Summoning

Cassie moaned through her gag, but in her mind she enthusiastically cried “Yes, sir!!” Her orgasm caused her muscles to twitch hard, and she tottered for a moment on her high heels before recovering and returning to attention.

I turned to face Sam, and found her watching Cassie raptly, as if mesmerized by her immobility. Her face was flushed, and her hand kept making little darting motions toward her sex. I walked over to her and place my hand on her head, stroking her hair gently. “I’m thinking that you like what you see, right?”

“Master, I…” her voice trailed off, but inside her mind there was a request she was dying to voice.

“Ask, kitten. Perhaps your wish will be granted.”

She took a deep breath. “I want to eat her out. I want to lick up all her cum, while she stands absolutely still and is helpless to stop me. And I want her not to be able to orgasm until I say she can.” She looked up at me timidly. “Please?”

“Please, what?”

“Please, Master? Will you let me?”

I smiled down at her, then walked toward Cassie, still a bit dazed after her strong orgasm, and a bit tired from standing at attention in her restraining clothing. “Looks like this is your lucky day, Cassie. Someone wants to play with you.”

Concentrating, I imagined her boots sliding apart to shoulder width, and they slowly slid outward until they reached the position I desired. At that point, a spreader bar appeared, locked into place around Cassie’s ankles. Moving my gaze upward, I focused my attention on her leather hot pants, causing the panel covering her crotch to disappear, exposing her wet and gleaming vagina to the light. The end of the vibrator I had imagined inside her pussy peaked out between the folds of her labia. I turned back to look at Sam, only to find her busily fingering her clit, licking her lips as her eyes remained laser-locked on Cassie’s now exposed cunt.

“I have a few more people to meet tonight, Samantha, so hopefully this will keep you occupied until I’m ready to leave. Try to play nice, okay?”

Samantha crawled across the floor to my feet, kissing my shoes as she said, “Yes, my lord. I’ll do my best.” Then, grinning madly, she knee-walked over to where Cassie stood and, without preamble, began running her tongue up the inside of her thigh, slurping the trails of cum into her mouth and moaning in heat, all the while frigging herself with her right hand.

I made sure I addressed Cassie before I left the room. “Remember, Cassie…you must be disciplined, and you must show respect. No cumming before you are told you can. I will be very disappointed if you fail to adhere to your orders.”

‘Yes, sir!’ echoed Cassie’s mind, causing yet another orgasm to overtake her. Sam issued an excited cry and dove right into Cassie’s pussy, trying to catch each bit of Cassie’s juice before it could drip away. Cassie, startled initially by Sam’s boldness, soon began enjoyed the feeling of the tongue probing and lapping at her sex. And I strolled past them both, knowing that I could finish what I had started without having to do anything more to keep Samantha out of the way.

There was still work to be done, and despite having given at least one, if not two people some fulfillment, there was still the small matter of two people in the dungeon whom I very much wanted to face.

Their fate was still very much up in the air.

END PART THREE

PART FOUR

“How do I use the ring?”

Ornias had been very forthcoming on the subject of the ring’s history. Virtually anything I could imagine could be accomplished with a thought, due to the ring’s connection to the demons that Solomon had enslaved with it. By siphoning off a bit of their powers, each demon could go about its business while still living up the agreement that had been forged with Alexander the Great on his deathbed. But now, I needed to know the secret, the way to unlock the powers of the ring for my own use.

Ornias hesitated briefly; I knew it hated to give me the secret of the power, considering me to be unworthy of such a gift. Still, it had sworn to tell me, and I could easily enough slip the piece of paper bearing its symbol back in the freezer…a fate that the ornery demon desired to avoid at all costs.

“I have said that I have some control over those who wear the ring, so that I may keep the unworthy from learning of the way to use the power. However, that is the last resort. First, the ring has to choose you as a worthy vessel. As soon as I materialized in this prison of light, I knew that the ring had selected you as one worthy to wield it. It had molded itself to your finger, and allowed you to summon me, even though you did not know what you were doing. By doing this, the ring itself has reached a decision of sorts about you…that you are neither mad nor overtly evil, nor desirous of the ruin of mankind in pursuit of history or glory for yourself. You may yet pursue glory or fame or history…but not to the extremes of genocide or human extinction.

