The Dinner Party Part One: The Hunt

Morgan Kendrick stands on the path that leads into the forest behind her grandmother's house, clenching the silver pentagram necklace that hangs from her neck in her fist, biting down on her lower lip as she stares into that darkened wood. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. How many times had her grandmother warned her about those woods? Told Morgan about how the paths that may lead one place by the light of day lead somewhere else entirely beneath the light of the moon. About how there are things more dangerous than wild animals that dwell in the darkness and shadows of the forest...

The woods behind her grandmother's house were full of strange things -- twinkling lights that danced between the trees at dusk, so much bigger and brighter than any firefly had ever been... The sounds of laughter and merriment, horns and drums and stringed instruments... Music that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once... She had been warned so many times never to go into those woods at night...

But she also nows she has to do this tonight and she hasto do it here. There is no other place on earth where Morgan feels so onnected to the strange strings of energy that weave their way through the world, no other place on earth where she can feel the magic moving through her very veins. And she needs all the magic she can possibly muster to rid herself of this bastard.

The forest that stretches out to the horizon before her is darker than pitch, the canopy of leaves blocking even the faintest traces of starlight from filtering down to the forest floor and overhead, the black disk of a new moon hangs high in the sky, offering no light whatsoever. It's the beginning of a new cycle -- the exact moment Morgan needs to work the spell that will sever her from her dick-bag boyfriend forever. She touches the bruises that ring her throat, still stinging when she applies pressure to them...The sharp needles of pain digging into the flesh.

He had used her, he had manipulated her, he had been fucking draining her of blood on a nightly basis. It was no wonder she had felt so weak lately -- dizzy, tired and fuzzy-headed. It was only pure dumb luck that had allowed her to escape before things go any worse, before he...She doesn't know what he would have done but she does not intend to find out.

Taking a deep breath, Morgan crosses over the border between well-kept yard and wild forest -- praying that the path which lead to the clearing she needed would lead where it was supposed to and wouldn't meander off to some place beyond the Mists. The forest feels strange in the intense darkness, lit only by her phone flashlight. None of the fairy lights or will-o-the-wisps that are so common after dark flit around her, no strange music from deeper within the woods... Just a heavy silence and a darkness that makes her feel painfully, frightfully human and vulnerable. An emptiness that makes her incredibly aware of the fact that humans are not at the top of the food chain by any stretch of the imagination. Faint starlight begins to filter in from just ahead as the trees start to thin, opening suddenly into a wide, circular clearing.

The starlight is bright enough and Morgan's eyes adjusted enough to the dark that she can see every detail clearly; the circle where she had built her first ritual fire years ago, surrounded by large stones and old logs. Tiny green lights -- fireflies, she things -- dance around the clearing, creating an almost breathtaking scene. She stands there for a moment, taking in the beauty of it before she steps into the clearing and sets her mind to preparing her tools, gathering wood for the fire and lighting it before she draws the protective circle around her workspace.

She pulls the photo of herself and her ex from her bag -- looking at it with a scowl on her face, her stormy gray eyes narrowed. She hates what she sees in the photo, her vacant eyes and vapid smile. The way she looks almost drugged, standing with her arm wrapped around that monster. His eyes glitter with what she had thought then was mischief but knows now is malice.

Morgan tears the photo in half, placing the half with herself into her pocket and then draws a silver-bladed knife from her bag. The knife is old, passed down to her by her grandmother, the blade engraved with delicate Celtic knot-work and intricately detailed flowers. It was a pain in the ass to keep sharp but it was one of Morgan's most prized possessions. The blade bites into the heel of her palm, making her wince from the pain. The blood wells up in little ruby beads, catching the dancing firelight. Morgan smears her blood across the photo, taking a deep breath. She holds it above the flickering flames, the first words of her spell on the tip of her tongue when a branch cracks loudly behind her, causing her heart to jump into her throat.

She whirls about on her heel, the surprise causing her to drop the knife into the soot and ash and sand at her feet. On the edge of the wood, there stands a young man. Just over six feet tall with skin the color of freshly fallen snow. Dark ringlets fall over his shoulder, turning a deep red-violet where the firelight hits off them. His eyes are dark -- darker than the shadows of the forest around them, glittering with reflected flames. Like his hair and eyes, his clothing is dark. He wears lack leather pants that cling to his lower body, emphasizing every last detail of his lithe frame... And a loose black shirt with flowing sleeves falls from his shoulders, unlaced and open to display a startlingly pale chest.

