A commission for  Rai

Thumbnail art by  Voregence, colored by Rai

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A wolf is sprawled over broom-swept ground, tranquilized by witchcraft. A storm’s brewing; winds are whistling and howling. Two young witches, Arra and Erra—beautiful and human both of them—each draw half of a casting circle outside of the wolf’s radius with their athames (black-handled knives), while an eldest witch—another gorgeous woman, Lynnair—draws around the tranquilized wolf a second casting circle with black chalk. A drizzle starts up, starts to fleck the floor of the woodlands. The witches perform the ritual with a pace of urgency, so that the circles won’t be ruined by the winds or washed awry.

When the drawing is done, the three witches stand on the outer circle one hundred and twenty degrees apart, with their arms stretched in distanced links of energy. The storm whaps their black robes and flowing ebony hair about, howling through trees, bushes, the ears of the witches. Amongst them there is a forced calm—lines on their faces not completely smoothed, eyes beneath their eyelids not completely still: for, the weather hastens them, and a hasty spell risks a result worse than failure.

“Has everyone calmed their mind?” asks the eldest witch. Although they haven’t, the youngest witches say yes.

Phase one of the ritual is the Stating of the Purpose. “We call upon a lightning spirit of the spiritual plane, directing them toward the physical plane, so that they shall inhabit this beast as a vessel, and shall in this vessel serve us as its Masters: Arra, Erra, and Lynnair.”

No witch or witch clan has captured a lightning spirit before—granted, most haven’t tried because of how shadowy your witchcraft has to be. Very few have attempted to capture spirits; fewer have succeeded. But if Lynnair and the younger witches catch a lightning spirit, oh, how their power will soar in this modern, electrical age. A lightning spirit placed into the body of a wolf, no less, which shall extend its capacities for strength and wisdom.

Phase two of the ritual is the Calling of the Spirit. Lyrra continues, with Arra and Erra echoing her words: words of forbidden, malicious, unnatural witchcraft. As this taboo language frightens away wildlife, an invisible knife makes a minute cut in the spiritual plane, before gutting down, and opening a wide, gaping hole. Words from the mortal side call to the spirits, who carry on, until a lightning spirit passes by, and is lured toward the witches’ voices.

Electricity scans over the body of the tranquilized wolf, giving it a shiver; the witches have succeeded in summoning a lightning spirit. Where they have failed, they’ve accidentally referred to this spirit in their spell as an entity of the primary elements—the sort that they’ve enslaved before. And so, they’ve linguistically bound absolutely nothing to their servitude.

In the third quarter of phase two, the rain starts pummeling the woodlands as though making up for years of drought (which of there were none). Thunder heralds its wrath with introductory drum rolls.

When the witches finish reciting the Calling, the winds abruptly relent. The storm is distilled, the way it is in the eye of a storm. With the unease of uncertainty the witches stay still, expecting the tranquilized wolf to awaken. Nothing happens. The last raindrop drips. Nothing happens. The black chalk of the inner circle has been weathered away, so that the circle looks like nothing more than a two-dimensional mist enshrouding the mystery that is the wolf.

Nothing has happened.

Suddenly, the wolf’s body starts to seizure—lurch and snarl in subdued bursts. The beast shows the symptoms of someone a doctor would call sleep paralyzed, battling what a witch would call night terrors. “The spell has failed,” Arra cries. Then Erra: “The spirit’s supposed to wake calmly. Something’s wrong.”

“Silence,” Lynnair hisses. “We’ve never dealt with spirits not of the primary elements before, have we, sisters? How, then, have you deduced that a spirit of the secondary elements must wake calmly?”

Her words sink in, bleaching the faces of the younger witches. “Primary?” Arra says, and then Erra: “Lynnair… our spell… it was all wrong…”

“How? The spirit is here! Here! It is under our—”

The snarling of the wolf deepens, doubles in size. The wolf’s body starts to grow, stretching beyond the windswept boundaries of the inner casting circle. Electricity the blue of a summer sky races over its rippling pelt—pelt upon which the color is purged, forgotten, replaced by royal blue up on the back, and a white undercoat with the softest haze of blue. A third blue shade appears—this one teal, but much more blue than green: it paints the nose, the inside of the ears, a shield-like trimming over the haunch legs, a shining star in the center of each “shield,” a stroke of teal between the other two colors on the tail, a stroke of teal to cuff the joints of the forelegs, another for the pawpads, then two last strokes, which tattoos her cheek with a half lightning-bolt cast from her closed left eye.

