Welcome gentle reader to a tale of nightmare and horror. A story of heartbreak and dilemma, an account of anguish and, ultimately, sacrifice. As our plucky heroine…

Deal's With The Devil!

Our tale of woe starts like so many such yarns do. In a bleak cold and grey graveyard. Picture, dear reader, an open grave. The weather is restless, squalid clouds boil, and ill-tempered winds gust and blow the leaves of late October.

A small funeral party stands around a grave, as the priest utters words meant to sooth, and the casket is slowly lowered. Three people watch the coffin descend. A man, his body withered by disease, sits in his wheelchair and says goodbye to his wife. A spinster, shrouded by a shapeless coat, weeps for her sister. A maiden, a large girl, pear-shaped and overly tall, sobs uncontrollably. Forlorn and bereft as her mother is laid to rest.

The clouds darken and heavy drops of rain mingle with the tears on the cheeks of the maiden. Lightning flashes and thunder rents the air. The service at an end, all bar the maiden, scurry for the church and the shelter it offers.

Lightning lights the sky again, but it is not a flash. The maiden, her name is Marjorie, looks up to see the fork of electrical energy frozen in place. There is no thunder either. In fact, silence envelops everything. The rain has stopped too. Literally stopped falling. Individual drops of water hang immobile in the air.

“You’ve got to admit, it is a good trick.”

A new player has entered the scene. Though, gentle reader, he did not walk on to the set. Marjorie looks across the open grave to see a tall and elegant man in a frock coat. He doffs his top hat, smiles, and effortlessly hops across the open grave.

“Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste.”

“Yes, but who are you?”

“What? You didn’t get that? Fuck! Still, I suppose it was released in sixty-eight. I’ll have to see about getting a new song out there. Pity, I liked that one.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Lucifer Morningstar, Old Nick, Satan, Beelzebub or… The Devil. I’ve many names Marge, you though, you lucky thing, can call me… Sir.”

“What?”

“I believe that should be, ‘what, Sir.’”

“What?”

“I’ll let that go, but don’t test me, dear… I’m afraid there is a problem with your mother?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Her immortal soul. There is a dispute.”

“I don’t understand… sir.”

“Your mother led a selfless life. She devoted herself to your father. She forsook friends, a career, in fact even happiness. Just to care for your dear crippled dad. For that, she ought to have an express ticket to Heaven.”

“Heaven is real?”

“I’m real. If I’m real then Hell is real. If there is a Hell then there must be a Heaven too. Gosh, that means He Who Shall Not Be Named is real too. Now Marjorie dear, try to keep up. I will be asking questions after.”

“I… I’m… I’m sorry. This is a bit of a shock.”

“I’m sure. I’m pretty vexed too. So, it turns out your mother took her unhappiness out on your dad. She’d dig her nails in when she lifted him. Deliberately let his food go cold. Just petty spiteful things when it all got too much. But it means I get entangled in her fate. This my dear girl is also where you become involved.”

“How… sir?”

“I’ll waive my claim on your mother if you’ll deal with me?”

“What kind of deal, sir.”

“A wager for your soul, my dear.”

“Do I have to?”

“No, you don’t, but this, my precious, is where I tempt you.”

“I don’t think I’m interested. I’ve heard of this, it’s famous. Faustian is the term I think.”

“Doesn’t know Jagger, then quotes Goethe, you’re an enigma kid. Hear the deal first, then reject it.”

“Okay, sir, but I’m not biting. I’ve seen Bedazzled too.”

“Bedazzled!”

“Yes, I’d have to make a selfless wish.”

“Well, there you go then, you already know how to win. There’s me, bound by convention to stick to the rules. Yet you, granted wisdom beyond your years, by the seers of Hollywood, know how to defeat me. I’m doomed. So want to hear the deal?”

“Umm… It can’t hurt to hear I suppose…”

“Good girl, so you get three wishes. Now, this is not like those tales about genies. I’m not looking to foist the first thing you say, ‘I wish’ upon you. You can hone these wishes, whittle them and adjust. You can get them just so. Then, when you are happy with them, I’ll state a price. This price will be a task.”

“What sort of task, sir”

“I really don’t know, perhaps; never whistle on a Tuesday or keep a shrine to me in your home. It’ll depend on your wishes.”

“If I take the deal mum goes to Heaven.”

“Yes.”

“If I take the wishes and do the task, Sir?”