Morgan narrows her eyes. There's something strange about the young man -- beyond the fact that he's shown up in these woods, behind her grandmother's house, miles from anywhere important, in the middle of nowhere Illinois. The set of his jaw and the way he holds himself is tight and ready to spring -- predatory. It isn't fear that sets her heart pounding now, though. Oh no, the look in his eyes may make her think of the man she hates most in the world but it makes her body grow warm all over, heat flaring at the juncture of her thighs.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, dear." His voice is clear like a bell, deep with a lyrical lilt to it that reminds her vaguely of her grandmother's accent. But where her voice had been warm and soft... The young man's voice is sharp and despite the friendliness of his tone, feels cold. You're about to make quite the mistake -- fate doesn't much like to be played with, you know."

Morgan clenches her fists. The heat of arousal quickly becomes the heat of anger. How dare this stranger tell her what to do. Especially some strange, predatory pretty boy. "Oh really?" She asks, sneering at the beautiful man. "And what would you know about it?"

He laughs softly, causing every hair on her body to suddenly stand on end and a violent shudder go racing down her spine.

"Mmm... Because, if you do I can guarantee you will only cause more problems with whomever it is you aim to be rid of!" He says, laughter still ringing in his voice as he walks towards her...

No, he doesn't walk. He stalks. He moves towards her like a cat following its prey through the trees before it strikes. Another chill goes racing down her spine as the air around her suddenly becomes chill. She stares at him -- color rising in her cheeks as the cold all around her makes the heat between her thighs feel even stronger.

What the fuck? Is it because he reminds her of her ex? Why the hell is her body reacting like this? She shouldn't feel turned on by the fact that it looks like this man may very well eat her alive. She wants to turn, she wants to run... And she wants him to give chase when she does.

Morgan rolls her eyes at the stranger, trying to put on a haughty, self-assured expression and ignore the growing moisture between her legs. "Right. And I'm sure you're an expert on banishing spells?"

"Who, me? No -- certainly not. But I know a thing or two about making sure someone never bothers me again... And smearing my blood over their image? Seems like a certain way to bind them to you." He speaks slowly, getting closer to her with every passing second.

As he draws nearer, the details of his appearance grow clearer; his features are sharp with high cheekbones and large, almond shaped eyes -- his irises are an unnaturally bright violet and his eyes ringed with thick dark lashes and heavy black kohl. He's tall -- probably over six feet -- with an unnaturally aura of beauty all around him. His lips are painted (she thinks, she hopes painted) a dark blue-black, formed into a perfect pout... And Morgan nearly stumbles into the fire when she finally spots the thing that confirms her suspicion: the tips of long pointed ears that peek out from beneath his deep, violet curls. Those sharp features, the unearthly beauty -- tall and willowy with long fingers and graceful limbs to match.

He's fae. He's obviously fucking fae. Thank God she had drawn that circle -- he shouldn't be able to get to her as long as she stayed within it. As long as she doesn't make any mistakes, anyway. Clearly, he's trying to trick her into taking his advice -- to get her indebted to him. She's smart enough to figure that much out at least.

"I'll take that into consideration, but I think that I know what I'm doing." She says, her voice grown harsh and cold, trying to drive him away. Her burning cunt, however, begs for him to get closer.

God damn her stupid, traitorous body -- show her a beautiful man who looked like a stupid mistake and she'd become an oil slick almost immediately.

"Do you now?" He's a foot from the edge of the circle now -- the firelight dancing in his hair and glittering in his eyes. The smile that parts his dark lips is full of sharp, pointed teeth and his sclera are the deepest ebony. He's beautiful, but everything about that beauty is unsettling. "Are you quite sure of that?"

"Absolutely!" Morgan chirps dismissively. "Now, if you'll excuse me,sir, I have a spell to finish." She turns away from him abruptly, casting the photo into the fire. Before she can even begin the words of the incantation, however, she feels an arm slip around her waist, dragging her back from the fire.

