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Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 01

By: Drmaxc



Tale I 

You really haven't heard? No? You must have; surely everyone has heard of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn? Perhaps it's just in this corner of the mountains then? Mountains? Yes, the Mountains of Mourne. He's as well known here as, as... well his sister for one.

Pretty you say? Well I wouldn't have used that adjective in connection with Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn even on a dark rainy night; I might use several others though! Oh, you meant his sister! Well they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder but, perhaps, it will suffice if I say I wouldn't behold if I was you...

Now Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn is certainly someone to meet, that is if you are able: because he can be rather circumspect about whom he sees. He doesn't like to be caught... caught unawares I mean.

Oh, you'd like to meet him then, but where does he live, where can you find him? Well this pub would be a good place on another night, some nights, well the odd night perhaps. And certainly with his long nose in a jug or then, perhaps, at a crossroads leaning on a stick.

Can't you just go to his house? Of course you can't you amadán. Where would it be do you thinks Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn lives? He doesn't advertise that, you know, or where he keeps his gold.

Sounds like a leprechaun! Well what else do you think I was talking about- that's Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, as fine a leprechaun as ever you'll meet, if you do, isn't that so Feargus O'Dubhthaigh?

There was a grunt, presumably of agreement down the bar.

You don't believe in 'em! Dangerous talk. Green waist coated suit, silly great green top hat with a shamrock or perhaps a four leaf clover stuck on, buckles to belt, hat and shoes and stripey green socks indeed! What sort of idea do you be having of leprechauns? Haven't you seen 'em? You might find them across the water dressed like that, all Americanised, but I don't think you'd find Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn in such garb. Mind you there was this girl who dressed up like such a Mac Leprechaun who took Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's fancy one night and I don't think she's been quite the same about leprechauns ever since... or the colour green.

What happened? Well I'll tell you and, no, I don't mind if I have another. Thank you kindly, a drop of the black stuff—aye a pint. Good man yourself.

It was like this.

It all started at the dance you see at this very pub. Colleen was up from the town visiting and she came along dressed, it being a fancy dress party and all, in the sort of get up you might find in the town but it caused a bit of eyebrow raising I can tell you. She a pretty wan alright, with long red hair and the boys liked her well enough as soon as they saw her and so she was never short of a partner. It's thirsty work dancing, thank you kindly, and perhaps she'd drunk more than she should have. Anyway the disco had stopped and we were into the fiddle time and still the young ones were around. I remember the lights flickering a bit and then in he came. Who? Why Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn himself. Smart he looked. He'd brushed up well; you couldn't fault the cleanliness of his ruff or the pressing of his red jacket or the set of his cocked hat. His sister would have been proud of him. Well, yes perhaps I overstated that, not proud of him - that would have been a first!

"There's an awful drought on me," he'd said. Well that was no surprise and you'd hardly refuse him a jug. No, believe me you wouldn't. So he soon had that nose of his in a jug and the fiddling started again and he'd smiled round at the company in a friendly way which was good until, that is, he saw Colleen, when a frown came over his features. Now it might've been her shoes he didn't rate but I don't think it was just that.

'Course Colleen was oblivious; worse still, and I do think she was not as clear headed as she might have been on account of the drink, she spoke to him.

"Old man," she'd said. Well, that wasn't a good start. "I didn't see you here earlier."

"Doesn't mean I wasn't here," he'd snapped back.

"Yes it does, I don't miss much." It was all superior town like talk. Not a good idea.

"Oh don't you, miss?" Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's teeth shone. He was amused now. Not a good idea.

"And what might you be dressed as?" He looked her up and down and well he might. I know I had when Colleen wasn't looking right from those green shoes up to that silly hat. His gaze, like mine had lingered on those green and yellow stripey socks rising up above her knee or were his eyes really on the creamy thighs before the green of that short skirt? The green jacket with the buttons had long been discarded but there was the green blouse with a very generous thrust of breast straining the material. Oh, did I mention the belt with the big buckle? Then there was the hat but he didn't miss her face, pretty as I said with freckles and a stub nose and all that red hair. Now the hat, all floppy like, but a sort of top hat, squashed with a ridiculous belt and buckle around it for no apparent purpose. It was green to match and with a great sewn on Shamrock. Well we all knew what Colleen thought she was dressed as but we hoped she wouldn't say it.

"A Leprechaun of course, silly, what did you think I looked like!"

Now Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn can smile wide and he did; you could have posted a letter to Father Christmas. "Oh, the Logherymen dress like that do they now? Have you seen one to copy, perhaps?"

"Don't be silly there are no such things." She'd giggled. It was not an unattractive sound, no far from it. "Nor hobgoblins, nor faeries nor banshees."

Well, I wouldn't swear to it, my friend, but I thought that knocked the smile of Bearach's face for a moment as he looked around a little alarmed; but it didn't last.

"So you don't rate the little folk then—and where might you be from?"

Well, the smile was back as wide as a gull's wing, when she said the big town. He thought that pretty funny which annoyed Colleen. She said crossly, "and, well, have you seen the wee folk? Today perhaps?"

Bearach of course could not resist being a little disingenuous, "No, I can't say as rightly I have this day, my sister being poorly and all."

Colleen went back to dancing and Bearach to drinking and both did mighty well, I can tell you. Of course, as all good evenings do, this one had to come to an end and it was a late one. Colleen's friends were around her as she made to leave the emptying pub. It was lovely and warm in the pub with the fire roaring away, the happy evening still hanging on the air and the yellow-cream of the smoke cured plaster looking all friendly like and it must have seemed a shame to leave it and go out into the cold night. Colleen turned for a last look at the happy scene before she left and caught Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's eye. Oh he hadn't left. He winked and when she turned back to leave, her friends had gone.

Well, I say, my friend, that her friends had gone but I can't vouch for the truth of that as I didn't see it. Oh, I was there alright, I didn't leave the bar until the last of them and that was after she and her friends left but I didn't see it, so what I tell you is what I've heard from Colleen and himself, but he embroiders—if you know what I mean. Leastways it depends. He talks his stories down if he thinks his sister might get to hear but if you catch him unwary like, that'll be in his cups, then the story grows in the telling and some of 'em grow mighty long!

Well, Colleen thought her friends had gone out the door but then she found it locked when she tried it with no key so she turns and comes back into the bar; only there's no one there now other than old himself, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, and he's sitting up on one of the tables with a pint pot in his hand and a smile as wide as the sea. All the while the fires burning and the room's as cosy as a maiden's placket, if you'll excuse the expression.

"You don't want to go out in the cold, missy, when it's all warm and snug here with beer to drink."

Colleen did not give him so much as a nod in reply but went to try the other door only to find that didn't open either. She turned to Bearach rather crossly, "Why're the doors locked?"

He shrugs his shoulders, takes a pull at his pot, and says, "No worry to me. Rather big for a leprechaun lass aren't you?"

And she replies, snaps back, and I have it straight from the horse's mouth; well Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's anyway. Yes, he was standing over there, just there; in his red coat when he told me and he said she'd said,

"I'm not a fucking leprechaun."

Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn says he quite fell off the table. No, he did! He says he fell off the table backwards, and he don't often tell something against himself, with laughter and the beer went all over him. He picked himself off the floor and could barely say, because the tears were rolling down his cheeks and onto his red jacket, now rather soaked with beer,

"Oh, but I am!"

You can imagine Colleen's face as his words sank in. Well of course they didn't to start with. She was going on about where had everyone gone, how could she get out of this place, where were her friends, why were you, 'old man,' laughing as much to wet yourself and so on when I think she became aware of how quiet it all was—just her prattle and the laughing of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn. It was mighty quiet, not even the clock a ticking, just the crackling of the log fire but not even the sound of the wind.

It was as if she was looking at him for the first time. The words were sinking in. "You're oddly dressed yourself, old man."

"Not that old, what you take me for a hundred? And what is wrong with these clothes? Smartest you'll find." He looked idly at his shoes with a smug expression.

"But you're wearing a ruff and lace. Breeches and black stockings and the cut of that jacket is so, so..."

And it seemed to Colleen that the drink was getting the better of her for her focus seemed to go of a moment and when she had blinked a bit she saw the old man looking rather different. Still sitting on the table but his feet were no longer on the floor. How could they be as he was now about three feet high though the beer jug had not got any smaller.

"So fitting for a leprechaun, you was about to say I think?"

"Oh." said Colleen which I think was about as good a thing as you might say in the circumstances. The import of Bearach's words had sunk.

"Not green?"

"Can't as say I have ever worn the colour. Countryside couldn't be greener but not me. Now I come to think of it my sister once... but then it suited her complexion."

"But I thought..."

"Now where would you be getting that idea from? In the town I suppose."

Now you can't blame Bearach for his prejudice and he wouldn't have known of the Media or the U.S. of A. if you'd asked him (though that was then before, before he went Stateside—but that's another story entirely; and a long way to go to avoid your relations if you ask me).

"You don't like my clothes then?"

Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn put down his jug. "No, I was rather thinking, and that was my idea, that they would be better off... than on."

It did seem to Colleen that it was rather warm in the pub what with the fire blazing away. "It's a silly hat," she said, "it keeps falling off. And it's a bit hot for this jacket."

Well that brought the creamy thighs and long stripey socks back into view given as how the green skirt was quite short. Not that I'm saying, you understand, the blouse and face above it weren't worth the looking, because they were I can tell you. I can imagine her standing there, hands on hips, legs apart and old Bearach sitting on that table swinging his legs and his eyes moving up those legs, up those stripey socks, past her knees to where the gap between the creamy thighs began to narrow and the skirt hem started and wondering what lay beyond. Well wouldn't you? I've wondered oft times but not seen, though I've been told... no, I'm getting ahead of meself.

"Cosy I'd say," says Bearach, "now wouldn't you be better off without that green blouse?"

And to Colleen all of a sudden it did appear unnecessary in such a cosy room. Funny that, not the sort of thing you'd expect of a girl but these leprechauns have a bit of magic about them and can slip the mind a bit one way or the other and no doubt, in her rather befuddled state, it was not too difficult for wily old Bearach to trick her mind just a touch. Now you can imagine old Bearach nodding as Colleen's white lacy bra came into view. Now I don't as know if it was lacy and white—that's my own imagining. Now perhaps I shouldn't do such imagining, but there it is. Of course that wasn't going to be enough, was it, for himself? So you can imagine that it wasn't long before that white lacy bra was on top of the coat. Well Bearach he picks up the fiddle lying there and begins to play. The music was not quite as Colleen had ever heard before. Now I've heard it on a dark night and right entrancing it is. And as he began to play Colleen began to dance. Of course she'd been dancing earlier but you can imagine how prettier her dancing was without her top and with her goodly sized breasts swaying in time to the music above that short green skirt and those stripey socks. I expect he danced her up into a bit of a frenzy, danced those nipples up if you like. No doubt it was a sight to have seen but I didn't, more's the pity.

I am told, and this is from what Colleen told her friends, that the more it seemed she took her clothes off the bigger old Bearach became. He just grew from his three foot, taller and taller. Now why would that be, do you think?

Bearach stopped at the end of his reel and looked sadly down at Colleen's shoes. "They really won't do, won't do at all. I think we can do much better than that."

So they came off too.

Well, there Colleen was, naked from the waist up but still with her skirt, long socks and presumably panties. You can guess, I am sure, what happened next.

Sorry, sorry I was just thinking. Oh, yes another pint. Well, if you are offering like.

