QMA: Celan’s Summoning

An Old Short Story by Bo Blackstar

[f/tentacle, ritual gone wrong, con to non-con, soft bad end]

Celan checked over her preparations one last time. She had made an excuse to busy until morning. The door was locked, and sealed with a spell just in case some novice practicing his basic lock picking spell wandered by, as had happened once before. The room was warded with a silence effect, so no one would hear what was going on inside.

Turning her attention to the center of the room, the young mage checked over every minor detail of the summoning circle painted on the floor, comparing it against the book she had found it in. A few papers that had been tucked into a book and left in the library, actually. Celan had stumbled across them while researching the history of the summoning arts, and at first had wondered if it was some kind of joke. The pages detailed the opening of a weak portal, the basis of all summoning, but this one was linked to some obscure demiplane that Celan had never heard of. As it was described, the portal remained open for much longer than most summoning portals, because only a portion of the intended creature could pass through.

The pages also contained a sketch and description of the summoned creature, as well as suggested uses of the ritual, and Celan’s ivory cheeks still blushed when she thought about it. Surely it was some sort of gaff, she had thought. But the inscriptions and intonations detailed seemed viable. So, some nights ago, she had tried it, briefly. To her thrill, it had worked! Upon completing the ritual, a softly glowing pink portal had opened, and through had come a single, long tendril of some larger alien entity. It had searched and explored within the circle, twitching and undulating lewdly before Celan had forced the portal closed.

The young student of magic had been encouraged by her success, her confidence bolstered. Only two days later, under the supervision of an instructor, she had successfully summoned and controlled an imp, a feat she had thought herself months away from accomplishing. Her mind had dwelled on the strange summon she had found in that book, however, and finally she had resolved to try the... “activity” suggested in the notes.

Celan was not known for being particular prudish or overly amorous, but this was so peculiar and fascinating that she simply had to try. Everything at least once, she reminded herself, a mantra that had actually served her quite well in her studies thus far. With a flutter in her stomach and her cheeks hot, Celan disrobed and tossed her clothes onto her bed. She went to the summoning circle, drawn on the floor and dried in place, and positioned herself over it. She rested her butt just a bit out from the center, her waist just inside the outer ring of the circle and her legs spread.

Taking a breath shaky with anticipation, she began the chant, confident her silence spell would keep passersby in the hall from hearing anything. As Celan chanted she focused on the circle, sending her will through it, guided by the inscriptions, to establish the link to the creature’s strange realm. It took several minutes, but she could feel it working, the planar boundary warping to make a passage.

At last the softly glowing pink began to spread from the center of the summoning circle. It spread right beneath her taut buttocks, a warm and tingling sensation accompanying it. Celan reminded herself that everything was fine. The portal, like all summoning portals, was one-way. She broke off her chant when she realized that the link was established, the realization coming when she spotted the fleshy, writhing tendril rise from the pink glow and enter her room, right between her legs.

A moment a doubt and panic struck the apprentice, but she was locked in a fascinated stare as she watched the tendril move and explore. It touched her milky thigh first, and then it flinched when she did. But then it returned and followed her leg first down to the knee and then back up. Its touch was soft and warm; hot, really, though not uncomfortably so. It left a thin film on her leg as it passed, a lightly tingling trail.

Celan’s already slack jaw shot wider with a gasp as the tendril bumped against her vulva. She swallowed hard as the thing seemed to pause for a moment, then continue its exploration with greater determination. It was only another second or two before it found her slit, and pushed its tip between her folds.

“Nnnguh...” Celan let herself fall flat onto her back, looking squarely at the ceiling as she adjusted to the invasion. It didn’t pause again, only pressed in, wiggling and curling around experimentally as it sought deeper penetration. The film covering the tendril proved an incredible natural lubricant, Celan’s accumulating moisture hardly necessary as it delved into her. She looked at the door, a twinge of fear at the possibility of being caught passing through her. She reminded herself that her protections were in place; no one would be intruding or listening in on her extracurricular activities.

