WARNING: This is a fictional story is about adult males having a good time sexually with various humanoid creatures. It does not imply sexuality of any person living or dead.  Please do not read adult content that offends you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws, please leave now.

Content note: Gentle reader this is the start of a collection of stories that might more of an anthology than one continuous story.  Should there be a particular story in this collection you would like to see more of let me know and I’ll pick it back up.

Edit note: 13 May, 2018

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His Magical Poutain - Dell’s Companion

A young man worked on his old inherited 1960s Ford truck. Under the shade of an ancient oak tree from the summer sun, he took a second from leaning over the truck’s engine to wipe sweat from his pale forehead then resumed applying a monkey wrench to a stubborn bolt.

Damn, Dell thought to himself as he gave up, slamming the hood down. He decided there's no rush, after all, it’s Friday. No one’s expecting him anywhere. There's some benefit being alone. He frowned at the thought as he walked to the house.

Dell’s been on his own since his grandparents died two years back. They left him everything they had. It was quite a bit for an 18-year-old start off with. A three-story 19th century multicolor stone Victorian, isolated amid sixty acres of virgin forest in the hills of rural Arkansas. It was all he had left of his family.

The nearest town was twenty miles away but he had enough supplies to get him through for a while. The truck will be fixed in no time. He’ll be fine, Dell thought.

He welcomed the cooler temperature inside the house provided by the thick stone walls. As he passed the fireplace leading to the stairs he felt a gaze from the full-length portrait by a Bostonian his grandmother said was censored for virtuosic paintings of the grotesque, this though was of his great-grandfather. He stood dignified in a red velvet robe, wild white shoulder-length hair in disarray, Dell nodded an acknowledgment. He may have been crazy but at least he invested wisely in the herd of gold he came here with from the California gold rush.

His great-gran fancied himself a mage, a wizard. The locals won't step a foot on the property. Dell didn’t care what the reputation of his family is. The town folk never did anything for him.

He walked up an ornate cherry wood stairs that led up to the second floor then paused before going into his room. On his large mahogany-framed bed lay the old mage’s grimoire. He pulled it earlier from the family’s library and put it aside to consider what he planned while working on the truck.

He took a deep breath and walked to the pale antique leather-bound book. The outer cover was creased with wrinkles but soft. Several faded nautical symbols were inked on the front and wrapped around to the back. Dell easily imagined Victorian sailors sporting tattoos like these and shivered, not wanting to take the thought any further.

The volume wasn't big in his hands nor thick. He opened it. A breeze from nowhere turned thin pages to a date entry of 08, August 1921.

Carter wrote in his recent letter he had a vision during the ritual of the Key, and I should put in writing something of particular interest to my descendant.

Dell read, heartbeat pounding, about how to summon a companion.


He finished drawing on the basement stone floor the art of the circle as directed by the book. Dell lit four white pillar candles set at the cardinal points of east, south, west, and north. He called out the barbarous words an evocation several times, he lost count.

Dell woke in his bed fully clothed. His window open, the sheer curtain slowly moved with the night’s breeze. An owl hooted in the tree outside his window, then a rustle of wings. An overwhelming need to sleep pulled him into unconsciousness.

A large hand on his shoulder rolled him over onto his stomach. Ripping of cloth was muffled by sleep as was the sensation of a large wet tongue rimming and lips sucking on his virginal pink anus. Yet enough registered in his brain that his body responded with moans and whimpers. His smooth muscular butt backed up on the inquisitive but inhumanly largemouth. The size of his bedmate fit easily with the unrealness of dreams, so when the pleasuring tongue withdrew full sleep welcomed him back completely.

Waking next morning, Dell was naked, legs spread. His ass tingled. His t-shirt and jeans were shredded on the floor. A large dirty handprint was pressed into his white bed sheet.

On his windowsill was a piece of tree bark. He turned it over examining it. The smooth side had stick figures drawn by a sharp claw or knife, two figures holding hands. One was small. The other was much bigger.