Goetic Justice 2
Chapter 2: Secret Garden

Copyright© 2018 by Snekguy

Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 2: Secret Garden - Ryan's idyllic life is shattered when a shadowy organization that seeks to control the spread of summoning in the world attempts to have him killed.

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Consensual   Magic   Reluctant   Romantic   Lesbian   Heterosexual   Fiction   Horror   Mystery   Extra Sensory Perception   Paranormal   Furry   Genie   DomSub   FemaleDom   Light Bond   Rough   Sadistic   Group Sex   Orgy   Cream Pie   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Big Breasts   Body Modification   Size   Caution   Politics   Revenge   Violence  

Fortunately, the strange absence of traffic and pedestrians had quickly abated, Ryan finding the usual bustle of the city almost as soon as he had left his block. He had been starting to feel as if he had been cast, alone, into some deserted alternate reality. There was anonymity in a crowd, safety. He felt certain that his pursuers would not summon demons in the middle of a crowded street.

Still, he was on edge. His eyes darted about nervously, wary of anyone who might be wearing a police uniform. He heard the sound of sirens when he was waiting at a red light, his heart pounding in his chest as his hand crept towards his rucksack where the gun was hidden. He released a long sigh of relief as an ambulance passed him by, off to some unrelated accident in the city no doubt.

He knew the route to the forest well, he had traveled it many times before, and after a short drive he was pulling up on the outskirts of the woodland. There were a few parking lots scattered about nearby, but he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. Someone pulling up at a national park past midnight was unlikely to have honorable motives. It was common knowledge that junkies and homeless people liked to frequent the forests, but it seemed that the presence of the Seirim had driven most of them out. Ironically, being infested with demons had made the park safer than it had been in decades, the myths and rare sightings spooking the vagrants and drug pushers.

Ryan drove his car up onto an embankment, turning off the engine and stepping out. He did his best to cover it with fallen leaves and sticks, trying to conceal its silver gleam from any passers-by. It wasn’t so much that he was worried about it being stolen, more that he feared it would draw his enemies to him. If they knew where he lived, then they would probably recognize his car too. If they were as deeply embedded in the police force as they seemed to be, then they might even have his license plates on file.

Satisfied that his vehicle would be fairly hard to spot from the road, he set off into the treeline. There was an eerie quality to these woods now, and Ryan had to wonder if it was a placebo effect or if the presence of the Seirim tribe really was altering the environment. It seemed greener, lusher than the last time he had visited. There was more moss on the trees, more vines creeping along the ground and more colorful flowers sprouting everywhere that he looked. Even at night, the air was full of insects. Giant moths and fireflies floated about on the breeze, coalescing nearby as if to welcome him to their domain. He heard the hoot of an owl, looking up into one of the trees as he passed and seeing a pair of reflective eyes tracking him from a high branch.

He knew where he was going, he just had to follow the marks on the tree trunks that he had carved there himself a few weeks prior. There were sigils all over the place, all part of his scheme to feed new energy to Azazel and to free the Seirim from their bonds of servitude.

Ryan fiddled with the black ring on his finger, wondering if Nahash was safe and when she might manifest again. When Haures had been slain, the demon had burst into a smear of smoky ink, just like when Nahash had been temporarily dissipated by the shotgun blast. He was confident that she would return, but how much of her energy had she expended during the fight?

A strange mist seemed to hang over the ground in a thick blanket as he neared the clearing where he knew the Seirim tribe to reside. It was the heart of the forest, where all of the magickal energy collected. The fog grew thicker, seeming to form an opaque barrier. Was this how they kept unwanted intruders out?

It parted suddenly as if reacting to his presence, a sort of tunnel forming in the mist. He stepped through it, feeling a little apprehensive. He was on good terms with the Satyrs that inhabited the forest, but Nahash had always been with him on prior visits, she had always been able to curtail the wilder proclivities of her sisters. Even in Nahash’s presence, they had made attempts to seduce him. The demons fed on the sexual energy of the mortals that they lured, enticing them with drink and revelry.

As Ryan stepped into the clearing, the mist disappeared, leaving a crisp, clear sky above his head that was dotted with bright stars. The forest here had changed dramatically since the last time he had seen it. The bare earth where he had drawn the summoning circle with salt was now covered in lush, green grass that rose to his knees. There were flowering weeds everywhere, foxgloves and daisies, ivy and bright purple thistles. The trees were coated in creepers that were also blooming with brightly colored flowers, forming an almost solid wall that ringed the newly formed meadow. There were thorns and bushes too, the barrier looked quite impenetrable to wandering hikers and curious mystery hunters.