“Your mum goes to heaven, and you, depending on the life you have led, may go too.”

“If I fail the task?”

“Your soul is mine.”

Gentle reader, it saddens me to inform you a look of lust and greed crept over Marjorie, to slowly be replaced with a cunning smile.

“So you need to know my wishes?”

“I do, your first?”

“I want a different body. I want to have a petite body with a beautiful face, I want it to be fit and not put weight on when I eat, and I want it to age well so I always look young.”

“An astute wish my dear. Let us retire to somewhere we can work.”

Dear reader the couple were instantly transported to a white void. There was no up or down, yet Marjorie did not feel giddy. It felt like there was a floor but all she could see was flat white.

Within this void stood Satan and Marjorie, and to Marjorie’s left hung a huge gothic mirror with a gilt frame. On closer inspection, Marjorie saw that the gargoyles and cherubs that featured in the frame were engaged in an erotic war of bondage. The golden cherubs were being slowly bound, and fucked, by monstrous golden daemons.

Then Marjorie noticed her reflection. The woman on the other side of the frame matched her movements perfectly. Yet there the resemblance ended. She was petite, possibly five-foot, certainly no taller than five foot two. A slender boyish figure was clad in just a tee and a pair of briefs. Her hair was short but her face feminine with soft almost pouty lips, large deep brown eyes and a small nose.

“So, Marge, the new you. This is a starting point. Want to make any changes?”

“Oh she’s so pretty, I’m not sure. Umm… Could you make her chest a bit bigger?”

“Of course dear Marjorie, just say when…” Marjorie watched as the tee started to rise as the breasts below slowly grew.

“Stop,” cried the girl when the breasts looked like they’d need a c cup bra. “Err, her bum looks too small now could that be a bit bigger too?”

“You’re the boss, Marge, just say the word.”

“Enough,” cried Marjorie. The girl in the mirror was still petite but now voluptuous with curving hips and large, yet perky, breasts.

“What excellent taste you have young lady. I can see you’ll be wishing for a shitty stick next to beat the suitors away. Now would you like to accessorise?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Earrings, lip rings… even nipple rings. How about a tattoo. Let me install them now and you get them without having to endure the normal installation process. The edgy hip look with no pain. As I’m sure you know, tattoo’s are not licked in place by kittens.”

“I’m not sure, I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Let me demonstrate.” The clothes on the reflection seemed to evaporate leaving the figure nude. Then slowly the head of a Chinese dragon tattoo appeared on the left shoulder. Marjorie turned to make the reflection turn and she saw the tattoo passed over the shoulder, wound its way down the back before the tip of the tail disappeared into the cleft of the bum. As Marjorie kept turning a circular sigil appeared on the right shoulder. Similar to a ying-yang design, this had three black parts with a hole in each. Then, on the back of the left hand, a bar code. Which was repeated on the hip, only the hip design was larger.

“Bar codes?” Asked Marjorie.

“Just naughty me, showing off, my little mortal. No earthly tattoo artist could tattoo such a design. Those will scan if you choose them.”

“What, and give a price, like a tin of beans?”

“No, my dear, as an identifier. So people know who you are.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Trust me, Marge, they’re cool as fuck. Now let's see... how about some heavy metal?”

Silver rings appeared in the reflections nipples and then one materialised in the septum of the nose, Majorie was admiring this, as she was surprised to find it looked quite cute when a glint from between the legs caught her attention. Large silver rings were set in the outer labia and what looked like an identity tag hung from a ring set in the hood of the clitoris.  

“That’s a bit much isn’t it?” Queried Marjorie.

“You think so? Why not try before you buy?”

A brief disorientating moment followed and the reflection seemed to grow until Marjorie was eye to eye. The penny dropped and she looked down at her now nude body. Initially, she was fascinated with the nipple rings. Experimenting with tugging them until she remembered the items below. Reaching down she knocked the tag and became an instant fan as the ring in her hood rubbed her love bud.

“I see what you mean, these feel great,” Marjorie enthused. “Hold on what’s in my mouth?” Sticking out her tongue Marjorie was shocked to find a stud set in it. “Wow! I’d never have thought of that, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, my dear, I aim to please.”

“Now I’ll age well?”

“Look again at the mirror.” Marjorie watched in fascinated horror as the reflection aged before her eyes. The face grew softer and the lips a little thinner, crows feet appeared at the corners of the eyes. The boobs became a little softer and less perky and the hair on the head slowly turned silver.