Now, where was I? Ah yes, so Colleen is standing there without her shoes and with just that short pleated green skirt, those long stripey green and yellow socks and, one supposes, panties—green do you think? Well Bearach didn't say, so I don't know that, but let's suppose. I like the idea. Standing there with her chest rising and falling from the exertion of the dancing and her breasts going up and down with it, hard pointy nipples rising and falling—and a sheen of sweat what with the dancing and heat from the fire, I rather suppose. So what is Bearach thinking of? Well, Colleen notices he's got a lot bigger and his feet are nearly touching the ground.

Old Bearach strokes his beard and looks Colleen up and down hard. "Nice," he says. "I'm surprised on account of your liking for green you haven't dyed your hair green as well."

Colleen was bold, "Leprechauns' hair is red or so I'm told."

Bearach smiles at that, "right enough, right enough but perhaps you've coloured your secret hair where I can't see."

Colleen blushes, "No," she says, "no, nothing like that."

Now Bearach smiles wide, "let me see," he says.

His magic is working alright because I'm sure she didn't want to, but standing there before him she undoes the buckle and lets that little skirt slip to the floor leaving her in nothing but skimpy panties, I assume, as I said, she had these on because I don't know; and those long socks as well. Well he nods and she rolls those panties down revealing as bushy a growth of copper as you could wish to see - and I do wish many a time! All long hair going this way and that. Not the tight little curls you would have been expecting at all.

Bearach is now taller than I've seen him, perhaps six foot and he gets off the table and stands erect. Hee, hee, hee. Well by now Colleen doesn't know what to think. She's got this tingling in, well you know where these ladies tingle, and she's got it real bad with the juice quite running down her legs. Leastways that was Bearach's description, though he said it was on account of his manly figure and the tightness of his breeches—constricted more like—but I would bet twenty Euro, twenty Pound if you like, that it was that faerie magic of his had a lot to do with all this.

It was at this point Bearach puts down his jug, he has to have a pretty good reason to do that I can tell you, and he reaches out bold as brass and strokes the wayward copper bush, yes just like that with his fingers—imagine it, that tangle of copper between your fingers! Course he wasn't going to stop there and given how she is standing there, legs all apart, with those yellow and green stripey socks still going up to just above the knee, he feels underneath, you know where it is all soft, warm and wet.

You can imagine Bearach thought it time to remove his own clothing; not something he would normally do in a bar but there again nor would Colleen, I presume. Well Colleen is most insistent, or so her friends say, that breeches, jacket, cocked hat and all came off but Bearach left his ruff on- can you imagine that? A wiry red haired leprechaun with a great bushy beard, red hairy chest and, I expect, impressive cock rising from equally red hair wearing nothing but a ruff round his neck. Not a pleasing thought is it, hee, hee, but, there again, perhaps it is to the wans. Now did it please Colleen? Well, with his magic wand now waving around I think it was not going to be any other way, I'm sure Bearach made her as eager as could be and more as likely turning her mind to saying something complimentary about his physique. I am sure himself would like that.

I suspect you are wondering whether Bearach got Colleen to dance again—well wouldn't you want to see that? I knows I would and so did he. So the fiddle music starts again, and she cannot do but dance in the firelight, just in her stripey socks and you can imagine her all naked with that shine of exertion reflecting the fire light and that very light making her red hair, and I mean all of her hair, even more coppery and the shadows more mysterious. All the time he plays he's a standing—in more ways than one.

A man in that position, or a leprechaun for that matter, has to make a decision—how's he going to take the girl? Well, there's the floor only it's awful hard, against the bar, over a table or sitting on a chair with the girl on your lap. Choices, choices, choices—so what did he choose?

As I said Bearach had grown pretty tall and pretty big and Colleen was not that weight of a lass, so he just lifts her up to his chest and lets her down, not with so much as a by-your-leave. Lets her down so the soft wetness in between her legs is just on his cock and he lets her down a bit further, Colleen being so wet and all, there is nothing for it but for her to part around his truncheon and for that to slip in, and keep slipping as he lets her further down until there's a mingling of red hair and then he lifts her up again. So Colleen's being fucked standing and, Bearach says, loving every minute... or inch—I forget which he said.

Well she's never been taken like that and probably won't be again. Walked around the room all the time bouncing on his cock, legs wrapped around him. Taken over to the crackling fire to feel its warmth on her bottom as she rides up and down, supported all the time by his oversize arms. I wonder if his cock was oversize too. And it goes on and on, after all there was no hurry, there was no ticking of the clock—it was stuck.

Colleen's friend says, to a point, Bearach was a right gentleman in this and did not come until the lady did. Certainly he prides himself in his manners, well to a point anyway. I'm sure it was good for Colleen; she had, after all, abandoned herself into a wild fuck with one of the 'other folk', a faerie creature, so there was no point in not enjoying it, was there? Not, I suppose, she had much choice in the matter once she had started the whole chain of events off. Shuddering she would have been with the feeling going on and on as his cock kept moving and then the splashing warm feel as the leprechaun came still walking her around the room. May be he stopped for that; it would have been a reasonable thing to do!


Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 01



Well, there is Colleen quite knocked back by her fuck, oh, she came alright, she doesn't deny she came really well—and that's from a friend of hers so it's not just Bearach's boasting. It's lucky he was holding onto her because, she says, otherwise she'd have fallen on the floor but when he falls out of her, all limp like, he says,

"We'll do that again, three times is good for a leprechaun and one for luck."

He settles himself back in a chair and pulls her to sit astride him. Colleen thinks she's got to say something,

"Four times, how long are we going to be here? I've a bed to go to?"

"And who is waiting for you?"

"Why, no-one."

"No hurry then is there?" And he smiles his wide smile and touches her pointy nipples with his fingers.

She swears they got even longer as he did that. Then he sucks them, I'm surprised he hadn't done that already, you know what us men are like. Sucks them good and proper. Colleen liked that, they tingled something fierce. She makes a joke about there being no milk.

"Ah," says Bearach with his great grin, "would you like that, I expect if I try hard enough I can make them flow."

"Oh no, no."

He pulls her closer to him on the chair, her thighs sliding along his and she gets a shock for touching both her tummy and that wild coppery bush is as hard a cock as any wan could want.

"Already?!" Colleen says in puzzlement but it is she that lifts herself up and pushes it in and she rides the leprechaun as he sits comfortably in his chair letting her do all the work.

Well Bearach had carried her all the way around the room on the first go so he just sits there smiling as she bounces up and down. You can imagine the squelching noises in the quiet of the room with not even the clock ticking and just the crackling of the fire, Colleen being so wet and all what with her excitement and the leprechaun's earlier contribution. I bet old Bearach let her do that for a long time; there is a laziness about the leprechaun and I am sure he was quite happy to let her do the work. I know I would have been. Do you think he lifted his pint pot whilst they fucked? I can imagine that, a perfect combination for Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn—a pint and a fuck.

So obviously that does not go on all night though with the clock stopped I expect it was difficult for Colleen to know how long she rode but she was fair wacked by the whole business, aching limbs, tired muscles and, so he says, a deep contentment at the second orgasm he had given her. She can barely hold on to him, so he gets up and lays her out flat on the table on her front and she just lies there completely shattered.

Colleen, as I said is even more knocked back by the second bout but, lying sprawled in the beer over the table, after a time she looks round at him and he's rising again already. Her friend says she swears it's true. Colleen doesn't have the energy to move and he takes her on the table, he between her opened thighs, she, bottom in the air, lying flat and sliding in the beer up and down the table at his thrusts, yes sliding in the spilt beer, her nipples pressed flat against the table pulled first one way and then the other as she goes up and down the table. Imagine that, Colleen's sweet breasts all wet with the beer pressed flat against the table and old Bearach pounding away with his big cock between her white thighs, hee, hee, still with those stripey green socks on! It might be this very table.

No energy to move, just being taken but, her friend says, she came yet again and of course so did Bearach. The sight of that white bottom in front of him and the easy pushing between her thighs no doubt helping him on. I, for my part, like the thought of those pointy nipples and young breasts all covered in the beer but there again I have always been partial to a drop... well, if you are offering again I wouldn't say no.

Colleen can barely think straight, she's been fucked three times already and had a right fierce coming each time. Great crack it had been but she's not really up to a fourth time! Even old Bearach's obviously a bit weary for he's shrunk right down to his usual size. She slides off the table onto the floor.

"It's best you drink this," he says, "keep out the chill."

Well Colleen can just about get on her knees and she takes Bearach in hand, well I can't imagine he can have been as hard and proud as he was when this started but Colleen's friend says it was not as limp as you or I'd have been a long time before. So, there it is in front of her face, all damp with her own scent and his, er, exertions and she sucks it in. I bet old Bearach liked that, what man doesn't like to watch a pretty young wan's lips at work and stroke her red hair whilst she sucks. Can't imagine he came very quickly and I expect she had to work quite a bit for it.

Of course Bearach was right, one for the road does keep out the chill and as she sipped and swallowed—it wasn't going to be a glassful by now—she felt re-invigorated.

"Well, closing time I suppose," he says and gets her to her feet and as she's standing, swaying a bit, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn goes down on his knees and, to her surprise, measures her feet ever so carefully, lifting up first one then another foot as gentle as anything. His small hands feeling them all over and all the while he is nodding to himself. How very peculiar.

"Yes, that will do."

And all at once Colleen found herself in her coat with her friends all ready to go out the door of the pub as if it was hours before. "Come on," they'd said, "before Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn does any mischief to you. What did you think you were doing, saying things like that, making a right hames of it and all." And she'd turned to look back and he'd winked and Colleen'd gone out in the cold feeling all, well all... squidgy down there as if she had been...

'Course the trouble with the leprechauns and their magic is they leave a girl all unsatisfied. Not that they don't squeal, come and all but they want more. So poor Colleen gets home still as lit up, randy if you like, as she'd been when dancing in front of the fire. Had she a husband he'd have been in for a busy night but there's just her girlfriend and well, that could have been odd. Anyway she gets back to her room feeling all safe now and glad she did not upset the wee folk more than she did and can't wait to get her clothes off and get into bed to touch herself when she catches sight of herself in the mirror and stops dumbstruck. Oh yes, a sight to see for, whilst her locks cascaded around her head are all red as before, her bush had turned as green as the water meadows in spring and instead of the unruly copper tangle there were tight curls so neatly shaped, as if by deft razor work, into the form of a Shamrock. Now I've not seen this wonder, more's the pity, but I've spoken to those who have. Shave as she might, trim as she wishes, dye any colour she chooses or wax at the shop but it will be back as green as spring in the morning and in that particular shape.

Even so she tumbles into bed and her hand is playing with her clitty and rubbing all around. What with old Bearach coming thrice and (and once for luck) plus her own lubrication that must have been like stirring a pot o'soup don't you think, hee hee!

So Colleen from the town learnt about the leprechauns the difficult way. Best not to mock or offend, even unintentional like. Mind you Colleen had a pair of sensible shoes out of the affair that fitted her perfect and never hurt her feet. On the doorstep in the morning, there they were. Himself had been busy. Rain or shine they would do the business. Not fancy but not plain. Fitted like a glove, ever so comfortable. Men and women would actually remark on what a good pair of shoes she had. She tried throwing them away the odd time but that was as futile as the shaving; they would be back in the morning. So it was not all bad really. Emerald green snatch and well shod. That's our Colleen.



Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 02



Tale 2

It was a soft old day and Aoife was none too pleased at the prospect of walking home in the dark and wet so she had fecked off home in her gabardine raincoat well before she should have. It was three miles or more across the fields and what with the wind blowing and all, she got quite cold. It was coming round a hump in a field that she slipped and slithered a bit off the path down on her rump on the cold wet grass. For a moment she lay there, as the rain poured down, quite shaken. As she got back to her feet and put the shoe that had come off back on her foot she saw she was not alone.

"You poor craytur," said the man. He was quite three foot high and dressed in a sort of red jacket with breeches and grey stockings. Aoife was quite taken aback. His face was old and, you might say, withered though his eyes were bright enough and there was nothing wrong with his teeth. He raised his very old fashioned cocked hat to her.

"Well not quite cat." Oh, she knew who, or what, she was speaking to alright. She'd learnt about the wee folk and she knew about the leprechaun; had not her grandmother, let alone her mother, warned her, but this one seemed safe enough to her. Weren't they, after all, neither good nor bad; 'good from whim, and mischievous from caprice' she'd heard it said. He didn't look dirty, in fact rather the opposite as the lace around his cuffs and neck were quite dandified and as white as you could wish. She wondered about the washing.

And well she might. For Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn is not a married person and it is his very sister who 'does' for him. Oft times have I heard her mention the washing and himself and none too complimentary and as to how does he manage, at his age, which is considerable, to get his breeches and stockings so dirty: it was no different when he was a boy and look at him now, well into his ninety-eighth year, so should he not be better by now—but wasn't. That wan is a difficult one I can tell you and not one to cross.

"You're a Logheryman," Aoife said.

"It wouldn't do for to say that," said the old man, "Maybe yes and maybe no. You shouldn't be walking across the fields in this weather and in those shoes." He was looking at the shoes and there was a look, a look almost of distaste that came over his face as if something did not please him. But it was fleeting and Aoife wasn't sure that was what she'd seen. "You want to come inside and dry yourself?"

Aoife looked around in puzzlement. They were in the midst of a field with just the cows sitting around chewing the cud and looking glum. There was not a cottage or house for miles. She could be wary when she got to his house and not go in if it didn't look safe. "Well, I suppose..." she said.

One moment she was standing with the wind and rain blowing around her: next she was in a big circular room with a peat fire smouldering away and a general feeling of cosiness. She looked upwards—there were roots growing down through the ceiling so she was very evidently underground which is, after all, where most of the wee folk live, as you know. Aoife moved close to the fire warming herself, feeling its radiant heat on her unstockinged legs. She knew she shouldn't be there. Things had got a little out of hand.

"I was thinking of a drink," said the old man. Aoife did not think he meant tea. She was of course correct and it was warming.

It was hot in that little room under the hill with the fire burning away. Aoife moved from being chilled to the bone to really rather warm indeed. She took off the gabardine.

"Not too warm for you?" said the little man.

"No, no. Might you be the one called Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn?"

Now the old man beamed all over his face, "Ah, you've heard of me. I suppose I am well known in these parts."

He was pleased at that. He liked the idea he had a reputation. Certainly his sister did nothing to lessen that—the reputation I mean, not his feeling of importance. She did nothing to increase that: certainly not, rather the opposite with her ready put-downs regarding her brother whenever she could.

Aoife was not exactly worried, after all Bearach was almost half her size and clearly old. She didn't know how old he actually was and would never have guessed—he wears well you see.

"You have the advantage of me, so who might you be?"

"Aoife, Aoife _____."

"Ah yes from ______. I knew your mother."

Now that was odd, her mother had never mentioned such a connection to Aoife. The old man was polite, invited her to sit on a stool, and asked after her, he asked about Aoife's work and many other things. The conversation was easy and flowing. Occasionally she noticed the leprechaun would glance at her shoes and the look on his face seemed to confirm her earlier suspicion.

"You don't like my shoes do you?" It was a direct question and the leprechaun looked a bit disconcerted.

"Not as such, you see," he said, "may I?"

It was a surprise to Aoife to find the leprechaun's strong small hands at her ankle relieving her of a shoe. The explanation as to what was wrong with the shoe was rather complicated and technical but seemed to her to centre upon their quality of make, quality of materials and that they did not fit as evidenced by her earlier upset.

"I'm good at fitting," he said without the trace of a smile, "would you like me to see what I can do for you, it is my trade you know."

Aoife knew, her grandmother had told her of the sound she had heard all alone when coming from Carrigenagh on the Brandy Pad road one evening, the sound of a shoemaker's hammer tap tapping away but in the midst of wildness where no honest folk would dwell.

Aoife considered, was this some sort of trick, "a pair do you say - for are you not known as the 'One-shoemakers."

Bearach smiled, "It is easier, I suggest, to work on one at a time."

His strong fingers held first one foot then the other feeling them all over. It was not an unpleasant feeling, in fact quite soothing having your feet rubbed and gently pushed. It gave her a bit of a tingling feeling running up her calves and around her shapely shins past her knees to warm her thighs.

"I think I have the measure. Just wait and I'll be back and do some making."

Returning the leprechaun seemed to have cut down his clothing somewhat and put on a sturdy apron from his neck almost to his knees and set to work with his tools sitting on a stool. Aoife watched the diminutive cordwainer at work with scissors, awl, pincers, knives and his hammer.

After a time the young girl got up and wandered around a little looking at the room, at the furniture, the pictures on the walls with their cords held by a wooden peg simply knocked into the earth of the walls and the doors leading out who knows where. She walked back to the fire and received a bit of a shock as she came up behind Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn for it was quite obvious from his back view that he had divested himself of rather more than just some of his clothes as his bare behind was placed on the stool. It was obvious all he had on was his leather apron.

Aoife sat herself down on a stool; hands resting on the cotton of her dress drawn across her knees, and watched the strange little man at work. His nimble fingers worked quickly cutting, sewing and hammering and in the heat of the room the sweat stood out on his forehead. It really was very warm in the room but still the fire burned throwing red shadows around the subterranean room. Aoife plucked at the cotton of her own dress, the heat was making her sweat and the material stuck to her. It was no wonder, she thought, the little man liked to work naked but why did he let the fire get so hot?

Occasionally the leprechaun looked up at Aoife over the top of his spectacles perched on his pointed nose.

"It's very warm in here," she said.

"Cosy," said the leprechaun, "there's a jug of water over there."

Aoife drank deeply spilling some of the contents down her dress adding to its dampness. She pulled again at the material.

"I play the fiddle, you know," said Bearach getting up from his stool, he went over and picked the instrument off a shelf, "would you like to dance?"

"I'm not very good..." said Aoife.

"It's much to do with the shoes," said the leprechaun, "come, and try these on."

Aoife had not realised the work was done and seemingly so quickly. She let her old shoes drop from her feet and went over to the leprechaun and once more his nimble fingers touched her feet and ankle giving her a funny tingling sensation which trickled up and up her legs. It was not unpleasant. Carefully he pulled first one shoe then the other onto her feet, resting each foot in turn in the lap of his leather apron. They fitted perfectly and so comfortably Aoife could not but comment that she had never worn such shoes.

Bearach smiled almost modestly and picked up his fiddle, "Shall we try them out?"

And all at once the music started, music that she had not heard the like before, and she was dancing, dancing around the fire as Bearach played. Sometimes the music was fast and wild, sometimes slow and measured and Aoife found her feet took the time perfectly and her movements were flowing and fine quite unlike her more usual miss-stepping.

But it was hot, so hot.

"Perhaps," said Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, "you might like to let your pretty cotton dress hang by the fire to air."

For a moment the music stopped and the idea seemed such a good one that Aoife complied almost without thinking.

"And perhaps your underclothing?"

The music started again and Aoife realised all of a sudden that she was dancing for the little man absolutely naked but for the wonderful shoes. Not that she could stop or even wanted to stop, it felt so free and wild. The little man was standing now to play the fiddle and as Aoife whirled and spun, she saw he had put away his leather apron and was standing with the fiddle on one shoulder, one foot resting on a stool and with the most outsize penis she could imagine hanging between his thighs. It was so out of proportion to his body, bigger, much bigger, than a full sized man's; not that she had seen such a thing though she had imagined Mick O'Rourke's cock more than once in the privacy of her own bed. If only he would invite her out and not that silly Mary D____.

The leprechaun's balls hung below his penis and the sack, it really did, reached to his knees. The whole assembly looked so ridiculous that it was very difficult not to glance at it, even laugh. The little man was moving in time to the music and his balls and penis as a consequence swung like the pendulum of a clock.

"It's a pity we can't dance, but there's no one else to play the music."

Aoife could not imagine how she could dance with a man who came no higher than her thighs; perhaps she would have to hold him up in her arms as they danced around the room with that great cock of his bouncing around against her tummy.

The music was fast now and Aoife tried spinning around on one leg with the other raised—what was she doing? Not only could the little man see her black bush but in the firelight the opening of her thighs would reveal her most secret flesh. Slowing she looked again at the leprechaun and his penis and the thought of what would it be like erect came into her mind. If it was that big soft, how long would it be when extended, like the bull in the field she saw so often?

"Perhaps the jug of water to cool you?"

Aoife sat on her stool panting from the wild exertion of her dancing as the little man went to get the jug. The cool clear liquid splashed into the beakers and Aoife drank thirstily. She was surprised to feel the little man sit himself upon her thigh; the feel of his bare buttocks was unnerving and was that his scrotum casually knocking against her bare skin? Were such generous proportions normal for the wee folk?

"If you don't mind me saying you seem remarkably well hung for such a little man." Aoife, started, she could not believe she had voiced what she had been thinking and in such terms.

The little man winked and settled himself more comfortably on her thigh, beaker in hand. "Well this is how it is, you see, the longer we go without, without relations with a women, the bigger it grows and it has been a passing long time since... me not being a married man and all. If you was offering to relieve the symptoms, like, I would be very grateful. A bit of a balance with the shoes."

Aoife was in a bit of a fix, she was clearly beholden to the leprechaun, he having taken her in out of the rain and made the wonderful shoes, but, well, she was a virgin and not accustomed to offering her favours just like that. She saw a way out.

"I am sure it would be far, far too big for me (she was not wrong), me being a virgin (she was truthful) and it is a most impressive organ (flattery was a good stratagem) so I fear I cannot help (wrong!).

Now Bearach looked at Aoife in that way he has, "I would not mind a little petting, a little stroking, it all helps you know."

Aoife caught his drift and so it seemed did the penis of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn for there was a definite movement there. Aoife watched wide eyed as the resting penis gently lifted itself from his hairy thigh where it seemed it had been resting and then moved a little upwards and to the front, thickening as it went before beginning its rise to point up in the air. And it kept growing and as it grew the foreskin began to roll slowly back to reveal the shiny head. I do believe that when it had done its growing if Bearach had wanted to he could have licked the head, had he been minded, so high had it risen.

"Oh," said Aoife, "oh." She really had never seen the like, indeed not even the normal sized variety and this was, it has to be said, quite extraordinary. She really did not have too much of an idea what she was meant to do, though there had been some discussion with her girl friends but that had hardly prepared her for this. She had been told to use the ring of her thumb and forefinger around the shaft and to move the foreskin up and down but there was no way... she would have to use both hands.

Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn just smiled widely as Aoife tentatively put out her hands and touched his penis, it was warm but hard. He had said stroking and petting, well she could try that—and did. Slowly her fingers explored the large shaft, before searching below to lift the ball sack and feel its impressive contents. She knew she needed to move the foreskin to stimulate the head and with one hand each side she encircled it, its diameter must have exceeded two inches, and began to slide the skin backwards and forwards over the head almost covering the quite large slit at the head's summit. Aoife was not so innocent as not to know what the end result of her work would be if she did it right and what would come from that slit.

She had to admit that she was fascinated by the cock, it really was very good to hold and move, if only the leprechaun was Mick O'Rourke's she'd be happy to try sucking it but there was no way she could get this leprechaun's cock in her mouth and, anyway, he wasn't Mick O'Rourke's. Had Mary Cuinn? It didn't bear thinking of.

Evidently she did something right, her petting was suitably pleasing to Bearach for he gave a most contented sigh and all of a sudden the slit opened and a stream of semen shot out across the room and kept coming, spurting and spilling out onto her hands; there was so much of it Aoife did not know what to do, it was even running down onto her thigh and she was not sure some of it hadn't got elsewhere on her body; when would it stop? It was hot and sticky on her hands, getting between her fingers and hanging in strands. There was nothing to hand to wipe it on. Bearach gave a grunt of satisfaction and hopped off Aoife's thigh.

"Good, good," he said, "you have eased me somewhat, reduced the swelling. It has been some time."

Aoife was relieved, she had dealt with the leprechaun's improper request, had given something in return for the shelter and shoes and all without any risk to her virginity, of any sort really. Subsiding, as it now was, the cock was no longer a threat to her and the leprechaun's interest would be past. But there was so much of the stuff, she had not expected that.

Once more the leprechaun picked up the fiddle and began to play and Aoife could but dance around and around the fire, her feet hardly touching the ground so well did the shoes help her. The merry fiddler had a broad grin on his face and he played fast and as he played Aoife felt not only energised but actually quite aroused, she had felt a little bit that way before but now it was much more definite. She could feel the engorgement below and the wetness; she looked with even more interest at Bearach's cock swinging between his thighs. It was indeed not as large as before so evidently what he had said was true; she was almost sorry it was soft and not at attention given the way she was feeling and it was if it had heard her thoughts because the next time she came around the fire it seemed to be on the move again; one more circuit and there was no denying the erection.

The merry fiddler seemed to tire of standing still or with one foot on a stool because he began to caper after Aoife around the fire, the beauty of his playing contrasting with the obscene shaft and the swinging of his balls as he followed Aoife around. The dance went on as the fire burned, Aoife felt hot and tired and was relieved when finally Bearach stopped the playing. She flopped onto the floor in front of him.

"I'm so tired, so worn out with the dancing; I need a drink to restore me."

The smile on Bearach's face was particularly wide, always an interesting sign.

"Try this, it will, I am sure, do the trick."

Aoife opened her eyes to find he was standing on the stool by her and presenting the very end of his erect penis to her, the smooth dome and slit, and was inviting her to, to... suck the end, draw out another draught. And what was strange, in her excited state, it seemed a simply lovely thing to do. There was of course no way, even though it was smaller now, that she was going to get the whole thing in her mouth but she could stimulate the end. Leaning forward she pushed out her tongue and touched the smooth skin and licked and licked. Bearach nodded as Aoife's pink tongue slipped right along the divide of the dome head to the fraenum, where it was most sensitive, and tickled. Stretching her lips Aoife could almost get the whole head in her mouth, but not quite, so she contented herself with the tickling and suckling of the smooth end. She was surprised at herself for wanting to do this so badly and the more so at finding she had put a free hand between her legs and was doing to herself what she had earlier done to the leprechaun. Her tongue played with the little slit, teasing it, pushing at it.

"It is ready now, just for you," said Bearach

Aoife knew what he meant and she pursed her lips right at the end of the dome, around the little slit and tickled it with the end of her tongue. All at once her mouth was filled with a pulsing viscous warmness; as it came she swallowed greedily and her fingers played in her wetness, squeezing and moulding. She was surprised at the quantity but it did just what Bearach had said, as she swallowed she felt revived and ready to dance again! And dance she did.

Now Aoife had not intended to get quite so intimate with the leprechaun, indeed had thought her manual work would have quietened his enthusiasm for matters sexual and certainly could not conceive that it would again be such a short time before Bearach was erect, albeit not so impressively large. Had she not just emptied him again?

"But that cannot be," she said once more verbalising her thought."

"Three times is good for a leprechaun and one for a fuck," said Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn as if quoting an oft repeated line.




Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 02



The excitement had not gone from her; indeed it was, if anything, stronger and she cast longing glances at the erect penis. It was now about the size of Mick O'Rourke's—or the size she hoped it would be if she ever had the chance to see. How she would like to have the opportunity to be alone with Mick, to undo his fly and shyly pull him out and stroke him to standing before slipping his cock between her lips. She'd show Mary D who could suck a man. Why had she not learnt from the little people?

The idea was in her mind that she should practice and she tackled Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn without him needing to ask in any way. This time, his penis was more mouth sized, indeed just right for sucking and Aoife practiced with enthusiasm letting the long shaft go far into her mouth and running it wetly backwards and forwards between her lips as her tongue softly stroked. She could tell what was right and what was not so right by the leprechaun's sighs of satisfaction. She felt she was learning well and it seemed almost a pity when the lesson had to come to an end with the leprechaun's third ejaculation of the afternoon spraying the back of her mouth.

The little man was by now quite tired out and he sat on his stool with a rather small pizzle between his legs, much more in keeping with his diminutive size but something which would have been of great embarrassment to Mick O'Rourke had he possessed such a cock.

Aoife, though, was invigorated by her second draught of leprechaun juice and was almost shaking with sexual energy. Despite Bearach watching her she could not keep her hands from her sex. The triangle of black hair was shiny wet with moisture and the inside of her thighs glistened in the firelight. She was playing with herself, thighs quite spread on her stool and her fingers dancing with no attempt to hide the engorgement of her sex and its very liquid state from the leprechaun. To her very great surprise the sight seemed to affect him for the little cock stirred and began to rise up to its now limited full height, a good three and a half inches.

"Well, well," he said and his hands touched her breasts for the first time.

They were so sensitive, the nipples standing as hard as could be in the palms of his little hands, and so ready to be played with. The leprechaun's gentle fingers tweaked the nipples and kneaded the breasts. Reaching down one of his hands made contact both with Aoife's fingers and her sex and she found his fingers were most cunning. Wet now with her lubrication her oiled her nipples, his little fingers sliding easily around them making them wet and even more sensitive.

Taking her hands from her sex Bearach placed them on her breasts before getting down on his knees.

Then Aoife felt a very small tongue licking up one thigh, lapping up the moisture that had trickled from her but getting closer and closer to the centre of her current excitement. The tongue made contact and once again Aoife was experiencing something she had only thought about in her own bed. Oh yes, she had imagined David O'Rourke's fine head between her thighs and had come on the thought once or twice sweatily between her own sheets.

Bearach's beard tickled a bit but his tongue sent jolts of pleasure through her and when his tongue touched her clit why she positively gushed (I have Bearach's description to confirm). It was very difficult to stay seated just on a stool. The little tongue circled and the feeling grew until Aoife, underground and in the hot glow of the peat fire, came like she had never come before. On and on it went as the little tongue continued to suck her little clit, drinking in the surrounding liquid.

Aoife fell off the stool onto her knees panting, eyes shut, still reeling in orgasm.

Now can you imagine it? The white plumpness of Aoife's bottom presented to Bearach, he a manly leprechaun as we know, he with a leprechaun's erection standing proud, an erection at just the right height so what should he do, what could he not do?

Aoife was barely conscious of the invasion as Bearach slowly slid the head of his cock into her until his balls were right against her and his stomach pressing against the softness of her bottom.

"Oh no, I'm a virgin," she was conscious now, could feel Bearach inside her. She started to crawl away but Bearach walked with her, the movement pleasurable allowing him to slide around inside her.

She was, of course, virgin no longer. It is not the emission of semen which marks the loss of virginity but the penetration. Now I am not saying the physical evidence would have showed the loss for, you have to remember, Bearach's was now a very slim member. Had he earlier in the afternoon achieved entrance things might have been different, hymen-wise.

Despite the recentness of Aoife's orgasm she felt another building. It has to be remembered that the penis inside had not a little of magic about it. She was being taken as she had seen the cows and sheep in the fields be taken though the relative sizes of herself and the leprechaun did not equate to those of the heifer and covering bull.

It must have been quite a sight to see, naked Aoife crawling around the fire, breasts hanging with their pointing nipples, the dampness of her black bush catching the firelight and the diminutive little man walking behind her clearly embedded and with his hands holding to her hips maintaining connection.

Another orgasm was coming closer and Aoife's arms gave way and she slumped to the floor, leaving her bottom high in the air. Bearach pumped and Aoife, through her orgasm, felt the hot fluid of his ejaculation spurting into her. It was once again copious, indeed she felt herself dripping when, after a time, Bearach with his penis softening backed away to look at his handiwork.

Now some of you will think that the small leprechaun should not have taken her that way but presented his thin penis to the upper hole and, given its size, slipped easily into her bottom. Well, as Bearach has told me, and this story is from him rather than Aoife you see, his original plan had been for the third effort to be a traditional bout but Aoife got to him first and he was more than happy to watch her pretty lips at work again, so in the end he had to complete the saying on the fourth because a fifth would have been quite beyond him at his age. And for Aoife it was perhaps as well for bottoms penetrated by the leprechaun have a certain tingle ever after and a nagging desire to be filled. Now should Mick O'Rourke's tastes go that way, and they may well have, that would have been fine: but what if not?

The little man was tired and settled himself back in his armchair by the fire and dozed. Aoife, now that her sexual needs had been satisfied, and so well—never in the confines of her own bed had she felt something like that—was worried the leprechaun would keep her, keep her for his pleasure, so she quietly crept past him, picking up her discarded underclothes, cotton dress, gabardine raincoat and a candle on the way, tried to find the way out. First she went into one room, and then another but eventually found a door into a passage. It was long and winding with many a room off and Aoife was not surprised but certainly amazed at the quantity of gold she saw in some; plates and cups and all sorts of torcs revealing that much of it was really rather old, the accumulation of a collector over a long period indeed.

Aoife came up out of the passage and into a field. The rain had stopped and a watery evening sunshine was shining onto the bright green land and her pale skin. Never before had she stood naked outside and she paused for a moment before hurriedly dressing. It would not do for someone to come by and see her like that.

She wasn't going to forget where that entrance was, not with all that gold, and it was not as if it was probably the leprechaun's anyway and what use was it stuck in a dark room or two hidden away; so she took the ribbon from her hair and tied it to a stick and put that in the ground right by the entrance. And there the ribbon was a fluttering in the breeze, right streaming out, as she walked away and she could still see it blowing away, marking the door as clear as anything, from a long way off. Home she ran in her new shoes, her feet seeming to dance across the land, and tells her Pa and brothers all about how she has found the Logheryman's house with his gold - well not quite all of the story you understand.

Back they come with her, her brothers all enthusiastic and excited with spades to dig if needs be and a sack to carry but her father not so keen, "A ribbon you say, on a stick, a red ribbon? Hmmm."

