tagNonHumanThe Last Treat

The Last Treat


I am the Bean Sidhe. It is my disembodied wail that you hear in the hills, across the moors, in the glen and by the river. It is I who none see and all fear.

Samhain. Halloween. The Night of the Hag. Call it what you will, it is power to me. With the sky dominated by the full moon it becomes both blessing and curse. Granting flesh to my apparition form, it demands I serve my purpose in the presence of my sorrow. Tonight the moon would be full at 9:42pm.

Under the glamour of a black hearse, my coach-a-bower rolled to a stop in front of the brightly-lit mansion. The stamping hooves of six headless horses clunked like a bad transmission. The Dullahan who drove the immense carriage stepped out of the driver's-side door. His lack of a neck and head was plain for all to see. No mortal would suspect the man truly lacked a skull.

Eric Walsh glared out the window. Less than pleased, his dark eyes raked the crowd of young men and women gathered on the lawn. They were in the living room, on the staircase and in the kitchen. A spasm of irritation flickered across his face.

The capes of too many Draculas swirled in the air. Hair glittered in a dozen bright colors. Faces covered by masks or make-up appeared and disappeared among the crowd. French Maids squealed as hands vanished up their frilled skirts. Among the chaos, only Eric noticed my vehicle that rattled to a stop in front of the house. I saw that he watched with intrigue as my driver open the rear door.

My Dullahan servant offered me his hand. Rising from the hearse-disguised coach, I was shocked by the cool night. October's crisp air burned my new lungs. My flesh tingled with excitement. Even under a dozen veils of gossamer I could feel my nipples harden from cold. When the sidhe made silk from spider webs, warmth had not been on their minds.

Legs suddenly weak, Eric leaned against the sill. His closed his chestnut eyes, rubbing them. When he looked again I was gone.

I watch him from behind. First shock, then simple disappointment radiated from him. He tossed his wolf's mask onto the bed. Turning he saw me in the doorway.

My face is the first thing he noticed. The first thing they all see. My face, neck and even my shoulders were milky, pure white. My hair was blanched, a cascade of cream that flowed to my knees. My eyes were red orbs, lost in large dark circles of sable. Petal-soft lips the color of blood, plump and sensual, curved in a half-smile.

He fell to the bed, sitting dumbstruck and awed. The glamour revealed me to him, as it always did. I swallowed the lump in my throat knowing it was trickery of the worst sort.

I was easily a foot shorter than he was, petite and delicate. Through several layers a material, so sheer its color was indeterminable, he could see every curve of my body. My shape a narrow hourglass.

Eric inhaled deeply, his jaw hanging slack. He could see the rising mounds of my buoyant breasts, the darkness of my areolas, the shadowed triangle beneath my slim waist. I stepped toward him on tiny white feet, not even sandals to protect them.

He stood and approached me in silence.

My stomach knotted. The youth was roguishly handsome. Even the ridiculous faux fur wolf costume, his sinewy strength and vitality radiated from him. Square-jawed with high cheekbones and piercing brown eyes, he towered over me. I could feel the heat from his body from several feet away, his pulse beating steady but fast in my ears. This was the one I had come for.

For a moment I thought those chestnut eyes was seeing beyond the glamour. My freshly formed heart skipped with fear. Then, he smiled. None smile who see me as I am.

I forced my lips to keep their superficial smile. Announcing this youth would be a sorrowful task, indeed. My eyes would burn redder before the midnight bell.

"Eric Walsh?" My voice was deep and sensual with a hint of an Irish accent.

In three steps he was by my side. Plucking a rose from a vase near the door he offered it to me.

"Lady of Death, I greet you."

My brow creased. My breath caught in my throat. He could not possibly know who I really was. Yet, his voice was serious and sad.

Taking the rose, I said, "Eric Walsh, I am your treat this eve."

I needn't have said anything. The glamour would make him come to me. Make him want me, regardless my fearful appearance.

He lifted me easily into his arms. He twirled me around; veils floating behind me like transparent fairy wings. Before the room stopped spinning, I was placed with grace and ease on the red satin sheets of the bed. The rose fell from my hand.

Reclining on his side next to me he placed a hand on my left breast. His calloused fingers leisurely moved in circles around my turgid nipple. Desire burned through me. My body flushed beneath its pallid tone. Heat transferred from his flesh to mine. Warming me from the inside out, like smooth brandy.

I opened my mouth to speak, but his lips pressed firmly to mine. His tongue ran along the rough edges of my teeth. He sucked on my mouth until my tongue was in his. Taking my lip between his teeth he drank from my mouth. My need began to rise.

His mouth left my lips wet. His tongue trailed along my jaw line to my ear.

"Mmmm," he moaned. "You smell like roses and taste like cream, not salty the way a woman's flesh should."

Barely understanding his words, I tilted my head to the side. He suckled noisily at the conjuncture of shoulder and neck. I moaned as his hand pressed my breasts more roughly.

