A Devil's Game ::: {Ariamella & Prince of Smut}

"Andrea?"

Macy Hill stopped abruptly, silently counting the editor-in-chief of Couture as one more addition to her list of hated people. It was so goddamn annoying when Heidi called her by other names, especially the name of the other assistant, Andrea. She turned to face the entrance of a large, pristine white office, a fake smile plastered on her face. "Yes, Heidi? Is there something I can do for you?"

"Of course. I need the the mock-up of next month's issue at my townhouse door by six o' clock sharp tomorrow evening."

"I always am punctual with it, Heidi."

"I know." A hint of a smile played at the older woman's lips, not in an unkind way but not in a friendly manner either. "Oh, and I offer my condolences on what happened earlier in George's office. But now that Andrea has the executive assistant position, I expect you to fill my other assistant role quickly, Macy. You know the interview procedures and whatnot."

The brunette stood in shock for just a moment before recovering, not only at the use of her real name but also at the mention of her brief issue in the CEO's office. "I'm sorry, but you know what happened earlier in George's office? How? And how many of you know?"

The half smile on the sixty year-old woman grew to a full grin. Heidi was always one for gossip. "Just the larger, managerial group of us. News trickles down you see, and by tomorrow morning, I'd imagine most all inside this building will know of what happened." Silence ensued, and Macy stared at her boss without a single reply on her lips. Heidi's eyes searched her own, and after a few seconds she looked down at her desk and coldly said, "That is all, Andrea." Macy gave a curt nod and spun on her heel, grabbing the bag off her own desk that was situated in the larfe expanse outside of Heidi's office. Across hers was another desk still filled with Andrea's personal belongings, and she rolled her eyes and sighed. She had to fill another junior assistant position yet again, but this time it was because that same junior assistant was promoted to the position she had wanted. Life worked out in funny ways. In really shitty, funny ways.

A few moments later and she was stepping inside an empty elevator, ready to go home and relax. But her thoughts were interrupted as the ride came to a stop, doors opening for... Oh god, none other than Andrea. Macy gave the girl an icy look as she stepped inside. "What are you doing here, on the Opportunity floor? Shouldn't you be gathering your things from Heidi and stuffing them in your new executive assistant desk?"

Andrea wore a smug face as the elevator doors closed. "George had me deliver something to the chief editor here. But don't worry, I'm packing up my things tomorrow morning, and you'll have all the space you need to interview the other girls hoping to be my replacement."

An awkward silence hung in the air, then Macy opened her mouth again, aggression coloring her tone. "We both know George chose you because you took credit for my work and probably sucked his dick."

"And we both know you don't get anywhere because you come to work looking like shit. You don't keep people's attention, Macy, and you never will. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other errands to attend to." The elevator doors opened and Andrea stepped out, her words still ringing in Macy's head even after the elevator closed once more and brought her down to the lobby of the Brandon-Demmings Publications building. She exited the large glass doors into the rush of five o'clock traffic of Manhattan, eyes cast down as she walked to a nearby café to get a small snack to fuel her as she walked home to her apartment in the Lower East Side. It was a moderate distance, one that was usually traversed by taxi, but when she wanted the time to think to herself, she would walk home. It wasn't terrible as she only wore half-inch heels and carried a light purse, and she found it enjoyable to take note of the restaurants and various shops that held locals and tourists alike.

One of the newer boutiques fell in her line of view, and she stopped for a second to admire the highly priced clothing that she most likely would never buy. It's not that she wouldn't fit, but rather that she found flashy clothing to be a waste of time. She came to the office dressed in business-casual, and that was enough for her. Of course, some people found it odd that she never cared for high fashion, yet worked for the editor-in-chief of one of the largest fashion magazines in the world. The world was funny like that. Andrea's words came back to haunt her, and she suddenly found herself questioning how she looked. She wasn't by any means ugly. Long brown hair framed a lightly made-up face and cascaded down her toned upper body, which reflected the overall fitness of her figure.

But the questioning feeling passed, and Macy's haughty conscience reminded herself that the quality of an employee didn't come with looks but with effort and smarts. Yes, this is what she thought to herself every time an incompetent hopeful showed up for an interview at Heidi's office. But whatever consolation words she told herself didn't soften the blow of losing a promotion to Andrea, Heidi's junior assistant who had only been with Brandon-Demmings for eight months. It was proof that looks had prevailed over actual brains, and the very thought still made her mind swim with hate and jealousy, a dangerous combination of emotions for a woman to have. In an attempt to calm herself, she stopped in front of her favorite bookstore, arm reaching for the handle when she noticed something odd: another bookstore across the street, one she hadn't noticed before. How long had it been there? She crossed the street to sate her curiosity of the establishment; bookstores were her favorite because they were quiet, peaceful, and nothing beat the 'new book' scent that filled the air.

The inside was lit well, showing off antique decor that gave the store an eerie vibe that was interesting all the same. Shelves of books lined the walls with categorical headings above each section, and older books were displayed in glass cases on either side of the entrance. Macy walked toward them, surprised to see first edition copies of various fiction titles, with "The Great Gatsby" and "The Scarlet Letter" among them. In the center of the store was a vacant station for check-out, and a few glances around told her that the place seemed empty despite her getting the feeling that there was another presence in the store. It was odd, as she got the distinct impression like she wasn't supposed to be there, but she walked around and browsed the shelves anyway. After some short time, she picked up a book that had an enticing blurb on the inside cover, and she settled in a leather chair at the seating area a few feet behind the check-out area.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

A pair of coal black eyes watched the woman peruse the bookstore. Flecks of violet, flickering like flames, were the only hint of color in the dark pools of the twin irises.

An old man's face slowly took shape around those dark eyes, his entire tall and gaunt frame seeming to appear from nowhere as a passing cloud allowed more light to penetrate the shadowed corner of the bookstore where he stood watching. He was dressed in a black, old-fashioned, but elegant, three piece suit, with a red silk handkerchief tucked neatly into his breast pocket. The dark eyes remained fixed on the lone shopper while his long and lightly wrinkled face curled into a hungry smile as he studied her like a cat might watch a bird fluttering on a window sill.

Her demeanor was intriguing, a mix of haughtiness and contempt, the spill-over emotion of some earlier incident, that gave way reluctantly to curiosity as she inspected his goods. She appeared to be a woman scorned in some fashion, a proud woman no doubt, and now looking for something to distract her and make her feel better. Some tiny piece of indulgence that would ease the hurt she still must feel inside. Anger and rage simmered below her suddenly calm face, bubbling so strongly that the man could almost smell those delicious emotions overflowing.

All of the customers that found his shop were like this, coming to him in moments of prideful, vain despair. And he so loved meeting them in their darkest moment.

Their weakest moment.

The shopkeeper licked his thin lips in anticipation and ran his long fingers through his neat white hair before stepping forward into the light.

"Mademoiselle," he said with a wave as he strode towards her. "I am Balthazar. Welcome to my establishment. Do not get up. Si'l vous plais, sit."

The cramped store was mostly full of dark wood shelves packed with books, but tucked within them and on the walls were many rare and unusual pieces of art, curios, and mementos of former customers. As Balthazar walked towards her, he casually adjusted a statue that depicted a nude woman struggling in ropes as two men seemed to be reeling her towards them. He stole a glance at a massive oil painting above the check out counter that was a triptych showing a woman's rise and descent. In the first panel, she was climbing steps towards a dais as people watched, the second showed her as perhaps a Queen, lit by sun and being worshipped by an adoring crowd, and the last showed her naked and surrounded by a jeering mob. All of his art was sensual, but with a disturbing subtle theme throughout the pieces of women struggling, cast down, scorned or shamed.

Balthazar sat down on the leather chair next to the woman and crossed his legs as he examined her more closely. Yes, she was a very proud woman he could see. Intelligent, a professional no doubt, and unquestionably vain about her prowess.

"What is it you seek, mon ange?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Macy's whole body jumped at the sound of a man's voice, causing her fingers to slip and lose the page she had been reading on. Oh well, it wasn't like she was that far in anyway. She lifted her head to the direction of the voice, surprised to see a tall old man standing before her. How long had he been there, and why did she not see him? He must have come out through some back area, doing whatever it was bookstore employees did... Strange, she thought, that he asked her to sit just as she tensed her muscles to stand.

Not just asked her, she realized, but told her to remain seated, like he needed to keep her there in the seat.

Jeez, was he not getting enough sales or what? That was a creepy point going against him, but she tentatively relaxed back in the leather chair, watching as he adjusted an odd statue. Was the woman naked and bound? The statue itself looked to be of exquisite craftsmanship, but she couldn't imagine the kind of artist that wanted to be remembered by pieces such as the one atop the shorter dark bookshelf. Her gaze drifted to where his was rested, and she turned to examine a painting of a woman who looked to be brought up to happiness and power just to be brought down again. The odd choice of decor made her turn a questioning gaze to Balthazar, a careful look in her eyes as she examined him. One more creepiness point was held against him, just for the weird statue.

Her hazel-grey eyes took in his own black orbs, causing her to look away as eerie depth of his eyes overpowered her for just a moment. Despite being dressed with class and style, she could see that he was a thin man, and the bony structure of his face only confirmed the thought. But what earned him the third creepiness point was that he called her 'my angel,' except in French. The fact that it was in French was probably the strangest part, and she probably didn't like it because it reminded her too much of Couture magazine and the uppity bitches who used useless French in daily language.

Macy put her book down in her lap, crossing her arms subconsciously as a defensive act, like her body knew she needed protection from this man.
"I'm not really looking for anything in particular, but thank you Balthazar," she said politely, offering a shallow smile that didn't dispell the cautionary gaze displayed in her eyes. "I'm just browsing. I had a long day at work, and books are relaxing to me. As with all cliché answers by book-lovers, stories transport me to another world, where I'm a completely different person. You must know the feeling, since you opened your own shop."

She looked around once more, nodding as she continued the small talk. "You have many interesting titles here, among other interesting things. How did you manage to get a hold of a first edition Scarlet Letter? They go for thousands on the market... But I'm sure you have a refined taste for the items you own. The statue and painting look like they cost a fortune." Her gaze skimmed the table, falling upon an old copy of Goethe's Faust. She leaned over and picked it up, flipping through the pages, pleasantly surprised to find the text still in its original German. Her tone shifted slightly from polite caution to curiosity. "I assume you're a collector, Balthazar? Most readers would never have picked up the actual text. Most go see the theatrical or operatic performance." The story really was something. Faust, a man in the pursuit for knowledge, finds discontent in his life and strikes a deal with Mephistopheles to serve him in Hell as long as the devil served him in life. It was a tragic tale that resulted in the loss of any chance at happiness, but it was a beautiful read all the same.

For the first time since that afternoon, Macy smiled. It was more of a twitch of the lips, and it was apparent that she was getting more comfortable, even if Balthazar was receiving quite a bit of creepiness points. "Are you new here? I live pretty close by and I've never seen your shop before. How long have you been open?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Balthazar tapped his fingers on a knee lightly as Macy spoke, all the while studying her intently with a pleasant smile on his wrinkled face. He was old, but apparently very energetic for his age; vibrating with pent-up excitement as he sat with his back straight in an effort to help keep his body still. The lined and wizened face that regarded her had a natural haughty appearance due to its sharp, angular features, further accented by full, arched, and white eyebrows and prominent, high cheekbones. As a result of being paired with those severe lines, his smile could appear a touch condescending at times, although for now, at least, he was earnest in his desire to make his latest customer at ease.

"Oh, oui, oui. Books can indeed take you to another world. And they can most certainly make you a different person. I'm sure I can find ones that may tempt you," Balthazar replied in a soothing tone. His voice was raspy, almost husky, but also strong and confident in a manner that well suited his French accent. He sounded less like an old man, whose voice might quaver and falter, and more like a habitual smoker in some old black and white film come to life.

A man from a different era completely.

