Daemons Have... Impressive Qualities

Author's note: I wrote this for Halloween but didn't think about the Literotica moderation time, so it will probably be late. Don't whine to me about this not being true to wicca or whatever. I don't believe in any of that noise. This is just silly fantasy. Enjoy it for what it is.

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"Everything is prepared, sisters. Take your positions." Our response was murmured, but it was unanimous.

The pentagram did indeed appear perfect now. We had placed the large black drop cloth on the flattest piece of forest floor we could find. Rachel had then gone about plotting the five points and driving a stake into the ground at each one. She ran strings between them to keep the pentagram's sides perfectly straight and we had carefully poured powdered chalk along those lines.

As the sun neared the horizon, we lit torches and arrayed them around the clearing. In the center went the offerings bowl. I don't know where Marta had gotten the thing, but it was a beautiful semi-flattened -- and heavy -- cast iron bowl. The metal was rough but refined, its surface licked with the charring of many fiery rituals.

Appropriately, with the disappearance of the day's natural light, gentle snowflakes had begun to descend. The air was perfectly still, and the snow muffled the forest's sounds.

"Remove your shoes, sisters. Connect with the natural world."

The ground was cold and rough against my soles. Iona had insisted that the spirits of the under-earth can only connect with us if we connect with them without any barrier. That meant bare feet. I had shrugged at that -- I liked being barefoot. Though it did make for cold soles tonight.

"Open your over-robes, sisters. Connect with the spirit world."

One memo Iona had been very clear about ever since I first agreed to join in was that all five of us must wear identical ritual garments. She had sewn them herself. The inner layer was a gown made of heavy material in a deep green color. It fell to mid-calf and, given how chilly the night was, I appreciated the thick fabric.

Over that was a long robe-like coat of even heavier wool. It had the color of fertile topsoil plus narrow lines of ornate yellow stitching running down the sleeves, cuffs, and break-line. What it lacked, however, was buttons. The over-robe was meant to be opened during the ritual, and was secured only by a housecoat-style sash.

Now, in the dim firelight, with the garment's heavy hoods still framing our faces, we opened the front of the robes. Under them, Iona's handiwork stood out even more. The gowns featured deep plunging necklines framed by more ornate stitching. "Your spirit is concentrated behind your sternum," Iona had explained. "You must allow it and the external spirit world to commune."

Iona was a good friend, so I always did my best not to roll my eyes at her silly ideas about metaphysics. And, truth be told, the gown truly was beautiful. Loose like that, my breasts didn't look as full as they might with a push-up, but I had to admit there was something to this deep-cleavage style. Maybe I was missing out by not buying any tops like this.

The outfit was topped off with a narrow leather choker necklace stitched with the same pattern as the V-neck.

Now, in the dark and cold, arrayed around the pentagram, the five of us stood with our necks and chests exposed to the elements. An involuntary shiver ran through me.

"Sisters! Approach the hallowed pentagram and assume your station of sacred power."

All the silly ritualistic language was getting old.

So-called 'witchcraft' wasn't my thing. Rachel and Iona were long-time friends of mine, though, so I tried not to belittle it. When they asked me to join their 'coven' to replace someone else who was moving away, I thought, what the hell, why not? I liked the woods, and I liked my friends. Plus, the food they made for their witchy meetings always smelled amazing. It might be a fun way to spend the occasional evening.

I quickly found out how seriously they took it, though. Iona, in particular, instructed me on incantations and offerings, and all manner of nonsense. While she was fitting me for the gown, I asked her, "So, have you ever successfully summoned something before?"

"Oh yes," she'd replied in all seriousness. "We always feel some sort of presence. Sometimes it is stronger than others. We have refined our techniques with each attempt, and in almost every case this year we've gotten a stronger connection with each successive try."

I had just given her a noncommittal "I see," and let her go back to her work, wondering if I'd regret agreeing to it.

Like the others, I now knelt and spread the skirts of my gown out in a circle around me. The exception was in the front, where I was supposed to tuck it up against my knees so that it framed -- but did not quite touch -- the pentagram's chalk outline.

"Sisters! Light your consecrated candles to reflect the fire of your spirits!"