“So Marge, how old do you think your reflection is now?” Asked Satan.

“Umm, late fifties, early sixties perhaps?”

“No, that is what you’ll look like at the age of one hundred if you make that wish.”

“Can you make it young again first please?” Instantly the body was the original young version.

“Umm, you’re not going to give me cancer or drop a bus on me five minutes after making my wishes are you?”

Satan laughed, “There are really no tricks, my innocent thing. I will keep to my bargain. I cannot claim your soul if I do not. However, I am not going to make you immortal unless you specifically wish for it. So if you jump in front of a train that’s on you. But I’ll not deliberately collect you early unless G. O. D. drops a bus on you, you ought to live a long life, my dear.”

“Oh, I just thought, can this new body tan well too, please, sir? I always burn in the sun and have to hide in the summer.”

“Okay, so what you have there with zero weight gain and tannable skin. Anything else?”

“Umm… Oh, none of my clothes will fit this body.”

“Okay, good point, so complimentary wardrobe. How’s this?”

Suddenly Marjorie was clothed. But gone were her usual dull and frumpy items. Patent ankle boots with thin stiletto heels, glossy black leggings and a black leather mini kilt. A black band tee and a red leather biker jacket combined with leather bondage cuffs on each wrist and a black leather collar sat high on her throat a large silver ring hung from the front.

“Oh my God!” Squealed Marjorie.

“Less of the Gee word, if you don’t mind dear. So you like?”

“Umm, yes, but I can’t go back to the funeral like this.”

“I understand, but the general image, you feel this is you?”

“I look hot! I’ve never dared dressed this way, but with this body…”

“See we are having fun. You can trust Old Nick. So, something for your mothers funeral.”

The clothes changed. Sensible black leather ankle boots with a block heel of only two inches, sheer black seamed nylons a leather skirt again, but this time a knee-length pencil with a short split at the rear. A black satin blouse and a black double-breasted macintosh. The collar was replaced with a thin leather choker with a decorative thin silver ring.

“So lets recap,” said Satan. “Your first wish is to have this new body, as it is now. With the new wardrobe based on the two outfits, you have tried so far. You don’t want to have to watch your weight or worry about sunburn so this body will not lose any weight or gain any, so long as you eat enough food. I’ll add-in, though you’ve not requested this, that everyone who knows you will not remember the old you, but you as you are now. Though they will all notice an imperceptible change, and feel the need to congratulate you on your new appearance. You will also age slowly though this is not a guarantee of a long life. I also promise not to collect you early.”

“Yes, that,” said Marjorie. “I want my first wish to be that please, sir.”

“Okay, Marge, I’ll leave you like that for now while we discuss you next two. Then I’ll implement all three at once if that is okay?”

“Yes, sir, that’s fine.” Marjorie was really warming to this now as she had two good selfless wishes next that ought to fox Satan.

“So your second wish?”

“I want my dad to get better.”

“You mean cured?”

“No. He has relapse remitting multiple sclerosis. I want him to get properly better. All symptoms to go away. But I don’t want him magically cured. That would turn him into some sort of medical curiosity. Doctors would be probing him, and he’d have no peace. So over the next year, slowly, he regains full function of his body. And then never has an episode again. But if they tested him they would still find he has the disease.”

“Well done, Marge, that is properly clever. I can see you are one smart cookie. So your third and final wish?”

“My dad has always been gullible. He’s sweet and kind but he’s the sort who would send his bank details to a Nigerian Prince. My third wish is that he has an astute business sense and is successful with money.”

“Very clever again, Marge. Two selfless wishes ensuring your dad is healthy and rich. I cannot give him temporary wealth as he can make more. You’ve turned your dad into the golden egg-laying goose.”

“Thank you, sir. So what happens now?”

“Well, there is this contract to sign,” a wobbling tower of paper materialised next to The Devil, “but before you do that you need to hear my price.”

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot.”

“Yes, so in exchange for those three wishes, your task is simple. You may deny your father nothing. No matter what he asks of you, any favour, any request, no matter what, you must say yes. If he asks for a cup of tea or your firstborn child you will not refuse. If he asks for all your money or to kill somebody, you must do as he asks.

"Oh, and you may tell not a living soul of this contract.

“It’s a steep price I’ll admit, but those are three rather special wishes you are getting there.”

“If I say no to dad?”

