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Succubus Summoning 201

By: manyeyedhydra



/**

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is the start of the next story arc in the "Succubus Summoning" series. It's not necessary to read the whole of that (101-114) to enjoy the sex scenes in this, but it might help make the bits in between make a lot more sense.

Yeah, I know this was supposed to be out around six months ago. Life, work, random kidnappings to the nether regions of hell, etc, etc. 

*/

Phil Rowling stared up at the walls of Wargsnouts College for Warlocks. The gothic structure stood atop a small rise and extended into the moonlit sky like a twisted black fang. It dominated the skyline like any number of Dracula's castles from old B movies. Had the college grown to imitate fiction or had fiction drawn inspiration from it? It was hard to say; the college was at once both vibrant and alive, and immeasurably ancient.

Phil remembered the first time he'd set eyes on it. Roald Garner, who Phil would later learn was one of Wargsnouts' recruiting officers, had brought him out to a deserted patch of wilderness next to a dark, silent lake.

Phil's thoughts had been awhirl at the time. Not only had he found out magic was real, he'd been told he was going to be taught how to use it. Of course he'd still had doubts, and those doubts had returned with a vengeance when Garner had stopped and announced they'd arrived. 

Arrived? Where? There was nothing here. So it was lunacy after all, he'd thought with a crushing sense of disappointment.

It hadn't taken much persuasion to get Phil to come out here. A non-life of flipping burgers wasn't anything he wanted to go back to.

Garner tapped him on the shoulder, smiled and pointed to the top of hill. And there it was, a gigantic black edifice suddenly appearing out of what Phil would have sworn was nothing but empty night sky.

"It was always there," Garner said, enjoying Phil's expression of confusion. "Like the rest of our world you only had to open your eyes to see."

He meant worlds. Phil learnt what most people considered hell was really a series of dimensions separated from our reality by a thin membrane. Warlocks derived their power from the denizens—daemons—that inhabited these adjacent realms. Wargsnouts taught its students how to summon these beings and get them to do their bidding.

In theory.

"I thought it would look more impressive," Verdé said, bringing Phil back to the present.

"Forget that," Rosa said. "Just think of all those yummy sex-starved students." Her blue eyes gleamed.

Rosa and Verdé.

Verdé wore a diaphanous green robe cinched tightly around her narrow waist. The V of her neckline plunged right down, revealing the lush valley of her cleavage. The dress was slit at the side all the way up to her waist, perfectly designed to show off her toned and supple legs. Her long green hair flowed down over her shoulders.

Rosa was slightly taller and her fiery red hair was cropped in a cute little bob. She wore a shiny red latex body suit with cut out sections over her flat midriff. The rubber stretched taut over her disproportionately large breasts.

Both currently had an arm around Phil's waist. From that description it made him sound like a gangsta pimp or lothario porn director, posing with a sexy floozy on each arm, but that couldn't be further from the truth.

In theory, Wargsnouts' lessons were supposed to teach the students how to summon and control daemons. In practise, they were mostly about how to avoid being eaten, charred, crushed, shredded, mangled or otherwise killed in some ghastly fashion by the daemons they attempted to summon.

In Phil's case the lessons had not exactly been a success.

Rosa and Verdé were succubi. Incredibly sexy, but not human. They had horns, a tail and bat-like wings. None of which detracted in any way from the supernatural seductiveness they radiated.

A man waited for Phil about halfway up the hill. He looked like a greasy child molester dressed in tattered black wizard's robes. A normal person would have dismissed him as a socially inadequate escapee from a Sci-Fi and Fantasy convention.

Normal people thought magic—and daemons—didn't exist.

"Welcome back Phil, my boy," Stine, the lecturer most students dubbed the Scrote, said. "Glad to see you made it back okay." He flashed Phil a smile that was missing half its teeth, with the remainder yellow and rotten.

No help from you, Phil thought.

"And I see you've brought a pair of delectable succubi back with you." The Scrote leered at Rosa and Verdé. "Well done, boy. They're my favourite type of daemon, if you didn't already know."

If Phil didn't already know, he could take a good guess from the way the Scrote's gaze was currently riveted on Rosa's breasts.

"So useful in so many different ways," the Scrote continued.

Again, Phil could take a pretty good guess at what some of those 'ways' were. The Scrote was indeed a filthy animal.

Rosa and Verdé didn't seem to mind. They smiled, posed seductively and pouted their lips. Succubi were every socially awkward man's dream. They just didn't care.

It was why Phil and Jake had borrowed the Daemonica Malefique and summoned them in the first place. They thought they knew what they were doing. After all how dangerous could it be, summoning a daemon whose principal attack was to have sex with you?

Jake's absence was answer enough to that.

"What happens now?" Phil asked.

"Why, you continue your studies, my boy," the Scrote said. "Getting your daemon...daemons..." he corrected, although to Phil it looked more like he was counting Rosa and Verdé's breasts rather than the succubi themselves. "...is only the first stage. Now you need to learn how to train them to do your bidding."

Rosa arched her eyebrow and looked at Verdé with an amused expression.

"And this would be your special program?" Phil said.

"Exactly, boy. You got it in one," the Scrote said with another rotten-toothed leer. He leant forward to whisper conspiratorially. "But keep it quiet though. These lessons aren't exactly on the main curriculum."

"What about my other lessons?" Phil asked.

"Other lessons, pfah!" the Scrote said. "You've already got your daemon, lad. Do you really want to waste your time picking Stinkhorn and dissecting Flocculocculm toads?"

He motioned to a less well-travelled path that branched off the main road leading up to the college. Instead of leading upwards the path curved down and around the side of the hill.

"You're in the advanced stream now, boy. We do things at a faster pace."

And what happened to those that fell behind? Phil suspected he didn't want to know the answer to that.

"Follow the path and one of my darling succubi will direct you to the lecture hall for your first class," the Scrote said.

"That human is very adept at dealing with succubi," Rosa said as they walked down the hill.

Verdé stopped and looked back. "Oh yes. I see," she said. "Very sneaky."

"See what?" Phil asked. All he saw was the Scrote, looking a little like a vulture as he stood on the side of the hill.

Rosa and Verdé looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Humans," Verdé said. "Always looking and seeing nothing."

"Occulora exnida tanja vaarsta Magique," Rosa said, and then swatted Phil on the back of his head hard enough to knock him off balance.

When he lifted his head back up the world looked different, as if he was staring through a pair of weirdly polarised goggles. The world seemed brighter, as if everything was traced with a spectral glow. Wargsnouts itself wasn't so much lined as painted. The whole building was incandescent with a strange—Phil would have said purple, but that was only because it was the closest his mind could come to comprehending it—light.

The same light flickered around the outline of the Scrote's silhouette and ran across his body in thick lines. The lines were concentrated around his crotch, so much so that it looked to Phil like the greasy warlock was wearing underwear lined with fluorescent tubes.

"What's that?" he asked, turning back to Rosa.

Immediately he had to look away, his eyes screaming in pain. The afterimage of a figure glowing brighter than a sun was still super-imposed on the back of his eyelids.

"Whoops, sorry," Rosa said. She whispered some words and tapped Phil on the shoulder.

He blinked, trying to clear the grey dots floating in front of his eyes. Was that Rosa? It felt like a camera flash had gone off in his face.

"I had to up the juice a little to get past the cloaking magic he's using," Rosa said with an innocent smile.

"What's under his robes?" Phil asked, his vision clearing.

"A safety valve," Verdé said.

"Safety valve?"

"When we have you in our luscious pussies and you start coming and can't stop, what does it feel like?" Verdé asked.

"Like a tap's been turned on and I can't turn it off," Phil answered. Several nights in the company of the succubi had left Phil extremely familiar with that feeling.

"That's it exactly," Verdé said. "That's how we feed. We use sex to keep the conduit open and then draw the life energy out of our victims."

"But not Stine?" Phil said, looking up at the warlock standing out against the evening sky. The lines of illumination were no longer visible to him.

"No," Verdé said. "He has his emergency shut off valve. He can have sex with a succubus and she can make him come, but then his protective magic will activate and force the tap shut. No matter how hard she tries, a succubus will only be able to take as much energy as he's willing to give her."

That sounded pretty damn useful to Phil.

"Can I learn that?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," Rosa said. "I hate feeding in little dribbles."

The succubi put their arms around Phil and together they continued down the path. Around the corner a surprise was waiting for Phil. In contrast to the shallow slope of the other side, this side of the hill was sheer and rocky, almost a flat cliff face. There was little natural about the rock formations. Instead of extending upwards into the sky, Wargsnouts had gone downwards, worming through the ground beneath it and hollowing out the hill like a Swiss cheese. Phil looked at the fantastic array of windows and doors carved out of the solid rock of the cliff face and was awed. This was a part of the college he hadn't seen before or even knew existed. Like an iceberg there was far more to Wargsnouts than the grand building sitting on top of the hill.

Stine's succubus stood outside one of the side entrances. Phil didn't need to see her black bat wings, horns and tail to identify her as a succubus. Like Rosa and Verdé she possessed an aura of sex appeal that was too strong to be natural. 

"Ooh, a Bedmistress of the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous pleasures," Verdé said, "and a fairly high ranking one at that. You can tell by the length of her pink plume."

Which one? Phil thought.

The succubus had three—two extending from the bustle of a long, elaborate black dress that looked like it belonged in a decadent period drama and a third tucked behind her right ear that curled up and over her silky black hair. Decadent was a word that fit her well. Period drama dresses were supposed to preserve the modesty of the young women who wore them by covering up as much of their flesh as possible. This...failed. The dress was open at the front and revealed long elegant legs clothed in stockings and a garter belt. The daemon had a perfect hourglass figure and a tight bodice of black lace drew attention to rather than covered her pale, curvaceous breasts. Burlesque was the other word that came to mind.

For all of her considerable sex appeal, the daemon was icy and aloof. She barely deigned to even acknowledge Phil's presence. Women like her never needed to make an effort. They were rocks amorous suitors dashed themselves broken and bloody against.

"I'm...um...Phil Rowling," Phil said. "I'm one of Stine's new students. And these are my succubi, R—"

Before he could introduce them, Verdé stepped forward and curtsied before the elegant succubus like an excited schoolgirl.

"Greetings ma'am. It's an honour to meet such a distinguished and high-ranking daemon as your iniquitous self."

The daemon looked flattered and also a little puzzled.

"Which House of Ecstatic Sin do you serve?" she asked. "I see no insignia I recognise. Which Circle of Lust do you hail from?"

"One of the really out-of-the-way circles," Verdé answered. "You wouldn't have heard of it."

"Just a pair of lesser-realm hell-sluts," Rosa added with a broad smile.

The succubus dropped her icy demeanour and turned her seductive attentions fully onto Phil. He felt it immediately. It felt like his whole body was gripped tightly in a velvet glove as her blue eyes stared into his. She leant closer until her perfume enveloped him. Phil shivered as he felt her hand slip through his robes and press against his crotch.

"You should work on the strength of your summons, young man," the succubus whispered to him. "Then you might attract a pleasure daemon of appropriate rank and breeding."

Her hand stroked up his cock with a featherlight caress that sent electricity crackling across his nerve endings. Phil let out his pent-up breath and shuddered as he involuntarily ejaculated into her hand. The succubus's supple lips turned up in an amused half-smile and she continued to stare into his eyes as she brought her hand up and licked his semen off the palm.

Then she released him with no more afterthought than if he'd been a momentarily diverting butterfly. She motioned him through the door and to the left. Phil walked away, his legs still jangling in the aftermath of the unexpected orgasm. Phil felt no pleasure from it. Instead he felt soiled, as if he'd just been milked like a cow.

"Hey, did she just diss us as having no class," Rosa said once they were through the door.

"Very haughty, the Bedmistresses of the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures," Verdé said.

"Never liked those stuck-up bitches," Rosa said. "Always looking down their noses at lesser daemons."

Phil's lessons on the politics of Hell had been as muddled and incomprehensible as his lessons on the geography of Hell. He hadn't even heard of the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures and had no clue how the ranking hierarchy of succubi worked.

"Don't you have a castle?" he asked.

A very big castle. They'd kept him prisoner in it for the past month or so.

"Um...well...that..." Rosa said.

"It's not exactly our castle," Verdé explained. "We're sort of borrowing it."

"Indefinitely," Rosa added with a smile.

Great, so I'm master to members of the squatter class of succubi, Phil thought. And barely that. It said a lot about his summoning skills.

"Nÿte worked in the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures for a while," Rosa said.

"Yeah?" Phil could see that. Nÿte, another of the succubi that shared Rosa and Verdé's castle, had a similar icy beauty to the succubus on the door.

"They made her leave. A disagreement between her and the management over what constituted pleasure."

Phil could also see that. Nÿte terrified him.

"This must be it," Verdé said.

They walked through into a largish waiting area. Phil saw lots of other students. They all looked a similar age to Phil's eighteen, or maybe slightly older. They were also dressed in everyday normal clothes—jeans, T-shirts, hooded sweaters. Phil felt like a weirdo in the tatty and singed warlock's cloak he was wearing. He supposed he should be thankful for at least that. He had a suspicion if Rosa had her way he'd be wearing nothing at all.

Phil's entrance garnered some interest as they saw his robes and mistakenly thought he might be one of the staff. Then they saw his face, realised he looked as confused and bewildered as them, and lost interest. They resumed conversing amongst themselves in little groups.

It could be a scene from any university...if you ignored the daemons.

There were a lot of daemons, around one for each student by Phil's reckoning. The daemons came in a riotous mix of different shapes. Some were recognisably humanoid; others were far more alien combinations of octopoidal tentacles and bristling, chitinous plates. Some were so abstract as to almost defy description: like a squat pile of pink flesh with a large mouth—its only feature—in the centre, or a floating collection of riveted iron plates that endlessly slid over and around each other in a chaotic ball-like shape.

"Hey, you got a succubus too?"

Phil was approached by a young man. He didn't look like the sort that would need to seek out a succubus. He was tall, muscular and had a strong jaw covered in the beginnings of a slightly disorganised beard. Dirty blonde hair framed an easygoing face with green eyes. Not the typical Wargsnouts student, Phil was thinking, until he saw the burn scar that extended down the right hand side of the man's neck and under his T-shirt, presumably the result of some arcane mishap or other. 

"I'm Eric," the young man said, offering his hand.

"Phil," Phil replied.

Eric's other arm was around a very attractive girl. She looked to be in her late teens and she had the slim figure, golden tan and lovely smile of the archetypal cheerleader-next-door. She wore a cut-off pair of denim shorts that showed off her long, supple legs and an open shirt with the tails tied together above a flat belly.

She was a daemon.

It wasn't easy to tell. She was using some kind of magic to mask her features. Whenever Phil looked at her directly he saw only a nubile young hottie. The dainty little horns poking up out of her silky blonde hair only appeared when he shifted his gaze so she was no longer the focus.

"They're the best, aren't they," Eric said, giving the girl a little squeeze. "So much more than just a pet."

He turned his head and kissed her on the cheek. To the outsider they looked like a young couple in love.

Phil wasn't an outsider and he could see the succubus's eyes. They were flat and black. There was no love in those eyes, only hunger. It was like staring into the cold gaze of a bear or wolf. He shivered.

"See you around, Phil," Eric said, moving away, his arm around the sylph-like succubus at his waist.

"I fear for that young man's soul," Verdé said later while they sat on a bench at the back of the room. Over on the other side, Eric had his arms around his succubus and they were making out as if the rest of the room didn't exist. "I don't think he has his succubus fully under control."

She turned her head. Rosa had pinned Phil to the back wall and his arms were waving up and down as she passionately kissed him.

Can't breathe. Can't breathe.

"Rosa!" Verdé said. "Don't show up our master in front of all these people."

"Um...sorry," Rosa said, breaking off the kiss and allowing Phil to suck in a gulp of air.

Verdé sighed and shook her head in exasperation.

Phil was not the only one having problems with his daemon. A stick-thin girl with droopy blonde hair looked at him with a sympathetic expression. A fat brown imp sat on top of her head. It pulled faces and made a series of increasingly obscene gestures. The girl smiled apologetically. The imp blew a raspberry, jumped round to moon them with a pimply ass and then finished up by turning back, pointing a prodigiously large cock—for its small size—in their direction and stroking it with a warty hand.

The Scrote entered the room. The girl whispered something to her imp and they both turned to face the black-robed lecturer.

"Come on, come on," the Scrote said, beckoning them to the door before scampering through ahead of them.

Phil walked through into a medium sized lecture theatre with dusty old seats. Down below was a stage with warped wooden floorboards. Phil snuck into a seat up in the darkness of the back row and Rosa and Verdé sat down on either side of him. He sensed a little ripple of anticipation running through the students. It reminded him of the excitement and trepidation he'd felt when sitting down to receive his first lessons in magic. It had only taken a week of bone-dry lectures to grind that initial excitement into dust. Wargsnouts was a school. Worse, Wargsnouts was a school stuck in the mores and methodology of two centuries back. Phil didn't know what to expect from the Scrote though. He didn't seem to share the same necessity for care and caution as the rest of the college.


Succubus Summoning 201



"Greetings, greetings," the Scrote called out, flashing them a rotten-toothed grin. "Welcome to my Advanced Studies class. Up there," he said, pointing up in the direction of the main building several floors above them, "they wouldn't dream of letting you attempt to summon daemons until after at least three years of study.

"But you've already summoned your first daemon, so we can dispense with all that crap and get right down to real business and the real business is power.

"Power and control. That is the essence of a warlock. The planes of Hell adjacent to our own realm of existence represent a near limitless source of power. Power waiting to be tapped by the experienced warlock. Your daemons are the key to that power. Control your daemons and the world will open up to you like a succulent, juicy oyster. I will teach you that control."

"Our new friend would be wise to pay more attention to his words," Verdé said.

Phil turned to where she was looking and saw Eric was also sitting up on the back row, on the other side of the hall from them. His succubus was down on her knees between his legs. Eric closed his eyes and tipped his head back as the succubus bobbed her head up and down on his cock. She wasn't bothering to hide the little black nubs of her horns this time. Eric ran his hands through her silky blonde hair and pursed his lips in little oohs of pleasure as she twisted and bobbed her head, working his cock with the skill of an experienced porn star.

No one else in the lecture theatre seemed aware. The succubus continued her enthusiastic blowjob, her mouth making liquid shlupping sounds as she swallowed the whole of the student's length. Phil continued to stare, unable to look away. 

His view was suddenly blocked off by a close-up view of Verdé's lush cleavage. He lifted his head up and looked into her face. She looked cross.

"Ahem," she said.

"Umm..." Phil said.

"I think someone's feeling neglected," Rosa said.

"If you're in the mood you only have to ask," Verdé said, her cross expression melting into a mischievous smile.

Verdé put a knee across Phil's lap and leant against him. Her soft breasts pushed against the side of his face. Her heat and scent, strong like exotic flowers, enveloped him. His heart picked up a few beats and he felt the blood racing through his temples.

"What, here?" Phil said. The lecture hall was maybe a quarter full with students and their daemons.

Verdé slid down his body and pressed her moist lips against his ear.

"Don't you think it's arousing," she whispered in his ear, "having sex with all these people around, completely unaware. Just think of the excitement, knowing it only takes one person to turn their head to catch you."

Her hand slipped into his robes and encircled his cock. He jolted in the seat as electricity crackled at her touch.

"Shameless," Rosa tutted.

"We can't let ourselves be shown up by a snooty Bedmistress from the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures or Little Miss Love Pet," Verdé said.

Phil glanced over to where 'Little Miss Love Pet' was still enthusiastically blowing Eric. The student's knuckles were white against the armrests and his eyes shut in ecstasy. He trembled as his 'Love Pet' sucked a sizeable ejaculation from his balls.

"A blow job in public is so...ordinary," Verdé said. She brought Phil up to full hardness with a few delicate squeezes of her hand. "We can be more adventurous than that," she whispered, her supple lips close enough to brush against the side of Phil's jaw.

Uh oh, Phil thought. He suspected he was about to become the did-you-see-what-that-guy-got-up-to-on-the-back-row-in-the-Scrote's-class guy. 

"Shouldn't I be paying full attention to the lesson?" he asked. It was feeble, even by his standards.

"That's okay," Rosa said. "Leave it to me."

She put on a pair of bookish spectacles and smiled at Phil. Where did she get them from? Phil thought. She was wearing a one-piece latex bodysuit that fit her like a second skin.

"I'll take notes for you," she said.

Phil didn't have time to ponder that. Verdé put a hand on his chin and twisted his head until he was staring into her sparkling green eyes. She pulled his robes aside to expose his crotch. His cock, never one to obey the wishes of his mind, bobbed up like a mushroom. Verdé turned around until her back was to him. Her prehensile tail wound around Phil's cock and carried on from her hand.

"Let's be really daring," Verdé whispered back at him, her green eyes twinkling.

She lifted up the back of her dress to get the gossamer green fabric out of the way and show off the naked and luscious swell of her bottom.

"I want you to fuck me in the ass in the same room as all these people," Verdé said.

She reached behind her and spread her ass cheeks, displaying the tight little bud of her anus to Phil.

"My, my, someone's really in a filthy mood," Rosa said.

As ever with Rosa or Verdé, it wasn't a request.

Verdé sat down in Phil's lap until the head of his cock was pressing up against the tight sphincter of her asshole. She wriggled and pressed down. Phil took in a sharp breath as the elastic ring of her anus gave enough for the fleshy head of his cock to slip inside her warm ass.

"What happened to the importance of keeping control?" Phil asked.

Verdé wriggled some more as she took more of Phil's erection inside her ass. He closed his eyes. She was so tight. And warm. Her silken flesh bunched against and contracted around his cock, welcoming him deeper into the secret depths of her body. Verdé sank further down his shaft until her soft buttocks were resting on Phil's lap and his throbbing erection was all the way inside her quivering flesh.

"Ah yes, control," Verdé said.

Phil trembled helplessly beneath her as the muscles of her ass squeezed and contracted around his member. She played his cock as if it was a musical instrument and she a virtuoso musician. She reduced Phil to a quivering bundle of mindless sensation in a matter of moments. She rocked and rotated her hips, letting his sensitive glans slide against her walls with short little motions.

"I'm not an exhibitionist by nature," Verdé said.

Rosa suppressed a giggle.

"Normally I'm very shy," Verdé continued.

Rosa snorted.

"So if any of these people should turn around and see me engaged in this vulgar act I would be extremely embarrassed. So mortified I might, in my shock, do something highly unfortunate..."

Within her ass, Phil felt her flesh bunch up and squeeze against the head of his cock. It was as if he was pushing up against a warm and lusciously soft cushion of flesh.

"...such as accidentally gulping down the entirety of my unfortunate master."

The sinfully pliable and moist organ squeezed around the tip of Phil's cock and gave a gentle little suck.

Phil barely managed to strangle the loud moan that threatened to erupt from his throat. It was only a soft little suck, barely more than a peck of a kiss, but he'd felt its force in every corner of his being. Should Verdé want to, Phil had little doubt she could empty him inside out with one final, explosive ejaculation.

Verdé twisted her head to smile at him. "Is that enough control for you?"

Phil squeaked his affirmation.

"Good, then let's proceed," Verdé said.

The fleshy organ within her ass released the tip of his cock and Phil slumped back in the chair as if a tether had been cut. Verdé rose up in his lap before coming back down with a little wiggle of her hips. Phil's cock glided against the wet and supple walls of her ass. So tight, he thought, so tight and juicy.

Don't moan out loud. Don't moan out loud.

Verdé sat down in his lap. Her soft buttocks pressed against his crotch. She wriggled her body against him, setting off a chain of pleasurable detonations all the way down his shaft. She grabbed his hands from where they lay quivering on the arm rest and brought them up to press against her exposed breasts. The erect points of her nipples rubbed against the palms of his hands and he felt the soft weight of her tits in his hands.

The rest of the lecture theatre continued to listen to the Scrote's lesson. It was surreal to Phil. There they were, all the students, either stifling yawns or listening studiously while the Scrote ran through his material, and all of them completely unaware of what was happening on the back row behind them. He was fucking Verdé, in the ass, in the same room as all these people. It did give him a buzz.

Don't moan out. Don't moan o—

Verdé arched her spine and pressed her hips back against him. The walls of her ass squeezed and fluttered against him.

"Urk." A strangled little gasp, thankfully barely audible, slipped out between Phil's lips.

That buzz might just be terror.

Sensing she'd found a sensitive spot, Verdé attacked it without mercy. Her muscular walls tightened around his cock, holding him firmly in place while she stoked Phil's sensitivity higher with slight, almost imperceptible, rocks of her hips. Within her, Phil felt her supple flesh rub and squeeze against just the right spot to send seismic tremors of pleasure rippling through his body. Her tail slithered down between his legs and she used the tip to tickle the underside of his balls and then playfully nudge against his anus.

"Fascinating," Rosa said, intently following the lecture.

Next to her, Phil writhed and squirmed in the chair as Verdé used her delectable ass to drive his body crazy. He tried to stay quiet. It was ridiculous. It shouldn't be a problem, but the more he focused on it the harder it seemed to be. He held his breath as he dwelled on it and that only exacerbated the problem as now his lungs were full of air he needed to release slowly and silently rather than in a sudden grunt or gasp. Not so easy with Verdé's nubile body writhing in his lap.

No noise. No noise.

What was he so worried about anyway? He knew the rules to these little games now. He was master. They had to stop if he ordered them to.

A sound—half sigh, half splutter—escaped him. It wasn't loud, barely more than a whisper, but it attracted the attention of a girl sitting two rows down in front of them. She started to turn her head...

Verdé's posture changed. She pressed her hips down harder, driving his cock all the way inside her. He came up against that sinful cushion of flesh and shivered as it engulfed the head of his cock. Her hands squeezed down harder on his, pinning his hands to the yielding cushions of her breasts. The tip of her tail pressed back against his asshole, more forceful this time, preparing to enter him.

He knew then she was serious. Deadly serious.

Phil held his breath. His heart thudded in his chest like a drum. So loud Phil thought the whole room must be able to hear it. The girl continued to turn her head in their direction.

He felt Verdé tense on top of him, like she was preparing to draw a very deep breath.

Look away. Look away.

The Scrote chose that moment to raise his voice, either wishing to emphasise the current point or maybe rouse bored students from their slumbers. Phil was thankful whatever the reason. The nosy girl's attention was drawn back to the stage down below.

Phil let out his breath. Silently.

Verdé relaxed above him. She released his hands and leaned back against him, an arm sliding up against one side of his face while her smooth cheek brushed against his other.

"Isn't this a rush?" she breathed against his cheek.

In the same way as jumping off a very tall building with a parachute of uncertain effectiveness, Phil thought.

He didn't get much of a chance to gather his breath. Verdé changed position. She sat up, gripped the arms of the chair and then began to thrust back at him harder and faster. Phil closed his eyes and tried to keep control of his breathing as his cock slid back and forth in her ass while her soft buttocks crashed against him. He was thankful he'd picked a seat that didn't squeak and was able to withstand Verdé's assault with nothing more than barely audible creaks. Given the general decrepitude of Wargsnouts that was practically a miracle on its own.

"Verdé's really getting into it," Rosa said.

A little too into it Phil thought. Sighs soft and breathy were gradually increasing in volume.

"You do know she's a real screamer when she gets into it," Rosa whispered in his ear.

What? Wait! How could this be fair? Phil thought. He wasn't the one making the noise.

Past experience and Rosa's smirk told him it didn't matter.

A louder and huskier sigh caught the attention of the nosy girl again. Before she could look around her friend said something to her, pulling her back.

It was only a temporary reprieve. Verdé's sighs were steadily growing louder. It wouldn't be long before they tipped over into full-blown moans. Then it wouldn't only be the nosy girl he'd have to worry about. Every student in the lecture hall would be looking up to see Phil engaged in anal intercourse with his succubus. That was shocking even by Wargsnouts standards. Probably.

Not as shocking as what would follow it. Verdé would make him cry out with one final soul-shattering orgasm and then she'd gulp down his life and soul, leaving behind a corpse shrivelled up like a prune.

He had to stop.

Control.

How? He didn't have any control. Verdé was the one fucking him. He was sitting in a chair and couldn't even get out as Verdé slammed him back in with every thrust. Each stroke and he felt his cock push up harder against that deliciously wicked bulge of flesh within her.

He had to do something fast. It was getting harder to think over the pleasurable sensation of his cock pushing into her luscious ass. His balls were tingling in anticipation of the release.

Maybe if he made her quiet.

He brought his hands up in an attempt to gag her.

Bad idea.

Verdé was a succubus. Succubi had fangs.

Phil bit his tongue to stifle a yelp as Verdé sank her fangs into his hand. 

"And she says I'm the feral one," Rosa sniffed.

Fangs filled with aphrodisiac venom.

Phil struggled to reel his consciousness back down as it rose on a perfumed updraft of exotic bliss. Her aphrodisiac venom raced through his veins and coagulated in his balls, driving the activities of his testicles until his sac felt bloated and swollen. The muscles in her ass bunched around and stroked up and down his cock, the sensation magnified by her venom. It took nearly every ounce of Phil's will to stay quiet.

It wouldn't be enough. Verdé's breathy sighs were growing into husky moans. Already he fancied he could see ears pricking up amongst the students below them.

"Never had you down as an exhibitionist," Rosa chuckled in his ear. "You must really want to give them a show."

Not me! Phil wanted to protest out loud. Verdé was making all the noise.

"Pity there won't be an encore," Rosa murmured.

Verdé's eyes were closed. She had a hand down between her legs and was rubbing it against her clitoris. She was going to bring herself to noisy orgasm in front of everyone in the room and Phil couldn't stop it. Her ass tightened around his cock, drawing him deeper into sinfully moist tissues that squeezed and suckled on his tip, eager to drink deep.

Wait! He was right before. He didn't need to stop her, only make her quiet.

"Globdak nida silencum," Phil muttered under his breath.

He didn't get a chance to see if the spell was successful. Verdé's quiet sighs finally tipped over into first moans, then a shrill cry of ecstasy as she reached orgasm. Phil was not far behind her as the quivering fleshy walls of her ass finally took him over the edge. He tried to stay silent, but an involuntary cry escaped his lips as his cock erupted inside her. He spurted a thick load of sperm into the smothering flesh bunched around his member. Verdé's ass milked him with steady pulses as he emptied his balls inside her.

His own cry was irrelevant. No one in the hall—and probably most of the college—could have failed to hear Verdé's scream of pleasure. It was out of Phil's control now. Either Verdé stopped or she kept on sucking out his cum until there was nothing left of him.

She stopped. Her soft flesh mopped up the last drops of ejaculate from his tip and then withdrew. Her ass dilated and released his spent manhood.

Phil opened his eyes. The rest of the lecture theatre was not standing up on the backs of their chairs. Nobody was staring at them with naked disgust, or egging them on with whoops and hollers. The students were following the Scrote's lecture as before. None of them were looking up in their direction.

Verdé sat on the arm of Phil's seat and leaned against him, a contented smile on her face.

"Mmm, I enjoyed that," she murmured in his ear.

It had worked. There was a strange distortion in the air around them that made it look a little like they were staring out of a goldfish bowl. The boundary of Phil's silence globe.

"I told you he'd figure it out," Verdé said.

"I suppose he's not completely stupid," Rosa conceded.

Phil slumped back in his chair and tried to get his jangling nerves back under control. As usual, the succubi's idea of non-lethal sex left him feeling like he'd been subjected to several weeks of hard labour.

Activity below indicated the lecture was over. The hall was filled with noise as the students collected their belongings together, got up and prepared to leave.

"That was really interesting," Rosa said, referring to the lecture. "It's totally incredible what the humans know."

Phil started to get up. He turned his head towards the exit and stopped. Eric was still sitting in his seat on the back row.

At least Phil thought it was Eric.

The man that had introduced himself had looked maybe a year or two older than Phil. The corpse sitting in the chair looked like it wasn't a single day short of a century. All the life and vitality had been sucked out of the body. The hair was snow-white and the skin was wrinkled and shrivelled like old leather. It was still clutching the arms of the seat like a victim of the electric chair. There was no sign of Eric's succubus. Having drunk her fill, 'Little Miss Love Pet' had departed to regions unknown.

"Oh dear," Verdé said. "I did say I didn't think he had his succubus fully under control."

And I do? Phil thought. His legs shook like spaghetti as he stumbled out of the lecture theatre.

/**

AUTHOR'S NOTE

So begins the new arc. Unfortunately my current circumstances mean I'm unlikely to update the new chapters more frequently than once every month, but I'll try and stick to at least that if I can.

Follow me on twitter for news, updates and ever more fantastic excuses for why I've fallen behind schedule again.

*/



Succubus Summoning 202



As much as Phil disliked the Scrote, being a student in his Advanced Studies classes had some benefits. The first year room he'd shared with Jake Pulman had been little more than a cupboard with two beds. Compared to that, his new room was enormous. It even had its own toilet.

And it was all Phil's. Even though the room contained an extra bed, Phil didn't have to share with any other student. He guessed the spare bed was supposed to be for his daemon, which presented a slight problem as currently Phil had two.

Or maybe more, he wasn't exactly sure on that.

He doubted the lack of beds would be a problem. Rosa and Verdé were succubi, daemonic sexual vampires. Most likely they'd see it as an excuse for one of them to share a bed with him, or with each other. As both of them looked as ravishing as extra-hot porn stars, this might have sounded fantastic if it wasn't for the tiny drawback that sex with a succubus was invariably fatal.

He'd somehow managed to survive so far. Barely. Currently they called him master.

Phil didn't think that word meant what he thought it meant. 

"Yeuch!" Rosa said, horrified. "They actually expect us to sleep here?"

"It is a little pokey," Verdé said.

Pokey? This was enormous compared to his last room.

"This is good for a student's room," he mumbled. He noticed someone had brought down his belongings and left them on the right hand bed in a little bundle.

Rosa walked over to the other bed and pressed a hand down on the mattress with a disapproving expression.

"Do these people know what comfort is?" she complained.

"Very spartan," Verdé said, entering the room and looking around.

"This won't do at all," Rosa said.

"All the rooms are like this," Phil said.

"How are we supposed to seduce yummy students on beds as hard as rocks with blankets that stink of old mould?" Rosa said.

"Wait, what do you mean, seduce yummy students?" Phil asked.

Rosa and Verdé ignored him. They moved over to the door to the en-suite bathroom. They seemed less interested in what lay beyond it than the door itself. They opened it up a fraction and examined the jamb.

"Wood's a little old, but it should be okay," Verdé said.

"Easier to hide than out in the main corridor," Rosa said.

Phil didn't have the faintest idea what they were up to. He stood in the centre of the room and felt almost invisible. In a way it made a pleasant relief from one of the succubi jumping him for sex every five minutes.

"I'll call Cέrμləa," Verdé said.

She produced a dainty little mobile phone and put it to her ear.

Rosa saw Phil's look of surprise and sniffed. "Just because you Luddites still choose to dress up in medieval robes doesn't mean we have to ignore the latest advances in technology as well."

"Medieval robes have their uses." Verdé flashed her green eyes at Phil and smiled as she slipped a hand into his warlock's robe and groped his privates.

"Hello Cέrμləa," Verdé said, her attention drawn back to the phone.

"Yes, we're here. Can you see us?" She continued the one-sided conversation.

"Good. Now perform the Aper-Portoirre ritual."

"Yes, then you can come to Earth too."

"No, not tonight."

"Aww, I know you're excited. You'll have to be patient. The stars will be right soon."

"Yes, then we'll have fun. Lots and lots of fun."

"Master's doing fine," Verdé turned and smiled at Phil. "Now go and start the ritual."

Verdé closed her little clamshell phone and put it away. She flashed Phil another bright smile.

What was going on here? Rosa and Verdé were in no mood to elaborate. They sat on the edge of the bed facing the en-suite door and shared a passionate kiss.

Phil jumped as bright blue light flared above the old black hinges of the bathroom door. The light crackled and hissed as it extended in a line along the jam of the door. It looked like someone was using a welding torch on the other side of the door, or was cutting through with a high powered laser.

From where?

Phil wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.

The line of light continued to burn its way around the door until it came back up and reached the lower hinge. It flared brightly, as if a blue star was burning behind the door so brightly the light burst out through the cracks. Then it flared out. Puffs of black smoke smelling of sulphur welled up from the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor.

There was an expectant hush as the smoke dissipated.

Rosa nodded Phil on to open the door. "Go on, open it," she said.

Phil wasn't exactly eager to do this. A few minutes earlier the door had opened into a tiny little bathroom. He very much doubted this was the case now.

Rosa nodded again. "Go on."

It wasn't a request. Phil walked up to what had been a plain wooden door leading to a plain little toilet. It still looked plain and woodeny. Utterly unremarkable.

He looked back at his two succubi. For some reason they'd got off the bed and were standing on the other side of it.

"Why are you standing so far back?" he asked.

"Oh, no reason," Verdé said, smiling sweetly.

Phil looked back at the door, thinking about what might be on the other side of it and wondering if thinking about what might be on the other side of it was a sensible thing to be thinking about. He reached, slowly, for the handle.

An object popped into existence on the side of the door with a flash of blue light, nearly causing Phil's heart to jump up out of his mouth. It looked like a brightly coloured Fisher-Price toy designed for the children of megalomaniac scientists. It could be a dial. His eyes watered from looking at it. The lines and curves of the dial intersected in ways that should be topologically impossible.

Phil didn't know what he was supposed to do with it—if anything—so he left it, turned the door handle and gave the door an experimental prod. The door swung open with a drawn out creak. Phil closed his eyes and braced himself for...what...

A familiar perfumed fragrance greeted his nostrils. Phil opened his eyes and saw the main hallway of the succubi's castle. Ornate stairs lined with statues of lewd nymphs curved up to the second floor.

"Ah, perfect," Rosa said. She'd snuck up to Phil's shoulder without him noticing.

The gaudy dial next to the door caught her attention.

"Hmm, I wonder," she mused.

She pulled the door to and twiddled the dial. At least Phil thought she twiddled the dial. It hurt his brain to look at it.

"Now let's see..."

She pushed the door open and this time Phil was looking into the gigantic bathroom with black marble walls and a huge circular pool with gold taps cast in the shape of buxom mermaids.

"Interesting, now what if..."

Rosa pulled the door to, turned the dial and opened the door onto a different room. Phil recognised this one as well. It was the large pentagonal room with the enormous red bed. The walls were lined with skulls and the skeletons of the succubi's previous victims lay on top of the silk sheets.

"Clever girl," Verdé said.

"This gives me an idea," Rosa said. She shared a smile with Verdé as she manipulated the dial.

The door opened onto a room Phil hadn't seen before. Well, not a room exactly, it looked more like a cave. Even though it looked like they were underground, the cave was lit with a soft yellow glow. This glow came from the cave walls. Bright streams of molten lava flowed slowly through veins of clear crystal in the walls.

There were two naked girls with lush, gorgeous bodies lounging on a glossy black bed in the centre of the room. Both had long, lithe legs and flat, trim stomachs. Despite their athletic-looking frames, they also had large round breasts that looked like soft pillows.

They were not human.

Their skin was slate grey, almost verging on black, aside from mottled patterns of speckles running down their spine and along the front of their arms and legs. This was one area where the girls differed in appearance. The girl on the left had orange speckles whereas they were yellow for the girl on the right. The differences in colouration extended to their hair. Both had long jet-black braids with either strands of orange or yellow running through them.

Their tails were their most recognisably non-human feature, but unlike the other succubi, whose tails were slender like whips, their tails were broader and thicker and emerged above the otherwise ripe and inviting curves of their asses. To Phil they looked more like the tails of therapod dinosaurs. Come to think of it, they didn't seem to have horns or wings either.

The bed beneath them was large and shaped somewhere between a lozenge and a tear drop. The black surface shone like polished latex. The two girls lounged on it like bored aristocrats in exotic climes. A haze of smoke swirled in the air. Before the interruption they'd been lazily sucking on the pipes of tall, elaborate hookahs standing on either side of the bed. They turned and regarded the intruders with heavy-lidded eyes. Plush, kissable lips pouted in curious insouciance.

"Ah, Puff and Pfaffle," Rosa said. "Just the pair of lazy lizards I was looking for. Take care of this human while Verdé and I have some fun in the human world."

"Hey!" Phil protested to no avail as Rosa grabbed his neck and hurled him bodily into the room.

He landed on his back on the bed right between the two girls. The bed rocked and swayed with his impact and continued to ebb and flow afterwards. It was filled with some kind of fluid, but it was too viscous to be water.

"Sorry," Phil said, looking up at the girl on his left with yellow speckles.

The girls didn't seem fazed by his intrusion. They responded by turning their bodies into him, pressing their large soft boobs against his shoulders, placing an arm across his chest and rolling a leg over each of Phil's. It didn't escape Phil's notice he was now pinned to the bed between them and that their bodies felt warm, bordering on hot, against him.

He looked back at the door only to see Rosa close it with a knowing wink. Blue light flashed along the outline of the door and when that faded there was no indication there had ever been a door there at all. Phil was looking at the same crystal-veined stone as the rest of the walls around him. The only exit he could see was a wide chimney in the roof leading up into darkness, but to reach that he'd need either wings or suction cups for hands and feet.

The two girls murmured in pleasure as they pulled Phil's robes aside and stroked his chest.

"I'm...um...Phil," Phil said, rather feebly. What had Rosa had thrown him into?

The girls said nothing. The girl with yellow speckles put a golden hookah pipe in her mouth and her soft plush lips bunched up as she took a long suck. She pursed those same kissable lips and exhaled a cloud of white smoke in Phil's face.

The effect was instantaneous. Phil sank back on the soft black bed. The perfumed smoke, languid and soporific, enveloped his mind in a numbing fog. His limbs felt like sacks of concrete, too heavy to move. In contrast, his blood started to race, like hot magma roaring through hard volcanic stone.

The corners of the girl's exquisite lips turned up in a smile that might have concerned Phil more were his senses not currently clouded. He was entranced as she squeezed the luscious hemisphere of her left breast and toyed with its erect nipple. The smooth skin of her tits was a lighter grey than the rest of her body. Through the haze he noticed yellow speckles clustered around the areole.

The other girl leaned close, her body pressing against him, and breathed warm air into his ear.

"She's Puff and I'm Pfaffle," she whispered. "Now lie back and relax. You don't have to do a thing."

Doing something was low down on Phil's list of priorities. The bed felt soft beneath him; their bodies felt soft against him. He didn't think he'd be able move if he wanted to anyway. His skull felt like it had been replaced with lead or some other equally dense metal. It was far too much effort to lift his head.

Instead he relaxed as a warm hand with dexterous fingers fondled his balls and caressed his cock. A hot tongue, too slender and nimble to belong to a human, flickered teasingly in his ear.

The girl with yellow speckles, Puff, took another long pull on her hookah pipe. She propped herself up on her elbow and leaned over Phil, those sumptuous soft lips descending closer and closer until they pressed against Phil's. She exhaled again, this time directly into Phil's lungs and he felt the hot smoke surge through his body. The heat rushed through his body like a sirocco, collecting in his balls and driving his cock upwards in a throbbing erection. Puff murmured appreciatively as she stroked a hand up and down his rigid cock and fondled his balls.

They might not look the same, but Puff and Pfaffle were succubi just like Rosa and Verdé, Phil realised dully. His body felt heavy and lethargic in direct contrast to the twitchy eagerness of his cock and balls because they were concentrating all his energy into his sex organs.

Preparing to suck it from him. Preparing to feed.

And there was nothing he could do to stop them, undone by a simple puff of perfumed smoke.

