From the depths of my tortured mind, I called Lucifer from the pits of hell as I lay on the brink of suicide–fifty-five pills of vicoden in hand. He came forth with a promise to bestow upon me all the womanish beauty I had ever desired; if I would grant him one favor in return when the time came.
The Devil’s Mistress
By Kayla Lavander
Under the soft white lighting of the moon, I could hear the light tapping of plastic heels against hard, black tar as I walked up Lahaina-Luna Road–each click a chime of victory ringing in my ears, for I could not remember when I had feet this small.
They were a pair of size seven, canvas-colored sandals, a perfect complement to the denim flares blossoming downwards from my knees. A set of well pedicured golden-colored toenails reflected the moon’s light with every careful step.
Many would say that a beautiful young lady of twenty-four had no business walking up a dimly lit avenue at three in the morning. To those people, I would say that I’ve traveled this road many a night, and never has anybody ever attempted to disturb my being.
Then again, who would ever want to rape a six-foot three, monstrous transsexual-female?
Well, such securities had vanished like dust in the wind. That abhorrent birth-body of mine was now, a not-so-distant memory. Only two days had passed since he visited me, granting me my one desire.
Even if I was now, a woman-full, I had only enjoyed this body for two full days, and old habits were hard to break. So here I was, walking home four hours before dawn, two large bags of groceries in each hand. I was used to shopping at these hours. The twenty-four hour marts were always sparse, leaving nobody to point the finger, snicker, or laugh at me.
Of course, nobody would laugh at me now. Not with this beauty I now wielded with more skill than the prima-donnas of old. One could even say those who ridiculed me only two days prior now felt inferior under the shadow of my presence. This loveliness I now wore was not a beauty birthed from the womb of a woman, but a supernatural beauty gifted to me from the hands of God’s own fallen angel–Lucifer himself.
From the stories I’d heard since childhood, selling your soul to the devil always involved eternal damnation in hell at the end of life, but such tales turned out to be pure fabrications. From the depths of my tortured mind, I called Lucifer from the pits of hell as I lay on the brink of suicide–fifty-five pills of vicoden in hand. He came forth with a promise to bestow upon me all the womanish beauty I had ever desired; if I would grant him one favor in return when the time came. When I asked him if this wish would involve my 10,000 years of hellfire’s damnation, he said, very logically, that my suicide would have done that for him.
So, it was not my soul he desired.
What then? I wondered, and it was a funny thing–this voice inside my head.
My mental thoughts still reverberated with a deep tenor, a complete contrast to the beautiful soprano which escaped my lips whenever I spoke.
It would be a while before the mind’s voice matched the body's, I assumed.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally reached the white, paint-chipped door of my one bedroom garage apartment. My legs were not as strong as before–walking up Lahaina Luna road took more out of me then I would have imagined.
A fair trade for beauty, I smiled.
Unlocking the padlock of my door, I stepped inside my truly humble abode, the silver key-ring twirling around my long, golden-nailed fingers.
I’d come to the conclusion long ago, that red was a horridly over-used nail color, especially out here in Hawaii, with all the tourist-women who get all dolled up before their sunny vacations. I managed to get by on pale, rosy pinks, and earth tones. I decided to only adorn the majestic red on the rarest of occasions.
As far as my lips? well that’s another story all together.
My quaint little garage apartment consisted of just four major pieces of furniture–a work-desk, computer-desk, a large king-size bed, and one wicker-table. Between the work-desk and fridge lay a decrepit sink which spewed forth water of questionable quality. I had a microwave, but no stove, which worked out just fine considering my cooking skills were limited to rice, ramen, and hot-dogs.
It was Sunday night, and ‘Desperate Housewives’ was airing its fifth re-run on the twenty-seven inch flat-screen TV I carelessly left on. I found myself addicted to that show with morbid fascination. Maybe it’s because I would have traded lives with either one of those women, even the lady who shot herself during the first episode.
