Husband to the Fay – A Halloween Story

As with most of my Celtic stories, this is partly from Celtic Myth, partly from various histories, and partly from my warped and fertile imagination.

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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories. <b>If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.</b>

All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

All characters involved in sexual activity in this story are over the age of 18. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Dear Prudence,

I don’t usually write to advice columnists– actually I don’t even usually read your column– but I don’t know where else to turn. And it’s not just because the problem is sexual… well, it’s not really sexual… but it’s partly sexual. I guess you could call it sexual, but it’s mostly weird. I am writing to you for advice because I have a very weird sexual problem… but not in the kinky sex weird sort of way that people usually write to you about. This is Halloween weird.

My wife would have a hissy-fit if she saw that I wrote that. Not because I’m saying she’s weird– which I’m not– well, yes, I am, but that’s not the point. My wife would be all hissy-fit and screaming because I used the word “Halloween” to describe anything to do with her. To her Halloween is an abomination. It is a corruption of the true faith passed down through the generations from mother to daughter.

She puts up Halloween decorations and hands out candy to the kids and all that, but she insists that the true Celtic Dark Night, from which Halloween descends, is on the first dark of the moon following the Autumnal Equinox. That is when the veil between this world and the next– and the previous– is at its thinnest. Depending on how the solar and lunar calendars line up, Dark Night can be almost a month before October thirty-first. Dark Night is very special to my wife because that is when she and her friends gather to celebrate what she calls ‘Shavnah’.

That’s another way you can start a hissy-fit with her. If you transliterate the word for Dark Night from Gaelic letters into English letters, you end up with ‘Samhain’, which the supposed authority on all things Celtic, Gerald Gardiner, says should be pronounced “Soween.” But my wife is adamant it is pronounced, “Shavnah” in the original Gaelic with the last part of the word sounding like “saw”. If you say ‘Soween’, she will huff at you and say, “You might as well say Halloween.”

She will then go on to say, “My family was pronouncing it ‘Shavnah’ for generations before that man was even born. If he had taken the time to actually speak to any of the Celts in Ireland rather than just burying his face in old books, he would have gotten that– and a lot of other things– right.”

I think I need to back up and explain things a little. My wife and I are both Irish. She doesn’t like to be called Irish either but she doesn’t go all hissy-fit over it. Let me clarify a little further. We both trace our ancestry to Ireland and are as pure blood as anyone can be. I say I am Irish. My wife says she is Celtic. There is another word she uses, but I can’t pronounce it. She says it was the name of the land when the Mother of the Glen still reigned over all that was green. My heritage is Irish. Her heritage is Celtic… very, very, Celtic.

Her name is also Celtic– Díonó– but nobody ever hears that right, so everyone calls her Diana. Her driver’s license and things like that even say Diana Sidle, but her real name is Díonó Sidhé. Sidhé is not my last name. It’s not her father’s last name either. It is her mother’s last name. And her mother’s first name is Díonó. So they are both Díonó Sidhé.

Díonó kept her maiden name when we got married. That means her name is still the same as her mother’s… and her dear departed grandmother’s… and her great-grandmother’s… and every other woman that I can find tracing her lineage back on her family tree.

She says she can’t change her name because it isn’t a name, it is her title passed down to her from the Grandmother of the Stars. She told me that it means Friend of the Mound in old Gaelic. She claims that she has been called to be a Friend of the Mound just as her mother… and her mother’s mother… and her mother’s mother’s mother… and on back to before the mountains rose from the sea. I looked her name up on the internet and that’s what several of the sites say it means. A couple, however, said it could also be translated as Mother of the Fay.

I guess I have a title too… Leprechaun. Everyone calls me Leprechaun because… well, I look like one, or at least I look like that weird Leprechaun Notre Dame uses as it team mascot. I don’t smoke a pipe or wear strange green clothing or run around with my fists in the air searching for a fight, but I’m short and my hair is that same orange color and I have what people call a “Leprechaun Beard.”

