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Song of Cthulhu	By : Cthulhuscall Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Call of Cthulhu Views: 4057 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on The Call of Cthulhu by HP Lovecraft.

Chapter List
- 1-Oh, R'lyeh?
- 1
Now, before I tell you the story of how I accidently… oh, wait, I said before, didn’t I? I can hardly warn you before the story if I tell what the story’s about, can I? Well, er, maybe I could, but I won’t, because I’m an evil bastard. Suffice it to say; before I relate the incident to you, let me assure you that I was not drunk, high, or crazed by either lust or power. I actually did what I did of my own free will and in sound bloody mind and body.

Well, I have a bit of a limp, but that’s neither here nor there.

It was a warm summer night, and I had just graduated from good old Miskatonic University, majoring in Post-mortem Communications with a minor in Demonology (Post-mortem Communications is the politically correct term for necromancy, you see; the college tried to get the demonologists to call themselves ‘professionals in the field of Infernal Relations,’ but they would have none of it. I’ve always suspected succubi played a large role in the college backing down), although I mostly got into Demonology to get the girls. It’s said that succubi are hotter than any woman alive, although I have my doubts. Don’t get me wrong, bat wings are a real turn-on as far as I’m concerned, and furry goat legs are just dandy, but I doubt any demon could measure up to Kate Beckensale or Angelina Jolie.

Could they?

Anyway, I’d broken into the library’s secret room (being secret, we all knew about it) and pinched the oh-so-secret copy of the Dee edition of the Necronomicon.

Yes, that Necronomicon. Al Azif, the author called it. Literally ‘The Chirping Of Crickets,’ but the Arabs also used the phrase to refer to the howling of demons. It’s also been called the Liber Paginarum Fulvarum, the Mortuus Daemona, the Sepher ha-Sha'are ha-Daath, and a host of other dread and terrible names.

Me, I think the author was on crack when he wrote it. I mean, honestly, how could Death die?

But, I digress.

I had stolen the Dee edition, and decided to summon me a demon. Now, I’d summoned the damned things before, how could I not have? I have a friggin’ diploma. But every demon I’d summoned had been under controlled circumstances, with a more competent sorcerer waiting for me to screw up so he or she could clean up the mess.

Well, to hell with that! I wanted to summon a demon by myself, prove that I could do it, and get laid in the process. Oh, come on! Did you really think I was going to risk my life and soul just for pride? Nah, I risked it for pride and hormones.

(O)

I laboriously traced the Lesser Sigil of Cthulhu on the concrete floor of my basement, using a yard stick for the straight lines of the pentagram, and doing my best to make sure the circle was even.

I wrote the dread name Ktulu, one letter to each of the points of the pentagram, with my best lettering.

I decided to leaved off the thousands of little scales on the stylized Ouroborus that circled the pentagram, thinking that the demon would care little for such trivialities.

I sketched the Word of the ancient Taoist master Hu Flung Dung around the edge, and was done.

I was, of course, arrayed in the formal robes of the demon summoner, exacting details of which would no doubt bore the hell out of you. Suffice it to say that they weren’t anywhere as impressive as they may sound.

I raise my staff (plain wood is good enough for me, as I have nothing to compensate for) and, shrugging off the nagging feeling that I was forgetting something, chanted the words of summoning.

Ia!

Ia Nakiga!

Ia Cthulhu!

Ia R’lyeh!

Phn’phlugha guingya tae’shoggo,
Ya ke’seti mrgnlfulok k’tarhhh.

Ia! Ia! Ia Cthulhu.

Ia! Ia! Ia R’lyeh!

Ia! Ia! Ia Cthulhu.

Ia! Ia! Ia R’lyeh!

Ia!

I drew the ceremonial knife from my belts, and waved it in the air, inscribing the Sigil of Mrrnnfluk on the very air. I then pricked the tip of one of my fingers, swearing under my breath at the sting. Reaching into the circle, careful to not disturb any of the lines, I touched the drop of blood to the center of the Sigil of Cthulhu.