Pfaffle lifted him high enough so she could pull his warlock robes off his unresisting body. He lay fully naked on the bed now and the glossy black surface felt warm and slightly tacky against his back and buttocks.

Puff reversed her position on the bed, turning her body around until her cushiony lips hovered above his bobbing erection. A soft breast rested on his midriff and her hot body—in this case literally as well as figuratively—lay against his. Pfaffle leaned over his upper body, squashing a soft boob against his nipple.

"Relax. You ours now." Her own sumptuous lips curled up in a smile before puckering up as she took a long pull from her own hookah pipe.

Their bodies were more than warm and that heat was transferring to Phil. His temperature was rising. Perspiration welled up across his body and made the strange glossy covering of the bed beneath him feel sticky.

Puff pursed her lips above the bulging head of Phil's cock and blew a series of white smoke rings that settled over his erection like hooplas. He squirmed in helpless pleasure. It was only hot air and smoke, but it felt like a tangible tunnel settling over his cock. He fancied he could feel each smoke ring lightly stroking down his shaft.

Teased by the stimulation, his hips twitched and bucked, eager to thrust his manhood up into a more tactile sheath. The corner of Puff's fulsome lips turned up in a smile as she kept them tantalisingly out of reach of Phil's eager cock. Her warm fingers straddled his base and she toyed with his testicles.

He didn't see more as Pfaffle leant over him and crushed her soft lips against his. She exhaled and fire roared through his body. Phil felt light-headed and giddy. His temperature shot upwards into uncharted territories. Blood raced through Phil's temples and hot flushes flashed across his skin.

His bones were dry tinder, waiting for the spark to ignite them. A stab of fear clutched at his heart as he realised he was on the verge of burning up, literally.

Thankfully, at that moment a door lined with blue light opened in the cave wall and a sheepish looking Rosa appeared. Puff and Pfaffle paused what they were doing.

"Um, you know when I said, 'take care of him'," Rosa said, flashing them a broad smile, "you know I didn't mean 'take care of him' as in 'take care of him'."

Puff and Pfaffle said nothing. They blinked heavy-lidded eyes.

"Good. Glad we're all clear on that," Rosa smiled. "Look after him nicely and I'll be back to get him in the morning."

She withdrew behind the door, closing it behind her.

"So we don't get to smoke him," Puff said in a lilting voice. She sounded disappointed.

"No, not this time," Pfaffle replied. "But he is ours until morning."

She selected a different hookah pipe and puffed another cloud of smoke—bluish-white this time—into Phil's face. A heavier lethargy settled over him, but his temperature thankfully climbed down from combustible levels. His arousal was not lessened in the slightest and Puff stoked it further as she blew more smoke rings around his throbbing erection.

"That's plenty of time," Puff said, "and we can still puff on him a little."

She bobbed down, her plush lips parting around the bulging tip of Phil's cock and he shuddered in pleasure as she slowly drew him into her hot mouth. Those lips felt moist and lusciously soft as they brushed down his shaft. She took his whole length inside her mouth. A little puff of smoke escaped her lips as they finally met and smooched against the root of Phil's manhood.

Then she began to suck.

If the soporific effects of the smoke hadn't made Phil lethargic and helpless, right now he'd be thrashing wildly in the throes of ecstasy. Puff didn't move her head. She didn't bob up and down. She didn't need to. Her lips and mouth puffed and sucked on Phil's cock as if it was a thicker version of her hookah pipe and the sensation was mind-blowing.

Pfaffle wasn't to be left out. She took a pull on her hookah and then crushed her lips down on Phil's in another blowback kiss. The weight, and heat, of her upper body pressed him down into the soft bed. As her lips moved against his, his body responded of its own volition—lips working against hers, tongues dancing together. Another flood of heat surged into Phil, but this time it was balmy and languorous—like lazing on a hot summer day—rather than the intense, inflammatory heat of before. That heat sank into his balls and they bubbled and churned like mud springs, needing only gentle coaxing to erupt like Old Faithful.

What the other girl was doing to Phil's cock was far more than gentle coaxing.

Phil closed his eyes and exhaled a hot gasp back into Pfaffle's moist mouth as his orgasm boiled over and erupted up his shaft. Puff wrapped her luscious lips around his cock and guzzled it down. Her mouth puffed and sucked on his cock, eagerly wanting more and taking more until she'd sucked out the last dregs of Phil's ejaculate. She continued to suck, longingly, on his spent cock as she raised her head up off it.

Pfaffle rolled off Phil and let him breathe. He basked in the post-orgasmic glow of fulfilment, knowing—if Puff and Pfaffle were anything like the other succubi—it would only be a temporary respite.

Puff sat up and wiped the back of her hand across her full lips. "The young warlock tastes good," she said.

She lay back against him and exhaled another cloud of perfumed smoke into his face. Phil felt like he was sinking deeper into the soft, comfortable bed. His limbs felt like lead, but it was a pleasant, relaxed sensation, doubly so with the soft, warm bodies of Puff and Pfaffle sandwiching him.

"I think we should smoke him anyway," she said.

"Rosa would not like that," Pfaffle said.

Puff paused, blinking her elegant, heavy-lidded eyes.

"The young warlock is master. If it his desire she cannot oppose it," she said.

Fogged and contented as he felt, Phil wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was heading.

"Mmm, yes," Pfaffle said, the 's' tailing off in a sibilant hiss. "How about it, young warlock, would you like us to smoke you?"

She took Phil's hand and placed it on the intimate mound between her legs. He felt her heat and her moistness beneath his fingers.

"It'll feel real nice," Puff murmured, her lips close enough to brush his cheek. Her warm hand went back to playing between Phil's legs.

Befuddled by the smoke and their heat, Phil ran a finger along the folds of Pfaffle's sex. He marvelled at the feel. So warm. So silky smooth. His fingers slipped inside her. So moist. So tight.

What was he doing?




Succubus Summoning 202



"Do you want to experience ultimate pleasure?" Pfaffle breathed in his ear.

Hot steam swirled through Phil's brain. He felt the heat of their bodies pressing against him. The folds of Pfaffle's pussy, as mobile as a mouth, tightened around his fingers and drew them deeper into her intimate warmth. Her sex sucked on his fingers, hinting of greater pleasures to come.

Danger, his mind warned.

"I'd rather the experience was one I could look back upon and still enjoy many years from now," Phil answered after a deliberate moment of thought. "Sorry," he added.

Puff and Pfaffle exchanged glances and smiled.

"No need to be sorry," Pfaffle said.

"Tis a wise answer," Puff added.

Pfaffle's vagina released Phil's fingers as she moved in search of tastier prey. She slid across and straddled his body. Her fingers took his erection—that hadn't gone away, no surprises there—and steered it to the dripping folds of her womanhood. He felt her heat pouring over him. Looking up he marvelled at the perfect hemispheres of her breasts looming over him. Each erect nipple was surrounded by a spray of orange speckles.

"Now lie back and we'll give you a memory that will still feel as fresh as yesterday ninety years from now," she said.

She placed a hand over his erection, pressing it against her hot flesh. Her eyes closed and she sighed in pleasure as she sank down on him. Phil groaned as he entered her. The pleasure, that hot tightness, so good around his fingers, was magnified and even more intense around his throbbing cock. Her weight, her heat, settled on his groin. He watched as puffs of more smoke welled up out of her vagina as he entered her, as if fires were burning within her. He felt that same heat all around him as she took him all the way inside her, but it was a comfortable, erotic heat, not one that burnt and consumed.

She straddled him, his cock buried within the heat of her sex. He looked up at her and watched as she closed her eyes and toyed with her nipples. Those gorgeous breasts looked so ripe and inviting, so squeezable. He waited for her to start, to begin the up and down motions of her voluptuous body and create the friction that would ignite flames of ecstasy within him.

She didn't move. She didn't need to. Her pussy was motion enough, as he'd felt already with his fingers. It alternated between puffing on his cock as if it was a cigar and taking long drawn out sucks, like savouring an exotically flavoured lollipop. Phil lay back, writhing in helpless pleasure as her silken walls rubbed and squeezed against him.

"Other beings are so wasteful with sex," Puff said, turning his head so he was staring into her large amber eyes. "So much frantic, needless motion; they tire themselves out far too soon."

Phil knew then he was going to be in for an extremely long night.

He continued to squirm as Pfaffle's pulsing pussy sent waves of bliss rolling through his body. Puff smiled at his obvious loss of control. She took a long pull on her hookah pipe and exhaled a thick cloud of pink perfume into Phil's face. Phil's mind sailed away even as his body sank into what felt like a warm, comfortable womb. Puff pressed her lips against him and Phil lost himself in the pleasures of her kiss; lost himself in the pleasures of Pfaffle's pussy, puffing and sucking on his cock with delicate finesse.

When he came, it was less an explosive eruption than a slow, steady river, pulsing up into the warm cave within her. He couldn't even tell how long it lasted. Time had become stuck between two ticks of a clock hand. Pfaffle lay down on him, the heat from her body joining with Puff's as they sandwiched him between their warm bodies. Her vagina continued to squeeze and suck on his manhood. Both kissed him and blew more perfumed smoke into his face. Phil drifted away on a cloud of purest bliss, feeling the slow, steady pulses of his semen flowing into Pfaffle's accepting body.

At some point they switched, Phil's erection sliding into Puff's equally luscious warmth. It was only a brief pause before her pussy was milking a gentle flow of seed from his cock. Squeezed within their warmth, Phil drifted off into a contented, satiated sleep, semen still oozing from his cock in blissful, languid pulses.

* * * *

"Oi, lazy! Wake up!"

Whaa?

Phil's eyelids sprang open at Rosa's voice. It took him a moment to remember where he was until he realised he was lying on Puff and Pfaffle's big black bed. The two girls were cuddled up on either side of him.

"Come on. Time to go. It's morning."

Did he have to? His head was wedged between the soft pillows of their breasts. He felt contented and extremely relaxed.

"Gimme a minute," Phil said.

Or a day.

Or more.

He could lie here forever, wrapped between Puff and Pfaffle's bodies.

Okay, so not forever, but a little while longer at least. Puff and Pfaffle's eyes said they were okay with that.

"Fine! Stay here if that's what you want." Rosa stepped back out of the cave and started to close the door behind her.

As fogged as Phil's thoughts were, he was struck by a perfect moment of clarity. If that door closed it would never open again. That rocky wall would remain a rocky wall forever and Phil would never leave this cosy little cave.

Was that really so bad?

He looked up at Puff's languid, beautiful face. Her plush lips parted for the first time and he saw a neat row of pointed, sharp teeth behind them.

"Wait!" Phil called out. He struggled to extricate himself from the tangle of Puff and Pfaffle's limbs and the soft, sagging bed beneath him. "I'm coming."

The door stopped closing. Puff and Pfaffle were reluctant for him to go, but they didn't impede him as he slid off the bottom of the bed. He spotted his robes lying on the floor in a crumpled pile and scooped them up on the way to the exit.

"Come back again," Pfaffle said as he reached the door.

Puff sucked on her pipe and her pussy puffed out a smoke ring that expanded outwards in a shape of a heart.

Then they turned back to each other's embrace. Phil left them to each other and their hookah pipes as he stepped through the doorway and found himself back in his little room at Wargsnouts.

"Thought I'd lost you there," Rosa said. For a queer moment her blue eyes looked far older than the youthful, cheerleader-perfect lines of her face.

It was only a brief moment, almost too fast for Phil to catch.

"Who were they?" Phil asked, looking back at the closed door.

"Those two? Just a pair of lazy lizards," Rosa answered.

She returned to the dial by the side of the door and turned it to another location. This time she banged loudly on the door before pushing it open. Phil realised then Verdé wasn't in the room with them.

Verdé wasn't in the room with them because she was on the other side of the door, straddling a man on top of a lavish four-poster bed. They arrived in time to see the climax. Verdé stretched her wings, tilted her head back and came down with a loud, orgasmic sigh. Beneath her the man moaned and shuddered. As Phil looked on it seemed like all the life and vitality of the man poured upwards out of him and into Verdé. His eyes rolled back even as his skin stretched taut around the sockets. His muscle and flesh melted away until only skin and bones remained. Then he was still.

"Always taking her time," Rosa tutted. "She's as bad as those two sluggards."

Verdé leaned over and tenderly kissed the husk on the forehead. She got off and bounced towards them, broad smile on her face and her naked body glowing with fresh vitality.

"Wait! Wasn't that one of the..." Phil said.

"Mmm, yes," Rosa said, rubbing her stomach and smiling.

"You can't go around eating the other students," Phil said, panic clutching at his chest. "What if someone notices they're missing?"

Rosa flashed him a wolfish grin that showed off her fangs. "It's a school for Daemonology, silly. I bet students go missing all the time."



Succubus Summoning 203



The problem with the succubi turning Phil's bathroom door into a portal back to their castle was he had to trek out to one of the communal toilets every time he needed a piss. He returned from one such morning call of nature to find Nÿte waiting for him in his bedroom. The succubus looked around the spartan bedroom provided for him by Wargsnouts College for Warlocks with an expression of mild disdain.

She was dressed in a tight black leather corset and thigh-high kinky boots that showed off most of her flawless white skin. She looked like an archetypal whip-wielding demoness from a videogame designed for sex-starved post-pubescent nerds. That was pretty much the default appearance when it came to succubi and Nÿte was the scariest of all the succubi Phil had encountered.

He briefly considered ducking back out and carrying on down the corridor. He knew it would be a bad idea. She hated any outward signs of cowardice and probably already knew he was there. She was also lethally quick with that whip coiled up at her waist. He knew that from experience. Phil sucked down a breath and entered the room.

"Ah, there you are," she turned and said to him with a smile.

Nÿte was extremely beautiful in the classical sense: all high cheekbones and icy perfection. Even her eyes—cold black abysses—and lips—plush, kissable, but as black as a moonless night above an open grave—didn't detract from her beauty. Her long black hair was tied back in an austere ponytail. A classic Silicone Valley dominatrix.

Nominally Phil was as much master of her as he was of Rosa and Verdé. That lessened the terror he felt in her presence not one single iota.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm to accompany you to your classes today," Nÿte answered.

"You're not going to...erm...eat anyone, are you?"

Nÿte elegantly put a hand in front of her mouth and laughed. "I'm in a college containing hundreds of warlocks, some of whom count amongst the most powerful magic users on this world. Such brazen behaviour on my part would be a little reckless, wouldn't you agree."

She had a point.

He flinched as Nÿte stood next to him and put an arm around his waist.

"I love how you're still terrified of me," she whispered in his ear. "It's very endearing."

Phil was hoping these advanced courses The Scrote had fast-tracked them onto would enable him to better understand what this 'mastery' actually meant. He also hoped he survived long enough to see the end of the course.

"Let's see what they're teaching young warlocks nowadays."

They left Phil's dormitory room and walked towards the lecture theatres.

"Where are Rosa and Verdé?" he asked.

"They were summoned to Singapore for a hot threesome with a pimply-faced eighteen-year-old. He managed to decipher parts of an obscure summoning ritual he found on the internet."

This confused Phil. Wasn't he supposed to be the current master? Again he suspected that word did not mean what most people thought it meant. He really hoped the course would clear this up.

Nÿte checked an elegant gothic watch on her slender wrist. "Hmm, it's probably just a twosome by now," she said. "Knowing Rosa and Verdé, they won't be back for a while. Until then you've got me to keep you company."

She gave his waist a friendly squeeze. If Phil hadn't already gone a few moments ago he felt sure he would have pissed himself.

"Isn't this going to look a little strange?" Phil asked as they walked arm in arm down the corridor.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. It's not all about looks. I think you're adorable." Nÿte kissed him on the cheek.

"No, I mean what are the students going to think?" Phil said. "They've already seen me with Rosa and Verdé. Now they're going to see me with you. We're only supposed to have one daemon."

"That's easy," Nÿte said. "Succubi can alter their appearance to match their master's desires. Just tell them I'm Rosa..." She paused, looking for a moment as though she'd swallowed something distasteful. "...Verdé," she corrected.

"Are you doing that now?" Phil asked.

"Doing what?"

"Changing your shape to match my unconscious desires?"

"No. You prefer to see us as we really are," she said. "It's quite charming actually."

They reached an archway that led to one of the meeting foyers outside the tertiary Underhall lecture theatre. Two of The Scrote's succubi stood by the entrance, resplendent in their tight black uniforms and long pink flumes.

"Do you know them?" Phil asked.

"No", Nÿte answered with an amused smile. "The Dominion of Lust contains many succubi."

"Oh, I thought you might," Phil said. "Rosa said you were at the Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures for a while."

"She did?"

"Um yeah." Phil flinched, afraid he'd inadvertently brought up a subject Nÿte didn't like to talk about.

Nÿte smiled and gave a little laugh.

About thirty or so students milled around in the waiting area outside the lecture theatre. Phil again felt the country bumpkin in his tatty black robes. It was still early on in the course and many of the students hadn't had a chance to get to know their fellows. They stood awkwardly alone or in groups of two or three. Phil was in the same boat; the only student he'd spoken to hadn't survived the first lecture.

There was one exception. There was a group of six students, all male, that stood out. They seemed confident and spoke to each other as if they'd been friends for a long time. Phil was surprised when they noticed him and headed over to talk.

"Your succubus is looking very intimidating today," A man in a sharp suit and spectacles said. He appeared to be the leader of the little group. "I'm Evan Darvill." Darvill was tall, athletically built and had short black hair. Despite the esoteric nature of its studies, there was no real dress code at Wargsnouts. Phil had his singed robes; Darvill wore a smart preppy suit that looked more suited to the trading floor of a stock exchange.

"Phil Rowling," Phil said, shaking the other man's hand. He had a predictably firm grip. "This is Nÿte."

The other students looked so surprised Phil wondered if he'd committed some kind of social blunder.

"Warlocks don't usually introduce their daemons," Darvill said with an amused smile.

His daemon was perched on his shoulder like a monkey. It was one of the oddest daemons Phil had ever seen. It had the same general build as a monkey, but with twelve, maybe fourteen, spindly arms, each terminating in long grasping fingers. Its eyes were huge and its head so full of them there seemed little room for anything else. Each eye was looking in a different direction, as though the creature was trying to observe everything at once. It was disconcerting watching its red pupils spin round and round as it hopped from one shoulder to another.

"This is John Brennan," Darvill said, motioning to a ginger-haired man in a white lab coat. "His family have worked in the Underlabs for generations. He's a tech-head. If you need your laptop fixed or your console chipped, John's your man."

"We believe it's time to move on from the Dark Ages." Brennan gave Phil's tatty old robes a contemptuous glance. "Magic and 21st century technology don't have to be mutually exclusive."

The daemon floating above Brennan didn't seem to share his hi-tech ideals. It looked to Phil like several metal plates, like old-fashioned armour, sliding over and around each other in a ball. It was hard to focus on, as if the rotating plates were moving through more planes than the usual three.

"Where's the other one?" Brennan asked. "The one with the long green hair?"

"She's...um...occupied," Phil said.

One of the group, a tall fat man, smirked.

"This big fellow is Herbie Higgins."

"Howdy," the fat man said.

Higgins was a big man in all dimensions. He was tall and rounded out like a rugby player or wrestler, albeit one that had neglected their gym sessions for a while. He was munching on a sandwich. Every so often he'd break a chunk off and feed it to the daemon sitting on his left shoulder. The daemon was a squat cone of pink flesh, featureless apart from a mouth filled with square white teeth.

"The sharply dressed man here is Gary Dever."

Dever looked like a cheaper knock-off of Darvill. He also had spectacles, short black hair and a suit, but he fell some way short of being Darvill's twin. His frame was skinny rather than athletic; his face pinched rather than handsome; his posture stooped and angular rather than confident; his suit obviously cheaper and not as well-tailored as Darvill's.

His daemon stood next to him. It was about as tall as a child and wore a patchwork suit of what Phil hoped wasn't tanned human skin. Its mask also looked suspiciously like a flayed human face stretched over an ornate gold frame. Bright green eyes glowed through the eyeholes.

"How did you end up with two?" Dever asked, looking at Nÿte.

"It's unusual for students of our level to have more than one daemon," Darvill elaborated.

"I don't know," Phil said. "They sort of came as a pair."

Or rather a set. He wondered how they'd react if they realised Nÿte wasn't Rosa, or found out about Cέrμləa and Nurse Honey back at the castle.

"Succubi are supposedly one of the most dangerous daemons men of our age can summon. We're too easily distracted," Brennan said.

Nÿte's lips turned up in a smile.

"I never saw the attraction," Darvill said. "If you have power, money and women will follow. Each to their own." He shrugged.

"Succubi are crap daemons," a short man with spiky hair and a fierce face covered in piercings said. His daemon stood next to him—a squat, even fiercer-looking goblin thing with tusks and more teeth than the Osmond family. "They can't fight. Their magic isn't very powerful. I can't see why anyone would bother summoning them."

Nÿte raised an eyebrow.

Phil shut his eyes, waited for bad things to happen. He was surprised when they didn't.

Brennan shared a glance with Higgins. "I can," he said. Both looked at the short man and resisted the urge to break out in laughter.

"You'll have to forgive our exuberant friend," Darvill said. "Joey Chalk here is a Natural Attuned. He also has anger management issues."

Chalk glanced from face to face as if paranoid they were taking the piss. Phil thought he looked younger than the others, but he couldn't really place his age. Natural Attuned?

"Lastly we have Jack Stone..."

The last member was also short. He was dressed in urban streetwear—baggy hooded top and low-riding jeans with ripped knees. He slouched with his hands hidden in his pockets and his eyes hidden behind a long fringe of brown hair. His daemon was an indistinct squat thing with long hair. It looked like an ambulatory hairball, or maybe a squashed wookie in need of a haircut.

"...but I wouldn't count on getting much out of him until he's had his second coffee."

Stone grunted something unintelligible that might have been a greeting.

"I'd introduce you to Jake, but I gather you already know him, or rather, knew him."

That caught Phil off guard.

"You knew Jake?"

Jake Pulman had been Phil's roommate, but he'd never talked about Darvill and the others.

"He was going to complete our circle. If you look around our group you'll see our daemons each represent a different Circle of Sin. All warlock groups, right up to the Shadow Congress, follow this pattern."

They did?

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

"It helps to know John," Darvill said. "The Brennan's are a Favoured Family. They've been working in the Underlabs of Wargsnouts for generations. Hey, how many relatives do you have working down there?" he asked Brennan.

"Father, mother, sister, grandfather..." Brennan counted them off on his fingers. "...uncle, aunt, other uncle, three cousins... I have a large family," he said with an impish smile. "Most warlock families are. They have to be to counteract the high rate of attrition from working with daemons. Both of my twin brothers were eaten by a mnemmorracx a couple of years back."

"Sorry to hear that," Phil said.

Brennan shrugged. "They were stupid and didn't know what they were doing."

Just like me and Jake, Phil thought.

"Jake was going to be our representative from the Circle of Lust, but that didn't go so well. Eric was killed by his succubus in the first lecture. You're the only one here with a lust daemon."

Sounds of activity came from the other side of the hall. The doors to the lecture theatre swung open.

"What's the lecture today?" Stone asked sleepily.

"Obedience training," Brennan said. "I have a little surprise for everyone." His smile was cryptic as he walked away to the lecture hall.

Darvill put a hand on Phil's shoulder. His eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "Think about it," he said and then turned to follow the others.

Phil was left with Nÿte.

"Mmm, obedience training. I like the sound of that," she whispered in his ear.

She took his hand and they entered the lecture theatre. As with the first lecture, Phil took an anonymous seat up on the back row. Darvill and the others took seats right down at the front. Brennan made sure he was right near the end of the row. Phil wondered what his 'surprise' was.

The Scrote walked in from a side entrance. He was followed by a short man with a head covered in uneven clumps of wispy white hair. The man had spectacles, no neck and a face that reminded Phil of a mole.

"Welcome, students," The Scrote said. "All of you have successfully summoned and bound your first daemon. This accelerated course will teach you how to forge that binding into an unbreakable chain of control. You wouldn't be taught this in the main college for another two years, but as you've already progressed to completing your first summoning there's no sense in wasting your time with trivialities. This is the fast track. You are the elite students and here we will prepare you for a life of power." 

The Scrote motioned to the wispy-haired man behind him.

"Now Mr Lutwidge, if you'd please."

The Scrote stepped away from the lectern and stood with his succubi on the side of the stage.

"Now, as we know, daemons are wilful, capricious creatures," the short man, Mr Lutwidge, started. He spoke in a haltering manner and had a phlegmy voice. "One of the hardest tasks facing a beginning warlock is keeping control over his daemon. If left to their own devices, daemons have an unfortunate tendency to main or kill members of the general public. This can lead to the trainee warlock having to face some very awkward questions from the regular authorities.

"Of course, later on it might be in your interests to allow or even encourage your daemon to feed on or kill certain civilians. What is the point of power if not wielded. Harrumpth."

Phil suspected that was a joke. He hoped it was a joke.

"We will, of course, teach you how to cover your tracks, hide the bodies and obfuscate the investigations of the regular authorities. For now, however, the key aim is discipline. It is important to know how to curb your daemon's appetites and discourage them from carrying out uncontrolled killing sprees. This lecture we will begin the long and fraught process of—"

"No," Brennan interrupted.

Lutwidge paused and stared over the top of his spectacles.

"We don't need to. Not anymore. Technology marches on, old man."

Brennan stood up and left his row to walk up to the lectern.

"If you'll allow me," he said.

Lutwidge looked over to The Scrote for guidance. Amused, the Head of Daemonological Studies nodded. Grumbling, Lutwidge stepped aside and let Brennan take his place.

"In the past the process of strengthening the bond between warlock and daemon was long and difficult," Brennan told the audience. "Not anymore. Now we have this."

He held up what looked like a simple black leather collar.

"This is a Collar of Daemonic Compliance. It's a new device I've been working on in the Underlabs. It detects when a daemon is about to disobey an order or endanger the life of a human, and administers a strong shock to dissuade the daemon from pursuing that course of action. In my research I've found it effective on all daemons from feculoid imps to taurenoxes."

Phil had never seen one, but he remembered Jake telling him taurenoxes were badass.

"Rather than take me at my word," Brennan continued, "how about I give you a demonstration. Any objections, Mr Lutwidge?"

"This is all very irregular," Lutwidge grumbled. "What kind of demonstration did you have in mind?"

Brennan looked up at the audience. His gaze alighted on Nÿte. He smiled.

"Mr Rowling, could I borrow your succubus for a moment?"

* * * *

Brennan was a little disappointed Rowling hadn't come with the succubus with the long green hair. Given the choice, he'd have rather carried out this little stunt with her. The other succubus was perfectly adequate, though.

How Rowling had ended up with the both of them was a complete mystery. He clearly didn't know what he was doing.

Look at him now. Did he really just ask his succubus if she was okay with this?

Clueless. Totally clueless.

The succubus stood up and walked down the steps to the front. Her costume was an intimidating mix of black leather, metal studs and skull motifs that left very little to the imagination. There was a strange air to her—she looked like a trashy biker chick, yet walked with the confidence and elegance of a queen. Male students slid to the ends of their rows to get a closer look as she walked down the steps. She was hot hot hot.

But not as hot as the one with green hair.

That didn't stop his heartbeat quickening as she approached him with a sultry smile on her bee-stung lips.

"You don't object to playing with me for a little while?" Brennan gave her his most charming smile.

"I would love to play with you," the succubus purred.

A throb of pleasurable anticipation pulsed through Brennan's genitals.

Lutwidge cleared his throat. "You wouldn't be thinking of..."

"Of course," Brennan said. "It will make a perfect demonstration."

Lutwidge harrumphed. He glanced over to The Scrote, seeking and getting a nod from the other man. He turned and addressed the audience.

"As you all know, succubi are daemons from the Circle of Lust. They specialise in certain...harrumph...adult activities."

Some of the students giggled.

"I'd like anyone under the age of eighteen to please leave the auditorium."

No one moved.

"You're all eighteen or older?"

No one admitted to being younger.

"Very well, you may proceed, Mr Brennan," he said.

"This is most unorthodox," he whispered to Brennan. "Most unorthodox indeed." He walked away shaking his head and muttering into his whiskers.

Unorthodox, but most enjoyable, Brennan thought. Succubi as daemons didn't interest him that much, but he was curious to find out if sex with one was as good as the lore reputed it to be.

"What kind of fun did you have in mind?" the succubus asked. Her voice was molten seduction.

"I thought we'd go straight to the fucky fucky," Brennan said. "I assume you don't mind an audience."

The succubus looked up at the students, most of whom were perched on the edge of their seats.

"Not at all," she said. "I like putting on a show."

"Put this on first," Brennan said. He passed her the black collar.

Mustn't forget that, he thought. For all her seductive appeal she was still a literal man-eater.

"Kinky," the succubus said.

She took off her spiked collar and replaced it with the one Brennan had handed her.

"Ooh! It tingles every time I think about doing something naughty," she said.

Brennan smiled. It was going to do more than tingle in a moment.

"As you all know," he said to the audience. "A succubus is a daemon of Lust. She feeds off sexual intercourse and can use it to drain life, will and eventually the soul of her victim. Under normal circumstances it would be extremely hazardous, probably fatal, for someone like me, who isn't her master, to have sex with her. But while wearing the Collar of Daemonic Compliance it's impossible for her to do anything to hurt me. I'll prove this by having sexual intercourse with her right here and now."




Succubus Summoning 203



He winked at the audience.

"In the interests of science, of course."

Some of the audience laughed. Lutwidge continued to mutter into his whiskers.

"Shall we begin?" Brennan asked the succubus.

She smiled and loosened the front of her corset, letting her tits—large, pale and topped with pointed pink nipples—bounce free. She reached down and unzipped her crotch, revealing the secret folds of her sex.

Brennan's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. It was involuntary. Fuck, she really was a wet dream in flesh. His cacodulloughon was superior, of course, but he could see the appeal in summoning a daemon like this. Rowling was one lucky bastard to be getting this every night.

He even had the green-haired one as well!

Brennan took off his lab coat and dropped his trousers. He tried to get on top of his excitement as his heart boomed in his chest. This was his big moment, his chance to demonstrate his brilliance. The Collar of Daemonic Compliance was going to revolutionise warlockry. He was going to be more famous than his illustrious great-grandfather.

He stared at the succubus. What. A. Body.

He wondered what Rowling made of this. The succubus was just his daemon rather than his girlfriend, but it must be odd watching another man fuck her.

Tough titty. Brennan had the genius prerogative. He took a step forwards.

It was a tough job, but someone had to fuck the sex-bomb succubus.

The succubus held up a hand.

"Wouldn't you rather we did it on something more comfortable than these hard floorboards," she said.

Her other hand went down to her crotch, almost like she was patting her pussy in reverse.

"Volup Torupulum nidafacii Umbrassix," she incanted.

She lifted her hand away from her pussy. It looked like she was pulling an invisible chain out of her velvet depths.

He heard a soft noise behind him and turned around to see a black shape, dark like clotted shadow, well up from the floorboards like a fleshy fungus. It unfurled and expanded like an inflatable, finishing up as a large, comfortable-looking cushion.

Neat, Brennan thought as it bumped up against the back of his ankles.

He turned to find the succubus right in his face.

Whoa, fast, he thought.

She gave him a sultry smile and prodded him in the centre of his chest with her index finger. Brennan overbalanced and fell backwards onto the cushion. It felt squishily organic, but was also soft and pleasantly comfortable to lie on.

The succubus was already astride him. Her seductive smile had taken on an edge of feral lust.

Very fast.

It was okay. The collar would cut in and protect him the moment she attempted to harm him.

She reached between his legs and grabbed his balls. A dark field pulsed around her hand. He jolted as a warm feeling enveloped his testicles. He let out a gasp as she lightly pumped him and the pleasurable feeling expanded to encompass his entire crotch.

"Making sure you're fully juiced up." The succubus gave him a smile that was pure filth. "We can't have you running out halfway through your demonstration."

He shuddered as she gave his balls another light squeeze. They didn't look noticeably different, but they felt so tight and fully laden he would have sworn his testicles had swelled up to the size of tennis balls. The succubus's empty black eyes shone with lust. A long-nailed finger crept down his perineum and tickled his anus. A slender snake of dark energy slithered up his ass and sank fangs into his prostate. He writhed in blissful torment as he felt the gland twitch and vibrate inside him.

Oh.

Succubi were a lot more dangerous than he'd given them credit for. He'd allowed her near his sexual organs for a few brief moments and that had been enough to put him—literally—in the palm of her hand. He was thankful he'd made sure she'd put the collar on before indulging his curiosity.

He moaned out loud as she gave his throbbing balls a third pump. A wave of dark, lascivious energy flowed into him. His testicles churned and boiled.

"Mmm, nice and juicy," the succubus said.

Brennan squirmed on top of the cushion. It felt like he had a pair of swollen grapefruits between his legs.

"Too tight?" The succubus ran a teasing finger up the side of his hard and twitching erection. "I know how to relieve that tension."

She straddled him and wrapped a hand around his eager hard-on. The fleshy lips of her vagina gaped open above him. He could see right inside, saw the fleshy pink interior glistening with her arousal. So sexy, and yet it uncomfortably put him in mind of a mouth, open and salivating.

"I'll go on top, shall I?" the succubus said.

"I prefer doggy—"

His preferences didn't come into it as she smoothly sat down and guided his erection up into the silken depths of her pussy. He entered easily enough, his passage aided by the slippery juices coating the inside of her vagina. Then she clenched and the soft walls pressed in, pleasantly squeezing his cock. A languid undulation pulsed through her vagina, gathering up sparks of pleasure and dragging them up his shaft. The pulse reached his glans and became a long, drawn-out suck.

Brennan erupted.

He writhed and squirmed beneath her on the black cushion. Pulse after pulse of semen flooded out into the irresistible fleshy suction of her sex.

They weren't exaggerating about succubi. Experiencing one firsthand he understood why some warlocks chose to make them their daemon of choice. That was some ejaculation. A few moments ago his balls had felt as swollen as if he'd gone without sex or masturbation for a month. Now they felt empty, completely depleted.

"I thought it would aid your demonstration if we skipped a lot of the in-and-outing and got straight to it," the succubus said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Uh," was the best Brennan could manage. His chest rose and fell as he took heavy breaths and tried to get his scrambled nerves back under control.

The succubus shifted position, milking the last weak spurts of ejaculate from his cock with tender pulses of her fleshy pussy. Brennan noted his cock was still hard and showed no inclination of going down.

"This collar," the succubus asked, "what exactly does it do?"

Brennan was only too happy to explain. "When a daemon acts with hostile intent there's a clear and detectable spike in their aura just beforehand. The collar detects this and administers a strong mystic shock to prevent the daemon from hurting their victim."

"Hurting?" the succubus queried.

She shifted position in his lap again and his eyelids fluttered as he felt the silky-soft walls of her vagina rub against his engorged member. He sucked in his cheeks.

"Endangering," he clarified.

The succubus smiled and nodded her head.

"Clever boy. Countless warlocks have discovered to their cost that a succubus never hurts her prey."

Of course. Brennan was a genius after all. No daemon was going to loophole his soul away.

"Let's try it out." There was a smile of amusement on the succubus's lips.

That smile wouldn't last long once the shocks kicked in, Brennan thought.

"That large load of cum you ejaculated into my pussy—very tasty, by the way, thanks—should have established a good connection. I think we'll start with a gentle little energy drain."

The fleshy walls of her pussy squeezed around his erection. They felt soft and malleable as they enfolded him. It felt like his penis had been embedded in warm dough. He felt gentle tugs and then an odd tickling sensation as if something was flowing out of his cock to be absorbed by her smothering sex. It wasn't painful. Far from it.

"Ooo," the succubus said, pursing her luscious black lips. "It's tingling." She pointed to the collar.

So was Brennan's cock. Bliss settled through his body as the soft flesh of the succubus's pussy lapped at him with gentle undulations.

"I wonder what happens if I start to take more," the succubus said, her black eyes gleaming.

She ground her hips against his. Not riding him yet, but moving enough for the friction to bring his cock back to full arousal. Tickling ripples flowed through her vagina, teasing his cock. From deep within her, a cushioned ring descended to suck on the tip of his penis, gentle like a kiss. The pleasant trickling sensation grew stronger as more of his energy flowed out of him.

No need to panic, he thought. The collar would stop her from taking too much. He lay back and enjoyed the sensations.

"Oh!" The succubus squirmed in his lap. "It shocked me," she said, smiling in surprise.

So had her squirming. Bolts of pleasure flashed through him as her motions rubbed the soft walls of her sex against his. It hadn't been far off from triggering another climax.

"Let's see what happens when I really start to slurp up your delicious energy," the succubus said and Brennan wondered if she was doing her own experimenting on him and the collar. "Don't worry. This won't hurt at all. On the contrary, it's going to make you orgasm...again."

She rocked her hips back and forth on top of him with smooth thrusts. Her breathing quickened and came out harder. She clutched and squeezed the gorgeous mounds of her breasts. Lewd squelching noises came from her pussy as his cock moved in and out. A gasp of pleasure slipped from his lips as the succubus rode him with easy grace.

Okay, yeah. She was right. Fuck.

Brennan's hips jerked. He was coming...again. The succubus pressed her hips down on him, drawing his erection all the way up inside her. Her moist pussy squeezed tightly around him. Brennan squirmed and writhed helplessly in the grip of another orgasm. Those liquid sounds grew louder and lewder. It really did sound like she was slurping him up, and not just his semen. A pleasurable numbness settled into his crotch and started to spread up into his abdomen.

"Yow!" the succubus yelped. She writhed on top of him like a scalded cat.

The pleasant slurping sensation paused, but only for a moment. The flow started up again, as strong as before. Brennan heard an audible crackle as the collar shocked her again. She yelped and quivered on top of him. Then she burst out in a fit of giggles.

Brennan hadn't expected that.

"What a wonderful toy," the succubus said. Her pale cheeks flushed red.

The collar crackled again. This time Brennan saw a bright blue spark flash forth and burn an ugly red welt into the flawless white skin of her neck.

The succubus mewled and squirmed on top of him. A hot rush of fluids bubbled out of her pussy and drenched his crotch. His cock was right in the flow and responded by jumping back to full hardness. Blood surged into his penis, swelling it to strain right at the limits of his maximum erection.

The succubus folded her body on top of Brennan. The soft swell of her large boobs rested on his chest. She continued to move her hips up and down with short little bobs. Wet folds of flesh enfolded his manhood and sucked.

Her soft lips brushed against his ear.

"There's something I should have told you," she whispered. "I'm a dreadful masochist. I adore pain."

Brennan's heart skipped a beat.

No, it didn't change anything. No matter how high her tolerance to pain was, the shocks would still become too much.

That pain tolerance was freakishly high. Each crackle of the collar set her body writhing, yet provoked only oohs of pleasure from the succubus. Wow, she hadn't been exaggerating about that masochist thing. He could feel the heat of the collar from here and that acrid tang tickling at his nostrils was the smell of her flesh burning.

It would stop her.

"Mmm, slurp slurp," she whispered in his ear.

That's exactly what her vagina continued to do to him. The soft walls squeezed his cock with gentle contractions. The fleshy cushion at the end enfolded his glans and inhaled.

Brennan's hips twitched as another orgasm—and more!—was sucked from him.

So this was how a succubus killed her prey. A numbness like being wrapped up in soft wool was spreading out from his groin. He felt light-headed and pleasantly dizzy, as if his mind was floating away on a perfumed cloud. Hard to believe that something that felt so good was actually killing him.

Well, not killing him really. The collar would stop her from going that far.

The succubus whispered in his ear again, audible only to him. "I don't think your toy has enough juice. You're right on the cusp of your last orgasm. I'm going to make you come again and this time you won't stop until I've drained you completely. And this trinket is nowhere near the level of power needed to stop me." She ran a tongue along the lobe of his ear. It was hot, boiling.

Brennan's eyes widened. No. It wasn't possible. He'd tested it on everything.

The succubus sat up and her wings unfurled behind her. She rode him with easy grace—on top and in complete command. The collar crackled and sent out blue sparks. White smoke and the acrid stench of charred flesh filled the air. It didn't stop the succubus as she brought her hips up and down.

"Mmm, yes. Close now."

No no. Hold on. He had to hold on.

He squirmed and writhed beneath her. He knew he needed to throw her off him, but it was taking all of his focus just to resist the urge to come, and he didn't think he'd be able to hold that back for long. He felt like he was being dragged to the edge of a yawning black abyss.

The succubus moaned in pleasure. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted up at the ceiling. Her wings were fully outstretched now, a canvas painted in midnight.

Fuck. Hold on! The pain would become too much. All he had to was maintain focus and hold on until—

The succubus gave a loud orgasmic cry and plunged down on Brennan. Her vagina seemed to melt around him. The swollen head of his cock pushed up into that soft cushion of flesh deep within her. It enveloped the whole of his head and part of the shaft beneath. He felt it contract around him like a fleshy pump taking a final mighty suck.

And that was it for holding on.

A final gasp escaped his mouth. His body flexed and he jetted semen—and everything else—inside her. This time the flow would not be checked. Lost to pleasure, he writhed and squirmed beneath her as he emptied his life into her. The comfortable numbness travelled up his body and enfolded his brain. His consciousness melted away until only the mindless bliss of rutting remained.

Sighing in triumph, Nÿte fell across him and wrapped him up in her midnight wings. Enfolded in darkness, Brennan slipped away until he was one with it.

* * * *

Phil was surprised by Brennan's request and even more surprised when he saw what the other student planned to do with her.

Was he crazy? Didn't he realise how dangerous Nÿte was? Phil had seen her reduce a man to ash with a single kiss.

What happened next went pretty much as Phil expected. Nÿte pushed Brennan down on the bed she'd created and started to fuck him. The collar worked...to some extent. It threw out blue sparks and shocked her. This didn't discourage Nÿte at all. If anything, she relished the shocks and mewled with delight even as thick white clouds of smoke filled the stage and the stench of burnt meat reached Phil up on the back row.

Underneath her, Brennan's moans of pleasure grew less and less restrained until Nÿte gave a loud cry of release and fell upon him. Her black wings drifted over both of them like a funeral shroud. The sounds of mutual climax faded away to be replaced by crackles from the collar and a burbling, disconcertingly wet sound that reminded Phil of the last dregs of an ice cream sundae being sucked up through a straw. Then silence.

"Oh dear. Oh dear." Lutwidge stepped back onto the stage and attempted to wave away the thick white clouds.

Nÿte sat up. Her pale cheeks were flushed red and she wore an expression of satisfaction. She looked down and put a finger to insouciant lips. "Oh dear. Was this supposed to happen?"

"Dearie me. Dearie me," Lutwidge said, still waving his arms around to clear the smoke. "Can someone please call for the nurse."

The smoke cleared and Brennan's body came into view. Phil doubted calling for a nurse would do much good, not unless they were well versed in the necromantic arts. Brennan's corpse was withered and shrivelled up, as if it had been lying there undisturbed for decades.

Brennan's daemon, the weird ball of sliding armour plates, floated towards Nÿte. Phil thought it might attack her in retaliation for what she'd done to Brennan. Not that it seemed to concern the succubus. She even blew it a kiss that shimmered through the air like a glittering star. The daemon didn't rise to her provocation. Instead it span on the spot, the plates folding in on themselves and shrinking until it winked out of existence with a small flash of light.

Nÿte stood up, zipped up her crotch, pulled her corset top back up over her voluminous breasts and stepped off the stage. Behind her the artificial black cushion deflated and melted into a black ooze that dribbled away between the floorboards. Calmly, the succubus walked back up the stairs with the same aloof elegance she'd descended with. This time the boys scooted away from the ends of the rows as she walked past.