With my beard in that weird pattern, everyone assumes I am trying to look like a Leprechaun, so that’s what they call me. I don’t trim it that way. In fact, I don’t trim it at all. It just grows out looking like that… very quickly. I’ve tried keeping my face smooth-shaven, but– especially since I got married– it grows too quickly and looks scruffy by the end of the day. For some reason, if I let it grow out, it slows down after it gets to the proper length.

I would probably get teased even more about my height except my wife is even shorter than I am. Petite doesn’t begin to describe her. She could shop in the children’s section and most of the clothing would look big on her.

She is small, but she has a perfect body in proportion to her size. When she is naked, she looks almost like a porcelain doll with perfectly-shaped breasts and bright blue eyes. Her nipples are bright pink, and so is her clit– when you can see it behind that thick, tightly-curled triangle of black hair. The hair on her head is also black, but it’s straight. It hangs straight down from her head all the way down her back.

I don’t know how I was lucky enough to have such a fine partner in life. I was at a party in college when she walked up to me and said, “We are meant for each other. You will be my Leprechaun and I will be your Díonó.” We dated for a little over a year before getting married on the first day of spring. I wanted to get married earlier, but she said it had to be on the Vernal Equinox.

Sexually, I am an average-sized male. I’ve looked it up on the net– who hasn’t? That is probably good since she might have a problem accepting someone much larger than me. She likes to be on top most of the time when we have sex… unless we are doing it doggy style. It isn’t that my weight crushes her or anything like that. She will probably get mad that I am telling someone this, but the problem is that her hair gets caught behind her back and when I thrust into her it pulls on the back of her head. She says that hurts, but I think it is mostly that it causes her head to bob up and down like she is continually saying yes. If she comes to bed with her hair all wrapped up and held in place, I know that she wants “on the bottom” sex that night.

I don’t have a preference. I can be more in control if I am on top, and I think I can thrust into her harder and give her more pleasure. But if she is on top, I can reach up and play with her beautiful breasts. Those pink nipples grow to at least double their length when she really gets turned on.

Her breasts are really sensitive. If I play with her nipples and massage her breasts, she starts driving herself into me with her legs wide open so her pussy slams against my body. Then as she is rising up she clenches everything up really tight so it feels like she is almost pulling me out by the roots.

That sounds like things are fine, doesn’t it? But there’s a problem, and that problem centers around Dark Night. Every year on Dark Night, she goes away with her mother to wherever it is that they go. She told me all about this before we got married and it is something I agreed to. She and her mother go out to “the glen” on Dark Night and do whatever it is that they do, and I stay home in my recliner and watch TV.

Before she goes, she always fixes me a special cup of tea that is supposed to protect me from any evil spirits that might filter through the veil when it is thinnest. She often stands there nagging me to drink it while its still hot and most potent. Then she and Momma Díonó go off to the glen.

I don’t know what time they get back because I always fall asleep shortly after she leaves. She wakes me when she gets back so that we can go to bed. She always insists that we have sex as soon as she gets home… and then every morning and every night for the next six weeks. She says she has to stay full. I don’t really know what she means by that, but she wants sex morning and night and sometimes at noon. And she wants ‘on the bottom’ sex every time. Afterwards, she will lay there in bed for awhile humming softly and rubbing her tummy.

I’m not complaining, but she doesn’t have her period in those two months. It’s like she’s pregnant, but she isn’t. Then on the second full moon following Dark Night, she and her mother and their friends go somewhere again. This time she doesn’t give me any special tea and I’m still awake when she gets back. After that, our sex goes back to “normal” with her usually on top until Dark Night comes around the next year.

Here’s where it gets weird…or maybe I should say weirder. Last year, I decided that it was the tea that was making me fall asleep so although I promised faithfully to drink it while it was still hot, I sipped a little of it before she left and then poured the rest of it down the drain. About an hour later, I heard someone coming in the back door. I knew it was Díonó because I could hear her voice and her mother’s and several other much higher-pitched voices.

I decided the best thing to do was to pretend to be asleep. They walked into the living room– I could hear only their footsteps even though I could hear at least three or more other voices. Then my wife and her mother started singing a weird chant in Old Gaelic and I floated out of the recliner. No, I don’t speak Old Gaelic but it sounded like the words she uses when she says she’s speaking Old Gaelic.