"I have the feeling, oh sweet little morsel, that is very far from the truth and I do so hate to be lied to." His voice is sharp.

Morgan's entire body goes stiff -- a smell comes from him like spruce and juniper and the bitter, metallic scent of a moonless night in the dead of winter... And something else as well -- something primal and familiar. Something that calls out to some deep, buried part of her and draws her in like a moth to a flame.

"H-How did you--!?" She sputters, trying to look over her shoulder at the faerie.

The circle! How could he have gotten past it? She was sure she had drawn it correctly! But... but if she had, he wouldn't have his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing his body close to hers. Oh god, every place he's touched her feels like it's burning. Fear and arousal mix in a heady cocktail so potent that it makes her feel short of breath and makes the world start spinning all around her.

As if he could sense her thoughts, the faerie purrs into her ear: "Oh, you did but..." the tip of her knife presses to her throat -- a sharp point of pain that makes Morgan gasp. "When you dropped this? It fell on that little line you drew in your blood and broke your circle. Leaving you completely vulnerable and you didn't even know it."

The brush of his lips against her ear makes goosebumps rise up on her flesh and dread descends on Morgan. His body isn't cold like a vampire's but it wasn't quite warm either. The heat that poured off him was wrong, false. Like the burn of alcohol is it goes down the throat -- a heat that only leads to growing colder in the end... Or the burn of freezing wind as it bites at your nose. But she wants to be closer to it -- she wants him.

"Wh-what do you want with me?" Morgan whispers, barely daring to ask. Direct questions were a bad idea -- the answer could be considered incurring a debt but the words seem to slip from her mouth without her consent. She can't help herself, she needs to know.

"An excellent question." The faerie replies. "I find myself in need of a guest for a little get-together tonight -- preferably, a mortal touched by faerie blood." His free hand rests on her hip now -- pulling her body in close to his. She feels his touch with every inch of her body and shivers.

"Faerie blood?"

"Indeed... And it would seem one of your ancestors was one of our people -- some ways back. Now, do you accept the invitation or do you decline?"

He whirls her around to face him -- their noses nearly touching, her breasts crushed against his chest. They're so close they could kiss and some part of her screams for her to do so -- to bring their lips together, to give into that strange siren's call that accompanies the faerie. But no. No, she's learned her lesson about strange, beautiful and predatory men. That was why she was in this forest to begin with.

"I..." Morgan stares at him, focusing on those brilliant violet eyes...The dark sclera, the blue of his lips -- the way that when he speaks she can see those rows of needle sharp teeth. She shudders. "No -- I don't. I decline--"

End the faerie grins -- revealing every last one of those teeth as an unnaturally wide smile splits his face. Something glitters in his eyes that may be mischief, that may be lust...but is most likely hunger. Her heart sinks.

"I see. Well, that is a shame, isn't it? I suppose, then, that I shall have to hunt you down."

"What-- no!" She gasps. "I decline!"

The faerie laughs and the sound chills her to her very bones. "My dear -- you lied to me. And you asked me multiple direct questions -- which I so graciously answered. For the lie, I would be within my rights to spirit you away and force you to work off the debt... But it is a special occasion and thus, I am feeling rather... Magnanimous. So I will give you a chance to escape."

He releases her suddenly, stepping back. The smile remains fixed on his face and he gives her wide berth. Morgan's eyes are impossibly wide, staring at him, her heart pounding in her ears and hammering so hard in her chest that it feels like it's trying to escape. This can't be happening! This has to e a dream! She must be hallucinating she--

"Now -- if I catch you, you're mine for the night. If you manage to get away, then you won't see me for another year." The look in his eyes is one of unrestrained anticipation. He had wanted her to decline. He wanted her to run -- so he could give chase. He wants to hunt her down like a dog.

Morgan takes another step back -- stopping only because she can feel the heat of the fire licking at her back. "Th-there's no way I can outrun you!" She cries, desperate to get out of this situation.

"Oh, don't worry! I'll give you a good head start -- until the count of ten, I think. You grew up in these woods and you are less than five minutes from the safety of your grandmother's hearth. I've watched you walk these trails for years --you know your way around these woods, even in the dark... It's a fair competition, I would say." He pauses for a long moment, tilting his head slightly and shifting his weight as he looks her up and down.

