The Dinner Party: Part One
This is stupid. God, she knows it's stupid -- her grandmother has told her so many times of the dangers of the forest but... The ritual needs done, she needs to banish that asshole from her life -- once and for all. And tonight is the only night she can do it. The forest before her is darker than pitch, the thick leaves of the trees blocking the starlight from filtering to the floor of leaves and pine needles. Overhead, the black disk of a new moon hangs in the sky: a new beginning, the start of a new cycle. The perfect moment.

Morgan clenches the silver pentagram necklace she's wearing in her fist, biting down on her lower lip as she stares into that darkened wood... It's not simply that the woods are dark and full of wild animals -- often the woods behind her grandmother's house are full of strange lights, strange sounds. When she was little, she tried many times to chase after them, only barely being held back. Will-o-the-wisps, Fae Revelries and god only knows what goes on in beyond the border of those trees but she's been there many, many times before, she knows them like the back of her hand in daylight. And the ritual requires midnight -- or so said the ancient geocities page on which she found it. She touches the bruise on her throat, stinging still beneath her fingers when she applies pressure.

He had used her, he had manipulated her... and it was only because she got lucky that she had escaped him before it got any worse. Before he...She doesn't know what he would have done, but she's not going to find out. Taking a deep breath, she at last crosses over that border, following the well-trodden path to the clearing where she had always done her magic before.

The forest is strange in the darkness of this new-moon night: none of those fairy lights that flittered around in the middle of the night but...just a deep silence and darkness that makes her feel painfully, frightfully human. When, at last, she comes to the clearing, the starlight filters in overhead, making a scene that takes her breath away. A few fireflies float around -- she's sure they're fireflies, anyway -- their little green lights dancing around the circle where years ago she built a bonfire, surrounded with large stones and long ago fallen trees. She pulls her tools from her bag, setting to drawing the circle and starting the fire... Preparing the ritual to cast away her ex and keep him from her forevermore.

The preparations go by quickly and the fire springs to life. Morgan pulls the photo from her bag along with the knife. The blade bites into the flesh of her palm, making the twenty year old wince with pain. Blood wells up in ruby beads that catch the dancing firelight and she finds herself staring at them for a moment. She smears his photo with her blood and is about to drop it into the fire when she hears movement behind her.

Morgan whirls on her heel, dropping her knife into the soot and ash and sand at her feet... A young man stands at the edge of the wood -- his skin is the color of freshly fallen snow, gleaming in the starlight. Black ringlets fall over his shoulders, turning a deep, reddish-violet where the firelight reaches him, his dark eyes glitter, the flames dancing in them. Like his hair and eyes, his clothing is dark: black leather pants that cling to his lower body, emphasizing every detail, a loose black shirt with flowing sleeves and a ruffled collar. Morgan is pretty sure she's seen a hundred boys just like him at goth clubs but... There's something different about him -- something ethereal and predatory. Her heart jumps into her throat but it isn't feat that sets it pounding, oh no: that look in his eyes may remind her of her ex 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, with a lyrical lilt to it that vaguely reminds Morgan of her grandmother's accent -- Irish? Or is it Welsh? She can't... she can't quite tell. "That's not magic you want to work. Not tonight."

She narrows her eyes, clenching her fists. How dare this...stranger tell her what to do! "Oh really?" Morgan asks, sneering at the beautiful man. "Why do you say that?"

He laughs softly, the sound making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "Mmm because, if you do, that'll only cause more problems with...whomever it is you're trying to be rid of." He says, laughter still ringing in his voice as he walks towards her...

No, stalks. He moves towards her like a big cat following its prey through the trees before it strikes. Another chill goes down her spine and the air around her becomes colder. 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? She thinks to herself, unable to make sense of why his presence makes her feel this way -- this strange mixture of terror and arousal. She wants to turn, she wants to run... and she wants him to give chase when she does so.

Morgan does her best to put on a haughty expression, rolling her eyes at the stranger. "Riiiiight and I bet you're an expert on banishing spells, right?"

"Hmm....Not exactly. But I know very much about making sure someone never bothers me again -- and smearing your blood over their image? Seems a sure way to bind them to you." He ponders over the words, choosing them ever so carefully, getting closer every second.

The details of his appearance grow clearer as he draws nearer. His facial features are sharp with high cheekbones and large, almond shaped eyes with bright, violet irises, ringed with thick dark lashes and heavy kohl. His lips are painted (she thinks, painted) a dark blue-black and formed into a perfect pout. He's tall -- probably over six feet -- with long graceful limbs and an unnatural beauty all about him. She stumbles back, nearly stepping into the fire as she process the last detail: the tips of long, pointed ears that peek from between his deep, violet curls.