He turned to look behind him, seeing that the mist had been shrouding a kind of tunnel of foliage that served as the entrance. He hadn’t even noticed on his way in, it had all been rendered invisible by the rolling fog.

When he turned around again, there was a gaggle of Seirim standing in front of him, their amber eyes staring intently as they jostled for space. He did his best to hide his surprise. He felt naked without Nahash, vulnerable. But as long as he kept his wits about him, these creatures wouldn’t cause him any problems. They were friendly and well-meaning if a little rowdy.

“Ryan!” the one at the head of the pack exclaimed, batting her long lashes at him. “You’ve come to visit!”

“Ryan is back!” her sisters chorused, peering over one another to get a look at him. They very much resembled Nahash, nude save for their white wool, their heads crowned with twisted horns whose shape and number were as unique as a fingerprint. They seemed to sense his dour mood, cocking their heads at him.

“Where is Nahash?” one of them asked, the others muttering and whispering as they echoed the sentiment.

“I ... don’t know,” he admitted. “Something attacked us, a demon, and she disappeared. Azazel saved me, but I haven’t seen Nahash for hours. She hasn’t reformed yet.”

Immediately the Seirim closed in around him, the buxom creatures boxing him in and reaching out to stroke him with their clawed hands. They ran their fingers through his hair, patted his back, resting their hands on his shoulders as they cooed sympathetically.

“Poor Ryan, poor Ryan,” they muttered in concert. They took him by the arms, guiding him over towards the center of the clearing. Where a moment ago there had been a meadow of green grass, now there was a roaring bonfire, as if it had been conjured through some sleight of hand trick. He felt its warmth as he neared it, the crackling flames sending their glowing embers floating up into the sky. The group of Satyrs sat him down on a nest of plush pillows a short distance from the stones that ringed it, dry and comfortable despite the dew and condensation that wet the grass. A couple of them sat beside him, their longs legs trailing off into the foliage, treating him as if he were distraught and inconsolable.

In reality, he wasn’t. The immediate danger had passed, and although he was worried about Nahash, he was confident that it was just a matter of time before she materialized again.

He had to keep his wits about him, these Seirim could be mischievous and tricky if one allowed themselves to be led around by the nose. One of them emerged from the group holding a steaming mug between her hands, as much a bowl as a cup, made from some kind of resin or clay.

“Drink this,” she said, “it will warm you.”

The sisters that were sat to either side of him were rubbing his back and shoulders as if trying to stave off a cold that wasn’t really there. It was a cool night, but the temperature wasn’t nearly low enough to be bothersome.

“Poor Ryan has been left without his bride,” the one to his left said, “we must comfort him until she returns.”

They placed the bowl of warm liquid in his hands, he could feel its heat through the clay. He gave it a tentative sniff, noting the presence of various herbs and spices.

“What is this?” he asked skeptically, “soup?”

“Yes, aren’t you cold?” one of them replied. It was more of a suggestion than a question, and Ryan began to feel a little drowsy. He had been with Nahash long enough to pick up on the sensation of having his mind messed with, the Seirim were attempting to influence his senses.

He began to shiver, the temperature seeming to plummet until he could see his breath misting, sparkling frost covering the blades of grass that surrounded him. The warmth of the fire seemed to fade as if it was receding away from him. It wasn’t real of course, it was all the Seirim’s doing, and he willed his eyes to look past this mirage.

The frost faded like a blind spot in his eyes, one of the Seirim that was draping her long arm across his shoulders grumbling in disappointment.

“Relax Ryan, be at ease. Won’t you let us comfort you?”

There was another wave of dizziness as the demons pooled their powers, the vision and the sensation of cold growing clearer and stronger. Icicles clung to the branches of the trees that ringed the clearing, the once roaring bonfire now nothing but a pile of ash and cinders, the chill air stabbing at his exposed skin like tiny knives. He leaned towards the nearest Seirim instinctively, trying to escape the cold, and she took him in her arms.

Much as Nahash liked to do, she sank her fingers into his hair and pulled his face into the soft wool of her chest, just above her generous bust. She stroked softly, cooing, her warmth and softness hypnotizing. She smelled so good, earthy and fruity as if she had used the berries and flowers of their forest enclave to create a sweet perfume. It was intoxicating, Ryan breathing in lungfuls of the scent as her fur tickled his nose.

The second Seirim pressed against him from behind, her large breasts squashing against his back, the supple flesh cascading over his shoulders as she joined her sister in their embrace. The air was frigid, and the warm bodies of the Satyrs were his only refuge. He rubbed his cheeks against the delicate fur as he his face sank into it, so deep and welcoming. More of the demons crowded him on the plush cushions, warm, inviting bodies shielding him from the cold.