The way he's looking at her makes her feel naked and exposed, as if he can see every inch of her body and see into her very soul. It makes her feel small, it makes her feel vulnerable. It makes her feel like a deer caught between a cliff and a pack of ravenous wolves.

"Now..." The faerie continues. "Run, little girl. Run."

The instant the word "run" leaves his lips, Morgan is running, wheeling around the fire and dashing into the woods. Panic clouds her thoughts -- she should run past him while he's count -- back towards her grandmother's house, back towards the safety of the threshold... But she's afraid, afraid that if she tries to run past him, he would catch her by the arm and drag her, kicking and screaming into Faery. Her feet fly across the ground, kicking up leaves and gravel as she runs, the trees passing her in a blur.

The faerie's voice rings out in her ears, as though he was standing beside her: "Ready or not, here I come~"

She knows where this path goes -- there's a bridge that crosses a small creek that winds for miles through the woods just up ahead and after that, the path forks and one of them goes back towards the house. That's it -- that's where she'll go. She just has to make to that fork, she can do this. The instant her feet touch the bridge, some part of Morgan is aware that she's made a mistake but by the time the thought is fully formed, she's already sprinted across it -- her foot touching the opposite side of the creek. At first, nothing seems to have changed.

"My, my. I didn't expect you to run away from safety -- do you perhaps want to be caught?" He's standing in front of her now, less than six feet away, grinning

A scream leaves Morgan's lips and she turns back the way she had come, the sound of his laughter chasing after her. But it's not the way she had come. The creek is gone and the path that stretches out ahead of her leads deep into a forest of old pines -- their trunks wider around than the span of her arms. The air has grown bitterly cold and white mist curls around her feet. Damn it! The bridge! She had crossed a threshold -- she had passed through a liminal space and gone... Where had she gone to? It doesn't matter. She keeps running.

Thoughts flutter across her mind, skittering away like fallen leaves every time Morgan gets close to catching him. Can she even outrun him here? Panic and the primal fear of the prey animal has over taken her rational mind now -- humans are persistence hunters. If she just keeps running, if she can flee for long enough, she'll eventually leave him behind. She'll eventually find safety...

This time, when the faerie appears in front of her, Morgan doesn't get the chance to run away -- he's on her in an instant, slamming her into one of those ancient, gnarled pines. The force of the blow knocks the air from Morgan's lungs and she cries out in a mix of pain and surprise. The entirety of his weight presses her against the tree and his fingers are wrapped loosely around her throat, holding her surely in place.

"Got you~" He purrs. "You aren't very fast, are you?" He laughs again. His teeth are so sharp and his eyes are so bright... The press of his body against hers, his heat flowing into her...

Morgan shivers -- more from the sudden awareness of the way her chest heaves with her desperate breaths and the sensation of his body against hers than from the cold. Her cheeks burn and she feels lightheaded. She's trapped her and a part of her likes it. the predatory look in his changes ever so slightly, changing from hunger to lust. His fingers tighten around her throat and he brings his lips to her ear.

"You know, you smell like a bitch in heat -- the lust is pouring off you in waves..." He hisses.

The fingers of his other hand wind themselves into her hair and he brings his lips to hers with violent intensity... His tongue slips into her mouth and a sudden rush of excitement goes through her body, leaving behind pins and needles. He tastes like cold -- like snow and starlight and the bite of midwinter. She kisses him back -- unable to stop herself from searching his mouth out with the same eagerness as he searches hers. Her hips rock upwards, trying to press her burning cunt closer to him.

The intensity of the kiss grows with each passing second until it feels like she'd burn away if it weren't for the bitter cold of the air all around them. Morgan has never been kissed like this -- never felt like this. Even with her ex, who she had barely gotten out of the club with before begging him to fuck her brains out.

When the faerie pulls back, the edges of Morgan's vision go dark and the world whirls around her the thoughts draining from her mind save for one: she wants him. She needs him. She needs to feel him inside her, needs him to relieve the burning heat that scorches her veins.

The faerie laughs, running his fingers down the side of her face, his other hand still wrapped around her throat. "What a shame it is I only have you for one night -- you're so deliciously responsive!"

