The Devil’s Mistress (Part 4)

The Mistress’s mouth is agape with shock and wonder. She never thought anything like that could happen to The Devil, she was under the impression he was all-powerful second only to the big guy upstairs. How could this man, this…this Yogi, have disposed of The Devil by only looking at him?

“You may come in now, Mistress.” Yogi Mashallah says from the examination table. “It is safe.”

How did he know I was here? The Mistress thinks as she shakily opens the door. The Yogi remains where he is on the examination table. She keeps a distance of at least ten feet from him with a look of fear and fascination on her face. She realizes her mouth is still agape and clamps it shut. The Yogi remains there for another moment as if he’s waiting for something then sighs and sits up slowly as not to scare The Mistress.

“You’ve been wondering what he’s been doing in here these past ten years, haven’t you?” The Yogi correctly assumes. “Well, now you know.”

“What did you do to him?” The Mistress asks with a shaky voice. “Did you kill him?”

“I did no such thing, Mistress.” Yogi Mashallah responds. “I abstain from violence of any kind. It was Love that extinguished him.”

“Love?” The Mistress asked with a confused look in her face. “Love may be a lot of things, but I don’t think burning to death is one of them.”

Yogi Mashallah laughs, “No, no, no. It is not like that, Mistress. The flames of love only occur when someone of high consciousness is met with a force of low consciousness. The Devil is low consciousness. No matter how many books he reads, how many people he studies, how clever his tactics and strategies of deception, manipulation, and cunning may be, he will never be able to douse the flames of unconditional and universal love.” Yogi Mashallah pauses. “That is a truth he struggles to face.”

The Mistress only looks at him in amazement.

“Well,” Yogi Mashallah gets off the examination table and The Mistress immediately steps to the side out of fear. Yogi Mashallah looks at her with a benevolent smile. “I’m not going to hurt you, Mistress. Despite the fact you murdered your husband and his secretary all those years ago, I can find no hate in your heart.”

“How did you know that?” The Mistress asked with wide eyes and a shaky, fearful voice. “How did you know that?

“I am connected to the divine, Mistress,” he replies. “The Divine tells me about all who I come in contact with.”

He heads for the door, “I’d love to stay and teach you about the ways of The Absolute, but I must be going now.”

He gets as far as the exit before he turns and says one more thing, “You are forgiven, Mistress.”

He leaves the room and she can only stand there with shaky hands, a thumping heart, and all-consuming fear coursing through her body. Her legs become wobbly and she runs over to the chair next to the small desk by the door and sits before they give out. Her body continues to tremble in something that was at first fear but is now becoming something more, something like hope.

Her hands stop trembling slowly yet gradually and her thumping heart begins to settle back in her chest as the presence of the Yogi fades into nonexistence. A few moments later she’s as composed and serene as she was when she made up her mind to murder her husband and his secretary. She gets up and leaves the examination room and returns to The Devil’s Study to finish reading her Alex Cross novel.

A month later, while The Mistress is in the Devil’s study reading a book called Become What You Are by Alan Watts, she senses The Devil in the doorway. She looks up from her book to see The Devil appearing as Max Devereaux, that young, tender boy she met in Miami all those years ago. The Devil doesn’t say a word, only jerks his head toward the bedroom. The Mistress smiles a seductive smile and places the book down and stands up and walks toward him.

He looks at her with fiery red and horny eyes and she looks back at him with hazel eyes that are just as passionate and just as horny as she takes his hand at the door. The Devil leads her to the bedroom where they have that rough, wild, and divine sex she’s been missing for the past month. The sounds of her moans and butt cheeks flapping as The Devil pounds that pussycat permeate throughout the depths of hell, and she screams his name as she did all those years ago.

They never mention Yogi Mashallah.

Tell me what you think in the comments! I read and reply to all of them and welcome feedback for improving my stories, poetry, and insights. Thanks for reading!

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