Three mice in a one room garage was a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy. To combat this, I installed a black, plastic mousetrap on my work-desk–their favorite stomping ground. With one pea-sized dose of peanut butter, I had caught and trapped my three little friends, all within twenty minutes of each other. After that wondrous event, I just left the peanut butter in the trap to catch the new mice that would wander in once every four days or so.
At first, the notion of trapping and killing mice nauseated me. Such sports were an acquired taste, however. And after a year of this, waking up in the middle of the night to that welcoming *SNAP* had become a near orgasmic experience.
I hated mice.
Normally, whenever I got home from any errand, the first thing I would do is turn on my computer, and browse the web. But this night, internet surfing was the furthest thing from my mind. Ever since my visit from Lucifer two days ago, I had other distractions.
After dropping my groceries by the door, without putting any away, I rushed towards the full length mirror hanging on the wall by the computer table with all the energy of a child speeding towards the Green Tree of Christmas.
My chest hollowed out as I gazed at my reflection. I was still not used to this.
The pretty girl staring back at me blinked with large, alluring, soft hazel eyes, set into a delicate face framed by light auburn hair the color of faded autumn leaves. It appeared as if those light-reddish tresses of mine were reaching for blonde but didn’t quite make it. Down to the middle of my slender back, these locks fell, rippling in natural, full spirals. My sensuous red lips thinned into an innocent smile as I admired my reflection.
I loved my new body. Suffice to say, my showers had tripled in length, and I had always wondered why women took so much more time to clean themselves then men. I stood all of five-foot eight, a tall height for a girl, and weighed 129 pounds according to the scale under my bed. I now wore a pair of size three jeans as opposed to the size twelve I was accustomed to. The fair skin Lucifer granted me with quickly browned under two days of pounding Hawaiian sun, giving me the perfect tan.
Ever since I was an effeminate little boy, I wondered what I’d look like as a woman. I’ll admit, this was far from anything I had in mind. This beauty surpassed anything I could have mentally conjured, and exceeded everything I had ever seen in my twenty-four years of life. No, Lucifer did not mold me from my own mind’s eye. A lock of auburn found its way around my finger as I sat down in my wicker chair, wondering which brain spawned the body I now wore.
Surely, it was not his own.
Could he have molded me into his own personal liking? The silly thought amused me and a fit of girlish giggles escaped my chest.
Once the fit of laughter ended, I just sat and stared at my reflection.
I blinked and smiled–then fifteen minutes later, I wept.
I wept for something too good to be true, wept for something that I’d wanted for so long, wept for these dreams finally made flesh. Burying my face in my naked, slender arms, I cried like a baby–my neglected, unbagged milk warming in the corner.
“There’s no need to cry, little girl.” The rich, deep, masculine voice caused me to jump straight up from the chair, droplets of tears raining from my chin as I ascended. I turned around, and his piercing emerald-sapphire gaze punctured my chest, the very air bleeding from my lungs.
I thought I would die from lack of breath.
“Lucifer?” I managed to breathe. He was a breathless thing to behold, in all his evil malicious beauty.
He stood maybe four inches above my head, with the broad shoulders any quarterback would have killed for. A lock of raven fell over his right eye, the rest swept backwards, falling down to his neck. He smiled at me with full sensuous lips… such kissable lips.
His fair skin glowed under the soft yellow light of my desk-lamp, and his eyes were the color of bright emeralds submerged in the bluest of ocean-waters. The Devil radiated a beauty far above that of any man I’d ever met. Logically speaking, he was still an angel, even if fallen from the graces of God to rule the hells for all eternity.
A pair of black trousers surrounded his waist, and over his torso–a blue button down shirt which did nothing to conceal the massive muscles lying beneath his long sleeves.
“Hello, my little dove,” he whispered, and I shuddered at the sound of his voice. He extended a thick hand towards me, reaching for my left cheek. But I flinched away. “Come now, don’t be like this, Silvia. I gave you this body; I should at least be able to caress its beautiful face.”
“What do you want?” I asked, folding my arms around myself.
Lucifer grinned, a malicious little smile which left bumps trailing the length of my arms. “I’ve come to collect.”
“Collect?” I asked, raising one brow.
