Post 272: Satan’s Sale

I know I should have saved this one for Post 666. But I don’t want to wait. All the good stuff might be gone by then. NinjaChow already has her paw on the Satan Silk and the Hola Hope.

SALE SALE SALE….

*************BY APPOINTMENT ONLY*********************

MOSTLY ITEMS ARE BRAND NEW .SOME OF THEM LIGHTLY USED .WE HAVE FURNITURE ,FRAMES, DÃÆ’Æ‘‰COR MIRROR ,COMPUTERS, KEYBOARDS ,LASER PRINTER ,ANTIQUE CIGARET LIGHTERS, GARDEN UMBRELLA STAND ,EXTENSION,SHELF’S,BOOKS, COMPUTER DESK , LOT OF COMPUTER PARTS , LEATHER JACKETS ,COATS, SHAWLS ,TOWELS, SPORT SOCKS, BED SHEETS ,ABAYA , ANTIQUE RUG, HAND MADE LEATHER SHOES, LADIES AND KIDS SANDAL SHOES, PURSES, DS GAMES, CD, LOT OF TOYS , DRESSES , SWEATERS, TEE SHIRTS , JEANS , 100%COTTON FABRIC , PURE SILK, CHIFFON ,SATAN SILK,STUFFED ANIMAL TOYS, ART CRAFT,YARN, MEMO PADS,SKIPPING ROPE, HOLA HOPE,SILK FLOWERS, PINK ROSE FLOWER POT, TULIP FLOWER POT, STATIONERY, HAIR ACCESSORY, AND MUCH MORE…….PLEASE CHECK THE LINK “MORE ADS BY THIS USER” TO VIEW PICTURES.

Thanks, Lucifer, but I think we’ll just go to WalMart like all the other sinners. Because I don’t want to know what type of leather those shoes were made out of. Thanks for a great week, NinjaChow!

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3 thoughts on “Post 272: Satan’s Sale

  1. “Please tell me you’ve noticed it, too,” said Choadaroth, his wizened face visibly concerned.
    “How could I not?” Slaptimus responded, spreading his eight sets of arms. “Everybody’s noticed.”
    Choadaroth wrinkled his nose, an effect that made no visible change to his already-prunelike appearance. Slaptimus really needed more deodorant. There were more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, however. “What are we going to do?”
    “Do?!” Slaptimus exclaimed. “Would you want to be the one to ask? I, for one, would like to keep at least a few of my arms.”
    Choadaroth pursed his lips as he considered. “I mean, he can do what he wants, obviously, but you can’t deny that it’s affecting morale. Seeing him like this, it’s just — it’s not normal. He has an image to uphold.”
    Slaptimus nodded, stroking his chin with the thumb and forefinger of arm #3. “Well, what are you suggesting?”
    “He needs an intervention,” Choadaroth proposed. “But, you know, be nice about it — don’t approach him like it’s an intervention, just kind of ask him nicely, maybe make simple suggestions, that sort of thing. Just avoid being confrontational about it.”
    Slaptimus was dubious. “You really think that will work? You know what he’s like when he gets angry.”
    “Except he hasn’t done that lately, has he?” Choadaroth said. “If anything he’s been too … _nice_. It’s freaking everybody out.”
    “I know.” Slaptimus sighed, twiddling six of his thumbs. “But if a bunch of us all go in there he’s going to know something’s up, you know that, right?”
    Choadaroth frowned. “So, what, you want to go in alone?”
    Slaptimus laughed. “I’m not an idiot. We go in together.”
    It was Choadaroth’s turn to sigh. “Fine. It sucks, but you have a point.”
    Slaptimus rolled his head around several times while shaking his hands out as if limbering up for a fight. “Okay, let’s do this,” he said at length, sweeping his eight right arms out and bowing slightly toward Choadaroth. “After you.”

    Despite deliberately ambling to their destination in an effort to delay the confrontation as long as possible, they arrived at a massive set of ornately-carved double doors much taller and wider than they strictly needed to be. The detailed inlays depicted scenes of agony and despair presided over by a towering, muscular horned figure that left no doubt as to who resided beyond the portal. A pair of heavy brass knockers amusingly shaped like breasts hung in the middle of each door.

    Slaptimus and Choadaroth exchanged a look before the latter grabbed a knocker and hammered it against the door several times. The knocks reverberated hollowly through the entrance hall.
    “Come in!” called a distant voice inside.
    The pair sighed and steeled themselves as they grabbed the door handles and pushed them inward. Once inside, as the heavy doors closed behind them, they both dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.
    “O, great lord of darkness,” the pair dramatically intoned simultaneously. “O, king of the underworld, master Satan, we live to serve only you for all eternity!”
    Satan spun around and addressed the pair. “Oh, get up. All this ceremony is starting to make me gassy.”
    The pair rose to their feet and stood before their ultimate master. He was most handsome by any standard, with a goatee that came to a point and two horns jutting out of his forehead. Until recently, that would only be the start of a description of him that would go on to gush about his envious musculature, intimidating stature, strong hands, cruel mouth, and the eternally malicious glint in his eyes, to say nothing of the hypnotically prodigious bulge in his tight lambskin pants.

    But that started to change a couple of weeks ago — small things at first, but it quickly progressed to the point where it was now, with Satan dressed in a green silk blouse, a chiffon shawl wrapped around his shoulders, shiny black vinyl trousers with the word “Juicy” written across the bum in silver glitter, a tall pair of leather pumps, and small pink bows tied around each of his horns. His normally jet-black hair, slicked back with what most thought, but would never mention, was a bit too much pomade, was now coiffed into a soft, almost nappy perm of tight, small curls. He smelled of lilacs.

