Friday, March 30, 2012

Cέrμləan Circles unbanned for Literotica

"Cέrμləan Circles" made it onto Literotica at the second attempt. Their first filter can be a little over-zealous sometimes. I had similar problems with "Don't Fuck The Flowers" and her first appearance in "Succubus Summoning 110". The views/votes will suffer a little (Not that I care that much about them--I enter the cash competitions with the nastiest stories I have lying around because I think it's funny) as most people will have already read the story either here or on the other places I posted it. It's good for Succubus Summoning 201. At least I don't have to worry about whether I'll be able to complete the series on Literotica.

Hmm. Now I need to find another excuse to get people to buy it when it comes out as an ebook...

Monday, March 26, 2012

Recently, I Have Been Reading... #1

One of the most important pieces of advice they give to writers is to read lots. This was something I used to do. In my teens and early twenties I was a voracious devourer of books. Then I fell out of the habit. Juggling a full-time job with writing and other hobbies doesn’t leave a lot of time left over. Plus, I tend to think time spent reading is time I should be spending writing, especially when self-imposed deadlines start looming. Sometimes it’s good to eat a few books to blast the cobwebs away though. This is what I’ve munched through on my kindle lately:

Christopher Fowler – Hell Train
One of my favourite horror writers from back when I used to read more voraciously. This is an enjoyable romp featuring Brits abroad being ghastly and clueless, and meeting imaginative and bloody ends on a train bound for Hell. Well, sort of. It’s a story within a story of a writer pitching a script to Hammer at a time when the studio was falling out of favour (They’re better now). Part of the fun is trying to guess which famous Hammer actor Fowler has in mind for each character.

Carlton Mellick III – The Morbidly Obese Ninja
I’ve been meaning to check out the Bizarro (sub-?)genre for a while. Mellick is the granddaddy when it comes to fucked-up weirdness. This is a manga-esque tale of a 700-pound corporate ninja. Short, but it zips along and Mellick does a great job of providing a rational underpinning to his very weird world.

J.F. Gonzalez and Mark Williams – Clickers

Entertaining pulp horror. Crab things with scorpion tails and venom that makes limbs burst like overripe bananas emerge from the sea and threaten a New England town. Ultimately, the clickers are fairly dumb critters and it’s easy enough for the (well-armed) townsfolk to keep them under control once the initial surprise has worn off. The things that follow the clickers out of the sea, not so much…

Wrath James White – Like Porno for Psychos

Whoa, this is some good shit. A collection of some really nasty short stories. If you like my work, but want something even darker, this might be up your street. It’s definitely more on the horrifying rather than the arousing side, but I found it encouraging (for me anyway) that’s it’s possible to fling around the cocks and pussies and not be stuck in the porn ghetto. Faves for me were “Feeding Time” and “Nothing Better To Do”.

Brian Keene – Kill Whitey
A dock worker rescues a stripper from a seemingly unkillable Russian mob boss. A fast-paced page-turner that reminded me of the early Koontz thrillers-with-a-supernatural-twist I used to enjoy reading.

Cameron Pierce – Gargoyle Girls of Spider Island

Another Bizarro piece and…um…yeah. A group of teens borrow a yacht, get attacked by pirates and end up on an island where the girls look like centrefolds by day and turn into rapacious, raping, vagina monsters by night. It’s short and starts right in the action, but I’m not sure what to make of it. Part of me thought it was too silly, with characters more suited to a cartoon, and another part of me thought it was fucking hilarious. Probably best to think of it as a horror comedy—like an XXX version of one of Peter Jackson’s early splatter movies—to fully appreciate it. I suspect Bizarro might be beyond the comprehension of my simple little brain.

Curse you, Cameron Pierce! You made me feel old.

This gets a sex scene. It's the woman.

Edward Lee – The House
Lee is the master of hardcore fucked-up gross-out porno-horror. This is two novellas, “The Pig” and “The House”, in one. “The Pig” is the better of the two, a disgusting yet blackly hilarious tale of a luckless filmmaker falling foul of the mob and forced into making “speciality” porno’s. Nearly every taboo is gleefully transgressed in some style and the ending is satisfying.

“The House” isn’t quite as strong. While it also has moments of memorable grossness (Shake-a-Puddin’, blergh), Lee never escapes the straitjacket of Haunted House conventions.

Ah, that was good to blast out some cobwebs. If anyone has any similar suggestions for things to read, feel free to pop them in the comments.

