dewy love-button.

"Oh, Danu's Tits!" she groaned, her voice deep and raspy. Her breath grew quicker, almost panting, and her fingers blurred as Tom watched, entranced, his cock an aching bar within his boxers, fluid leaking to stain the fabric dark.

Suddenly she stopped, muscles locked, head coming up as she strained forward, the muscles of her belly rippling like a still lake in a stiff breeze. From her mouth came a keening, high-pitched wail, then she fell back, boneless, sweat glistening on her chest and thighs.

"By the Dagda himself, I needed that," she said softly. She caught his startled glance, and smiled. "Go fifty years without being able to pleasure yourself, boyo, and see what happens to you when you get the ability back."

Tom snorted nervous laughter. "Fifty years? There were times when I was a teenager when I couldn't go fifty minutes!"

Rhiannon laughed aloud, sweaty strands of hair sticking to her face.

Tom stood and walked to her. He saw her eyes drop to his groin, then look up, a trace of fear re-entering her eyes.

Damn him, he thought bitterly. How long will it take before she doesn't cringe away every time I come close to her? His motions slow, he took one of her hands and squeezed it gently. "I am going back to bed. Good night. Sleep well."

****

Tom woke the next morning to the sound of Rhiannon experiencing another thundering orgasm.

He lay in bed, the blood pounding in his veins, his cock tenting his boxers lewdly, as Rhiannon's soft wails came through the door separating their rooms.

Lips pinched tight in frustration, he looked at his dick and sighed. He briefly considered the possibility of pulling his boxers down and pleasuring himself then and there, but decided against it. It seemed to be the worst sort of voyeurism to masturbate to the sound of Rhiannon's climax.

Instead, he got out of bed and showered, using copious amounts of cold water to try to cool the fire in his groin. Only marginally successful, he examined his body while he was toweling off.

Not completely disgusting, he thought as he shaved. While he might never be chosen as a model for GQ, his skin was clear and unblemished, his features even and regular. A mop of sandy blond hair, in need of a cutting, framed his face. He grimaced as he pinched his middle, where a few pounds had drifted south to settle around his waist.

Gonna need to lay off the Portillo's for a while. And get back to the gym. I can't wait until I pass the freaking bar and not have to study all damn day.

Of course, by then, you'll be a grunt at a law firm and be working eighteen-hour days. Hooray.

And what are you worried about, anyway? Who are you trying to impress? Rhiannon? Like she's going to look twice at you. As soon as you break her spell she's going to go off home, to Tir-Na-Nog, the blessed homeland of the Tuatha.

Remembering the contract, and a thought he had during the night, he pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts and went out into the living room.

"Last night," he said, trying to ignore the sight of Rhiannon, splendidly nude, idly fingering her pussy, "when you were..." he made a vague motion towards his groin.

"When I was reaping the benefits of your generosity, wonderful man?" she said. Her hips were rolling under her hands, and the rose-scented smell of her musk was filling the room.

"Yes," he said, his mouth dry. "You said something about the number three."

Her hands stilled. "The number three is sacred to our people. When we are swearing an oath, we say it three times. My blessed mother, Brigit, is a triune goddess. There are other examples. The three sons my mother bore, for instance, who are the greatest craftsmen of the Tuatha."

"'I tell you three times...'" Tom quoted her words of the previous night.

"'And what I tell you three times is true,'" she finished.

He nodded slowly. "That makes sense." He picked up the contract. "I noticed it last night, but it didn't click until I woke up this morning. Many of the clauses, the ones which I think were the most important to Mick, had an odd way of repeating themselves. In triads."

He leafed through the pages, which were growing increasingly dog-eared.

"Like this one. 'The party of the first part', that's you, 'is forbidden to harm, injure, or otherwise damage the party of the second part,' that's Mick.

"Or here. 'The party of the first part may not kill, murder, or cause the death of the party of the second part'.

"Now part of that is just a lawyer being a lawyer. We love to repeat ourselves. But I think that he was hedging his bets. If we identify the sections where we have triads, or we find certain things three times..."

"Then we will know how to break the contract!" she squealed with glee. She jumped up out of the sofa and hugged him. "I knew you were the right person. I just knew it! Even when you were a child I could see how clever you were."

Tom hugged her back, enjoying the feel of her skin against his hands. For an instant, they roamed down her back, then he abruptly released her. Moving into the kitchen, he popped a bagel into the toaster and pulled a soda out of the fridge, missing the look of hurt disappointment in Rhiannon's eyes as he pulled away.

Cracking open his soda, he moved to the desk, contract and highlighter in hand, and turned on his laptop.

"I'm going to be researching your people today," he said. "But anything you can tell me about them would be very helpful."

"I will be happy to help," she said softly.

****

That day settled into an uneasy rhythm. Tom sat at his desk in the corner, researching the Tuatha on his computer, occasionally flipping through the contract and highlighting another section. At times he paused to pepper Rhiannon with questions about her people. If she had any hesitation about revealing details about her family or their long, strange history, it didn't show.

For her part, Rhiannon read, or watched more of the movie they had started the previous night, pausing often to bring herself to climax. She seemed completely unconcerned by his presence. In fact, around noon, she seemed to be actively trying to get his attention, moaning more and more loudly.

Finally, she slapped the table with her hand, hard, the whipcrack of noise jerking his head around.

"Look at me, stupid boy! Didn't your parents teach you to appreciate beauty when you saw it?"

"Yes," he snapped. "They also taught me not to covet what I could not have. Why are you taunting me like this? It's bad enough having the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in the same room with me, without her teasing me like a cat does a mouse. I know I can't have you. Don't make it any worse than it has to be."

"Thomas, there is a world of difference between enjoying the beauty of one who wishes to make the signs of her pleasure a gift to you, and that of a brutal rapist who cares for nothing but his own lust.

"This is a gift. Treasure it. Do you think I would do this for just any mortal?"

"No. Maybe. Yes. How should I know? How many goddesses do you think I have met in my life, anyway?

"And," he said, the red blood rushing to his face, "watching you as you make yourself happy...it makes me feel like some sort of pervert. That I'm taking advantage of you by watching."

Rhiannon frowned in honest puzzlement. "You feel ashamed when you see me bring myself joy? How odd your people are. Among my kind, sharing the pleasures of the body, whether by intercourse or mutual pleasure, or by simply displaying it for a loved one, is one of the greatest honors we can bestow."

She looked at his groin and smiled pensively. "I think, however, that I have a solution to your problem. If seeing me please myself makes you nervous, the only answer is for you to return the favor."

Tom's brain was short on blood, much of having rushed to his crotch. It took him some time to unravel what she was saying. When he did, his mind nearly blew up.

"You are asking me to...masturbate...with you?" he said disbelievingly.

She smiled, lolling back on the couch, her fingernails gently trailing over the skin of her belly. "And why not? Maybe you will lose some of your awe of me and treat me like a real woman, rather than something made of spun crystal that will shatter if you say a harsh word. I'm a goddess, not a child."

Tom blinked, then nodded sharply, stung into action. "Fine." He kicked off his shorts, debated a moment, then pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. His cock bobbed in front of his stomach, smeared with his secretions.

Rhiannon smiled happily at it. "Ah. There's one secret revealed. Now I know at least one trait of your grandfather's bloodline did not make its way to you."