A Deal with the Devil Pt. 01


I would like to give a most generous thank you to Duke0467 for his editing assistance on this story. Much thanks for both his patience and guiding hand.


Both Gwen’s husband and 18 year old son were on life support while she miraculously escaped the car accident with nary a scratch physically. Emotionally she is a wreck as any good mother and wife would be while facing the impending loss of both her son and husband.

It’s Michael, her son that she is particularly worried about as she finds him utterly adorable. Given the choice of if only one could live her husband, Tom, would come out on the losing end every time.

Now in the quiet, nearly deserted, waiting room, Gwen glances at her watch, noticing it’s nearly 1 am. Michael should be out of surgery by now. She gets up stretches, preparing to head to the nurse’s station to inquire if there is any news, when the doctor, a middle aged bespectacled woman, that looks to be of Indian descent, hustles into the room.

“Mrs. Turner, sit down please. I have news.”

“W-hat is it. Is my son alright.” Her voice is quavering and on the point of breaking.

“Sit down please and let me explain where we are at.”

Gwen sits down on the old waiting room coach while the doctor settles down next to her.

“The surgery was . . . semi successful. We got the internal bleeding to stop. He is in stable condition in regards to that.”

“Oh thank God. Thank you doctor.”

“Don’t . . . not yet Mrs. Turner. His condition is still precarious. “

“Tell me.” Gwen says digging into her purse to pull out yet another Kleenex.

“He has suffered a major head trauma that has left him in a coma.”

“He will wake up though right. I mean he is not going to die.”

“His brain activity is limited but stable. As of now there is no danger of him passing that is the good news.”

“And the bad news, Dr. Mutafia, is what?”

“Ahh . . .” The doctor sighs heavily as Gwen braces herself. “We simply don’t know when your son might regain consciousness. It could be tonight, a month from now, maybe a year. We simply don’t know. It’s in God’s hands now. I am afraid there is precious little more to do at this point but wait . . . and pray.”

“But you can keep him alive right? While we wait.”

“He is stable, with the help of a breathing apparatus. He can be fed intravenously, so no he is in no immediate danger. Just so you understand Mrs. Turner,” the small woman grips her hands, “your son may never wake up.”

“But also, he may wake up at any given time though correct?”

“Yes, he may that is true also.”

“I shall think positive and pray.” Of course she will pray. Gwen is and has always been a strict Catholic of unshakable faith. Or so she thought.

“That is always good, maybe between that and some heartfelt prayers God will see fit to bring your son back to you.”


“Now as for your husband, I was told by Doctor Lampley, he could not speak with you personally as he got called away for another urgent emergency, that your husband . . .” the doctor shakes her head sadly.

“He didn’t make it?” Gwen responds trying to hide the apathy in her voice.

“I am afraid not. He passed on the operating table.”

One hour later, Gwen is in her son’s room looking at him sadly. She had just stopped by the hospital’s chapel and prayed to God that her son, please, please wake up and come back to her. His once cute and boyish 18 year old face is covered almost entirely in bandages. His breathing, with the help of the machine, appears to be slow and steady.

She pulls a chair, it’s large and surprisingly comfortable, from the corner of the private room close to the bed so she can sit and hold his hand. She strokes over and over again the several small tufts of his brown hair that have managed to escape from under the bandages.

She cries off and on for a good hour straight before finally, around 3:00am, a nurse comes in and gives her a pillow suggesting she put her head down and try to get a bit of sleep.

This sad routine goes on for months. Gwen spends day and night at the hospital sitting with her son. There is no noticeable change in his condition sending Gwen into a great state of despair. Her prayers to an unresponsive, or maybe it’s an uncaring God, continue to go unanswered.

Then one night, after having dozed off while curled up next to his bed in the large chair, she has a most extraordinary dream. The dream was so very vivid that upon jerking awake around 6:00 am she is in a state of confusion.

Was that real? she mutters to herself before spotting the neatly clipped black rose laid across her son’s bed. At the sight of the single half stemmed black rose the memory of the dream comes flooding back to her.

In her dream, she is being led down a long corridor by Dr. Mutafia, who keeps turning around advising her to go back to the chapel, and pray some more. But Gwen is insistent, “Take me to him. I must bargain for my son’s life. I fear istanbul escort it’s the only way.”

