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."