“However, when the ring selects you, it marks you. This is why Solomon, even when he gave the ring to me to enslave Beelzeboul, had no fear that another would use the ring. The ring can be lost, buried, even stolen, but it does not matter. From the moment it chose you until the moment you die, the ring is yours, and no other can use it.

“Look down at the back of your left leg.”

Since I was wearing jeans, this request involved a minute of muttering as I unfastened my pants and pulled them down, exposing my legs. I turned my left leg outward and, looking down, saw nothing remarkable.

“Now…point the ring toward the back of your leg.”

I have to admit, I hesitated doing this. In the tales of summoning demons I had read before, to allow yourself to be trapped or pulled inside the summoning circle with a demon was akin to signing your death warrant. I had no idea how touching my leg with that mysterious light that held Ornias at bay would affect me.

The demon snorted derisively. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, whelp? As long as you wear that ring, there is not a demon of this realm that can harm you. You could step into a summoning pentagram stark naked, and no demon would dare touch you, lest the wrath of God Himself turn it to ash on the spot. Besides that, I am not really here with you. I am in some limbo created by the ring as a holding place for my kind, and though we can see each other and talk to each other, I could no sooner touch you than I could win a place in Heaven.”

Though I could feel that he telling the truth, the instinct to not trust a demon was strong. Still, I swung the ring toward the back of my leg, prepared to jerk it away quickly should I feel anything was wrong. The light touched the back of my leg…and nothing happened! Ornias, hanging upside down in the ring’s prison, shot me an “I told you so!” look, before it indicated I should continue to move the ring across my calf.

As the light touched the middle of my calf, it became apparent what Ornias had meant in saying that the ring had “marked” me. The light of the ring unveiled a tattoo, otherwise invisible to the naked eye…a tattoo that I had never asked anyone to put there.

It was a twin to the largest symbol on the ring, the one carved in four places around the stone.

“The mark of Solomon. It binds you now and until the end of your life as the keeper of the ring of Solomon. But there is only one way to activate the power. You must…”

“I think I can guess what I have to do, Orny,” I said a bit dismissively. Ornias fell silent, perhaps a bit miffed that I might have figured out what to do without his instruction.

Reaching down, I touched my left hand to the place where the tattoo had been a moment before. Then I placed my right index finger on one of the symbols it matched on the ring.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but I thought I would feel something when I unlocked the secret of the ring’s power. Which is why I looked questioningly at Ornias…who had turned his back on me, still smarting from my interruption, indicating that it would be of no further help.

‘Maybe if I touch all four symbols…’ As I arranged my fingers around the stone and pressed down, I heard a slight click…then suddenly, I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my fingertips. As I pulled my fingers away from the face of the ring, blood dripped back onto the metal; each of the symbols I had touched had developed a sharp point that had sprung outward into my fingertips, piercing the skin.

Ornias hissed its snake-like laughter. “The teeth of Solomon still have a good bite after all these years, don’t they?” It looked back at me as I held the ring aloft, sucking my four punctured fingers as I did so. “Have you figured out what you need to do yet, whelp? Or are you tired of playing games, and simply wish me to tell you how to make it work?”

I glared at it, though I was really mad at myself for showboating when I should have been listening. “Very well, demon. I’m asking now…what should I do?”

“You have brought forth the teeth of Solomon, though you could have done so less painfully had you followed my instructions.” It flashed its fangs at me in a mirthless smile. “Nonetheless, you have completed the first step. Now you must complete the final one.

“You must take the ring and drive its teeth into the heart of the symbol on your leg. Only then will the power that has lain dormant for all these years be available to you.”

My first thought upon hearing what Ornias had to say was ‘Why? Why cut my leg to initiate the power?’ But, thinking a minute, I discovered I knew why. For, when it came to demons and power, one thing always seemed to be needed to close the deal.

Blood.

Blood sacrifice, blood rituals, pentagrams made of blood…the rites and summonsing of demon lore all called for blood. So why should this be any different?

Carefully, I placed the ring over the tattoo, its light easily showing where the “teeth of Solomon” had to be “driven.” Knowing it would only hurt for a moment, I pushed the ring into the back of my leg.