While continuing to arc with static, the growing wolf gathers to her feet, like someone stubbornly strong being tased, but refusing to be kept down. The younger plea for Lynnair to flee with them, wresting the eldest witch’s arms from both sides, but Lynnair only sheds a tear of veneration for the wolf—bewitched by its growth and electrical spectacle, unlike anything of any spirit she has enslaved before.

“The power!” she says. “Sisters, we have brought this beauty into being—will you not proudly claim her, your daughter? If not then I will take full parentage. And she will owe me, and only me, and forever me, her life.”

The witches don’t buy it but won’t abandon her, so she anchors them to her, watching the wolf enlarge, swell, climb from less than three feet at the shoulder to eight.

Emerald eyes flash open. A howl tears through the woodlands, prompting all howls and precipitation of the weather to pause. After the aftershock of the grand call, there lingers in the air an electric charge that stands up the hairs and bumps on the witches’ necks. The younger witches have let go of the eldest, their arms having gone limp. Yet, they cannot be drawn away: like fireflies meeting a bug zapper, they cannot help but be… electrified.

Lynnair throws her arms out to the wolf she thinks she has given birth, and laughs—each laugh like the squawk of a mad crow. Both younger witches stare at her with eyes likely to pop out, while the wolf gazes upon the eldest with eyes neutral but masterly.

“Spirit!” Lynnair says. “We have brought you into this world, the physical plane. We have given you the body you have now. We will give you a name, and you will serve us, your mothers, indefinitely.”

The lightning wolf, her name is Rai, as it always was since her birth, long before she was brought to this plane, and no one can name her, especially not this sorcerer. The large canine steps to her, and looks down on her with amusement and authority. “You think because you put me into a wolf’s body you made me?”

Her darkly musical tone is accompanied by hot breath and spittle. There’s a smile of broad fangs, and exposed teal maw-flesh. Her teal tongue slicks over shiny black lips, accompanied by a crackling of sparks.

When Lynnair wipes wolf slobber from her cheeks, her hand reveals a white-hot face. Her pale bottom lip puckers and trembles with fury. Stabbing a finger toward her own feet, Lynnair snarls, “Insubordinate bitch. You will lie down. You will be thankful for us giving you this vessel, and you will not insult me again. You…”

The sorcerer is powerless against Rai. The lightning wolf smiles and tunes her voice out. Her keen ears pick up on a spell being uttered under the breath of one of the younger witches: suggestion magic which is, like most magic, wholly independent of a casting circle.

Before Lynnair has finished speaking, Rai pounces on Arra, pinning her beneath—and silencing her with—a big paw. The paw smells of pleasant spices and has a slight musk. It presses down too powerfully on Arra’s head for Arra to lift it. The human tries to finish the spell, but the pawpads and the hot fur garble her words.

“I don’t think you’ll be doing that, darling. Not that you feeble little girls could control me, anyway. How could you now, when you couldn’t when I was bodiless? But since you insist that you made me—” She grinned her big muzzle back at the distressed younger witches. “I’ll return the favor by making you… part of me.”

Erra turns to flee, but Rai sucks in a short breath, and spits a glob of lightning which explodes into a smoking black patch in the witch’s path. “Nu-uh-uh.” Rai’s voice rises with each syllable, and she waggles a talon at the young witch. “You behave, darling. Wouldn’t want a wolf my size pouncing on you, would you?” Reeking of fear, Erra shakes her head. “I thought you wouldn’t. You would be easy for me to track down with my new nose—thank you for that, by the way.” She taps her nose, chuckles. “But no, I wouldn’t tackle you as easy as I did Mutterer here.”

Playfully Rai lifts her hefty paw from Arra’s face. The young witch scrambles on her hands and knees a couple of meters; then, the wolf merely stretches herself, in a morning yawn type of way, and with a short bound she lands snapping up the witch’s boots. The screaming witch’s fingers slip into the air, lunging for the earth; gulps of rising pleasure send mass wriggling down the wolf’s throat, pulling the witch waist-deep into her canine maw. With the rest of the witch flailing from it, Rai turns and paces toward the other witches, taunting them with the half-swallowed Arra.

