I summoned that alien with the noise complaint and it fucked me raw.

I slammed the door harder than I meant to. Fuck it, I'd been blasting that thrash metal playlist for hours, trying to drown out the shitty day. Bills piling up, boss riding my ass, and now this pounding on the wall from next door. Again.

"Turn that crap down!" The voice sliced through the thin apartment barrier like a knife. Mrs. Hargrove, the nosy old bat who'd been bitching since I moved in. Widow, mid-sixties, always in those floral housecoats, hair like steel wool. She'd complained about my laundry spin cycle last week. Now this.

I cranked the volume instead. Let her stew. But the banging didn't stop. Thud. Thud. THUD. Rattling my shitty IKEA shelves.

Fine. Whatever. I yanked the volume knob down, muttering curses. The music died to a hum. Silence hit like a brick.

Then her door creaked open. "Young man! I've had enough! That racket's illegal after ten!"

I stomped to my door, flung it open. There she stood, fists balled, face red as a tomato. "Call the cops then, Karen. See if I care."

Her eyes narrowed. "You think you're tough? Noise ordinance violation. I'm reporting you. Every. Single. Time."

Something snapped in me. Not anger exactly. Deeper. I'd been dabbling in that occult shit online lately—dark web forums, sigils, rituals. Sci-fi weirdos mixed with old demonology. Aliens as demons, whatever. Harmless fun. But staring at her pinched face, I thought, why not? Summon something to shut her up.

I slammed my door, heart pounding. Grabbed my phone, pulled up the thread. "Xyr'kath Invocation: For silencing pests." Some anon claimed it called an "extradimensional entity" that "devours complaints." Sounded fake as hell, but the steps were simple: chalk circle, blood prick, chant.

I laughed to myself. Stupid. But fuck it. Revenge fantasy.

Dug out white chalk from an art kit. Drew the sigil on my scuffed linoleum kitchen floor—swirling lines like tentacles, a central eye-thing pulsing if you stared. Pricked my thumb with a steak knife. Blood dripped, three fat drops. Perfect.

The chant was gibberish: "Xyr'kath, vorath silen'k, devura noys traash."

I said it low, smirking. Felt dumb. Then louder. "XYR'KATH!"

The air thickened. Like before a storm, but inside. My ears popped. The sigil glowed faint green, not imagination. Hargrove's wall-thumping started up again—petty bitch.

"XYR'KATH, COME GET HER!"

Not her apartment. My floorboards groaned. A rift tore open in the circle—jagged purple tear, sucking air like a vacuum. Smelled like ozone and wet metal. Cold rushed in.

It emerged. Not a demon. Alien. Tall, seven feet, humanoid but wrong. Skin iridescent black, shifting like oil on water. No clothes—just ridges, spines along its arms, thighs. Face? Elongated skull, no nose, slit mouth dripping bioluminescent slime. Four eyes, glowing amber. Claws like obsidian. Between its legs, a cock—already half-hard, thick as my wrist, ridged with pulsing barbs, tip leaking that same glow-slime.

Holy fuck. It was real.

I scrambled back, ass hitting the counter. "What the—"

It didn't speak. Moved like liquid shadow, claws flexing. But it stared at the wall. Hargrove's banging intensified. "I'm calling the landlord!"

The alien turned all four eyes on me. Voice in my head, gravelly buzz: Invoker claims prize. Noise source irrelevant. Flesh tribute required.

"Tribute?" I yelped. Heart jackhammering. "I summoned you for her!"

Contract sealed. You called. I answer. It stepped from the circle, rift snapping shut. Floor smoked where it stood. Towered over me, cock fully erect now—eight inches, veined, barbs retracting slightly like they sensed prey.

I should've run. Door was right there. But my dick twitched. Stupid brain. That thing was terrifying, yeah, but hot in a fucked-up way. Power radiating off it, pheromones thick, making my skin tingle, balls ache.

Hargrove pounded again. "Police! Now!"

