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Message-ID: <29658asstr$986091005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Lizard" <drazil@yahoo.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2001 10:44:09 EST
Subject: {ASSM} {RP}Summoning (M(demon)/F, oral, rom, magic)
Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2001 21:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

----------------------------------------DISCLAIMER--------------------------
-----------------
It used to be that they would burn you at the stake for enjoying a story
like this. (and for writing it, for that matter) Times have changed.  But if
it is illegal where you live, you have 3 choices: 1) move away, 2) engage in
civil disobedience by reading the following (which can get you in mucho
trouble) or 3) Skip it.  1) is probably impractical, 2) is probably unsafe
and 3) is the only option this author can really recommend.
--------------------------------SERIOUS
DISCLAIMER---------------------------------------
If you are underage, DON'T READ THIS!
AND FOR GODS SAKE, WEAR A CONDOM



    "I have returned" came the low voice out of the darkness behind the
raging fire.
     She was ready, and she knew what he wanted.  He wanted more of her.  it
was the cost of creation.  It came back after each task to consume some
more, to take from her more of the essence of creation.
     She had a choice, she always had a choice, in the beginning.  She could
pay, or she could lose her creation to the void, and thus,  part of her.
She had taken that option many times, as it was the smart option, the way to
spend less of herself in the long run.  All she had to do was to utter the
words of banishment, and he would be gone, and would never return to her
again.
     The fire at which she had first created him still burned hot and
crimson in the basin carved into the black marble floor.  The flame had not
burned down in the two years and five feedings that had intervened since his
creation.
     She had already fed him too often.  already she had given him so much
of her magic that he was beginning to acquire some independence from her, to
have his own motivations, his own wants, his own needs.  it was too much.
The years of training she had gone through at the hands of her teacher and
master told her to let him die of starvation or soon she would never be rid
of him.  Soon he would not need her, he would be completely independent and
she would lose forever the essence of herself she had put into him.  She
would be forever diminished, if only by a small piece.  but that small piece
would not grow back while he lived, and she would never have the means to
kill him.  He would cease to be her magical creation, and would begin to
become her own personal demon, forever longing to feed from her, forever
bleeding her, but never again completely doing her bidding, never again
controlled.
     His form began to be visible behind the flames, fading in slowly from
the other world, coming to her like a moth to a candle flame.
     She wondered if he was yet strong enough to know what he risked?  she
wondered if the taste of her essence had infected him in his limited
awareness?  She hoped not.
     At the first glimpse of his form, her resolve began to weaken, her
desire to feed him once more awoke.  In the pit of her stomach she felt the
flutter of energy, the burst, like a lightning bolt from her belly, inflame
her.  Color came to her pale cheeks, and on the Throne of Bone she moved her
hips slightly.
     It always happened, she remembered.  And she knew why.  When she made
this one, she had been in love, in lust, and frustrated.  The ritual that
she went through to make these creations had inflamed her passion, and the
lust she could not control had taken the ritual far farther than she had
ever gone before.  in the moment of orgasm that was the climax of the
ritual, she had momentarily lost grasp of the powers that she was weaving
into this new creature, and she had given it a piece of herself, in abandon.
She had never felt that powerful lust, that powerful bursting, that powerful
lovemaking with any man.  It had lasted minutes, tens of minutes, while she
burned in an inferno that was so intense as to be painful and so consuming
that for the duration of it she had forgotten who she was and what she was
doing.
     And that passion, she now knew, was to be her bane.  From it had come
the being she had intended to create, a servant.  It was intended to be a
simple thing, a mindless, even mostly formless, and utterly will-less
creature.  But the intensity of the ritual had breathed into it a vitality
that she recognized.  Her desire had given it form.  In her moment of
boundless passion, she had created her dream.