(Oh, and don't worry I'm about to try and outdo Lee, WJW and others in nastiness. I know my niche and what I'm good at :) )

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Brand new manyeyedhydra story - Cέrμləan Circles

Here's that new story I was talking about. Cέrμləa teaches Phil some summoning techniques. What can go wrong...


Cέrμləan Circles

“Summoning circles are all about shape and form,” the girl with spiky blue hair said as she drew in chalk on the bare stone floor.

The girl, who wore a cornflower-blue dress and looked like a rebellious twelve-year-old, was being watched by a young man. He was wearing plain black robes that were threadbare in some places, singed in others. At one time they might have looked sinister and occult, but now they just looked worn. Both were standing in an open space in a large library. Countless shelves overflowing with antiquated tomes ran off into the distance. While it might have looked like a young girl doodling on the floor under the watchful gaze of an elder brother, the truth was a little more complicated.

The young man’s name was Phil Rowling. He was a warlock—okay, student warlock, previously of Wargsnouts College for Warlocks. This library wasn’t located on Earth but in hell, or some plane thereof. The young girl’s name was Cέrμləa and she was neither a girl nor young. Girls didn’t have blue horns curling out of their spiky blue hair, they didn’t have long slender tails terminating in a devil’s point, and they definitely didn’t have large bat wings emerging from their backs. Cέrμləa even had a pair of tiny vestigial wings on her head, located behind her pointed ears.

Cέrμləa was a succubus and while she looked and acted—most of the time—like a young girl, Phil knew she was far older. So old he couldn’t even begin to guess. He saw it sometimes—a flash of ancient knowledge in her ruby-red eyes.

“It’s about bending and distorting the latent fibres of the present plane of reality, and rearranging them into a new alignment that touches on and intersects with an adjacent and contemporaneous plane,” Cέrμləa said.

She continued to draw, with a precision and skill that belied her youthful appearance, a complex series of circles, lines and symbols.

“The methodology of circle summoning is simple and precise. The inner circle opens a connection to the plane or planes of choice. This allows the summoned entity to enter this plane of existence.

“The outer circle forms a barrier to prevent physical matter and other energies from seeping through into this plane. Its purpose is to keep the summoned entity within the circle for long enough to allow the summoner to set out the terms and conditions of the contract.

“As long as the summoner is proficient in transcribing the design, circle summoning is one of the safest techniques of daemon summoning.”

The girl stopped and looked down at her work with a satisfied smile.

“See,” she said. “It’s simple mathematics and topology.”

Phil looked at the baroque, highly complex tangle of lines and curves Cέrμləa had drawn on the floor. If this was simple, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see complex.

Cέrμləa put a finger on her lips. “That one might be a little too complex for your current level.”

Next to her on the stone floor was a child’s bag shaped like a cartoon whale and a mop and bucket. She used the mop to wipe away the chalk design on the floor.

“Now you try,” she said, tossing the piece of chalk to Phil. “We’ll start with something simple. How about the same circle you used to summon Rosa and Verdé?”

Was that a good idea? It hadn’t exactly gone well last time. Rosa and Verdé, two other succubi, were the reason Phil was here. He and a fellow student had summoned them in a misguided attempt to setup a night of sexy fun. Jake, the other student, was dead and Phil was alive but in hell, where things were…complicated.

Cέrμləa was waiting. Phil stood there awkwardly. Surely she didn’t expect him to draw the circle from memory.

“Oh,” Cέrμləa said. “You didn’t have a chance to commit the design to memory.”

Phil shook his head.

Cέrμləa tutted. “A diligent circle summoner should spend weeks drawing the summoning circle over and over until the design is etched into his memory. Don’t tell me you took the book out of the library and just copied the design off the page.”

Phil glanced guiltily at the floor.

Cέrμləa shook her head. “Humans. Always rushing. Hmm… Mr Grinstead.”

She tapped her tail on the floor. A complex circle appeared on the stone floor as if drawn in ghostly white light. In the centre of the circle the floor vanished to be replaced by a pool of abyssal black shadow. A strange creature rose up out of the darkness. It looked like a blue-skinned ape with a toothy crocodile’s snout for a head. It was no more than a foot in height. Two delicate pairs of wings, flimsy like a fly’s, fluttered behind its back. They didn’t look sturdy enough to support the imp’s squat form, but that didn’t stop it rising up until it was hovering level with Cέrμləa’s head.