Despite my skepticism, as I struck the match and lit the heavy ceremonial candle, I had to admit it all felt more believable out here. The flames of candles and torches cast dancing shadows all about, but the night was eerily still. I looked around the circle. With hoods drawn up, the candles seemed to illuminate only the mouths and exposed cleavage of my companions. Thick snowflakes floated down between us. The entire experience was both creepy and exciting.

"Sisters! Place the fire of your spirit upon the five pedestals and connect your yoni with the holy Earth-Mother!"

This was the point in the script where I most expected to break into giggles. White people saying "yoni" was silly to begin with, but the fact that Iona was basically telling us "squish your cooch against the ground" was even funnier.

When I said Iona insisted we all wear identical garments, she meant we'd wear only those garments. "We must invite the spirits not only with open arms, but with an open yoni," she'd said. She'd even insisted I be bare while she was fitting me for the dress. Though strange, I acquiesced. I wasn't a prude, after all. "Hm, very smooth, I see."

"Don't tell me I have to grow it out. I hate hair there."

"Oh no, of course not. Witchcraft has nothing to do with hair. I groom too." Iona casually lifted her skirt as she said it to reveal a fiery red landing strip.

I tried not to be shocked by how nonchalant she was about it all. "You're not wearing panties now either? Didn't you just get home from work?"

"I never bother with them," she remarked while she pinned my gown's hem. "I feel much more connected with the living world that way."

"Wait, we've hit the bars together in some pretty short dresses..."

"Not a once," Iona giggled. "And trust me, it's a great way to get the hottest guy in the club to come home with you. Or sometimes the hottest girl!"

I was learning all kinds of new things about my friend.

Out here in the chilly forest, however, she was clearly in her element. Once we were all seated, labia against the canvas, she called into the still night. "We call on the spirits of the forest! Lend us your life-force! We call on the spirits of the earth! Lend us your limitless strength! We call upon the spirits of the sky! Lend us the energy of your motion! We call upon the spirits of the ocean! Lend us your power! We call upon the spirits of the heavens! Lend us your wisdom! Hear us, oh spirits!"

"Hear us, oh spirits!" we echoed.

Iona leaned in to pour alcohol (spirits to summon spirits!) into our bowl of offerings. She said gin was one of the best because it was made from the juniper tree. I suspected it might also have something to do with the light price tag. Whatever the case, it soaked our 'offering' of sage, feathers, acorns, obsidian, crushed oyster shells, and whatever else Iona and the others had decided might summon spirits. I had always thought that witches focused on blood offerings, but they insisted that was just scaremongering.

A couple minutes of Gaelic-esque incantations later, we were ready for the main event. The offerings were silly, the prayers were silly, indeed the whole concept was silly, but I did have to hand it to them: the setting and theatrics certainly set the mood. Snow was now beginning to accumulate on our hoods and goosebumps on our exposed flesh.

"...and so, great spirits of this world and beyond, we implore you this day to manifest forth one of your great creations! We entreat all the realms to send us a true Daemon to protect our coven, to spread our influence, and to defend our realm from those who would do it harm! We beseech you, oh spirits!"

That was Ling's cue. Her high-pitched voice rang through the cold air. "We conjure a Daemon of great strength!" She raised her candle in the air.

Marta was next. "We conjure a Daemon of an intimidating visage!" Her candle went up.

Rachel: "We conjure a Daemon of the most protective temperament!" Another candle in the air.

And then it was my turn. I had assumed, given my line, that I might giggle, but the ambiance had captured me. "We conjure a Daemon of incomparable virility!" I carefully raised my candle above my head.

Iona finished the litany. "We conjure a Daemon of unflinching loyalty to the worthy women of this world!" The final candle was aloft.

And then, as we slowly lowered the candles toward the offering plate, we chanted in unison, "Daemon, Daemon, Daemon..."

I did not actually see the bowl full of alcohol light. I could not. The flash was far too bright and the shockwave too intense. All five of us were thrown bodily outside the pentagram and a sound like the crack of thunder assaulted our eardrums.

The chalk pentagram itself was gone. The canvas drop cloth below it in tatters. In its place was a small, rounded crater in the soil and a glowing ball of flame. We watched the forces of gravity and buoyancy slowly take hold of the fire, converting it from a sphere to a pillar, and finally, to a thin, ring-shaped curtain. The curtain faded as flames winked out and tossed their final embers to the night sky. And it revealed...