"Oui, Mademoiselle. You have me right. I am a collector, first and foremost. My bookstore merely helps fund my passion. I have very refined tastes and enjoy pursuing rare and unusual items, some of high value and others that only I might value. Books are my first love, but art is my mistress. Most of the art here was actually..." Balthazar began to reply and then paused, chuckling mysteriously, before he continued. "It was gifted to me by my customers. That painting for instance, a very unique Renaissance piece by an artist of no real note, a journeyman painter that abandoned her career after what I believe is a one sublime masterpiece. An unusual triptych in that all three panels are separate and could be rearranged in order. The first panel, of the woman climbing, is actually of her standing and facing the viewer and she could be going up or down. You only think she is climbing because the next panel shows her atop the dais. One could rearrange, for instance, and have her start as a fallen woman, naked on the ground, and then have her climb to glory if you preferred. Or perhaps the reverse, going from being adored to climbing down and then being scorned by her people. I like this cycle, with the rise and fall captured, and I believe it was as the artist envisioned as well. The Rise and Fall of the Proud Woman, it is called."

Balthazar's eyes settled on the Faust book in Macy's hand and he smiled, dark orbs twinkling.

"Another favorite of mine. A silly man really, Faust, but such a tempting choice he faced. Everyone that reads it must wonder if they would have made the same bargain, non?"

Balthazar uncrossed his long legs and leaned forward, closer to Macy. His eyes were now intense as he studied her, peering deep and searchingly into her hazel orbs as if he could see beneath the surface of her skin, into her mind, or even deeper?

"I move my store quite often. My wares are unique and rarely can I find customers if I stay in one place for too long. I find the best customers find me, usually those that do have something in particular that they seek," Balthazar said as his smile disappeared suddenly. There was a questioning look on his face, one eyebrow arching up and a corner of his mouth twisting as his head tilted slightly. "Come now, mon ange, I saw the look on your face when you entered. Something is bothering you. Tell me your concerns and I can find the perfect book to make you happy once again."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

There was something odd about Balthazar; his movements indicated a strength and energy that most of the elderly didn't have. In fact... Macy couldn't quite remember a time when an old man spoke with such authority and fullness in his tone. And every time she looked in his eyes, there was something that belied his age, a quality to them that gave the impression of a youthful spark. It kept her on guard despite slightly warming up to him, and that small smile of hers faltered when he leaned forward to tell her about his shop, and a slight frown replaced the smile entirely when he asked about her concerns. To her knowledge, she was quite good at keeping her feelings hidden from aquaintances and strangers alike because of how well she had to hide them on the 32nd floor of Brandon-Demmings. So how did Balthazar see right through her? And exactly how did he see her as she walked in, when she hadn't seen anybody at all?

"It's really nothing," she replied politely, leaning back in her chair to distance herself from the old man. "Just some work related issues, things I'm sure you don't want to hear." She placed her hands in her lap and looked down at the floor, lightly biting her bottom lip out of nervousness. How long had it been since she shared her pain with anyone else? How long had it been since she really let everything loose? A quiet moment passed, obvious contemplation playing out on her face while two parts of her conscience were debating on whether to trust Balthazar. But... It's not like she would ever see him again or become friends with him. Maybe one conversation wouldn't hurt...

"Have you ever taken a job thinking it could propel you to new heights, only to find out that it's actually a really shitty job? You're doing this job perfectly and yet you can't get anywhere because of nasty coworkers and supervisors? That's what it's like working for B&D Publications." A large magazine rack came into focus as she looked off to the side, and a look of irritation crossed her face at the spotting of a pink cover with a brunette model clad in skimpy clothing and plenty of jewelry. "There, I work for Couture as the senior assistant to the editor-in-chief. Beneath that airbrushed model and carefully edited articles lies a team of mediocre whores who really just care for the free clothes and prestige of working at one of the largest fashion magazines...

"Anyway, the CEO of Brandon-Demmings wanted to fill his executive assistant position from within the company, and I wanted it. I would have been perfect for it anyway, there was no doubt about that. But see, when you have a slut for competition and a CEO who likes free strippers, I guess you can imagine which woman he chose." Sarcasm saturated Macy's words, hurt and rage fueling her rant. It was no wonder that she didn't bother censoring herself. She shook her head. "I did so much for him. Whoever his last assistant was must have been a total waste of an employee because everything was so disorganized! I reorganized everything from his office to what time his dry cleaning would be picked up to the process of answering calls. Then comes in Andrea, telling him about all she did and how much she would love being his assistant... The kicker was that when I told him who really did all of that, he dismissed me. 'Don't take offense to this, but you don't look like the type of woman who'd take this line of work very seriously.' That's complete bullshit and everybody knows it! I deserved that promotion, and it rightfully belongs to me. It's just too bad I didn't realize that giving sex on the down-low was part of the job description."

Macy's voice had steadily risen in volume from when she first started speaking, and she let out an exasperated sigh. Letting out the pent up emotion made her feel better, like a weight was taken off her chest. It didn't ease the hurt quite so much, but it eased the burden of keeping it inside. "I'm 24, stuck in a job that pays shit money and doesn't value intelligence at all. I know I'm better than this, and one day I hope to prove that." Getting up from her seat, she returned the book in her lap to the nearby bookshelf and actually smiled at Balthazar. "Please excuse my rambling. I had a rough day, and I don't think any book can fix that for me. I'll just go home, open up some wine and get very drunk so I can return to work tomorrow, ready for all the gossip. Maybe I'll stop by tomorrow to actually buy a juicy book or two, if that's alright with you?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

"I am here to help you... to transport you to a different world. Please, tell me what worries you," Balthazar urged again as Macy hesitated. Once she began to speak, he settled in to listen with visible excitement. "And yes, I have taken a job before that I thought was much better than it turned out to be. Shitty as you say, yes... but even in a shitty job you may still find some true joy."

Balthazar was a skilled listener, nodding, furrowing his brow, and "tsking" at the right times to draw more out of her and encourage her to hold nothing back. At key moments, he'd mutter in French to show his understanding of Macy's situation, issuing occasional tasteful phrases like "Merde", "C'est nul!" or "Oh puree!" Macy's plight seemed to strike a nerve and he was shaking his head in sympathy by the end, a dark frown on his lined face and his black eyes sorrowful.

"Mon ange, it breaks my heart to hear your plight. I can tell how intelligent you are. How driven, ambitious, and hardworking you must be. To have what you deserve snatched from you by....," replied Balthazar with his face suddenly growing hard. "....these putain! Yes, these whores! Salopes. Tramps. Morue. Sluts. Who futre their way to promotions and steal your credit. A woman like that, who uses her looks and her body to get what she wants, not her brain, well.. it is terrible, so terrible! They must be punished."

Balthazar exhaled as he shook his head a final time, then sat back and looked thoughtful.

"Although, sometimes you can learn from them. Not that you'd ever be a common putain, but sometimes their tactics can be usurped in nobler ways. You aren't a putain, I know, so you don't understand them. It almost would be easier if you spent time walking in their shoes, to know your enemy. I've always thought that you shouldn't, say, scorn a beggar on a street as beneath you until you've been a beggar yourself. Once you've climbed from a low valley on your own, only then can you look down with pride. Can you truly hold yourself above someone else if you were just born above them? Can you deserve greatness if you've never truly experienced misery? Would you even appreciate your glory without knowing what ignomy feels like?" murmured Balthazar while looking up absently at the painting above the check-out counter, his eyes distant and manner almost as if he was speaking to himself.

With a start, he turned to Macy and a sly smile crossed his aged face.

"Pardon! I ramble as an old man who gets philosophical. What matters is your problem and how I may help you make it go away in a practical means. And it turns out I may have just the book for you!" said Balthazar with a clap of his hands at the end. Without waiting to hear Macy's answer, he stood up excitedly and walked to his desk to unlock a drawer. He withdrew a large, leatherbound and very old book and carried it reverently over to Macy before presenting it to her formally.

"Voila! This is a very ancient and rare book, created hundreds of years ago and imbued with special magic. It is rumored, and I can't make a guarantee, to fulfill the dreams and ambitions of a person who signs their name within it," said Balthazar.

The dark leather was very aged, with faded spots and many darker stains across it. Worn brass fixtures were used for its heavy spine, in the flat rivets that appeared to bind the leather to some harder material under the cover and back, and for a clasp used to keep it closed. In a spidery calligraphy across the front was written:

"The Book of Wishes, for those with Most Desperate Need"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

'Sometimes you can learn from them... It almost would be easier if you spent time walking in their shoes, to know your enemy.'

Was the old man out of his mind? Was he already suffering from dementia? A smirk twisted Macy's lips into a show of haughty disbelief, and she a felt a burble of laughter come up her throat, releasing itself as a sharp "Hah!" when she held most of it in. It was so easy to hold herself higher than women who used their bodies to get what they wanted. It was pitiful and disgusting, and frankly, she thought it was unfair and dishonest to use such tactics in the professional world.

It was with great effort that she got admitted into Berkeley- she was salutatorian of her graduating class in high school, and she graduated with 3.9 GPA from the university, walking away with a degree in Journalism, a minor in English Literature and plenty of experience from the school newspaper and the two summer internships she completed. She definitely wasn't born with her life handed to her on a plate, so she couldn't understand why other women couldn't close their legs enough to actually put effort into the work they did. Besides, what was she going to learn from them? The art of increasing the number of STD victims in the world?

These were the things she wanted to tell Balthazar, but she held her tongue. "Hm. I've never thought about it that way, but it's mostly because they clash with my views. My mother raised me to be able to do things on my own by using my mind, not by opening my legs."

Although a calm smile rested on her face, the cold judgement in her voice and eyes could not disguise the disgust she felt for women like Andrea. To her, they were probably nothing more than a waste of space, but she knew sexy women were hired all the time by corrupt bosses. People like George were the reason why women like herself couldn't get the jobs they wanted. People like George fucked people over by fucking useless employees.

It wasn't until the old man pulled out his book that Macy actually laughed. "You're serious? A magic book that will grant me my dreams and wishes?" She scoffed at the very thought; not only was Balthazar creepy, he was bat-shit crazy as well!
"I'm sorry," she said when she regained her composure. "It's just that I don't think a book is going to help me. What I need... I need the CEO of Brandon-Demmings to get fired off his lazy ass, and then I need Andrea to get hit by a bus or something so that she knows what it feels like to keep her legs together for more than three seconds."

Macy took the proffered book anyway, expecting it to be some sort of fake prop or a silly thick book that Balthazar used to entertain his customers. Under her fingers, the leather felt aged, smooth in some spots and rough in others, with some of the leather wearing away at the corners. She opened the clasp and took a look inside, flipping through the first few pages. The smell of old paper, a slight mustiness and a hint of vanilla wafted up to her nostrils, the comforting scent prompting her to explore more the book. Each page held a different wish, some as simple as wishing for love and others detailing such rich desires that the print was incredibly small. A specific page caught her eye- dated in the late 1400s, the text was so faded that it was hardly legible, and she could only pick out faint words like "youth," love," and "knowledge." But what really surprised her was the signature down at the bottom that caused eyes to flick to the mysterious shopkeeper in alarm.

A scrawling script ran across the page with one name: Faust.

No, this had to be some kind of trick! There was no way this was the real Faust. After all, he was only the character of some fictitious German legend... right? After some moments of further page flipping, Macy reached what looked to be a more recent section of the book, displaying dates within the twenty-first century. Smiling, she kept the book open in her lap but moved it away a couple inches. "If you can't guarantee that my wishes will be fulfilled, why would I sign it? Besides, I'm not interested in hoaxes and gimmicks. I saw Faust's name in it, and he's not real."

Macy look pleased with herself for debunking the magical book, but she couldn't help glancing down at the worn pages once more, wondering for a moment how easy life would be if such a book actually existed...

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Balthazar was used to such mocking reactions from the Book these days. It was a cynical age and natural believers in magic, the supernatural, and certainly deals with a devil were often only the crazy or deranged. No, today's mortals liked science, facts, and cold hard evidence over belief. They thought that greater powers had faded from the land and religion was an act of faith that only showed tangible reward when their time on this world had ended. Of course, in truly desperate moments, or times when emotions clouded their judgment, leaps of faith still happened. And those were the moments that Balthazar waited for.

