Author's Note: Expands a sentence from my long story 'The Sissy Bargain' right after I sign a contract where Satan helps people pick boys or girls: beginner homosexuality training.


Mall

I'm Brandon, penniless but I just signed a blood contract with Satan to fix that. The contract: no hitting on new women (it is fine if the girls approach me), no talking to old flings, free money. Satan and I were finishing and it was time to go home. I think his goal is make men sissies or Betas. Luckily I've always had lots of dates and girls so no worries. Signing went good and my advocate Rachel left.

Satan shows me out of the land of the fire, a journey of endless white corridors. "Want to see something neat before we go back?" the dark Lord asks happily. He looks like a businessman, slightly sunburnt, wearing a white suit and a black bow tie, somehow hinting at being a United States plantation owner. The question is not rhetorical: he stops and looks at me.

"Like what?" I stutter, more scared to make choices now that Rachel is gone. An angel, she advised me at the signing. "Just a little live porn." I pause awkwardly, then say: "Well, yeah." The Other's own stuff will be top notch. He smiles knowingly and leads ahead.

Our contract makes me give up hitting on girls. I can use the Other's bank accounts to be rich for life, in exchange for not being a 'pickup artists' for the next three years. The devil promised all the porn, prostitutes, strippers and sex I want (he would more than comply). Satan's deal will fix my money situation. I can't wait to start enjoying the good life! Anyhow lots of girls come say hi to me, and if they initiate, Satan promised I can do whatever I want with them.


Watching

Smiling, Satan leads me to a two-way mirror in a secluded white room leaving the hallway door open. I see an associate (the Other's title for his eternal prisoners) hoofing it forwards in a hellish mall. The male victim walks smiling to make himself known to all the male demons (seems gay). Silent until questioned he walks flirting openly toward the hell kin, sometimes rubbing his penis. There are also real women, human and cute. My penis engorges quick watching: these girls are all my type. The associate is about my age and race. Pleasing heights and nice style: clothed like I want, right amount of makeup, healthy.

No old hags nor underage children that Earthen malls often bear. Every girl, even with her back turned against me, is obviously fuckable, hot, horny baby just wanting some help. Any lady alone in hell would be damned, but if someone met her and made her day better, gave her some kind of pleasure, noticed her... I imagine in hell girls never feel penises in their pussies, only glass shards, razor-sharp lava rocks like pumice stones, molten hot stickers and cactus stems. Even one nice dick could make her feel great for the first time in years, a memory she could use to maintain her sanity. And these women are all cute, human, real, true. Smiling, girl-next-door, once in a while wearing clothes a bit trashy but in good effort. Girls that any man could make feel great, ease their suffering, let them experience a piece of the beautiful life they left behind when sent down. Damned people who I could help, who that 'man' should be helping. I keep focusing on the mirror as he glances toward me considering and planning.

As the Other watches me I watch the associate wondering why he doesn't at least look at the girls. These ladies are hot, open, happy, flirty; most are alone, bored and friendly. Some are even trying to walk up to him and get his attention.

"Brandon, all girls in hell aren't tormented by being constantly raped, as you can see." "Yes." And he went on to verify my suspicions: if the associate would even say 'hi' to a girl, she would get a full day of bliss, a gentle break from the eternal torment. And their pain was much more than I considered: "Yes, we do get carried away with their beautiful pussies sometimes." I try to focus on the mirror as he injects feminine torments into my mind: chilled snakes that come alive with their warmth, glass Prince Rupert drops that explode when their tail taps the ground, copper dildos with heat conductive stands warmed by slow-flowing lava, impossible lines of demons for gangbangs, spiked dildos for five or six that expand and cut if anyone clasps down.

