Skin Deep
Michelle Faust took one last look in the mirror, memorizing her old features, if only because of a masochistic streak. Michelle was not pretty. She was, frankly, on the opposite spectrum of pretty. If she’d been a dog you’d have shaved the ass and taught it to bark out the back.
That, however, should quickly change if this worked. Her lifetime as victim of a terminal beating with the ugly stick had inevitably lead her to compensate with vast intelligence, and two years ago, on her sweet sixteen, she’d resolved to use said intelligence to get her what she wanted most, a beautiful body.
Quick research had indicated that plastic surgery was prohibitively expensive, and unlikely to do much more than bring her up to substandard beauty. So she’d gone an alternate route, and begun to study metaphysics. The obvious solution quickly presented itself, and led her to the path she now began, which, to put it bluntly, involved selling her soul.
She set up the pentagram, the candles, the little rabbit she’d purchased at a local pet store as sacrifice, the spell’s text she’d spent years learning. There were, after all, far too many horror stories in which people did this wrong. She had no intention of becoming another.
She began the incantation, lighting the candles and incense, as she began speaking in backwards Aramaic, “Merta hpere itiram...”
The lights went out, and the weather began to pick up. Michelle curtly congratulated herself on waiting until her parents went out of town for a week to perform this; already the wind had knocked over the tables outside the patio, and seemed only to grow stronger.
“Smada erufut savid adnotgnil...”
Thunder and lighting exploded outside. Down the block, a thunderbolt hit a tree, starting a small fire and knocking over the power lines. Michelle barely noticed. Even if the room had been lit solely by candles, the electricity had disappeared almost as soon as she’d started.
“Hsura egdir nosral ekreb...”
Michelle reached into the cage, picking up the fuzzy white bunny, and hesitantly holding a kitchen knife to its throat.
“Koobra xis hales...”
Michelle steeled herself, and gripped the knife.
“Hales...Hales...”
Just as she was about to sacrifice life to forces infernal, she was interrupted by a clapping behind her. She snapped around, dropping the rabbit, to see a well-dressed man with white hair, a scar down his right cheek and an intricate symbol inscribed upon his forehead. “Lovely performance, Michelle, my dear,” he smiled. His accent sounded English, or rather, like someone who’d been speaking English before there was an England. “I haven’t heard that particular incantation in well over six-thousand years. However did you find it? You even got the proper number of candles. The last fellow only had five, not seven.” Her perplexity seemed only to amuse him. “You can go on and sacrifice the bunny if you want, but it’s really not necessary, and will probably leave a nasty stain.”
“Are you...the devil?”
He laughed again. “Just call me Mr. M.”
“Mr. M,” she repeated, trying it out. “Is that short for Mephisto?”
“Mephistofeles, actually, my dear. I believe that I have something you want.”
She nodded. “How did you...”
“The reason you don’t need to sacrifice the bunny, Michelle,” he interrupted, “is because as soon as you even think about selling your soul, Hell’s eyes turn to you. The incantation is just to see if you’re serious. That’s how I knew. I know why you summoned me, and I’m more than prepared and capable to delivering it.”
“Beauty,” she whispered.
“Indeed,” said Mr. M. “And I can make you beautiful, more beautiful than imagination. I could stand you next to God and people will find you more radiant. And all it will cost is...well, you’re a smart girl.”
“My soul.”
Mr. M nodded.
Michelle recovered herself enough to ask a question she’d wanted to know for a long time. “Why do you still buy people’s souls when Hell has got to be overcrowded to begin with?”
Mr. M laughed again. “Fine question. The answer, Michelle, is that we don’t, normally. We only buy souls of those we wouldn’t get otherwise, or who might pose a problem to us if left to their own devices. You, my dear, fit into the latter category. Your vast intellect may be harnessed to help limitless individuals, causing irreparable good, whereas if you sell your soul to us now, we can take steps to...null...certain future actions you may perform that would be detrimental to Hell’s interests. Do you understand?”
Michelle nodded.
“And you understand what is involved in this exchange? The consequences and the utter irrevocability of the agreement? Beauty is only skin deep, remember.”
“But ugly goes straight to the bone,” Michelle spat in reply. “Ugly is shit, Mr. M, and I’m sick of being shit. Make me beautiful. You can have my soul, my future, anything you want. Just,” she felt herself begin to cry, “just make me beautiful.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Mr. M grinned. Michelle noticed that his teeth were a little too sharp, but, all things considered, wasn’t too terribly surprised. Mr. M snapped, and in a blaze of flame a contract appeared in his right hand, a feather-ink quill in his left.