Color leaving their faces, Erra and Lynnair stagger away as the wolf treads toward them. A couple of times, Rai lets Arra wriggle out of her jaws as far as her knees, slurping the witch back inside with a pleased hum each time. The third time, Arra’s act is cut off; the wall of jaws falls and barricades her from the world with a huge clack, and her head’s reeled away by the massive tongue curling over her body, dressing her with viscous goop.

Erra and Lynnair know little of what happens inside the maw, only that the wolf snarls fondly—the fluff of her scruff crackling with electricity—and that she tosses a bulge, which briefly imprints hands in her furry cheeks, from jowl to jowl, as though toying with or tasting her prey.

Captured Arra attempts another spell, but the hot tongue slaps over her face, disorienting her. All the while, her legs enter a space condensed, like an anorexic sleeping bag padded inside with flesh, which soon frisks its muscly walls over her robe and rib and straightens her flailing arms over her head.

As feet drum, knees knock, what feel like hips and elbows and vaguer skull slams against her gullet’s walls, Rai rolls her eyes shut and lets her tongue hang and sometimes lap at the air. The bulge enlarges, bringing down with it the juicy caramel apple flavor of the witch. The lightning wolf paws at her craw bulge, shadowing the wriggly witch down with her fluffy paw while gulping with a heavenly look on her face.

Schluck!… gulp!… gluk!

Panting as if hot and sweaty now, Rai takes a final, taut-looking GULP. Throat muscles display the peak of their strength, forcing the witch through the chute with a rodent-quick dart of her bulge downwards.

Arra’s ejected from the moist sphincter, and lightly splashes into the stomach juices—

—the sound heard by Rai as a quiet plop.

Inside the wolf, walls of the gastric sac shake and expand as Arra compromises their shape. The lewd, wet walls slightly curl her form. They don’t ever seem to stop jiggling and reverberating entirely.

Before Erra and Lynnair’s very eyes, the bulge of human has plunged through the wolf’s chest cavity; after a moment of vanishing, the bulge engorges the stomach, slumping flat between the wolf’s haunches. The wolf, with a heavy murr, rises onto two feet and spreads her palms over the tight, warm shape of her first meal. The shape… seems to be talking. And wriggling. And sloshing. Erra and Lynnair clench teeth and clench each other’s inmost hands, watching as the wolf’s head lolls, like that of someone in an altered state of conscious; and burbling loudly and grossly, the stomach quivers—exorcises something through the throat—the wolf’s chin’s tucked up, jaw then spills open—

“Beeeeeeeeeeeelllllllch!”

The shockwave of gas sends startled flocks of bats splashing into the sky. Both free witches take the punch of sound in the gut, then come down tangling on top one another. Rai, hearing her belch resonate for far longer than the humans with her wolf ears, deeply moans… Her heart flutters with pride…

With her fluffy round gut teeming with gaseous and human activity, she paces to the fallen witches and then sprawls out, sitting her floundering bulge on them.

Smooshed between the heavy wolf belly, the two witches feel it aggressively churn and blorp and feel the wriggling of Arra inside: the eery sensation kneads over their paces, palms, ribcages. The sheer weight of the wolf belly causes Erra and Lynnair’s ribs to softly crackle to those guttural moans, those gases brewing, those acids stewing Arra into canine pudge. The witches try to beg the lightning wolf to get off of them, but the layers of fluff smothering their faces absorb their voices.

Not that Rai and her wolf ears can’t hear them—but Rai feigns being deaf to their cries. She sniggers, her tone dark and deep and aroused.

“Your hands and voices… buuuoorrroop… Oof! they feel… really good… massaging me. Urohhwp… Massaging the bwoooaaahhhooap the burps right out of me. You’re so kind to your ‘daughter’…”

Discomfort. Disgust. Distress. Every belch makes sour the few gasps of breath the witches manage to obtain by pushing up on the belly and sucking breath through the space made.

