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The Devil I Suppose

By Ashlyn Selvatico

Copyright 2017 Ashlyn Selvatico

Smashwords Edition


Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.


This book is intended for adult audiences only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. All sexual activity in this work is consensual and all participants are 18 years of age or older.


“Don't fight it, Mateo. It's the way of things. There's nothing wrong with being a slave, if you're a man. On this planet, all men are slaves.”

He shifted uncomfortably. I stepped closer, almost touching the glass.

“I want to see you naked. I demand it.”

I was safe in my booth. He was safe in his stall. The glass wall protected us both.

Mateo was young, and reasonably pleasant to look at. His hair was very short. He wore a black tank top, fatigue pants and a blindfold. My space goddess outfit was more flamboyant. It was a kind of harness made of narrow strips and bands of black plastic, accessorized with a chrome plated crown and transparent stripper pumps. It covered about as much skin as a bikini- though not the same skin, necessarily.

Mateo pulled off his tank top. He was slender, with decent muscle tone. There was nothing extraordinary about his physique. That was part of its appeal, actually. It was real. Those muscles weren't huge, but at least he'd earned them the old fashioned way. I doubted that Mateo could afford body sculpture. If he had that kind of lolly, he would be playing this game with a licensed dominatrix.

Subtle tattoos decorated his biceps. Narrow black lines drew a shepherd's crook and a crucifix over the bronze curves of his skin.

“Hurry up, slave. I want to see your pito.”

He took off his shoes and socks, then hesitated. I raised one arm, stretching and posing for the camera.

“Get on with it!”

He dropped his trousers to show me his black lace panties.

Male ispies and B list celebrities wore fancy lingerie all the time. Working class Latins didn't. Mateo wasn't chasing fashion. He wanted to experience the thrill of embarrassment. A man like Mateo- a proud man, a Christian man, a social conservative- would be ashamed to wear lacy underwear. The humiliation would be exquisite.

“Listen carefully, and don't move yet. When I tell you to show me your pene, you will peel those pretty panties down. Very slowly. You understand?”

“But it's wrong.”

“Such disrespect! You will call me Commander Vulva!”

“Commander Vulva, I'm too embarrassed.”

“You are a man! You were born to be naked and exposed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Commander Vulva.”

“Slowly now. Show me your pene.”

By now the panties were straining to keep him in. He had to stretch them to get them over his shaft.

“Slowly. Do not drop your thong. Do not allow it to fall. Slide it halfway down your thighs. Yes. Leave it just beneath your balls. Don't let it slip. Let the tight band push against the base of your scrotum. Then put your hands behind your head. Elbows wide.”

I looked at the camera. It was pointed directly at my booth. Mateo wouldn't be in the shot. I put the fingers of my left hand on the strip of black tape that barely covered my vagina. Mateo couldn't see any of this, of course. He was still wearing a blindfold. But he might buy the video.

I peeled the tape off.

“Feel that thong against your thighs, Earth man. Remember how the waistband squeezes the underside of your balls. Because that's the last stitch of clothes you'll ever wear. You're my fuck slave now. Bare naked, for the rest of your life.”

I teased my nipples. “You may drop your panties now.”

He was rock hard and twitching. “I'm afraid.”

“I'm tired of your excuses. Your cock is out already. Drop your thong.”

He moved his hands from behind his head and slid the thong off his thighs. It fell to his toes.

“Step forward.”

He walked forward, clumsy and blind.

“Now turn and let me see that magnificent backside.”

He turned. I put my hand on my mons.

“That's an amazing ass you've got, fuck slave. I think that might be the nicest ass I've ever seen. I can't wait to show it off. Now bend over and spread your cheeks.”

He bent his knees for balance, and obeyed.

“You can stand up now, and turn this way. I want to show you off. I'll paint your toenails with cherry red nail polish, so everybody knows you're mine. You'll never be allowed to wear anything else. I'll throw big parties, invite all my girlfriends. No other men. Just you, Mateo. You can dance for my friends, and suck their toes. And they'll watch as you pleasure yourself. How often do you masturbate, Mateo?”

“Every day. Two, three times sometimes.”

“Can you masturbate for me now?”

“Yes, Commander Vulva.”

His left hand wrapped around his shaft. A drop of pre-cum appeared.

Mateo wasn't really my type. But he was sweet, and respectful, even outside of the game. I liked making him cum. It was fun.

I cupped my vulva and slapped it lightly. The spasm of pleasure was more intense than I had expected. I hadn't intended to let out a moan. It just got away from me. Then he had to moan too.

“Don't cum yet. Not until I give you permission, fuck slave.”

