A Harvest Offering

The People, Twathy de Danann, were most notable Magicians and would work wonderfull things thereby; when they pleased, they would soon troble Both sea and Land, darken Both sonn and Moone at theire pleasures.

Annals of Clonmacnoise
Author unknown; early 15th Century
Translated from Gaelic in 1627


The history of Ireland is a story of invasion and exodus, of myths, legends, kings, faeries and gods. It has always been thus, since the beginning of time. But Ireland has a ‘herstory’ too, despite nearly two millennia of Christian repression, and it’s not far below the surface. It earns the label ‘herstory’ because of the omnipresence and omnipotence of ‘the Goddesses’ during the golden years of Bronze Age culture.

While it was men who became the kings of ancient Ireland, a potential king had first to be approved by the Goddess. Being able to appear in many forms, she would present herself to the candidate as an ugly hag and demand sexual favours. If the prospective king were good and wise, he would rise to her advances, whereupon she would turn herself into an alluring maiden and have her way with him.

It was the Goddesses who moulded the customs and traditions of a kingdom and there was great reverence for their sexual exploits. The mother of all Ireland’s Goddesses was Danu, whose people were known as the Tuatha Dé Danann – the ‘followers of Danu’.

The Tuatha Dé Danann were invaded by powerful, warlike and acquisitive Gaels, believed to have come from southern Spain. Led by three ‘Sovereign Goddesses’, Ériu, Banbha, and Fódla, the Tuatha mounted staunch resistance but were defeated. Ériu struck a deal with the invaders, agreeing to lead the Tuatha to exile as long as the country would bear her name for evermore: Ériu became Éireann, anglicised as Erin, and now Ireland.

However, being ‘notable Magicians’ (as recognised in the ‘Annals of Clonmacnoise’), the Tuatha retreated not to another land but to the ‘otherworld’ right here in Ireland. They became what the Irish now refer to as the ‘faery folk’ or ‘little people’. Their Goddesses are still powerful, and they are now preparing for the return of the Tuatha Dé Danann.


I had been reading up on the pagan history of Ireland because I was going there for a conference towards the end of July. I had decided to climb Croagh Patrick afterwards, if the weather was any good. Croagh Patrick is a sacred mountain for Christians, because St. Patrick is said to have spent forty days and forty nights on the summit, in the 5th Century. I’ve always wondered what a young man might find to do up on a mountain-top by himself all that time – preparing to drive out the snakes?

Christian history has always seemed so male-dominated and self-serving. Like most religions, power rests in the hands of a few ‘chosen’ males. In contrast, the pagan history celebrates the benign power of women through the exploits of Goddesses. This I can relate to!

I’d been drawn to explore more of pagan Ireland ever since I’d had an intense, out-of-body, sexual experience a few years ago, on the day of the spring fertility festival – Beltane. I’d been on the summit of one of the mountains called the Paps of Anu, so-called because of their resemblance to the breasts of the mother Goddess Danu. Spreadeagled on a large, flat rock, I was naked and restrained by invisible forces. The Mother Goddess Danu and her husband Bilé had their way with me. Danu gave me a mind-blowing orgasm, tonguing and nibbling my clitoris while pressing her sex down on my face. I’d barely recovered when Bilé impaled me on his ramrod-like shaft, fucking me to another shuddering orgasm to the point of unconsciousness.

I still get hot and wet just thinking about it, and even now it is my fantasy of choice whenever I’m in need sexual stimulation. So it’s completely understandable that I am obsessed by the pagan myths and legends of Ireland!

Another reason may be my Irish heritage. My parents named me Aine, which I hated as a child because nobody could pronounce it. It’s meant to sound like ‘Awn-ya’, which in Irish Gaelic means splendour, radiance, or brilliance. Aine appears in folk tales as a good-hearted woman who is lucky in love and is connected with fruitfulness and prosperity. After a failed relationship with Colm several years ago, I have my doubts about the ‘lucky in love’ bit, but I do like my name now, and I especially love the connection it gives me with Ireland.


Croagh Patrick was my choice for this trip partly because Colm had raved about it. He had described to me, in great detail (as was his wont), a fantastic sexual experience he’d had up on the mountain. In his words, the mountain had ‘taken control of him’ while he was climbing. For no apparent reason, he developed an intense erection. He’d not been fantasising, thinking about sex, or even thinking about me! It just happened.

Some unseen but irresistible force had forced him to strip off and lie down on a bed of moss; one of the thick beds of sphagnum so common all over these mountains. He was surprised at how soft and moist it was and, despite the chill in the air, how warm it was too; body temperature.

The force compelled him to turn over, to lie on his front. He could feel his erection sliding into the warm, wet sphagnum. Being warmly enveloped like this was a wonderfully stimulating sensation for him and involuntarily his hips started to gyrate slowly, as if he were humping the moss. Weird though he found this, he was unable to resist.

He was light-headed; that room-spinning feeling you get when you are really drunk and finally make it to your bed. It felt as though the earth was moving up towards him as he plunged his cock deep into the moss, and the moss seemed to squeeze and suck at him, as if willing him to shoot his load into it. And so he did; his hot cum flooding out into the mossy warmth. He claimed it was a long time before he’d recovered enough to turn onto his back, and more time still till the earth stopped moving. He was drained; exhausted.

I’d always taken Colm’s stories with more than a grain of salt. He had a history, especially around masturbation, and he was never one to let the truth stand in the way of a good story. Indeed, it was his fixation on masturbation, to the exclusion of other forms of sexual enjoyment and intimacy, that had led to our breaking up several years before. Nevertheless, the similarities between his story and my own personal experience on the Paps of Anu aroused my curiosity about the intangible but real sexual energy that permeated these places.


