The Dinner Party
Chapter Three
Slowly, Morgan makes her way back to consciousness, clawing her way up to the light from the darkness into which she had fallen. Cold air bites into her skin as she wakes, making the sensation of heat that races through her veins like wildfire feel even more intense. The pain where she had been bitten -- where the faerie women had torn chunks free from her breasts -- has almost entirely disappeared leaving in its place only the faintest bruised feeling. She doesn't understand how that's possible, how that pain could have faded -- had they only bitten her gently? Only left bruises? Had she hallucinated them eagerly swallowing her flesh? If she had hallucinated that, she certainly hadn't hallucinated what the twins had done to her holes: her ass and cunt ache, throbbing in time with the panicked beating of her heart. Swollen and hot, still dripping her juices mixed with the faerie twins' cum... The thick taste of cum still coats her tongue and her breasts still feel unbearably hot and heavy, milk dribbling from her nipples and cascading down over her swollen belly... Morgan can feel how roughly those faerie twins had shoved their massive cocks into her holes, she can still feel how hard they had fucked her -- how they had used and abused her body like she was nothing more than a toy... She tries to sit up but her body doesn't listen, her arms and legs twitch but that's all she's capable of. She's bound and more than that, she is naked and blindfolded yet again: a delicate, silky rope encloses her wrists and hoisting them up above her head and a similar ropes bind her ankles up, spreading her legs wide... Humiliation fills Morgan's chest, knowing that she's on display with her ruined holes taking center stage, how anyone who may care to look can see her in this state: swollen, gaping, paralyzed and dripping. Well, at least they haven't gagged her again... Slowly, senses other than touch return... The smell of richly spiced foods and roasted meats, sweet desserts and fresh bread -- with the heavy undercurrent of metallic winter cold and the heady scent of sex and blood... Beautiful, melodic voices fill the air all around her, speaking in the same strange tongue that the faerie twins earlier had used... And as she listens, she can almost pick out the words. The more time she spends here, the longer she's exposed to the words, the more familiar they sound. Morgan knows she's heard this language before, in quiet lullabies sung to her by her grandmother... But there is something older than that -- memories locked behind a thick fog that she can't penetrate no matter how she tries.
Laughter ripples through the crowd of fae surrounding her.
Another cascade of laughter -- harsher this time, crueler and more sinister. They're enjoying her suffering, aren't they?
With a single smooth motion, Rowan's entire fist slides into Morgan and she cries out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Her inner walls are slick and had been stretched so wide by the faerie woman's cock earlier that her body takes the penetration without resistance. Rowan flexes his fingers inside of Morgan, stretching her even farther as he does. It feels unbelievably good but the sensation of his wrist pushing past the ruined entrance of her cunt is agony.
Whatever magic had paralyzed her nearly shatters as Morgan reaches her peak -- her insides clenching tight around Rowan's fists and the trickle of milk that leaks from her breasts becomes a steady stream. Wave after wave cascades over her, surging through her body as she spasms and jerks against the ropes.
Even without stimulation, she's still cumming -- every nerve in her body on fire with pleasure as she gushes so hard that a puddle forms on the table beneath her. By the time the sensation subsides, she's shaking and aching with exhaustion. Morgan squirms as she feels Rowan take his place between her legs again, the head of his cock presses against her slit and she moans involuntarily, the coolness of his skin a balm against the heat and pain that flare there.
She cries out, pleasure jolting through her body when Rowan thrusts into her, his cock sliding into her with ease. Even as stretched as she is, she can feel him keenly, feel his cock as it glides over every bump and ridge inside of her and it makes her insides tingle with pins and needles. She clenches down on him and what little resistance she was putting up mentally seems to melt away as heat fills her body again. Oh god, she wants to be filled again -- she wants to drown in that pleasure.
And yet, the thought of it sends a thrill through her... The idea of it, feeling Rowan's seed growing inside of her, feeling life as it came to fruition within her womb, watching her belly expand through the months as she grew closer to giving birth... But it's not only fear preventing her from fully embracing the desire -- she literally can't. In a single burst of agony in 11th grade, she'd lost any hope of ever carrying a pregnancy to term.
And if he does? What would happen then? Would he be back in nine months? Would they keep her in Faerie? No -- he gave her his Word. And she knows deep down how important that is, how powerful. He wouldn't lie to her. He couldn't lie to her.
Morgan chases the high, slamming her hips back into Rowan's, her cunt gushing wildly around his cock as she cums again. The words in the back of her mind make their way to her lips and she cannot stop them from slipping into open air, cannot stop herself from begging for what she wants.