My legs parted. The air was cold along my swollen nether lips.

"Stop," I pleaded. "Please." It's too soon.

He cradled his head against my collarbone. "Have none ever given themselves freely to you, Lady?"

"None know me," I declared, voice cold.

"I know you. You are... "

"Don't say it," I interjected.

His head lifted and he gazed solemnly into my eyes. "Why?"

"I don't want to remember." It was true. I wanted to be a woman. I wanted to be desired instead of feared. I wanted...

Kissing my chin he rolled me toward him. On my side, facing him I raised my hand to his face. He was beautiful. No one so vibrant should need my call. Not when...

He gave a quick kiss to each eye, closing my lids.

"You think too much, my Lady. Feel."

He unpeeled me. Veil after veil vanished off the side of the bed. He brushed my flowing hair away from my breasts. Raising my nipple to his mouth he moaned in delight, as if sitting down to a feast.

Lightning jabs of pleasure shot from my breast to my barren womb. I gasped with delight as he worked his tongue around my areola. His mouth clamped to my breast, he ran his hand down my side. Dipping down at the waist, rising over my hips, he tantalized my skin with his caress.

His course hand swept across my belly. Fingers fluttering as the traveled down my pubic bone, hand firmly pressing against my downy mound.

I ran my fingers through his hair. Held him to my chest and tilted my hips toward him.

His fingers slithered between my silken folds. Finding my hardening button he rolled it between two fingers. I threw my head back and bit my lips as pleasure seared my body and sorrow seared my heart.

Gazing through half-closed eyelids I saw the bright green numbers on the bedside table. Nine o'clock. I could never make it until full moon rise. Not if...

Abruptly he released my breast. Cool air kept my nipple pointed upward.

He looked up at me with a wicked grin. His hand parted my legs. Two fingers dipped inside of me and I started to cry. Hot tears burned down my face. My lips pressed tight into forced silence. The metallic taste of fresh blood was bitter on my tongue.

Fingers pressing deep, he licked my swollen vulva its full length. He nipped at my small protuberance. I choked back the cry that tried to escape my lips. My body spasmed wildly. His teeth lost their grip and he lapped my flowing juices as they oozed around his squirming fingers.

Pulling away he licked his fingers. "Does all of you taste like sweet cream?"

I gazed at him with wonder. "I guess. I never... "

His fingers forced their way into my mouth. I sucked them eagerly.

"Well?" he asked, pulling his hand away. My blood stained his fingers.

"Is that what cream tastes like?" I asked.


A noise I had never heard bubbled from my depths. I giggled.

"I've only tasted the flavors found at the bedside. Spiced wines and such."

His eyes stared into mine. I turned away first.

Turned away and slid down the cool satin sheets, unzipping the jumpsuit-style costume. The bulge at his groin sprang free as my hand passed. I undressed him completely before eyeing his member.

He was not large. A hand and a half long. His thickness was that of a child's wrist. His sac was a good handful and a half. The shaft of his phallus turned slight up just a finger's breadth from the crown of his plum shaped head. The thought of him filling me, impaling me, made my heart race.

Taking his testicles in one hand I licked around his tightening skin. His pubic hair tickled my nose. He smelled so virile. A man, who knew me, saw me and didn't feel fear. His musk made me dizzy.

Running my tongue up the under side of his shaft I heard him moan. He thrust his hips toward my eager mouth and I took his erection in deep. Sweet flesh salted with sweat. I swirled my tongue around. My hand squeezing his jewels, I dry-swallowed. Nursing him like a calf at its mother's teat. He twitched in my mouth, becoming thicker and harder.

"Stop." He was panting, clenching his teeth.

I released his member with frustration as he pulled me easily to eye level.

"Let me die within you."

Tears came to my eyes again, and I shook my head. The clock said 9:36pm. Not much time.

"Please Lady."

Following him as he rolled onto his back, I kneeled astride his tumescent penis. I impaled myself sharply. That misshapen twist felt wonderful as it pressed the tip forward in my womb. I rose up and fell onto him, driving him as deep as I could. I gyrated up and down his shaft. He rose his hips to meet my impalement. Groaning he rested his hands on my narrow waist.

In a sharp movement he pulled me onto him. Holding himself deep inside me, he jerked and spasms shot through his whole body. Hot jets of semen shot repeatedly into the frontal wall of my uterus. As his movements slowed, mine continued to build. With my breasts heaving and my pulse pounding in my ears, I keened.

The clock froze at 9:42pm.

No one saw me that night. Eric Walsh was found under satin sheets, peace upon his face and a smile upon his lips. A single red rose lay on the pillow beside his head.

I am the Bean Sidhe. It is my disembodied wail that you hear in the hills, across the moors, in the glen and by the river. It is I who none see and all fear. It is my cry that announces death. I am the one who weeps.

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