Pushing past his mind-imagery I look through the mirror seeing a lady with a largish straw hat, a flower pattern dress, smooth nude heels something like four inches, happily window shopping for candles. It looks as if she smells the scents through the windows: she stops and smiles every so often just enjoying. Two women walking together toward the associate, dressed strikingly similar- not twins- both have grey-white stripes on their shirts, horizontal, similar finger-sized stripe widths, shorter flowery heels, white skirts and hair in long ponytails. Laughing and splitting around our associate they seem to lure him but put his hands over his eyes to avoid them. A younger girl, playing on a schoolgirl uniform, but clearly not underage, is just standing near. Almost-too-tall heels, she is being so giggly and girly. Stripes are one of my personal turn-ons and those girls are holding hands, maybe clapping out a rhyme...

"He doesn't seem to like women, do you think, Brandon?" Satan chuckles as I continue staring at the two girls. They seem to be looking for something, like one lost her phone. The Other glances at my erect member smiling. "Luckily I see you are still playing for the home team. Good man, I hate gays." Looking back over our associate (prisoner) I see him continue ignoring all the girls yet staring or even flirting with the ugly male demons. Mainly staring at their crotches, which are rag-covered and oily, none seeming to bear a large cock. Disgusted, I look and turn my gaze to take in Satan. He is watching the scene while gauging my reaction, calmly and with an internal pleasure, like a land owner checks the crops or a CEO watches his employees.

I look back through the mirror to focus on the associate, trying to take an objective view. He walks as if on a treadmill toward us behind the mirror. I finally see he is the center of our vision: I was staring at the ladies and demons at the edges of the window. The few times I see him actually look at a girl his stride changes and he seems to chide himself.

"Brandon, my associate here is walking forward to avoid where the mall falls off into abyss. Not an endless fall, he quickly lands about 15 feet down (5m) in semi-solid lava to experience broken bones before his body is destroyed by slow bubbling lava springs. Of course everyone here is quickly revived: we heal them in sarcophaguses to feel pain again."

Gabriel smiles at my unease. "See how he limps?" "Yes, almost like it gets worse when he sees a girl" I start. "Brandon, you are smart. I knew that once you signed up for my deal. Come here." Like a lawyer, Satan expands what he wants while barely complying with other parts of the deal. Grabbing me around the back like an over-zealous manager, he smiles. "My associate does have some hidden gear."

"His butt plug grows every time he gets a girl's attention. If even he looks at a girl it grows a small bit. If he tries to say hi to a girl or gets one's attention it grows much faster." I took another look at our associate. "But if he avoids their eye contact, says nothing to them, and does not look at their fronts- only their backs, if he likes- then the plug slowly deflates, letting him walk faster and avoid the infinite pain of the abyss for another hour or another day." I understood at some point a growing plug would slow him down too much and he would get eaten up by the oncoming abyss before getting away.

I would later learn in hell, which is neatly contained in the center of our planet Earth, there is no difference from day to night. Since the stars do not shine, Satan gave everyone a zombie-like constant awareness. I notice the associate trying to get a demon's attention, by smiling directly at him.

The Other smiles down and explains: "Brandon, imagine having a large butt plug constantly inflating. If a demon wanted to fuck his ass, well, the plug must come out. When returned it will be a small comfortable size." The 'male' demons around him are all very gay, very sissy: they have small cocks as if on gender replacement hormones. "Most of these demons are less than an inch: no spikes, ribs, spines nor venoms. Very smooth really." I later understood the abyss stops and the associate is provided a comfortable bed to relax in while fucked; his tired legs and back get to rest, and after taking a man's penis he gets an hour to relax bed alone. Hefty rewards in hell.

I watch sort of hoping to see that as The Other continues: "Looking at women grows his plug and eventually will tear his ass. They fall bleeding on the tile floor and end up in the abyss. If a girl says 'Hi' to him and he doesn't immediately turn away, his plugs grows substantially, let alone if he speaks first."

