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From: "Lord God Pantokrator" <lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Moons of Yothis, Part 1: The Summoning Circle (m/f, m-1st, oral, fantasy)
Lines: 503
Date: Sat, 20 May 2006 22:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Part 1, The Summoning Circle.txt" begin>

The Moons of Yothis, Part 1: The Summoning Circle (m/f, m-1st, oral,
fantasy)

   Aaron Connell was a creature of Order, though he did not know it. 
Really, Order is as hard to notice on Earth as Color.  People notice colors
all the time, but how often do they notice Color?  Not so often.  Orders
works the same way: people from Earth never notice it because on Earth it
obviously exists.

   Order does not obviously exist on Yothis.  There it is one of many
cosmic principles, battling for supremacy.  Aaron knew nothing of Yothis,
Order, or cosmic principles when he sat down on a Friday evening to watch
television, or when he went to bed that night and masturbated to images of
Olivia Conrad, the pretty girl whose locker was next to his at school.  As
he slept he caught a faint glimpse of Order as seen from afar, and an
assortment of other principles, but by then it was too late and he lay
imprisoned by the thaumaturgist Zamphor.

   "Awaken!" Zamphor shouted, but Aaron ignored him: it was Saturday and no
one was getting him up.  But the shouts continued, followed by an agonizing
tug that wrenched him into wakefulness.  He looked around, then shielded
his eyes at the blinding blue-white light that surrounded him.

   "A sleeper, 'tis a strange catch," a voice mumbled.  Aaron let his eyes
adjust.  He sat half upright on a hard marble floor and looked around.  A
man stood a few steps from him, though he was hazy, like he stood on the
other side of a standing aquarium.  He had a sharply pointed beard and wore
stiff, angular clothes in a riot of unlikely colors.  A gem that reminded
Aaron of the Hope Diamond winked from his skullcap.

   Aaron very suddenly realized he was not dreaming.

   "What the hell is this?" he said, looking around.  Everything looked
different, like the opposite of looking through his mother's reading
glasses.  He held up his hand and turned it over, then returned his
attention to the strange man.

   "Who are you?  What's going on?"

   "I am Zamphor the thaumaturgist, demon," the man said, "By the oaths of
Egatei and Thezmor and Krix, by the final testaments of Ning-La-Sebru and
her daughters, thou art bound to me." He gestured with his fingers like a
gangster throwing signs, though his clothing would get him shot in every
ghetto in the country (and certain suburbs).  He spoke English with a
peculiar monotone, like a chant, and in some old-fashioned style.

   "I'm not bound to--"

   "Silence!" Zamphor said, and he spoke with such command that Aaron fell
silent, though the boy jumped to his feet.  It was then he noticed he was
naked: a thick carmine blanket fell away, revealing his pale skin.  He
quickly yanked up back up around his waist.
"What is this bullshit?" Aaron said.  He stepped toward the man, but
found that a translucent barrier stopped him.  At first it seemed like
plastic wrap, but when he pushed it reacted more like he was trying to push
two north magnet-ends together: there was no discrete barrier, just more

and more resistance.

   "Thou art Aaron Elian Connell," Zamphor said, "of Earth."

   "Close enough," Aaron said.  The words took a second to sink in (the
man's English was not very good), then he flinched.  Aaron took another
step, and Zamphor stepped back despite the circular barrier.

   Aaron was an intimidating specimen, not large but sleek and lean from
constant exercise and sports, with a hard edge to his blue-gray eyes.  He
was of mixed Irish and Puerto Rican descent, though anyone expecting fiery
Latin passion or the Gift of Gab found instead quiet intensity and the sort
laconic charisma found in generals and early presidents.  The boy stared at
Zamphor, tightening his fists (scarred from old fights), and the
thaumaturgist instinctively shied away.

   "Thou shall serve me," Zamphor said, speaking his mangled English into
the ground, "in the strife 'gainst the witch Viskel.  I have need of Demons
of Law to fight her magics.  We will speak again ere the week is out."