“What was the name of the book?” Cέrμləa asked Phil.

“The Daemonica Malefique,” Phil replied.

“Go and fetch the Daemonica Malefique from the library at Wargsnouts and bring it back here,” Cέrμləa said to the hovering imp.

The familiar gave no outward sign of acknowledgement. It turned and—wings whirring behind it—flew in a slow straight line. A portal opened up in the air before it like a circular window. The imp buzzed through and was gone from the library, the portal closing up behind it.

“It won’t be able to get it,” Phil said. “The Wargsnouts library is protected by all kinds of—”

The strange circular porthole opened up again and the imp came back through. It was clutching a heavy tome in its claws that was almost as big as it was. Phil recognised the book as the Daemonica Malefique.

“Very good, Mr Grinstead.”

Cέrμləa took the big book from the imp and patted it on the head. There was just the barest flicker of a smile at the corner of the squat thing’s toothy mouth, and then it was gone—sinking back into the pool of shadow on the floor.

Cέrμləa placed the book on the floor and flicked through the yellowing pages until she found the one she was after.

“There you go,” she said.

Phil made no move to start.

“Um. Won’t Verdé be angry if I yank her here from whatever she’s doing?”

The smooth flesh of Cέrμləa’s forehead creased up. She sighed as she planted her palm on her forehead.

“That’s not how it works,” she said. “It can, but the summoner needs to know the exact design for the individual daemon and most summoners don’t bother because the ritual won’t work if the target daemon is not available.

“The circle is used to open a connection. It can be to a specific region of hell and/or a specific type/race of daemon. The circle you used is to summon a standard succubus-type daemon from anywhere within the Lust Conjugation. Very general. Rosa and Verdé happened to be the first to answer the summoning.”

Oh, Phil thought. It kind of made sense. He studied the design on the open page of the book and began to copy it, in chalk, on the stone floor of the library.

“Don’t worry about imperfections in the floor,” Cέrμləa said as Phil struggled to continue a line over a crack between two stone slabs. “It’s the mental image of the circle that’s important. The chalk is only an aid to focus the mind. It’s the projection of the circle from the summoner’s mind that actually reshapes and bends reality.”

Phil was surprised to find Cέrμləa’s words made sense. As he drew the circle he realised he was no longer seeing the chalk lines but the mental image of the design he’d concentrated on and created in his mind. He finished and stepped back. He was sure he’d got it right this time. The circle felt clearer. Crisper.

Cέrμləa looked at his effort. “Oh dear. I don’t think that could contain even a feculoid imp.”

Phil deflated. He looked at the open page and then back at the circle. They looked the same. He was sure they were the same. Where had he gone wrong?

Cέrμləa looked at the circle and then the open page. She frowned. She crouched down and examined the book more closely. She blushed and put a hand over her mouth.

“Book’s wrong,” she turned to Phil and said with a smile. “Parts of the outer circle design have been omitted.”

Wrong? Phil thought. Great, so he’d never had a chance of getting the ritual right in the first place.

“I’ll fix it.”

Cέrμləa went into her bag and pulled out a black pen. She lay down on the floor next to the book and started to draw directly onto the yellowed page. It looked wrong to Phil, as if a child was being allowed to doodle in a priceless first edition of Dickens. When she finished Phil was surprised to see her modifications matched the style perfectly. He couldn’t see where the original lines ended and Cέrμləa’s alterations began.

“Try that,” she said.

Phil shrugged. He mopped away the chalk of the old circle and started afresh.

“How about now?” he asked after finishing.

Cέrμləa tilted her head from one side to the other as she examined his work. She looked at Phil, her red eyes shining. “Why don’t we try it out and see?”

Phil would have preferred a simple, ‘Yes, that looks fine.’

Cέrμləa put a finger to her lips and was thoughtful.

“Hmm. The problem with most succubi is they’re cunning, duplicitous creatures. Even if there were flaws in the circle or ritual a succubus might pretend to follow the summoner’s wishes if it amused them or suited their purposes. We need a daemon that’s more straightforward. Then we’ll know right away if the summoning was performed correctly.”

Preferably something that couldn’t do a lot of damage if the circle was wrong, Phil thought.

“A violence daemon would do the trick. Maybe a taurenox. They’re big, strong, and as dumb as a rock.”

Big, strong and violence daemon were words that didn’t appeal to Phil.

Cέrμləa tsked.

“No. No good at all. Then there wouldn’t be any sex. We won’t be able to hold the reader’s interest if there isn’t any sex.”