“Does this need to be in blood?” she asked worriedly.
“Only if you want,” Mr. M replied cordially. Michelle considered, and again her masochistic streak took hold. She grabbed the quill, poked her finger with it, a small stream of blood darkening its tip, and signed her name with a flourish.
The contract disappeared in flame the moment she’d finished. Mr. M rubbed his hands together expectantly. “So, would you like this done fast, or slow?”
“Huh?”
“You’ll become beautiful, the most stunning woman in the world, a veritable Helen of Troy. I was just wondering if you’d like it done instantly, or over the course of years, or minutes.”
Michelle contemplated, and replied, “About one minute. I want this done quickly, but I think I want to watch.”
Mr. M nodded, and snapped.
With another burst of sulphurous fire, an intricately designed mirror appeared before her, its border carved with hellish gargoyles and monsters, demons and succubi, a veritable pinnacle of beauty in horror.
As Michelle watched, fascinated, her body began to change. The hair on her head began to grow, becoming a silky, shiny blonde flock of curls, while the rest of her body hair simply disappeared. Her skin lost its many blemishes, and darkened all over to a California tan. The fat in her stomach and waist, thighs and arms, anywhere and everywhere, melted away, leaving only muscle and tone. She turned slightly to watch as the muscles in her buttocks tightened into pure perfection, but quickly spun back around to get the full effect as her breasts began to grow. Her breasts had always infuriated her, since it seemed like ANY breasts would turn a man on except hers. They were, frankly put, floppy boobs; large, but with no muscle or structure so that they simply hung down flat over her previously bulbous stomach. Now, though, her breasts slowly shrank into her chest, and then back out again, only this time full and almost perfectly round. By the time they had finished expanding she was left as, she estimated, a 36C. Even better, her tits, before barely protruding on even the most arctic of days, now stood full and erect, hypnotic in their perfection. The only thing that pulled her gaze from her perfect body were the changes occurring in her face. Her eyes grew slightly larger, turning from mundane brown to a crystaline blue, her lips fuller, her nose smaller. Her narrow chin and sharp cheekbones (she actually had CHEEKBONES!) now gave her body an angular, dominant appearance, while at the same time her entire face seemed almost out of focus. Michelle noted that she almost looked like a love interest on Star Trek this way, except far more beautiful.
Now the changes Mr. M’s magic wrought became more subtle, altering her posture, her pheromones, her inner organs, even her aura.
Michelle did not take note of these, even if she had been able to view them, so mesmerized was she by the voluptuous creature staring back at her. If she were a man she would fuck herself. Hell, even as a woman, never in her life having experienced the slightest lesbian urges, she felt herself inhumanly aroused by the mere sight of her perfect, exquisite new form.
She said as much to Mr. M and he nodded in approval. “As creations go, Michelle, you are one of my finest. In your left little finger you’ve beauty enough to leave a succubus green with jealousy. I merely hope that you are happy with your new self.”
“Happy!?” she exclaimed. She noticed that even her voice had changed, lowering into a deep, sultry tone. She now sounded sexy no matter what she said or how. She began rubbing her hands over her new body, kneeding her breasts, rubbing her outstanding abs, stroking her toned tan thighs. “I’m...ecstatic! Amazed! Flabbergasted! Fucking flabbergasted! Christ almighty, I’m becoming horny just staring at myself!”
“Well,” Mr. M suggested with no small amusement, “why not do something about it.”
Even at the suggestion, Michelle’s hands had already moved from her thighs up to her cunt. She stared, amazed. She NEVER masturbated! It had never been pleasant, nor pleasurable. But now, in this utterly astounding body, her senses seemed jacked to maximum. Pleasure now redefined itself as she pinched her tits, sending shivers of ecstasy that curled her toes and made her insides throb and juices flow. Her fingers reached deep inside her. She stared at her reflection, and the sight of this amazingly beautiful woman (herself!) masturbating, so hot, so intent, beauty consumed by desire, suddenly made her come. At eighteen Michelle had never had an orgasm before, but she was quite certain that this was the mother of them all. She screamed, and the sound of her joyous scream sent her off again, somehow even stronger than before!
Michelle was now so utterly beautiful that she sent even herself into utterly horny, lustful paroxysms of pleasure at the mere sight of herself. The feeling of her touch, even upon her own flesh (her own breastsherowncuntherownhotsweatycuntohgod), led her to orgasms of unparalleled rapture.
After the ninth orgasm in ten minutes, the final lasting almost three and a half, she turned to Mr. M, still sitting stoically in his chair.
“What happened to me?”