They were so kind, so concerned for his well-being, doting him on him as he felt smooth skin and feathery wool envelop him. It seemed as if the entire tribe had joined him on the cushions, the warmth that they radiated making him sleepy and compliant. One of them was stroking his hair while another massaged his shoulders, kneading the stress out of his muscles as he leaned back against her.

There were a dozen roving hands on his body now, stroking and cradling, slipping beneath his clothes. He exhaled a plume of condensation along with a sigh, feeling someone pull the collar of his shirt aside and plant a lingering kiss in the nape of his neck. He couldn’t seem to see what was happening, as if he had extreme tunnel vision. All he was able to do was focus on the sensations that were assailing him, amplified as if he was wearing a blindfold.

Someone pressed the clay cup against his lips, and he allowed the warm liquid to pour into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, ambrosial, the soupy concoction setting his nerves aflame with the flavors of sweet berries and tangy fruits. He felt it slide down his throat, pooling in his belly as it warmed him from the inside.

One of the blurry figures leaned in to whisper in his ear, her musical voice husky and sensual.

“Isn’t it nice to be here with us? Why don’t you lie down, are you not exhausted from your ordeal?”

Now that she mentioned it, he was exhausted. His muscles began to ache as a sudden fatigue swept over him such that he couldn’t even muster the strength to sit upright. He lay back, finding the soft lap of a Seirim waiting for him, her hands cradling his head as it sank into her doughy thighs. She stroked his cheeks, her palms as soft as silk, so impossibly gentle and caring. She loomed over him, her features fuzzy and out of focus, her glowing eyes standing out against the dark silhouette.

Someone was sliding their hands beneath his shirt, caressing his belly and chest with their dull claws, the sensation sending a pleasant shiver rolling up his spine.

“W-Wait,” he mumbled, “I have to wait for Nahash...”

“Our sister will find you again in time,” one of them whispered, “for now let us soothe you.”

Yes, soothing, that sounded nice. Another wave of confusion rolled over him, his mind becoming more and more clouded. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate on anything. He couldn’t really remember where he was or what he had been doing anymore. When he tried to call up the memories, they slipped through his fingers like sand.

He felt someone grab his wrist, bringing his hand towards them and pressing it against what felt like a yielding globe of flesh. It was a breast, the skin as smooth as glass and warm to the touch, his fingers sinking deep into the fat as a hard nipple pricked his palm.

Someone nibbled his ear softly, catching it between their teeth, their warm breath washing over him. Another kissed his neck, mouthing gently as his spine arched off the comfortable cushions. They were closing in around him, cocooning him in burnished skin and curly wool. A hand brushed the firmness that was rising beneath his pants, teasing it through the fabric, a burst of tingling pleasure coursing through him as they squeezed.

Something warm and wet glanced his cheek, a tongue, long and sinuous. It left a smear of saliva, and he blinked through his clouded vision to see that one of the figures had leaned in close. Her soft, puffy lips pressed against his, delivering a tentative peck. Her taste lingered, it was mouth-watering, as if she was wearing lip balm the flavor of passion fruit. She hovered there, waiting, Ryan unable to help himself as he leaned forward in search of more.

He heard chuckling and seductive mumbling, the words somehow clear in their lurid intent despite how hard it was to make them out. He found those exquisite lips again, this time parting his own as he embraced the Seirim, feeling her tapered tongue slip into his mouth. Their organs entwined, more of that wonderful taste filling his head, her slippery tongue coiling around his own with a toe-curling finesse. Her saliva was syrupy and sweet, almost as if she was sharing a mouthful of honey with him, her tongue gliding across his inner cheeks and probing his throat as it explored him.

Despite Ryan being locked in a sordid embrace, her sisters did not relent, sucking at his ears and lightly biting his exposed neck and shoulders. There were so many of them, his eyelids fluttering as he was assailed by a storm of sensation, setting his nerves alight as their kissing and fawning chipped away at his resolve.

He had been resisting, hadn’t he? Why? He couldn’t remember anymore. What might compel him to refuse this warmth and pleasure? He felt drunk, as if in a stupor, the whole affair had an oddly dreamlike quality.

The Seirim broke off her salacious kiss, a foot of her pink, slippery tongue sliding out of his head along with a strand of saliva. She nuzzled, brushing her head against his face like a cat, sighing and humming contentedly. The others seemed to take that as some kind of signal, and he felt oversized hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. They exposed his chest to the frigid air, but soon their warm digits were all over him, tracing the contours of his body as they explored. He could feel every glance and stroke, it was maddening, as if a dozen masseuses were fighting for space.