In the movies, this would be the point where lightning makes a dramatic appearance, and a shiver of pure dread runs down the audience’s spine, and an expression of maniacal glee is plastered onto the demonologist’s face.

So sorry. It was actually a very peaceful night, so no lightning. My expression was probably peaceful, as the casting of this type of spell creates a rather relaxing warmth within the magus.

A bilious green mist formed in the center of the circle. It… well, it did what mist does in such circumstances. It billowed up just enough that it could conceal a humanoid form, stopping at the edges of the Sigil, and then dropped away again to reveal what I had conjured.

Which was not anything like I had excepted.

(O)
Now, your average run-of-the-mill succubus is a dishy woman with bat wings and goat legs. Occasionally there’s a tail involved (which can lead to awful puns), or curly rams horns (which I find truly adorable). Very rarely they’ve got the tail and the wings and the legs and the horns. I think those type are really cute. Sue me.

This was not, and I emphatically repeat not a succubus. This was a woman.

She was wearing vaguely monk-like robes. I say vaguely, because no monk that I know had sleeves that trailed to the floor. No monk had stylized tentacles embroidered on said sleeves. And very few monks wore a medallion with the face of Cthulhu upon it.

She was leaning on a golden staff that was crowned with a spiky finial that looked like a conch designed by M. C. Esher. When he was high. There were a few gems embedded in the staff, but I wasn’t paying attention to the stick.

Why? Because she was hot. And I don’t mean in the skeleton-covered-in-flesh sort of way you see in Hollywood these days. From what I could see through the robes, she had some pleasant curves. Her hair was a dark blond, and she exuded an earthy warmth. Very mother-goddess sort of look.

And she was giving me one of those “Oh, God, what now?” looks. You know, the look you have on your face when you hear your uncle died, and your car breaks down on the way to the funeral, and it starts raining. A sort of, “What else is going to go wrong?” look.

“Erm,” I said awkwardly. “You know, I expected a succubus to look more… demonic.”
The woman looked as though she was hovering between ripping my guts out and laughing her ass off for a moment.

She chose the latter option, literally sinking to her knees with the force of her mocking laughter. It was clear that laughing that hard was taking a toll, however, as she was clutching her belly and grimacing in pain as she laughed.

“You thought…” she whispered, her voice hoarse from laughing, “that you could summon a succubus in the Lesser Sigil of Cthulhu?”

“Yeah,” I replied guardedly. “Why not?”

“Those words have been engraved on the tombstones of many mages,” she said coolly, dragging herself to her feet with the aid of her staff, leaning on it while hooking one leg behind the others in a pose vaguely reminiscent of the posture assumed by Massai herders. I made a mental note to mention that to her, to see how annoyed she got. “I think I’ll engrave them on yours myself, boy, for daring to summon me. You fool. Have you any idea who I am?”

I held up my hands in the universal gesture of ‘Look, I have no big fucking weapon with which to brain you, so please don’t kill me.’ “You got me, there,” I acknowledged.

“I,” she growled, “am the High Priestess of Dread Cthulhu, caretaker of him who sleeps at R’lyeh. And you are the mage who has taken me away from those duties on this night of all nights, the nights when the Aligner of Stars is born unto a mortal. The Aligner of Stars, who will clear the way for Dread Cthulhu’s return! I should be there to rejoice with my Lord, not standing here shouting at a mortal boy!”

Oh. Stars. And. Fucking. Stones.

This was bad.

I had conjured a priestess of fucking Cthulhu.

And she was pissed.

Right. Time to cover my ass. I’d gotten pretty good at that back at Miskatonic, defending myself from the wrath of the principal, but those skills were going to get a workout from this girl.

“I sincerely apologize for summoning you, although I really didn’t mean too, and of course I’d be glad to send you back, after all that’s only polite, but only I’m not exactly sure how but that’s really nothing big, right?” I gave her my most winning smile.