Dear, gentle reader, the next description is quite hard to read and concerns the dismemberment of our heroine, feel free to skip the next paragraph if your constitution is weak.

Suddenly Marjorie found herself transported to a cavern full of fire. She was naked and stretched out in the air by many strands of barbed wire that were wrapped around all four of her limbs. Each wire cut agonisingly into her flesh as the cables tried to pull her in opposite directions. Around her throat was a chokingly tight steel collar with a serrated upper edge that sawed at her jaw each time she turned her head. A small ugly daemon climbed up her body, digging sharp claws into her exposed flesh. It's added weight causing the barbed wire to draw tighter about her limbs. With a leering grin, it produced a large curved needle and, perched on her tits, pinched her lips together and began sewing her mouth shut. Each stab of the needle was torture. The thread, as it was pulled tight, was excruciatingly painful. Unable to twist away without incurring more pain from the serrated collar she was forced to stare at the grotesque monster as it mutilated her mouth. Its task complete, it jumped off the writhing, but mute, Marjorie to pick up a huge chain saw. The machine roared into life and the grinning monster applied the whirring blade to the crotch of the wide-eyed and hysterical girl. Indescribable agony rent her form, as the monster slowly and deliberately carved the helpless woman in half. Her own blood sprayed over her, her guts dropping into the flames below, as she tried to scream through her sutured mouth. Despite the indescribable pain, she remained conscious until the saw reached the collar, feeling every agonising inch of progress as the blade carved through her.  She awoke in a cavern full of fire. She was naked and stretched out in the air by many strands of barbed wire that were wrapped around all four of her limbs...

Abruptly, after she had been eviscerated three times, she found herself back in front of Lucifer, screaming, but whole, clothed and unharmed. Her stomach heaved and Marjorie emptied her breakfast over the invisible white floor.

Satan waved at the mess and it was suddenly gone, “Don’t say no to dad, dear.”

“I… I… I won’t, sir”

Satan flourished his hand and a pen appeared, “So do you want to sign, or did that clear and concise warning put you off?”  

Marjorie paused, dear reader. Let us give her some due. She considered what she was doing. To her credit she asked questions;

“If I sign, my mum goes to Heaven?”

“Straight away.”

“And I only go to Hell if I fail the task?”

“Or lead a sinful life.”

“What if dad asks me to do something sinful?”

“It’s not a sin if you are coerced.”

“Oh, and dad can go to heaven too?”

“So long as he is good, yes, in theory. No one is damned by you signing. We are entering a wager. You are not signing your soul over to me.”

“Marjorie took the pen and signed.” Satan laughed.

“Well done, girl. May the best man win.”

The lightning flashed, the rain fell down and the attractive, petite young Marjorie turned up her collar on her mac and turned from her mothers grave.

There was no wake. The sister in law said her farewell's, implicit if unsaid was they were unlikely to meet again. The daughter pushed her father in his chair back to their car and drove him home.

After bringing him in and settling him in front of the telly the maiden retreated to her room to explore her wardrobe. An Aladdin’s cave of exotic garments hung within. Leather, PVC and even rubber garments. It was heavy on black but there were splashes of colour too. Reds and purples even emerald greens. There were some things Marjorie had to explore to understand such as a leather harness as well as a full latex catsuit. Satan may have gone too far with those she thought. Still, it would be fun to play dress-up when alone.

While undressed she examined the tattoos once more. The dragon tattoo was simply stunning in detail and vibrancy. Her attention was drawn to the round monochrome device on the outside of her shoulder. Using her phone to take a picture of the roundel on her shoulder she searched for it on the web. The result surprised her, it was the symbol for BDSM. Satan had tattooed her with an image that would lead people to believe she was into bondage and other kinky stuff in the bedroom. Not so bad she mused. Especially if it got her a hot hunk or a sexy siren tied to her bed.

She tried pointing her phone at the barcode on her hip next. Before she could take a picture though, her phone pinged and asked if she wanted to go to the page the code was linked to. Tapping the yes button took her to a profile page that immediately asked for a new password. Feeling clever Marjorie typed 'S4t4n666', to be shown a page full of details all about herself. There were mugshot pictures of her face and close up pictures of her tattoos and piercings. including the intimate ones between her legs. There was a short bio and a list of measurements of nearly her entire body. She was intrigued to see she had a collar size of twenty-nine centimetres. Her sexuality was correctly listed as bisexual. Though she was put off to see her self described as submissive and masochistic with fetishes for latex, steel bondage, sensory deprivation and anal intercourse. She was also ranked as a 'novice' slave and presently unowned. Obviously Satan's idea of a joke or trick. She quickly found the settings page but was dismayed to discover the details could not be changed within twenty-four hours of the password being set. She was able though to change access to 'password only' so nobody who scanned her barcodes could access the erroneous details or revealing pictures.