   "What are you talking about?  What's a Demon of Law?" Aaron shouted, but
Zamphor walked away, disappearing from the boy's view.

   He sat down and looked around.  The barrier surrounded him completely,
and a granite wall blocked his view in three directions.  Across from him
stood another...summoning circle?  Aaron nodded at the idea, then clutched
his head.  That was the craziest thing in the world.  He had been abducted,
obviously.  The man was probably a psycho, babbling on in some Renaissance
Faire accent.

   But how many psychos could build magnetic barriers that worked on
people, not bits of metal?  Aaron touched the barrier again.  It shimmered
faintly but did not yield.  Either he was nuts (everything looked and felt
weird, almost cartoonishly clear, but he felt lucid), or he had been
abducted by a lunatic mad scientist rapist, or he was...

   "Hello?"

   The voice came from nearby; from the booth immediately next to his,
Aaron surmised.  It was high-pitched and frightened, and it spoke polished
American English.

   "Is anyone there?" Aaron responded.

   "Where am I?" the voice said.  It seemed familiar.

   Someone, or something, shouted angrily in a language Aaron did not
recognize.  He imagined it meant, "Shut the hell up, already."

   "We've been abducted, I think," Aaron shouted.  "The man says his name
is Zamphor."

   There was a pause, then, "Aaron?"

   "Olivia!" Aaron cried.  Olivia was a classmate.  He immediately felt
awkward, even though he could not see her.  Olivia had a way of making
teenage boys feel like dumb little kids.

   "Aaron, it is you!  What are we doing here?  What does he want from us?
I'm n..." She fell silent.

   Aaron smiled.  "Yeah," he said.  "I'm naked too," he said, almost
apologetically.  Then the thought of Olivia sitting naked next to him, her
strawberry-red hair framing her pale skin, caught up with him, and he felt
his dick involuntarily growing.  He swatted at it, which did not help.

   "This is crazy," Olivia said.  "We've gotta get out.  I've tried to cut
through this barrier thing and I can't; it's like Jell-O." Then Olivia
screamed once, sharply.

   "Liv!" Aaron cried.  He winced; no one but her best friends called her
"Liv."

   "I'm okay," the girl said after a moment.  Then Aaron heard a weird, low
chuckle.

   "What's going on?" Aaron asked.  He could hear scraping near Olivia's
chamber.

   "There's a man--," Olivia said, just as a man stepped into view.  He was
very tall, very thin, and very peevish-looking, with a bored expression and
a high, balding head.  Aaron quickly hid his erection.

   "Bonjour.  Es-tu Aaron?" he said in ghastly French.

   "Hi," Aaron said, in English.

   "Ah, th'other tongue of Earth," the man said, switching over to equally
ghastly English.  He sounded like a drunk Texan trying to read Shakespeare.

   "And who are you?" Aaron said, growing tired of all the weirdness.

   "I am called Bence, Zamphor's seneschal," the man said, as if that
should be obvious.  "The master has tasked me with thy education."

   "Thy?" Aaron muttered, then said, "What new role?  Where are we?  And
how do you speak English in...'this world'?" He tried to bang on the
barrier, which did nothing: his hand slowed gradually and hung in mid-air.
Bence did not flinch.

   "You are demon servitors of Zamphor," Bence said to both of them, "who
will use your powers to better himself." He turned to Aaron.  "Thou art in
Zamphor's manse, outside the city of Ptella, on the land of Darquist, on
the world of Yothis, which is far from Earth.  I ken English that I might
converse with the demons.  Zamphor lacks any love of words, except to
constrain." He too spoke the horrible fake-Shakespeare dialect, like a
grade-schooler doing Hamlet.

   "I'm not a demon," Aaron said, just as Olivia, from nearby, said, "Prove
it."

   Bence spared an interested glance at the girl, then said, "'Demon' is
the name of any wanderer not of Yothis.  I know thou art a human, yet--"

   "You're a human too," Olivia said.  There was a dangerous tone in her
voice that would be bitchy if it were not so scared.