Mr. M smiled. “What happened, my dear, is that you are so astoundingly beautiful that you attract anybody and everybody, man and woman alike. Yourself included. What you feel for yourself is only a small fraction of the lust you inspire in others.”
Only a small fraction!? Michelle could barely keep her eyes off of herself. She turned away, only to see her ass, her perfectly sculpted ass. She shook it, and the desire within herself multiplied, inspiring her to shake it again, and again. She kept shaking her ass until her left breast danced into view, and her gaze turned to her scrupulous bosom, her exquisite erect tits, her massive mammaries so tanned that the nipples almost faded into the dark skin. She shimmied her shoulders, utterly astounded as her breasts bounced back and forth beautifully. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Her bosom began to heave, and that only served to multiply the effect.
Mr. M coughed politely, and she tore her attention away to look back at him.
“Now, if you were thinking clearly, which I can see you are not inclined to do at the moment, although I can hardly blame you, I’ve some things to say.” As he said this, Michelle found her fingers back at her clit, tickling her with the skill of a hundred million whores, bringing her to climax so quickly and so often that Mr. M’s conversation faded in and out of her perceptions. “Firstly is that this new body is immune to diseases, and to pregnancy, and to any of the other terrible little accidents that can come with sexual activity, which, as you can see, your new shape greatly encourages. “Secondly is that you have also had a few of mankind’s less attractive qualities obliterated. You no longer need to shit, for example, nor will you get dirty. You of course CAN, if you wish, but I don’t see why you should. Your...ahem...monthly visitor is a thing of the past. Your vagina is permanently lubricated, and if you should be so inclined to wash down there, be forewarned that your juices not only evaporate quickly but leave a lingering trace of aphrodisiac, making you even sexier. Your teeth don’t turn yellow if you don’t brush, and your breath is forever minty-fresh. You shan’t age, you shan’t gain weight, and you shan’t need to exercise. Your body will remain perfection, even after you die, at which point your soul becomes our possession.
“Now, third and finally, I recall you wondering why we wanted your soul. Well, there’s a lovely Kurt Vonnegut story called Harrison Bergeron. In it, in order to level the playing field for all and promote equality, those deemed too intelligent are required to wear headphones which produce horrid sounds, interrupting their train of thought every minute or so. This is much the same process, only using pleasure instead of pain. Hell wants you to keep your potential just that...potential, and so you are now SO beautiful that you can’t use it. Even if someone else isn’t inducing you into waves of pleasure, you yourself will be tempted to. " Mr. M finally stood from the chair, and stretched melodramatically. “Anyway, that’s about it. I’ve much else to do, so I wish you a pleasant forever and leave you to enjoy your purchase. Au revoir.”
And with that, Mr. M snapped his fingers, and disappeared in flames, leaving only the sick scent of brimstone to linger.
Michelle didn’t notice Mr. M’s absence until it was much later, after the candles had burned down, and the power come back on. All she noticed was herself, her perfect, utterly perfect body writhing in egocentric ecstasy and autocratic abandon until exhaustion finally drove her into sleep.
When she awoke, she stumbled downstairs for nourishment, last nights fit of masturbation leaving her ravenous. She grabbed a few slices of pizza left over from the night before, hazily but happily recalling Mr. M’s assertion that she could not gain weight. For a moment, she wondered if the whole experience had been only a dream, but a quick glance at her perfect naked reflection in the living room window quelled those fears. They quelled all thoughts, too. She began shaking her shoulders again, growing hot as she watched her amazing breasts bounce and dance in rhythmic perfection.
Only after she heard a knock on the door did she realize that, as she was admiring her reflection, she was also flashing the neighborhood.
“Shit!” she muttered. “Shit shit shit! It’s probably Mr. Neiderman. He’s going to tell my parents, and then I am utterly fucked!”
She was two-thirds-right. As she opened the door, thirty-two year old Mr. Neiderman, next-door neighbor, friend of her parents since college, who’d watched Michelle grow up, got a look at an angel. Michelle’s new body sensed his desire, her eyes flicking down to note his already stiffened member bulging tightly behind his pants. She could see the desire in his eyes, and rather than a feeling of fear, as any thoughts of sex had once given her, she now felt a rush of power. Hal Neiderman would probably do anything she told him to. As his hands, seemingly of themselves, rose to caress her smooth skin, she demanded, “Stop.”
He did instantly, his eyes wide with shock, and fear that he would be unable to love this Aphrodite before him.
Michelle smiled, a smile that made Hal’s heart soar even as it made his trousers tent. She licked her lips, and he ejaculated, not even noticing the stain, or that his penis remained stiff, so powerful was her beauty.
