Pact With The Devil
a story by plantagenet
Disclaimer: This story is so obviously imaginary it hardly requires a disclaimer. No minors should be reading it, however imaginary it may be. It should only be read in jurisdictions where imagination has not yet been made illegal. Am I imagining things, or did someone just make a donation to the Nifty Archive? Go on, you know you want to!
Pact with the devil
Bob Faust sits in the park next to his office building every day eating his lunch. It's summer vacation, so there are plenty of young boys to gaze longingly at. Bob loves looking at all the boys that walk by. He likes the ones who run around, as well. Whether the boy is wearing loose baggy trousers, letting his junk swing free underneath, or the tight-fitting kind, showing every contour of the boy's luscious curves, and outlining his snugly-captured package. Bob likes all kinds of boys.
Bob sighs as he watches two boys throw a frisbee to each other. As he stretches up to reach the plastic dish, one boy's shirt comes loose from his shorts, giving Bob a flash of navel, making Bob's day. Another boy pulls a kite-string, exposing his hairless armpits. Bob is delighted. Four more boys are playing a makeshift game of football, which seems to Bob to be nothing more than an excuse for the boys to roll around wrestling each other on the grass. As they grapple each other, laughing, Bob gets the occasional glimpse up the trouser leg of one of the boys. He imagines he sees a flash of scrotal flesh, but he is not sure, as it all happens so quickly. Bob wishes he had a Rewind button (and a Pause, too).
Bob has never actually done anything with a boy, only dreamed about it. The dreams which torment his sleeping hours are full of boys, some fully dressed, some in swimsuits, some naked. All of the boys in his dreams always welcome Bob's attentions - not like real boys, who are suspicious of Bob and never ever talk to him or venture near him.
Bob sighs again. "What I wouldn't give to enjoy the company of a boy, all to myself," he thinks to himself. "I'd give my very soul for that..."
A puff of smoke on the park bench alongside Bob alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. Bob looked around: a well dressed fellow sat there, on the bench next to him, with a slight whiff of brimstone about him.
"Good morning to you, my good man. Capital day, is it not? There are certainly some fine sights to be seen hereabouts, what?" the newcomer rambled on in a rather stilted accent and manner of speech.
"Er..." was all Bob could manage. Strangers did not usually engage him in conversation during his lunchtime vigils. He ignored the man, and continued to watch the cavalcade of boys, though a little more circumspectly. He was reasonably confident that this rude intruder had no idea what Bob was doing on the park bench.
"They are simply adorable, aren't they?" the man spoke again. "Boys, I mean. Such playful, exquisite creatures, full of a boundless curiosity, and a devil-may-care disregard for danger. Ah, yes, boys. Though personally, I prefer little girls, myself. So pliable, eager to please, coquettish things, girls. But boys have their place, oh yes, very much so. I can readily see why you enjoy them so."
Bob is shocked to realise that this fellow, this stranger from nowhere, somehow knows his deepest, darkest secret. Before Bob could expostulate with him, and deny that he cares not a fig for boys, the well-dressed man introduces himself. "My dear fellow, I have committed the gravest faux pas - I have engaged you in conversation without giving you my name: Mepistopheles, at your service."
Bob blinks. How can this be? Mephistopheles is...a figure of literature, of folklore. He is a character of legend, used by housewives to frighten their children into obedience. Yet this man is claiming to be him! Who could believe it?
Bob looked at the man squarely in the face, trying to detect whether he was being mocked or derided. "Mephistopheles, eh?" he mused aloud. "Also known as the devil, or Satan?"
The man made a modest smile. His face looked warm and friendly when he smiled. "I see you've heard of me. It is true, I have been called other names, throughout the ages. I actually prefer Mephi: it's short, and somewhat neutral."
Bob gazes across the park at the playing boys, while he thinks about what the stranger has said. Of course, he does not believe him - it is just too fantastic, too unlikely.
"Ah, skepticism. It is one of the characteristics of you mortals that I admire most dearly" Mephisto observes, as if he has read Bob's mind. Bob is understandably alarmed at the prospect that someone can read his innermost thoughts.