The doctor stops in mid-stride as Gwen, following close behind, nearly collides with her. She turns and looks at her seriously saying in a calm voice, “Praying to the Lord in Heaven is the only way, not this Gwen.”

“Prayer and your God have never been kind to me Doctor. Time to try another way. Show me his office.”

“NO!! I go no further than this. I refuse to venture any closer to His Domain. His office is the last one on the left. You will recognize it as it has the mark of the beast scratched on the door. Venture fourth at your own peril.”

And with that the small brown woman, impeccably dressed in her white doctor’s overcoat, turns on her heel and strides purposefully back down the long corridor, her heels clicking hollowly, leaving Gwen all alone.

Gwen continues down the corridor—it seems to go on forever- passing row after row of nondescript plain brown doors shut tightly until finally she reaches the end of the hallway.

There is a single door to her left. The wood comprising this door is not of the cheap panel materiel like the others, but instead is a rich dark mahogany. It is adorned with a large golden door knob, and just as Dr. Mutafia had said, the mark of the beast is indeed scratched into the dark wood in vivid 4 inch high numbers.

666 Gwen stares at the number. A cold chill is crawling up her spine as suddenly she becomes doubtful if this is the way. She can’t remember how this idea, to see Him, even came to her in the first place. She has no time to ponder such thoughts as a deep, majestic voice floats to her from the other side of the closed door.

“Do come in my dear. The door is open. My door is always open to those who seek my wisdom or require my guidance.”

Gwen takes a deep breath, bracing herself to be stoic and unemotional so she can bargain with a clear head. She turns the knob and walks into the Devil’s office.

She had no idea what to expect, other than the devil, of course, would be a male. This natural belief was reinforced by the deep, manly voice that invited her into the office in the first place so when instead she finds herself staring at an extremely attractive dark haired woman she is a bit nonplussed.

No one else is in the small dark office that is dominated by the large desk leaving it obvious the masculine voice must have come from her.

The only light comes from a single small table lamp, just enough to make out the Devil’s basic appearance of being of a singularly attractive lady. “But you are a woman. The voice. .?”

“Ahh you were expecting a man of course. They always do.” The Devil’s voice now is delicate, soothing and very feminine. “As for the voice . . . ahh nothing but a little parlor trick I play on occasion to fool people. That is what, after all, they have been lead to believe by their stupid Christians beliefs . . . The Devil is always out to fool them.”

“I am lacking in my belief . . . for the moment at any rate.” Gwen manages to stammer before adding, “Are you real or this another trick or maybe I’m dreaming.”

The Devil extends her hand out to Gwen. “Give me your hand, Gwen.” She reaches out and takes the Devil’s hand into her own. Her hand is velvet soft besides being warm and pleasant to the touch. Gwen glances down and sees the fingernails are long, blood red, and perfectly manicured coming to what appears to be a razor sharp point.

“Does my hand feel real hon?”

Gwen nods her head yes.

“I am real, and yet a dream. Life can be lived on different astral planes. It’s easy for someone of my power to manage so don’t worry about the science behind all this or if you prefer its dark magic. I am equally adept at both.”

“Of course you are. I am not worried as long as you are real. Dreaming is a waste of time.”

“You most assuredly are not wasting your time my dear. Give me your other hand. Let me show you more evidence of just how real I am.” Her voice manages to be gentle, yet commanding, all at once. Gwen extends her other hand out across the desk as her heart skips a beat.

She feels the Devil now holding both of her hands, squeezing them softly, before casting a wry smile at her, and bringing them up to her lips. Her blood red lips are full and sensual.

The Devil very gently, very deliberately snakes her tongue out and licks the back of Gwen’s hands, and then around into her palm, sending a whole series of small, but not unpleasant, shivers up and down her spine.

“Does that feel real, Gwen?”

“Oh yes very real.” Gwen wants to pull her hands back before she loses control and starts to moan as the Devil’s tongue slithers around the palm of her hand.

“Ahh, w-what should I call you?” She yanks her hands back out of the Devil’s grip afraid of what might happen if she did not.

“Good question. What do you want to call me?”

“I don’t know. Whatever avcılar escort is proper I suppose.”

“Well I have many legendary names but I think you should call me something of your own. Something more human and less scary if we are to be friends. Pick a name. What do I look like, a Karen maybe, Jennifer, Susan perhaps? All very average names for an average white girl like myself?”