The alien hissed, lunged—not at the wall, at me. Claws ripped my tank top to shreds, buttons flying. Cool air hit my chest. I gasped, nipples hardening.

"Wait—fuck—"

Silence the noise. One claw hooked my sweats, yanked down. Boxers too. My cock sprang free, hard despite terror. Or because of it.

It grabbed my shoulders, slammed me to my knees. Face level with that alien dick. Smelled musky, electric, like burnt sugar. Slime dripped from the tip, sizzling on the floor.

Open.

Telepathic command hit like a slap. My jaw dropped on instinct. Claws in my hair—not painful, firm. It thrust forward.

The head breached my lips. Hot. Salty-sweet slime coated my tongue, numbing it slightly. Thicker than human, stretching my mouth wide. Barbs rasped my cheeks, retracting as it pushed deeper.

I gagged. Hands on its thighs—corded muscle under slick skin. Pushed? No, pulled closer. It fucked my face slow at first, ridges bumping my throat. Drool—mine and its—dripped down my chin.

Hargrove's voice muffled through the wall: "Open up! Or I'm—"

The alien growled, psychic buzz rattling my skull. Louder noise. End it. It rammed harder, balls—heavy, leathery sacks—slapping my chin. Wet glurks filled the room. My cock throbbed, untouched, leaking pre.

I sucked harder. Why? Brain fried on alien juice, maybe. Or just horny idiot. Tongue swirled the underside, tasting veins pulsing. It hummed approval, hips snapping faster.

Good vessel. Prepare.

Pull out with a pop. Slime string from my lips to its tip. It hauled me up like I weighed nothing, tossed me on the kitchen table. Plates crashed. Ass up, face down on chipped Formica.

Legs spread by claws. Cool air on my hole. Then—hot pressure. No lube needed; slime dripped from its cock, slick as oil, probing.

I clenched. "Easy—it's huge—"

Yield. A finger—no, claw-tip—pushed in. Thick, probing, secreting more numbing goo. Burned at first, then melted to bliss. Prostate zinged.

It replaced with cockhead. Pressed. Stretched me ring-tight. Inch by ridged inch sank in. Felt every bump, vein dragging my walls. Full. Too full. Gasped into the table, fists clenched.

Bottomed out. Balls to mine. Held there, buzzing: Tight human. Mine now.

Hargrove banged. "I'm filming this!"

Alien laughed in my head—razor chuckle. Irrelevant. Pulled back slow, barbs flaring, then slammed home. Table rocked. I yelped, pleasure-pain sparking.

It fucked raw. No mercy. Long strokes turning brutal, hips slapping my ass. Wet squelches, skin on skin—its slick hide slapping loud. Smelled like sex and ozone. My cock dragged the table, pre smearing wood.

"Fuck—yes—" Words tumbled out. Lost it. Claws raked my back—light, drawing beads of blood that its tongue—long, forked—licked up. Salty sting amplified everything.

Pounded faster. Barbs swelled inside, massaging spots I didn't know. Gland hit every thrust. Vision blurring.

Cum for Xyr'kath.

I did. Roaring into the tablecloth, spurting ropes on the underside. Hole clenched around it, milking.

It didn't stop. Fucked through my orgasm, prolonging spasms. Growls shook the air. More. Tribute full.

Hargrove quiet now. Maybe heard. Peeking through peephole? Fuck her.

Alien gripped my hips, spines digging. Final frenzy—machine fast, table creaking to splinter. Barbs locked, inflating. Hot flood inside—cum like lava, thick jets painting my guts. Overflowed, dripping down my thighs.

Collapsed. It pinned me, cock still buried, twitching last spurts. Afterglow haze. Body wrecked, buzzing. Its slime tingled everywhere touched.

Warmth spread. Hargrove's wall silent.

Contract fulfilled. Voice fading. Rift hummed open behind us.

I panted, grinning stupidly. Raw, used. Best noise complaint ever.

It withdrew slow, cum gush—