They crawled slowly lower, working their way towards his belt line. An impulse pierced the numbing haze that was hanging over his brain, telling him that he should stop them. Why? It would feel good, wouldn’t it? He tried to grasp the memories associated with that impulse, but they were so intangible, ephemeral. In a moment it was gone again.

The group of Seirim succeeded in freeing him from the confines of his clothes, his member bouncing free into the cold air, pulsing in time with the pounding of his heart as their golden eyes turned on it greedily. He was still so comfortable, the pillows beneath his body made him feel like he was floating on a cloud. The luxurious cushion of the thighs that were supporting his head entranced him, as soft as marshmallows, lulling him into a deep relaxation.

“Relax,” one of them whispered in her comely voice, “let us take care of you.”

It was so damned cold, he wanted nothing more than to plunge his growing erection into something warm. As if sensing his desire one of them leaned down, breathing hot air on its sensitive tip and making him throb in anticipation. It was killing him, he had never felt so needy before...

“Poor boy,” one of them whispered, pausing to nibble his earlobe. “We will ease your tension.”

He was so far gone, they were toying with his senses and emotions like he was no more than a puppet on a string. He was aware of it on some level, dull and distant, but he couldn’t muster enough sense to fight it. Another pair of soft lips locked him in a lascivious kiss, smacking wetly, the Seirim moaning quietly as she filled his mouth. He lapsed again, forgetting why he was supposed to be resisting, overcome by the flurry of licks from her skilled tongue.

He heard a sound like two tree branches being knocked together, looking down as the Seirim released him from her embrace, seeing that the clattering was coming from two Satyrs locking horns above his groin. They seemed to be fighting over who got to go first, battling one another like a pair of stags vying for the right to mate.

The loser backed off, and the winner took his shaft in her hand triumphantly, her warmth penetrating him to the core. He couldn’t help but loose a low moan, much to the excitement of the Satyrs, their ovine ears twitching at the sound and their glowing eyes brightening. She began to stroke, slowly at first, gliding her fingers up and down his length as he twitched and writhed in her sister’s cushy lap. She still held his head in her hands, stroking his hair, the sensations complementing one another wonderfully.

Ryan lurched as he felt a pair of large, soft lips kiss the tip of his member, the sensation shooting up through his body like an electric shock. They were so warm and smooth, sliding over his glans and encompassing it, sucking gently as he writhed in the clutches of the demons. Her sisters held him down, gently but securely, their hands pinning his wrists and ankles to the silken cushions. The one that was cradling his head continued her stroking, placating, as if trying to keep him calm.

He loosed a gasp as he felt the Seirim’s long, dexterous tongue curl around his shaft like a snake. It wound around his length, her slick, smooth flesh like wet silk as it set his nerves on fire with pleasure. She had such fine control over it, flexing the damp muscle to squeeze and stroke with all the finesse of a hand.

Keeping her lips sealed around the head, she used the length of her tongue to lick and tease, the long organ moving almost independently. It was like an animal in its own right. Ryan writhed and groaned, his throbbing erection trapped inside a prison made of slimy flesh, its warmth contrasting starkly with the cold air. Her viscous saliva rolled down his member in globs, making their contact wonderfully slippery and wet.

The Seirim was greedy, eager, her pace almost inconsiderate as she sucked and licked ardently. She was like a vacuum cleaner, drawing him into her mouth with a powerful suction as if trying to tear off his member at the root. She slid her lips slowly down his shaft, taking him deeper into her mouth, the pressure making his erection ache as it jumped and pulsed against her tight cheeks. The coiling of her obscene tongue never relented, wringing him in its tight grasp, dragging from the base to the tip as she milked him like a cow.

It was so intense that it very nearly hurt, but not quite, his blood pooling in his member to make it throb in her mouth. A bead of precome welled at the tip, and she lapped at it eagerly, as if his fluids were some kind of rare and delicious liqueur. The taste seemed to encourage her, and she gripped the base of his shaft in both hands, holding him as if fearing that he might escape her grasp. The flurry of licks grew even faster and harsher, his toes curling as she tormented him.

Far from being a sex act performed solely for his benefit by a considerate lover, she was working him over like a machine, intent on finishing him as quickly as possible. She kneaded and squeezed, the satin texture of her inner cheeks sliding against his tender skin where it wasn’t covered by her tongue, all of the sensations combining to wipe his mind clean of anything but his animal lust. He didn’t have time to ponder, he couldn’t muster the brain power to think about his situation. All of his faculties were occupied by the swells of burning pleasure that were making him their plaything.