“I am thinking you are anything but average.”

“I will take that as flattery meant to impress me. Oh how I do enjoy flattery, even the Devil wants admiration you know.”

“Of course but still what should I call you?”

“OK let me come closer, out from behind this desk. Let you have a better look at me so you can come up with something.”

The woman rises slowly from behind the desk. She snaps her fingers causally, and the small office is bathed in soft light coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Gwen now gets a better look at this “devilishly” beautiful woman as she struts from around the desk, her 5 inch heels clicking seductively on the hardwood floor. She stops in front of Gwen holding her hands on her hips, a bemused smile on her face as Gwen tries to maintain her poise.

She is dressed professionally in a dark skirt with a plain white blouse. Her raven dark hair is pinned back behind her ear giving the illusion Gwen is dealing with some high powered corporate executive as opposed to the Princess of Darkness herself. The dark reading glasses she is wearing only adds to her professional appearance.

Gwen was sure when she first entered the office the woman behind the desk hair was not wearing glasses, and her hair was not up, but instead down and falling over her shoulders.

Gwen shakes her head remembering the Devil is known for playing tricks. She now notices in the better lighting just how stunningly beautiful this creature truly is. Ss she moves closer to Gwen the Devil’s flawless, exquisite beauty reminds Gwen of old world Europe beauty- elegant and timeless.

No sooner does this thought pop into Gwen’s mind, than the Devil whispers, “My spirit is ageless of course, but my physical body I now inhabit is of Czech ancestry since you were wondering. This body was born . . . ahh many, many hundreds of moons ago in Prague. I have aged well do you not think?

“Exceptionally well.”

“You find me pretty no Gwen?” The Devil reaches out and slides one sharp fingernail slowly down the side of Gwen’s face sending small shock wave of shivers-again- up and down her spine.

“Very much so.” Gwen whispers her voice catching in her throat. Being so close to her now is like standing next to a warm fire on a cold night at just the right distance—it warms without being uncomfortably hot.

“And what of my body? Do you find that attractive as well?”

Gwen’s eyes slip down off her face and onto her body. Most ironically the Devil has the body of a voluptuous angel. The dark skirt is both extremely tight and short showing off a pair of perfectly toned legs and creamy white thighs.

“Higher up is where you will find my true treasures Gweny,” the Devil whispers as she slips a finger under Gwen’s chin. With the help of the Devil’s soft touch Gwen’s eyes fall on the white blouse.

Her breath catches in her throat as the Devil gives her a wicked smile, showing off a set of gleaming white teeth, and slowly begins to undo her blouse. What little light there is in the office seems to cast a spotlight on the Devil’s chest as first one and then two buttons come undone.

She pauses, looking at Gwen making sure she has her full attention, before she unbuttons a third button revealing the hint of a purple lace bra underneath the blouse.

“Hmm, purple is your favorite color?”

“Yes,” Gwen whispers as she becomes lost staring at the immense cleavage the Devil is so willing showing off to her. The Devil, again with that maddeningly bemused smile on her beautiful face, appears to thrust her chest out at Gwen, allowing the light to catch her blouse in just the right way, making her obviously large tits seem to almost shine under the blouse.

The Devil’s magnificent tits cause pangs of jealousy to rock Gwen’s world. Her own small 32B breasts have always been a source of frustration for her. In fact, before the accident, she had been considering having them done.

“And have you thought of a name for me yet Gweny . . . or have you become so enthralled with the bountiful curves of my body that clear thought is neigh impossible.”

The Devil’s voice, sounding amused brings Gwen back to reality.


“Yes you are indeed enthralled with my body or yes you have thought of a name for me. Remember, as ironic as it may be since I am known as the Father of Lies, honesty in all matters is extremely important to me Gwen. I can smell the stink of lies on a human’s breath so don’t ever think of being anything less than completely honest with me.”

Gwen looks up. In her five inch şirinevler escort heels, the Devil towers over her as she sits meekly in the small chair. She tells the truth without hesitation thinking it most wise.

“Both,” Gwen whispers trying to instill a note of confidence in her voice she doesn’t feel.