The massage of their hands only pistons more gas out of the wolf’s giant maw. “Brrruaaaap.” A lewd huff… “Uwwwwrrlllaaap… Gwwrrrooaawop!” The lightning wolf drags her belly back, so that the witches’ faces aren’t smothered anymore; the contractions and expansions of the belly quicken, as if forced, and the wolf’s throat shudders to a soft, sick heaving sound. Then, she swoops her jaws open and down, as though to devour the two witches—

“Bwwwrooooooaaaaaaaaaaawwwhhppp!”

The horrid, booming belch haunts, and trembles the bosoms of, the witches for its full six-second duration. Clapping their hands on their ears makes the earthquake no omnipresent for the witches. Four eyes well with tears. Putrid green miasma blots out the sight of a lewdly rippling maw. Harshly acidic gases hammer and broom over their faces. At the end of the burp, a squelch almost like a choke leaves the tightening throat. Jaws close, before a short “Bwleahrp!” ejects a black robe from the flapping black lips.

The robe now tattered simmers in a puddle of belly juice.

The release of air has tightened the furry belly over the bulge of the wolf’s abdomen; a bulge that is clearly Arra wriggles weakly, clambering over belly walls, slipping, clamoring, voice slipping too… An “Uwoooap” and a “Huurrrp” casually roll from the beast’s lips, and the squirms of Arra seem to leave the belly with the burps. Come digestion, the two witches can feel waves of heat pulsing warmer and warmer out of the noisome paunch.

Wrapping her forelegs around Erra and Lynnair, Rai spins onto her back, sandwiching the witches between her grasp and her churning abdomen. The wolf wets her lips and yawns open her slathering maw to a rising harmony of belly burbles, and the witches’ faces flash with horror. Trying to escape, they only manage to wiggle their shoulders in their sockets—“Belaaaaaaaaararrrrraach!” Ghastly green gusts buffet their faces from wide ebbing lips, whipping the witches’ hairs back with a sour, humid blowdryer force.

The witches gag and turn red in the eyes. As the wolf’s mouth combusts disgustingly, and the Erra and Lynnair’s sweaty faces twist with expressions of agony, Rai only roars her belly roar with more pride. The gastric storm ends after four seconds. The lightning wolf bares her teeth broadly at the witches wheezing into each other’s hair, having tried to use the hair as a mask.

The wolf’s eyes narrow on one of the witches. This shall be her next meal.

No time to scream. The wolf gulps the Erra’s head, snatches up her ribs, then with a lurch of her neck claims her shoulders. Lynnair, by instinct, shrieks out the first few syllables of a curse spell, but the wolf releases her embrace and presses a claw to Lynnair’s lips; pulls the claw back and waggles it.

Static electricity leaves with Rai’s touch, causing the dead ends of Lynnair’s hair to stand straight up and float. The helpless witch watches the wolf’s gullet flex and tug down its bulge, hears the wet glorks of peristalsis, sees saliva dribbling all down her being-licked lips. Erra’s bulge plunges three inches or so with every teasing gulp.

Frustrated Lynnair thrusts her palms into where the neck hasn’t yet swollen up; she hopes to block the way of the wolf’s meal to the belly, not thinking about the consequences. The wolf, she’s been breathing easily through her nose, and only breathes harder in arousal to the human’s hard press. There’s a forceful gulp, and it shoves Lynnair’s hands farther down the neck, and the bulge plunges downward despite Lynnair’s efforts; as the bulge goes down unaffected, Lynnair only manages to pleasure the constricting and releasing muscles, to help guide their meal down to the wolf’s belly.

The bulge sweeps under Lynnair, forceful, like a torpedo rocking the submerged hull of a ship. The belly’s sickly wobbling brings a blazing blush to Lynnair’s cheeks. The stomach’s hoopla of snarls, growls, barks, churns, and howls grows twice as loud as before. Rai urrrrrfs, reaching around to press her soft and firm pawpads into the shapes of the strugglers in her tummy. Erra’s entry into the gut seems to have sparked Arra’s squirming back up likewise. Rai’s hindlegs kick to the euphoria of the two prey toppling over each other within her tight food sac, as if they’re trying their hardest to upset the lightning wolf’s tummy.

If so, they succeed… “Gwwwwwwuuuuuuhhhhap…” Lynnair’s just tried to sit up, but the roar of a belch slaps her against the squishy trembling gut with a bounce of it. Nauseous waves of gas pin her there for four rapid heartbeats. A pair of slobbery boots gush out of the wet blast and bounce off the distended paunch. Arra’s boots, Lynnair realizes with terror. “Bluhhp!” A second pair plops and rolls off of the lightning wolf’s neck.