    “My dark lord–” Slaptimus began.
    “Please,” Satan interrupted. “Call me Satan, will you? I’m tired of all the formality.”
    “Of course, my– er, Satan.” Slaptimus was nervous calling him anything but lord or master.
    “In fact,” Satan continued. “You know what? Call me Jeff. I’ve always liked that name. I like the sound of it. Jeff. Jeeeeefffff. Yes, please call me Jeff.”
    Slaptimus and Choadaroth exchanged a brief, sideways glance, trying to decide if he was being serious. In the end, it didn’t really matter. They always did what he told them to do, and he told them to call him Jeff.
    “By the way,” Jeff asked, wrinkling his nose. “What’s that rank smell?”
    Slaptimus looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I ran out of deodorant.”
    Jeff frowned.
    “My … Sa– er, um …” Despite the missive, Slaptimus was going to have a hard time bringing himself to call his master by any other name.
    “Jeff,” Choadaroth took over, much to Slaptimus’ relief. “We were … well, we were kind of curious, you know, about something.”
    Jeff had turned back around to look at himself in the mirror that sat slightly behind and beside his throne, twisting his torso this way and that, admiring the angles. “I’m all ears,” he said. “Maybe I should pin them back.” He held his ears back against his head, as if determining whether this was a better look.
    “Right. Okay. So, well, you know, right, the past couple of weeks, how things have been … um …” Choadaroth trailed off.
    “Different,” Slaptimus offered, picking up the slack.
    “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Choadaroth quickly added.
    “Right,” Slaptimus continued. “We’re totally okay with that.”
    Jeff pivoted on a heel to face the pair again. “I assume you are referring to my wardrobe upgrade?”
    Neither of them were quite certain that they would have used that word, but they weren’t about to say that. “Well,” Slaptimus began. “Um, sort of, yes. Yes.”
    Jeff arched an eyebrow, and effect that, despite his current mode of dress, was like a gun being cocked. “Is there a problem?”
    “No!” the pair exclaimed in unison, tripping over their tongues to reassure Jeff that he could do whatever he wanted, he was the master, the chiffon really brought out his eyes, and so on.
    Jeff began to laugh. “Relax! I’m just messing with you. But no, really, I do look pretty fabulous, don’t I?”
    Agreement and platitudes tumbled out of their mouths like a mudslide.
    “But,” Choadaroth began nervously. “You know, the other demons — not us, mind you, but some other members of your flock, they kind of … well, you know, the great Sat– sorry, Jeff — the great Jeff has a certain image, you know? People expect you to look a certain way, because that way look intimidating, right?”
    Jeff relaxed the one eyebrow, only to arch the other. “And?”
    Choadaroth and Slaptimus exchanged that look again. “Right, and …” Slaptimus took over. “Well, and … you know, well, of course, you look fantastic, obviously, but we’re just concerned that, well … maybe it isn’t quite … you know … quite as intimidating as your old look.”
    Jeff drew both eyebrows down into a frown that bordered on a scowl. “I see,” he said flatly. “Listen you two, do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep that look up for so long? Bare-chested, tight pants, always stomping around and yelling to keep everyone in line and making sure work gets done, making sure the right people get the right torture in the right measure, do you have any idea how much hard work that is for me?”
    Jeff stared the two down. For their part, they began to cower. Jeff continued. “Meanwhile, all I’ve really wanted, all I’ve yearned for, was to be pretty. For once just finally let loose and be who I really want to be, dress in a nice blouse, some comfortable, stylish pants, some killer boots, maybe some nice bits of flair. I just want to be _me_, damnit! The real me, the me that I feel like _inside_, is that really too much to ask?”
    Slaptimus and Choadaroth exchanged a longer, more concerned look — concern for Satan — er, Jeff — and concern for their own well being at this point. “Well, no, totally nothing wrong with that, we understand, you’re Sat– er, Jeff! You can do whatever you want and we’ll have your back, of course, it’s just that … well, we worry — because we care about you — worry that maybe others might, you know, not take you as seriously any more. And you know how they are! Always angling for a power grab, right? Am I right?”
    “Oh, to Hell with them,” Jeff said dismissively. “Ha! I made a funny, ‘cos they’re already _in_ Hell, see. To heaven with them, maybe? Whatever. Fuck ’em. Listen, I run this place, and I’m going to run it the way I want to, okay? Understand? And if that’s going to be in vinyl pants and pumps or a miniskirt and crop top, then that’s how it’s going to be, got that?”
    The pair were definitely cowering, now. He may not _look_ intimidating, but he certainly still sounded it. Mostly, anyway; there was still a softer edge to his voice, though. His decision to let his inner woman out certainly had some effect on his overall person. Just the same, the two nodded furiously, stammering to agree that they totally got it.
    “Good,” Jeff said. “Now get out of my sight.”
    They were only too relieved to oblige.
    “Well,” Slaptimus said once they were once again on the safer side of the chamber doors. “That could have gone better.”
    Choadaroth nodded. “Could have gone a lot worse, too.”

    Jeff examined himself in the mirror again. Not intimidating enough, huh? He shifted the diaphanous shawl around his shoulders a bit. Maybe they had a point. Perception was reality, after all, and he had to admit, this outfit just wasn’t quite working for him. He was going to need something different. Something bolder. Something that said he was not someone to be trifled with.

    And he knew exactly the thing: Assless chaps.

    Liked by 3 people

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