Oh... The moment she sees those ears, those sharp features, a heavy pit forms in Morgan's stomach. So beautiful, tall and willowy with long fingers and graceful limbs to match... The man who stands before her is obviously one of the Fair Folk. She thanks the gods that she had drawn that circle -- she should be safe. He shouldn't be able to get to her. As long as she doesn't make any mistakes, everything will be fine. Clearly, he was trying to trick her into taking his advice -- to make her indebted to her. She's smarter than that, at least.

"I'll take that into consideration but I think I know what I'm doing." She says, her voice grown harsh and cold... her burning cunt does not follow suite.

"Do you now?" He's maybe a foot from her now, the firefight dancing in his hair and glittering in his eyes. His smile is full of sharp teeth and his sclera are the deepest ebony. "Are you quite sure of that?"

"Yep! Now, if you'll excuse me, sir, I have a spell to finish." And she turns away from him, casting the photo into the fire. Before she can begin the words of the incantation, she feels an arm slip around her waist, pulling her back from the fire ever so slightly.

"I have the feeling, sweetling, that is very far from the truth and I do so hate to be lied to."

Her entire body goes stiff, her heart pounding harder than ever. A smell comes from him of spruce and juniper, the bitter and metallic scent of a moonless night in the dead of winter...and something else. Something primal, something...familiar. Like a spark, it calls to her. 

"How did you--!!" She sputters, trying to look over her shoulder at him.

The circle! How could he have gotten past it? She was sure she had drawn it correctly! But if she had, he wouldn't be here now. He wouldn't be touching her. Oh god, where he's pressed against her seems to be burning, suddenly. Fear and arousal mix in a cocktail so potent that it makes her head spin.

As if sensing her thoughts, he purrs into her ear: "Oh, you did. But..." The tip of her knife-- ceremonial and made from silver presses to her throat. "When you dropped this, it fell on that little line you drew in your blood -- and broke your little circle."

Dread descends on her. His body isn't cold like the vampires she was used to but it isn't quite warm either. It gives off heat but... Something about that heat is wrong, is false. Like the heat of alcohol as it goes down the throat, a burn that only leads to growing colder in the end. But god, she wants to be closer to it. She wants him. 

"What...what do you want with me?" Morgan whispers, barely daring to ask. A question could  lead to being indebted to him but... She can't help herself, she needs to know.

"I find myself in need of...a guest for a gathering tonight. A mortal touched by faerie blood, to be exact." His free hand rests on her hip now, pulling her body close to his. "Now, by the laws, I do have to give you a chance to decline..." 

Morgan shivers... A mortal touched by... "Faerie...blood?" She whispers.

"Yes -- one of your ancestors was one of the Fair Folk, somewhere a ways down the line... Now -- do you accept the invitation? Or do you decline?" 

He turns her to face him, their faces so close that they could kiss... part of her desperately wants to -- to bring his lips to hers, to just give in to the way her body screams for him. But... no. No, she learned her lesson about strange, beautiful, 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... When he speaks, she sees that his teeth are needle sharp. She shudders.  "I don't...No. I decline--" 

The faerie grins at her, revealing all those sharp, sharp teeth, his eyes glittering with something that might be mischief, that might be lust... that might be hunger. She realizes quickly that this was the answer he wanted. 

"I see. Well, that is a shame. I suppose, then, that I shall have to hunt you down." 

"What!?" Morgan gasps. "I--what do you mean?"

"You lied to me, dear. And you asked a question -- multiple, in fact. Which I answered. You answered only one. For the lie, I would be well within my rights to simply spirit you away right now and make you work it off but... I'm feeling magnanimous. So, I'll give you a chance to escape."

He releases her, stepping back, the smile on his face remains fixed there and he gives her quite a wide berth.   Morgan's eyes are impossibly wide, staring at the beautiful faerie, her heart pounding in her ears. This can not be happening -- this has to be a dream. She must be hallucinating she...

"Now, if I catch you -- you're mine for the night. If you manage to get away? Well then, you won't see me again... Not for at least a year, anyway." The grin does not leave his lips, the look in his eyes grows only more excited. She was right -- he wanted her to decline. To run. To give chase. 

She takes another step back, stopping only because she feels the fire licking at her back, nearly catching her hair. "What...there's no way I can outrun you!" She cries, desperate to get out of the situation.

"Oh, don' worry! I'll give you a little head start, until the count of...Let's say twenty, shall we? You know these woods well, I've seen you walk these trails for years and you're not too far from safety. It's a fair competition, I would think Now..." He pauses for a good long moment, tilting his head slightly, shifting his weight as he looks her up and down. "Run, little girl. Run.