It revealed a Daemon.

A low, almost growling voice reached our ears. "I have come."

Screams erupted from the girls around me, who scrambled to their feet and rushed haphazardly out of our camp's firelight. They disappeared into the pervasive darkness.

Yet, though the terror had driven my heart rate to new heights, I found myself practically immobilized.

The creature was huge -- easily surpassing seven feet tall. Its skin shone a deep crimson and almost appeared to glow from within. Though shaped like a man, its legs ended in huge hooves rather than feet. Its build was wide and muscled, the physique a body builder might dream of, but which human skeletons could not deliver. It wore only a leathery skirt-like loincloth, so every muscle and contour stood out starkly in the dancing firelight. And, of course, its head was adorned by a pair of ribbed, recurved horns.

"I was summoned. I have come."

The Daemon turned to face me. My breath caught on the lump in my throat. Its eyes, blazing yellow, bored into me, but they were not trained on my own. He was staring at the bare space between my breasts.

If this creature chose to lash out at me, I could not escape. I was already within its reach and its strength very clearly overshadowed my own a hundred times over. I could not escape. But perhaps I wouldn't need to.

Under unsteady muscles and shuddering breaths, I forced myself first to my knees. The robe was no longer on my shoulders, so I let it fall away. I kept my eyes fixed on the Daemon's and summoned all my remaining energy to get first one leg under me, then the other. I stood in silence, staring the monster down with the most resolute expression I could muster.

"I was summoned. I have come."

I took a deep, slow breath. To cover my ragged breath, I adopted a growly voice of my own. "You were summoned. You have come. But are you what we requested?"

The Daemon stared down at me from his lofty height. Rather than answering me, he extended an enormous finger nearly the diameter of my wrist. It drifted forward as if in slow motion. I tried and failed to hide my dread.

The Daemon did not reach for my own hand or for my face. Instead, he touched my exposed sternum. The skin was rough but not uncomfortable, warm but not unsavory.

But with his touch, a bizarre calm spread through me, warming my body and cooling my nerves from the inside out. My heart rate slowed. My throat loosened. My muscles relaxed. Nothing had changed, but I was suddenly back in control of myself.

More to the point, the touch had communicated something to me. This was indeed a Daemon -- that thing that minutes ago I didn't believe existed. My mind suddenly understood not only his existence but his purpose. He actually was created to protect us, to obey, to be strong, and intimidating, and...

A slightly different warmth began spreading in me. But I still needed to focus. My newfound calm gave me courage. I grabbed his finger. My own fingertips barely touched around its circumference. When I pushed it slowly away, he did not resist the motion. "I want you to say it."

His eyes were on mine now. He cocked his grotesque head slightly. "I was created to obey, to protect, and to serve the worthiest women of this world."

"And am I worthy?"

"Yes, Mistress, you are most worthy."

I tried not to let my relief show. His words also emboldened me further. "So, you will protect me from any threat to my life or health?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"You will obey my commands?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"You are strong?"

His muscles flexed and rippled. "Yes, Mistress."

"You are intimidating?"

The glow just under his skin grew brighter. Tiny flames licked across the ridges of his horns. And deep behind his eyes glowed the light of a sun. "Yes, Mistress."

I couldn't help smirking for the last one. "And you are...incomparably virile?"

Given his grand height and my own short stature, my face was not much higher than his waistband. The motion behind his broad loincloth was thus right in front of me. First it jumped. Then it began to rise. But it didn't need to reach full staff before it showed itself. The head of an enormous red penis gradually extended past the hem and continued lifting toward me.

I gasped at the sight in spite of myself.

"Yes, Mistress."

As if of its own volition, my hand reached up, cradling the enormous shaft. It throbbed with subsurface energy. Like his finger, it was warm but pleasant. I pushed the loincloth away to reveal it in all its glory.

What glory it was! Smooth, sliding skin protected a rippled subsurface. The dark, engorged head pulsed with glorious inner life. The entire shaft was thicker than my arm and probably longer too. The very fact that it stood out straight seemed to defy physics. And below were two equally massive and pendulous testicles.

