2 comments/ 16662 views/ 7 favorites Satan's Little Problem By: Spykke Dedicated to the thousands of spotty geeks who dream of ruling the world. * One -- Satan is a little pissed. "Get... it... sorted... out...!" Satan roared, each word punctuated by a ball of fire which engulfed the charred figure cowering in the corner of the elegantly furnished room. In reality they were in a chamber deep in the earth but Satan preferred a homely touch by making the room appear to be a wood-lined study as might have been used by a middle class intellectual some time in the late 18th century. The room was lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes. On one wall a log fire burned adding to the overwhelming heat of the place. Satan sat behind a large oak desk littered with files and sheets of paper. He chose to wear a tweed suit with plus fours trousers giving the appearance of a wealthy landowner about to embark on a shoot. His chosen image for the day was a rugged, handsome man in his mid forties with a thick black moustache. He smoked a large Havana cigar. However, I digress, on with my narrative: Satan, you know -- old nick, the devil, he of the sulphurous breath - was not a happy bunny. For the last few centuries his popularity had been in decline. The burning of witches both in Europe and the America's during the 14th, 15th and 16th centuries had seen the end of his last concerted presence on earth. What really irritated him that more recent characters of evil disposition such as Hitler and Bin Laden hadn't even been on his team. They were being evil on their own behalves, not his. Bloody free lancers! What was the world coming to? What he needed was to increase his profile on earth maybe with a little change in PR. Evil needed to become trendy. He needed more souls to fuel the fires of hell before things got too cold down there. The problem was finding the right way of doing it. Quite frankly, Satan had run out of inspiration. He needed to recruit some new spin doctors to turn his fortunes around. This returned his attention to the incompetent idiot cringing before him. Cribbens had seemed an ideal candidate when he was directed downwards upon his death. A creeping sycophant who would do anything for his master. Unfortunately Cribbens proved to lack that flair and creativity that the task demanded - the idiot was only suitable for routine tasks involving no imagination. Ernest Cribbens had been the chief clerk for an import/export company in the late 19th century. As such he had been an insufferable pedant who had made his staff's lives intolerable. The work of the clerks under his supervision had been subject the constant scrutiny with every slightest error or fault subject to unreasonable criticism. What was worse was that he had sole command over the continued employment of every one of his staff. Everything had to be done to a strict routine by rote. He was tedious little bugger. Even his wife had to admit that sex with him was so boring that she fell asleep during the first time he shagged her on their honeymoon. It had come as quite a shock to Ernest that when he shed his mortal coil that he should find himself working for an even worse taskmaster than himself. Satan took the adjective "unreasonable" to new extremes. What really perplexed Ernest was that even though he was now immortal, every blast of flame hurt as much if not more than they would have done when he was alive. It was so unfair. Ernest was Satan's chief gofer, every minor task was his. "Well? What are you going to do to get me back into the popularity polls?" Satan bellowed. "W... w... well, we could send a new Antichrist onto earth," Ernest ventured to suggest. "Sod, that." Satan retorted, "We've tried that. You know damn well it's a load of bollocks getting some kid and tattooing '666' on his arse and expecting that to do the trick. I want a fast and effective solution." "B...b...but, the rules are fixed on what you are allowed to do." Ernest whimpered, expecting to be engulfed in fire for his temerity. He wasn't disappointed as Satan obliged with the biggest jet of flame yet. "I wrote the fucking rules and I'll change them if I want," Satan growled. "What you will do is find a candidate already living on earth. I will then imbue him or her with the necessary abilities and powers to act as my agent on earth. Now stop sodding about and find me that certain special person." "A...a...at once," Ernest snivelled and he ran from the room closely followed by a red hot trident hurled by his less than happy master. On his return to the stinking chamber near the stables where he worked, Ernest kicked his scrying mirror in frustration. "Soddit, why can't that bastard give me a break," he snarled in frustration. "I heard that!" Satan's voice thundered and a shower of red hot rocks fell upon Ernest's unworthy form. Groaning with pain, Cribbens crawled from beneath the pile of glowing rocks. Patting himself to extinguish the smouldering areas of his skin, he sat down in front of the scrying mirror. This rather clever device allowed him to scan the surface of the earth and view anyone we wanted. "Where to start?" he sighed, realising that he had a vast number of people to consider. "I know, London is a good place, fully of nasty people." He touched the mirror which, after a moment focussed onto a London street teeming with people. Each figure on the display was surrounded by a coloured aura which reflected the attitude and nature of the individual. Those who were deeply spiritual had a gentle blue aura. The profoundly evil had a bright scarlet aura. Most people were somewhere between the two extremes. Cribbens was searching for someone with the brightest red aura. He sighed at the multitude of people on his screen. This was going to take days, if not weeks. With a sigh of despair Cribbens set to work. -------------- Two - Darren Darren Bell was a nerd in it's fullest sense. He had absolutely no redeeming features. Eighteen years old, he was born and still lived in the east end of London. Envisage the stereotypical type -- greasy hair, spotty, thick glasses, scruffy clothes, rampant body odour and a tendency towards excessive masturbation. The kids at the sixth form college he attended almost universally considered him to be a complete tosser and took great delight in kicking the shit out of him at every opportunity. OK, you might consider this to be unreasonable and brutal but the simple fact is that Darren deserved it. He was obnoxious and he didn't give a fuck about anyone. In other words, trailer trash of the worst kind. There was something about Darren, difficult to identify, which automatically got people's backs up. Just five seconds were needed by anyone meeting him to conclude that they loathed him. Add to this a huge fund of resentment which increased with every beating he took at college and you have a particularly nasty piece of work. Surprisingly, Darren was intelligent, in fact extremely intelligent -- some might even say a genius. He directed all his intellectual energies to a deep interest in the occult. At school he did the bare minimum of work sufficient to keep the teachers off his back -- it won't surprise you that the teachers hated him as much at the kids. He didn't actually set out to piss people off. The reality was that Darren had no patience for anyone who he didn't consider to be his