They crest the rise where Aoife knows she can see her stick from the top—and so, indeed, she could—yet she stops dumbstruck for there, fluttering in the breeze, from one field to another were hundreds of little sticks all with their own little red ribbons flying gaily in the wind, her own little stick and hair ribbon somewhere amongst them—but where?

"He's had you good and proper," says her Pa.

And Aoife knows she's been had, good and proper.

Aoife slunk back home with her brothers jeering at her all the way. She had a strong belief in her own cleverness, a misplaced sort of self confidence but it is not clever at all to underestimate the Logherymen, least of all Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn. And as she neared home she could see he was there before her right on the ridge of her house, upside down and balancing on the point of his hat teetering as if about to fall and laughing as if there was no tomorrow and then he was gone.

Aoife had found the hard way that there's trouble with fecking off early! But she had her new shoes and they lasted her and when they became worn out with holes in she would find that next day or the day after they had been re-soled without her asking or visiting a cobbler, and, of course, she had learnt some new things, things a young girl needs to know, and Mick O'Rourke certainly appreciated them (though that is another tale and very little about Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn).



Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 03



Now as you know the Leprechawn have a penchant for mischief and many a farmer has been right put out by his dog being fair worn before the day has started. We, of course, know as the dog's been ridden all night long from here to who knows where, Galway or Clare maybe, by one of the wee folk too lazy, by far, to run or walk itself. Sheep or goats too, I can tell you, have had the milk quite ridden out of them. Well, let me tell you a tale of one particular Leprechawn, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, who rode a sheep not far from here, and rather more besides.

Farmer Shea has a bit of a reputation in these parts, a proud man and very particular about his rights. Now the apple of his eye was his daughter, Maighdlin, a fine half if ever you saw one. He was wont to boast she was the prettiest thing this side of the land and was more than careful to ensure no local lad got so much as a sniff of her and certainly kept her well away from the young men. Now I'm not as saying he was an unpleasant sort, no far from it, and was right welcome at the inn.

Where Farmer Shea went wrong, as so many do, is to get on the wrong side of the wee folk and the one in particular I have already mentioned to you, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn by name. Now I am not saying that Bearach was the completely innocent party for he was up to the mischievous pranks the Leprechawn are fond of—it keeps them from being overburdened by honest work I expect. All he had done was to keep the farmer awaiting a delivery all day. The driver of the lorry, you see, was not local and had driven all the way up from Dublin, even the other side of the Liffey. You could say it was his mistake to ask directions but the real mistake was to ask the diminutive old man with the cocked hat leaning on his stick at the crossroads. You'd have thought he'd have had more sense given the size of the man and the rather outmoded garb he wore. I mean who wears a red jacket, breeches and stockings these days but he was from the town and probably thought that's how an old culchie dresses in these parts and meant to have a good laugh about it that evening back in Dublin with his mates over a pint or two of the black stuff.

He's polite enough to the old fellow — at first, asking how he was ("Surviving") before asking the way to Shea's farm.

Bearach, it is him, starts by saying slowly, "I wouldn't start from here if I was going there..."

Which was none too helpful, but the driver humours him as the old man's only a 'muck savage' after all, "well, let's suppose I was..."

Bearach then launches into a complicated explanation with numerous directions, "turn right when you come to a cottage, turn left at Mrs. O'Rourke's, straight on where there are cows in the low field" and so on.

This leaves the driver no wiser so Bearach suggests amiably that he goes "straight on, turns right, then left and ask again."

Well, the driver doesn't think there's too much chance of there being anyone else to ask at that junction in the middle of the country but doesn't think there's much point listening to the old man any more so he drives on and then turns right and then left as instructed and is surprised and relieved to see someone sitting by the roadside when he comes to the next junction only, as he draws up beside him, it seems to be either the same man (but it can't be) or his twin. Well, this one is similarly not a great help, and he wonders if they are all daft in these parts, but gives him another set of directions and he finds himself right back at the first crossroads with the original old man again.

"What, back again?" asks Bearach.

The driver explains he was sent this way by someone who was the spitting image of the old man.

"Ah, that'll be my brother, he's an amadán, you don't want to listen to him. You should have gone right after there at the fork, not left..."

Of course Farmer Shea comes out of his farmhouse mid morning wondering where his delivery has got to and, the farm being on the top of a hill, he can see the lorry driving around the lanes but not getting to, or indeed any closer to the farm, going first one way, then another. After a time he espies the little old man in the red jacket and how he's not always in the same place and is pointing out directions to the driver and all. You can imagine the frown settling on the farmer's features as he realises who is making mischief and delaying the driver. Well he rings for the constable but the police are none too keen on the idea of arresting a Leprechawn, particularly when the farmer suggests a certain name as the likely culprit. So the farmer goes out himself to lead the lorry in but by now its stuck down the end of a dead-end track and it took the best part of the afternoon, and a lot of sweat and cursing for him to tractor it out and all the time he was none too sure he wasn't being watched and laughed at by a certain party who could as easily have been under a shamrock as up a tree.

Now Farmer Shea did not take kindly to being played around with and resolved to have revenge on the party who had been acting the maggot. To cut short what is getting to be a long story he has Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn banned from the pub, him having 'influence' and all. That did not go down well at all; mad as a little wasp was Bearach, a sight to behold.

Now it may not have been that evening, but it was not long after that Maighdlin stepped out of her front door for a run. You know how these young people can get the fitness idea into their heads, well she had it bad and out she comes from the farmhouse all in her running gear—you know, shorts, sports bra, branded trainers, singlet, Walkman, that sort of thing—and off she goes down the lane at a trot. She's known around the parts so she gets a cheery wave from those she meets on the road and she goes a fair distance. Maighdlin's a good runner. Weather is fine, her breathing sound and she's running well with no stitch or anything and the music is good... all that is until she comes up by the moor. Well it seems the weather takes a bit of a turn for the worse and it starts to rain, what's more the path seems not as clear as it has been and the branches of the trees and the bushes seem to catch at her and it's not long before her fancy running gear gets a bit torn, then a bit more ripped. That does not please her one little bit, that gear's expensive and, anyhow, she's getting cold now. The Walkman's gets turned off and she goes on down the track when, all at once, she stumbles and there's a real nasty rip and her running shorts are in tatters and her panties in none too good a state either. She can hardly credit this but runs onwards as the evening draws on and the rain gets wetter. The path's muddy and she slides a bit only to feel another big rip and her singlet and bra are on their last legs, well it's not that many more yards before they come away altogether and there's Maighdlin running in just her panties and trainers. 'Course it's not so easy for a girl who's quite well endowed to run with her boobies all bouncing around so she stops for a few moments unsure of what to do, she's got to get home unseen in her state so she sets off back holding them still in her hands only to find she manages to catch just the very edge of her panties on a bush and they rip too. They hold on for a few more yards, though not as decent as Maighdlin would wish before they too get snagged on a branch and are left just hanging there like a little flag to show she's passed by.

Imagine now Maighdlin running through the rain with just her trainers on, as fine a lass as you can think about. Well, what a sight for an old man such as I! But I was not so foolish as to be out in that rain any more than you were—more's the pity, as you could have confirmed for yourself that Maighdlin's fair head of hair was not her natural colour and she does have that Shamrock tattoo that is rumoured. Oh, you didn't know about that?

Ahead, to her dismay, she espies, standing on the track, a man, not a very big man at all, dressed in a great big sheepskin overcoat. There's nothing but to run up to him, the rain running down her and with her breasts all a bouncing, no other track to turn down and she doesn't want to turn around again and run further away from home.

"How's you cuttin'?" He says matter of factly as if there is nothing at all unusual in a pretty young girl bouncing down a track in the rain of an evening, though he does add, "you'll catch your death running around like that." And then he offers her his sheepskin overcoat, gentlemanly like.

Well Maighdlin should have had more sense. She really should have known she was a talking to one of the Leprechawn and Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn to boot, all ruddy hair, wizened old face and all. But she accepts the offer and he pulls off the coat turning it inside out as he does it so the fleece is on the outside — a bit odd and that should have put her on warning but she was so keen to hide her nakedness, I suppose she didn't think straight or else it was the cold and wet. The coat is warming and fits her like a glove. She thanks him and it seems that only then she notices his red jacket and breeches and it dawns on her what she had done and that it is customary to offer a Leprechawn something in return for a favour.

The Leprechawn looks a bit concerned as the rain falls down. "Oh dear my jacket is getting wet, and my lace." He doesn't like that. "And it's a long walk home for an oldish man like me."

Maighdlin meanwhile is all cosy now in the sheepskin and feels sorry for the little man, why, she thinks, he can't be more than three foot tall.

"Could you, perhaps, carry me a little way?"

She thinks he can't be heavy so she lifts him up on her back and off they go down the track. His weight was truly not great at all and she trotted along easily with the leprechaun bouncing up and down a little on her back. It was then that Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn got out his magic wand. Now you are thinking of something black with white at both ends. Well this was different, it had only one end and that was ruddy. Now yourself is thinking how can a stick have only one end. Well if I said he kept it in his breeches would that give you more of an idea?

So there he is being carried piggy back, Maighdlin trotting along happy and warm and Bearach saved the bother of walking and thinking, as he bounces up and down on her back, what he might do to her later that evening with his magic wand. Well, all that waggling around of the magic wand and its rubbing against her back as she bounces along was bound to release some magic and Maighdlin begins to feel it just a bit difficult walking on just her legs so she bends and gets down on her hands as well and is soon trotting along the track on all fours and finds that so much easier, so much more natural and quicker as well. It's easier for Bearach too as he's properly riding along on her back and he holds on to the wool of her coat just by her neck and digs his heels in a bit to make her go faster and off Maighdlin goes at a gallop. The coat feels really cosy now and for a moment Maighdlin is puzzled at how she's running so fast on all fours until she realises she's a sheep now. Oh yes, she really was.

Old Bearach puts away his wand, digs his heels in harder and whoops as he rides Maighdlin over the land; the moon comes from behind a cloud and there, for anyone there to see, is the strange sight of the red coated Leprechawn riding a sheep like it was a horse. On and on they go and poor Maighdlin really gets quite tired even with her four legs but she can't stop with her rider urging her on, not until they come to the field opposite the very pub Bearach has been banned from earlier in my tale. The wild ride slows and Bearach lets Maighdlin have a rest and pull at some good green grass.

Farmer Shea is in the pub drinking beer and regaling the regulars with how he dealt with that rogue, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn. Now they are not so sure about that at all, me among them, but we are happy to drink his beer and listen. He goes outside to answer a call of nature, he having drunk a good deal of the beer, when he calls us. We come out, glasses in hand being loathe to leave them and see him pointing at the field across the road.

"Look," he says, "have you ever seen a ram's bollocks like those?"

In the bright moonlight we see a ram tupping a ewe and, as the farmer says, the ram's got the biggest pair of bollocks you've ever seen and is at the ewe, covering her.

"Prettiest little ewe I've seen either and looks like the pair are enjoying that fuck as much as I ever have, right hammer and tongs."

Well, we look and then we look at each other and look back again and then look at Farmer Shea. Can't he see, we think, what's plain as plain can be that that ram is the Leprechawn, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn and the ewe he's tupping is young Maighdlin? You don't come from the country, you know, and not be able to see such things as so.

"I'd like to breed from that ram, not seen the like afore."

Well certainly the size of a ram's bollocks shows its fertility, any countryman knows that but did the amadán know what he was saying - no!

