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The Devil Inside

The Devil Inside

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A self-professed good girl taps into her bad side on Halloween for some kinky fun.

The invitation to Charlie’s spur-of-the-moment Halloween party read: “Come as you’re not.” My roommate, Stefanie, brainstormed the idea that we’d go as a team, linked together as Good and Evil.

“How would we do that?” I wanted   to know.

“We’ll dress as an angel and a devil,” she said, as if I should have guessed. I thought about the idea for a moment. I didn’t have any better suggestions. Besides, angel fit perfectly for me.

“Of course, I’ll be the angel,” I said matter-of-factly. That was a no brainer — wasn’t it?

“Of course, you’re totally wrong,” she said, explaining that she’d be the angel and I’d be the devil. “It’s the best idea,” she proclaimed. “Nobody will even recognize you.”

“Nobody will buy that for a second,” I protested.

“That’s what Halloween is all about, silly,” she insisted. I watched her paw through the closet, searching for something that might work. She emerged with a formfitting white satin slip. “That’ll be angelic enough,” she decided, and she squirmed her hourglass figure into the shining sheath. “Now, for you, we have to get creative.”

Even though it was Halloween, there was no way anyone would believe us if we swapped roles. Stefanie really is a naughty thing, and I’ve never been able to ditch my sweet persona.

“Something red,” she continued. “Very, very red. Head-to-toe, fire-engine, fuck-me-pumps red.” She assessed me, then amended, “Not head-to-toe. You’re going to be in something revealing.”

“I don’t do revealing.”

“I know! That’s why this is going to be so exciting! I can’t wait to do this!”

“For who?” I had to ask. Exciting for me? I was completely out of my element already. I would have been comfortable as the angel, but what Stefanie was suggesting was something way out there. I watched as she pulled a pair of scarlet hot pants from her closet. I shook my head. “You’re going to look positively edible,” she insisted. “You have the best body. You just never show it off.”

“What would I wear with these?”

“A tube top!”

“No way!” I was aghast.

“A halter? A… ” She disappeared into her closet once more, and I mentally ran through her wardrobe. Stefanie’s at least a full cup size larger than I am. I would never fit in a tube top of hers.

She emerged with a red halter vest that had a zipper running the length of the front. I felt my heart rate speeding up. Hot pants had never entered even the fringe of my conservative attire. I couldn’t possibly. Wouldn’t be able to. But all the no’s and the nay’s and the I won’t’s disappeared from my lips when she brought out the horns and the tail.

“You have horns and a tail in your closet?” I asked, agog.

“Well, yeah,” she said in a tone that implied, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Why would you have those?”

“Cosplay.”

“You play devils?”

“Don’t worry about what I do in my horns and tail,” Stefanie sniffed. “Let’s get this outfit on you and see how you look.”

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I…

“I want to make everybody gasp at your transformation. Charlie’s the host, you know. And Charlie likes you — and you like Charlie.” She handed over the last item. It was a half-mask, covered in red sequins. “See?” she said, thoughtfully. “Put your hair back. Put on the mask. Nobody will know it’s you until you tell them.”

That was appealing to me. And I was sure she was right. Why would anyone think I’d wear short-shorts and a revealing halter? I gathered the gear and went into my room to change. I tried on the outfit, then spun for myself in the mirror. The tail really was the pièce de résistance, and the horns looked utterly adorable. With the mask in place, I knew it was me — of course — but I didn’t think others would.

Stefanie had on wings and a halo by the time I walked into the hall. I didn’t bother asking her why or where she’d worn those before. She grabbed me around the waist in a quick hug.

“You look exceptional!” she said, obviously delighted. “We’ll sneak up on all the partiers. You on the left side, me on the right, and we’ll whisper deviant and wholesome things.”

Oh, for crying out loud, I mentally sputtered. “I can’t… ” I started. How on earth would I be able to spontaneously come up with ideas to whisper in the guests’ ears? What would I say? “Let me be the angel,” I begged. “I could do that in my sleep!”

“Nope. You’re a devil. And being devilish is easy. All you do is say the opposite of whatever you think you should.”

I thought about that for a moment. It sounded slightly reasonable. “Seriously,” she continued. “Try it.”

What would I normally say? “Be good.” So now, I’d say, “Go on. Be bad.” What else? I usually would encourage someone to skip the second slice of cake. Was I really such a killjoy? I guessed so. Now, I would say, “Be a devil. Have the second slice.”

We headed together to Charlie’s. Stefanie was practicing her good lines for me. She was actually having a difficult time, but she seemed to be loving every second. She swore in between lines — and I said, “No. An angel wouldn’t say fuck.”

“Fuck me. Are you serious?”

“Very.”

We trained each other on the walk to Charlie’s apartment, discussing good and bad behavior. As far as I could tell, there were very few rules for my etiquette. The devil would be in the details, we’d decided. Who were we going to tease at the party? With whom would we flirt?

The other question was which one of us would be more successful? Would men want to sneak off with their good conscience? Or would they be more inclined to go for a bad girl — with the “bad” in quotations.

“I could feel my pussy positively pulsing. I was so turned on.”

But I realized when we entered the place that we needn’t have bothered with all the planning. Because who was that leaning over the bar in a wolf costume? Stefanie’s on-again, off-again beau, Steve. He gave her a look that would have melted any angel’s resolve, and she went straight to his side, fluttering her feathered wings all the way.

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