While Lutwidge busied himself with the withered body The Scrote walked back onto the stage.

"Well, well," he said. "That was unfortunate, but as Mr Brennan has sadly demonstrated, there are no quick fixes or magic shortcuts when it comes to learning how to control daemons. It takes effort, application and discipline—skills Mr Lutwidge and I will teach you over the coming months."

Nÿte reached the back row. Phil saw the collar had left a black scorch mark about an inch thick around her pale neck. Spidery red welts—burns from the sparking collar—ran like cracks from the base of her jaw to the top of her chest. Nÿte didn't seem bothered by them. Her black eyes gleamed and a broad smile was on her lips. Right before Phil's eyes the red lines and ugly black scorch marks faded away until Nÿte's pale skin returned to its previously unblemished state.

She sat down next to him. She nudged him and passed him an object. Phil looked down and saw it was the black leather collar.

"For later," she said with a suggestive wink.

to be continued...



Succubus Summoning 204



After the debacle in the lecture theatre, where the whole class had watched while Phil's succubus sucked the life out of another student, Phil was not entirely surprised to receive a summons to The Scrote's office. Accompanied by Verdé, he walked along twisted corridors in the north tower until he arrived at a small antechamber before the leather-padded door that led to The Scrote's office. The skinny girl with droopy blonde hair was sitting on a bench outside the door and looked thoroughly miserable.

"You in the doghouse too?" Phil asked.

The girl nodded.

"Mr Buggeritall pooped in his hands and threw it at Ms Saunders, the cook," she said.

An ugly squat form jumped up and perched on the shoulder of the blonde girl.

"Bitch had it coming, toots," the imp said.

Mr Buggeritall looked like a cartoon demonic imp. He was about a foot high, dark brown in colour and had no neck. He stood on short and stumpy legs. In contrast his arms were long and simian in proportion, and also heavily muscled in comparison to the rest of him. He had a stubby pair of black horns and two equally stubby tusks jutted out of the corners of a wide mouth. The imp gave off an unpleasant vibe—like being trapped at a bar by a fat man with a questionable sense of humour.

"If people give you shit, you give 'em shit right back," Mr Buggeritall said, jerking a thumb back to his puffed out chest.

The imp noticed Verdé standing at Phil's side. His smile widened to a leer. A hand reached down to stroke a cock that was definitely not in proportion to the imp's small stature.

"Well if it isn't the boy who came, and came, and came," the imp said. "Not that I blame you." The imp gave Phil a lascivious wink. "I'd be filling her up with my man juice every night too if I had the opportunity."

"Don't be gross," the girl said.

She flipped the imp off her shoulder and it bounced first on its ass and then on its head as it skidded across the stone floor. Completely unconcerned, the imp got up, grunted, brushed itself off and then walked back to the girl. It climbed right back up the girl's body until it had found a perch on top of her head. Then it let rip with a noisy fart that was powerful enough to blow the limp strands of the girl's hair.

The girl screwed her eyes shut and ground her teeth in embarrassment.

"Wasn't me," the imp protested.

"I'm sorry," the girl said to Phil. "I'm Adriana and this is Mr Buggeritall."

"Phil," Phil said. "This is Verdé."

Adriana shrank away from Verdé in fear before saying, "Oh, you're the other one, aren't you?"

"Yes," Verdé said, giving her a warm smile.

It eased Adriana's fears a little, although she was still reluctant to get too close to the succubus. This proved a source of much frustration to the imp perched on top of her head. Mr Buggeritall had his hands outstretched like pincers to grope at Verdé's breasts. Inevitably he overbalanced and fell to the floor with an "oof!"

Adriana shook her head.

"He's always like this," she said. She reached down and scooped him up off the floor before placing him back on her shoulder.

"Feculoid Imps can be most trying," Verdé said, sympathetic.

"How did you end up with him?" Phil asked. He found it hard to believe she'd summoned him voluntarily.

"I fell asleep in a meadow on a summer's day," Adriana said. "I had a strange dream and when I woke up he came back with me. He's been with me ever since."

"It's my magnetic sex appeal," the imp said. From somewhere, Phil had no idea where, Mr Buggeritall produced a fat stogie and started puffing away on it.

"Mr Garner said I'm Naturally Attuned," Adriana said. "He told me about warlocks and daemons and that I might learn how to control them here."

"Control me!" Mr Buggeritall spluttered. "You can't even control your hair. Look at it." He grabbed a fistful of limp hair the colour of straw. "No life at all. It's droopy. Just like you, toots. The boys are never going to look at you."

Adriana ground her teeth. She picked him up again and threw him across the room like an ugly doll. She sat slumped on the bench with her long hair drifting in front of her face.

"People choose to summon these things," she said. "I still don't believe it."

Verdé got up and sat on the other side of Adriana. She ran a hand through the other girl's limp blonde hair.

"There there," she comforted. "Feculoid imps are disgusting uncouth little things. I imagine dealing with one on a daily basis would be most stressful."

Adriana's eyes glazed over as Verdé lightly caressed her cheek. The succubus moved closer. Her hands slid down to Adriana's shoulders and began to massage them.

"Not all daemons are like that," Verdé said, continuing to rub Adriana's shoulders. The other girl seemed to melt under her hands. "Some of us have more useful talents. We can make you feel relaxed."

Adriana seemed entranced. She gave a little shiver of pleasure as Verdé's hand moved across her front and brushed against her breast.

"Make you feel pleasant," Verdé whispered into Adriana's ear with sensual lips.

Verdé's hand slid lower. She turned Adriana's face towards her and pursed full lips in preparation for a kiss.

An ugly brown shape came between them.

"Get your skanky succubus claws off my Adriana."

Mr Buggeritall leant out from Adriana's shoulder and glared at Verdé. His heavy lower jaw was set like a bulldog's.

Verdé smiled and took her hands back. The imp continued to glare at her. Verdé met his stare and nodded, which seemed to mollify the other daemon.

The door to The Scrote's office opened.

"Ah, there you are, boy," The Scrote said. "Come here."

Phil and Verdé stood up. The succubus slipped an arm around Phil's waist and they both walked through the door.

The Scrote's office was dark and cluttered with all manner of exotica and lewd artefacts—pornography that had aged enough to pick up an aura of near respectability. A little like The Scrote, Phil thought. The Head of Daemonological studies sat behind a luxury wooden table. Behind him were various pictures on the wall of sexy daemonesses doing very...creative...things to human victims.

"I assume you know why you've been summoned here," The Scrote said.

"John Brennan?" Phil said.

The Scrote nodded. He looked at Verdé.

"It was the other one, not you?" he asked.

Verdé nodded.

"Where is she?"

"She's otherwise engaged," Verdé said. "She's very sorry about what happened."

The Scrote stared at Verdé from beneath his curtains of greasy black hair.

"It's customary to add 'and it won't happen again' at this point," he said.

"Is it?" Verdé said, an expression of complete innocence on her face.

She didn't add it.

The Scrote continued to stare at Verdé.

"There's something familiar about you," he said. "I feel I should know who you are but I can't put my finger on it."

"A past love maybe?" Verdé said. "We succubi pick up on subconscious desires and modify our appearance to match them."

Phil looked sideways at Verdé. Her face hadn't changed as far as he could tell.

"Where are you from?" The Scrote asked.

"The forty-fourth sub-plane near the base of the Spiral of Sinful Seductae," Verdé replied.

The Scrote frowned. "Haven't heard of it."

"It's a really out-of-the-way corner of hell," Verdé said, flashing him a schoolgirl smile. "Nothing much ever happens there."

The Scrote nodded, seemingly satisfied for now.

"Now about Brennan," The Scrote said. "Normally we disapprove of students allowing their daemons to kill their fellow classmates, but in this case the disciplinary committee recognises that it was Mr Brennan's rather reckless experiment that precipitated these unfortunate events. The school absolves you of any culpability and Mr Brennan's death has been ruled an accident."

The Scrote smiled at Phil, displaying his rotten teeth.

"Personally I'm inclined to regard it as suicide," he said. "A man messing with another man's succubus is clearly not looking to live very long. However, the rest of the committee decided that was a harsh ruling, especially as the Brennans have worked tirelessly for Wargsnouts over many generations. Accident it was, brought about by Mr Brennan's ill-advised experiment. The Brennan family have accepted the committee's judgment that you're not to blame. They will not seek reparations."

"So that's it?" Phil said.

On one hand he was very relieved he wasn't about to be punished for this. On the other he thought it more than a little scary that a daemon could kill a student right in front of everyone and there be no repercussions.

"Yes, that's all," The Scrote said. "Daemonology is a dangerous business. Accidents, even terminal ones, are to be expected."

The Scrote gave Verdé an ugly lustful leer. A normal woman would have looked away with a disgusted expression. Instead Verdé returned his greasy stare with a flirty smile. Succubi really didn't care, Phil thought.

"Succubi are capricious, promiscuous beings," The Scrote said to Phil. "They can be hard daemons to master, especially for a novice and especially when there's two of them."

Try five, Phil thought. And maybe more if you included Puff and Pfaffle.

"If you ever need my help, any tips and pointers, I'm always here." The Scrote leered at Verdé. "I'm never shy of taking a hands-on approach with my students."

Phil caught the lecturer looking at Verdé's breasts. He knew exactly what The Scrote wanted to put his hands on. The Head of Daemonological Studies was a walking personification of nails down a blackboard.

Phil was happy to leave his office and even happier—and surprised—to find out he wasn't in more trouble over this.

With the authorities at least...

He wasn't sure how Brennan's friends would take it. He was surprised when Darvill approached him in one of Wargsnouts little courtyards during a break.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Phil said.

He expected a torrent of abuse, suspected he probably deserved it.

Darvill simply shrugged. "It happens," he said. "It was a stupid stunt. John should have known better. You don't have anything to apologise for anyway. It wasn't your fault."

"That's what the school said," Phil said. "Seems a little, you know...blasé."

"That's how it is with daemons," Darvill said. "It's considered a good year if half of us are still alive come graduation."

His daemon sat on his shoulder and stared at Phil with five of its many eyes.

"Kind of chilling when you think about it," Phil said.

"The rewards are worth it," Darvill said. "And we have control. Better than out there," he said nodding to the world outside the walls of Wargsnouts. "I'll take those odds."

"What about John's family? Stine said they won't seek revenge, but they can't be okay with this."

Most of them worked here, according to Brennan. That was going to make Phil's studies a little awkward.

Although at least he was still able to study, which was more than could be said for poor John Brennan.

"Officially they accepted the ruling of the disciplinary committee," Darvill said.

"Unofficially?" That was the bit Phil was worried about.

"Unofficially, there were some members of the family that were less than happy with that judgment."

Darvill nodded his head towards the other side of the courtyard. Phil turned and saw a slender girl with ginger plaits and freckles.

"Ooh my, such an expression of hatred," Verdé commented.

"Your friend did turn her brother into a mummified corpse," Darvill said.

Phil wanted to tell her he was sorry, but the look of hate she gave him told him that wouldn't be a good idea. He couldn't meet the white-hot intensity of her stare and looked down at the stone square. The girl turned away and contemptuously walked off. 

"That's Emma Brennan, John's older sister," Darvill said. "She graduated near the top of her class last year and works in the Underlabs. Not a good person to have as an enemy."

He clasped Phil on the shoulder.

"Watch your back," he warned before walking away.

* * * *

So much for coming to Wargsnouts to make things easier, Phil thought later that evening as he stood under one of the communal showers for his block. The succubi felt just as out of control as before and now he'd managed to piss off one of the Favoured Families. He wondered who'd win the race to kill him first—Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān or Emma Brennan.

He fumbled for a towel to wipe the soap from his eyes. His hand came into contact with a long filament that was sticky to the touch.

Huh? What was—

He didn't get a chance to contemplate what it was before he was yanked upwards with a surprised yelp. His hand stuck to the long filament, he was winched up to a dark corner of the ceiling as if caught by an angler.

"Hello."

Phil found himself staring into a pale, pretty face framed with medium-length straight black hair. She wasn't human. The irises of her bright eyes were blood-red in colour. A daemon.

"Uh, hello?" Phil said back.

He noticed there were strange red bumps on her forehead. They looked like shiny red orbs, six in all. The big ones were located just below her temples. There was a another pair close together in the centre of her brow. The last pair looked out from the sides of her head.

Looked out seemed an apt description. Phil had thought they might be some form of jewellery, but they looked too organic...too moist. And they appeared to be looking at him.

Eyes, he thought with a greasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The daemon girl had three extra pairs of eyes and they were staring at him.

"I'm L'mactia," the daemon girl said. "We're going to have some fun together."

Phil heard a wet burbling sound, a little like thick cream spurting out of a nozzle, but filthier. A sticky substance spattered against his lower abdomen. Again he had little chance to think about what was happening as his sides were suddenly gripped by multiple limbs and he was spun on the spot while a sticky membrane was wrapped around him. Before he could even struggle his arms were pinned to his sides and his legs tied together.

He was released and dropped down onto what felt like a springy hammock made out of sticky white threads. The threads were everywhere. They formed a thick cobweb beneath one corner of the ceiling. Phil was trussed up in the same silk.

More than wrapped up, cocooned. Cocooned like a fly in the web of a...

Fuck.

The daemon was a spider, a gigantic spider. At least from the waist down. She was human up until then, but past her waist her body swelled out into the bulbous black abdomen of a giant orb web spider. She balanced on slender lines of silk, supported by eight spindly legs. Her upper half—the humanoid half—provided a vivid contrast. Extra eyes aside, she had the face and torso of a gothic beauty. Her skin was alabaster pale and the generous swells of her bobbing breasts were topped with pink, perky nipples. Her full lips were painted a glossy red so dark they were almost black. She looked like a stylish vamp from the old classic movies and her smile held the same promise of illicit pleasures.

Phil knew enough about daemons to know those pleasures would invariably be hazardous to his health. What she thought of as fun would be his fatal. He gathered his breath and prepared to spit out the emergency dismissal incantation.

Too slow. The spider daemon, L'mactia, was already leaning forward to press her lusciously full lips against his in a moist kiss. The spell that would have saved Phil's life was smothered in the pillowy softness of her lips. Her insectile limbs folded around his cocooned body and hugged him tight. He drowned in her kiss. It was like waves of thick, sinfully-sweet syrup flowing over and through him. It was as if those plush lips had expanded to envelop the whole of his body. With her kiss she stole both his breath and resistance.

Her kiss was poison. The moist liquid coating her lips seeped beneath his skin and brought with it creeping paralysis. She continued the kiss until Phil fell limp in her arms.

Only then did she break off the kiss and release him. She ran a black tongue around her sensual lips. Phil couldn't do the same. His were sealed with a sticky substance. So much for the emergency dismissal spell, or any other kind of spell for that matter.

"I couldn't let you send me away before we'd had our fun," L'mactia said. "This is better. Nice and quiet. No one will disturb us."

It wasn't all about incantations. Some spells could be cast with hand gestures. Unfortunately Phil hadn't learnt those yet. Even if he had, his hands were stuck to his sides. He couldn't move. He was fucked.

L'mactia glanced down to his crotch and licked her moist lips.

He could have picked a better word to use there, Phil thought, not liking the hungry look she gave his groin. He'd noticed she hadn't cocooned his cock. That part of his anatomy was free to swing, or in this case stick out perpendicularly from his body like an iron bar. Her venom didn't only have a paralysing effect.

Another succubus-type daemon. He was in real trouble.

"That was a nice kiss," L'mactia said. "Just enough to whet my appetite."

Phil was helpless as she tugged on the threads suspending his cocooned form and lifted him up into a shadowy corner. She turned around until her head was level with his cock.

She noticed the trembles running through his body and saw the fear in his eyes. "There's nothing to be afraid of," she said with sultry mischief in her red eyes. "I'm a spider. We don't bite. We suck."

Which was exactly what Phil was afraid of, but he couldn't do anything as L'mactia lowered her head, wrapped her lusciously soft lips around the head of his cock and drew his length up into her warm mouth. His trembles of fear became trembles of pleasure as her moist lips stroked up and down his straining erection. She murmured wet pleasures as she fellated him. Again it felt like waves of syrupy pleasure were flowing into him, and her sensual lips expanding to envelop every millimetre of his erection in warm softness. He heard sloppy wet sounds and felt creeping relaxation percolate down his shaft as her venom seeped through his skin.

L'mactia bobbed her head faster. She slurped harder and harder on his erection. She moved up his cock and concentrated her effort on his swollen glans. Using her tongue she slathered her aphrodisiac venom all over the head of his cock until his whole erection felt warm and tingly, and so hard he knew he wouldn't be coming down for hours. She used her fingers to fondle his balls and tickle along his perineum. Phil writhed and swayed within his silk cocoon, helpless and unable to prevent the pleasures she was inflicting on him.

A steady stream of pre-cum was oozing from the tip of his cock. L'mactia sucked it up as if it was sweet nectar. Phil thought she was going to take him all the way to orgasm, but she stopped, leaving Phil just short of climax. She tilted her head to look at him, a teasing smile on her glossy lips.

"You taste nice," she said.

She opened her mouth to reveal the glistening clear strands of his pre-cum. She rolled her tongue around, savouring the taste.

"I think I'll prepare some special silk for you," she said.

She reached behind her and patted her shiny black abdomen. It had begun to throb and pulsate in a way that was both loathsome and queerly arousing.

"I see you like the idea of that," L'mactia said. "Naughty boy."

She stepped over his body and moved up until her bloated black abdomen was resting lightly on her chest. It continued to throb and quiver. He heard that lewd liquid sound again, like something being squirted from a nozzle. It sounded thicker and more...obscene this time. A gooey, sticky substance rolled down the outside of his shaft and enveloped his whole erection. It felt like his cock had just plunged into a fluffy soft cushion. The sensation sent shudders of uncontrollable pleasure running through Phil's body. He jack-knifed against his bonds.




Succubus Summoning 204



"Oh yes, I knew you'd like it," L'mactia said.

L'mactia folded her eight legs around him, hugging him tight to her abdomen. She reached down, put her hands on either side of his head and rubbed his face into the folds of her pussy. His nose was filled with the musk of her sex.

Her abdomen contracted and he heard that licentious burbling sound again. More thick waves of gooey silk rolled down Phil's throbbing erection. He felt like his cock was sliding down a vagina lined with cushions of the finest silk. The orifice at the end of her abdomen continued to make the same lewd, squishy, squirting sounds as Phil's cock was buried in waves of creamy-soft silk.

Phil writhed within the cocoon, every muscle taut as her silken secretions stroked him remorselessly to the verge of climax. If his mouth wasn't sealed he'd have vented his pent-up breath in a gasp.

L'mactia rubbed her fingers through his hair as she pressed his face up against her sex. "You're holding out well," she said. "Not many men are able to withstand two squirts of my special silk."

Her legs wrapped tighter around him.

"None are able to withstand this."

The tip of her abdomen came down, opened up. L'mactia gave a little erotic grunt of pleasure as Phil's hard-on was drawn up into a warm, tight and quivering orifice. Moist walls of flesh contracted and throbbed around his cock. Her abdomen began to swell and Phil felt a powerful suction tug at his erection.

"Here it comes," L'mactia said. She let out her breath in a sensuous sigh.

Her abdomen did the same and Phil and thrashed as wave after wave of luxuriously soft silk was squirted over his embedded cock. It frothed up into soft pillows and her undulating walls squished them into his straining erection. Loops and strands of sticky filaments were spun around his penis and he jerked and bucked as they tugged him back and forth, setting off explosions of bliss as they rubbed and tugged against him. The orifice at the tip of her abdomen was a factory wrapping one irresistible pleasure after another around his trapped penis.

Phil felt his whole body tense up. He was coming and there was no way to stop it. L'mactia sensed it and clasped him tight to her body. She pressed his face into the wet folds of her sex. She released a loud sigh of pleasure. Sticky silk bubbled up out of the end of her abdomen and glued their bodies together. At the same time Phil felt an orgasm roll up from his toes, travelling up through his body before erupting out of his throbbing penis and into her smothering pillows of soft silk. He shuddered in her embrace as he released thick ropes of semen to mingle with her own sticky secretions. Her abdomen slowly throbbed, drawing out the ejaculation with undulating waves of stimulation. She sucked his seed up into her body.

"You are tasty," L'mactia said. "It's a pity I can't take you back to my larder and enjoy you at my leisure—our leisure—but those were not my instructions."

Phil heard ominous noises emanating from within her abdomen, as if obscene organic machinery was starting up.

"That was a nice appetiser. Now it's time for the full meal."

Her abdomen moved up and down. She squirted another soft pillow of gooey silk onto his crotch and this time it felt like his cock had been engulfed in concentrated depravity. He came again. This time it felt more like a controlled explosion. No, it was more than that. His ejaculation wasn't a single burst, but a constant steady stream. Her abdomen slowly swelled up and down, sucking his semen from him as if his cock was a straw, and the flow of fluids showed no sign of abating.

"I told you," L'mactia said with a seductive smile. "Spiders suck, and suck, and suck." She trailed off in a breathless whisper of pleasure.

Phil jerked within the cocoon as her black widow abdomen continued to pulse rhythmically, drawing semen from his body in an endless ejaculation. It triggered an overwhelming sense of euphoric pleasure in Phil even though he knew she was draining his life away.

He'd been with the succubi enough times to know what was happening. He recognised the feeling—like a tap had been wedged open. Her abdomen swelled up as she drank his fluids. Unlike the other succubi, the spider daemon was not his, there was nothing to stop her from sucking out all of him until nothing was left but a lifeless, soulless husk.

And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Water welled up at the corner of Phil's eye even as the pleasures of a bottomless orgasm coursed through his body.

L'mactia closed her eyes and shuddered orgasmically against him. Phil continued to twitch in time with the pulsing motions of her abdomen as she sucked and sucked. He felt parched. His lips were cracking. His skin was cracking. Within him, underneath the constant flow of bliss, he felt his internal organs start to shrivel.

L'mactia stopped. The orifice at the end of her abdomen released Phil's erection from its sticky clasp. The gooey cushion of silk stretched and then peeled off as she detached from him. Phil wondered if it even mattered. He felt dried up and shrivelled inside. And cold. So desperately cold.

The spider daemon moved backwards until her face was level with Phil's. Despite the flush of pleasure on her cheeks there was sadness in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I would rather your end was that final burst of ecstatic pleasure as I sucked up the last of your life. It is not my choice to make. My instructions were to drain enough to make death inevitable and then leave you to face the cold and lingering pain of your final moments alone."

She kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"Tis a cruel fate to inflict on a man, even for a spider."

She scuttled up into the dark corner and onto dimensions darker still. Deprived of the pleasures of her body, he could no longer ignore the nagging aches starting up all across his withered body. Or the cold, the biting empty cold. His vital functions were slowly shutting down all across his body. He was going to die here, wrapped up in this cocoon.

Funny. He'd always thought it would be one of the succubi.

The room began to darken around him.

to be continued... 



Succubus Summoning 205



Phil awoke to the smell of lavender and spring. Verdé's soft lips were pressed against his in a kiss. She exhaled and warm, fragrant air flowed back into him like a fresh spring breeze. He felt the embers of his spirit rekindle and spark back into life. Verdé looked down at him with her bright green eyes and smiled. Her long silky green hair flowed down over her shoulders.

"I don't think it's going to hold, Verdé."

Rosa leant against a wall, a frown on her cheerleader-cute face. Phil knew this room. He recognised the velvet canopy above him. The two succubi had taken him back to his room in the castle. Pink-tinged light poured in through the narrow window and the air was filled with fragrant perfumes and other musky scents.

"I think he's broken," Rosa continued. "It's only your energy keeping him going. His is all gone."

With a sinking feeling, Phil realised Rosa was right. The spark was already fading. The warmth from Verdé's kiss was leaking out of him, leaving behind cold grey ash.

"I can keep him alive until Cέrμləa brings Nurse Honey here," Verdé said.

"What can she do though?" Rosa said. "The warlock has reached his limit. Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān's rules are inviolable."

Phil heard clicking sounds, like iron spikes striking hard stone. They drew closer until the door was pushed open and Nÿte walked into the room. She was dressed in her usual dominatrix-wear—the tight black leather contrasting with her pale, almost white, skin. Her face was colder than Phil had ever seen it. Expressionless. A mask, perfect in its beauty, carved from ivory.

She looked at Phil, then from Verdé to Rosa. "Who did this?"

Phil detected no emotion in her voice, it was as flat and as expressionless as the mask of her face, and yet her words felt like ice condensing on the inside of his ears.

"An arachne, we think," Verdé said. "We found him hanging in a web cocoon in the showers of that silly school."

"Someone sent an arachne to kill a novice?"

Nÿte looked at Verdé then Rosa. Her face remained a perfect mask. No emotion escaped its finally drawn lines.

Apart from her eyes. They blazed like black holes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Rosa said. "Not very fair or sporting, is it."

"No, it isn't."

Phil ached all over. His hands and feet felt like they'd been welded to weights and he felt as cold as if he'd spent the night lying naked on frozen tundra. That was nothing compared to the coldness he saw in Nÿte's black eyes right then. It was the coldness of deep space, of universes collapsing into entropy, of lightless places that had never once felt a sun's caress.

Nÿte turned around and walked out of the room. Her heels clicked on the stone floor like coffin nails being driven into fresh wood.

"Hmm, I was going to have some fun with her later in the Nightshade suite," Verdé said. "I think I'll pass today."

"Sensible," Rosa agreed.

Verdé placed her soft lips against Phil's and blew more warm air into him. The warmth brought succour to his aching limbs, but he knew it was only a temporary relief. He felt like a sack of cold ash.

"I found her!" A high-pitched girlish voice came from the doorway as Cέrμləa, in her usual form of a young girl in a cornflower-blue dress, rushed in.

She took one look at Phil and her eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth.

If a daemon is shocked at how you look then that must mean you're really fucked up, Phil thought. He tried to speak and failed. His tongue felt like a piece of dried-up meat.

"Poor warlock," she said.

Nurse Honey walked in behind her, calm and collected in her latex fetish nurse's outfit.

"Tsk," she said on seeing Phil's emaciated form.

"Is there anything you can do?" Verdé asked.

Nurse Honey walked to the side of the bed. She placed one white-gloved hand on his chin and the other around his temples. She turned his head and peered intently into each eye. The bottom hand moved down and lightly stroked Phil's flaccid penis. There was no response. Not even a twitch. A gorgeous blonde was leaning over him, her large round breasts straining beneath tight white rubber, and he felt no arousal at all. He must be dead.

Nurse Honey tsked again. She leant over and wrapped her mouth over Phil's in a kiss. Unlike Verdé, she inhaled and for a brief moment Phil felt like every particle of his being was caught in the grip of some kind of irresistible attraction. Then she released him and he sank back on the bed.

Nurse Honey frowned. "The daemon has left him alive but beyond the reach of most restorative arts. It has been carried out with such precision it must have been a condition of the contract."

"So that's it, he's toast?" Rosa queried.

"I can't replenish him," Nurse Honey said. "He's already saturated with my energies. My body would simply absorb him."

Phil supposed he'd escaped that fate. L'mactia, the arachne, had got to him first and left him so empty his cock was stone-dead. No erection meant no sex and no sex meant Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān couldn't suck out his soul. Dying terrified him, but he knew it could be worse.

"Toast," Rosa said. "Shame. He was one of the better ones."

"There's only one thing I can do for him," Nurse Honey said.

She climbed up on the bed and her rubber nurse's outfit squeaked as she straddled him. Phil looked up at the underside of mountainous round peaks covered in clinging white latex and still didn't feel a single twitch. She couldn't do anything to him without sex, could she?

"There's no need to be afraid, little warlock," Nurse Honey said. "You don't have to die. I'll give you life everlasting...in my body."

The white rubber around her flat stomach started to ripple like waves on a lake. The flesh beneath started to liquefy. Still with the same beatific smile, Nurse Honey started to lower her heavy-breasted body down on him. Where her body touched his withered flesh he felt luxurious warmth and a strange sensation, as if he was sinking into her. It felt pleasant...until he heard the screams of the perpetually damned souls within her, welcoming another to their endless torment.

Phil's eyes widened. "No...no," he said weakly, trying ineffectually to push her off him with even weaker arms.

Nurse Honey closed her eyes and gave an orgasmic sigh as she lay on top of him and started to absorb him into her body. Wings that looked as though they'd been painted with glossy white latex unfurled from her back. Her soft breasts pressed against Phil's wasted chest and seemed to melt against him like fresh scoops of ice cream on a summer's day. He felt more warmth and that strange sinking sensation as she drew him up into her suddenly soft body. As comfortable as it felt, he knew the roiling pandemonium that awaited him beneath. He stared at the other succubi in fearful panic.

"No," Verdé said. She leant over Phil's head, her pretty face set.

"You'd rather leave him to die?" Nurse Honey said. She closed her eyes and her mouth formed an o of pleasure as more of her molten chest covered Phil.

"It's not about what I want," Verdé said. "It's what our warlock wants. Look at him. He doesn't want this."

"Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān," Cέrμləa said, her voice calm and authoritative beyond her girlish appearance. "We agreed. Verdé was his first. She has final say."

"Yes, forgive me, you are correct." Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān nodded. She smiled down at Phil. Her molten flesh drew back and reformed into her large, latex-covered breasts. Her wings folded back up and vanished into her back. She sat up and dismounted, releasing Phil from the sticky clutch of her body. Unfortunately she took the warmth away with her, leaving Phil feeling even colder than before.

"What will you do?" she asked. "He doesn't have long."

"I'll take him to my garden," Verdé said. "I'll claim him there, if he wishes. If he gets frightened by the prospect of death and changes his mind, I can give him to one of the plants. They'll keep his soul intact in perpetuity. His choice. As it should be."

"Nothing about this is as it should be," Cέrμləa said, again sounding far older and wise than her girlish appearance would suggest.

"That's the world for you," Rosa said. She span a ball of fire on her finger like a basketball. "Never pans out like it should. Another warlock will come along."

"I wanted to go to Earth," Cέrμləa said, pulling a young girl pout much more in keeping with her young girl appearance.

"You will," Rosa said. She put an arm around her and they walked out of the room.

"Your garden?" Nurse Honey asked.

Verdé nodded. A look passed between the two succubi and Nurse Honey gave a little nod to signify her comprehension.

Nurse Honey leant down close enough for her soft lips to brush against Phil's ear. He felt her warm breath. "Don't lose what you are," she whispered.

She blew lightly into Phil's ear and it felt like the warm air was diffusing all the way through his body. He felt like a crumpled up paper bag being inflated. Feeling returned to his extremities. A few of the ashes within him sparked back into life. They wouldn't burn for long, he knew, but he felt as though he'd taken a few steps back from Death's Door. It still loomed before him, but he was no longer at the point of toppling over the threshold.

Why?

Nurse Honey planted a moist kiss on Phil's cheek and then stepped back. Verdé scooped his emaciated form up off the bed and carried him to the window. In his present state he must weigh about as much as a dry bundle of sticks. She hopped up onto the ledge.

"Foolish girl," Nurse Honey said behind them as Verdé launched off into the swirling pink sky.

Phil felt scented wind rush through his hair as Verdé's wings carried them both over the castle grounds and then above the lush, verdant growth of her garden. Phil glanced down into a tangled riot of brilliant greens. Near the castle the plants formed an exotic, but seemingly well-tended garden. Further away and the ordered hedgerows and beds blurred into a knotted jungle as the grounds became wilder and darker, until they'd left the garden behind and were now flying over an ancient and wilder place.

"I haven't given up," Verdé said. Her face was cryptic, impossible to read. "I don't think you have either."

Phil wished his body had picked up the same memo.

Verdé flew over a primordial section of the forest. The foliage was so dense here it formed an impenetrable green carpet. Phil couldn't even see how far the lightless depths of the forest floor lay beneath them. The ground rose ahead of them. Phil couldn't tell whether he was looking at a mountain covered in trees or a section of forest so ancient the trees themselves had attained the form of living mountains.

Verdé descended right into the primeval heart of the forest. The canopy parted for her as if she was an irresistible gale. Once through the dense tangle of foliage her wings opened out behind her, slowing their descent until they landed gently on the forest floor.

This wasn't a garden, Phil thought, it was a jungle. Giant twisted trunks loomed over them. Untamed and unmanaged growth sprouted all around them in verdant profusion. Some of these trees looked as though they'd been around to witness the birth of creation. Despite the oppressive weight of countless centuries, the air was filled with a thick stew of fecund odours, as though the plants at heart were still as sprightly as spring saplings.

Verdé stood before a massive clump of tangled trunks thicker around then the width of a car. Phil watched in awe as thick dark wood parted with creaking sounds. Thick boughs that previously seemed as immovable as mountains untangled and pulled aside. Shafts of sunlight pierced the canopy beyond and revealed a clearing as silent and solemn as an empty cathedral.

What Phil saw took his breath away. In the centre of the clearing a gigantic white statue rose up out of the forest floor and towered up to the green canopy far above them. Verdé's wings unfurled and—still carrying Phil—she took to the air again. She spiralled up around the statue with languid flaps. 

Phil saw the statue was of a woman, naked if it hadn't been for the thick vegetation that crawled over the ancient stone like ivy. The verdant growth clothed the statue in a living dress, as if the forest extending as far as the eye could see in all directions was the train to a bridal gown worn by a god. 

They flew higher and Phil saw the vast hemispheres of exposed stone breasts. The statue stood with arms outstretched and palms turned upwards toward the sun. Phil was struck by how much the tranquil face of the statue resembled Verdé. Not her exactly, but maybe one of her ancestors. Did succubi have ancestors?

Verdé looped around the statue and then swooped down towards the space between the stone curves of the statue's naked breasts. Vegetation had climbed up the cleavage and grown outwards to form a natural throne positioned between the great stone breasts like a pendent. Verdé sat him in that seat. Then she straddled his lap and held him close for a long kiss.

Phil felt more embers flicker back to life within him. They would not burn long, but they would burn bright. Was that Verdé's plan, to claim him with one final moment of passion beneath the stone gaze of one of her hallowed ancestors?

Verdé broke off the kiss. Gracefully, she dived backwards and swooped back into the air with a few beats of her leathery wings. Phil watched as she landed on the outstretched palm of the statue's left hand. There she crouched, her head bowed, almost as though she was praying or making supplication to an ancient deity.

Phil was starting to get the unwelcome suspicion he'd been left here as an offering when the living chair beneath him suddenly unravelled. With nothing left to support him he plunged down into the stone channel of the statue's cleavage. The dizzying terror of his fall was quickly replaced with more sinister concerns as he realised his descent was being guided. Vines and creepers clutched at him, preventing him from falling too quickly. He fell flat onto a giant green leaf that folded around him like a hammock and broke his fall. The leaf sagged downwards and spilled him out onto another leaf below it. Beneath the living dress of the statue Phil tumbled from leaf to leaf until he was deposited in a long, curved blade that spiralled down like a chute.

Phil saw what waited for him at the bottom. It was a green-skinned girl with boobs the size of ripe watermelons. Long green ivy formed her hair and she sat on the rim of a bulbous green pot with a lurid pink interior.

One of Verdé's plant girls. With the last of his dwindling strength he scrabbled at the green chute, trying desperately to check his descent. The surface of the leaf was waxy smooth. Phil couldn't grasp hold of anything. He tumbled out of the chute and was deposited on another flat leaf that began to tilt downwards like a trapdoor.

The girl beneath him wasn't sitting on the rim of a pot, the bulbous structure was the lower half of her body. Some kind of pitcher plant hybrid, Phil realised, although the entrance to her pot was lined with a thick cushion of moist pink flesh. It contracted and dilated hungrily as Phil slid inexorably towards the waiting pit.

No Verdé, Phil thought. He knew what she intended for him now. Verdé's garden was filled with carnivorous plant girls. One had nearly captured him when he'd tried to escape the castle. Verdé's plants caught wayward souls...and held them for eternity.

That was no better than being left to Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān.

He dropped. One foot landed on the cushion of flesh lining the entrance to the pot, the other fell right inside. Phil felt a thick syrupy liquid squish between his toes.

Digestive juices? he thought with a chill.

He tried to tilt far enough he'd overbalance and tip over the edge. The plant girl was positioned right at the crotch of the statue. Phil doubted he'd survive the fall to the ground below, but death was probably preferable than what the plant girl had planned for him.

He didn't succeed. The girl already had her arms around him in an embrace. The entrance to her pot gaped wider and now his other foot was inside.

"Mmm, what piece of meat has fallen into Ûmūn Šag's lap?"

Phil's toes scrabbled against the walls of the pot. The lining was soft, spongy and dripping with slippery fluids. He sank deeper. His feet, ankles and then his calves were submerged in the warm, gloopy liquid pooled at the bottom of her pitcher. More fluids, sickly sweet-smelling, were exuded from the soft meat lining the walls and dribbled down to join the rising level of in the pot.

No!

Phil's panic found an extra reserve of energy. He clamped his hands against the rim of the pot. He was inside up to just above his waist, but with his arms braced was unlikely to fall further.

"Ooh, a live one," Ûmūn Šag said. "It's so rare they give me a live one."

The soft meat lining the entrance pressed around him as the maw contracted. The stretchy bag beneath him expanded as Ûmūn Šag tried to suck him all the way in. Phil gritted his teeth and held on even though his stick-thin arms trembled from the exertion. His feet kicked out inside her.

"And a wriggler," Ûmūn Šag said with an amused smile. "I know just how to deal with wrigglers."

The cushioned entrance closed around his waist. Phil's cock and crotch rubbed against moist pads of flesh as the pitcher plant girl turned and manipulated his body into a more comfortable position for her.

And him.

His jaw dropped open as an opening opened up in the plush lining and sucked his cock into a tight tunnel packed with soft undulating flesh.

"I fuck the fear right out of them."

Ûmūn Šag wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight enough for the round swells of her breasts to press against his naked chest. She controlled his movements with squeezes of her pot. His hips moved back and forth and his hardening cock plunged in and out of the dripping opening just beneath the lip of her pitcher. Every so often she would give his cock a teasing little squeeze, provoking another surge of blood to race to his crotch as his erection expanded.

A spell. It had saved him before.

Phil whispered the start, but was unable to finish as Ûmūn Šag grabbed the back of his head and smothered his words in a soft, sticky kiss. He tasted sugar—a sweetness like the ripest fruit from the finest orchard. Ûmūn Šag's throat moved and Phil's mouth was flooded with delectable nectar. It slid down his throat and spread a pleasant warmth that left Phil's muscles feeling all floppy and relaxed.

No, no. Fight it.

Ûmūn Šag pressed him up against her inner lining. His hard-on plunged deep inside her and she squeezed it with slow, gentle undulations. Phil would have come if L'mactia had left him anything within the dried-up remnants of his balls.

Ûmūn Šag broke off her nectar-filled kiss and looked at him with concern on her face. "Why meat, you're barely more than dried-up sticks. This will not do."

Phil sank deeper into the pot and she pushed his head down until his face was sliding against the smooth skin of a her bulging breasts. She placed hands on either side of his head and moved him until the rubbery tip of one of her nipples slipped between his lips. He tasted the sweetness of the liquid her nipple exuded between his parched lips.

Not again, Phil thought. Couldn't they just kill him in a way that at least preserved some of his dignity.

One of Ûmūn Šag's arms formed a bar behind his neck. Her other hand was placed on the back of his head and kept him pressed up against the soft curve of her breast. Her nipple squirted a stream of liquid into his mouth. Phil drank. It was that or drown. Then his lips were moving of their own accord, sucking on her teat. It was the taste—delicious like a blend of fresh, exotic tropical fruits. He had to have more.




Succubus Summoning 205



The cool liquid trickled through his body, rehydrating his tissues and restoring his energy. It flowed through him like a bracing waterfall.

And like a waterfall it eroded the substance of his spirit, dissolved it and washed it down to collect in his balls.

"Yes, I knew there was still some left inside you," Ûmūn Šag said.

Her hands roamed over and caressed his back while he suckled at her breast. The fleshy pot swelled and pulsed with slow, obscene throbs. A dense cloud of sweet perfume welled up around him. Phil inhaled and was lost. His fear melted away and the last remaining tension left his muscles.

"Relax, there's no escape now, meat," the plant girl said, her voice gentle. "Relax and enjoy the pleasure of these last moments."

Her soft hand glided up and down his spine. The thick liquid sloshed around inside the pot as it pulsed like the slow throbs of a heart. The warm currents tickled pleasantly around Phil's legs, rising up past his knees now as more fluid was exuded out of the fleshy walls. Another cloud of perfume welled up to surround him. The heady fragrance filled his nose. There was another odour beneath it, one the sickly sweet scent couldn't mask—unpleasant, like rotting meat. He continued to suckle at her breast, craving more of the sweet juice even as it hollowed him out from the inside.

"Oh yes, meat," Ûmūn Šag said.

She guided his erection back into the fleshy opening in the wall of her pot and moved him back and forth. Sticky nectar was welling up from within her. Every time Phil plunged inside, a thick syrup bubbled out with a squelching sound that was both disgusting and arousing in equal measure. An itch had started up in his cock and could only be assuaged by plunging it deep into her moist depths.

The entrance to her pot, lined with cushions of soft flesh, closed tightly around his waist. The pot was filled with warm fluid now. He felt currents flowing between his legs and tickling through the hairs on his scrotum as the pot swelled and ebbed. She squeezed the entrance closed tighter. Phil was pressed up against her moist inner wall, his cock buried in her soft flesh right up to the root. The sticky tunnel gripped his erection and gently sucked.

Phil's mouth left her teat. His head and arms fell back and he let out a groan as he came inside her.

"Yes, let it out inside me, let it all out."

Ûmūn Šag hugged him tight to her considerable chest. The ivy she had as hair cascaded over Phil's shoulders. The fleshy walls of her sex squeezed his gushing erection with gentle pulses. The fluids she'd loaned him, the ones that had dissolved the bedrock of his spirit before pooling in his balls, flowed from him, taking pieces of his soul with them.

"That's it. Let me flush it all out of you. You don't have to be tethered to this husk of flesh anymore."

Phil's buttocks quivered back and forth. He poured semen out of his throbbing penis. She drank it as easily as he'd drank the sweet juice from her swollen breast.

Phil heard the leathery flap of wings. Something landed on a branch behind and above them. A shadow fell over them.

Ûmūn Šag relaxed her embrace. Phil lolled weakly in her arms. He felt weird and woozy, all sloshy inside. His knees felt as wobbly as overdone pasta and his feet...they felt sort of diffused. He saw Verdé perched above them on one of the branches. Ûmūn Šag looked up at her and a moment passed between them. Surprise flickered in the plant girl's eyes. She nodded.

She looked down and gently ran a hand through Phil's hair. "I thought you were meat, but the Eréš Nūkric thinks you might be more."

Her vagina relaxed and released his cock. A last few spurts dribbled from him and the ejaculation came to a halt. He fell back and rested against her cushioned walls. The flexible green pot expanded and Phil felt himself being drawn down into it. The moist cushions of flesh brushed up his sides.

Oh no. Phil started to squirm and wriggle, to no avail. The last of the energy gifted to him by Verdé and Nurse Honey was spent. He had nothing left. The soft pads lining the inside of the pot, still exuding warm fluids, brushed up over his nipples. Her pitcher was completely filled with her juices. It was like sliding into a warm sticky bath.

"Maybe. We'll see," Ûmūn Šag said.

Her eyes closed and she gave a little moan as the elastic walls of her pitcher expanded and dragged the last of Phil inside her. He looked up and saw Ûmūn Šag smiling down at him in a circular view of the world that shrank and shrank until the pot closed shut above him.

Darkness.

