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Malamute Maleficus

Alaskan Malamutes are bastard dogs. Don't get me wrong, they're gorgeous to look at. They're fantastic dogs for other people to own. Who wouldn't want to admire their thick and floofy black-and-white coat, their pointy ears, their stumpy build and their wolf-like faces. Malamutes are great dogs to admire from a distance. Oh, they have their charms, sure. They're very vocal dogs – you can have a conversation in arrooos about every topic.

But owning one? Yeesh. They're going to blow coat all over your house constantly. Don't listen to anyone who says Malamutes only shed twice a year. Ha! Twice a day, maybe. If you train a Malamute to do something, they will constantly try to get away with not-quite following your instructions. Train a Malamute to not go in the kitchen – he'll ensure his front paws are in the kitchen when he sits. If you let him get away with that, next time he'll have his whole body in the kitchen. And so on. You're constantly having to enforce your will over theirs. If you tell them to do something, you have to make sure they do it without any exceptions every time. And they'll complain about it. You tell the dog to sit, he'll grumble, with lowered head. You have to make him sit, every time.

It seems every Malamute I've ever heard of has wrecked two couches, destroyed ten cushions and pillows, and eaten eight of the neighbor's chickens. Somehow that even holds true for Malamutes who don't live within one hundred miles of chickens.

And it's not like you get a good return on your investment either. A Malamute will allow you fifteen seconds of affection per day. Sure, it's a great fifteen seconds of cuddling a big fluff-monster. But then the Malamute will grump at you and stump off to do things that don't involve you. They're not 'sleeping on the bed' dogs. They might claim the bed as theirs, and gripe at you when you get in the bed, but they really prefer to sleep on the floor or outside.

If it ever goes quiet when you own a Malamute, it means they're off wrecking something, digging something, or they have escaped to eat chickens. You only know peace when you can see where they're sleeping, or hear them complaining at you about something.

So, really, I shouldn't have been surprised the slightest amount when my three-year-old male Malamute, Eski, nearly destroyed the world.

Okay, that's a bit harsh. Probably only a decent chunk of the world would have been destroyed before someone managed to contain the Demon.

In preparation for the summoning I had taken extreme precautions. Demon summoning isn't something you treat with casual indifference. Demons are dangerous and generally pissed-off at being dragged from wherever-it-is Demons spend their leisure time. So I had prepared three wards of protection, two counter-spell traps, and I'd set up a containment crystal. My skin was tattooed with glyphs the Dark Goddess Herself wouldn't have been able to break. I was draped with a Robe of Purity and I had a Sash of Clarity wrapped around my forehead. Censers burned concoctions of herbs to fill the air with a cloying miasma of Restraint. And I had swilled down some foul potion the High Priestesses had declared would make it impossible for a Demon up to Archdiablesse power to possess me.

For three days I had rehearsed the summoning Mantras. Tricky things, those Mantras. Forcing apart the fabrics of reality using just words makes for some tongue-twisting verbal gymnastics. If you utter the smallest syllable wrongly or hesitate… well… Pissed-off Demon destroying worlds. You understand.

My attic was my haven of Demonology. I was an Adept, and I had a writ of permission from the Priestesses to summon a Demon of Major Consternation. They're a kind of middling-power demon. This summoning was part of my thesis about Consternation Fields And How To Nullify Them, and would progress my Master's degree. Becoming a Master of Demonology before I was 30 years old would be a fantastic achievement. Most of the Masters were either very old – you do not rush into summoning high-level Demons – or they were very dead in horrible ways.

At midnight (of course) I began the Summoning. The boards of the floor were a maze of painted concentric rings, runes, glyphs, sigils and symbols. Candles adorned shelves and floor, giving the wood of the walls a ruddy glow. Even before I began chanting, the air was viscid with power. It was a struggle for me to approach the outer ring of salt – currents of ethereal power flowed outwards. I had to push forward as though walking through a flow of molasses before sitting safely outside the outer-most circle.

Demons are summoned at midnight – that's how these things work. At midnight you begin to chant the Mantras, Three hours later, at midnight, the Demon will either come forth, or your summoning fails, in which case it will be 3:00am. If you're lucky you don't get fried by the summoning, killed by the warped reality, eaten (or worse) by imps, and the Demon is summoned. If you're incredibly lucky it will be the Demon you wanted, and if your luck borders on Sigma 5 the Demon will do your bidding. And the time will still be midnight. Tearing at reality is a tricky thing. Skill is more important than good luck. But bad luck can be a bitch.

