Impersonating a Devil can be dangerous, but it has its rewards. Especially if you are a horny Devil.
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WARNING! This warning is possibly not needed for this particular story, but I am including it because it is needed for most of my stories.
If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.
All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2018 by The Technician.
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Stan Satanowski stepped out of the state of the art spray tanning booth in his basement. It was a computer-controlled, fully-automatic model and should have cost much more than he could possibly afford, but he had gotten it basically for free.
Free is a relative term. In this case, it meant that when he accepted a contract to clean up and remodel a space in a local strip mall, he agreed to store any and all equipment currently in the store for a period of two years.
The previous tenant ran a beauty shop called "Momma Ling's" that offered everything from hair styling to nail treatments to spray tans to drugs-- yes, drugs. Evidently the beauty business wasn't paying enough so Momma Ling-- real name Cynthia Davidson-- branched out into various prescribed and non-prescribed opioids.
Unfortunately, Cynthia hadn't done sufficient research on possible competition and one of the local neighborhood suppliers expressed their displeasure at her intrusion into their sales territory by shooting up the place and the people inside. In an amazing display of accuracy for street gangs, there was one and only one fatality, Cynthia "Momma Ling" Davidson. Two customers were injured by flying glass and one received a minor bullet wound in the leg, but Momma Ling's Beauty Shop and Drug Emporium was permanently closed.
Evidently, Cynthia Davidson wasn't her real name either because officials could discover no valid driver's license... or next of kin... or place of birth... or anything else. All of the equipment was evidently paid for, so once the police released the crime scene, the lease was voided out by the owners of the strip mall and it was just a matter of Stan cleaning everything out and making it look like Momma Ling's had never existed.
The one problem was that all of the equipment had to be stored for at least two years in case some creditor-- or relative-- stepped forward to claim it. So, one of the terms of the remodeling contract was that Stan had to store the furnishings, for a monthly fee of course, for 24 months. Then it was his to dispose of in whatever way he saw fit.
Almost everything was taken apart and stored in the back of his garage at home. But the technical aspects of a self-applying spray tanning booth fascinated him. So did the possible selling price. Stan figured if he kept the booth in working order, then at the end of the two years he could sell it for at least five or six grand.
The problem was that it had to be used regularly to prevent the pumps, seals, and nozzles from drying out. He thought he could just cycle it every so often, but except for the cleaning cycle, the booth was programed not to run unless a person was inside it. And whatever you put in the tubes for the tanning agent had to be just the right consistency or the program would error out. That meant using real fake tan stuff when you ran it.
So, once every two months, Stan would mix up a batch of faux tan and step into the machine. The first couple times he did that, the results were, at best, mixed. Fortunately, there was also a removal cycle that sprayed a solution that would take off anything that had been applied, even days or weeks later.
After one of his worst initial attempts where he made a major mistake mixing the tan colors he stepped out of the booth a deep, all-over red. "I know what I am wearing next Halloween," he said to himself in the mirror. He carefully wrote down exactly what he had done before resetting the booth to a removal cycle.
With his skin dyed a deep red, Stan figured he could wear anything... or nothing... to the next Halloween party. But he still needed a gimmick that would put it over the top. So he turned to his cousin, Mark, who worked supplying special props to the movie industry.
"What you need is horns," Mark said. "But they have to appear only when you want to show that you are horny." He then laughed at his own joke.
Stan just scowled at him, but Mark said, "No, seriously. I've got these horns that glue to your hair and scalp. You just comb the rest of your hair over the little nubs. When you want them, just press on either one of them and they pop up slowly. You can make it look like you are just pulling your hair out of the way. Then when you want the horns to disappear again, just push on both of them slowly and the special springs push back down until the catch engages again."
"How much?" Stan asked.
"I sold the final versions for three grand apiece," Mark answered, grinning at the shocked look on Stan's face. Then he added, "But I've still got the prototypes. I can let you have them at five hundred for the pair. They aren't quite as flashy, but people will be seeing them actual size. You aren't going to be up on a big screen."
All that was needed after that was for Stan to wangle an invitation to a friend's Halloween party. His friend lived near the college and Stan knew that there would be a significant number of college students there. Free booze at a party near campus will do that. Stan thought he might have to do some real convincing, but his friend agreed because he was Stan's friend... and because it never hurts to have a hunky construction worker at a party as an additional attraction for coeds.
That night, Stan wore a rather interesting costume of black leather pants, a black vest, and black leather sandals. His red chest, red arms, red hands, and red feet added a surreal effect hinting at the possibility that his total body was all that same shade of red.
His pickup line wasn't very original. In fact it was terrible, but it fit his costume. He would walk up to a young woman and say, "Does a horny devil like me have a chance with a beautiful angel like you?"
Stan knew that nine times out of ten, the girl would just laugh at him, but he was confident that there were more than ten beautiful women at the party.
When it came time for introductions, he would say, "I'm Stan Satanowski." After a pause he added, "Satanowski means Son of the Devil."
He would wait for a reaction from the girl and then say, "I'm named after my great-grandfather. He always said the immigration clerks messed up an 'A' in his name... but he never said whether they left one out to create Stan or added one to create Son of Satan."
For the first girl, that also led to laughter as she walked away. But the second girl asked, "Does that costume cover your whole body?"
Stan laughed the deepest laugh he could muster and said, "This isn't a costume. Halloween is the one time of the year I can go around as myself."
He then reached up and brushed his hair away from his horns. The prosthetic devices worked exactly as his cousin said they would. They popped up as his hands brushed over them. There were now two, black, shiny horns sprouting from his head.
He then said in a deep whisper, "If you give yourself to me tonight... for just the night... I will grant you one wish."
"Just for the night?" the girl asked quietly.