intellectual equal. As soon as he realised that a teacher or fellow pupil didn't rate up to his standards then he simply ignored them. Apart from his interest in the occult, Darren obtained pleasure from two hobbies. Firstly, he was a fan of Dungeons and Dragons and spent many hours playing the game with a small group of friends. His second interest was voyeurism -- Darren was a pervert of the highest order. Darren's interest in voyeurism went back a long way and was in probability inherited from his father. His father had been arrested years previously for indecent behaviour. It transpired that he had had a habit of putting his hand up women's skirts or touching their tits when he travelled to and from work on the train. The large number of people squeezed on the train during rush hour gave him plenty of chances to brush 'accidentally' against female passengers. He returned home after serving his prison term only to run off with a stripper from Swansea. No, don't laugh, it's true. Her stage name was Roxy although her real name was Gwyneth Morgan. The lovely Roxy had been appearing in the local pub. Darren's dad had been entranced by the way she twirled the tassels attached to her nipples. Apparently she could twirl them in opposite directions -- a task requiring remarkable coordination and dexterity. The fact that her bust was a generous 40DD added significantly to the effect. Anyway, the last information the family had was that they were living in a cottage in Merthyr Tydfil, surrounded by four children and six cats. You can make your own judgement as to whether Darren's father made a good choice. Darren's family lived in a small house which hardly had enough space to hold them. His sisters shared a room, his mother had her own and Darren was left with the smallest bedroom in the house -- almost a box room. Darren's eldest sister, Gillian, was a pretty 22 year old with an attitude problem. Her problem was that she hated Darren with a passion. She hated the way he would ogle her full breasts or try to sneak a look up her skirt. His other sisters, Jenny and Paula were 14 and 13 years old and were too involved with their own lives to be concerned with Darren. On a personal level, Darren chose to avoid any social intercourse with his sisters -- in any event he considered Gillian to be a thick bimbo. Instead he chose to view his siblings and mother from afar. With exceptional cunning Darren had fitted tiny solid state cameras in the bathroom and the other bedrooms. He had bought these, along with the necessary software from a shop specialising in surveillance equipment. He could now sit at his PC watching everything which went on in the bathroom and his mother's and sister's rooms. ---------------- Three - Gillian gets shafted Darren lay relaxing in his bath. Eyes closed he gently rubbed his rigid cock while he pondered the large breasts owned by the new French teacher at college. His reverie was suddenly broken by frantic pounding on the bathroom door. "Who's in there?" called out a female voice. It was Gillian. Because all the other kids were still at school she liked to act as though she ruled the house. Darren's younger sisters meekly did what Gillian told them but Darren just treated her with contempt. "Me!" Darren called out. "How long are you going to be in there?" Gillian shouted. "As long as it takes, fuck off!" Darren's reply was dismissive. "I need the toilet!" Gillian pleaded. "The doors unlocked, feel free to come in and use it." Darren was enjoying his control of the situation. "Pleeeeease, I this is urgent," Gillian whined. Gillian was desperate. If she didn't shit really soon she was going to have a nasty accident. She rushed into the bathroom, pull down her pants and sat on the toilet. The room filled with the noise of her body emptying. Soon after there came the foul stench of her waste. "Fucking hell" What have you been eating? A curry?" Darren complained. He opened his eyes to see his haughty sister squatting on the toilet, her face red with embarrassment. He had seen Gillian taking a dump through his spy camera but this was much better. Grudgingly Darren admired her naked legs and thighs which were really very shapely. She did, however, look ridiculous with her white panties around her ankles. She noticed his stare. "Seen enough?" she snapped. "I've seen better," Darren lied. Gillian blushed. The situation was intolerable. What was worse, Darren had been partly right. She had gone on a date with her boyfriend the previous evening. After a few drinks and a curry, they had gone for a drive down the local 'lovers lane'. Bill, her boyfriend, was hung like a horse and was always complaining that her cunt was too small to take all of him. Even a blow job didn't satisfy him. In spite of her best efforts Gillian could not take more than a few inches of him into her mouth. Deep throat was an impossibility. He had been begging her for a few weeks to let him fuck her arse. Last night she finally agreed. What a mistake! Bill had been pathetically grateful as he fed his cock into her chocolate starfish. He was pretty gentle but it was still uncomfortable. Slowly he had fed in every last centimetre of his pink flute. What was worse was that Bill had been watching too many porn films and shouted "Come on you bitch, take all my throbbing cock" at the top of his voice as he shagged her arse fiercely so that his balls slapped noisily against her cunt. Sadly, Bill's load was always huge and Gillian was soon left with a sore arse full to the brim of Bill's juice. She spent the rest of the evening terrified to fart in case she filled her pants. Now she was reaping the benefit of a curry and a dose of man juice -- a huge volume of shit with the consistency of sloppy porridge. Finally her tortured bowels stopped blasting forth and she began to ponder what payback she would illicit from Bill and Darren. Bill was history -- she had no desire to have her delicate butt hole reamed again. As for Darren... "Well well, look what pants my big fashion conscious sister wears on a Saturday! Which charity shop did you buy those from?" Gillian's plotting was interrupted by Darren's shout of amusement. Dammit, Gillian's underwear of choice were tiny black thongs which slip snugly up the crack of her arse -- very trendy, very sexy. Unfortunately all her thongs were in the wash and she had to wear an old pair of cotton "granny pants" she found at the back of her panty drawer. She wasn't going out that evening so no-one would know about her appalling knickers. "I know a lot of people would love to know what underwear my trendy sister wears..." Darren began but not bothering to finish because he knew he had Gillian firmly by the short hairs. Gillian knew she was about to be shafted. The last thing she needed was to have her street credibility wrecked by rumours concerning her underwear. For once she was going to have to do a deal with Darren. "OK, you little shit, what will buy your silence?" she hissed venomously. "Nothing... just yet. There will come a day when I will claim your debt," he replied enigmatically. Gillian had finished shitting and Darren continued to watch as she struggled to wipe her arse without revealing to much of her body to Darren. "Can't I even wipe my arse without you watching?" she pleaded. "Nah, I like the view," Darren was enjoying himself. Gillian finished cleaning herself in