I was almost done chanting the Mantras. My folded legs were aching from sitting in a lotus position for three hours. My buttocks were numb. But my voice remained strong and confident as I approached the final twenty-minute Recitation of Disrupted Aethers. A maelstrom of energies buffeted me.

Let me stress, again: Malamutes are bastards. Eski ate the latch off the heavy door barring the attic. He should have been asleep safely downstairs. And he was absolutely forbidden to ever go into the attic. To my credit, I didn't skip a syllable when the attic door crashed open from the turbulent energies. Thaumatic winds dissipated the protective incense out the door. Even when Eski stomped into the room, fluffy tail wagging over his back, and woofed at me, I remained a centre of peace in a conflagration of energies.

On the inside, I was terrified. To stop chanting now would rip the Aether in unpredictable ways. Anything could come through! The ritual had to be completed exactly, without interruption. I could always send my summoned Demon away the moment the ritual was complete and try again another night. The page before me had only another ten minutes of Mantra to recite before the ritual was done. Just so long as the Malamute didn't do anything Malamute-ish.

Eski was the picture of a happy Malamute. His great brushy tail was a propeller. He was proud to have found me, and probably enthusiastic about breaking the house rules. Oh, yeah, Malamutes are clumsy. They knock over things – furniture, ornaments, trees. When you own a Malamute you can't have anything nice. Like, say, a tall plinth holding a containment crystal and censer of incense.

The plinth toppled, the crystal shattered, and the thurible slid across the floor disturbing the salt circles and smudging glyphs. The attic felt as though the house dropped six feet with a deep, resonant Thump!

The ritual was disrupted. My voice broke – it is impossible to chant words of Power through the detonations of tearing reality.

Something came through.

I have one last fail-safe spell. I call it The Ward of Last Resort. I've never had to use one before. It's a complex, multi-functional thing. Creating the Ward took a year of my life. Literally and figuratively; for a full Earth's orbit around the Sun you have to work on the Ward. And sealing the Ward extracts the equivalent life-energy of a year. So, you know, you don't want to have to use these things too often.

In panic, I scratched my fingernails through the Seal of The Ward of Last Resort on my chest. If I were an author I'd write "And time stood still…" except that time was already standing still because of the Summoning. My heart certainly stood still, for a moment, while the energies poured from my chest. The whole attic was encapsulated and moved to a kind-of pocket universe. Whatever I'd unleashed would at least be taken out of Reality – everyone else in the world would survive (you know, unless the monster had slipped through the open door, of course). And the torn space was sealed. Nothing else could come through, and whatever was through wasn't getting back. It's a complex Ward.

Actually, to be fair, whatever had come through had a way of getting back if it wanted. I could send it back. See, now that's where Summoning gets tricky. If you don't control your Demon correctly it can possess you and force you to send it back. Demons really don't like this reality. They bleed out power. It hurts them to be here. So mostly they want to get back to their own reality. But generally they're very pissed off, and want to cause lots of mayhem before they go. Sort-of reinforce the idea that in general people don't want to mess with Demons. Because you have the ability to return a Demon, and if you can prevent it possessing you, you can bargain with them and get them to bleed out some of their energies in ways which are useful to you: Wealth, beauty, sexual prowess, power – the usual stuff.

It was silent in the attic. Or maybe the rushing sounds of my panicked heartbeat (which, thankfully, had re-started) in my ears obscured any other sounds. The air was still – most of the candles still burned without flickering. My skin prickled – there was a Demon in here somewhere, but I was fairly sure it wasn't controlling me. I unfolded my fatigued legs then knelt back, looking around.

Eski, the Malamute, was sitting, watching me. His head was tilted slightly to the side, in a quizzical sort of way. "Well, that was unexpected," he rumbled.