   "Nay," Bence said slowly.  "I am a gree, as are most on Yothis.  That
your race is alike in figure to mine is difficult to ken."

   It seemed possible: Bence's features were of no type or combination of
types recognizable on Earth.  With a quick glance he might look Arab or
Indian, despite his glittering, oddly-shaped eyes and the intricate folds
of his ears, and in truth, he seemed no more different from Aaron than an
Inuit might be from a Massai--within a sort of "range of possibility" for
humanity, but his ethnicity was at right-angles to anything Aaron
understood or recognized, fundamentally alien.

   "So, let me get this straight," Aaron said.  "Your boss, Zamphor, is a
wizard, and he summoned us to...serve him?  Even though we're practically
kids?  I mean, if he wanted something from Earth he should have summoned a
tiger or a marine."

   "As some of the things from other words, like humans, come to Yothis,
the principles of their world and ours co-mingle, resulting in unusual
puissance.  Since Ordered worlds are, a priori, vexing to reach, a
thaumaturgist cannot pluck until he finds a perfect man.  Zamphor will
train thee to serve."

   "And if we don't serve?" Olivia asked.  "Asshole?"

   Bence rolled his eyes.  He managed a great deal of flip contempt for a
man who barely spoke the language in either century.  "At any time Zamphor
may return you to Earth with a word of dismissing, and thus, can also
return you to a place 'tween Earth and Yothis."

   The majordomo paused for the ramifications of that to sink in, then
said, "Work well and ye shall survive."

   Over the next couple of days, Bence visited them several times to teach
them the native trade language, which he called Low Quist.  It was a simple
language, and the majordomo even provided the two humans with flash cards
and a dictionary until Aaron felt like he was trapped in French class.  He
learned quickly, especially since certain constructions in Low Quist
reminded him of Spanish (which he spoke passably), but even less irregular.
Olivia, an upper-class American monolinguist, muddled through her lessons
on natural intelligence and Aaron's tutoring, which he happily offered.

   They learned little else of Zamphor's plans, and rarely saw him.  Aaron
passed his time chatting with and fantasizing about Olivia, occasionally
masturbating, mostly practicing the local language, and missing his family,
friends, and numerous sports.  He exercised as well as he could, determined
to remain in peak condition.  Bence, through an intricate system of sliding
runes, delivered meals four times a day, which consisted mostly of
unfamiliar fruits.  Most were sweet, though some were dreadfully sour: they
were medicine, Bence explained, to inoculate them against local sicknesses.

   One day Zamphor summoned a new creature, a horror of mist that congealed
sometimes into fangs and claws.  Aaron could not see it clearly, but Olivia
described it in detail, her voice trembling.  A few days later another
creature appeared in the cell across from Aaron's.  It was an attractive
girl, though not a human, with magnificent purple-black skin and silver
hair, and eyes that gleamed red in the magic light.  Her figure was slim
and athletic, and her nakedness kept Aaron in a constant state of
excitement, though he could see her only dimly through the barriers.  She
only remained for a day, then was taken (carefully) from her summoning
circle and sent on an errand.

   The day after that, Zamphor came for Olivia.  She screamed and pleaded,
but the wizard explained that he had need of her "powers." Aaron caught a
glimpse of the girl as she watched away, clad in a white silk gown.  She
was as beautiful as he remembered, with straight red hair, dark eyes, and
milk-pale skin.  She cast Aaron a frightened look before Zamphor and a
wicker-armored warrior led her away.

   Aaron's loneliness did not last long.  One morning (it was always light,
but Bence prided himself on regular meal service for the oddities in his
master's employ) Aaron's room shook violently.  Aaron looked around
blearily, hugging his voluminous blanket to him.  A hideous, tentacled
thing slid down the hallway, followed by something that resembled a metal
cat.  One tentacle flickered and a drop of slime landed inside Aaron's
cage. Aaron reached his hand out, but the summoning circle remained intact.

