The Devil’s Property Part 2

Two gentleman were fighting over a beautiful woman and swore that even if they had to fight to the death that they would win the woman’s hand. Both were handsome but aggressive, highly egotistical, and neither had even considered if the woman was interested. But the eldest of the two was a coward and in the end decided he did not want to risk dueling with the younger man for fear he would actually lose and decided he would instead invite him to dinner and poison him.

In choosing poison he had heard that the deadly nightshade was very potent, but he had also heard it was the property of the devil. At first he had thought to steal the herb but decided against it fearing to get caught so instead he went during the day to the certain grove where it grew in abundance. He approached the door and knocked rather sheepishly.

“Don’t be afraid, I shant bite you. Come in, and do close the door. You wouldn’t want to risk being seen here would you?” asked the young man.

“Are you the devil?” The elder gentleman asked.

“Oh goodness knows not, I have never met his person.” answered the young man, “But the master of the house knows his bidding and does it, what shall I say you wish to do?”

“The man thought for a moment. “At what cost the nightshade if I should wish to poison a man to prevent him from pursuing a woman I want?”

“The cost for the berries is measured by the piece, by the pound and by the parcel, for each piece you must endure a pain, for each pound you owe a service, and for each parcel you must provide a bounty of the type which the container normally holds. How many will you wish, and in what will you carry them.”

“How many will it take to kill a man?” he asked the young man.

“How shall I say, I do not even know the man. How much it takes to kill him perhaps depends on his size, his tolerance, how they are introduced.”

“Perhaps I will have them baked into a pie, and when he dies the devil may have his soul into the bargain. I will fill this grain bag with two pounds.” said the older gentleman.

The young man gathered the grain bag onto his scale and counted until the measure read two pounds. Eighty berries filled the bag.

“What do you normally use the grain bag for?” he asked.

“To carry the grains of wheat that I have grown and separated to sell; It is how I have grown prosperous” the man answered.

“Then for the parcel you shall provide the master of the property a grain bag filled to the brim with wheat, the best of your harvest.”

“That’s absurd, it’s nearly a quarter of my current harvest.” he protested.

“It is your request. You have chosen both the parcel and the weight, not to mention you’re the one wishing to relieve the man of his life. I am merely facilitating your purchase, you have set the terms.”

“Fine then, what else?” the elder gentleman asked.

“For your pounds you must provide the master with two individuals willing to do for him a service.”

“That sir will be the easiest, for I know many people I can convince to do things.” he bragged.

“Then you should find the cost of your pieces to be a piece of cake. You must choose between a nut, a bolt, or a screw.”

“I don’t know what you would need with such things alone without the other, but I’ll wager the screw is the most necessary.”

“As you wish, bring the first of your two people with you along with the grain and I shall arrange for your berries to be ready for pickup.”

The next day he delivered the grain and the first person he chose was his housekeeper. She had been with him for many years and it was she who would make the pie. She was herself a comely wench and might have been approached by the older gentleman herself if she had been in a higher station. Alas she had been forced to settle with occasionally warming his bed, and once he was married she wasn’t certain he would continue the practice. Though she did not really think the young lady suitable for her employer, she did not want to kill the brash young man either.

She agreed as her service to the master based on her on position to clean his entire house. It took all of a day and was spotless when she finished. When she was done she asked if she might make a deal of her own.

“Might the majority of the berries be substituted with benign berries so that pie might only make the young man sick rather than kill him?” She asked.

In exchange she would like for her employer to lose the contest but not die, in order that he would stop pursuing the young woman.

“I have no way to determine what amount would kill him, it is my duty only to deliver what was agreed upon, but if it is your choice to make him only sick, rather than the deadly nightshade use some other less potent herb in the pie and use all regular berries. As to the outcome of the contest, the master of the house does not dabble in relationships. Perhaps you would do well to speak with the young gentleman yourself.” the young man suggested.

She was grateful for the advice and did just that. But when the young gentleman heard that the elder gentleman would rather kill him by trickery than to contest him in an honorable way, he grew angry and went to see what deal the master of the property would make with him.

When he arrived he requested to have only enough of the berries to poison a bottle of wine, a handful that would fit in his pocket handkerchief. The young man explained the rate of exchange to him, but since he requested so few exempted him from the service because he had far less than a pound. Eight berries, merely a tenth of what the older gentleman requested. It was apparent he did not intend to kill the older gentleman merely incapacitate him. For his pieces he bid him choose the same as the older gentleman.

