tagNonHumanBe Careful What You Witch For

Be Careful What You Witch For


Meg O'Donnell was once the picture of sweetness and innocence. However, working in the cut-throat fashion industry for ten years does tend to tarnish one's halo a bit. Besides which, she came from a long line of witches. Surprisingly enough, the actual knack for witchery seems to be, to some extent, genetic, and in Meg's case actually skipped generations for the past several centuries. But never was that talent evident in the men of her ancestry. Only the women had the gift, and only every other generation at that. Her mother and great-grandmother seemed to have neither the inclination nor the talent to cast spells, invoke spirits or even read fortunes. It was just never in them. Her grandmother and great-great-grandmother, however, were proficient in the arts. Her great-great grandmother, Mary Boyne, even created her own coven, the members of which practiced the arts for decades under Mary's leadership until she took ill in her mid-eighties. It was only that illness which forced Mary to leave her beloved coven. Had she remained healthy, she'd have never left her friends and co-worshippers. She loved her dabblings in the arcane arts that much.

Meg's grandmother, Caitlin Murphy, was yet another follower of those beliefs, even more powerful than her own grandmother had been. She often pored over ancient tomes, searching for new discoveries and more ways to assure her family's happiness and prosperity. She rarely cast spells of black magic, but would not hesitate to do so if circumstances called for it. If her family was threatened in any way, the then matriarch would throw caution to the wind to protect those she loved. Thus, only rarely did she invoke dark forces, but most certainly did so without hesitation when she felt her family's well-being was in some sort of jeopardy. She, too, led a coven for decades. And when the time came, Caitlin - sensing her daughter's disinterest in such things, and feeling the power seething just beneath Meg's innocent exterior - began teaching her granddaughter all that she'd learned in her many long years as a witch. And little Meg was a quick study; she soaked up the arcane arts like a mystical sponge.

When Meg's grandmother passed away at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, she bequeathed to her granddaughter all her books and scrolls and potions - which Meg's mother would've objected to had she believed in them and known of their true power. Meg missed her grandma dearly, but accepted the dozens of mystical gifts with her heart full of awe and wonder. Over the years, she read the books and scrolls, dabbled with the potions and spells, all the while remembering her grandmother's warnings and urgings for caution. Meg learned all that she could, eager to explore this strange new world... eager to make her grandmother proud.

Now approaching her third decade of life, the twenty-eight year old Megan O'Donnell was nearly as well-versed in the arts as her grandmother was at her age. And, in keeping with a seeming trend from generation to generation, Meg was at least as powerful as her mentor, and in many ways much more powerful. But, alas, her choices of career and friendships and lovers had conspired to sour her on several aspects of life. Her years in the fashion field had indeed been cut-throat, and her most recent lover had secretly been laying his pipe in the loins of her supposedly best friend at work. She could've dealt with the pressures at her job, but the dual treachery from ex-friend and ex-lover was more than she could bear. Despite her grandmother's leanings toward discretion and caution, Meg's feelings of betrayal led her down a path that there would be no turning back from once she'd begun. Still seething with bitterness, she embarked on a journey that would have very surprising repercussions.

This story takes place a few months after Meg's discovery of her lover, Rob, and her best friend, Terry, entwined in steamy embrace upon her own bed, naked and heaving against one another like mindless animals in heat. It was the age-old story of lust and deceit. Almost as if playing out some badly written script, she arrived home unexpectedly one otherwise pleasant afternoon and opened her bedroom door to see their sweaty, rutting bodies pasted together in lust, and had nearly fainted from the shock and disbelief. And to make matters even more unbelievable, they - those salivating, groping, sweating fornicators - had the temerity to glare at HER as if SHE was the one who was guilty of some offence... presumably that of having had the AUDACITY to interrupt their illicit coupling! The gall of those cheating bastards! How could she not have seen it in them all along? How could she be THAT blind?