Her soft, puffy lips finally kissed his belly, the Satyr taking him all the way into her mouth. His glans bumped against the back of her throat, his member bending slightly as she drew him deeper, the muscles of her gullet spasming and contracting as she swallowed around it. Her tongue constricted him like an angry anaconda, her soft cheeks closing around his shaft as she applied more suction.

Ryan had never experienced such a sensation before, a pleasure so completely out of his control, indifferent to his limitations and his desires. The Seirim were having their way with him, and he was merely along for the ride. Again something from the dark recesses of his brain told him that this wasn’t right, that he should stop them, but it was quickly drowned out by a chorus of licks and kisses.

The Seirim whose lap his head was resting on brought her face down close to his, nuzzling his cheek with her goat-like nose as if she had sensed the conflict in him.

“Relax,” she whispered, her musical voice oozing with sweet honey. “Let us take care of you...”

His vision was blurred and out of focus, but the one thing that he could clearly make out were the dozen pairs of glowing eyes that surrounded him, burning bright orange like hot embers in a fireplace. They watched him intently, covetously, like hyenas waiting for a pride of lions to eat their fill and move on.

She continued to whisper to him as her sister’s tongue painted every inch of his manhood with a sheen of thick saliva, her voice somehow soothing and hypnotic. The more he listened to her droning, calming words, the less he cared about his situation. It felt good, that was all that mattered. They wanted to make him happy, so he should cooperate. Didn’t he owe his generous hosts at least that much?

The Seirim began to bob her head on his shaft, forcing it deep into her throat, her passage gripping it and massaging its length as her muscles rippled around it. She was so impossibly tight, her velvet flesh slick with slippery drool, strands of it falling from her pursed lips to land on his belly and thighs. Her pace was relentless, her tongue lapping and curling around his shaft as she moved, the tip escaping to tease his balls on the downward thrusts.

She was going faster and faster, the sensation of his exposed glans grinding against the back of her throat making him buck and twitch. She allowed him to thrust into her mouth and he realized that his hips were moving of their own accord, his body seeking out more stimulation as a familiar pressure began to rise inside him. It was so wet, so warm and soft, like velvet that had been soaked in lubricating jelly. She kept him on edge, lashing with her tongue, circling his tender head whenever it left her esophagus.

He heard a clatter, looking down to see one of her sisters vying for space between his parted legs. His member was still buried to the hilt in the first Seirim’s throat, the second bumping horns with her as she extended her pink tongue to get a taste.

“Please sister,” she begged, batting her long lashes at her counterpart. “Share him with us.”

A third appeared to her left, planting a lingering kiss on Ryan’s inner thigh.

“Surely there is enough for everyone?”

The first Seirim ignored their pleas, letting his rigid member slough out of her mouth along with a drooping web of saliva, holding his shaft in her hand as she warded them off with her twisted horns. Apparently, she didn’t think that there was enough Ryan to go around.

Almost immediately she resumed her greedy fellatio, the whirlwind of sensation making Ryan’s brain pop and fizz like a can of soda that was being violently shaken. Her sisters focused their lurid attentions on the rest of his body instead, licking at his exposed chest and belly, planting kisses on his neck and shoulders like starving animals licking moss from a rock. They were almost desperate, as if his very sweat might sustain them.

He struggled to call up memories, trying to remember what Nahash had said about her kind. Demons were like living batteries, they needed energy to exist, and they expended that energy when they used their powers. The energy could come from worship, offerings and sacrifices, or it could be sexual in origin. Sex was a powerful force for certain demons and entities, and the Seirim were one such tribe, gleaning their sustaining energy from intercourse with humans. Was that what they were after? Nahash had once described the sexual fluids produced from the coupling of a demon and a human as having a powerful magick, it was an almost irresistible ambrosia to the creatures.

The cruel sucking and milking reached a fever pitch, Ryan loosing a pained groan as the demon buried him to the hilt in her spasming throat, swallowing as if trying to drink his essence from the source. She wasn’t giving him a moment of respite. He felt an urgent need growing inside him, a primal imperative that made him grind his hips hopelessly.

His orgasm was sudden and overwhelming, a jolt of electrical pleasure shooting through his body like a lightning strike, his member pulsing as he ejaculated deep in her gullet. She locked onto him even tighter, her lips and tongue seizing around him, ensuring that not a drop would be spilled as she gulped it down selfishly.

The irresistible massage of her narrow throat drew another wad of his ejaculate into her mouth, Ryan’s muscles wrenching, the other Satyrs that surrounded him holding him down so that he couldn’t buck free. It was such an acute pleasure, harsh and stark, every throb of his muscles as they pumped his milky semen into her waiting mouth searing his nerves. There was a strange tingling in his extremities as though he had slept on them wrong, his mind clouded with a combination of seething ecstasy and the confusion brought about by their insidious magick.