Croagh Patrick had been a spiritual place long before Christianity arrived in Ireland, when it had been called Cruachán Aigle – which means ‘the stack of the eagle’. If Colm’s story about the mountain were true, surely it shed light on what St Patrick might have been doing for forty days and nights on that stack – wanking into the moss!

My reading revealed that the summit of this mountain had been the place for sacred rites and pagan practices, especially at the festival of Lughnasadh at the beginning of August and the harvest season. On Lughnasadh Eve, it is said, people would spend the night on the summit. A sexual union made on Lughnasadh need only last a year, allowing a couple to test whether the pleasures of the flesh will grow into a real connection. I got a thrill out of imagining the intense sexual energy that would be released at such a time; all the focus on attraction but no expectation of long-term commitment!

I had decided to approach Cruachán Aigle from the west, rather than up St Patrick’s pilgrim route. I’d first make the summit of Ben Goram and then walk across a saddle to the sacred peak. I parked my rented car near a farmhouse at the end of a long, narrow country lane, flanked by tall, free-stone walls. I breathed in deeply, savouring the fresh mountain air, subtly flavoured by the wonderful smell of smoke from a turf fire at the farmhouse. Climbing up and over a style, I was there… on the slopes of Cruachán Aigle at last.

It was a stunning day, clear and warm, with panoramic views out over the hundreds of little islands in Clew Bay far below. It was real solitude; not another soul save for a few sentinel sheep, a hare, and a pair of vocal, acrobatic, male skylarks above me – singing lustily to prove their prowess to potential mates. I liked the idea of that: males displaying and females choosing.

The climb up the ridge was unrelenting. Though I was panting and sweating, I hummed as I climbed. Stopping for a rest at a cairn on a small peak before Ben Goram’s summit, I had an unexpected feeling of arousal. It was a pleasant warmth, spreading from somewhere deep down inside me, causing a moistening and throbbing between my legs. I shook my head in surprise, recalling Colm’s description of the mountain taking control of him, producing an intense erection and an irresistible urge to strip off and lie on the ground.

I pulled myself together, pushed these thoughts from my mind and walked on. My steps were silent here, squashing into spongy mosses that oozed moisture beneath every tread and then sprang back again. It was a sensual experience, soft and lingering, and the sensuality spread upwards through my legs and deeper into me.

With each step I become more aware of the seam in the crotch of my walking pants, which was not chafing but rubbing deliciously against my swelling clitoris and labia. I shuddered, letting the sensations of sexual stimulation spread through my body and delighting in the warm moistness. My legs started to feel weak and wobbly, but I continued, holding on to the feeling of arousal – striving to heighten the stimulation.

With the summit of Ben Goram within reach, my sweating and panting was further fuelled by my developing orgasm, which built up for a few steps, then receded when I had to concentrate on where my feet were going, then built up again, stronger, more intense, bringing me ever closer to the edge. I was light-headed, almost euphoric. My last few steps were a mixture of agony and ecstasy. I barely had the strength or coordination to put one foot in front of the other, yet I was driven on, willing my orgasm to explode and flood over me.

As I took my last step up onto the peak, the floodgates opened. I collapsed to the ground as wave after wave of contractions seemed to flow from deep within me. The blood was thumping in my temples and I could see bright flashing lights even with my eyes screwed tight shut. My god, I’d never had an orgasm while walking! I’d never even thought it might be possible.

Recovering slowly, I sat up to look around. Although it was a bright, cloudless day, there were wisps of mist around me. They seemed to be coming out of the ground and rising up the slope to Cruachán Aigle... as if the mountain itself were breathing.


I was still unsteady but very relaxed when I set off again ten minutes later down the gentle saddle towards the final climb up to Cruachán Aigle. I felt simultaneously energised, drained, flushed, wet and fulfilled. I was seriously questioning my ability to make the final climb when I heard noises and saw movement in a small hollow beyond. I dropped down quickly lest I might be seen, feeling strangely indignant that there was someone else on ‘my’ mountain. Perhaps I could skirt around them and continue on.

Peeping over the rocks, I saw two stark white figures, naked and intertwined, on a bed of moss. Two women. And I need not have worried that they’d notice me, so engrossed were they in each other, with eyes closed, hands stroking and exploring, and moans of pleasure.

I couldn’t take my eyes off them, holding my breath as I watched, feeling arousal rising in me again. This time I was unable to resist the strong compulsion to strip, quickly peeling off my sodden shirt and bra, unlacing my boots, and wriggling my pants down. Naked, I tiptoed towards the two writhing women and knelt down beside them on their bed of moss, reaching a hand out to touch a smooth creamy breast, brushing past the hard nipple with my fingers. Without a pause or a word, arms reached out and seamlessly included my body in their passionate embracing.

For me it was a whole-of-body experience; the closest I’d ever come to being in a tantric trance. I had no conscious control of my arms or legs, or lips, or anything. I wasn’t aware of the detail of what was going on, just submerged in a kaleidoscope of sensations and reactions.

As I writhed with the other two, all of us glistening from the warm moisture in the moss, sweat, and other secretions, I could sense fingers and hands on my breasts, lips, nipples, in my mouth, between my legs, everywhere. No matter whose they were nor who or what I was kissing, touching, or sliding over: toes, nipples, lips, necks, cunnies, I was drunk with the feel and taste of it all. Everything from saliva to sweat, moss, soil and quim. The mixture was hallucinogenic.

They say the skin is the body’s largest organ. So it is, and mine was fully aroused. Every touch on my body, every taste, every scent drove my sexual response upwards towards the precipice of another orgasm. My insides were churning, my muscles tensing, and my skin flushing. As a mouth encircled my labia and a tongue flicked my clitoris, I started to feel that exciting build and peak to orgasm again. It went on and on. The others were crying out and panting as their own orgasms enveloped them. The ground was trembling and there was a deep moaning sound. Was it coming from me or was it one of the others? It seemed to emanate from deep below us, as if the mountain itself had been part of our experience, part of our collective orgasm.