It occurred to her then she ought to check the engraving on the tag hanging from her hood piercing. Given the details on the site, she was not surprised to find the tag simply had the word 'slave' engraved upon it with a nine-digit number underneath that looked like it was part of the barcodes tattooed on her hip and hand. Super sexy body or not, no one was getting inside her knickers until she had removed that tag.

Suddenly realising she had to change, and present her new self downstairs, she rummaged through her draws and cupboards. Eventually opting for a pair of black glossy PVC jeans and what looked like an old second hand Iron Maiden tee shirt. She found the collar and cuffs that had gone with the outfit Satan had dressed her in and along with the stiletto ankle boots, feeling very daring, made her way down to join her dad.

He looked up as she entered the living room and smiled.

“Hello Marge love, thank you for Today.”

“Sorry dad, why are you thanking me?”

“For dressing so nicely, at mum’s funeral. It would have meant the world to her.”

“Oh, don’t you like the way I dress dad?”

“Actually I do, most of the time. Just sometimes I’ve felt you’ve not toned it down enough on certain occasions.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll try harder in future, dad.”

“Oh, that’s alright. You got it right today for your mum. Though with all that rain coming down at the end I bet you’d wished you’d worn some of that PVC or latex your always strutting around in.”

“Well, it is waterproof, dad,” ad-libbed Marjorie wondering just what sort of dress sense Satan had installed as her back story.

“I mean I like the way you are dressed now. It’s you. You make it work. But sometimes you’ve gone over the top. Like that zentai suit, you wore to your Grandma’s eightieth.”

“Not popular?”

“Oh the guys liked it, but your grandma thought you had got a job for NASA with you dressed in a silver catsuit.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“No need to apologise, sweetness. Besides I have news.”

“You do?”

“Yes, just after the funeral my fingers started tingling.”

“Really?”

“Yes, watch my right hand.” Marjorie looked at the hand resting on the arm of the chair. As she stared the index finger slowly rose then dropped again.

“Wow, dad, that’s amazing. It looks like you're remitting.”

“I know, it’s not much but it’s encouraging,” Marjorie’s dad beamed. “Oh, could you make me a cuppa, love?”

Marjorie was about to beg off when she remembered. Cold shivers travelled down her spine at how easily Satan had nearly won.

“Of course dad, love to,” she smiled back at him before leaving for the kitchen. As she made the tea she pondered what had nearly happened. A simple offhand request from her dad had nearly consigned her to Hell. She was going to have to watch herself.

As the rest of the day wore on Marjorie became even more concerned and did not relax until she had helped her dad to bed that night. Retreating to her room she wondered what she could do. Should she just leave her dad? It would hurt him. It may even make him angry at her. Then if he found her he may tell her to do something she really did not want to do. Besides he was not well enough to leave yet.

Eventually, she resolved to remember never to say no to dad and try to keep to herself as much as possible. So that was what she did. Ultimately after a week or so it became second nature to respond, “Yes, dad,” to everything. He never asked for anything unreasonable anyway.

One problem though, that she could not solve, was she was unable to get back into the settings page for the website linked to her tattoos. Initially she panicked, but she quickly realised that no one was able to see the erroneous data about her. So quickly forgot it.

After a month her dad’s arms were working and he was gaining strength fast. He was moving around in his chair by himself on level ground and was able to get himself on and off the toilet. The latter a great boost for him and a relief for Marjorie.

Fired up by his returning mobility he had Marjorie take him out more and more. While she now had a great body and sexy wardrobe her dad was becoming a ball and chain. Whenever she got frustrated though, she reminded herself he would be independent within the year, and she would be free.

About six weeks after the funeral though her dad did something that changed all that. It started over breakfast and sounded so innocuous she was caught unawares.

“Marge, I’m thinking of starting a business love.”

“Really, dad, why?”

“Well, with my arms working better and better and my general health-improving I need something to do. I’ve been looking on the internet and I think I’ve spotted a niche.”

“Go on,” encouraged Marjorie whilst thinking, ‘This is going to be a great idea. My third wish coming to fruition.’