Due to Satan's specific exercises I could only surmise he wants gay men, but I don't know and he never said. The associate is sure to avoid girls at all costs, even nice friendly girls who just wanted what any decent stranger would provide - "Please help me get this stroller out of the elevator door! It keeps trying to slam shut on Lilly!" or "Excuse me sir, as a man, would you like a candle scented like 'fairy flower daisy'? It's my boyfriend's birthday!" or "What time is it? My mother is expecting me at five, am I late?" He just kept walking, or turned away to get to avoid seeing the beauties.

Silently he keeps moving towards us in his treadmill-like reality on the other side of our two-way mirror. Satan finally relaxes his bear grip around my back and turns to face me, smiling. "You know, I bet you like some of those girls our friend doesn't want." With an aristocratic gesture he indicated my obvious boner. "Would you like to meet one?"


Fail

I made a mistake. Some stuff happened, maybe I said "yes" or begrudgingly agreed to something. And boom- blinding white light like a flash-bang grenade- my head (or my perception) popped off my body and exploded upwards a few feet, then drifted through the mirror toward our associate's. My hands and arms, lost, didn't respond as I tried to touch my face. I gave that up quickly as I got closer to the associate in his torturous mall of hell.

He smiles in relief as he sees me coming. As I take his place, my vision turns from looking towards him and the abyss around so I see myself in the other side of the two-way mirror seeing my own 33-year old body's reflection for the first time. I' wearing clothes like when I went out to hit on women. Wow, I was just standing near The Other on the safe side of the mirror, happy and intrigued. Now I am the victim. But I'm dressed and groomed well, freshly showered and clean: much better than moments ago when I was drenched in sweat worrying over Satan's contract and walking through hell. Now I'm ready for a blind date, or to meet someone. I want to fuck girls!

I walk forward, knowing I must to avoid the abyss. "Brandon, friend." His voice comes from all around, calm and helpful. "Tell you what, pick any girl, she'll be open and flirty like all of them, and you can have her. A gift from me, no punishments for this one girl."

All of the demons disappear, and I walk looking at girls. One girl? A hard choice: a cute schoolgirl with the classic checkered skirt and too-high heels; a flowing dress on an older lady who had figured out style; two sisters talking loudly about what gift to buy for their mother's birthday, each with large blue bows in their hair.

After a half hour I finally pick one. Mustering courage I walk up and say 'Hi.' She smiles back at me like I just rescued her pet cat from certain death in the middle of a busy freeway situated in a rough area where people enjoy target practice with domesticated animals.

She starts talking, making me very comfortable, and we spend a good twenty minutes getting to know each other before fucking. She didn't just open her legs for me, we had a real understanding and she wanted to enjoy me. When the perfect time came, she smiled and led me to a side-room that appeared off the main hall. She opened the 'Store Employees Only' door and we walked in together with her kind of leading, being very flirty. Inside it was a hotel suite it with a nice bed and large bathroom, all clean, perfect and ready.

She had long braided red hair, a small birthmark to the left of her left eye, deep red lipstick, black clunky heels with boot treads on the bottom that were barely ankle high. Denim skirt and small tasteful diamond earrings. The sex was amazing, long, passionate. Her moans proved hell strengthens all emotions, making pain and pleasure stronger than what is possible for the living. After I take a nice relaxing shower, she puts on a soft down robe and as we leave she smiles "I'll remember you Brandon. You made my life a bit more bearable down here. I know I deserve to be here, but thanks for giving me a few moments of pleasure. I can relax for a while because you cared. Thank you so much!" Shelly's hell didn't involve "too much sex." She lightly kisses my cheek again.

As the door closes itself she smiles and runs off in the general direction of the abyss. "She gets a break because she successfully temped an associate. She is very happy, Brandon." Satan explains calmly on the other side of his mirror. I am happy too and I see my boyish smile in the mirror. After a long break I start walking forward again. There are a lot of cute girls here! But I do start seeing the disgusting demons again, they are a level below thieves and bums, unkempt and walking aimlessly with the confidence of lost baby does. Time passes as the glow of my orgasms fade.