Ever try to bring down a brick wall by throwing hard-boiled eggs at it? Yeah, me neither, but I think that would feel kinda like this, except the wall probably wouldn’t be ready to kill you.

She was not amused. “Indeed,” she replied, her tone mordant enough to strip paint from antique furniture. “And how would you propose I solve this dilemma? Your incompetence truly knows no bounds, boy. No, I know of no way to return me to my place, save by mortal means. R’lyeh is sealed from all mortal sorcery. Save, it would seem, the magics of the truly moronic. Your skull would seem to be too dense by far to be effected by the charms and enchantments woven around the sunken city.”

Now, I was getting a little tired of the insults. Sure, I’d taken her away from communing with her god on one of the holiest days of her debased faith, but was that any reason for her to call me ‘boy,’ and ‘fool’?

Probably.

“Now, the only thing that remains,” she murmured, more to herself than anything else, “is to decide your punishment…”

“Punishment?” I squeaked.

“Of course. Surely you did not expect to escape unharmed?”

“Well,” said I nervously, “I had my hopes.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” she replied dryly, clearly not at all regretful. “But needs must. Hmmmm, what would be appropriate?”

“Slap on the wrist with a dead fish?” I asked hopefully.

“Quiet,” she snapped absently. The word seemed to echo in my head, and I found that I literally could not open my mouth. Good thing I know how to breathe through my nose.

“Dismemberment? Too messy and too quick. Flaying alive? Messy, but enjoyable… and your skin would look quite pleasant on my wall.” Yes, this was not good. Running would have been a good idea, but my muscles weren’t cooperating. Oh, bugger, as my favorite character was wont to say. Oh, bugger.

“Evisceration? Crude, if satisfying… I know!” The look she directed at me was pure evil; distilled, bottled, and served at the taverns of hell. “It’s not the normal sort of punishment, but it apropos…” Oh, boy. That sounded bad.

“You summoned me hoping that I would entertain you, but you in point of fact shall be entertaining me.”

Ever see Wednesday Addams smile? Yeah, kinda like that, except this woman had probably had centuries to perfect the evil grin.

Still, I liked the sound of entertain, particularly with the emphasis she had put on it. Made it sound somewhat less than fatal.

The priestess threw back her head and arms, chanting a spell (or maybe prayer) in the guttural language of the Great Old Ones. “Ia Cthulhu! Chtulhu R’lyeh Ya’a tshukhh! Ya’a isukh guruhht, pghnglui pgha ydrk! Ya’a, isggh phnglui phrnaha glrrr!”

The evil words made my skin crawl, but that was noting next to what hers was doing. I could literally see it twist and writhe, almost as if something alive was moving beneath her skin.

And then the tentacles burst from her skin.

There was no blood, or even tearing of the skin, but they ripped themselves out of her flesh nonetheless. I have no idea how that works, so I’ll just chalk it up to non-Euclidian geometry, and call it good. I was more worried about what the damned things would do.

They lashed out quicker than my eyes could follow, wrapping around my waist, around me wrists and ankles, wrapping around bloody everything. One rammed itself between my teeth, and I gagged on the foul taste. They burrowed beneath my clothes, tearing them to shreds. The priestess of Cthulhu laughed evilly, amused by my plight.

As one rather phallic tentacle began to push against my rear, I finally realized what I’d forgotten.

I’d forgotten the Vaseline.

Oh, hell.

(O)

I’ll admit to having been something of a connoisseur of tentacle erotica during my college days (which had, coincidently, just ended, along with my taste for such things). Not, I hasten to add, of the Japanese cartons which featured such things, as I disliked Japanese cartoons on principle, as they spawned ridiculously obsessed fans who thought that learning the Japanese words for ‘cute,’ ‘hot,’ and ‘insert-obscenity-here’ made them fluent in the language. Gah!

No, I’d read many stories on the subject, so I had some idea of what was about to happen.