     He looked about him.  The task was completed, he had done Her bidding.
He was going home again, to his reward.
     He did not remember the first task, and he did not really remember his
creation, but he knew from whom he came.  He knew also that he was alive,
and that he was not supposed to be alive.  His first clear memory was his
first reward.
     The taste of Her was exquisite, he remembered.  The flood of her
essence filling him, making whole his emptiness, making real his life,
making solid his flesh, making valuable his very existence.
     He knew what he was, what he was created to be.  Her servant, Her
worshiper, and in a perverse way, Her tormenter.  he knew this was so, and
he reveled in his cause, thinking exclusively of it when no task had to be
performed.
     Forgetting the task he had just completed, he willed himself into the
flames, and said "I have returned" in his voice,  the voice She had given
him, so low as to be almost below the capacity of earthly ears to hear.

     She sat on the Throne of Bone.  Long black hair falling over pale, very
pale, skin, she sat on the skeletal lower jaw of the long dead dragon, it's
huge fangs curved back and polished into arm rests.  It was black, it's
bones were jet black and shining a malevolent black glare, it's empty black
eye sockets stared a hateful blackness throughout the cavernous room.  She
was naked, as she always was at these feeding times, her flesh pink with
anticipation or lust.  her nipples stood, and rose and fell like small
daggers with her breath, coming to her in short, choppy bursts as though,
seeing him, she was forgetting to breath.  Against the scarlet cushions she
moved slowly, hips rising and falling in a continuous rhythm.  Her pale
hands clenched and unclenched as she gripped the dragons teeth as though she
feared being torn from her place.  She had drawn one leg up to her, and the
other stretched before her, rising and falling with her hips.
     Her motion gave her an undulating, pulsating appearance.
     Her eyes never left his body, and her gaze alone gave him a piece of
his reward.

     He rose from the pit, his skin almost indistinguishable from the fire
at first, then forming more and more into a human shape, until he stepped
forward and up onto the black marble floor.
     He was a tower of musculature, and even the slight step he took showed
the grace with which he had been endowed.  his form was a wedge, muscles
rippling like a panther's before the burst of killing speed.  but he flowed
as he moved, one motion into the next motion with no hesitation, much more
like a creature than a man.  His hair was the same color as the flame from
which he stepped, and his skin also, though a few shades darker.  He looked
like a moving sculpture of liquid bronze, and he flowed forward, almost
floated in his grace, slowly toward her.  his arms hug loosely at his side
and swung gently, slowly, in time with his movements.  He was enormous,
extremely tall and very broad in the shoulders and densely muscled, as
though he had been built from a perfect mold, effortlessly, which, of
course, he had.  Her perfect mold.
     He stopped perhaps thirty feet from her, and he raised his head. His
eyes, which had been lifeless before his first feeding, locked with hers.
     She knew then, without a doubt and with very little regret, that she
would again feed him.
     The eyes looked into her soul, into her heart, into her being.  The
looked at her thus, because they had come from her, her desires and her
dreams.  Those eyes knew her, knew all of her.
     She felt it coming and tried to repress it, to suffocate it, to confine
it, but found that she could not.  A slight moan escaped her, and the
rhythmic movement increased.

     "I hunger" he said, in a voice so low that she felt it in her chest
instead of hearing it in her ears.  the voice boomed, vibrated across the
room, and echoed into the pit of her stomach, sending a shiver through her.

     "I know" she replied.  she stared at him, at his eyes.  She told
herself that she was in control, that she still had a choice to make, that
she could still escape this fate.  She knew she was lying to herself, but
she felt, with the thrill of seeing him again, a spear of fear in her mind.
     This was no longer her creation, she knew, but was now her desire
animated, come to steal her essence, to weaken her.  She could see that in
his eyes.  he was real now, independence, and very dangerous.

     "feed me, mistress"  he said, and moved slowly forward again, his
smooth effortless stride captivating her.

