My Funny Leprechaun (Erotica)

St. Patrick’s Day is over, but the fight with Seamus is not. I haven’t spoken to him since and I miss him dreadfully. I’ve left message after message, texting, calling, Skyping but to no avail. He’s not returning any of my attempts to show him that I love him and that, as they say, is simply that. Even his best mate isn’t returning my calls and that snake in the grass never misses an opportunity to make small talk with me.

There seems to be no other recourse but to pick up the broken pieces of my broken life and go on. Rent is coming due, Easter has come and gone, Spring is here and here I am, in another fine mess. Got to work tonight, got to rest and have got to be ready to blaze. Tonight is the debut of my new production and on top of everything else I have a bad case of nerves. I need to lie down, get a hold of myself. Thinking about him is not going to get me anywhere.

But of course, lying here, thinking about him is all I do. His smile, his laugh, the way he touches me, gently yet with an eagerness that unlocks something wild within me, how strong his arms are after we make love, his voice as he calls my name before he thrusts deep into my pelvis and unleashes the warmth of his sperm inside of me. Just the thought of him makes me feverish and wet.

I close my eyes and reach out my hand. I can feel his skin under my palm, cool and taut. I can smell the spicy, fruity tang of his aftershave and feel the undulation of the muscles of his back as he moves into me with authority. I stretch my legs open wide; with my fingers I gently stroke the tiny button of my clitoris, imagining his tongue there, between my legs, licking and probing. Moaning, I insert two fingers into the warmth there; they are his fingers, pushing into me, making me feel a tingle and a tightness that I feel deep within my womb. With my other free hand I slowly and methodically squeeze my nipple, imagining his teeth and tongue biting and bruising me, making me gasp with the memory. I bring myself to orgasm quickly; remembering his touch made it quite easy to do this. With tears in my eyes, I fall asleep.

Rested but not really refreshed, I arrive at the club. After the last rehearsal, I grab something to eat. Despite my melancholia, I am feeling that super rocket of excitement that comes before every performance. When I return to the club, I shower and then dress. Hanging out backstage, I make sure that everything is ready and that I am in total performance mode. The problems and worries of life melt away as I listen to my pre-show playlist. I am ready; let the show begin.

The signal is given; it’s my time to shine. Striding onto the stage to Prince’s “Erotic City” remix, I feel strong, sexy, powerful. Twirling, whirling, swirling, I am in character and in another world. The audience is clapping and cheering and as I launch into the first minutes of the demonstration I feel exquisite. With a surge of confidence, I take out my cane and advance towards the figure in the chair onstage. It’s going to be a good night; I can feel it.

After the show is over, I collect my payment, dress in my street clothes and head back to my flat. The high of performing is gone now, and the ache of loss is beginning to gnaw again. Putting the key into the lock and swinging open the door, I make a mental note to take some warm milk and go right to bed. I am exhausted mentally and need some revitalization…
I see the back of his head as I open the door, his long, ginger hair pulled back into a ponytail. Standing in the doorway, I hardly breathe for fear that this is yet another heartbreaking hallucination.

“Come in, baby. Close the door. I’ve been waiting for you.” His soft, mahogany voice sends the blood gushing straight to my vagina. My knickers can hardly contain the swelling and my nipples are drilling through the material of my bra. I close the door and lock it. Dropping everything to the floor, I cross the room to where he sits sprawling on the couch. I drop my jacket, my blouse. I rip off my skirt; the buttons go flying and I don’t care. I run towards the couch in my bra, garters and knickers. I cannot wait for him; I cannot wait for his touch.

Seamus doesn’t disappoint me. He is lying back on the couch now, totally naked save for a metal and rubber cock ring. He grabs me about the waist; of course I don’t resist. He pulls me down to the couch, pulling my hair back and kissing me full on the lips. This is what I have been waiting for; I hungrily respond, throwing my arms about him and pressing myself to him.
He knows me all too well. His hands wander down my back, stopping at my buttocks to give them a firm squeeze. I squirm with pleasure, knowing what is coming next. He pulls me up onto his fully erect cock; I feel the trembling of it beneath me. His tongue is in my mouth, confidently. He rolls it around my mouth, retracts it, touches the tip of his tongue to my lips. “I missed you, lady” he says and I am totally in heat. His fingers work themselves around my knickers and rudely rips them to the side, lightly brushing my vulva with the tips of his fingers. With his other hand on top of mine, he guides our hands together down to his throbbing cock. I roll off of it for a moment in order to remove the cock ring and fling it to the far corner of the room. When I free him he turns onto his side and pushes himself into me. Arching my back, stretching myself to allow him to enter, we groan in unison when he does. He lays there for a moment, breathing hard onto my neck, stray tendrils of his hair laying across my cheek, letting the fullness of his penis fill the vacancy between my legs.

Before he begins to move, I tighten my love muscles around him, massaging him from deep within me. He closes his eyes and moans, his breath tickling my neck. With one hand on my back, he brings his other hand up to my breasts and begins to squeeze the plumpness there. I squirm in pleasure and then he begins to move in and out of me, slowly, rhythmically. I whisper his name aloud; he thrusts faster, then slowly, so slowly that I can feel every point of contact intensely. It’s excruciating in a pleasurable way, both of us prolonging and savoring every moment. We kiss as we grind, tongues and lips working together to create a crescendo of passion. The squelching of our bodies melding together feels so good, so right that the present recedes and I begin to float on the euphoria of our lovemaking.

I can feel Seamus’ entire body begin to vibrate which means that he is about to climax. Sticking my forefinger into my mouth, I manage to moisten it before Seamus pounces on my mouth with his. Creeping the finger down Seamus’ back, I writhe beneath him in perfect rhythm to his stokes. “Come for me, Seamus my love” I whisper as I push my finger into his asshole. He snaps his head back, uttering a low howl and throws himself into me deeper and deeper. I meet him fully and when we both orgasm at the same time, shuddering and moaning, it is a beautiful and powerful thing that leaves both of us collapsed together in a tangle of fingers, arms, legs, breathing deeply.

Later, in the darkness, when Seamus falls asleep on top of me, I stroke his hair and kiss the top of his head. In the morning we shall have to sort things out and have a proper talk, but for now my leprechaun has returned to me, and I lie here content to have found the pot of gold at the end of his rainbow.

Mistress Raeven

Mistress Raeven , London's Dark Secret, is a professional dominatrix, sex educator, writer of erotica and fashion stylist/designer. Her versatile,eclectic outlook encompasses the worlds of Vampyre, Goth, Fetish as well as more “mainstream” sectors. Embracing the chaos and change of both her natal Death card as well as the powers of the Dragon/Serpent, this London mistress opens up lively dialogue in order to promote sex-positivity across various media. “Sex is on my mind quite often, so why not share?” is the basis of her philosophy. The Black Rose of England regularly offers sessions, classes, workshops, events and appearances.

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