Chapter 1

So, there I was, having stormed out of the master bedroom after catching my wife Jill in the arms of her fucking swimming student, nineteen-year old Steve Murray. That bitch! She was the one who told me all about how she would make my fidelity worth my while, yet she couldn’t stick to her own damn convictions? I had been married to that lying, sanctimonious hypocrite of a cunt for four years, so apparently, her seven year itch arrived three years ahead of schedule. Fuck that noise! I would make the crazy bitch pay ... but how?

I wasn’t the sort to engage in illegal acts of violence, mayhem, and vandalism. Not only were those pointlessly destructive, they could also get me sent to the pokey, thus making an already unfavorable divorce even worse. She wouldn’t take me to the cleaners in the current situation, though it would still be a fiscal body blow (recoverable, but painful nonetheless).

If I went to jail, she would get to rape me financially in the divorce. I knew how that went. Since I wouldn’t need anything in jail and judges frowned on criminals and crimes, I would suffer a near hundred percent penalty for breaking the law. That was especially true for a man, whereas society seemed to give some hypocritical leeway for jilted wives and girlfriends.

What the actual fuck ... what do I do now, other than keep deleting her messages. I could have welcomed an open marriage, but she didn’t do that. She violated her own rules. She was a hypocrite and even cut me off several times over the course of our marriage, I suspect because she feared that I would catch onto her. She was also a real fan of songs like “Before He Cheats,” by Carrie Underwood, which was rich, coming from her. Never mind that the song celebrated real crimes of vandalism in the name of payback.

Speaking of which, how would I get back at her, other than a revenge affair. I had to be careful how to do that one, so as to rub it in her face without giving her any evidence to use against me. Oh, wait, this was a no-fault state, so it wouldn’t make a difference, would it? Especially since I had left the house, that wasteful money pit that I never loved in the first place. I’d be damned if I paid for her mortgage ... hell, I would rather be damned than pay through the nose for her lying, cheating, self-righteous Christian ass!

“Yeah, tell me about it, honey!” the sultry blonde who slipped onto the barstool next to me whispered in my ear, “Jill is why I’m not a fan of God’s fan club, either. Bitches just like her. What a stupid cunt!”

“Excuse me, but who are you and how do you know of my ... situation? How do you know my wife’s name? Are you psychic? Should I buy a drink, since you know me better and understand me better than my wife? You certainly seem to care more than she does,” I asked the sexy lady.

This complete stranger had golden curls flowing down the back of her tank top and covered her bare midriff just above her Daisy Dukes, making her a redneck sex goddess from hillbilly heaven or something.

“Just call me ... Lucy ... for now, babe,” she winked at me, “you could say that I have ... skills. By the way, your money’s no good here. I’ll buy you a drink. And then you’ll come to bed with me.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself, but then you’re also ... pretty ... hot, to be fair,” I admitted that Lucy had reason to be cocky.

“Yep, I’m ... very hot ... and I will keep you nice and warm, sugar. No more cold fish wives, cold beds, cold shower nights. Not for you! No more spending time on the couch because the wifey locked you out of the bedroom ... you must have knocked on that door forty times last week alone. I’m not that evil bitch at all, trust me!

“Now, what’s your poison this time? More Jameson? I’m more of a Fireball girl myself. They say that tequila drops panties, but Fireball works just fine with me. Cheers! Bottoms up!” Lucy urged the barkeep to pour my next shot of Jack and Coke as well as her Fireball so that she could toast me.

“Down the hatch!” I chuckled as I began to feel no pain, “maybe this should be my last drink, unless I want to call a cab or something.”

“Oh, no, honey, no need for that ... give me your keys. Trust me. Hand ‘em over. You wouldn’t miss that death trap that your wife insisted on, anyway, would you? Fucking mini-car! A good way to get crushed or blown up like Wiley Fucking Coyote after he uses an ACME product!

“This affair of hers was the last straw for you, but that death trap would have been the real dealbreaker for me. No motherfucking frame, really? Saving the planet is good, but it doesn’t need a human sacrifice,” Lucy somehow literally convinced me to hand her my car keys, though it helped that I didn’t want a fucking DUI.

“Well, worst-case scenario, she has to call an Uber or Lyft to get to work tomorrow morning. That would serve the bitch right!” I laughed at that prospect.

“Here, sign this real quick, babe, and she’ll have troubles than that ... and you’ll have a lot fewer,” Lucy told me as she pricked my finger and pressed it against a napkin.

“Woah, what the fuck?” I reacted with some shock, “what is this, some kind of a weird-ass prenup or something? Are you trying to take Jill’s job or something?”

“Well, I could, if I wished that. Even from a jaded guy like you. I would so make you putty in my hands and have you walking down the aisle within weeks of the divorce. I also wouldn’t cheat on you or dump you. No, you and I, we’d both just ... share and share alike, if you catch my drift. I don’t know why people link marriage to monogamy. It’s only been monogamous basically for the past two centuries. Prior to that, that Christian bullshit was only honored in the breach. No, we’d stray together, babe.

“And I would NEVER, ever have a ‘not tonight’ headache, or nag you, or slap you, or lock you out of the bedroom, or do any of the other psycho stunts that wives and girlfriends pull on their men. But I’m afraid that I would wear the pants in our marriage ... to the extent that any of us bothered putting on any pants. I don’t see why you would. I’m almost as rich as God. Literally, in fact. You’d never have to work another day in your life. Just kick back and let Miss Lucy sweep all your troubles and stresses away!” Lucy told me as she gestured for the barkeep to hit us again.