For a moment, everything was okay; the pain in my leg was annoying but manageable. Then, light exploded behind my eyes, as if I’d just been hit by a massive uppercut delivered by the heavyweight champion. I only knew I was falling when I hit the ground like a bag of cement.

The last thing I heard before I completely lost consciousness was Ornias’ voice hissing, “Sleep well, whelp. I’ll see you in your dreams.”

And then all the lights in my head went out.

Closing the door to the master bedroom, I stood for a moment in the hallway, deep in thought.

There was nothing stopping me from keeping Samantha except my own doubts. I had thought I was playing Boy Scout, doing a good deed in giving Sam the body he had always wanted. But I had not been prepared for how quickly the submissive inside that body would decide that I was the one to whom she wanted to be enslaved. More than that, I didn’t know if I really felt like a deserved such devotion. If Sara’s journal entries were to be believed, I had lost one woman because I couldn’t be dominant enough. More than that, I didn’t really know Sam all that well. Before the change, he was a friend, but not a close one. And now…her devotion to me seemed to deepen with every moment that passed. I knew that I would fulfill my responsibility to care for her, since I had been the one who propelled the switch from man to woman. But taking responsibility was different than emotional involvement…and I still wasn’t free of my love, my desire for the woman I had intended to be mine forever.

I looked down on the shiny silver ring on my finger. If all had gone to plan, she would be wearing it now on her left hand, and perhaps we might have already set a date to be married. I had let the abruptness of the end of our relationship stall my life; I had brooded over it to the point that no other decision in my life could be made without coming up to an unfinished bridge over a deep chasm called Sara. And the only way that bridge would ever be finished was with answers. And since all the answers were still ahead of me, I again started walking down the hall.

Images…fleeting, flitting impressions of places, people I had never known…rushing through my brain…

…dust and heat…untold thousands of people working, moving heavy stone blocks…shouts from below me…”Look, it’s the king!”…the workers stop to cheer me loudly, while an old man with a wise face says “The temple will be finished on time, your majesty”…a troubled boy in a dirty face, kneeling in the dust…”King Solomon, the demon plagues me at work, at home…he steals my food, my wages, he sucks the very life from my body”…a prayer to God…its answer, an angel bearing a silver ring with a black stone…the boy is brought before me again, and I give him the ring, telling him to throw it at the demon and then bring it back to me…the boy returns, smiling, triumphant, and hands the ring to me…I finger the side of the ring; where there was only silver before, there is now a symbol, small but easily deciphered – the name of a demon…”Who are you demon, that you plague a boy and not a man?”…”I am Ornias…I strangle those who live in Aquarius because of their passion for the women who reside in the sign of Virgo…In my transformations, I am a man who craves the bodies of effeminate boys, and sometimes causes them great pain….”…”I seal you with this ring, and order you to help build the temple to better honor God”…I summon the demon again…”Ornias, take my ring and find the demon Beelzeboul…throw the ring at him, and, when he is taken by it, bring the ring back to me…”…”So, prince of demons, you sit before me alone. Why is that?”…”I am the last of the fallen angels, cast out of Heaven by God…His power thwarts me in all aspects….”…”Take this ring, and find all the demons under your power, and bind them with it, then bring it back to me, and then you shall begin your labor on the temple….”…14 number the symbols on the ring, counting Ornias, Beelzeboul, and the 12 demons that the prince of demons has brought under God’s control…

The scene fades, blends into another…a dimly lit tent, populated with shadowy figures…I am the only human in the room, and I lay on some type of cot, covered in blankets…my body, once full of strength, now lies wasting and on the verge of death…”You are all agreed…the ring will no long summon you individually, but will instead draw power from you to do the will of its master…I have used that power to change the structure of the ring around its stone…to unlock its power, the one who wears it must unlock that change…Ornias will be the keeper of the ring’s secret, a barrier to those unworthy to wield such powers….”…The tent, darker still in my eyesight, though candles remain lit throughout…I cling to life but only in shallow breaths…I hold the hand of a woman, speaking haltingly…”You created a destiny for me with this ring that I pursued without regret…but the ring cannot save me…it was you and your sisters that divined the great secret and bound the ring to my will…by my will, I bind you to the ring, now and forever…only you may choose who wears it, and by their own wit must they find a way to use it…flee here, and travel the world…by my will, the ring will protect you and provide for you, and you shall not age any further…when the ring-bearer dies, it shall always come back to you, waiting for your next choice…you chose my destiny well, and now you shall do so until time itself comes to an end…that is the will of Alexander, the king….”