"Mon ange, I assure you it is no hoax. If those are your wishes, I'm sure the Book can help you," Balthazar replied with a chuckle, looking amused at her disbelief. "But I sense you want more, you want assurances that you will rise to the top in your career. That your path to success is set and will make your name shine brightly. That all the putain that try to block you will be cast down and exposed."

Faust's signature caught Macy by surprise and he smiled slyly as she studied it. If she had spent more time within the pages, she might even find other, more recent, celebrities among the countless unknowns that filled it. Names like Joplin, Cobain and Winehouse, who got their wish and paid their price at the tender age of 27 in full in return for immortal glory in their craft. Perhaps she might even begin to believe the authenticity of the Book if she studied it in detail. But Balthazar knew there was a dangerous balance to be struck, for if she believed the Book was real she might be scared to add her own name to the list, and by consequence her mortal soul.

There were rules of engagement older than Balthazar and he couldn't outright trick her-- what he sought must be freely given-- but many mortals these days would agree to such a monumental deal while in a state of partial belief and half-jest, thinking they were just signing some old crock's silly joke of a therapy device. It was a ploy that hadn't failed him yet. Let her think him a little crazy, but give her enough to half-believe. Let her own hurt, anger and vanity do the rest.

"I can't guarantee it as I don't know the nature of your wishes, but I assure you that the Book can accommodate most desires. Certainly those that I think bother you. The more personal and specific your need, the more likely it can help," continued Balthazar as he sat down next to Macy again and crossed his legs. He was relaxed now, dark eyes shining in a strange fashion as he stared at her and suddenly he seemed to exude confidence. "Of course there is the pesky price, your soul. Many have decided such an intangible, theoretical asset is worth the price to have their dreams fulfilled in their lifetime. After all, you only live once, right mon ange?"

Balthazar sat up suddenly and grew animated, his voice rising as he began to talk. He wove an image for her, using his words, his hands and his suddenly expressive face. An image of what he sensed she hungered for.

"Imagine if the venial CEO of Brandon-Demmings were fired, his trysts exposed. The slatterns cast down publicly and shamed for their hussy acts. That you were promoted, not just to some assistant position, but into a full editor slot based on the new CEO's review of your work. The youngest full editor in Couture history. And you were beautiful, more attractive than any of the putain left in your office, and with a wardrobe the envy of your peers. Not that you need the looks to get ahead given you will be quickly known as smart and talented from your incredible work. You'd rise to fame in the industry, promotions coming fast as you make a name for yourself. Perhaps you'll found your own magazine that will rise to crush Couture as the most influential in the fashion industry. Macy Hill, under 30, and the undisputed Queen of her industry."

Balthazar sighed at the end, letting his hands fall from the supplicating posture he had adopted in describing her atop the fashion world. He needn't mention the price, that at her peak she'd pay with the soul he'd already mentioned. Her tragic death would cement her legend for generations and add to the mystique of her legacy.

"You may think I am crazy, that this is some joke. But if there was a chance, wouldn't it be worth it to sign the book? If nothing else, it'll make you sleep better tonight to imagine this little fantasy. And if doesn't work, I'll give you a $20 store credit tomorrow to use on whatever trashy relationship novel you think might better improve your mood," Balthazar wrapped up his pitch and produced a fountain pen from a pocket inside his jacket, proffering the black tool to Macy with a slight bow of his head.

The page she had open was empty. A blank, slightly yellow piece of parchment ready for her signature.

"It is your choice mon ange. Merely write that you wish to have your ambitions fulfilled as I described and sign."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Macy's fingers reached out to grasp the black utensil, brushing along the smooth, cold metal before she retracted her hand. Had she really thought about signing her name for a moment? She curled her right hand into a tight ball for a moment, mulling over Balthazar's words and imagining the picture-perfect world that he painted into her mind... All of those harlots and trollops brought down to nothing, and George Demmings fired in a shocking scandal. Who would be left then? People like Heidi, the actual intelligent workforce behind the magazines, and herself-- all sitting high and mighty atop a newly overturned publications company.

And even better, it all sparked her own rise to fame, giving her all she ever wanted and deserved. This was her future! And it was all being given to her on a silver platter by a man with a book. All it took was one signature, a scratch of penmanship that bound her name to the magic forever. Of course, there was the issue of her soul, but it didn't scare her as much as she thought it would. Although raised a Christian, she stopped practicing when she started investing all her time in her studies and future career, hoping on day that it would pay off. Perhaps the small price was fair; her career was at stake! Did she want to keep an assistant position with $34,000 a year, or did she want to make a name for herself, making millions like all the other editor-in chiefs? And to think, it would all start with a purge of employees like Andrea... It couldn't hurt to try, could it?

Macy took the pen with purpose and, without anymore hesitation, wrote:
"I wish for career status, wealth, and recognition. I wish to have my wishes, dreams and ambitions filled, just as Balthazar described them." She looked over the words once, then signed her name in lilting cursive at the bottom of the yellowed page.
"I think this signature would look great in my future career," she mused, donning a bright smile and shining eyes. "That is, if it even works."

She absentmindedly flipped back a few pages, letting her eyes skim the various names before stopping at a large autograph, instantly recognizable. Her eyebrows lifted in curiosity, and she latched the book closed, returning it to the old man beside her. "I didn't realize you were well acquainted with Miss Amy Winehouse. A shame for her to die so young after having secured six Grammy Awards under her belt. Her voice truly was a gift to all who heard it." The young woman stood and stretched briefly before taking an iPhone out to check the time, letting out a soft sound of disbelief when she saw that she had already spent over an hour at the bookstore.

"Balthazar, if your magic books is indeed a hoax, you can be sure I'll be back here tomorrow to get my hands on Fifty Shades of Grey and whatever romance novels to heal my broken pride. Just so I don't get too attached to your ludicrous idea, I think I should get going now... It's late and I still have work to do. Oh the joys of being assistant to Heidi Reeds." A quick eye roll was indicative of her disappointment of having to do more of her boss's commands, but there was no hiding the excitement and new lightness to her tone. The book had sparked a change in her, a sense of hope even if it was a small and seemingly impossible. But in this time of desperation, she needed something-- anything-- to help her prove her worth.

A quick word of thanks was given before she took her leave, her eyes lingering on Balthazar through the shop window before turning away and taking the first few steps from the bookstore. Her mind rushed with the crazy notions of a magic book that could actually give her everything she ever desired, but the idea seemed... unreal.

As if trying to convince herself of reality, she looked back to the window, her eyes searching for the figure of the gaunt man, but all she found was the dim lighting of closed shop and an empty chair.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Balthazar watched Macy deliberate with breathless anticipation. He inhaled sharply when her fingers recoiled from the pen, as if burned, and then exhaled slowly when she finally grabbed the heavy stylus and began to write in the ancient Book. The old man could almost feel the emotions roiling within her, but in the end her burning ambition and pride had overwhelmed the lingering trepidation and skepticism she had for his proposal. And then she was done, her signature being placed with steely resolve.

A passing cloud made the room darken slightly and Balthazar shuddered as if chilled. He reached one claw like hand up to touch his chest, long fingers finding the amulet hidden beneath his shirt. If she could see it now, the crystal would be glittering with a strange blue light. Her soul was his for the keeping until the bargain was fulfilled.

She was his.

"Mon ange, tres bien, you will not be disappointed," replied Balthazar as he reverently took the book from Macy and closed it with great care. He sniffed slightly when she mentioned 50 Shades of Grey and continued, "If for some reason you aren't happy, return at any time and I'll gladly give you any copies of that trash I might mistakenly still own. But for now, fare well and good luck. May all your dreams come true."

--------

The news spread through Brandon-Demmings like a mysterious, hot wind might herald a surprise changing of the seasons after months of dreary cold. The rumors blew through the kitchens, water coolers, meeting rooms, hallways and lounges, stirring up salacious stories and bringing to light previously hushed and taboo takes about the former CEO. The office was suddenly alive and buzzing, meetings cancelled and daily tasks forgotten as employees gathered in groups large and small just to gossip. George had been fired by the board last night. Rumor had it there was a sex video involved, or multiple with different women, including scenes of the married and now disgraced man fucking the girl who was to be his new assistant in his office, among other places! A new CEO had been brought onboard already, some German exec who ran a big publishing house in Europe. His name was on the tip of everyone's tongue...

"I saw him in the lobby this morning... blonde and very sexy!"
"No, he smiled at me in the kitchen, dark haired... but yes, very hot!"

"I heard he was a real bastard at his old shop, firing people on the spot when they fucked up."
"Good, we need that here... George would just fuck the fuck-ups and promote them, if they had tits!"

"Rumor has it Andrea is being canned as well, although she's at her old desk crying."
"What about all the other girls he's fucked? I hear they are on the video as well..."

"Yes I think his name was Dennis... no Daniel?"
"I don't think that was it... maybe Derek? wait... no... Damien! Damien... Van Horne!

Damien Van Horne was leaning back in his chair with a grin on his face, shoes kicked up and resting on the desk that was now his. His eyes were closed beneath the Prada sunglasses he wore despite being indoors and he was listening to, more feeling perhaps, the murmur of excitement and schadenfreude that seemed to fill the building. All these mortals were so easily manipulated and fooled, it took nothing more than the misery of others, particularly those above them, to fill them with glee. Already the supplications were beginning by executives eager to meet their new boss and begin what would be a prolonged period of jockeying for power, currying favor, and sycophantic ass kissing. But for now, at least, the new CEO was content to soak in the hum of dark and selfish emotion that the bomb blast of George's sex scandal had created.

Damien was a tall man, easily over six foot, but he seemed to loom in some strange fashion over everyone that met him, regardless of their height. Dressed in an expensive, black Armani suit, a crisp white shirt paired with a black tie, and black Gucci loafers, he looked the part of a wealthy and stylish European executive to the tee. Damien truly enjoyed the Italian designers he would get to wear for this role and was pleased at the thought that his wardrobe was going to be yet another perk of his latest contract. It was always nice when his work aligned with his own personal indulgences, which seemed to so rarely happen these days. In the past, he'd had business dealings with all of the famous designers he now wore, to varying degrees, and while they might not be enjoying their afterlife now, perhaps they still had some small solace in the fact that he'd been true to his end of the bargain and made sure the legend of their craftsmanship would endure for centuries.

For Damien, of course, was a demon. Getting mortals to give up their eternal soul in return for power, glory and fame during their lifetime was his line of work. And he was quite good at it, at least he thought so. Balthazar was one of his guises, but he had many skins he could slip into as needed. This contract, with the haughty and prideful Macy Hill, was going to be a very fun assignment and Macy herself was going to be a more succulent perk than even his Italian wardrobe.

With a grin at that thought, Damien removed his feet from the heavy, dark wood desk and sat up to inspect his computer screen. His jet black hair was cut to medium length, but styled up in a slightly spiky fashion. The face beneath was chiseled and angular, handsome by any definition, but with a certain edge to it that made him appear intimidating, particularly when he wasn't smiling. The eyes beneath the sunglasses were his trademark coal black orbs with flecks of violet shimmering in the irises. They were a giveaway and he'd keep them covered until he was ready to reveal himself fully to Macy.

And that moment of revelation should be very soon. Damien typed a quick message to the temporary assistant who was helping him this morning. He'd given instructions to send a car to Macy's apartment in the morning with a message that the CEO wanted to make up for yesterday by sending her to the spa for a full morning of treatments and a complete make-over. There was also a bonus of a company paid shopping spree with a personal shopper that had been given very explicit instructions on how to improve Macy's sense of style. Damien would, of course, supplement the girl's wardrobe over the next couple days with more interesting outfits, but she'd at least be wearing something professional that still showed her figure off when she arrived around lunchtime.