I lay exhausted afterwards and fell into a deep sleep. I’ve no idea how much time passed before I awoke. I stood up unsteadily and looked around. There was not a soul in sight. Curious; where were the two women? Did it actually happen? Was it all an hallucination? Could the turf smoke I breathed in at the start of my climb have been somehow mind-altering? Thicker clouds were now covering the summit of Cruachán Aigle and the air was cooling, so I turned back down the mountain, leaving the summit for another time. I felt drained… shagged out!


Campbell’s Pub is one of the oldest in Ireland. Nestled in a little village at the foot of Croagh Patrick, it’s a place climbers go for recovery after their exertions. I had more recovery to do than most, believe me, so I relished the Guinness and seafood chowder. As I was supping my soup, a young woman came up to me and greeted me, in a beautiful Irish accent. “Hello. My name’s Erin. Have you been up the mountain today? How was it?”

She spoke as if she knew me, but I couldn’t place her at all. “Hello,” I responded. “I’m Aine. Have we met before?”

“No,” she responded with certainty, “but you have met my sisters, Banbha and Fódla. They were up on the mountain this morning, to be sure, just like you. Did you not see them?” There were laughter lines at the corners of her eyes and a knowing smile dancing on her lips, as if she was challenging me to deny what I’d seen and done, yet knowing full well that I wouldn’t lie.

Looking furtively around the pub to see if anyone was listening, I lowered my voice. “I did see them. More than that, I think I touched and tasted every bit of them! You’ll never believe what they were doing, and I’m still amazed that I joined in. I‘ve never had such an experience. Are they here in the pub?”

She laughed. “No, they’re still up on the mountain. And it’s there they’ll be all night. They’ve to prepare for Lughnasadh. The fruits of the first harvest will be offered to the God of the mountain tonight – to ensure good production for the year. And he’ll bless the matchmakers, who’ll be united for the coming year. But more than all this, tonight is the only night of the year on which humans are able to experience the otherworld – and mix with the Tuatha.”

A serious look spread over her face, as if she was choosing her words carefully. “This year is a very special and important Lughnasadh, for my sister Banbha is to be in the matchmaking ceremony with Cathmore, a strapping young man from the village. She’s been lusting after Cathmore for years. When you see him you’ll understand why. There’s lots of girls who’d like to have his shoes under their beds, so there are, but none have had any success! Tonight’s Banbha’s night. Her name means ‘unploughed land’, but if Lugh blesses their match tonight, she’ll be ploughed alright! She’ll be spending the night up there, and Fódla‘s helping her to ready herself.”

My mind jumped back to the reading I’d been doing. Banbha, Fódla? These were very unusual names, and Erin was too much like Ériu to be a coincidence. Yes; these were indeed the names of the three ‘Sovereign Goddesses’ who defended the Tuatha Dé Danann from the invaders before they were banished to the otherworld. And the country itself came to be named for Ériu. I shook my head to try to connect back with reality.

I reasoned that I had been caught up in a modern re-enactment of the pagan festival of Lughnasadh. These three young women were playing their parts, so I decided to enter into the spirit of it all and address her by her Goddess namesake, Ériu, rather than as Erin.

Smiling up at her, I gestured for her to sit down with me. “How rude of me!” I exclaimed. “Please join me Ériu. Tell me, what have I to do with any of this?”

She didn’t so much as blink at my use of her name as she responded: “We need your help Aine.”

“Of course I’ll be happy to,” I replied enthusiastically. “What can I do?”

She paused to look at me, searching my face as if convincing herself of my sincerity, before going on: “Well, it won’t be easy, but we’ve agreed it has to be you. You see, we need the fruits of a symbolic first harvest as an offering to Lugh, the god of the mountain. And ‘tis you who will be our offering.”

“Me?” I spluttered incredulously. “And what do you mean ‘offering’? Anyway, I’m only a visitor. I stumbled on your ‘sisters’ today but what do I know about harvest festivals?”

She silenced me with a gentle touch on my arm, continuing: “An offering is usually grain, fruits or a sheep. We have sometimes had a human sacrifice, but that’s a terrible waste of a life, don’t you think? Banbha and Fódla felt a spiritual connection with you from the moment you stumbled upon them today. The pleasure you gave them was a rich harvest indeed. Unusual it may be, but an offering of a sexual harvest will please Lugh right enough.”

My brain scrambled to understand what she was saying. I’d heard of human sacrifices to the gods, but in this day and age – surely not? I laughed nervously, trying to decide what exactly she was asking of me.

“Let me get this straight: you want me to be an offering representing the fruits of the harvest? Who is this Lugh anyway? What will he do with his ‘offering’?”

She responded patiently, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Lugh is the God of the mountains. Lughnasadh is actually named after him. He is a great warrior and one of the leaders of the Tuatha Dé Danann. It is said that Lugh took the Mother Goddess Danu as his mistress but the truth is that this story was woven to protect his ego, his vanity. In fact, it was the other way around. She chose him as her paramour. Ériu paused for a moment before reflecting: “Some of the gods are quite promiscuous.”

“Danu!” I exclaimed. “I met someone called Danu years ago,” I added. “And Bilé her husband. It was at Dhá Chíoche Dhanann – the Breasts of Danu.” Lowering my voice, I whispered: “Actually, I did more than just meet them, if you know what I mean. We had a threesome; mind-blowing sex. It’s been my favourite fantasy ever since!” I blushed.