"Aren't you missing something?" Satan laughs as I notice the sissy demons are back. My mind wanders from Rachel my advisor to Shelly the cute girl I just fucked and back toward the abyss. Rachel would have warned me and intervened, kept me safe. I know what is coming as two demons approach: my butt plug. These demons are confident, strong, hoofed with massive legs; twice the height of the sissy demons and incomparably more muscular. They wear black suits, have clean combed black hair on almost their whole bodies, piercing red eyes, and tiny horns. Without hesitation they walk to me and one lifts me in the air while the other pulls down my pants and immediately fits the device. Smiling, he inflates the plug uncomfortably. They set me down and start to leave, but The Other commands "Show Brandon a real penis before you leave." So both demons turn to me, smiling, and without using their hands they start growing their dicks. Large.

The one on the left makes pop noises as his pants buttons break one at a time, no zipper, and I can see the massive member. Like my arm, but black and covered in cactus-like thorns; the front sports an octopus-like sucker and with the veins along the shaft I also see bone-like protrusions that seem to expand and collapse at once. "Touch it." Satan commands, as I stare dazed. The demon laughs, waiting until I touch his dick, and a green pre-cum oozes out, its terrible steam burning my eyes like a cut onion. It sizzles and cracks as the tile floor below is corroded by the acid, but thankfully my butt plug shrinks as long as I keep my fingers touching his penis. His partner smirks as I hold the penis a bit longer than needed, before letting go disappointed- my butt plug isn't getting any smaller.

His laugh makes me look up at him, and his penis. It grew ins his suit well beyond the pants and up toward his chest, reaching well past the sternum. Smiling, he grabs my hands and gently places them on his dick like a high school girl might show a shy boy her breasts. The throbbing is unbelievable, but he turns for a second pushing my hands off. A six-inch knife, some kind of claw-bone build in his penis, cuts itself out of the clothing. Fully extended, I see the razor-sharp bone is retractable and runs the last third of his penis. He extends and retracts a few times for my benefit. It projects out far where a normal man's urethra runs, under the length of his dick, and both ends come to sharp fang-like points. He is at least four inches across, and leaking a white ooze that looks surprisingly like normal cum. They both turn to leave.

I feel the butt plug in my asshole, unusual, small and smooth. I'm straight, I never put any toys in there (I disliked it the one time I tried). This dildo feels smooth and bearable: almost soothing, healing and cooling. Satan speaks in a helpful, calm voice: "Relaxing helps, remember to avoid girls. Your new toy can be comfortable and has healing properties. You will be here until someone else decides to take your place." His calm voice seemed to imply he was going to leave me and take care of some other business; the mirror prevents me from knowing if he left.

My euphoric memories of sex with Shelly were all but lost once I smelled that green jism. I enjoyed watching next to Satan, seeing the girls but also watching the poor man accept. Not schadenfreude nor spite. I emphasized with (even lusted for) his moral certainty: he was blameless. Forced to explore certain things, he had no responsibility so no sin. Even a martyr would succumb, so he was justified to do whatever he wanted.

Against myself, I kind of smile towards Satan. I am dealing with businessman: like his harsh contract, I made a trade and in accepting his punishments I deserve my just and good rewards. Rewards like fun with hot girls that are more than willing to please, just begging to be hit on. I walk confidently forward in the fake mall, smiling and looking towards a couple women. If I'm in hell, I might as well take in the experience, from the fun to the its punishment. I have no choice and am not responsible any more.

Focusing on the now, I know these girls are really great for me. I like their higher heels, their adult confidence (unlike idiot schoolgirls who constantly bump into things) and their correct yet minimal makeup. Clothes and style are more important than raw looks. If her outfit makes me stare she deserves a 'Hi' or at least 'Nice style'. I like interesting, neat or different styles because they draw my attention so well. Women who take time to build a style around their appearance are putting in the effort, trying.