"Make sure Macy comes to my office directly when she arrives. I don't want her chatting with others," Damien wrote to his assistant. "And get a desk ready in the editor's floor for her. Have Heidi fire someone if there isn't a good one available."

Damien sat back again and thrummed his fingers on the desk as he studied the CEO's office he had inherited. George had decent taste, with a nice mix of modern furniture made of dark wood and polished metal, but the artwork and accents were all wrong. Damien had taken a small step to address that with a painting he had hung on a side wall, currently covered with a black cloth. At least the spacious room had a nice, full size black leather couch with matching arm chairs. George had no doubt found that couch very useful and Damien looked forward to putting it to the test as well. The only negative was the massive, floor to ceiling glass wall on two sides that fronted an expanse of low cubicles. Damien wanted a little more privacy, at least in the beginning, but he had been relieved to discover the glass could be dimmed electronically to full opacity with a touch of a switch. All in all, the room would work just fine for his needs.

Now, he just needed his new customer to arrive.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Bzz bzz-

Macy rolled over in her queen-sized bed, grumbling as she curled herself up in a ball underneath a puffy duvet.

Bzz bzz-

"Mmmm..." she mumbled sleepily when the sound came again, and she pulled the covers over her head.

Bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz bzzzzzzz-

The buzzing came in long intervals now, paired with a unique ringtone that she would have known anywhere.

Macy's eyes snapped open to the bright morning sunlight, and she threw off blankets and pillows, her mind half-alert as she rummaged around the sheets for her phone. Shit, shit, shit, what time was it? That was probably Heidi asking why her Starbucks chai latte wasn't on her desk. Finally finding the phone under a pile of pillows, she cleared her throat and pressed the rectangular device her ear.

"Hello, this is Macy Hill." Ugh. Her voice still sounded tired and rough, like she had been gargling marbles or something.

"Good morning, Macy! On behalf of the CEO of Brandon-Demmings Publications, I've called to inform you that he sincerely apologizes for yesterday's events and is sending you to a spa and a beauty consultation for the morning. One of the company cars is waiting outside your apartment building whenever you're ready to leave. We truly value you as an employee here at Brandon-Demmings. Have a wonderful rest of the day!"

"Excuse me?" the young woman said in response to the unidentified female voice, but three short beeps were already signaling the end of the call, leaving her to wonder about the validity of the offer. She stood, stretching tired limbs underneath an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants, trying to steady herself from the onslaught of a sudden dizzying sensation that made her head spin. The amount of wine she drank last night was cringe-worthy, and she winced at the minor hangover. Drinking wasn't really a habit of hers, only something she did during nights out and company parties, but even she understood the joy of relaxation and apethy for the world under the influence of alcohol. It was calming, it removed all the worries of her job and it allowed her to get a good rest after suffering through a shitty day of work. Walking to a window that faced the street below, she found the confirmation of George's offer down in front of the building, expertly parallel parked on the side of the road.

Ho- ly. Shit.

Hazel eyes remained unmoving on the black, company Lexus is250, and her thoughts immediately drifted to Balthazar and his supposed magic book. Could this have been...? No, there was no way. His scenario was that George would be fired and all the hussies in the company revealed, and this wasn't it. This was just an apology that happened to fall on the same day some mystical old voodoo man tried to rope her into some magic hoax. Hah! She was a fool for halfway believing it too. A quick shower, freshening up, and a short drive to the Spa at Mandarin Oriental was already preparing Macy for what she proposed was her moment to shine. Perhaps George saw her for what she really was: a hardworking, intelligent employee who had much to offer to his company. She would bet her bottom dollar that this spa treatment and shopping spree were just the start of it.

A facial, massage, mani-pedi and shopping spree later, she was seated in an expensive salon with bags upon bags of clothing while a flamboyantly gay hair and makeup artist analyzed her long brunette locks. "Tsk tsk," he said, "These are in horrible condition. Dead, dull, dry... girl, I have no idea how you attract men."

"I'm single," she replied pointedly.

"Well that's why! Now if you had hair like mine--" he pointed to the carefully styled blonde mess on his head-- "you'd be pulling guys in no time. But don't you worry honey, just let me do my thing and you'll be absolutely stunning."

Her hair was highlighted and lowlighted, trimmed and cut with layers, and finally curled to perfection. By the time it was done her hair shined with renewed health, glowing very much like her body did after the care and treatment. All that was left was makeup, and Wayne (the gay man who took such good care of her) was carefully explaining the details of each product while simultaneously applying them to her face.

"Makeup is a very important step in making sure you look put together. Nobody wants to look at a hot bod and and ugly face. Not that you're ugly, you've got plenty of natural beauty, but with the outfit you're using today, you want that little extra oomph. Now, do you want a matte or dewy finish with your look?"

Macy sighed. She didn't have time for this, not if she was to be at the office by lunchtime! Opening her mouth to speak, she briefly rubbed her fingers against her temples before saying, "I want a natural finish. Get me Luminous Silk Foundation by Georgio Armani, the Naked 3 palette from Urban Decay, Benefit's hoola bronzer and the Orgasm blush from Nars. I only use MAC concealer in NW25, and Sigma brushes irritate my skin the least."

"You- you speak makeup?" Wayne asked in disbelief, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just because I know it, it doesn't mean I have to use it."

He looked at her, walking over to a rack full of clothes and pulling an outfit out, giving her a sad smile. "Oh honey..."

------

The whispers came as soon as Macy stepped out of the Lexus and into the large glass doors of Brandon-Demmings publications. She had exchanged boring casual businesswear for a sexy businesswoman's fashion, and she was now proudly strutting through the lobby, showing off her new attire and sleek ponytail. Even the security guard who checked her B&D employee ID looked somewhat surprised, his eyes following her even after she walked away, her high heeled pumps clacking against the smooth marble flooring. The feminine theme of the outfit was strangely empowering, the cropped white blouse made her feel sexy, and the long beige coat was showed just enough skin for the choice to be called a daring act of fashion rather than deliberate sluttiness.

"Macy Hill walked in looking gorgeous!" she heard one female say.
"Maybe it's because she realized looking like trashing wasn't really the best option?" another voice chimed in.
"I didn't even know she was that hot underneath those old clothes she used to wear."
"Speaking of clothes, where did those new ones come from?"

Normally she would brusquely walk past a group of gossiping women, but this time she confidently strode by, giving them a small smile as she walked on.So this was what being a bad bitch felt like. She had to admit it had its appeal to it; the power behind nice clothes and perfect makeup was intoxicating, and she doubted anyone would ever question her ability ever again. Oh yes, this was the start of a new Macy Hill!

A petite blonde woman met her on the entrance of the Couture floor. "Wow, you look very nice! How was your morning? Fantastic, I'd guess. I know how much you loce getting to work, but the CEO would like to see you in his office immediately." Bringing Macy up to the top floor and pointing to the large office, she left brunette to open the dark door. A large leather swivel chair was currently faced the opposite direction, and she was met with silence upon making her entrance.

"George, you wanted to see me?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Damien waited to speak until the door had closed behind Macy.

"Guten Morgen, Fraulein," Damien announced as he spun his chair around to face her. A small smile curled the corners of his mouth as he played up his dramatic reveal, knowing the sight of a young, very attractive, and well-dressed man wearing sunglasses instead of the older, balding and corpulent George would be shocking. After her morning in the spa and celebrity style makeover, Damien wouldn't be surprised if Macy was half tempted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn't a dream.

"Sit," Damien ordered in a soft, but firm, voice. It wasn't a request, it was a command. An order to be obeyed immediately and emphasized with a curt motion from one of his hands directing her towards the chair in front of his desk. Damien wanted to establish the tone of their relationship early and send the message that he was in charge. Every nuance of his speech and subtlety of his body language from now on would be a reinforcement of the power he held over her.

"George was fired last night by the board. Evidently he's been fucking a number of employees and was stupid enough to secretly video his trysts, including in this very room," said Damien in a casual tone, like he was discussing an unimportant fact. His English was nearly perfect with just a slight heavier accent on his hard vowels that hinted he wasn't a native speaker. He leaned forward and a small grin appeared on his face. "My name is Damien Van Horne and I'm the new CEO of Brandon-Demmings Publications, effective today."

Damien rose from the chair in a smooth motion, letting Macy see his full height and giving her a hint of the toned body that moved fluidly under his well tailored clothes. Striding around the desk, he sat on the edge and let one leg dangle as he regarded her up close. In this position, sitting above he, he would seem to tower over the smaller woman and his physical size would only amplify the power he already held as her new CEO. With the sunglasses on, she couldn't see that his eyes were slowly taking her new outfit in from head to toe, but the length of his scrutiny would likely make her suspect he was studying her in detail.

"I hope your morning was pleasant. I know it's not sufficient recompense for what you've suffered at George's hands, but take it as a token of my sympathy. I must say, your new outfit is quite fetching and the stylists have done an amazing job," Damien said at last, an easy smile now on his face as he attempted to set the young girl at ease. "I've spent the last couple days reviewing files in preparation for this transition and your name is one I discovered as an unrecognized star within Couture. I've seen your work and know how that hussy Andrea stole credit from you. You are very, very good and someone I'd like to rebuild this magazine around for the coming decades."

"But to do that, we need to invest in developing you as well. I ordered this makeover to fix a glaring shortcoming, namely that your personal image was holding you back. To be a star at Couture you have to look and act the part, and that means dressing like a Queen Bee and owning the natural beauty that you've strangely decided to hide. I'm guessing you are proud of your work and want it to stand on its own, Ja? That your behavior is some sort of statement on you thinking merit should trump politics and substance win over style? Well, that's very idealistic, and it worked to some degree as I found you, but now it's time to grow up and play the game. This isn't college, it's the real world. You won't change anything protesting on the sidelines and no one cares about how many people sign your petition. Instead, put it all together -- style, substance, intelligence and beauty -- and show the world what you can really do. And I'm going to give you your big shot," said Damien, speaking in a slow and measured tone that let each statement sink in deeply.

It was a critique designed to smash her down a peg and make her contemplate the immaturity of her past behavior, crumbling the moral high ground right from under her feet and trivializing her pet crusade against women that used their looks, and other assets, to get ahead. But his speech had ended with a tantalizing promise and Damien paused on that note, letting the suspense build about what exactly he was hinting at.

"Effective immediately, you've been promoted to full editor," Damien said finally with a big smile. It was a large leap, skipping assistant editor and junior editor roles that most women slaved at for a decade in the hopes of a full title. "You'll be in charge of a new Sex and Relationship section that I want to develop to modernize the magazine and get our readership growing again. Think Cosmo, but high class and with a fashion bent in the features and spreads. You'll report to Heidi directly and get your own assistant. As we speak, your belongings are being moved to your new desk."

"Any questions?" the tall, dark haired man asked, smile still on his face as he let her bask in her newfound success.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Oh wow, this was not George.

George had always looked strangely out of place in his own office, almost as if he was uncomfortable sitting at his own desk. Whenever Macy would report to him on behalf of Heidi, she would notice how disorganized everything was, how he was always fiddling with the odd knickknacks on his desk and never really getting comfortable. It was so different from the man who sat in front of her, exuding a masculine mix of urbane sophistication and toned physique that looked far too young to be sitting in a CEO's chair. But here he was, smiling up at her while her full, glossed lips parted in a soft 'o' motion as she stared at him, obviously dumbfounded by his very presence.

"Sit," he commanded, and as if pulled out of a trance, the girl smoothly moved to take a seat in front of him, pulling out the black chair and crossing her long legs when she daintily sat down. As distracted as she had been, anything a superior said was still an order, and years of serious work had trained her ears to listen for the firm tone of someone who wanted something done. Her head rushed with a myriad of emotions as he told her about George's fate, but the one that stood out the most was a highly satisfying and overwhelming sense of contempt for the newly fired ex-CEO of Brandon-Demmings. Contempt for his actions, contempt for the way he had run his company, and contempt for every single woman he ever fucked during his time in this room. She sat a little straighter in her chair, the sight of her nude Louboutins and the smell of her Hermes perfume only adding to the air of accomplishment she blanketed herself with. They were finally gone, and she could tell that this man-- Damien Van Horne-- would be the driven CEO this company needed.