Ériu’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh, you are indeed a chosen one. Lugh will be well pleased tonight.”

Pausing to collect her thoughts, she continued to respond to my questions. “You asked what he’ll expect of you? Well, who are we to predict the desires of the God of the Mountain? You will find out soon enough. If you develop a deep connection with Lugh and satisfy him, the harvest will be bountiful and unblighted, Banbha will have a successful union with a mortal, and the Tuatha Dé Danaan may be able to return from the otherworld.”

My expression must have given away the struggle I was having keeping up. I was thinking that she might be slightly mad; that she really believed that she, Banbha and Fódla were actual Goddesses.

She started to explain a bit more. “You need to understand the history,” she said. “The Tuatha Dé Danann have been in exile in the otherworld for over 4,000 years. They are unable to cross over into this world. There are some who can cross between this world and the faery world. The gods can, of course, though most humans are too closed-minded to see them. The only others who can cross readily are offspring of a union between a Tuatha and a human, conceived at Lughnasadh – here. They’re called ‘mixtures’. There aren’t many of them, which is why so few people actually see what they call ‘the faery folk’, though most believe that they exist.”

Her eyes sparked as she spoke, clearly energised by her sharing of the history, but perhaps also at the thought of her Goddess sister Banbha preparing to have it off with a mere mortal later that night!

I was spot-on! Ériu continued: “Imagine… when Banbha and Cathmore produce a child, she’ll be a ‘mixture’. She’ll be able to help bring the ancient knowledge and magical powers of the Tuatha Dé Danann over into this world.”

She dropped her voice to a breathless whisper as she added: “But… a union between Lugh himself and a mortal. That would really be something!”

“Tonight many humans will be up on the mountain looking for sexual encounters with the Tuatha, hoping to play their part in bringing them back from the otherworld. It’ll be crazy though, you’ll see. People from far away come to join in, pretending to Tuatha, or even gods or goddesses, hoping for a good screw with an unsuspecting and well-meaning villager. Or with several! You’ll be all right though; you’ll be well looked after by me, Fódla and Lugh.”

To this day, I don’t know what got into me, but I agreed to be part of this enactment. It was a big step into the unknown; one that was both thrilling and disturbing. I think I’d just agreed to seduce the man who’d be playing Lugh; someone I’d never met before, never even seen.


In an upstairs bedroom above the pub, Ériu dressed me for the occasion. She brought in a flowing white gown, open at the front, which she tied at my waist with a plaited golden cord. Completely naked beneath the gown, it exposed my cleavage, navel and legs, and flowed open when I walked, revealing my mound. I felt little electric shocks whenever her fingers or hands touched parts of my naked flesh. When she was finished, she stood back and smiled her approval. “Lugh will be impressed,” she concluded. “In fact, if it weren’t Lughnasadh Eve, I’d be after having you myself… here and now!”

“And I’d be after letting you!” I thought to myself.

She exuded an almost irresistible sexual energy that attracted me to her, arousing me when she came close, even though I’d always thought of myself as staunchly heterosexual. Well, ok… until earlier that day!

It was a strenuous climb up what the Christians call the ‘Pilgrim Path’. As I scrambled, I again experienced the sensations of heightened arousal. Blood was flushing into the area around my clitoris, causing swelling and lubrication. This time, though, I didn’t have the added stimulation of the seam in my hiking pants, so I made it to the top relatively undistracted, though my cheeks were flushed and I was feeling warm and aroused. I was even more convinced of the sexual power of this mountain.

It was noisy at the top, with bonfires, lots of people, much revelry, drinking, and incredible energy. In the flickering shadows, I could see couples making out; not only male-female couples either! I caught myself wondering which of them might be ‘imposter Tuatha’ – here just for a night of debauchery.

Right on the summit there was a wooden post. Ériu led me to it, stood me with my back to it and tied my wrists together around the post using a leather thong. My gown moved lazily in the breeze, sometimes revealing flesh high up on one thigh or the other. The swirling of the fabric around my labial folds is something I’d have quickly suppressed, had my hands been free. But, tethered as I was, I just had to let it happen, which heightened my arousal.

Most of the throng came over to surround us, led by two women I recognised; Ériu’s so-called Goddess sisters, Fódla and Banbha. Fódla silenced the crowd by introducing herself as the Goddess of Patronage – which seemed to make her something like the MC for the night. She said it was her responsibility to call on Lugh, the god of the mountain, to receive the first fruits of the harvest and to be beneficent, protect the crops and bless the matchmaking of Banbha to Cathmore. Finally, she called on everyone there to prepare themselves for mixing with the Tuatha… released from the otherworld for the night.

She broke into a sort of incantation or song, in a language I couldn’t place. It had elements of modern Gaelic, but most of it was incomprehensible. It had a haunting, beautiful, ancient sound, which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and goose-bumps rise on my skin.

Suddenly a beautiful body of a man appeared in front of me. If there was ever a perfect representation of what I imagined a mythical god might look like, this was it! It could be none other than Lugh, the God of the Mountain and a High King of Ireland reincarnated. I nearly melted, as my eyes took him in.

He was a bit like Jamie Fraser in ‘Outlander’; tall, strong and drop-dead gorgeous. Long reddy-blond hair cascaded over his shoulders but was tied off his face with a narrow, plaited-leather headband. He was bare-chested save for a tattooed Celtic intertwine pattern around his arm above his elbow, highlighting his strong biceps, and a Celtic-design bird curving over his left breast, as if following the outline of his heart, its beak arching over his nipple.

His chest was glistening with oil and silky smooth – not a hair on it. He was wearing abroad belt, which topped a kilt-like skirt that went to just beneath his knees and seemed to be of very fine leather, maybe chamois. Unlike a pleated kilt, though, it clung to him enough to reveal some of the curves beneath; the indentations in his glutes, bulging thighs, and a hint of another bulge, just below the belt buckle. I was undressing this part of him with my eyes as he walked towards me.