Why mention a girl's well-chosen attire to her? She already knows. For a businessman imagine an employee who just worked long hours, put in a superb effort, leveraged his hard-won skills. For a mom, imagine a son who just finished his most difficult piece of homework yet. For the commander, consider the ensign that just experienced his first combat and followed orders to the letter and spirit.

Real men talk to women, put them off balance, get a smile and a laugh. Later fetish sissy hypnosis porn would finish my logic: "Don't think about her sissy, think about wearing her clothes. Would they fit on you? Would they look good?" A real man is willing accepts discomfort to say hi to a girl, but I am in a difficult situation: Satan literally inserted something up my ass to control me. My resolve fades.

I feel my butt plug growing. Blinking I realize I'm staring at a blonde, red blazer, solid colored, not 'trashy saleswomen' but 'successful female entrepreneur' or 'investor'. The heels, corporate, airy, light, nude. The skirt, what was exposed below the blazer, a stark contrast in dark and commanding blue, hinting at a truly athletic pair of legs, yet somehow going below the knees. The earrings, hanging, small, obviously expensive custom set diamonds. The hair, up, not tight; out of her way, she walks purposefully forward toward a bank branch in this hellish retail outlet. A brunette, she barely looks at me, the heels make her slightly taller, I can't help but stare. The growth, engorgement and fullness breaks my stupor.

Soon enough I stopped looking at girls. The encroachment was too deep, the spear too large. The plug was too much to take, I worry over actually getting hurt.

Satan chuckles once I started blatantly ignoring ladies. Maybe he was watching the whole time. Helpfully he gave me a gentle push: "You're doing great! Remember my demons. Fuck one and he'll let you lay down for a while, reset your toy, make you feel good." He paused thoughtfully before going on: "Since this whole thing was kind of impulsive on our part, I'll sweeten the deal."

I pause to look up in his general direction behind the two-way mirror. Satan continues "I will shorten your contractual duty by five days for every demon you get to fuck you. And my money is still yours as long as you are alive." There it is, I can make an investment to ease my future: discomfort now relaxes my eventual obligations.

Anyhow I am here: why not make the best of it? I doubt Satan will let my body take permanent damage home. "Brandon, no physical damage will remain after this session." he immediately replies to my thought. "Enjoy yourself while you are here." he mouths helpfully. Satan drove me to his ends with true hope of payback and provided the excuses I needed. Justified by the effort required, my reward would be commensurate and earned. I should go with the flow.

Walking forward through a quiet stretch, the next girl I see is young, almost too young for me at 19 or so. It took effort to avoid staring at her, to keep walking past. But I did, and my dildo shrunk a bit. Two ladies on my right where talking while eating ice cream cones, girls are silly when it comes to sweets and chit-chat. One had a heavier royal blue jacket, large silver buttons; the other, as if in mockery, short shorts and a yellow tube top that revealed wide bra straps and a perfect belly button.

Walking around them trying not to stare, while they knew they had my full attention, I almost fell over a crouching 25-year-old. Maybe she was tying her shoes. Her cleavage was totally exposed as if on purpose to anyone walking by, but I managed to avoided punishment looking ahead. Her hair up and some sort of lace holds it, bright red lipstick, perfect eyebrows that seemed to be alive with emotion even while she tied shoe laces. Glancing over my shoulder I end up staring at her back and her hips, she had an amazing figure.


Giving In

I keep moving and two girls in the center draw my attention, I have to stop. They're playing with a puppy on the floor. The one lady has dark hair, short shorts in denim, a red shirt cut high above the belly button. Her friend is dressed like she is sick with the flu, sweat pants and a big shirt, and the puppy loves it. The red-head constantly has the puppy on her, and the dark-haired girl is just petting and playing. I feel my penis growing, as the one inside me starts. I really like her look, and I am so tired of avoiding women at any cost, especially the ones I am so attracted to. So this time I resolve to say hi and accept whatever consequences.