A part of her was enthralled by how he carried himself as he rounded the dark desk, only to hold himself above her when he comfortable settled on the edge, which forced her to move her gaze upwards just to keep eye contact with his ridiculous sunglasses. It was undoubtedly supposed to be a subtle show of his corporate power and confidence, the way he seemed to stare at her from under the glasses. Her skin tingled with an odd sensation that made her want to clutch the coat tighter across her body-- perhaps he thought her outfit was too daring to be worn around his company? But the man opened the conversation again by praising her, and she couldn't help the hint of a smile that turned up one side of her lips.

And then there was the part of her that entertained the thought of him looking like a total douche, and that train of thought was only solidified when he started talking about beauty and using his native tongue in his speech. The sunglasses had already been a reminder of her college days when she couldn't go to any party without running into one of the shirtless dicks who thought it was cool to wear sunglasses indoors. In fact, that's exactly what Damien reminded her of. He was like some frat daddy who decided he was too grown for partying and instead found his way into the corporate world.

There were many things she wanted to say, all of which were shut down when he criticized her decision on maintaining that intelligence always trumped looks. Most women, even those as old as Heidi would've fluttered if a man like Damien called them a natural beauty, but to Macy it was a hollow compliment used to butter her up for his pointed critique. Well, it didn't work and her lips pursed slightly as her eyes glazed into cool orbs that attempted to hide any sort of reaction. If that's what he wanted by taking to her pride, he sure as hell wasn't getting it. But... there was the nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her he was only saying truths, and she had to accept it no matter how much she disagreed. If playing the game meant updating her style then so be it, but she would not, for any reason, play the game of 'pretend stripper' that other female workers had. It wasn't until he mentioned the promotion that her eyes returned to a sparkling hazel, widening slightly at the offer.

Macy chose her next words carefully, attempting to pass of her excitement as nonchalance, almost as if she had expected this to happen whenever George was fired. "Thank you for this opportunity, Damien, and I'm glad you still considered me for the position despite my past... failures."

Ugh, the word was already hard to say and the fact that it was in reference to her appearance made things all the more difficult. "I don't have any questions at this time, only my gratitude." Yes, I have questions. Why are you still wearing those douchey sunglasses? No one cares if they're Prada! And Jesus Christ, will you sit the fuck down in your chair? You're head honcho, I got it. "I have to admit that I don't have much experience in that particular field of writing, but I'm a quick study and I'm sure the addition to Couture will be highly beneficial."

Out of all the damn sections to be appointed to, Damien had to assign her to one she thought was absolute trash. Not that it was wrong to embrace female sexuality, but it seemed like such a superficial thing to write about. Each article was either implanting hope for thousands of desperate singles or telling couples everything they knew about sex was wrong and that there were really only 'ten amazing secrets to pleasing your partner!' But she would take what she could get. After all, this was only the beginning of what seemed to be her budding career.

"Once again, thank you. I think I should go make sure none of my belongings get left behind at Heidi's office." A tight, professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes positioned itself on her face, and Macy pretended to flick a piece of lint off her pants leg, impatiently waiting for her dismissal from Damien's office.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Damien had liked Macy's instinctive obedience and was pleased when she sat immediately at his command. He'd like to see that response after a much lewder order, but he knew that getting to that level of submission was going to require a lot of training and re-education for the haughty brunette . She at least respected power, which was a good start, although no doubt she was more pliable right now out of shock at the unexpected turn of events and her first meeting with the strange man who now controlled the company.

While Macy liked her praise, Damien could sense she didn't like his criticism. She tried her best to hide it, but the tightening of her lips and fixed expression on her eyes betrayed her. Her posture stiffened as well, like she was fighting against an instinct to argue with him. Even if he hadn't seen the clues, he could feel her emotions flaring through the amulet under his shirt. That sparkling blue crystal held her mortal soul and this close to his own skin it was like having a window into her heart.

And what an angry, vain and prideful heart it was right now.

My, my he'd touched a nerve with his honest feedback. Clearly the talented and ambitious Macy Hill had major hang-ups around gender roles, sexuality and her own femininity. As hot as she looked, and he could tell she guiltily enjoyed the confidence the makeover gave her, there was still this sense of embarrassment and disdain for her new fashionable appearance. Like she was somehow dangerously close to becoming one of the slutty harlots she had grown to despise. Once she knew what being a slut was truly like, perhaps she'd have a different opinion on the matter.

In any event, Damien enjoyed Macy's dark emotions. For him, pride, anger and vanity were sweet to drink in, giving him joy like a mortal might feel from the spillover of another person's contagious happiness. The demon was half-tempted to fan Macy's entitlement and hubris even higher with another round of compliments and gloved insults, stoking her to the point where she might even say something to her very powerful, confident and aggressive CEO that she might even regret. But, he was eager to get to the next step. Unveiling the truth of the bargain and watching a mortal realize the enormity of their mistake was always a fun event. Would she not realize the implications, like Faust had? Or perhaps beg to get out of it, like Joplin? Maybe she'd embrace it willingly and with a laugh, ambition overwhelming any concern about the afterlife, like Cobain?

Even the way Macy took the news of her promotion made Damien smile. A woman less full of herself might scream in joy, overwhelmed at her good fortune. Instead, this ungrateful little bitch was already sulking at getting a topic she thought wasn't high brow enough for her skills. Her thanks was so nonchalent that one might think Damien had given her a Starbucks gift card instead of a massive raise and career launching job opportunity! That surprised and pissed Damien off slightly, not that he cared about being thanked, he was more annoyed that he had so greatly underestimated how full of herself Macy was. He wasn't pissed, however, about the subtle enmity he was already feeling from her towards himself. She resented his power, even when he was using it to help her, and her stuck up mind was trying to find ways to cut him down to even out the dynamic. Was no one better than Macy in her mind? She was going to need a big attitude adjustment and Damien was looking forward to giving it to her, if she proved wise enough to accept that route.

She was ready to go, no doubt planning a spiteful victory lap around the office that would leave her co-workers newly amazed at her ego. Damien let her get up and almost make it to the door before he grabbed a thick stack of papers from his desk and idly ruffled through them.

"Oh, wait Macy! One more thing. We should talk about the contract you signed yesterday," Damien said casually. As she turned to look at him, he took his sunglasses off and let his coal black eyes come out, the violet flecks shimmering brightly as his grin became suddenly evil. "There is the matter of payment to discuss as I think it's meeting your expectations, wouldn't you say, mon ange?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Contract...?

Macy turned around just as Damien removed those tacky sunglasses, revealing a set of eyes black as coal with hints of violet that flashed in the fluorescent lighting. His malicious gaze held hers for what felt like hours, days, years, eons-- Curiosity, fear and disbelief rooted her Louboutins to the floor while her mind raced for any feasible explanation as to why the same dark orbs that haunted her walk home last night were now on the new CEO of Brandon-Demmings. Was this real life right now?

Her thoughts drifted back to Balthazar and his shop, the way he insisted his magic book was indeed not a hoax, How he spent so much time persuading her to sign some old paper, and how happy he seemed when she finally signed her 'x' on the line so to speak. What did she write in that book...? Oh yes, that her dreams and wishes were to be fulfilled, her ambition and drive finally recognized, and for the incompetent fucks to be removed from the company, including George and Andrea. His one stipulation was that he would take her soul.

Macy almost laughed.

Soul? She was still a living, breathing human being who had will and direction in her life. Whatever soul Balthazar managed to attain was probably completely useless to her, seeing as she was fine right now. Fully turning around to face Damien, she gave him a slight smile before walking back toward the desk. Balthazar had racked up quite a few creepiness points at his shop, and this moment only added one more as the realization hit her that the two men were quite likely the same person. What was creepier: Damien disguising himself as an old man or Balthazar disguising himself a young businessman? Either way it was fucking weird, and she couldn't help the disgust that crept into her mind. Damien might have been handsome before, but now he was just some odd man with a soul fetish.

"Forgive me for not recognizing you sooner, Balthazar-- or Damien, whichever one is your real name," Macy said, the cool, unresponsive demeanor returning to her vocal tone and facial features. Forgive me for not noticing a creepy asshole as first sight.
"At first I actually thought the book was fake, but now I see that it's actually pulling through just as you said. " What normal person wouldn't think that shit was fake?
"The payment was my soul, which you are free to take. As you said, you only live once, and I am quite enjoying this new stage in my life. It could be better, but it's still very, very nice. Better than the shithole I was living with George." The break in her facade was indicative of the residual hostile emotions aimed toward her old boss, but she momentarily swung her long ponytail left to right as shook her head in preparation for apology. Not many things could break her professionalism, but talk of poor treatment in the workplace was one of them. And being so concerned with how she treated her superiors, she couldn't help but feel guilty at the outburst.

"I'm sorry. But why are you here?" She moved in front of Damien, not bothering to sit down in the chair. Even with heels she was a few inches shy of six feet tall, but what she lacked in height she made up for in attitude. "Here to work more of that weird voodoo magic or what?"

Oh my, the power behind feeling sexy was definitely intoxicating. It made her feel brave and invincible, and while Damien was still her boss, he was also an old man who owed her an explanation.

And she was Macy Hill, and she wanted that explanation now.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Damien enjoyed witnessing Macy's rollercoaster of emotion after her revealed himself. She handled the shock well, all things considered, but Damien knew she didn't truly grasp the enormity of the deal she had struck yet. Ahh, that sweet hubris she had was quite the shield. Even now, her pride was buffering her and turning what could be fear and dismay into an insolent and belligerent form of courage. She was still riding high on the turn of events, her sexy makeover, and the afterglow of her promotion. With her ambition stoked, ego stroked, and confidence surging, Macy was managing to shrug off Damien's news and somehow sweep it away as annoying and irrelevant! She even seemed to think he wasn't really her CEO given the brazen challenge in her posture as she stood before.

It was actually hot seeing her like this, like an exotic flower that was mid-bloom, a powerful, vain and attractive woman on the rise. What a fall she would have.

Damien rose from the desk and towered over her, using his height and larger body to emphasize his power and authority. He flipped through the papers in his hand, the first page being a copy of her handwritten wish with her large signature at the bottom. The rest was around forty pages of incredibly tiny print legalese that spelled out all the terms and conditions of their contract.

"Call me Damien, or Mr. Van Horne if you want to suck up to your new CEO. But never forget that I'm in charge," Damien said in a cold tone. "Here's a copy of our contract, in case you want to review it. You didn't notice all the details in the Book of Wishes, but they were there in the back. I wouldn't bother reading it if I were you, there are no loopholes. My headquarters has the best lawyers as you can probably imagine, we have so many to choose from and they are quite good at making sure our contracts are devilishly binding."

He studied her and stared deep into her eyes with his dark ones, enjoying seeing the flare of anger that still served to shield the underlying disquiet he could tell she was feeling. Then he loosened his black tie and unbuttoned his collar, reaching into his shirt to pull the amulet out. That plain, rectangular crystal on a simple leather string blazed with a shimmering, blue light from within. Her mortal soul. His fingers squeezed it slightly, knowing she would feel the sensation in her mind. Mortals told him the act felt like a constricting pressure, like something was squeezing their mind and heart, giving them a palpable sense of dread, fear and mortality that could make them sick in their gut. A feeling like they might be crushed into nothingness. It was a bit of a parlor trick, but it would demonstrate to her that he wasn't joking and she was in a lot of trouble.

"I already have your soul, you stupid bitch," Damien hissed at Macy, letting the deluded girl know with his tone and language that her attitude was very misplaced. "What you don't realize, and is spelled out in the contract, is that my boss will get to claim it when I've finished our bargain and placed you on top of your industry. Oh, you'll get everything I promised, trust me on that, I'm here in person to see to that, but 5 years from now, when you turn 27, you will tragically die. That's right.... die. Don't worry, your legend will outlive you, but like a candle that burns too bright, your life will be blazing but short. It's a bargain others have made, Amy Winehouse as you saw, Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin to name a few you might know. So I hope achieving your dreams is still enough to have you give up your life."