I went cold all over. It took three attempts to get my voice under control to utter the ritual greeting: "Might I have the honour of knowing who I'm addressing?" Demons are a bit vain and like you to be obeisant. It amuses them to see people grovel, and the longer you amuse them, the longer you get to breathe. If they get bored, they can rip out your heart with a shrug, or turn you into a puddle of red goo. I had no idea how powerful an entity had slipped into my tiny universe. Politeness and grovelling would be the order of the day, at least until I could work out what sort of Demon I was dealing with, and how to send him away (if that were even possible). Getting their name is a good start.

"Eh… you can just call me Eski for now. Your dog is a very accommodating chap, you know. He practically welcomed me in. It's like he wants to cause mayhem." The Demon dog smirked.

"Surely a magnificent Demon like yourself would prefer to return to his domain, rather than waste time playing with a dog?" Hey, it might work. I was probably safe from possession, the pocket universe limited the damage a Demon could wreak, so there was little gain for the Demon in remaining. "I'd be gratified if you allowed me the honour of sending you back."

The Malamute cocked his head as though in thought. "Well, certainly I'd love for you to send me back." I had a moment of fleeting hope. "But, you know, my brethren would be disappointed if I didn't emphasise the importance of leaving Demons in their own realm." Have you heard a Malamute chuckle?

My heart sank. There was going to be a price. Depending on the Demon, it could be a terrible price. "Well of course I'm humbled by your generous offer to leave this realm. I can most effectively perform the rituals if I'm in a state of calm, unmolested." Really, you don't want to overtly beg a Demon. You don't want to use words like 'servant', or 'do your bidding'. It's a kind of game. You must speak as though you're in control of the situation, following their suggestions. Everything is calm and reasonable, no matter how you're shrieking with fear on the inside. Begging will just get you splatted. You have to play their game.

"Excellent. I'll be enthusiastic to be on my way. And, please, do not fret about your well-being. An Adept summoner such as yourself is already aware of the consequences of dragging Demons from their fucking paradise into this shithole!" The Demon was getting angry. The hackles on the Malamute were raised as it stood and approached me. Its muzzle drew back in a snarl, exposing many very sharp teeth. Eski had never snarled at me before.

My voice quivered as I stood and backed away slowly. "Then if we can resolve the issue of suitable recompense for your troubles, we needn't trouble each other further." Oh shit, I was going to die. Horribly.

The Malamute's advance stopped. I was in the centre of the attic, at the focus of the concentric rings and runes. But there was no power in the symbols. The power here emanated from the Demon dog. Static energies prickled the flesh of my arms. There were so many ways the Demon could kill me, without violating a single one of my wards or charms. I whispered the Prayer of Desperation, in the hope the Priestesses would find mercy to drag my soul free from the Demon realm.

"The Priestesses won't help you. Your soul will be the plaything of Imps for eternity." The Malamute was snarling, and foam formed around his jowls. "Unless, of course, you pay the smallest token and I can be on my merry way."

I was scared. I was terrified. Death was one misplaced word away. My voice warbled in fear, "Please, allow me to cater to your desires in whatever way you feel necessary to appease the expectations of your brethren."

Malamutes can grin – toothy, lolling-tongue grins. "Great, then we're agreed. And I'm pleased you appreciate the gravity of satisfying the terms of our agreement. But…" he stopped smiling. "But… I find your raiments inimical to the spirit of cooperation between us."

I shivered, but not just from the chilled air. The Demon was trying to undermine my protections. My Robe of Purity could still have been useful against a lesser Demon, and the Sash of Clarity could help if I managed to discover the name of this Demon – clarity would help formulate the Mantras of Dispelling. "The coldness of the air is inimical to my being able to work effectively in your favour. It would be magnanimous of you to allow me the warmth of retaining my clothing." This was something of a gamble. A powerful Demon might get annoyed and crush me. But it could force a lesser Demon to reveal he was powerless.

The air grew warmer - hotter, in fact. Sweat prickled my skin. Eski was snarling again. "Of course I wouldn't want my new friend to suffer the slightest discomfort. Perhaps you now find the environment here more suited to your fragile sensitivities. Please, just say the word, and I can make it much, much warmer in here." The underlying threat was obvious.

"No! No… Thank you for your indulgence." Sweat was running liberally down my face. Warming the room so quickly hadn't been a trivial show of power. The Demon before me was no Lesser Being. I pulled the Robe of Purity over my head, and let the Sash of Clarity fall to the ground. Hopefully the patina of glyphs tattooed over my flesh would offer some protection. I stood, naked, before the Demon dog.