Returning her sing-song smile I say 'Cute puppy', pretty lame, and start to kneel down near the girls as they both smile up at me. My toy is getting larger and larger, but these girls are so cute, the closer I get the more perfect they seem. "Hi Brandon, nice to meet you." the younger one says sweetly. "Stay here a little bit, we can stop the abyss for you." As she speaks she softly touches my should and her friend flicks her hair, turning to face me more directly. Evidently girls are sweet in hell (gentle reader, when I die I'll be desperate for an evil dominatrix, but if I end up with the Other he would surely keep me from such pleasures). My butt plug is still expanding and I realize almost too late I need to get away or I'll be forced to lay down and stretch my legs apart.

(Gentle reader, three days ago the dark-haired girl met Satan soon after she was buried: "Amanda, here is your wardrobe. If you need or want any clothes, accessories, makeup, anything to make yourself cute at all, tell my demon and he will go to Earth and bring them back." Satan's booming masculine voice explained. The young girl shivered, her sin was committing suicide; as a petite high-schooler she had been very goth and had taken it too far. "And enjoy getting ready, put good effort into it. Your punishment for now will be a sort of trial, after you will get another chance to get made up. Do you understand?" "Yes..." Amanda said, overwhelmed. Looking around she saw a vast array of clothes and some particularly cute military boots just her size, liking the incredible contradiction of the tough masculine treads to their tiny almost child-like size. "Ah, I see you will enjoy this, most women do." Satan continued, gentler, "After twenty minutes you will be put on stage, sometimes in a mall or at a park, sometimes in a bar or a nightclub. This screen will summarize your next stop." Amanda glanced at the screen and saw a small-town mall, with the caption 'a man Brandon will be walking past you.' Nodding Amanda acknowledged his statement, more intrigued than afraid. "Wear something attractive, but not slutty. And let me give you a hint, he likes odd styling and big contrast." Satan smiles relieving the girl's fear. "If the men ignore you, you'll get punished (and Satan pauses, looking compassionately into the youth's eyes, trying to make this as comfortable as possible for her): burned alive and brought back here. It is quite... painful." Done being compassionate, the Other smiles darkly at Amanda and holds up his hand, slightly clenches his fist, and by magic causes her chest to convulse as if she was having a heart attack, sharp stinging pains spreading throughout. "Now," and Satan soothed her shivering chest and restored her youthful smooth health for effect as he unclenched his fist, "If you get a man to look- just look directly- at you, I'll bring you back here without any punishment. You'll have another twenty minutes to get ready for the next one." Amanda considers as Satan pauses to let it sink in, and she seems a bit relieved. "That seems easy enough: perverts always stared at me when I was alive, they really like goths even though they'd never admit it." Smiling in agreement, Satan continued, "Now, Amanda, if you can get a man to say Hi or complement you or even talk about something mundane like your backpack or the time, you get to relax here for two hours. You can use our fitness club, enjoy drinks at the bar, relax in the cold spring pool and enjoy the other facilities reserved for our successful women. And if the man were to get to second base..." Before the Other left, Amanda was getting turned on about being pimped out by the dark Lord, the king of Pimps, the best and strongest of them all. Maybe hell wouldn't be so bad, she still had her body, and Gothic and Satanic are somewhat close... maybe the Other would treat her special...)

My toy was filling my gut, stopping to meet the puppy girls had been a major mistake. But tearing myself away from them was more pain than it was worth. Rather than enjoy their company and lay to await the abyss in their gentle arms, I forced myself upward to struggle forward. The dildo was not painful but it makes me slower than an old man behind a walker. I continue for maybe a half hour, with little relief, and I hear a hiss behind me. Struggling forward I peer over my shoulder. There are mock warning orange cones and yellow danger tape at the edge of the short drop into molten lava. It seems like the rock is almost solid, with little flows, bubbles and mini-rivers like quicksand. A chunk of tile floor falls down on the surface, and floats for a while before catching fire and only slowly submerging.

