Deal with the Devil

Dear Reader, when we last looked in on Marjorie she found herself dressed in latex, and locked in a collar, pretending to be a slave for her father. Yes, I know that sounds strange, but please read part one for a full explanation of how she found herself in this predicament.

So I am pleased to inform you that nearly everything else ran smoothly on that first day. Marjorie found she enjoyed talking to the customers. They were asking about things she had tried on, and so she felt she could give honest answers. Even the few obvious letches were easy to deal with. The staff all turned out to be really nice. But then she was sure they had all decided to treat her as the boss' wife and ignore the collar and leash stuff.

The only fly in the ointment came after lunch when her dad joined her in the office. She slipped up and started to call him dad once more. There were no staff in the office but he was incensed.

"Marjorie, we have committed to a lie. You assured me you could keep this up but that's twice today you have slipped."

"I'm sorry, but it's harder than I thought." Marjorie was quietly panicking that she may have committed herself to Hell by letting him down, but she could not share that.

"Okay, it must be hard to think about, so let's make it second nature. From now on, I only ever want you to call me Master. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Marjorie glumly replied.

"Even at home. All the time, is that clear?"

"Yes, Master, I understand. From now on, that is all I call you."

Marjorie continued to worry that she may have condemned herself to Hell and spent the rest of the day fretting. Eventually, just before the working day was over, she came to the conclusion that since she had not deliberately refused or disobeyed, she was probably in the clear.

As they drove home, her dad broke in upon the thoughts of his daughter.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you today."

"That's alright, Master, I made a mistake. You had the right to be vexed with me."

"That may be so, but it's you that is having to make all the sacrifices for my business."

"It's our business, Master. I agreed from the start to help. Plus, it's not your fault we are in this situation. Things just sort of... happened."

"Thank you for saying so, Marjorie. But it's still you calling me Master with a collar locked around your throat too. I know that must be tough. I'm finding it pretty jarring to have my daughter call me Master."

"We'll get used to it, Master."

"Perhaps, if the business grows, we'll be able to hire a lifestyler to replace you."

"I think that would be ideal, but can't think how you would go about it, Master."

"Me neither, dear. I've been thinking more on this, and I'm afraid I think it needs to get a bit worse too."

"How, so, Master?" Marjorie was fairly certain the leash was bad enough. How much worse could it get?

"Well, the girls at work think you and I are a couple into BDSM. That you are my lifestyle slave."

"I know, Master."

"So we have to behave like lovers. Lovers into kinky shit."

"Ewe! Really, Master? What were you thinking of?"

"Well, I'm gratified with all the 'Masters' you are dropping. But I think we'll need to engage in some kinky PDAs, or our cover will be blown."

"Kinky PDAs, Master?"

"You're playing the part of my sex slave, Marjorie. A little sitting on my lap, acting as if you enjoy it if I spank you, kissing. Nothing overtly sexual, but flirtatious stuff that fits in with work. I mean, we are supposed to be a couple who have started a business based on our sex lives. We ought to act as if we are in love."

"I do love you... Master. Just not in a physical way."

"I understand. I'm just asking you to act like you are my slave. Just get into the role a bit more."

"I think I understand, Master," replied Marjorie. Hesitantly she lent across and kissed her dad's cheek. "Love you, Master," she declared.

"I love you too, slave," responded her dad smiling.

"Master, are we doing this at home too?"

"Given how you slipped up with calling me Master, I think we need to. Just until it becomes second nature, love."

"Yes, Master," responded a glum Marjorie.

"I think too, we need to do some other things at home, to cover ourselves."

"Such as, Master?"

"Well, we better build a dungeon or playroom in case of visitors. Also, until you've perfected your role, some lifestyle changes too."

"What sort of changes, Master?" This was rapidly getting out of hand. But robbed of the ability to object by Satan, there was little she could do.

"I don't know yet. I'll need to do some research on the internet this evening. But, if we live the role for a bit, if you get asked any questions at work, or elsewhere, your answers will be quick and convincing."

"Yes, Master," answered Marjorie.

Later that evening, dear Reader, Marjorie's father approached her with a sheet of rules.

"Marjorie, I've done a fair bit of research on the net about lifestyle BDSM. So I want you to follow these rules from now on, please," he said handing them over. Marjorie quickly read them through.