“Yes. The favor you said you would grant me. I’ve come for that favor.” The words rolled off his tongue as smooth as liquid fire. And I feared to ask what that favor was, for I knew the answer would burn me.
“Already?” I asked, stalling for time. He was ‘The Devil’, and I feared to know what he required of me. “It’s only been two days.”
“Forty-eight hours, more than enough time to become acquainted with your new body.” He paused, crossed his arms, and approached me. “And more time than I have wanted to wait.”
“Well, what can I do for you then?” I asked, years of over-the-phone customer service working its way in my voice.
“It’s simple really, Sylvia,” he said. “I want you to make love to me.”
My heart nearly jumped into my throat. “WHAT?” I asked, “ Sex? Are you mad?”
There was no way to obey his request. He was Satan, Lucifer, ‘The Devil’, ‘The Prince of Darkness’. And if that was not enough, this body of mine was virgin, untouched and unbroken. I wanted to live out my girlish dreams and save myself for the one I would finally be able to marry some day… and I had never even been with a man in all my twenty-four years of sexual angst.
And again… he was ‘The Devil’.
He approached me, and my lithe body drowned under the shadow of his tall, muscular frame. I shrank back in response, and when I finally reached the desk against the wall, with nowhere to go, I shrank even farther until my buttocks graced its wooden edge.
“Oh, you will do as I ask, girly.”
“You don’t control me,” I said in an embarrassingly shaky voice. “Why should I?”
Fire flashed behind those blue-green eyes of his. Red, green, and blue all mixing together into one violent shade. It was a safe assumption that the High Lord of Hell was not used to disobedience. He unfolded his arms and thrust his muscled white hand forward, grabbing my neck.
Lucifer did not choke me, but pinned me against the wall, unable to move, his hold about my neck forcing me to look him in the eyes. My own hazel globes widened in terror as I found myself humbled under his strength.
If I didn’t know what a woman felt like helpless under a man’s physical might before, I did now.
“Why should you?” he snarled. “Well, I can easily rape you for one.” His words caused me to suck the air between my teeth. “But I would prefer you simply surrender yourself to me. That would make it easier on the both of us,” he whispered too soothingly before releasing me.
Free from his hold, I bolted for the door; just to be halted by that rich deep voice of his. “You run from Lucifer?” Amusement dripped from his tones–and rightfully so. How does one run from the Devil?
He stepped forward, and I shrank back, yet again, against another desk–my work-desk. The wrinkling of paper disturbed the quiet garage as my denim-jeaned buttocks rested on the desks smooth surface.
‘so you would rape me?” I asked, attempting to keep my voice still.
“Actually, no, I lied. I can’t rape you,” he laughed.
What an asshole, I thought, wishing he would leave my home.
“There are certain rules we of the divine ones must follow. Being ‘The Satan’ of earth, I am not allowed to rape any of God’s precious little creatures,” he admitted, much to my relief. “But, if a woman gives herself to me willingly, all bets are off.”
“Why me?” I wailed.
He leaned on the desk, placing his palms on the surface. His thick arms flanked both my sides and I felt so tiny with him over me like this, ‘sylvia. I’ve needed a mortal woman for some time now. But even I am bound by the rules set forth by my greatest rival,” he said with contempt. “I can only be a part of such a union if the woman knows full well what I am. I’ve offered so many gifts, so much power, but no woman will willingly give her body to me, knowing who I am. No woman wants to bed with the enemy of God, no matter what I offer.”
“And you think it would be any different with me?” I asked, almost feeling insulted.
“Oh it will, Sylvia. You will fornicate with ‘The Devil’ this night.”
“And why are you so sure? What makes you think I will crumble, when others have repelled your advances?”
He grinned, and I really disliked the look of confidence on his face. “Because my future mistress, I have never been able to deny any woman her greatest gift, but with you, I can.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. In the back of my mind, part of me knew exactly, what he was hinting at.
“Anything given by God can not be taken away by Satan. That is the rule,” he said. He stood straight up and wrung his hands. “But your beauty, your femininity, your newfound womanhood was not granted by God was it” No, it is a gift from me, an unnatural thing spawned from the pits of hell. And I can take it away if you do not hold up to your end of our deal.”