Phil floated. Gentle currents ebbed and flowed around him. The world pulsed as if contained within a vast, slow-beating heart. This was his universe. His body was...he wasn't sure he even had a body anymore, just unravelling strands of consciousness suspended in a soup of warm liquid.

It was peaceful. None of the stress or pain of the world could reach him inside here.

Was this it? Were these his last thoughts as the giant pitcher plant digested him?

Maybe.

The thought wasn't his.

Maybe not.

He sensed the presence of Ûmūn Šag. His mind visualised her face, but it was more abstract, as though the strands of her being were growing through and tangling with his.

I can escape?

He would have to do it soon, before her juices digested him fully.

Why would you want to? Isn't it comfortable in here? Aren't you at peace? I will keep you safe from all the pain and suffering out there. You can know bliss within me forever.

That sounds an awful lot like death.

All things die. That is the cycle of life. Flesh, energy, thought, spirit; all come apart to be reassembled anew. It is nothing to fear.

Easy for you to say. You're not the one having their flesh reassembled into someone else's.

Your flesh is already mine.

Her thought chilled him. He knew it was true. He would have thrown up had he still a stomach to vomit with. He was gone. Just disembodied thoughts within a carnivorous plant. How long before they faded away.

So this is it?

Maybe.

Maybe?

I am Ûmūn Šag, verdant womb of the Dārû Qištu. Through me the cycle turns. That which reaches the end can be returned to the beginning. If that is what you truly desire.

Yes! Phil thought. I'm eighteen. There is so much for me to still experience. To achieve.

As you wish. I will return your flesh and resculpt your body.

The liquid pulses around him grew faster and stronger. A clay figure rose up and formed from the soup. Its features were rough, undifferentiated. Ûmūn Šag stood behind it. Her hands clutched the shoulders and her pale green face smiled out from next to a blank clay face. Phil looked on both as though he was a mirror.

You don't have to take the same form as before. I can sculpt your flesh anyway you desire.

Ûmūn Šag brought her hands up and began to work the rough clay of the figure's face.

I can make you handsome...

She ran her hands over the featureless face. Revealed beneath was a face that looked like a combination of the best features of Brad Pitt and Ryan Gosling—a movie-star face to set millions of teenage hearts aflutter. A face to talk any woman into bed.

Or rugged...

The chin expanded. Bones thickened. Determined eyes stared out of a craggy face capable of staring down mountains. An intimidating face. One most people would know better than to antagonise.

Or why not something completely different. You don't need to return as a man...

Hair erupted from the top of the clay figure in long silky tresses. Features softened, shifted, became the elegant features of a fairytale princess. He/She was beautiful. A face for men to fall in love with.

The face stuck for only a brief moment before Ûmūn Šag's hands were active again.

Lips thickened into an insouciant pout. Cheekbones sharpened. Eyes smouldered. He/She radiated the sultry glamour of a sex siren. A face that filled men's dreams in the dark, sticky hours before dawn.

You can be anyone you desire.

Ûmūn Šag's hands were a blur over the formless clay. Reshaping. Reforming. The clay was in a constant state of flux. He/She watched in confusion, paralysed by an infinite array of choice. Thousands of faces, millions, flickered by, all of them he/she and none of them he/she. Ûmūn Šag's hands moved faster than the eye could follow. Ripples flowed across the clay figure like waves across a channel, shaping, sculpting the face as if it was fresh muck.

So many to choose. He/She couldn't pick. And now the head was starting to come apart, the clay becoming molten, liquid, unable to hold any form. The face was subsiding. Clumps were sloughing off in chunks. The figure was collapsing back into the soup.

No!

I'm Phil Rowling.

The dissolution stopped, began to flow in reverse. Ûmūn Šag took her hands away. They were no longer needed. The clay moved of its own accord. It flowed and accreted into clearly differentiated features. The face that stared back at Phil was the same one he saw every morning in the mirror. It wasn't a particularly notable face, but it was his. He owned it and no one else did.

The face was gone. Phil realised he was staring out of its eyes.

He heard Ûmūn Šag giggle. A hole opened up in the darkness and verdant-tinged sunlight shone in Phil's eyes. The fleshy walls squeezed around him and he was propelled up and out, ejected from a womb of flesh and still covered in glistening strands of sticky juices. His world flipped as he was spat out into the bright sunlight and earthy humidity of the forest. He tumbled down through the branches, part falling and part sliding, until he crashed into some supple green branches and was bounced out into open space.

A shadow fell across him. Verdé plucked him out of the air. She wrapped her arms around him and rained hot kisses down on his lips, brow, cheeks and neck. They glided to the floor and came to rest in a soft mossy hollow. Verdé wrapped her wings around him and continued to kiss him with wild abandon. She hugged him tightly and rubbed her cheek against his.

"Euw!" she said, rubbing a hand over his naked chest and coming away covered in thick mucus. "You're all icky. Let's take you back to the castle and get you cleaned up."

to be continued...



Succubus Summoning 206



Rosa walked around Phil and examined him suspiciously.

"I thought the warlock was supposed to be toast. He looks a little lively for someone supposed to be toast."

Nurse Honey shrugged. "It seems he's a lot more resilient than we first thought."

Rosa's eyes narrowed as she looked at the succubus in the white latex nurse's outfit.

"And you had nothing to do with this? I know you. You don't like to let souls slip from your grasp. It wouldn't surprise me if you gave Verdé some help in the hope of slurping up the warlock later."

Nurse Honey smiled at Rosa's accusations. "I'm innocent," she said. "Whatever Verdé did, she did alone."

"Where is Verdé?" Phil asked. He was feeling a little too much like a hunk of meat on a shelf.

Rosa and Nurse Honey shared a glance.

"You don't like to hear about what we get up to with other humans," Rosa said.

"She isn't..." Phil started.

"She's meditating in her garden," Nurse Honey said. "She needs to replenish her magical energies."

"Yeah... uh... meditating," Rosa said in agreement. She closed her eyes and gave Phil a wide smile.

And that wasn't suspicious at all, Phil thought sardonically.

"I'll be accompanying you to college today in her place," Nurse Honey said.

They attracted a lot of attention on returning to Wargsnouts. Tall, buxom blondes in skintight latex fetishised nurse's outfits tended to do that. Nurse Honey had the kind of body that attracted attention. Rosa wasn't exactly subtle either. Her costume was best described as a pair of flame-red panties and a belt cinched around her equally considerable chest. Her thigh-length boots probably covered more flesh than the rest of her outfit combined. Phil walked between them in his ratty black robes. He had the hood pulled up, but it did little to hide the burning red embarrassment on his face.

He wasn't that surprised when Lutwidge pulled him aside for a quiet word.

"Mr Rowling, is it really necessary for your succubi to be dressed so..." Lutwidge's white whiskers bristled as he looked over Nurse Honey's glossy latex outfit. "...provocatively. It's distracting the other students."

Phil gave a helpless shrug. It wasn't exactly under his control. It was as much as he could do to even get them to let him wear these tatty old robes. Having a say in what the succubi chose to wear was beyond him.

"Oh leave him alone," The Scrote intervened. "Succubi are supposed to be provocatively attired."

He leered at Rosa and Nurse Honey.

"It adds a little colour to these drab halls."

Lutwidge huffed and turned away.

Stine looked at Phil with a sly twinkle in his eye.

"Well, my boy," he said. "You seem to have an uncanny habit of showing up right after being pronounced dead. A useful knack for a warlock to have."

He patted Phil on the shoulder and moved off to the lower entrance to the lecture theatre.

"Can I make him go whuff?" Rosa asked after The Scrote's retreating back. "He looks like he'll go whuff nicely." Fires burned in her blue eyes.

"I don't think our warlock wants us to set fire to his teacher just yet," Nurse Honey said.

Phil nodded his head rapidly in agreement. As lapse as Wargsnouts appeared to be on student safety, he suspected torching a teacher warranted sterner measures than expulsion.

"Heard you were dead," Darvill said as Phil entered the antechamber before the main lecture theatre.

"I should change my name to Snake Plissken," Phil joked.

Momentary confusion in Darvill's eyes indicated he didn't get the reference. "Emma was walking around with a very satisfied expression on her face yesterday. Word on the grapevine was that she'd summoned a daemon to avenge her brother's death and that you'd been killed. Only rumour, of course, the school takes a dim view of warlocks summoning daemons to kill their fellow students."

"It was a close thing," Phil admitted with a grimace.

"Close isn't a word often used when a talented graduate warlock like Emmanuelle Brennan takes it upon herself to squash a novice."

"I got lucky," Phil said with a shrug.

"Lucky is also not a word often used."

Phil leaned in closer. "What am I going to do?" he asked. "When she finds out I'm still alive she's going to try again."

Darvill arched an eyebrow. "You haven't heard?" he asked.

"It's all over the school," the thin student who looked like a more angular version of Darvill, Dever, said.

Phil looked at the faces of the other students. What was all over the school? Why did he never hear anything about anything?

"Emma's dead," the big guy, Higgins, said. "Security detail found her body in the early hours of the morning."

"Real gruesome it was as well," Joey Chalk said with ghoulish relish. "They reckoned sumthink burst her open from the inside. They're still looking for the head."

Phil's eyes widened in alarm.

"They don't think I did it?" he asked.

That was all he needed—one of the more established warlock families at Wargsnouts out for his blood over the deaths of two of their own. His succubi were already dangerous enough without a powerful warlock family wanting him dead. College sucked. He should have stayed back at McRestaurant.

No, nothing was worse than flipping burgers at Mc-fucking-Restaurant.

The other students laughed at him.

"Emma Brennan was an honours graduate with a specialty in summoning shadow daemons. We're novices barely able to exert control over our own daemons. To someone like Emma Brennan a novice like you is bugpaste," Dever said. His gaze flicked over to linger on Nurse Honey.

"Your being alive might raise a few questions," Darvill said thoughtfully. He hadn't laughed with the others.

"I didn't do it," Phil said.

"Chill," Darvill said. "No one thinks you did. Emma had a vicious temper. She had multiple feuds going on at the same time. John even thought she might have had a hand in the death of one of his cousins."

"She kicked the wrong big dog in the nuts and it bit her head off," Chalk said.

"Let's just say you're at the back of a very long queue," Darvill said.

"Oh," Phil said.

"Looks like your good fortune continues," Darvill said. "Your problem seems to have gone away all on its own."

"I suppose so," Phil said.

He wandered away. In the last twenty-four hours he'd been raped and nearly drained dry by a giant spider, then mushed up and spat out of the pot of a giant carnivorous plant. That didn't sound too fortunate to him.

Although he was still alive, he supposed. John Brennan—and now his sister—couldn't say the same. So much for learning about daemons in a safe, controlled atmosphere.

* * * *

"Think he did it?" Chalk asked as they watched Rowling walk away with his two provocatively-dressed succubi on either side of him.

"Dude, if he had anything to do with Emma's death they should give him the Oscar every year up until he dies," Jack Stone said.

"Coincidence," Higgins said. "Emma or her daemon botched the attempt. Then someone else ganked her before she could try again. You know how she was. Half the college had good cause. Remember John telling us about how she collected enemies like most girls collected shoes."

"I also remembering John telling us to never get on her bad side as she was a vicious, vindictive, and above all, extremely thorough cow that would not stop until she'd fucked you up," Darvill said.

"We all make mistakes," Higgins shrugged. "Rowling got lucky."

"Ah yeah," Darvill said. "He's a very lucky boy is our Phil Rowling. Vanishes about the same time as Jake, yet comes back with a beautiful succubus on each arm. Jake's dead. John's dead. Now John's sister's dead as well. And still Phil Rowling keeps bumbling along. A lucky boy indeed."

"Think someone is looking out for him?" Higgins asked. "Someone higher up in the staff?"

"But he's outreach," Chalk said. "Just like us. Well all of us apart from Dever."

Gary Dever wasn't paying full attention. His gaze was fixed on the tall succubus in the white nurse's outfit. He wasn't sure what it was about her—the long silky blonde hair maybe, or her height, or the sumptuous curves of her tits and ass, or even the way the light glinted off the latex that fit her form so snugly it looked as though it had been painted on. Her other form, when her hair had been green and she'd worn diaphanous green robes, had also been hot, but this was something else. That other form shared the same super-sexiness as the other succubus, the one that sometimes had red hair and sometimes black hair. They were hot enough that no man would ever turn them down, even if they didn't quite conform to his favourite type. Above a certain level of attractiveness it didn't matter if a man was into big-titted black girls or petite little Asians, there were girls you just didn't say no to regardless of preferences. But if a girl was above that threshold and a man's type, then the appeal ran to more than naked lust, it crossed over into obsession, or even stalking territory.

Dever's type was tall, big-titted blonde girls.

"He wouldn't have known anyone at Wargsnouts," Chalk continued. "He didn't even know daemons or magic existed before he came here, how could he have got one of the upper levels of staff to look out for him."

"Maybe he's not aware of anyone looking out for him," Darvill said.

"Ah, you think...?" Higgins said.

"It's possible. Warlocks have secret babies just like everyone else. It wouldn't be the first, and won't be the last."

Darvill looked over to where Rowling stood hidden within his black robes, flanked on either side by a sex-bomb succubus.

"I think it might be interesting to keep a close eye on Phil Rowling. Possibly profitable too. What do you think, Gary?"

Dever was still staring at the succubus in the white nurse's outfit. Only she didn't look that much like a succubus with her horns, wings and tail hidden.

"I want her," he said.

Dever was very much into big-chested blonde girls. And latex too, apparently, although he hadn't known that until he'd seen the way the glossy material clung to her curves. He had the sudden desire to run his hand over her latex-covered boob and down her side to the appealing curves of her ass. He imagined it to be frictionless, totally smooth.

He wanted to be Phil right then. Or rather not be him but to have what he had. He wanted to be the one with the gorgeous, statuesque blonde girl in the pervy nurse's outfit standing next to him.

"She's a succubus," Darvill said, both surprised and amused. "They're the common prostitutes of hell. Once we graduate you'll have the knowledge to fill your bedroom full of them."

Darvill didn't understand, she was his type.

The succubus turned back and gave him a come-hither smile. She'd smiled at him—at him!—he was sure of it.

It was the nurse's outfit. When Dever had been younger he'd been bedridden for months with glandular fever. His family had hired a nurse to look after him—Nurse Bates. Dever was at an age when he'd started to notice the female body. Tall, blonde and busty, Nurse Bates had a body worth noticing. When she'd leant over him and placed a cool hand on his brow he'd fantasised about all kinds of illicit things he wanted her to do with him, and him with her.

It hadn't been possible, of course. He'd been only thirteen at the time. He'd had a thing for nurses ever since and Rowling's succubus was the epitome of all those fantasies.

Darvill didn't understand. He couldn't wait. He wanted her... now.

Wheels turned in Dever's head. A plan formulated.

* * * *

"As you will remember from earlier lectures, the first human to provide a reasonably accurate description of the topography of hell was the 13th century Italian poet, Dante Alighieri. In his Inferno he describes travelling through the various circles of hell with the spirit of the ancient Roman poet, Virgil, acting as his guide.

"We now believe that the entity Dante calls Virgil was in fact the daemon muse, Verghal, and that much of what is described in Inferno was revealed to Dante in his dreams and represents actual parts of the plane we refer to as hell. Of course Dante wasn't entirely accurate and his dream images were filtered through the strong Christian influences of his time.

"Hell does indeed consist of circles, but it is seven, each corresponding to a primal sin, rather than the nine Dante described in Inferno.

"Also, while Dante is correct in that the archdaemon Satan or Shaitan resides at the heart of the innermost circle, it is as ruler and Lord of all hell, not a prisoner. Not much is known of the Great Beast save he is rumoured to be one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, archdaemons in all the circles of hell. Few warlocks have managed to successfully summon the Great Beast. The last, Magister Thomas Farynor, was purported to have done so back in London, 1666, and we all know how that ended..."

Lutwidge droned on and on.

Nurse Honey looked on, her face aghast.

"I know, it's hilarious, isn't it," Rosa said, a broad smile on her face.

"Um, what is?" Phil sat between them and felt as though they were discussing a joke he didn't get. He supposed it was an improvement on the other lectures, where Verdé had instigated near-fatal anal sex with him and Nÿte had put on a most-definitely-fatal sex show with another student.

"We'll correct this when we get back to the castle," Nurse Honey said.

"Cέrμləa?" Rosa said.

Nurse Honey nodded.

"She'll like that," Rosa said. "It will keep her occupied while she waits for the constellations to align."

"Occupied with what?" Phil asked. He didn't know what they were talking about, but he knew it involved him and that worried him.

"Extra tuition," Rosa said. She put an arm around him and squeezed. "You're our warlock. We have to make sure you're learning the right things. It reflects badly on us if you end up looking like a dunce."

* * * *

Twice Dever looked back over his shoulder and saw the succubus in white latex looking down at him. It sent a thrill through him. He knew there was a connection between them

A connection? He chided himself for his naivety. She looked on him like a predator spotting a potentially interesting morsel of prey. He knew that, but fuck was it hard to keep in focus while looking up at her silky blonde hair and the glossy white latex stretched tight across her ample chest.

That part didn't matter. She was a succubus. He knew how she thought, but more importantly he knew how she could make him feel. It wouldn't be real, then neither were most forms of entertainment and that didn't stop them from being enjoyable experiences.

She glanced at him again at the end of the lecture—sidelong, over her shoulder, eyes glimmering with filthy desire.

A highly enjoyable experience, Dever thought, feeling his dick throb in his pants. Providing he took the correct precautions.

"You have the look of someone contemplating an extremely foolhardy course of action," Darvill said.

Dever stared up at the succubus with a kind of furious intensity in his eyes.

"You don't understand," he said.

"Oh I understand well enough," Darvill said. "Hot succubus. Supernatural sexual appeal. Sounds like she has a hand in your brain and is working your jaw like you're a glove puppet."

"It's something I have to experience."

"Don't," Darvill said, serious now. "You saw what the other one did to John."

"John was too cocky. We all knew that would be the end of him someday."

"And you planning to fuck the other succubi after seeing her friend fuck John into a withered husk is in no way cocky or really fucking stupid at all."

"No, it isn't," Dever said, his expression sly.

He leant over and whispered his plan in Darvill's ear. The other man's expression was at first doubtful, but as Dever whispered that doubt eroded away. At the end Darvill smiled and gave a salutary nod.

* * * *

Dever watched the succubus as she stood in the centre of the antechamber after the lecture had finished. Students and their daemons milled around her, rushing off to other classes and appointments. She turned back to look at him. There was nothing fleeting or demure about her glance this time. Her gaze met Dever's stare and she didn't look away. Illicit desires flickered like thunder at the heart of her cloudy white eyes. She held his gaze long enough that Rowling needed to call out from one of the exits to attract her attention. She turned and walked to her warlock. Dever followed.

"Where's Rosa?" the succubus in white asked.

"She went on ahead," Rowling answered.

"Always so impatient," the succubus tsked.

Dever followed them a few paces behind. He didn't cling to walls or hang back and peer around corners. That would be stupid and attract attention to him. He walked nonchalantly a few paces behind them, just another student going about his business, which happened to be in the same direction as their business.

And also afforded him an excellent view of the tight swell of her ass.

The succubus knew he was there and knew he was admiring her body. It didn't bother her, if anything she seemed to enjoy the attention and encouraged it with coquettish glances back over her shoulder. She carried herself with the authority and deportment of a real nurse, but those eyes betrayed her just as much as the shine of her fetishised costume.

Nurse Naughty, Dever thought as he walked behind them. An erection pressed against the front of his trousers.

"Where are we going?" Nurse Naughty asked Rowling.

"The level two summoning labs," he replied. "Mr Stine asked me to pick up a book for him."

"Sounds a dull errand," the succubus complained. "Do you mind if I take off for a short while?"

While her master wasn't looking she stole a glance over her shoulder at Dever. Her eyes let Dever know exactly what she intended doing during that 'short while'.

"It won't take too long," Rowling said, opening an old wooden door with various arcane symbols scorched into the surface. "We're already here, Verdé."

* * * *

"We'll organise some extra lessons with Cέrμləa for you," Rosa said to Phil as they walked down the stone corridors of Wargsnouts. Rosa had an arm around Phil's waist and was setting a fast pace. "I know she might not look it, but Cέrμləa's really clever... some of the time. She'll teach you some useful stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Phil queried.

"Oh stuff," Rosa shrugged. "I said we should train you to be a better pet, but the others weren't so keen on that idea."

Phil glanced around.

"Hey, where did Nurse Honey go?"

Rosa stopped and looked around. "Oh," she said. She didn't seem that concerned or surprised. She shrugged. "She's probably off... meditating somewhere."

* * * *

Dever closed the door behind him and activated both the locking and 'in use' wards. They stood in a plain stone room, roughly cubic in dimensions. Tall, wax-encrusted candelabra stood at regular intervals along a circle drawn on the floor that encompassed most of the room. The only exit was the ornate wooden door they'd entered through and Dever had just locked it.

The succubus looked around. "I don't see any book," she said, her face creasing up with confusion.

"Actually," Rowling said. "I brought you here because there is a task for you to perform. I want you to engage in a sexual threesome with me and Gary here."

The succubus, Verdé, looked at first Dever and then Rowling. She laughed.

"Drop the disguise," she told Rowling.

Rowling flickered away and was replaced by a short, skinny thing. Glowing green eyes peered out through the eyeholes of a misshapen mask. Dever's mimijad occulax daemon.

"I take it you orchestrated this little scheme," Verdé said to Dever.

She'd seen through it, but too late. Dever had her where he wanted her.




Succubus Summoning 206



"By Aiwaz and Glykon, daemon, I command thee..."

Dever tailed off as Verdé smiled and unzipped the front of her uniform. The zipper went down far enough for him to see the creamy curves of her impressive cleavage. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as the chant dried up in his throat.

"If you wanted to fuck me all you had to do was ask," Verdé said, her lips turned up in an amused smile.

Puzzlement crossed Dever's face.

"Your master...?"

Verdé looked around and shrugged. "I don't see him here." The meaning in her pure white eyes couldn't be clearer.

"Oh, I thought..."

"That a succubus is faithful to only her master. Hardly. Our desire for sex is insatiable. We never turn down a man that desires to fuck us."

She pushed her substantial boobs together, emphasising and bringing attention to her eye-catching cleavage.

"I take it you do desire to fuck me?"

Dever nodded a little too vigorously. This had taken an unexpected turn, but he must remain in control.

Verdé looked around the plain little stone room with an expression of distaste. "You could have picked a better room."

Dever said nothing. He had good reasons for choosing this room.

"This one is a little lacking in rudimentary comforts," the succubus continued.

"I thought you might be able to do something about that," Dever said. "Like what your friend did in the lecture hall the other day."

"And what was that?"

"You know. That bed she made swell out from the floorboards."

Her friend had also reduced Brennan to a withered husk, but Dever tried not to think about that. He was smarter; his plan was progressing exactly as it should.

"Oh, you'd like me to use a little sex magic."

"Sure, show me what you've got," Dever said.

"My pleasure," the succubus said with a mischievous smile. She reached behind her and grabbed the end of her tail.

Strange, Dever hadn't seen any evidence of a tail when he'd followed her. It was slender like a whip and terminated in the classic devil's point. It was also the same glossy white as her latex nurse's uniform.

He watched as she put the tip in her mouth and sucked on the end as though it were a lollipop. Or rather, a naughty girl trying to make sucking on a lollipop look like fellatio. He watched as she released it and then held out her tail like it was a hose. Something weird happened. The end of the point started to expand like a balloon. It reached the size of a small cushion before dropping off the end of her tail and bouncing on the floor like a blown-up condom.

Blue light flickered across the floor, walls and ceiling as the magical cushion came into contact with the stone flagstones. The light briefly highlighted strange sigils and elaborate circles before fading away. Verdé looked at the walls and the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile. She returned her attentions back to her tail and puffed out another white cushion.

Dever wasn't sure how she was doing it. There was no orifice he could see. It looked like the skin expanded outwards until it was sloughed off as a cushion. And yet after producing each cushion her tail returned to exactly as it was before.

Magic, Dever thought. His cock throbbed in his pants as wondered what other sex magic tricks she knew.

"Hmm," Verdé said after producing a half-dozen glossy pillows. "Instead of these what we really need is one big, luxurious..." She rolled her tongue around luxurious as if it was Dever's rampant erection she was pleasuring between her lips. "...bed."

She glanced at Dever.

"Drop your trousers and masturbate," she ordered.

"Huh?"

"I'll sense your arousal and it will make my magic stronger," she explained.

Dever shrugged and did as she requested. He noticed her hand pumped her tail with the same frequency. Another inflatable cushion started to expand.

"You seem to be enjoying this," Dever said.

"Of course," the succubus said. "Is that a problem?"

"Stealing something from someone loses the thrill if that someone never owned the something in the first place. I mean, if Rowling knew this was happening it wouldn't bother him at all, right?"

"What makes you think that?" the succubus said.

"Succubi are insatiable for sex, like you said. Any warlock who summons one must know they're going to fuck around behind his back."

"Know, but not necessarily like."

Mischief glimmered in Verdé's eyes.

"My master wouldn't be pleased at all if he knew what I was about to do with you."

"He wouldn't?"

Dever's cock bucked in his hand.

"Oh no. He loathes it when we fuck other men."

Dever's smile broadened. Blood rushed down to his erection as it surged to full hardness. He was going to enjoy this.

"Yes, that's it," the succubus said between little erotic sighs and gasps. "I can sense your arousal."

She gave a long drawn out sigh—like she was climaxing—and an enormous white bubble sloughed off her tail and settled onto the floor like a giant latex beanbag. It was easily large enough to hold two. Verdé cheek's were flushed and she panted as if she'd just come. Dever's cock twitched in his hands.

"Ease off," the succubus said. "We wouldn't want any to go to waste."

She patted the surface of the magical bed. It rocked and swayed and sprang back like rubber.

"Now come over here."

Grinning, Dever kicked off his trousers and underwear, took off his shirt and walked over. He put a hand on the glossy white surface of the giant inflatable cushion. It was smooth like unblemished skin and soft. He climbed in and the bed moulded perfectly to the contours of his body. Now this was comfort, he thought.

The succubus leaned over him, showing off the shadowy pink cleft of her cleavage. She gave him a matronly smile completely out of keeping with her fetishised uniform and ran a warm hand over his brow.

"Oh you poor boy," she pouted. "So much pent-up stress and tension."

Dever smiled. It was like being back on that sickbed with Nurse Bates hovering over him. Only this time she was going to cater to every one of his illicit little fantasises.

"Now you lie back and let Nurse Honey take good care of you."

Nurse Honey. He liked that. Naughty Nurse Honey—sweet, but with an undercurrent of sin.

Her hand slid down his side, then moved across to circle his erection and give it a sensual pump. It was uncanny how she seemed to pick up on his fantasies and slot right into role-play. He could see why succubi had their fans. Maybe he should have gone in that direction rather than summoning a mimijad occulax. Everyone else seemed to have way cooler daemons than him.

Nurse Honey pushed his legs apart and climbed onto the end of the bed. She stared right into his eyes as she pulled the zipper further down her front until her pink boobs were fully exposed.

Wow, that was some pair. Big, soft, pink. So soft he wanted to push his face against them and use them as a pillow.

She bent over and pushed her substantial boobs together around his cock. If this was a porn film or hentai anime, Dever's cock would have stood up out of the top—the perfect height for Nurse Honey to give him fellatio. Dever hadn't had the fortune to be born with a porn-star cock. His erection vanished completely between the fluffy pink pillows of her breasts.

"Hmm, the patient appears to be uncommonly tense. Let's see what we can do to relieve some of this stress," the succubus role-played to perfection.

She let some of her spit dribble down into the fleshy chasm of her cleavage. Must be a trick of the light, Dever thought, her spittle seemed unusually thick and amber in colour, more like syrup.

He stopped thinking about that as Nurse Honey jiggled her tits up and down and smooshed them together around his eager hard-on. The pliant warmth of her chest was wrapped snugly around him. Her silky soft skin rubbed against the sensitive ridge of flesh beneath his helmet as she moved her boobs up and down in his lap.

That felt good.

Real good.

Oh...

His hips bucked and thick gobbets of creamy cum spurted up out of the end of his cock. They spattered her neck and across the top of her heaving bosom. The rest poured out into the warm cleft of her cleavage. Dever felt an odd sensation. The soft flesh of her boobs crowded his erection and shivers ran through it. Almost like her breasts were drinking up his semen like a sponge, he thought.

The succubus closed her eyes and gave a contented sigh. Dever watched as the milky white globs of his spilled seed were drawn into her skin and absorbed.

Creepy. He didn't know succubi did that.

"Oh dear," Nurse Honey said as she lifted up his flaccid member between thumb and forefinger. "The patient appears to have lost their vigour."

It wasn't his fault, Dever thought bitterly. Not everyone was gifted the endurance of a porn-star stallion. She was a succubus anyway, wasn't she supposed to be able to deal with situations like this? She'd better be. Dever wasn't letting her go until he'd fucked her.

"We shall need to administer some medicine to reverse this decline," Nurse Honey said.

That was more like it, Dever thought.

The white tip of Nurse Honey's tail arced over her shoulder like a scorpion's tail. The end had even morphed into something that resembled a sting. Or rather a hypodermic syringe. Nurse Honey's tail had become a clear hypodermic needle filled with amber liquid.

Whoa.

Dever didn't get a chance to react before the tail whipped down and stabbed his balls. He expected pain, but none came, not even a sharp prick. Instead—

Oh...

A warm gush of pleasure expanded through his testicles. It felt like they'd been dipped in warm honey, but on the inside. As the pleasant feeling expanded, so did his balls. It was like his ejaculation of a few moments ago had never happened. Or any of his fervid masturbations of the last month. His balls were full—overfull—and suddenly he was ready to go again. His cock sprang back to full hardness as a warm tide of bliss rose up the shaft.

"You didn't think a succubus would be satisfied with that little pop, did you," Nurse Honey purred.

She rolled her latex skirt up to above her waist and clambered up on the vinyl bed. Excitement trembled through Dever. Her moist treasures awaited him between her legs. Pouting and cooing like the porn-star nurse she resembled, Nurse Honey rubbed a white-gloved hand up and down his shaft. She pressed his erection flat against the smooth glossy latex covering her stomach.

"Put it in! Put it in!" Dever said. He was frightened he was going to pop too soon again.

Nurse Honey lifted up her hips, manoeuvred his erection between her legs and then slowly sat down. The pleasant feeling rising up his shaft met another pleasant warmth coming down as his cock sank into her honey pot all the way down to the root. Honey pot was more than just an euphemism. His cock felt like it was submerged in thick, sticky syrup. Her vagina was overflowing.

And so was he.

Damn. Premature... again. His cock barely made it all the way into her before it started erupting. Dever twitched and shuddered in orgasm. Nurse Honey milked him with soft sighs and gentle up and down movements of her hips.

So soon... again. But he knew it wouldn't matter because—

Ahh...

—Nurse Honey's tail had slithered under her round ass and injected more warm aphrodisiac into his balls. Dever twitched. He remained hard inside her. Ready to come again.

"Mmm, the patient is responding well to treatment," Naughty Nurse Honey said. "We shall continue with further tests of sexual function."

"You can take me all the way, baby," Dever said.

"I intend to," Nurse Honey said.

She pushed the zipper of her costume even further down and opened out her uniform to expose the pretty pink nubs of her nipples. He got a brief chance to admire them before Nurse Honey lay down on him and rubbed her wonderful boobs against his chest. She put her arms around and hugged him. Her hips moved up and down with lithe little bounces. Dever's cock moved in and out of her with loud squelches. Her pussy was overflowing with sweet nectar. It surrounded Dever's member in a warm, tingling sheath and dribbled out over his balls. He felt the same stickiness on his chest, as if Nurse Honey exuded the same substance from her nipples. She was a succubus, Dever supposed, her tits weren't exactly going to contain milk.

"The patient is responding very well to treatment," Nurse Honey said. Her hips thudded against Dever's crotch as she rode him.

"Thanks to his exceptional nurse," Dever said. He slammed his hips back against her, driving his dick deeper into her honey-soaked depths.

Succubi definitely had their uses. He wondered how their warlocks ever found the motivation to get out of bed in the morning when they shared it with this.

Then he supposed that was the danger of succubi.

But not here. Not for someone who took the right precautions.

It was a shame Rowling wasn't here to see Dever fuck his succubus like this. Dever would have liked to have seen the expression on his face.

Nurse Honey's vagina contracted around him, triggering another eruption of pleasure. He was giving her plenty of his own honey, Dever thought as he pressed up against her and unloaded his balls in pulsing torrents. The succubus squeezed her soft breasts against him in a tight hug. Dever felt that moist stickiness again, but this time, strangely, it felt like it was under his skin. Warm puddles of pleasure rippled out from where her nipples indented his chest.

"Let me have a go on top," Dever commanded.

The aphrodisiac she'd introduced into his body was fantastic. He felt he could go all night and maybe all tomorrow morning as well. His cock bulged, eager to disgorge more semen. He felt as randy as the musclebound oafs that clogged up the city centre pubs every weekend.

"The patient appears to be in rude health," Nurse Honey said.

The latex bed shifted as she rolled off Dever and then slid across to take his place. She opened her legs, revealing a vagina filled to overflowing with amber-coloured syrup. Dever took up position on top of her. He steered his erection between the hairless folds of her sex and shoved it up inside her. Sticky warmth enfolded his raging erection.

"So eager," Nurse Honey said.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him and pulled him down onto the soft pillows of her breasts.

"And so foolish. There is no escaping a succubus from here. I can drain your life at any moment I choose."

Dever smiled and shook his head. He gave a sly glance to the faint lines glowing on the walls with eldritch light.

"Not here," he said. "This is a safe room. Students practise summonings here. The walls, floors and ceiling are covered in protective glyphs and circles. No daemon can harm a human in here."

He rammed his cock in her as deep as it would go for emphasis.

He'd planned it all out. Everyone said John was the cleverest, but Dever had outdone him. He was going to fuck the succubus and live to brag about it.

Another hard thrust and the dam burst. He pressed down with his hips and emptied his balls inside her in throbbing gushes. He didn't know if it was because he was on top, or the knowledge he'd outwitted her, but this felt like the most satisfying release of all.

The succubus didn't seem unduly bothered by his deception. If anything, his words and actions seemed to turn her on even more. She placed hands on either side of his head and pressed her lips against his in a passionate kiss. Being a creature of treachery herself, she recognised and enjoyed seeing it in others. He tasted her on his tongue—sweet like sin.

She really was full of honey, Dever thought as the sweet taste grew stronger. Then her throat moved and suddenly his mouth was filled with thick syrup. Dever was still reeling in surprise when her white wings, previously hidden, folded around him. They were covered in the same sticky syrup. He felt the wetness against his skin as her latex membranes slid over his back. Using her wings, she hugged him tight to her flesh. Her pussy seemed to melt around him.

In fact it felt like her whole body was melting around him, like her flesh had suddenly taken on the constituency of soft dough. His cock sank deeper into her and his hips followed. Reflexively he used an arm to check his downward sinking and watched, stunned, as it sank into Nurse Honey's soft boob up to his elbow.

It looked and felt like she was absorbing him. But that was impossible; the protective circles...

"I saw the protective circles as I entered the room," the succubus said.

Her horns were visible now. They emerged through her white hair like an elaborate crown.

Dever sank deeper into her. It was like physical laws had shifted. She no longer occupied space, but had become inverted—a hole leading through to a vast, alternate dimension. She was like quicksand and he was sinking through her into an endless abyss. Her wings stretched taut against his back, helping his descent. Dever couldn't even cry out or use magic as his throat was clogged with her sticky tar.

This couldn't be happening. The circles...

"They forbid me from harming or killing you," Nurse Honey said. "but I would never do such a wasteful thing."

She caressed his face as he sank down between the soft valley of her cleavage.

"I'm keeping you safe within my flesh..."

Down until her flesh filled his world.

"...for all eternity."

The soft substance within her bunched around his erection and smoothly tugged him to another orgasm. Dever's struggles ceased as his body was flooded with a wash of pleasure that overwhelmed all his other nerve impulses. As he came it felt like all of him was flowing out, pouring out and mingling with the dancing mutability of her protean flesh. A soothing fog of bliss descended over his thoughts. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Then he heard the screams and lunatic cries of countless imprisoned souls...

* * * *

Nurse Honey stretched on the bed like a cat. She climbed out, rolled down her skirt and zipped up the front of her nurse's uniform. The giant white cushion faded out of existence behind her.

The skinny little daemon with the misshapen mask and glowing green eyes stood before her and held out a hand.

Nurse Honey ignored it as she pushed and smoothed back her long, flowing blonde hair. She retrieved her nurse's cap and placed it back on top of her head. A miniature hand and screaming face pressed out against the latex covering her side.

The creature continued to stand there with its hand out.

Nurse Honey finally noticed it was there. She stared disdainfully down at the spindly daemon. The hand and face struggling within her were pulled back down beneath her skin and her latex uniform was smooth and shiny again.

The daemon lost confidence. Its arm wavered and it stared awkwardly at the floor. It backed off.

Nurse Honey paid it no heed as she walked out of the safe room.

to be continued...

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I've added these explanations to pre-empt a couple of questions I suspect would have been asked otherwise:

I haven't got the names mixed up. In some sections of the story Nurse Honey is referred to as Verdé. This is deliberate. These sections are from Dever's PoV and—like the other students—that's who he thinks she is.

Also, don't trust too much what Nurse Honey says. She's not reliable.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one to follow in June/early July if all goes to plan. 



Succubus Summoning 207



"One of the most important traits a warlock should possess is ruthlessness."

The Scrote pounded his fist into his other palm for emphasis. He was getting wound up this lecture, building up steam like a firebrand demagogue seeking to win over a crowd.

"Put aside any notions of good and evil. You are a warlock, a summoner of daemons, and daemons represent the basest of desires given flesh. To the outside world we are evil and this will never change. Ignore their simple-minded morality. There is no good and evil, only power. And power only exists if it is enforced. Don't be afraid to enforce power, but also learn to acquiesce in the face of greater power.

"A warlock must be merciless. When challenged it is not enough to defeat an opponent, they must be crushed and removed permanently. A defeated opponent will grow stronger and return to challenge again. A destroyed opponent cannot come back. Remember this.

"As you advance your careers as warlocks you will need to be aware of the various hierarchies governing the world around you. If you wish to climb within them will need to become adept at gauging strength and knowing when to challenge and when to stand down. In the world of daemons second place does not exist. Make your move only when you can be sure of success."

"Is this man suitable to be teaching novice warlocks?" Verdé whispered up on the back row. "He seems very aggressive."

"There is some truth in what he says," Nÿte said.

"Hmm, I suppose. He does seem very adept at contracting with daemons from the Dominion of Lust," Verdé said, referring to the pair of black-clad succubi standing next to the bottom entrance.

"Bedmistresses of The Palace of Infernal and Iniquitous Pleasures," Nÿte sniffed.

"They are devoted to the arts of pleasure," Verdé said. "They're continually discovering new and more exotic techniques."

"Feh, one-dimensional thinking. Limited. Pleasure alone is just a single axis of sensation. If they ever thought to incorporate pain..."

Nÿte reached down between Phil's legs and squeezed his balls so hard he felt sure the crack must be audible to the whole hall. He doubled up as an atom bomb of pain went off between his legs.

"...they'd see the benefits of context."

She turned Phil's head and pressed her soft lips against his in a gentle kiss. The vice grip on his balls was replaced with a blossoming sense of relief. Nÿte's hand rose up on that wave as she lightly stroked an erection that surged, swelled and finally spat its contents into her hand. The succubus finished the kiss and continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

"Light shone in darkness shines brighter to the eye than light shone in light," Nÿte said. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked Phil's semen off the palm.

"True," Verdé said. "It's not for everyone though."

Phil's body couldn't decide whether it wanted to throw up or give out a relaxed sigh of bliss. He slumped down to the floor instead.

"He's got good discipline," Verdé said. "Not even a single yelp."

"It is one of his better qualities," Nÿte said.

* * * *

Phil was slightly bow-legged as he walked out of the lecture theatre. He was expecting his balls to hurt; instead they felt a little weird. Not bad—weird. He was still gingerly trying to return to a normal walking posture when Darvill called out to him.

"Where's Gary?"

Darvill was casually leaning against one of the walls of a little-used side corridor. Outwardly he looked as cool and collected as he normally did. His many-eyed daemon was perched on his shoulder.

"Dever?" Phil queried.

That was Gary, right? The one that dressed a little like Darvill and was always following him around. Walked with a slight stoop. Had that creepy green-eyed daemon that always wore a mask.

"I don't know," Phil said. "I haven't seen him."

"I'm not talking to you," Darvill said abruptly to Phil. "I'm talking to her." He stared directly at a rather bemused Verdé.

That was when Phil noticed Darvill was far from his normal cool and collected self. There was a strange kind of tension thrumming through him that put Phil in mind of a snake about to strike, or a previously friendly dog about to bite. Phil recognised it from the times he'd frequented town centre pubs. It was a cue to leave before trouble kicked off.

Darvill stared at Verdé.

"Where's Gary?" he asked again.

Verdé looked nonplussed. She looked to Nÿte. The other succubus shrugged.

"He went off with you yesterday," Darvill said. "No one's seen him since." It sounded easygoing enough, as if he was talking about a friend picking up a round from the bar, not someone who'd gone missing and might never return.

"He did?" Verdé's puzzlement increased.

Phil suddenly understood, and it was followed by a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Nurse Honey. Darvill thought Verdé was Nurse Honey. Oh fuck, she hadn't, had she?

If Darvill saw Phil's expression change, he didn't show it. He was still staring at Verdé in that odd laid back way that predators tried to affect as they manoeuvred into striking distance.

Verdé showed her teeth in her sweetest, most innocent smile. "I'm sorry. I think you're mistaken. I had nothing to do with your friend's disappearance."

Darvill stared intently at Verdé. His brow furrowed and he gave his chin a thoughtful rub.

"You know, I don't think you did," he said.

And just like that, the ugly atmosphere, thickening around them like storm clouds piling up in a summer evening sky, dissipated. Darvill relaxed and his loaded smile was replaced by his usual carefree one.

"No sense jumping to hasty conclusions," Darvill said. "Gary's a big boy. He's no mug with magic. I'm sure he'll turn up later. After all, you did," he said to Phil.

"I hope so," Phil said.

"I don't think he will," Nÿte said, quiet enough to only be audible by the three of them as they walked away.

Phil didn't think so either. It felt like a heavy slab of concrete had settled in his guts.

"No, I don't think so either," Verdé said. "I take it he was mistaking me for Nurse Honey, or rather her for me."

"That was my understanding. With Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān involved I don't think we'll be seeing that young man again," Nÿte said.

"Very foolish to play with her, especially when so callow a warlock."

"Foolishness is in plentiful supply here."

Phil glanced over his shoulder. Darvill was watching them with a thoughtful expression on his face. He must know.

"I think he realised I wasn't her," Verdé said, following Phil's glance.

"That one is sharper than his fellows," Nÿte said. "Worth keeping an eye on."

Maybe, but it was all moot as far as Phil was concerned. He'd already made up his mind. First opportunity he had, he'd go to Stine, or maybe Dahl, and confess. Maybe they'd know how to break this contract. He wasn't a warlock. He couldn't control his succubi, would never be able to. They'd already killed four students, five if you counted Jake. Going back to the McRestaurant would suck, but at least there would be no more deaths.

He'd go see Dahl. The Praetor Quivocat would know how to stop this.

"You're not responsible, you know," Nÿte said. "There's no need to blame yourself."

"Who else?" Phil said. "You're my daemons, my responsibility."

