A witch summons a demon. Warning: for mature readers only.
Dolores finished sketching the pentagram on the floor and then sat up, wiping the chalk from her fingers. Taking a deep breath, she took the old mayonnaise jar filled with blood and sprinkled a few drops onto the center of the drawing. It wasn’t human blood; she was too squeamish to actually slit someone’s throat. So she had collected the blood that pooled on the bottom of hamburger containers, dutifully dumping it into her jar until she had enough. She hoped that the beef blood would work for what she was planning to do. The spell had never specifically mentioned human blood, after all.
She opened up the ancient spell book, the one that she had stolen from Laura’s study. It didn’t have many pages remaining, and those that were left were stained and torn. If the rumors about the book were true, it was one of the oldest, and most dangerous, magical tomes in existence. Laura had forbidden her to touch it, reminding her that she wasn’t powerful enough yet.
Thumbing through the faded pages, Dolores gnawed at her lower lip and silently fumed. The head of the coven was always telling her what to do, usually with a smug little grin on her face. “Clean up the bathroom, Dolores” and “Why hasn’t this trash been taken outside?” It made her so furious to be treated like a maid.
Well, she would show Laura and the rest of the elder witches that she was every bit as talented as they were. They would regret bossing her around and making her feel worthless. She would laugh as they cowered at her feet, begging for mercy. With that image in her mind, Dolores began to recite the spell. She was certain that she pronounced the words correctly, but nothing happened at the end of the recitation.
Dolores stared at the pentagram, the flickering candles, the dark droplets of blood. And then she slumped over, burying her face in her hands. Maybe Laura and the others were right. Maybe she wasn’t a real witch at all.
“You should have used human blood,” a voice said behind her, and Dolores glanced up, startled. There was a man sprawled out on her bed, his arms behind his head. He looked like a strange mixture of her former idols: the reddish-blond hair of her favorite pop singer, the angular cheekbones of her favorite actor. But his eyes were like nothing that she had ever seen before. They were large and an almost poisonous shade of green.
“Are you—?” Dolores started to say.
“You know who I am. Nyrarius, King of the Incubi,” he replied. She frowned, studying him.
“I expected you to look…different.” Dolores continued to examine him. With his tight pants and blazer and boots, he looked like he belonged at a concert or an art show, not reigning over demons. Not that she was complaining; he was certainly an attractive creature.
“I look like what you desire. Your mind chose this form,” Nyrarius told her, studying his fingernails. “I could look like a gigantic, hairy beast if that’s what you wanted. But that’s not what you want, now is it?”
Dolores slowly shook her head.
“It’s not a bad body,” the demon said. “I’ve been in worse. Now, why did you summon me?”
The demon’s eerie green eyes were unnerving, and so she glanced away as she answered. “For revenge. Everyone in this coven treats me like a child. I want them to know what it’s like to feel small and worthless.”
Nyrarius grinned. “I can do that. All you need to do is ask.”
“I want you to make everyone in this coven small and worthless, Nyrarius,” Dolores commanded, and the demon snapped his fingers. The world swirled around her, colors blending into one another, and she was certain that she fainted. Regaining consciousness was a painful process, and as her head cleared, she looked around in confusion.
Everything had been transformed: the bed, her dresser, and all of the other furniture were suddenly skyscraper-sized. And to her horror, the demon was also colossal, his face peering down at her from far away. Placing his hands on his knees, he leaned forward and his shadow swallowed her up.
“What have you done?” Dolores demanded, more frightened than angry.
“Why, I made everyone in your coven small and worthless.”
“Yes, but why…oh.” Dolores’ heart thudded in her ribcage. “Turn me back!”
Nyrarius chuckled thunderously and reached down for her, his hand filling up her vision. She tried to dodge his grasping fingers, but he was much quicker than she was. The demon’s hand captured her and lifted her struggling body up.
“No, I like you this way, little witch,” Nyrarius told her, opening up his hand so that she could see his wide grin hovering above her. She wasn’t sure how small she was — an inch tall, maybe — but he was so huge that it startled her to look at him. Her eyes met his, and she seemed to be sucked into their unnatural green depths. Desire gripped her suddenly, and her entire body shuddered as his fingers brushed her torso.