“Oh, nothing,” Cέrμləa said.

Deep in thought, she flicked through the pages until she found something she liked and her face lit up.

“A ctenophox,” she said. “Yes, that would be perfect. Schemes and subtlety don’t interest them at all.”

She picked up the book and passed it to Phil.

“It’s a standard summoning incantation, similar to the one you used to summon Verdé.”

Phil looked at the page as Cέrμləa took the chalk and made some alterations to the inner circle pattern. The symbols and words were familiar to him as the same ones he’d been forced to learn by rote back at Wargsnouts College.

“What’s a ctenophox?” he asked.

“A primal spirit of lust from the Benth’Id depths,” Cέrμləa replied. “They’re quite simple, although they do have a reasonable amount of raw power.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“Only if you make a mistake with the summoning.”

But weren’t they summoning the ctenophox to test if he had made a mistake with the summoning, Phil thought. Again he wondered why they couldn’t just summon an imp or something equally puny.

“Now for a little something to attract a ctenophox to the circle,” Cέrμləa said.

She went back to her childish, whale-shaped bag and took out a small glass beaker covered in cellophane. A thick, creamy-white liquid formed a small layer at the bottom of the glass. Phil didn’t need to ask to know the liquid was semen, probably his. Cέrμləa took off the cellophane covering and left the beaker in the centre of the chalk circle.

“What about the other ingredients?” Phil asked.

“What other ingredients?” Cέrμləa asked.

“You know, mice, other things.”

Cέrμləa looked at Phil. “What would a lust daemon want with a mouse?”

“Um, the blood…” Phil suggested without feeling entirely confident.

Cέrμləa shook her head. “You humans have some very odd notions about magic,” she said. “Now recite the summoning incantation,” she ordered.

Phil read the words out loud from the page. As always, his tongue struggled to wrap around the alien syllables at first, but then there was always a point when the trickle of words tipped over into a flood. A kind of eldritch gravity took over, as if the incantation had reached a critical mass and would not be stopped. Instead of him saying the words, it was like the words took over, controlling his tongue to shape them as they tumbled forth from his mouth in a stream that only ended when his finger brushed up against the last rune.

“Good. Good,” Cέrμləa said as the echo of alien utterances faded away. “Most humans make the mistake of trying to force the words to match the sounds they’re familiar with. It’s better to let the words take their own form.”

A pinkish, bluish cloud started to condense around the beaker in the centre of the circle. It expanded and puffed outwards, forming a dense fog constrained within the lines of chalk.

“Ah, here she comes,” Cέrμləa said.

A female form rose up out of the swirling mist. She was blue-skinned, naked and moved with a sinuous grace that was both alien and entrancing. She stared at him with golden-yellow eyes and swayed like a belly dancer, or snake. Phil found it difficult to look away. He thought he could hear music playing far away—a strange ululation that reminded him of psychedelic science fiction TV shows from the sixties.

He couldn’t see the lower part of her body. The thick billowing clouds of mist formed an impenetrable veil that obscured everything beneath the little dimple of her navel. Waves of mist rolled up against the outer chalk circle and Phil heard crackling sounds, like sparks of electricity earthing in a puddle.

“Mystic presence contained,” Cέrμləa said. “Visual entrancements, eighty percent negated. Aural entrancements, ninety percent negated. Olfactory entrancements, ninety-five percent negated.”

The smoke teased Phil like a veil. He leaned forward as he tried to peer into the clouds and see her lower half. Nothing. He couldn’t see anything of her legs, ass or sex. He jumped back as an electric-blue tentacle emerged from the thick mist and slithered across the stone floor. It reached the outer chalk circle and stopped as if it had come up against an invisible barrier. Another whip-thin appendage emerged and tested the other side of the circle.

What was hidden within the clouds?

“Physical presence contained,” Cέrμləa said. “Now quick, she’s strong, recite the conditions and terms of your contract before she breaks out. Remember, visualise exactly what you desire as you recite the words.”

Phil knew exactly what he desired. He wanted the daemon to not kill him, suck out his soul, scramble his brains, or do anything else bad to him. He also wanted her to leave when dismissed and not hunt him down afterwards once she was no longer bound by the terms of the contract. Oh, and not to kidnap and take him with her when she returned to her home plane. That was worth adding considering what had happened the last time he’d attempted to summon a daemon. He recited his conditions in the formal language of daemon contracting. He’d learnt some of it at Wargsnouts and Cέrμləa had helped him with the rest during their study sessions.