Finally, he seemed to be spent, releasing the last of his emission onto the Satyr’s tongue. She held him between her smooth lips, cleaning him with her tapered organ, ensuring that every last trace of his fluids was gone. It was like being washed with a silk flannel, the stimulation provoking another aftershock. Her throat vibrated around him, the creature purring like an oversized cat. A pervading euphoria crept up on him, drowning his exhausted body in warmth and complacency as he lay on the cushions, one of the Seirim stroking his hair as she gazed down at him.

As their hypnotism began to wear off Ryan’s mind cleared somewhat, his bleary eyes coming back into focus. He struggled through the lingering pleasure, coming to his senses as the tribe of Seirim massaged his tired muscles.

“What the hell ... what are you guys doing?”

Another wave of dizziness muddled his thoughts, Ryan forgetting what he was so outraged about, like stepping into a room and being unable to recall why you were there. A pleasant, tingling warmth flooded through him, fresh arousal making his receding erection hard again. It was still tender, sore from its rough treatment at the hands of the Seirim, and yet he was suddenly so turned on that it was making him crazy.

He wanted more, he would beg for it if they didn’t give it to him. He glanced up at the Seirim who was cradling his head, her eyes burning like molten metal, piercing the fuzzy mirage that was the world beyond her.

“Poor Ryan,” she whispered, her voice accompanied by the faint sounds of music. “Let us soothe you...”

A second Seirim straddled him, trapping him between her meaty thighs as she gripped his renewed erection in her hand. She angled it towards her opening, her lips splayed to reveal pink, dripping flesh. Ryan watched with bated breath as she inched his glans ever closer to her loins, gazing down at him lecherously with her yellow eyes.

She faltered, Ryan’s vision suddenly sharpening, the scene coming back into focus. He could see the tribe of Seirim as they crouched around him on the grass, the silken cushions beneath him had vanished, and there was no longer any trace of the bonfire. The icicles and frost had disappeared too, the illusion of cold melting away as the night’s warmth returned to him.

The Satyrs had turned their heads to look at something that was happening a few feet away. Even the one who was poised to mount him had stopped to stare, his member still held in her hand. Something had distracted them, breaking their concentration and shattering the illusion that they had cast over him. Gone too was his unnatural lust, and Ryan struggled to free himself as the creatures maintained their hold on his wrists and ankles.

Shadows coalesced above the grass, about where the center of his salt summoning circle had been before nature had retaken the clearing, a cold wave of fear washing over Ryan as if he was being submerged in ice water.

What was appearing? Was it Haures again, back to finish the job? Some other demon that had been tasked with killing him?

The darkness morphed and shifted like wet clay, taking a vaguely humanoid shape, and soon cloven hooves were treading on the grass. A crown of twisted horns sprouted from its head, the figure becoming feminine and voluptuous, white wool and ashen skin shining under the starlight. Nahash took in a deep breath, clearly relieved to be back in the mortal realm, then she turned her amber eyes on Ryan.

What a sorry sight it must have been. He was lying on the grass with his cock out, surrounded by a dozen Seirim who were struggling to control him as he thrashed about. She rolled her eyes in exasperation, marching towards them with balled fists.

“Off with you! Off with you, beasts!”

She stamped her feet on the ground and waved her arms like she was trying to startle a flock of pigeons, her sisters scattering in alarm, releasing Ryan from their clutches.

Embarrassed, he zipped up his pants, straightening his clothes as he rose to his feet unsteadily. Nahash caught him in her arms as he toppled forward, still dizzy and disoriented. The tribe had really done a number on his brain, he felt like he had just woken up from a coma. His limbs were numb and unresponsive, he was groggy and uncoordinated.

She pressed his face into the fluffy wool of her chest, Ryan breathing in lungfuls of her earthy scent as he leaned into her. She wrapped her arms around him as if she hadn’t seen him in months, her warm breath blowing in his hair as she nuzzled.

“You’re safe,” she whispered, her relief evident. “When Haures destroyed my body I feared the worst. Did I buy you enough time to escape?”

“It was ... Azazel,” Ryan replied as his faculties slowly returned to him. “Haures had me cornered, but Azazel appeared out of nowhere and killed ... destroyed him. Sorry, I still don’t really ... understand how all this works.”

“Azazel...” Nahash muttered, her voice trailing off as she glanced up at the sky. It was if she expected to see him there, gliding above the clouds. “None of us can predict Azazel’s whims, he does as he pleases. He seems to have taken a liking to you, or perhaps it’s merely a passing interest. Either way, I am grateful to him for saving your life.”