Flying now, the images are mere impressions…Caesar, bedding the ferocious Cleopatra, and binding her to his will…Genghis Khan breaching the Great Wall of China…Cortez, masquerading as a god to conquer the Aztecs…Napoleon Bonaparte, in command of 10,000 troops, seizing control of a Turkish fort, all the while planning the coup that would lead to him becoming Emperor of France…

Abruptly, all the jumbled images from the past ceased to rumble through my head; in the sudden quiet, I could feel my body once again, could feel that I was seated upright, though my eyes were closed. Cautiously, I blinked my eyes several times, and then I slowly moved my hands and arms, as if to reassure myself that they still worked.

I was seated at a table, a rather nasty piece of red Formica with silver metal trim, right out of some roadside diner. The entire room was, in fact, a relic from another time, something out of a mod-60’s obsessed nightmare, full of loud colors, old plastic furniture, and kitschy knick-knacks. In front of me on the table sat a china cup on a saucer and a silver spoon resting on a linen napkin. A man bustled in from what must be the kitchen, a steaming teakettle in his right hand.

“Oh, good! You’re awake! Just in time for tea and biscuits!” He sat the teakettle down and looked me over carefully. “You seem to be in fairly good shape, considering. The ring often leaves its initiates in a rather dreadful state, since it refuses to let them regain their senses until they have some basic, ummm…realignment in their thought patterns. You, however, seem to have come through it in less time than most, and that is a good reflection on both your knowledge of history, and your ability to adjust to the unexpected.”

While he talked, I examined speaker quite closely. It was obvious from his clothing that this was his place; his paisley Nehru jacket and flared pants fit the mod motif perfectly. So did his facial hair, a rather thick gray goatee that simply screamed, “I am a relic from the 60s!” His rather long, untamed head of hair and the reading glasses perched on his nose, combined with the numerous books piled on the table and the floor, only added to the kooky sense that this space belonged to him, and that it suited his needs perfectly.

Carefully considering a moment, I swallowed, then asked, “Excuse me…who are you, and where am I?”

Setting the tea down in the center of the table, he smiled beneficently, like a teacher pleased by a promising pupil. “You know, most of those who have been here have been a little rude when asking that question, so you don’t know how welcome it is to hear some civility in your voice. However, I have the feeling that your question is going to test your ability to suspend your currently limited thought patterns and accept things that make absolutely no sense.

“My name is Merlin, wizard and teacher to the court of King Arthur. And this…well, this is Berkley, California, circa 1964.

“And you, dear boy, are the 12^th pupil brought here to learn how to wield King Solomon’s ring.” He smiled, enjoying the look on my face for a moment. Then he asked a question of his own.

“Tea?”

The walk to the end of the hall was short, and I heard voices in the living room as I approached. I stopped in the shadows to take stock of who was there.

Normally, there would be plenty of people in the living room at this time, as Thomas, or “ Master Tricksie” as he liked to be called, would have brought some new or unusual toy out to demonstrate, first on his sub Richard, then on anyone who volunteered to let him. Tricksie was a short, wiry Sonny Bono-type guy, with oil-slick hair and a pencil thin mustache to match. He exuded the bluff heartiness of a car salesman outside of the monthly meetings, but once here, strutted around like a bantam rooster, waiting for his opportunity to take the spotlight. Richard was my height, towering over Tricksie by 6 inches, which I suppose is why Tricksie took so much delight in leading him around by his leash, or having him on his knees when sitting, or inflicting pain on his bare skin during the demonstrations. Not that Richard didn’t enjoy it; he had confessed to me on more than a few occasions that the pleasure he got from Thomas’ bag of tricks more than made up for the times when he thought Tricksie went too far, either in demeaning Richard with words, or actually drawing blood with one of his “tools.” I personally thought Tricksie got carried away far too often, crossing the line from what should be done in front of others to what should be done in private too much.