Chapter 1
Nora was scrolling through her socials on her iPhone 16 Pro Max—Alex’s gift for her twentieth birthday. Her latest post was still racking up views: selfie in a white mesh bodysuit, frayed jean shorts riding high on her thighs, platform sandals. 5,247 likes. Not bad for a Tuesday.
But not enough. Not like the girls she followed: yachts in Dubai, Birkin bags in stories, captions like “When he spoils you right 💅✨”. Nora scrolled, thumb furious. One influencer in a microscopic bikini posed on an infinity balcony overlooking the ocean, tagged #LuxLife #DaddyFunded. Nora felt the familiar sour sting in her chest.
It was unfair that a chick like Demi Rose, with her huge ass, was killing it with millions of followers. Meanwhile she was stuck at 50,000, despite her dream body—perfect curves, flat stomach, tanned skin, long silky dark-brown hair with blonde highlights, doll-like face with hazel eyes.
Her mom had pulled them out of the struggle by marrying her stepdad. He’d given them a comfortable life: three-bedroom house, garden, lake view, on the outskirts of Folsom, central California.
It was fine for most people, but way too little for Nora.
She’d landed her own sugar daddy: Alex, 42, owner of an electronics store in Folsom. BMW, Rolex, tailored shirts. He’d dumped his wife for her. She’d nudged him gently—tears, whispered promises. Now he was hooked. And generous.
He talked more and more about “building something together”, about her coming to work at the store. Nora shuddered. Work? In an electronics shop? Wearing a polo with the store logo? She’d rather die. Or walk the streets. So for now she kept living with her parents.
Besides, Alex was reliable in bed, like a good vibrator. But predictable. She needed spice. Last week she’d hooked up with a college quarterback—built like a tank. He’d fucked her senseless for an hour in his car. Intense. Dirty. Perfect. Alex would never know.
She decided to skip afternoon classes. The weather was perfect for a lake shoot.
She replied to Alex’s dinner invite: “Not tonight baby, late shoot. Thanks for yesterday’s transfer, you’re a sweetheart 💕 Kisses.”
She still had a good hour to kill before heading to the lake for the best light.
Wattpad, smut time. A billionaire spending millions to fuck a girl for a champagne-soaked weekend? Classic. An alien ravaging a heroine through every hole with slimy tentacles on an exoplanet? Okay, we’ve reached expert level. Nora chuckled: ridiculous, but addictive.
She headed to the lake. The trail along the shore smelled of pine. No one around. Perfect. She set up the tripod, started recording.
“Hey babies! Today we’re talking natural glow-up: how to look rich without blowing your budget…”
She posed, arched her back, flicked her hair. The sun warmed her skin. She felt invincible.
Then she felt a gaze.
Not a normal gaze. Something… hungry and… weird!
She turned slowly.
Behind a pine tree, some thirty feet away, a small green figure. Tall hat, red beard, wide eyes locked on her. Barely over three feet tall. Staring at her like a total perv.
Nora blinked.
The little guy startled as if he’d been shocked. His cheeks turned tomato-red under the beard. He jumped back, tripped on a root. His leather bag opened in the fall.
Small yellow shiny pebbles—gold nuggets, no doubt, walnut-sized—tumbled onto the grass with a faint clink. He cursed in a strange language, dropped to his knees, frantically gathered them, stuffed them back in, hat askew. Then he bolted into the bushes like a panicked rabbit.
Nora shouted, half shocked, half laughing:
“Hey! Wait! Come back! I don’t want to hurt you, just… talk! For content!”
A video of this kind of creature would sell for gold—pun intended!
But he was gone.
She ran to the spot. Nothing. A few flattened blades of grass, a weird smell—moss, cold tobacco, warm metal—and the distant sound of tiny feet fleeing in “I’ve been caught” mode.
Her heart pounded. Not fear. Pure excitement.
She had seen gold.
And above all: he’d stared at her like she was worth more than everything he carried…
She picked up her phone and stopped the recording. Not a single frame of him. Of course. But she knew what she’d seen.
Back home, Nora slammed the door, breath short. She raced to her room, threw the tripod and phone on the bed, and sat cross-legged on the comforter.
“Okay, what the hell was that?”
She replayed it: small green figure, tall hat, red beard, hungry stare… and gold nuggets rolling like candy.
She grabbed her iPhone and typed: “green little man Irish gold”.
Results flooded in: images of a sadistic dwarf, Wikipedia, folklore. She clicked: “Leprechaun: small humanoid creature from Irish folklore, hoards gold in pots. Mischievous, cunning, sometimes lustful.”