More blue feelers slithered around the white lines of the outer circle, looking for any weakness. As the last syllable of Phil’s binding incantation faded away the tendrils retreated back into the opaque clouds. The ctenophox slowed down her swaying motions and looked at Phil with a smile on her sensual indigo lips.

“What do you desire of me?” she asked.

Her voice had a strange echo, almost as if Phil was hearing them both normally and directly in his thoughts at the same time.

“Did it work?” he turned and asked Cέrμləa.

“Let’s find out,” she said.

Mischief glinted in her red eyes. She kicked the mop bucket over and a tide of soapy water rushed across the stone floor, obliterating the front of the chalk circle. The ctenophox’s smile widened.

Oh sh—

It was like a wall had been blown away. The sounds came first—a haunting, eerie melody that spiralled through his eardrums and resonated pleasantly within the folds of his brain. The ululating music surrounded him. He felt it vibrating in his teeth and then down through his bones. The hairs rose up on the back of his neck. He felt strange. Airy. Antsy.

The bluish-pink mist rolled out across the floor. It pushed out before it a strange aroma that tickled Phil’s nostrils. The exotic perfume added to his growing sense of dislocation.

Smiling seductively, the ctenophox put her hands together above her head and started to sway like a sensual belly dancer. Phil couldn’t look away. His field of vision was constrained to a narrow rectangle that started with the ctenophox’s radiant yellow eyes and went down to the gleaming blue curves of her voluptuous breasts.

A slender blue tentacle rolled out of the billowing fog and coiled around Phil’s right ankle, jolting him from his trance. Alarmed, he looked over to Cέrμləa for guidance as another feeler slithered across the floor and up his other leg.

Cέrμləa put a hand to her mouth. “Oops. Adult stuff. I’m not allowed to see this. See you later.” She gave him a friendly wave before skipping off in the direction of the large bookcases at the back of the room.

Wait, Phil thought. What do I do n—

The tentacles around his ankles tugged and Phil fell backwards. He landed on his back and the wind was knocked out of his body. Dazed and still partially entranced by both the beguiling melodies and the ctenophox’s hypnotic swaying, Phil didn’t put up much resistance as the slender cords around his ankles pulled taut and started to drag him into the circle and thick clouds roiling within.

The fog was thick enough to have physical substance. He felt it against his feet and ankles, but rather than feeling cold and clammy it felt like warm honey condensing on his exposed skin. He felt like he was stepping into a pleasant scented bath. Within the mist he saw the hazy shapes of thicker appendages. Blind mouths opened in the ends and puffed out more scented blue and pink clouds. The mist billowed over Phil’s legs in a wave of miniature kisses.

The ctenophox was right above him. More and more feelers unfurled out of the churning fog. They slithered beneath his robe and peeled it off him to leave him completely naked and exposed. Other tentacles coiled around his arms and lifted him up off the floor. Phil drowned in the golden pools of her eyes and offered no resistance.

“This floor is too hard,” the ctenophox said, her voice again echoing directly within the folds of Phil’s mind. “I’ll make it more comfortable.”

Two blue appendages, as thick across as Phil’s thighs, nudged out of the base of the cloud. They opened out like rubber tubes and started spewing more thick mist across the floor. Only this wasn’t mist, not like the moist smoke swirling around Phil’s lower legs. It was thicker, solid, more like some kind of translucent jelly. The orifices swayed back and forth, squirting out a thick cushion beneath Phil. It even felt soft like a cushion. The tendrils holding him relaxed and Phil sank back not onto the stone floor but instead into a mass of warm jelly that felt like a moist rubbery beanbag.

Puffed out by indistinct maws, the billowing clouds continued to expand and Phil was enveloped in a comfortable, relaxed weakness. Slender tentacles, strong like cord, wound around his wrists and ankles and pulled them apart until Phil was spread-eagled before the ctenophox. Her upper body hovered out of the mist before him, full breasts hanging like swollen, ripe, exotic fruit. Phil was so deep into the opaque mist he could no longer see anything past his abdomen. He shivered as an unseen something brushed up against his exposed penis.

No, this had gone too far, Phil thought, his mind stumbling free of the fog encroaching on his thoughts. Oh fuck. She’d dragged him right into the circle and was almost on top of him. There must have been a mistake. He had to use the emergency dismissal before the daemoness did…whatever she intended to do to him.


