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For a list of all the Devil’s Pact Chapters and other stories click here

This is a revised version of the story that I published on Smashword starting back in 2014. It is rewritten with much-added material. However, I did have to age up some of the characters so no one is underage in this version.

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Click here for Sex Slave Chronicles: The Submissive Secretary.

Click here for Chapter 3.

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Friday, September 13th, 2013 – Paris, Texas

There was an away game, so there was no cheerleading practice this afternoon.

I missed those sweet, young Lionesses, and their even sweeter cooches. Every afternoon for the last week, just like previous one, I’d spent it with the cheerleaders. I’d fuck one of them young things underneath the bleachers while the others practiced. It was an arrangement we reached. Since I kept disrupting their practices, the girls drew straws to see who would keep me entertained.

Since I had nothing to do this afternoon, I wandered on over to the Paris Public Library.

I was dressed for the first time in the two weeks since I made my Pact with the Devil. Why did I need clothes when I could turn invisible? It was strange, feeling clothes on my body—the t-shirt was tight on my chest, almost like it was strangling me, and the pants chaffed my thighs, keeping my pecker from flopping about. I stole the clothes out of the house I haunted last night; the daughter was a good tumble, and her daddy was about my size.

I had a hankering to get on the internet. Since it would seem weird if a computer was being operated by no one, I figured I should be dressed to do this. Though a part of me thought it’d be hilarious to freak out everyone by sitting there invisible.

The library was much like any other public library. You passed through the senors to make sure you weren’t stealing books without checking them out (who would do that?). It had stacks upon stacks of the dumb things, more than they needed. Then there were the half-dozen or so computers set almost in the middle on two rows of desks facing each other. The chairs weren’t the greatest, but it was all free.

I sat at an open computer and went to my favorite website: the Unearth Arcana. It was a website dedicated to every supernatural phenomenon you could imagine, and not just the usual Bigfoot, UFOs, and end of the world prophecies. You could find someone explaining how the layout of the major cities of Europe fell on the leylines and were part of an ancient druidic summoning spell to bring forth Samhain in the year 2035.

I loved this shit. I was always eager to see what the whack jobs had come up with next.

Of course, it wasn’t all bullshit. I did learn how to summon the Devil on this very forum. In fact, that was the first thread I checked out on the message board. As I scrolled through comments, it seemed more people were posting that they made their Pacts. My favorite was a guy in Scotland who wished to have Superman’s powers. He posted a YouTube link of him melting a soda-pop can with his heat vision.

Finished with the Pact thread, I checked out what was new in the paranormal. One post title caught my eye: The Ghost of Paris.

I smiled, opening it and reading about my adventures. It was full of quotes from tweets, Facebook pages, and other social media posts of the girls I’d been molesting for the last two weeks. “I have spoken to several girls that claim to have been molested by the Ghost,” ghostXhunt wrote. “He preys on young girls and women, using them to satisfy his unnatural lusts.”

I tried not to chortle in excitement. GhostXhunt investigated a lot of hauntings. It was flattering to think she had traveled out to Paris because of me. Man, I hoped to see her around town; she’s one mighty fine looking gal.

“Often the ghost spends an entire night preying on one girl,” she’d posted. “What is truly interesting is all the girls found the experience to be quite pleasant. One girl, wishing to remain anonymous, told me the ghost has visited her room three times in the night. She’s eagerly awaiting a fourth.”

That must be Heather, a smoking-hot redhead who was quite a screamer. Good thing her parents’ bedroom was at the other side of the house. She was the first girl I ever spent the night with as the Ghost. In fact, I was with her just two nights before. I smiled. I fucked her ass for the first time.

My pecker was growing hard just thinking about her fine, young body and that tight, wet hole between her thighs. It tented the front of my pants. My balls were filling with molten lead that needed to be unleashed.

I glanced at the librarian, Miss Cheshire. She was looking sexy as hell with her tawny hair pinned up and those small glasses perched on her cute, little nose. I let my gaze slide down and eyed the tits that filled out her gray blouse. My pecker chaffed at being constrained. Two weeks without clothes was such a freedom…

I felt in bondage. Imprisoned.

I licked my lips as I stared at the Ghost of Paris’s next victim.

I hurried to the bathroom. The moment I was in a stall, I stripped naked and stashed my clothes behind the toilet. My pecker throbbed hard before me. I grabbed it, giving it a quick yank. It was so weird to see my fleshy shaft again.

I concentrated on my power, on the change. My flesh rippled like a mirage and then vanished. I could see right through my hand, my pecker. I smiled; I was free again. Why did I even bother wearing clothes?

I should have just used the computer while invisible. So what if anyone saw me. I was the fucking Ghost of Paris. I could do whatever the hell I wanted.