“What are you doing to me?” She hissed.
“Tsk, tsk…did you even read that spell book, little witch?” Her breasts were so sensitive that she could feel the ridges of his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
“If you had read it, you’d know that I’m an incubus and that I can make almost anyone desire me. And I have to say, I barely have to use any of my power on you,” Nyrarius told her, laughing as her cheeks turned bright scarlet. “You like me, don’t you?”
Dolores tried to push his fingers away, but it was like trying to lift telephone poles. The gasp that escaped her lips was both lustful and horrified.
“Relax, little witch,” the demon said, relaxing his grip. “I’m not going to hurt you. You summoned me for revenge, and I’ll make sure that you have it.”
Dolores looked up at him, then gazed down. The wooden floor seemed to be hundreds of feet away, and she forced back the panic that steadily grew in her chest. She wanted to tell him to put her down, but before she could get the words out, he stood up and lowered her down to his pants pocket. Despite his attempts to be gentle, it was still uncomfortable being shoved into the pocket, and she found herself squeezed between his pants and warm flesh.
Immediately she squirmed to the top of the pocket, managing to free her head and shoulders. Below her was the demon’s thigh, his musculature evident through the tight pants; above her was his lower abdomen, although she had to crane her head at an uncomfortable angle to see that. When Nyrarius started walking, Dolores clung onto the fabric of the pocket, the rise and fall of his footfalls making her sick.
The old mansion that the coven called home was huge, with several bedrooms. Nyrarius stalked the hallway like some big, predatory cat, searching for the other witches. He opened the door to Bridget’s room, stepped over the threshold. They both heard the dull, wet crunch, and the demon sighed as he turned on a light. Dolores could see the blood leaking out from beneath his foot, staining the rug, but she wasn’t prepared to see Bridget’s tiny body embedded between the treads of his boot. The first time that she had seen Bridget’s face, the other woman had snorted, hands on her wide hips.
“You? A witch? You should go back home, girl,” Bridget had sneered, the contempt written all over her surprisingly delicate feature. Now those features were erased, her head crushed like an old pumpkin.
“Oops,” Nyrarius said, not sounding too concerned. Dolores had to close her eyes when he cleaned away her flattened remains with a tissue.
“Don’t worry, I won’t step on anyone else by accident,” he promised as he flung the crimson tissue into a wastebasket. Apparently he could feel her shivers, because he pulled her out of his pocket. Dolores tried to avoid the eldritch green eyes, failed. Once again, she found herself mesmerized by them.
He sat down on Bridget’s bed, the bedsprings creaking beneath his weight, and deposited Dolores onto his open palm. His forefinger trailed down the length of her body, from the top of her short black hair to the tips of her toes, and the feeling was exquisite. She turned over, looking up into his face and trying not to squirm as his finger caressed below her bellybutton.
“You’re lovely, little witch,” Nyrarius said, and she had no idea whether he was lying. At that moment, it didn’t matter much to her. All that she wanted was him, and she nearly spasmed when his finger gently pushed up her dress, exposing her long, graceful legs. The air felt cool against her skin, and she couldn’t move. Something kept her place — the incubus’ power, her own desire, she wasn’t sure.
“Tell me,” the demon said, stroking her right leg with his thumb, his flesh hot against her own. “Why did you join this coven?”
Dolores remembered her family, how they had always treated her like some outsider. She remembered her classmates, their constant jeers. She didn’t tell him any of this, but her answer was nevertheless truthful: “For power.”
“Yes, power is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” Nyrarius thumb slid upwards, and she found herself parting her legs. The tip of his finger passed over her sex and she whimpered at the sensation. She wiggled involuntarily and the incubus smirked, raising her to his lips. His tongue flicked out, lapping at her legs.
“You taste lovely as well,” the demon commented, his breath washing over her body. His tongue continued to lick at her legs, its surface slimy and bumpy and yet not entirely unpleasant. Then his incisors clamped down gently, surprising her and eliciting a small cry. Slowly he dragged her into his mouth until her breasts were pushed up against his soft upper lip and her butt was cradled by his tongue. Any desire to pull herself free disappeared when he sucked at her and her body twitched in ecstasy.