"Your caution does you credit, sir," Mephi complimented. "Would it help if I offered a small token of my earnest, to convince you that I am whom I claim to be?" Without waiting for a reply, the well-spoken man gave his little smile again, and made a small wave with his hand.
This guy has watched Star Wars too many times, Bob thought. Thinks he's a Jedi...The thought that Bob was thinking collapsed in on itself like a dead sun as a bird that happened to be flying past stopped suddenly in mid-air, wings outstretched and motionless, but did not fall. The frisbee that a boy threw towards another boy simply hovered, not spinning, in the middle of its flight. Another boy, who was wearing what Bob thought was a darling little pair of gym shorts and a t-shirt, had frozen in mid-stride as he walked right acrosss the front of the seat on which Bob and Mephi sat.
Bob blinked. He usually believes his eyes, most of the time, and thinks himself not easily fooled, but this time...he had to test out this apparent miracle, to find out whether Mephi had actually stopped time, or whether he had just performed the mother of all magic tricks on him. He stood up and stepped over to the boy in the baggy shorts. They looked awfully loose. Bob wondered whether the boy would notice if he...kind of...stuck his hand...up... the leg opening...a bit. He glanced over at Mephi.
The fellow shrugged his shoulders and made his enigmatic smile. "He won't notice a thing, Bob - just don't take too long about it, this kind of feat is rather draining." With the green light from Mephi, Bob decides to indulge himself, and enact one of his favourite fantasies: inserting his hand up the leg of a boy's shorts!
Careful, careful, he coaches himself. But his hand is shaking so much he barely has control of it. Finally his fingers graze a warm surface - the boy's smooth scrotum! Bob tickles the boy's balls with his fingertips, then pushes his hand up a bit further, going for gold. He wraps one hand getly around the boy's soft tool, revelling in its silky smoothness. He would happily have continued until all the blood drained out of his arm in the awkward position, but was interrupted by Mephi, who had drawn a pocket watch from his waistcoat and was consulting it.
"Sorry to rush you old chap, but time is pressing!" he counselled. Bob reluctantly withdrew his hand, holding it under his nose and inhaling deeply. He sat back in his position on the bench as Mephi again waves his hand. Instantly, time restarts in the park: the frisbees continue their journey, the bird flies away, and the boy in the shorts jumps in the air and looks around wildly as he experiences the strangest sensation between his legs, but continues on his way up the path. He saw no-one except two old weirdos on the bench, but they never moved.
Bob rubs his hand on his chin as he contemplates what just happened. Before he can formulate a response, Mephi makes a most intriguing offer.
"My dear fellow, as entertaining and stimulating as fondling an unsuspecting and unresponsive innocent boy may be, it pales in comparison to the thrill of full intercourse with a handsome lad who is attractive and erotically stimulated to co-operate in his own debauchery to the fullest extent of his capacity. And I am prepared to offer you this experience, for a small consideration."
Bob's mind is still befuddled - both by the overwhelming feelings of lust he has for the basketball-shorted boy whom he doesn't even know, and by the overwhelming number of big words Mephi uses. "Are you...offering me...some kind of deal?"
Mephi smiles his enigmatic grin and nods his head. "You can have any boy you want, in return for...your immortal soul! I guarantee it!"
Bob is agnostic - he doesn't really believe he has a soul, or if he does, that it has any value anyway. Soul, schmoul, what do I care? he thought. But...why should I settle for just one boy? And how will I know which boy to pick? What if I'm disappointed with him after a few months? Is there a warranty period?
Mephi's smile tightened a little as he read Bob's thoughts. Mortals were so...greedy. And difficult to please! "Bob, I'm willing to reach some sort of compromise here, we're friends after all. In order to secure your agreement to our bargain, I am willing to offer you...a free sample! You may entertain one boy for, oh, let's say, half an hour, to help you make up your mind, no strings attached, and absolutely no risk to you."
One? Bob thought...a sample of one...what kind of sample is that? What am I supposed to compare it with? The grand total of zero other boys I've enjoyed all my life? I got to do some hard bargaining with this guy, even if he can read my mind.