silence and pulled up her panties, no longer caring that Darren got a flash of her hairy beaver. She flushed the toilet and stormed out of the bathroom. "Don't forget to wash your hands," Darren called out with a chuckle. ------------------ Four -- Brenda Brenda lay on her bed wanking. Moaning loudly she eased herself to her third orgasm that afternoon, the huge dildoe pounding In and out of her slobbering cunt. Brenda always lubricated heavily as evidenced by a huge wet stain that had spread across the bed cover from under her arse. Her mother would complain about the mess but Brenda didn't really care. She could imagine the comments to come: "Have you been wanking again? Why can't get a nice boyfriend instead of spending all day messing up your bed." Brenda had a very open relationship with her mother who, if anything, was more sex mad than her. Brenda's mother was currently shagging Jonas, a West Indian who, if her mother was to be believed, had a monstrous dong. Her mother had offered to let him give Brenda a good shafting but Brenda wasn't interested. Guys were too much of a hassle and she had no time for all to emotional baggage that relationships brought. She knew her own body well and with the help of a decent dildoe could orgasm as many times as she needed. "I've told you before mum," she sighed. "I can rely on my plastic friend to give me what I want, blokes are only interested in themselves." Brenda was a paradox. On the one hand she was an extremely attractive brunette who had been blessed with a body to die for. Her 36D tits were tipped with large dark nipples. These combined with her trim waist and nicely rounded butt meant that she always caught the guys' eyes when she walked down the street. She grew her wavy hair long down almost to her waist. In recent years she had let herself go a little and her choice of fast food had given her a slightly pudgy belly. Contrary to all these attributes, Brenda was indifferent to attracting men. She had adopted the Goth style of fashion, wearing black clothes. She never shaved her body -- both her crotch and pits being heavily hirsute. Although she washed regularly and didn't smell excessively, the girls at college associated her hairiness with a lack cleanliness and they tended to avoid her. Not that she cared. One day she had been changing after games -- a compulsory course at her college. As she walked from the showers she overheard group of her class commenting on the hairiness of her body. The ringleader was a petite blonde called Laura. Laura was in the process of towelling off as she made the comments. She had a small, tight body with pert tits and a tiny blond bush above her cunt. Brenda felt a rush of irritation. She was fed up with these prima donna girls who thought that the world revolved around them and that anyone who didn't share their views were pariahs. Brenda walked over to her, gripped her arm firmly and whispered in her ear. "I would like a quiet word with you in the toilets, now!" she hissed. Laura blanched from the pain in her arm and followed without a word. Brenda wasn't a bully but she was strong and she took no nonsense from anyone. "In here," she snapped, pushing Laura into the empty toilet stall. She closed and locked the door behind her. "OK what do you have to say about my body?" she asked. "N... nothing," Laura whimpered. "Bollocks, I distinctly heard you say something about by hairiness. What was it?" "I just said that you were very hairy." "And what is wrong with it, exactly?" "Nothing," Laura replied quickly. "So you like my hairy pits and pussy?" "Oh yes," Laura replied, trying hard to please Brenda. Brenda grabbed Laura by the hair and pulled her face against her hairy armpit. Laura gasped in shock as the damp hair pressed against her face. To her surprise the smell was just of soap and it was somehow pleasant. Laura felt her cunt begin to moisten. "Is this nice?" Brenda asked. Laura might a muffled noise. "Pardon, speak up!" Laura gave a muffled 'yes' . "What about here?" Brenda asked as she pushed Laura to her knees and pressed her face against her crotch. The combined scent of soap and cunt filled Laura's senses. She loved the moist muskiness and without thinking she began to lick the gaping gash. Brenda shivered as Laura began to suck and nibble and she began to grind herself against her slave's face. Laura felt a flood of juice pour from Brenda as she came and she gulped at the tangy fluid. This in turn triggered her own orgasm, possibly the strongest she had ever had and she hadn't even touched her own cunt. Brenda slumped against the cubicle door, gasping with pleasure. Laura stood up, her face red and wet from being pressed against Brenda. They kissed savagely. Laura was a convert. Since she preferred to be a cock tease, her sexual experience was minimal. She had found Brenda's voluptuous body exciting. She enjoyed being used, having her face fucked. "That was so good," Laura whispered. "You can fuck my face an time you want." Satan's Little Problem College was a pain in the arse and Brenda took every opportunity to bunk off -- usually to spend time with her dildo. She had few friends but again she couldn't care less. She took the same classes as Darren and since both were outcasts they were drawn together. They also had a common interest in the occult. They regularly met either in the local park or at each other's homes to chat. As far as Brenda was concerned this was a purely platonic relationship. As for Darren, the sooner he got to check out the contents of Brenda's pants, the better. ------------------- Five -- Paydirt For several days Cribbens sat, red eyed, in front of his scrying mirror. As time went on his muttered curses became more venomous. "Isn't there one single fucking person in London with an ounce of nastiness?" he snarled. Just when he feared that he would never succeed his gaze fell upon Darren and Brenda walking in the park. He immediately saw a strong red aura surrounding the two of them. "Gotcha!" he shouted as he danced a jig. He ran around punching the air. "Who's the man... Who's the man..." he shouted. Quickly Cribbens ran down to Satan's chamber. "Boss! Boss! I've found them," he shouted. Satan was busy receiving blow job from a huge fat woman as Cribben's burst in. He shuddered as he blew a huge wad down her throat and turned to Cribbens. "Can't a guy get blown in peace any more? What have you found, idiot?" he snarled. "I...I've found some one to serve you on earth, your wonderfulness. In fact I've found two." Cribbens grovelled on the floor. "Show me!" Cribbens activated a scrying mirror on Satan's desk and twisted a control. The mirror shimmered and then focussed on Darren and Brenda. Satan quickly studied the images. "Ah yes! Excellent work, these will do nicely. Their auras indicate a most satisfactory tendency to evil. Now bugger off Cribbens, I'm getting another hard on. I will deal with matters from now on." Cribbens scuttled off and the fat woman resumed sucking. ---------------- Six -- Contact is made Darren's dream was vivid. He was walking down Oxford street in the centre of London when he noticed a side alley. "Strange, I've never seen that before," he pondered. He felt strangely drawn to the passageway. The passageway was fairly typical with dustbins and rubbish. There was a doorway with a red illuminated sign above it. "Model," it announced