My breathing had become irregular again, but for a very different reason this time. I was no stranger to men's genitalia. They did have their allure, of course. But most dicks were attractive for what they represented, for the anticipation they created. Absent that, penises were not terribly pretty things.

This one, my mind quickly decided, was different. Cradling the Daemon's enormous shaft in my hands, running them slowly up and down it, I could only describe it as beautiful. This was a work of art worthy of the Louvre.

And evidently, its owner was bound to me.

The whole no-panties rule suddenly seemed like a good choice after all.

I hadn't realized it, but apparently my hands had raised the rod so that its head stood before my face. The scent of precum was strong, intoxicating. I let a long shuddering breath wash over it, then looked up at its owner's yellow eyes.

"Your mistress instructs you to remove your garment."

Without hesitation, the Daemon reached behind him. The useless loincloth fell away.

"Tell me, Daemon," what little was left of my rational brain tried to cover her bases, "if I...do some tests regarding your virility, will it cause me any harm?"

"No, Mistress."

"Your fluids won't turn out to be lava or something?"

"No, Mistress."

"And..." I gulped. The lustful whore who had quickly taken over my motor functions knew exactly where she wanted this thing to go. I wondered if I could stop her even if I had to. "If I should instruct you to...use this for its intended purpose, would I be in danger?"

"No, Mistress."

"You are certain?"

"I was created to protect you from any harm. I cannot cause harm to you."

The precum dripped from his opening by now. It beckoned me. I resisted.

I motioned down the length of his shaft and then down my body. "I am quite sure it is long enough to cause harm."

"Mistress, I was summoned to prevent harm to you. I cannot be a cause of harm to you. It is not possible."

Even as he spoke the words, the whore in me had won. I lapped up the shining precum before me. It tasted almost like a savory soup. His enormous shaft seemed already slick along its whole length. My hands sailed along its length while I greedily sucked precum out of him. He didn't moan the way a human might, but his breaths got a bit more growly.

I had to extend my arm all the way out to reach his balls. They were heavy and hung low, again seeming much more attractive than normal testicles. The Daemon had no pubic hair to speak of and though the skin of his scrotum was thick, it was still pliable and pleasant.

I found that the head of his cock had worked its way into my mouth. Given its size, I hardly believed that was possible. My jaw was stretched as wide as it could go and his delicious precum seemed to trickle steadily out.

I released him to let my jaw rest and to swallow what he'd deposited there. Perhaps a different test was in order. "You do appear virile," I told him between lustful gasps. The space between my legs, open and exposed to the night air as it was, dripped with a desire beyond any I'd previously experienced. "Now I wish to know what a Daemon tongue feels like."

On cue, the thick purple-red muscle shot out of his mouth, extending into the cold air and weaving a delicate dance while his powerful hands lifted me bodily upward. The tongues of Hollywood devils and demons were always thin, snakelike protrusions. This was not. It had a girth and mobility I knew I was going to enjoy.

And enjoy, I did. I held the hem of my dress aloft and threw my legs wide in a porn-star pose I didn't even know I could do. My clit met the tip of the creature's tongue, and he drew me in toward his face from there. But he didn't merely rake me across the salivating muscle; it snaked directly into my waiting pussy, twisting and weaving within me as it did so.

My mind was well and truly gone by that point. By instinct, I had grabbed hold of his curved horns. Whether that was for security or leverage, I neither knew nor cared. I pounded myself against his face and his tongue pumped in and out of my hole to match my rhythm. Given the amazing and very filling dance that tongue did within me, I instinctively knew the orgasm that followed could not have been induced by a human. I shook and screamed like a banshee.

The creature must have understood what happened, because his tongue stopped dancing and instead just gave me slow pumps in and out until I was able to rub two wits together.

The lust hadn't subsided, though. My brain knew where my inner whore was leading me. The image of my labia spreading around his girth was frightening; the prospect of his full penetration was downright unimaginable. But the whore was in control now, and she wanted it.

"If I ask you to penetrate me," I looked down at the Daemon's yellow eyes, "I command you not to go so far that you injure me."

"I cannot injure you, Mistress."

"Then give me that delicious cock!"