It was to be a quiet few days at the cottage. I had just finished a major rework of the client's plans and schedules, and agreed to it with their senior projects manager. I left them to it and would check on progress next week. My own schedule was therefore easy, and a few days of quiet and relaxation would be just the ticket. I parked in the Lidl car park and picked up a few things to top up the cupboards at the cottage, and also got myself a nice fresh white sourdough loaf.

As I packed the food in the boot of the car, my stomach growled. Well, a Wetherspoons pub was just over the road, and they do rather nice ramen noodles, and well, it would be rude not to, so I locked the car and headed towards the pub. I stepped out onto the road.

DARK. BLACK.

I shook my head; I felt odd. My eyes didn't seem to be working properly; everything was in black and white. There was no colour. I walked across the road and began stumbling. I couldn't feel my feet, and so didn't know when my foot had settled on the road. There was no feedback. How very odd. I realised that I could not feel my handbag either. I prodded my face; nothing. I could not feel anything anywhere; my sense of touch appeared to have deserted me. My sense of sight was also awry – no colour, just shades of grey. The road seemed very quiet; there was hardly any noise. 'Was it me?' I wondered. I said my name out loud; I could hear that, so my sense of hearing was working. I wandered towards the pub, but the door was locked. How very odd; perhaps they were not opening today. People were walking around, not interacting at all, just walking.

These events all required extra investigation, I decided. It did occur to me that I may have had a small stroke, which is why some of my senses didn't seem to be functioning properly. I knew that there was a walk-in medical centre in the precinct, so I headed there to see if they could help. I didn't know what else to do. As I entered the precinct, I saw a man walking in strange clothes, almost as if he were wearing animal skins, which was very odd in this day and age; people had stopped wearing real skins decades ago. What was particularly strange, though, was that he was in colour. Everyone else, everything else, was in black and white, but not him, though. He was in full radiant colour. I headed to him.

As I approached him, I realised that he was a good six feet tall and had a large frame. He had a beard and long hair, some of which was braided.

"Excuse me, sir," I said. I was keen to know why he was in colour whilst the rest of the world wasn't. He ignored me, so I tapped his arm. "Excuse me, sir," I said again.

He stopped walking and turned to me.

"You can see me?" he said.

"Well, of course I can," I said. "How silly. Why shouldn't I see you?"

"Well, you're dead, of course, and the dead can't see the gods."

Dead? Oh, well, that was unexpected. I didn't want to be dead; I had a quiet few days at the cottage to look forward to.

"Gods, what gods?"

"Oh, there are a few of us, but mortals can't see us."

"Well, I can, so obviously I am not a mortal, or you are not a god. Which god are you anyway?"

"I am Byggvir, god of war."

"Bugger? That's an odd name for a god," I replied, trying to keep the laugh out of my voice.

"No, not Bugger, Byggvir; it is different. And you are Mica, but you should not be able to see me."

"Well, I can see you, and I don't want to be dead. You're a god, so you say, so as you're a god, you can make me undead. Thank you."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Of course it can; you're a god. It can be any way you want it to be."

"Oh no, that would displease Woden, and that is not something anyone would want to do."

"Why, what would he do? You're a god, so what could he do to you?"

"Do? Anything he wants, he gets; he is the King of Gods, and his power is supreme. He could cast me away to here, the Underworld."

The Underworld – that is where we were. It kind of looked like Bingley in Yorkshire to me, although a bit greyer than usual.

"If this place is the Underworld, and who am I to argue, then why are you here? And why would being cast here be such an awful thing?"

"Because if you were cast here, then you couldn't leave. I am not cast, so I can come and go."

"And why are you here?"

"Oh, I come looking for sport and beautiful people to entertain me."

"In what way does it entertain you, dare I ask?" Knowing full well that I would not like the answer.

"Entertain in the ways of the bed, of course. Live mortals are so fragile; the dead, less so."

"And what do those that entertain you get out of it?"

"Well, er, pleasure, I suppose, and they might even get a bit of their colour back."

"And, I really hesitate to ask this: what happens when they get their colour back?"

"Well, they are undead again and can return to their realm, of course; you do ask such dumb questions."

"Well, I am new to all this being-dead malarkey, you see, hence the questions. And so, and again I hesitate, if I were to entertain you sufficiently, I would be alive again?"

"Well, in theory yes, but I am a god, and I have been entertained by goddesses; I doubt that a mortal could sufficiently entertain me."

"Ha." He hadn't met me before.