"I..." Morgan's chest is heaving, her breath coming in desperate gasps. She can feel him pressed against her -- not just his weight but the need he feels for her, feeling his growing erection pressed against her, hearing the slight hitch in his breath as he speaks.

"You?" He raises an eyebrow at her -- begging her to continue. She can't answer. She won't answer. If she says what the words that are echoing in her mind, she may never free herself from her debts.

He takes her lower lip between his teeth, tugging on it softly... The hand that had been tangled in her hair ghosts over her body -- moving over the ample hills and valleys of her soft body before finally, his fingers find the meeting of her thighs. A moan leaves her lips when he begins to stroke her through her shorts, easily finding her sweet spot and focusing his touches there.

She shakes her head. No. She can't she –-

"I want you!" She cries breathlessly. She's never wanted anything or anyone this much in her life. She feels like she's going to explode if she doesn't get some kind of release soon.

He laughs, pulling his hand away from her aching cunt and releasing her throat. Morgan's silver knife is glittering in his hand now. Snow begins to fall -- dark gray clouds moving in to block out the starlight and as the clearing darkens, Morgan finds that she can barely see. Something sharp, the tip of her own knife, is pressed to her throat.

"Do you?" The faerie whispers, his voice low and dangerous. "Are you sure you want me? It will cost you, in the end..."

Morgan's heart is slamming against the cage of her ribs, feeling like it's about to burst free; her breath is coming in desperate gasps and she can't keep to catch it, the heat growing more and more intense. Like life coming back to fingers that have lost feeling to the cold -- harsh and painful, full of burning pins and needles. She closes her eyes, biting hard on her lower lip to keep the words from being spoken. If she keeps them in her head, it'll be okay. He can do whatever he wants with her and she doesn't have to say a word, she doesn't have to ask for more.

Slowly, the tip of the knife works its way from her throat, dragging across her skin as it slips into the crevice between her breasts. She can't tell if she's shivering from the cold or from the fear and lust. With a swift, graceful arc of his arm, the faerie cuts through her tank top -- leaving Morgan standing there in nothing more than her bra and jean shorts. The cold bites into her flesh and she cries out -- shivering violently.

"Steel or silver?" He asks, looking up at her through his eyelashes. In the darkness, his eyes seem almost to glow. The tip of the knife lifts the Morgan's belly ring...

"Platinum..." The words slip from her lips freely and easily. "The...the steel ones give me a rash..." That particular quirk suddenly made a lot more sense to her now...

"Good." The faerie leaves a trail of kisses across her throat -- across her collarbone, across the tops of her breasts where they peek out of the cups of her bra. Every kiss leaves behind those same pins and needles.

A soft sigh escapes Morgan's lips, her eyes sliding closed as her head falls back against the tree. Please, please let him go further. The knife slips under the strap of her bra and she flinches when he slices through it -- and then through the other. The point presses against the skin between her breasts, the sharp of the blade resting against the gore of her bra. He pushes the knife forward -- just hard enough to make it hurt, just far enough to break the skin. When he cuts through the gore of the bra, he leaves a thin, bleeding on on her chest. The faerie draws in a sharp breath as the scent of Morgan's blood hits the air... he presses his lips to the space between her breasts, dragging his tongue over the wound.

The instant the cold air hits her bare breasts, Morgan starts to squirm. Her nipples are painfully hard, her piercings leeching all the heat from them in an instant. She can't stand it. Her cunt aches, so hot and heavy with need that she can't even think straight -- her juices soaking through her thin denim shorts and coating her inner thighs... And the wetness there only draws attention to the low temperature.

"Pleeeeaaaseeee..." She can't stop herself, it's the worst thing she could say and she knows it.

"Oh darling..." The faerie says softly, kissing her chest. His lips moving over the flesh until he finds her nipple, taking it between his sharp, pointed teeth. "That's really not something you wanted to say..."

Agony rolls through Morgan, sharp and clear as the faerie's teeth sink into the flesh of her breast. She tries to pull back, trying to lift her hands to push him away but it's like she's frozen to the spot -- her body refusing to obey her commands. The dizziness intensifies, the world tilting on its axis and sending her entire perspective askew. Tears roll down her cheeks, freezing to the skin as they go. It's getting colder and colder and she's more and more aware of just how cold it is as more of her clothing is cut away.