My musings were interrupted by the tentacle that was probing at my rear. The damned thing was spurting goo all over my rear, probing with surprising gentleness into my opening, greasing it up for the tentacle’s entry. The tentacle rubbed against the puckered sphincter, teasing and playing with it. My flesh began to feel warm, as if the goo contained some sort of warming chemical. It felt good.

I gasped into my tentacular gag as the slimy tentacle at my rear slowly pushed in, just enough for its head to stick in. It promptly began to pump greasy fluid into my rectum. I was trying hard to dislike it, I really was, but it wasn’t easy. The tentacle was so warm, and gentle. The priestess’s other tentacles had lowered my onto the floor, and I was lying on my belly. I was literally cocooned within the tentacles, and they were caressing and stroking every inch of me they could reach. It was like wearing a body-glove made of writing serpents.

“Are you enjoying this, little wizard?” the priestess asked mockingly, her voice like warm, wet velvet stroking me. “Answer me,” she said coldly. “Answer or I’ll stop, and just kill you.”

I couldn’t get a word out, so I groaned incoherently around the tentacle that was sliding down my throat. Gods help me, but I was enjoying it. My member was so hard, I couldn’t believe it…

“Oh, so you do enjoy this,” the priestess mused. “How nice. Well, you’d better enjoy, because I’m going to fuck you long into the night.”

I groaned loudly as the tentacle at my rear shoved itself deep inside. Even to this day, I’m not sure whether it was with horror… or joy.

I had, in the past, used anal toys in my masturbation (nope, not in sex; hadn’t found any girls that imaginative), and I had a good idea of what to do when you had something large in your ass. Relax, and try to enjoy.

Well, it it’s kinda hard to relax when you’re having a tentacle fucking you in the ass.
The tentacle wiggled inside me, bumping my prostate. Oh, that did feel nice. The tentacle seemed to have ridges to it, ridges that caressed my inner walls so perfectly.

It was one of the most intense sensations ever, enhanced by the sheer humiliating wrongness of being raped by tentacles.

Speaking of multiple tentacles, the one in my mouth was pumping in and out, too, albeit at a somewhat slower pace than the one in my anus. I couldn’t see the priestesses face (or anything else, for that matter), but it felt like the tentacle was deriving pleasure from its violation of my mouth. I felt it stiffen, and spill its seed down my throat.

The slime slid down my throat, leaving a trail of warmth as it went. When it hit my belly, I felt a wave of warmth erupt, filling me with lust.

My cock, which had been lying rock hard, trapped beneath my body and the ground, grew even harder, to the point that it was almost painful. I tried to thrust my hips against the ground, but the friction hurt more than it pleasured. I moaned into the tentacle in my mouth, which was now thrusting again, and thrust my ass out, trying to force the tentacle fucking it to do so with more vigor.

Some of the other tentacles, perhaps rewarding me for my good behavior, wrapped around my cock, gripping it firmly and squeezing. Not jerking, not stroking, just squeezing in time to the thrusts in my throat and ass.

I let out another incoherent moan. Gods, I was going to cum, I knew I was. The tentacles of the priestess knew it too, unfortunately, and wrapped firmly around my balls, stilling any chance of coming.

“Sorry, dear,” I heard her whisper sarcastically. “Not yet.”

‘Not fair,’ I thought.

Somehow her powers must have permitted her to read thoughts, because she replied, “Fair? No. Neither is this.” I squealed loudly as the tentacle pushed deeper into my battered rear than anything had ever gone before, thrust violently once, twice, three times, and then spilled deep within me.

Almost immediately the tentacle withdrew and another took it’s place, fucking me for all it was worth.

I really don’t know how long this went on for, only that it was more than long enough for my anus to grow numb, and my cock to feel like it was on fire. ‘Please,’ I mentally pleaded. ‘Please let me cum.’ No idea whether she heard me, but the tentacle around my balls withdrew, allowing me to finally shoot my spunk against my own chest and the tentacles that surrounded me. My mind vanished in a haze of sexual satisfaction, and the clenching of my anal muscles triggered the tentacle within to spurt within me. Naturally, this orgasm on the part of the tentacle set off all the others, even those just holding me down. The tentacle in my throat shot what seemed to be gallons of slime down my esophagus, and I swallowed as much of it as I could before letting it spill out.

