Summoning Mistake by Gariyuu
Gariyuu put out a call for monsterfuckers who would be interested in having a go with his demon character, and I immediately jumped at the opportunity!
I love the way he drew the glow of the summoning circle, and also the absolute heft of Murmurs’ erection~ This is also part one of a two-part series, so look out for more of Murmurs having his way with s0ph0s in the next few months!
Also, I was inspired to write a story to go along with this one, please enjoy :3
Perhaps the wolf should have stopped and reconsidered when he decided that he didn’t need to follow all of the steps of the ritual. If someone is too squeamish to sacrifice a goat, they probably should not be conducting dark rituals. However, he barreled forward, chalking the summoning circle onto the basement floor, arranging and lighting the candles, and igniting the white sage sprig in the incense burner. The final steps in this ritual were to recite something in Latin and spill a drop of his own blood on the summoning circle. He had practiced reciting the text for hours, because every source he found repeated dire warnings about what might happen to those who chant imprecisely.
“Veni, imple sacramentum tuum. Servio… hac nocte,” he finished, tucking the book under one arm. He pricked the side of his pawpad, squeezing a drop of blood onto the center of the chalk star. His eyes traced the path of the droplet toward the ground while his brain turned over the words he had spoken. Something about the last sentence felt weird, but a half-remembered high school Latin curriculum wasn’t doing him any favors.
That thought vanished when the droplet struck the ground. At that moment, the air conditioner clicked off, the frogs and crickets went silent, and everything was much too quiet. Instinctively, he raised his hackles and began to pad backwards away from the circle. Every second of sinister silence made him more uncomfortable. One errant creature made a bizarre, off-key chirrup. He almost jumped out of his skin.
He opened back up the book and read further, looking for the notes about how to dispel whatever he had summoned. Uneasy page flips sliced through the silence. “Hnngh,” he muttered, and flipped back to the start of the ritual to see if he had missed it. Flip, flip, flip–no, he hadn’t. Well, he remembered reading something about disrupting the circle to stop the ritual, so he dropped the book and reached to wipe away the chalk. He tripped over his own paws. Was he that nervous?
No–he started to stand up, only to finally notice the earth shaking. In front of him, the candles wavered. Concrete crumbled and yawned open. Swelteringly humid air creeped up out of the chasm. The light from the candles seemed to shy away from the edges of the crack. Inside, there was nothing. Even his dark-adapted lupine vision couldn’t see the walls. But he could hear something. Voices?
Whispers, maybe.
Getting closer.
One clawed hand reached out of the void and smacked against the summoning circle. Another scratched against the ground on the other side. They heaved, and a great, horned skull rose upwards, uncomfortably askew. The whispers were here. They flooded the basement and poured into his head. He flinched and covered his ears. The whispers continued, unabated.
The creature stepped free of the chasm, towering over the wolf even while hunched forward. A long, ivory tail curled up out of the darkness and slowly swished behind him. The wolf’s breath caught in his throat–how badly had he messed up?
Casually, the demon stretched his back. His too-long arms reached rearward, and then a series of uncomfortably wet cracks and pops cut through the incessant whispers. Beneath his clawed footpaws, the chalk lines began to emit a silvery glow. As his hands reached closer to the edge of the circle, the silvery wisps became a faint cylinder around the whole symbol, spanning from floor to ceiling. It briefly stopped the demon’s stretch, containing him for a moment.
Then he stretched further. The glowing cylinder shattered into a fine mist, fading to nothing. A sickening crack accompanied his last vertebra returning to place, leveling his head. And then his empty, dark eye sockets surveyed the basement, landing on the stunned wolf.
One unsettling arm reached out past where the protective barrier was moments ago, heading for the terrified wolf. And then it dipped down, picking up the open book from the floor. He held it up to his chalk-white face, tilting his horned head slightly. He flipped a page. The wolf looked on, now equal parts horrified and confused. Then the demon began to convulse, silently bouncing and beginning to tilt his head back. He slapped the book against his thigh, and the convulsions increased. A rhythmic hissing, grinding noise cut through the din. Even over the sound of the murmuring, this new auditory assault made the wolf shudder, squint, and recoil. Through squinted eyes, the demon’s convulsions and grinding snapped to a different explanation: laughing.
Indignant, and no longer paralyzed with fear, the wolf shouted, “Are you mocking me?” In response, the creature wordlessly reached out one claw. The whispering voices grew more frenetic, until his claw raked through the wolf’s fur and touched his skin. His vision went white, and he was overtaken by some kind of hallucination–no, someone else’s memory. Two other creatures in robes, standing around a familiar-looking summoning circle, chanting “…entum tuum. Servite mihi hac nocte.” Even though they were clearly chanting Latin, he somehow knew instinctively that their words meant “Serve me tonight.” The demon’s claw pulled back, and he thought about the chant he had rehearsed so many times. “Servio… I am a servant.”
“Well shit.”
The demon’s claws were around his neck in an instant. A strangled yelp crashed out of the wolf, who found himself thrown shoulders-first onto the summoning circle. The chalk lines were now smoldering as if they were molten, filling the swampy air with a sanguine glow. Before he could even catch his breath, something wrenched his neck and wrists to the ground. He tried to look down, but his muzzle hit something hard. Was that smell blood? No, iron. Demonic manacles.
His eyes followed the demon walking up to, then standing over him. Until this moment, he had not realized that the demon was naked, but it was suddenly very apparent. Two fist-sized orbs, scarred with Futhark runes, hung lower than the forearm-sized shaft in front of them. Then one of the demon’s too-long arms reached down and grabbed the wolf by his headfur. With a forceful shove and the clattering of mysically summoned chains, his nose landed in the sweaty, stinking pit where the beast’s shaft joined his scrotum. And the wolf couldn’t avoid breathing in, because he was still winded.
Demonic musk curled through sensitive canine nasal folds, reeking of sweat and dirt and salt. It was… overpowering. Some part of the wolf knew he should be describing it as awful, vile, or putrid, but those words refused to stick in his mind. He breathed deeper. Overpowering, but not bad. What would it taste like? Wait, he shouldn’t be tasting anyth… his tongue had already touched the drenched, wrinkled skin of the demon’s sack, and sent an explosion of flavors and thoughts through the baser parts of his brain. He was meant to do this. He was meant to lap at these leather-wrapped orbs, savoring the glistening beads of pure masculinity that rolled down it. He was meant to sit here, on his knees, admiring this towering, muscular specimen as the cacophony of whispers washed over him. The wolf’s golden irises peered up at the creature’s vacant sockets from around the shaft draped over his head, and the situation seemed less frightening. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, serving this demon for just one night…