"So, what do you think, Bob? Great deal, what? One boy for life, plus a free sample for thirty minutes...you won't get a better offer than that today..." Mephi suggests.
"Fifty. I want fifty" Bob blurts out without thinking.
"Oh, come on, my dear chap. I mean, stopping time for five minutes is one thing, but fifty compliant risk-free boys? Be reasonable, old fellow"
Bob tightens his jaw. "Thirty. Not a single boy less. I want thirty. Othrwise how could I possibly have a basis for comparison and decision? Thirty."
Now it was Mephistopheles' turn to sigh. "Really, old chap, I don't know why you are making this so difficult. You know you're going to agree in the end anyway, why not make it easy on yourself. I suppose I'm willing to go to two. That would be two free samples, to do with as you wilol for, oh, let's say twenty minutes each, plust the one boy for life"
"I want thirty" Bob countered.
"Bob, Bob, be reasonable! I doubled my offer from one to two sample boys, the least you could do is halve your counteroffer, I mean, that's how haggling is done, isn't it?" Mephi moaned.
"So, fifteen then. That's half, isn't it?"
Mephi scowled at him.
"Alright, ten. And they better be film star quality!" Bob demanded.
"I have always felt that this...unseemly haggling is the least palatable aspect of this whole operation," Mephi mused aloud. "But, because I have taken a liking to you, Bob, and I would dearly love to add your soul to my, ah, modest collection today, I am prepared to put my final position to you. Three free samples completely without risk, a promotion at work, plus a boy for life of course, in exchange for one paltry soul."
"Done!" Bob exclaimed.
"Excellent. I'm sure you won't regret this, my good fellow. I have many centuries of satisfied customers who can vouch for me. Just give me a few moments to get the paperwork squared away, and you will find your wishes granted." Mephistopheles disappeared in a patch of fog that hung in the air for a few seconds before blowing away on a puff of breeze.
Bob looked around. Most of the boys he was watching had moved away to the other side of the park, and the end of his lunch break was approaching. He rose from the bench and strode back to his office, his feet surprisingly light.
On his return to the office where he whiles away the hours, Bob is mildly surprised to see an envelope in his pigeonhole. It is a distinctive colour, only used to advise promotions (so that it doesn't get tossed into the trash unopened). "Oooh, a blue envelope!" squeals one of Bob's co-workers, "looks like somebody finally kissed the right asses!"
Bob can hardly contain his glee. His colleagues believe his joy has been caused by the arrival of the blue envelope, but for Bob, the real cause of his happiness is that Mephi has actually come through! He can barely wait to get his three free samples, and then his boy for life! Bob contacts his supervisor by email to tell her that he's taking personal time for the rest of the afternoon, packs his newspaper in his briefcase and shuts down his computer before leaving.
Bob walks back through the park towards his home, wondering how the free samples will be delivered to him. Will they come to his door, one at a time? Perhaps he will receive a timetable, or maybe a catalogue, in the mail, advising him of their location?
While Bob is lost in his thoughts, a boy of about eleven catches up with him and takes hold of his hand. "Please, mister, pretend I'm with you? Please?" The boy looked behind himself in terror, clinging desperately to Bob's hand. The tone of fear in his unbroken voice convinces Bob to go along with the charade, at least until they get to the park exit. Then it dawns on him.
This has gotta be sample number one! Bob thinks. The promotion has come, and now the three boys are gonna turn up, just like Scrooge's ghosts at Christmas. Only I'm the one that gets the presents, Bob chuckled to himself.
"Sure, kid, no problem," Bob reassures the terrified boy. "In fact, let's just go sit on this seat until whatever's bothering you just goes on by", Bob suggested, manoeuvering the boy over to a bench. The boy readily agreed, still holding Bob's hand as they sat down. "What seems to be the problem?" Bob asked the boy, playing along with whatever game Mephistopheles arranged with this kid.