Damien let the shocking news set in. Confronted with her own mortality and the true cost of the contract, he doubted Macy would be able to keep her cool composure much longer.

"Oh, and then, after your tragic death, that's when the really hard part of your bargain begins. For once my people get your soul, it's an eternity of suffering for you in the depths of Hell. I try to avoid going back to headquarters myself, it's not a very fun place," continued Damien, his evil smile creeping back. "Congratulations, though, as at least you'll have some fond memories of looking down on all your peers during your brief period at the pinnacle of your success. I know how you enjoy that. Now, do you still think this is all a joke? Perhaps you'd better start to show a little respect. Never forget that I'm your CEO and I also hold your soul in my hands. Even a person as vain, egotistical and shallow as yourself must realize that her soul is worth something, right? How do you feel about your deal now, Macy?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

It was amazing how small Macy felt in comparison to Damien's towering height. He looked to be at least a good half-foot taller than her, and that was with the heels acting as leg extensions. Had she been wearing her usual black flats from Payless, he would have easily intimidated her usual 5'3" frame. But where things currently stood, she was still feeling the effects of being dressed to the nines, drunk on the delicious feel of smooth, manicured fingers and soft cashmere rubbing against her back and bare midriff. Cold eyes that hid her fear dropped gaze for a fraction of a second to the stack of papers in his hand, just as a way for her questioning mind to confirm all he was saying. From the distance she was at it was hard to make out any words, but what she saw was enough for the fear in her heart to grow a little bit stronger. Her signature, in its loopy, feminine penmanship, was written across the bottom of the first page.

She kept silent even as Damien revealed the crystal from under his shirt, and her eyes trailed the movement of the necklace that pulsed and twinkled with pale blue light. What was that? For someone who criticized her fashion choices, his own strange amulet looked ugly and out of place with his expensive suit. She watched as he brought his thumb and forefinger together over the odd gem, squeezing it like someone might pinch a toddler's cheek.

"Oh my god--" Macy gasped out, her knees giving out as a sudden migraine hit her, throbbing behind her eyes. She stumbled forward and caught herself on the dark desk in front of her, breathing heavily from the onslaught of pressure that gripped her entire being. Everything from her heart to her muscles seemed to clench together relentlessly and she felt choked, drowning in the very air that kept her alive. Hot, she was too hot! The name Burberry meant nothing to her in that moment, and she almost ripped the button as she hurriedly took it off, letting it fall to ground in a heap of tan fabric. Her small body heaved with every breath she took, but without the coat, her cropped white blouse was in full view along with her flat stomach and toned arms. A peculiar sensation of death loomed over her, a severely odd feeling considering she was alive and healthy. Looking up at the man who toyed with the blue light, she gritted her teeth against the pressure. God, she felt like she was going to vomit.

"Stop..." a weak voice managed to force out. It sounded pitiful and helpless; it was the voice of the former Macy. Then in an act of bravery, stupidity and defiance all rolled into one, the girl's arm shot out to grab the necklace from Damien's grasp but barely missed it, collapsing again when the pressure was too much to bear.

"Fuck, STOP IT."

The strange pain was already beginning to recede even as she almost yelled the words, and her figure slumped in the chair beside her as she steadied her breath. Her hazel eyes looked up at Damien in alarm at his words, wide with fear and misty from the sudden realization of the consequences of her actions. She had thought the taking of her soul was just something that wouldn't mean much for her, but she didn't know it meant her death. She didn't know it meant an eternity in hell, and if it was anything like what she experienced at Damien's hand, it was the number one thing she wanted the least. But in classic Macy fashion, her pride still spiked hotly when he called her vain, egotistical and shallow. Was that really what people thought of her? Even though she had been clearly defeated, her pride was not so easily put down.

God, she would give anything to slap him hard across the face, to hear the satisfying crack of palm-to-cheek contact. He was a total dick.

"Well, Mr. Van Horne... This deal... I can't do this." The haughtiness was gone from her voice after the initial sarcastic emphasis on his name, the rest of her words coming out a soft soprano that carried only a slight edge of attitude to it. "Had I known it would've been like this, I wouldn't have signed that book of yours. You're a liar and a cheat, and you don't play fair. Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" Why do you have to be such a gaddamn manwhore? Why do you have to be seriously fucked up? Macy couldn't help the anger, hurt and fear that crept into her voice. "I don't want to die" I'm too good to die. My life is just starting.

"I want this deal broken now. Rip up the contract and shove it up your-- I mean, dispose of it. I'm not doing this."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Damien outright laughed at Macy's reply. He'd heard similar entreaties before, of course. Nearly every mortal had sincere regret once they realized what a monumental mistake they made. It was nice to hear it from Macy, however, given the high horse she'd been on only seconds before as she had basked in newfound power and success. How cheap the rewards and expensive the price must seem now. She was finally realizing there was more to life than her ambition, especially when fulfilling such ambition was going to end her life. She still had some fight left, mocking him one last time, before her sass faded as despair and fear set in.

"This contract is thousands of years old and has stood the test of time. Even the guys upstairs can't help you at this point, if they could be bothered to help such a vain and selfish mortal anyway. No, I'm afraid you've made your bed now. I explained the cost to you clearly, your hubris just made it so you didn't listen," replied Damien as he shook his head sadly. "No, unfortunately the deal is binding on your side. At least you'll have 5 glorious years ahead of you."

He let the poor girl stew and placed the contract on his desk. Softening his tone, he leaned against the dark wood of the desk and smiled at Macy as she slumped in the chair before him. She was showing a lot more skin without her cashmere coat and he eyed her exposed flesh and lithe, young body thoughtfully.

"Well, there may be one option. But I doubt you'd take it, based on what I know of you, you might very well prefer death," Damien said after the long pause. "You see, lucky for you I've already hit my quota of souls for the century. These days my job is almost too easy and besides, souls are arriving downstairs at a record rate without any need for recruitment."

His long fingers thrummed on the desk and a grin appeared on his face again, a devilish grin full of mischief as he knew the alternative he would pose to Macy would be horrifying to consider.

"I do have some leeway in the contract to release your soul and free you from the bond, as long as I feel like the sins that helped make you sign the deal have been atoned for. I need to show that you've been rehabilitated and appropriately punished for your flaws, do you understand? ," Damien said, rising up and moving to stand over Macy. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned his face down, trapping her with his body and hovering his face above hers.

"In your case, that would mean your hubris. I'd have to humble you completely and crush out any trace of vanity, pride and ego. I'd reduce you to the kind of woman you hate most, the putain, the harlot, or the slut. You'd be the lowest of the low in your mind when I'm through with you, the shameless, office hussy that spreads her legs willingly to get ahead. Not worthy of looking down on even a common street whore without feeling guilty at what you've become. And if you do it, I'll let you be free and even make sure that your reputation is cleared and career still on track."

Damien's black eyes looked into Macy's orbs searchingly and he brought one hand up to touch Macy's cheek, caressing it tenderly. The offer would have been unthinkable yesterday, even as the price to pay for fulfilling her greatest ambitions. How quickly perspective can change when your life and eternal soul was at stake. Now, this new proposal might sound to the desperate girl like having your cake and eating it too. But would this prideful little bitch be willing to swallow her ego and let herself become what she hated most?

"Would you do it, become such a woman, even if your life depended on it?"

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Macy's first instinct was to say no. Well, her first instinct was to push Damien away when he rested his hands on the desk, putting himself above her to where she really had to crane her neck to look up at him. A strange choice for the man, considering his face was within slapping distance. She balled up her right hand and struggled to keep it firmly at her side, fighting the urge to bring it up and make contact with her boss's cheek. But instead, she lifted that hand and used it to push away his caress, gently but with enough force to let him know she wouldn't have any of it. The touch against her cheek was confusing... if he did it to ensure she agreed to his proposal, it was a horrible tactic. It was unwanted and uncalled for, but at the same time it made her feel comfortable and it made her feel as if she were going to cry at her predicament.

Yeah... no, she would have none of it.

"I'm not entirely sure pride is that big of a sin. What's so wrong with looking down on women who don't play fair? They went through the same education I did, so it's not my fault if they aren't willing to utilize it for their gain. It's also wrong for a number of reasons. First of all, it promotes horrible work environment and treatment of employees. Second, imagine the shame for the company if the scandal were ever released... like how it is now. George's sexual exploitation of his female employees is bound to reduce our magazine sales for a while. And third, it's just gross."

Her head lowered so that she was looking forward instead of up at him, thinking about the implications of this new deal, and she sighed.

"Why me? Why don't you punish Andrea for being a liar and a cheat? I mean, yes pride is one of the seven greatest sins, but she's got quite a lot going for her. Envy over my senior assistant job despite having a poor taste in fashion. Sloth for being too fucking lazy to write her own columns or offer up her own ideas. And lust, lots of it." Macy paused, looking back to his black eyes. "You're right. I would prefer death rather than being turned into an Andrea. But I would also give up anything to make my mark on the world, to have the everyone know of my success."

Her thoughts drifted sourly to her deadbeat alcoholic father, and she was thirteen again, watching him tear up an essay that had won a school contest.
You think this shit is good? Rip.
You'll get nowhere in life. Rip.
You know who writes shit like this? STUPID PEOPLE. Rip.
You're going to end up just like your mother. A stupid crackwhore! Slap.

It was no wonder she had issues with authority from time to time, but she was able to hide it well under Heidi's direction. The chief editor was nothing like her father. Of course, her old man had sobered up at some point, even going so far as to ask for her forgiveness and love after he'd gotten over his alcohol addiction. She said yes, but the damage was already done. She needed to show him-- and everyone else-- that she was worth something. And if it meant being turned into a slut...

Ugh, she couldn't even think about it without a disgusted shiver sending a tremor throughout her entire body.

Macy looked up at Damien once more, a hard glint in those hazel eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Sure, I'll do it. But if you think getting through intellectual arrogance is easy, then good luck to you." It was sad that she knew what she was, but in her mind it was still better than having chronic open-legs disease.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Damien scowled as Macy pushed his hand from her cheek and the tall, powerful man had to fight the urge to reply with a slap. It was an insolent act, rejecting the control his hand implied when he had touched her without permission. She didn't like submitting to authority and he could feel the sweet surge of anger his action had unleashed. But, she hadn't agreed yet to his proposal and didn't understand what his expectations were. There was plenty of time to teach her in the future if she dared do it again.

"I find it odd how you judge the women harsher than the men. Surely George is more at fault than Andrea, or any of his other partners?" answered Damien when she spoke. While hardly a progressive feminist, Damien did find the moral double standard human's held with regard to sex a bit unfair. Lust and desire were universal, why should women be shamed and despised if they embraced them like a man might? Of all the sins, wantonness was the only one that seemed to target women particularly. He knew it was something instilled by their age old rivals upstairs and that rubbed him further the wrong way. "Surely it should be him that exclusively gets your hatred, not the poor girls he manipulated into fucking him? You just don't like woman that enjoy sex and reject the notion the very idea that a powerful, intelligent woman can want to be fucked like a bitched in heat. That she can enjoy, even crave, being used and abused like a common whore. Sex and power are very linked, and you'll find that they feed off each other nicely, and every person has uinique itches they like having scratched."

The turmoil wracking the poor girl's mind was delicious to observe. Macy couldn't even meet his eyes as she considered her options. Spikes of anger flared, followed by longing and ambition, some fear, and finally a growing resignation. But her reason for agreeing surprised Damien. In the end, it wasn't fear of death or even the eternal suffering of her soul, but rather that same overweening ambition that had trapped her in the first place. She'd do anything to get to the top and live to enjoy it.

Truly, her hubris was incredible.