   "Damn it," he muttered, just as the alien girl who had occupied the
opposite circle ran into his field of vision.  She held a curved sword like
a golden machete and with it struck the head from a green, rat-headed
humanoid half her size.  Its body disappeared in a flash and a sizzle, then
her eyes found Aaron.  She ran into his cell, gasping for breath.  She was
naked and a sheen of sweat had formed on her sleek, shapely body.  Aaron
stared up at her in awe and surprise, his face a few inches from her toned
calves.  She had tiny horns there, and now that Aaron looked clearly, he
could see small, soft horns on her elbows and knees, her back, and the top
of her head, lighter in color than the rest of her indigo skin.

   As an intricately armored figure clattered into view, she dove into
Aaron's pile of blankets, burying herself in their folds.  This elicited a
yelp from the boy, and the armored figure stepped closer.

   "Please," the girl said in the local tongue, "don't let them find me."

   A jailbreak, Aaron thought.  He remained silent as the armored figure
looked at him, his metal plates clicking and moving of their own accord. 
Behind him, the alien girl gulped air; Aaron could feel her breath on the
small of his back.  Finally, the armored thing trooped away.

   "He's gone," Aaron whispered.

   The girl pulled her head from the blankets.  Her silver hair was in
disarray, though up close Aaron saw that her dark features were beautiful.
Her eyes glowed red.  His cock was painfully hard.  He scurried to the far
barrier, which held the weight of his back like a feather bed, and pulled
the blanket with him to hide his erection.

   "Hide me," the girl said.  "Please.  They must not find me." She tugged
on the blankets.

   "I...okay," Aaron said in English, then muttered, "This is crazy" in the
local language.  He had used the phrase a lot since his arrival.

   "I understand," the girl said.  "You want...recompense." She slid
underneath the blankets, pulling them down so they exposed the boy from the
waist up.

   "Recompense?  I don't--" Then Aaron felt the grip of a small, warm hand
around his cock, and his words sputtered into nothingness.  "Oh my God,"
Aaron said in English as the hand moved up and down.

   Then the hand disappeared, only to be replaced by a hot, insistent
sensation that took Aaron's breath away.  The alien girl's tongue worked
along the base of his cock, then up to the tip, back and forth several
times before engulfing him entirely.  Only his surprise (and last night's
masturbation session, thinking of Olivia) kept him from coming immediately.

   "Wow," Aaron said.  He looked down.  He could see nothing of the
beautiful girl, only his carmine blanket in a mysterious girl-shaped bulge,
covering his crotch and thighs.  The blanket hopped up and down over his
lap.  Aaron's balls buzzed, his cock trembled.  He couldn't fight it: he
had never felt anything like this, had never imagined it would happen.  He
reached under the blanket, gripping the demon girl's head.  His fingers
slid through her hair, which smelled of some magnificent spice like
cinnamon, and touched her soft cheeks and the sides of her face.  Then
suddenly he couldn't hold back: he tensed and came in a sudden gush,
gritting his teeth to prevent himself from crying out.  Instead he made
desperate wheezing noises as the girl sucked him dry, then released his
semi-hard cock.

   Aaron pulled the girl's head to his chest, feeling the echo of his
resounding heartbeat, and slowly willed himself to relax.  His entire body
trembled, from his toes, which would not uncurl, to his hair, which felt
like it might be standing on end.  He had come before, but never with
anyone else, and never like that: something in the girl's movements, her
passion, her fear and desperate, had driven Aaron to some incredible new
height of passion.  He wiped away a tear, hugging the girl, bobbing
slightly on the barrier behind him.  She was very warm, and she stared at
him with gleaming red eyes, her hand resting on his cock.

   It started to grow hard again.  In another second it throbbed in the
girl's hand.  She regarded Aaron with some surprise.  The boy felt elated,
merely from that expression: to have surprised a woman with what he could
do.  Then, suddenly, he knew he had to have her: more than anything, he
wanted to sink into that place between a woman's legs he had never even
seen before in real life.  He wanted to pleasure her, to feel her twitch
and spasm underneath him, to explore every inch of her.  He reached for the
young woman, and she slid toward him.

