Deal with The Devil

It occurred to her then she ought to check the engraving on the tag hanging from her hood piercing. Given the details on the site, she was not surprised to find the tag simply had the word 'slave' engraved upon it with a nine-digit number underneath that looked like it was part of the barcodes tattooed on her hip and hand. Super sexy body or not, no one was getting inside her knickers until she had removed that tag.

Suddenly realising she had to change and present her new self downstairs, she rummaged through her drawers and cupboards. Eventually opting for a pair of black glossy PVC jeans and what looked like an old second-hand Iron Maiden tee shirt. She found the collar and cuffs that had gone with the outfit Satan had dressed her in and along with the stiletto ankle boots, feeling very daring, made her way down to join her dad.

He looked up as she entered the living room and smiled.

"Hello Marge love, thank you for Today."

"Sorry dad, why are you thanking me?"

"For dressing so nicely, at mum's funeral. It would have meant the world to her."

"Oh, don't you like the way I dress dad?"

"Actually I do, most of the time. Just sometimes I've felt you've not toned it down enough on certain occasions."

"Oh, okay, I'll try harder in future, dad."

"Oh, that's alright. You got it right today for your mum. Though with all that rain coming down at the end I bet you'd wished you'd worn some of that PVC or latex your always strutting around in."

"Well, it is waterproof, dad," ad-libbed Marjorie wondering just what sort of dress sense Satan had installed as her back story.

"I mean I like the way you are dressed now. It's you. You make it work. But sometimes you've gone over the top. Like that zentai suit, you wore to your Grandma's eightieth."

"Not popular?"

"Oh the guys liked it, but your grandma thought you had got a job for NASA with you dressed in a silver catsuit."

"Sorry, dad."

"No need to apologise, sweetness. Besides I have news."

"You do?"

"Yes, just after the funeral my fingers started tingling."

"Really?"

"Yes, watch my right hand." Marjorie looked at the hand resting on the arm of the chair. As she stared the index finger slowly rose then dropped again.

"Wow, dad, that's amazing. It looks like you're remitting."

"I know, it's not much but it's encouraging," Marjorie's dad beamed. "Oh, could you make me a cuppa, love?"

Marjorie was about to beg off when she remembered. Cold shivers travelled down her spine at how easily Satan had nearly won.

"Of course, dad, love to," she smiled back at him before leaving for the kitchen. As she made the tea she pondered what had nearly happened. A simple offhand request from her dad had nearly consigned her to Hell. She was going to have to watch herself.

As the rest of the day wore on Marjorie became even more concerned and did not relax until she had helped her dad to bed that night. Retreating to her room she wondered what she could do. Should she just leave her dad? It would hurt him. It may even make him angry at her. Then if he found her he may tell her to do something she really did not want to do. Besides he was not well enough to leave yet.

Eventually, she resolved to remember never to say no to dad and try to keep to herself as much as possible. So that was what she did. Ultimately after a week or so, it became second nature to respond, "Yes, dad," to everything. He never asked for anything unreasonable anyway.

One problem though, that she could not solve, was she was unable to get back into the settings page for the website linked to her tattoos. Initially, she panicked, but she quickly realised that no one was able to see the erroneous data about her. So quickly forgot it.

After a month her dad's arms were working and he was gaining strength fast. He was moving around in his chair by himself on level ground and was able to get himself on and off the toilet. The latter was a great boost for him and a relief for Marjorie.

Fired up by his returning mobility he had Marjorie take him out more and more. While she now had a great body and sexy wardrobe her dad was becoming a ball and chain. Whenever she got frustrated though, she reminded herself he would be independent within the year, and she would be free.

About six weeks after the funeral though her dad did something that changed all that. It started over breakfast and sounded so innocuous she was caught unawares.

"Marge, I'm thinking of starting a business love."

"Really, dad, why?"

"Well, with my arms working better and better, and my general health improving, I need something to do. I've been looking on the internet and I think I've spotted a niche."

"Go on," encouraged Marjorie whilst thinking, 'This is going to be a great idea. My third wish coming to fruition.'