“Before I do though, love, I want to know if you are up for helping me with this. Just because I’m getting better does not mean I’ll be able to do everything. Plus I may deteriorate again. I need you to be on board too. It could be a lot of extra work.”

“Dad, I trust you. Of course, I’ll help you run the business. Whatever you need me to do.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

“So spill, what’s this big idea?”

“Well, I think you’re going to love it. You see I was looking on the net for a gift for you.”

“Me?”

“It is your birthday in two weeks, don’t try and kid me you’d forgotten.”

“Damn, actually I really had. I must be getting old. Anyway, you were gift shopping, what did you find?”

“Actually I was approached, sort of… Okay, I saw an advert… But I’ve since talked to them a bit”

“Good grief, dad, stop beating around the bush, out with it.”

“Well, it’s bondage gear, love.”

“What?! You’re shopping for a birthday present for me, and you come up with bondage gear!”

“Calm down, Marge. Before you get on your high horse or accuse me of being sick for perving on my own daughter. What are you wearing around your neck right now?”

Marjorie’s hand flew up to her throat to feel the collar that Satan had provided with the first outfit. She’d honestly forgotten she had it on. She didn’t always wear it, but she liked the edgy look it gave. She certainly didn’t think of it as a fetish item.

“That’s worn as a fashion thing, dad, and you know it.”

“Of course it is, Marge, but if I were looking for something similar on the net I was going to have to look in kinky places.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“Thank you, so I was horrified at how much some of the stuff costs. So I started looking hard for more affordable stuff. Anyway, this advert came up from a company called Old Nick’s Leathers. Much better prices I thought until I tried to place an order. Then realised they were wholesalers.”

“So you want to buy off of them and sell the stuff?” Marjorie’s mind was a whir and the name of the company. Could this business be Satan throwing dad a bone to get started?

“Yes, I contacted them and, for a reasonable fee, I get exclusive access to several lines too. Thus solving the issue of competition. We’d be the only place you could get some of the stuff.”

“So how do I help dad?”

“In lots of ways, dear. We can keep start-up costs down if we do as much in-house as possible.”

“I have no idea how to do this, dad.”

“It’s okay, I do, I’m just going to need you to help me with the creative side of designing a website and then once we are up, I think, just shipping.”

“Okay, so how do we start?”

“This is the bit I’m not sure about. Would you be willing to model the stuff for the site? It would be a huge saving in models and photographers if you said yes.”

Marjorie went cold at the request. Her dad was asking her to pose in bondage gear on the internet. But she couldn’t say no, as horrible as that was it was far better than what Satan had in store. She stalled for time.

“Who would be taking these pictures dad?”

“Me, love.”

There was no option she had to say yes.

“Okay dad, because it’s you,” she smiled.

“Before we go ahead there are a couple of other ideas I want to float.”

“Float or are you asking me to do them, dad?” Marjorie was scared of the answer, but she was hoping for some wriggle room.

“Okay, I guess I am asking, but I won’t be upset if you say no.” Damn, thought Marjorie, ‘You may not be upset but I probably will be.’

“So what are these ideas then?”

“I thought, since you’re going to be modelling the items on the site, we could put small actual user reviews from you on the site.”

Marjorie frowned in confusion, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Well, we make up a stage name for you. Something like ‘Slave Em’ and then little blurbs along the lines of, ‘Slave Em says this gag is comfy to wear and it keeps the screams in too.’ Or, ‘This blindfold is easy to wear and keeps all light out.’”

“Oh, that’s not a biggy, that’s just marketing. Of course, you can do that.”

“Yeah, but I just want to check. It’ll give the impression you are something you are not to a lot of people. Plus it goes further.”

“I see, go on.”

“Well, as I see it most of the stuff can be assessed by you as we do the shoot. But some of the stuff will require you either wear it for a bit to actually test it.”

“Oh my God, are you asking me to test out sex toys?”

“No Marge, don’t be silly. But for some of the wearables how it feels over time may be highly relevant. It may be that on some of the bigger purchase items you could give them a go and then give a full review.”

“What sort of things dad?”

“They do a thing called a vacuum bed. It totally immobilises the person in it. But they are not cheap. If we can give a solid review on what they are like that’ll be bound to boost sales.”

“That makes sense again, just you and me doing this though, yes?”

“Certainly.”

“Okay and the other thing?”