Nÿte paused and arched a pencil-thin eyebrow. "Are we?" she said.

It was spoken lightly and her black lips were turned up in amusement, but Phil sensed the rattlesnake rattle behind her words. He felt a sudden chill, like a shadow over his grave.

"The only ones culpable are the students foolish enough to have sex with us," Verdé said, breaking the moment. "It's their fault not yours."

Nÿte's smile widened and became warmer. "We tempt, but we do not instigate," she said.

"Especially here," Verdé said, "where warlocks master or are consumed by their natures."

"Verdé!" Nÿte said sternly.

Verdé put a hand over her mouth and feigned an expression of wide-eyed innocence to Phil. "You'll understand later," she whispered in his ear. She playfully nibbled on the lobe.

"Does this mean you will or won't eat more students?" Phil asked.

"You can hardly expect us to turn down a tasty morsel if it steps into our mouth."

Phil was less than reassured by Nÿte's answer.

* * * *

The room resembled an old-style classroom. There was a blackboard on the back wall and a teacher's desk sat in front of it. Arranged in rows facing the front were plain wooden desks. The walls were covered in children's crayon drawings. They depicted gross sexual acts and unsettling images of torture, all rendered in a bright, childish style. One of the desks had a two foot machete embedded into the surface.

"Class is in session," Cέrμləa said, dropping a couple of dusty tomes onto the teacher's desk.

A casual observer might have mistaken her for the pupil and Phil the teacher, even though it was the other way around. Cέrμləa might have looked and sounded like a child, but she was anything but.

"I think Nurse Honey might have killed one of the other students," Phil said. He was still moping over the news he'd heard that morning.

"Oh? They probably asked for it," Cέrμləa said as she wiped a disturbing chalk picture of a man being graphically tortured with hooks off the blackboard.

The board rubber was attached to a pole to allow her to reach the top corners.

"How do I stop the succubi from killing more students?" Phil asked.

"Tell the other students not to have sex with them otherwise they'll have their souls pulled inside out and sucked out," Cέrμləa suggested. "No one ever seems to pay attention to that bit," she muttered to herself.

It wasn't the answer Phil was hoping for.

"Anyway!" Cέrμləa slammed a cane down on the teacher's desk for emphasis. "Class has begun. Take a seat, but not at that desk." She pointed to an otherwise unremarkable desk two rows back. "I think it ate my last student."

It looked like any other desk. Phil still looked at it warily as he picked a desk in the middle of the front row.

"Let's start with basic geography," Cέrμləa said. "The others tell me that's what your lectures have been about lately. Describe the basic topology of hell to me."

"Um, okay," Phil said. He recalled what he'd been told both in his previous Wargsnouts lectures and then the special lectures from Lutwidge. "It's a separate plane. There are seven concentric circles, each corresponding to a primal sin. Satan rules the whole of hell from his throne located in the seventh, innermost circle of hell."

Cέrμləa put a hand over her face. She turned around and, with a piece of chalk on the end of a holder, chalked a large F on the blackboard.

"Most information on hell comes to humans from daemons," she explained.

She added embellishments to the F she'd drawn on the blackboard. She added fangs to the two horizontal lines, making a mouth. She added long horns curving backwards to the top and bottom of the vertical line. Then she drew a pair of batwings coming out of the back and roughly level with the bottom horizontal line.

"Daemons are all creatures of deceit," Cέrμləa continued. "The information they give humans is often lies and shouldn't be trusted."

"Um, but aren't you a daemon," Phil pointed out. "Doesn't that mean I can't really trust what you tell me either?"

Cέrμləa morphed into a statuesque, stern-looking dominatrix with long, flowing electric-blue hair and a baroque basque that emphasised a considerably enlarged cleavage.

"Quiet in class!" she yelled. Her red eyes glowed as she slammed her cane down on the desk for punctuation.

Phil quietened up.

In the corner of his eye he noticed one of the other desks was slightly out of position. It seemed slightly twisted in his direction. Wasn't that the desk Cέrμləa pointed out earlier? A chill ran through the hairs on his forearm.

Cέrμləa had morphed back into her usual little girl form. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

"Hmm, that's a good point," she said. "I am a daemon, therefore what I say should be regarded as untrustworthy."

She paused as if considering how to get around this problem.

The hairs on the back of Phil's neck prickled. He had the ominous feeling he was being watched, or maybe stalked. He turned around. Again he had the queer feeling that desk had moved since he'd last looked at it. Had it moved closer?

"I've got it!" Cέrμləa said. "Don't automatically treat everything I tell you as the truth. Keep an open mind and use your own judgment to decide what should and what shouldn't be believed."

"Okay," Phil said doubtfully.

Cέrμləa picked up her board rubber holder and wiped the embellished F off the blackboard. It seemed unhappy with this, as if it had been on the verge of deciding whether to take flight just before Cέrμləa erased it. She stared at the empty blackboard and her little girl face scrunched up in thought again.

"Not enough dimensions," she said after a while.

She turned around and her eyes lit up as if she'd suddenly thought of a solution. She recited one of the most complex spells Phil had ever heard. He caught some fragments—Omnefitum gemnax...nidacor Dominex...Fastupulum rama costipulat—but the rest slipped through too fast for his ear to catch. Cέrμləa ended the spell by tapping the top of the teacher's desk with her cane.

The room darkened and Phil's mouth dropped open. A galaxy was suspended in the centre of the room. Small brown and blue spheres floated amongst clouds of ethereal pink dust. Cέrμləa stood visible through the holographic display, her face lit up from beneath.

"The Dominion of Lust," she said.

"That doesn't look like a circle," Phil said.

It looked like galaxies. Plural. Big.

"Are those planets?" he asked, pointing to the floating balls.

"They're worlds, just like your own," Cέrμləa said.

"Separate planets within the dominion," Phil said thoughtfully. "Which one are we on?"

"On? None of them," Cέrμləa said. "We're in the Dominion of Lust. They're Earth."

Phil was confused. "They're Earth? What, all of them?"

Cέrμləa nodded. "They're all Earth. All the same and all slightly different to each other."

Phil didn't get it. Did Earth mean something different to Cέrμləa?

"Your Earth is around here somewhere," Cέrμləa said, moving the display to a particularly dense pink cloud. "Magic is strong on your world as it lies on the intersection of multiple dense regions of dominion."

"My Earth? How many are there?"

Cέrμləa remained focused on the magical holographic display. "I don't know," she said. "I did try to count them all once, but my head started to feel a little funny and I had to go and lie down for a bit."

"And they're all the same? All Earth?"

"Similar, but not all the same," Cέrμləa said. "Positioning determines their physical laws."

She pointed to a world floating in a particularly dense pink cloud.

"Earths close to dense regions of dominion have weaker barriers separating them from the rest of hell. Magic seeps in. It's easier for daemons to cross over, and for humans to do the same. The fantastical is commonplace.

"Other worlds are further out. The influence of hell is less. Warlocks and daemons appear rarely. Magic is weak.

"And some..." She pointed to a little brown and blue bauble stuck out on its own, far away from the pink clouds. "...are so far out that magic and daemons are nonexistent. Their people only get to know about the likes of you and me by reading about us in stories like this."

Phil shook his head. It was a little too much to take in.

"Why don't we know any of this?" he said. "Why has no one been able to reach any of the other Earths?"

"Because they'd have to travel through hell," Cέrμləa answered. "To travel that deep into hell is impossible for even the most powerful of humans. And knowledge of hell comes with a price."

She moved the display and showed Phil an odd sight. The pink substance of the dominion had bunched up into what resembled an amoeboid pseudopod and was currently concentrated around one of the planets. It looked like it was trying to engulf it.

"The membrane protecting this Earth has weakened. The substance of hell is flowing in through the barrier. Most likely this planet will be broken down and reabsorbed back into the Dominion of Lust. This is the fate of all Earths. They learn of hell and in trying to learn more they damage the membranes keeping their world separate from hell's dominions. Eventually they break down and the planet is reclaimed."

"Reclaimed?" Phil queried. His head was spinning.

"Oh yes," Cέrμləa said. "Earths are accretions formed where the various planes of hell overlap. At each intersection the energies of each dominion coalesce into an Earth. That's what humanity is—a composite of all the various dominions of hell."

"No no no," Phil shook his head. This must be some craziness of Cέrμləa's. It couldn't be true. Hell was part of Earth, not Earth part of hell.

"Yes yes yes," Cέrμləa giggled. "Humans, always believing themselves to be the centre of everything."

"What about outer space," Phil said. "Earth is a tiny planet in a vast universe."

"The void?" Cέrμləa said. "Just another dimensional axis."

She placed a hand around one of the floating planets and turned it like a dial. The pink clouds of the display turned and folded away down an angle not visible to him. The display settled into a familiar vista of stars, solar systems and swirling galaxies.

"Reality. Void. The effluvium spat out from an Earth's accretion. Very dull," Cέrμləa said.

She turned the planet-dial again. The display tilted through another impossible angle and revealed clouds of red dust that swirled and raged like roaring flames.

"The Dominion of Wrath."

Another turn and another eye-watering twist of perception. This time Phil looked upon lurid green clouds.

"The Dominion of Envy."

Another turn and Phil was looking on coils of earthy-brown dust.

"The Dominion of Gluttony."

Phil shook his head. Cέrμləa's actions had left his eyes feeling like they were spinning through more axes than should be possible.

"What about time?" he asked. "Earth was around for millions of years before we appeared."

"Time is just another dimension, and—like the void—runs relative to its own Earth. During the accretion process time is compacted. Millions of years unfold on new Earths in a blink of an eye here within the dominion. It's only when an Earth develops sentient life forms that their time starts to align with our time."

"Uh," Phil said. His brain was starting to feel like it had overworked muscles he didn't know it had.

"See, each Earth is an intersection of hell with each dominion radiating out from it on a separate axis, and through these axes each Earth is linked."

"Cέrμləa gave Phil a questioning glance.

"Didn't they teach you this at school?" she asked.

"They taught us something slightly different," Phil answered.

"Hmm, yes, that would probably be the case," Cέrμləa murmured to herself. "Earths rarely survive long once this level of knowledge filters down to the general populace. I'd have thought your Earth would have known better, though, given how highly attuned it is."

Cέrμləa recited more words and the floating display winked out of existence, returning the classroom to full illumination.

"And that is the basic topology of hell," Cέrμləa said, her red eyes shining. "Easy isn't it."

Phil's brain disagreed with that.

"We'll go over the important regions of each dominion in a future lesson," Cέrμləa said.

She looked at Phil.

"Hmm. It looks like you're having trouble grasping the concept. It's always a problem for minds that perceive a limited number of dimensions."

Her face brightened.

"Ab'ĝalga," she said excitedly. "She'll be able to help you out."




Succubus Summoning 207



She skipped over to Phil's desk. She walked behind his back and slammed her cane down on the desk behind him. He was sure it hadn't been that close before. It was practically touching the back of Phil's chair. Was. When he turned around again all the desks behind him were sitting in a neat row about a metre behind his chair.

Cέrμləa tapped her cane on the top of Phil's desk and blue light flared under the lid. She lifted it up and instead of a narrow tray to hold books and stationary Phil saw a large hole falling down into darkness. What Phil saw was impossible. The desk was only a couple of inches deep. His feet were on the floor underneath it. Yet he was looking down into a deep black pit that seemed to go on forever.

Cέrμləa put her hands on the edge and peered down into the depths. "Perfect," she said, before grabbing the back of Phil's robe and pitching him over the edge and into the gaping abyss. He saw her smiling and waving form recede as he tumbled down into the darkness.

His fall was broken by a soft and yielding substance. He couldn't tell what it was. It was wet like liquid, but more solid—more like mud, although that wasn't right either. The substance had more elasticity. Phil sank into it up to his thighs, but then his downward motion was checked. It felt like he'd fallen into a great mound of jelly. While there didn't seem to be any danger of him sinking deep enough to drown, he wasn't sure how he was going to get out. There was no leverage—nothing for his legs to push against. He was stuck.

Then the substance started moving around him and Phil realised he had bigger problems.

"Mmm, what's fallen into my lap," he heard a feminine voice say.

His eyes accustomed to the gloom and he became aware of a blue phosphorescent glow all around him. He'd landed in a pile of translucent glowing blue jelly. He could see his legs embedded in it up to his waist. Then half of it sat up and Phil was looking at the glowing blue body of a giantess. It looked like she was formed out of jelly, a little like the undines Phil had encountered before, but constructed out of a much more viscous substance than water or foam.

"Ooh, a little warlock," the giantess said.

Phil smiled back at her while trying, unsuccessfully, to extricate his legs.

"What shall I do with you," the giantess said. She ran a blue tongue around plump blue lips.

She brought a hand down and Phil felt like he'd been buried in a waterfall of warm wriggling jelly. Everything bar his head was enveloped. The substance was a lot more viscous than water and was able to move on its own. He felt it rub against his body with what seemed like lascivious intent.

And corrosive.

Alarmed, he watched as his robes peeled away, the edges frayed to strands and those ultimately dissolved to nothingness. He was buried in the same material with nothing between it and his naked skin.

"Educate!" Cέrμləa called down from a tiny square of light. "He's here for education, Ab'ĝalga. I want him back afterwards."

The square of light disappeared as Cέrμləa closed the lid of the desk with a wooden thud. Phil was alone in the dark with Ab'ĝalga.

"We'll see on that," Ab'ĝalga said with a smile that didn't reassure Phil at all.

The molten substance of her arm flowed and wriggled over Phil's exposed body. It reformed into fingers and a hand. She plucked him out of the jelly and lifted him up until he was dangling before her glowing blue face.

"What does Cέrμləa mean by educate me?" Phil asked.

He was more concerned about whether she'd keep to the 'I want him back' part. The translucent jelly of her body had dissolved his robes in a matter of moments. He didn't want to think about the same thing happening to his exposed skin.

"I imagine she wants me to pry open the synapses of your closed little human mind," she said.

She rubbed an oversize digit down the line of Phil's jaw, leaving behind a moist trail of slime.

"First I think I'll educate you on my body."

She clutched him to her bosom as if he was a beloved doll. What she did next was far less innocent as she rubbed him against her enormous exposed boobs. His naked body slid over her smooth, pliant skin. He felt the soft weight of her boobs give against him like giant soft cushions. They felt like enormous silicone bags wrapped in soft latex. He was glad her skin remained impermeable. It would be easy to fall inside and drown in one of those monstrous boobs, and that would be a particularly undignified way to go, even for the succubi's castle.

Ab'ĝalga lifted him up higher. She pursed full lips together and brought him close enough for a kiss. Her lips were big enough to envelop his face. He caught the scent of cool spearmint as she pressed his face into the plump cushions of her lips.

Phil's thoughts of eroticism were dampened by the realisation she could easily swallow him whole if she wanted.

She lifted him higher and then pressed his crotch up against her pout. Her lips parted enough to suck in his penis. He'd already started to stiffen from being rubbed against her naked breasts. It only took a couple of little sucks for Ab'ĝalga to tug him to full hardness. Murmuring with delight, Ab'ĝalga rhythmically pushed him up against the cushions of her gel-filled lips while she sucked on his hard-on. A finger, or more accurately a pseudopod, squished up beneath his ass cheeks, bathing his testicles in warm jelly and tickling around his anus.

Her lips bunched up and sucked, forming a tight tunnel pressing all around his cock. As she bounced him back and forth against her pouting lips he felt his erection slide between moist membranes. Her lips parted at the back and then Phil felt suction strong enough to travel down the inside of his penis and tug insistently at his balls.

He knew trying to hold back wouldn't do him any good, so he let go, feeling an ecstatic burst of pleasure as he ejaculated between her pillowy soft lips. Those lips squeezed together and she began to suck on Phil's body as if she was sucking up juice from a drinks carton on a hot day. His orgasm lengthened and Phil twitched helplessly as she pulled a continuous stream of semen out of his body. As sweet as it felt, he hoped she would keep to Cέrμləa's instructions and not crumple him up like a juice carton.

He was starting to feel a worrying pressure settle around his vitals when Ab'ĝalga relaxed her lips and released him. Gasping, he fell backwards. Her malleable hand became a soft chair and she let him rest in it while she licked her lips. He saw the white strands of his semen in her mouth through her translucent skin. Her tongue moved around and she looked thoughtful, as if tasting fine wine.

"Odd," the blue giantess said. She glanced up at Cέrμləa's hatch. "Why should she be interested in you? Some magical potential, nothing exceptional or outstanding. Rather ordinary, really."

She continued to move Phil's semen around inside her mouth.

"Although it's hard to tell anything with seed so tainted. You've been emptied and refilled so many times. A sign of mediocrity if ever there was one. I can taste the insatiable one and..." She pulled a face. "...the Qištu."

She rotated her hand and studied Phil. He was still trying to get his breath back and his leaden limbs under control.

"That girl," Ab'ĝalga said. "I never know what's in her mind half the time, I swear. She must have her reasons. She always does."

Ab'ĝalga cocked her head.

"Okay, what do you desire?"

Phil was caught off guard by the question. "Um, I don't know," he said.

Ab'ĝalga rolled her eyes and sighed. "That's a very ordinary answer. Maybe I should just eat you."

Her mouth opened wide like a gigantic cavern. Her hand moved Phil closer, preparing to drop him inside as if he was a tasty little snack. He started to panic. What did he want? Why had he come to Wargsnouts in the first place?

What he really wanted was to go home and forget daemons or magic ever existed. He suspected she'd find that ordinary too.

"Knowledge!" he blurted out.

Ab'ĝalga closed her mouth and moved her hand back. She smiled.

"That's a better answer," she said. "What kind of knowledge?"

Phil pondered her question. "A better understanding of daemons and magic," he said.

"So, you want to control your succubi?"

Phil tried to picture himself giving orders to Rosa or Nÿte and them obeying. Nope, couldn't imagine that at all.

"So I can stay alive," he said.

Ab'ĝalga put a hand to her mouth and feigned a yawn.

"Boring. Seeking survival alone is the lowest of ambitions. Ordinary," she said.

Phil thought back to when he'd encountered Garner, the recruiting officer. He remembered the strange creature he'd glimpsed on the man's shoulder and the way the warlock had produced fire from nothing and how he'd watched, awestruck, as the bright flames had flickered up the man's arm without burning. He'd wanted to know how to do that. He wanted to know what magic would allow him to be capable of. Most of all he wanted to be something more than just another anonymous kid serving up fries in a shitty little anonymous town.

"Still very ordinary," Ab'ĝalga said with a bored sigh. "Hmm, but there is a spark in your eyes."

She brought him closer, but higher this time so he was level with her eyes rather than her mouth.

"That spark might develop into something interesting. I think I might be able to help. We'll see."

Phil was encouraged to hear that. He was less encouraged by what happened next as she lowered her hand down to her crotch. Legs, an ass and the folds of a vagina had formed out of the undifferentiated jelly of her lower half. She carried him down to her pussy and for a moment Phil wondered if she was going to push him up against it as she had with her lips.

She didn't push him against her sex, she pushed him inside. Phil watched in shock as his feet and ankles passed between her transparent labia and were gripped by a peristaltic suction that pulled most of his body into her vagina before he was able to react. He saw his legs kicking away inside her and felt the membranous walls inside her vagina settle over his lower body like a heavy wet sheet. Settle, and then lose cohesion until the tunnel broke down and Phil's lower half was submerged in the gelatinous substance that made up her body. Panicking, he thrashed his legs back and forth like he was trying to outswim Jaws.

"Always with the wriggling," Ab'ĝalga griped. "It makes the interfacing so much harder."

A vesicle formed within her body, roughly where the ovaries would be on a human woman, and descended towards the opening to her sex, expanding as it fell. The surface of the bubble was silvery and opaque. The shiny membrane reached him and felt like sticky soft silk as it enfolded first his feet and then his ankles and calves. Immediately all the nervous energy drained out of his leg muscles to be replaced with a relaxed languor. The vesicle travelled up over his knees and then engulfed his thighs. The pleasant-feeling membrane enfolded first his balls and then wrapped his erect cock in a soft elastic sheath.

Phil came. It was a long, slow, leisurely release, like the orgasm that comes from that second, slower bout of sex when two lovers exploring each other's bodies for the first time have got the first frenzied coupling out of the way. His cum oozed out of his cock in a slow thick stream and drew the rest of his resistance out with it.

Ab'ĝalga leaned back on her elbows, closed her eyes and sighed as the packed gel within her vagina tightened around Phil and drew him deeper inside her, deeper inside to where the vesicle engulfed more of his body. He couldn't see anything below his chest as the silvery surface of the bubble billowed up around him.

"You're going to return me afterwards?" Phil asked. Begged, if he was entirely honest.

There was nothing he could do if she decided not to. Contact with that strange vesicle inside her had drained all his energy, effectively paralysing him.

"Possibly," Ab'ĝalga said. "If you're worthy. The girl would agree with me on that."

She gave another satisfied sigh as the last of Phil was drawn between the pulsing folds of her giant labia. Phil felt the soft, moist lining inside her vagina press against his face, before the membrane dissolved and the molten jelly of her body flooded him. It covered his eyes, filled his nose and throat, poured into his ears and even seeped into his eye sockets. Phil was drowning in her. He was...

...floating in warm blue seas under a cloudless tropical sky. He was suspended a few metres beneath the calm surface yet felt no need to breathe. He was relaxed as gentle currents tickled past his naked body.

He was not alone. Ab'ĝalga, now shrunk down to the same size as him, was entwined in his arms. More than entwined—his rigid erection was inserted into the snug fit of her warm vagina. He could see it inside her through her transparent blue skin.

Phil looked at her, puzzled.

"The substance of my body has invaded your brain." Ab'ĝalga moved her lips as though speaking, but Phil heard the words directly in his thoughts as though they'd reached there without bothering to go through the intermediary of sound waves. "I'm screwing with your perceptions. It makes it a little easier."

"Makes what a little easier?" Phil asked.

"Interfacing directly with your brain," Ab'ĝalga answered. "That's why Cέrμləa sent you to me. It's hard to explain concepts to minds unable to visualise them, so I'm going to lend you part of my mind for a while so you can visualise it through a mind that can."

Phil saw transparent strands in the water around him. Was a school of jellyfish passing overhead?

"This is going to be a little disconcerting. The brain always perceives the interfacing process as disturbing, even horrifying, so don't be alarmed. Focus on my lovely tight little pussy squeezing your big fat cock instead." 

Phil felt her lovely tight little pussy squeeze all around his big fat cock. The malleable inner walls of her pussy moved against him in a way that felt like bubbles of pleasure were rolling up and down his shaft.

This didn't change the fact the water was now teeming with wriggling transparent tendrils. They wormed into his ear, up his nose, into his mouth, even wriggled through the gap between eyeball and eye socket. He felt their clammy touch as they slithered into his skull and then the chill as they burrowed into his brain.

It was—as Ab'ĝalga warned—highly disturbing.

"Oh hello, this isn't quite so ordinary," Ab'ĝalga said. "That's always the way with you humans. Drab and dull on the outside and then totally fascinating when you open up their skulls and take a peek inside."

Her feelers slithered into the folds of Phil's frontal lobes and dug deeper.

"Hmm. A humble mumble. I should have known. The Qištu has always had a soft spot for them. I can see why the girl likes you too. Personally, I find humble bumbles vomit-inducing. All that passivity and false modesty...sickening!

"Oh? What's this? Hmm, maybe that modesty isn't so false. What a tangle. How have you survived this long?"

Ab'ĝalga's feelers wormed deep.

"Ah. I see. That. I remember you clutching it the last time we nearly took you apart. Strange that it's that memory."

She paused. Phil...well it didn't matter what Phil wanted to do. Ab'ĝalga's feelers were in his brain. He was paralysed, unable to do anything except watch while the slender strands pulsed with loathsome motion.

"Ooh, you know, I'm itching to get in and untangle this and see what you're really capable of. All it would take is a little nudge here...a little prod there. No, no. Mustn't intervene. It's a path you have to walk alone. Can't deprive you of that.

"How's my pussy by the way? Still nice and warm and snug?"

It was, but Phil was too concerned about the multitude of tentacles burrowing through his brain to fully appreciate it.

"All the sexual pleasure I'm giving you..." Ab'ĝalga flexed her hips for emphasis, sending waterfalls of bliss cascading down his enveloped penis. "...and still you're worrying about my feelers in your brain. I wonder what happens if I stimulate the pleasure centres directly..."

Her feelers touched a special part of Phil's brain and he was enveloped in a sensation of pure, indescribable ecstasy. A large puff of white semen rose up inside her translucent body as Phil was overwhelmed by orgasm. The feeling was stronger than that, though, more like a religious revelation delivered through the medium of sex.

"...and look at that, the worry centre flares right up.

"Will this kill me?

"Will this enslave me?

"Will I become addicted?"

Ab'ĝalga recited his thoughts back to him.

"He doesn't know what he wants from life, but he doesn't want it to end, even if that ending will be the greatest pleasure he'll ever experience."

She laughed.

"Okay, I'll stop teasing you. Now what was the girl trying to squeeze into that pathetic little human brain of yours? Ugh, how do you manage living in a world of so few dimensions? So limiting. No wonder it takes humans so long to grasp the true nature of the universe around them. Here, let me lend you some of my perception."

More fine filaments unfurled from Ab'ĝalga and slithered into his skull.

"This will help...or drive you completely insane."

The wriggling ends sought out nerve endings, connected and...

Phil's eyes widened. It was like his consciousness had expanded to ten times its size. He was standing back in Cέrμləa's classroom with her magical hologram of hell's dominions and this time he saw them, really saw them. He wasn't looking on a single dominion but eight of them, all existing concurrently in the same space, contiguous across points that should have been topologically impossible. Each was composed of energy that flowed and swirled through each plane in vast tides.

Magic. This was magic, Phil realised. This was the energy that underpinned existence. Magic seemed such a paltry word for what he saw. This was more fundamental than that. It was everything.

He saw also the truth in Earth's formation...all Earths' formation. The energy of each plane had its own signature—Phil saw it as different colours, flowing at different speeds, in different patterns. Earth was the point where all planes intersected, where the streams of energy flowed, mingled, merged and coalesced into not worlds but entire universes. This was what a universe was—a collision of different energies exploding into matter...space...time. And there were so many of them, too many to ever be counted; it would be like trying to catalogue every grain of sand on a beach, every microscopic dot of plankton in the ocean.

And as his perception zoomed in on a single Earth he saw too the threads of energy criss-crossing and flowing across the surface in a vast, tangled weave. It was in the minds of people where the energy was most concentrated, where multiple different strands came together in a riotous tangle of colours, each mind its own unique, complex pattern of whorls and knots. The people were unaware of this as they were unaware of the dominions existing alongside them, hidden in angles and behind barriers they could not perceive. He could see these planes, could see every mind connected to each dominion, and every dominion contained within each mind. 

Phil opened his eyes and saw it all.

"I see," he said.

His brain hummed with energy. It felt like it was growing, spreading out into the water around him. He saw the lines of energy—magic—running past him as they flowed through the plane. He saw patterns in the lines. If he could read them he could respond to them, react. If he could change them he could bend reality to his will, change it however he saw fit.

"Knowledge is the greatest drug of all," Ab'ĝalga said. "Those who see a glimpse always want more."




Succubus Summoning 207



Yes... Yes... The patterns... If only he could read the patterns in the lines of energy. His brain throbbed and swelled, as if it was a sponge soaking up knowledge from the water around him.

"Do you wish to see more?" Ab'ĝalga asked.

Ye—Wait!

He sensed the fishhook in her words. The waters were darkening. A shadow was moving up beneath him, vast and immeasurably ancient. Countless gossamer tendrils filled the space between Ab'ĝalga and him. It was getting harder to tell where Ab'ĝalga ended and he began, where his thoughts ended and hers began. Was his mind expanding or diffusing? Dissolving? He felt the pull all around him—to be everywhere and everything.

Everything and nothing.

"I do..." he started, "...but not right now. I'm sorry. This is too fast. I'm not ready. I need time to think over what I've learnt."

"Sorry? Apologising...to me?" she laughed at his words as if she found them ridiculous. "You know, you might turn out to be interesting after all."

Her lips curled up in amusement as her feelers began to retreat from his skull. He felt them detach and the planes overlaying his perception faded until he was once again seeing the world in only three dimensions. His brain contracted back to a compact knot of nerve tissue contained within the bony case of his skull. It felt reassuring, solid.

"Still too much of a humble mumble," Ab'ĝalga said.

Her face disappeared from view as the calm seas suddenly churned into life and Phil was wrenched upwards as if caught in a waterspout.

* * * *

Cέrμləa was drawing a picture on the blackboard, her face scrunched up in concentration. Her drawing depicted a cartoon family enjoying a picnic, or at least they would be if they weren't currently being torn apart by grotesquely deformed woodland creatures. Cέrμləa put the most detail into the youngest daughter. The girl was screaming in open-eyed terror as mutated and savage squirrels tore open her belly and engaged in a tug-of-war over her viscera. The girl had similar spiky hair to Cέrμləa.

The wooden lid of the desk bounced open as Phil crashed through. He lay half in, half out of the desk with his cheek resting against the wooden seat of his chair. He was naked and covered in glistening mucus.

Cέrμləa's intense, melancholic expression changed to a wide, girlish smile. "You're back," she said, bouncing with excitement. "Do you understand it now?"

Phil smiled weakly and held up a thumb.

* * * *

Four cowled figures sat around a large circle chalked on the stone floor and embellished with occult symbols. The room was dim—illuminated only by the wan, flickering light of a multitude of black candles. In the centre of the circle sat a large basin filled with water.

The four figures intoned words in an arcane language.

"Occulora nida Occum."

The leader held an upside down goat's skull in cupped palms as if it was an offering.

"Occulora nida Occum."

The lead figure tilted the skull and red liquid poured into the bowl. The blood, if that's what it was, billowed out until the whole contents were stained. While the other three continued the chant the leader tipped a finger into the bowl.

"Occulora nida Occum Infinitum vaarsta Ænma ov Homnus."

Ripples spread across the bowl and pictures rendered in shades of red appeared just beneath the surface—locations, schematics, maps. The lead warlock manipulated the images with his finger with the same ease as if it was one of the modern touch screen tablet computers. He found the image he was after, zoomed in.

"He's alive," Darvill said. "I've got a fix on his soul." 

to be continued...



Succubus Summoning 208



Cέrμləa was and wasn't in the classroom when Phil walked in for another extra lesson. There was a young woman sitting on the teacher's desk with her legs casually swinging underneath. She was dressed in outdated fashions—a twenties flapper if Phil had to guess, and he was only going from period movies he'd seen. Wide bright eyes peered out from beneath an indigo bonnet. The fringe of hair poking out from underneath was lighter blue in colour. She wore a dark blue dress cut to just above the knees and a black scarf. Also around her neck was a long string of pearls. Thinking no one was watching, the young woman pulled out a shiny metal hip flask and took a surreptitious swig.

"Cέrμləa?"

Phil hadn't seen Cέrμləa take this form before, but as the girl had sparkling red eyes and cornflower-blue hair he thought it might be her. The hair and eyes had been common features of all of Cέrμləa's forms.

"Oh there you are, bunny," Cέrμləa—if it was her—said before jumping down off the teacher's desk.

Teacher looked a little worse for wear, Phil thought. He wondered how many surreptitious swigs she'd taken. Cέrμləa normally had half her mind in cloud cuckoo land anyway; a little alcohol in the mix wasn't likely to make much difference.

He hoped.

"I remembered you as being hunkier," Cέrμləa said, giving his bicep a cheeky squeeze.

"What's the lesson today?" Phil asked.

Ideally one that didn't end up with him being fucked by a creature dredged up from the depths of hell.

"Lessons?" Cέrμləa said, her pretty face twisting up in an expression of disgust. "Don't be a flat tire. You're taking me out to dinner."

"Dinner?" This wasn't the extra tuition on the topography of hell Phil had been expecting.

"Yes, dinner. Now don't stand there like a dud. Ain't you ever taken a flap out for grubstake before?"

She looked Phil up and down. His new robes were only moderately less tatty than his last robes.

"No, don't answer that."

She took his hand and marched him back out of the door.

"Where are we going to dinner?" Phil asked.

As far as he knew, outside of the castle was Verdé's garden and beyond that the great forest. And from Phil's experience that was a place where they were more likely to be dinner than have it.

"Why Mr G's of course," Cέrμləa answered. "Everyone knows his grub is the cat's particulars."

Phil had no idea who Mr G was. Maybe he was the unseen cook that prepared the meals left outside Phil's door. He still hadn't seen any castle staff -- no maids, cooks, or anything like that. Someone had to be doing the work and he doubted it was the succubi.

Cέrμləa—if it was Cέrμləa, she was behaving even more oddly than usual—led him down a couple of corridors and down a spiral staircase. Phil thought they were supposed to be going out, but instead they seemed to be heading deeper into the castle. Cέrμləa dragged him into a squarish room with plain stone walls and two exits.

Phil recognised the room. It was some kind of storeroom. Nÿte had sent him down here to retrieve a particularly horrifying-looking torture device. He didn't ask her what it was for. He was just relieved she hadn't been planning to use it on him.

"Mr G makes the scrummiest grub in all of hell," Cέrμləa said.

That might be, but Phil was wondering if Cέrμləa had got her directions screwed up. He wondered how inebriated she was.

"Um, isn't that a cupboard," he said as she stopped outside a plain wooden door.

He was pretty sure it was a cupboard. Behind it were shelves full of—

Cέrμləa opened the door onto a featureless brown plain that stretched away into the distance. Yeah, he probably shouldn't be surprised by that now.

"Silly goof," Cέrμləa said. "Of course it isn't a cupboard."

Nope. It was a door right at the heart of a big stone castle that somehow managed to open out onto a flat landscape that stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see. The floor was muddy brown in colour and resembled freshly ploughed clay. The sky was the colour of boiled ham and empty. Phil saw no clouds, nor any celestial bodies.

Nope. Nothing unusual about this at all, he thought.

"Where's this?" Phil asked. He wondered if 'which universe?' might be more appropriate.

"Mr G," Cέrμləa said.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him over the threshold. It was warm on the other side. And close. It felt how Phil imagined a dense tropical swamp or jungle would feel in the mercifully cool mid-morning hours before the sun dialled it up to sweltering. The brown floor felt a little squishy beneath his shoes. It could be mud, but there was a disconcerting give to it, as though he'd stepped onto a surface of living tissue. There was a spark of yellow light on the horizon and it was towards this that Cέrμləa headed.

Behind them the door stood alone on the flat brown plain. It was just a frame, unconnected to anything. On the far side of the door frame the brown plain rolled away towards a seemingly endless horizon. Through the doorway Phil saw the same storeroom within the succubi's castle, a room that shouldn't be there in the same way this vast featureless brown plain could not be contained within the castle walls.

"A little walk will be perfect for whetting the appetite," Cέrμləa said. She took out her hip flask and took a swig. "As is a little bootleg."

She offered the flask to Phil. He took a sip and instantly regretted it as a burning liquid set fire to his tongue and throat.

"Strong," he hacked out between coughs. Certainly stronger and rougher than any other spirit he'd tried.

"My dinky little coffin varnish?" Cέrμləa said. "Never mind, you'll get used to it."

They walked across the vast plain. The yellow dot of light grew bigger and resolved into an old-fashioned street lamp decorated with curls of wrought iron. Beneath it stood a short, portly moustachioed man dressed as if he was the head waiter of a fancy French restaurant. Or maybe the parody of a head waiter of a fancy restaurant. His stance was a little queer—a little too forced, a little too motionless. He resembled a caricature of a pompous French waiter, yet stood to attention as though he was one of the Queen's Guard.

"Mr G," Cέrμləa said.

The maitre d' responded with professional courtesy.

"Good evening, mademoiselle. Table for two?"

"That's right, Mr G. A table for me and my goof here."

She wrapped an arm around Phil and gave him a boozy squeeze.

Phil gave the portly man with the moustache a nervous smile. The waiter unnerved him. Most people in authority tended to unsettle him, but this was something else, more than just the haughty demeanour. The man gave off a vibe that intimidated Phil at a visceral level.

"Right this way, mademoiselle."

The waiter led them to a table that seemed more part of a stage set than a room in a restaurant. There were no walls. A door stood alone with its frame beyond the table. Some way apart from that was an antique chest of drawers. Phil also saw a hat stand and a couple of potted ferns. The furniture was positioned as if present within an invisible room. There wasn't even a carpet. Beneath their feet was more of the same glistening brown surface they'd walked on to get here.

The table itself was a massive antique. It was long and rectangular and looked like a prop from a period drama—a dining table for wealthy families to entertain equally wealthy guests. Giggling, Cέrμləa took a seat at one end while Phil took a seat at the other end.

This was surreal, Phil thought as he looked around. They were completely exposed to the elements, assuming this plane had any.

"What would be your pleasure, mademoiselle?"

Cέrμləa batted her eyelids with a vulgarity that was out of keeping with their surroundings.

"Why the usual, please Mr G."

"As you wish, mademoiselle."

The portly waiter opened the entirely superfluous door and walked through.

Phil had no idea what the usual was. As usual no-one had told him what it was or even if he wanted it. Cέrμləa smiled at him from the other side of the table and put her thumb and forefinger together to give him the A-ok.

"Mr G's is the bee's knees," she said.

Mr G's restaurant seemed to be lacking in some essentials, like walls and a roof for starters, Phil thought. There was something not right about that waiter either. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it made his skin crawl to look at him.

The waiter returned with a gleaming silver trolley loaded with dishes. So many dishes. This looked an awful lot of food for two people, Phil thought. Were others coming later? Rosa? Verdé? Cέrμləa hadn't said anything about the others, but this form of hers did seem a little more scatterbrained than usual.

She took another not-quite-so surreptitious swig from her hip flask.

The waiter started placing dishes on the table and immediately Phil's mouth started to water as the air filled with delicious aromas. It was all of Phil's favourite foods. The waiter lit burners on the table and placed a variety of bubbling Indian dishes—succulent chunks of meat surrounded in various mouth-watering sauces—on them. In front of that he placed a plate piled high with naan breads, their surfaces shiny with a thin glaze of butter. He followed with not one but three separate bowls of rice—creamy boiled rice, spicy yellow pilau rice, and fried rice containing egg and herbs.

This wasn't all. The waiter placed another burner onto the table and this time placed Chinese dishes onto it. Phil saw orange chicken, strips of tender beef in black bean sauce, and pork and cashew nuts. As the waiter continued to add more dishes to the table it looked as though someone had ordered the entire menus of the best Indian and Chinese restaurants in Britain. Phil didn't know where to start.

And still the waiter hadn't finished. He trundled the silver trolley back through the door only to return moments later laden with fresh steaming plates. He placed a huge platter piled high with succulent sausages, crisp bacon and fried eggs onto the table. This was followed with another plate piled high with cheeseburgers that looked even tastier than the misleading pictures fast food restaurants used to entice customers.

"This is too much," Phil said. "We'll never be able to eat all of it."

"Shh," Cέrμləa said. "You'll hurt Mr G's feelings. He's very sensitive about his cooking."

The waiter returned and placed a third load of dishes—roast duck, roast chicken, spare ribs coated in glistening barbeque sauce—onto the table. Phil gave the man a weak smile. What was he going to do when they left most of this delicious-but-way-too-much food—fly into a berserk rage?

Cέrμləa picked one of the dishes and placed a tiny spoonful at the centre of her pristine white plate.

"What?" she said, noticing Phil's incredulous stare. "A flap's gotta watch her weight."

Phil could see Cέrμləa wasn't going to be much help with this. At least the waiter had stopped bringing in more dishes. Phil wasn't sure if that was because he was out of food or because there was no more space left on the table. His mouth watered as he looked over the appetising feast. It all looked delicious and yet he'd only be able to sample less than a fifth of it, if that.

And then the waiter would probably batter them to death in a blind fit of rage.  He started by tearing off a small chunk of naan bread and scooping up a chunk of meat and sauce. Wow, that was the best chicken madras he'd ever tasted. The meat was so tender it practically melted in his mouth and the sauce was the perfect blend of aromatic flavours and hot spice. It was so tasty Phil was tempted to eat only the madras. Then he tried a mouthful of beef in black bean sauce and thought it was just as good. The Singapore noodles were the same. And the succulent sausages that burst between his teeth with strong savoury flavour. It didn't matter which dish Phil sampled, it was the best version of that dish he'd ever tasted.

"Mr G is just the best, isn't he," Cέrμləa said.

Phil nodded. That was all he could manage as his mouth was currently full and savouring another delicious morsel. He saw Cέrμləa still had that same tiny portion of food sitting in the centre of her plate. She'd barely touched it.

Then he noticed that some of the plates on her side of the table had been emptied. A roast chicken had been picked clean. A whole rack of lamb had been reduced to bone and gristle. Who'd eaten them? Phil thought.

He took a mouthful of tangy orange chicken and when he looked up he saw two more dishes on Cέrμləa's side of the table had been demolished. Cέrμləa herself was still playing with the tiny portion on her plate.

Phil glanced away to look for a new dish to sample. As he did he caught a blur of blue movement in the corner of his eye. It must have been a mirage as when he looked back Cέrμləa was still sitting in her seat and nudging her little blob of food around her plate. Then he noticed a bowl that had been full of jambalaya a few moments ago was now empty aside from a couple of grains of rice. And while he looked at that bowl an entire 18oz steak vanished. Cέrμləa continued to push her tiny morsel of food around her plate as if nothing untoward was happening at all.

"Hey, it's rude to stare at a gal while she's eating."

Cέrμləa flung an olive at Phil. It pinged off his temple and while he reflexively closed his eyes another dish was completely devoured.

Just another day of weirdness in the succubi's universe, Phil thought. He ignored it and sampled as many dishes as his stomach would allow. Cέrμləa continued to push her miniscule portion of food around her plate.

"Hmm, that was scrummy," Cέrμləa said after finally scooping up her meagre portion and putting it into her mouth.

Phil looked around and his eyes widened. The food was gone. All of it. Every dish was empty. It had all been eaten. But how? There'd been enough food to fill two entire rugby teams, and probably their wives and children as well.

Cέrμləa let out a hearty belch, and then put a hand to her mouth as she blushed with embarrassment.

"Was it to mademoiselle's liking?"

"Scrumptious, as always," Cέrμləa said.

"Thank you, it was delicious," Phil added. "The best I've ever tasted."

The moustachioed waiter turned to Phil as if noticing him for the first time.

"Why thank you, young master," he said. His haughty demeanour thawed. "Your compliment brings a warm glow to my belly."

He even rubbed the large expanse of his stomach for emphasis.

"I'm ready for dessert," Cέrμləa said. "How about you, darling?"

Phil stared at her incredulously. He'd already eaten so much it felt like a heavy bowling ball was lying in his guts. If he tried to take another mouthful he feared he'd burst open like that character in the old Monty Python film. Phil was sure he couldn't eat another mouthful, but he remembered what Cέrμləa had said about Mr G and he didn't want to offend him.

"I suppose so," he lied.

Cέrμləa put a finger to her lips in thought. "I don't suppose there's time for a giant bowl of jello," she asked the waiter. "That's always a blast."

The waiter checked an antique pocket watch. He rubbed his other hand against his expansive belly. "I fear that would be cutting things perilously fine," he said.

"A pity," Cέrμləa said. "Then I suppose it would have been a little too similar to our last lot of fun and we can't have that or our readers will get bored."

"Indeed, mademoiselle," the waiter said. "Variety is the most important flavour of all."

"True, G, very true."

"If mademoiselle would permit me to make a suggestion," the waiter said. "How about a deluxe selection of chocolate and cream?"

"Ooo yes. Scrummy chocolate. It's like you read my mind, G. But no honey, we've had quite enough of that already."

