Warning: this story contains ideas about theology based on my own bizarre and abnormal imagination. If you can't stomach something that might be "blasphemous" according to the Christian tradition, then DO NOT bloody well read this story! It SHALL offend you, if you're hung up on religious orthodoxy!
*
Nigel Allen was more than simply fed up with his wife, Marcia. She had belittled him too much for any man to stand, not to mention joked too often with her sister Carrie that she should get to fuck other men to make up for his "shortcomings". When he snarled that he would simply repay her that favor, she declared that she wasn't worried, because he wouldn't get any woman twice.
She had also stopped fucking him, complaining that his dick was too short for her. That hadn't been the case when they first wed, so he had to wonder why she felt that way. He found out one morning, when he overhead Marcia and Carrie talking. Evidently, his demented sister-in-law had showed up early that Sunday. He pretended not to eavesdrop, but he caught a great deal.
"Sis, I'm telling you, that was a wonderful idea that you gave me! Thank you for that! I've been fucked so much by that freak of nature that there is no way that Nigel can satisfy me now. Naturally, I don't give him the chance to waste my time anymore. If I'm lucky, he shall get desperate to fuck another woman and get caught. Then I can take him to the cleaners, the silly haberdasher!" Marcia giggled wickedly.
"I'll do him for you. Hubby won't get quite so jealous if I bed a man who can't compete with him. He just cries when he has to share me with real men," Carrie cracked about her pathetically endowed husband, whom she didn't allow much sex at all.
Nigel suspected that Hugh was a wimp or even a submissive, but this simply confirmed it. Carrie was infamous as a slut, though she had never made any passes at him. She was extremely hostile to him, as a matter of fact. That always confused him, aside from the fact that the sisters were like two peas in the proverbial pod.
"Hugh still cries when you cuckold him? How silly! Oh, well, I'd appreciate it. I'm not sure if Nigel is smaller, however. He's just too small for me. Maybe I should get a chance to compare them, by fucking both of them one night. That would solve my curiosity and throw off Nigel's suspicions for a little bit as well," Marcia mocked both men.
"Why the hell not? I occasionally share hubby with my lovers, so why not a rare treat like my sister? It shall be the last woman he gets in a while anyway, since I'm thinking of a chastity device for him. I've even started to restrict his masturbation. What a wimp! You might have a small jerk of a hubby, but at least he has balls! Then again, perhaps you'd rather he didn't, since they get in the way of your agenda," Carrie shocked her sister by agreeing to the facetious idea.
Nigel had heard quite enough of that, so he headed back to the bathroom. Marcia's teasing and denial policy, which now had a clear motive, had driven him off the wagon. He had been in AA for several years now, but he had missed the last few meetings and gotten drunk instead. Last night was no different, for which his wife and relatives would no doubt scold him again. Well, it was her bloody fault, wasn't it? He had been sober for years, until she pulled that nonsense. When she had been a better wife, he had stayed off the bottle.
His hangover and the truth about his wife were sufficient to make him sick at his stomach. He began retching, but stopped when he saw a man behind him. He didn't think that even Marcia was stupid enough to bring home a lover, so was this guy a burglar or one of Carrie's beaus? He looked ashen as he turned around to confront the stranger.
"Neither one," the man grinned.
"Neither what?" Nigel demanded.
"I'm neither a burglar nor one of Carrie's boyfriends. I'm the Devil," the tall, uninvited guest announced.
"Excuse me, but did you just say that you're the Devil? Is that why you can read my thoughts?" Nigel wondered openly.
"Naturally. There are many powers that come with being the Prince of Darkness. One of them is teleportation, along with telepathy, telekinesis, and my personal favorite, mind control. Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'The Devil made me do it'? Most of the time, it's bullshit, but it's occasionally quite accurate," Satan informed him.
"Okay, fair enough, but what do you want with me?" he probed.
"That's easy. I need human foot-soldiers. There is a reward for becoming that, of course. Instead of taking your chances in the afterlife, you're part of the Infernal Government. That means that you get to torment others, not be tormented. Of course, you can kiss your chances of going to Heaven goodbye forever, but who needs that place? It's so dull, I can't imagine why I even wanted to run it now. After you've screwed the thousandth demure housewife, it gets a bit old.
"Silly Jehovah! He keeps them horny on Earth, just so that they will be desperate for sex in the afterlife! Not to mention that he doesn't like too much comparison. I think that he regrets allowing so many men to be so well-endowed, except that he likes to take a few monsters in the ass on occasion. That's why he has so many of those damned rules about sex. Once people die, they no longer apply," Old Scratch rambled for a moment.