With a wave of his arm he halted the incantations. “Shhhh,” he ordered. “Ciúnas, le bhur dtoil!” There was immediate silence. I continued to feast my eyes on him quivering with anticipation and nervousness. Quietly and with complete authority, though with a hint of a smile playing round the corners of his mouth, he started speaking.

Standing beside me, Ériu was whispering translations. Her lips were so close that I could feel her hot breath in my ear. It played havoc with my already heightened state of arousal. “He’s saying: ‘please be quiet’. Now he’s reciting the ancient words that welcome in this special time of the year: Lughnasadh. And now he’s asking for the first fruits of this year’s harvest. This is where you come in! Are you ready?”

I was not at all ready! Ériu backed away, and Lugh walked up to me with Fódla in attendance. I had no idea what to do or how to respond. Being tied to the post, any movement would have been impossible, or at least very awkward and inelegant, so I told myself that to just go with the flow; trust my instincts. It was only an enactment, after all.

Fódla took over, pointing out features Lugh should note. First my breasts, now topped by rock-hard nipples that were quite obvious through the fine fabric of the gown. She slid her hand gently under the top of my gown and cupped my left breast, her thumb and index finger gently rolling my nipple. Then she pulled aside the hem of my gown to reveal my pussy, my pubic hair carefully cropped in a heart shape and shaved at the sides. “I have sampled these, Lugh, and will speak well of them.”

I was dripping wet and swollen; embarrassed at my public nakedness yet seriously turned on at the same time. It felt like I was being displayed for inspection, like a mare being examined by the lord of the manor for her suitability to be served by his stallion. I disliked the feeling of being treated as a commodity, yet on the other hand, Lugh exuded raw lust and power that made me hot for him… dripping hot.

“Feel for yourself Lugh,” Fódla was saying. “Our first harvest is ripe, she’s ready for the plucking, don’t you agree?”

Lugh silenced her with an impatient gesture, then spoke with a soft, firm voice. “I’m sure she has her own mind, her own voice, her own desires, her own free will. You’d never have brought her to me otherwise. She may be an offering, but she’s not a sacrifice, so please untie her… she will accompany me.” Turning to me, he asked: “What’s your name?”

“Aine,” I replied. “And yours?”

Ignoring my impertinence, he went on. “Aine… ‘Tis an ancient name, to be sure. It means fruitfulness and prosperity, does it not? A fine name indeed, and I imagine you’ve a nature to match?”

He didn’t wait for my response, which was perhaps just as well, announcing loudly to the audience: “This year’s first harvest is fruitfulness and prosperity personified. Lugh is well pleased. This will surely be a bountiful year. As for the offering itself…” He paused, impaling me with a long, smouldering look. “I will taste these fruits later.”

Lowering his voice, he said: “Come… join me. We’ve some matchmaking to attend to.”


He led me down towards the crowd, which parted to let us through, many of the people bowing their heads to Lugh in reverence as we passed. Fódla stood facing us, holding hands with Banbha on one side and with Cathmore on the other. Ériu had been quite right, he was a stunner of a man. Tall and muscly with an open, honest face and a hint of mischief in his eyes. He’d catch your attention if you saw him across a crowded bar, and then you’d want to get to know him.

Fódla introduced them to Lugh, loudly enough that the whole crowd could hear. He acknowledged them, and then led them towards a giant rock slab, bigger than a double bed, covered in a deep moss mattress. They stood facing him, the bed just behind them. Lugh produced a pouch-like, leather water-carrier, which had been looped on his belt. He held it up to the crowd before taking a long drink from it and then handing it to each of them in turn.

Ériu was back at my shoulder, whispering interpretations in my ear again. “It’s Elixir of the Gods,” she whispered. “You’ll taste it yourself… later.” I didn’t let on that I’d tasted it once before, years ago, and had an inkling of what it might do to me.

When both had drunk, Lugh put one hand on each of them, turned his face up to the starry sky, and started an incantation, in the language I didn’t recognise. I only heard snippets of Ériu’s translation as he went on. It seemed like some form of marriage, in which Cathmore vowed to pleasure Banbha, and she agreed to reciprocate. They were to sleep with each other that night and live together for the next year, before returning here to the mountain this time next yeat, to confirm their union or have it dissolved.

With his last statement, which was something about displaying their passion and commitment to each other in front of witnesses, there was a loud cheer. Fódla stepped forward with two strips of gold-coloured cloth and tied them as blindfolds on Cathmore and Banbha. I assumed that this was to help them focus all their senses on each other despite the audience.

Fódla led them up onto the moss-covered slab, where they stood facing Lugh, me, and the crowd behind us. The blindfolded Banbha started unbuttoning Cathmore’s shirt, then his belt and pants, until he stood naked before us all. His erection stood before us too! There was a loud cheer, filled with excitement and expectation. I felt a thrill of excitement myself.

Then it was Cathmore’s turn. Exploring with his hands, he found Banbha’s gold braid belt, fumbled to untie it, then opened her gown and let it slip off her shoulders to reveal her naked body, all but for the blindfold. The similarity between her gown and my own did not escape me, and it made me wonder what might be in store for me later on.

Lugh resumed his incantation, which was basically instruction for Cathmore to lie back on the moss, facing the heavens, and then for Banbha to kneel over him, kiss him on the lips, the nipples and finally take his manhood in her mouth. With that, it was basically over to them – naked, exposed and clearly aroused, in front of the appreciative multitude.