The incubus spat her out just as her pleasure crested, and Dolores was left feeling chilly and damp and disoriented. She tried to sit up, but he slipped her back into his pocket.
“We’ll finish this later,” Nyrarius said to her. “But now, let’s find the others.”
The demon found a basket in one of the bedrooms, and he dumped out the contents, balls of yarn and half-finished knitting falling onto the floor. At first, Dolores couldn’t understand why he needed the basket; then, when he found Diane darting across the carpet and he scooped her up and deposited her into the basket, she understood.
He went from room to room, collecting her fellow witches and putting them into the basket. Dolores wasn’t sure how he found them so easily; they were all so tiny, and most of them were well-hidden. It may have been some magical ability, and she realized how little she knew about him. Unfortunately, it was too late to read the spell book now. All that she could was silently watch as he snatched up the others.
At one point, Nyrarius trapped Sara in the corner of the large dining room. She was Laura’s unofficial second in command, a powerful and intimidating witch. Or rather, she had been powerful and intimidating. She quivered as the incubus knelt down and inspected her with a roguish and dangerous grin.
“Where’s the head of this coven?” Nyrarius asked her, and she flinched at the booming sound of his voice. He reached out, and Dolores thought that he was going to squish Sara. But his touch was almost tender and his voice took on a soothing quality. “Is she around here somewhere?”
“I don’t—,” Sara gaped up at him.
“You like me, don’t you, Sara? In fact, you love me. I know that you do.”
The witch continued to stare at him, and Dolores noticed the way that her facial muscles slackened and her eyes became distracted as she fell under his power. “Yes, I do.”
He walked his fingers toward her, and she grasped at one of the titanic digits as if it were a lover, her arms trying to encircle its circumference. Sara was entranced, helpless to the demon’s magic. And, Dolores realized with horrible clarity, so was she.
“Where is she?” Nyrarius’ voice was sweet and syrupy, like molasses, and Sara pressed her face against the bony slope of his knuckle. The tiny woman tried to fight him, her breathing unsteady from the effort; then she slumped against his finger.
“In the kitchen,” she answered, her voice distant and dreamy. Immediately the incubus’ hand closed around her, imprisoning her in flesh. As he dumped her into the basket with the others, every instinct was screaming at Dolores to try to flee, to get away away while she still could. Then he peered down, his poisonous gaze meeting hers, and she felt desire strangle her heart.
“What’s the matter, little witch?” Nyrarius asked, and he laughed as she shook, from fear or arousal, she wasn’t sure. He petted her through the fabric of his pocket, and Dolores squirmed feebly. Pleasure overloaded her senses, made her skin tingle as if an electric current was being run through it.
No! No! No! A voice shouted in her head, but she couldn’t stop the waves of pleasure. Her mind was overloaded with pure bliss, and she squeaked out, “N-nothing.”
“That’s what I thought.” His low rumble of laughter was erotic in ways that she could barely comprehend, and Dolores squeezed her eyes shut, unable to suppress her own arousal. She wanted nothing than to be back in the warm softness of his hands. But he didn’t reach down for her; instead, he wandered toward the kitchen.
Dolores opened her eyes when she heard his boots against the tiled floor. He set the basket down onto one of the counters, and she expected him to search for Laura and the others. But instead, he selected an orange from a wooden bowl and leaned against the wall, peeling it slowly. A tart citrus aroma filled the air, and she listened to his nails ripping at the fruit’s flesh.
He popped an orange slice into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully as he stared toward the doorway. “There you are.”
She spotted them as well. Laura and Emily, one of the younger witches, were watching them warily. When the incubus grinned and waved at them, the witches inched toward the exit. Putting another orange slice between his lips, Nyrarius snapped his fingers and the door slammed shut with a resounding bang. Laura tried to open the door with her own magic, but no matter what spell she recited, she couldn’t make it budge. Enraged, she pointed up at Dolores and the huge demon.
“Dolores, how could you summon that creature?!” Laura demanded.
At first, the head witch’s anger frightened Dolores; then her own rage, months and months’ worth of it, poured over her. “Because I hate you, Laura.”