"My… my… you have been taking the doctrine of 'Healthy mind, healthy body' seriously." The Malamute paced around me, appraising. "And what a lot of decorations! My word, you're like the Encyclopaedia Magicka of symbols. Well, no chance of me ripping your soul out through your nostrils, now is there!" The Demons voice was practically filled with glee. Just so long as he wasn't bored.

I do take my physical well-being very seriously. The Demon wasn't wrong about the Doctrines of Mind. As well as being physically demanding to control forces, and sit for hours reciting Mantras, having a fit body helped you keep your mind agile. It was imperative to have a bright, flexible mind. Mind follows body follows soul. I used to joke my soul could bench-press 400 pounds. ha ha.

The Malamute picked up the discarded robe from the floor. He shook his head vigorously side-to-side. The Robe of Purity, one of the Holy Raiments, ripped into tatters, and the tatters flared and turned to ash. My mouth fell open in shock. Probably my heart stopped again. I had just witnessed a phenomenal display of might. Defiling was the kind of thing only a Greater Archdiablesse Demon - one of the world-killer types – could do to a Holy Raiment. I mean, these Robes were forged by the Priestesses… oh, never mind the details. It was impressive to actually witness, even though it meant my chances of survival had dropped to, oh, about nothing at all.

Or… (and this gave me the faintest glimmer of hope) the rumours of The Demon of Impure Thoughts were true. Now, there are school-yard tales of the Boogiemen. Young students joke around, ludicrous stories of ways Demons can wreck your day. These stories serve to terrify initiates and keep them focussed on defences and wards of protection. There's no such thing as too many precautions and contingency plans when you're doing a Summoning. Anyway, one of these fanciful stories is about a Lesser Demon who can eat Robes of Purity. This isn't actually as silly as it sounds because there are often 'escape clauses' in Demonology. No protections or spells are absolute. So, by 'faint glimmer of hope', imagine a single fire-fly on the far horizon of a midnight desert. Faint.

Even so, this Demon was powerful enough to fry me where I stood. So, regardless of any imagined hope, I would have to 'pay his price', whatever that was. I mean, I was all outta contingency plans.

"I do like your dog, too. He has a capricious nature I appreciate." Odd to hear the Malamute talking about himself in the third-person as he circled me. "He wouldn't be out of place in my Realms as he is. The dog stopped pacing and stood in front of me, tail raised and wagging. "Yes, I think my willing host deserves some reward for being such a good boy. Drop to your knees, crawl behind me, and give my butt a good rimming."

I blinked. "Uh… what? I don't…" I was confused.

The Malamute had turned away, raised his tail, and stood with his butt toward me. "And not just a lick, you understand. I want you to push your tongue as far into my butt-hole as you can and wiggle it around like your life depended on pleasuring your dog."

A hot breeze swirled around my legs and I was sure I smelt hair singeing. I dropped to my knees. "Of course. I apologize - for a moment I was unfamiliar with the term." I lied. I knew what rimming was, I just couldn't believe the Demon was asking me to lick my dog's butt. It was… well it was so perverse!

The Malamute had curled his tail high over his back, exposing his puckered anus. A fuzzy scrotum hung beneath. On all fours I approached, swallowed my revulsion with a Prayer of Mental Stability, and tentatively licked. To be fair, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting. There was a salty taste, and a musky smell. But my boy keeps himself clean so I was spared… well, it could have been much worse. I ran my tongue around and over the pink flesh. I stroked his dangling balls with one hand. I steeled my will and pushed my tongue right into his clenched sphincter. As demanded (and really, it is very important to keep a Demon amused and interested) I wiggled my tongue doing my absolute damnedest to pleasure my dog.

"Yes… yes that's good." The dog's butt-hole tightened and loosened against my tongue. "Oh he's loving that. Your tongue-work is more skilled than your failed Mantras would suggest." The dog was pressing back into my face, which was buried in the fluff around his butt.

My tongue was as deep as I could push into Eski's anus, so my jaw ached.

"I think we can do better." The demon was practically purring. "The Malamute demands something more substantial than your tongue. Behind you, there on the floor, what is that?"

