by Jillian Rose
“These have been verified as legitimate copies?” Ian asked.
“Why of course. These are actually from the university, they pay me to store them here since their own library is full. Only certified historical texts make their way to the morgue, as I call it… Of course, the Luciferian Pedigogy, that is a seventh translation. There was only ten copies made of the original Germanic text. So, the English translation may not be as completely accurate.”
“I see…And how much will it cost me to walk out of here with these two books?” Ian asked. Abner laughed, shaking his head.
“Oh… Son, you misunderstand. These books are not for sale, they are property of Washington University. They were donated to the school by an anonymous source, and are considered relics despite their…macabre content.” Abner said. Ian’s jaw clenched again, and he shot a hand out, opening up the index of The Magus. He scanned his finger down several spell names until he came to one in particular, tapped his finger on it, and then took a large swath of pages and flipped to a part of the book showing a diagram of a roughly sketched female shape, with somewhat monstrous proportions. The artist made her seem like a woman that was in the middle of transforming into a wolfish monster. Ian studied it intensely for a moment, his pupils contracting as he struggled to read the faint text.
“Alright.” He said after a moment of thoughtful consideration. He closed the book. “Thank you for showing me these.” He said, and walked out of the room without helping put the books back, as was his nature.
Chapter 2.
Three weeks later, he sat in what was once his father’s study, the two thick volumes out on his desk, each one in a protective vacuum sealed bag. Sitting across from him in one of the big plush reading chairs was Simon Jennings, who had been his father’s right hand man and financial advisor for ten years before the heart attack took him. Now, he served as an unwanted, and in Ian’s opinion unnecessary executor to Roger Goldman’s remaining legacy. Simon’s beady little eyes regarded him with contempt, disdain, but Ian seemed nonplussed.
“A quarter of a million dollars, for some old books? I need not tell you your father would be rolling in his grave right now.” The man’s high pitched, reedy voice floated across the table to Ian.
“My father could barely roll himself over in bed by the time his heart quit. I do recall you had to assist in wiping his ass a few times, no?” Ian said distractedly, pawing at the books affectionately through their protective layers. “Besides, knowledge is priceless, especially rare, knowledge. I’m sure the old man would be in agreement with me on that.”
“He would never approve of such frivolous spending. That is exactly why he had me listed as head trustee to your trust fund and the remaining accounts in his name. To prevent against silly little impulse purchases like this. Why he signed over everything to you at the last minute is beyond me.” Simon said, venom in his voice.
“Yes, which raises the question of why you are here. You were not invited to counsel me on this purchase if I recall.” Ian said as he unsealed the first of the two books.
“I came here to warn you that if you don’t get your spoiled little impulse buys in check, that you will run this families legacy into the ground. 250,000 dollars may seem like a drop in a very big bucket, but I promise you Ian, there is a bottom to that bucket. You will hear it’s dry metal clang sooner than you think.” Simon said, standing up indignantly. Ian sighed, and made a shooing gesture towards the large oak door leading into the study.
“Please leave. I am firing you effective immediately.” Ian said distractedly, opening up the Luciferian Pedagogy. Simon froze, looking stupidly at him.
“What? You can’t, I—”
“I can, and I will. Please, get the fuck out of here. You remind me too much of that fat old bastard. Your services are no longer required. I will see to my own finances thank you.” Ian said, a child like smile spreading on his face as he found the page he was looking for. Simon let out an incredulous huffing sound, and then stomped towards the door.
“You know, your father always pegged you as a disappointment. He had big plans for you, to take over his accounts, to train you in the art of book keeping and real estate, but no, your pathetic little artistic delusions led you astray. A degree in music?” The old man said, and snorted laughter. “You have all of Roger’s worst traits, and none of his redeeming ones. Have fun pretending to be warlock, soon you will be homeless on the street, and I will come and spit in your change cup.” Simon said before slamming the door behind him. Ian’s smile widened.