Morgan shudders, feeling that bliss deepen as his hips crash into hers, his cock twitching inside of her as his load spills out, filling her with his cum. Oh fuck. It's like she can feel him spreading through her, feeling his essence fill her with life and the feeling drives out any memory of pain, or hesitation or reservation. It fills her with only mindless, aching need.
The crowd cheers again -- their cries the loudest they have been yet, the party-goers absolutely losing it as they watch Rowan breed her. He digs his fingers into her hips, sharp claws sinking into her flesh and scoring it deeply. Blood dribbles from the wounds and she feels it trail down her hips -- hot at first and rapidly growing cold. When he pulls out of her at last, her belly aches and her head is spinning. Her breath comes in desperate gasps and despite the freezing air, her body is covered in beads of sweat. She hears Rowan laugh, she hears the crowd laugh.
Whatever they're going to do to her, whatever reason they have brought her here for, she wants it -- as long as it involves touching her achingly sensitive body. As long as it involves relieving her desperate need. Cold lips wrap around her swollen, hot and leaky nipple and the teeth that clamp down on her are sharp, more of them even than had been in the mouths of the faerie twins. She cries out in bliss, her head falling back. Oh gods, yes. Let them drink from her, let them empty her aching breasts of the milk that weighs them down and streams from her nipples... And then there is another -- lips wrapped around the opposite nipple and pulling hard. Morgan moans, delirious as the fae attached to her breasts do indeed begin to suck, drawing the milk from her breasts as she writhes in their grip. Yes, god! Teeth sink into the flesh of her upper left arm -- oh so many sharp needle teeth that sheer through the skin and sink into the fat and the muscle and she cries out again. And someone's mouth finds her right arm as well, she shudders and wails with pleasure as those teeth tear bits of her free. It should hurt, she knows it should hurt but it feels so good.
Oh there are traces of her rational mind, mere scraps that whisper that she is in danger here. That these fae mean her harm. That every bite may feel like heaven but they are nonetheless devouring her -- and they may not stop until there is nothing left. And even that makes her giddy with excitement -- the idea of being so utterly wanted and needed, so delicious and beautiful that these unearthly beings wanted every bit of her. The fae heed her request and she whimpers -- trapped in the sweetest agony as the party-goers descend upon her. Teeth and sharp fingers and cold lips. Soft moans, quiet gasps, laughter and shuddering cries fill the air around her in a symphony of utter decadence... And she is both its source and its recipient. Every bite tingles and throbs, every morsel of her flesh devoured causes her to shudder, causes her to moan and twitch and spasm as the pleasure rolling through her surges -- reaching new peaks over and over until nothing exists but the sublime ecstasy of truly becoming one with so many other beings. She lays there in delirious bliss for what feels like an eternity as the crowd of fae take their turns with her body -- some tear bites free from her flesh, some nurse from her ever swelling breasts, others silence her moans with cocks and fingers and glistening wet cunts pressed into and onto her lips, some take their pleasure from ravaging her bruised and aching holes -- pumping load after load of cum into her swollen belly until it pours from her every hole. Sometimes, all of these things happen at once... And it continues, it goes on and on until she cannot continue. Every nerve is on fire and her body is so overstimulated that tears stream from her eyes and every touch sends her into a jet stream of pleasure that robs the air from her lungs... And she falls again into darkness, tumbling over the edge -- falling and falling, deeper and deeper into a cold and all-consuming darkness... x x x The sun rises bright over the forest clearing. The ritual fire had long burned down to naught but embers that glow a faint orange in the light of early morning. The sunlight barely brushes over the tops of the trees so that much of the clearing is still covered by their shade and the ground sparkles with droplets of dew. Sir Rowan the Hunter stands over the sleeping body of Morgan Kendrick -- or as he had once known her, the Lady Morhosyn, Knight of Summer... Morhosyn had been stolen from the world Beyond the Mists and it had been centuries since any of the Fair Folk had seen her -- since she had disappeared and her existence hidden from them. It surprised him, still, that it was Winter who had found her... Trapped in the body of a mortal, her memories and true nature hidden behind a wall of shadow that could not be broken -- at least while her murderers still lived. He runs long, thin fingers through his hair and sighs deeply. He feels a strange reluctance to leave her -- remembering who she had been before, remembering the vibrant Sidhe knight with her hair like fire, their dalliances, their fights...The teasing, the taunting and the forbidden nature of it all... Rowan still wants her. Of course he does -- how could he not with that history between them? Fae were, after all, creatures of habit, bound by their pasts in ways that mortals could not possibly understand... But he will resist the temptation to spirit her away -- the anger of the Summer Queen's Consort is not a thing he wishes to trifle with. She sleeps peacefully on the forest floor before him -- any damage done by the guests had been healed, though there would be a lingering touch of Faerie on her now. It would be a beacon to those who knew how to See that she had been beyond the Mists and had deep ties to that strange land. Perhaps, even she will be able to see it, will be able to find her true self again. He kneels down beside her, gently taking a lock of hair into his hand, watching the way the light of dawn as it turns the brilliant copper curl into pure fire.