Some performers try to make them orgasm as quickly as they can, hoping they'll leave early. I liked Mateo. I wanted to give him his money's worth.

“Take your blindfold off, Earth man.”

He took the blindfold off. Our eyes met. Mateo had pretty eyes, warm and kind.

Two fingers slid in and out of my conundrum.

“Look at my pussy, Mateo. Taste it. I never had an Earth man before. So the question is, who is gonna be the first to slide his big, hard cock inside me and make me scream?”


Clients could send me private messages through the Peep House website. Sometimes we would arrange to meet there at a particular time. But I got plenty of requests to meet off site, too. Of course, I always said no.

We had a contract. Any outside work I did was supposed to go through the company. 'For your own safety', they said. Of course, they kept a 40% cut.

Regardless, the clients asked me out all the time. The younger guys would come up with some story. They usually claimed that they were art students working on a project. They needed a nude model, but for some reason they didn't know any female students desperate for cash. Some of the middle aged men, the loners and the divorces, asked me out to dinner. It was kind of sweet, actually.

Then there was Mateo. He sent me these bizarre messages. Questions, mostly. How are you? Where did you go to school? Did you catch the game? (With the clients, we're supposed to pretend that we like football. It's the part of the job I'm least proud of). When I took a week off, he asked if I was OK.

Eventually, he worked up the nerve to ask me out. Dinner. A proper date, like it was the 1980's. It made me wonder if he was older than he looked. Maybe he was some rich guy from the valley who got sculpted to look like a typical working class Latino.

OK, that was a little farfetched.


Peep House had just installed a horizontal booth. Horizontals were the hottest fad in peep show technology, and they weren't cheap. To offset the cost, the company charged a premium. So- of course- the new booth was hardly ever used. It stood there wasting space, while management stubbornly refused to drop the price.

Management didn't understand our clients like I did. Our clients came to us because they were lonely, and needed someone to talk to. They came to see a friendly vagina and a nice rack. They weren't interested in paying $75 more just to see them from beneath. Just about every adult theater in the country learned the same, expensive lesson that year. Horizontal booths never did catch on.

Which is too bad, because they were awesome.

About a week after the new booth was installed, a client made a reservation for it, and for me. I didn't know the guy, but I didn't let that bother me. I got a lot of requests from guys who saw my picture on the website. He hadn't requested a specific costume, so I chose an outfit I thought would be fun. It was a sort of dull metallic belly dancer's kit, with a very short, jewelry-encrusted skirt.

I came to work early, so I could practice.

The booth was about the same size and shape as a revolving door enclosure. The walls and ceiling were black. Tiny spotlights lit me from every angle.

I walked barefoot onto the wide window.

One of the best things about dancing in the new booth is that I didn't have to wear high heels. We had to work barefoot, to avoid scuffing the glass.

I closed my eyes and used my cybernetic implants to access the building's CCTV system. I checked the lobby security cams. My client had not yet arrived, so I did some exploring.

Zorza and Anais were making a movie in one of the booths. I was pretty sure they didn't have a client with them, so I peeked. Zorza was blonde, with a light, allover tan. She was a kind of Polish viking, with the body of a sprinter: boyish and athletic. She was already nude. Anais was a plump goth from Catalonia. She was wearing a fishnet catsuit. So far they were just making out. If I knew Zorza and Anais, they'd be going at it until the end of the shift.

I rarely ever saw them with clients; I think they just came to Peep House to get away from their wife. I don't know why management let them get away with it.

Yes I do. They were hot, and they were at it like this all the time, in the lobby, in the storefront window. They were great publicity, even if they didn't do much actual work.

I opened my eyes. Zorza and Anais vanished, but I left the audio channel open. Their heavy breathing would inspire me.

I took a few turns around the booth. The window was slightly soft and springy. It wasn't really glass. It was a pliable, transparent polymer. The room on the other side was dark. I couldn't see the bottom, and this gave me a chill. The booth was brand new, and I was one of the first people to dance in it.

I wondered if a dancer's weight had ever broken a window.

Fear is good. Fear keeps me on my toes.

I checked the lobby again. My client had arrived. It was Mateo! But Mateo never came this early in the day. And the name on the reservation had been Efren.

So it was not Mateo, after all. I started to notice little differences. This man looked ten years older. His tattoos were bolder, more elaborate and more violent. Roses and knives. When he spoke to Lori the lobby attendant he smiled, and it was nothing like Mateo's smile. It was not sweet and warm. It was knowing. Cynical.

Efren frightened me a little. And the fact that he was damned sexy made him more frightening, not less. Like the devil, I suppose.