Banbha knelt above his engorged member, pausing as if to tantalise him and titillate the throng. She seemed to be performing like a stage actor: at ease with an audience and revelling in the adulation. She ran her lips slowly up and down the full length of his member, sliding up to the tip before licking the head and swirling her tongue back down before engulfing it again. She seemed to keep this up for a long time as he swelled perceptibly each time.

To audible intakes of breath and sighs among the onlookers, she turned her attention to herself, moving her knees apart and arching her back so as to expose her sex to those fortunate enough to have been positioned directly behind her. She plunged two fingers into her mouth, liberally lubricating them with saliva, and then slid them between her legs, parting her pussy and slowly masturbating herself, spreading moisture over her lips and around her clitoris.

Well lubricated and obviously arouse, she hitched forward over Cathmore’s body and knelt up on her knees. Guiding his straining cock with one hand, she slowly started lowering herself down onto Cathmore’s erection. You’d have to be a serious exhibitionist and a brazen extrovert to be able to do this in public, I thought. But more was to come… literally!

People jostled to move so as to be in a better position to see this act from their preferred perspective, and started a slow clap, in time with the raising and lowering of Banbha’s body. It must have taken a great deal of strength and control to do this so slowly. I’ve tried it myself, and it’s very tiring.

She leant forwards to balance herself on his shoulders and started getting into a rhythm, to which he was clearly responding, reaching his hands up to grasp her hips and bum, moving them in circles around his cock before bucking his own hips to fuck her deeply.  

His hands were all over her body, stroking her breasts, circling her nipples, cupping her bum and sliding sensuously up and down her spine. In return she was teasing him, at times making him suppress the urgency of his movements and fuck her slowly and then crying out to him to fuck her deeply and faster, faster. The crowd’s clapping increased in speed, in synch with their fucking. Their moans and sharp or slow intakes of breath were now accompanied by shouts of encouragement and cheering, until they almost reached their crescendo. Surely they were about to come!

Banhba had other ideas. She slowly raised herself off him releasing his huge, shiny, slippery, purple cock. Seizing it in her fist, she displayed it to the crowd, quivering and begging to be released. This was met with loud and raucous applause. Once again she lowered herself on him, forcing him to fuck her slowly, then quicky again, holding him off until she was ready.  They came simultaneously as their bodies turned rigid and the moans and shouts reached a crescendo. Banbha collapsed down onto his body and stretched her legs out along his.

As I watched, I sensed the feeling she must have been experiencing; that delicious post-orgasmic squeezing the thighs together to help the pelvic muscles milk the last drops of spunk from a softening dick. I shuddered a little as I recalled that fulfilling feeling.

I was hornier than I’d ever been watching porn, or even the sex show I’d been to a few weeks before, at ‘The Box’ nightclub in Soho. This was more real and more personal, perhaps because I knew one of the participants. Well, more than ‘knew’ her – I had been sharing an orgasm with her only a few hours before! This raw sex was real, and so public. I wondered whether the cheering and applause heightened the experience for Banbha and Cathmore, or whether they were oblivious to it, immersed in their own sexual responses to each other. What would it feel like, I thought, to bare oneself and ‘perform’ knowing that so many people were looking on?

Fódla moved forward with a large, knitted blanket and threw it over them as they lay, nestled into each other. Ériu explained that they would be staying all night on the mountain, as this was the way to ensure that they’d be fertile and produce a child.

I felt a warm, rough, gentle hand around my wrist, and turned to see Lugh looking at me with a smile. I started to melt inside as he seemed to stare right into my soul.

“Exciting, was it not?” he asked. Indeed it was. I looked up at him, nodding and smiling. “Well then,” Lugh added, “It’s time for me to sample the first fruits of this year’s harvest. Are you ready?”

Having no idea what he meant by this, I just nodded silently again, though deep in my mind was the hint of an impulse to leap on him and harvest some seed for myself! Before this thought could develop, we were stopped by a gorgeous looking woman I recognised. She features in my oft-repeated fantasy; the one that is certain to help me reach orgasm – Danu the Mother Goddess. She was dressed much as you’d imagine a fantasy superhero warrior to be dressed: bare-breasted with a very fine chamois-like skirt that was slit up the front of both thighs to reveal long, muscly legs. But it was the ornate, broad, leather belt that caught my attention.

Riding low over her hips, the belt was indented with swirling Celtic symbols. The large buckle seemed to be sculpted to her pubic bone and appeared to be woven from gold wire. With the glinting of the light from the fires in the buckle, it was almost impossible to drag my eyes away from her crotch. When I managed, I caught sight of the leather scabbard suspended from the belt on her left side. It was decorated with Celtic shapes outlined in fine gold wire and housed a small sword or dagger. The hilt was beautifully carved, with interwoven ridges spiralling serpent-like up the handle with three snake heads fused at the top to create the bulge of the pommel. The quillon, the bar between the blade and the hilt, was a bright, shiny and ridged, and stopped the dagger from sliding right into the scabbard.

When my eyes finally made it back up to her face, I realised that she was looking at me with recognition. She broke into a smile. “So… we meet again,” she said with a tone of satisfaction.

Turning to Lugh, she said with mock indignation. “I thought I was your mistress, Lugh. Are you planning on taking another?”

Smiling back at her, he protested. “Another mistress? Of course not! There can be none to compare with you. But I have to think of my people too. They need a leader, one who can move between the worlds. If she has been well chosen, this mortal, Aine, will produce her.”

“Oh, I already know she’s the one,” replied Danu. I have tasted her myself. She is the right choice. I will help.”

Lugh seemed pleased and, with Danu looking on, he unhooked his leather pouch for the second time and passed it to me, saying: “Elixir of the gods. Drink deep.”