1; You will only address me as Master from now on. You will not use my name unless asked what it is.

2; You will dress in your rubber and PVC gear exclusively. Each morning, before dressing, you will ask me if I have a preferred outfit. If I state a preference, you will wear that for the day. If you want to wear any of your other outfits, at any time, you must ask my permission first.

3; Except for your office chair at work, you are not to use furniture. If you need to rest you may kneel* on the floor. Otherwise, you will stand.

4; You will sleep on the floor at the foot of my bed at night. You may make up some bedding to sleep in. You will be chained by your collar to the bed.

5; In the morning and evenings, you are solely responsible for preparing all the meals and cleaning up afterwards. At weekends you will clean the house, do any shopping necessary and do the laundry. The weekend chores will be done wearing a latex maid uniform.**

6; Discipline for transgressions at home or work will be metered out at home on Sunday evenings. It is your responsibility to keep track of all or any punishments awarded.

*You will be taught the correct way to kneel. Once taught you will always kneel this way and assume no other position unless ordered to by your Master.

**You will be provided with a uniform and a latex mac to wear over it when you go out shopping.

Marjorie read down the list in utter horror. Never, when she had signed Satan's contract, did she envisage her father making such demands. But she could not refuse. Appalling as these new rules were, they were nowhere near as bad as being continuously eviscerated with a chainsaw.

Trying to keep any emotion out of her voice, she asked, "Discipline for transgressions, Master?"

"We're supposed to be into BDSM remember? So I'll make up petty excuses to punish you. It'll fit with who we are pretending to be. You're going to need to sport the odd bruise or welt. If you don't rock up to work with marks from a spanking, or suchlike, no one will believe us."

"So you're actually going to beat me, Master?"

"We are not really going to scene, Marjorie. But yes, the odd crop or whip mark would give the lie more authenticity."

"I see, umm, so how do I kneel then, Master?" Marjorie was aghast at this turn of events but could think of no way to discourage her dad.

"Well, get on your knees then." Reluctantly Marjorie knelt in front of her father. "Okay, Marge, spread your knees. According to the websites I've visited, slaves do not kneel with their knees together." Hesitantly she obeyed.

"Spread them further, girl. Yes, that's better. Now, unbelievably you are somehow slouching in a corset. Sit straighter. Good, now shoulders back. Better. I want you to cross your wrists behind you now, Marge. That's the idea. Now, hold your head up, but I want you to fix your gaze on the floor between your knees. Good girl. Now that is the position I want you to adopt if ever I command you to kneel. Is that clear, slave?"

"Yes, Master," responded a forlorn Marjorie. Despite her best efforts, she started to sob. This was just too much. It was clear now what Satan's trick was now. A future as a sex slave loomed. Worse, her master was her very own dad. She had been so stupid to think she could beat Satan.

"Hey, hey, Marjorie. Please don't cry. If this is too much, just say the word. We can scrap this business and try something else."

Cold fear struck Marjorie's heart. The rules were clear, she could not deny her father anything. If she didn't pull herself together, an eternity in hell awaited her.

"Master, no. Please, I am happy to continue. The business is doing brilliantly. I don't want you to stop. Certainly not on my account. It just it's been a lot to take in. A bit of a shock."

"Are you sure, love?"

"Yes, Master," Marge forced out a smile for her dad. "You are so right about everything. This will work out. If we live it like this at home, well... As you say, we'll be more convincing if I ever get quizzed at work. I'm sure once the newness wears off at work, those girls will have loads of questions."

"Okay, hmm, get up off the floor and give your dad a hug then, love," her dad smiled down at her.

Marge stood and hugged her dad, burying her face in his shoulder to hide the fresh tears.

Dear Reader, it saddens me to tell you Marjorie's father, encouraged by his daughters' words, held her to them. The collar stayed in place, and that night Marjorie slept at the foot of his bed. Albeit wrapped in a duvet and her head resting on a feather pillow. However, there was a heavy chain padlocked to her collar as if she were a sex toy kept close in case of need.

Acting as her father's slave soon became second nature to Marjorie. The poor girl was not enjoying her slavery, but she quickly adapted. Each morning he would release the chain to her collar, and she would set about her morning chores. It paid off as expected too. As soon the girls at work started asking questions, Marge had ready answers that were based on fact, not fantasy.