After a time the ram pushes the ewe along out of sight, still going at it, but Farmer Shea goes on and on about this ram and his great big bollocks and we just stand and stare at him, taking the odd pull at his beer because listening can be thirsty work. All at once we hear a light clattering in the lane and we turn and out of the gloom comes a sheep cantering along the road with, of all things, a rider; a tiny wizened old man in red jacket and breeches holding on to the scruff of the ewe's neck with one hand and his cocked hat in the other and he waves it at us derisively as he races past — or more particularly waves it at Farmer Shea. It's then that the penny drops and you should have seen the farmer's face as he realises what old Bearach had just been doing in the field with Maighdlin.

I can't imagine, my friend, that was all Bearach did with Maighdlin, tupping her as a ram in a field. I can't but think he rode her to a nice dry warm barn before getting his magic wand out again and having a merry old time with her before the dawn. But I knows little of that and he has not confided more in me. 



Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 04



Tales of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn

By Maximilian Cummings

Tale IV

As the sister of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn says of him, "The old scuttered fool thinks he's never drunk so long as he can hold onto one blade of grass to keep him from falling off the Earth."

He, for his part, prides himself in his ability to hold his drink. Many a time he had suggested to his sister that, "there's an awful drout on me," but it falls on deaf ears. To him the sour puss had no sense at all.

Tumbling into a ditch, the worse for drink, and lying there stupefied all night long is not recommended to anyone but is something Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn has managed to do more than once in his ninety-eight years. The most recent of these happenings was the most unwise, not because it was winter and wet and cold leading him to catch a chill, given it was high summer, but because he got caught. Yes, not a good thing for a leprechaun as I am sure you know.

The morning was well advanced when the leprechaun stirred. First one eye and then the other opened in his wizened little face. The light was uncommon fierce, or so it seemed to him, and he squinted trying to get his eyes to focus before sitting up and looking over the edge of the ditch to see what the world had come to since the previous night. His head was throbbing and he felt none too well. A day for quietness and reflection mostly asleep in a haystack, if possible.

Now Ireland is a fine country indeed and a fine one to go rambling but it is best, I should warn you, to take your waterproofs whatever the season: though that day was a glorious one to take to the road, or path, and people were out and about. Unfortunately for Bearach two young men from the big town were passing along the track just as he popped his head over the edge of the ditch.

"What's that, Declan?" said one.

And before Bearach could nip off down the ditch he was held firmly by the two young men.

"Looks like a grubby little leprechaun to me," said the one called Declan.

"Old too," said the other.

"Well, I wasn't a believing one, but three foot tall and dressed like that; look here's its hat."

"He's got to lead us to his crock o' gold now hasn't he? And at his age it must be quite a full one."

There was, as you might expect, a lot of wriggling from Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn. This was not good, Bearach counted himself as wily as any leprechaun this side of the country and he had never been caught before—if you don't count the night in the village lock-up in '55 but that had been simply a misunderstanding with the constabulary, particularly one PC Donnelly who is still living to regret the incident even though now in his seventies. Every year on the very anniversary of that night he would come downstairs in the morning to find all the furniture in the house re-arranged and nothing at all in its place. He'd tried staying up one year with a heavy blackthorn cudgel or shillelagh on his lap but eventually had fallen asleep in his armchair in his sitting room only to wake up, in the very same armchair, in the kitchen with the coal scuttle boiling away merrily on the stove, his tobacco in the sugar bowl and the mantelpiece clock ticking away to itself in the pantry.

But Bearach was caught and held tightly now. He began.

"Can't find it today, if of course I was a leprechaun which I'm not, just a little old man from Ballymageogh who lost my way last night a coming back from the inn. Perhaps we could go there now and I could buy you good gentlemen a pint of the black stuff in gratitude for pulling me out of the ditch. My legs are not as what they were."

The young men were having none of that. "Can't find it today, not likely you've forgotten where it is."

Bearach tried again.

"Everyone knows a leprechaun keeps his crock at the end of the rainbow but, alas, there's not a cloud in the sky so, what a shame, no chance of a rainbow. Better come back tomorrow. I'll be here..."

"Do you think we're stupid? Rainbows don't come to ground; they're just optical illusions, not real."

Bearach smiled as if he knew something more than they did.

"Now old man, you know the rules. We've caught you and you have to lead us to your crock o' gold."

There was grumbling but they plant his hat on his head and Bearach sets off still held very tightly. He was in a bit of a fix I can tell you. As they walked his head begins to clear a little but he hasn't a plan—yet. He did not take kindly to being frogmarched or to being caught at all. I am not sure which he was more cross about – allowing himself to be caught or actually being in a state of having been caught. The thought of what his sister might say – might say repetitively for the next few decades – came to mind. It was not a good thought.

Now, as I said, Bearach hadn't a plan but he was always ready to seize a chance and his eyes being good (now the double vision had cleared) he espied a group of walkers far ahead and as they get closer a grin begins to form, just a hint of one at first but gradually it grows to a gull's wing.

"Would you mind," he said, "if I stopped for a piss. Only I drank a fair bit last night and I'm bursting to be rid."

Well Declan and Amery can hardly say no, but, suspecting a trick, for the leprechaun are famous for that, they let him stand facing a bush and hold tight to one arm and a shoulder. Of course they are not to know about Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn's magic wand and the mischief he can do with that in his hand and I don't just mean to the wans.

As he stands there, the young men kept a tight hold on Bearach and, rather than look at him, watch the party of walkers coming towards them along the river bank. Being young men it was not long before they notice, what Bearach noticed somewhat earlier, that the party is made up of women and being men they run their eyes over them and the closer they get the more they like what they see; almost as if the closer the women got the more attractive they seemed to become, perhaps due to the light.

"Are you finished?" And they pulled Bearach back onto the path in the direction of the girls.

I don't know as you've seen the like but the young men hadn't, five really stunning girls each with long golden hair kitted out with day packs, boots, various colours of shorts (and some quite short at that) and tee shirts—for it was a hot day. They seemed minded to stop and chat which naturally the young men were not adverse to, liking to talk to pretty wans. The girls did not seem to particularly notice or comment on the rather unusual little man the young men were holding tight, as if it was an everyday occurrence to see a leprechaun being closely escorted. That was peculiar, you will think, but the young men were too taken with the girls to notice.

"It's very hot," said one of the girls after a time and there was general agreement leading to rather longing looks at the cool river flowing by, looking invitingly cool and its soft water pleasant to slip into.

"We could swim," said one, "if only we had the things."

There followed a discussion about swimming in underwear leading to the idea that it was silly to get those things wet, they often become less than opaque when wet in any case, and there was no need for towels as they would dry easily in the sun.

"No need to be worried about the boys as we outnumber them more than two to one anyway."

"They have more need to be frightened of us," giggled another.

You can imagine old Bearach grinning away at this exchange, that wide smile of his stretching his scratchy grey whiskers. He could have mentioned that if they were at all worried at mixed bathing the two sexes could have gone their separate ways and bathed alone. He could have mentioned that, but there was perhaps just the chance he had something to do with all of this talk and ideas. Perhaps he had played one of his little tricks with their thoughts, put ideas in their heads with a little magic from his wand.

The idea was attractive but the young men did not want to lose their prize, their very own caught leprechaun, they were trapped between avarice and lust—a difficult place to be. The solution seemed to lie with the tying up of Bearach to a small tree with their belts. He was held tight all right, wrapped round and round with two stout leather belts and buckled in. He could not move up or down but at least they had put him on the river side of the tree so he did not miss the likely frolics and they could keep the necessary eye on him.

It is one thing to suggest the skinny dipping but another who goes first. Bearach waited to see. There was talk of ladies first but the girls suggested this was an exception and got their way. There was a lot of giggling and pointing but certainly these young men had no need to be embarrassed about their bodies and that was the gist of one or two of the comments from the wans.

Of course once the boys were in, and having swum a bit, there was great enthusiasm on their part for the girls to get in and, after a bit of encouragement, the boys had the pleasure of watching, not too obviously, the removal of tee shirts and bras, with the consequent bouncing into view of no less than ten breasts of varying sizes and shapes not, you will understand that they did not think the backs and tummies worth the looking. Naturally the unzipping of flies and the opening of shorts was of especial interest but, as one, the girls turned from the river obscuring the front view though, it has to be said, there is much to be said for the sight of a row of five female bottoms all jiggling and round, not least bending over to drop clothes in piles. The nature of water to hide what is beneath the surface was perhaps a benefit to the young men as it is easy to imagine a reactive swelling occurring in response to the girls' stripping. I suppose it would have been possible for the girls to have backed into the water but not very easy and so they had to turn and, with some modesty, holding a discrete hand across their lower parts, the girls entered the water but you can imagine the half-hearted attempt at modesty was more exciting to the boys than a matter-of-fact walking straight into the water would have been.

You will appreciate that Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn had a different and closer perspective of the disrobing, tied as he was to the young tree, and he smiled and nodded to the women in a pleasant manner—not that they took much notice of the strange little old man.

A jolly time was had by all swimming and splashing around in the cool clear water. Nothing overtly sexual but the lack of swimming things was not forgotten by any of the seven, not counting Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn who remained well tied up to the tree.

Whilst it is a pleasing idea to swim on a hot day no one would accuse the rivers of Ireland of being excessively warm and it was not surprising that when the young men, feeling sufficiently cooled, climbed out of the river that their genitalia had quite shrivelled up. You will know the effect yourself, of course, the tightening of the scrotum hauling the old bollocks up close to the body and the shrinking away of the willy to quite boy-like proportions.

Once again this produced mirth from the girls with yet more pointing as they too left the water.

"Nothing there to threaten us with at all, is there girls?" Said one to much laughter.

"Just little boys." Replied another.

"Looks like they've been gelded, more's the pity." Said another a bit more saucily.

"Poor things, they need putting away somewhere warm and cosy!" That produced a lot of laughter from the women.

Despite the sun they were all a little cold and the girls started one by one to jump up and down to get dry. Well, you can imagine even in their shrivelled state what the effect of ten bouncing breasts was on the young men's willies. Yes indeed, they began to grow and this delighted and amused the girls who began to be more provocative in their movements to encourage the phenomenon. The effect was inevitable and not only did the penises elongate but they began to rise past the horizontal and up to attention. Now the erect penis is, sad to relate to men who think it is a sight to inspire awe and wonder in women, rather more a matter of amusement to the fair sex, notwithstanding its great utility to them and the subject of desire. This was accentuated in the five women by the effect of the cold water and the resultant rather misshapen erections it caused, for whilst the heads expanded as usual, the shafts remained rather shrunken and thin so the penises seemed crowned by overly large domes giving a mushroom shaped appearance to the whole affairs.

"Look at this," said one of the girls, bolder than the others and she took one of the cocks in hand, "are there any balls at all?" She could just about feel them in their drawn up, wrinkled cold sack. "Poor thing, it needs warming up."

Well I think the other women were a bit shocked, and I'm sure Declan was because she dropped to her knees and in one movement had the rounded head of his cock in her mouth. Yes, can you imagine it, kneeling there naked on the river bank with all her friends watching her and sucking on this young man's cock. Well I'm sure that warmed it up!

Shocked yes, but jealous and it was not many moments before one of the remaining four women took the lead from her friend and had Amery's penis in her mouth, restoring its shape and vitality—a generous hearted thing to do.

