Brigette and a choice of faith

You wake groggily to the steady splash of the falls of wine and the heady scent of ****. Your eyes crack open to slits against the sunlight drifting through the marble pillars in golden rays. You look about, but the satyrs are gone without a trace. Not even the seed which had painted your faintly greenish skin remains. Your entire body aches with a dull throb of exertion, but it is a satisfying feeling too. The wine still laps about your ankles, where your legs dip into the fountain. You groan, then sigh as you feel gentle fingers run through your hair. You look up into Brigette’s face, her body your pillow last night, your comfort in the day. “Was it…real?”

She nods calmly. “It was.”

Again you groan and try to rise, but Brigette’s hands hold you to her, and you feel no desire to resist her touch, sinking against the firm skin of her curvy thighs. You look again into her emerald eyes. “We should go.”

“Shh.” Gently Brigette lifts your head to her breast. Almost unconsciously your lips latch to her nipple and suckle at her everlasting nectar. Your eyes close. You moan about the thick liquid dribbling down into your belly. With one hand Brigette holds your head against her, with the other, she grasps the curve of your thigh, holding you tightly to her.

The passage of time has no meaning in so Sapphic a scene. Curled against Brigette, you feed willingly from her, warming your body and moistening your nethers, the latent wine dulling your senses. You hiccup in surprise when Brigette’s hand runs down your fiery hair and begins to massage your palm filling breast.

“Sabine,” Brigette says softly. “I don’t think we should leave.”

Confusion colours you. Your lips stop their suckling and disconnect with a pop. You look up, at Brigette, at the statue which towers above you. You both sit directly between her legs, the pagan goddess’s carved furrow above you, her gravid belly shadowing you both. “I don’t understand.”

Brigette sighs and continues her massage of your breast. Warmth pools in your stomach and filters through your body. Your breasts feel heavier than the night before. “Sabine. Last night, after you fell asleep, I had a…a vision, from the goddess.”

A sensation grips you. It is joy yet fear. That the Burning Rose has not forsaken her, but also, that though cruel it was, that this intimate connection between Brigette and you, of being forsaken by the Burning Rose, might be robbed from you. And, in the midst of this, perhaps even a pang of jealousy. It is a shameful thing, and you flush red at the thought. “The Burning Rose? She spoke to you?”

Brigette shakes her head. “No. Not the Burning Rose.” Brigette looks up to the statue above you. You follow her gaze and realize what she means.

“Aellium?” you breathe.

Brigette’s supple fingers begin to run along the globe of your rear. “Sabine. The Burning Rose has forsaken us. It wasn’t our fault we were cut off from her. Such a requirement, a woman’s virginity…It’s something too easily taken. If she doesn’t want us, why should we remain faithful to her?”

You frown, some resistance deep within you rising to the surface at these words. “She loves us…”

“She abandoned us. But Aellium. She has promised us. Sabine. We could rebuild her cult. We could bring her to the world. Worship her. Become her high priestesses, and bring a new age of love and pleasure to the kingdom. The Burning Rose battles demons, but what of those left behind? Sabine. We can be loved again. As I…As I love you.”

Brigette’s hand leaves your breast. Idly, you noted that something creamy had come from your nipple. She lifts your face to her, and her expression is so warm, so motherly and understanding, her love for you fairly shines from her eyes like endless green pools. “Sabine,” she whispers. “Will you stay?”