grandly. The alleyway was a dead end except for a green wooden door at the end. Darren open the door and stepped through. He was in a narrow street which was lined with old, brick buildings. Very old buildings, redolent of the mid 19th century. The sky was overcast and a gloomy purple colour. It was raining and the street deserted. Any other time he would have felt deep unease -- a sense of wrongness. Instead, for some indefinable reason he experienced great excitement and a sense of anticipation. Something down this street was calling to him. Looking up Darren saw a street sign, "Hatch Lane". Then he awoke. Darren knew that he had to visit Hatch Lane. There was something waiting for him there. He spoke to Brenda at the earliest opportunity next day at school. His enthusiasm was infectious and they agreed that there was something interesting going on and they would visit Hatch Lane the following Saturday. Darren began to have doubts when he reached Oxford Street. All he could see was a row of shops and lots of people. He could see no side alley. They walked down the street and suddenly the alleyway appeared. They approached the little green door nervously. They opened the door and stepped through into another time and place. In every detail Hatch Lane was exactly as Darren recalled it from his dream. The street was narrow with old warehouses on both sides which looked as though it had escaped from a Charles Dickens novel. It was raining and the sky had a grim purple tone. As they turned the corner they saw a small bookshop. They looked each other -- somehow they knew this was the place. The shop was old and dingy. The peeling painted sign announced "Edgar Roth -- antique and rare books." The window was obscured with dust making it difficult to see inside. A bell pinged as Darren opened the door and they entered the gloomy shop. The shop was a riot of untidiness -- not only were the bookshelves packed but there were stacks of books on the floor. A old man shuffled into the floor from an office to the rear. "Welcome, welcome..." he lisped in an eastern European accent. "I don't see many young peoples in my shop. Please look around, I'm sure I have just the thing for you." He shuffled back into the office. Darren and Brenda felt a thrill of excitement and began looking through books. Most of the shop's contents covered the more obscure subjects such as medieval history, the occult and alchemy. Darren was enthralled, not knowing which book the examine first. He felt, however, something drawing him to a dark corner of the shop. He allowed his instincts to draw him to a pile of dusty books on the floor. He rummaged through the books until he reached a thin book. Almost unconsciously he took the book. It comprised of three parchment pages bound in a fine leather cover. The pages were covered in hand written text -- Latin if he wasn't mistaken. He didn't know why but he had the strongest of urges to possess the book. As Darren approached the counter the old man re-emerged. "Ah, a fine volume. You have excellent taste my boy." "How much is the book?" Darren's mouth was dry with excitement. "Hmmm, its very rare. Thirteenth century." The man rubbed his chin in thought. Darren panicked -- he wasn't going to be able to afford the book. "I tell you what, young man. I will take whatever money you have in your pockets." Darren emptied his pockets. There was six pounds in all. The man took the money. "Exactly the price I had in mind. Enjoy the book." He smiled and as he returned to his office the old man whispered, "It was always going to be yours anyway." They examined the book on the bus back home. It was Brenda who noticed a large dark circle on the back cover. "What do you think it is?" Darren asked. "It looks like a nipple, and from its size a female nipple. Shit!! Its bound in human female skin." She gasped. "Nah it isn't!" Darren disbelievingly replied taking the book from her. He examine the cover closely before finally coming to the same conclusion. The book was most definitely bound with human leather. "Sorry, you're right." He conceded. When they got to Darren's house the two of them scanned the pages. Darren had studied Latin and was able to decipher some of the text. "As far as I can make out, this is a ritual for summoning the devil." "Cool!!! How does it work?" Brenda was seriously excited. "We need to gather some ingredients and perform a ritual inside a pentacle." "What ingredients?" Brenda asked. Darren had reached the limits of his grasp of Latin and he started thumbing through a dictionary. "Ugggh, some pretty nasty stuff actually." He finally replied. "Go on, tell me," Brenda was almost manic with excitement. "Well you asked for it," Darren sighed. "We need some shit and menstrual blood from a virgin female. The pubic hair from the brother or sister of the summoner. Incense, semen and a live sacrifice. I don't see how we can get all these." "I've never been fucked so technically I'm a virgin." Brenda grinned. "I'll donate some crap and a used tampon. I don't have any brothers or sisters." Darren pondered a moment. "I can arrange some pubic hair and spunk and the next door neighbour has a cat which is always pissing me off. Mum has some aromatherapy incense." "Great, I'm on the rag now, so I can let you have the ingredients immediately. Do you have a couple of plastic bags." Brenda was keen to start. Darren found two plastic freezer bags in the kitchen and Brenda went to the bathroom. She soon returned with the bags containing her donations to the proceedings. ----------------- Seven --Game on "You remember how you asked me what I needed help me keep quiet about your sexy pants?" Darren asked Gillian that evening. "What do you want?" she sighed. "Some of your beaver hair will do nicely?" Gillian's jaw dropped in horror. "You fucking pervert, why do you want that?" "Nothing you need worry about. I've got some scissors so let's get to work." "Give me the scissors and I'll do it, but you're not watching." Gillian gave in. "No deal, you might cheat and give me some hair cut off the dog's tail. You do it here and now so I know I'm getting the real thing." "Bastard," Gillian snarled and with a sigh of resignation dropped her jeans and pants to reveal a thick brown bush. She snipped off a tiny tuft and began to dress. "Oh no, I want it all," Darren stopped her. "Fuck you, you little shit," Gillian was really pissed but had no choice. Slowly, bit by bit, Gillian cut off her bush until she was left with a stubble covered pussy. Darren put the hair into a small plastic bag as Gillian dressed. "Thankyou dear sister, my lips are now sealed." "They had better be or one day you will die horribly, you little shit." She stormed out of the room without another word. Catching the neighbour's cat was a little tricky. The animal was a miserable bastard which had scratched Darren several times in the past. He put a piece of fish on the garden path and hid behind a bush. When the cat appeared and began to eat the fish Darren threw a sack over the beast. The cat struggled -- snarling and spitting -- but was securely captured. A quick search around the house located some aromatherapy incense, a wok, some candles, a pair of gardening gloves, a bottle of paraffin and some chalk. Darren phoned Brenda and they agreed to meet at a disused warehouse at ten o'clock that evening. ----------------- Seven -- Contact! Darren reached the warehouse just before ten and began drawing a chalk pentacle on the floor. Following the diagram in the book he was carefully completing his work as Brenda arrived. She helped him by setting out and lighting candles at the required points in the pentacle and the wok placed in the centre. Carefully chanting the words set out in the book they added the turd, tampon and pubic hair to the wok. Darren opened his pants and pulled out his dick and began wanking furiously and most unsuccessfully. His cock failed to rise to the occasion, remaining small and shrivelled. Brenda watched his pathetic attempts to rub life into his wiener with amusement -- she didn't have that sort of problem with her dildoe. "Move over, dipstick, we'll be here all night," she sighed as she unfastened his pants and pulled them down. She gripped his cock in her warm fingers, immediately causing it to stiffen. Skilfully she wanked him for a couple of minutes before shoving her finger firmly up his butt-hole. His immediate reaction was a squawk of surprise followed rapidly by a gasp of pleasure as he came. Brenda deftly directed his cock so that all his gism fell neatly into the wok. Darren poured some paraffin into the wok and set it alight. The warehouse began to fill with foul smelling smoke. Darren put on the gardening gloves and pulled the cat from the sack. He slit it's throat as they chanted the next part of the incantation. A jet of blood spurted into the wok. The smoke thickened and they were choking as the shouted out the last mystic phrases. Nothing happened. Darren looked at Brenda. "I'm sure we said the words correctly." "Try again," Brenda suggested. Carefully they repeated the invocation. Again nothing happened. "One more time with feeling," Darren was getting annoyed. Again the repeated the words, this time shouting them loudly. As they reached the last phrase they heard a smooth voice behind them. "Enough already, I heard you the first time. Why is it that one always gets a call at the most inconvenient time?" They turned to see a man leaning nonchalantly against a pillar. He was well groomed man with slicked back hair and a thin moustache. He was dressed in an Italian silk suit and Gucci shoes. "I was busy torturing a politician and a lawyer and couldn't get away immediately." "A... a... are you him?" Darren asked, his throat dry with shock. "Yep, I'm me. And I must say I'm pleased to meet you." "You don't look much like him," Darren replied sceptically. "Well how do you expect me to look? A huge monster with razor sharp teeth and claws with terminal halitosis?" Satan asked, a little irritated. "Would that make you feel happier?" "Shut up Darren," Brenda hissed. "You look just fine, sir." Satan sniffed the smoke filled air. "Bloody hell, what is that stink?" "It's the stuff we were told to burn as part of the ceremony. it's all set out in here," Darren replied handing Satan the small book. "Hmm, not very nice is it?" Satan pondered after scanning the summoning procedure. "I'll have to do something about that." "I have a little proposition for you but first let us go somewhere more comfortable and less smelly." Satan casually waved his hand. There was a flash, a crash of thunder and Darren and Brenda found themselves in Satan's study. The intense heat hit them. "Sorry, you're not used to this, let me turn down the heat,"he said, noticing their discomfort. Again he made a subtle movement with his hand and the room cooled to a normal temperature. "Sit down and relax," Satan invited, pointing at the sumptuous leather couch. "Cribbens!" he shouted. The door opened and Cribbens sidled in, shrouded in smoke from his smouldering skin. "Yes master?" "Who the hell produced this summoning procedure?" Satan demanded, throwing the small book at Cribbens. Cribbens studied the book briefly. "Ah yes, this is the work of Martin von Fischbein, if I recall correctly. He was an adept who produced this in 1239." "Really?" Satan snarled. "Bring him here." Cribbens left the room only to return momentarily with a stumbling old man with a knee length beard. The man wore mediaeval clothes which were heavily coated with excrement. The stink was appalling. "For fucks sake, you smell like a shit house, where have you been?" Satan asked, his face contorted in disgust. "I have been mucking out the lesser demon living quarters, master," the man croaked. "How long have you been there?" Satan asked. "Just over 200 years if I recall correctly." "Hmmm, clearly not long enough, did you produce this nonsense?" Satan asked, pointing at the book. "Yes master." "Why did you require such stupid ingredients?" "They seemed appropriate given your status of Lord of the Flies," Martin replied, not liking one bit the way the conversation was going. "Sod that for a game," Satan roared. "I don't see why I should appear in a cloud of burning shit. Hardly a suitable greeting for the Prince of Darkness given that this is the twenty first century. For fucks sake we have to keep up with the times. I have an image to maintain and stinking of burning crap isn't it." "Cribbens, I want it changing. From now on the summoning will require the wearing of black spandex tights, the excessive consumption of Jim Beam whiskey, the recital of some suitable words sung to AC/DC's Highway to Hell, while performing a frantic dance routine. OK? No burning shit, no virgin's blood and no sodding dead cats. I want a bit of class and a little finesse! Understood?" "Yes master," Cribbens replied with a deep bow. "Oh and I don't want it in a book bound with some tart's tit. I want it on DVD with Dolby 5.1 sound -- got it? And set up a web site with full download options." Cribbens whimpered and hid in the corner of the room. Satan turned his gaze to Von Fischbein. "As for you, sod off and get back to your shit shovelling." Satan poured three glasses of Jim Beam and turned, with a smile, to his guests. "Sorry about that. You just can't get the staff, I'm surrounded by incompetent wankers." "Now, my researchers tell me that you both have a little interest in the occult and matters evil. Is that correct?" "Er, yes I suppose so." Darren felt overwhelmed by events. "Now, now, don't be modest. You two have got the strongest auras I have seen for a century. You guys make the Marquis De Sade look like Mary Poppins. How would you like to work for me?" "Ooh yes please," Brenda squealed. "Right well listen carefully. I have a problem. I need to improve my image and I need more people to support my cause. To achieve that I need to spread corruption amongst the population. Can you do this little task?" Darren and Brenda exchanged looks of confusion. "Do you mind if I ask why?" Brenda requested, hesitantly. "Maybe you need a little background," Satan conceded. "It's all to do with the other guy, the bloke you call God. Well, it's a she actually - my sister." Brenda grinned. "I always knew God was a woman." "You've not met my sister," Satan replied, grimacing. "Anyway, when we created the human race we gave you self determination. That meant that you had the choice of being good or evil. Our job was and still is, to spread a little propaganda to help you make your choices. My sister spreads the good word about heaven and all the good things that will happen and I do the opposite." "Is heaven a real place then?" Darren asked. "Yeah, it's a fucking boring place too. Certainly it is a tranquil and pleasant place but it's filled with millions of nice, do gooders. Can you imagine what it's like to spend 100% your time with nice people talking about petunias, Readers Digest and how nice Tony Blair is? Go figure." "So why the recruitment drive?" Brenda asked. Satan sighed. "It's all about a bloody silly bet. 5000 years ago I had a bet with my sister that I could get more recruits than her in a 5000 year period. At the moment she's in the lead and the day of reckoning is only 30 days away." "And what if you lose?" "I have to wear some fluffy wings and a halo for 10000 years. Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be? My sister would be insufferably smug if she won." "What do we get out of it?" Darren asked. "A good question my boy. A lot of good fun, immortality and a plum job in Hades if you want it. I'll even let you do nasty things to George Bush and Tony Blair when they come to Hades. Just imagine pushing a red hot poker up George Bush's tight tush. Wouldn't that be fun?" "Are they going to hell?" Brenda grinned. "No doubt about it," Satan grinned back. "I've already reserved their jobs for the next 10000 years." "You've got a deal." Brenda interjected, "provided I can torture Barry Manilow." "Hmmm, I was reserving that little pleasure for myself but if you want him, he's yours. You have a deal." Now this will take all your ingenuity. I want things done with style. Your job will be to persuade your victims to follow me. I'm not talking about contracts signed in blood -- that Faustus story was a load of bollocks -- a firm commitment of their minds and souls will do. I don't mind how you do it as long as you do it with style." "OK get your clothes off." Darren and Brenda looked at him in shock. "Oh come on," Satan sighed irritably. "I need to satisfy myself that you people are in a fit state to serve me. Physical attributes matter, in case you hadn't realised. Now get naked!" The two apprentices stripped off. "Hmmm, not very promising material," Satan pondered as he contemplated Darren's thin, pallid body. "Hardly the body to give a woman a hot flush is it? Your dick isn't going to cause any major excitement and as for your plums, they look more like shrunken prunes." He made a gesture with his right hand. Darren's body was filled with a tingling sensation. His cock grew from a shrunken worm to a large fat sausage hanging across his thigh. His balls filled out to the size of small peaches. His thin body tightened, his pecs growing and his stomach hardening into a six pack. Brenda watched the changes, feeling a surge of lust at the new, very fit, Darren. Satan's Little Problem "You're in much better condition," Satan observed, his attention turning to Brenda. "Just a few tweaks needed." Again his hand made a slight movement. Brenda's large breasts tightened and became pert and gravity defying. Her belly flattened and tightened and a fine six pack formed. Her slightly flabby rear tightened and became an object of sheer perfection. Her heavy growth of pubic hair was replaced by a neat Brazilian wax. Her skin acquired a light but fiercely sexy tan and her air became a golden brunette with reddish-gold streaks. In a moment Brenda became a bronzed, fecundity oozing, Amazon. She gave a small gasp of pleasure as she saw her new, improved form. "I've also granted you a regenerating hymen," Satan told her. "Why?" Brenda replied, mystified. "Fuck, you're thick. Men enjoy shagging virgins. This way you can offer every one of your marks the chance to ream an unused fuck pit. Now can I continue?" "Er Satan?" Darren interrupted. "Skip the Satan bit, just call me boss." "OK boss, couldn't you do something about my face and my spots. You know, make me agonisingly handsome." "Oh fuck me!" Satan groaned. "I gave you a huge cock, rock hard pecs and a six pack. Now you want me to make you handsome? Fuck me I'm not a bleeding miracle worker." Much to Darren's chagrin Brenda giggled loudly. "I'm glad someone appreciates my humour," Satan growled. "Cribbens, are you or are you not my official toady?" "Er... yes oh master, I am," Cribbens grovelled. "OK, does that not include laughing at my jokes?" "Er... yes it does, master." "Did you just laugh at my splendidly original joke just now?" "Er... sorry master, I must have missed it." "'Must have missed it'," Satan mimicked in Cribbens' squeaky voice. "Well maybe you won't miss this." Satan clapped his hands and summoned a dozen succubae, each with bright red skin, cute little horns, sexy porn star voices, pointed tails, bat wings, 40DD breasts wearing black PVC basques and high heeled shoes and wielding razor sharp whips. "Girls, please teach this idiot to appreciate humour." The succubae gave giggles of glee and dragged the cringing sycophant from the room to experience a year of extreme punishment. "Shit I would like to fuck one of those," Darren mused. "No you, wouldn't," Satan retorted. "Even I'm not man enough to satisfy those beauties, they're insatiable." "Now where the fuck was I before I was interrupted? Oh yes, I'm now going to give you some final powers." Satan made yet another gesture and his two assistants slumped to the floor, asleep. Some time later the two kids awoke. Satan was sat at his desk smoking a cigar while he pushed a red hot poker up the arse of a priest. "Ah you're awake. Meet Father Strumbold," Satan gestured at the shrieking cleric. "Did you know that this priest managed to bugger two hundred choir boys over ten years? He died when outraged parents set fire to his house. Anyway, how do you feel?" The kids felt strange. Their bodies felt hard, powerful. They felt as though they could crush rocks. "Feels good, doesn't it? You have powers which all other humans can only dream of. No-one can kill you. Any injury will heal within seconds. You have enhanced mental powers, you can corrupt someone by just touching them and willing it or purely by power of thought. You can read minds. You can also metamorphose, if you want to tweak your appearance." "And one final reminder. I want you to work with style. This is not a case of simply mind controlling victims and fucking them to death. I want consenting victims! Use a little style. Now go out into the world and kick ass." Satan waved his hand and in a flash of light they found themselves back in the warehouse. ----------- Eight -- Testing the water The two kids looked at each other in amazement. "Did that really happen?" Brenda asked, not really believing. Darren could feel his corpulent cock resting warmly against his thigh. "It certainly happened," he smiled. "I think I'll go home, I feel a need to test these new powers." Brenda slipped her hand into her jeans and felt her cunt. "Well I have a nice new hymen so it must have happened." The two of them caught an underground train. "That guy is having dodgy thoughts about me," Brenda whispered. Sat opposite them was an old bloke whose gaze was locked onto her chest. "How do you know?" Darren asked. "I read his mind." "How did you do that?" "Imagine your mind has an arm. Mentally reach out and touch his mind." Darren didn't fancy rummaging through some dirty old geezer's mind so he cast his glance around. A couple of seats from the old bloke sat a rather tasty blonde woman. Big tits, short skirt, nice legs, around 30 years old -- very nice. She had noticed Darren's gaze and had