“He told me that a game is afoot, and that it would be a shame to see me fall at the first hurdle. He knows something that he won’t share, I’m sure of it. Something big is happening Nahash, and somehow I’ve ended up at the center of it.”

He pushed his face into her soft wool, hiding the tears that were beginning to sting his eyes, the events of the day suddenly catching up with him. Fear, shock, and loss overwhelming him. “Just when everything was getting back on track,” he grumbled, his voice cracking. She stroked his hair in an attempt to calm him, Ryan quickly composing himself. “But at least you’re back and in one piece.”

He took a step away from her, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and looking her up and down.

“I’m fine,” she confirmed, “as long as I have energy I can just reform if my physical manifestation is dissipated. Sometimes it can take a while ... but fortunately, the summoning circle that you drew here is still beneath the grass. The salt seems to have stopped the weeds from overrunning it completely. The presence of a circle makes the whole process a lot faster and easier.”

“So does that mean Haures will come back as well?” Ryan asked, a touch of fear creeping into his voice.

“Yes. Just like me, he will reform and resume his hunt eventually. He is a Great Duke of Hell, he will be relentless in his task until it is either completed or he is dismissed by his summoner. I fear that we have not seen the last of him.”

“Can he find us here?”

“Unlikely,” Nahash replied, appraising the clearing and the solid walls of tangled thorns and vines that shielded it from the outside world. “A clairvoyant will know that we are here, but it is unlikely that anyone would be able to enter without the use of extremely powerful magick. My sisters are well fed with energy and Azazel has left his mark on this place.”

Ryan glanced at the tribe of Seirim who were lurking a short distance away like frightened beasts, wary of coming too close to Nahash.

“As for you,” she said, turning her attention to her sisters as her tone grew more stern. “Ryan is your guest, your benefactor. Do not feed on him as you would a wandering mortal.”

They crept closer, staying low to the ground, their heads bowed.

“Forgive us, sister,” one of them said.

“Forgive us,” another repeated.

“I apologize on their behalf,” Nahash said, “sometimes they forget that we are no longer living in the desert and that they don’t need to prey on every mortal that crosses their path to survive.”

“They didn’t hurt me or anything like that,” Ryan sighed, “they were just ... doing their thing.”

One of the Seirim sidled up beside him, at waist height to him despite her hunched posture, bumping her head against his hip apologetically. He reached down and stroked her downy fur, careful to avoid her pointed horns. Sensing that they had been forgiven for their transgression the rest of her tribe moved closer, Nahash no longer able to conceal how happy she was to be in their company again. Ryan’s apartment might have been her home for a time, but the wilds were where she really belonged. Her people had an incredible affinity for the forests and deserts in which they had resided for so many thousands of years, and he had made a point of taking her on trips to beaches and parks whenever he got time off work.

The sisters hugged and nuzzled, rubbing their noses together, almost like an Eskimo kiss. Ryan noticed that the weeds at their feet were beginning to bloom, buds opening up into colorful flowers despite it being the dead of night. Small insects fluttered about them, moths and firebugs flitting between the plants, seeming to circle the Seirim in a leisurely cloud. The forest almost seemed to be responding to their mood, as if the joy of being reunited with their sister was being expressed through the plants themselves. Ryan still couldn’t be sure if what he was seeing was real or just an illusion, but the dulling of his faculties that usually accompanied such mirages wasn’t present, which suggested the former.

Eventually, Nahash left the welcoming embrace of her kin, looking to Ryan.

“We will use our powers to make your stay more comfortable, with your permission this time,” she added. Ryan nodded, and soon after he felt the familiar sensation of Seirim magick altering his perception.

The bonfire was back again, tall and roaring with orange flames, he could feel its pleasant heat on his face. There were piles of silken cushions arranged nearby, and he walked over to the nearest one, taking a seat and letting himself relax for the first time since leaving the apartment. One of Nahash’s sisters approached him with a wooden cup, and he took it from her hands, sniffing it experimentally. It smelled good, and so he downed a mouthful of it, its warmth and fruity taste spreading through him. Another retrieved his rucksack and placed it beside him.

Nahash sauntered over on her long legs, taking a seat at his side as he took another gulp from the cup.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “The food and drink is real when we need it to be.”

“Not at the moment,” he replied, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I feel a little sick actually. I think I killed a guy today...”

“You needn’t feel guilty. His goal was to kill you, and he would have done so if you had not stopped him.”

“I guess you’re right,” he grumbled, setting the cup down on the grass and crossing his arms over his knees as he stared into the fire. “When I woke up this morning my biggest concern was that the traffic would be bad and I wouldn’t be able to get to work on time. A few hours later and ... here I am. What do we do now? We can’t go back to the apartment, we probably can’t even go back into the city without running the risk of being recognized.”