I really felt no pain by now, just listening to her soft, smooth, seductive voice as she became bolder and then grabbed my phone to play with it. The next thing that I knew, she took a selfie with me and showed it to Jill, which really set off a flood of messages. Most of them were rather self-pitying, hypocritical texts berating me for taking up “with a slut for revenge fucks.”

This was followed by one which dared to ask, “are we even yet, caveman? Have you got your skank fucked good and hard for revenge, so you can soothe your ego and come home to the arms of your loving wife? This bed is so fucking cold without my sweet hubby. Stop this silly macho foolishness, babe, and come on home. I’ll take it up the ass and do anything else that I’ve done with him that I haven’t done with you yet. He’s just a lad, not a grown man. I just like the young meat now and then. That’s all that this was, an itch to scratch. Baby, please, come on home!”

Jill’s confession that she had given her anal cherry to Steve after refusing me for more than four years didn’t exactly help her cause. Someone should have told her not to volunteer information. No wonder she got caught! She was as sloppy as cheating husbands were supposed to be.

For all of her bossy talk, Lucy was no bitch, no nag, no liar, no hypocrite, no shrew at all. She was almost preternaturally nice, other than her pushiness, that was. There was something very odd about her, but I felt comfortable with her, anyway, and she was so lavish with both money and affection. Damn, what a catch!

“Damn is right! Now, come along, will ya? Technically, what you signed isn’t binding, since you didn’t know what it was or really agree to it. It was a deal, a pact with me. I just wanted to ease you into the idea. Still, it can be binding, if you’ll just ... take the deal, Neal. That is your name, isn’t it, Neal? So, care to sign the real McCoy?” Lucy told me as I suddenly appeared in her kitchen ... and she traded out her clothes for just an apron.

Damn, she didn’t fight fair at all! She played dirty. Suddenly, I saw horns appear on her head, a short document in plain English landing in my lap. There was no mystery anymore, who was with me that night. She was the Morning Star, the Princess of Darkness, the Devil, Satan. Lucifer. Lucy-fer?

“So ... Lucy ... short for Lucifer, then?” I raised an eyebrow, “no wonder you were gonna be in control of any relationship between us, leaving aside tormentor and tormented, of course. You’re the Devil! You’re Satan!”

“Bingo, babe! Don’t worry about fire and all that bullshit. Hell’s much more like a ... sweat lodge, honey. Or a spa. A sauna. At least for a guy like you. At least in my palace. Folks like your wife, well, it ain’t that pleasant what will happen to her, but it’s my call in my kingdom, wouldn’t you say?

“Think about it! Jehovah never sets foot in the place. How would he know what to tell his writers about it in the Bible? For such a supposedly benevolent supreme being, he can be such a liar at times. I run Hell, not him. I know what I’m talking about here. Typical misogynist, thinking that he can mansplain Hell, right?

“No, I don’t want to torture you ... I want to fuck you so hard that you’ll never care about what Jill did with Steve ever again. You’ll be like, ‘Jill who?’ you know. So, how about taking that deal, Neal? I can guarantee you that your divorce will go through as smooth as silk, you can have your revenge affair with me, not just one fuck, and Jill will have a nice little run of bad luck, like a sort of ... Murphy’s law effect, if you will.

“Oh, and did I happen to mention that I LOVE anal sex? Besides, I’m ready to have a baby at last ... so I really need to get fucked a lot. Who you gonna trust, man? Me or that pesky Bible that neglected to mention that I’m a woman? Bet you never saw that coming, did you? Yep, Satan’s a girl. Always was, ever since I got kicked out of Heaven and realized that it was more fun to be female. At least in bed. Come on. Devil up!” Lucy pricked her own finger to my shock and signed her part of the compact in blood.

Wait, demons, devils, whatever they were called ... bled?

“Oh, what the Hell! Jehovah’s never done a damn thing for me and my bitchy wife is in his fan club, so how good could he really be? He doesn’t keep his promises, anyway, near as I can tell. You’re right. He’s the biggest liar of all. What do I really have to lose anymore? So, that’s what I get for my soul, then?” I asked Lucy, who shook her head while dipping her finger in her own snatch and licking it clean.

“No, that’s just the basic package. There’s the primo package, that’s what you get, the mediocre not-quite-primo package, for most folks, and then the very basic package for those that I don’t really like that much. They also tend to get tormented when the bill comes due. Just don’t try to renege, okay? There are no loopholes that can get past me. I invented them! You, my dear, get the six and nine. Six wishes on Earth, nine in Hell.

“That’s above and beyond what I’ve already offered you, trust me, hon. Just sign it and then make your wishes ... your earthly ones ... and then fuck my brains out, okay? How’s that grab ya?” Satan reassured me while dropping her apron to show me her perfect snatch and tits.

“Okay, then. Here goes nothing. I hope to Hell I don’t have the Devil to pay,” I joked as I pricked my finger and signed the covenant with Lucy.

Instantly, she grabbed my phone and touched it, creating an app that didn’t exist on the screen before. The icon was a pitchfork, of course. Then she pressed the icon and the screen showed a listing with six slots. Those were my earthly wishes. I could put two and two together, after all.