The tendril pushed into her hard, filling her out, and Celan let herself moan in satisfaction. It was hot and thick, and she could feel it pulsing inside her. The tingle its film induced was stronger inside her, and spread quickly, causing her leg to shake slightly. The fleshy tendril pushed into her a bit more, strong enough to actually slide her and inch or so on the floor. Getting no deeper, it pulled tentatively out a couple inches and then shot back in, then again, and again, picking up a steady rhythm.

Celan pushed back against it, scooting slightly closer into the circle. Her mind spun briefly as she looked down across her body and saw the tentacle fucking into her. Her eyes locked onto the truly taboo sight. She propped herself up on one elbow so she could keep watching, and with her other hand reached down and starting rubbing her clit feverishly. The creature seemed to pick up on her enthusiasm, and its pace increased. It curled inside her with each thrust, adding to the peculiarity and intensity of the sensation. Celan moaned again and again, soft at first, then growing desperate. The sheer forbidden nature of the act drove her on just as much as the thrusting, and the tingling, and its wonderful, spreading heat!

It wasn’t long before Celan clenched, her shoulders hitting the floor as she arched and cried out her climax. The fluids of her passion dribbled onto the soft, pink glow, and sizzled there as the glow brightened a bit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the library, Unia and Melil, a couple of Celan’s colleagues, were gathering books for a study session.

“Melil, toss me that book on summoning history.” Unia asked.

The other student replied, albeit more literally than intended, and sent the book flying toward her friend. Unia caught the book, and in frowning at Melil noticed the fluttering scrap of paper that had come out of the book as it had spun.

“What’s this?” Melil wondered, picking up the scrap and unfolding it. She read it, and stifled a powerful laugh. “Oh, wow...”

“What is it?” Unia asked, wanting to know just what was so funny.

“Here, see for yourself. I don’t think we’re allowed to say that in the library.” Melil joked, handing over the scrap of paper.

Unia took the paper and read it, her eyes immediately widening at the message.

After you orgasm, IMMEDIATELY pull away and close the portal. If you can’t at first, just keep trying. Carnal pleasure makes the portal stronger, and more may be able to come through if you don’t cut it off.

“What in the world is this about?” Unia demanded, aghast.

“I don’t know,” Melil replied. “But I kind of want to see the notes that come before that one.”

“Ah, gross!” Unia shouted in disgust, immediately hushing herself as other eyes in the library turned in their direction. “Whatever, I’m just going to throw this away. That’s disgusting. Let’s focus on the lesson, alright?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Celan panted as she rode out her orgasm. The thing between her legs didn’t seem to consider that a conclusion, however. It continued to thrust into her, twisting more now as its tip diddled around her cervix. Celan sat up on her elbows again to watch, the sight of the tendril pumping furiously between her thighs nearly as engrossing as the act itself. She tilted her head back and let out a long, low moan as it continued.

If it wasn’t finished, then neither was she, Celan decided. She bucked against it, scooting right on top of where the tendril pushed through the portal. There was about a foot of it not inside her, flailing about in the air, and it would occasionally brush against her thighs as it tried always to push deeper into her. Celan grabbed the snowy flesh of her breasts and squeezed, rolling the nipples between her fingers. She mused that it was almost sad there was only one tendril; having one wrapped around her waist, or her breasts, or her neck would have been lovely just then.

Suddenly Celan froze, though the creature kept right on with its eager work. She felt something else glide around her butt and halfway down her thigh. Looking down, she saw that another tendril had emerged. This one was slightly different, identical in coloration but it was narrower at the tip and seemed to bulged and flatten as it explored her, sort of like a tongue. A tickle on her waist made her away of a third tendril, identical to the second.

Celan’s mind raced. Had she inadvertently summoned more tendrils with her thoughts? Such things were possible with any number of magics. As the tongue-tendrils wrapped themselves around her thigh and waist, another moment of panic took hold. The one at her waist seemed to try to climb higher, but was stopped by a brief shimmer of light. The summon could not leave the circle. Of course. No danger there, Celan decided. Besides, the new tendrils brought more of that glorious heat, and it felt great against her skin.