The room controls were on a panel by the door. I put on some eerie Indian fuck music, hypnotic and driving.

Lori took Efren to a changing booth. We didn't have a camera in there, so I watched the door until he was finished. He came out wearing a teddy and fishnets. No underwear. But he had a kind of black sleeve on the shaft of his penis.

Ordinarily, clients were discouraged from walking around with their cocks out. While they were allowed to be naked in the stalls, they were supposed to pull up their pants before they left. After all, the whole point to the glass was to put a safe distance between the dancers and the clientele.

But when it came to the horizontal booth customers, Peep House was willing to bend the rules. The $75 premium was part of it. But mostly it was because the customer wouldn't be able to change in or out of their clothes, once they were prepped.

Lori the lobby attendant strapped Efren to the cot and rolled him into the stall. The light came on automatically. Efren was lying bound, spreadeagled, inches from the window, just beneath the soles of my feet. I was standing in the center of the room, too far back for him to be able to see up my skirt, yet.

Another transmission cut into my cybernetic feed.

“Cerise, this is Lori. If you can hear me, touch your belly button.”

I ran a couple of red fingernails over my navel.

“Good. Meet Efren. His cock is wired, and he's got a buzz up his ass. His safe word is Leviticus. You got that?”

I nodded slightly.

“Oh, and he's into feet. I'm sure you'll make a cute couple.”

I turned the juice on. The room linked itself to Efren's penis sleeve and ass vibrator. At random intervals, it would give him a tingle. A vibration, a warm sensation. Maybe an electric shock. Nothing too painful, unless I turned up the power.

“Hi. I'm Cerise.”

His shaft was fully erect. “Efren.”

I swayed to the music. I slid my hands down the sides of my short skirt.

“I like your outfit, Efrem.”

“They made me wear this. I'd never...”

“Who made you?”

“The aliens.”

“Tell me about them.”

“I've never seen them. But they kidnapped me, same as you. Made us wear these degrading costumes.”

I like the clients who come in with fantasies. They are always so predictable. It's so easy to make them come.

“It's true. Efrem...”

“Efren.”

“Efren, I have a confession to make. I think it's my fault you're here.”

“Your fault?”

“The aliens want to breed us, like animals.”

“I knew it!”

“There are about thirty of us. All girls. All 18 years old. None of us has ever been with a man. We were abducted. Years ago. From a religious- an extremely religious girl's school. But it's so lonely here. We need a man. I told the aliens to bring me a tall, handsome, extremely well endowed man and so they did. And now- Efren, I'm so ashamed.”

“Do you know how to dance?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I want you to dance for me, Cerise.”

“It's the least I can do!”

I turned the music up and danced. I wasn't wearing anything under the microskirt, so I'm sure he saw flickers of Tasmania. But he was probably more interested in the soles of my feet.

His whole body twitched. Maybe it was an electric shock. Maybe it was the whole show: my legs, my love canal, slipping in and out of view, my foot when it landed an inch from his tongue. The humiliation. The exposure. The fantasy.

“Efren. This costume they made me wear. It makes me feel like a slut. I might as well be naked.”

“You don't have to wear that shit.”

“But I don't have anything else.”

“Yeah, but like you said. You might as well just go naked.”

“OK. For you, Efren. Just for you.”

I grabbed the top, then hesitated.

“I can't believe I'm doing this! I've always been such a good girl.”

I slipped my top off, and dropped it over his head. As I danced, I kicked it to the side, so it wouldn't block his view. Then I stripped off the skirt, and danced naked. The horizontal booth had three cameras: above, below and to one side. I danced for those cameras, as much as I danced for Efren. And they were recording.

On the cyberlink, Zorza was moaning like a Valkyrie. I took a quick peek. They were in 69, but Anais was doing all the work.

I got down on the floor and straddled Efren's face. I slipped two fingers in, deep.

“Tell me I'm pretty.”

“You're a real pretty girl, Cerise.”

“Tell me I have a pretty pussy.”

“Your pussy is beautiful, mi alma.”

Lori's voice broke in, over my cyberlink.

“You're both very pretty girls. With lovely pussies.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“He's got ten more minutes. Time to wrap this up.”

Lori can be such a buzzkill. I stood and touched the control panel. The room started giving him larger, more frequent tingles. I lay down over him, head to head, toe to toe, and put one hand between my legs.

“I'm cumming. I can't hold back, but I want to cum with you.”

He moaned.

“I can feel you inside me,” I said.

It's not like the Earth moved or anything, but it was fun.


Over the next month or so Efren walked in five or six times, at random. Mateo was more reliable. I saw him every Thursday afternoon. They were so alike, they had to be brothers. I wondered if they knew that they had the same kinks. They were my favorite customers, because doing two brothers felt so wrong.