“A nut holds the assembly together, that is my choice.” he answered.

“And for what do use this handkerchief?” he asked the young gentleman.

“Merely to keep a token of my lady close to my heart.” he answered.

“Very well then, the master of the house will take only for his prize a token from the lady.” the young man answered.

The young gentleman was shocked, but felt it was only fair to inform her of what he had done. He went to tell the young lady. She was furious threw the young gentleman out and then stormed to the Master’s property. The blooms on the deadly nightshade were captivating, but she was too angry to be moved by their loveliness. She banged hard on the door. When the master of the house opened the door and she saw how handsome and charming he was she was disarmed.

“How may I serve you?” he asked.

She told him of the unwanted pursuit of both the gentleman and explained their wicked behaviors. He smile and he seduced her. For the next eight days she stayed with him. In each of those eight days he spanked her milky soft flesh ten times until it was rosy and his lust was at its maximum. He put the screw to her penetrating her each day one time eighty carefully done strokes until climax. She had satisfied both the requirements of each contract, taking both the screw and the nut. He allowed her to go saying she could return at will.

Meanwhile the foolish older gentleman had unwittingly drunk the poison wine and ending up ill for several days. When the young woman returned home she called for both men, explaining that she was now the mistress of the Master of the grove and would no longer see either of them.

Angry they both returned to the house.

The young man stopped them at the gate. “Both of your agreements have been satisfied. The young lady has provided your second service to the master, he has spanked her 80 times, screwed her eight time, eighty stokes each. She has provided the master of the house with a token of her affection, and in return he has given her eight of his. What else can I do for you?” he asked.

The gentleman both grumbled and turned away saying “You tricked us.”

The young man responded, “Never assume if you have a conflict between you and another person that the devil will take your side, never believe that you are the only one evil enough to want to strike a deal with him in the first place, never offer him anything that is not yours to give, and always remember if there is a prize worth winning in a deal that the devil will keep it for himself.

I suppose that it’s true, that all who make a deal with him must give the devil his due.

The Devil’s Property Part 2 © DJuna Blackmon 2014, All Rights Reserved

 

The Devil’s Property

In nature everything has a color. Many times the more dangerous things are colored so beautifully one might assume that they are harmless thinking that nature would make them unattractive in order to protect other living things, but in many cases that is not the truth. Belladonna or deadly nightshade has some of the most inviting berries found on a poisonous plant. It is said that the plant is the property of the Devil so anyone picking the berries had better be prepared to meet him face to face.

Well on a not too dark night in old Europe, a young witch dared to sneak into a grove filled with the plants and waited to pick the most succulent of these berries. She watched in fear as she began picking and placing them into a basket she had buried under her cloak. In moments she had nearly filled half of the basket and was delighted she had gotten away clean. But as the basket neared three quarters of the way full she heard a noise behind her.

“What might you be planning to do with those?” asked a male voice behind her. “You do know that those are deadly poisonous, and you might come to harm if you decide to use them in any untoward way. Not to mention the price you have to pay for simply picking them.”

“Are you the devil? I’m told that this is his province and that those who venture to pick it should be prepared to meet him, but how does one prepare to meet the devil?” she said to stall for time.

“I do not know I am sure, I have never met the man myself. Never the less I am required by the owner of this land to say thus to those who would pick the berries and risk inviting his presence that they must pay for the berries by the piece, by the pound, and by the parcel. For each piece you must endure a pain, for each pound you owe a service, and for each parcel you must provide a bounty of the type it normally holds.

“Couldn’t I just give you money for the berries and pretend I was never here?” She asked.

“Not if I am to live to tell the next young woman who ventures here to gather the beautiful ladies.” he said.

“Then what would you ask of me?” she asked.

“Let me see what you have.” he said.

The young witch withdrew the small basket from her cloak. The man poured the berries into a handkerchief and counted them into the basket, there were forty all told.

“What do you normally carry in the basket?” he asked.

“Bread and butter, wine and cheese.” she answered.

“Then for the parcel you must bring the master of the house a good wine, a loaf of bread with butter, and beautiful cheese.” he said first.

He weighed the basket and with the berries inside it weighed two pounds.

“For the master of the house you must kneel and service his manhood two times until he is satisfied.” he said.