Fear abated, Celan resumed rolling her hips against the pumping tendril. She moaned and panted, closing her eyes and focusing on the sensation of those delightful new tongue-tendril gripping and massaging her. Lying back, she again lowered her hand to her nethers and rubbed her clit in tight, rapid circles. Already so far along, she felt the climb to another climax much faster this time. The hot, tingling mass filled and explored every inch of her inner womanhood, secondary tendrils firmly caressing what of her body lay within the circle. Panting and moaning, her fingers racing across her sensitive nub, Celan closed her eyes and hurried herself toward another orgasm. She could feel this one building, and knew it was going to be big. So intense was her focus that she didn’t notice the pink glow expand to nearly the edge of the summoning circle, coloring the room with its pulsing light. She didn’t notice other tendrils, just poking through a few inches as they pressed desperately to enter her world. She didn’t even notice that as she got closer to her peak she began to sink, just half an inch or so, into the portal.

The second climax struck Celan hard, her cry cut short as she was left breathless. It was mind-blowing, something she had thought only existed in exaggerated stories. But now, thanks to this beautiful beast, she had experienced such a thing for herself. Again her juices flowed out around the tendril, and spattered against the pink portal. Suddenly, a dozen tendrils rose from the floor, winding themselves around Celan’s thighs and waist. She jolted, and upon seeing the multitudes, pushed off with her legs and tried to roll away. Their grip, it turned out, was much stronger than Celan had realized. She moved perhaps a few inches before being pulled back into place, the first tendril roughly pounding into her now that it had a real hold.

With a shriek, Celan grabbed at the thick tendril and tried to yank it out of her. It was slick and strong, and she couldn’t get a grip. After only a moment of vain tugging, her wrist was grabbed by one of the tongue-tendrils and pulled further toward the center of the circle. Struggling in its grasp, Celan looked around for anything to help her, but she had cleared most of the floor for the ritual. It was then she realized that she was sitting perhaps an inch below the surface of her floor. She was being pulled into the portal!

Swinging her free arm, she managed to grab hold of the leg post of her bed, hoping to keep a grip. Celan could feel the resistance of the portal, and knew she was as far inside it as it would allow, but only for the moment. Somehow the portal was getting stronger, and if it got out of control should could be pulled in, dragged into whatever twisted realm this tentacle creature was from. She shuddered to think what this thing might do to her if unrestrained by the summoning circle, and for how long. Eternity, perhaps?

The dozens of new tongue-tendrils stroked and gripped at Celan’s legs hungrily. Her lower legs stuck outside the circle, and the tendrils couldn’t pass much below the knee. But they were strong enough to move her however they wanted, despite her kicking struggles, and soon figured out to lift her legs so that they pointed up, within the circle. In a few minutes her entire legs were wrapped in the fleshy, pulsating tendrils. Their intense heat permeated Celan’s body, spreading up from her loins until she was sweating from more than fear and exhaustion.

Desperately, the young mageling searched for a way out, some way to get herself free or close the portal. She tried the most basic command words, but none of them worked. With one hand trapped by the monster and her other clinging to the bedpost, she couldn’t cast any spells that might drive the beast back. She shouted for help, but she knew that no one would be able to hear. She had seen to that herself.

The tendrils around her waist and arm pulled at her, trying to see if they could fold her upper torso into the summoning circle, as they had done with her legs. Celan screamed and gripped her bedpost with every ounce of her strength, and won out for the time being. They continued to tug at her half-heartedly, testing for any break in resistance. All throughout, the first tendril kept up its fevered thrusting, drilling into her cunt with feral intensity. Despite her desperate situation, and the very real danger she was in, Celan quaked with ecstasy under the monster’s tingling, passionate heat.

Not seeing anything within reach to help her, Celan turned her gaze back to the circle, and the alien lover she had thought she could control. Another thick tendril, like the first, was waving about in the air, searching for something to penetrate. It pressed against the magical barrier at the edge of the circle in her direction, reaching for her, and Celan shook her head in fear and defiance of its clear intentions. Among the wriggling mass coating her lower body, Celan felt a sudden, insistent prod.