The tip of the knife drags over her ample belly, the blade slicing through her shorts and then her panties. The faerie throws both aside without a care, leaving her standing naked and pressed back against the tree. The dampness between her legs makes the cold even worse and it drips down her inner thighs -- just as her blood drips from the corners of the faerie's lips.

"Don't you look beautiful?" He seems to be admiring his work, running his hands down her sides and sinking claw-tipped fingers into her soft and yielding flesh... admiring the fullness of her naked body, of her breasts, of her belly, of her hips and thighs. Her skin is soft, her body is soft. He digs his fingers into her ample hips. His brilliant violet eyes are fixed on hers and she can't bring herself to look away. "Do you still want me?" He laughs.

Morgan nods. She does, she does so badly. She needs something to relieve the ache, to lessen the burning and chase away the chill. He takes her hand, pressing it to the bulge in his pants. Her fingers twitch.

"Show me how badly."

Without thinking, she brings her mouth to his again -- her free hand tangling into his curls and pulling them tight, causing him to groan into the kiss. Her fingers fidget with the lacing on his pants, caressing his cock through the fabric. When she pulls back from the kiss, she catches his lower lip in her teeth, biting down hard enough that she can taste the slightest hint of his blood. She's got that lacing undone now and she slips her hand past his waist band, feeling his bare skin against her. When she wraps her fingers around him, he growls in her ear.

"That's a good little girl..." Sharp teeth sink into her earlobe and Morgan gasps, his tongue traces the wound, licking up the blood that flows from the bite and she moans.

She lays a flurry of gentle kisses on his throat -- and then bites. Soft at first but then harder -- some feral instinct taking over and urging her to sink her teeth deep into his flesh. When she draws blood, his sharp intake of breath makes her shudder and he shoves her back against the tree. Its rough bark bites into her skin, ripping it like tissue paper but the sudden jolt of pain does nothing to lessen her need, nor does it distract her from her task. If anything, the pain makes her want him more -- like she can smell the blood in the air and her body responds -- screaming for more of it. His mouth is on hers, and then it's on her neck and then it's on her breast. He leaves a trail of bleeding bite marks and blossoming bruises as his mouth moves down over Morgan's body. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels his on her burning sex.

oh God...She thinks desperately.Please...Please devour me -- eat me up whole!

Slowly, he drags his tongue over her, only for a moment does it slip past her lower lips to probe her aching hole... And he repeats the motion -- over and over, never giving her more than a second of pleasure, never giving her more than a teasing touch. She whines, the heat and heaviness growing there more than she can take -- oh god she needs to cum so badly... but every time she starts to think she might be getting close, he stops. And all she can feel is his breath.

He wants to make her beg. He wants her to cry and scream and beg for him to fuck her -- to dig that hole so deep that she is truly and utterly his. Until the debt is so great that she belongs to him fully. The thought of it horrifies her -- the idea of not being her own person but... What would he do if he owned her? Images of being nothing more than a play thing -- a pretty little fuck doll to be used for his pleasure and amusement over and over again, hunted down again and again... Ravaged again and again fill her mind... Her cheeks grow warmer and what little was left of her rational self drains away.

"God! What are you waiting for!? Please! Fuck me! Put your cock in me!"

Another low, throaty laugh. "It really is a good thing you're not full-blooded fae. You just can't stop yourself from incurring debt, can you?" He asks, licking Morgan's nectar from his lips as he straightens up. He hooks a thumb under her jaw -- forcing her to lock eyes with him again.

Morgan whines softly. "I can't take it anymore!I need it -- I need you! Please! Please fuck me!"

He laughs again and shakes his head. "Ah, you poor, stupid little girl."

The faerie lifts her with ease -- parting her legs and hooking his arms beneath her knees as he does so. Morgan whimpers, feeling the head of his cock pressing against her. She feels the throb of his blood rushing through the veins just under the skin. She feels him split her lower lips, feels his cock begin to slide into her. Her head falls back against the tree, a scream catching in her throat. The faerie groans into her ear -- his first thrust into her, no hesitation, no softness, no gentleness -- he slams himself into her with no care or thought of hurting her... Just wild, primal need. The second thrust is just as rough, forcing the air from Morgan's lungs as he drives every last inch of himself into her, stretching her inner walls to their limits. He digs his fingers into her thighs as he holds her up, bottoming out inside of her.