(O)

At last, it was done. The tentacles that were buried in my throat and ass retracted, leaving my insides aching and sticky. Gods, but it felt good. It hurt, yes, but felt nice. The seed the tentacles had left inside warmed me, soothing away the aches and pains.

There I was, lying on the floor of my basement, covered in sticky tentacle secretions, utterly exhausted, and probably looking like an utter prat.

I heard a rustling noise, like the sound one would hear when, for example, an evil priestess of Dread Cthulhu who has just violated you with non-Euclidian tentacles kneeled down beside you.

“Poor little wizard,” she murmured quietly in my ear. “You really messed up.” She lazily ran her fingers through my hair.

“Are you gonna kill me now?” I muttered, only half awake.

“Hmm. No, I think not. After all, you managed to summon me from R’lyeh. Such a feat deserves further investigation.” She gathered me in her arms, holding me gently, almost lovingly. I snuggled instinctively, too weary to remember just who it was that I was cuddling.

I idly wondered what the hell she meant by ‘investigation,’ but fell asleep before I could complete the thought.

(O)

You know, people usually describe waking from a deep sleep as being something vaguely like swimming out of a deep pool. Now, while that metaphor would have really suited the situation, i.e., that I was in freaking R’lyeh, but no. It felt just like waking up from any other sleep. There was no point where I knew that I was awake when I had been asleep a few moments ago, just the gradual realization that I was somewhere warm, and that I was probably lying in a bed of some sort, as there are few other places that involve a mattress and a pillow.

Hmmm, yes, there were definitely a few blankets over me, even a comforter of one sort or another. The pillows my head rested on were soft, probably filled with goose-down, or some such thing. The sheets that touched my skin have the slick feel of silk, while the comforter on top had the weight of down.

While my body was nice and warm, my face was a little cold where it was not pressed into the pillow. Cold, and damp, the air felt. Cold, damp, and scented with some oddly bitter incense. Myrrh, maybe. The Myrrh almost, but not quite, covered up a salty, oceanic scent that smelled like rotting seaweed.

It said a great deal about my frame of mind that it was only after I had identified the blankets that I noticed that there was a warm, curvy body pressed up against me. There was hair, too. Dark blond hair covering my part of my face, and a warm face sleepily nuzzling my neck.

Well, this was a development. Warm bed, warm High Priestess of Cthulhu… added up quite well in my book. Oh, sure, it may have been the High Priestess of Cthulhu (not that it was a common title: ‘Hello, I’m the High Priestess of Cthulhu, nice to meet you, fancy there being two of us!’ I don’t think!) who had recently violated my with freaking non-Euclidian tentacles, but that was a minor detail.

I stretched my arms over my head, trying to work a kink out of my back, and was met with sleepy protest by the aforementioned Cthulhu cultist. “Go back to sleep,” she muttered sleepily.

“As Milady commands,” I whispered, putting my arm around her.

(O)

I awoke a second time to the sounds of busy early-morning bustling. You know, the kind you hear on a Monday morning when it’s time to get up, and everyone else is hurrying to get ready for work.

I raised my head, rubbing my eyes and wondering where the hell my glasses were, and took a gander.

Wow. The room was freaking gorgeous. I mean, there were rich fabrics, and rare woods, and statues and vases with black flowers and books on large book cases and all manner of beautiful decorations. There was only one thing missing. There were no windows…

All the statues were of Cthulhu, but I expected that.

The room (presumably rooms, but I could only see the one) was lit, not with candles or torches, but with weird glowing blue globe things in ornate stands. They didn’t flicker, but the light felt more gentle than an electric light. Must be magic.

“I hope you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep,” the priestess’s voice called from another room. “You’re going to have a busy day.”
- 1
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Song of Cthulhu