After recovering from her near-collapse, Meg had screamed and ranted and threatened, but in the end could do nothing but throw them both out of her apartment... and out of her heart. Her once gallant lover and her no longer trusted friend simply fixed upon her a stare of utter contempt as they got dressed and left the building... probably to continue their brainless humping at their earliest possible convenience. It took Meg days to get over that initial shock, and the deep feelings of betrayal. She'd lost both a lover and a best friend in one brief instant of time. It hurt - deeply. Only by diverting her mind to the dark arts could she ease that pain. Her magic gave her strength; it's dependable power gave her solace. Her grandmother's use of the arts to protect her family gave her hope, inspiration. And it gave her focus. Slowly, the pain was pushed back, replaced by her mind's workings on a course of action. "Let her have that pencil-dick," she thought, "They deserve each other." She grinned, her eyes sparkled... and she mapped out her plan. Twisted, yes... but it gave her such joy just to consider the delicious possibilities.

Almost three months to the day from the shocking spectacle of hormones raging out of control on her very own bed, Meg was ready for her seventh conjuring. This would be the best yet. She'd researched her grandmother's dusty old books for yet another candidate, a demon she could depend on, a demon who would do exactly what she wanted done. Her first summoning conjured a demon who had - under her direct orders - raped both her ex-lover and her ex-best friend, fucking them both repeatedly, and forcing them BOTH to blow him several times (Meg giggled at the mere thought of how embarrassing it must've been for the macho Rob to have demon penis erupting in his mouth in front of his skanky whore). This resulted in both of them acquiring simply exquisite cases of genital herpes and clap..and some wonderfully irritating hemorrhoids for her ex-stud, which had him clenching his cheeks tightly almost 24/7 from that night on. Oh, how absolutely precious! And, the icing on this vengeful cake was that when they'd actually been stupid enough to try reporting to the authorities that they'd been accosted by a demon, they very nearly ended up being committed. It was touch and go there for a few days until they recanted their true but unbelievable story. Meg had laughed hysterically when the demon reported back to her every detail of what he'd done to them. It was the first time she'd ever been proud of a demon. Oh, what perverse joy!

The second demon was even more fun, though not as far as Rob and Terry had been concerned. This second awful brute had again visited the now diseased couple at Meg's bidding, this time doing much more perverse things to them. Suffice it to say that it involved both of them being held captive, bound tightly together in their bathtub naked for hours... and copious amounts of the foulest of demonic bodily wastes. Well, at least they were in the bathtub, where they could clean up afterwards! Meg had howled for a week over that one. Lying in bed alone at night, she'd picture the entire disgusting scenario and laugh until she snorted. And this time, she noted, Rob and Terry had had the good sense not to involve the police. They'd have been put away for sure! That entire escapade had given Meg so much joy that she'd written down the demon's name for possible future use. Before sending him back home to the deep, dark depths of Hell, he'd agreed to "anoint" the treacherous duo anytime Meg called on him. A more amicable and cooperative fellow she could not have asked for, if a tad disgusting.

But that seemed ages ago. She'd enlisted the aid of four other demons since. Now she was on her seventh demonic summoning. She grinned widely at her expectations of how the evening might go. She couldn't wait to get started. All was in readiness. She experienced delicious tinglings as the time drew near. She was eager to begin.

As with her previous dabblings in demon conjuration, Meg moved all her bedroom furniture to the four walls. In the now open center of the room she drew a circle - exactly thirteen feet in diameter - with enchanted chalk that she'd spoken several mystical spells of power and protection over. Inside the circle, the inverted pentagram, the doorway to chaos - access to Hell and all its despicable minions - was carefully drawn. After all was completed, she again chanted a spell of protection over the entire area. At each of the five tips of the pentagram she then lit and placed one candle, again speaking the spell of protection over each one individually. This latest demon was a particularly powerful one, and she was taking no chances.

She walked over to her bedside table, which had been placed gainst the far wall next to her bed, which was pushed into the corner. On that table was a large, brittle-paged book, the binding of which crackled dryly as she opened it. She flipped the dusty pages until she came to the page she wanted. She read it several times to be sure it was exactly what she was looking for. Yes, this demon was perfect. Smiling, she licked her lips and made her final decision. Nodding to herself, her grin widened and she chuckled with anticipation. It was time. Everything was ready. Demon number seven, come on down! Meg lit two more candles, placing one on either side of the book of spells and incantations. She didn't bother to turn off the lights. She knew they'd go out on their own when her "guest" arrived. It was one of the ways - along with that oh so distinctive sulfurous odor - that she knew of both a demon's arrival and his departure. So, not turning off the lights was something that was helpful in discerning the beginning and the end of a summoning session. Especially so the end of a session. It told her that a demon had been properly and securely banished back to his dark domain. This she'd learned on her third summoning - or was it her fourth? It had proven very helpful indeed.