looked away with a flash of irritation. Following Brenda's advice he reached out with his mid and entered the woman's thoughts. She wasn't happy. She had had a shit day at work, her boss had spent the day slobbering over her tits. She hadn't had a fuck for months and the last time was pathetic. She was randy, tired and generally pissed off with the world. And now on top of all this this scruffy little yob had been eye-balling her legs, no doubt trying to get a peep up here skirt. Why did every pervert around try to cop a glance at her crotch? Darren wasn't impressed with her attitude. She needed a small lesson. He sowed a small but potent suggestion in her mind. "You have to pee, big time. Your bladder is bursting and you cannot wait. You must pee now..." The woman gave a shiver. Her eyes were wide with shock. She wriggled her rear and clenched her thighs trying to stem the urge to pee. It didn't help. Finally she gave a moan of despair and blushed deep red. Slowly a pool of liquid grew around her feet. The passengers either side of her detected the smell of her piss and left their chairs, suddenly reluctant to sit by this appalling woman. The piss continued, flowing across the floor of the train until her bladder was finally empty. Moments later the train entered a station and the woman fled the train. "Nice one," Brenda whispered. "Indeed," echoed Satan's voice in his mind. "You have a certain creativity." ------------------ Nine -- Oh dear Gillian "Where the hell have you been? Your tea is in the oven." Gillian snapped as Darren sat down at the kitchen table to eat. His mother and sisters were already sat at the table eating. "Hey your spots seem to be clearing," Gillian muttered nastily. "Have you started to wash your face?" Her constant sneering attitude was pissing Darren off and he needed to teach Gillian a lesson. Time to test his powers. He reached out and entered Gillian's mind. Suddenly he was swamped by a multitude of thoughts and emotions. He could sense the deep irritation with which Gillian regarded not just Darren but her whole family. She wanted to be free of them so that she could live her own life in her own flat. She felt stifled by having to live in the family home with her annoying siblings. She was frustrated that her job didn't pay enough to give her freedom. She also was annoyed that her new boyfriend was only interested in drinking with his mates and football. Darren derived satisfaction from his sister's unhappiness and decided to give he one more burden. He sowed a small instruction to Gillian's body, triggering an extreme sexual response in her nipples. Her nipples grew fiercely erect pushing prominent points in her tight blouse. Jenny and Paula giggled as they saw the bumps in Gillian's blouse. Gillian looked up in irritation. "What are you laughing at?" she snapped. "Your titties are growing," Paula giggled. Gillian blushed furiously as she looked down. She quickly covered herself with her arm. Darren sent a second signal to Gillian's subconscious. Slowly, inexorably, an itch began inside Gillian's butt hole. A fierce, irresistible itch which had to be scratched. She clenched her cheeks and wriggled her rear against her seat, trying with no success to scratch. "What is it now?" Darren's mother asked, noticing Gillian's wriggling. Again Gillian blushed. "Excuse me, I need the toilet," she gasped as she left the room. She did not return. Darren took his time eating and then helped with the washing up. It was nearly an hour later when he walked past Gillian's bedroom. He stopped at the closed door and listened. Gillian was sobbing quietly. Darren tapped on the door and walked in. Gillian was squatting on the floor, her jeans and pants around her ankles, frantically scratching at her butt hole. Normally she would have cursed Darren for coming into her room, especially when she was half naked, but she had other things on her mind. "I've got a terrible itch inside my bum," she whimpered. "It won't go away." Have you tried pushing your finger inside and scratching?" he asked helpfully. "Yesss," Gillian sobbed. "It did no good at all and all I got was a dirty finger. I'm so sore. This is driving me mad, I'll do anything to stop it." "I think I might be able to help," Darren replied after a pause. "How?" Gillian asked. "Well my dear sister, there's something in one of my books. It's an old book of folk remedies and if I recall there's a remedy for itches." Gillian had always treated Darren's interest in the occult with absolute contempt but she had little choice. The itch was slowly driving her mad. "Whatever it takes," she gasped, "just cure it." Darren left the room grinning hugely. He had a brilliant idea for making Gillian suffer and all he needed was two items -- an old book from his collection and a pot of extra hot curry paste. He found the paste in the kitchen and poured a little of the into an egg cup before returning to Gillian's room. "Bend over and pull your arse cheeks apart," he told her. Gillian complied giving Darren a perfect view of her red, swollen anus. "This cure invokes a higher power," Darren told his sister. "Do you agree to my asking this higher power for help?" "What higher power?" Gillian asked. "The devil," he replied. Gillian hesitated. She was aware of Darren's hobbies and had always contemptuously considered the occult to be nerdy nonsense. When it came to the crunch, however, she was unsure whether the idea of an ungodly pact was a good idea. A new wave of itching made the decision for her. "Whatever, just do it." Darren recited a random paragraph of Latin from the book, pretending that it was a genuine incantation. "OK repeat after me, 'Oh mighty Satan, I beg you help free me from this ill, I ask this willingly and offer myself in your service.'" Gillian repeated the words. Darren took a large dollop of the chilli paste on his finger and pushed it up into her arse. At the same time he probed her mind and released the itch command. Two things happened. The itch stopped and then Gillian collapsed, shrieking, as a burning pain exploded in her butt hole. "Oh my god, it burns," she moaned. "But has the itch gone?" Darren asked with a smile. "You are one evil fucker," Satan's voice chuckled in Darren's mind. "Beautiful work!" ----------------- Ten -- You all know the scenario I've already explained how Darren was at the bottom of the popularity stakes at college. Like every other educational establishment in the world, there was a hierarchy in terms of popularity. At the top of the heap were those who epitomised intellect, academic achievement or just plain good looks. In other words, those most likely to succeed. In terms of the women in Darren's college, the acme of popularity was the lovely Sarah Wetherall. She had everything, first class academic results, great looks, a body to die for. Darren knew the script by heart. It goes something like, vengeful nerd uses some supernatural powers to seduce the perfect girl who would never otherwise give him the time of day. In doing this, not only would he tear her virginity asunder, he would also show the rest of his school colleagues what a great stud he was. He would get the girl pregnant and then abandon her ensuring that her parents rejected her leading to her to disgrace and fall into terminal decline. This sounded the perfect plan. Darren had never spoken to Sarah but he was sure