"As you wish, mademoiselle," the waiter said. He loaded the trolley up with empty plates and took them away through the superfluous door.

"Mmm. Chocolate and cream. How dreamy," Cέrμləa said.

Phil leaned across the table to whisper. "I don't think I can eat any more."

Cέrμləa ignored him. Her eyes were focused far away and she licked her tongue against her lips as if already savouring a delectable dessert.

"Will he—"

Phil paused as the waiter returned with a trolley piled high with an exotic range of desserts. Phil had never been much of a pudding person. He didn't even recognise most of the elaborate confections of fruit, chocolate and fluffy cream the waiter placed onto the table. His eyes widened at a cavalcade of delights fit for a decadent feast. His mouth longed to taste all of them. His stomach—already stuffed to capacity—growled no.

"He's not going to take offense if we leave most of it?" Phil hissed to Cέrμləa after the waiter had pushed the trolley back through the door.

Cέrμləa didn't answer. She dipped a finger into a swirling melange of coloured ice creams and sucked on it suggestively.

Suggestive was also a word that could be applied to the cake the waiter wheeled out last, although blatant might have been more appropriate. The cake was so gigantic the silver trolley teetered under its weight. The surface was decorated with a magnificent swirl of pink icing . . . in the shape of a vagina.

Phil gave the vaguely intimidating waiter a smile while wondering how he was going to eat any of it without throwing it straight back up. Under the waiter's watchful gaze he scooped up a spoonful of frosted sorbet and dolloped it into his bowl. He could manage this. Maybe. It was just frozen fruit juice after all. Under direction from his stomach, the muscles of his throat downed tools and picketed his oesophagus. The waiter stood by the door and watched Phil as he pushed a melting blob of sorbet around his bowl.

"I don't think I can eat any more," Phil whispered across the table to Cέrμləa.

"Who said we were eating dessert," Cέrμləa said.

She took her clothes off and climbed up onto the table. Compared to the other succubi—and Cέrμləa's other adult form—this incarnation of Cέrμləa had a more normally-proportioned body. Her breasts were small and perky, and she was skinnier—more a sexy waif than a curvaceous glamour pin-up.

An extremely sexy waif. What she had she made full use of as she performed an erotic burlesque routine on top of the table that mostly involved pouring molten chocolate down her naked front. She followed up with a pitcher of whipped cream. She danced wantonly, pouring more cream directly onto her sex as she thrust her pelvis forwards. Her naked feet came down on top of exotic pastries, squirting fresh cream onto the table.

Phil kept glancing over at the waiter, wondering what he made of all this wanton vandalism. The waiter remained impassive, even when Cέrμləa slipped and fell right into the enormous cake. Giggling hysterically, she sat amongst the ruin of sponge, icing and cream.

"Don't sit there like a lemon," she called out to Phil. "Help a gal up."

It was an obvious trick and Phil cursed himself for being sucker enough to fall for it. He climbed up onto the table and offered Cέrμləa his hand. She yanked down, pulling him off balance. Phil's back foot slipped on a blob of cream and toppled over onto Cέrμləa amidst the wreckage of the cake. She put a hand behind his head and pulled him down until their lips met in a kiss. Phil tasted mint cream on her lips and strong liqueur. He would have enjoyed it more had he not been terrified of the waiter's reaction, especially as they'd just completely demolished his fancy cake without so much as taking a bite out of it.

Phil was able to pull his head up enough to determine the waiter wasn't currently advancing on them with murderous rage. Instead the portly man seemed completely unconcerned by the mess Cέrμləa had made of the table.




Succubus Summoning 208



Phil heard a gurgling rumble. The waiter said, "Pardon moi," to no-one in particular and rubbed his expansive girth.

Great, Phil thought. The bloke was hungry and they were currently in the process of demolishing all the food on the table.

Cέrμləa grabbed his chin and twisted his face until his attention was solely back on her.

"Gee, you're a wet fish tonight," she said. "What's a gal got to do to turn your gas on?"

She reached between his robes and took hold of his cock. She encircled his shaft with a hand lubricated with dripping whipped cream and stroked up and down.

He really needed to get hold of some underwear, Phil thought. Didn't Wargsnouts have a laundry? Maybe he could steal himself a pair of underpants.

Cέrμləa rubbed her crotch against Phil's lengthening erection.

"We can't do it here," he hissed.

He gave the impassive waiter an apologetic glance.

"Don't mind Mr G," Cέrμləa said. She planted sticky kisses on his cheeks, jaw and throat. "He only cares about food."

After another heavy session of smooching Phil managed to escape and get back up to his knees.

"Isn't he going to be mad we're not ea—"

Phil didn't get a chance to finish as Cέrμləa scooped up a handful of cake and shoved it into his mouth.

"Problem solved. Now you're eating," she said and then giggled.

A gooey confection of sugars and cream melted on Phil's tongue. It did more than melt; it crackled with effervescence, like an explosion of flavours was detonating on his palate. This was the best cake Phil had ever tasted in his life. So moist, so scrumptious, so—

Cέrμləa grabbed the back of Phil's knee and yanked. He fell over backwards and his head crashed through a big flan. Cέrμləa, her naked body splattered with various foodstuffs, clambered on top of him. The rounded swell of her ass was covered in gobbets of mashed cake. They squelched against Phil's face as she sat on him. It was like getting a cream pie in the face, but delivered by ass cheeks instead of a hand. Cέrμləa grabbed his penis and jerked up and down.

For a horrible moment Phil thought he might drown in deluxe cake and ass. Thankfully, Cέrμləa shifted position to sit on his chest instead. Phil coughed out chunks of sweet cake. His mouth was sorry to let the wonderful flavours go, but his lungs were grateful for the air.

Cέrμləa picked up an enormous linen bag of icing sugar. She squeezed the bag and pinkish-white froth squirted from the nozzle. She scooped up a blob on her finger and tasted it.

"Mmm," she purred. "You remembered the special ingredient."

"Extract of gooulb gland from a silren'gulba carefully blended with floompfthis pollen to maximise their aphrodisiac properties," the waiter said.

"Brilliant, Mr G," Cέrμləa said.

Cέrμləa was heavier than her waif-like appearance suggested. Sitting on his chest she kept him pinned to the table. She leaned over his groin and moved the icing bag in a circle, squeezing out a thick coil of soft cream around Phil's cock. The frothy substance fizzed pleasantly when it came into contact with Phil's naked skin. His cock grew warm and the same warm sensation travelled down into his balls. For a moment Phil forgot the presence of the waiter as a wave of hormones washed over him.

Cέrμləa made a big fat spiral around Phil's cock and then topped it off with a large dollop that melted around the outside of Phil's glans. She paused to admire her handiwork.

"Whatcha think, Mr G?" she asked.

"Looks most palatable," the emotionless waiter replied.

Cέrμləa bent over until her nipples were rubbing against Phil's belly. Slowly, deliberately—savouring each tongueful—she started to lick the cream off Phil's penis.

That wave of hormones intensified into a pink fog smothering all of Phil's thoughts. Cέrμləa wiggled her ass and pushed it back up against Phil's face. Heedless of who might be watching, Phil started to lick the frosted clumps of cake from Cέrμləa's ass cheeks. His tongue slithered down the groove of her vagina, savouring the taste of sugar and cream mixed with Cέrμləa's juices. Lost in a sweet haze he lapped his tongue back and forth while Cέrμləa attended to his erection with the same detail.

Dimly he heard another gurgling rumble, as if the waiter's stomach was grumbling again. Strangely it seemed to be coming from beneath, the vibrations travelling up through the table legs.

Then Cέrμləa started sucking on his cock and the strange rumbling sounds slipped from his mind. Her warm mouth closed over his glans, first smooshing the cream into his sensitive skin and then sucking it off him.

Smoosh. Suck. Phil's hips trembled. He felt an orgasm rise within him.

Smoosh. Suck. Phil's resistance broke and he spurted his own cream up into the mix. Cέrμləa sucked that up as well, savouring each drop.

She sat up and wiped the back of her hand against her lips.

"That was one scrummy dessert," she said.

The ejaculation allowed Phil to recover some of his senses. He realised where he was and what he'd been doing. His cheeks reddened. He gave the waiter an apologetic glance. "I'm really sorry about this," he said.

The waiter's impassive mask finally slipped and his mouth turned up in a wry smile of understanding.

"This stuff is so dreamy one serving is never enough." Cέrμləa looked thoughtfully at the still-plump bag of icing. "I wonder . . ."

She sat with her legs apart and squirted pinkish-white cream in a spiral around her pussy. She inserted the nozzle between her fleshy labia and squeezed the bag until pink-white goop was overflowing out of her pussy. She closed her eyes, her body shuddered and she gave a long erotic sigh.

"Oh Mr G, you are a true master," she said after the tremors running through her body died down.

The waiter's grin grew broader.

"I wouldn't have been able to perfect the recipe without your assistance," the waiter said.

"All it needs now is a little extra seasoning," Cέrμləa said. She glanced at Phil's prone form.

Uh oh.  The waiter's smile changed to a frown as his stomach gave another loud rumbling gurgle.

"Time grows short," he warned.

"It's hunky-dory, Mr G," Cέrμləa said. "We've got plenty of time."

She grabbed Phil's ankles and dragged him towards her. She gave his still-hard erection a flick.

"Extract of silren'gulba gooulb gland," she said. "Works wonders on droopy male libido."

She hopped astride Phil and lowered her body down onto his cock. He plunged upwards into a vagina full of creamy froth. It bubbled out over him like hot mud at a geyser. The sensation was just as before, but magnified this time as it was the whole of Cέrμləa's tight pussy rubbing the creamy froth into his erection. Once again a warm sensation flowed down into his balls and pulsed until his thoughts were subsumed within a thick pink fog.

Cέrμləa bounced lithely in his lap and molten foodstuffs squelched between them as their bodies came together. Little blue devil wings emerged from Cέrμləa's back and quivered in ecstasy. She closed her eyes and gave out little sighs as she rose up and down. They increased in frequency and loudness until she hit climax. Her pussy completely enveloped Phil's cock and sucked the sugary cream off him in soft tickling waves. Sucked and sucked until the sensation became too much and Phil erupted inside her. At the same time Cέrμləa gave an orgasmic cry and squeezed the icing bag in her hand hard enough to squirt a jet of pink-white cream into the air.

Phil fell back, spent, in the ruins of the cake. Cέrμləa didn't seem done quite yet. She dismounted and looked around her with bright red eyes. Glancing down, Phil saw the succubus's vagina had sucked his cock completely clean. Not a trace of icing remained on it.

"Hmm, what to try now," Cέrμləa said.

"Mademoiselle!" the waiter warned. Much louder this time.

The rumble of his stomach was also louder. So loud it sounded like an earthquake.

It was an earthquake! Phil even felt the tremors vibrating through the table legs. It jolted him from his comfortable post-coital glow. The ground was shaking. That rumble he'd thought was the waiter's stomach was coming from all around them.

Cέrμləa didn't seem to have noticed. She flitted from dessert to dessert like a sugar-crazed hummingbird.

Phil swung his legs over the side of the table and stood up. What was that out in the distance? There was some kind of commotion on the horizon.

"Cέrμləa, I think we should leave," he said.

An ominous feeling of dread was growing in his gut as fast as the commotion on the horizon was drawing closer.

He looked to the waiter for guidance. The man was staring mournfully at his rumbling belly.

Phil glanced back at the horizon. The thing on the horizon was moving up and down in a sinuous wave like a line of serpents. It was also big. Very big. And moving towards them extremely quickly.

"I would advise haste, young master," Mr G said. "My hunger is terrible and swift when aroused."

"Cέrμləa!" Phil said.

"Hey don't rush a gal when she's trying to get her knickers back on," Cέrμləa complained.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. The sinuous something had resolved into a line of monstrous worms fused together at the sides. They chomped through the terrain in a vast masticating wave. Cέrμləa jumped off the table and grabbed Phil's hand and started running back towards the exit.

"Thanks, G," she said. "Until next time."

"Thanks for the meal," Phil said to Mr G.

"A pleasure," Mr G said. He glanced to the horizon. "But I would really advise running at this point."

Phil saw the doorway back to the succubi's castle off in the distance. It looked a long way away. Hand in hand, Phil and Cέrμləa sprinted across the spongy brown ground. The soft organic feel of the surface made Phil think about things he didn't want to think about at this precise moment. Neither did he want to contemplate why the whole floor was shaking and convulsing.

He glanced over his shoulder and wished he hadn't. A wall of mouths—each filled with gnashing, plate-like teeth—rose up behind them. Drool ran from cavernous maws in rivers of slime as teeth the size of cars clicked together. The vast, multi-headed wave was gaining on them. Phil put his head down and ran faster.

The door was close now. Only a few metres. Phil daren't look behind him. Already he felt blasts of hot breath at his back. The exhalations carried the putrid odours of meat gone bad.

Cέrμləa reached the door first. A gigantic black shadow fell over Phil and instinctively he dived through the open door. He hit the stone floor of the storage room and skidded into a wall. There was a loud thud behind him. It sounded like a herd of dinosaurs had crashed into the doorway. He turned and saw the doorway bulging as if it was an image projected onto elastic. A cavernous, roaring red maw gaped open on the other side. Thankfully the wall separating the two dimensions rebounded and the distortion went away. The straight lines of the doorway were once again straight lines. On the other side of the doorway two rows of enormous teeth came together with a loud click.

Fuck, that was close, Phil thought.

And not over.

The vast mouth opened and a long tongue, muscular like a tentacle, slithered through the doorway and wrapped around Phil's ankle.

Oh shit.

He scrabbled furiously and was able to get his arms around the post of a shelving unit as the tongue tightened its grip on his ankle and started to tug him back towards the door. Rather than help him Cέrμləa fell about laughing in the corner.

Nurse Honey stepped between Phil and the door and jabbed the tongue with a small trident. The appendage released Phil and slithered back down the cavernous red tunnel. White teeth closed behind it with a porcelain clink.

The blonde succubus was wearing a different costume to her usual latex nurse outfit. She was still wearing tight rubber, but this was deep red in colour. It hugged her curves like a second skin and was cut low enough to show off most of her substantial cleavage.

Nurse Honey looked over to where Cέrμləa was giggling away in the corner and tsked. "That form," she said.

The white teeth opened like horizontal curtains, revealing the portly waiter. He stood at the entrance to an endless red gullet.

"My sincerest apologies." He bowed to Nurse Honey. "Please forgive my intrusion. This hunger . . . it is difficult to contain sometimes."

"Forgiven," Nurse Honey said. "No harm done and I'm guessing—" She shot a glance over to the giggling Cέrμləa "—some provocation was involved."

The waiter turned his attentions to Phil. "It was a pleasure to meet you, young master," he said. "Please do come back any time."

He gave Phil a little bow. Then he disappeared from view as giant white teeth clicked together in front of him to form an impenetrable ivory wall.

"Later, G," Nurse Honey said as she walked over and shut the door.

Phil understood then why she was carrying the trident. The red figure-hugging rubber was part of a cheap and tacky fancy dress costume—some kind of devil girl. She was even wearing a pair of fake plastic horns.

She caught Phil's look of surprise. "Stag party in Tallinn," she explained.

A tiny hand and face pushed up against the rubber covering her hip.

"The bride will grieve, but ultimately she's better off," she said.

* * * *

"He's through here," Darvill said, looking at the strange contraption in his hand and then at the bathroom door. "But a long way off."

The four students stood in Phil's room at Wargsnouts.

"There is some serious fucking enchantment on that door," Higgins said.

"It's a portal to hell," Darvill said. "Probably the Second Circle of Lust. The signal from Gary's soul is coming from there."

"Then we're fucked," Jack Stone said. "We're the best students of The Scrote's advanced classes, but we're still students. They don't take students into hell until at least their seventh year."

Darvill brought out another contraption—this time something that resembled a large magnifying glass with a heavy, baroque frame—and examined the strange object on the wall next to the door.

"We could wait here," Joey Chalk suggested. "Ambush the bastard when he comes back through."

His daemon, a squat goblin thing with tusks, banged a fist into its palm for emphasis.

Darvill shook his head. "We don't have time. The succubi might not come back through until they've finished draining him to death. We have to go in and pull him out."

The other three students were less than enthused by the prospect.

"I'm going through," Darvill said. "I'm not holding any of you under any obligation to follow, but I'm not going to lie—I'd really appreciate the help."

The others looked at each other.

"Let's fucking do it!" Chalk said.

They opened the door.

to be continued . . . 



Succubus Summoning 209



Phil felt the same degree of trepidation he always felt when entering Nÿte's domain. In contrast to the rest of the succubi's castle—where the decor was opulent and sensually decadent—Nÿte's area resembled a dungeon, or the headquarters of a perverse and sadistic satanic cult. As he walked down the stone corridors he imagined he could hear the ghostly screams of past torment.

He was here because Nÿte had insisted she be involved with his extra tuition. Phil was not altogether happy with this.

He paused at the obsidian side entrance to her throne room and gathered up the courage to open the door. He took a deep breath, walked inside and was about to approach Nÿte's throne when he realised that—once again—he'd managed to walk in on something else.

Phil glimpsed a large, bulky figure making its way up the central path. He ducked away out of sight behind one of the many black pillars that lined the central walkway.

Not a warlock this time. Or even human. He watched as a corpulent daemon ambled along the path towards where Nÿte sat waiting on her black throne. It was white-skinned, hairless and wrinkled like a mole, and grossly obese. Oddly, the face was out of keeping with the rest of the daemon's grotesque body. It was handsome in that rugged way that used to be commonplace amongst the leading men of old movies. Apart from the eyes. They were vacant and together with a slackness of expression suggested some degree of mental retardation.

It definitely wasn't human. A long appendage, like an elephant's trunk, dangled from its waist. The organ was white and wrinkled. It resembled a giant maggot and dragged on the floor between the monster's legs. Phil's felt a shudder of revulsion when he realised it was the daemon's enormous penis.

The thing walked with a bow-legged gait and as it passed Phil's hiding spot he saw the reason why. An enormous pair of hairless testicles, as big as footballs, swung between the daemon's legs.

Nÿte shifted position. Her black eyes shone with interest as the daemon approached her throne and went down on one knee in supplication. Phil's gorge rose as he realised the daemon was carrying a severed head. Its meaty paw was wrapped around a twisted rope of ginger hair and the rest of the head hung underneath like a ghastly morning star. The daemon held up its hand and presented the head to Nÿte as if it was an offering. Then, its gift delivered, the corpulent daemon stood up and ambled back down the central pathway between the obsidian pillars. Its gargantuan sex organ dragged between its legs, leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

The succubus examined her gift. The severed head was closer to a skull. Most of the soft tissues had already sloughed away. Nÿte kissed the head on the remnants of its lips and the remaining flesh blackened and disintegrated into fine ash. Nÿte held aloft the bleached white skull, a cruel smile of triumph on her black lips.

"You can come out now," she said, not even bothering to turn her head to look at Phil.

He shuffled out from behind the pillar.

Nÿte inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I do like the smell of your fear," she said. "It will be a pity when we've trained you up enough to not be frightened of a minor equuphalloid incubus."

Phil looked the other way down the path towards where the daemon had exited. "That was an incubus?" he said.

"A more primal and brutish type, but yes, an incubus."

"I thought they were supposed to be . . . well . . . sexy," Phil said.

"Don't be too hard on our equuphalloid friend," Nÿte said. "You didn't see him at his best. Equuphalloid incubi are prodigiously endowed. When fully erect they look rather buff. When not erect . . . well that extra blood has to be stored somewhere, hence our friend's rather flabby appearance."

Phil pictured that monstrous cock fully erect and immediately wished he could scrub the image from his brain.

Nÿte laughed at Phil's disgust. "The full range of what people find sexy is broad and varied. The Dominion of Lust caters to all. Personally I find equuphalloid incubi to be a little too simple-minded, and simple-minded beings are so limited in how you can play with them. Equuphalloid incubi do have their uses though."

She tilted the bleached skull in her hands, examining it from different angles as if it was a piece of fine art.

Phil's vision wavered and he thought he saw some kind of shadowy miasma floating around the skull. It even looked like a . . .

Oh dear fuck.

It was a face. The mouth was open in a soundless scream of fear and pain. The soul. It was the soul of a person, now trapped within the lifeless shell of their skull.

"Oh, you see it," Nÿte said. "Good, that means your attunement is growing."

She tossed the skull aside. It joined the other skulls heaped around the legs of her throne.

"I wouldn't shed a tear for that one," she said.

Phil looked at the pile. All of the skulls possessed the same shadow image of a face. They stretched and tugged, but were unable to escape their bone prisons. Trapped, they screamed in eternal torment.

Nÿte bounced off her throne and ran a long nail along the line of Phil's jaw. "I was hoping I might have your skull one day," she whispered in his ear.

Phil blanched. He looked at the pile of screaming skulls heaped around Nÿte's throne. He saw too that the pile didn't begin at the floor. There was a pit dug out beneath the black chair. He didn't want to think how deep that pit went or how long the bottommost skull had lain there.

"Oh, I wouldn't put you there," Nÿte said. "That's for the trash."

She took his hand and led him to a set of heavy black drapes at the back of the room. She pulled them aside to reveal an alcove containing a set of shelves. Each shelf contained a neat row of bleached white skulls.

"I'd make space for you here."

The shadow faces on these skulls were calmer. Nÿte plucked a skull from the shelf and passionately kissed its rictus grin. The shadow-soul face returned the kiss with the same ardour. It was smiling when Nÿte placed the skull back on the shelf.

"So many," Nÿte said. "I do worry I neglect some of them sometimes."

She drew the drapes back. Phil wished he could do the same to his memory of that alcove filled with row after row of living skulls.

Nÿte put an arm around Phil's waist and turned him back towards the exit.

"I really do like the way you smell when you're terrified. It gives me the strong urge to ravish you right here and now."

She gave his waist a squeeze.

"But that will have to wait until later. There's the second part of your business to conclude."

* * * *

Darvill cursed himself for his stupidity as soon as he stepped through the door. Too rash. Too hurried. He'd expected there to be security measures put in place by the portal creator to prevent unwanted intrusions. He'd searched for the obvious traps—things to maim and kill—but the portal creator had been more subtle than that.

He'd felt the shift in destination and the others being pulled away from him the moment they'd entered the door. He understood too late. The countermeasures hadn't been designed to prevent intruders from entering, but to scatter them and leave them isolated on the other side. Vulnerable. Easier to pick off. It was a subtle redirect hidden within the operations of the portal, but one he would—should—have spotted had he not been in so much of a rush.

Rash. Stupid.

And now they were all dead.

Or might as well be. Four novice warlocks, alone with only their daemons for company, in hell. He didn't like their chances.

At least he hadn't been teleported right into the lap of a lust daemon. He'd materialised in a luxurious bedchamber, thankfully empty. There was an enchantment on the enormous and inviting bed—presumably to charm the weak-willed into climbing in and staying there until the succubus returned to fuck out their soul. The charm wasn't very strong. Darvill ignored it and sat cross-legged in the centre of the room. He cleared his mind, focused, and carried out a weaker form of the soul divination ritual they'd used to locate Gary Dever. This time he was looking for the others as well as Gary.

He felt responsible.

Morally, he knew he should have come alone. This was too dangerous for novices, even accomplished ones.

Pragmatically, he knew he needed the support of Herbie and the others. The odds of him being able to do this on his own were far too slim.

Now, through his carelessness, he had the worst of both worlds. He'd put them all at risk and he was on his own.

He dripped blood into the bowl of water he'd placed in front of him. A swirl of a finger revealed complex and baroque schematics. This was a large structure, maybe some kind of castle. He found Herbie and Joey. Herbie was about three or four floors up, same as Darvill, but on the far side of the building. Joey was about two or three or floors below ground level, possibly in some kind of basement or cellar. Jack took longer to find. The portal had deposited him some way outside the main building and the little glowing dot indicating his presence was some distance removed from their location.

He found Gary as well. Maybe. The signal was blurry and indistinct. It should have showed up stronger now they were on the same plane. It was possible there were a lot of other souls in the same area interfering with the divination. That could be a good thing. Maybe he was being held with other humans as food for the daemons to consume later.

Later was better than already consumed.

The signal was also close by, maybe a couple of floors above him and over to the north. Of the four of them, Darvill was the closest.

It wasn't just about finding Gary. They also had to find a way back to Earth.

Darvill grimaced as he opened up another cut in his arm and dripped more blood into the bowl. This time he was looking for the telltale folds and rents in the fabric of reality that indicated the presence of stable portals.

Oh wow, that was complex. An extra-dimensional system of tunnels and shortcuts was revealed to him. They permeated through the building like some kind of twisted root system. It was the central branch Darvill was after. He didn't have the power to open any of the sub-branches from this side. The central branch would be permanently open, though, otherwise the whole portal system would collapse.

And there it was. Almost right in the centre of the building and not far from Herbie. Secretly Darvill was relieved it was further away than Gary. It lessened the temptation to do the rational thing and head straight for the exit.

The lines in the bowl started to shift and blur. Darvill's brow furrowed. His puzzlement changed to alarm as the lines resolved into the face of a young girl with spiky hair and horns. Curious, she looked up out of the bowl at Darvill.

He knocked the bowl over, spilling the contents onto the plush carpet and terminating the divination ritual. That was an unpleasant surprise. He hadn't known it was possible to look back through a divination spell and see the caster.

He stood up and rolled his shirt sleeves further up his arms. Using his knife he carved an anti-lust ward in each forearm. He assumed the others had carried out the same divination ritual he had. They would be heading here to find him. In the meantime he would look for Gary, pull him out if he could, wait for the others if he couldn't.

It was a plan. He didn't like his chances, but at least he had a plan. All that was left was to execute it and hope the obstacles in the way of that plan were not beyond his ability to overcome them.

* * * *

Nÿte led Phil through a series of corridors and then out through a metal door at the base of one of the towers. They were outside. The pink sky was far above them and a slight breeze carried faint traces of sultry perfume. This side of the castle was perched on a rocky promontory. Rough-hewn steps in the stone wall curled down to a round structure that resembled a miniature coliseum. As they descended Phil was able to peer over the circular walls and see an arena floored with black sand.

It looked like—

"Is that a fighting arena?" Phil asked.

Nÿte nodded. "One of my favourite parts of the castle."

That the succubi's castle had its own fighting arena didn't come as that much of a surprise to Phil.

"This is more of that catering to all kinds of fetish thing, isn't it?" Phil said.

"Yes," Nÿte said. "Some like to play with themes of submission and dominance in a more physical manner. Our little arena makes a perfect playground. I like to spar here with daemons from the other dominions as well. I believe succubi should extend their abilities beyond the arts of pleasure."

"We're going to spar?" Phil asked, dreading her answer. He knew from experience Nÿte took a lot of pleasure in inflicting pain.

"Not today," Nÿte said in a way that implied they would at some not-quite-so distant point in Phil's future. "You have some unfinished business to attend to first."

Phil was still pondering what she meant as they reached the base of the steps and walked up a short flight of steps that terminated in a massive curved gate that resembled a giant vagina. Steps curled away along the inside of the walls and up into the stands on either side of the entrance. Nÿte carried straight on down a wide tunnel and took Phil through a small door on the left. They walked along a narrow stone corridor and then entered a small stone room where the other succubi were waiting for him.

With them was a figure Phil recognised. It looked like a young man in baggy blue jeans, a Slayer T-shirt and a knitted blue bobble hat. He was wearing an oversized pair of headphones. Phil knew him. His name was Carnivrillarofax. He was a Kullockian rage daemon and a good deal more fearsome than his mild art-student appearance suggested.

"'Sup," Carny said to Phil.

"Hi," Phil said back.

While Carny was a terrifyingly deadly rage daemon, he'd never been anything less than friendly to Phil. Actually, for something that was capable of tearing a person's arm off in the blink of an eye, Carny was a pretty decent bloke.

"Carnivrillarofax is our special guest," Nurse Honey said.

Cέrμləa, back in her little girl form, bobbed excitedly in front of the older succubus. "We have a surprise for you," she said. "And Carny's here to watch."

Good surprise? Bad surprise? Phil looked at the faces of the daemons. They weren't giving anything away.

"I'll go and get it ready," Nÿte said. Her high heels clicked against the stone floor as she left the room.

"What combat magic do you know?" Carny asked. "I never got a chance to see it when we last met."

When they'd last met Phil had spent most of the time semi-conscious on the floor while Rosa and Carny had torn through a pub of hooligans.

"A little," Phil said. "I know some defensive shields—magic and daemon—and some summons and dismissals. At Wargsnouts we don't get to learn offensive magic until the 3rd year. I've been learning some fire magic with Cέrμləa, though."

Carny looked alarmed. He looked at the other succubi. "Are you sure he's ready for this?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine," Rosa said. "He responds best under pressure."

Carny continued to look doubtful.

"Okay okay, I'll give him some extra fire magic to help out," Rosa said.

She walked over to Phil and held out her hand. A little ball of fire popped into existence and floated above her palm.

"So you know how this bit works?" she asked.

Phil nodded. "It's an extension of the soul," he said.

Rosa looked aghast. "Cέrμləa!" she turned and glowered at the little daemon with spiky blue hair.

Cέrμləa looked at the floor. "Sowwee," she said. "I started with the simple explanation, the one that college tells their first and second years."

Rosa shook her head. "The soul can't generate that level of energy. The fire is summoned from the Elemental Plane of Consumas Infernum that lies at the intersection of the Dominions of Lust, Gluttony and Wrath."

"We can always postpone this until he's had more time," Carny suggested. "I'm okay with that."

Rosa ignored him and carried on with her explanation.

"The fire isn't truly sentient, but it can respond to its summoner's will. For beginners there are various words that aid in focusing and transmitting their desires.

"Flambasglob." Rosa threw a fireball at the stone wall.

"Flambas-Ejaculax." A tongue of flame jetted out of her palm and licked the stone wall.

"Shelduk nidafacii Flambastinaai." Flames span and formed a Catherine wheel shield about a foot and a half in diameter.

"Gladucx nidafacii Flambastinaai." Flames extended in her other hand to form a sword.

"There's also Immolatum nida Flambastinaai." A flickering nimbus of flames surrounded Rosa's body. "The flames won't burn the summoner's flesh, but they will set fire to your clothes and anything else around you."

She closed her hand into a fist and the flames flickered out.

"Get all that?" Rosa smiled at him.

"Uh," Phil said. The words span around in his brain and fell down a black whirlpool of misapprehension. He wasn't sure he liked where all this was going.

"Oh, and this is important," Rosa said, holding up a finger. "The flames nibble on the spiritual energy of the summoner as the price for summoning them. Summon too many or run out of energy to feed them and your soul will catch alight and you'll burn to a crisp. Many a stupid warlock has gone out that way."

Phil's eyes boggled in fear.

"Really, I can do this some other time," Carny said.

Rosa put an arm around Phil and smiled at the rage daemon. "He'll be fine," she said.

"There are other forces you can call on," Verdé said. "The heart of the Qištu is close to here. It will listen to even the quietest and most inexperienced voices. Ĝiškimiti za bursaĝ ul Urpâdu ni Guberim li Išduum Qištu."

She held out a hand and tugged upwards as if pulling on an invisible rope. Vines erupted out of the stone floor and tangled around Rosa's ankles and lower calves.

"Don't confuse the poor boy with too much," Rosa said. She snapped her fingers and the green tendrils caught fire and burnt to ash. "They're weak to fire, so he should use that."

They?

Phil wished someone would tell him what was going on. Instead Rosa steered him through another door and then down some steps that terminated in a corridor leading out to the arena floor. The daemons left him there. Verdé was last to go. She blew him a kiss that tingled on his lips.

Phil looked ahead at the archway. His heart fluttered anxiously in his chest. He knew by now that turning around and running away was not an option. He took a deep breath, walked through the archway and stepped out onto the black sands of the arena floor.

And it was an amphitheatre—a coliseum in miniature. The central arena was a circle of around thirty metres in diameter. It was surrounded by a stone wall about ten feet high. Above the wall, stone benches provided seating in rising concentric rows. Metal portcullises were set into the wall at regular intervals.

No cheering greeted Phil as he entered the arena. Most of the seating was empty. The succubi and Carny were sitting together up on the top row to his left. Cέrμləa sat perched on the edge of her seat, her hands pressed against the sides of her face. Rosa lounged casually next to her. Carny sat in the middle and looked as chilled as ever. Nurse Honey sat next to him, looking regal despite wearing a fetishized nurse's outfit. Verdé joined them and sat elegantly on the end. Nÿte was missing.

"Savour this," Rosa called down.

The succubi weren't the only audience. Puff and Pfaffle were sitting in the middle row on the other side of the amphitheatre. They acknowledged his presence with a languid wave.




Succubus Summoning 209



Phil's heart continued to thud loudly in his chest. He had a horrible feeling they expected him to fight something and he felt woefully unprepared. Wargsnouts students were strictly forbidden from engaging in magical duels until their fifth year.

A heavy black portcullis slammed down behind him and Phil jumped. Well that was that. Definitely no running away now.

Nÿte emerged on the other side of the arena. She was not alone. Walking next to her was a daemon that was half human and half spider. A naked, pale-skinned female torso rose up out of a black bulbous abdomen. She walked on eight spindly legs.

Phil recognised her.

Fuck  L'mactia.

* * * *

This was so gay, Jack Stone thought.

He looked around and saw he was surrounded by lush, verdant jungle. Vast trees rose up into the sky. Long creepers dangled from their branches. Exotic blooms exploded all around him in a profusion of riotous colours.

Some would have been awed by the spectacle. Not Stone. He hated the outdoors. It was wet, smelly and icky.

No, he'd rather he was back in his room playing Xbox and sharing a fat roach with his righteous buddy, the Pholi Xonz.

He wished Joey and Herbie hadn't been so quick to agree with Darvill. He hadn't wanted to go through the portal—busting into hell, fuck that crazy shit—but once the others had said yes he didn't want to be the odd one out.

Where were they anyway? Where was this?

Stone had expected the Circle of Lust to be like the set of an expensive porno—big beds, soft divans, perfumed cushions, gauzy silk curtains blowing in a sultry breeze. He hadn't expected to end up in some fucking reeking jungle. Maybe all this plant growth was a representation of fecundity or some other shit like that.

Stone didn't like it.

Something must have gone wrong. Maybe Darvill had screwed up. They must have gotten separated after passing through the door in Rowling's room.

"Where now, buddy?" he asked his righteous buddy, the Pholi Xonz.

The hairy slothxren pointed in the direction of a narrow trail winding through the massive trees.

Stone sighed. He hoped the others hadn't been ported too far away. He hated walking. As he walked down the overgrown trail he decided the smell of the jungle wasn't as horrible as he first thought. There was an earthy, musky taint to the air that made his balls itch pleasantly.

* * * *

L'mactia was the arachne that had attacked Phil in the showers at Wargsnouts. She recognised him and also looked surprised to see him there.

Nÿte had her on a leash. It was attached to a black collar L'mactia wore around her pale neck. The collar was the only thing she wore—the rest of her upper body was totally naked. Her skin was unnaturally pale and possessed a bluish tinge that marked her out as a creature more at home in the dark cracks between realities. As with the other succubi, her upper half was as generously proportioned as a typical glamour model—slim at the waist, voluptuous at the chest. She had the high cheekbones and sensual lips of a gothic beauty. Three pairs of red orbs adorned her forehead and temples. They could have been mistaken for body jewellery, but Phil knew they were additional eyes.

What was she doing here?

Surely they didn't expect him to fight her. Arachnes weren't an approved summon until at least the fifth year. Later even than succubi.

Nÿte addressed the audience like a circus ringmaster announcing the next act.

"This is the lowly daemon that ambushed Master from the darkness and nearly took his life and soul. We bring her here and present her to him, to deal with as he deems fit."

Phil didn't think it was going to work out that way. More likely they'd just given the daemon a second opportunity to finish the job.

Nÿte unhooked the leash and whispered something in the arachne's ear. Then she opened her great black wings and flew up to the top row of seating to join Verdé and the others.

That left Phil alone in the ring . . . with L'mactia.

"You're still alive," L'mactia said. Her blood-red lips curled up in a smile.

Phil watched the spider daemon warily. He tried to remember what he knew about them. They hadn't been covered in his usual studies, but he remembered seeing them in one of the bestiaries of lust daemons he'd flicked through with Jake.

"What kind of pervert would summon one of them for sex?" Jake had joked as they'd looked at the pictures. It wasn't the most helpful of memories.

"I thought I'd left you dead for sure," L'mactia said. 

Even though she'd been captured and brought here against her will, she still regarded Phil with amusement, as if he was nothing more than an entertaining little diversion.

She shrugged. "I did warn her that such things were not precise, that it would be better to let me suck and suck until nothing was left of you but a pretty little shell, but she was most insistent on the matter. I did not think much of her, in truth. She was not as skilled as she believed herself to be."

As she rolled her tongue around suck Phil felt a traitorous throb of interest in his crotch. L'mactia sensed it too. Her full lips came together in a seductive pout.

"I think you want me to take another suck," she teased.

She tensed as if about to pounce and Phil instinctively jumped backwards, almost losing his balance in the process.

L'mactia laughed. "So skittish. I know your cock wants it. It wants to be buried in my softest, wettest silk while my abdomen sucks and sucks and sucks."

Her bloated black abdomen pulsed obscenely. Sticky white liquid dripped from the tip and puddled on the floor.

Phil's traitorous penis bulged out in an erection. It remembered and wanted more. Phil tried to push the distraction out of his mind.

L'mactia sensed the conflict and laughed.

"Mmm, let me prepare some really soft silk for you. She sucked on a finger while her abdomen throbbed with lewd intent.

Phil threw a fireball at her.

L'mactia formed a circular shield of energy and swatted the fireball away.

"Feisty." She smiled.

Phil just about had time to summon an anti-daemon shield before L'mactia was on him. Or rather, all over him. Or at least would have been if it hadn't been for his shield. She wrapped her long black legs around it and reared up over him. He felt the pressure of her body around his protective sphere transmuted to an invisible force pressing down on his skull. 

"I don't know what they thought they were achieving by bringing me here," L'mactia said. "You're barely a novice. This shield is about as useful as a soap bubble."

She placed a hand flat against Phil's protective sphere.

"Dakshel exnida tanja vaarsta Magique."

Phil's shield dissipated as L'mactia dismissed it. At the same time the tip of her bulbous abdomen flicked forwards and sprayed a thin stream of fine silk. Her webbing found the gap in Phil's robes and adhered to his crotch and inner thighs.

He really needed to steal a pair of underpants.

L'mactia flexed her abdomen back and Phil was yanked off his feet. She dragged him beneath her body. He looked up between the half-moon globes of her pendulous breasts and saw her smile triumphantly.

"There will be no revenge for you today," she said.

Her abdomen quivered obscenely before spitting out a thick glob of webbing that glued Phil to the floor.

"Or maybe that was never the intention," L'mactia said. "Maybe you enjoyed the taste of my silky pleasures so much you wanted more."

She reached back and rubbed her slowly throbbing abdomen.

"Very well, I'll give you some of my special silk."

Phil heard a lewd sound like thick cream bubbling out of a nozzle. He felt a warm substance envelop his erection. He felt his penis jerk as the spider daemon bobbed her abdomen up and down. She manipulated Phil's cock with threads of silk like a master puppeteer, causing a surge of blood and pleasure to rush to his crotch. He tried to think of a way to escape this predicament, but L'mactia's expert tugs kept breaking his concentration until his breath became ragged and exited his mouth in low pants.

"This time there are no special clauses," L'mactia. "No interruptions to disturb our pleasure."

Her abdomen dropped lower. Two chitinous plates at the front of her body—where her human half met her arachnid half, and where the vagina would be on a normal woman—slid open and her labia, puffy and swollen, emerged. The strong musk of her arousal flowed out and covered Phil's face like a smothering pillow.

"My kind's reputation for cruelty is undeserved," L'mactia said. "Your end will be a sweet one. I'll bury your face in my luscious pussy while I drain you."

The wet silk entwined around Phil's cock changed, became a tube of pulsing dark energy. It stroked up and down his erection, gently coaxing his own energy out. Phil shivered as unearthly pleasures pulled at him. All the tension had fled his body. He felt like he was floating on a bubble.

Overhead he watched Verdé fly through a sky the colour of aroused flesh. Her wings flapped, carrying her away from the arena. Phil didn't blame her. He hadn't put up much of a fight.

L'mactia bent her legs and lowered her body down on him. Her labia, puffed up like soft cushions, quivered in excitement. Her abdomen expanded as she inhaled his energy. L'mactia gave a low sigh of pleasure . . .

. . . which was cut off with a harsh exhalation of surprise. She staggered. The connection between them was broken. Freed of the soporific weight bearing down on his mind, the cogs and gears of Phil's brain clicked into life.

"Immolatum nida Flambastinaai!"

A nimbus of fire surrounded him and ignited the webbing in an explosion that knocked L'mactia aside. The restraining silk burnt away and, free now, Phil rolled away. As he stood up he realised he was still on fire, although he felt no heat or any kind of burning sensation.

Wow, this was so cool, he thought, looking at the flames flickering over his arms like busy snakes. This was magic. This was what he'd wanted ever since Recruiting Officer Garner had given him that demonstration behind the McRestaurant. 

No time to bask in the elation. He still had the spider daemon to worry about. He'd caught her in the explosion. Patches of pale skin on her right side were blackened and singed. It was little more than a scratch for her. The burnt patches of skin were already healing and fading away.

"Gladucx nidafacii Flambastinaai."

He focused on the flames flickering over his arms and willed them to form a sword.

Super cool.  Unfortunately, L'mactia had backed off to the rear of the arena and was preparing magic of her own. She recited words Phil tried to pluck from the air, but these were too alien, too quixotic. They slithered through the grasping fingers of his mind and were gone. What they left behind was far more frightful.

"You could have had such a pleasant end," she said.

A ball of dark energy formed in her palm and swelled up. It hit football size and grew further still. Green light, the colour of pus from a septic wound, flickered within the roiling ball of shadow. A horrible, overwhelming sense of determination emanated from the ball. Phil got the impression it was sentient. And hate-filled, so malevolently hate-filled. The ball wanted to smash him from existence and Phil sensed that even if he was able to get out of its way the ball would simply change course and continue to follow him. It would chase and follow him and not stop until it had utterly obliterated him.

What now?

It didn't matter. On the verge of completing the spell, L'mactia staggered as if hurt and cried out in pain and frustration. Her loss of concentration had disrupted the summoning and the ball of blistering dark energy evaporated before it could fully manifest in this plane.

Phil didn't know what had caused her lapse, but he knew he had to take advantage. He charged . . .

. . . and was nearly decapitated by one of her lashing legs.

Stupid. Reckless.

He had to limbo beneath the scything limb, but in the process lost balance and tumbled on his ass. Fuck, now he was totally open.

L'mactia didn't take advantage, instead retreating along the curve of the arena wall. Phil got back to his feet and was surprised to find himself in the role of aggressor. He advanced and L'mactia backed away. Could it be fear of the flames? Rosa said they were vulnerable to fire.

Another clumsy swing—sword-fighting was much harder than how it looked in the swashbuckling films—gave L'mactia opportunity to put more distance between them. She twisted her abdomen and squirted a thick strand of gooey silk at him.

Phil moved his hand in a circular motion. "Shelduk nidafacii Flambastinaai." The living flame swirled and formed a shield in front of him. The strands of silk hit the flickering flames and burnt away in harmless sprays of ash.

He threw fireballs at L'mactia with no success. She moved in a skittering stop-start manner that made it difficult to track her movements or predict where she'd be at any one moment. At best his fire kept her on the defensive, but for how long.