Who could stop me?

I felt invincible as I stalked out of the bathroom. I padded on silent feet through the library, snaking naked around the oblivious patrons on my way towards the counter. My dick thrust before me, hard as lead and ready to fuck.

Miss Cheshire was helping an old woman, using one of those hand scanners, like the ones you see at the grocery store that shines all of those red lights to ring up your purchase, on the book’s bar code. School was still in session, so the library was mostly empty. Only a few, old broads, part of some sort of club, were hanging around.

“I reckon you’ll enjoy this one, Mrs. Crabapple,” drawled Miss Cheshire. Her voice sounded as sweet as honey dripping over moist cornbread.

To get behind the counter, there was a section of it that folds up. I seized it and, with great care, moved it slowly. Neither Miss Cheshire nor Mrs. Crabapple noticed me lift it. I slipped through. I went to close it when I paused, debating if I should do that or something else.

I went with something else. Something fun.

SLAM!

The section crashed down with a mighty clap. Both women jumped, looking about like a pair of startled jackrabbits peeking out of their holes. I fought a chuckle as the old lady clutched her pearls, literally. She had a pearl necklace about her neck her bony fingers grasped.

“Good Lord almighty, what was that?” Mrs. Crabapple gasped.

Miss Cheshire frowned at the counter. “I’m not rightly sure. I must have left it open and it… closed on its own.”

I padded behind Miss Cheshire, my bare feet making not a whisker of noise. I fought the urge to let out a growl of appreciation as I admired her fine rear cupped by the tight, soot-black material of her skirt. My pecker throbbed as I stared at the ass. I shifted froward inch by inch until the tip of my cock grazed her rump.

I shuddered at the feel of the fabric caressing my sensitive crown, her flesh soft and warm beneath. Miss Cheshire had absently swatted at her butt, brushing my pecker and sending electricity shooting through me. She frowned as she peered behind her, but she saw right through me. After a moment, she shook her head in confusion.

“Is something wrong, sweetie?” Mrs. Crabapple asked, peering around the librarian.

Mrs. Crabapple and I do not get along. She despised me. When I strutted into the library this morning, the glare Mrs. Crabapple leveled at me could have peeled paint. So I flipped the old biddy off, practically sticking my invisible finger in her face. The old hag once made a fuss because I was surfing porn on a library computer. Almost got me arrested before someone remembered that porn is just free speech.

After the charges were dropped, Mrs. Crabapple and Happy Roberts—the wife of the reverend at the Paris Revival for Christ—had led a crusade to get me kicked out of the library. Happy was misnamed. She was a shrewish woman that always seemed to frown, at least when I was lurking around.

Maybe this Sunday, I’d pay a visit to her church and put a smile on her face.

“Must be my ‘magination,” Miss Cheshire replied, turning to hand Mrs. Crabapple the books. “Well, you take care now, y’hear.”

The old biddy bent over, whispering conspiratorially, “I saw that good-for-nothing Scotty Adams lurking in the library. You best watch out. The man’s a right piece of work.”

“I’ll be right as rain,” Miss Cheshire responded. “But thank you kindly for the warnin’.”

Anger boiled in me. I was tempted to show that ol’ biddy just how much of a ‘good-for-nothing’ I could be. I would torment the dried-up bitch, but my pecker was hard, and Miss Cheshire’s rear was far too inviting to pass up.

I promised myself I would get my revenge on the old woman next time.

I turned my attention back to Miss Cheshire and that gorgeous rear. She was scanning a pile of books, checking them in and utterly oblivious to my presence. Her tawny hair was pinned up in a bun, but an errant lock had escaped and draped down the slope of her neck.

Feeling bold, I brushed it away as I leaned in, my breath spilling over her neck. Miss Cheshire yelped as she jumped. She whirled around, forcing me to retreat while her her fine bosom heaved beneath her blouse.

What a sight.

She shook her head, confusion tightening her brow. She peered around, staring for any place someone could have hid. Then, muttering, turned back to her scanning. I loved messing with women like this.

I let her scan a few more books, her shoulders relaxing, then I brushed the silky smoothness of her arm just below the sleeve of her blouse. She whirled about and her arm bumped into my body this time, my cock pressed into her heap.

“What in tarnation?” she gasped, her breath rising. I pressed tighter against her, pinning her to the counter. “You’re the ghost them college girls been talkin’ ’bout?”

“You’ve heard of me?” I asked, trying to sound as ghostly as possible. “Then you know I’m mighty attracted to purtee girls.”

A flush crept up from her neck and spread across her features. I caressed her cheek, eager to—

SLAM!

We both jumped, Miss Cheshire yelping while I flinched back a step, pulling away from her. Another of those old biddies had tossed a pair of hardback books on the counter, her gray hair up in a bun.