He’d first heard about the invocation of certain paranormal entities back when he was at Berklee, his dorm mate, Stephen, something of a bohemian who believe the occult could be treated like an aphrodisiac to someone’s sex life. The long haired saxophone playing hippy could be heard making love to his girlfriend for hours on end, in something he called Tantric love making, which Stephen claimed was a transcendental experience. Mean while Ian would always be alone in his room, fantasizing about killing his room mate and strangling the air headed bitch who was always stinking up their apartment with weed and joking that Ian needed to get laid.
He stared up at the painted portrait of his mother as he opened the Luciferian Pedagogy to a section written in Latin called “Lamia Invocatione”, with the rough English translation next to it- “Invocation of Lilith”. It was this very phrase he’d been seeking for so long. He’d spent hours pouring over online articles, trying to find legitimate chaos prayers that brought forth the guardians of the night, as they were called. His eyes went from that phrase, up to his mother’s acrylic gaze. Whoever painted her did a good job capturing her radiant beauty. The luscious long red hair, the deep azure of her iris’s. In the picture she was sitting in a regal posture in a green sundress, a hint of cleavage and the swell of her bosom implied, pale legs crossed at the knees. He missed his mother deeply, he felt she was the only one of the two parents who showed him any love. Did he have some latent Freudian urges because of that? Was his ingrained complex that no other woman could compare to his mother’s beauty be the reason for the impotence that kept him a virgin? Most likely. But that was neither here nor there.
He took a deep breath, and released the hand resting atop the Luciferian Pedagogy, not realizing that he had clenched it into a fist as he thought of those weeks after her death. The suspicions that his father had arranged for her to die, to make it look like an accident. The way he finally, openly bragged about it one night after he’d consumed a half bottle of Glen Livet, the night of his eighteenth birthday party, which was supposed to be a large, grand celebration, even though it was comprised mostly of Roger’s business associates.
“Finally, mother, you will have a chance to show me what love you had waiting for me.” He said with a shaky breath. He stood up, aware he had an erection pulling at his slacks, and ignored it. He read over the Lilith invocation, saw the supplies and preparations he would need, and closed the tome. He had much work to do.
Chapter 3.
It was three days later that he was laying in what was once his mother and father’s bed, a large king sized memory foam behemoth with silk sheets kept fresh by the house keepers who stopped by on a weekly basis. Following the instructions to the T in the book, he laid prone, his heart pounding in anticipation. An hour previous, he had gathered the ingredients he ordered online into an obsidian basin. Juniper, tumeric, belladonna, and the goat testicles, which he had to order from a sketchy vendor on the gutters of the dark web, as well as a half cup of his own blood, and five locks of his mother’s hair, which he had taken from the brush that remained in her bathroom. Her closet and bathroom had remained untouched since her death, and Ian usually found himself in there, smelling his mother’s perfumes and deodorant, the scents bringing back powerful memories. It was there he found the old brush filled with her luscious red hair.
Once he had mashed in the goat testicles and plants into a pulp with the blood and hair, he was instructed to leave this mixture unde
rneath his bed as he slept. He repeated the Latin invocation aloud five times prior to laying down. He had ingested the mescaline a half hour prior, and began to feel it’s disorienting effects as he lay prone in the dark. He’d never dabbled with hallucinogens, even in college when it was all the rage with his dorm mates, so his anxiety kept his palms damp and his heart racing as he waited. He was supposed to fall asleep, that was how the guardians of the night came to you, was while your mind operated on a different wave length than waking, the mescaline supposedly aiding in this connection.
He began to feel like he was floating away from his own body, as he was instructed to lie totally prone for at least an hour, on his back, in order to induce a sort of sleep paralysis once he finally did pass over realms. He didn’t realize he had passed over, thought he was still awake, when he opened his eyes, and found he couldn’t move. The large room was dark save for the evening light that flowed in through the large bay window, illuminating the room in a gray wash.