"Some boys on bikes, they're following me", the boy gasped. Bob thought the kid looked like he was going to start crying any minute. "I think they're gonna hu- hu- hurt me" the boy sobbed. Even as he spoke, three scruffy teens on bicycles wheeled into view. Bob reflected that Mephistopheles sure put on a good show - the three teens seemed quite menacing, very convincing. But time was wasting, and Bob wanted to find out what sample #1 had in store for him.
Since there were in a public park, Bob decided that in spite of Mephi's promise that the samples were 'risk-free', some concealment was in order, so he pulled his newspaper out of his briefcase and unfolded it, as if to read. "Okay, son, I'll protect you from those boys. But you can do something for me in return. I'll cover you with my newspaper while you duck behind it and put your face in my lap. Then you can give me a blowjob. Nobody will see."
The boy gave Bob a pained look. Then he looked at the three menacing teens slowly wheelig their bikes like hungry circling sharks. Reluctantly, he conceded defeat, and bent over to unzip the man's trousers. Bob sighed as he felt the zipper descending, and the boy's thin fingers fish out his stiffening cock. His sigh grew into a low moan as the boy's mouth set to work. Bob wanted to rest a hand on the boy's head, to control his speed, but both his hands were occupied holding the newspaper in place. The three older boys got bored of waiting for their victim to leave the sanctuary of the bench with the old guy, so they split.
"Uhhhh...uhhhh...uhhhh," Bob moans as he shoots a pent-up load in the boy's mouth. "Well done, kid, that was a fine BJ - oh, and I think they're gone", he added. The boy took his mouth off Bob's cock, wiped his lips with the back of one hand, looked around, then darted off to the park entrance.
Bob thinks his first sample is pretty good, but for his next one, he is looking forward to more than just a blowjob. He realises he didn't even get a look at #1's junk, an error he promises to rectify with #2. He zips up and returns home, thinking that his doorbell might ring at any moment. But it didn't. Wondering whether Mephi has let him down, Bob went to bed.
The next morning, Bob heads off to work as usual, walking through the park. He keeps an eye out for any other boys in distress that might appear, still hoping that sample #2 will materialise shortly. But no boy presents himself, distressed or otherwise. At the office, Bob's first job is to move into his new office - no more cubicle for him.
Bob does not realise (having no sons of his own) that today is Bring your Son to Work Day, and that one of his co-workers has been saddled by his wife with his offspring for the day. While Bob is plugging in all of his electronic devices and laying out his desk just the way he likes it, a boy pokes his head around the corner of Bob's doorway.
"Hi" the boy says quietly before wandering into Bob's new office, touching everything in sight.
"Hi yourself" Bob replies, wondering who the kid could be, and what he was doing in the office. Then it dawns on him! Maybe he is sample #2, Bob realises. He's about the right age bracket, Bob decides, around eleven; he's certainly good looking enough, and Bob does remember specifying 'movie star looks' to Mephi.
"Do you got any games on that?" the kid says, pointing to Bob's computer.
Bob smiles at the boy. "I got Tiger Woods ProGolf 2013?"
"Pass," the kid says dismissively.
Bob goes to his office door and looks around, making sure nobody else is nearby. He shuts the door and closes the blinds of his window. Mephi did say the boys were 'risk-free', but that didn't mean he was going to give his colleagues a free show. "Alright, then, what about...DeathKill5000-The DeathBlaster?" Bob whispers, nominating the hottest game of the decade.
The kid's eyes light up. "You got the 'Blaster?"
"Oh yeah, I got it all right. You just park your fanny over here in front of me, and I'll get it booted up." The boy complied, almost trance-like, standing in front of Bob's computer while he gets the game started.
Bob has decided that this boy must surely be sample #2 - why else would he have come into his office all alone? Mephistopheles excelled himself this time, Bob thought; the boy was a beauty, he decided, now that he took a better look at him. Pretty complexion, freckles, a wide smile, honey-coloured hair with a fringe that hung over his eyes, narrow waist, the whole box and dice. This kid made Ricky Shroeder look like a dog. The boy quickly becomes engrossed in killing police and women and the occasional bad guy as he got into the game. Bob reaches around the boy's waist and tells the boy they are going to play a game that's much better than any computer game. He explains to the boy that he is going to fuck him. He undoes the boy's belt and pulls down his zip, then pulls the boy's slacks and boxers down, and undoes his own trousers.