That was as far as Phil got before a thick blue tentacle emerged from the cloud and the fleshy tip covered Phil’s mouth and nose like a mask. The ctenophox shook her head and tutted. He saw her dark blue hair was really a mass of long squirming tendrils.

“You can’t send me away before experiencing the pleasures of my body.”

The pleasures offered by most lust daemons invariably ended up being fatal. Phil struggled against the tentacles binding his limbs. He tried thrashing his head in an attempt to dislodge the appendage attached to his face.

The appendage was hollow. Phil’s eyes widened as the tentacle swelled up. He couldn’t shake it off before a volume of scented gas was forced up his nostrils and into his lungs. Phil’s struggles grew more laboured as the drugged air permeated through his body and dragged his limbs down with languid weight. The fog was within him now. It twined through his mind and obscured his thoughts.

“Breathe and be relaxed,” the girl with blue skin and brilliant shining eyes ordered. Phil heard her voice both through his ears and directly in his mind.

She pumped more blissful relaxant into his body and Phil’s breathing slowed down and fell into the same rhythm as the pulses travelling up the tube. The tenseness left his body. He sank into the gel cushions beneath him with the ctenophox on top of him.

“All those instructions on what I mustn’t do, and yet you never specified exactly what you wished of me,” the ctenophox said. “Shall I assume you’d like me to take the initiative?”

Tentacles dripping with lubricant slithered over Phil’s body in lewd caresses. The ctenophox positioned herself above him. Her full lips formed an o as she let out a breathy sigh. She pushed the shiny round swells of her tits together.

“Mmm, I like taking the initiative,” the ctenophox said. “I like having the freedom to be…creative.”

Her smothering appendage continued to pump more drugged air into Phil’s lungs. The swirling clouds thickened around him. Warm droplets condensed against his exposed skin. He hoped he hadn’t left anything out of the binding clauses. If he had, well there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

The ctenophox sighed like a porn star in heat. Phil couldn’t see what was happening within the opaque clouds. Beneath the veil of mist countless tentacles tickled and caressed him. Soft suction cups toyed with his nipples. They felt like warm lips. Mysterious appendages with a variety of tips—brushes, suckers, sponges—teased his body with exotic sensation. Phil trembled as a soft rubber appendage wound around his penis and gently tugged him to full hardness.

“Don’t think about what I’m doing,” the ctenophox said, “just relax and enjoy the sensation.”

Her upper body settled in his lap. Phil felt some kind of orifice—squishy, gelatinous—wriggle against the fleshy helmet of his erection. She lowered her body and Phil felt his dick slide up into a tight passage with smooth, elastic walls.

“Ooh yes. In you go.”

The girl pouted glistening lips. Her face reminded Phil of the slutty girls staring out of the covers of top shelf magazines. Faces that returned later to visit him in sticky, sweaty dreams. Those girls didn’t have blue skin, but it didn’t matter; the ctenophox was sexy regardless, a real life exotic sci-fi babe.

Phil’s manhood was inside something. At first it didn’t feel too pleasant—clammy, slimy, more like some kind of squishy jelly. Then it started to warm up and press tightly all around his cock until it formed a snug sheath. The walls were formed of thick pads of soft jelly. They moulded perfectly around his member and started to excite him with little throbbing squeezes. Phil’s cock twitched with the same rhythm as blood poured into his growing erection. Now it was pleasant. Really pleasant.

The ctenophox paused and placed a finger thoughtfully on her lips. Within the clouds, the unseen orifice continued to tease Phil’s hard-on with rippling suction.

“As much as I find humans enjoyable, their final release is never as substantial as I’d like. I have some techniques that will help you with this. You don’t object if I use them, do you?”

Phil didn’t, or rather he couldn’t. His mouth was still covered by her gas-pumping appendage. The ctenophox’s lips turned up in a smile.

“No? Oh good,” she said. “Don’t worry. You’ll find this to be very pleasant.”

A slender feeler, slick with lubricant, wormed up into Phil’s ass. It tickled around until it found his prostate and then—


Phil wasn’t sure what she was doing, couldn’t tell if she was sucking on the gland or squirting something into it, only that an incredibly pleasant sensation was spreading through his groin. She shifted position and something moist and soft enfolded his testicles and began to suck on them.