I took a large mouthful and swallowed. It was a sweet, warm liquid, slightly musty and also a bit salty. There were flavours of herbs I’d tasted only once before; flavours that made my head spin, my neck and face flush red hot, my nipples stiffen and tighten almost painfully, my clitoris swell and throb, and smooth muscles deep inside me contract.

Shaking my head to stop the spinning, I looked around. An eerie silence had replaced the crowd’s exuberant chattering, clapping and cheering. The throng had parted, and it was as if we were in a large clearing in a forest of people, each one with their eyes fixed intently on us, waiting to see what was about to happen.

The silence was broken by the haunting sound of the Irish Uilleann pipes starting up; a spell-binding, ancient melody that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand erect. I’d no idea what to do next, so I simply passed the pouch to Danu. She drank from it herself, and then seemed to float across the clearing to pass it on to the nearest person in the crowd. There was appreciative mumbling and nodding of heads as it was passed round, each person taking a sip.

Feeling daring and lightheaded as well as seriously turned on, I turned towards Lugh. He stood impassive as I slid my hands sensuously over his chest and across his hard nipples. Very aware of the audience behind me, who would surely be watching our every move, the thought of arousing Lugh in front of them was compelling. I was surprised at how much I was getting into this. Far from being an absolute turn-off, the thought of performing a public sex act with this stud of a man was actually really exciting. “It must be that drink,” I said to myself. “This is not me… not like me at all.”

But then I remembered how I’d felt after the sex show I’d been at in Soho; very aroused indeed! It had surprised me at the time, because I had always thought of sex show performers as taking such a job as a last resort and exploited. But the thought of ‘performing’ sex in front of an audience got to me and became a recurring fantasy. Now I was getting to live it!

I moved my hands to his belt and down the front of his thighs, feeling the fabric sliding over the muscles. I slid back up along his inner thighs, gratified by the shiver I could feel as I reached under the soft chamois, accompanied by a low groan. I recalled the old joke: “Is anything worn under the kilt?” and the response: “No, ma’am, it’s all in perfect working order!” Lugh’s was clearly in perfect working order, and I felt a surge of excitement at the power I was wielding over him. I let my fingers trail up and down his erection, cupping one hand under his balls and squeezing slightly.

Emboldened by his responses to my fingering, I knelt down in front of him, lifted the soft leather with one hand and ducked my head under, taking the tip of his swollen cock in my mouth. I could sense him tensing at the feel of it, as he emitted another groan. Beyond that there was another noise; the appreciative murmuring of the crowd muffled by the material of the kilt and melding with the mournful sound of the pipes. The hubbub swelled as I moved my mouth slowly down his cock, taking it into my mouth right to the back of my throat. I slid my mouth back up his shaft and waited with my lips around his ridge for what seemed like ages, flicking my tongue slightly on his pleasure-spot and enjoying the expectant hush from the crown, as if they were holding their collective breath. Lugh was certainly holding his! Then there was a collective murmur, rising to a cheer as I slid back down again, faster this time. I felt a real surge of power and intense pleasure at this audience reaction.

When I withdrew the next time, I could taste the musty, salty tingle of his slippery pre-cum, not unlike the taste of the mead. His hands were on the back of my head, holding me through the cloth as his hips started to move, sliding the ridge of his cock in and out past my lips and tongue. His cock was so taut, I was pretty sure he’d come with only a little more stimulation, but I wanted him inside me first. I withdrew from under his kilt to the sound of more cheers from the crowd.

As I turned to look at the sea of faces, it was Danu who appeared before me. Smiling seductively, she undid my braided belt and pulled my gown up over my head, spreading it out on the ground in front of Lugh. She put her arms around me – and we kissed… just a light touch of lips at first, then deeply, tongues intertwining, our breasts touching. I could feel Lugh’s hot breath on the back of my neck as we embraced, so he was obviously standing close behind me.

“I remember the taste of you,” she whispered. I wondered if it was really me she remembered, or the taste of Lugh that was still strong in my mouth. She was his mistress after all and her steamy encounter with me was a couple of years ago.  “Now you must watch me,” she added. “I hope you like to watch.”

Unhooking her dagger in its scabbard, she sat down on my gown, knees up, feet towards me and her back to the crowd. She looked up at me, fixing me with a penetrating stare, challenging me to keep eye contact with her. I tried valiantly… but failed, as soon as I noticed her flipping the middle panel of her skirt to one side revealing her naked vulva, the lips parting slightly to reveal a glistening pinkness beneath.

I caught my breath when I saw her reach down with her sheathed dagger. “What can she be going to do?” I asked myself, astounded. I didn’t have to wait long to find out. Leaning back, propped on one elbow, she started teasing her pussy-lip with the pommel of the dagger hilt, parting her lips and sliding the carved tip of the handle up and down alongside her clitoris, using it as a sex toy. I shuddered involuntarily, as if sharing the intimate feeling with her.

She closed her eyes to savour the sensation and lay back onto my gown. My eyes were fixed on the hilt of the dagger, which continued to slide up and down her slit, slowly but rhythmically. I could feel warm wetness spreading between my own legs as I watched. It was incredibly sensual and intimate, watching someone losing themselves in sexual pleasure. I’m sure my eyes widened when the entwined snakes-heads of the pommel paused momentarily at the entrance to her pleasure passage, before starting to slide in, ever so slowly. I must have been holding my breath while the whole hilt of the dagger disappeared inside her, right to the quillon, which pressed hard against her clitoris, because I felt myself starting to swoon and had to tell myself to breathe.

There was a movement behind me and I felt two firm hands on my shoulders, pressing me downwards. I knelt down. Still the pressure was there, pushing me forwards onto all fours, my hands between Danu’s spread knees and my face close to the dagger, which she now moving repeatedly in and out.