This kid's butt is simply gorgeous, Bob thinks as he pauses to admire it. He pulls the boy backwards, manouvering his hard cock into position between the boy's bottom cheeks. He pulls the boy onto his cock and fucks him right there in the office. The boy moans as Bob comes in his ass, still working the game controller in a frenzy. Bob dresses the boy and sends him on his way. Game over.
Bob is feeling on top of the world - two completely safe boy-sex escapades, and one more yet to come before he has to choose a boy for his bargain with the devil. He finds it difficult to concentrate on his work, but manages to last at his desk until lunchbreak. Up until now, he has spent his lunch hour in the park, ogling boys, but now he doesn't have to - all that has been taken care of by his new buddy Mephistopheles. Bob emails his new supervisor that he is taking the afternoon off.
Bob walks home, stopping at a cafe for a coffee and a bite to eat. He is too wired to fix food for himself at home, so he decides that's the safer option. He is still a little incredulous that Mephistopheles has come through for him as promised, and so quickly! All that stuff about him being the Father of Lies must be just heaven-inspired spin, Bob reasons to himself. Bob wonders how sample #3 will contact him - it is obvious now that Mephi has arranged for the boys to come to him, rather than simply letting Bob loose on an unsuspecting child population. Bob figures it's probably just as well.
Turning the last corner on his way home, Bob is delighted (but not really surprised) to see a boy on his front porch. Well, not exactly a boy, Bob decides on closer examination, but an early teen. Bob realises he should have been more specific in defining his preferred age groups with Mephi, but then reconsiders: he has never fantasised about a teen before...why not? They say a change is as good as a holiday. The boy is barely a teen, maybe 14 tops, in Bob's estimation. Having a sexual escapade with a boy that can ejaculate might open up a whole new vista for him, after all.
"Can I help you?" Bob says to the youth as he steps through his front gate.
"Ah, yeah, my, uh, ball?" the youth stammers out, his voice croaky as it approaches the pubertal breaking point.
"Your...ball?" Bob replies as he glances reflexively at the boy's crotch. Why would a complete stranger, a juvenile at that, be talking to him about one of his testicles, Bob wonders.
"I, um, kicked it over your fence. By accident. Can I, uh, get it?" the boy continues.
Understanding dawns on Bob. "Oh, your ball, right, yeah. Um, of course, scoot on through. Bob has gated fences on both sides of the house, which he keeps locked, so it's simpler to let the boy go through his front door to access the back yard. Bob has a pretty encyclopedic knowledge of all the boys in his neighbourhood, but he doesn't remember this particular one.
"Er, I haven't seen you around here before," Bob ventures, still trying to decide whether this lad is sample #3 or not, and he would really hate to make a mistake, the consequences would be catastrophic. The two reach the back door and Bob opens it for the boy, who steps through and skips straight over to a volleyball lying in the middle of Bob's yard. At least that part checks out, Bob thinks.
"I'm, ah, visiting my cousin, he lives over the back fence from you," the lad explains as he re-enters Bob's house with the ball. Bob is still not convinced this is sample #3, so he gives the boy one last chance.
"Er, would you like a cold drink before you go back? I bet it was hot, waiting on my front porch..."
"Yeah, um, that'd be cool," the boy replies eagerly. A little too eagerly, Bob thinks. Hasn't this kid ever heard of stranger danger? He must be sample #3, why else would he jump at the opportunity to remain in my house, Bob reasons. One final test, Bob thinks. A harmless but sexually suggestive joke should do it. If the boy is just an innocent transient in his neighbourhood, he'll make some excuse to forego the cold drink and skedaddle. Bob can always deny that anything happened later, if the boy blabs.
But if he responds, say, by laughing, and stays for his drink, then he must be sample #3 and Mephi is trying to broaden my horizons (or he couldn't find a third 11-year-old at short notice), Bob reasons. "So, I guess you got three balls now, eh?" he quips.