"You said I should not be able to see you, but I can, so obviously I am no mere mortal."

"I have no idea what you are. You're not a goddess."

"How do you know? I could be in disguise."

He laughed, a loud rolling laugh that came from deep within him.

"Shall we see?" he asked, pointing at the shop that we were standing outside of – Bingley Bed Boutique.

"After you, Your Godship," I said. I wondered if the doors would open; the ones to the pub wouldn't for me. It was as if it were all a façade.

The door opened, and I followed him in. He looked around at the beds on the ground floor and shook his head.

"Let's try the upper floor," he said, taking the stairs two at a time. Crumbs, he was eager.

"Perfect," I heard him say from half a staircase behind him. Well, when you're dead, stairs two at a time are a bit much.

He was standing in front of an imposing four-poster carved from wood, possibly oak, and painted white; it was impressive, and so was his naked body. I must have blinked, but there he was, all muscled and toned; even his muscles had muscles. His dick was just about perfectly sized, not too big and most certainly not too small; no cherubic features remained in him then.

I removed my dress and placed it on the simpler bed next door, and then my bra and shoes. I, too, was naked, and I reckoned I stood up well in the buff.

"Lie on the bed, Byggvir, and ready yourself," I said. I didn't try sultry tones of voice; there was little point. I doubted that they really worked. He jumped and landed fair and square in the middle of the bed and turned to look at me. I held my breasts and then ran my hands down across my stomach to my groin, my fingers sliding down my crease. I climbed onto the bed and turned to face him sideways; bending forward, I licked the end of his dick.

Interestingly, there was no taste, no aroma, not even much of a sensation. I knew it was there, but the sensual feedback was minimal; this was going to be harder than I thought. His dick was, unsurprisingly, intact, but then why should he mutilate himself? He was a god. I pulled his skin down his shaft and licked at the straining tissue, attaching it to his dick. He mumbled something. Good, he felt that then. I rolled my tongue and pressed it at the hole in his glans and wiggled; he mumbled again. I licked around the rim of his glans, concentrating on the underneath, and he squirmed and mumbled.

I straddled him, my fanny above his face but out of his reach, and sucked his dick into my mouth, sliding along his shaft until he was deep in my throat. I flexed my pelvic floor muscles, rotating them, hoping my fanny would appear to be moving, inviting him in. I moved up his dick and grabbed some breath and then back down, giving him a slow oral shag whilst flexing my fanny above his face.

As I moved along his dick, I ran my tongue on his skin as softly as I could, leaving a wet gossamer trail to help ease him down my throat. I dipped down and brushed my fanny crease along his nose and then jerked back up again. I would touch him, but he could not touch me. My fingernails scratched outlines on his scrotum, running along his perineum and then along the veins that adorned his sac, lightly, scratchily.

He was mobile beneath me, rolling from side to side, making humping movements with his hips. I wasn't ready yet; I had more minutes of this planned. A fingernail pressed and stabbed at my sphincter, but I pulled away before he could force entry. Oh no, not there, my friend, not today. I lightly went back along his perineum and then scratched his balls before squeezing them, just a little too tightly. I heard him groan.

I released his dick; wet with my saliva, it glistened beneath me, and I moved down, my head at his feet and my fanny above his dick. I reached back, held his dick, and positioned it at my entrance, and I lowered myself just enough to let his dick enter me.

"Look at your cock, Byggvir; look how it is stretching apart my petals. See, you are opening me." I lowered myself a little more, feeling him widen me.

"Can you see? Look, watch as I leave you."

I pulled up, feeling his cock begin to leave me, my petals relaxing, with just the tip of his dick at my entrance.

"Can you see, I am back to normal? Now watch," and I sank again, his dick widening me, my petals once again stretched around his girth as I took him within me. Down I went, down, and he filled me, and my fanny rested against him; he was inside me.

"Now watch, Byggvir, as I eject you, how my petals cling to your dick, wrapping around it. Can you feel them? Can you?"

I pulled up and away, not so much. His tip was still inside me, but my fanny was stretched open, gripping the shaft of this god's dick. I pushed down again, his dick filling me once more, taking my petals as my fanny engulfed his dick.

"Can you feel that, Byggvir? Can you feel yourself sliding within my chamber, preparing, ready to flood me? Can you feel that?" I asked as I began a steady shag, reverse cowgirl, they call it. I was reversing a god, and I was dead. These things don't happen every day.

"Are your pleasures building, Byggvir? Are your balls tightening? Can you feel that clenching deep inside, the precursor to the release of your pleasures? Can you?"

