The start of a fine summer’s morning found a pretty young woman strolling along the winding path through the hills toward the valley below. She sang to keep herself company with just the occasional spattering of sheep grazing in the tall grasses. Occasionally, one would look up at the sound of her voice. Maybe one day, I’ll have sheep, she hoped, glancing into her empty pot. 

The sun hung high in the sky by the time she reached the bridge that crossed a brook—one that meandered more than babbled. The quietness surprised her. This should be the place, she thought, but wondered if she was lost. 

“Why so far from home on this blessed day, Aithne?” an oily voice called from underneath the bridge. 

She peered over the side to find a man leaning against the moss-covered stone arch, eying her as if he were a fox and she a hen. His shoulders, impossibly broad, stretched his red jacket covering a shirt white as snow. What caught her eye next was the shining gold buckle on his belt—well, that and the notable swell of his forest-green trousers. 

“How… how do you know my name?” she stammered, then sniffed, not wishing to conversate with him. “And it’s none of your concern.” 

Speaking in a voice brimming with self-importance, he retorted, “I know everyone in Ireland, girl, and you are atop my bridge, so it is my concern.”

She backed off the bridge and scrambled down the muddy bank to where he stood. Up close, he looked even more imposing, but she held her ground, fussing, “Your bridge? I think not, for I’m searching for a wee man—a rich leprechaun if you must know.”

“Look at my clothes, girl. The finest fabrics, perfectly tailored. Do I not look like the rich leprechaun you seek?”

She shrugged. “A goat dressed in silk is still just a goat.”

He straightened to his full height from his slouch against the wall, announcing, “I am the leprechaun who lives in this land.” Then, he grinned. “Although there’s nothing wee about me.”

It was the way he said it that made her pink freckles congregate, colouring her cheeks a deep rose. Humph. “You are bigger than expected, I admit.” She drew closer and studied his face. “And not as hideous. Except…”

“Except what?” 

“Your nose is too big.” 

Her directness drew a chuckle from him. She wasn’t the usual timid farm wife who came looking for him. No, this one might be a spot of trouble. 

“What is it you want with me?” 

Before she could answer, he withdrew a few gold coins from his pocket and tossed them into the air, catching each one in turn. 

Her eyes burst wide in amazement, and her next words tumbled out in haste. “I know you give three wishes, but I only need one.” She thrust the empty pot toward him. “Fill my pot with gold, please.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You have quite a few things scrambled beneath your thatch of ginger curls, Aithne. For it is I who gets three wishes from you.” He tucked his thumbs underneath his gaudy buckle and delighted at where her eyes landed. “Then, you may have your pot of gold.”

“You lie,” she snapped. 

“I do not. But if you do not believe me, run along back to your poor farm over that hill.”

She wrinkled her freckled nose, and her thoughts ran to her husband, Fin, bent over picking potatoes from dawn to dusk. Why, if she came home with gold, he’d never have to pick another stinkin’ potato. They’d buy pigs and cattle and sheep and have everything they ever desired. 

He’d been watching her carefully and was rather assured of what would come next, but toyed with her anyway.

“Run along, then.” He gestured toward the hills. “Go dirty your nails picking potatoes beside Fin. Maybe his back won’t break in two.”

“How–”

“I told you that I know everyone in Ireland.”  

And with that, they stood, boots planted in the soggy ground, sizing up one another before she repeated his words. “‘Three wishes’, you say.” Then, she cocked an eyebrow. “And what sort of wishes might they be, leprechaun?” 

He played with his coins again, not meeting her eyes. “They are of a… sexual nature.” 

She swallowed hard and looked from the gold in his hand to her empty pot. 

“Just three wishes?” 

He nodded. 

“And you’ll fill my pot with gold. Real gold?” 

“Of course. As I said, ‘I do not lie’.”

She narrowed her eyes, threatening, “If you’re lying, may the cat eat ya, and then may the devil eat the cat!”  Then, she dropped the pot at his feet. Kerplunk.

The leprechaun smiled and clasped his hands together. “Very well. Let’s begin.”

“What? Here?”

“Yes, here.” 

He took her hand and led her to a grassy patch underneath the cover of the bridge. She once again became the hen and he the fox as he circled her, assessing her rolling curves. Her calmness would have made a smart man nervous; instead, the leprechaun licked his lips at the sun-kissed skin spilling over the top of her tunic. She had his blood warming. 

“Let’s have it, then. First wish?”

“Your twin jugs.”

She looked down at her breasts. 

“I want to play with them,” he said, looking all too pleased with himself. 

Without further delay, she stretched the elastic around the top of her shirt and pulled it down until her tits popped out. She watched his hands close around her round balls of flesh, warm and heavy in his palms. He kneaded her tits like fresh dough. He was already near bursting with want, and he’d only seen the top half of her.

“They’re ripe for squeezing,” he murmured as he continued to grope her tender peaches, while barely grazing her nipples. 

She pulled her shoulders back and planted her hands on her spread hips in a huff. “Is that all? Don’t be acting the maggot. Pinch me. Let me nipples feel your teeth.”

His mouth fell open in surprise. Oh, this one is trouble. He bent his head and captured a hard bean in his mouth while his hand pinched the other. She squealed. Quite melodic, and he wondered who was getting the better end of this bargain. His tongue flicked the bean over and over, held between his teeth, and she howled. Howled!  

