The Demon and Oscar Wentworth
an excerpt

Tonight, Oscar Wentworth was going to summon a succubus, a supposed demon that would appear as a woman of exquisite beauty and who had no other purpose than to seduce men while they slept. But, the magician figured, if he could properly constrain the demon to do naught but his own will, if he could command and control it while awake, he could enslave it to quench a thirst that continually burned deep within him, to satisfy a hunger no mortal strumpet had thus far been able to satiate despite how much he had tried. More often than not, those girls with whom he had attempted to quell his desires had recoiled in disgust at what they deemed his perversions. Could he help it if he liked his ladies young, supple, and willing to let him have his way with them by any imaginable means? To hell with mortal women! Eventually, even the prettiest of them would fall victim to the curse of time, and their tight bodies and youthful vitality would inevitably give way to the creases of old age and the poison of disease. The solution, therefore, must reside in a creature not of this world, a creature that was not subject to the frailties human girls must invariably fall prey to, and it was from another world, then, that Oscar had chosen to fetch his concubine. Such a creature would presumably never fall victim to the limitations of the material plane, would never grow old, would never fall ill, would never, as it were, be anything less than what he desired most. And what he desired most was the perfect submissive whore.
He could feel the tension in the room as he neared the critical moment of the ritual, could feel the energy building incrementally all around him, the focal point of which lay in the middle of the triangle where a smaller circle had been drawn by his own hand in pigeon’s blood. If the working was successful – which Oscar was more than a little convinced it would be – his soon-to-be harlot would materialize therein, and he would charge it with its duties, which would be to serve him and only him for as long as he should deem appropriate. And to a man like Oscar Wentworth, a man who had been known to sway between jovially entertaining guests one minute and violently throwing them out of his home the very next, the ‘appropriate time’ could range from anywhere between a few days to the rest of eternity. And knowing his appetites, the rest of eternity would probably not be long enough if all went according to plan.
Focussing the entirety of his will into the center of the triangle, Oscar drew in one more deep breath and virtually shouted the final passages of the text, bellowing the words into the thickening air around him, his entire being shaking with the force of the energy his will was commanding.
There were no fireworks, no cliché Hollywood special effects to mark the climax of the ceremony, only a moment’s deafening silence punctuated by the almost imperceptible hiss of candles before the incense began to slowly, gradually coalesce into something tangible at the center of the triangle. Putting his wand down upon the altar, Oscar retrieved the sword that was lying at his feet, pointing the tip of the blade at the swirling miasma of writhing smoke. He could see the first indications of a body forming: first a foot gave its impressions upon reality, then another, then legs – exquisitely lovely, long legs – then hands. Soon thereafter came the promise of a torso and an ass, a stomach, a ribcage, a set of breasts that could have suited the most attractive and virulent of porn starlets, and finally, a vague semblance of a face. But most disturbingly of all were the eyes. He could see them clearly despite how the rest of the demon’s body had yet to completely form beyond the hints he was perceiving, and her eyes were, as he had imagined them to be, brilliant red, glowing, fiery, and terrifyingly angry. There was hate in those eyes, hate and loathing, and any amount of pure and unadulterated ire. The demon obviously was not very pleased to be where she was.
Oscar smirked, watching the succubus test the limits of her prison with her ethereal body, recoiling in disgust and irritation at not being able to breach the perimeter of the Triangle of Art, as it was called by the Magi.
“That won’t do you any good, love,” Oscar told it, keeping a firm grip on the sword, its blade still pointing squarely at the demon. “You’re rather stuck in that little space until I say otherwise. Now, I command thee to appear before me in a fair and comely form that is most pleasing to the eye, a form befitting of a creature such as yourself.” Another smirk, then, “Show me your beauty, succubus!”
A guttural snarl came from the collection of nearly-human smoke, but Oscar was not about to have his commands go ignored. He was acting as an agent of the divine, though his own thoughts on the matter of divinity were less than congruent with those of the general populace. Still, it was the intent that mattered. If he truly believed himself to be acting on behalf of God, who was anyone else to argue with such steadfast conviction?
“I am a servant of the same thy God,” Oscar shouted at the demon, “a true worshipper of the highest! Thou canst in no wise disobey!”
That seemed to do the trick. The cloud of smoke that made up the demon’s body began to take on more solidly human characteristics, and where there had been nothing but an intangible mess of blue-grey smoke a moment before, Oscar could see the stunning figure of a young woman beginning to take solidify, could see haze becoming corporeal, could see flesh beginning to actually take shape. He could see his would-be whore appearing before him in exactly the form he had hoped for. And through the hate he could feel emanating from it, behind the loathing at the way in which she was being summoned, Oscar thought he could feel the longing within her, the spark of yearning he knew the demon must feel for a being that was more perfect, more complete than she herself could ever aspire to be.
That same spark lived within Oscar’s heart, albeit to a different extent. Where the demon aspired to be more like unto man, just as man aspired to be more like unto God – or so the theory went – the magician felt the burn of desire not only for the demon’s flesh, but also her heart. Behind his appetite for the most depraved of all sexual acts he knew he could find with her, his appetite for love burned even stronger. In a few moments, all of that would soon be realized. All of Oscar’s hopes and desires and fantasies were about to be fulfilled.
And then, the unthinkable happened.