Title: Sin
Author: kbk
Claimer: He's mine. Isn't he cute? Don't you want him for yourself?

The Wages of Sin are Death. Actually, the wages of Sin come to something like fifteen thousand pounds a year, but hey! Nothing's perfect. Sinbad Krezinsky, a secretary in a large office, was a law-abiding man. The shortening of his name by his friends was severely ironic; because he was the purest man any of them knew. But with a name like that attached to him, he could hardly expect to escape my attention, now could he?

I first met him on a sunny spring morning, as is right and fitting. He was just getting over being dumped by his girlfriend for a younger, more exciting model. To be frank, I could see her point. Short back and sides, charcoal suit, white socks neatly folded down above black patent shoes. Monochrome. Very conventional. About thirty, you would think, but pretty hard to tell. Especially for me, I'm hopeless with people's ages - it comes from watching twenty-three-year-olds playing teenagers and middle-aged women pretending to be thirty-two. The sort of guy who would beat a fanatical Muslim in a purity test. The sort of guy every mother wishes her daughter would bring home. I realised straight away he would be hard work.

Not that I was objecting, you understand. People these days are far too corruptible. I'd been looking out for a challenge. So I watched him for a few days, worked out his patterns (incredibly predictable, too) and then, on that sunny spring morning, I bumped into him. Literally bumped into him, scattering the contents of my folder and his briefcase all over the ground. I'd planned this, of course. Planned it meticulously, to the point of buying the same kind of briefcase he carried and working out what angle it needed to drop at to spring open and spill its secrets. So the folder I was carrying wasn't the one with photographs of and information on Sin. It was a portfolio of photographs, true. Black and white, buildings and people and objects taken from odd angles - very arty. Plus a handful of business cards.

Sin apologised. It wasn't his fault, but he apologised, and helped me collect my photographs. I gave him a bundle of his paperwork, with, naturally, a couple of photos (my best ones, I thought) and a business card tucked inside. And I smiled at him, as he walked off. A sweet, natural smile, not flirtatious in any way (I hoped). I hoped because from my observations, flirting would send him running in the opposite direction. And that wasn't what I wanted.

So I sat on a bench in the park and waited for my mobile to ring. It didn't take long. He was incredibly sweet and apologetic, and I arranged to meet him at lunchtime to allow him to return my photos. I spent the hours trying to work out how I would get him to talk to me, how I could persuade him to meet me again, whether or not I should tell him that I deliberately gave him the photos, whether or not I should tell him that I planned to pull him down into the gutter and then beyond to the fiery pits of hell - all those little things you worry about before a first date. I made my decisions, touched up my make-up, and sat down to wait for him.

We had arranged to meet in a coffee shop not far from his office. I ordered, sat down at a small table and pulled out my book. I didn't want to look too concerned that he should be there, you see. At the appointed minute, I looked up, and there he was, scarily punctual. I caught his eye, and smiled. He walked over, opened his briefcase and handed me my property. I thanked him, and then asked him if he wasn't going to stay for coffee. I was, perhaps, over-sweet, saccharine even, but he was so polite that he just couldn't refuse. It was difficult, pretending that I didn't know anything about Sinbad Krezinsky. I did have one pleasant surprise - an unsuspected, deep-buried sense of humour. A fairly wicked one, at that! That is to say, it was all very clean, no smut at all, but it was... twisted. Warped. Not the sort of thing that you would expect from Sin at all.

We talked for half an hour, and then he had to go back to work. But in those thirty minutes, I knew I had him. We talked about lots of things, including my photos. He thought I was talented. He wanted to be talented. I saw the flash in his eyes as he looked at me, and it was envy. Not pure, undiluted envy, not the four hundred proof, the good stuff, but getting there. He was mine.

We met again that evening, and I boasted. It was very subtle, but it was boasting. Sinbad didn't realise it, but unconsciously, it rankled. I can tell these things, you know. By the end of the evening, the envy was in full flow, and he knew it. He tried to control it, but he only managed to repress it. It was still there. He was still wonderfully polite, though. Sinbad walked me home, and kissed me on the cheek, so Sin was still Sin, but just a little more sinful. The first step is the hardest, I always think. There are boundaries along the way, that people don't want to cross, and every step is hard in one way or another, but the first step... The very first step is the biggest barrier, the highest hurdle... And I love it.

We met again the next night, and the next. I worked on his envy. It needed maintenance, so I worked on his covetousness. The two are very close. I tried the traditional material route, but the gold jewellery and gemstones were far too flashy. It was the motorbike that did it. It was a beauty of a bike, too. All black and chrome and leather, 1200cc, throaty engine - fantastic. And me in the leather coat might have helped, I suppose. When I rolled up on the bike, his face lit up. I would like to think it was me. However, the fact that he asked about the bike, touched it, kicked the tyres, sat on it, and tested the suspension before he said three words about me, would seem to tell me something. I got a bit upset about that, and I told him so. He apologised by kissing me. Ten points for Sinbad Krezinsky! Also, that encouraged me to bring forward the lust thing.

