The Summoned

I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm standing alone in my bedroom. The lights are off, but half a dozen candles are burning, giving off just enough light to illuminate my reflection. I contemplate my eyes, trying to lose myself in the black pools of my own pupils. Then I open my mouth to speak. I close it again. I swallow, my mouth feeling suddenly dry. I realize that I'm afraid. I'm afraid to speak the words.

I'm being stupid. This whole idea is fucking stupid. But it seems a whole lot less stupid standing here in the candle-shadowy dark, than it did when I was laughing about it in a well-lit living room. We had been talking about the games we used to play as kids. The scary games, the ones we would pull out at slumber parties to freak each other out. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Ouija boards. Seances. Smiling Jack.

I remember that last one a little too well. It was a variation of the fear game most people call Bloody Mary. You turn off the lights, stare at yourself in the mirror, and say the words "Smiling Jack" three times. Then Smiling Jack is supposed to appear. What happens after that is left to the imagination. I remember half a dozen childhood sleepovers where someone dared someone else to summon Smiling Jack. The dare would usually end in shrill giggles, and a quick flicking on of the lights.

I'd never had the courage to play Smiling Jack when I was a kid. I always made excuses not to be around when people wanted to play that game. The one time someone dared me to summon him, I refused flat out. The idea of it terrified me. The idea that a grinning monster might show up at the sound of his name, bent upon carrying me away to his lair.

That's why I'm standing here in a dark room, on Halloween Night, staring at my reflection in the mirror, readying myself to say the incantation. I know that nothing is going to happen. The idea of this child's game having any effect whatsoever is absurd. Which is why there is no harm in saying the words. Which is why I should say the words. To prove that I know that this is just a stupid kids game. To do otherwise would be proof that I am a superstitious idiot. Smiling Jack is not going to swoop down upon me the moment that the incantation is complete.

I take a deep breath, and I force myself to say the words. I say the name three times, watching my lips form the words in the mirror. Then I fall silent, my breath catching in my throat, waiting for something to happen. And nothing happens. I let me breath out in a long sigh, and reprimand myself for being an ass. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting, but it didn't happen.

I give myself one last look in the mirror, and then I shrug and turn away. I have satisfied my childish impulse, and now it's time for bed. I slip out of my clothes and then make a circuit of the room, blowing out all the candles. Then I slip naked beneath my comforter, snuggling into the soft pillows at the head of the bed. I start to drift off almost as soon as the blankets settle around me.

I wake in the middle of the night when a large, warm hand claps down over my mouth, and a sudden weight rolls on top of me. My eyes fly open, and I try to jerk upright in bed, but the weight of the strange body on top of me keeps me pinned down. I scream, the sound hoarse and sleep-fogged, almost entirely muffled by the palm sealed against my lips. I try again to sit up, and fail. A part of my mind insists that this is a dream. I'm having a vivid nightmare, and in another few seconds, I'm going to wake up.

I don't wake up. A hand lands on my chest and presses me deep into the pillows. I moan and try to roll away, but the weight of the intruder's body keeps me immobile. I scream again, and the sound is barely audible. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I make out the broad shoulders, thick arms, and wide chest of a huge man. He is straddling my hips with muscular legs and using the weight of his body on mine to keep me pinned down. He's wearing a mask over his eyes. His mouth is horribly scarred, two lines curving upward from the corners, forming a crooked grin.

"Hold still." The voice is deep and gravelly, pitched so low that I almost can't hear it. My first impulse is to obey, but instead I start to struggle again, trying to wriggle out from under the crushing leverage of his huge body. The pressure of his hands on my face and chest increases. "Hold still," he says. Something in his tone freezes me. I slump back against the bed.

He leans back a little, and the crushing pressure on me lessens. I find my voice. "Who are you?" I ask, the words muffled against the palm of his hand.

"Don't you know?" He sounds amused. His voice is so deep that I can feel it vibrating the air.

"No," I say, barely a whisper.

"You invited me," he says. "Don't you remember?" He sounds even more amused. He removes the hand from over my mouth. The one pressing down on my chest remains, the palm large enough to span my entire breast bone.

The wheels in my brain grind into gear again. "Smiling Jack?" I say.

"That's what some people call me," he says.

"This has to be a dream," I say, more to myself than to him.

"You can think that if you want to," he says. "But it's not."

"What do you want?" I ask.

"I haven't decided yet," he says. "It depends on you." His arm moves to his side, and then he is holding a huge knife in front of my face. I whimper and flinch away, but I can't move more than a few inches. His weight pins me down. He trails the tip of the knife over the contours of my face, tracing my cheekbones, the sockets of my eyes, the outline of my lips. I whimper, but I force myself to remain still, terrified that if I move, he will cut me.

The blade of the knife moves from my face down to my throat, and I moan. He moves his weight off of me for a moment, and wrenches the blankets off of me, exposing my naked body."Pretty," he says, and the knife makes its way down my throat to my chest. He spirals the blade inward, getting closer and closer to my nipples. My body tenses, waiting for pain. He pokes at my left nipple with the very tip of the knife, hard enough to make me cry out. He bears down, the point of the blade digging into my nipple, almost, but not quite breaking the skin.

