Dear reader,
You may call me the Onesha, for I have plunged into abyssal depths where no other has dared to tread. If you are reading this, then you are in possession of the only true and authoritative account of demonic society written from first-hand experience. If you have previously relied on the speculative extrapolations (though half-truths and mostly-falsehoods would perhaps be more apt descriptors) of the likes of Jeanne d’Étoile, Odo Helminnar, Earth Cannot Confine Whomever Beseeches In Earnest, Beldwin Mononym, or any number of even less reliable wizards—well, you may now feel free to toss their meager scribblings in the pyre. This work supersedes all others. You’re welcome.
The question of “where to start” in such a composition is possibly the third most difficult to answer. How might the foremost alchemist of our time begin to teach the principles of creating Argentum Fulminans to a child who has not grown past understanding the world in terms of earth, wind, fire, water, and aether? Though you may bristle at the comparison, I assure you I do not exaggerate the gap between your understanding and my own, but that is why you are reading my work, is it not? I write all of this for the sake of elevating you to new heights of understanding, insofar as all of this may be explained via the written word.
I choose to approach the task of educating you not by organizing my knowledge by topic. Rather, I will describe my experience chronologically, with asides to elucidate matters of which I expect my audience to be ignorant.
To Calliope: Do not touch this forward. I already know what you’re going to say, and I won’t hear it. This book will be my magnum opus, and it is CRITICAL that I establish to the reader who I am without apologizing for it. If they want to throw a tantrum about my “tone,” they can remain ignorant for all I care. Let them go on thinking Beldwin knows his ass from a hole in the ground.
To begin, let me clarify what demons are and what they are not. First and foremost, they are not “fallen angels.” Yes, an angel may become a demon, but that is neither a necessary nor sufficient condition for residency within the hells. That brings me to my next point: “hells” is an informal colloquialism that we must do away with. The term conjures folkloric images of fire, dead souls, etc., none of which is universal to any of the realms in the chaos beyond the veil. In this book, I shall use the word “abyss” to refer to these realms of chaos and—yes, however it might shock you to hear—beauty.
Why call it the abyss? One bit of accidental truth stumbled upon by my predecessors is that the demonic realms are “below” us in a metaphysical sense. They are not below us in the sense that they are lesser—no, never believe that—but that “downward” is the best metaphor within our language for the direction one must travel to cross the veil. Additionally, the term hints at the true scale in a way that “hells” doesn’t. You can count “hells,” but I assure you, it is impossible to count the infinities of the abyss.
Backing up, (do you begin to appreciate the fractal nature of your ignorance yet?) I must return to the topic of what a demon is. The overwhelming majority are born of the abyss (note the distinction between “of” and “in”). Fallen angels are a vanishingly small minority, and they have a way of congregating among others of their own like. The realm from which I write this very account has not played host to even one of their number as of yet.
Demonic nature is itself multifarious and impossible to exhaustively catalogue. Taxonomy—the wizard’s favorite tool—is here stripped bare and revealed at last to be a fool’s discipline. Still, language being as crude a tool as it is, there remains use in developing jargon to act as a shorthand to refer to broad collections of traits. Keep in mind this most essential of lessons: every map is a lie about the territory, no matter how useful it may be for navigation.
At last, having established the above bare-minimum foundational truths, I can begin to explain how I began my journey. In short: I summoned a succubus and made a deal with her.
Of course, having written that, I am struck by the certainty that you do not truly understand what I mean. “Succubus” is no more a strict category than any other—remember, taxonomy is a lie—and to say that I “summoned” her is itself misleading, inspiring in the imagination a ritual of binding circles and words of power. The nature of the “deal” is itself unimportant. To explain all of it here would exhaust my patience and educate you very little.
My Fair Lady,
I don’t have the words to explain just how excruciating it was to read this. You managed to write yourself in circles without getting anywhere close to the point yet. I thought you were at least going to recount the whole juicy affair of what you got up to with that succubus of yours, but between your rambling asides and your ego stroking, you’ve managed to fill a sheaf of pages before getting to the very first step of your journey. Did you cut off your first message to me right there just to leave me on a cliffhanger at the moment it gets good? How terribly cruel of you, My Lady.
Tease me all you like, but you can’t keep writing like this. Either get to the point, or I’ll be cutting most of this out before publishing it. We don’t need your book to become a fifteen volume set.
You better share the good stuff next time, or I’ll be breaking the link, leaving you writing all to yourself. Your call whether this is actually written for someone else or if it’s just masturbation.
Love you,
Calliope
To Calliope: Your response does not surprise me, but I am disappointed that you have no appreciation for the art of pedagogy. You have to prepare the reader with the necessary prerequisite knowledge or else they have no way of contextualizing the information that follows. And do you really think I’m structuring any of this for your benefit? No, I simply wrote until my wrist hurt, and that is where I halted. In any case, having established the foundations, I will “get to the point” as you so often beg of me.