I don't really want to write all that down. Suffice it to say, the black leather coat, the knee-high boots, the black velvet miniskirt, the red satin top, the fishnet stockings and the red satin underwear ended up strewn around Sin's floor. They stayed there the next morning as I introduced him to my good friend sloth. I persuaded him to phone in sick. He took some persuading, mind - if I recall correctly, it was the boots that did the trick.

I told him what to say on the phone and he practically repeated it word for word. It was too easy. They believed him immediately because Sin wouldn't lie. It is so unfair! Nobody ever trusted me. Everybody trusts Sin. They may not like him, but they certainly trust him. We slept for a lot of the morning. I can't say I kept a careful track of time, but around lunchtime, I had to get food. I went home. I think he was a bit upset about it, but to be frank, I didn't really care. I was beginning to get sick of him, I mean, for goodness' sake! I thought he was supposed to be a challenge. Men are always such a disappointment. Sigh.

I let up on him for a few days to see if he would revert, but he was corrupted already. I had warped his mind, but it didn't make me feel as triumphant as it normally does. I tried to find out why, and I decided it could have something to do with the fact that he was only three for seven. Hence my going back on the job.

I took him out on the town, spent money on him like nobody's business. That's one good thing about this job - got to love those unlimited resources. I spent the money, and I could practically see the gears whirring inside his head. He borrowed some, gambled it, won, gambled it, lost, borrowed more, and more, and more. I would call that avarice, I don't know about anybody else. He paid more attention to my money than to me. I don't understand. Sinbad Krezinsky, purity personified, goes for the money, the bike and the kinky sex. Like they say, it's always the quiet ones. Sinbad Krezinsky. A Polish grandfather and a mother with her head in the clouds. No wonder he's warped. And I got angry with him about the money and yelled at him, so he yelled back and I goaded him and he went just about berserk. It took a while to calm him down.

So that was envy, lust, sloth, avarice and wrath all signed, sealed and delivered. 71% you would think would be enough, but no! I have to go the whole hog. Not that it was difficult, because, as I said, it's the first that's the worst and he had passed that. Once you've got avarice, gluttony is practically in the bag. Find what it is that works - for Sinbad, chocolate ice cream, caviar and cocaine seemed to do quite well - and there's basically not much more to it. A little persuasion, perhaps something in the champagne to settle his stomach, and you're done. And as for pride - flattery. Plain and simple. You're so strong, so clever, so big. Flattery got Sinbad so puffed up I thought he was going to explode.

Consequences? I had my guy. I had corrupted the incorruptible, I had pulled him down and covered him in mud and slime and horrible nasty things. And it did not make me feel good. Believe it or not, I felt guilty. There is little enough that is pure in this world, and I have to go around spoiling it, ruining their lives, dragging them down, getting them fired... Did I mention they fired him for staying off for a fortnight without a doctor's certificate? He didn't care. He said he'd live off my money, and basically, being a right... well, devil, I agreed. I'm bad. I don't like it right now, but I'll feel better about it soon. I hope.

I dumped Sinbad Krezinsky. I suppose the real challenge would have been to get him pure again, but that's not my job. If I bump into an angel, I'll tell them to look out for my boy. They'll say "No, he's not worth the effort, why are you bothering us?" and I'll say "Because that's kind of my job" and they'll say "No, it's not" and I won't say anything at all, I'll just make a rude gesture. Though they may not understand it. It wasn't my job to get him pure again, and I could hardly corrupt him further, so I dumped him. I made sure he stole my wallet to tide him over until he could find another sucker of a girlfriend to bleed dry. Not literal exsanguination, I hope - I wanted him a sinner, not a criminal.

He might repent. If he repents, he goes straight to heaven when he dies. If he doesn't, then it's hellfire and brimstone for him. Personally, I'm not too keen on all that stuff, it plays hell with your skin and it's too hot to wear a leather coat. In case you haven't guessed, I'm big on the leather.

I don't understand. He shouldn't have been that easy. He shouldn't have been that nasty. Something inside him must have been warped - why else would he be so nice? Somehow I managed to flick a switch and bring out the alter ego. I don't know how, but it's not right. Maybe he knows he's going to die and he decided he was going to live before that. Maybe I'm just too damn good at this. I don't like being able to do this. I would rather everyone was good and nice to each other, but I can hardly wander around telling people that, can I? I'll talk to Sin when he gets down here; find out what he thinks about it. He might understand what I'm going through here. He might not. I can but try. No one would believe it that knows who I am. I delight in my work, I'm good at it, but now it's changed. The devil doesn't want to corrupt. Ha!