She removed the mask-like appendage from Phil’s face. She didn’t need it any more. He was under her control now. The air around Phil was already so saturated with her perfumed clouds every breath he took was filled with her fog. Thicker tentacles with rows of what felt like moist lips on the underside wrapped around Phil. He shivered as they left lines of wet kisses along his exposed flesh.

Sighing with pleasure, the ctenophox rocked up and down on him. Gelatinous suction gripped Phil’s twitching erection. Her slender feeler continued to tickle away in his ass. His loins felt weird—hot, fervid. His testicles felt bloated and were growing more and more swollen, encouraged to expand by the soft suckers wrapped around them. Hidden within the mist, the ctenophox was doing something to his genitals, something that made him feel like his semen was building up as though he’d been denied release for months.

“Mmm, I like my men to fill me with a nice big load,” the ctenophox said.

She closed her eyes and squeezed her big blue breasts together. The thick tentacles lined with hot kissing lips squeezed Phil’s body. Her weight settled deeper into his lap, pushing his erection up deeper inside her until the tip pressed up against a soft gelatinous cushion that enfolded his glans and sucked on him. Waves of gentle squeezes ran up his shaft. They spread outwards throughout his body until it felt like everything within him was being focused down to his groin and then up his shaft and into the head of his throbbing cock.

“Oh yes, you’re going to give me a big load.”

She gave him another squeeze, more powerful this time. Soft gelatinous flesh pressed all around and smothered his over-sensitised manhood. Too much. Phil groaned as a wave washed through him, stimulating the muscles of his legs and buttocks, forcing his hips upwards and driving his cock deeper into something soft and smothering that engulfed him and began to suck. His swollen balls contracted and it felt like a dam had been breached as his semen surged up his shaft and erupted outwards in glorious release. He twitched and trembled helplessly beneath the ctenophox as she encouraged more and more semen from him with her pulsating jelly sheath. More, more, a constant eruption into her quivering centre as thick, billowing clouds rolled over him and the ctenophox moaned and writhed on top of him.

Not quite constant, thankfully. Just as Phil was starting to worry he was going to keep ejaculating until he deflated to an empty husk, the ctenophox’s jelly sheath opened up and released him. Completely spent, Phil sank, exhausted, into the soft gel underneath him.

The ctenophox sighed. “So nice. I wish I could suck it all out of you, but then you’d be dried up and dead and I can’t do that as it would violate the terms of our agreement.”

She lay down until her curvaceous upper body rested against Phil’s. Her moist lips pressed against his in a gentle kiss. A probing feeler found Phil’s left ear and slithered inside. A spark flashed inside his brain. He saw the circle he’d chalked on the ground superimposed on his vision as though it had been etched into his eyeballs in sparkling sapphire. As he watched, the design changed. Complex lines and spirals were added to the central circle as if drawn by an invisible hand.

“My name is Ctenylla,” the ctenophox whispered in his ear. “You can summon me directly next time.”

Phil blinked and the sapphire lines faded from his vision. But not from his thoughts. The design was still there, marked indelibly into his memory and available for retrieval any time he desired.

Ctenylla got up off him. She put a hand to her mouth and blew him a kiss. The kiss became a dense pink and blue cloud that expanded to fill Phil’s vision and obscure Ctenylla’s body. When the cloud dissipated Ctenylla was gone, returned to whichever plane she’d been summoned from. The jelly cushions underneath him liquefied and evaporated until Phil was lying naked on the stone floor in the centre of a smudged chalk circle.

He lay there for a while, waiting for his breath to come back. He was still alive? He supposed that meant, technically, the summoning had been a success.

* * * *

Humming a tune to herself, Cέrμləa skipped between the shelves. She ran her finger along the spines of various ancient books, looking for one in particular. Smiling, she identified the tome and pulled it out from the shelf. It was bound in leather or some other less wholesome material. The title, Daemonica Malefique, looked like it had been scorched into the cover with a brand. It looked like an exact duplicate of the book lying open next to Phil’s prone body.

Cέrμləa tapped her tail on the floor and Mr Grinstead rose up out of the centre of a glowing arcane circle.

“You can put this one back now.” She passed the book to the imp. Bowing, it grasped the book to its chest and sank back down into the floor.

Cέrμləa looked over to where Phil was lying on the stone floor. The rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still alive. She smiled and fires sparkled in the depths of her ruby-red eyes.