"Before I do though, love, I want to know if you are up for helping me with this. Just because I'm getting better does not mean I'll be able to do everything. Plus I may deteriorate again. I need you to be on board too. It could be a lot of extra work."

"Dad, I trust you. Of course, I'll help you run the business. Whatever you need me to do."

"Thank you, that means a lot."

"So spill, what's this big idea?"

"Well, I think you're going to love it. You see I was looking on the net for a gift for you."

"Me?"

"It is your birthday in two weeks, don't try and kid me you've forgotten."

"Damn, actually I really had. I must be getting old. Anyway, you were gift shopping, what did you find?"

"Actually I was approached, sort of... Okay, I saw an advert... But I've since talked to them a bit"

"Good grief, dad, stop beating around the bush, out with it."

"Well, it's bondage gear, love."

"What?! You're shopping for a birthday present for me, and you come up with bondage gear!"

"Calm down, Marge. Before you get on your high horse or accuse me of being sick for perving on my own daughter. What are you wearing around your neck right now?"

Marjorie's hand flew up to her throat to feel the collar that Satan had provided with the first outfit. She'd honestly forgotten she had it on. She didn't always wear it, but she liked the edgy look it gave. She certainly didn't think of it as a fetish item.

"That's worn as a fashion thing, dad, and you know it."

"Of course it is, Marge, but if I were looking for something similar on the net I was going to have to look in kinky places."

"Okay, that makes sense."

"Thank you, so I was horrified at how much some of the stuff costs. So I started looking hard for more affordable stuff. Anyway, this advert came up from a company called Old Nick's Leathers. Much better prices I thought until I tried to place an order. Then realised they were wholesalers."

"So you want to buy off of them and sell the stuff?" Marjorie's mind was a whir and the name of the company. Could this business be Satan throwing dad a bone to get started?

"Yes, I contacted them and, for a reasonable fee, I get exclusive access to several lines too. Thus solving the issue of competition. We'd be the only place you could get some of the stuff."

"So how do I help dad?"

"In lots of ways, dear. We can keep start-up costs down if we do as much in-house as possible."

"I have no idea how to do this, dad."

"It's okay, I do, I'm just going to need you to help me with the creative side of designing a website and then once we are up, I think, just shipping."

"Okay, so how do we start?"

"This is the bit I'm not sure about. Would you be willing to model the stuff for the site? It would be a huge saving in models and photographers if you said yes."

Marjorie went cold at the request. Her dad was asking her to pose in bondage gear on the internet. But she couldn't say no, as horrible as that was it was far better than what Satan had in store. She stalled for time.

"Who would be taking these pictures dad?"

"Me, love."

There was no option she had to say yes.

"Okay dad, because it's you," she smiled.

"Before we go ahead there are a couple of other ideas I want to float."

"Float or are you asking me to do them, dad?" Marjorie was scared of the answer, but she was hoping for some wriggle room.

"Okay, I guess I am asking, but I won't be upset if you say no." Damn, thought Marjorie, 'You may not be upset but I probably will be.'

"So what are these ideas then?"

"I thought, since you're going to be modelling the items on the site, we could put small actual user reviews from you on the site."

Marjorie frowned in confusion, "I'm not sure I understand."

"Well, we make up a stage name for you. Something like 'Slave Em' and then little blurbs along the lines of, 'Slave Em says this gag is comfy to wear and it keeps the screams in too.' Or, 'This blindfold is easy to wear and keeps all light out.'"

"Oh, that's not a biggy, that's just marketing. Of course, you can do that."

"Yeah, but I just want to check. It'll give the impression you are something you are not to a lot of people. Plus it goes further."

"I see, go on."

"Well, as I see it most of the stuff can be assessed by you as we do the shoot. But some of the stuff will require you either wear it for a bit to actually test it."

"Oh my God, are you asking me to test out sex toys?"

"No Marge, don't be silly. But for some of the wearables how it feels over time may be highly relevant. It may be that on some of the bigger purchase items you could give them a go and then give a full review."

"What sort of things dad?"

"They do a thing called a vacuum bed. It totally immobilises the person in it. But they are not cheap. If we can give a solid review on what they are like that'll be bound to boost sales."

