“It’s bad luck to be superstitious.”

I feel like I have more for this, but it’s just not coming so I’m going to post a smutty story I wrote a while back when a dear friend prompted me with “Mud and Luck” because I’m laaaazy.

So yes, there is a caveat that there is (literally) dirty (figuratively) dirty sex ahead.


A heavy, dense fog permeated everything, settling uncomfortably into a thickness between Sweeney’s lips that turned out to be, as the misery of consciousness made it’s presence known, his own swollen tongue. With that realization, the pain centres of his brain fired into overdrive, letting him know that all was not well. There was bleary haze at the corners of his eyes, which struggled even with the simple task of opening wide enough to see where he was. An impenetrable backdrop of green was all he could see, and that made no sense.

He let his eyes close again and sought out his fingers, willing them to make fists, just to prove they were still there. The tight skin of his knuckles suggested bruising commensurate with fighting. He had a vague recollection of a brawl, the cacophony of background voices yelling with rage? Celebration? The shadowy shapes at the corners of memory were just starting to take form when a quiet, ‘ahem’ created an awareness that he was not alone and his eyes flew open, the light of day stabbing into his pounding head like a pickax into stone.

He found himself looking at dirt smeared girl wrapped in a green sweater and not much else, standing 20 feet away, holding a tray laden with what smelled like bacon, eggs and coffee scented steam rising to mingle with the early morning air. He stared at the breakfast fairy until she finally spoke, blowing messy strands of red hair away from her mouth.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
“If you want to call it that.” He tried to sit up and groaned at the aches in his muscles, stiff from sleeping on cold earth. He gathered the wool blanket against his legs, suddenly aware that there was no denim barrier between him and the scratchy fabric. Lifting it only confirmed what he already knew.
“Where are my pants? Why am I not wearing pants?”
“Well it seemed silly to keep them on after we…” she shrugged, a blush flattering her pale cheeks. “And you were so soundly asleep, I didn’t think you’d mind if I took them up to the house to wash them.”
He was incredulous. “We? You and I?”

And the moment he said it, knew it to be true. Saw her bare feet scratch at the dirt, the blush creeping further down her neck between her breasts barely hidden by the sweater that threatened to tumble off her soft shoulders at any moment. Shoulders that he had traversed with his fingers, his lips. Even now, the memory of her arching under him in the moonlight was causing a certain stirring in the dark recesses of the blanket which covered him. He cleared his throat to hide his sudden need to adjust the blanket. Her smile suggested he wasn’t fooling anyone. She came closer and set the tray down, kneeling beside him and pouring coffee into a mug, adding a liberal amount of whiskey from a small flask on the tray before handing it over. He shook his head in wonder and sipped at the hot drink, grateful that she’d been so heavy handed with the alcohol.

“Can you tell me, at least, how I came to be here? It seems there are some holes in my memory.”
“I caught you, Leprechaun. I caught you fair and square.”

He started at her words, and burst into laughter, a sudden shooting pain in his chest quelling the outburst just as quickly as it had started.
He took stock of the extent of himself. Other than his bruised knuckles, he’d bet on a cracked rib or two, some scrapes and cuts but nothing much more serious than that. But how had he hurt his ribs?
He must have spoken aloud because she responded, “It might have been when I tackled you.” She had the decency to look chagrined at her actions.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt you. I was just so excited. I’ve never found a leprechaun before.”
He groaned again, for a much different reason.
“You still haven’t, you silly woman! There is no such thing, and if there was, I wouldn’t be one. Have you seen the size of me?”
“That’s a stereotype and represents a very narrow view of the world. Why couldn’t a leprechaun be tall? Or massive, even.” Her gaze flickered along the length of him, a smile in her dark eyes.