The moment the word "run" left his lips for the second time, she's turned, wheeling around the fire and running into the woods. She's not thinking, panic is clouding her thoughts. She should have run right past him while he was counting, back towards her grandmothers' house, back towards the safety of the thresh-hold and the laws of hospitality. But no, she was afraid that if she had tried to run past him, he would catch her. Her feet fly across the gravel path, the trees going past in a blur. 

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

She knows this path, she knows it very well. In a few yards, a bridge crosses a small creek that winds for miles through the woods. A part of her mind cries out for her not to cross the bridge but by the time that inner voice reaches her conscious mind, she's already sprinting across it, her foot already touching the opposite side of the creek. At first, nothing changes. The trees are still familiar and she still knows where she is...

"My my, I didn't expect you to run away from safety!" He's standing in front of her suddenly, only about two yards away. A scream leaves her lips and she turns around again, the sound of his laughter chasing after her as turns back the way she came...

But it's not the way she came. The creek is gone -- along with the path itself. White mist curls around her feet and the air is growing ever colder. She's standing in the middle of a clearing in the middle of a great pine forest. How long will she have to outrun him for? Can she even outrun him here? The thoughts flutter across her mind but skitter away like fallen leaves. Panic, the primal fear of being prey has overtaken her rational mind now. If she can just run long enough, she'll leave him behind. She just has to keep going.

After only a moment, the fae is in front of her again and this time, she doesn't get a chance to run away -- he's on her in an instant, slamming her against one of those gnarled, ancient pines. The force of it knocks the air from her lungs and she cries out in pain and surprise. His body, the entirety of his weight is pressed against there with his fingers wrapped around her throat, holding her surely in place.

"Got you~" He purrs..."You're not very fast, are you?" He laughs...His teeth are so sharp. His eyes are so bright and the weight of his body on hers, his heat against her.

Morgan shivers, more from those sensations than the cold...her cheeks burn and she feels light headed. Is it the faerie blood in her veins that draws her to him like this? Or is it something unique to him? She doesn't even think she's felt so attracted to her ex... who she barely managed to get out of the club with him before screwing his brains out... But she's trapped by the fae, his body pressed so hard against her that she can't move even an inch.  The predatory look doesn't leave his eyes but... something about it changes -- it goes from looking like he's going to eat her up to...  Well, like he's going to eat her in an entirely different way.

His fingers wind into her hair and he brings his lips to her suddenly with such roughness that her lips feel bruised. His tongue slips into her mouth and a sudden rush of excitement goes through her body, leaving behind pins and needles. His mouth tastes like cold, like snow, like brilliant starlight and the bite of midwinter. Morgan kisses back, unable to stop herself from searching his mouth with the same eagerness he searches hers. Her hips rock upwards, trying to press herself closer to him. With each passing second, the intensity of the kiss grows until she feels like she's on fire and would burn away if it weren't for the bitter cold of the air all around them.

When he pulls back, the edges of her vision go dark and the world whirls around her and the thoughts begin to drain from her mind -- save for one. She wants him. She wants to feel him inside her, wants something to relieve that heat. 

The fae laughs. "I wasn't expecting that reaction... The faerie blood in you must be stronger than I thought..." He runs his fingers down the side of her face, his opposite hand still wrapped around her throat. "What a shame it is I only have you for one night..." 

"I..." Morgan's chest is heaving, her breath coming in gasps... she can feel him pressed against her -- not just his weight but the need he feels for her -- the feeling of his erection pressed against her, the slight hitch in his breath... Even though his fingers are wrapped around her throat, it's this sudden, blazing inferno of lust that has her head spinning.

"You?" He raises an eyebrow at her, goading her on. She knows she can't answer -- she can't say what she wants to. If she does... She's already indebted to him, if she makes it worse... She doesn't know if she'll ever get out of debt.

He takes her lower lip between his teeth, tugging softly... The hand that had been tangled in her hair moves slowly over her, ghosting over the ample hills and valleys of Morgan's body before finally, his fingers find the meeting of her thighs... Morgan moans when he begins, slowly, to stroke her lower lips through her shorts. She can't stop herself from speaking now:

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

He laughs, pulling his hand away from her aching cunt and releasing her throat. He steps back and suddenly, her silver knife glitters in his hand. Snow begins to fall, dark gray clouds moving in to block out the starlight. The clearing darkens and she can barely see. Something sharp -- the tip of her own knife -- is pressed to her throat. 

"Do you?" He whispers. "That's more debt, little mortal. Are you sure you can take that on?" 