I whimper, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the sensation of cold metal piercing my flesh. The pressure on the knife blade increases for a moment, and then it's gone. Before my body can relax, I feel the knife's point at my other nipple. He gives it the same treatment he did the other one, and again, I brace myself to be cut.

He stops just short of breaking the skin. My entire body trembles and I struggle not to move as he begins to stroke the blade back and forth over my right nipple. It becomes incredibly sensitive under his attentions, and I want nothing more than to squirm away from the caress of the knife, but I hold myself still. The fear of impaling myself on the blade holds me in place.

His free hand moves to cup my other breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple a few times, and then he pinches it hard, making me gasp. "Are you afraid?" he says. I don't answer him. He pinches harder, squeezing my nipple between thumb and forefinger until I scream. "Answer me."

"Yes," I gasp the words, trying not to scream again as he grinds my nipple between his fingers.

"Good," he says. Then he leans forward. His lips fasten on mine. He kisses me almost gently. I gasp, and he takes advantage of my open mouth to slip in his tongue. It feels all wrong, too long, too narrow, and I realize that it tapers into a fork. It's the tongue of snake. I shudder, try to push him off, to expel him, despite the knife still poised at my breast. He just grabs a handful of my hair to hold me still, and kisses me harder, forked tongue thrusting deep into my mouth, lips sucking on me as if he's trying to draw breath out of my lungs.

When he pulls his mouth away from mine, he growls, the sound almost a purr, a low rumble, deep in his massive chest. "I like the taste of your fear," he says, and he lowers his mouth to mine again. He kisses me more thoroughly this time, his tongue exploring my mouth, taking the time to taste me.

I try to ignore the effect that this kiss is having on my body, but it is hard not to notice the melting heat growing between my legs. I struggle against it, but my body doesn't want to obey my mind. The sensation of warm weight on top of me, combined with these strange, hot snake-kisses, are telling my body that it's time to play.

As he kisses me, he begins to move the knife again, brushing it over my nipples a few times and then stroking it lower. He traces the tip of the blade down my belly, and with his tongue still working in my mouth, he brings the knife down until it rests at the juncture of tightly clenched thighs.

"Spread your legs," he says. I shake my head back and forth, pressing my thighs together as hard as I can. "Don't make me do it for you," he says. I continue to shake my head. Then I feel the blade of the knife digging into my thigh, just a breath away from breaking the skin. "Do it, or I'll start cutting. Then I'll tie your ankles to the bed posts."

I think about it. I realize that resisting him is pointless. He has proved that he is strong enough to restrain me without much effort. At least I will have my legs free if I obey him. I allow my thighs to relax and fall slightly open. The knife point pokes me. "Wider," he says. "I want your ankles at the edges of the mattress."

I obey, my entire body trembling, goosebumps rippling up my skin. I have never felt so exposed. "Good," he says, and then the knife moves. I feel the prick of the blade against my clit. I freeze, and a whimper escapes me. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he says.

His other hand begins to caress my cunt. He runs his fingers up and down my slit, pinches my labia and spreads them wide, all the while holding the knife point at my clit. He doesn't dig in hard, but I can feel it there, ready to puncture my most sensitive flesh if I move too much in the wrong direction.

His fingers slide up and down, and then they delve between the lips of my cunt. He finds my opening, and two fingers slip inside of me. I groan and turn my head into the pillow as he begins to undulate those fingers inside of me, pushing them against my g-spot. I want to squirm away from him, to kick, to slam my legs shut, but the prick of the knife point against my clit holds me still.

His fingers move faster and harder, pressing in just the right spot. I moan, and now I'm having to struggle not to squirm for an entirely different reason. I can feel my body tensing up, readying itself for climax. My cheeks heat when I realize that I can hear the wet sucking sounds of my own cunt as fingers me.

I want to twist from side to side, to back away from him, to do something to stave off the orgasm trying to seize me, but it's too late. I start to come, and the sensation is so huge that I throw back my head and scream. His fingers move inside of me, relentless, coaxing a hot flood of liquid from my cunt. Unthinking, I lift my hips, shocked at the sudden gush, trying to pull away. The point of the knife digs into my clit.

I see his wrist move, feel the pressure of the knife blade lessen just as I arch myself up into it. He doesn't let me cut myself, but he continues to hold the knife on my clit. The brief, needle-sharp pain of the blade digging hard into my clit brings the fading orgasm up to the next level. I scream again, and the fingers inside of me move faster, forcing another flood of liquid from my cunt. I shudder and groan, throwing my head back, unable to do anything but ride the sensations pulsing through my body.

The spasms inside of me slow, and my body relaxes. My mind comes back to me a little, and tears start to leak from my eyes. I feel the knife withdraw from my clit, and I see him slip it back into the sheath he carries at his belt. He moves his head down, and his long, tangled hair falls in my face, smelling of smoke and musk. He licks the tears from my cheeks with his serpent's tongue.