     Here is your doom, woman, she said to herself.  He is coming for you.
If you give in to him now, he is with you forever, feeding, and you will
never have the essence you loaned him back, you will be forever diminished.
     The part of her that was not a Sorceress, the voice of the woman who
saw her every dream personified in this towering yet gentle figure
approaching, said to her, so be it.
     All of her life as a sorceress, she had suppressed what it was to be a
woman, to feel lust for a man.  Her master had spent his life denying his
manhood, suppressing his lust for woman, it was common in those who
practiced the arcane arts.  And, most often, it was that very suppression
that was both their source of power and their doom.  Absolute self control
was her desire, and in achieving that absolute self-control, she had caged
the desires that had burst forth during the ritual, to create this, the
embodiment of her dreams and lusts.

     She was squirming on the cushions and a sheen of sweat covered her body
lightly, giving her pink-flushed pale complexion a glow, a reflected shine
from the flames that seemed to radiate from her.  His eyes looked upon her,
and another piece of reality was bestowed upon him.  He became a little more
alive.
     "You are beautiful, mistress" he said, and for the first time his voice
had inflection and life,and well as the deep bass throb she had bestowed
upon him.  She had never meant for him to have enough will to understand
beauty.
     He was alive,  she new then.  She had lost the choice.  No longer could
she banish him through simple denial.

     The realization flooded through her like a tidal wave of lust.  She was
free!  the decision was made, and now the only thing she needed to decide
was whether this creature would be friend or foe, would steal from her or
serve her lust and passion and be fed.  And that was an easy choice.

     "come to me" she said, and the act of submission, if submission it
could be called, sent another rush of lust through her.  For the moment, the
sorceress was sleeping and the woman was awake.  And that woman desired.
     He fell to his knees, worshipping his pale goddess, his creator.  he
looked steadily into his eyes and he moved, on all fours and then on his
knees, to the base of the Throne of Bone.
     He lowered his head to her foot that rested on the black marble floor,
and touched his forehead lightly against the arch of her foot.
     The touch, the first contact, sent lightening bolts through her flesh
and she moaned.  He moaned also, a low throb which vibrated through her.

     He realized he was pleasing her, and brought his hand to her heel, and,
on his knees, began to caress her pale foot, feeling ever tremble it caused
her as a flash of joy.  He lived to please her, only to please her, and only
her pleasure could please him.
     He lowered his lips to her toes, kissing each gently, tenderly,
extending his tongue to touch them, savoring the texture of her skin, loving
the feel of her.  He wanted to explore her, to taste of her every essence,
her every part, and worship her, his creator.
     She moaned, abandoning all pretenses of self control as he licked and
then sucked her toes, then the arch of her foot, then her ankle.  She leaned
back into the mouth of the dragon, stretched her self out with the pleasure
of it, as she felt him move upward with his gentle caresses.
     How could she have ever thought of this as doom?  she was on fire as
she had only been once before in her life, and it was overwhelming to her.
her body was burning like the flames she had constructed him from, she was
burning in the fire, His fire.
     His gentle, loving kisses had reached the back of her knee, and she
lifted her leg and placed it on his shoulder, and looked at him, seeing a
face reflecting as much pleasure as he she felt.  she could feel the heat
from him, the burning, almost to pain, from his lips and tongue as he worked
his way upward.  She saw there only his desire to please her, and no
hostility, no malevolence at all.  the last bit of fear drained out of her,
as his large, muscular hand raised to her breast, cupping it, and pushing
her body back, to recline in the throne.
     She placed her hand to the back of his head, and, unable to withstand
the caresses any longer, she drew his face to her womanhood, and screamed as
he explored her, deeply.
     Again, for a moment that stretched outside time, she forgot all but her
passion, the melting inside her that her man was causing.  Her orgasm fed
him, and she poured her energy, her magic, her essence and her self, into
him.  And because he was real now, not a beast of burden nor an automaton,
she felt his essence, his magic now independent of hers, a small, yet
growing, candle flame next to her bonfire passion.
     She felt love.
because he was real now, not a beast of burden nor an automaton, she felt
his
essence, his magic now independent of hers, a small, yet growing, candle
flame next to her bonfire
passion.
     She felt love.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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