Disclaimer.
The next few chapters describe the summoning of a demon and the destruction it reeks. Whilst this adds to the structure of the story, in no way is it an accurate account of summation. Scenes have been removed from this story to comply with Literotica Submissions. As with all things concerning dark powers, do not mess with them. If you are of a sensitive nature, then please do not read on.
Callum was convinced the drink was now fine, and downed it quickly too. Putting the glass besides Cassandra's. When he turned back, she had lifted the tapestry to reveal a door. She opened that and dragged Callum by the hand down another corridor. Where they were in the house, he could not guess. But as Cassandra turned a corner, he could see there were some steps downwards and guessed they were heading for the cellars. Was she taking him directly to the room where the ritual occurred the other night? As he got to the bottom of the stone steps, his knees buckled. He grabbed out to Cassandra for support and managed to steady himself, but his head was spinning and beginning to ache. He felt too that he was looking at Cassandra down a long dark tunnel. Not too far from the truth, but he realised his visual perception was not right either.
Cassandra smiled. "Feeling drowsy? Sorry Callum, had to make sure you would come down here without a fight."
Callum realised too late he had been duped. "But the drink...?" He said, his tongue thick in its inability to operate properly.
"Yes, well I assumed you might try the switch on me, so I proffered the one without the drugs in it, expecting you to make me drink that one. I really am sorry, but I need the contents of those balls of yours and could not have you backing out on me."
Callum felt himself being lifted my strong arms, and before he slipped into unconsciousness, heard Cassandra saying, "Get him prepared."
The chanting in the room brought some semblance of coherence to his scrambled mind. He had heard something similar before, but could not recall when or where. He looked about the room, it was darkly decorated, candles supplied the only light. Pictures about the walls depicted the ravaging of women by groups of men and creatures, and some were of the reverse, men being feasted on by women as they waited their turn to straddle the erect cocks. He couldn't remember whether he had been here before or not. In fact, he couldn't remember much of anything.
He tried to move and realised that his hands were manacled together above his head and secured to the column he rested himself on. He seemed to be wearing a black robe, loosely tied about the waist. On either side of him, stood similarly clothed figures, diminutive, so potentially women, but he was not able to tell at this point, as no features were visible and their backs were turned to him. The chanting reverberated in the room, and his head, making it pulse with an intense ache. His scrambled brain, just not able to make sense of anything.
Looking over what he took to be a 'Y' shaped altar, he could see a man of similar age to himself, also secured to a column, but this man was naked. His head was bowed, whether he was unconscious, Callum could not say. To one side of the alter, was a large wheel-like object. It had upon it, what looked like a pentagram, carved into the wood. There were points to secure a person to it, by the looks of things, and two of the cloaked figures slowly span the wheel about its axis. Was this some form of torture? As he looked further, his eyes growing accustomed to the light, he could make out more cowled figures, their backs to him preparing something. Callum heard the occasional muffled cry, in amongst the chanting, but found he was in no way concerned about it.
Before him a cowled figure suddenly appeared. Pulling back the hood, a beautiful if somewhat cruel face was revealed. The stark red lipstick, standing out as the dominant colour in her make-up and black-long hair, making her face look very pale. "Here we are again Callum. Are you ready to worship me with your Earthly phallus? I must have it; you know that don't you? You will fill me with your seed, empowering me to eternal life upon this Earth." The woman leaned in and sucked upon his lips with hers, making a loud slurping noise. "It is almost time."
Callum felt numb. The kiss did nothing for him. The woman, felt like a complete stranger, though he had a feeling he should know her. The overriding impression that he got from that brief contact, was the deep cruelty apparent within her. An oldness, despite her seeming youth, a hunger that stemmed from years of abstinence, years or decades or millennia. The woman walked to the other man, and kneeling before him, sucked his flaccid cock into her mouth. Deep-throating him, all the while staring at Callum. The man stirred and groaned, whether in pain or pleasure, Callum could not tell, but suspected the later, because as the ruby-red lips of the woman withdrew from the man's penis, Callum could see it was already hard. The woman's work done, she stood up and instructed two of the other cowled figures to start playing with the man and keeping him hard.
A scuffle to his left, drew his eyes to what was happening near the wheel. A woman was being dragged into the room. By the look upon her face she was not normally part of the proceedings, her tear stained cheeks implying that she had been crying for some time, her lovely eyes wild like a spooked horse. Suddenly they latched onto Callum, recognition seemed to flare in them. She tried to cry out, but the ball-gag prevented anything other than a loud muffled moan.
Callum looked on with a strange detachment as the woman turned to the naked man and appeared to call to him. She seemed to be trying to rouse him, to stop the cloaked figures from manipulating his cock, but they paid no heed. She looked back at Callum, wild eyed. Imploring him to do something, even though she could see his arms were secured. But Callum remained impassive as she tried to explain something to him through their eye contact, as the cloaked figures began to secure her to the wheel. She began to struggle again.
Strangely, rather than being interested in the woman as she was being roughly handled by the acolytes, it was what she was wearing that made him stop and think. For some reason the tight jumper and the quite short, pleated skirt struck a chord within him. He tried to grasp why? Had he perhaps seen her before and wearing these clothes? Where did he remember it from? But he could not grab hold of the tenuous memory, no matter how he tried and it slipped easily away. So, instead he continued to watch the proceedings with detachment.