Laura seemed surprised, her sandy eyebrows shooting upwards. “But I don’t understand—,”
“You treated me like shit. Everyone treats me like shit. And you know what? I’m so tired of it,” Dolores snapped.
“You think that he’ll solve that? He’s just using you, Dolores. He’s probably already inside of your head,” the older witch said. “He can twist love, pervert it. He’ll make you love him and then throw you away like garbage.”
“Shut up!” Dolores screamed, ignoring the doubt that once again crept into her thoughts. “Nyrarius, get them!”
The incubus didn’t move, finishing the orange and licking at the juice on his fingers.
“Oh, did you mean now?” The demon marched toward the two tiny witches on the floor. “You need to be more specific.”
Laura tried to use her magic to stop the approaching giant, but to him, she was little more than a chattering cockroach. Once, she had been the most powerful being in the world to Dolores, an awe-inspiring force. But as the demon’s boots crashed down in front of her, dwarfing her willowy body, Dolores knew how wrong she had been. Nyrarius was the true power here.
“Is that what you call magic?” He laughed, towering high above her. Dolores had never seen Laura so scared, but to her credit, the head witch continued to throw every possible spell at him. Finally he seemed to grow bored and raised his foot over her, his shadow immense and ominous.
“Lick it,” Nyrarius ordered as Laura glanced up at the massive boot sole hanging overhead.
“Your mind tricks don’t work on me,” she told him from between clenched teeth. “I don’t desire you, and I never will.”
“I didn’t tell you to desire me,” the incubus replied. “I told you to lick my boot.”
He didn’t seem particularly surprised when Laura tried to flee, spinning around and sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her. She almost made it a few feet before she slipped and tumbled forward onto the floor. Before she could rise up again, the demon placed his foot onto her body and gently rolled her onto her back. Only her head was visible, the edge of his boot pressed up against her chin and neck.
“I. Said. Lick. It.” His tone was playful, but the threat was there.
Laura looked up, not at Nyrarius but at Dolores. There was no hatred in her pale eyes, only sorrow and betrayal. As the giant stepped down, applying painful pressure, her tongue reluctantly slipped out and dragged along the black leather. Nyrarius allowed her to lick for a bit, a pleased smirk on his face. Then, without another word, he leaned forward, his full weight descending upon her. Laura’s mouth yawned open in agony as the rest of her body flattened beneath the giant’s foot, tissue and bone transforming into a horrible, purplish mess. Blood spilled out from between her lips, from her nostrils, from her eyes. Dolores had to tear her gaze away from the gruesome sight.
“See,” Nyrarius said to her. “I told you that I wouldn’t step on anyone else by accident.”
Dolores wanted to say something, but his supernatural gaze hypnotized her once again. He was so beautiful, like a god made flesh, and she wanted to kiss his skin until her lips became raw and bruised. Laura’s warning came back to her, but it was faint and easily overwhelmed by the desire that swelled in her chest.
She smiled up at him, and he touched his fingers to his lips, blowing her a flirtatious kiss. Then he turned his attention to Emily, who was transfixed by Laura’s bloody remains. She didn’t even realize how much danger she was in until he grabbed her.
“What a delectable little morsel you are,” Nyrarius purred to the shrunken woman. Laura may have been immune to his hypnosis powers, but Emily didn’t stand a chance. Almost instantly she was his, and she moaned with delight even as he opened his mouth, the kitchen lights illuminating his teeth and the glistening expanse of his tongue.
Dolores looked on jealously as the incubus pleasured her with small flicks of his tongue. The other witch howled in ecstasy, her long, golden tresses whipping as she writhed against the enormous tongue. Nyrarius’ chuckles vibrated her from head to toe, and as she let out another moan, he slurped her into his mouth like a noodle. One powerful gulp later, and she was gone.
He retrieved Dolores from his pocket and put her on the island in the center of the kitchen. Her mind was a chaotic storm, and she was still trying to process everything that had happened. Laura, she could understand. Even Bridget, who had treated her so poorly. But Emily? The girl hadn’t deserved her fate, painfully dissolved by acid within a demon’s belly.
“What’s the matter, little witch?” Nyrarius leaned down so that he was almost at her level, his green eyes fixed unblinkingly on her.