The teen looks down at the ball in his hands for a split second before looking back at Bob and giggling, "Yeah, you wanna feel one of 'em?", and lobs the volleyball at Bob.
Good enough, Bob thinks, catching the ball and dropping it on his sofa before covering the few steps to the boy in half a second. Before the boy could say anything, Bob wrapped his arms around the lad and kissed him deeply on the mouth. The surprised boy responds by kissing back. This is the first boy (or indeed person, not counting family) that Bob has kissed, and Bob decides that kissing is really pretty good - now he knows what all the fuss is about, and he briefly regrets not kissing samples #1 and #2.
After a minute or two of frantic tongue wrestling, Bob decides to do something he saw in a movie once, and slips the arm that was on the boy's bottom a bit lower to his thigh, and scoops him off his feet, then proceeds to carry him into the bedroom, still with lips locked. I still don't know what this kid's name is, Bob thinks, but maybe that's all part of Mephi's plan - he doesn't want me to get too attached, too emotionally invested in the samples, before I get my own boy for keeps.
Depositing the as-yet unnamed teen on the bed, Bob lies down alongside him and continues his kissing. To think I waited this long to kiss somebody, Bob thinks, as he commences unbuttoning the boy's shirt. Slipping a hand inside, he caresses the boy's chest, noticing that the boy's nipple is quite pointy.
"I thought you were gonna feel my ball" the boy squeaks, his voice covering a whole octave within the one sentence.
"And so I shall, you naughty boy!", Bob jokes as he slides his hand down the boy's front to his jeans. Pulling the stud out and the zipper down, he insinuates his hand inside the boy's boxers.
"A little lower," the boy jokes back, "...lower...lower...uhhh, yeah..." Bob decides to step the pace up a little, now that he has ticked kissing and fondling off his list. He kneels on the bed and shucks his shirt off, then undresses the teen completely, the boy assisting when it came to getting his tight-leg jeans off.
"I bet those are hard to get into," Bob remarks.
"Not if I like you it isn't," the boy jokes back. Bob decides that he likes this kid's sense of humour, and decides to try another first - going down on a boy.
"Uhhh, yeah, uhhh..."the boy moaned as Bob sucked and slurped his way up and down the boy'sskinny four-incher. Bob thought the boy's few scraggly pubes looked kinda cute, and wondered whether his balls were mature enough to make sperm yet. Only one way to find out, he thought, as he sucked and stroked the boy to a noisy cum.
"Oh, mister, that was great", the boy gushed as his small emission landed on Bob's tongue. "Now I'm gonna make you happy. Lay back," the teen instructed as he swung a leg over Bob's hips and reached between his hairless thighs to find Bob's dick. He held Bob's eager boner upright and squatted on it, pointing Bob's cock straight at his pucker. Both males groaned as the teen slid down, then moaned as the youngster started to buck in Bob's lap.
"Ohh, yeah, boy, ride my cock!" Bob cried as the teen fucked himself on Bob's dick. The teen's eyes rolled back in his head and he screamed as he jammed his bottom down as hard as he could on Bob's lap, impaling the man's weapon deeply in his rectum.
It was all over too soon for Bob, yet he knew he couldn't take any more right then. Sample #3 climbed off him, grinning, and gathered up his clothes and made his way out of the bedroom, leaving Bob gasping for breath, naked, spent, on his bed. A puff of smoke from the side of the room took his eye, and sure enough, there was his friend Mephistopheles, back again, this time carrying a well-worn but elegant leather briefcase from which he was pulling a sheaf of papers.
"Ah, Bob, hope I haven't caught you at an awkward time, my dear fellow. You recall I mentioned about the paperwork for our agreement, well, finally we're good to go. I made the mistake of asking a couple of lawyers to run their eyes over the contract, and they wanted to show it to some of their colleagues, you know how lawyers are. Well, you wouldn't believe just how many lawyers I've got down there, and of course they all wanted a look, didn't they! But I eventually got it away from them, so now all I need is your signature here, here, and here, and initials there, and there, and I'll be able to generate that promotion and send along your three free samples! Er, Bob, your colour seems a bit pale and unhealthy, are you feeling well? Bob?
end