Erotic retelling of the Wooing of Etain.

Chapter One Found Here

Chapter Two Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Four

(in which a man fucks a butterfly;

and learns there is no bestiality,

as all of us are beasts;

and finally, some skull fucking)

Fuamnach, with her new power, approached Midhir’s house, where he stayed with his magic purple butterfly. She knew that he would slay her if he saw her, so she kept her distance. There from the trees she watched him for several days. She saw that he was smitten with this creature. She saw that he found no pleasure in in music nor in eating or in drinking when he did not see her and hear the music of her voice. And then on the third day, she saw Midhir put his face close to the butterflies and kiss her on the mouth.

“Ahhhhhh!” she cried with rage then. And with her new power, a storm cloud was borne. Such a storm of wind no-one had ever seen. Midhir looked up in alarm at the tops of the trees, so suddenly swaying in the preternatural wind. He reached out with his large arms to save his beloved purple butterfly, but it was too late. She was swept away from him.

Fuamnach watched with disgust as he went running down the path after her, as the wind buffeted her away. He was calling her name, pathetically “Etain, my sweetheart, my true love, my Etain, wait for me my darling…”

Fuamnach darkened as the nausea rose in her.

Crack!

Thunder and lightning exploded in the storm, and the butterfly was gone. Midhir lay in the mud sobbing. Fuamnach turned and headed back to the home of her foster wizard. She had done what needed to be done.

For seven whole years the butterfly was blown about, never given a moments rest, by the strange wind. Then, one day as the wind blew her over a mountain top, she saw a place she recognized. She recognized the river Boyne. She knew the Brugh. And then, she looked down and the man that was looking up at her — she knew him too.

It was Aengus, whom she had so abused those seven years ago after he bought her for his brother.

She was too weary from being blown about to be angry any more.

She floated down to him.

“Seven years of rage, that’s all you have in ye, Etain?” said Aengus, with a twinkling in his eye. “Did I not tell you to come to me if ever you needed help? And for these seven years I have known Fuamnach’s wind has blown you hither and thither. I used my own magic to call you to me. But your anger was so strong, my magic was useless. What at last made you forgive me?”

“I’ll never forgive thee,” said the butterfly, and somehow Aengus knew her language, and understood her humming and singing.

“Is it my elder brother Midhir ye love more than me then,” said Aengus. “I can take you back to him.”

“No!” she cried. “That woman will destroy me. Never has there been a woman who hated more than she hates.”

“So then, ye can stay with me,” said Aengus. “Or ye can carry on blowing all around Ireland.”

“What other choice to I have?” said Etain. “At least you won’t deflower me again. As I am just a wee butterfly and you a great man.”

“Etain,” said Aengus, his eyes twinkling. “It was ye that deflowered me. Do you not know you were the first woman whose bed I shared, just as I was the first man for ye?”

The butterfly turned crimson with shame, then, as she remembered how she called up the young Aengus and bade him fuck her.

“The past is done,” said Aengus. “I’ll make you as comfortable here in the Brugh as I can.”

Aengus made a sun bower out of grass and leaves and shiny objects for the butterfly, with crystal windows she could pass in and out of. It provided her with shade and rest at last. She was grateful to him.

She accompanied him wherever he went, just as earlier she had accompanied his half brother Midhir. Even when she went down to the river Boyne to play the harp to his mother, she came along.

“Ah, my son,” said Boanne. “Be careful what you do with MIdhir’s butterfly. He might hear of it, and come and challenge you for her.”

“Let him come,” said Aengus.

For he was falling in love again with Etain. And she, her anger finally mellowing, was feeling affection for the beautiful young Aengus.

In the bower, while Aengus played the harp, he one evening landed upon a chord or a stream of notes that seemed to cast a spell upon the butterfly. For an instant, she assumed her former form, as the graceful and lovely Etain. He saw her naked there in the bower, looking up at him longingly.

Alas, there were some horrid youth passing by the bower that night. And they claimed they saw the butterfly landing on Etain’s naked cock, and nibbling at it.

Oh the merriment on the hurling field that next week, when word got round that Etain was getting blow jobs from a large insect.

“Ah, to hell with you, you’re all lousy, lowly Fir Bolg,” cried Aengus. “Whom we destroyed in the battle of Magh Tuireadh.”

The Fir Bolg were the lesser race of men who were conquered by the Danaans after they arrived from in their ships from the sky.

Aengus swung his hurling stick at them wildly.

But he took more care after that. Only when nobody was near did he play those chords on the harp. And finally, she appeared in her real human form, and came to him and embraced him.

“I’m married to your brother,” she said. “And that means forever. This is adultery.”

“Adultery is apparently very nice,” said Aengus, going in for another kiss.

“Apparently it is,” she said. “But you should be warned. I’ll always be his. Across a thousand years, if you can imagine that. I belong to Midhir. He made me his wife. And that’s forever, no matter what evil that Fuamnach has summoned in the wind. No matter where I might be blown. Forever and ever I shall love him. For he is my man.”

“What am I then?”

“You are my handsome, handsome boy,” she said. “None as fair as you have ever I laid my diamond butterfly eyes on. All through Ireland I’ve been blown, remember. And none with half your beauty.”

“Ah, those fractions sting me,” said Aengus. For he was recalling then her fractions as she shouted out to insult him on her wedding night, when she was fucking MIdhir, and she shouted that she’d only felt an eighth of this pleasure before. So obviously referring to him.

“I was a foolish wench,” she admitted. “I wanted to sting you.”

“Sting me you did,” he said.

“I want to sting you again,” said the butterfly in human form.