Cέrμləa falls foul of Literotica’s Underage Filters

Oops. I was hoping the new one-shot story set in the Succubus Summoning 101 universe would have gone up on Literotica by now. I intended it as my apology for taking so damn long on Succubus Summoning 201 and also to show I hadn’t forgotten about Phil and friends. Unfortunately it’s been rejected for underage content. Not sure why—it’s clear Cέrμləa isn’t the young girl she’s masquerading as and she isn’t even around for the sex scene either.

Oh well. I was going to post it here as well anyway. I’ll give it another read through for errors and put it up over the weekend.

I’m not sure what this means for posting the Succubus Summoning 201 series up on Literotica. I'm not going to write out Cέrμləa or change what I've written/plan to write. I'll try and post as much of the series as possible. At the worst, the complete uncensored version will still be available as an ebook.

Saturday, March 10, 2012

One of the Best Feelings in the World

My print copies of Succubus Summoning 101 arrived last week. To be honest I'd been biting my knuckles in worry over how the cover would turn out. The design looked great on computer screen, but often What You See Is Not Always What You Get with these things. Thankfully, they turned out great.

It’s a narcissistic, egomaniac thing, but I like having a couple of print copies for the shelf. Being an author has always been a lifetime ambition, so actually holding the print proof of that is one of the best feelings in the world.

If you want your own dead-tree form of Succubus Summoning 101, you can get it through eXcessica or on Amazon. Sorry about the price. That’s POD (Print-on-Demand) for you. Still, it’s available for anyone wanting a physical version.

Succubus Summoning 201
is still in progress. I’ve written a short story featuring Phil, Cέrμləa and another summoning mishap to fill in the gap while I get 201 back up to speed again. Look out for it here sometime next week…

Saturday, March 03, 2012

Even Academics Aren't Immune From Making The Author's Big Mistake...

The Author’s Big Mistake, apparently, is to respond to a bad review. All that happens is the writer makes themselves look foolish and unprofessional. Witness this spectacular meltdown from Jacqueline Howett over a bad review of her self-published book, The Greek Seaman. To compound her misery, this went viral enough to hit the major broadsheets. Even if they say bad things about us writers, the reviewer is meant to be aloof and sacrosanct. Otherwise it’s just a big circle jerk that helps no one.

What if the reviewer is less than honest in their intentions?

A link to another spectacular author meltdown appeared in one of my social networking feeds. This one saw Mike Coe attempt to break the world record for most consecutive comments after a blogpost following Jane Smith’s negative review of his book, Flight to Paradise. A fellow writer had posted the link as a good example of a self-published writer overreacting to reasonable criticism. I thought the same, until I read down to the part that revealed the reviewer had only read four pages.

Four pages! How can anyone seriously review a book after reading only four pages? That’s like writing a review of a movie after seeing only the first three minutes. I’m sure there are many movies where the film critic would have liked to have walked out at the halfway mark, but they can’t, because they’d be violating their role as a critic. I know Smith has clear rules and a ‘fifteen typos and you’re out’ policy, but her review is four paragraphs long and talks about ‘poor characterization’…from a book where she’s read only the first four pages. I’ve read plenty of books where the main characters haven’t even showed up by then! Slamming a book because the writing is so bad it’s painful to turn the page is one thing, but I’d be peeved too if a reviewer read only the first couple of pages of one of my stories and started to comment on broader issues of characterisation and plot (although not enough to attempt to break the world record for most consecutive comments after a blogpost).

I might be wrong, and I’m prepared to apologise whole-heartedly to Jane Smith if this is the case, but after reading more of her reviews my gut feeling is her selfpublishingreview is a troll site with the main aim of beating up self-published writers for the temerity of going it alone. She also runs a blog entitled “How Publishing Really Works”, which sets my ‘ulterior motives’ alarm bells ringing. A bad book is a bad book is a bad book, and this is true whether it was shat out by one of the Big 6 or a lone, misguided scribbler, but some people are vehemently against the whole principle of self-epublishing in general.

I’m sure plenty will keep on submitting to her for review. They’ll see the carcasses of past maulings and think, That won’t happen to me; my book is good. We’re daft like that. I think I’ll pass on this one, though. I don’t see the point when the game is so heavily stacked it’s impossible to win. Or rather, if someone has an axe to grind, the last thing you want to do is give them an axe.

Oh, and to prove it’s not just those crazy self-published types that go apeshit below the line, enjoy Eric Anderson making the Author’s Big Mistake over Catherine Hakim’s review of his latest book in The Guardian.

Right, that’s enough of the serious posts for a while. Coming next…back to the sexy succubus smut…