Ian’s eyes widened when he saw the black mist drift down from the ceiling. A long liquid form melted through the ceiling panels, taking shape before him at the foot of the bed. It seemed as if the black mist poured into an invisible humanoid shaped container, and once the outline was completely filled, there was a red flash that left an after image on Ian’s eyes. He tried to raise a hand to shield his face, but found he couldn’t move. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the negative after image that floated in front of his stunned eyes.
He gasped when his vision finally cleared, and he caught a glimpse of the thing that was crawling on the bed towards him. He could tell by the swell of the breasts and the feminine angles of the face that she was indeed female. Red hair similar to his mothers, similar but not identical, sprouted from a long face, the cheek bones high and strong, luscious red lips peeled back in a maddening grin that revealed long yellowed teeth, like that of an old wolf. The eyes were pure white, no iris or pupil discernable, just egg shell white and almond shaped.
The rest of her body was jet black however. Not black as in of African descent, of colored people, but purest obsidian, the skin shining as if with a layer of sweat. Yet he felt a cold radiate from her, as if he were standing in front of an open freezer. She straddled his naked body, and despite the fact she made no impressions in the sheets as she crawled towards him, he could feel her skin make contact with his. At first it was icy cold, but quickly warmed, like the muscle relaxing cream he had to put on his injured elbow every once in awhile.
“My my…” She spoke, in a voice that sounded like a whisper, but hearing it made it feel like invisible ice picks were pressing against his ear drums. ‘A…Virginnnnnnn?” She hissed as she lowered her head to sniff his groin, a long serpentine tongue spiraling out, dripping saliva that burned his skin when it splattered against his crotch. She flicked the tip of his erect cock, he didn’t realize he was erect until he had looked down to see it rising over his navel, towards her mouth. He tried to sink his hips into the bed, and shrink away, but he couldn’t, nor did his abject terror have any effect on the rigidity of his erection. She sniffed the air again, looking at him.
“You are afraid…. Why? Was it not you that summoned me?” She said in a raspy hissing voice, a note of confusion in it.
“You…You…” Ian stammered, realizing he could talk, unsure of whether he was alive or asleep. “You’re not… What I asked for.” He said. The thing smiled again, and he caught a whiff of her breath, which smelled of burning meat.
“That… Is too bad.” She said, and proceeded to lower herself down, and he felt his cock pressing against a wet cavern, the juices of which first stung and then tickled his head as she pressed down. He gasped as he entered her, his member enfolded within a cold wet velvet that slid deliciously over him. He had experienced orgasm only a handful of times in his life. Twice after he had found the nude photos of his mother in his father’s desk drawer, a site so shocking, so exhilarating he didn’t know how else to respond. He had been twenty then, yet his adolescent urges, his fascination with his own dead mother still gripped him like a fist. Each time seed poured fourth from him, a wave of shame and self-loathing immediately washed over him.
He had always thought of her any time he had masturbated, and he decided this time would be no different. If he couldn’t summon a demoness to act as a physical avatar for the one he truly loved, he could at least fantasize while he experienced this incredibly orgasmic sensation. Soon the terror acquiesced to reluctant arousal as she began to ride him, first sliding all the way down until icy cold buttocks pressed against his testes, and then rising up until he had almost exited her, and repeated.
He sighed and relaxed slightly as she rode him, but then cried out as he felt stiff cold claws at the sides of his face, ripping his eyelids open.
“No… You must look at me while I rob you of your seed. You do not get to escape this. Pathetic little swine. Wanting to fuck his own” But she didn’t even say it. “… Disgusssstinggggg.” She snarled at him as she increased the tempo of her thrusts. He stared into those dazzling white eyes, his head feeling like it was caught in a vice. He felt her clench his cock in her folds like a fist as she rode him harder, an intense sensation that bordered on agony. Hearing her speak of his urges, things he’d never ever vocalized aloud sent a cold chill through his body, and he shuttered with self loathing and revulsion that was quickly eclipsed with ecstasy as she continued to mercilessly fuck him.