“No! No, no, nononono...” she stammered, kicking and struggling harder, but with no greater success. Yet another thick tendril, like the first, pressed in on her puckered ass hole. Celan clenched and shook her head, gritting her teeth as she tried to keep it out. In response to her resistance, the creature shook her violently, and Celan screamed as she nearly lost hold of the bedpost. She looked at the bedpost, her only lifeline, and whimpered. It had moved, pulled closer to the circle. Closer to her fate.

In her moment of distraction, disregarding any remaining resistance, the tendril forced its slick head past Celan’s sphincter and into her ass. She cried out and started to kick again, but then stopped, fearing another terrifying shaking from the beast. She struggled meekly, mewling helplessly at the new invasion. Celan closed her eyes, tightening her grip on the bedpost as she tried to think. The tendril in her backside pressed in deep, finding more room than its twin buried in her loins. Filling her out in ways she never imagined possible, the tendril started off quickly with its rhythmic, curling thrusts.

Unable to stop herself, Celan moaned and panted as the alien thing fucked her. Its slick, tingling tentacles coiled around her entire lower body, tensing and caressing, and its unnatural heat filled her. No part of it was uncomfortable, and that was perhaps the most terrifying part. It felt so wonderful, so unbelievably fantastic that part of Celan truly wanted to surrender to this thing and be done with it. Just let it take her, and revel in its hunger for her. Looking closely, the apprentice realized that her hips had sunk another inch or so into the portal, and she whimpered again.

The onslaught of pleasure never slowed, only intensified. Even as Celan cried out again for help she knew wouldn’t be able to hear, she quivered at the crest of a third orgasm. She tried to fight it, to stop before it was too late and she gave more power to this thing. Her cyan eyes darted about the room frantically, almost pleading for something to save herself with. Still the tendrils bored into her. Still the tongue-tendrils pulled at her.

Desperate, Celan decided there was only one thing to do. She had to cast a spell, a minor teleportation, or maybe a burst of fire. But to do that, she needed her free hand. She had to let go.

“Please please please, ohgodsplease...” Celan release her grip on the bedpost, and immediately set to the hand gestures and special words of a teleportation spell. It was a minor thing, the most she was capable of. It would get her perhaps a few feet, but that would be enough. She would be out of the circle, and out of the monster’s grip.

But she never finished the spell. The moment her grip was loose, the tendrils whipped her up into a sitting position, her body now above the circle rather than outside it. On the last syllable that would have been her salvation, the last thick tendril not buried inside her, the one that had been hunting for her, shot past her soft lips and down her throat, cutting off the spell. Celan felt the magic fizzle, and her heart sank as she gagged on the tendril. Her free hand was grabbed quickly, and a new host of tongue-tendrils wrapped themselves around her upper torso, sliding around her breasts and the soft, pale skin of her neck.

Tears streaming from her eyes, Celan’s choking briefly distracted her from the orgasm looming over her. Unfortunately, she was quick to adjust. Somehow the tendril knew to give her room to gasp for breath, though only just enough. Hope lost, Celan could do nothing to stop the tide as her climax washed over her. She twitched and tensed in the monster’s grip, and to her absolute horror, felt herself sink deeper into the portal. She was in up to her waist now, her legs folded up alongside her torso as it continued to tug at her. Most summoned creatures were eager to enter the mortal world fully. This one, it seemed, wished only to drag her back to its home.

Celan screamed over the tendril in her mouth, the effort difficult while also trying not to gag. She kicked her feet and flailed with her arms, her bound limbs moving mere inches in the grasp of the many tendrils. Twisting and struggling, the young apprentice screamed in terror and defiance as she felt herself sinking slowly into the pulsing pink portal. With each passing moment she was drawn deeper in. She watched helplessly as her room, her safe and familiar space, seemed to rise above her. The pink glow reached her breasts, the tingling heat made all the more potent as more of her body sank into it.