Horrified, my mouth squared. His words stabbed at my heart, and to drive the sword even deeper, he said, “I’ve given you the body of my own, ‘personal desires’ but I will take it away if you refuse to hold your end of the deal and grant me this ‘favor’ I ask of you.”
“One time,” he continued. “Once you grant my favor, the deal is sealed. This beautiful body will be yours forever, and not even my powers will be able to take it away. For just a few hours, become the Devil’s Mistress, and then go on with your life.”
I stepped off the desk and turned around, unable to look at him “I can’t… you’re Lucifer… I can’t…”
“You can’t?” he echoed. I felt his hands trace the length of my bare shoulders. With a slow, lover’s grace, his fingers lifted the white spaghetti-straps of my tank. “Do you really think you can give up this beautiful body? he asked, his voice soft and powerful. His finger’s grasped the back of my neck, and he tensed his hold, letting me feel the dominating strength of his hands.
I shivered involuntarily under his touch.
“No,” I sighed, “This is not right.”
“No,” he repeated, “I will take it back, I swear. I’ll snatch this body away and you can go on living the miserable transgender existence you had before you met me.”
“No,” I cried, the thought of it made my eyes moisten.
“Yes, and you can go on with your 3:00 AM shopping trips to avoid the ridicule of fifteen year old adolescents, too young to even stay up past ten.”
He pushed himself against me, his hands tracing the length of my arms, and he whispered into my ear, “How does it feel, Sylvia, to be so fragile, so small, so adored… so very beautiful?
I sighed. Satan had a weapon against me, and it was a powerful one.
He let me go, and I turned around to face him. The helplessness in my eyes must have been obvious, for he said, “That’s what I thought.”
The tingling sensation of tears rolling down my cheeks caused me to sniffle. Lucifer grabbed my waist, and twirled me around before I could even “attempt” to struggle. He pushed me against the desk, and bent me over, his strong hands pressing my torso against the table.
I gasped when I felt my denim flares sliding down my legs. He pushed his waist against me. And I felt his hardness gliding slowly across the crack of my buttocks. His pants-covered phallus teased my skin, and I felt the most unwelcome fit of tingles running throughout my abdomen.
Try as I might, I could not even move with him pinning me. The alienistic feeling of moistness between my legs caused me to flush as my body betrayed me, as if answering his wicked call. And I shuddered to think I was experiencing an unknown pleasure in this overpowering.
“See how your body so easily responds to my rising libido,” he laughed. “Either way you look at it, Silvia. You will be Lucifer’s Woman, this night.”
Just when the floodgates that had become my eyes opened even wider, he released me.
Just like that.
Confused, I reached behind myself, pulling the jeans up to my waist. I wiped my eyes and stood up. When I turned around, Lucifer was sitting in my wicker chair, his legs spread wide open.
The lump in the middle of his pants was obviously his covered phallus, pointing upwards, threatening to rip right through the fabric.
On the floor, between his wide open legs, lay a soft pink pillow; one I had no idea I owned.
What is the pillow for? I was afraid to ask.
“The pillow is for your knees,” he said dryly.
My mouth gaped open and my stomach turned. “You wish me to ingurgitate your phallus, Why not just fuck me and get it over with?” I scowled.
He grinned, my anger only furthering his amusement, “On your knees, or it’s back to singing tenor.”
I walked over to him, slowly, and trembled as I obeyed his words. I kneeled down, the softness of the pillow acting as a smooth reminder of my doom. I’d never done anything like this with any man?
I lost breath as my finger’s crept up his thighs, slowly to buy time, and my hands felt cold as I just began to unzip his pants to unsheathe the raging maleness within.
What do I do? I thought, questioning my morals.
I had already tasted the serenity of this feminine sea, and he would take it all away if I did not obey him.
What do I do? What would anybody do to hold on to something so valuable to them? Feeling completely helpless, I just could not give up what he had gifted to me, so I held my breath and unzipped his pants.