   A horn blew, an ugly duck-call sound that nonetheless made the girl
flinch and jump halfway up.  She squatted over Aaron, and the boy realized
that her hot cunt was probably no more than six inches from the tip of his
cock.  The blanket fell away from her, revealing her completely: her firm
breasts, her elegant shoulders, where light gleamed in fascinating ways. 
Aaron put one hand on either buttock and felt his fingers sink slightly
into the flesh of her butt.  This was all too much.  He was dizzy with
lust.

   "They've found me," the girl said.  Her body trembled.  With each
shiver, Aaron pulled her down closer to his aching cock.  "I need to go,"
she said, frantically.  Aaron held her with a strength he did not know he
had.  Something warm--no, hot--touched the tip of his cock: her pussy lips.

   "Please," the girl said.  "They'll kill me!" Her red eyes were wide with
fear.  Coming suddenly back to his senses, Aaron let go.  The warm spot
disappeared from his cock as the alien girl sprang up.

   "Wait," Aaron said.  "Take me with you.  Get me out of here!" He stood
up, and the blanket hung for a moment on his erect cock, then fell away.

   "I can't," the girl said.  "I'm not from this world." She picked up her
golden sword and stepped out of the circle, which she, evidently, could
pass, and looked back and forth.

   "Then at least tell me your name," Aaron said.  His cock ached for
release.

   The girl hesitated for a second, then said, "Azha," and disappeared out
of Aaron's view.

   The moment she had left, a menagerie of creatures, some like men, others
like dogs, swarmed into the corridor from the other direction.  They met
another group and a hideous fight began.  Aaron watched in morbid
fascination as men (or near-enough-to-men) met one-another with spears and
axes, denting armor and hacking at exposed limbs, while beasts like war
dogs tore at one-another and rolled on the marble floor.  They retreated as
two more figures appeared.  One was Zamphor, the other, an elderly woman
Aaron did not recognize.  They stared at one-another from behind their
armies.

   "You invite me to parley," the woman said, "and then try to stab me in
the back?" Her voice rose to a dangerous shriek.  She wore plain black
robes and a golden helmet with horns like a ram's, curved back against the
sides of her head.

   "I've told you it was not my work, Viskel," Zamphor said.  He looked
tired and frightened, though he held a broad-bladed sword and a small
mirrored shield.  "It was an accident, or perhaps the work of our mutual
enemy."

   "My son no longer concerns himself with us," Viskel said, stepping past
her phalanx of armored demons and raising an instrument Aaron did not
recognize.  Zamphor's demons jumped in front of him, but not fast enough:
spokes popped from either side of the instrument and a sharpened tip from
the end, and Aaron recognized the thing as a crossbow, covered in intricate
filigree work.  The bolt fired and Zamphor raised his shield, knocking it
aside.  The bolt spun end over end, losing momentum in a sort of lazy spin,
arcing toward Aaron.  The boy easily sidestepped it and it landed without
noise on his carmine blanket.

   All eyes turned to Aaron.  He looked back at all eyes, then suddenly
realized what had happened, and with a nimble hop, stepped out of the
confinement circle.  He watched the armored warriors carefully.

   "Kill it!" Viskel screamed, raising a trembling hand.  She recocked her
crossbow with a loud thunk and aimed it at Aaron, but by then the boy had
darted aside, his heart in his chest, thoughts of Azha gone as he ran away
from Viskel's charging minions.

   Those minions hit Zamphor's with a deafening crash of metal.  Aaron
winced at the loudness of it all as he sidestepped a spiked flail meant for
his head.  Its wielder lots his (its?) arm a moment later and fell down
with a moan.  Aaron ran for a far archway, then skidded to a stop when
Zamphor stepped in front of him, clutching a long sword.  The thaumaturgist
lunged and Aaron sidestepped, almost felt the blade slide across his ribs,
then turned and punched Zamphor square in the unarmored face.