You may wonder: if the abyss is infinite, and if succubi (and incubi and other *cubi [I will address this topic in greater detail later (To Calliope: make sure we put a reference here to whatever chapter that ends up being)]) have been documented to travel here on their own, wherefore is our world not overrun by the creatures?
The simple answer is this: in the countless realms above and below and everywhere in between, ours is not special. We are not uniquely positioned as a source of lustful (or otherwise, in the case of other spectra of demon) energies to harvest. In fact, ours is a relatively prudish and reserved world, rarely of interest except opportunistically or in the case of special circumstances. In order to summon a succubus, I created one such circumstance.
You read that correctly. I did not cast a net into the void, capturing and binding a succubus against her will, in the way my intellectual lessers do. I lured one here with lust, of course.
Before I continue, I really must take a detour to explicate another fundamental truth. One reason (among a very great many) I have achieved the previously thought impossible is that I—unlike those wizards who have attempted in vain to understand demons—understand that lust is not inherently a degrading or unworthy emotion. Wizards, with few exceptions, are almost universally prudes who feel as though their reason is meant to override such urges of flesh. Yet they indulge many other hungers far more freely!
No, lust is a joyful thing, and it requires someone with the wisdom to understand this truth in order to forge a bond with the likes of succubi. Thus, dear reader, have I come to you bearing the fruits of my newly forged partnership.
Now we come at last to the start of my account, in which I drew a succubus to me—not with trickery, not with baited trap nor lure hiding a hook—but with such a concentration of lustful potency that it would necessarily catch the attention I sought. You see, the title of this book refers to eusociality, a term that describes how creatures such as bees and ants operate within their hives, and honeybees in particular make for an excellent metaphor of how succubi function within their own demonic “hive.”
In much the same way that flowers use their bright colors to draw honeybee pollinators to them, so too can we attract the attention of this abyssal variety. Lust is what they’re after, and the signs and signifiers thereof may catch the lust demon’s eye. We need simply gather the volunteers and the appropriate trappings, and then establish a sufficiently lustful context with chemical and thaumaturgical enhancements, and we have a potent cocktail that our target cannot help but seek out.
One did, as expected.
My Dearest Lady,
I fear there must be some miscommunication taking place between you and me. I believe I advised you to trim the fat off your explanations in order to spend more time and energy describing the essential facts of your experience. I am quite sure you respect my advice on matters such as these, so I struggle to account for your lapse in judgment that permitted you to send me another several pages of dull meandering.
Allow me to rephrase my advice to you in words you will understand, in order to help iron out the wrinkles preventing mutual understanding: if your next missive does not include a thorough account of acts involving human and/or inhuman erogenous zones, ideally including detailed descriptions (and diagrams!) of demon genitalia, then someone’s scribblings will be cast into a pyre, and they won’t be Beldwin’s.
With infinite love and patience,
Calliope
To Calliope: I am quite sure your interest in the most salacious details of my journey is driven less by eagerness to maximize the academic quality of this work and is more prurient in nature. I would object to your harsh critique, but Ektinnair here has helped remind me of my own words on the topic, and that in turn has reminded me why I value your input. Yes, it would be hypocritical of me to devalue the worth of your sexual appetite in this endeavor, of all things. I hope you will find this update more to your taste.
The uninspired mind may believe that the most lustful possible situation to arrange is a room full of naked people crawling atop one another and inserting various appendages in various orifices. However, while many significant sexual workings may devolve into precisely that arrangement of bodies, such a thing is more akin to the bursting of the dam one must build. Anticipation of the deed makes for a more reliably lustful peak than the execution thereof.
Similarly, pure nudity often fails to sexually inspire to nearly the degree that veiled or partial nudity does. Sheer fabrics draped just-so across the crotch or chest, a lanky creature with delicate hands sheathed in velvet gloves and wearing nothing else, or a silk bow tied to a phallus—many such things arouse the loins of participants more than undecorated flesh alone.
I myself am not immune to the allure. No, if I were so, the project would be a terrible failure. I needed to be the focal point, the central fixture, the pollen in the center of the vibrant flower. For that reason, each and every participant was chosen to maximally appeal to my taste. Nothing too masculine for me, thank you, but variety is essential to leave no part of my hunger untempted. Women of many different shapes and sizes, a mix of available genitalia to stimulate, and ambiguous or multi-gender presentations all have their own distinct appeal, and I desire all of it.
It took a great deal of preparation, I must add, to ensure that everyone present was not only to my taste as a visual specimen, but that they could also engage enthusiastically with all of my unique sexual predilections. That means including some who enjoy binding others, some who enjoy being bound, the biters, the bitten, the bleeders, the swappers of various fluids, etc. If you wish to attempt replication of my technique, I advise you to learn your own various perversions (or take time to acquire more, if necessary) in order to effectively produce the same outcome.
I distributed beverages laced with my own aphrodisiac concoction. (To Calliope: I intend to include a recipe for this in the appendix. This page should be updated later with where that ends up falling in the final book.) Critically, I also bound the participants in a grand working that would prevent sexual release without demonic assistance.