“I thought at fixed times we could man a helpline or even better a skype service. Where clients could ask questions.”

“If you say demonstrate you’re just turning me into a cam girl, dad.”

“No Marge, just a talking head, giving out advice about something you’ve worn or tried. If you’ve not tested a thing you just say so. I want us to come across as genuine and honest.”

“Hmm, how can I say no? Of course, I’ll do that, dad. How long before we get this going then?”

“Now I know you are on board I’ll ask for samples, in your sizes, after making a deposit. Once we have those we can do the product shoot, and start testing products. Then we can go live almost as soon as the site is built.”

“Wow that’s fast, so shall I get a measuring tape?”

What followed was the most thorough measuring she had ever endured. Though she took most of the measurements herself, while her dad noted them down on a pad as they went. After that, he went back to the computer and placed the order.

Three days later a courier arrived with quite a lot of large parcels. Once it was all unloaded they near filled up the dining room of their small home. Dad took one look and made the decision to rent a commercial unit on a nearby trading estate. The pair of them were then kept busy with the logistics of setting up the new business.

Once that was done though, both father and daughter were quite pleased with what they had achieved. A small office with computers was on a mezzanine floor serviced by a lift. Below at the back a studio area to photograph the products. Racks of shelves full of stock took up most of the floor with a despatch area near the entrance.

When that was set up the hard work of modelling and taking pictures of everything started. Marge was shocked at just how hard a job it was too. Her initial fears of awkwardness or inappropriateness at her own dad putting her into bondage evaporated quickly. It wasn't sexy or arousing. A lot of it was uncomfortable to model too. Plus the effort changing from one item to the next, and ensuring they had all the shots necessary. It was more work than either of them anticipated.

There were some moments of awkwardness. Some of the more intimate items such as nipple clamps caused Marge to go very red in the face. She did most of the modelling in a black latex catsuit. Apparently streetwear for the new Marge. But the clamps brought her up short. Marge had looked at her father so see what he said.

"No need to model those, sugar. I'll do those and the sex toys on a lightbox later."

At the end of the shoot though her dad asked Marge for something she was not expecting.

"Marge love, I've looked through all this stock and there are a couple of items I'd like for you to test out as we discussed earlier."

"Umm, okay dad. You know I cannot say no to you," she quipped. Knowing he did not know the truth of that statement.

"So this metal collar," her dad started, "is supposed to be the sort of thing a lifestyle submissive wears. Given that's what you're going to be pretending to be... Would you mind wearing it for the foreseeable? That way if a potential client asks what is like to wear long term you can give a quick and genuine answer. Plus if you are seen away from work our cover is not blown."

Marge looked at the thing. Since her deal with Satan, she had been wearing chokers almost constantly. Many would pass as collars. None of them locked or were made of metal though. Still, given the consequences of saying no.

"Happy to dad. I said I would, and I'm a fan of collars anyway."

Her dad beamed at his daughter and handed the item over to her. It was heavy and cool to the touch. Marge opened the thing up and then closed it around her own throat. The click made her jump, it was tighter than anticipated and a nervous swallow highlighted the inflexibility of its grip about her neck. How long am I going to have to wear this thing, she wondered to herself?

"Is that okay, dear? Does it fit?"

"It's tight and heavier than the leather ones I usually wear, dad. But I'm sure I'll get used to it. What was the other thing you wanted me to wear?"

"The other thing... Well, I've seen you wear them for yourself, so I'm guessing this won't be a bother. Would you mind wearing one of the corsets?"

"Sure dad, but as you said, I wear these all the time. I can already tell clients about corsets."

"Umm, I was thinking of you doing some waist training and wearing them long term?"

"You want me to wear a corset all the time?" She knew she had to say yes. "Of course dad. That's a great idea. If I can give advice out on what that's like I'm sure it will boost sales."

Thus, gentle reader, father and daughter built their business. The launch was, predictably, very successful. The pair found themselves rushed off their feet. Large numbers of orders came in and they worked long hours packing them up to ship out. Soon the workload increased as the new stock had to be stored when it came in. Then the inevitable returns started coming back. Though pleasingly these were low in number and mostly due to customers getting their sizes wrong rather than faulty products.

The upshot was the pair were working nearly every waking hour and Marge was doing little in the way of customer service online.

"Marge, love, we need to hire some staff."

"Can we afford to, dad?"

"Easily, we are making very good money."