He was conscious his internal temperature was rising as he allowed more living flames through the portal he'd opened in his soul.

Burn her! the flames cried as they flowed out of his core and raced through his veins.

Set her on fire!  Set everything on fire!  Phil remembered Rosa's words. Summon too much flame and the warlock would be consumed by it—roasted and blackened like a chunk of charcoal. He sensed that moment was approaching. The flames wailed their frustration as Phil slowed their flow to a trickle. The fire raging all over his body died right down. No more fireballs for him. He'd have to finish this with sword and shield.

L'mactia continued to keep her distance. Why wasn't she attacking? Or using magic?

Phil was happy to get a break from her attacking. It was stalemate though. She was too fast and agile for him to get close to and she seemed reluctant to push the fight to him. Unfortunately, he suspected the stalemate would last only until he was forced to put out the flame completely. He needed to do something before then.

If only he could get her to stay still. 

Then he remembered Verdé's parting advice.

He went for another attack, but this one was a feint. While L'mactia dodged backwards he took the opportunity to crouch down and lay a hand flat on the sandy floor. Yes, he could hear it, feel it moving beneath him in the ground.

"Ĝiškimiti za bursaĝ ul Urpâdu ni Guberim li Išduum Qištu," he called out to it.

L'mactia cried out in shock and surprise as green tendrils erupted from the sand beneath her and tangled around her legs and abdomen. She was yanked to the floor and bound by tangling roots. She bucked and swayed as she tried to pull her body free. Now there was fear in her eyes as she saw Phil approach.

"Sheldak nida Magique."

An anti-magic shield surrounded her. Phil placed a hand on it . . .

"Dakshel exnida tanja vaarsta Magique."

. . . and the shield dissipated into shards of light.

The flame sword in his hand was burning down and losing intensity. It would still be enough. L'mactia frantically muttered words of magic. They backfired. She yelped in pain as sparks burnt livid welts in her pale neck. Phil raised his sword . . .

He noticed the black collar around her neck. Electric blue sparks crackled around it.

Hey, wasn't that . . . Oh.

It all made sense now.

He lowered his burning sword. "This was never a fair fight," he called up to the succubi in the stands.

He recognised the collar as the one Brennan had made, supposedly to keep daemons under control, although it had failed to protect Brennan from Nÿte. It was much more effective on L'mactia. Her face contorted in agony as the collar crackled and scorched her. Segmented legs twitched spasmodically as magical sparks fizzed through her.

"It could never be a fair fight," Nÿte said. "L'mactia has killed many experienced warlocks. You're just a novice. Without the collar you'd already be dead."

Phil knew that. He realised now why L'mactia had focused on defence. The collar had prevented her from mounting any attacks. It had never been a fight. The succubi had set it up to look like one, but in reality it had more in common with the slaughter of a muzzled and hobbled beast.

"What now?" Phil asked.

"That's up to you," Nÿte said. "Her life is in your hands. You can slay her in revenge. Or spare her and let her go. What do your teachings tell you?"

Phil remembered The Scrote's lessons. A warlock should always be ruthless, he'd said. Kill a defeated foe rather than giving them a chance to come back stronger.

The theory was easier than the reality.

L'mactia was sprawled before him. Her head was bowed. "I won't beg," she said.

He couldn't do this. In the heat of battle, to defend himself, yes. But not this. Not the cold-blooded execution of a defeated and helpless opponent.

"Where's your anger?" Nÿte said. "She tried to give you a slow and lingering death and nearly killed you. Don't you want revenge?"

Phil looked at the defeated spider daemon. One quick blow to the neck. It would be fast.

What revenge was this anyway? The person who'd wanted him dead was Emma Brennan and he couldn't kill her because someone else had already killed her. L'mactia was a tool. Raging at her was as pointless as raging at a gun.

He thought it but recognised it for the feeble dissembling it was. He couldn't do this. Not in cold blood.

His flaming sword flickered out of existence. The flames surrounding him died away.

"Nope. Can't do it. Not murdering a helpless individual."

He walked away. What a shit-poor excuse of a warlock he was.

L'mactia looked up in surprise when the killing blow failed to arrive. She struggled free of the tangling vines, but rather than charge Phil she ran away and skittered up one of the arena walls. It was Nÿte she ran to. And not to attack. She prostrated herself before the succubus in black. Then she got up and they shared a passionate kiss. Afterwards she sat next to Nÿte and rested her head in the succubus's lap. To Phil it looked like she was trying very hard not to cry.

Nÿte ran her hand through the spider daemon's black hair. She took the collar off and placed it around her own pale neck. She smiled down at Phil and gave him a little nod.

This left Phil thoroughly confused. Had he been supposed to kill L'mactia? Or not?

The portcullis rose behind him and he hurried out of the arena before the succubi decided to give him an even worse daemon to fight. He went back to the changing room even though he had nothing to change or change back into. His robe had burnt away when he'd set himself and L'mactia's web on fire.

He sat on one of the stone benches with his head between his knees. He had to get away from here. And Wargsnouts. He wasn't a warlock and would never be one.

Rosa walked in with Carny. "Not one of yours then," she said to Carny. "Are you disappointed?"

"He never was," Carny replied. "You wouldn't have set such a hard challenge if you'd thought otherwise."

He walked over to Phil and offered a good-natured fist bump.

"Fine showing there, dude," he said as Phil tapped his knuckles.

"It was all fake," Phil replied morosely. "She couldn't fight back."

"Well, yeah," Carny said with a laugh. "Human versus daemon normally only ever has one outcome. That's why you guys summon us to fight for you."

Phil felt soft and weak. He couldn't even kill the spider daemon that had tried to kill him.

"Did I do the right thing?" he asked.

The rage daemon shrugged. "Hard to say with these things. The consequences of mercy are difficult to predict. Today's beaten foe might become tomorrow's ally. Or the indignity of the defeat might linger and fester away until they become an implacable nemesis that cares only for revenge. There are no right choices. Either outcome is possible. Only time will tell."




Succubus Summoning 209



Phil shuddered at the thought of an arachne like L'mactia becoming his nemesis.

"I think you'll be fine," Carny said. "I doubt she'll bear a grudge any more than she'd have shed a tear over your death. Her kind are known for their detachment."

Carny was hunkered down as he stared into Phil's glum face. He frowned. He put his hands on either side of Phil's head and peered more intently.

"Oh," he said. "Verdé you silly girl," he murmured, more to himself. His face brightened and his usual easygoing smile returned. "Not your fault," he said to Phil. "It was her choice to make. Maybe it was the right one."

Phil wondered where Verdé was. Cέrμləa and Nurse Honey had also entered the room. Verdé wasn't with them. He asked the succubi where she was.

"Intruders," Cέrμləa said with exaggerated seriousness.

Intruders? Did that mean they were under attack?

"Who?" he asked.

"Some students from your college found the portal," Rosa said. "It's okay. There are safeguards. Any unwelcome guests are separated and redirected to random locations within the castle grounds."

"That was my addition," Cέrμləa said, beaming with pride.

"One landed in the outer forest," Rosa added. "Verdé flew off to find them."

"Oh, that's good," Phil said. "That place is dangerous. They'll need a helping . . ."

He saw the expressions on the faces of the other succubi.

"She's not gone to help him, has she?" he said.

"Well, they are intruders," Rosa said.

Phil grimaced. "They're fellow students. Can we at least find out why they're here first?"

Rosa shared a glance with Carny. He was smiling.

"It's unusual, but I suppose we could do that," Rosa said.

"I'll look for Verdé," Nurse Honey offered. "She likes to take her time with her prey. There's a good chance I can get there in time."

"Where are the others?" Phil asked.

"I can do a divination to find them," Cέrμləa said.

They rushed from the room, nearly bowling Nÿte over in the process.

"We've got to go rescue some novice warlocks," Cέrμləa explained excitedly.

* * * *

Jack Stone hated the outdoors. He hated the sun. He hated mud. He hated the smell. He hated the noise. He hated the trees. As he trudged along an overgrown path he hated every sliver of misfortune that had brought him to this hateful place.

He walked into a clearing and saw a sexy chick waiting for him. She was hawt. Long silky green hair billowed around a beautiful face with full sensual lips. Her billowing green robes left little to the imagination and her sexy figure matched anything between the pages of the porn stash he kept under his bed. She looked like a beautiful elf princess . . . with a really dirty mind.

Stone did not hate that.

Behind her a weird plant peeled open and revealed a soft white inner layer. It looked like a giant king-sized bed with a luxurious, super-soft mattress. The top leaves were translucent and curled over to provide shade.

"You look hot and bothered," the girl said. "Why don't you rest here for a while?"

She patted the white surface as if it was the bed it resembled.

"With me," she added. Her green eyes glittered with the promise of sex.

That sounded like a really good idea. It was fucking hot. She was hot. He was sick of walking. It would be good to lie down for a while, especially with a chick with a bodacious body like that.

Who had horns.

Stone's brow wrinkled. She had horns, wings and a tail.

Succubus!  Fuck, she must be trying to glamour him or some other mesmeric shit like that. Luckily it hadn't taken hold.

"Flambasglob!"

Flames sprang to life in his right hand and he tossed a fireball at the lust daemon. Her seductive smile vanished and she yowled in pain as the ball of fire burst against her side.

Start of a kill streak, yeah baby.

Not quite, although he'd clipped her pretty good. She held her side and grimaced as she got back to her feet. Damn, he thought he'd put her down for good. Now he'd have to hit her with something else.

Or maybe not.

The succubus gave him a fearful glance and then dashed off between the trees.

Winner!

So much for their killer rep, Stone thought. It was as they said, if you were able to resist a succubus's charm magic there wasn't much else to be afraid of.

Oh wait. He recognised that succubus. She was one of Rowling's. Didn't she sometimes have blonde hair and wear a rubber nurse outfit. He bet she knew where Dever was.

He should probably try and catch her or something. That meant—

—sigh—

—running after her.

"C'mon!" he called out to the Bodacious, Pimptastic Pholi Xonz.

Pholi Xonz ambled after him as he dived into the vegetation. Slothxren were not exactly built for speed.

Neither was Stone. He'd clipped her though. That should slow her down. And if it didn't, he could at least say he tried.

He saw the succubus ahead of him. She was sleek and lithe as she slipped past ancient twisted tree trunks. She was also wounded. She clutched at her left side and the membranes of her left wing were frayed and tattered.

The ground fell away and opened out into a large clearing. Gargantuan pinkish-white puffballs dotted the open space. They looked like gigantic tits pushing up out of the forest floor. The succubus's wing was too damaged to allow her to fly. Instead she bounced from puffball to puffball, each jump triggering a spout of pink spores from the nipple-like tips of the giant round balls.

She was injured. He could catch her. A surge of excitement ran through Stone and he charged after her, picking his way between the giant pulsing puffballs.

Halfway across the clearing he felt another surge, this time in his underpants. The air was thick and close, and reeked of sweat and sex. Running suddenly became a little harder with an iron bar stashed away in his pants. He felt the urge to drop his trousers and rub his dick against the soft heaving flesh of one of the giant puffballs. Rub his cock against it until he came and sprayed the lush pink flesh with thick ropes of cum.

Stone slowed down and shook his head as if it would shake out all the pornographic imagery that had suddenly bubbled up in his brain.

Fucking Circle of Lust. This must be a field full of lust 'shrooms, all spurting their filthy lust spores up in the air. That's why the succubus had led him through here, to distract him.

It wouldn't work. Stone thought sex was overrated anyway. He'd rather smoke a fat joint and play Xbox than screw some landwhale full of neurotic bullshit he couldn't be bothered to deal with.

The chick with green hair wasn't too far ahead of him. She was still favouring one side. Stone shook off the pornographic haze clouding his thoughts and sprinted after her. He knew that was a bad idea when sudden pain flared up in his side.

Argh. Fucking stitch. There was a reason he hated running.

It slowed Stone down enough that he couldn't catch the daemon with green hair before she reached the edge of a cliff and jumped off. He reached the edge and looked over just in time to see her land right on another monstrously large lust 'shroom. Her impact sent a thick plume of spores up into the air. It was a scary drop but the giant puffball looked big and soft enough to cushion the fall, like a giant airbag. From this vantage point the resemblance to a gigantic boob was even more obvious. This lust 'shroom was even bigger than the ones in the field behind him—maybe as much as ten metres across.

That was good. Plenty to aim for. He leapt off the edge of the cliff.

The succubus rolled off the edge of the puffball. Rather than running for the trees as Stone expected, she placed her hands flat against the sides of the round fungus. It gave a convulsive shiver. The nipple-like aperture at the centre opened up and another thick plume of spores, the column thick enough to be semi-solid, geysered up at Stone. Shapes resembling hot nymphs formed within the cloud and clutched at him as it surged past.

Their attentions were enough to upend him. He landed ungainly on his butt. The soft surface of the lust 'shroom—it even felt like flesh—sank beneath him and then rebounded and swayed as though he'd landed on a Godzilla-sized waterbed. The nipple-like structure at the apex opened up again and released another fountain of spores with a rude pfthh.

It was a pretty sweet bed, Stone thought as he waited for the pitching surface to settle down. He wouldn't mind having a bed like this, although he'd never be able to get out of it in the morning in time for class. Not that he made morning classes anyway.

He sat up and stitch gnawed away at his side. He flopped back. Let's take a breather for a moment. Get our breath back.

This thing was really comfortable to lie on.

He turned his head and saw the injured succubus slip away into the dense undergrowth.

Ah fuck it. He'd never find her in there and even if he did he'd hardly be able to do much all panting and out of breath.

Nah. He was done running. The others would understand. He'd clipped her and nearly caught her. He'd made a good effort.

Now he'd lie back here and rest a while. He put his hands behind his head and looked up at the pink sky.

Yeah, chill out for a while. He deserved it.

Shame about all these shitty spores in the air. Stone was covered in the glittering pink shit. When he tried to wipe the fuzz off his clothes came away with it, as if the spores had rotted the fabric away. It didn't do anything to his skin. Actually, it gave him a pleasant little tingle wherever it came into contact with his exposed flesh.

Stone felt more than a little chilled. His thoughts were clouded in a warm fug and he felt that same sweet buzz he got from smoking strong weed.

He wondered if it was the spores.

He kicked down with his heel. The giant puffball—that looked and felt like an enormous titty—shivered around him. The centre bulged and then dropped as the nipple squirted another glittering pink cloud into the sky.

Weird. It looked like the spores were coalescing into the form of a naked and buxom babe.

They must have a hallucinogenic effect as well.

Sweet. He was tripping out on lust 'shrooms.

The cloud floated down onto him and he imagined the weight of the buxom babe settling in his lap. She smiled down at him and caressed his cheek with a barely substantial hand. His skin tingled pleasantly in the aftermath of her touch.

This lust 'shroom shit was the bomb, Stone thought.

He felt so horny he wanted to take his dick out and have a big fat wank.

He bucked his hips up and down as if he was fucking the cloudy apparition straddling his crotch. His movements set off the puffball again and the giant nipple gave another loud pfthh as it sprayed more spores into the air. These seemed heavier and the cloud denser.

A strange thing happened. The sexy hallucination tipped her head back, pushed out her boobs and gave an erotic sigh. Her form sucked in the cloud of floating spores. As if her body had inhaled them. They filled in her shape, making it clearer, making it more solid.

The hallucination had taken complete hold of his brain. It really felt like there was a weight straddling his hips, pushing him down into the sagging puffball. It bounced in his lap, causing the soft surface beneath him to sway and rock. He knew that must be his own movements.

The giant puffball puffed again. This time the cloud didn't even disperse. It flowed towards the buxom naked girl and added to her form, packing in closer and closer until she lost her cloudy immateriality and became solid. Pouting seductively, she bounced harder on his lap and triggered another explosion of pink spores from the erect 'nipple' at the peak of the puffball. The sexy chick drew the spores into her body and her boobs swelled outwards with the influx of each cloud. Her breast size moved up the alphabet from D to E to F.

Stone giggled. This shit was amazing. He'd hallucinated a naked chick that looked so real he felt he could reach out, grope her big tits and feel their heavy softness in his hands.

It grew even more amazing when she shifted position in his lap and he felt his erect penis slide up into something wet, warm and tight. Really wet and squelchy. Soft walls rippled around his cock in a gentle tugging motion. It felt like a hot mouth was sucking on his dick as though it was a popsicle.

Wow, this shit. He needed to bag it up and take it back. He'd make a fortune selling it to the students and staff. So fucking real. He could feel this hot chick's pussy wrapped tightly around his cock. He could feel her weight in his lap as she rode him.

Fuck, did she ride him. Her hips bobbed up and down and those big round boobies swayed with her. Stone added to the motions as he pumped up into her. Every time she bounced upwards he felt her tight pussy suck at the end of his cock. And then she came down, burying him deep in her luxuriously soft sex. Each time she landed, the force of her body coming together with his triggered tremors beneath them as the puffball released another cloud into the air. It wasn't even a cloud now. The glittering motes were gripped by a vortex and funnelled directly to the buxom chick's body. So many of them the vortex became dense enough to resemble a fleshy pink umbilicus connecting her to the pulsing nipple.

Stone didn't really care or notice. He was enjoying too much the sensations of her vagina rubbing against him as she rose up and down and rolled her pelvis against him. The tight wet sheath of her sex sucked on him as if it was a hot mouth. She was so wet her juices were spilling out and spattering his lap. It felt better than that. It felt like she'd been joined by friends and they were sucking on his crotch with soft, moist lips.

Stone glanced down and the hallucination tumbled off the road and fell right into bad-acid tripsville. Thick tendrils had grown out of the woman's inner thighs and covered Stone's groin and upper thighs. They looked like a clump of albino deep-sea worms. As Stone watched with mounting horror, the tendrils pulsed like exposed blood vessels and little bubbles flowed up into the woman's body. She clutched her substantial breasts and sighed as if orgasming. More tendrils squirmed out of her crotch and latched onto his exposed flesh. He couldn't see where his cock entered her body any more. He could feel it though. Soft wet walls of meat undulated around and rhythmically tugged on him. It left him feeling pleasantly—unnaturally—relaxed.

This wasn't a hallucination.  A distant voice at the back of his mind called out to him as if through thick fog.

It's a lust daemon.  Stone tried to move his hands. The surface of the puffball had softened beneath them to the point of stickiness. He glanced over and saw more albino worms had grown out of the puffball and attached to his hands and wrist. They throbbed like veins.

Panic flared in Stone's chest. He lost his rhythm for sex as his movements became struggles. The buxom babe that wasn't a hallucination leant over him. She pursed over-plump lips and blew a cloud of glittering spores into his face.

Stone's head fell back onto the soft surface of the puffball. He grinned. This trip was the bomb. He was stoned out of his mind and being fucked by a hot chick on a waterbed. This was so righteous. He didn't even have to do anything. She rode him with slow waves and the undulating bed did the rest.

"Would you like release now?" the pale girl with enormous tits whispered.

Fuck did he.

It felt like two silk-slick hands were sliding up and down his shaft. He nodded and felt the soft walls of her pussy contract around him. He came in a long slow flow.

Relaxed.

That's what it was.

Totally relaxed.

The girl placed warm hands on Stone's chest. She rocked her pelvis and he released another long, slow ejaculation into her. This one kept going—a gentle flow from him to her.

So relaxing.

He lay back and closed his eyes. White tendrils grew out of the girl's hands and covered his chest.

* * * *

The giant puffball that resembled an enormous boob ebbed and swayed. A voluptuous and naked young woman sat on top of it and moved up and down as if in the middle of lovemaking. Her partner was hidden beneath a dense mass of pulsing white tendrils and couldn't be seen. A knotted tube, thick like a trunk, grew out of the nipple-like opening at the heart of the puffball and merged with the back of the young woman.

Verdé, clutching her burnt side, walked up to the side of the slowly pulsing fungus. With her was a short hairy daemon with stumpy legs.

"After you've finished extracting the soul give it to the slothxren here," she said to the voluptuous girl on top of the giant fungus.

The pale girl looked down at the succubus and nodded her assent. Then she went back to her slow fucking. She tossed her head back and gave a sultry moan of ecstasy as the mass of fibrous white growth shuddered. The giant fungus pulsed beneath her. The motions were different this time, like a film was being played backwards and the enormous puffball was sucking in spores rather than expelling them. The twisted knot of fleshy cable attached to the voluptuous woman's back throbbed like a loathsome perversion of an umbilical cord.

Verdé walked away.

The short hairy daemon remained. Its beady black eyes glittered hungrily.



Succubus Summoning 210



"Do you know why I'm the one accompanying you on this search?" Nÿte asked Phil.

Phil shook his head.

They were down in the tunnels below the castle. Their only illumination was provided by a small globe of yellow light that orbited Phil like a planetary body. A basic light spell. One most first year warlocks knew. He'd summoned it as Nÿte had led him down some stairs and into the pitch-black cellar system. It was a weak light source. The walls were mostly hidden in thick clotted shadows. To Phil's imagination the darkness seemed to have a tangible presence, as if it was composed of substance rather than the absence of light. He was even a little afraid the darkness might reach out and take his fragile ball of light like wolves taking down a lamb.

"The others want to have fun with our intruders without upsetting you," Nÿte said.

"By fun, you mean kill them?" Phil asked.

"It is the customary way of dealing with invading warlocks," Nÿte said.

"Even after I asked them to help them," Phil said, dejected.

Nÿte smiled. Her porcelain-pale face was luminous in the gloom of the tunnel.

"Succubi are manipulative creatures," she said. "We're good at finding ways of disregarding our master's wishes and doing what we want."

"And you want to kill the invaders, even though they're my friends from college," Phil said.

This whole master thing seemed poorly named.

"They do. It doesn't appeal to me," Nÿte said. "Novices, out of their element—it isn't very sporting."

"So that's why they paired you with me," Phil said.

Nÿte smiled.

The darkness pressed all around them. He thought he glimpsed figures in the corner of his eye and his imagination painted pin-ups of sultry naked beauties with full, sensual lips and voluptuous exposed breasts. When he turned to look at them directly they vanished to be replaced by formless, abyss-black darkness. It wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him. He heard things as well. Whispers. Or maybe it was the susurration of water flowing on the other side of the wall.

No. Whispers. He thought he could pick out words, but not clearly enough to understand their meaning. Even though he didn't understand them, there was a suggestion of seduction and lewdness that tickled his loins.

"This is one of the more dangerous areas of the castle," Nÿte said as they continued down the tunnel.

Phil was only partially paying attention. The whispers distracted him. He concentrated on trying to decipher their meaning. It was important, he sensed. Profound. Understanding would bring him true bliss.

"The other reason they sent you down here with me is because we didn't think we'd be able to reach the novice in time," Nÿte continued. "I'm surprised they haven't already been overwhelmed."

There was a commotion up ahead. Light flickered amongst the clotted shadows.

"Sparqblaast!" a youthful voice cried out in triumph.

Light flashed and a percussive blast ricocheted off the stonework.

"Ha ha. Take that you skanky hos."

"Ah," Nÿte said. "That would explain it." Her finely chiselled features twisted up in disgust. "Too immature and most obnoxious."

Phil wasn't paying attention. The whispers had increased in volume. They sounded so close too, like soft sultry lips were whispering them right into his ears. He strained to dissect their meaning. The sounds triggered a warm flow of blood to his sex and filled his thoughts with carnal images. He stopped walking and focused on the seductive voices. If only he could understand their true meaning. He felt sure it would increase his pleasure still further.

He felt the soft pressure of what felt like large boobs against his back. That gentle pressure expanded until it felt as though the whole of his back was enveloped in a warm layer of silky darkness. He felt warm hands knead his neck and shoulders, melting the tension within them.

"Lie back," sultry voices whispered in his ear. "Lie back and relax. Let us take care of you. Pamper you."

Phil rocked on his feet. He felt the strong urge to let go and fall back into the soft darkness. The shadows, as solid and sticky as tar, flowed around his sides and began to engulf him.

Nÿte grabbed the front of Phil's robe and pulled him out of the sticky darkness. She directed a stern glance over Phil's shoulder and the shadows melted back into the wall with disappointed sighs.

"Whereas you are on the right side of maturity and naive enough to be suggestible," Nÿte said.

Phil blinked in confusion and then felt a warm blush of embarrassment on his cheeks as he realised what had happened. He glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing there but impenetrable darkness, and yet...

Was that his imagination or could he see the vague contours of sultry faces? They pouted sensual lips and blew kisses at him.

"It's no disgrace at your level," Nÿte said. "The tellani'nsara are one of the stronger lust elementals. Few can resist their charms for long."

A dirty smile blemished her otherwise regal features.

"We'll summon up a pair later and I'll let them play with you under more controlled circumstances."

Another loud bang reverberated down the tunnel. Azure energy crackled along the walls.

Nÿte gave a distasteful frown. "First we should help your friend before his activities attracts the attention of things for which his youthfulness provides no immunity."

The carried on towards the commotion. Phil saw it was Joey Chalk. Standing next to him was his daemon—a squat long-limbed thing with large, upward-pointing tusks. Both were being orbited by a pair of yellow globs. The weak light leant Chalk a grotesque visage as his piggy face twisted up in eager snarls as he blasted coloured light out of his knuckles.

"Hey Joey," Phil said.

Chalk turned, pointed a fist at Phil and said, "Sparqblaast." His hand jerked back as if recoiling from firing a bullet. A blue blast roared towards Phil. He was barely able to get a defensive shield up in time.

"What the fuck!" Phil said as the blast impacted against his shield and dissipated in dancing blue sparks.

"I saw what your hos did to John Brennan," Chalk said. "They're not going to get me."

He fired another bolt of blue energy at Phil. The shield took the blast, but his skull still felt like a bell struck by a hammer.

"We came down here to help you!" Phil called out.

Chalk paused. His close-set eyes squinted at Phil.

"This place is really dangerous," Phil said. "What are you doing here?"

"We came here for Gary," Chalk said. "Your other ho, the one with green hair that dresses like a slutty nurse, has him. We're going to get him back before she has a chance to suck out his soul."

Gary Dever? Here? Phil looked over at Nÿte.

The succubus looked thoughtful. "They must have used a soul divination spell," she mused.

"Yeah, we did. So there's no point trying to lie." Chalk's fist crackled with blue energy. "We know he's here and we're not going to leave until you hand him over."

Nÿte sniffed the air and glanced down the tunnel ahead of them. "We should leave now. So far your young age and lack of interest in sex has protected you from the tellani'nsara. But the tuell'daqhabbala are rising up out of the Cloaqal depths and they like nothing better than violating tender young boyflesh. They are dangerous to you."

Chalk sneered. "There's nothing dangerous here. This is the Circle of Lust. Everyone knows it's the weakest circle of hell."

"We should do as she says," Phil said. He wasn't sure if he qualified as 'tender young boyflesh' and didn't want to hang around long enough to find out.

Chalk wasn't in any mood to move. He walked up to Nÿte and looked her up and down.

"Why did you pick a succubus for your daemon anyway?" he asked Phil. "Aside from a few cheap glamours they're useless in a fight. Why would anyone bother with such a weak daemon?"

"You'll find out when you're older," Nÿte said with a smug smile.

Chalk snorted. "Why I reckon Spleenfucka here," he motioned to his tusked daemon behind him, "could splat her without any effort at all."

The tusked daemon's eyes widened. It glanced at Nÿte in alarm.

"We should make them fight," Chalk said. "Then you'd see how useless succubi are."

The tusked daemon shook its head. Nÿte smiled at it. The daemon blanched.

Chalk didn't notice. He continued to look scornfully at Nÿte. "Nah, it wouldn't be worth it. It would be a waste of Spleenfucka's abilities. Why I bet I could beat her on my own," Chalk said. 

Nÿte arched an eyebrow.

"She might have got John, but I'm a disciple of Wrath. No one fucks with us."

He got up in Nÿte's face like a boxer trying to intimidate their opponent at a pre-fight press conference. Given that he was a good few inches shorter than her and she was completely unfazed by his antics, it came off as more comical than threatening.

"That's very nice," Nÿte said. "But I think it's time we got out of these tunnels."

Chalk looked at Phil in disgust. "Do you always let your daemon speak for you? That's real pussy behaviour. You should keep her in line. Give her the pimp hand. Like this."

Chalk slapped Nÿte, hard, on the side of her face.

There was a sudden pause as if the world had taken a harsh intake of breath. The echo of palm striking cheek reverberated down the darkened corridor. Nÿte turned her face back and... 

... and Phil was running back down the darkened corridor as fast as his legs would carry him. He was not alone. The long-limbed goblin daemon was alongside him. They both pulled up at what felt like minimum safe distance.

"Most," the daemon said. "Most succubi. Not all. And not that one. Definitely not that one." It shuddered.

Far away down the dark tunnel a little ball of yellow light winked out. The passageway slipped into impenetrable shadow. Phil stood in a small circle of yellow light with the tusked daemon. Out in the darkness they heard Joey Chalk cry out. The cry was abruptly cut off and replaced with unsettling liquid sounds.

"Most is not the same as all," the daemon said, shaking his head. "You humans always struggle with that one."

The daemon no longer looked quite so daemonic. It had morphed into the form of a young man in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Hey, you're a Kullockian rage daemon," Phil said. The daemon looked just like Carnivrillarofax, except maybe a couple of years younger.

The daemon nodded. It offered his hand. "Sepulcarafax," he said.

"Phil." He shook hands and then wondered if that was a good idea. He'd seen Carnivrillarofax tear arms out of sockets as if they were noting more than paper decorations. "Um, you're not going to kill me, are you?"

Sepulcarafax laughed incredulously. "Nÿte's already pissed. Can you imagine what she'd do to me if I killed one of her pets? No way. We rage daemons might like getting angry and rowdy, but we're not crazy."

Phil was relieved he wasn't the only one that found Nÿte utterly terrifying.

Sepulcarafax peered down the tunnel.

"You humans don't have good vision in the dark do you?"

"No." Phil saw an impenetrable wall of darkness. Anything could have been on the other side of it.

Sepulcarafax winced. "Probably for the best."

Phil couldn't see what Nÿte was doing, but the sounds he heard made his teeth shiver.

"Poor bastard," Sepulcarafax said.

"We were supposed to help him find his way back to Earth," Phil said.

His conscience was telling him he should go back and order Nÿte to stop. Then he remembered her face—a brief glimpse of eyes that burned like cold dead stars and a white face like countless death masks compacted into the purest representation of icy rage.

And that smile...

Phil remained where he was.

"I don't think it's worked out too well," he said.

"Not your fault," Sepulcarafax said. "That's always been his problem—lashes out at the people who try to help him."

Sepulcarafax flinched again. Phil heard sounds like hooks going through wet meat.

"It would have happened sooner or later," Sepulcarafax said. "Dude had severe issues. I mean I think he thought we were Pokémon or something. Whenever we encountered a new warlock he'd always look at their daemon and ask the same thing: 'Reckon you could take them?'"

"I thought Wrath daemons liked fighting."

"We like beating up the things we know we can beat up. Some of the Pride daemons might go in for the honour of a close-fought fight. Everyone else thinks they're weird."

Phil heard more unsettling sounds. He couldn't describe them exactly—Blade on meat? Bone scraping against bone—only the visceral shivers they triggered in his brain. His bowels felt watery. He talked to Sepulcarafax to take his mind off them.

"Hey, as you're a Kullockian rage daemon, do you know Carnivrillarofax?"

Sepulcarafax gave him a very strange look.

Yeah, it was a stupid question really. Like an American asking a random Englishmen if he happened to know another random Englishmen because they both happened to live in London.

Eventually the noises stopped and were replaced by the familiar clicking of Nÿte's high heels on stone flagstones as she walked to them. She entered the small circle of light and Phil saw she was plastered in blood and gore from head to toe. She looked as though she'd spent the last half hour rolling around in freshly eviscerated animal carcasses. Despite this—or maybe even because of it—she exuded a powerful and feral sex appeal that tugged at Phil.

"You're giving off that fear scent again," Nÿte said to him. There was an unhealthy gleam in her black eyes. "I find it so arousing." Wan blue sparks flickered from the black collar around her throat.

Of course Phil was giving off that fear smell. Near as he could tell, Nÿte had torn Chalk to pieces and wiped those pieces all over her body like they were tissues. He sidled away along the wall as Nÿte took a step towards him.

"You've got something on your..." Phil touched his cheek.

Nÿte wiped a hand across the cheek Phil indicated and a fragment of bloody skull with part of the scalp still attached fell onto the floor.

"I thought killing him didn't appeal to you," Phil said.

"He challenged me," Nÿte said. "I was duty-bound to accept."

She beckoned Sepulcarafax over and dropped what looked like a blood-stained orb into his hands. Pale white light shone out between his fingers.

"This might sound weird," Sepulcarafax said as he looked down at the orb, "but I was hoping he'd figure it out before it came to this."

"It was always going to be his future," Nÿte said. "If not me, something else. A weak master is no use to a daemon."

"True, true," Sepulcarafax agreed. "Still, I dunno, it doesn't feel very satisfying when they're this young. Too easy."

"Stupidity was his problem, not age," Nÿte said.

She turned to Phil.

"And you shouldn't feel sorry for him at all," Nÿte said. "I sensed his fantasies. He wanted to drill a hole in the back of your skull and ram his cock into it."

"Ugh, that's sort of gross," Phil said. He inched away along the wall.

"I think he saw it in a film," Nÿte said. "He also fantasised about getting Sepulcarafax to rape me and Verdé while he watched."

"That would have been difficult," Sepulcarafax said.

"Rage daemons don't do sex," Nÿte said.

"No bits," Sepulcarafax explained. He still kept a wary eye on Nÿte.

"That's not an insurmountable obstacle to one with mastery of the arts of pleasure." Nÿte smiled. She made a circle out of her thumb and forefinger. Her tail arced up and thrust in and out of the makeshift hoop. The bulbous tip of her tail was bloody and strands of tissue clung to the point as though it had been driven into and then ripped out of something soft and fleshy.

Phil hadn't seen a daemon turn white with fear before. It was usually the humans that were supposed to do that.

Nÿte turned her attention to Phil. There was an unhealthy gleam in her black eyes.

"That was most exhilarating," she said. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms and back. "Mmm. The smell of blood when shed. The feel of it against my skin. To lose oneself in the frenzy of primal emotions is so intoxicating."

Her eyes flicked open. She stared directly at Phil. She rubbed a bloody hand against her latex-covered crotch. Her pale cheeks might have reddened. It was hard to tell amongst all the blood.

"I feel so incredibly turned on right now," she said. She reached down and unzipped her crotch.

"Um, I'll be off then," Sepulcarafax said. While Nÿte's attention was on Phil he snuck away down the tunnel as fast as he could manage without actually breaking out into a run.

The zip in Nÿte's crotch was fully open. The smell of her arousal cut through even the stench of torn apart vitals and wrapped around Phil like a hot fist. It was as if Nÿte's aura had expanded like a summer thunderstorm to envelop him.

"Yes, we need to fuck right now," Nÿte said, her voice tailing off in an erotic sigh.

* * * *

Herbie Higgins had also cast his own form of the soul divination spell. Unlike Darvill he was heading straight for the exit.

He liked Gary Dever. He could be annoying sometimes, but most of the time he was a decent guy. And as a member of one of the Favoured Families Dever had access to knowledge and privileges that was useful to a lowly Outreach like Higgins.

Was Dever a bloke you'd risk going to hell to rescue? Herbie guessed so. You had to stand up for your mates. But that had been before they were all separated and scattered across the Second Circle of Lust. With the other three, and especially with Darvill—who was probably the strongest warlock in their class except for maybe Rowling—Herbie would have given it a go.

Not now.

Now he was taking the sensible option and heading straight for the exit. He felt shitty about it, but they couldn't help Dever if they were dead. The best he could do was maybe find one of Wargsnouts' security patrols and see if they could help with yanking the others out.

He had to find the exit first.

This area of the castle or mansion was a little weird. He thought they'd entered the Circle of Lust. This was where the succubi, incubi and other assorted sex daemons hung out. He'd been expecting the sensual depravities of a high-class brothel or a luxurious harem from ages past. Instead he'd ended up in some kind of creepy nursery. He walked through playrooms where boxes of toys and old wooden rocking horses were covered in cobwebs and hadn't been used in some time.

At least no one was home. It seemed like he'd been fortunate enough to be teleported to an abandoned area of the building. He was even starting to think he might be super lucky enough to make it to the exit without encountering any Lust daemons when—frustratingly—he got lost.

Something was fucking with his perception. Or maybe even with the rooms and corridors. When he tried to retrace his steps he found himself in rooms and hallways he hadn't seen before.

"Someone's playing games with us, buddy," Herbie said to the minor nebrit sitting on his shoulder.

The minor nebrit, not being much of a speaker, gnashed its teeth together and sprayed spittle.

Herbie heard someone or something approach. He ducked away into an alcove, which opened out into a storeroom or maybe some kind of playroom. Brightly painted murals of cartoon figures covered the walls. He placed his back to one of the walls and hid as the unseen entity approached. They were singing, he realised, some kind of childish nursery rhyme.

It was a child, or at least superficially resembled one. A girl skipped through the archway. She was wearing a blue dress and her cornflower-blue hair stuck up in spikes. If it wasn't for her horns, tail and little blue bat wings Herbie would have thought that somehow a child had ended up getting lost in hell with him.

Must be some kind of low-ranking lust imp, he thought. Or possibly a fully-fledged succubus that specialised in tempting paedophiles. She didn't look too scary.




Succubus Summoning 210



She didn't see him either.

He waited until she entered the room and then stepped out of the shadows behind her, blocking the exit with his considerable bulk in the process.

Herbie hated children. They were always making fun of his weight.

Until he caught them. Then the teasing changed to tears and begging when they found out that extra weight made it very easy to crush or snap child-sized limbs.

The girl turned around and gave a startled jump when she noticed Herbie was there.

"Oh there you are," she said. "We've been looking for you."

"We? There are others?" Herbie asked.

"Oh yes," the little blue-haired girl said. "They're out looking for your friends."

Herbie pondered her words.

"So they're not with you right now?" he asked.

The imp shook her head. "Nope," she said with pride. "I found you all by myself."

That childish excitement wavered when she saw the expression on Herbie's face. He took a step forwards. She took a step backwards. He took a step forwards. She took a step backwards. He took a step forwards. She backed up against the wall. There was nowhere else to go.

Herbie loomed over her. The minor nebrit on his shoulder chomped its teeth and chattered excitedly. Herbie reached up to pet it. He looked down at the little blue-haired girl and smiled wide enough to reveal his teeth.

"I think we might just eat you," he said.

The little imp with blue hair meeped in fear.

* * * *

"This doesn't seem the right time or place," Phil said.

Nÿte undid her corset and her voluptuous white boobs bounced free. Phil had seen them before, but they still drew his gaze like a moth to a flame every time.

"What about the tuell'daqhabbala?"Phil said, still sidling backwards.

"Gone back to the Cloaqal depths," Nÿte said. "There's nothing here to interest them now."

She nibbled on her lower lip. The force of her arousal gripped Phil tighter. He felt phantom fingers tickle the underside of his scrotal sac and dance up his shaft.

"Shouldn't we go and look for the others?" Phil asked.

"The other succubi will find them."

Phil knew that. It's what he was afraid of.

Nÿte walked towards him, all elegance and impossibly voluptuous curves.

"Shouldn't we clean up first," Phil said.

By we he meant Nÿte. She looked like she'd taken a shower of gore in an abattoir.

"And waste all this glorious blood," Nÿte said. She ran a finger across her blood-soaked breasts, put it between her full lips and sucked. Her eyelids fluttered as she savoured the taste.

Phil whitened and felt a little queasy. Not long ago that had been inside Joey Chalk.

Nÿte put a finger to her lips.

"Hmm, I can see you'll need a little extra help," she said.

She formed a steeple with her hands as if praying.

"Enhalarat mod tellani'nsara."

Living shadows detached from the walls and enfolded Phil's arms. He felt like he'd been sandwiched between two soft nubile forms. Sensuous red lips coalesced out of the darkness and whispered lewd suggestions into his ears. Again he couldn't make out the words, but they flipped a primal switch in his brain. Pornographic imagery—plump lips wrapped around erect cocks—crept unbidden into his thoughts. Once again he felt the pressure of soft sticky cushions against his back. Tension fled his muscles and he sank back into the warm shadow. Sticky black tendrils pulled aside his robes. His penis, stoked by the lascivious whispers permeating his ears, rose to full erection. A thicker tendril, more a pipe-like extrusion, emerged from the pool of shadow between his legs. A vivid red orifice—a cross between a woman's sensual mouth and neatly tended vagina—opened at the tip. The tube curled back as if it intended to engulf Phil's erection.

Nÿte wagged a finger. The mouths blowing warm air and lewd suggestions into Phil's ears sighed their disappointment as the tube sank back into the black morass.

Nÿte stepped up close to him. He felt the heat pouring from her body. She leant close and sniffed his neck and behind his ears.

"As much as I enjoy the fear scent you give off, the spilled blood of others should not be something to be afraid of." She caressed Phil's side, leaving behind a wet smear of blood.

It wasn't the blood that terrified Phil but how it had got there. Not that he had a chance to say that as Nÿte put her hands behind his head and pulled him down into her substantial cleavage. She jiggled her chest and the sensation of her heavy boobs pressing and rubbing against his face was a good one. While she shook her breasts in his face, she reached down and wrapped a slick hand around his erection and pumped up and down. Also a good sensation.

The sticky feel of coagulated blood against his cheeks, the coppery tang of the blood that had pooled between her breasts, the knowledge the lubricant making her hand feel so slick and silky against his cock was even more blood—not so good sensations.

It didn't matter. Nÿte was a succubus. Her touch, her breath, her smell, her heat, her very presence was enough to overwhelm mere revulsion. As her hand pumped his erection and his arousal grew, he started to turn into rather than away from her blood-covered boobs. A primal instinct took over him and he found himself licking and sucking on her erect nipple without caring what covered it, or what triggered that salty taste on his tongue.

"Good, good," Nÿte purred. Her hand caressed the back of his head. "A wielder of daemons should not be squeamish."

She stepped back, placed a hand on his chest and pushed. Phil fell backwards. It should have been against the wall, but that wasn't there anymore and he tumbled into darkness as black as pitch. His fall was broken by what felt like large sticky cushions. Female figures rose up out of the dark pool surrounding him. His arms were taken and his hands clamped between warm female bosoms. Heads surfaced in the impenetrable mire and whispered obscene suggestions to him. A hand and arm, as black as though it had been dipped in crude oil, reached over and playfully tweaked his nipple.

Nÿte removed her remaining clothes and joined him on top of the malleable surface. As she straddled him he looked up into her black eyes and saw a perfect avatar of feral lust. The blood liberally splattered all over her pale flesh only added to her barbaric beauty. She reached behind her head and undid her austere ponytail. Her long black hair fell free and hung over Phil like a curtain.

The effect was rather spoilt when a bloodied eyeball slid off her hair and bounced off Phil's chest.

That was Joey Chalk's eyeball, Phil realised. Not so long ago it had been safely housed within the other student's skull. Queasiness clawed at his stomach.

Nÿte rolled her eyes in disapproval. "This is supposed to be a celebration of triumph," she said.

She got his attention back by wrapping a hand around his cock and squeezing. She lowered her body until her breasts were pressed against his crotch. She moved up his body, sliding his erection through the soft groove of her cleavage while using her soft breasts to smear blood and gore up Phil's naked torso. She was boiling hot and he felt her heat as she pressed her flesh against his. He shivered with arousal as his cock slid back and forth between the twin pillows of her breasts. It didn't take long for her body-to-body massage to leave him just as plastered in spilt blood as her. This should have revolted him, but her heat, her aura and the lewd whispers of the shadow women overrode everything.