Now you might think it cruel of me, but I can assure you, reader, this is the crux of the ritual. It may help to remind you that I—having crafted every detail of the experience to appeal to all my own erotic urges—experienced the suffering most acutely of all.
With oral, vaginal, and phallic collisions taking place in every permutation around and including me, personal enjoyment escalated remarkably quickly toward tortuous desperation. I cannot possibly overstate the degree to which the intensity of the experience exceeded my most outlandish projections. I can confidently state, without a shred of ego or exaggeration, that what I accomplished in that room was the single greatest magical working in all of history. This is a pure, academic truth.
Objectively, it took very little time for a succubus to make her appearance. Our ritual called like a beacon to her, and she arrived before the stamina of any participants began to wane and long before any unfortunate chafing could begin to cause problems (though I did prepare a number of lubricants and unguents to mitigate such risks). Subjectively, I found the passage of time remarkably difficult to gauge. In the moment, I would have overestimated the elapsed time by a factor of four or greater.
I confess I was distracted at the moment of her arrival, my vision occluded by the pair of appealingly large thighs applying oscillating pressure on both sides of my head. My other senses were similarly occupied by the hands and mouths and vocalizations of an unknown number of additional participants in mutual stimulation. I was not alerted to the success of my plan until I felt a tremor in those thighs and the quaking of those hips in closest proximity to me.
My mouth induced a climax in the person, one which could not have been possible without demonic aid. When my head was released from the clamp of the thighs of my associate, I saw Ektinnair (the succubus in question and the one with whom I would later strike a deal) for the first time.
She introduced herself only after plugging my own mouth with a phallus of significant proportions. Though I was not in a position to accurately estimate the precise measurements of the appendage, I found its scale daunting and—correctly—inferred that it exceeded the human range by a significant margin of error. (To Calliope: include a reference to wherever we decide to put the precise measurements in the appendix.) I believe it amused her to observe me struggle to reply with an introduction in kind while my mouth was full and my throat struggled to accommodate her.
The common wisdom states that demons are cruel. I know for certain this is no universal truth, but Ektinnair certainly seemed very cruel to me while my judgment was compromised by lust not permitted release. Though she never left me, never stopped stimulating one erogenous zone of mine or another, she would not grant me release until every other participant had their own, and they had to come to her one at a time to receive it, while I was encouraged to both observe and participate.
She did, upon completion of the orgasm queue, let me have that for which I begged. Then she induced in me another climax, and another, and another. Ektinnair expressed a desire to “break” me for my “hubris.” She did not achieve this aim, though she also did not cease her efforts until I was exhausted and sore from our prolonged contact in more bodily arrangements than I can name.
I believe I inspired a certain respect in her, for afterward she permitted me to recline in close proximity to her own supine form, maintaining contact at my waist with one of her arms. It was at this time we discussed my proposal to visit her home and study everything there is to know about her culture and her way of life.
She informed me that this is precisely what most bargainers beg demons not to do to them, and that she would be “delighted” to give me all that I ask for “and more.” Now, an astute reader might feel some concern at this reaction, but I can assure you that thus far Ektinnair and her associates have been nothing but attentive hosts in their own way. Learn well the value of treating with demons respectfully and without coercion.
Already I have begun to learn much from my new partner. She has apprised me that my penchant for performing a post-coital analysis procedure disrupts her state of flow and to some degree inspires an impulse to cringe. Ektinnair has, however, assured me that she is already in the process of devising a means by which to prune my verbal excesses.
To Calliope: Per your request, the next several pages include a diagram of Ektinnair’s phallus (erect). She insisted that it not merely be drawn to-scale, but that for maximum accuracy I must trace the shape while she lay with it atop the pages laid end-to-end. All additional details I have added in my usual manner, illustrating to the best of my ability while referencing my subject up close. Note that the spines are not as sharp as they may initially appear, and are in fact quite invigorating once one is accustomed to their presence.
You will find annotations identifying points of particular erogenous sensitivity, references for the precise hues of red at each point of interest, (please pay careful attention to the parentheticals on soil acidity for the flowers referenced to be the most accurate shades), texture comparisons, and tasting notes with aromatic reference points (yes, the type of oak used to age the wine matters, and the vintage from year to year differs enough to render some comparisons inaccurate if substituted) applicable, divided into “clean skin,” “with sweat,” and “additional fluids and secretions” (more types than humans produce!).
Do not concern yourself with the discoloration at the tip of the diagrI don’t know why I bother. You’ll guess exactly what that is, and you’ll probably be more enthusiastic about it than for the thoroughness of my written notes. In any case, I trust that today’s update will finally be up to your exacting standards.
My Beloved And Most Erotically Inept Lady,
I shall be heavily rewriting these parts of your account from now on and intend to brook no arguments to the contrary on this matter.
With Affection and Chagrin,
Calliope