“I-I didn’t want this,” she stammered.
“Of course you did,” he replied. “I’ve given you your revenge, haven’t I?”
“I can see what you desire,” the incubus said, working his magic once more. Dolores shuddered in arousal, horribly aware of his body and her own. He was so big, looming over the island and her, and she could detect his scent, like sandalwood and something else. An earthy, organic odor that made her swoon a little.
Standing back up, the demon grinned at her. His hips were now parallel with the top of the island, and Dolores could see the steadily-growing bulge within his tight pants. She couldn’t look away as he stroked it with one thumb, or when he pulled down the pants zipper. More than anything in the world, she wanted him. And when his erection sprang free from the confines of his pants, she crawled across the granite toward it.
The giant’s penis was several times larger than her entire body, a mammoth column made of engorged flesh. Dolores had never longed for something so much in her life, although in the back of her head, the warning alarms were blaring. It was so difficult to concentrate as the waves of pleasure rippled through her, tightening her lower belly. Unable to resist, she stood up on her tiptoes, running her hands along the underside of the massive cock.
Nyrarius felt her minuscule caresses, and he groaned deafeningly, arching his back. She tried to throw her arms around his penis, but it was like trying to hug the trunk of a redwood. Her breasts and abdomen were pressed firmly against the shaft, and she could feet his heat and thundering pulse through her dress. Every one of her nerves was a bundle of hyper-sensitivity, and when the demon’s hand curled over her shoulders and back, she cried out.
Gently Nyrarius moved her along the length of his shaft, stopping when she reached its tip. Large droplets of precum oozed from his slit, dripping down onto the granite island and pooling there. The giant’s breaths mirrored her own, ragged and excited. Dolores caught brief glimpses of his face, and she saw that his unnatural green eyes were hooded with pleasure.
“Yessss,” he gasped as her tiny, nimble fingers found his slit and probed its warm depths. “Keep doing that, little witch.”
Dolores obeyed, her mouth joining her hands in caressing his cockhead. She tasted his precum, viscous and salty, and the penis began to move beneath her as he thrust his hips slowly. Despite her efforts to cling on, the penis bucked hard like a bull, and she was tossed back onto the island. As she was getting back up, Nyrarius growled and came, ejaculating onto the granite. And onto her. Bucketfuls of gooey semen splattered all over her back, her side. She was covered with him.
The demon found a napkin and handed her a small section of it. As Dolores tried to wipe herself off, she looked at the basket on the faraway counter. The other witches were in there, still alive. For the time being, at least.
“You’re not going to kill them, are you?” She asked hesitantly, her eyes on the basket.
He laughed as he cleaned himself off and zipped up his pants. “Of course not. They’re my little playthings. I have plans for them.”
Dolores wadded up the napkin and put it aside. What she needed was a nice, long shower to wash away the filth on her skin and the guilt from her mind.
“Nyrarius, I want you to make me normal-sized again,” she commanded him.
“No,” he said, and Dolores wasn’t sure what to say. Finally she sputtered, “I-I order you t-to make me —,”
The incubus made a gesture with his right hand; the gleaming black and silver chains materialized from out of nowhere, slithering around her arms and legs. Frantically she tried to pry them off, but they dug into her skin, and as they tightened more and more, she collapsed, unable to move her limbs.
“You don’t command me anymore, little witch,” Nyrarius told her. “I’ve given you what you wanted, and your soul is mine.”
“B-but I was supposed to be the new head of the coven!”
“That wasn’t why you summoned me,” he replied, and she winced as the chains sank deeper into her flesh. For a terrifying moment, she feared that they would crush her arms and legs into bloody pulp. The demon continued, “Besides, I would be a much better coven leader.”
Dolores wanted to argue, but the pain and terror were too much. With another snap of his fingers, she began to float, rising up until he was able to pluck from out of the air. She started to scream desperately, but another chain squirmed across her face, forced itself into her mouth. The cold steel against her tongue and teeth was awful, but she couldn’t remove the chain.
Nyrarius smiled, and to her disgust, she felt another jolt of desire. “Don’t worry, little witch. I’ll take good care of you.”