I pulled my head back from my dog's butt. My jaw was sore, and saliva had run down my chin. Still being alive was an unexpected bonus. Where the Demon had indicated there was a mortar and pestle I had used for the preparation of herbs. The bowl – the mortar – was broken in half, probably because of the earlier detonations. But the pestle was intact. It was a heavy ceramic tool, round, about six inches long. The large end used for grinding herbs in the mortar was smooth and rounded, about thirty millimetres in diameter. The tool tapered to a smaller end with a flanged hand-piece. Yes, many a horny apothecary had used their pestle for sex. But this was a line I was unwilling to cross. Even if it cost me my life.

"I regret, your Eminence, I will not harm my dog. While it may cost me my life, I will not subject my dog to pain." I sat squatted back on my haunches. Despite my dog being generally a bastard, I did love him and I would literally lay down my life rather than torture him. I closed my eyes and waited for obliteration.

The dog turned and looked at me quizzically, with his head tilted to the side. "You are a man of honour. I can see your soul, and you are speaking Truth. That actually impresses me." The Demon dog closed his eyes for a moment. "In return I will offer you a Truth. Your dog, whose name is Eski, will be unharmed. I will honour his desires. It will only be pleasure you will inflict upon him. This Truth I seal with the first part of my name, Mopo!"

Now, names have enormous power. The Demon had sealed a Truth with part of his name, and the air crackled with energies. The seal manifested as a visible sigil, briefly appearing over the dog's head. It was true, then. My dog wouldn't be harmed, and would only enjoy what was done – his will would prevail.

But, and this was important, I now knew the first part of the Demon's name. If I were to dispel the Demon, I'd need his entire name. The thing was, his name made no sense. The Higher Demons – Archdiablesse and their ilk – all have names starting with 'Karath'. It's a sort-of honorific. The rest of their name is a… like a short-hand description of the Demon: who he is, what he's done. The name encapsulates and defines the Demon. 'Mopo' was meaningless. I'd never even heard of it before. On the one hand I was pleased to have the first part of his name, but on the other hand there was nothing I could do with the information.

"Please, warm the ceramic tool in your mouth and lubricate it with your saliva before inserting it into my butt." The dog turned and presented his rear to me again. "It is something Eski and I both desire."

That was Truth. My dog would be unharmed – would enjoy the dildo-play, in fact – and I would be alive for a while longer. Perhaps I could discover more of the Demon's name.

I retrieved the pestle from the shards of the broken bowl. The ceramic was cold to the touch, so I warmed it first with my hands, then placed the larger end in my mouth. When it was liberally coated with saliva, I pushed the rounded end against the pucker of my dog's anus. He reflexively clenched against the intrusion, but then relaxed and the flesh of his sphincter stretched around the bulb of the dildo. I paused to allow my dog to get used to the girth of the tool. I could see his anus clenching and relaxing. I was concerned it was painful for him, yet the Demon had spoken and sealed a Truth – my dog had to be enjoying this.

"Oh yes… Oh that feels good. Deeper! Fill me deeper!" The Demon rumbled with content.

So I pushed the ceramic dildo deeper. The rounded end was the largest diameter, and with the saliva lubricating it, the tapered dildo slipped easily into my dog. His butt-hole was less stretched where the flanged handle pressed against his sphincter. You know, it's almost as though apothecaries had deliberately designed these things so they wouldn't get lost when used as a sex toy. I'll confess, it was a little erotic seeing Eski's pink butt-hole swallow the tool. There was fully six inches of ceramic dildo inside him. "Is that satisfactory to my dog, and your powerful self?" I wanted some assurance my dog was okay.

"Yes. Oh yes you are a skilled prestidigitator. Your talents on this plane are wasted – you should cavort in the Demon Realm for eternity, servicing the flesh of the Greater Houses." The Demon probably was enjoying both the sensations and my humiliation. There was threat implied in his words too – continue to behave or my soul would be forfeit. "Your dog, however, finds the ceramic tool to be a little unyielding to his rectum. He desires a more… fleshy penetration. Your penis, perhaps."

Honestly, I wasn't surprised. This was part of the game – my humiliation would have to be complete. "Of course, it is my desire to comply with your suggestion. Alas, my human body betrays my wishes and my manhood remains flaccid. With regret I must decline." My cock was resolutely soft. I mean, c'mon, I was anticipating being killed by a Demon, who was toying with me for my humiliation and his amusement. I was not sexually aroused.