“Mr. Neiderman...Hal...Bark like a dog.”
Instantly, the man began to bark unabashedly. He knew, with what little was left of coherent thought, that he would do anything to pleasure this woman, would kill or die for the mere sight of her.
A new command issued forth from his mistress, “Hal, bow down to me on your knees.”
Hal was on the ground before she’d finished her sentence. She noted with sadistic amusement that he continued barking like a dog.
“Hal, look at me.”
He turned, squinting as one might when gazing at the sun, so radiant was her beauty.
“Stop barking, Hal.” He did so. “Crawl over to me.” He did so. Then, issuing a demand she would never before have even contemplated, Michelle demanded, “Eat me.”
If Hal Neiderman had never pleasured a woman on his knees, he was a very fast learner. His tongue worked frantically but diligently to cover his mistresses every inch. Michelle’s hips began to rock and sway, and she felt herself loosing control, her hands moving over her perfect breasts, only speeding along the overwhelming sensual delights Hal strove to induce. He had already come three times, and still his member stayed stiff. She was so beautiful, so utterly perfect. The man could never see her again and be a chronic masturbater for the remainder of his days, coming at the memory of this pure perfection until his balls shriveled up dry.
Michelle quickly came, and Hal switched from licking to sucking, happily consuming her juices. The aphrodesiac effects mentioned by Mr. M immediately took effect, sending him over the edge and Michelle hungry for more.
“Come in me!” she demanded. “Oh god, I want you in me!”
Ruler and ruled, mistress and slave, roles melted away under the heat of the moment.
They fucked, and they fucked, Hal remaining erect after repeated ejaculations, her beauty abundant enough to overcome biology itself and grant man multiple orgasm.
Shortly, their cries grew loud enough to draw another neighbor, Sheila Abrams. Sheila was straight as a ruler, considered both lesbianism and adultery vilest sins. But at the sight, the mere sound, of Michelle’s frantic lust, religion, morality, ethics, and any sense of decency abandoned Sheila completely. The woman, who had never been unattractive through anything other than the strongest persistence and her glacial personality, melted into rapture at the sight of Michelle. Her breasts heaved, her mind’s focus narrowed to only one red carnal thought: sex sex sexsexsexsexsex-
Tearing off her clothes as she raced across the street, Sheilah arrived at Michelle’s doorstep naked and horny. She kissed Michelle, their tongues mingling and twisting, and found herself transported outside of herself, loosing her mind, transformed by unmitigated desire into Michelle’s slave, now, and forever.
Michelle, lucid enough to at least track the situation even if lust made her powerless to stop it, examined herself. Sheilah Abrams, wife and mother of two, kissing her with pure passion. Hal Neiderman, who’d changed her diapers and who was the most ethical man she knew, ramming his surprisingly large cock into her center. And even now, she noted, Marty Crick, only fifteen but turning into quite a man, approached, his pants off and his member hard. She gestured behind her with her hand, and he delicately but desperately entered her from behind, multiplying her already incalculable pleasure a thousand-fold.
Michelle lost herself in rapture. By the time Hal was finally forced to withdraw simply from sheer exhaustion, every inch of her body was covered with some admirer to caress her. Another man, a person she didn’t even know (I’m fucking someone I don’t even know! she thought, and was only further excited) immediately took his place.
The entire neighborhood was upon her, now, everyone within seeing or hearing or smelling distance madly in love with her ephemeral perfection. She was utterly amazed; the sheer audacity of their desire itself drove her to come. She was already filled with more jism than a sperm bank, and all she could consider was getting more, the pleasure was so great. Her emotions soared, only in part because of the orgy centering solely around her; mostly because of the knowledge, and the power it brought, that they loved her because she was so beautiful. A guy from school who’d once given her a paper bag for her birthday to wear over her head had now become her willing supplicant, sucking at a single toe and coming to climax time and again at the joy of it.
She had an entire community ravaging and ravishing her. A small part of her, the part that still thought of itself as ugly, was shocked and horrified. Another part, that masochistic streak, laughed in joy. She ignored both. Her beauty had transformed her. Sex, she now realized, was a display of love, and this mad, teeming orgy merely an extravagant example of that expression.
She came twice simultaneously, once as a woman nibbled her earlobe, and the second as a man who’s huge penis she stroked exploded his seed and cried in triumphant gratification. She no longer felt ugly, because beauty had brought her power, and through that confidence. She no longer felt afraid. She felt wonderful. She felt alive. She felt powerful.
Most of all, though, she felt beautiful.