Morgan's heart is doing cartwheels, her breath coming in desperate gasps and she can't seem to catch it. The heat grows more and more intense -- it feels like life coming back into fingers that've lost feeling to the cold: harsh, painful, full of 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. 

Slowly, the tip of the knife works its way down from her throat, slipping into the crevice between her breasts. The sensation sends shivers down her spine and each shiver is followed by that same heat, those same pins and needles. With one swift motion, he cuts through her tank top -- leaving her standing there in her bra and jean shorts. The cold bites into her flesh more than before and she cries out, starting to shiver violently. The tip of the knife hovers at her belly button now, playing with the ring that pierces the skin there. 

"Steel or silver?" He asks, looking at her. In the low-light, his eyes seem almost to glow, sending a shiver down her spine.

"It's platinum..." She feels the words slip from her lips this time, freely and easily. "The stainless steel ones give me a rash..." That suddenly makes a lot more sense... She was...

"Good." He starts to leave a trail of kisses across her throat, kissing her collarbone, kissing the tops of her breasts which peek out from the cups of her bra

Morgan shudders, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Please, please let him go further... the tip of the knife slips under the strap of her bra and Morgan flinches when he cuts through it -- and then the other. She feels the point pressing against the skin between her breasts, its blade resting against the gore of her bra. The fae pushes the knife in just a bit harder, just far enough to make it hurt. When he cuts through the bra, he leaves behind a thin, bleeding line on her chest... Which he presses his lips to, his tongue dragging over the wound. The moment the cold air hits her bare tits, Morgan starts to squirm again, whining... her nipples feel frozen, her piercings leeching all heat from them in an instant. 

"Pleaseeeeeeeee..." It's the worst thing she could say and she knows it...

But her cunt aches, so hot and so heavy with need that she can't even think straight, her juices soaking through the thin denim shorts she's wearing and coating her thighs. The wetness there only draws attention to how cold the air is. 

"Oh darling..." the fae mumbles, kissing her chest, his lips moving over her goosebumps covered flesh until he finds her nipple, taking it between sharp, pointed  teeth... "That's really not a word you wanted to say..." 

Morgan cries out, agony rolling through her when his teeth sink into the flesh of her breast. She tries to pull back, trying to lift her hands to move him away but... The dizziness only intensifies, her whole world seems to tilt on it's axis, sending everything askew. 

Tears roll down her cheeks, freezing to the skin as they go. It's getting colder and she's more and more aware of that low temperature as more of her clothing is cut away -- the tip of the knife drags over her belly, the blade slicing through her shorts and then her panties  and then both are thrown aside, leaving her standing naked, pressed agains the tree by the fae. The cold air is unbearable against her, making her keenly, painfully aware of the dampness between legs and the fact that it's slowly dripping down her inner thighs now.... just as blood drips down from the corners of his lips.

"Don't you look beautiful, love..." He seems to be admiring his work, running his hands down her sides, sinking claw-tipped fingers into her soft, yielding flesh. His brilliant violet eyes are fixed on hers, the intensity of his gaze makes her long to look away, but she doesn't dare.

God, he's so fucking beautiful -- even more so surrounded by the cold, empty pine forest. Like he belongs here. 

"Do you still want me?" He laughs.

Morgan nods. She does, god she does. She needs something to relieve that ache, to lessen that...burning but also to chase away the chill. He takes her hand, pressing her against the bulge in his pants... her fingers twitch. 

"Show me." 

Without another thought, she brings her mouth to his again, her free hand tangling into his curls and causing him to groan softly into the kiss. She caresses the faerie's erection through his pants, fingers fidgeting with the lacing that keeps them closed and keeps her from being able to access what she so desperately wants. 

When she pulls back from the kiss, she catches his lower lip in her teeth, sinking them into the flesh hard enough that she tastes the slightest hint of blood -- which serves only to make her ache all the more. She's got the lacing almost undone now, slipping her hand past his waist band, feeling his bare skin against her. When she wraps her fingers around his cock, he growls in her ear.

"That's a good little girl..." Sharp teeth sink into her earlobe, causing her to cry out in pain and then to moan as his tongue traces the wound, licking up the blood that flows from the bite... 

Morgan lays a flurry of kisses on his throat and then bites -- soft at first but some feral instinct, some inner beast takes over and she bites down, harder and harder. When her teeth sink into the flesh and draw blood, the faerie's sharp intake of breath makes her shudder... He shoves her back against the tree, the rough bark biting into her skin, ripping it like tissue paper. The sudden jolt of pain does nothing to lessen her need, does nothing to draw her from the moment. If anything,  the sudden pain makes it worse. Like she can smell the blood in the air and her entire body responds to it, screaming for more.His mouth is on hers and then it's on her neck, and then it's on her breast -- he leaves behind 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 his lips ghost over her wet, aching cunt.