The Demon dog turned to face me – the handle of the pestle still protruding from his butt. "Obviously your small human mind has difficulty remembering the entire library of glyphs which festoon your body." He was doing a restrained growl at me. "But surely you haven't forgotten the Glyph of Potency adorning your left shoulder."

I silently cursed. It is difficult to out-smart a Demon. "Why, it had indeed slipped my mind. Your charm and wit momentarily distracted me." I passed a hand over my shoulder-blade and invoked the Glyph of Potency. Look, we all need a bit of… motivation every now and then. There's no shame in it. Especially for Demonologists – your thoughts can be haunted at the most inconvenient moments. A Glyph of Potency ensures you're well able to perform your manly duties when required. In fact, under the influence of a potency spell you could happily fuck a decaying, zombified Lich. My cock sprang to attention, drooling pre-cum at the thought of being buried in a warm hole – any warm hole. Or any cold hole, for that matter.

Again the Demon dog presented his fuzzy butt toward me, with the ceramic handle still protruding. I gently pulled on the tool, easing it from his rectum. The flesh of the dog's pucker stretched around the fat end of the dildo, before it suddenly slipped free. His vacated sphincter gaped. Before he had a chance to clench, I slicked my cock with saliva and eased the head into his pink opening. I paused to allow the dog to get comfortable with the fat head of my cock. Then I pushed my hips forward and sank balls deep into his butt. Under the influence of the Glyph, this felt fantastic. His butt was tight, hot, silky-smooth and rhythmically clenching. I pulled the dog's hips back, trying to force as much of myself into him as I could.

"Now fuck me like the dog you are!" demanded the Demon.

I did. I humped the dog like I was a randy stud mating a bitch, as though my life depended on it. I fucked his tight butt, and I came hard inside him. As I orgasmed I pushed my cock as deep as I could, so my cum filled his bowels. In fact, I came so hard there was an aetheric exchange of power between us.

There are many forms of power Demonologists - and all other users of magick – can draw on. One of the most potent forms of power is sexual energy. When you orgasm you gather your soul and release it in a burst of power. All people do it, but only students of magick arts can make use of it. In general we don't call on sexual energy while, say, doing an augury for the King. That's considered impolite. But sexual energy can be called upon in private to enrich spells or wards. When I fucked the dog, power for a moment flowed unrestrained from me into my dog. It was a very good orgasm.

I fell back, exhausted. My cock slipped free from the dog with a 'plop' and a little of my semen oozed from his butt-hole before he clenched. I really hoped I hadn't hurt my dog. I lay back and stared at the ceiling, wondering what the Demon would do to us next. It was only a few moments before I found out.

"My… my… you are the potent lover. I felt you fill me with your seed." The dog moved to stand near my head, looking down. His lolling tongue dripped saliva onto my face. He was grinning a wide Malamute grin. "It seems you've spent yourself. But you've left your poor dog horny and wanting." He stepped over my head, so I was staring directly up at his fuzzy sheath and balls.

I knew what was required – almost expecting it, really. I whispered another Prayer of Mental Stability as I reached up to grasp the heavy sheath. The dog was already aroused – his dog's sheath was stretched around a large swelling at its base. All studies of magick require anatomical studies. I knew about a dog's knot and how it locks them to a bitch when they mate. I lifted my head and tongued the pointed tip of penis that protruded from his sheath. My hand firmly grasped behind the swollen knot and I rubbed his sheath. My efforts were rewarded with a squirt of salty-sweet liquid into my mouth. The taste wasn't unpleasant, but I grimaced – I was sucking a dog's cock and swallowing his cum.

"Very good. Very good. Your mouth is better at being a hole to fuck, than forming words of power." The dog's chest vibrated against my forehead as he spoke. "But… you know… you have a better hole for a dog to fuck." Yes, I knew what he was going to say next, "If you would be so good as to get up on all fours and allow the beast to fuck you."

It was inevitable, really. That didn't mean I couldn't silently curse the Demon, while retaining the façade of politeness. "With pleasure. I would be honoured for you to use me for your sexual release." Fucker.