She sat upon him and Aengus felt the great delicious sting of sex with a near goddess. A half insect, half girl. A half spirit, half human. And it was as if they were on a cloud, fucking. Time lost its meaning.

“Oh, Etain,” he sighed to her. “What a strange life it’s been. I was begat in the morning and born before sunset. The man I thought was my father was really my half brother. My father has the strength and stature of a god here in the center of this strange country that somehow I was incarnated in. And then, of all the maidens in all the land to choose to fuck, I chose you. A maiden who is undoubtedly touched by destiny itself. And although I am fucking you now, in my heart of hearts I know somehow that I shall lose you again. You are touched by a strange destiny, it cannot be denied.”

“Ay, handsome one,” she agreed as she fucked him. “From my very infancy I have felt the strangeness of my life. When I looked in the glass, I saw not the fairest maiden in all of Ireland. I saw the one that was damned.”

There was a darkness to her, no doubt. But the sweetness of her tight butterfly pussy around Aengus’ dick made him forget that darkness. It felt like it was grabbing him by the dick and pulling him up into the sky. He was flying and fucking! Each time her pussy relaxed he felt the force of gravity and his body falling toward the earth. Then as her pussy tightened he was pulled up again.

“Don’t drop me!” he begged her, because now it felt like they were very high, maybe a hundred yards up in the air, higher than the highest poplar trees around the Brugh.

Some people around Brugh claim they saw the butterfly holding Aengus by the balls, and flying around a grove of poplar trees. Another said she had her face in his ass and was pushing him up into the sky and flapping her wings mightily. Another said that it was his big dick that she had a hold of and that she suddenly flung him into the clouds and he landed luckily on a hay stack and wasn’t killed.

We don’t know the truth of these rumors.

But we do know, that while she was in human form, he did fuck her almost every night. He fucked her sideways. He fucked her from behind. And he fucked her on top. And he fucked her and fucked her until his dick was raw.

But in the morning she would be a butterfly again. He loved her no less. He stroked her butterfly wings. Wherever he went he took his sun bower with him so she could have a comfortable place to linger. He filled it with fragrant herbs and lovely flowers, rings of daisies and buttercups and lady smocks. He fed her nectar and delicious fruits from the vines. And he spoke to her incessantly.

“He never shuts up talking to that fly of his,” the people said. They heard it all across the Brugh.

And sure enough, word made it back to Fuamnach that the purple butterfly had been given a place of honor and love by Aengus.

“Have you heard?” she said to her estranged husband. “Your half brother Aengus has made a home for your little butterfly. I hope you will not murder him.”

Midhir looked at Fuamnach.

“Why would I murder him?”

“In your jealousy and rage, of course.”

“My jealousy and rage?” he seethed. “You should know a lot about that. It was your jealousy and rage that turned her into a fly in the first place. Is it not a time for mending all old jealousies and rages?”

“Exactly,” said the devious Fuamnach. “I am glad to hear you talk that way. I reckon we should summon Aengus to a meeting, to give him surety that you feel no ill will toward your brother.”

“Do whatever you want,” said MIdhir. He was sick at heart and could barely stomach the sight of his first wife. “Summon him with my blessing.”

So the devious Fuamnach sent a messenger to tell Aengus to meet her and his half brother at a place on the river Boanne so they could speak, and that she was to make the peace between them. Of course, Aengus was loathe to bring his butterfly to meet Midhir, because he well remembered her oaths of fealty to her husband. So he left her there in the bower and went to meet his brother.

When Aengus came to the appointed place, he saw that Fuamnach was not with MIdhir.

“Where is she?” asked Aengus.

And then the river began to stir mightily, because the mother of Aengus, the river god, was well aware of Fuamnach’s treachery. At that very moment she had come by a circuitous route to the sun bower and had blown again that mighty magical wind that swept away the purple butterfly.

“We have been tricked,” said Aengus. “Whatever Fuamnach has done, Etain is now lost to us forever.”

“Ay,” said Midhir. “She’s a devious one.”

“But this time we shall make her pay,” said Aengus.

Aengus hurried home to the sun bower, and sure enough found it empty. He followed Fuamnach’s tracks back to the house of her foster father, the wizard Bresal. The wizard conjured with signs and symbols and spoke incantations and produced mists and little explosions. But he could not prevent the furious Aengus from breaking down the front door of his house. Then from every room he went, searching for her. He knew she was there. But the wizard had presented illusions to Aengus’s mind. Seven times he was in front of Fuamnach, and seven times he raised his sword to strike her. But seven times he suddenly saw a swan where Fuamnach stood.

The eighth time he said to himself, it can be no swan. As there are only seven swans that swim in the Boyne. I have seen them and call them each by name. There is Ailbe and Karan, Macha and Sorcha. Orlag and Una. Then Rionach. Now I come to this eighth room, this swan must be Fuamnach.

He raised his sword and saw then the true form of his sister in law, Fuamnach. The wizard threw a lavender colored bomb of smoke, but it was too late. Aengus was swinging his sword.

As the sword entered her neck, Fuamnach laughed. “Ah ha ha ha. A thousand years shall pass before Etain shall be found again. That is how strong the wind I summoned was. A thousand long years she shall be blown through Ireland. And ye never shall see her, bastard. Never!”

At that, her head was removed from her body. Some say she was still laughing on the ground after her head was rolling and lolling on the dirt. Aengus grabbed her head and headed back toward the Brugh.

At the edge of Brugh he ran into Midhir.

“I have here your wife,” he said, and held up the head by the long blonde braids of Fuamnach.

“Good,” said MIdhir. “Finally some skull fucking.”

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