“Excellent, I’m glad you are enthralled by my devilishly sexy body. We can discuss those latent lesbian tendencies you have been denying for too long later . . . as for now . . . what is the moniker you have so kindly bestowed upon me in your heart of hearts, Gweny. I can call you that yes, Gweny. It sounds like what maybe a best friend might call you and I have the very strange feeling we shall be best of friends, my dear. Very close and personal best friends that is.”

She slips a finger under Gwen’s chin and forces her to look up into her hauntingly dark hazel eyes.

“Denise,” Gwen whispers quietly feeling like a school girl in the presence of a most strict headmaster who knows she is cheating. Gwen, the good catholic girl, indeed has had, over the years, many a curious fantasy about being with another woman.

“Denise, yes I like that. Devilishly. Delightful, Denise it is . . . three D’s again most perfect.”

“Why most perfect?” Gwen asks as the Devil offers a glass of dark red wine to Gwen. A glass that apparently she produced out of thin air.

“Triple D my cup size.” Denise replies nonchalantly as she leans back against the desk. For the first time, Gwen detects what is a genuine smile cross Denise’s face.

“Jesus triple D they must be . . .” Gwen starts to whisper before allowing her voice to trail off.

“Yes huge,” Denise finishes for her proudly. “I can detect a bit of jealousy in your heart over my fantastic body, Gwen. Jealousy can hurt a friendship so we must do something about that plus it will give me a chance to show off my powers thus allowing you to understand just who you are dealing with.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. You are overweight. A good thirty pounds I would imagine. How tall are you?”

“Five six and yeah I am overweight . . . now. I mean I used to be in great shape but . . .” She shrugs her shoulders sadly. “Since the accident I don’t work out, don’t eat well, and don’t get enough sleep.”

“Understandable. There in the shadows is a door. A door leading to a bathroom with a nice mirror. Take a minute and go look at yourself and then come back and tell me what you see.”

“I . . .” Gwen was about to question why but a sharp look from Denise silences her.

She gets up and sees there is a door, she had not noticed it before, just off to her right. She takes a couple steps toward it wondering what kind of trickery Denise is up. Just as she began to turn the knob the very air around her seems to shimmer with a force that makes her body tingle all over. It lasts for maybe five seconds before disappearing.

Gwen turns to look at Denise who still leaning nonchalantly against the desk. “Go on sweetheart. The light switch is to your left as you enter.”

Gwen steps inside the bathroom and flicks on the light. The bathroom is small and simple: just a toilet with a sink that has a large mirror hanging on the wall over it.

Gwen looks at herself in the mirror and lets out a gasp. First thing she notices is her clothes and hair are now amazingly different. She had been wearing her usual weekend hospital attire—a ratty old sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her once pretty blond hair, which she doesn’t bother much now to either wash or style, had been pulled up in a casual ponytail.

The sweatpants have been replaced by a pair of extremely snug fitting jeans while the ratty old sweatshirt had been replaced by a sexy off the shoulder red blouse. As for her blond hair, it is no longer limp and lifeless, but instead she has a mid-length fashionable haircut that glows with beauty.

Gwen steps back to scrutinize her body and notices how good she looks in her tight jeans. The extra weight she had been carrying around on both her hips and ass are gone. She lifts up the top and finds to her utter delight her tummy is flat and rippling with lean muscle.

Jesus it’s like I have been going to the gym and eating right for months or even years maybe. Turning side to side marveling at her transformation she finally spots the small pink bag sitting in one corner of the small bathroom.

It’s from Victoria’s secret. Attached to the bag is a simple small white note with her name on it. She leans over grabbing the bag and opens it. Inside she finds a gorgeous dark maroon lace bra with a matching thong. She turns the bra over as it looks to be a bit big for her. She finds the size—34C.

Too big. I’m a 32B, Gwen sighs.

There is a light rapping on the door. “It shall fit you sweetheart most perfectly. Trust in me.”

“Should I try it on now?”

“But of course my pet.”

Gwen quickly strips off her pretty new blouse and undoes the small boring plain white bra she is wearing. Stopping to asses her breasts in the mirror she is shocked to find out they look bigger.

She hurriedly tries on the bra and finds it does fit perfectly. She pulls out the panties, checks the tag—small—and again thinks they won’t fit—but only for a brief moment- as she is now beginning to understand the mysterious power of Ms. Denise.

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