I was just worried Efren would decide to pop in on a Thursday afternoon. I didn't know how either of them would react. Efren messaged me almost every day, pestering me for a date. Mateo messaged me too, but just to see how I was doing. After I turned down his dinner invitation, he never asked me out again.

So I asked him out.


I took a 53 to the Temple Basin Marina, where I kept my 30 foot bowrider. It was August: bright and hot.

I hadn't been on a proper date since high school, so I was determined to do it right. I acted like a normal person. I wore clothes. And not hooker clothes, either, but an elegant, little black dress. I even wore shoes, at first. I was really proud of myself.

Mateo arrived, late in the afternoon. He brought flowers.

We motored away from the marina, for privacy. We kicked back in the bow and watched the distant boats. Mateo talked about the stuff he was into: cars or music or something, I wasn't really listening. He was adorable. He had become the star of some really sappy daydreams I was having about pets and back yards and dinner parties.

By the time we'd finished eating I was bored and uncomfortable. I ditched the shoes. We made out for a bit, and then I handed him a gift bag.

“It's a catsuit. You can change in the cockpit.”

He pulled a little ball of black fishnet out of the bag.

“I can't wear this. What if someone sees me?”

“This is Lake Mead. You could drown a nun in a cooler full of heroin. No one cares.”

While he was in the cockpit, I stripped down to my C-string.

“This doesn't leave much to the imagination,” he said.

“I've already seen you naked, Mateo.”

I understood his reluctance, actually. I was feeling a little nervous too. We weren't playing a game anymore. There wasn't any glass between us. This was real life.

The fishnet catsuit I'd bought him was designed to be worn by a man. It was broad in the shoulders, and the open crotch was high enough to accommodate a penis. But it was a particularly ladylike catsuit, lacy and feminine. It complemented Mateo's essential masculinity, reinforcing his manliness through contradiction.

While I admired his body, he studied mine. I posed for him. I opened myself to him. With just a strip of white fabric over my vulva, I felt more naked than naked.

“What's the game, princesa?” he asked.

“No game. You are Mateo. I am Cerise.”

“OK.”

“This is my boat, and you're wearing kinky lingerie. According to the law of the sea, you have to suck my toes.”

“We're not at sea.”

I extended one foot.

“Are you an oceanographer, now?”

He knelt and massaged my foot.

Over towards the marina, someone was driving a pontoon boat way too fast. They had to be either drunk or stupid. Maybe you could drown a nun in a cooler full of heroin. But nobody drives like that in a no wake zone and gets away with it.

Mateo kissed my foot. “I told my brother I was dating a dancer.”

The chill in my blood made my toes flex.

“Your brother? What did he say?”

He massaged the arch of my foot with his thumbs. “He thought it was pretty cool. He asked me where I was taking you. I told him we were going sailing. I should have known better. I never heard the end of it. He kept calling me stuff like commodore, Columbus, captain crunch. You know how brothers are.”

“No. I guess I don't.”

The pontoon boat was headed our way. A small police drone was closing in on it.

“Mateo, get up. Get up, now.”

We stood up. There was no time to get out of the way. The pontoon boat was approaching on the starboard bow, so I jumped off the port side and hoped that the bowrider's hull would absorb the impact. Mateo followed me into the water.

Underwater, the collision sounded like thunder.

I surfaced. The boats were more or less stationary, and intact. But I didn't see Mateo. I started shouting his name.

Efren was in the bowrider now. He stood up in the stern. He started calling me a whore in several languages.

“I can't find Mateo!” I said.

That got his attention. He started shouting for Mateo too. I swam around the wreckage to try to get a better look.

I found Mateo under the pontoon boat. Efren and I pulled him aboard. He seemed more frightened than hurt, but no one was more shaken up than Efren.

“Mateo! I thought you were dead, hermano!”

“What the fuck, man?”

“Hey, what the fuck are you wearing, vato?”

Mateo had forgotten he was in kinky lingerie. Now he was mortified.

“She made me wear this!”

Efren turned on me.

“You thought my little brother was your bitch? You're the bitch, bitch! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What? You fucking psychopath, you wrecked my fucking boat!”

Mateo grabbed Efren's shoulders.

“Efren! The police! We got to get you out of here, bro!”

Un-fucking-believable.

Efren got the pontoon boat started again. He and Mateo headed east, arm in arm, best buds. I was left to deal with the police. In a C-string, no less, because I couldn't find my dress. OK, I liked that part, obviously. Still. This is why I never, ever date my clients.



Hardly ever.


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