GETTING LUCKY WITH (A REALLY BIG) LEPRECHAUN

Look, I don’t know you but my name’s Mona and I really need to tell you what happened to me. Only I have to warn you that the story is about as unbelievable as a pig laying eggs.

Just last week I went through the wildest stretch of good luck you could ever imagine.

It started with a single scratch and win ticket that I found in the lunchroom at work. Do you get what I’m saying? I didn’t even pay for the damn thing. I just found it and I picked it up and with several hundred other cubicle dust bunnies working at this location I figured there wasn’t any chance of me running into the actual owner of the ticket.

So I said fuck it, and kept it.

I didn’t scratch it until I got home because I felt guilty enough about keeping it to worry that whoever bought that ticket and lost it might see me scratching it in my cubicle and run up to me and say something intimidating like — “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You stole my scratch ticket. Prepare to die.”

Hey, it could happen.

So I took it on home and I scratched off the necessary boxes and what do you know? I won five hundred dollars — tax free — quicker than the Flash handing out speeding tickets.

Two days later I’m running late for work and the raining wetter than a two dollar prostitute and I decided to call a taxi cab. I mean, fuck it. I’ve got five hundred bucks to burn. Why not call a taxi cab?

Except I somehow dialed the wrong number and the very next you know this fellow with a voice as deep and smooth as an extra-large cup of rich black coffee says this to me.

“Congratulations, you are the three hundred and forty-second caller into our St. Patrick’s Day dial-in contest and you have just won yourself an all-expenses paid trip to the Emerald Isle of Ireland. Thank you for listening to Radio Station QUIM!”

All right, so I don’t even listen to the radio but I wasn’t going to argue. I called in sick to work and called up that taxi cab and had the cabbie drive to the radio station; which is how I wound up three days later walking through a green and grassy field just east of Killarney.

Okay — so at this point I could tell you how the sun was shining and how pleasantly warm it felt, and how hot and sexy I looked in my Irish plaid skirt and my natty tweed jacket that kept me looking like a hot commodity just in case there happened to be any wandering Irish millionaires out here on the green and grassy field.

Correction — make that any SINGLE wandering Irish millionaires out here on the green and grassy field.

And that’s right when I saw that four leaf clover standing in the middle of that field, calling to me like the keening of a long lost Irish millionaire lover.

Now, normally I wouldn’t have even noticed that three inch sprout of chlorophyll, but it was kind of like the damn thing was calling to me. As bright and as sunny and as welcoming as this field of green was, I felt a little like a sailor lost at sea, staring out into a pitch-black night as dark as the inside of bull’s ass with his tail down and his eyes closed, and then all at once there’s big fucking lighthouse shining out and calling to you, promising that you are truly going to be saved.

Fuck.

That’s an awful lot to get out of one single fucking sprout of clover in the middle of a three billion acre field of grass and weeds.

So I walked on over, spellbound like old Mandrake the Magician was standing out there with his cape and top hat and his cape and natty pencil-line mustache, gesturing hypnotically and saying “Fuck it, you’re a chicken!”

Next thing you know I was standing over the four leaf clover trying to figure what was the big deal about it anyway?

So I looked it up on my smart phone and what they said was according to Irish mythology the four leaf clover was the one single thing that Eve carried out of the Garden of Eden after God had caught her messing around in his apple tree and decided to evict the two of them.

Now that just didn’t make much sense at all. I mean, if I was being evicted from what was supposed to be a verdant paradise (and all right, I had to Google up the word “verdant” as well before I wrote it down) the country girl in me probably would have brought along a couple of pigs, and a few chickens and a good milk cow.

I mean, what was the big deal about Eden anyway? If it was me, I’d be hunting me up the nearest Olive Garden.

Forget about that fool four leaf clover.

Still, I knew they were supposed to be lucky and I thought to myself that I ought think about picking it and taking it with me. I mean, with the run of good luck that I’d been having I ought to triple my good luck with that little sprig of magic weed.

Hell, it had four leaves, now didn’t it?

I’d probably quadruple my luck.

If I pick that four leaf clover up the next thing I’d see would be a dozen wandering Irish millionaires were going up galloping up to me, stop right in front of me and write their last wills and testaments leaving all of their millions to me, before engaging in a mutual no-holds-barred brouhaha in which all of those wandering Irish millionaires would be killed dead, leaving me all their money.

Well, I didn’t think that was all that likely, but just the same I stooped down and caught hold of that four leaf clover up out of the dirt.

Oh shit.

I nearly pulled my back out tugging on the damn thing.

The little green fucker was one heavy son-of-a-whore.

Leave it to me to try and pick the only four leaf clover in Ireland that had somehow been exposed to an Incredible Hulk-producing blast of gamma rays.

I straightened myself up, leaning back to crack the kink out of my backbone and then when I looked down the four leaf clover was gone and there was a fellow staring up at me from out of the dirt.

There was nothing but his head sticking up out of the dirt. He was a good looking fellow but I just couldn’t for the life of me figure out how he got out here in the middle of this godforsaken pasture.

“Well you took your fucking time to get here,” he said to me with a sexy Irish lilt. “Took you nearly three whole pages after I sent you scratch and win ticket to get you here.”

Shit!

“The radio sweepstakes, was that you too?”

“Well sure it was, and who do you think it would have been? I’m a leprechaun and I sent for you, so give me another tug and see if you can get me up out of this dirt.”

Well it took about twenty minutes of me bending and twisting and yanking before I managed to work him out of the field. After he dusted himself off I took a good look at what I had uprooted.