"That makes sense again, just you and me doing this though, yes?"

"Certainly."

"Okay and the other thing?"

"I thought at fixed times we could man a helpline or even better a skype service. Where clients could ask questions."

"If you say demonstrate you're just turning me into a cam girl, dad."

"No Marge, just a talking head, giving out advice about something you've worn or tried. If you've not tested a thing you just say so. I want us to come across as genuine and honest."

"Hmm, how can I say no? Of course, I'll do that, dad. How long before we get this going then?"

"Now I know you are on board I'll ask for samples, in your sizes, after making a deposit. Once we have those we can do the product shoot, and start testing products. Then we can go live almost as soon as the site is built."

"Wow that's fast, so shall I get a measuring tape?"

What followed was the most thorough measuring she had ever endured. Though she took most of the measurements herself, while her dad noted them down on a pad as they went. After that, he went back to the computer and placed the order.

Three days later a courier arrived with quite a lot of large parcels. Once it was all unloaded they nearly filled up the dining room of their small home. Dad took one look and made the decision to rent a commercial unit on a nearby trading estate. The pair of them were then kept busy with the logistics of setting up the new business.

Once that was done though, both father and daughter were quite pleased with what they had achieved. A small office with computers was on a mezzanine floor serviced by a lift. Below at the back is a studio area to photograph the products. Racks of shelves full of stock took up most of the floor with a despatch area near the entrance.

When that was set up the hard work of modelling and taking pictures of everything started. Marge was shocked at just how hard a job it was too. Her initial fears of awkwardness or inappropriateness at her own dad putting her into bondage evaporated quickly. It wasn't sexy or arousing. A lot of it was uncomfortable to model too. Plus, the effort of physically changing from one item to the next, and ensuring they had all the shots necessary. It was more work than either of them anticipated.

There were some moments of awkwardness. Some of the more intimate items such as nipple clamps caused Marge to go very red in the face. She did most of the modelling in a black latex catsuit. Apparently streetwear for the new Marge. But the clamps brought her up short. Marge had looked at her father to see what he thought.

"No need to model those, sugar. I'll do those and the sex toys on a lightbox later."

At the end of the shoot though her dad asked Marge for something she was not expecting.

"Marge love, I've looked through all this stock and there are a couple of items I'd like for you to test out as we discussed earlier."

"Umm, okay dad. You know I cannot say no to you," she quipped. Knowing he did not know the truth of that statement.

"So this metal collar," her dad started, "is supposed to be the sort of thing a lifestyle submissive wears. Given that's what you're going to be pretending to be... Would you mind wearing it for the foreseeable? That way if a potential client asks what is like to wear long-term you can give a quick and genuine answer. Plus if you are seen away from work our cover is not blown."

Marge looked at the thing. Since her deal with Satan, she had been wearing chokers almost constantly. Many would pass as collars. None of them locked, or were made of metal, though. Marge was unsure about being locked into a real slave collar. It, along with the identity tag attached to her privates, which Marge had so far, been unable to remove, would give an impression she really was a submissive. Still, given the consequences of saying no...

"Happy to dad. I said I would, and I'm a fan of collars anyway."

Her dad beamed at his daughter and handed the item over to her after she removed the choker she was wearing. The collar was heavy and cool to the touch and imbued Marge with a sense of foreboding. Marge opened the thing up and then gingerly closed it around her own throat. The click of the lock made her jump, the fetter was tighter than anticipated and a nervous swallow highlighted the inflexibility of its grip on her neck. "How long am I going to be confined in this thing," she wondered to herself? She explored the feel of it by flexing her neck and turning her head. Using her fingers she felt the weight of the sturdy ring hanging from the staple at the front of her throat. "No one will mistake this for a fashion item," she thought, "Everyone will see me as a slave in this."

"Is that okay, dear? Does it fit?"

"It's tight and heavier than the leather ones I usually wear, dad. But I'm sure I'll get used to it. What was the other thing you wanted me to wear?"

"The other thing... Well, I've seen you wear them for yourself, so I'm guessing this won't be a bother. Would you mind wearing one of the corsets?"