that she would treat him with contempt and hatred thereby justifying his revenge. The next day Darren approached Sarah at morning break. They had just completed a History lesson and had been given their end of term projects. Sarah was sat on a bench in the hall, reading a book. Her short skirt showed a beautiful expanse of leg. She was certainly 150% hot. "Hi, Sarah, what do you think of the projects?" he asked, steeling himself for rejection. "Oh hi Darren," she replied, smiling sweetly, "They look pretty difficult. Mine is the one about the impact of the occult on mediaeval mysticism -- I haven't a clue where to start." This wasn't going how Darren had intended. "Please sit down Darren. I'm really sorry I haven't spoken to you before, I try to be friends with everyone but I've never seemed to find time to chat with you. it was really very rude of me, please forgive me" Sarah seemed genuinely upset. "How about if we help each other with our projects?" Darren was flummoxed. He tried a quick mind probe to see what Sarah was really thinking. Sarah's mind was a warm, fluffy place, full of pleasant thoughts. She was a genuinely nice person and was deeply interested in Darren and his opinions. She was actually thinking how sad it was they hadn't spoken before and how nice he was. "Bollocks, she's meant to treat me like shit, come on all superior and kick me in the balls. OK plan B it is then," Darren decided. "But what was plan B?" Darren needed time to think. "Yeah, it would be cool if could work together," he replied. "One of my hobbies is the occult, maybe I can help." "Could you?" Sarah cried out, her 36D breasts bouncing gently with excitement." That would be so wonderful!" "Lets meet this evening," Darren suggested. "OK!" Sarah immediately agreed, writing her address and phone number on a sheet of paper. "Is 7 OK?" Darren agreed and walked off. "Well I suppose I can still get her pregnant and fuck up the rest of her life," he pondered. Sarah lived in a huge detached house in the affluent part of the area. The door was answered by Sarah's mother, a nice looking lady, perhaps five foot six, medium build but with nice big pair of tits. (Darren could see where Sarah got her nice little puppies) long blondish hair, pretty face. She wore a tight black dress, dark stockings and high heeled shoes. She looked as though she was about to go out. "Hello, you must be Sarah's friend Darren," she greeted him with a genuine warm smile. "Sarah is in her room please go up." Darren quickly probed her mind. She was as nice a person as her daughter. "Up here, Darren," Sarah called out from the top of the stairs. She smiled at him and gave him a big hug as though he was the only person in world she wanted to meet. Her room was huge and beautifully furnished, with a huge double bed. Sarah looked good enough to eat, in tight designer jeans and a white T shirt. "Come sit, down," she smiled. "Have a coke. Lets chat, we can work later." They chatted for a while about school, friends, hobbies and all sorts of inconsequential stuff. "So do you have a girl friend?" Sarah asked after a pause. "Er... no, not at the moment," Darren replied, "do you... have a boyfriend?" Sarah paused for a moment and gave a conspiratorial smile. "Can I share something with you but please don't tell anyone. I'm not very good with boys." Darren raised an quizzical eye brow. "I er, find it difficult to connect with a lot of boys. I know they like the way I look but that's not enough." "What would be your perfect partner?" Darren asked. "Hmmm, I like these sorts of game," Sarah grinned. "My perfect partner would be intelligent, sexy but also loving, enjoy having fun but would also have a serious side." It was interesting how she avoided saying what sort of partner. "Male or female?" Darren asked. Sarah blushed deep red and looked away. Darren gave her mind a quick scan. It was revealing, very revealing. While she was answering Sarah was thinking about her mother. So, she was she a lesbian,eh? "Don't worry, it's not a sin to like girls," Darren told her. "I won't tell anyone." Sarah nodded her thanks. "Since you've told me something secret, I'll tell you one," Darren told the girl. "I told you that I'm interested in the occult, well I have a way to grant people's wishes." "How?" Sarah asked him with sudden interest. "I have a boss who is willing to help people out." "Who is that?" "Ever heard of the Devil?" Darren asked her. "Well he's always willing to grant favours. "That's Satanism," Sarah looked at him in shock. "You'll go to hell." Darren gave a broad, friendly smile. "Not at all, Satan is a good friend to those who are receptive to him. It's no different to those who go to church. Would you like to get closer to your perfect partner?" Sarah didn't reply. Her mind was a turmoil. For so many years she had lusted after her mother, dearly wanting to enjoy her physical love. The years of frustration and unrequited love were getting her down. So what would it hurt to get a little help? "Would he help me?" she finally asked. "Nice one my boy," came Satan's booming voice in Darren's brain. "A perfect capture, grant her wish and enjoy the ride." "Of course, consider it done," he told her. Margaret Wetherall was impressed with Darren when she opened the door. Such a nice, fit looking boy. Margaret was one of the world's natural nice people, she never lost her temper or said unkind things to other people. She had been married to a successful lawyer for ten years. Their marriage had been blessed by the birth of Sarah and Margaret's life was perfect. It was unfortunate that Margaret hadn't known about all of her husband's sexual peccadilloes. One weekend he had come home from a country walk with a nasty bite on his hand. In spite of her first aid he had succumbed to blood poisoning a week later. He confessed on his death bed that he had a thing about sheep and that he had been bitten by a sheep which had objected to his sexual overtures. Margaret had been shocked but her gentle nature led her to give him the benefit of the doubt. No doubt the sheep had been suffering from pre menstrual tension. At the very moment that Darren had contacted his boss, Margaret received an irresistible command from Satan. She initially felt filled with the most intense love for her daughter followed closely by extreme lust for the girl. She felt aroused like never before. Her breasts felt swollen and tight, her nipples hardened like bullets, her tight pussy flooded with juices which saturated her panties. She had no other desire than to have intense sex with her daughter. She felt that she would die if she didn't taste her lovely daughter at once. She slowly removed her clothes as she walked up the stairs. Her juices were flooding down her inner thighs as she reached the bedroom. The bedroom door swung open and Sarah's mother entered the room, naked. "Sarah, I need you," she commanded. Sarah gasped as she saw her mother's Rubenesque body. Her beautiful full breasts with just a slight sag, her heavy blonde bush of pubic hair, her full, fleshy rear, her rounded belly. Darren was stunned by the smell of arousal which filled the room. Neither woman commented on his presence, they were too preoccupied with each other. Sarah pulled off her clothes and lay on the bed, her legs spread apart. "Kiss me, mummy," she begged, her voice little more than a husky whisper.