He felt himself accelerating towards climax, his muscles going rigid, the slick velvety walls of her bringing forth intense tactile sensation with every inch of friction.
“Yes…That’s it… I need it… Every drop, you will give to me.” She said eagerly, going still faster as she rode him. Her cold breasts bounced heavily against his chest as she did this, and he found himself wishing he could have one of those coal black orbs in his mouth, a perverse desire to suck on this beast’s teat like that of a nursing child. As if reading his mind, she quickly removed one of her hands and shoved her massive right breast right into his face. He opened his mouth and felt the soft supple flesh against his lips.
“Suck, little pig, suck.” She said, and he did so, his tongue finding a rough hard little nub that he assumed was a nipple. When he sucked, a hot bitter tasting fluid shot into his mouth. He tried to gag, but she took the clawed hand and kept his jaw clamped to the nipple. It tasted like curdled milk, but he had no choice but to swallow. He tried to call out as his cock gave the first in a long series of throbbing contractions, felt himself erupt inside of her. He convulsively bit down on the nipple, but it was like biting into a diamond. Sharp pain filled his mouth as he felt himself chip a tooth on the impossibly hard nub, and then he was blinded with bliss as a second, third and fourth pump of orgasm robbed him of coherent thought.
It was the most powerful orgasm he’d ever experienced. She knew he was coming, and mashed herself against him, beckoning him as deep as he could possibly go. She clenched and pulsated her wet channel, squeezing him with every intense burst, milking him.
“Yes…That’s it…” She said, slamming herself down hard against him with each thrust, until his balls ached and felt deflated, a strange hollowness in his loins where immense pressure always seemed to loom. By the time he’d emptied himself with a fifth sputtering throb, he felt himself shrinking mercifully. But she only grabbed onto him tight, forbidding him from leaving the wet cavern.
“No…We’re not done yet.” She said, and he felt her abdomen suck in, her core brace, and suddenly he felt suction down there, as if her vagina had turned into a penis pump. He gritted his teeth, his tongue coated in the foul milk that spurted from her breast, and tried not to scream as he felt his cock being pulled and elongated unnaturally. She kept thrusting as this happened, and every centimeter his tender head rubbed against her walls brought forth a wave of intense tactile sensation. Soon he felt himself growing hard again, a deep ache in the base of his cock as his strained tissues once again engorged with bl
ood.
“No…”He tried to call out, but she laughed.
“Yesssssss. You play with fire, little pig, and you will get burned.” She whispered into his ear, even her whisper hurt his ears, every syllable felt like a scalpel lancing his tympanic membrane. She was soon thrusting again, his cock now radiating a searing friction heat that brought tears to his eyes. Despite the pain, there was still that mind blowing pleasure underneath, that thrilling exhilaration of release as he once again built up and ascended the peak of climax. His build up was much quicker this time, the thrusts bringing simultaneous pain and pleasure.
This time, when he felt the first hot burst marking yet another intense release, he felt that suction return, his tip sucked hard into a narrow channel as his aching balls contracted, shooting forth the remainder of his ejaculate. This time he did scream as he thought his cock would soon be ripped from his body as the second and third pumps barely brought forth the much desired seed, his urethra almost crushed underneath the immense muscular contractions of her vaginal canal. He heard bestial, primal grunting sounds, saw the thing’s teeth come together in a snarl, and realized she too was experiencing orgasm, or whatever hellish reaction passed for orgasm in her world.
Her walls pulsated rapidly, and suddenly the suction was released, and then came again, released, hot breath being snorted against his face. Finally, as his fourth pump emptied him completely, she felt him mercifully release him, his tenderized hamburger remains of a cock flopping out against his thigh.
“Good… I expect more next time.” She said, dismounting him. She stood up on the bed, looking down at him the way someone would regard a cockroach on the floor, and simply floated up and disappeared through a wavering black hole into the ceiling, her ascent completely silent. For awhile he lay there, dazed, stunned, stupefied, aching.