As a final precaution, Meg closed her eyes and cast a spell of protection over herself and her apartment. She clutched the amulet around her neck as she spoke the words. "May the gods of olde protect and shelter me against any and all harm this day. Likewise protect my living space and all my earthly possessions. No matter what transpires, protect me from the forces of evil in all their incarnations. Protect me, both physically and mentally, from any and all repercussions as a result of contact with this demon. Let no evil of any kind threaten me or treat me in any way I do not wish. If I do not desire it to be, then it cannot be. So do I request on this night of my seventh summoning. Praise be the gods of olde." Nearly word for word the way her grandmother had taught her. She instantly felt calm and safe. It was a strong spell, and she knew deep inside that nothing could now jeopardize her safety or well-being. If she didn't want it to happen, it couldn't possibly happen. And that spell of protection was a very important thing. From experience, she knew that when you yanked a demon out of his little slice of Hell, he was usually very, very pissed off.

Now she was ready to bring a very unsavory character into her very own bedroom. She was quite calm, even more relaxed than last time. It seemed that she became stronger and more confident with each summoning. She was becoming a pro at transporting demons into her home. She learned from each one, and by now she was so proficient at it that she knew nothing could possibly go wrong. Her fourth and fifth summonings had had little glitches, but she'd overcome the problems with ease and learned from them. And, to date, her grandmother's powerful spells of protection had kept her completely free from any major harm whatsoever. Her last summoning, in fact, was absolutely clean, devoid of even the tiniest mishap. This one would undoubtedly be the same. She was certain of it.

She again shivered with anticipation. She looked down at the yellowed page before her, feeling a surge of power at what she was about to do. According to her grandmother's book, this was a particularly vile demon, and her plans for him had her almost tittering with nervous glee. She couldn't wait to see if this particular demon was as despicable as his reputation made him out to be. She hoped he was. It would be much more delicious that way.

Raising one hand high over each candle, Meg kept her eyes on the grandfather clock in the corner. At exactly the first stroke of midnight, she lowered her eyes to the dusty tome on the desk before her, reading from it's brown-edged pages and raising her face toward the ceiling, chanting each line loudly toward the midnight sky:

Vin Scrotorum, et Zubinum Fral! Bal-Soggothum, Lustium banal!"

The flames of the candles on either side of the book sputtered and sparked, though those sparks that touched Meg's skin did not burn her. The flames of the candles at the five points of the pentagram fluttered and then rotated counterclockwise. The room lights flickered and dimmed slightly. Meg continued:

"I seek the foul demon called The Great Fornicus. He of Mount Priapus, beyond the Sea of Misery. Hear me and do my bidding. Come to me at once. Obey my command! You cannot refuse me! SHOW YOURSELF NOW!"

One by one the candles of the pentagram puffed out in sequence, then relit themselves in that same order, from that moment on burning ten times as brightly as before. The candles beneath Meg's hands burned a blood red color, made all the more eerie and foreboding when the room lights flickered rapidly and then finally winked out. Yellow and red glowed throughout the room, and Meg held her breath. After waiting a few seconds, she sniffed the air. There it was. Sulfur. Pungent and clinging. The noxious smog of Hell.

She could feel resistance. This was indeed a strong demon. But he was no match for her. Gritting her teeth, she continued with the spell, again shouting at the ceiling:

"Do not try to resist me, spawn of Hell. To do so will have dire consequences for you. Come here at once or suffer my wrath!"

The sulfur smell increased. Glowing blue smoke rose from the pentagram, like a reeking marshland fog. Except for the candles and the glow of the underworld haze, the room was in darkness. An electrical charge permeated the air. Something should've happened inside the circle. But the demon was still resisting. Meg would have none of it.