He presses his lips together. He wants to help her -- he has no doubt that the one responsible for her disappearance was Blackthorn, the one who was exiled for her crimes against Morhosyn. And no doubt, Blackthorn would come for her again, even exiled, fae hold a grudge for a long time. Even an eternity. And there is that damned sentimentality -- a sentimentality that a true member of Winter would never feel, that lingers from the days when he pledged his allegiance to the Court of Falling Leaves... Rowan brings his wrist to his mouth and in a single savage motion, he tears through the flesh with his needle-sharp teeth -- the blood flowing forth in a torrent of red so deep it looked almost blue. He parts her lips with the opposite hand, letting the blood flow from his wrist into her open mouth. Morgan's brow furrows, though she does not wake and she does not choke, swallowing the blood that fills her mouth by what would seem to be instinct.
Rowan pulls his wrist away when he's satisfied with what she's taken. There's enough magic in his blood that she might be able to withstand whatever Blackthorn intended for her, and even though he isn't of royal blood, it should be enough to wake her to the truth and allow her to return to the glory of who she once was. Or at least, that is the faerie's most fervent wish as he parts the Mist, leaving the clearing and leaving no trace but for the blood that coats Morgan's lips... x x x Bright summer sunlight presses against Morgan's eyes as she wakes -- the light on her naked body is warm but the ground beneath her is still cold, still wet with morning dew. She shudders, slowly sitting up, unable to recall how she got there. She tastes blood in her mouth, though it's more than just the taste of copper, there's a bright taste to it that feels electric on her tongue and makes her hair stand on end. She feels something, a strange feeling that races along her veins, lighting up like a thousand stars in her blood. She furrows her brow, frowning. How the hell had she gotten here? Faintly, she can remember going out to the clearing for a ritual, trying to utilize magic to banish her abusive ex from her life forever... But something had gone wrong, hadn't it? She doesn't know. She can't remember and it feels like a veil of fog has been drawn over her memories. Maybe it's just the fog of dreams -- surely she'll remember soon. And besides, it doesn't matter. She needs to get home and take a shower... And put some fucking clothes on. That worries her a bit. She had most definitely been dressed when she left the house and she most certainly hadn't performed the ritual in the nude. Right? She casts a desperate glance around the clearing but sees no sign of the black tank top and cut-off shorts she had been wearing that night. She doesn't see her sneakers, either. There is a broken circle around the gently smoldering ritual fire -- a line drawn into the dirt and cut through by footprints. Two sets of foot prints.
The voice rings in her head and the memories come back to her -- the faeries, the party...the fucking... Being slowly devoured piece by piece while being fucked and fondled... Morgan feels her face grow hot. Oh. That explains why she's naked but... Her skin is unmarked and unbroken -- not even the faintest bruise remains on her skin. No cuts, no bite marks... Even her swollen breasts and impossibly round, cum-filled belly have returned to their original state... Hell, she barely even feels like she'd been fucked and the fae had used her until her holes were ruined -- gaping, swollen and bruised... But she's fine, no different than she had been before Sir Rowan had chased her into Faerie and ravaged her against that pine tree. Just the memory of it makes heat flare between her thighs. No one had ever fucked her like that and chances are, no one else ever would. Morgan shudders again, wrapping her arms around herself. She would think it was a hallucination -- or maybe some strange dream but for the taste of blood that still lingers in her mouth, the broken circle and the signs of her desperate flight from the clearing. She rises to her feet, shaking off the memories, shaking off the lightning that chases its way through her veins, through her entire being, so much like the feeling when she caught the strings of magic and bent them to her will... Except inside of her, part of her. Of course, she knows that she's different now. It may not be obvious but she knows it. She'd been kept in Faerie for hours, consumed god only knows how many...faerie liquids and been healed by their magic. But it's deeper than that. Something, some part of that place remains with her... As she makes her way back through the forest, returning to the land her grandmother owned, returning to the house she'd spent her childhood summers... Morgan feels certain that part will draw her there again... And she looks eagerly forward to what may happen when it does so. - End. |