Nÿte slid up until her face was level with his. Her bright black eyes stared right into his as she lowered her head and crushed her soft lips against his. The kiss was like breathing in a hot desert wind laden with exotic scents.

She ended it and stared into his eyes. "This is the old way," she said. "A succubus and her warlock, fucking while covered in the blood of their freshly slain enemies."

Chalk hadn't been an enemy, a small voice whined at the back of Phil's skull. He'd been a friend. Okay, maybe not a friend, but he'd still been a fellow student at Wargsnouts.

Not anymore. Phil and Rosa were covered in his remains.

Nÿte sat up in his lap and that whining voice at the back of his skull receded further into the distance. The succubus placed his erection flat against her mons and moved up and down until Phil was shivering with the need to enter her. She didn't tease him for long. She rose higher, pushed his cock down between the naked folds of her sex and sat down. Her labia fluffed out as she sank down on Phil's erection and drew him all the way up inside her.

Phil knew from experience Nÿte had much more control over her vagina than a human woman. Sometimes it was a place of pain and torture as Nÿte used the muscular walls of her sex to crush and wrench any penis unfortunate to be inside her. Other times it was a place of pleasure and bliss as she let the walls of her sex melt and enfold a penis in waves of soft smothering flesh. This time it was a place of extravagant pleasure.

Nÿte spread her inky black wings and rose up and down on Phil. Her black eyes shone and she pouted full black lips as she rode him. The round globes of her breasts swayed back and forth with the motions of her body. She varied both the speed and direction of her thrusts. Sometimes she bounced up and down, with the round cushions of her ass slapping against his crotch with every down stroke. After a few minutes of that she switched to lateral movements and rolled her pelvis against him. Inside, in contrast to the violence of her movements, the soft walls of her pussy tenderly stroked up and down his erection.

More female heads, sighing in pleasure, rose up out of the black morass of shadow beneath him. Deft tongues tickled his nipples, soft lips whispered taboo and lascivious secrets into his ears, and hot mouths wrapped around his toes and sucked. The soft mass of darkness moved beneath him, moved with him. An unseen tongue tickled up and down his perineum and lapped at the underside of his balls.

"Mmm good, novice, good," Nÿte murmured. "Hold it in."

She clutched her blood-soaked breasts and found an easy rhythm. Her soft pussy squeezed and sucked on his swollen cock. Phil no longer registered the sight or smell of the blood that covered them.

"Good good," Nÿte said.

She gradually built up to a climax while Phil struggled to keep his at bay.

"And come," she said.

She folded her body over Phil. Her hands rubbed up his sides and along his arms. Her large breasts pressed against his chest. His cock was drawn all the way inside her and wrapped in layer after layer of luxuriously soft flesh. Her vagina contracted against him and sucked him over the edge with gentle rhythmic squeezes.

Phil did as he was told. Nÿte's luscious pussy left little choice in the matter. A euphoric feeling of release overcame him as his cock swelled and expelled a thick wad of semen into her.

Nÿte relaxed on top of him.

"It is good to taste the primal delights of triu—"

She paused. Puzzlement crossed her face as she looked down at Phil. She shifted position on top of him. The soft folds within her vagina enveloped his cock as if giving him a thorough tasting. When that failed to give her the answers she required, she sat back up and clasped his sides tightly with her thighs. His penis was still inside her and she showed no inclination of releasing it.

Phil's blissful euphoria gave away to unease. Her poise had changed, become colder.

Nÿte extended her black wings. Her soft vagina contracted around his cock and took him back to full hardness within a few short gasps. Her black eyes glowed and a faint purple nimbus outlined her form.

... and him.

The black collar around her throat started emitting blue sparks. Phil's unease grew.

He was enveloped by a sensation of tingly heat that made his balls itch. Nÿte lightly ran her nails down his sides, a tickling sensation that made him think she was gathering his energy and dragging it down to his balls. He felt a weird—but not unpleasant—trickling sensation wherever the intimate skin of his cock came into contact with the intimate skin of her vagina.

Was she draining him?

Nÿte saw his disquiet and motioned to the shadow-girls that had emerged from the black morass he was lying on. Lying on became lying in as the sticky pool of darkness drew him deeper into its cloying grip. His hands and feet were bound with elastic bands of shadows. The shadow-girls giggled as they gagged him with the same.

Nÿte puffed her black lips out in a sexy pout. She wiggled her hips and sank all the way down on Phil. His fully erect cock was drawn up inside her until the swollen head came up against a soft nub of tissue. It gave and then Phil's glans was enveloped in moist and sinfully pliant flesh.

No, Phil thought. The blood. His fear. She'd lost control. And he could do nothing about it. His limbs were bound, his mouth gagged.

The pale curves of Nÿte's boobs, still stained with blood, swelled as she inhaled. It wasn't just air she inhaled. The sinful orifice buried deep within her took hold of Phil and sucked.

And he no longer cared.

About anything.

His body bucked as he orgasmed. The ecstatic eruption of release felt so good it washed all his fear away. He squirmed beneath her, lost helplessly to pleasure as that weird trickling sensation intensified to a flood.

For a moment Phil felt as though he was emptying his totality into her, then Nÿte relaxed her vagina and the flow stopped. He fell back onto the soft mass of living shadow. Dear fuck, that had been intense, he thought as he struggled to pick up the scrambled remnants of his thoughts.

In contrast Nÿte was perfectly composed and thoughtful.

"As I thought, the Qištu," she mused. "That silly girl."

She frowned. She brought the fingers of her left hand together and held them straight like a dagger. For one terrifying moment Phil thought she was about to drive her sharp claws into his unprotected throat. Or even into his heart. Then she changed her mind and brought her left arm back to her side.

"No," she said. "An injustice was corrected. It was her decision. It's not my place to judge."

Nÿte changed her poise again, shedding the coldness. She smiled at him and tenderly stroked his cheek. She motioned to the shadow-girls and they released him. Once again he felt like he was lying on a pile of soft cushions rather than lying in a tar pit.

"My apologies," she said. "I hadn't intended for it to get that intense. Blood and slaying has always brought out the wildness in my heart."

Nÿte was lying. Phil could see it clearly. In fact he was surprised at how terrible Nÿte was at lying, given that succubi were supposed to be masters of deceitful flattery. Despite knowing she was clearly lying, he thought it best not to push the matter further. The last person to do that was currently splattered all over the both of them.

"I thought you'd lost control and were going to suck out my soul," Phil said, choosing to go along with Nÿte's story. "These primal celebrations of bloody victory seem a little hazardous to the warlock."

Nÿte smiled. "A little danger enhances the eroticism." 

She stood up, took his hand and helped him stand up out of the darkness.

"I imagine you'll want to go and search for the other students," Nÿte said.

"Should we go and get cleaned up fir..." Phil tailed off. The lurid splatters of blood and gore covering Nÿte's body were fading away. The fluids were being absorbed into her skin. By the time she'd tied her long black hair up in a ponytail the stains had all faded away. "Uh, nothing," Phil said.

He still looked and smelt like he'd been rolling around in an abattoir.

"I wanted to confirm something," Nÿte said as they were walking back up the steps that led out of the tunnels. "That's the answer to the question you wanted to ask but were too afraid to," she added.

She still hadn't answered it fully, but Phil thought it safer not to push the matter.

"I would avoid having sex with Rosa for a while," Nÿte said. "If she learns the same thing as I have she'll likely incinerate you."

* * * *

Darvill encountered Rosa in a large bedchamber.

He'd been following the signal he hoped led to Gary Dever. This had led him to a large room upholstered in what appeared to be crimson latex. The room was a strange hybrid of dungeon and boudoir. There were chains hanging from the walls. Gothic torch brackets wrought from black metal studded the walls at regular intervals. In one corner was an X-shaped wooden cross. In the other corner—a dog cage. On the other side of the room was a big round bed. The sheets were red and shiny like the walls.

Rosa lounged by the exit on a plush couch. She wore a latex bra that was the same shade of red as the walls and emphasised her large breasts. At her waist she wore a skirt of the same material that was so short it might have been better classified as a belt. Her elbow-length gloves and thigh-high boots covered more flesh than the rest of her outfit. She looked incredibly sexy, but that was hardly surprising given she was a succubus.

Darvill remembered Rosa. In her other form of a black-haired dominatrix she'd drained John Brennan to death right in front of the whole class.

No, Darvill didn't think that had been her.

He didn't think the succubus with the green hair and the one that wore the fetish nurse outfit were the same daemon either.

This was a problem. If true it meant they had four, maybe more, succubi to worry about rather than two.

He watched Rosa warily. He remembered when Rowling had surprised them by introducing her and Verdé as though they were his friends. She hadn't looked that powerful of a daemon.

"Wouldn't you like to come over her and lie next to me?" Rosa asked, her voice all sweetness and enticing nectar.

He felt the force of her allure envelop him and press up against his wards. This wasn't even a proper charm; it was just the pull of her natural erotic appeal.

Darvill revised his estimate of her power.

He was in real trouble here, or should be. He'd got a sense of her raw power and realised he'd grossly underestimated it. If Rosa wanted to focus all of her supernaturally-enhanced seduction on him there was little chance he'd leave this room with his soul. She hadn't. For now she was content to lounge on her couch like a glamour-puss porn starlet.

Darvill looked around the room. He glanced at the massive red bed that took up most of the far corner. His being here was no accident. The room—and Rosa—had been deliberately placed in his path. Scripted.

"You're here to tempt me," he said.

Rosa tilted her head seductively. "Of course," she said.

"Sex doesn't interest me all that much," Darvill said. "It's enjoyable and I'm sure your talents are considerable, but it's never been more than a pleasant distraction for me. My desires lie elsewhere."

Rosa's smile grew wider. She got up out of the couch.

"Who said I was going to tempt you with sex."

She held her hands out at her side. Flames flickered and grew out of her upturned palms. The fire danced up her arms until she was surrounded in a crackling nimbus of spectral flame. She gave a flick of each wrist and the flames jumped to the torch brackets on the walls. The sparks hopped from bracket to bracket, lighting each as though it had been doused in petrol, until Darvill was surrounded by burning torches.

"Power is your desire," Rosa said. "Your ambition is to seek, learn and harness the power available to only the most skilled and experienced of warlocks. I can aid you. I can give you the power you've always dreamed of. We're already teaching your fellow student. I see greater hunger in your eyes. Maybe you'll become even stronger."

That did interest Darvill.





Succubus Summoning 210



His mouth went dry while he contemplated Rosa's offer.

to be continued...



Succubus Summoning 211



Verdé was waiting for Phil and Nÿte as they reached the top of the steps. The succubus sat in an armchair as if posing for a seedy fashion photographer. Her diaphanous green robes were arranged artfully around her.

"I see you've taken care of one of the intruders," she said, noticing the blood smeared all over Phil.

Phil's expression was downcast. He felt as terrible as he looked.

"That wasn't the plan," Phil said. "We were trying to rescue him."

Verdé arched a finely pencilled eyebrow. "Why would you do that?" she asked.

"They're his fellow students from that ridiculous college," Nÿte said. "He seems to think they're his friends."

Verdé put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I didn't know."

Phil grimaced. "I take it that means the one in the forest is beyond rescue."

Verdé nodded her head sadly. "He threw a fireball at me, so I led him through a field of puff boobs. He fell on one."

Phil guessed that meant 'beyond rescue'. Souls didn't escape once Verdé's plants caught them.

"What about yours?" Verdé asked. "I'm guessing from the blood you failed to rescue them."

"He slapped me," Nÿte said.

Verdé raise both eyebrows and her eyes widened. "That was . . . foolish," she said as if shocked anyone would even consider carrying out such an action.

"He realised that. At the end."

Verdé got up out of her chair. She looked to be favouring her left side. Nÿte stared at her with piercing black eyes.

"You seem to be healing slower than normal," she stated.

"My energy levels are a little low," Verdé said. "I'll find a nice young man to . . ." she glanced at Phil. "I'll meditate to recover them later."

"Come to my room after," Nÿte said. "We have things to discuss."

Verdé seemed reluctant to meet Nÿte's abyssal-eyed gaze.

What was that about? Phil thought.

"What about the other two students?" he asked.

Nÿte turned to him. "They'll be okay . . . so long as they don't do anything foolish."

* * * *

The succubus before him was blazing with power. Flames flickered all over her body. They looked impressive, but were merely parlour tricks compared to the power Darvill sensed emanating from her. It felt like a tangible force.

Darvill wanted it.

Forget the sex. He wanted the knowledge—the power—she could teach him.

And for a moment, a long one, he was tempted.

Then he noticed the poly-Oc daemon sitting on his shoulder had gone very quiet. Normally it was constantly shifting around as it tried to look at everything. Now it was still . . . expectant.

And then he understood.

Calmly, Darvill carved the Exhalzangz'gn Flambastinaa sigil into his palm. Red blood welled up out of the cuts. Darvill knew the flames Rosa was playing with were sentient and came from the Elemental Plane of Consumas Infernum. He placed his bloody palm flat on the ground and banished them as he would any other intruding daemon. The burning torches died down and flickered out. The same happened to the flames dancing all over the succubus's body. His banishment would keep them gone for at least an hour.

"Thanks for your offer," he said, "but I must regretfully decline. I'm not advanced enough to be able to assimilate the knowledge and power you wish to gift me. It would destroy me."

He ran an affectionate hand over the eye stalks of the poly-Oc sitting on his shoulder.

"My poly-Oc here is enough. It might take me a little longer, but I'll learn what I need from my own studies. I can be patient."

"Very well," Rosa said. She didn't seem happy about it, but she moved out of his path.

"Now tell me where you're holding my friend," Darvill ordered.

"Through there, up the stairs and straight down the corridor," she said, pointing to the door in the right wall behind her couch. "You won't like what you find."

He gave the succubus a wide berth as he walked to the exit. She took a little half step towards him as he went by.

"Are you sure you don't want a quick blowjob?" she asked.

There was an awkward pause.

"Um, no thanks," Darvill said. He left the room.

After he left, Rosa cursed loudly and creatively. She summoned up a fireball and set the bed on fire.

"Why did I have to get the smart one," she moaned. "I really wanted a fuck."

* * * *

Phil heard singing—a child's nursery rhyme that featured lots of ra ra ras—as they entered Cέrμləa's part of the castle. They found her in a playroom tucked away from the main corridor. The walls were brightly painted and were covered in murals of playful cartoon figures. At first glance it looked cheery. At second glance Phil realised something was off. When he looked more closely he realised the cartoon characters were devouring each other.

Cέrμləa sat cross-legged on the floor. Her arms were up in the air and she swayed her upper body as if dancing to the song she was singing. Sitting across from her was a small cone of brown flesh with a large mouth as its only discernible feature. The fleshy tip bobbed back and forth as if it was dancing along with Cέrμləa.

"Oh hello," Cέrμləa said, noticing Phil. "Mr G dropped by to play with me."

"Mr G?"

Phil was confused. He'd met Mr G. He was a daemon that looked like a French waiter and lived in a weird dimension full of giant worms.

"Isn't that a minor nebrit?"

It looked very similar to the minor nebrit that was always perched on Herbie Higgins' broad shoulder.

"All daemons from the Dominion of Gluttony are Mr G," Nÿte explained. "They're all maws leading to the Grand Belly."

The minor nebrit had no recognisable features other than a big mouth filled with oversized teeth. Despite this, Phil could have sworn the thing was smiling at him in recognition. The teeth gnashed together and it made odd warbling sounds while spraying slobber.

"Mr G says hi," Cέrμləa said.

"Hi," Phil said. "I don't suppose you can help me out. I'm looking for a human warlock. He carries another one of you on his shoulder."

Cέrμləa put a finger to her lips and her forehead creased up in concentration. "I think I did see a warlock wandering around here earlier. A big fellow. Smelt a little funny."

"Yes, that sounds like Herbie. Do you know where he went?"

"Hmm, let me think."

She let out a loud belch. She put a hand to her mouth and flushed in embarrassment.

"Pardon me," she said.

The cone of flesh belched as well. The noise was deeper and far louder than something its size should be capable of making.

"And pardon Mr G," Cέrμləa said.

She put her finger on her lips and once again her forehead was creased in concentration. She shook her head.

"No, sorry," she said.

She gave an apologetic shrug.

The cone of flesh shrugged as well. It was not an easy gesture to pull off without arms and shoulders, but the minor nebrit managed it.

Cέrμləa went back to her strange version of Pat-a-cake with Mr G.

"He's gone," Verdé whispered in his ear.

Phil was already reaching the same conclusion. The minor nebrit looked remarkably similar to Herbie's daemon. So similar, in fact, they were probably one and the same daemon.

Phil looked at the twisted cartoons on the wall and decided he was probably better off not knowing what had happened to Herbie Higgins.

"Cέrμləa?" Verdé interrupted her game. "Are there any other students from Master's college still present in the castle?"

"Alive ones," Nÿte clarified.

Cέrμləa stopped her game. "Bye bye, Mr G." She gave the pile of flesh a little wave.

Then, right before Phil's astonished gaze, the minor nebrit started to eat itself. The jaws worked up and down and it curled up in a ball that grew smaller and smaller as it ate more of itself, until it simply popped out of existence.

Cέrμləa stood up and skipped over to them. She paused and her eyes became unfocused as if she was focusing on images only she could see.

"Yes, one," she said. "But he's about to face Mamǝḵā Bēyˁṯān."

* * * *

Darvill reached the top of the stairs and entered a long passageway. A line of stone arches resembling windows ran along each wall. The arches didn't look out onto anything; the view was obscured by flaps of glossy white material—some kind of rubber. The latex sheets swayed and bulged and initially Darvill thought this must be a corridor exposed to the outside elements, maybe a bridge between two towers. Then he realised the motions were co-ordinated—like lungs drawing breath. As he walked down the corridor he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Ripples ran through the glossy white material. Ripples that resolved into faces and hands. They melted away the moment he turned to look at them directly.

Up ahead the corridor terminated in a strange obstruction. It resembled a giant sphincter or iris, but was made out of the same glossy white rubber rather than any kind of biological material.

Darvill checked his portable soul divination apparatus. It told him Gary was on the other side of that door, if it was a door.

He approached and the door opened up like an iris. Revealed on the other side was a large white chamber. It contained beds, couches and other furniture whose purpose was primarily pleasure. Everything was covered in a layer of glossy white latex. He noticed there was no visible gap between furniture and the floor, as though all the beds and loungers he saw had been extruded from the floor beneath.

At the end of the room a succubus in white sat in a massive, overstuffed chair that resembled a throne in both dimensions and placement. He recognised her. It was the same succubus Gary had been infatuated with. She'd changed. Her long silky hair was pure white and a complex series of horns—like those of an elk—were threaded through it. She no longer resembled a trashy porn star in a fetish nurse outfit. She looked regal . . . powerful.

Darvill saw no one else in the room. He checked his portable soul divination apparatus. It pointed directly at the daemon sitting on the throne.

He wished it hadn't.

"I've come for Gary Dever," Darvill said. "Return him to me."

The succubus in white ignored his demand. She looked at the artefact in his hand. "Is that an Aqui-animus divination apparatus?"

Darvill nodded.

"I'm sorry," the succubus said. "Those have never worked particularly well around me."

Darvill drew his knife and prepared to slice into his arms to activate the most powerful offensive magic he knew. "I don't want a fight," he said. "Give me Dever and we'll both leave without any trouble."

"No, you don't want a fight," the succubus said.

She looked at Darvill standing defiantly before her.

"You need to see something," she said.

She sighed and pushed her breasts and belly outwards. Her latex outfit—if it was an outfit, Darvill suspected it was her skin—rippled as a commotion took place underneath. Tiny hands followed by equally small faces pushed out against the malleable rubber. They pushed out and then subsided, as if the succubus was cycling through them in search of one particular soul. She found it and Darvill recognised Gary's face. Gary pushed out as if trying to force his way through a thick sheet of elastic. His arms and most of his upper body emerged from the succubus's stomach as if an unnatural fission was taking place.

Darvill's excitement faded as he saw more of Gary's body. The shape of the head was wrong—deformed, partially melted. The same was true of his hands. The fingers weren't right—they looked like softened wax. Gary's face broke the surface and Darvill saw there was nothing there. The eyes were blank, dead. There was no light there. No life. No soul. Gary didn't recognise him. The malformed face gibbered nonsensically.

Water welled up in Darvill's eyes.

The daemon saw he understood. She flexed her amorphous body and Gary was pulled back down into her as if caught in a quagmire. The rippling commotions faded away until there was only the succubus, looking radiantly perfect as she sat on her throne.

"You friend is gone," she said. "Even if you had the necessary power to force me to return him to you, all I can give you are his remnants—little more than carrion that would fall apart in your hands."

"Then I came here—risked the lives and souls of my friends—for nothing."

"Not for nothing," the succubus said. "You have grown considerably as a warlock. Calli-Scitu-Oc is very pleased with your progress." She smiled at the poly-Oc perched on Darvill's shoulder.

Darvill's poly-Oc had a name? Darvill thought that was a weakness lesser warlocks indulged in—giving their daemon familiars pet names. Darvill hadn't. It was a poly-Oc, nothing more than a common familiar.

Then he looked across to the poly-Oc sitting on his shoulder, saw the way it looked back at him, and understood.

"It appears I've been operating under an erroneous set of assumptions," he said.

Most of his knowledge, nearly everything he knew, had been obtained from reading books. He saw now that most of it was wrong. A single glance from Calli-Scitu-Oc told him that.

The succubus smiled at him. He could see why they were regarded as creatures of near-irresistible temptation. That temptation emanated from her like a burning spotlight. He was relieved she had chosen not to turn it on him.

"What about the others?"

"They did not possess sufficient strength of character."

The voice came from behind him. Darvill turned and saw a small group of succubi had entered the room. He recognised Rosa and Verdé, and the succubus that looked like a stern dominatrix. There was also a succubus he hadn't seen before—a little girl with horns and spiky blue hair. Despite looking like a child, she had the oldest eyes Darvill had ever seen, older even than both the succubus in black and the succubus in white. In the middle of them, still dressed in his ratty old robes, was Phil Rowling.

* * * *

"If it's any consolation, your bringing them here did not change anything. This was always going to be their fate," Nÿte said to Darvill.

Phil hadn't visited this chamber before. Everything in the room was covered in glossy white latex. When he wasn't looking at it directly, the latex seemed to shift and bulge as if something was trapped on the other side. It reminded him uncomfortably of the souls he'd seen trying to push out through Nurse Honey's nurse outfit.

At least Darvill was still alive. That was a plus.

The other student nodded his head at Nÿte's words. "Can someone show me the way back to Earth?" he asked.

"I'll do it!" Cέrμləa said. She skipped forwards and took Darvill's hand.

"I'm really sorry," Phil said to Darvill as he walked past.

"There's nothing to apologise for," Darvill said. "The choices and decisions were theirs to make."

He gave Phil a friendly fist bump on the shoulder.

"See you back at college."

He left the room with Cέrμləa and the white iris door closed behind them.

"No fair," Rosa said with an unhappy pout. "Why did I have to get the smart one? Now I'm all frustrated."

"A promising prospect," Nurse Honey said. Her horns had disappeared and her hair had returned to its usual blonde colour. "He might develop into a fine warlock."

"Needs to lose some of that arrogance," Nÿte said. "Today will have helped him."

"He could have at least let me give him a blowjob," Rosa complained.

"You look tired," Verdé said to Phil.

"It's been a long day," Phil said.

Since waking up he'd seen one of Nÿte's ghoulish collections; fought a spider daemon; ran around the castle in search of his fellow students; had sex with a succubus covered in the freshly-spilled blood of one of those students. Rest would be good. Therapy might also be needed.

Verdé went behind him and started to gently knead the meat of his shoulders. "You need a little pampering," she said.

Her nose wrinkled.

"And a good clean up," she added.

Rosa's ears pricked up. "Giving our warlock a good pampering, I like that idea. Mmm, my pussy will give you a really nice pampering."

She started to walk towards Phil . . .

. . . and was intercepted by Nÿte. The other succubus put an arm around her waist, squeezed her tight to her, and steered her away towards the exit.

"Mine was a little too young to fully appreciate the talents of a succubus," Nÿte said to Rosa, "so I had some fun with our master instead. I think we should let him have a quiet night to recuperate."

"But . . . but . . ." Rosa said to no avail as Nÿte guided her away.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Verdé said.

She took him down to the opulent bathing area, put him under a hot shower to sluice away the abattoir remnants of Joey Chalk, and then lightly sponged him all over until he felt fresh and clean. Well, clean at least.

"Did they have to die?" he asked Verdé as she walked him back to his room.

"You've all chosen a difficult path to walk," she said. "Those that don't possess the requisite strength and ability will not make it to the end. That's the way it's always been."

That sounded cold to Phil, yet Verdé had said it as though it was perfectly natural. Maybe to daemons it was. Phil didn't think he'd ever get used it and he doubted this would be the last occurrence.

Verdé blew him a tingling kiss and then glided away down the corridor. Phil entered his room. It was in darkness.

Strange. He normally pulled aside the black sheet he used to block out the bright pink sky from the window when he got up at whatever felt like morning.

It had been one of those days. He must have forgotten and there wasn't any opportunity to do it later. He didn't even bother to make any light. He took his stinky robes off and tossed them into the corner. Then he dived backwards onto his bed. This was one of those rare occasions when he was glad the bed was as ludicrously big and soft as it was.

He didn't land on it. Instead he landed on some sticky filaments that were maybe suspended an inch or so above it.

. . . sticky filaments that felt suspiciously like a giant web.

. . . that looked like a giant web.

He heard giggling out in the darkness.

"Look at what's fallen into my little web," L'mactia said.

* * * *

"You don't look very happy," the daemon that looked like a little girl asked as they walked deeper into the castle. She'd given her name as Cέrμləa.

"I led my friends into hell and they all got killed. Aside from that everything is peachy," Darvill said.

"But you're about to leave with your life and soul intact. That's a big achievement for a novice warlock," Cέrμləa said, bright and breezy like the little girl she resembled.

Darvill supposed it was. Then he remembered the others and he wanted to vomit. They were going to form a secret cabal to sweep away the crusty old order. He'd been young and very very stupid.

Cέrμləa led him into a children's playroom. Or at least what he'd first thought was a children's playroom. On closer inspection he realised the toys scattered around the room had more in common with torture devices. Childcare as designed by Clive Barker. Creepy girl, Darvill thought.

There was one item in the room that looked out of place. There was a door that didn't match the rest of the decor. It was plain in comparison to the rest of the room and positioned in a place where you wouldn't expect a door to be. It looked similar to the doors in the dormitory area of Wargsnouts.

"It's through there," Cέrμləa said, pointing to the door.

Darvill opened it and saw Phil's bedroom at Wargsnouts on the other side. He stepped through and was relieved to be back on Earth. His trip to hell had been a chastening experience.

Cέrμləa waved at him from the other side of the door.

"I have to stay here," she said. "I'm not allowed to enter your world. Yet."

Darvill looked back at the little girl with centuries-old eyes. Did Rowling even know what he'd summoned?

He closed the door behind him.

"Fresh start," he said to Calli-Scitu-Oc.




Succubus Summoning 211



* * * *

Phil heard L'mactia's words. He felt the sticky clutch of her web beneath him. His response was immediate.

"Immolatum nida Flambastinaai!"

. . . and nothing happened.

He didn't feel that sense of opening up inside or the joyous rush of sentient flame pouring out into him. Instead the energies were drawn from his body and dissipated out across the web.

L'mactia giggled.

"It won't work," she said. "We took the time to prepare your room for our visit. It's so annoying when the prey summons other daemons to disrupt the fun!"

Phil looked around and as his eyes accustomed to the gloom he saw the whole room was festooned in thick cobweb. His bedroom had been converted into something resembling the silk-lined lair of trapdoor spider. And he'd blundered right into it like a stupid cricket.

"Verdé!" he called out.

He hoped she hadn't yet walked out of earshot. Not that it mattered. He saw an odd glow on the walls and recognised it as a globe of silence. Succubi and similar daemons used it when they didn't want any interruptions while playing with their prey. No sounds would leave this room.

Phil heard movement—stealthy scuttles—and realised L'mactia hadn't been referring to arachnes in general when she said we. She'd brought friends.

There were two other arachnes in the room with them. One had long flowing red hair; the other had a silky white bob. Both had the same bulbous black abdomens of orb web spiders as L'mactia. The spider daemon with white hair skittered across the ceiling above Phil. The redhead made a circuit of the walls. They trailed glistening strands of silk from their abdomens. When the strands met they flashed blue and then faded back down to a residual ethereal glow. It looked like a circuit had been completed. 

"It's done," the redhead said.

"They won't sense we're here, but they might spot his absence and suspect something is wrong," the white-haired spider daemon said. "You'll need to be quick, L'mactia."

L'mactia rose up at the end of Phil's bed. The shadowy gloom was a better fit for her gothic beauty. She was naked and her pale skin was almost luminescent in the darkness. Her rising up between his legs, large curvy breasts bared, would have been a highly erotic image to Phil had he not known what was below her waist. Her eyes—and this included the additional red orbs clustered around her temples—looked down on him with unnatural longing. Her long jointed foreleg reached over, flicked aside Phil's robes and exposed his crotch.

"You shouldn't have spared me," she said.

"I'm aware of that now," Phil said.

The Scrote had warned him warlocks needed to be merciless otherwise their opponents would return to fight again. He knew it and yet he hadn't been able to do it. This was all his fault. He had no excuses. He knew how this world worked, and yet he'd been too chicken to make the correct decision. There was no one else to blame for this sorry development but him.

"I'm an idiot and weak," Phil said.

He tested the strength of the web beneath him. His arms remained stuck fast to the sticky silk.

"Mercy is a rare quality in our world," L'mactia said. "My kind have little use or understanding of it. Our weakness." She gently stroked his side.

From Phil's perspective it didn't seem like much of a weakness. He was the one stuck in the web, about to be eaten . . . or worse.

L'mactia held out her hands and motioned to the other two spider daemons. "These are my sisters—L'katipia . . . " She turned to the white-haired arachne. ". . . and L'hassia." She waved towards the red-haired arachne.

L'hassia came down from the wall and walked towards Phil. Like L'mactia she was naked from the waist up and her skin was ghostly pale. Her face looked younger than L'mactia's and she seemed more impish, mischievous. Her most striking features were her hair and lips. Her hair flowed down from her shoulders like strands of glittering molten lava. It was long enough to cover her exposed breasts. Her lips drew Phil's eye. Not only were they plump and sensual, they were an extravagant red in colour and glistened moistly.

"So this is the powerful warlock. He doesn't look very impressive." Phil looked up. L'katipia, the arachne with white hair, had descended down from the ceiling on a silvery thread spooled from the tip of her bulbous black abdomen. Her most striking feature was her chest. Her boobs were big, spherical and topped with candy-pink areole. Her arms were folded beneath them as she regarded Phil with haughty scepticism.

"Looks can be deceiving," L'hassia said.

The web trembled beneath Phil as L'hassia climbed on. Her face appeared in front of him, framed by waves of flame-coloured hair. She stared at him with bright interest. Phil's focus was again drawn to her lips—glossy, sensual and ever so kissable.

L'hassia turned back to L'mactia. "Can I?" she asked.

L'mactia nodded. "But not too much."

L'hassia turned back to Phil. She leaned closer. "Mmm, I'm going to snog your face right off," she breathed.

Her luscious red lips plumped up as she pouted them in preparation for a kiss. Phil couldn't look anywhere else. His gaze was fixed and gaffed like a caught fish. Those red lips, wet with a glistening sheen, drew closer and closer and Phil's heart quickened in his chest. L'hassia loosely wound her arms around him and pressed her lips against his. He felt their moistness, felt that moistness seep through his skin and trigger a burst of pleasure. He felt his blood surge to meet her. She held him there in a long, lazy kiss that took his breath away.

Literally.

He felt her chest swell up against him as she inhaled. He felt a strange sensation in his throat. It felt like he was regurgitating, but with none of the negative sensations. This felt pleasant. And natural. The feeling of bliss was comparable to the sensations of orgasm when expelling semen from the body.

This wasn't semen. This was his energy. She was literally taking his breath away.

Realising what was happening, he struggled and tried to break off the kiss. L'hassia responded by holding him tighter and sucking harder.

She could empty her prey like this, Phil realised with horror. They would drown in the pleasures of her kiss while she drew all the energy from their body until nothing was left but an empty husk.

L'hassia ended the kiss long before then. She leant back and smacked her lips together.

"Ooo, our sister is right. There's definitely more to this one. You should taste him, sister," she said to L'katipia.

"I'd rather suck from here," L'katipia said.

She sent down a long leg and hooked it underneath Phil. The tip gently prodded against his anus, sending warm shivers tickling through his body.

"This one is mine," L'mactia said.

The web swayed as she climbed up and stood astride Phil with her many jointed legs. The other two arachne deferred to her and retreated to the edges of the room.

"Mmm, I still remember the taste of your semen inside me," L'mactia said. "My silks will feel so pleasant against your skin."

Her big black abdomen throbbed and pulsed in a way Phil knew was loathsome, but still caused a thrill of anticipation to run through him. Lewd organic squishy sounds emanated from within.

Phil struggled harder against the web. No use. He was stuck just as firmly as any fly with the misfortune to fly into a spider's web. He tried shouting out various spells—dismissals, fireballs—to no avail. The energies were drawn from him and dissipated across the web before they could manifest.

L'mactia stood over him and laughed. "Why fight so hard?"

"Um, because you're going to kill me," Phil replied.

L'mactia shook her head. "I have other plans for you."

She reared up and exposed the spinneret at the end of her abdomen. There was a lewd, burbling sound and gooey silk sprayed out of the tip in a thick, billowing wave. She didn't form it into threads this time. Instead it rolled out in soft flowing clouds that enveloped Phil. She gave a loud sigh as if in the grip of orgiastic release and squirted more and more until Phil was lying on a thick fluffy layer softer than any mattress.

She moved over his body, directed her spinneret and squirted until most of Phil's body was buried beneath fluffed-up clouds of silk. The only parts of his body left uncovered were his face and groin. He felt luxurious softness all around him and while he wasn't bound as such, the touch of the silk had a strange effect on him. He felt unnaturally relaxed. It was hard to concentrate, his limbs were floppy and unresponsive, and his loins pulsed with urgent need. Within the cocoon of soft silks L'mactia had spun around him, Phil was as immobile as if she'd tied him up with steel ropes.

"That's better," L'mactia said. "I want you nice and comfortable."

So she could take her time and leisurely drain him, Phil thought. He could do nothing. His cock had turned traitor and stuck up from his cocooned body like a flagpole. She moved up over him, lowered the tip of her abdomen and drew his erection up inside her. Her big black abdomen pulsed and Phil's erection was enveloped in a warm gooey mass of molten silk. She rolled it up and down his shaft, stroking his arousal higher and higher until he was thrumming like a tightened piano wire. Her abdomen pulsed again and she puffed the sticky hoop of silk down his shaft until if formed a pillow around the root. Then she released Phil's cock.

This surprised him.

"I didn't come here for revenge," L'mactia said. "That's the weakness of your kind. We see it again and again when one of you summons one of us to settle one trifling dispute or another. It seems wasteful to us, but as it gives us a constant supply of souls to feast upon we say nothing."

L'mactia backed down Phil's body until her face was level with us. She was different. On the previous occasions he'd encountered her she'd been icy cool. Professional. Now he sensed a trembling anticipation about her, as if strong emotions were bubbling away beneath the surface and she was struggling to keep them in check.

"I came here because I want to mate with you," L'mactia said. Two chitinous plates slid aside and revealed the over-plump labia of her pussy.

That really surprised him.

"When it's time, we seek out a strong male to father our offspring. You bested me in combat. Your seed will give me many strong daughters."

Her segmented legs went through the pillows of silk and hugged him to her. Her plush labia gaped open. She was about to engulf his member when she paused.

"Mutual consent is important to your kind. It's different for us. We rarely care if our partners are willing or not. I don't think this would be fair for you, not after you showed me mercy earlier. Will you—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her request.

"L'mactia!" L'hassia said.

"Don't you dare ask this human for permission," L'katipia said. "Not after the risks we've taken for you."

"It's not our way," L'hassia said.

"If you accept this human's refusal I'll eat your husk myself," L'katipia said.

L'mactia nodded and turned back to Phil with a sad expression on her face. "They're right. It's not our way. Please understand."

Her fleshy labia engulfed the head of his cock and she slowly slid down his shaft. He was drawn up into a warm muscular tunnel as her legs wrapped tighter around him. She sank down on him until the entrance to her vagina met the sticky pillow of silk she'd deposited around the root of his cock and their sexes were glued together. She let out a low sigh of pleasure.

There was none of the thrusting back and forth typical of most sex. L'mactia was content to lie on top of him with his full length all the way inside her to the root. She hugged him tight to her body and her voluptuous breasts pressed into the silk cocoon wrapped around his chest.

"Sex with an arachne is different." L'mactia's voice was a husky whisper in his ear.

Bands of muscle within her vaginal walls contracted and gripped Phil's erection.

"Our partners usually aren't able to move."

Phil felt her vagina move around him, gently tugging on his cock.

"So our bodies use other means to generate erotic friction."

Her bloated abdomen slowly pulsed. The flesh of her vagina squeezed up around his cock and tugged up and down in muscular waves. Even though Phil was bound and couldn't move, it felt as though he was plunging back and forth in her tight pussy.

"Relax," L'mactia sighed. "I'll do the work. I'll pump that cum out of you."

Her black abdomen throbbed. Inside it felt as though a soft hoop of flesh was stroking up and down his cock. Up. Down. Stroking until his arousal grew and grew and became irresistible.

"The first is always fast," L'mactia whispered. "Don't fight it."

Phil didn't think he could even if he wanted to. The muscular hoops within her pussy stroked him right to the brink. Sensing he was on the verge, she tightened her pussy and squeezed his cock. She drew him deeper within her until the swollen head of his penis passed through a tight orifice ringed with squishy flesh. Her abdomen swelled as if inhaling.

Phil came. He wasn't sure if it was his body firing semen into her or her body sucking it out of him. It felt incredible either way.

L'mactia sighed in pleasure.

"Ooo yes." She pressed her body tight to him.

Her abdomen slowly throbbed and Phil's ejaculation became a continuous stream. She was definitely pumping it out of him.

"I need more seed than humans usually produce during sex," L'mactia said, "but I won't take enough to harm you. I owe you that."

She pressed her moist red lips against his in a kiss. Phil drowned in sensual overload and the world went dark.

* * * *

Phil was woken the next morning by the succubi opening the door to the bedroom. He was still cocooned in fluffy clouds of silk, but at least he was alive and in possession of most of his bodily fluids.

"It looks like our Master had some visitors," Verdé said as she looked around at the cobweb-festooned room.

"Those damn sneaky spiders," Rosa said. "This is our territory."

"Um, can someone help me?" Phil asked. "A little stuck here."

"Ooo, come and feel how soft this pillow silk is," she said. "You must have really turned her on," she said to Phil.

"I thought she'd come back to kill me," Phil said.

"Nah," Verdé said. "Arachnes aren't like that. They don't hold grudges or kill for personal reasons. They leave that to the petty humans who summon them to settle petty disputes."

She got on the bed and lay alongside Phil on the fluffy silk. She stretched out and crossed her arms behind her head.

"Hmm, really comfy," she said. "It's a rare honour for an arachne to choose you as a mate. They're notoriously picky."

"They don't seem as concerned that their mate chooses them back," Phil griped.

"Well, they're notorious for that too," Verdé said.

"Some skanky spiders get to fuck him and I don't," Rosa complained. "So unfair. When do I get a good fuck?"

"That'll be the next book," Cέrμləa said, although no-one paid attention to her.

"I still don't know if I made the right decision," Phil said.

"She's alive. You're alive. You've just spent a pleasant night together." She looked at Phil and her expression was positively filthy. "Don't tell me you didn't find it pleasurable."

Phil said nothing. His cheeks reddened.

"Denizens of the Dominion of Lust might be a little . . . forceful when it comes to matters of consent, but we always make sure our partners enjoy it."

"And don't forget the children," Cέrμləa said, bouncing up to sit on the end of the bed. "Master is going to be a father."

Oh. Yeah. That was the primary purpose of mating, Phil thought.

"See," Verdé said. "Not only did you have a night of hot sex, you got to sire some lovely daemon daughters as well."

"There is the small matter of what those children will do while growing up," Rosa said, an evil smile on her lips.

"Oh, that isn't important," Verdé said.

"Wait, what?" Phil said. "No, tell me."

He'd fathered them. He had some responsibility here.

It fell to Cέrμləa to explain. "Arachnes lay about a hundred or so eggs," she recited as if reading from a textbook. "These hatch into arachlings, which then need to look for a suitable host for their next phase of development. They first enter the prospective host's dreams and from there enter the host's head. Once inside they slowly consume the host's brain and attain adulthood once the host's mind has been fully digested."

Hundreds? Phil felt queasy.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Verdé said. "She might not even lay the eggs in your world."

That didn't make Phil feel any better.

"He's so cute," Rosa said. "It's adorable how he worries about people that don't even know or care he exists."

"You shouldn't torment yourself," Cέrμləa said. This time it was the old woman speaking out of the young girl's mouth. "With each choice there is some good and some bad. It's a rare decision that is purely one or the other. You showed mercy. The consequences of that might cause future hardships for you and others. It might also provide new allies. Most of the time you get both."

"She really likes you, you know. L'mactia," Verdé said.

"She does?"

"Arachnes usually eat their partners after mating," Rosa explained.

L'mactia hadn't eaten him. She'd left him alive for some reason. Before he could ask why, a ghostly hologram of The Scrote appeared in the room. As before he looked as though his projection was peering into an object Phil couldn't see.

"Ah there you are, boy," The Scrote said. "Having fun in the circle of lust again, I see."

He noticed the webbing surrounding Phil.

"Whoa, playing with arachnes?" he said. "You might want to be careful there, boy. Don't be trying to run before you can walk."

Phil wondered why no-one ever seemed to realise he never actually had a choice in these things.

"I'm pleased to see you're taking a hands-on approach to broadening your education. A good warlock always looks to stretch their horizons."

Phil thought of Chalk and the others.

"That hasn't worked out too well for some of the other students," he said.

"Fuck 'em," The Scrote said. "They shouldn't have come to Wargsnouts if they were that weak."

By now Phil was used to The Scrote's callous disregard for his students, but even that shocked him.

"You have to understand, boy," The Scrote said. "Warlockry isn't like the world you came from. No-one will mollycoddle you here. If you fail, you die. That's the real natural law that governs the world.

"Anyway, you're needed back at the college. Stupid bureaucracy. I need to give you apprentices a test to assess how well you're progressing. Nothing for you to worry about, you're already way ahead of the other dullards, but bureaucracy is bureaucracy. Give me the Blood Fields of Schrecx-Ghor any day."

With that, the projection of The Scrote winked out.

A surprise test, Phil thought. After the day and night he'd just been through it felt both surreal and irrelevant, like being asked to take a driving test after winning a Formula 1 Grand Prix.

"I really don't think that person is qualified to be a teacher," Verdé said.

"Come now, Verdé," Rosa said. "You heard what the greaseball said. We need to take Master back to the college for his test."

Rosa sounded awfully keen to take him back to Earth. He suspected she was thinking more about the 'yummy' students than getting him there in time for whatever exam The Scrote had planned.

The succubi headed for the door.

"Um." Phil tried to get their attention before they left. "I'm still stuck."

to be continued . . .