It was clear that the girls had differing opinions on Marjorie's apparent lifestyle. Sadie seemed especially interested and took time to quiz Marge during tea breaks. Joanne was curious too. Though shyer about asking direct questions. When she did though, they were usually focused on what it was like to actually be a slave rather than the practicalities of day-to-day life. Jenny seemed amused by the whole thing. She often as not used humour to josh Marjorie over her apparent decision to become a slave to her lover.

The visible welts and bruises were noted too. The staff quickly picked up on the fact new welts were most likely to be visible on a Monday, and Marjorie was often teased for being 'naughty' over the weekend.

Marjorie was fairly miserable at the turn of events but worked hard at keeping her true feelings hidden. It had never occurred to her that her own father would treat her like this. Satan had tricked her and, she had been the perfect fool. Blinded by greed, she had been reduced to a slave.

Marjorie would lay on the floor at night, wrapped in her duvet, and wonder what else could go wrong. She wasn't totally without reason to expect things to deteriorate. Two days after her first night on the floor, her dad had presented her with a set of black satin pyjamas to replace the fleecy pair she had been wearing. Then, at work, the regular office chair was replaced with a kneeler chair. The sort aimed at people concerned about their posture. Thus she never got to sit normally thereafter.

Each day her dad had chosen one of the kinkiest outfits Satan had provided her, along with her new sexy body. It was clear to Marjorie that this had been Satan's plan all along.

So Marjorie started assuming the worst and unfortunately was rarely surprised. The shopping trips were Hell. Well, obviously not as bad as 'real' Hell. But certainly no picnic either. Dressed as a latex maid in a rubber trenchcoat with a steel collar locked around her throat. The sneers and giggles, the contemptuous looks from the women, and the leering stares from the men. She'd taken to using a patent leather handbag with a large aerosol of mace concealed within along with her purse.

Dear Reader, poor Marjorie was right to fear a downturn in her situation. It got rapidly worse after the small business had been trading for three months. Though the first sign of things getting worse happened at home.

Bent over and grasping her ankles, our heroine stoically braced for the blow from the riding crop her father wielded. Two vicious blows had landed so far, and a third was promised. She hissed through her clenched teeth when it finally arrived.

"Well done, Marge," consoled her dad, "you took that well."

"Thank you, Master," responded Marjorie reflexively, standing up and twisting to examine the damage.

She was dressed in a short black latex dress and matching latex stockings. All three blows had landed across the rear of her thighs, just below the hem of the dress and above the tops of the stockings. The welts would last for days and be in clear view for all to see if she wore a short skirt before they faded. Her dad, she was sure, would insist that she did. That disturbed her, though she knew it served the purpose of maintaining the illusion. What upset her more was the bulge in her dad's trousers when he whipped her. He never went further, but she knew he enjoyed 'punishing' her.

"I've been thinking Marjorie. I'm thoroughly enjoying having you be my slave. I've not done a domestic chore in months, your cooking is excellent and, even if you are my daughter, you are very easy on the eye dressed in your fetish gear. However, I'm very aware this must be hard on you. When I proposed the business plan, I never dreamed of this situation. So as much as I don't want to, I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I love being waited on hand and foot by my own personal slave girl, I think we can relax with you serving me at home now. The guys at work fully accept you are my slave, and you know what lies to tell to keep the pretence up."

Marjorie stared at her father in shock. Satan's words echoed in her head, "You may deny your father nothing." He didn't want to stop. He was doing so for her. But if that happened, she was doomed to Hell.

"No, Master. You should not deny yourself. I am perfectly happy to continue as your slave," she blurted. She could not believe the words had come from her own mouth. Suddenly she considered if she had slipped up by saying 'No, Master'. But no, he had said he did not want to stop, and she could not deny him anything.

"What? Really? Marge, you sobbed tears when I asked you to do this. I've been feeling terrible that I even asked. Now you want to keep at it? Explain yourself."