"God, then do it, dad. I've forgotten what it's like to watch the telly or go out for a meal."

"There's an issue though."

"What's that, dad?"

"Well, it's you, daughter. See, I can't see a way of you doing what we planned without risking blowing your cover."

"Sorry?"

"We are pretending to be a Master and slave in a D/s relationship online. You give out advice on our kit from the position of a user as well as a salesperson."

"Yeah, so?"

"You've been wearing that collar and been laced into a corset for the past month to maintain that very illusion."

"I know that dad, though I've got pretty used to them now, what's the point." She absently reached up and felt the heavy steel fetter locked about her throat. She really did forget it was there sometimes and wondered at the looks she was getting when out until she did. Such incidents were getting rarer but were still embarrassing.

"You are going to have to maintain that illusion in front of the new staff."

"I am? Why?"

"Let's say a new hire does not work out. Or say they do but they get drunk and let slip our secret to a friend. Or even worse someone leaves our employ upset. They could use the information to damage us. Our reputation would be trashed online."

"So we have to work every hour God gives us or pretend to be Master and slave in front of the staff we hire?"

"That's the face of it."

"So what does that mean? It's not so bad. I'm going to be your slave, not theirs. It'll be the way we live our life." Stated Marjorie trying to be upbeat and practical. "I call you, Master. I'm already wearing the bloody collar. I don't have to follow their orders. Just do as you tell me, and let's face it, I already do that. It shouldn't be that hard a pretence to keep up."

"But you can never call me dad in front of them."

"I won't. Promise."

In this way, dear gentle reader, the cast of players is enlarged. For after some raised eyebrows and failed attempts Marjorie's father secured the services of three new team members.

Sadie, a middle-aged woman who looked liked she never ate, was hired to run the shipping department.

Joanne, a raven-haired woman about two years senior to Marge, but with a similar figure. Was hired to handle goods in and returns, plus help Sadie when she could.

Finally, Jenny, a rotund lass who looked like a librarian was employed to manage the stock.

On the first day, that the new staff would be there to help, Marjorie fretted over what to wear. The collar was a given, and in truth not an issue either, as she had grown so used to being collared. The corsets were a slightly bigger issue but she was fast becoming a corset fan too and thus they were actually not an imposition either.  

In the end, she went with some latex leggings and a latex vest. She was supposed to be a slave after all. She added one of the store's latex corsets over which she put a mesh off the shoulder top and cinched that into the corset with a wide patent leather belt. On her feet, she opted for patent leather ankle boots with six-inch heels. She at least didn't have to worry about driving in them as her dad, now almost fully mobile, would be taking her in.

As they left the house though he caught her out by holding up a leash.

"Would you mind if I put this on you, Marge? The staff have been told you are my slave. I feel we should live up to expectations."

Marjorie wanted to refuse, but dared not, "Okay Da.., sorry, Master. I understand."

"Marge, love, you cannot slip up like that at work."

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Okay then," he said as he clipped on the leash to his daughter's collar.

They drove in silence. Marjorie unsure of this new situation and her dad obviously lost in thoughts of his own. Arriving felt strange as a place she had thought of as an extension of her home, was going to be full of strangers. Strangers who were going to be judging her on false information.

The new employees were gathered outside the door to the unit when they turned into the carpark.

"Wait for me to get you out of the car, Marjorie."

"Yes, Master," she answered, figuring she may as well get into the swing of things.

Her dad got out of the car and waved to the new staff as he walked around the car. Opening the passenger door he took hold of the leash from Marjorie's lap. She then climbed out and after closing the door trailed after him as he approached the new employees.

"Welcome, everyone. You know me from your interviews. Let me introduce Marjorie my partner and lifestyle submissive or slave." Marjorie, unsure what to do or say, lifted a hand and waved shyly at the three strangers. "Our lifestyle should not interfere with things. Just treat her as you would me or any of your other fellow employees. Now let's get inside shall we and get on with things."

The small crowd parted, so Marjorie's dad could unlock the door and Marjorie, red-faced was pulled along after, as he proceeded to do so. Once inside she was released from the highly embarrassing leash and she made a beeline for the office where she could quietly die of shame.

Her dad introduced the staff to their new roles, and Marjorie went live on her computer to talk to customers. Her mind was feverish with questions about how the people downstairs perceived her.

Dear reader, we will step away here but we will return soon to find out how Marjorie copes with these new developments to her Deal with the Devil.