He kisses my mouth again, giving a soft, satisfied grunt as he feeds on my lips. He pulls away from me and says "Your fear and passion taste exquisite together." Then he kisses me again, harder this time. He finishes with my mouth, and licks up the fresh tears that have fallen from my eyes. He licks his way down my jawline, then down my throat, and I shudder at the alien feeling of his long tongue caressing me.

His hands go to his belt, and I tense, waiting for him to bring out the knife again. Instead, he unbuckles it and pulls down the ragged pants he wears just far enough to release his hard cock from the confines of the cloth. I gasp. He is huge, so big that the idea of that massive organ fitting anywhere inside of me seems absurd. I try to clamp my legs together, but he has his knees pressed against the insides of my thighs, and I can only lie there with legs my legs splayed wide, my dripping cunt exposed.

He takes his cock into his hand and begins to trace head of it up and down my slit. I moan and close my eyes, bracing myself for the feeling of him battering his way into me. "Look at me," he says. I clamp my eyes shut and shake my head. He grasps my clit between two fingers and pinches hard. I scream, and my eyes fly open. He releases my clit. "Look into my eyes while I fuck you."

I don't want to, but something in his voice makes me obey. I force myself to meet his eyes, and when I do, I'm trapped there. I try to look away, and realize that I can't. I can do nothing but stare into the red pools of fire that are his eyes. He traces his cockhead over the lips of my cunt, searching for the opening. He finds it. He pauses for a moment, and his glowing eyes bore into mine. Then his hips move forward and he begins to push himself into me.

He moves slowly. He fucks me with the very head of his cock, priming me to receive the rest of his enormous length. Then he presses forward. I watch his pupils dilate as inch after inch of him slips inside of me. My cunt stretches wide for him, barely able to accommodate him. I groan at the mingled pain and pleasure of being filled so completely. A smile curves his scarred lips.

He moves slowly, pulling back, withdrawing his length from inside of me, and then pressing forward, filling me again. I start to moan, my hips rising up to meet his thrusts, my eyes still locked to his. The fear has vanished, erased by the red fire in his eyes. All that I want now is to feel him pounding the very core of me, to be completely consumed by him. He fucks me harder, slamming into me, pushing me down into the bed.

I feel the tension coiling up inside of me again. My hand moves and starts stroking my clit. His smile widens. "Come for me," he says, and just like that, I am. I scream and thrust my hips against him as he fucks me hard, waves of ecstasy rippling through me, burning through my nerve-endings. I revel in the feeling of my tight cunt clenching and spasming on the huge cock that is spreading it wide. It goes on and on, because he just keeps fucking me harder.

His breathing starts to grow ragged, and as the ripples of my climax dissipate, I see his eyes widen. He freezes, and then he breaks eye contact. He pulls out of me, wrenching his body off of mine and then crouching over me so that his cock, huge, and flushed, and glistening with pre-come is pressing against my cheek.

"Suck," he says. The fear has returned now that I am no longer under the spell of his eyes, but his influence over me lingers. I want to obey him. I open my mouth and take as much of his massive length into me as I can. He moves his hips, forcing himself down my throat, gagging me, choking me. I suck as best I can, but he seems more interested in using my mouth the way he wants to, fucking it like he fucked my cunt.

Suddenly his body tenses, and he pulls out of my mouth. "Open," he says. I obey. He strokes his cock once, twice, and then he groans, a low rumble from deep in his chest. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the flood. His hot come sprays into my mouth and over my face, droplets spattering my cheeks and catching in my hair. There is more of it than I would have believed possible. My entire face is soon covered.

He gives a satisfied moan. He leans forward and uses his fingers to push some of his come into my mouth. I lick his fingers clean and swallow. He tastes strange, but not unpleasant, almost smokey. I hear him laugh, low and growling.

Then the weight on top of me vanishes. I open my eyes. I'm alone in my bedroom. I realize that I have just woken from the most vivid sex dream ever, obviously brought on by my childish ritual of earlier. Then I reach up and touch my face. It is sticky with come. Not a dream.

I reach down and feel the wetness of my cunt. Then I begin to stroke my clit with one hand. I use the other to clean the come from my face, scooping it up from my cheeks and feeding it into my own mouth. I hear a voice then, a deep, rumbling voice whispering into my ear. "See you next Halloween."

I can hear his smile. His voice sends a shudder through me, and suddenly I'm coming again. My fingers work on my clit, and I cry out over and over, the climax shuddering through me. When it's over, my body slumps. I can no longer feel his presence in the room. I try to tell myself again that this was all a dream, But I can feel the soreness between my legs, and taste his smokey come on my lips.

I sigh and close my eyes again, sleep stealing over me. I suppose that I should be freaking out at this point, feeling violated, jumping into the shower and crouching under the hot water until it scalds me. But I'm not. I feel well-fucked and strangely content. Maybe it's the remnants of the spell his red eyes put on me. Or maybe I've just gained a new appreciation for the occult.