"Good. Our deal is struck then, but here are the rules. You can end this at any time, but if you do your chance of escaping the original contract is over and your life ends in five years. You'll obey what I say, no matter how disgusting and horrible it may sound, and try your hardest to follow my rules and take your punishment if you break them. When we are in public, you can act as you would normally unless I've given you orders, but when in private you are mine completely and must show me complete respect. I'll know if you are faking, just gritting your teeth and playing along, so don't bother to fool me with some act of meekness. Give yourself to me fully and be honest in your emotions," Damien said as he rose up to stand before her.

Now was a critical moment, the first step in Macy's retraining. How she would respond to his upcoming commands would be a test of whether the girl had enough strength to swallow her pride and fix her flaws. He gave her one last challenge to fuel her pride, maybe that vanity could be an asset in getting her through the next couple weeks?

"I know this will be tough for you, and frankly I don't expect you to make it. You aren't strong enough, too secretly insecure to tolerate the shame you will feel. I know it was easy for you to tout your talents when you went out of your way to make people only see your work, but are you confident that your writing is good enough to weather the accusations that you only got this chance because you are fucking the new CEO? For you are going to have to do your job while I crush your ego, and do it well."

Damien pointed a long finger at Macy and curled it, motioning for her to stand. His voice was low, but firm, with a hint of husky sexiness as his devilish grin returned. The dark eyes went down her figure slowly, shamelessly drinking in her curves and letting her know he was appraising her in an overtly sexual fashion, like eying a piece of meat his was about to devour.

"Now, get up and stand before me. I want you to take off your pants, then remove your panties and give them to me."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Jesus Christ, Damien didn't waste any time with this new proposal. Macy looked away from his searching gaze, a neutral expression on her face that belied the repulsive nature of her emotions as well as the tinge of excitement that made her pulse race. Although the command was questionable, it was still a command and just as obediently as she had sat, the girl stood to face him. Hesitation gripped her as she turned and glanced out the windows that faced the rest of the office. Hardly anyone was there as a majority of the executive staff was out at lunch while their new CEO was undoubtedly getting a feel for his new company, but there were still the office stragglers who were bent on getting a majority of their work done before the afternoon caffeine crash hit them. She could see the tops of the few heads that were visible above the line of cubicle walls, and her face paled with the sudden realization of not wanting to go through with this.

"The windows?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in genuine concern and lightly bighting her bottom lip out of nervousness. Maybe Damien was right. Maybe her fear of being labeled as a whore was too strong for her to successfully pull this off. Maybe her pride was too much for this operation to smoothly. But then again... maybe not. Obeying orders were something she was already used to, so how could this be any different? The commands were going to be much harder than just running to Starbucks to get a chai latte, but the idea was the same.

"... You really want me to do this? Fine, okay." With a sigh she stepped out of the nude Louboutins, instantly losing six inches to her height. She only came up to about the man's chest, but lost none of the fire and whatever was left of her attitude. She started unbuttoning the peach colored pants, pushing her heels to the side with a gentle sweep of her foot. "There isn't anything wrong with sexual empowerment. If that's what get's some women going, then fine. I just judge women harsher because this isn't the 1950s. Women have a voice, and Andrea-- along with whoever else he fucked-- had a choice. They chose to let George touch them, they chose to let him affect their careers and they chose to open their legs, just as Andrea chose to throw me under the bus to get that promotion."

The salmon pants slid down, and she lifted each foot to fully pull the fabric off each leg. Smooth, tanned skin of her legs were revealed as she tossed the pants near her discarded heels. Looking at Damien suddenly became too much for Macy, and she instead focused on a point right above his left shoulder, resisting the urge to cover herself with her arms. God, this was embarrassing. She wasn't ashamed of her body (it was toned despite having the teeniest bit of extra fat on her butt), but it was just humiliating having to undress herself in front of her CEO-- something she promised herself she would never do. It was a regrettable decision to wear the underwear set that Wayne insisted on, as he was spewing something about the key to confidence being the basic necessities of a woman's wardrobe. So it was that Macy was now standing in front of her boss in a crop top and sheer black and white panties. Sheer black and white panties that were soon coming off, as per his request.

"Of course, I would have been more understanding if the conditions were a little bit more high stakes... say, a life and death situation," she said with a hard edge to voice, pointedly referring to herself. A sour look crossed her face. "And let's be honest, it takes a special kind of someone to actually enjoy having sex with George. I'm not sure why anybody, male or female, would crave being used and abused by him... I can assure you that I have no itches such as that to be scratched. Sex and power sure are linked, but that doesn't mean people should carry it into the office."

A harsh laugh escaped her throat. "Me? I have no choice. I get to do as I'm told, otherwise I die. And what a lovely thought that is, to die at 27. Maybe my name would make a lovely addition to the '27 Club,'" she continued, sarcasm flavoring the tone of her last words.

Macy lightly took hold of the panties at her hips and started the slow slide downwards, heat and blood rushing to her face as a light blush even as she attempted to keep the bored expression on her face. She couldn't help but quickly glance around her shoulder and out the floor-length glass wall that separated herself and any potential eyes that might see what she was doing. There was no one, but some protection it was. Handing the undergarment to Damien, she crossed one leg over the other in a failed attempt at hiding the clean mound of her sex, then folded her arms across her chest; they were instinctive reactions to feeling so exposed and indecent.

"My writing and editing skills are far superior than anyone else at Couture, excluding Heidi," she finally said after the panty transaction, her face and body displaying confidence even though it was more than halfway naked. "Why do you think she has me look over the mock-up before I drop it off at her townhouse every second Tuesday of the month? And I'm only her personal assistant-- was her personal assistant. If you look at my resume, I was chief editor of caliber magazine while at Berkeley. Of course I'm confident in my writing skills."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

"Strip," Damien merely repeated when she asked about the window.

The risk of getting caught was part of the shame he wanted her to feel. He'd eventually dim the windows, but he could easily manage any rumors that sight of a naked Macy Hill in the new CEO's office might stir. Damien had powers of glamour and manipulation and he could make her fellow employees forget what they saw, or even remember things that never happened. In any event, her reputation would be stained soon enough so he wasn't concerned about her being caught stripping. Macy, however, probably felt like she was poledancing naked on a stage before the entire company.

"I think you discount too much the power a CEO can wield," replied Damien absently as he watched her strip. "It takes a lot of resilience for a young woman to say no to his demands. And enough of your pathetic whining and attempts at pity. You are in this position because you were a vain, egotistical bitch that wanted her ambitions fulfilled at any price."

Damien felt a sublime sense of satisfaction watching the haughty, vain and intelligent girl strip at his command. This was just the first step of her submission to him, the tiniest and least degrading of the many acts he had planned, but the sight of her reluctantly complying in such a public setting was exquisite. Even more delicious were the emotions he felt through the amulet, the shame of acting like this, the fear of being caught, and the slight thrill from showing her body to him that she desperately was trying to repress. And the body she revealed was certainly up to Damien's expectations. While she wasn't the workout and health fanatic that many of the women in the office were, her legs were smooth, tanned and nicely toned. And most importantly, the triangle of sinful skin at the apex of her thighs was shaved nicely bare and revealed a hint of the top of her slit.

At last, she stood before him, half-naked and wearing only her white crop top which ended just below the swelling mounds of her breasts. Her partial state of dress made her appear more lewd than had she stripped completely, the small wisp of cloth on her chest only accentuated and drew his eyes to the naked flesh of the even more intimate areas below. She was flushed from a mix of embarrassment and dirty shame from standing like this before him. And while she tried to keep her face straight, her attempt to hide her bare slit by crossing her legs gave away her discomfort.

"Not bad," Damien said coolly, as he studied her body while idly twirling her panties on his forefinger. She was quite hot, but he had to be muted in his praise as he wanted to crush her vanity, not stoke it higher. Taking his time, he walked a slow circle around the half-dressed girl and appraised her like he might a dog at a show. When he spoke, he talked of her only in the context of his sexual needs. "I'm pleased you're shaven and you'll need to stay clean for me always. I want your skin bare so you can feel every sensation I give you. You've got nice curves and natural lines, and I expect you'll be a decent fuck, but I think we'll have to get you on a workout program to tighten everything up. I like my women to work hard to make themselves as sexy as possible, for my pleasure of course. Although, I do find this ass quite tempting despite being a little soft; I love having something to pound against."

Damien raised his hand and slapped one of her ass cheeks hard after he spoke the last sentence, setting that round globe to jiggling. A nice ass was definitely one of his fetishes and he was pleased that Macy didn't have a bony flat one, which she very well might have given her otherwise lithe figure. After finishing his inspection, he reached onto his desk and pushed the button that dimmed the windows. It was finally time for some privacy and he didn't want to deal with a crowd gathering on the first day of Macy's training.

"Remember, from now on you are just my little fuck toy. Every part of you exists to do one thing, get me off," Damien murmured, eyes smoldering at Macy as he stepped so close that the half-naked girl could likely feel the heat emanating from his body. "The first lesson for you is about learning self-control. You talk way too much. I don't need to hear your thoughts, or opinions, unless I fucking ask. Talking is a privilege and has to be earned by obeying. Do you understand? Now, shut the fuck up."

Damien reached up and grabbed her jaw, pulling her mouth open wide in order to stuff her panties between her surprised lips. Once her mouth was nearly completely filled by her own underwear, he loosened his tie further and pulled it still looped over his head, only to slide it down Macy's face and tug it tight around her mouth, stretching her lips wide and forcing her to almost bite the black silk fabric caught between her teeth. A small tuft of white, sheer material from her panties peeked out the corner of her mouth, but she was otherwise gagged quite nicely.

"There, now you can just focus on pleasing me," Damien said, patting her cheek in mock praise. Speaking was a form of dominance, an act of power in any interaction between two people. Depriving the very vocal Macy Hill of her voice would likely make her feel as helpless to defend herself as if he'd tied her spread-eagled on his desk. Today was all about putting her in her place and Damien wanted to make sure to strip Macy of all her power and dignity in this first, intense encounter.

That hand on her cheek slid down and his long fingers curled around the back of her neck while his thumb pressed along her jawline, squeezing so tight he could feel the blood pulsing in her neck. It was a strong grip that served to remind her of his physical strength. She was tiny compared to him, a helpless girl held firmly in place by a powerful man. While pinning her place, his other reached down and roughly slid between her thighs, cupping up and forcing her knees apart violently to accommodate him as he seized her hot mound in the palm of his hand. Damien ground that palm hard against her sex, fingertips fluttering slightly as he moved his digits through her folds. It was an aggressive, possessive and utterly dominating first touch of Macy, designed to show her that she was his completely.

Smiling as he felt her heat growing, it was difficult for any woman to not respond in such a situation even if just out of fear, Damien lowered his mouth to her neck. He gave her no sweet kiss, but instead began biting up that smooth, sensitive flesh until his teeth grabbed an earlobe and tugged it hard enough to cause pain.

"Are you ready to be my little fuck toy, Macy? You can grunt back and let me know."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Being naked in a place other than her home was such an uncomfortable feeling. Macy felt too exposed, too bare, and the cool air of the office raised gooseflesh on her crossed thighs. Damien's circling and inspection did nothing to help the nervousness that overwhelmed her entire being, and she felt as if she were a blushing teenager again, waiting for the verdict on her "FBF" score-- face, body and fuckability. He gave the impression of some sort of animal on the prowl, like a lion who had stopped the hunt to humiliate his gazelle before he devoured her. At least she had a decent body she could show off, and she was proud of it too. The muscles from her track and cross country days hadn't deserted her, and healthy enough had kept her figure slim. Well, her ass had gone a little soft, but she had gotten enough compliments on it to not have to worry about how it looked to the members of the opposite gender.

She shouldn't have been surprised when Damien ripped that bodily confidence right under her feet-- he was an asshole after all-- but she couldn't help but feel dejected at his appraisal of her body. Not bad? It was a lot better than those flat chested, flat assed women who frequented the floors of Brandon-Demmings, and it was certainly better than the boney models that came to Couture for their photoshoots! Stefan, the style director, often said that size 0 was the new 2, 2 the new 4, and anything above was considered "fat," but Macy wondered if her size 4 frame was a 14 in Damien's eyes. The very thought made her wound of dejection a little bit deeper, offense and frustration threatening to make her say something she would probably regret later on. But she bit her tongue, hugged her arms tighter to her body and stiffened her jaw at his words, becoming visibly upset when he called her a decent fuck. He was starting to treat her like an object rather than a person, and she idly wondered whether George had been romantic with all his partners.