I rolled onto all fours, spat into my hand and slathered it over my butt-hole, and presented my arse to my dog. I couldn't think of an appropriate prayer. So I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and patted my rump. "Hup!" I encouraged the dog. The charade… it was important for my survival.

The Malamute practically leapt onto my back. His claws dug into my thighs as he pulled me backward onto his questing cock. Dogs have a bone in their penis which hurts like fuck when it misses your butt-hole and stabs your sensitive flesh. I drew a sharp breath of pain, and tried to guide the dog's cock. The moment the pointed tip of his cock found the centre of my pucker, the dog shoved his hips forward. All nine inches (yes, Malamutes are very well-hung dogs, thank you) of his cock penetrated deep into my bowels in one stroke. Unprepared for such a profound intrusion, I grunted. If my life hadn't depended on satisfying my dog, I would have fallen flat on my face to prevent him continuing. Instead I braced against his thrusting, trying to loosen my sphincter. Your natural response is to clench, so you really have to will yourself to relax.

Dogs fuck like jackhammers. He pounded his hips against the back of my thighs. His fuzzy ball-bag slapped against my balls. And his cock pistoned in and out of my butt. I gritted my teeth against the discomfort. I knew worse was to come, because his knot was swelling inside me. I'd recently been stroking his knot, so I understood how big it was going to grow in my rectum. Bigger than my fist, in fact. I wasn't a stranger to taking toys and the occasional human lover. So I was certainly no virgin down there. But nothing had prepared me for having a fist-sized bulge of dog-flesh swelling inside me. At first I thought it was going to split me in two, but the knot stopped short of being painful. It forced the dog's cock to press hard against my prostate as he filled me with his doggy cum.

I could feel every pulse and squirt inside me. While being intensely intimate, it wasn't physically painful. Actually I'd call it quite the pleasant sensation. And I knew I was going to be locked to the dog, with his cock in my bum, for probably twenty minutes or more.

Above me the Demon was effusive in his mirth. "What a little bitch you are. Letting a dog fuck you, making you nothing more than a cum-rag for a dog. What a dirty little whore you've turned into." And so on. The dog's furry chest rumbled against my back. Then the Malamute lifted his paws over my back, and turned away. We were still locked together like two mating dogs, butt-to-butt, with his cock inside me. His turning tugged me internally in peculiar ways and stimulated him to pump a sustained volley of cum into me.

I sighed – we were going to be like this for a long time, while I endured the Demon's taunting. Naked, on all fours, with a dog's cock in my butt – I had some time to kill. My eyes wandered idly around the attic, taking stock of the damage from the earlier detonations of power. Much of my equipment was broken and scattered. The circles and glyphs on the floor were scuffed to meaninglessness. The dog shuffled his feet, adjusting his stance, testing the swollen knot inside me. Nope, we were definitely still locked together.

My eyes alighted on the trap spells and wards. For a moment I thought they'd been de-activated, or had failed. But then I realized they had the faintest echoes of power. Someone had drawn energy from them. It's a bit hard to focus when there's a giant dog cock throbbing inside you. So it took me a few moments to understand… The Demon wasn't a powerful Demon. He'd drawn my own power from the wards and used it to threaten me. That was clever. So if this wasn't a Higher Demon, how did it destroy my Robe of Purity? Unless…

"Mopo-pethaka-duat! Lesser Demon of Impure Thoughts! I invoke your name in Binding!" This was an almighty gamble. I was guessing at the Demon's name from fragments of ghost stories. If I was wrong, well, I was dead. If one syllable of his name was wrong, the Demon could shrug off my Binding like tissue-paper.

A bright Glyph in front of my eyes formed the name of the Demon. I turned my head to follow the Glyph as it rose above us. Okay, now, as I mentioned, there was a large dog knot lodged in my butt. The Demon shrieked and tried to pull away. It hurt. A lot. But we were tied together and he wasn't going anywhere. I'd correctly guessed his name, so, for the moment, he was bound from using power or doing me harm. The Glyph above us snaked tendrils of power down to my dog, binding the Demon's form.