Looking up over Danu’s body, I could see a sea of faces fixed on us. There was movement now – active involvement. I wasn’t the only one to be turned on by all that happening. I could see couples embracing and kissing; hands were moving, exploring under tunics, down the front of pants, between legs, over breasts. A young woman, who appeared to be alone, was staring right into my eyes with a faraway smile on her lips as her hand stroked rhythmically between her legs. A pair of female hands appeared around the waist of the man beside her, unbuckled his belt to release a taut erection from his pants, seized it firmly and started sliding it up and down. He too had his eyes glued on me and Lugh behind me. I tried to imagine what we must have looked like from their perspective: Danu prostrate in front of me pleasuring herself ‘to the hilt’ – me kneeling on all fours looking over her at the crowd – Lugh behind me doing god-knows-what.

My face must have betrayed the electric shocks coursing inside me and the sensation of the hot moisture seeping out of my crack and onto the insides of my thighs, because I could hear gasps and murmurs of appreciation from the crowd. I soon realised that it was not me they were looking it, but something just behind me. I felt pressure against my calves as Lugh knelt down behind me, and then there was a strong, hot, smooth, moist and delicious feeling as his erection probed between my legs – seeking my opening. I pushed back towards him, angling my hips. I closed my eyes again, to capture, undistracted, every bit of the sensation of my lips swelling and parting and the tip of his cock slipping in to me.

Maybe the focus of all my senses on this feeling blocked out noise, or perhaps there was an expectant hush in the crowd as he started pushing, inching slowly into me. Oh god, I wanted him to push deeper and deeper! I pushed by bum back into his hips until I had taken his whole erection right inside me. He stopped there, as if relishing every sensation he was experiencing.

I so wanted him to stay deeply inside me forever, but I also wanted him to start thrusting so I could experience his ramrod hard cock stimulating my vagina, pulling on my labial lips and filling me up, thicker and deeper, again and again. And that’s exactly what he did; withdrawing ever so slowly, millimetre by millimetre, before pushing firmly back into me, accelerated by my involuntary pushing back onto his cock. His rough, firm hands were holding tightly on to my hips, fingers digging in to my hip bones to control my movement against his, and other times his fingers were rubbing my clitoris in time with his thrusting. My clitoris felt like it was a cock, growing and hardening against his touch. He knew just how to frig me almost to orgasm before slowing down and caressing more slowly as he kept up a steady fucking that I wished would go on forever.

The onlookers were sucking, licking, feeling and fucking; the air was thick with sexual energy and expectation, which was being inhaled with every breath. I could feel a flush of pleasure spreading over my cheeks and down my neck onto my chest, and my hot juices spreading around his cock and down between my legs. My head tilted back in complete abandonment as he slid slowly out again before pulling me back onto him.

Though I opened my eyes again, the piston-like plunging of Lugh’s engorged member deep into me prevented me from focussing properly. Movements in the crowd before me were in unison with Lugh’s fucking and his movements seemed to be driven by Danu. It was as if Danu were conducting of a huge erotic orchestra of copulating and masturbating instruments using her dagger hilt as the baton.

The climax, when it arrived, would have given the crescendo of the 1812 Overture a run for its money. Lugh seemed to be able to hold on until Danu came, and my own orgasm was released when Danu stared wailing, removed the dagger handle revealing the pulsating of her orgasmic contractions, close up before my face. The three of us collapsed into a heap of entangled, flushed, sweaty, limbs and lay there recovering as the sexual energy in the crowd slowly dissipated as well.


Danu was the first to recover and stand up. She stooped to grasp my hand and help me up, reaching down to Lugh with her other hand. Turning to the throng, she announced something in the ancient tongue. Her announcement was met with wild cheers, the pipes struck up again with a much more dynamic tune, and it seemed that the party was about to start in earnest.

Turning to me, Danu said: “You have done well, Aine. This was a very good Lughnasadh. As I said to the multitude, I have great hopes for the harvest… in more ways than one. Come now… we should go back down the mountain and leave them to enjoy their revelry.”

As we picked our way carefully down the pilgrim’s track in the dark, my mind was going over the happenings of the night, and the day before. I felt drained and exhausted, but also happy and fulfilled. Every now and then, at a difficult section of the track, I could feel either Danu or Lugh at my elbow, supporting and guiding. They led me to a small clearing in the last patch of woodland before reaching the village and we squeezed through a narrow cleft between two boulders. To my amazement, we were suddenly in a warm, cosy room, with a turf fire burning at one end and several beds around the walls. Danu motioned to one of them and said: “This is your bed for the night… what’s left of it!”

Too tired to ask any of the questions whirling through my mind, I lay down and immediately fell into a deep sleep.


The sound of quiet voices in conversation broke into my dreams and woke me up. I felt somehow different. Not because of what had happened the night before, but physically changed. A warmth deep down in my body reminded me of my very public coupling with Lugh the night before, and then I knew. Don’t ask me how, but I just knew I had conceived! Lugh’s seed had borne fruit. I was pregnant… to a Celtic God? Could he really be a God? Could the others, except for Cathmore, be real Goddesses? Perhaps I’d been sleeping in the ‘otherworld’. Maybe it was all true.

I opened my eyes and looked around the room. There, sitting on the other beds and deep in quiet conversation, were Lugh, Danu, Banbha and Cathmore, Fódla, and Ériu. Closing my eyes again, I just lay back and listened. They were planning something. It was difficult for me to follow the Gaelic, but it was clear that they were discussing the release of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the end of 2000 years of sexual repression of the people by the church, and the return of the Goddesses to their rightful place in the culture in Ireland.

And, clearly, both Banbha and I now carried the key to the success of their plan. Starting at Lá Bealtaine next year – May 1st – exactly nine months from Lughnasadh.