"Although, I do find this ass quite tempting despite being a little soft; I love having something to pound against."

There was another one of Damien's backhanded compliments, and Macy's heated anger spiked up again. She refused to believe she was fat, no matter what scale Stefan or Damien used, and she sure as hell wasn't going to change herself for him. But the girl had to ignore the impulse of wanting to look over her shoulder to her round ass, wanting to inspect for herself if it had really gotten that soft over the years. There was also the matter of his lewd suggestion and no matter how hard she tried to subdue it, a different kind of heat hit her body, flashing suddenly in her stomach and spreading deliciously lower to the apex of her thighs, sending her imagination into overdrive. She could almost picture Damien and his slight German accent whispering sweet nothings into her ear while he used that muscular body to pull her tightly against him as he slid in her from behind and--

Smack!

A yelp escaped Macy's throat, the stinging on her left ass cheek pulling her out of the sinful fantasy. Although her eyes blazed at the CEO for doing that, she was also a bit thankful for it. Who knows what she would have been thinking about if that slap hadn't jolted her out of the dangers of her own mind? And thankfully he was dimming the windows; it meant he had some decency in him, and more importantly it meant she wasn't going to be 'Macy Hill, the office exhibitionist.'

"Thank God--" she started to say, cut off only when Damien stepped closer to her, shrinking her frame with his much larger body. She could really look at him now, taking in his perfectly styled, tousled dark hair and the even darker eyes that lay below, gazing intensely into her own wide, hazel eyes with something of a black-violet fire that seemed to burn right through her. For the first time, she noticed the carefully groomed stubble and lips that had just the right amount of masculine fullness to be completely kissable. It would be a lie to say he wasn't attractive, and an even bigger lie to say he wasn't the type of man that she had always wanted, but under these circumstances it felt dirty, sinful and even wrong to look at him and think such things. Not just because he was her CEO but because he had confessed to being a demon who wanted to use her as his 'little fuck toy.' What kind of respectable woman was okay with that? What kind of respectable woman wanted that? But the real question was, why did she get strangely turned on from hearing him say that?

In classic Macy fashion, she was going to fire off another whiny, sarcastic remark about it being a free country and that she could talk as much as she wanted to, but he caught her open mouth abruptly and stuffed her own panties inside. She made sounds of protest but his grip was strong and the tie was tight around her mouth, rendering any sort of speech completely impossible. Like all other intellectually arrogant people, words were her way of defending herself, explaining her views and convicting others of their wrongdoing, but without that luxury she felt more naked and stripped than just revealing her most intimate parts to the man before her. It meant he had full control over her, and she glared at him to convey the hatred bubbling within.

She hated, hated, hated him! She hated this ridiculous deal, hated the fact that it had to be done this way, and hated that fact that her breath caught and quickened at the feel of his large hand on her neck. But she had gotten herself stuck in this mess, and she would get herself out at any cost. The vibe was so different from the horny frat boys from university, and all she could do was helplessly stand silent as his hand drifted down her stomach and in between her thighs, where she clenched her legs tighter as one final act of defiance before he roughly pushed them apart in preparation for his exploration with his hand. She couldn't help the sharp intake of air through her nostrils upon that first moment of sweet contact between his fingers and her core, and that wave of hot lust returned, burning through her body like a wildfire. The lightly throbbing pain on her earlobe only seemed to intensify the pleasure as an unwanted temptation to give into Damien and his carnal desires.

No, no, NO, I don't want to be your little fuck toy, you stupid cunt. Go take that filthy language elsewhere, Macy internally snarled, but she kept silent, refusing to answer him even when he asked his question. But with each passing moment she could feel the internal battle between her will and the growing lust coming to a close, with the dark lust emerging as the victor. Even in her shame, embarrassment and mortification at it all, her legs opened wider to allow his expert hand more access to her uncontrollable growing wetness. And finally, when the hazy desire had consumed her, she let out a long, drawn out muffled groan against the makeshift gag. Damn her body for wanting this.

She knew then that she lost, but Macy still fought for the control that she once wielded so easily. Her hips tried to move back to escape the hand on her sex, and when it failed she tried to move forward again, only managing to grind her body against Damien's palm. The few years of self inflicted sexual depravation resulted in plenty of pent up sexual energy that the tall, powerful man had just released, and one of her hands reached to wrap around his wrist down below, gripping it weakly as she continued the slow and novice movement on his warm, wicked fingers.The sense of animosity toward the man still existed, but it was slightly muted by the shameful lust of the hussy act she was committing.

Then in a moment of clarity, she attempted to push away his arm just as she had brushed off his earlier caress. It was a half-assed attempt really, as another moan ripped from her throat as she did it, but she was sure it got the point across.

"Mmmf mmm hmmm mhmmf!" came from her gagged mouth, a string of unintelligible sounds that were most likely supposed to be some kind of protest to Damien's actions.

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Damien held her firmly between his hands, one palm wrapped around the back of her neck and the other cupping her hot sex lewdly. There was no tenderness or teasing in his touch, the hand on her core rubbed her hard and fast, arousing her forcefully in a manner he knew she couldn't resist. He was getting her ready to fuck with an almost casual disdain for her enjoyment of the experience. This was no romantic liason with a man trying to please his partner, instead Damien was treating her as if she was some sort of flesh fuck toy he needed to warm up before he could use, a purely sexual plaything whose feelings and emotions didn't matter to him at all.

"Look at how wet you are already, you're practically dripping on my fingers," Damien murmured in her ear, teeth tugging on the ridge of cartilage at the top of her earlobe.

As if to emphasize his observation, the soft, slurping sound of wet flesh being rubbed became audible from between Macy's thighs. A little moan of pleasure, muffled by the panties stuffed in her mouth, also slipped out and brought a grin to Damien's face. She was growing shamefully wet and aroused against her will, another embarrassing loss of control for the proud woman. And the experience was driving her mad with anger at how Damien was forcing her body to betray her.

That swelling, sweet hatred towards him was almost as thrilling for Damien to feel as the wet heat of her arousal leaking onto his fingers. How she chafed at being treated like this and despised him for how quickly he'd done it. Perhaps, despite his strong words, she had been expecting that he'd just quickly fuck her in some more respectful manner? Use her physically, but let her retain some shred of dignity? The fury he felt from her now was probably coming from some realization she was having that everything thing he did to her was going to sting her ego more than it abused her body. Well, let her be upset, he wanted her angry today. Anger and lust were so close, in terms of their physical effects, and Damien knew the two hot emotions would feed off each nicely throughout this first little training session.

"Really?" Damien whispered back when she tried to give him a muffled denial of her willingness to be his fuck toy. "You body seems to be ready despite your protests."

Macy was practically squatting on his hand now, legs spread wide as the pressure on her neck drove her body down into the firm resistance of the palm cupping her mound. Her efforts to escape were only worsening the situation, her bucking hips rubbing herself harder onto his fingers. Damien could feel the hardened nub of her clit pressing against his palm as she struggled, and every push of it against him was likely driving her to new levels of pleasure. Finally, in desperation at what he was doing to her, she started to use her hands, futilely attempting to dislodge the stronger man from his assault on her most intimate spot.

"Naughty girl, you mustn't fight me," Damien growled in her ear. His hand dropped suddenly from her swollen sex and, before she could even catch her breath, he whipped it back up and gave her core a wet, open handed slap that splattered her juices onto her thighs. The rubbing returned immediately, followed by another slap on her sodden lips. And then again, alternating rubbing and slapping her dripping sex over and over, until the delicate flesh was swollen with a mix of hot arousal and stinging pain. Blood was rushing to her core and setting every nerve in the region to firing in a twisted, mixed up swirl of contrasting pain, followed by strangely sweeter pleasure. "I don't like to punish you, but I won't hesitate. Ever."

The hand on her neck squeezed tighter and he threw her down to the carpet in a powerful, smooth motion that set her sprawling onto her stomach. As he admired her stunned, half-nude form on the floor, her sweet ass jiggling, he unbuckled his black leather belt and pulled it free in a whipping motion that split the air with a sharp cracking noise. Before she could recover her senses, Damien reached down and grabbed her ponytail firmly in a fist and began to walk, tugging the girl behind him towards the couch.

"Crawl after me, now," Damien barked at her as he led her forward. "Get on the couch, your hands on the back and ass in the air. Don't make me use this belt on you."

RE: A Devil's Game || Ariamella & Prince

Slap, gasp, rub, moan.

The pattern of pleasurable pain (or was it painful pleasure?) continued six times over-- six times his hand made hard contact with her sex, six times he calmed the tender flesh, and six times he made Macy feel the pervertedness of arousal mixing with pain. The punishment made her insides quiver at the numbing sting on her clit followed by the rubbing that brought the wetness to flow more freely, coating the swollen lips with the slick juices. Each slap brought a pain that made her tense up and jerk slightly, and each interval of hard rubbing only made the sensation that much more pleasurable. By the end of it, the pink flesh of her mound matched the flushed skin of her neck and cheeks, and she could feel the sensitive nub down below throb with a strong ache of need.

Multiple kinds of anger hit her now, the first and most dominant being the hatred for Damien and the way he made her feel used, dirty and so inferior to him that she wasn't worth anything but a couple quick fucks. Then there was the other sort of anger the stemmed from the sexual frustration he brought. He was toying with her, making her slick with need, yet he seemed not to care for it at all. It was almost as if he was turning her on like one might turn on the copy machine or the coffee machine. And her body seemed to enjoy it, the immoral desires filling her even though her mind desperately wanted to say no.

Her breathing came in short, shallow intakes of air as Damien's grip on her neck grew tighter, and then she was sent to the floor, barely catching herself as her hands flew out to stop her face from connecting with the carpet. Her body felt heavy without the support of his hands, muscles weak and flimsy as if laden with dead weights that prevented her from standing. And although the sudden fall was shocking, the distant sound of a clanking belt buckle made her head turn in alarm and she quickly brought herself to a kneeling position, eyes wide as she watched the black leather swing from back and forth from his closed fist.

Then he was grabbing her carefully styled hair and pulling her along with him towards the black couch, not roughly but definitely not gently either. There was no other choice but to follow Damien's orders, and Macy started the shameful crawl, little moans subconsciously escaping her throat every now and again. Every sensation on her body was felt with absolute clarity; Damien's hand around the base of her ponytail was strangely erotic, and her eyes closed at the tightness of her scalp pulling up her hairline and temples. It was almost relaxing, and if not for the fact that he was leading her around like a dog on a leash, it would have been almost enjoyable. Almost, but not quite.

A tiny shiver went through the tail end of her spine, the cool air almost tickling against the juices that dripped down from her sex onto her inner thighs and coating the skin with the slick fluid of her body's betrayal. The crawl was agonizingly slow, no doubt an attempt by Damien to make her feel as low as possible, and to his satisfaction and her annoyance, it was working. She was reduced to nothing more than an animal on hands and knees, trudging along as the man pulled her forward. Finally she reached the couch, standing briefly to sink herself in the plushness of the leather seating. She stretched her arms out and grasped the back pillow in front of her, spreading her knees a fraction to get comfortable while the strong arm above her head forced her upper half to sink into the cushion. The action left her ass up and her swollen lips exposed, as well as a hint of the puckered hole that also glistened with the flow of her arousal.

Macy was more embarrassed than she ever had been, and sounds of complaint came from behind the panties-- words of protest that were lost in sheer satin, black silk and heavy breathing. She dared to turn and look at Damien, eyes wide and flicking between the belt in his hand and the handsome face that carried a grin and a look of pure pleasure that served as an indicator of how twisted he really was.