"OH!" Morgan cries out. Oh fuck. That feels so fucking good.His cock fills her up so well, makes her feel so fucking full... And the way he holds her, his pelvis grinds against her clit with every thrust. She's already practically in heaven.

The faerie's breath comes in gasps now as he pistons into her, pounding her hard, pulling back until he's almost completely free from the confines of her spasming cunt before spearing into her again with every last inch of himself. Morgan's world narrows down to the pleasure she feels -- her inner walls clenching tight around the faerie's cock. It's like heaven. Harder and harder, faster and faster -- his gasps and moans become low growls and snarls and claims, marking her as his with every thrust. Morgan doesn't care -- she's his and it's wonderful and nothing matters beyond the way it feels to have him inside of her.

She screams, rocking her hips into every thrust -- taking him deeper and deeper into herself, feeling his cockhead smashing into the entrance to her womb. It hurts but it's a deep, bruised pain that makes her ache for more. The faerie's growls and snarls serve only to bring her closer to the edge and the feeling of his teeth in her flesh sends her plummeting over that edge and crashing into an ocean of carnal ecstasy. She's caught in an undertow that drags her into its depths, refusing to let her come up for air.

"OH FUCK!" Morgan wraps her arms around his neck, her head falling against his shoulder as wave after wave of orgasmic bliss crashes into her. "FUCK! OH GOD -- I CAN'T-- I CAN'T ST-STOP CUMMING!"

Through the haze of pleasure that clouds her mind, she's dimly aware of the increasing pitch -- the way that the rhythm their bodies move to grows more frantic, needier and more animalistic. She's achingly aware of just how hard he's driving his cock into her. It's a pounding beat that only the two of them can hear, spurring them on: harder and harder, faster and faster, more and more. Bruise the flesh, break the skin, teeth and claws and desperate screams for more. If he were to stop now, she's sure she would absolutely lose her mind. All her thoughts are bent now on the two of them reaching what must be the culmination of their feral coupling. All she can think about is him cumming inside of her, of his seed filling her cunt and womb and dripping down her inner thighs. Each thrust forces the air from her lungs now and Morgan's world is nothing but the faerie's growls in her ear as he takes her -- nothing but the sensation of his cock filling her again and again and again.

"DON'T STOP! OH FUCK, PLEASE! C-CUM! CUM IN ME! CUM IN MY SLUTTY LITTLE CUNT!"

There's a sharp intake of breath, a sudden pause, a sudden stillness and a low moan of pleasure. "Nnnnn....fuuuuuuck..." He fills her again, pushing as deeply into her ruined cunt as he possibly can and holding there -- the head of his cock nestled against her cervix as ecstasy takes them both.

She can barely hear his voice but she can feel him -- she can feel every little twitch, every jump of his dick inside her as he cums -- filling her in every way. Just like she wanted. Morgan feels something inside of her -- spreading through her body like lines of heat along the path of her veins. She swears she can feel his cum inside her, a heat curling in her belly that settles there and radiates through the rest of her body.

The strength leaves her limbs and she slumps against him -- the edges of her sight going fuzzy as he pulls his cock free from her. Her toes don't even brush the ground and she's utterly helpless. Completely exhausted. Pins and needles spread through her entire body -- the heat becoming a freezing burn. She can't feel her fingers -- she can't feel anything but that burning cold. She whimpers.

"wh-what..." She tries to speak but she can't make the words come out -- her lips and tongue gone numb and cold. What's happening? Why...?

The faerie's fingers brush stray strands of hair from her face. "You'll be fine. You're just having a little... adverse reaction. Some humans just can't handle faerie fluids -- or faerie magic. Go to sleep. When you wake up, we'll get you ready for the party."

It feels like winter itself has flooded her veins -- when had he used magic on her? Why does it feel like she's been dunked in ice water? She tries again to speak but she can't. The darkness is closing it and it fills her vision as Morgan's consciousness tumbles into an icy abyss of shadow and cold.

Part Two: Preparations

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