Damn!

He was a good looking man.

I mean, think about the body of Arnold Schwarzenegger, only with a good looking face.

“I need to show you my gratitude,” he told me.

And with that, he gave me a hug, wrapping both of his massive arms around me. I know you are thinking that I should have kicked him in his balls and ran like I was channeling the running ability of an Olympic marathoner but it had been a couple of months since I had last got lucky. The truth was, I was horny as a ten-peckered Himalayan hoot owl, so I squeezed him right back running my hands eagerly over all of that massive muscle that he was sporting.

I never really cared for skinny men. I know that some women like their fellows to be lean and wiry, but I preferred me a man who was more bull than otter.

“You have got to be one of the biggest leprechauns in the whole of Ireland,” I said. “What’d you eat? Wheaties, or the whole damn state of Wisconsin?”

“It’s true enough,” he said. “I am the biggest leprechaun there is. They were going to put me in the Guinness Book of Records, except for one small detail.”

I couldn’t imagine anything being small with this guy, but I had to know.

“So what was the detail?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t drink their beer,” he admitted. “I’ve never really cared for that dark stout stuff. I’m more of a Miller man, myself.”

“I like a good lager as well.”

“Is that a fact? I’ll keep that in mind for a little later on. First off, I’ve been in stuck here in this field for an awful long time now, since that dirty old bastard Saint Goober planted me in there for pissing on his peanut crop.”

And then he kissed me before I asked any other stupid questions.

The next thing I knew the two of us were stretched out in the grass. I couldn’t help running my hands over his powerful shoulders and back, his bowling ball biceps, and his legs which are about as huge as tree trunks. I kept wondering to myself if “everything” on his body was built just as big as that.

And then he showed me.

His cock was almost as long and thick as my forearm. It stuck out like a rod that you might have hung a bath towel over, only there was no way that I wanted to cover that huge and wonderful horse-cuck up with anything more than my own body.

Only I didn’t think that I could do it.

I mean, that donkey-sized dick had to have been one of the thickest, longest cocks I had ever seen. I mean, just try and picture a pair of overgrown avocados dangling beneath a monster zucchini, huge enough to give the Jolly Green Giant his-own-self a permanently serious case of terminal penis envy.

“Oh my god,” I said. “That fucking thing is monstrous.”

“Don’t be bringing him into this,” the leprechaun replied. “If it’s too big for you, do you think you can you get your mouth around me?”

Okay.

I could do that.

In fact I really wanted to.

I love giving blow jobs anytime I can. I know that some women are a little reluctant about sucking a cock, but just so long as the fellow has been conscientious in keeping himself clean, I’d go for a blow any chance I got.

So I grinned and I salivated at the same time which might have been considered rude under any other circumstances. I ran my tongue up and down his massive shaft, massaging it with my lips, purring onto the goddamn thing.

The leprechaun started groaning.

When my mouth felt brave enough I opened wide and did my best to swallow that big happy pink tulip bulb knob, and then slowly worked myself up along his turgid shaft. I could taste a few drops of his pre-cum and I swallowed just a little, savoring the flavor.

My fuck.

He hadn’t been lying.

His cum tasted exactly like Millers Light.

Now that was a fucking bonus!

I worked my lips over his huge cock.

This was so good, but I wanted more than just a blowjob.

“I want you to fuck me,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it,” I said. “I want to take it.”

So I stretched out in the grass, parting my legs just as wide as I could manage. He leaned over and gave me some world class head, working his tongue into my pussy and spit-lubing me up, preparing for what was to come.

And I do mean come.

He worked that huge Leprechaun dick of his into my pussy and then he started moving it around like it was triple jointed and before I knew it I came again and again and again before he finally let loose his load of hot man-cream, splashing into my pussy.

“Ah darling,” he sighed as he pulled his dick out of my happily-aching, sopping wet pussy. “I knew you’d be perfect for what I needed when I first felt your mind all the way across the ocean.”

What?

“Are you trying to tell me” I asked “that the scratch-and-win ticket and the radio contest was nothing more than an transcontinental leprechaun booty call? There had to have been somebody closer for you to hook up with.”

“Are you complaining then?”

What did I have to complain about?

I’d won money and an all-expense paid flight to Ireland as well as some of the most powerful lovemaking that I have ever experienced.

“No,” I said. “I have no complaints at all.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, I’m going to pull myself out and it’ll be messy, but I want you to roll in the grass a bit to let our seed soak into the sod.”

So that’s how it happened.

He pulled himself out and about a gallon or so of hot steaming leprechaun jizz spilled out of my gaped-out pussy. It splashed into the sod and soaked in as I rolled myself about. It was almost fun, like kids playing until I noticed those first few pink sprouts pushing out of the dirt like tiny little mushrooms.

“Oh, my, god.” I said.

“I told you not to bring him into this,” the leprechaun warned me. “And sure, that’s what you’ve been for me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Breeding stock,” the leprechaun said. “You’ve been nothing more than world-class breeding stock.”

I stared around me at the little pink sprouts popping up one by one out of the dirt of the field. I counted them, one by one as each of those tiny freaking baby leprechauns rolled their eyes back and grinned up at me.

“Say hello to your momma,” the leprechaun told them. “Say hello to your momma.”

The End

Okay, so I started writing that one this morning at about 8am on St. Patrick’s Day morning and I finished the story up by 11am. I hadn’t planned for it to turn out so spooky as it did, but I do hope you enjoyed the read, just the same.

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This is my third story here at Medium.

I’ll try to make tomorrow’s story a little less spooky.

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