I was rocking back and forth, his dick sliding easily within me, and I began to clench my fanny muscles, adding a wank sensation to his shag. He was getting into it; I could hear his gasps, and his breath was gulping as I worked every trick I knew, trying to kiss his dick with my fanny lips, flexing my inner muscles on his shaft, and gliding his shaft within me. I could do no more.

I began to go harder, to move faster, pressing him as deep inside me as I could, clenching my muscles as tightly as they would go, and I felt his disturbance; his dick began to pulse, and he was beyond the point of stopping himself, and I pushed down harder than before and held myself, my fanny squeezing him tight as he roared, and his dick erupted inside me.

I held for a moment until I could no longer feel his dick pulse, and I raised myself, his dick falling from me to lie on his thigh. I rolled to the side and looked down at myself; I had colour, at last.

"You have done well," he said, “but it is not enough; you will need to pleasure another before you can return."

Bugger. So near.

"Where will I find another?"

"I don't expect you will need to look far." He rolled off the bed and into clothes; I could not fathom the transition – one minute naked, the next all clothed. He bowed in my direction and was gone. These gods can move quickly if they want to, that is for sure.

I stood, and moving at my mortal pace, I dressed and took stock. I was in a bedding store, apparently dead, and seemingly in the Underworld, an Underworld that had a strange similarity to Bingley, and somehow I had to find another god to pleasure in order to return to the Overworld, or whatever it was correctly known as. I wondered if my interaction with the faeries had somehow changed me. I was strangely calm about being dead; I suppose it was because I considered dead to be a temporary status.

I wandered out of the precinct and stood on the high street, looking around at all the grey people shambling along, no one talking, just milling.

"Okay," I told myself, "you are dead; strange things will happen."

"Now, girl, you know I have never met anyone like you before, Mica, no, never, and I have lived a very long time."

I spun around, and behind me was standing a statuesque woman, tall and beautiful, with golden hair with hanging tresses, wearing a golden and white array of drapes that seemed to somehow keep her covered whilst at the same time revealing her form and beauty.

"I am sorry," I said, "but who are you?"

"Oh, child, how soon mortals forget; I am Juno, the Queen of the Gods."

"Oh, another queen," I said. I had had enough of being dead; I needed to get on with becoming undead.

"Another queen?" She said with an edge of disdain in her voice.

"I already met the Queen of the faeries, and anyway, I thought Hera was the Queen of the Gods, and then there is Frigg; she is a queen of the Gods too. How many queens of the gods are there? Sorry, just asking so I can keep up."

Juno laughed and walked towards me, and looked me up and down as I finally got my dress back on and myself covered up and decent.

"For someone who shouldn't be here, you ask such silly questions," she said, her voice a golden velvet, falling easily on the ears.

"Well, we are in agreement there; I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be dead, and I am trying to get back to being alive. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to be getting on and dealing with that."

"Oh, but we have only just met; you don't want to be leaving just yet," she said, and I heard the shop door closing and locks turning. Great.

"Oh, come on, Lady," I said, "what is it with Bingley and Gods? The place seems to be full of them, and that is just odd. There are no thrones or godlike monuments that I have seen anywhere around."

"This is not Bingley that is unknown to me; this is Olympus, the eternal home of the gods."

"You can say that, lady, but I am telling you, this sure looks like Bingley in Yorkshire. Do you have Bed Emporia in Olympus, because you are standing in Bingley Bed Boutique right now? I think I wouldn't recognise it if it were called Olympus Bed Emporia."

"Ha, such a silly dead mortal. We are where I decide we are. What we have to do now is decide."

"Decide?" I was puzzled. "Decide what?"

"Why, what to do with you, of course."

"That is not up to you; I make my own decisions, thank you very much."

"Oh no, that is not the case at all. After all, did you decide to die and then decide to change your mind? No, of course not. Now then, you want to be undead, you say?"

"Yes, of course. Why would anyone want to be dead?"

"Well, there is that, I suppose, although it does have its advantages. Now, how do you plan on getting undead?"

"I don't exactly have a plan," I replied, because, apart from finding a god to shag, I didn't have a plan. "I kind of started with Byggvir, and that sort of got me on the way. I just need to find another like him, I suppose."

She laughed again; it had the sound of gold rustling in the wind. "Byggvir? Oh my, he has no couth; he just thinks he is funny, you know. Nobody actually laughs except at him. What did he say?"

"He said he was the God of War and that if I made some gods happy, then that would get me back up above and undead."