"Sure dad, but as you said, I wear these all the time. I can already tell clients about corsets."

"Umm, I was thinking of you doing some waist training and wearing them long-term?"

"You want me to wear a corset all the time?" She knew she had to say yes. "Of course dad. That's a great idea. If I can give advice on what that's like I'm sure it will boost sales."

Thus, gentle reader, father and daughter built their business. The launch was, predictably, very successful. The pair found themselves rushed off their feet. Large numbers of orders came in and they worked long hours packing them up to ship out. Soon the workload increased as the new stock had to be stored when it came in. Then the inevitable returns started coming back. Though pleasingly these were low in number and mostly due to customers getting their sizes wrong rather than faulty products.

The upshot was the pair were working nearly every waking hour and Marge was doing little in the way of customer service online.

"Marge, love, we need to hire some staff."

"Can we afford to, dad?"

"Easily, we are making very good money."

"God, then do it, dad. I've forgotten what it's like to watch the telly or go out for a meal."

"There's an issue though."

"What's that, dad?"

"Well, it's you, daughter. See, I can't see a way of you doing what we planned without risking blowing your cover."

"Sorry?"

"We are pretending to be a Master and slave in a D/s relationship online. You give out advice on our kit from the position of a user as well as a salesperson."

"Yeah, so?"

"You've been wearing that collar and been laced into a corset for the past month to maintain that very illusion."

"I know that dad, though I've got pretty used to them now, what's the point." She absently reached up and felt the heavy steel fetter locked about her throat. She really did forget it was there sometimes and wondered at the looks she was getting when out until she did. Such incidents were getting rarer but were still embarrassing.

"You are going to have to maintain that illusion in front of the new staff."

"I am? Why?"

"Let's say a new hire does not work out. Or say they do but they get drunk and let slip our secret to a friend. Or even worse someone leaves our employ upset. They could use the information to damage us. Our reputation would be trashed online."

"So we have to work every hour God gives us or pretend to be Master and slave in front of the staff we hire?"

"That's the face of it."

"So what does that mean? It's not so bad. I'm going to be your slave, not theirs. It'll be the way we live our life." Stated Marjorie trying to be upbeat and practical. "I call you, Master. I'm already wearing the bloody collar. I don't have to follow their orders. Just do as you tell me, and let's face it, I already do that. It shouldn't be that hard a pretence to keep up."

"But you can never call me dad in front of them."

"I won't. Promise."

In this way, dear gentle reader, the cast of players is enlarged. For after some raised eyebrows and failed attempts Marjorie's father secured the services of three new team members.

Sadie, a middle-aged woman who looked like she never ate, was hired to run the shipping department.

Joanne, a raven-haired woman about two years senior to Marge, but with a similar figure. Was hired to handle goods-in and returns, plus help Sadie when she could.

Finally, Jenny, a rotund lass who looked like a librarian was employed to manage the stock.

On the first day, that the new staff would be there to help, Marjorie fretted over what to wear. The collar was a given, and in truth not an issue either, as she had grown so used to being collared. The corsets were a slightly bigger issue but she was fast becoming a corset fan too and thus they were actually not an imposition either.

In the end, she went with some latex leggings and a latex vest. She was supposed to be a slave after all. She added one of the store's latex corsets over which she put a mesh off-the-shoulder top and cinched that into the corset with a wide patent leather belt. On her feet, she opted for patent leather ankle boots with six-inch heels. She at least didn't have to worry about driving in them as her dad, now almost fully mobile, would be taking her in.

As they left the house though he caught her out by holding up a leash.

"Would you mind if I put this on you, Marge? The staff have been told you are my slave. I feel we should live up to expectations."

Marjorie wanted to refuse, but dared not, "Okay Da.., sorry, Master. I understand."

"Marge, love, you cannot slip up like that at work."

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Okay then," he said as he clipped on the leash to his daughter's collar.

They drove in silence. Marjorie was unsure of this new situation and her dad was obviously lost in thoughts of his own. Arriving felt strange as a place she had thought of as an extension of her home, was going to be full of strangers. Strangers who were going to be judging her on false information.

The new employees were gathered outside the door to the unit when they turned into the car park.