   Aaron was not large, but before he had moved to a quiet suburb he had
grown up in one of America's meaner slums.  He still remembered how to
fight: the punch struck home, flattening the thaumaturgist's nose, and
Zamphor fell back like he had been turned to stone.  His senseless hand
fell across a ward holding a misty, clawed horror that squirmed free and
tore the man apart before throwing itself at the other demons.  Aaron
gasped, looking at the remains of Zamphor.  He had seen some mean fights in
his time, beatings, stabbings, and a man shot in the stomach, but nothing
had held the awesome savagery of the demon's attack.
He ran past the gruesome remains, blood pounding in his ears.  A
crossbow bolt flew past his head, clattered into another cell, and another
creature slid free.  Aaron did not even look at it: he ran, and kept

running when he heard Viskel's bloodcurdling scream.

   He pushed open an intricate wooden door and nearly ran clear off a
third-story balcony, but caught himself in time and sucked in a breath.

   For the first time he was sure that he was absolutely, positively not on
Earth.  The wizards, the languages, even the creatures were absurd, but not
definitive.  But as he looked out on Yothis, he knew Earth was very far
away.

   Parched yellow savanna stretched out to the horizon, where brown
mountains rose.  A town lay in the shadow of the mountains, a hazing,
rippling strip of black, shimmering like a mirage.  A broad brown river ran
past Zamphor's manse, flanked on either side by bushes and scrub trees. 
Avians of no type Aaron had ever seen or imagined croaked and screamed near
the water, where moving ripples suggested things lurked beneath.  Overhead,
smaller things took flight, madly flapping lizards that were black against
the cloudless blue sky.

   If Aaron ignored the sky, he could imagine he looked out on Africa or
the Outback, in some unstudied part where creatures forgotten by man
dwelled.  But he could not ignore the sky, which was blue, but no color
blue ever seen on Earth, even through all the dawns, dusks, and noons of
its long history: a deep, vibrant shade, dignified yet celebratory, touched
with cerulean and indigo.  Moons hung in the sky, too many to count
quickly, most larger than Earth's moon, most white, but some green, some
yellow, one vermilion and ice-capped, streaked with black, like Mars' lost
brother.  Aaron felt as if he could reach out and pluck them from the sky.

   Another scream disrupted his reverie.  He turned to see a warrior in
wicker armor marching toward him, an axe raised high.  The boy darted past
the slow-moving killer, found a central staircase, and jumped down, taking
the steps a half-flight at a time until he reached a grand hall lined with
statues in many different materials and styles.  He scampered past them
toward the great double-doors, which hung half-open.  He ran outside, down
the steps, and stood in the open air for the first time in days.  A
brilliantly-plumed four-legged bird..."bird"...stood just outside the outer
gate.  Some peculiar analogy of a bit and bridle hung from its face, but
the thing darted away when the boy approached, leaving him on a dusty road
just outside the manse.

   Aaron looked back at it.  Zamphor's manse was of baroque and ugly
design, like a giant wax candle had been dripped over a cathedral, orange,
green, and red.  From the balcony where Aaron had stood a figure flew: the
wicker-armored figure, whose armor did not save him.  The warrior crashed
to the ground, a broken spear piercing his chest, and lay still.  A silent
explosion, like the bursting of the world's biggest bubble, sent scraps of
paper hurting from a high window.  Aaron did not stay around to watch the
carnage.  He looked down at his feet, standing on the dirt road, then
followed the road up until he saw the dim black outline of a city.  High
towers reflected the westering sun, which was too white in the middle and
too orange around the edges to be Earth's.

   Naked, alone, with Azha nowhere in sight and Olivia somewhere in the
alien world, Aaron walked toward the city on the horizon.

   ***

   You can look forward to more exciting adventures on Yothis in "The Moons
of Yothis, Part 2: The Hidden Room." If you have any thoughts, comments,
reviews, or critiques, please send them to lordgodpantokrator@gmail.com.

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