Can you think that Declan and Amery were likely to forget hearing the remaining three girls clamouring for "their turn?" Or the experience of five stunning girls one after another (for they all 'had a go' at each of the cocks) sucking them. Well fair is fair and one good turn deserves another and before long the scene shifted to one of naked male bottoms in the air but not, as perhaps you were imagining, with gluteal muscles flexing as they pushed cocks in and out of wet vaginas—that was to come—but instead the boys were face down tiring their tongues out in the aforementioned wet items. Yes, the women were lined up on the river bank in a row on their backs, thighs wide open to the sun as the young men came along the line kneeling and performing cunnilingus on one woman after another in series with further cries of "my turn," if they did not change places quick enough.

Meanwhile, back at his tree, old Bearach was feeling a lot more content with the world. Oh yes, he was still tied up but had a little movement in one hand and was very close to having freed his magic wand and what with all the jollity down there on the river bank it was feeling very magic indeed.

It is difficult to think what a passerby would have thought and so it is lucky there weren't any; what with the interesting tangle of bodies, for the women were keen to try both men for size and were careful to take their fair turn and this was easiest riding 'cowboy' or is it 'cowgirl?' So the men were soon on their backs and were successively mounted and ridden.

Of course, you are thinking, it was not like old Bearach to miss the opportunity of tupping young ladies and of course at ninety-eight, most women are young to him and, you see I don't like to disappoint, he did choose and have the youngest of the ladies and at forty-five she was quite young compared to his great age. Five women is a lot for two young men to deal with, two each is probably more than enough given, once spent, even the youngest cock takes some time to recover its potency and strength—and it is very easy to spend too soon! Two each leaves one free, and Bearach made himself very free I gather. But I get ahead of myself.

The magic of the leprechaun is interesting and slightly peculiar perhaps not more so than with Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn for, with his magic wand now in his hand he began to shrink, yes he became smaller, and of course the smaller he got the looser the belts became and it wasn't long before he could simply slip out from between the encircling belts and stretch. Free now he began to grow again. A sensible leprechaun might well have fecked off quick but old Bearach's wand was up and he was minded, feeling a lot better than when he had started the day, to take advantage of the pleasing sight around him and the generous supply of women. Declan and co. were somewhat engaged and paying him no attention, indeed what with one woman impaled and another settling herself for some tongue work it was not that easy for the young men to see what Bearach was up to.

Laying his clothes to one side Bearach raised his cocked hat in a gentlemanly fashion and asked the currently unengaged lady,

"May I?"

Perhaps she hadn't noticed himself before but the slight bow and politeness from the small aged man must have overcome any reluctance on her part though, it may have been the effect of his magic wand both as to its magic and its impressive proportions—quite outsize for his small frame (or so it is said, though I think by Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn).

I rather doubt he took her in the missionary position or let her ride him cowboy, I'm sure he had one eye on the young men in case they should suddenly, unlikely as it was given their involvement with the other women, notice his freedom and seek to apprehend him once more. More likely he approached from behind with her on all fours allowing a speedy departure should he suddenly need to make himself scarce and, of course, a very pleasant and soft connection with easy access to play with hanging titties. All quite excellent I should think.

All good things come to an end and more particularly young men have to come. Perhaps Bearach had given them extra staying power; I rather think so as he had his own business to conclude with the chosen lady. No doubt the young men's coming was uncommon fierce, I doubt Bearach would have, despite their rough imprisoning of him, allowed otherwise. He can be very generous... but not with the gold.

It was only then that Declan and Amery remembered their find, their find who should be tied to a tree. Instead of being tied to a tree, there he was casually finishing dressing, pulling on his red jacket, adjusting his ruff, buckling his shoes. He gave them a cheery wave and started to walk away; well, you can imagine, they went running after him as naked as the day they were born but as they ran the little man seemed to be getting smaller and smaller and, turning to raise his cocked hat to them, he walked right down a rabbit hole and they did not see him again.

The gold was the girls' hair but it was fool's gold for all that. Declan and Amery missed out on walking off with one of the best crocks o'gold held by a leprechaun east of Kerry—or so Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn would have us believe and, you never know, perhaps its true; yet I do wonder how he has acquired it—certainly not by good honest hard work his sister would vouch. She is wont, after all, to refer to him as a worthless, lazy, conniving, scuttered old fool who never did an honest day's work in his life—and that when she is feeling quite pleasantly disposed towards her elder brother. Still, none would deny, except perhaps she, that Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn is a cute hoor.

The young men could have reached the gold but instead thought with their trousers. I suppose it cannot have been that Bearach's magic left them unaffected but they should have been on their guard against a leprechaun's tricks and should have thought it just a little bit surprising that, then of all days, five of the most beautiful women they had ever seen should fall over themselves to please them. In truth they made a right hames of it but, no doubt, they enjoyed themselves and good for them if they savour the memory for many a day but the gold would have lasted a good deal longer in a more concrete way. I can vouch, though, for the pleasurable memory the women have of the day for I have spoken to more than one about the fun they, the local Senior Ladies Rambling Club, had with two young men one summer's day. Appearances, you see, are deceiving when Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn is around.



Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 05



Tale V

You remember me telling you the other evening about young Maighdlin and how the Leprechawn, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, rode her one night across the land? I thought as you would and about how she had lost her running clothes on the moor, yes I thought you'd remember that all right! Well, I told you, more as likely, he rode her to a nice warm barn—and so he did—but the merry old time he anticipated did not result—least not that night—but I am getting ahead of meself.

You can visualise the scene, a cosy old barn full of soft hay; Bearach sitting and taking a nip of Bushmills from his flask; Maighdlin now shorn, hee hee, of her sheepskin coat standing there, breathing hard with all her recent exertion, both from running and her first tupping, those breasts rising and falling and the sheen of sweat shining in the yellow light of an old Tilly lamp. Outside it's dark, real dark with another storm brewing, yes the air full of electricity. You can imagine old Bearach eyeing Maighdlin's damp secret hair and thinking it was just about time for a tumble in the hay, and I don't suppose she would have been all that averse given as how these Leprechawn do get the wans' feelings going; when all of a moment the barn door swings open with a mighty crash, that right startles them I can tell you, but then there is a flash and there silhouetted for a moment by the lightning is a terrible figure - leastways that is how Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn described the apparition to me—a fearsome, black, sharp silhouette of a person, all hard angles, no rounding to it at all; it just stands there and Bearach and Maighdlin are rooted to the spot; they durst not move. Then the thunder crashes and the rain begins to pour and over the sound of the falling rain, in a terrible voice resonant with opprobrium, come three words spoken slow with a rich meaning from long usage, "Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn..."

So that's Bearach's tricks ended for the night. How his sister knew where to find him he doesn't know to this day and I've heard him speak often on the subject and none too kindly either. Anyways she takes Maighdlin by the hand, "You poor craytur," she says and leads her away to the farm.

Well, Bearach was not seen in those parts for quite a time. I hear he went on holiday but that sounds unlikely indeed for a Leprechawn - I mean, have you ever heard of such a thing? There was no doubt a distinct cooling of relations in the Candlestick family for a time, not as it had been at all easy at the best of times. I mean, you know, families... and siblings to boot!

Farmer Shea had quite a shock by the affair and was careful to keep Maighdlin under lock and key but, by and by, things stayed quiet, for Bearach was not around and then Farmer Shea had to go away on business (or so he said to his wife anyway but I think drinking came into it) and so Maighdlin managed to get out of the house and go running again. Now old Faolán, who works at the farm, says he saw her once or twice poke her nose into that barn; yes the one Bearach took her to, which makes you think that perhaps she was wanting to carry on where it had all left off. Seems unlikely but, perhaps, the tupping had, after all, tickled her fancy, so to speak.

It's got to the third day since she has started running again and Maighdlin is really enjoying it. The weather is fine, the going's good and she feels as if she could run like the wind. Her legs, smooth and lithe carry her across the land, her elbows moving in time and, I say it because you'd be interested, her fine chest rising and falling with her breathing but restrained, as it should be, by a new sports bra. You remember as how the old one got pulled to ribbons in the storm. Funny that.

She's toiling up the path by the Wall, it's hot and thirsty work and she's glad she's got her little plastic water bottle with her - though it's nigh on empty. She pauses for a moment to take a last drink and look at the magnificent scenery, so empty and so fine. Maighdlin has not seen anyone for some time and thinks there cannot be anyone for miles. She upends the now empty bottle and looks at it wistfully.

"It's a fine old day, isn't it just?" says a voice and there behind her sitting on the wall is the Leprechawn, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn, and he raises his cocked hat to her. "How's the form?"

"Thirsty, a bit tired and right cross with myself for not running faster," replies Maighdlin after the briefest of moments.

She's torn between a desire to run away and a fascination with the peculiarity of meeting one of the little folk and still more this one whom she had such a strange adventure with and promise of rather more. Maighdlin is more than a little unnerved by the fact that, apart from the aforementioned hat, he is wearing nothing at all not even his breeches. Perhaps he was sun bathing.

"You are in need of a drink? It is hot and your running will have made you powerful thirsty. It so happens there's an awful drout on me too but not a drop to be had for miles." There is a sigh. "More's the pity but there it is. The best I can offer is a pull on my pizzle, a suck—for they say, though I haven't tried it meself, that a drop o' the spunk o' a Leprechawn is as thirst quenching as it comes (which it does)."

Maighdlin is a bit taken aback at this speech and glances at the little empty plastic bottle in her hand, but Bearach goes on,

"I'm not surprised at you being tired with all of that running up and down; I've been watching you for an hour or more and fair worn out am I just by looking. Now right restorative, or so it is said, is the spunk o' a Leprechawn."

Maighdlin looks puzzled. She's never heard of such a thing and nor, I'm sure, have you! Even so the Leprechawn squints up at the sky and says,

"It is said, and I would bet a crock o'gold that it's true, that the spunk o' a Leprechawn gives the legs fierce speed. Should you really want to race then that is what you need and..." at this point Bearach tapped the side of his long nose meaningfully, "I might just have what you are needing."

Maighdlin does not know what to say, I mean would you? There right in front of her eyes is the conduit of the Leprechawn's generous offer and, as she eyes it, it stirs as if in response or readiness. Now it may have been the Leprechawn's magic, who is to know, but Maighdlin feels a powerful urge, right fierce it is, to see if what the Leprechawn says is true; she's heard about such things, well not with the little folk of course, but from her friends. She reaches out and picks up Bearach's cock. She's looking at the cock and not Bearach's face but you can imagine the smile coming over his wrinkled old features. As wide as a gull's wing I'm sure.

Talking of wrinkled features, Maighdlin certainly knew about what men have in their trousers, but not that close and personal. Even so, she is surprised at the change coming over it in her hand as it elongates, fills out losing its wrinkles and becoming smooth and hard. She stares at the shiny head and licks her lips thinking of the Leprechawn's promise to quench her thirst. Her mind is quite fixated on that and her lips open ready.

You can conceive old Bearach's pleasure in feeling those soft young lips closing around his cockhead. What, indeed, can be better than sitting in the morning sunshine on a glorious day looking out over the most perfect view and having your cock sucked by a fine half in the green of Ireland? You tell me!

After a time old Bearach suggests, it being so hot, that young Maighdlin might feel cooler with rather less on. She's not wearing much but she lets go of the Leprechawn long enough to slip off her running shorts, panties, top and sports bra. So even the most perfect view was improved! Back she goes to sucking on his cock her mind filled with the promise of refreshment. She goes at it right well, using her tongue and as you might expect she gets her reward—a real gush and she swallows greedily. Old Bearach says he quite forgot about the view on account of his eyes being squeezed tight shut with the pleasure of it.