"Bring your foul carcass to me, demon! Do not risk my anger further! VIN SCROTORUM, ET ZUBINUM FRAL! BAL-SOGGOTHUM, LUSTIUM BANAL! COME AT ONCE OR SUFFER!"

The blue fog roiled and swirled within the circle. Then it turned a blood red color, matching the two candles on the table. The stench of sulfur was almost palpable. An inhuman growl seemed to be rising from the wooden floorboards of Meg's room. She knew the demon was near. The hideous bellow from below rose in volume. It snarled and spat and cursed. It was incoherent with rage, unintelligible and fearsomely ominous. The rantings and ravings of this obviously unhappy being heralded its imminent arrival. Meg wasn't worried. She'd seen it all before. Theatrics, nothing more.

Flames leapt up from the border of the protective circle. Foul black smoke billowed up to the ceiling, where it disappeared as if never having existed. The entire room smelled of sulfur and glowed an eerie yellow-brown hue. Meg heard the words from The Great Fornicus' lips long before she actually saw that foul, curse-belching mouth.

"What the FUCK do YOU want, BITCH!?!" The words boomed from the circle, causing the window panes to rattle in their frames.

The flames died, the smoke cleared, but the stench remained, as did the sickly mustard glow that filled the room. In the center of the pentagram stood The Great Fornicus. And he was not happy. He searched the room with blazing eyes, snarling when they located Meg. "You little earth bitch, what do you want with Fornicus?" His snarl alone would've caused Meg to pass out had she not felt protected. Still, she did shiver a bit, even encased as she was in her silken, ceremonial robe.

Before answering him, she allowed her eyes to examine his naked form. He appeared pretty much human in physical structure - except for the tiny horns on his head, one just above each ear, and the tiny nub of a tail just above his granite-like buttocks. He towered over Meg at at least seven feet in height. His brown body glistened with sweat. He was muscular in the extreme. That was a common theme among demons, it seemed. Life in Hell was hard, and its denizens invariably had finely sculpted bodies, in a rough, angry sort of way. His chest was massive and strong, even his large, dark nipples dripping demon sweat. His stomach stretched flat and hard from his rib cage to his pubic carpet. His thighs were so muscled that Meg figured he must be able to leap large distances with ease... perhaps something that came in handy in the smoldering terrain of Hell. He had no hooves, but regular, human-appearing feet - something that, for some unknown reason, made Meg feel more at ease. But it was the large slab of demon meat between his legs that wrested her wandering eyes from all else. At first, because of its formidable length, Meg thought Fornicus had a boner, but then she realized that it wasn't fully erect. But, even in its semi-flaccid state it was a good twelve inches in length. Meg shuddered to think of it's total length and girth at full engorgement. A fearsome thought, yes... but, then, why did she get such a guilty tingling between her thighs? Why did she suddenly find it hard to breath? Why was her heart racing where it hadn't been before?

"Answer me, bitch," he groused, "why the fuck am I here? And talk fast, or I'll put that pretty mouth to a much more pleasant use instead."

"Don't you DARE threaten me, demon," she snapped, her voice cracking but trying to maintain an authoritative tone. "I have need of your services. I need you to do something for me." Her eyes met his, and didn't back down.

"You stupid cunt," he growled, "I was having my way with not one, not two, but THREE of Hell's finest sluts. How dare YOU interrupt my fuck time! If you don't send me back right this second, I'll fuck YOU as many times as I'd planned on fucking all three of them! Am I making myself clear?" He was, but Meg didn't even flinch. She had faith in her powers, and in the teachings of her grandmother.

"You are in no position to make demands, demon. You didn't have the power to resist my summoning, and you don't have any powers that can resist any other commands I give you, either. You are here to do MY bidding, as I see fit. So, stop your growling and posturing and prepare to do as you're told!"

This did not sit well with the irritated Fornicus. His skyward roar rattled more than just the windows. The very walls and floor vibrated with that bellowed anger. When he looked back down at Meg, his eyes were like burning coals. "You fucking earth bitch. You simpy little spell-chanting slut. You're too young to have much power. I could step out of this puny circle and rip your heart out... and then laugh as I forced you to eat it. I could..."

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