They started for the back door. It was my wife, then me floating on my back, then her mother. We went out the back door and it felt like I was floating higher and faster and then suddenly we were someplace else. I took a quick look around and we were in the middle of a forest somewhere. That didn’t tell me a whole lot because we live near the mountains and there are forests all over.

I felt my clothes slide off my body and then I was laid down on a moss-covered, big round boulder. Strangely, it wasn’t cold. I felt my wife’s hand slide up my face and she said, “Body awake; mind remain asleep.” My eyes opened on their own. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I just lay there and kept my eyes staring up at the starry sky. It’s amazing how many stars you can see when there is no moon at all and you are far away from all city lights.

That’s when I saw the fireflies, except they weren’t fireflies. They were little naked women. They were about two inches high and looked exactly like my wife… except they had short hair and two sets of almost transparent little wings. They weren’t really glowing, but the starlight reflecting off their porcelain white bodies made it look like they were giving off light. The little triangle between their legs was just as dark and just as tightly-curled as it was on my wife. There appeared to be six of them, but it was hard to be sure since they were flitting around so quickly and they all looked exactly the same.

I felt two of them land on my chest and walk over to my nipples. One knelt down and began licking and sucking, the other also knelt, but she was rubbing her little black triangle against the top of my nipple. I heard myself moan softly and the two of them redoubled their efforts. The one was suckling on my left nipple while the other was more or less fucking herself on my right.

That’s when I felt the tiny hands on my prick. It was starting to stiffen before that, but with the hands rubbing themselves over the tip it was soon standing tall. “Remember,” one of them said, “it has to be natural. Use no magic.” They weren’t speaking English, but somehow I understood what they were saying as if the English words were also being said softly while they spoke.

The four of them then joined hands, pulled themselves tight, and began sliding up and down my shaft. I could feel the air from their wings blowing across my belly and balls and I think I could hear a slight whirring noise, like a small insect in the night every time they changed direction.

As I got more and more excited, so did they… and so did the two on my nipples. I could feel that familiar tightness in my balls and knew that I was about to erupt. The four kept flying higher and higher with each stroke so that they were rubbing their bodies against the tip of my prick as they reached the top. My glans was lubricated with precum and they were sliding easily all the way up to the opening. After a few more seconds of that, I gave a deep grunt and gushed into the air.

“Now,” one of them yelled in its tiny voice, “while it is fresh and most potent.”

The two left my nipples and the six of them began sliding their little triangles over my cum-slickened prick. After a minute or two, one of them began quivering like she was having an orgasm and fluttered to the ground. She squatted on the ground and reached down to grab her cunt– at least I think there is a slit under that black triangle.

She held something small in her hands and fluttered over to my wife who was lying on her back in the grass. I was trying not to move my eyes too much so I missed what happened next. Then a second one fluttered to the ground.

She also squatted and released something really, really small into her hands. This time, I moved my head very slightly and could see what she did. She flew over to my wife and flew up into her cunt. Díonó shuddered slightly while the little Fay was up inside of her and then let out a deep sigh when she crawled out and stood fluttering her wings to dry them.

The remaining four repeated the exact same thing. Finally, one of them said, “It is done. If all goes well, our mound will be complete and a new mound can be created next year.” She said something else, but I wasn’t listening because that’s when I saw my mother-in-law walking up to me. She, like my wife, was naked. I was surprised at how young-looking her body was. Her skin was slightly darker than my wife’s, but her nipples were just as pink, and there was no gray in her hair either above or below. She slid her hand down my face and said, “Body asleep; mind asleep.”

I woke up in my chair. Just like in previous years, my wife awakened me and hurried me back to the bedroom to make love. Our lovemaking continued morning and night until the second full moon. Then it went back to just several times a week, either morning or night.

That’s what happened last Halloween, Prudence. And Halloween this year is fast approaching.

My question is this, “What should I do?”

The Leprechaun

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Dear Leprechaun,

Drink the tea.

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END OF STORY

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