Now I'm not saying that the Leprechawn's sayings are true at all, indeed I'd warn you against putting too much store in what they say at all, but you'll remember me mentioning before Bearach's magic wand and what he can do with it—yes and that!—and, of course, it is at its most magic when used by the wans, well it would be wouldn't it! And it releases most of its magic when... well, yes, you can guess. So there is young Maighdlin literally drinking in the magic of Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn—so you can expect something pretty magic is going to happen soon.

Maighdlin is surprised at the feeling coming over her: refreshed, frisky even and with a desire to be racing across the moor—not standing still. She's off even before she's remembered to get dressed again but she can't stop, can't go back for that now as she races off down the hill towards the valley and the fields.

Old Bearach watches her go, watches her lithe pink form running down the track. He smiles to himself as he slowly gets dressed and picks up her clothes. He likes to see his magic working you see.

By the dam Maighdlin is surprised to see Bearach sitting waiting for her—how did he do that? But there is hardly a time for a pause as he swings himself up onto her back and they are off at a canter down the lane and into a field. Maighdlin's going at it now, she's never run so fast in her life and even with a rider on her back that doesn't seem slow her speed at all; nor does the end of the field, for she clears the hedge at a single jump and on she gallops, field after field, gate, wall or hedge.

It comes to Maighdlin that she's not a girl anymore, or a sheep, for that matter, but a thoroughbred horse.

Bearach rides her all the way back to the farm and that's quite some miles, he's a good rider from long practice even without a bridle and saddle. Imagine that idea! Maighdlin all done up in leather, the straps tightly holding her. Of course the picture does not have quite the same effect now she's a filly!

Now most people, I expect, would be a little perturbed at being turned into an animal but Maighdlin's been there before and, anyway, she simply loved the speed at which she raced across the land. Her heart is still pumping with the excitement and exertion and she twitches her tail with the pleasure of it all—and she loves having a tail of course. Bearach lets her into a field with the other horses on the farm. She knows them, has ridden some and they, herd animals they are, greet her friendly like but none more so than the old dark bay stallion. He's detected what Bearach already knew from sitting on the wall that this filly is in heat. Yes old Bearach is having a bit of a laugh—now there's a novelty!

Maighdlin's a little surprised to see the stallion approaching her with its absurdly big and long cock all ready under its hind quarters, and even more surprised when he gets up on her back, oh yes, mounts her. But she doesn't kick out at the stallion but rather lifts her tail up and, well stands for the stallion and he does his work.

Now would you believe it but Farmer Shea happens along at that moment and stops to admire the scene. He's always been pleased with his dark bay but he hasn't seen this little chestnut filly before though he likes her build. What is she doing in his paddock? You would never say Farmer Shea would look a gift horse in the mouth and he goes to get a bridle.

You can imagine old Bearach chuckling to himself as Farmer Shea puts the bridle on Maighdlin and leads her away to saddle her. Oh yes, he means to ride her, and Bearach is right tickled by the idea of seeing the farmer astride his own daughter out in the field, I mean, you understand, that Farmer Shea intends getting right on top of her, clasping her between his strong thighs and riding her. You do understand what I mean, I hope?

The farmer puts the filly through her paces—trotting, cantering and at the gallop.

The farmer is very pleased with his new acquisition, however the filly came to be in his field, and he calls to Maighdlin to come out of the house and rub the filly down because she is fair lathered in sweat with all the riding (to say nothing of the stallion's earlier work). There's no reply so he puts the filly in a stable and goes to look for the lazy girl.

No sooner has the farmer left the stable by one door than in comes Bearach by the other and he begins the job of rubbing the filly down just as the farmer wanted and soon he's rubbing down a tired, sweaty girl who is down on all fours in the straw of the stable with her bottom in the air. He slaps her rump and stands looking at her rear. It hasn't occurred to Maighdlin to get up as she's still a bit confused as to what she is and the more Bearach looks at her bottom the more he's reminded of the stallion and, as we know, Bearach is wont to see himself as something of a Leprechawn stallion despite his age which is, as he says, "well short of a hundred." And the more he looks at Maighdlin's pink bottom, the more he thinks how nice it would be to sink his own shaft into the warm pink wetness beneath.

You'll be thinking that Maighdlin, bending over, is still going to be rather tall for a little four (or is it three?) foot Leprechawn to reach given, however large it is, his cock is still not going to be more than two foot off the ground and Maighdlin's legs are long (smooth, shapely and quite brown actually though that is not strictly relevant to the tale). Now the Leprechawn are resourceful and ready with ideas where there is something important to be achieved and he fetches a wooden box. Oh yes, he puts it right behind Maighdlin and stands on it, can you imagine it! He is now at just the right height and undoes his breeches to apply his rather outsize cock to Maighdlin. She's still a bit fuzzy from the changing, riding, fucking, riding and changing so is none too sure what is having her now but she likes it and pushes back against Bearach easing the cock into her. He holds on to her hips and they are off with a steady pounding motion.

It would not have been good for Farmer Shea to have come back just then and caught Bearach with his breeches down but, as it happens, he was still over at the house trying to find where his daughter had got to—so the pounding goes on in peace, and for quite a time, before Maighdlin pushes back hard against Bearach and comes over all a 'shiver and a shudder.' That was his very words on the subject, I remember it well, and no doubt he came well shortly afterwards - though he wasn't particular about that but with Maighdlin's fine bottom to push against I can'st see it would be anything less.

Rather usefully Bearach has brought Maighdlin's clothes and shoes with him, ah you were wondering about those and how she had left them up by the wall. He leaves them with her though I fancy he's been none too happy carrying those running shoes around with him. I can't as think he would look too kindly at them. She pulls them on still feeling all peculiar like and hears firm footsteps heading to the barn.

As the farmer comes in one door, Maighdlin slips out the other. He doesn't see the Leprechawn, feet dangling, up in the rafters, laughing at him. All he sees is an empty stable—with a wooden box in it—he scratches his head and looks around in puzzlement. There is the saddle and the rest of the tack he has just taken off the chestnut filly but where is the horse?

Farmer Shea is none the wiser back at the farmhouse and gets little sense out of Maighdlin through the bathroom door over the sound of a bath being run. He gets little more from her over supper about where on Earth she was when he was calling her and is not best pleased to find she has been out running again—something very obvious from her flushed red cheeks and animated manner.

Refreshed by both bath and supper, Maighdlin slips out of the farmhouse in her light blue cotton dress and walks quietly down the lane, feeling the warm evening sun on her bare legs. Despite her adventures that day—sucking off the Leprechawn, being mounted by the stallion (she looks at him grazing in the field—surely that can't have happened) and lastly the fuck in the stable with the Leprechawn - she's feeling sexy like and with a growing dampness between her legs. Inside the barn she goes up into the loft and, sitting on a couple of bales of hay, she slips her panties down and drops the scrap of material on the bale beside her, before hoisting the dress up a little and beginning to play, thinking of, well, I don't rightly know but I expect it involved men or may be a Leprechawn.

The sun slanting in through cracks in the cladding falls in strips across her legs and makes her secret hair shine golden.

"I was thinking that maybe you would like some help with that?"

Maighdlin starts, pulling wet fingers from herself, and there, sitting on another bale of hay and looking every inch the dandy in his red coat, fine lace, ruff and cocked-hat, is the Leprechawn, Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn.

Maighdlin is not quite sure what Bearach means but she soon finds out when he gets up and walks right between her thighs, yes, she's sitting so high up on the bales, and he being so short (I wouldn't say that to his face) that one moment she feels his scratchy beard on her thighs and the next his face is where her fingers have just been. You may not know this but the Leprechawn's tongue has a special quality in it being rather long; though as flexible as the next man's. Maighdlin did not know this either but she soon discovered this, much to her delight and pleasure. Now it is not often Bearach gets something wrong but I've heard him say his sister has a right forked tongue but this is not true at all, as any good book on the physiology of the Leprechawn will confirm, as the tongue is simply rather extensive in length but not bifurcated at all either in the male or female sex.

So Maighdlin discovered the delight of the Leprechawn's tongue and its easy ability to slip this way and that and wriggle here and there in a most satisfying way. You can imagine she comes yet again. I rather like to imagine her at that moment with her head thrown back, eyes closed, her dress a little open and her breasts revealed with nipples pointing and her tongue slipping wetly between her lips. I wasn't there of course to see and Bearach couldn't see anything so I haven't a report on the subject to go by. Still it's good to dream!

You will have been counting and know the Leprechawn's already come twice that day but you know that grand old saying, 'three times is good for a leprechaun and one for luck.' So no sooner has Maighdlin come than he's pulling off his clothes and has Maighdlin down lying on a single bale and he's standing between her thighs with his cock 'magnificently' firm (his word not mine). He's not approached Maighdlin this way before and he pauses to admire before plunging into the wetness he's stirred up. It must have been a right funny sight for Maighdlin looking down her body and seeing the diminutive Leprechawn at work, all wiry and hairy standing there between her thighs but, Bearach assured me, she was not at all unhappy at the feeling and she grinned and he grinned back as he plunged in and out.

You might have thought, when he finally pulled out, that was the end of the activities for the evening but Maighdlin is surprised to notice the strength hasn't completely gone out of the Leprechawn's cock and she makes some comment about it, no doubt favourable, and so he offers it to her to suck on again—ever the generous one.

"This isn't going to make me run fast is it?" says Maighdlin, "Because I don't think I could take being a horse again twice in one day!"

"No, no, not this time," assures old Bearach with that wide grin of his, "rather it is said, that the spunk o' a Leprechawn is as good a bedtime drink as you can get—like 'Horlicks'—it makes you sleep."




Tales of Bearach C. O’Floinn 05



Well, I prefer a pint or two o' the black stuff or maybe a glass of Bushmills myself afore bed but Maighdlin was content enough sucking away softly with a happy smile on her face as Bearach stroked her hair. I can imagine himself was quite happy to sit there up in the barn on the hay bales watching the sun going down for quite some time before the spunk rose.

Maighdlin wandered back down the path to the farmhouse half asleep looking for her bed and wondering if she has just been dreaming in the barn but there is a sticky wetness and a feeling of contentment which says her meeting with that Leprechawn was anything but a dream. And, if she wanted confirmation, there in the morning on the doorstep was the most perfect pair of shoes of soft leather Maighdlin had ever seen.

Now it is lucky Farmer Shea did not see those shoes first for he would have recognised them for what they were—the makings of a small cordwainer and he would have thrown them on the dung heap before Maighdlin had time to try them on. But he didn't and she did. Now I don't suppose Bearach Candlestick O'Floinn had made a pair of running shoes before and perhaps he was up the whole night a making but they fitted perfectly and did the job. Maighdlin was never so fleet of foot until she had those shoes on and then, well, none could catch her. Drug tests? Oh yes, she had them regular as anything, any excuse and they tested but, you see, they don't test for magic. You watch out for the Olympics and see if Maighdlin Shea's name isn't with the golds.

Of course when at home sometimes her feet seemed to take her where she didn't expect but she was always pleased to find the Leprechawn waiting for her. So I don't suppose Maighdlin will forget the day she was covered by a couple of old stallions.