Oh god... she thinks desperately. Please... 

Slowly, agonizingly so, he drags his tongue over her slit, for a moment slipping past her lower lips and gently probing her opening... He repeats the motion, over and over,  her. Morgan whines, the heat and the heaviness there is too much to take. She needs more, she needs release. Oh god does she so desperately need it but every time she thinks it's come close, he stops, his breath on her but nothing else.  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she's aware this is a trap. He wants to make her beg, wants her to dig that hole deeper and deeper until the debt has grown so great that she belongs to him. And horrifying as it is, the thought is also... arousing. What would he do with her if he did come to own her? Images of being reduced to nothing more than a plaything -- a pretty little doll, fill her mind... Her cheeks grow warmer and what little there is left of her rational self drains away. 

"Nnnnn what are you waiting for?!" She whines. "Pl-please! Just fuck me already!"

Another low, throaty laugh. "It's probably a good thing that you're not one of us anymore..." he mumbles, licking her juices from his lips as he straightens up. "You can't stop yourself from incurring debt, can you?" He hooks a thumb under her jaw, forcing her to lock eyes with him again. Morgan whines softly, shaking her head. 

"I can't take it anymore! I need you! Please!" 

He laughs again, shaking his head. "You poor, stupid little girl... you don't have any clue what you're asking, do you?" 

The faerie lifts her with ease, parting her legs as he does so. Morgan  whimpers, feeling the head of his cock as it presses against her, feeling it part her lower lips, feeling the throb of his blood rushing through the veins just under the skin and then... Morgan's head falls back against the tree, a scream catching in her throat. The faerie groans in her ear, his first thrust into her has no hesitation nor softness or gentleness -- he slams himself into her with no care or thought of hurting her. , nothing but feverish need and driving lust. The second is just as rough, forcing the air from Morgan's lungs as he drives every last inch of his dick into her, stretching her inner walls to their limits. He bottoms out inside of her, digging his fingers into her thighs as he holds her up. 

"Oh!!!" Morgan cries out. Oh fuck, that...that feels so fucking good and he's fucking big. 

The faerie's breath comes in gasps now as he pounds her -- pulling back until he's almost completely free from the confines of her spasming cunt before spearing her again with every last inch of himself. Morgan's world narrows down to nothing more than the pleasure she feels, her inner walls clenching around their intruder. Harder and harder, faster and faster -- his gasps and moans become low growls, snarls and claims. She is his now, in this moment and gods know for how long after. Morgan screams, rocking her hips into every thrust, taking him deeper and deeper into herself. The growls and snarling serve only to bring her closer to the edge, the feeling of his teeth in her flesh send her plummeting over it and crashing into an ocean of carnal ecstasy, 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 -- is she still fucking 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, more frenetic, more needy, more animalistic.  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. God, if he stops now she feels like she'll lose her fucking mind -- no, she's already lost it: all her thoughts are bent on the two of them reaching what must be the culmination of this wild and feral coupling. If he stops now, she'll die without him. Each thrust drives the air from her lungs now, her world is nothing but the faerie's growls in her ear as he takes her, nothing but his cock filling her again and again and again. There's a sharp intake of breath, a sudden pause, a sudden stillness and a low moan of pleasure as he fills her again, pushing as deeply into her aching cunt as he possibly can and holding there as ecstasy takes them both.

"Nnnn fuuuuck..." his voice is so low she can barely hear it but she can feel him, feel every little twitch as he cums in her, filling her in every way.

She swears she can feel it inside her, spreading through her body like lines of heat along the path of her veins. The heat curls in her belly and settles there, radiating through the rest of her body. Morgan feels the strength leaving her body, the edges of her sight going dark as he pulls his cock free from her, letting her slump against him. Her toes don't even brush the ground, she's utterly helpless... the heat becomes a freezing burn, pins and needles through her entire body. Morgan cries out in fear and pain. She can't....she can't feel her fingers, she can't feel anything but that freezing cold. She whimpers.

"Ah-- h...he..." she tries to speak but she can't make the words come, her tongue and lips gone cold and numb. 

"Shhhh..." The faerie's fingers brush stray strands of hair from her face. "You'll be okay, darling. When you wake up, we'll get you ready for the party~" 

She tries again to speak -- to ask what's happening, why she feels suddenly like she's been dunked in ice water, why it feels like winter itself has flooded her veins but she can't. The darkness closes in and fills her vision and Morgan's consciousness tumbles into an icy abyss of shadow and cold.

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