"Master, I cried because I did not know what it would be like," stalled Marjorie. She realised she was now going to have to sell her own dad on the idea that she enjoyed being a slave. "The truth is... The truth is I like being a slave. Especially yours, Master. I like being told what to wear. I like what you make me wear too. I bought some of those clothes because I liked them. I couldn't think where I would have the courage to wear them. You fixed that for me, Master. I like serving you too. I like making you happy. I've noticed how much you have enjoyed me serving you. You appreciate the things I do for you. I'm as surprised to hear myself say it, but I like being your slave as much as you enjoy my services," Marjorie tried a winning smile to add credibility to the lie.

"You really enjoy being my slave?"

"Yes, Master, I really do."

"Damn! Well, I never saw that coming." Her dad stared at his feet and absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair. Looking up he asked, "Do you even enjoy the S&M bit too? Do you like being whipped?"

Marjorie's blood ran cold. She knew he did. She knew he would want this to continue too. She could not deny him. Checkmate to Satan. She was fucked.

"Yes, Master, I like it."

"If I asked you to go further, as a slave, you would be willing?"

"As it stands, Master, I see myself as your 'no limit' slave. If you ask me to do something, I will do my best to follow your order."

"I'm still your dad, Marjorie. If I asked you to do something sexual, you would do that?"

Dearest Gentle Reader, Satan's plan was obvious to Marjorie at that moment. The totality of her doom washed over her. She was going to become her own father's fuck toy. It, at that moment, seemed inescapable. She had traded her oafish body for that of a sex siren. The price, the reality, was her new looks would enslave her to her dad. The Devil's diabolical plan was indeed truly evil.

Being shown her fate in Hell had not been a clear and concise warning at all. It had been a crack of the whip behind her. It had been the driving force that had propelled her into this trap. For even fucking her own dad, also being his personal latex sex slave, was better than being hacked in half with a chainsaw for eternity.

"Yes, Master, I would obey any order you gave me."

Her father stared hard at her. Then saying nothing abruptly turned and left the room.

Marjorie got on with her chores after that, leaving her father to brood. It was clear he was unhappy with how things were and the admission from his daughter. It was something Marjorie did not want to provoke. But later that evening, as they sat down to eat the meal she had cooked, her dad raised the subject once more.

"So you want to continue as my slave full-time?"

"It keeps things simple, Master. We both enjoy it, it makes sense," answered Marjorie trying hard to sound convincing.

"I suppose I ought not to be surprised. You're wearing your own fetish gear. You've been parading around in collars since you started choosing your own clothes, plus all the piercings and tattoos as you got older. Hmm, I need you to help run the business, so I'll be your master for you, slave. But there are going to be changes going forward.

Hiding her incredulity, at the way her dad was twisting things, she responded with a simple, "Yes, Master."

"From now on discipline will be handed out in the playroom, rather than the dining room. I may have furnished the room to add body to a lie. But if we are making the lie truth, we ought to use the facilities, don't you think?"

"Yes, Master," answered Marjorie once more. She was waiting for the sexual element. It hung in the air unsaid, a giant bull elephant in the room. She concentrated on her food, waiting for her dad to continue.

"Marjorie, you know you look just like your mother when we first met."

"I do, Master?"

"Well, you're actually a wee bit fitter, and you are dressed way more provocatively. But I see so much of her in you."

"You want me to replace her, Master?" She knew it was a mistake to say those words as soon as she uttered them. His face turned scarlet while his knuckles turned white as he gripped his cutlery in anger.

"Marjorie!" He bellowed.

"I'm sorry, Master," she blurted. "It's just... I see you're trousers bulge when you're whipping me. I can see it arouses you. I thought... Umm... I don't know what I thought. This whole thing is fucked up. I just want you happy. I want you to be happy, Master."

"I'm your dad, girl."

"You're a man. A lonely man. You've clearly been enjoying having me as a slave."

"I get urges, it's true. But I know what's right. Yes, I have been aroused. You in rubber, with your mum's eyes and smile. But I've not taken advantage of you. You're still my daughter, girl, even if my dick gets confused sometimes."

"Yes, Master."

"Which brings us to what you said. You see me differently?"

How could she answer this? Her deal with Satan loomed over everything. Things were so twisted. She had to navigate a moral path that did not land her in Hell, or break the contract. An action that would have the same effect. Despite what her dad had just said, she was sure Satan wanted her to be her dad's sex slave for real.