Through the veil of stink Rai smiles at Lynnair and says to her, “What’s wrong? Don’t like the sound of your friends gurgling away as I belch away their life force? As I buwwwrrrp up their clothing and turn them into pudge? Oh, they’ll part of me, and they’ll serve my body. You thought I would serve you? Nope, you’ll serve me, but you’d urroooaahp best start rubbing my belly, or I’ll show you just how much more power I have than you, puny human.”

Under the mocking leer of the wolf, Lynnair’s feels nauseatingly powerless. She turns around and presently works those pale white hands into the glutton’s wobbling tummy, toiling away into those peopled layers of fluff, gritting her teeth to the gurgly wailing of the Arra and Erra. To every sour apple belch of the wolf—eye-watering uproars. To the spittle flying, the slimy bra-straps and undershirts being eructed with the wolf’s burps and slapping the nape of Lynnair’s neck. The canine’s deep murr meshes with the gastric sounds moaning through Lynnair’s fingers, groaning through her knees, growling up her spine…

Then, Rai shifts, and stands on just her hindfeet. Her gut sloshes forward, plopping down on Lynnaire.

“Listen to the music in your ears,” Rai says. “Listen as I stew your pathetic little sorcerer friends away. Aren’t you excited… to uurrrrrrrrhhhhop! be next? Hehehehe.” The witch flails as though drowning beneath the wolf’s engorged belly sac. She tries to squirm out from underneath the ravenous mass but fails, just as she failed to enslave Rai. The wolf chuckles, slapping her fat belly drum. Lynnair’s eyesight dizzies during the heavy, droning groans and growls and glorks of the quaking abdomen. Another belch rampages through the woods.

“Soon.” Rai’s belly laugh is sinister. Her eyes go slitted, look toward her belly. “Soon, you two inside me won’t be living on the physical plane… but on the plane of my belly… and be nothing but a layer of wolf-coat for the fall.” Rai returns her gaze to the aghsast Lynnair. She leans in dreamily enough for a kiss, but then unleashes a belch that rends her lips apart for four seconds. “Burrrrwwwooaaaahhhhp!”

Stink washes over the cackling eldest witch. Waves of sound crash over her eardrums, so that there is ringing in them for half a dozen heartbeats. Lynnair wriggles helplessly, coughing from side to side. Her only company are the wolf’s fluffy paws, their intimidating claws drumming the earth with content.

Rai tires of not having Lynnair inside her needy guts. She pulls the witch out from underneath her large paunch and shoves the witch’s booted feet into her maw. Her large tongue rolls over Lynnair’s dress, pushing it back to expose the delicious legs she licks over slowly, savoring their sour apple taste.

Jagged teeth snap shut, forbidding night.

Guttural gullet squelches louden.

There’s a swift licks of lips on a proud smile. The lightning wolf runs her large paws down the expanding bulge of her throat, murring and twiddling her talons over the sorcerer in her squirms and screams and roundabout mayhem. The sorcerer expands her chest cavity, like a huge inward huff. There’s some resistance, right before the wolf feels that plop, feels that mass pooling into her growing, wriggling and squirming tummy.

Three witches struggle inside of Rai’s belly.

Drumming the pink walls that encapsulate them… to no avail.

This only pleases Rai. The sensations and the trembles and the vibrations running rampant through her belly… The witches’ movements only make her stomach acids slush, churn, bubble, and boil ever quicker.

“What’s… urrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRP… the matter, you guys? Sounds like you’re a little urrroooahhwp anxious in there. I suppose you wanna be set free? I suppose I could set you free… But I’m not—belch!—gonna.”

Rai smirks. She rubs over her weakening prey. The witches inside her gather magic to perform a last-resort spell, tickling Rai’s exercise-ball-sized belly. “Oof… so much magic pooling into me… magic makes me kind of gassy, you guys… you might wanna… reconsider… ohh…”

Her belly grows queasy. She clutches her belly and pants a little before unleashing a monstrous, seven-second long belch.

“BRUUOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAHHHHHHHHHHP!”

Putrid gas and sh