I focus ahead and go a while, but one of the demons stops me. He held out his hand, hinting I could stop, smiling. I should have walked past, but he was so confident and sure, and my legs were sore from walking in circles around the huge plug. I hear the abyss moving, a sort of quiet creaking and occasional steam-like sounds, but when demons are close to me like this one it stops temporarily. It is a couple feet behind me, the ironic flashing 'danger' lights on each side of me. I'd been avoiding the demons, but right now I'll do anything for a little break in my race. He knows more than I can, so I should trust him. "Brandon, let me help you out." He knew my name! And though he looked like a weasel or a snitch his confident scarred face gave me hope that he had experience.

I was bent over before I knew it. His penis, small, curved two ways, not a clean arc but a curve up, then straight and then a sharper curve to the right. Tiny, thin, closer to canine than human, maybe three inches long, little boils or blisters throughout, pre-cum oozing. No visible balls, clean-shaven but dirty with grit and grim, his asshole obviously well used. His legs, deformed, goat-like; his posture bent and his short, disheveled, thin body. Clothing - rags, covered in garbage. The nauseating smell. As he got closer more details became clear- enlarged and pierced nipples, maggots cleaning wounds in his shoulder, blood stains near his asshole and scar tissue through his lips and cheeks as if his mouth had torn open wide like a snake's to hold around something.

I know his pigtail penis is coming closer and closer to my puckered anus. The 'bed' Satan promised is a pillory, my vomit making a large pool on the mall tile, several more demons crowding around and cheering. A few girls walk over, and one spits in my face. "Faggot, fuck you." she scowls and kicks me hard in the shin. She and the other women solemnly embrace each other as the quiet lady cries and they make their way to the edge where both silently step off. Their screams ring in my ears as I feel the toy removed with a hiss of air. I vaguely recognize another girl walking into the abyss. At least my toy will be back to normal size. I don't think the puppy girls made it to see me here.

"Don't worry Brandon, some girls just can't understand why boys might choose a man instead of them." the demon helpfully whispers behind my back right after I get kicked, his putrid oily hair brushing my neck as a couple maggots that fall out of his shoulder wound and slide down my back. "It's not your fault." Inexplicably I am nude except my shoes. There is no getting away, but the demon seems to encourage me to try. My legs are free so I struggle to find a comfortable position with my arms and neck in the pillory. The rough goat-hair of his legs pushes mine apart as he chuckles knowingly.

That was it. Someone else signed The Other's contract or he felt sorry for me. I woke up hung over clothed in my own bed. Hoping the whole thing was a dream, that maybe I didn't sign the Sissy Bargain, that I was never an associate, I stagger to the shower and turn on the cold water. Life will go on, but it was so real.


Aftermath

I had returned to our world drunk but safely at home. After sex with Shelly, and all of the hot girls in the mall, I had little choice but to masturbate several times. Sleep came easy and I woke up the next day like any other, more hangover than normal, but in my own bed and without any pain.

The contract was real and effective. Once I enjoyed meeting strangers but now I am too shy to meet girls. Satan would appear to me various times throughout the next few years, bringing his own style of encouragement. Once he brought Shelly the girl I met and had sex with in hell and after I had openly ignored her while standing directly behind her in the checkout he appeared and pointed her out. "It's OK Brandon, not everyone remembers faces." Shelly cried a little bit in public as she left the shop, I never acknowledged her and hid my face as best I could. She had been trying hard to get my attention and as she left I heard her crying, not daring to look to see. She had looked great when I first saw her in line and considered her dress, light blue, an interesting pattern made of tiny randomly rotated umbrellas in white, cut about mid-thigh and while loose it had a zipper in the back.

I'll never forget the mall. Maybe the right lesson for the reader is men often cause girls pain by ignoring them. Too bad all I learned is when my scary magic dildo expands and contracts, it is like I still feel it.