She gripped his head and thrust his face into the deep crevice before shimmying her shoulders, causing her bountiful balls of flesh to bang the sides of his face. His beard and sideburns, red as a tomato, tickled. Now that got her heart pumping. The wind picked up, whistling around them, and the brook began babbling with the leprechaun’s muffled noises. 

He suddenly pulled away, face as red as his hair. “That’s… enough… of that,” he panted. “You’ll have me bursting my trousers. You were well named, Aithne, for there’s fire in ya.”

A wicked warmth spread through her insides as she tucked herself back into her shirt, attempting to get back to business. “Well, get on with it. Next wish?”

He made a crude hand gesture. “Polish me knob.”

She shifted her gaze to the plumpness below his buckle. “Let’s see it then.”

He unbuckled his belt, then opened his trousers. It sprang forward on its own, bouncing with impatience. 

Her heart gave a bold little jump, and she lowered her head for a closer inspection. Why, its head didn’t resemble any mushroom she’d ever gathered in the fields, and its shaft pulsed and twitched like a lively new stalk in springtime. He assumed she’d turn—like the others before her—and leave with her pot empty.

But she didn’t. Instead, she rolled her eyeballs up toward him. “It’ll shine more with a bit of spittle.” 

And with that, she mouthed the purpled head, then sucked his length inside her salivating mouth until her button nose squished against him. She sucked and slobbered, making quite the mess of his cock and her chin. His girth poked out her cheeks and was a tight fit down her throat, and yet, Aithne she never wavered.

But it wasn’t until she cupped his heavy berries, although bigger than any berries she’d laid eyes upon before, that the leprechaun’s eyes rolled back and he released an unnatural groan. She drank her fill from him, licking her lips afterward like the cat that got into the milk pail. 

“Are you alright?” she said, frowning at his shriveled berries and withering stalk. 

He withdrew what looked like coloured corn kernels from his pocket and popped them into his mouth, and his cock stood proud once more. “Magically delicious,” he muttered to her questioning expression. Then, his emerald eyes clouded with depravity. “Bet you won’t do the third wish, wench.” 

He paused, hoping to see her tremble. 

She did not. 

“Well…go on,” she fussed. “Haven’t got all day.”

“Let me fuck your dirty hole.” 

What happened next gave the mighty leprechaun a tremble. Her lips curled—more like twisted—into a truly wicked smile. 

“Glad I wore my lucky charm today.” And no sooner had the words left her mouth than she bent over. After fighting with her skirts to get them to stay above her waist, her hands spread her cheeks wide. 

He gasped. A glittery white knob painted with a four-leaf clover was where her arsehole should be. 

“You’re a wicked little hen, Aithne.” 

“Well, go ahead. Pull it out and have at me.” She peered at him between her legs. 

He stepped forward and ran his thumb over the clover, before tugging the knob out of her arse with an audible Pop! Her gaping hole stared back at him. Called his name, even. Why he almost spilled his milk too soon at the sight of her fresh buns. The freckles stopped at her thighs, and she had wide birthing hips. It was the most beautiful rump he’d ever laid eyes upon. 

“Get on with it, you eejit,” she fussed.

He grasped his cock and fumbled to get into position. She was a slippery mess. He had it at the opening, when she grew impatient, and thrust back, swallowing him whole. She dropped her hands to grab hold of some tall grass to keep from toppling over. 

His fingers gripped her hips as his thrusts quickened. He was fucking her good, she had to admit. She struggled to keep count in her head. Her husband never made it to twenty, but she expected more from a leprechaun. She found her pleasure by ten, and her quivering and squealing set his bones on fire and had nearby sheep raising their heads. On the count of sixteen, he spilled his milk inside her. 

After he withdrew, she straightened and patted her skirts, trying to sort herself. 

“That was the third,” she said as if what had just happened was no bigger deal than giving him a potato.

Her words landed like the kick of a mule, and the leprechaun frowned, then zipped away his deflated cock. 

She sighed. “Well?” 

He nudged the pot with the toe of his boot. “Have a look.” 

Aithne leaned forward, and her breath escaped in a small gasp at the sight before her.

Gold! Shiny gold coins filled the pot to the brim, shimmering in the sunlight. 

“I told you, I don’t lie,” he said, smugly.

“Fair play, leprechaun,” she said, offering him a small smile before gripping the handles of the pot and lifting it with a grunt. 

He returned her smile. “If it’s too heavy, you could toss a few back.” 

“I can manage,” she huffed without a look in his direction. “I’ll be off then.” How else does one end a bargain such as theirs? 

As she started off down the path, he watched her skirts billow in the breeze. More than his gold leaving affected him. When she reached the first hill, he called to her. “Aithne.” 

She stopped, but didn’t turn to see his wicked grin. 

“If you ever find your pot empty again, you know where to find me!”

Her cheeks warmed, and she snorted. Humph.

But upon looking at her gold, she shrugged off his laughter, now echoing throughout the hills, and smiled at herself. She continued along the winding path, merrily singing.  

The leprechaun crawled back under the old stone bridge, chuckling to himself. Although he hated parting with his gold, he had to admit the cheeky red-headed devil had been worth the price.