Now it was his turn to blush. Taking another sip of the coffee, he felt the burn of the whiskey spread through his chest and then turned to face her. She looked like a creature of the forest, dirt dusted bare legs jutting from her oversized, misbuttoned sweater, which managed to hide almost nothing of the ripe, naked form beneath it. Her red hair was a snarl of twigs and detritus, juxtaposing her calm smile as she sipped a cup of tea.He tried to focus on the reality of the situation.
“But that doesn’t explain how I got here, or why you think I’m a leprechaun.”
“Well, you got here in my truck. And I think you’re a leprechaun because you told me you were. You said you’d grant me three wishes in exchange for a kiss, if I could catch you.”
“I did.”
“You did.”
“And then you did.”
“I did.” She smiled over the rim of the tea cup. He shook his head, trying to free it of the last cobwebs that kept him from remembering the events of last night clearly.
“And have you made any wishes yet?”Her smile broadened and her eyes sparkled as she nodded.
“I have. I wished that you would ravish me under the light of the moon.”
“I see.”
“Exactly! Proof!” She cackled with delight, the movement causing her sweater to slide from her shoulders, one pert breast escaping the confines of green wool.
“You know that you’re crazy, right?”

He tried to look anywhere but at her chest, his callused hands remembering the softness of her small but full breasts, the sound she’d made when his tongue darted out to lick her hard nipples. She watched, bemused, and gently put down her tea cup before reaching to unbutton her sweater. Climbing to her knees, she allowed it to fall off her body, baring her curved form to his swiftly darkening eyes.
“I think my second wish is about to come true.” She laughed and deftly flipped the blanket off his lap, exposing his rigid cock to the morning air. It twitched and she giggled with delight, taking his length in her hand and stroking with a featherlight touch.

“Hey! I just realized what day it is! Friday the 13th! You feel lucky?”
She tried not to snort laugh, but failed. He barely registered a reaction beyond a grimace at her terrible humour, focused as he was on the sight of her hand, streaked with mud and grit, steadily but absentmindedly stroking his hard cock. She smiled up at him and let the head dance on her pink tongue before taking his engorged head between her lips.
He moaned again, with pleasure this time, taking in the sight of her lips wrapped around his girth, watching his cock disappear incrementally into her throat. Lord, she was beautiful, this crazy woman with her messy mud spattered hair and dark wild eyes. How she had found him last night was neither here nor there, not with this nymph having legitimately entrapped him and currently taking advantage. Something she did with her tongue caused him to inhale sharply, the pain in his ribs threatening to push all thoughts of pleasure from his head. And then there was only the warmth of her mouth upon him, her lips gently sucking as her tongue swirled and licked. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, the temptress began to hum. The sensation caused him to jerk, pushing himself deeper into her mouth, his large hand perfectly sized to span the back of her head and push down and he thrust up, his cockhead finding home at the back of her throat. He held her there for a long moment and lifted her free, her gasp of air mixed with laughter like music to his ears.
Pulling her toward him, he kissed her hard, feeling her soft lips yield to his tongue and slipped it inside her as he eased her already wet cunt onto the head of his cock. Feeling her stretch open for him, he held her hips steady, controlling the pace, lowering her onto him as slowly as he could manage. She wriggled, desperate to have him inside her, but he smiled into the kiss and lifted her off just enough that she began to protest, and then pulled her down hard onto him. He caught her scream between his lips, letting it curl around his tongue as he stayed still, letting her adjust to him inside her.

When she had quieted, he began to move. Just a gentle tilt of his pelvis, up and down, feeling the walls of her cunt grip him tight. She moaned and moved against him, her tits crushed against his chest, lower back arched as she lifted away and pressed back toward him. His fingers gripped her hips tighter as the movement gained momentum, until he was easily lifting her nearly all the way off him and letting gravity bring her back. One of his hands slid to the front of her, fingers splayed against her stomach while his thumb found her clit and gently stroked it, matching the tempo of his cock sliding in and out of her. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and he barely noticed the way her nails dug into his muscles, and though he was aware that his ribs would make him feel like this was a mistake later, at this moment he was too far gone to care. Her eyes rolled back and her voice became a steady keen of pleading, of bargaining, of promises sweet and depraved and extravagant as she rocked her hips more fervently to meet his thrusts, the edge coming closer and closer until she was powerless to stop herself tumbling off, and wouldn’t have even if she could. He felt her cunt contract around him and saw no reason not to follow her into oblivion.

Later, as they lay curled under a wool blanket that somehow didn’t feel as scratchy anymore, he recalled something from the myths he’d read as a child.

“Wait a minute. Leprechauns don’t grant wishes. That’s a genie! Who doesn’t know that?”
She smiled into the expanse of his chest before looking up at him through somehow messier hair.
“What makes you think I didn’t? Now, about that third wish…”