Lilly
Getting ahold of the cow blood had been the trickiest part of the ritual thus far. It wasn't like you could just walk into the store and pick up a gallon. No, if you wanted cow blood, you had to ask for it special, and then everyone wanted to know why. And "I want to summon a demon" wasn't an acceptable answer. Not if you wanted to retain a reputation of sanity, and, not to mention, get your cow blood.
The pentagram was already in place, the dark lines of it very red against the grass. All that remained was the intricate patterning of the runes. I bent down and started painting the first.
"I want to avenge my mother" wasn't and acceptable answer either. Especially not when your mother's official cause of death was natural causes. And then when they asked about how, exactly, cow blood could help with avenging anything, that brought you back around to the whole summoning a demon thing, which led straight to calling the nice people in white coats, and, again, not getting your cow blood.
With the runes half done, I checked the book on demonology. They all appeared to be correct, thus far. Mostly. I wiped out a small squiggle with a paper towel and redid it.
Fortunately, instead of admitting that I needed the cow blood to paint a pentagram, summon a demon, and avenge my mother's death, I could lie. And the right lie, about needing it for a science project, to the right person, had gotten me my cow blood.
And now I had finished using it to paint the pentagram and runes. All it would take was a little chanting in my birthday suit, and I would have my demon, and then, my revenge. I began to strip.
It had all started when my Great Aunt Catherine had died. Though we had never been close, she left me everything, including, to my great surprise, several real books on magic. So I had begun my studies into the arcane.
Nervous now that I was down to my underclothes, I slowly undid my bra.
In a world largely devoid of magic, I'd learned to see auras. With the right gestures and magic words, I could move things without touching them. Small things, anyways. Like the TV remote. Now I'd skipped ahead a few, or possibly a few dozen, chapters, and was trying something much more difficult.
Naked now, I stood and, resisting the urge to cover myself, began to chant.
The official cause of death for my mother had been a heart attack. Only I had noticed the faint patina of black magic on the corpse.
My mother's corpse. I angrily brushed a tear from my eye.
For awhile, I had been to full of grief to care that my mother's death had been murder. Remembering those black months, I shivered, though, even without my clothes, the night was warm. The lack of caring, the numbness, had passed, however. And since, in a world that didn't believe, I couldn't go to the police...
Within the pentagram, an eldritch form began to coalesce. It was over six feet tall and dark green, and covered in bloodshot eyes and sharp toothed mouths and tentacles. I shuddered, suddenly wondering if this had really been a good idea...
And then, suddenly, a naked young man stood in the center of the pentagram. He was tall, with long, cotton-blond hair. Lithely muscular, with a smooth, open face, high cheekbones, and large, green eyes, he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. And, at the same time- my eyes flicked down- very definitely male.
He paced the edges of the pentagram, looking for a way out. There was none. I had made sure of that. Or I thought I had. My eyes flicked nervously over the runes at the edge of the pentagram. Then, almost of their own accord, they flicked back to his cock.
It was, in some indefinable way, just as beautiful as the young man himself. It was also, other than a few anatomy book sketches, the first I had ever seen. The balls were round and full, the size of golf balls, just the right size for me to cup in the palm of my hand. My fist partially clenched. I could almost feel the delicious weight of him. The cock itself was long, about nine inches, and thick, as big around as my clenched fist at the widest part. It stood, proud and tall, against his belly. I could see a vein throbbing against its side. Parts of my anatomy which I had not previously given much thought quivered. I swallowed, and licked suddenly dry lips.
"What do you wish of me, mistress?"
The question startled me, and my eyes flicked up from his shapely cock to his beautiful, almost angelic face. "What?" I said.
"Mortal... You appear to have me trapped. What do you wish of me?"
His voice was just as lovely as the rest of him, soft and smooth. I swallowed again as my hindbrain offered an explicit answer to his question. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts.
"I... I wish to have you avenge my mother's death," I told him, my own voice sounding harsh as a nestling's squawk in comparision.
"And, if I perform this task for you, what do you offer in return?" As he spoke, he leaned forward eagerly, the tip of his dick pressing into his taut muscles.
I hesitated. This bit, the bargaining with the demon, had only been mentioned in passing in the short manual on demon summoning. What would the demon want? My soul? I was reluctant to offer that straight off. It felt too much like putting all my cards on the table immediately. However, I knew only one other thing the demon might want.
"My magic," I responded.
According to the manual, demons fed on magic. The used strong emotions, like pain, anger, and hate, to make it easier to access, and then they sucked it out like a human might suck the juice from an orange. Or, at least, that was what I had gathered from the chapter on demon feeding. The text was a little archaic and hard to read, even for me.
The demon shook his head. "Not enough."
I gathered my resolve, and offered my soul.
He laughed. "Wrong kind of demon, love. I don't want your soul. Sweet of you to offer, though." His eyes glittered. "Tells me how desperate you really are."
I wet my lips nervously. I hadn't anticipated that my soul might not be enough. "What do you want, then?"