Nora laughed at “lustful.” Perfect for her plan. Tomorrow she’d go back. In bait mode. If he liked curves, he was going to love the special menu… and cough up the gold!
And yeah, size doesn’t matter with a sugar daddy!
The next day Nora prepared like she was going to war, but in sexy-casual mode. Black wet-look leggings hugging her thighs and ass, pale pink low-cut top with thin straps, white sneakers for mobility. She checked herself in the mirror.
“Hot enough for a perverted leprechaun, but still discreet enough not to freak out hikers.”
She waited two hours at the same spot, even calling out loud. Nothing. She went home furious, but undefeated.
“Tomorrow, full slut mode. If that doesn’t work, I’m done and back to Alex.”
The next morning Nora woke with a mix of rage and determination. She ransacked her closet like a woman on a suicide mission.
“Okay, full whore mode. If he doesn’t bite, he’s gay.”
Ultra-low white mini-shorts, bright red thong string sticking out way over the sides, front and back—impossible to miss. Minimal white crop top with red laces crisscrossing her stomach, basically a bra, boobs half out. Black mid-calf boots with medium heels. Overdone glowy makeup: sharp contouring, ultra-shiny gloss, XXL fake lashes. Sparkling navel piercing, loose wavy hair, thin waist chain.
At the lake she set up the tripod and launched a tease:
“Hey babies! Extreme glow-up in wild nature mode… guess what I’m hiding?”
Ultra-sexy poses: bent over, arched like a bitch, thong riding up under the sun.
A couple of hikers passed. Thirties, hiking gear. Nora noticed the guy’s furtive but lustful glances at her body.
The woman, scowling, made a snide remark: “They’re everywhere now, these sluts showing their asses on social media! Can’t even walk by the lake in peace anymore!”
Nora muttered through gritted teeth: “When I get the leprechaun’s treasure, I’ll drive a Ferrari past you just to make you rage, you filthy bitch!”
But she chose not to confront them so as not to distract herself from her precious-metal goal.
Another hour of waiting. Sun beating down, boredom, frustration.
Fuck! Dressed like a whore for a gnome who ghosts!
She resigned herself to packing up.
“Whatever. Gold was a dream. Back to mediocre reality.”
She turned… a discreet little whistle came from behind the trees.
“Psst… beautiful damsel! Over here…”
Nora spun around.
The leprechaun was crouched behind a bush, hat askew, eyes shining.
“Not here, we could be seen. Come quick!”
She ran to him. Up close he was even smaller. Worn green frock coat, dented top hat, short green pants ending below the knees, tall white socks, black shoes with golden buckles, and bushy red beard. Under the frock coat he wore a green waistcoat closed with golden buttons, and a white shirt. She studied him with a charming smile.
“Wow, your outfit is so cool—this green frock coat and top hat? Total perfect leprechaun style!”
The leprechaun puffed out his chest, blinked, then looked her up and down with a mischievous grin. Her round ass strained the mini-shorts to the breaking point and the thong rode outrageously high on her generous hips.
“Ah, fair lass, sure and ye flatter the rags of an old cobbler! But by me beard, what manner of garb be ye wearin’? That red thread pokin’ out o’er yer undergarments… strange custom, faith o’ Saint Patrick, underthings parading above like a brazen invitation! Queer, begorrah, but by the saints, it stirs me ancient blood somethin’ fierce, hee hee hee!”
Nora burst out laughing.
“Thanks… I think? You don’t seem to hate it, anyway.”
He blushed under the beard, cleared his throat.
“No mockery, I pray thee. I am a creature of good taste, even if today’s fashions surpass me. But let us to business: I believe I understand that ye desire to see me?”
Nora gave him a wide smile.
“Yes, I’m passionate about Irish folklore,” she lied, “and I find you… super cute! I’d love for us to chat and for you to tell me your story. What are you doing in California?”
“I shall tell ye everything, fair child,” the leprechaun replied, “but first ye must swear on what ye hold dearest never to breathe a word of it to anyone.”
Nora raised her hand.
“I swear. Total secret.”
He nodded.
“Good. Follow me to a safe place. And turn off that cursed device, that little shining rectangle ye carry constantly.”
Nora hesitated a second. And if this little creep was more dangerous than he looked…? But the gold. Fucking gold! It was worth taking a few risks.
“Wait! What’s your name?”
“Finnegan, at your service, my pretty!”
“Okay, little father. I’m Nora. Show me the way.”