“We have to find out who those men were and why they attacked you,” Nahash replied.

“I’m no detective, how am I supposed to-”

She gestured to his pack, and his eyes widened.

“Of course,” he exclaimed, “the grimoires! There must be demons who can help us, entities who can tell the future or read minds. But ... how will I compensate them? When I summoned Orobas, I offered to scatter around metal plates engraved with his sigil. When I resurrected Azazel, I drummed up a whole media storm. But I can’t do that now. If I go back to the city, I might get recognized, and if I leave the forest Haures might come for me. I just don’t have access to any resources, and there’s no point carving sigils on trees that nobody will ever see.”

“You could offer to pay them when this is all resolved,” Nahash suggested, “but I doubt that many would accept those terms. If you die or are otherwise indisposed, the contract will not be fulfilled.”

“Do we have any other options?” Ryan asked.

“There are ... other ways to appease a demon,” she replied, her tone becoming sinister. “What a demon wants from you is energy, in the simplest terms. Humans produce energy that demons consume, either by sustaining themselves or by expending that energy to use their powers. A demon has a finite store of energy, and it will not expend a drop in order to help you, not unless there’s a guaranteed profit.”

She stared into the crackling flames again, the light reflecting in her ovine eyes.

“Some will be satisfied by worship, either by the summoner himself or using the methods that you are familiar with. Spreading their sigil and generating belief, myths and legends, things like that. Another source of energy is human fluid, both vital and sexual. You know that some entities, the Seirim included, feed on carnal energy. The fluids produced during intercourse hold powerful magick, such an intense outpouring of sensation and emotion is almost irresistible to us.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Ryan said as he glanced at the Seirim that were sitting nearby.

“The third option is blood. Murder, sacrifice. The blood of oneself, or an unwilling victim, is similarly imbued with powerful emotions and sensations. Terror, pain and other dark emotions will satisfy certain demonic entities. One might request that you sacrifice a goat, another might require you to bleed a loved one, letting it feast on their confusion and fear.”

Ryan swallowed hard as he imagined what kind of horrifying entity might demand such acts to be committed in its name.

“So our options are blood or semen?” Ryan asked. “I think the one that doesn’t end with me gutting my own mother is probably the best solution.”

“Ryan,” she snickered, “do you presume to be able to satisfy a greater demon? We Seirim are but familiars, our needs are modest, our energy requirements low. I am not certain that you have the necessary ... experience.”

“Hey,” he protested, his cheeks burning red. “I’ve had a couple of girlfriends, I’m not that inexperienced.”

“No, you misunderstand. Imagine a demon that feeds on torture and agony, then imagine the sexual equivalent of those acts, the intensity required. These are not mundane sex acts, I honestly can’t predict what such a demon would ask you to do. I can, however, be sure that such acts would overwhelm you. You are a simple, loving creature, Ryan. That is no insult.”

She leaned closed, and they shared a hug for a few moments.

“This is some Clive Barker shit,” Ryan grumbled as she released him, taking another sip of his drink. “Didn’t you say that there weren’t any evil demons? Getting off on torture sounds pretty damned evil to me...”

“A demon merely seeks the most efficient means of extracting resources,” she explained. “The method varies by individual, but some find pain more effective than pleasure. That doesn’t make them evil. Is a lion evil for eating a zebra? Is a tarantula hawk evil for its treatment of its prey?”

“Yeah, but those aren’t sentient creatures,” Ryan protested. “They’re animals, they just run on instinct, like biological machines.”

“Humans like to separate themselves from the natural world,” Nahash mused, “but the lines between man and animal are more blurred than you realize.”

The Seirim was about four thousand eight hundred and eighty years older than him, so she probably knew what she was talking about. Still, the thought of being at the mercy of such an entity still filled him with a sense of foreboding. He dragged his rucksack into his lap and rummaged through it, searching for his grimoires.

There were many texts that described the Goetic demons and the art of summoning, both new and old. There was the Pseudomonarchia Daemonium, a relatively ancient text describing the demons and their properties that was written in 1563. While useful, it was packed with Olde English and arcane Latin incantations that were of little interest to him. Instead, Ryan got most of his information from the Ars Goetia which was published in 1904, and Aleister Crowley’s Illustrated Goetia, which were both more contemporary takes on the same material. The Illustrated Goetia especially came across as a Summoning for Dummies guide, and Ryan had referenced it extensively during his early attempts.

He opened the book and skipped to the section that listed the Goetic demons and the powers that they could employ in order to serve their summoner. Now it was just a matter of poring over the seventy-two entries and finding a suitable subject...

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