I'd never had to perform a Banishing while on all fours being fucked by a dog before. Probably, in the history of Demonology, no-one else had either. It's not a complex spell, but it takes a decent chunk of power. There were two readily available sources of power to draw from. I slapped the second Glyph of Potency tattooed in my armpit (look, some performances need an encore). I could draw from the Malamute's orgasm, while I furiously stroked my own cock. I clenched my sphincter hard and tried to milk the dog's cock, while desperately trying to make myself cum. It wasn't easy, but Potency Glyphs are very effective and the dog's knot throbbing against my prostate helped. And I'd had a while to recover from fucking Eski's butt. My orgasm built quickly. I grunted and thrust my hips forward as my cock spurted cum onto the boards. That tugging stimulated my dog into another volley of squirts – I opened my soul to accept his emanations.

Through the haze of pleasure I had to invoke the Banishing Mantra, correctly, clearly, with no broken syllables. At the same time I had to draw in the sexual energies of my dog and from my orgasm. And with the last spurts of my semen onto the floor, I had to utter the final words to dispel the Demon.

Reality rent, power detonated around us, and a shrieking Demon was dragged by the sigils out of my dog and tossed back to his own realm. The rent closed with a hiss.

The attic was eerily silent, save the panting of my Malamute. Experimentally I tried to dislodge his knot from my butt. Having just orgasmed a second time I was feeling more discomfort than stimulation from being tied. But, no, we were still firmly locked together. I lowered my head to my arms on the floor. I'd just have to wait until Eski was done with me.

Sometime later, his mostly-deflated cock slipped from my butt. My knees were sore from kneeling on the hard floorboards for so long. And my butt was sore from, you know, being stretched around a fist-sized dog knot. But my dog seemed happy – we was off cleaning his cock and helping it retract back into his sheath. I was glad he seemed totally unperturbed by the ordeal.

So it fell to me to try to get us back home. Really, if you've used a Ward of Last Resort you don't actually expect to survive. I had no contingency wards or spells to return our attic to the proper reality. We'd have to go the long way. I could create a Spell of Restored Space – probably the easiest way to get us back home. Unfortunately, creating the spell would take two weeks. And also unfortunately there was no food in this pocket universe to eat. No, eating Eski was out of the question. We would… improvise.

Beeswax candles are a small nudge away from being honey. And honey is a small nudge away from being Mana. When bees create wax they pour life energy into the cells. The honey stored in the cells leeches its essential nature, its matrix of form, into the wax. So wax already knows about honey and the tiniest nudge of power can transform the wax to honey. And similarly, honey is the storehouse of the life forces used to grow the hive. Without breaking it, you can gently push the nature of honey to be Mana, the life-sustainer. There were plenty of candles around the attic, and after an hour of work they became rods of solid Mana. It would be enough to sustain myself and Eski for one week. It's just a shame the Spell of Restored Space would take two weeks to prepare. Also, eating solid Mana means you still need to drink. You can survive indefinitely on liquid Mana, but solid Mana requires you have water to drink. And I couldn't make liquid Mana because we had no containers in which to make and keep it.

This lead to the next problem. I had basic survival training – I knew I could drink my own urine to survive. Except the survival course always implied you had something to pee into and to drink from. There was not an unbroken container in the attic. But Eski and I had a solution to that problem as well. Just so you know, drinking dog-pee direct from the source is disgusting, and the flavour is acrid – like very strong tea with no milk or sugar. Eski didn't seem to mind drinking my pee, though. Malamutes are weird.

Which is all very well and buckets of fun, but that still left us a week short of getting home alive. The only way to shorten the time needed to form the Spell of Restored Space is to expend more magickal energy.

We could halve the time – get down to a week – so long as we fucked like rabbits. Me and Eski would have to fuck in every way imaginable as often as we could to harvest the energy to build the spell.

One week later our attic synchronized with the proper universe. Eski and I emerged exhausted, famished, and smelling of pee. But we were alive.

You understand, now, why few Demonologists are willing to talk about their failures, or the circumstances surrounding spells and wards of desperation. The survivors tend to avoid attention and become isolated hermits, or accountants.

As a post-script to this story, I became a Master Demonologist. My services were sought because I could command vast power stores. Eski mellowed considerably after our misadventure. People often commented on the large Glyph of Prolonged Life permanently bleached into the black fur of my Malamute companion. Fortunately it was only a few sniggering Masters who noticed the Glyphs of Potency tattooed into his ears.