The mageling felt another climax boiling up inside her. All hope gone, Celan didn’t bother to fight it, her situation well and truly helpless. As her breasts sank beneath the glowing portal, it struck. Celan’s exhausted body shook again as she moaned uncontrollably. The resistance offered by the portal, the limit of magic that kept her from being pulled in freely, evaporated. With a final scream, Celan was dragged through the portal and disappeared. The bright pink glow slowly softened, and then faded, leaving only a silent, empty room and a slightly crooked bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In his laboratory, Instructor Tarid grumbled as he flipped through more trinkets on one of the workbenches. He moved about with angry haste, making an even bigger mess of the tables in his search. His slight frame nearly shivered with irritation.

“Uh, Instructor?” asked his young protege, Arton. “What are you looking for?”

Tarid turned his glare on the whelp, taking a moment to brush some of his dark hair from his eyes. “The source that damnable ringing!” the senior mage declared. “And just why aren’t you helping, hm?”

“I... don’t hear anything.” Arton answered, hoping that wasn’t somehow a wrong answer.

“Are you deaf, boy? How can you not...” Tarid stopped mid-scolding, and straightened up, a sudden understanding on his face. He uttered a word under his breath, listened another moment, making sure the ringing had stopped. “Right, very well. Get out, then. Come back tomorrow after breakfast with the rest of that wand inscribed and ready.”

“Yes sir.” the student nodded, quickly gathering his supplies and leaving. He didn’t know what had gotten the instructor so riled up, but he knew it wasn’t wise to stick around a powerful wizard who was angry and hearing things.

Once his protege was gone, Tarid hurried to the large cupboard in the back of the lab. He undid the various protections and opened it, scrounging among the various knick-knacks until he picked out a small looking glass. He dusted it off and, after a moment to remember the words, activated it. The surface shimmered, and the reflected image shifted and changed into something else.

Tarid laughed with gleeful disbelief when he saw the new image. Reflected in the looking glass was Celan, constricted by dozens of tendrils and writhing in constant carnal bliss.

“Some fool fell into the old trap!” cried the instructor gleefully. He immediately glanced around the workspace, a bit startled by his own volume. Peering closer, he thought he recognized the girl. A mid-rank student, pretty little thing. He seemed to remember her blowing up a starter wand on the first day of enchanting practice, having tweaked the process to try to get more energy into it. “Took on a bit more than you could handle this time, eh Celan?” he mused to himself darkly.

It had been at least a decade since anyone had gotten themselves dragged into Tarid’s little trap. It had been a prank, in the final years of his tenure as a student before being made an instructor. Numira, a particularly cruel instructor of questionable tastes, had challenged the young Tarid to do something of actual consequence, unimpressed with his mastery of basic spells and enchantments. So Tarid had done some research, using a source outside the academy to learn the secret of creating his own demiplane. He filled it with what he thought would be the perfect trap for the nay-saying instructor, and then left an anonymous copy of the ritual in her office, along with a tantalizing description.

The trap had worked perfectly. Of course, Tarid had set up a mental alarm to go off whenever someone was dragged through the portal into his demiplane of lusty nightmares. He was the only person who could get someone out, after all. Somehow the ritual had found its way out among the students, and for a while it was somewhat frustrating for the old mage to have to pull out horny students all the time. He had thought all of the copies found and destroyed, but apparently at least one copy remained, and after years some unfortunate, foolish girl looking for a novel thrill had found it.

As he watched through the magic looking glass, Tarid found himself grinning, and staring. Watching his creation violate the young girl was entrancing, and more than a little exciting. Perhaps, Tarid thought, his own tastes were not so terribly traditional.

“And perhaps,” Tarid mused as he took a seat, still staring into the glass. “Perhaps now that I have you, I don’t need to give you away so quickly.” Again glancing about the room for any who might have heard him, Tarid quickly pocketed the looking glass and hurried to his private study. He would have to get the girl out soon, certainly, but there was no reason to send her on her merry way just yet. She had fallen into this trap on her own, after all. Perfectly reasonable for old Tarid to get something out of it, right?

The instructor chuckled to himself as he walked through the halls. There were some preparations to be made, and before he pulled her out of the creature’s grasp. Let it have its fun, Tarid thought. Then I shall have mine.