The young woman started in horror. “That is an awful price to request of a young virgin girl.” she said

“Ah then you will hate the price per piece. Your choice, a strap, a whip, or a stroke.” he said.

“But I don’t know what that means!” she shouted.

“Never the less you must choose.” he said. “All you get is the choice, I have no further information than that.” he said.

The young witch said, “Fine I choose the stroke. It cannot be much more painful than either the strap or the whip.”

“As you wish, you must go there to the house to make your payment before you can remove the berries from the premises or risk the devil himself.” said the man.

The young witch thought to leave and not come back but she could not leave without the berries. After thinking loosely of a plan she agreed. She plotted to poison the master of the house and leave free after having obtained the berries. She placed several poisons into the wine and put it in the basket with the bread, butter, and cheese. She would encourage him to eat and drink first, to avoid the other payments and after he was sick or sleep which ever worked first she would then leave with her basket.

But when she arrived the master of the house came to the door with whip in hand.

“But I did not ask for the whip, I requested the stroke.” she said.

“And so you shall have it,” he said and tied her hands from behind and lifted her skirts. He stroked her nakedness until he reached twenty and penetrated her for the last twenty reaching climax just at forty. He then put her on her knees and positioned himself between her lips, reminding her it was death to bite. When he had climaxed twice he set her free. She was thirsty and tired and he offered a drink which she swallowed with gusto to wash out the taste. He handed her the basket and opened the door for her. She was beginning to feel sick.

“I’m sorry I ever came here,” she said to the young servant as she passed him in the courtyard.

He replied,” Never count on which seed the devil will sow first, no matter which instrument of punishment you choose it will almost always be the most painful, and if you dare to offer the devil fare containing poison make certain it was not intended for you.”

As she approached the outside gate she stumbled and fell lying in a forgetful sleep the berries lying beneath her. When she woke they lay nearly crushed upon the ground. She recovered those that were left intact and left the village never to return.

The Devil’s Property © DJuna Blackmon 2014, All Rights Reserved

 

Damned Decent

I have a strong sense of fair play and social justice.

It means I like to help people. Occasionally, it means I sometimes do things people don’t agree with. Like stopping to help a stranger on the side of the road.

It was nearly midnight, on my way home from my night gig, I see an balding old man trying to lug a tire out of the trunk of his car. On any other day, I’d be doing seventy-plus, and wouldn’t even see him. I was bone-tired and driving in the slow lane on the far right, struggling to stay awake.

I saw the poor bastard, struggling to get the tire out of his car and I knew I had to help.

I was tired as hell but I wasn’t old yet.

Pulled up in front and backed up to where he was parked. The side of the road has become incredibly dangerous where I live so I wanted to get done as quickly as I could before some texting idiot killed us both. I tossed a flare behind the old man’s car and one behind mine. They blazed bright in the darkness.

“Hello sir, you look like you could use a hand.”

He looked to be about sixty-five or seventy, a bit bent and his hands were trembling from his recent exertions. “I think you’re right. Funny, I just let my triple A lapse last month. Couldn’t afford it.”

“No worry, Old-Timer, I got you. What’s your name?”

“Scratch,” he replied, “Nickolas J.”

“David.” As I took the tire and tire iron from him, my skin began to crawl, the hair on the back of my neck began to tingle. His breath was hot and smelled of polish sausages.

I suddenly had the realization, I was engaged in a dangerous activity, something I could conceivably die from.

I chuckled, shook my head, ignored that Final-Destination-moment feeling and attacked the lug nuts on the car.

Man, I was out of shape. It had been a while since I had done this, in the dark, on the side of the road, at midnight. Scratched my knuckles on the ground, banged my knee on the tire iron. Felt myself getting hot from embarrassment.

“Where ya from, Old Timer?”

“Nevada. Las Vegas. I came up to see one of my sons.” Hunched in his coat, I could barely see his face in the darkness. But I could feel his stare. Got the last nut on.

“You’re good, sir.”

“Why’d you have to be so damn decent?” he whispered right behind me in my ear.

“Say again?” I jumped.

“Thank’s you’re so damned decent.” He smiled and extended his hand.

I backed away, I had that electric feeling again, I saluted and turned away. I was sure I heard him say, “It’s early I could still catch something interesting.” I calmly closed my door. I peeled out.

I didn’t see him or the car.

I hit ninety all the way home. Cops be damned.

Damned Decent © Thaddeus Howze 2014, All Rights Reserved