"I see, and you thought that you would go and find some gods and engage them and make them happy enough to send you on your way."

"Well, I guess." To be honest, I didn't really know what to do. I mean, Byggvir had given me my colour back; I just needed to get all my senses back and become undead.

Her clothes seemed to shimmer and ripple, and then they fell to the floor, and she was naked. My goodness, she was every inch the goddess; she was drop-dead gorgeous, and I mean gorgeous. Her curves had curves, and everything was just so perfectly proportioned. I felt utterly ugly.

"Well, child, here a goddess stands before you. I am immortal; I have lived longer than your history. Do you think you can please me in a way that no one else ever has, and that pleasure would consummate me and make me endow you with life?"

Couldn't she just ask me to shag her? I had nothing to lose; my dress came off again. Once more naked in the Bingley Bed boutique. Juno lay on the premium memory foam deluxe mattress, her sex obscured by a folded knee and her hands resting on the mattress. Could she tell it was a premium memory foam deluxe? I wondered.

"Obviously, I am not a man," I said, "but I do know my way around a woman. Allow me."

I climbed onto the premium memory foam deluxe mattress and gently laid her crooked knee down and parted her thighs, her sex widening before me. An aroma of pure delight assailed my nostrils; I mentally shook. I needed to focus and not let her get the better of me. I bent forward, opened my mouth, and held it just above her clitoris. I used my fingers to part her petals, and then I gently blew, not touching, just very lightly blowing, ignoring the aphrodisia that tried to overwhelm my senses. I would not be beguiled; I had a job to do.

I held her petals apart and counted up to forty-five, and then my tongue dabbed and touched her clitoris and immediately shot back. On contact, my taste buds roared into life, and pleasures began to build in my depths; my electrics began building. "No, not yet," I told myself. After another count of forty-five, my tongue darted, and again I touched her clitoris and then blew gently. I steadied my finger, and aiming at her entrance, I moved it forward, passing inside and crooking to push up. She wiggled.

Another dart, this time followed by a short lick and then a hint of a suck, my finger still pushing upwards from inside. Another wiggle. My teeth made contact and gripped her clitoris, twisting it before releasing, and my tongue again made a quick dart. Her hips began to gyrate; I smiled. She was really just another woman after all, and I knew what a woman liked. I withdrew my finger and ran it along her valley, my other hand keeping her petals apart, her soft, sensitive valley floor my only target. The edge of my nail ran along her valley, a light, razor-like touch; her whole body shivered. Were her electrics building? I wondered.

A simple kiss on her clitoral mound and her pelvis lifted from the premium Memory Foam Deluxe mattress. Would the premium memory foam deluxe get the approval of the gods, I wondered? My tongue darted again, and two fingers explored the inner goddess, widening, separating, and gaping her. Her fingers were scrunching the mattress; I hoped the premium memory foam deluxe mattress was up to the assault of a goddess as I once more sucked briefly at her nubbin of pleasure.

I pulled away, fingers out, leaving her writhing. I pressed forward and kissed her fanny, my tongue darting where my fingers had been, her hips rocking back and forth.

"Oh, the gods' child, finish it already," she cried.

I pulled away, leaving her wanting, needing.

"Do you really want me to?" I asked. "How much do you want me to?" My face is so close but not touching.

"Your need is my will; finish it, girl," she gasped.

I pressed down, my mouth pulling at her clitoris, three fingers pressing inside her, shagging her goddess fanny with speed and pressure as my tongue licked and lapped at her nubbin. Her body rocked, and she writhed, her mouth gasping as rarely experienced pleasures took her, and then she bucked up, her back arching as she screamed loudly, gasping and laughing and crying.

All a bit un-Goddess-like, I thought. I eased away, my fingers leaving, her fanny gaping, puckering like the mouth of a goldfish.

I leant back and rolled into a sitting position, looking at Juno, her rather magnificent breasts heaving on her chest as she looked at me.

"I don't know what you are, child, but by the Gods, you don't belong here."

I blinked; something had caught my eye, and I stopped walking. Wow, my goodness, it's a good job I did; a lorry hurtling along the main street, way too fast, missed me by inches. Had I stepped off the kerb, I would have been dead. Crikey. I checked the traffic; it was all clear, so I crossed the road and headed to the pub for my ramen noodles, my mind full of strange images of gods.

I hope that you enjoyed this little story from the Dales of Yorkshire. Please leave me feedback in the story and tell me if you enjoy this kind of story; it is difficult to write stories that you like if I do not get story comments.