“I don’t have all day while you woolgather, missy!” she barked at Miss Cheshire.

“Sorry.” The librarian whirled about.

“Young ‘uns these days,” the old woman muttered darkly.

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to press my pecker against the librarian’s plump rear. She wiggled her ass saucily back into me. I grinned, enjoying the sensation of my cock’s head rubbing against the rough fabric of her skirt.

I humped against her as she checked out the woman’s books, scanning them one by one. Miss Cheshire, affected by my wish for women to enjoy my molestation, wiggled back against me. My pecker ached against her, the warmth of her ass.

I had to enjoy her.

Still dry-humping that tight tush, I snagged the hem of her skirt and hiked it up her thighs. Miss Cheshire stiffened as the fabric of her skirt shifted against my cock. I pulled it higher and higher. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide.

“What’re you doin’?” she hissed.

“Placin’ my books in my bag,” the old woman responded indignantly to Miss Cheshire’s question. “If that’s a’ight with you, missy?”

“Oh, yes, right. I’m sorry.” Miss Cheshire face turned crimson. She whirled around to face the old lady. “I’m just… havin’ on off day.”

I groaned as I exposed a surprisingly racy pair of red panties clinging to her ass. While she was typing on her ancient computer to complete the check-out, I slid my finger down her panties, following her crack lower and lower. She shifted as I reached the gusset and pressed her panties into her cooch’s folds.

Her warmth bled through, slicking my fingers.

I grinned at that, my pecker throbbing. I pressed her panties into the groove of her pussy and rubbed it up and down. Her hips wiggled from side to side. Her hair shifted. My dick throbbed as her juices bled through, soaking my fingers and her panties’ satin material.

“Ohhhhh, you have a… a nice day, Mrs. Fairburn,” the librarian stammered, a creep of passion invading her voice.

The old lady snorted as she stalked off, her cane tapping on the library floor. The old bitch muttered darkly under her breath.

“You gotta stop,” Miss Cheshire pleaded. “There are people here.”

“’Fraid I can’t,” I said, pressing harder.

She gasped, rising up on her tiptoes for a moment. I pushed the fabric into her pussy, feeling her warmth. I ached to feel her directly. My pecker throbbed before me, the tip rubbing on her ass. She squirmed and wiggled.

“Please, Ghost, you’ll get me in trouble.”

“That just makes this more excitin’,” I groaned.

My fingers tugged her panties to the side. I ran my fingers across her and smiled. She had a shaved cooch. I loved the feel of her bare vulva. Her juices coated my digit. She whimpered, squirming as I molested her naughty twat.

“I reckon you wouldn’t be so wet if you wanted me to stop, sweetness.”

She whimpered.

Smiling, I shoved a finger up inside her warm depths and she gasped. I stirred my finger through her honeypot, loving how tight and juicy she was. Her hips wiggled, her snatch squeezing down on my digit.

“Your cooch is dyin’ for my pecker, ain’t it?”

“We can go back into the storeroom,” she pleaded. “You can fuck my cooch so hard. Please.”

“Naw.” I pulled out my finger then grabbed my pecker. “Funner this way.”

I guided my cock to her juicy pussy. I rubbed it against her. She gasped, feeling my girth. She didn’t try to run away. She just stood there, gripping the counter, trying not to cry out as I pressed my cock into her her wonderfully warm cooch.

Her juicy flesh engulfed my pecker. I slid deeper into the fine-assed librarian’s snatch. Her silky sheath caressed me. Pleasure shot down my shaft as I buried deeper and deeper into her. She groaned as I bottomed out in her.

“You’re really doin’ this here?” she whimpered.

“I really and truly am,” I told her. “Gonna fuck your sweet cooch hard.”

I reveled in the grip of her pussy as I drew back my dick. She clenched around me, massaging my pecker with her hot flesh. She was wet and tight, though not as tight as one of them sweet, young coeds I’d been fucking. That didn’t matter. She was hot and plenty delicious.

Her cunt was getting the job done.

She braced herself against the counter, breathing heavily, as I pumped into her. I thrust away, my crotch slapping into her rump. Her pussy clenched and relaxed on me, gripping me as I fucked her. I thrust faster and faster, our flesh slapping together, her panty-clad rear jiggling.

She was a mighty-fine fuck. I enjoyed it, reveling in Miss Cheshire’s delicious twat. Her cunt massaged me. She brought me closer and closer to erupting. The librarian’s snatch had me groaning. I was getting closer and closer to erupting. To spilling my seed into her.

It would be incredible.

She gasped, her cunt squeezing down hard on my pecker and increasing the friction. I groaned, thrusting deep and harder into her as she threw a look over her shoulder. Her glassy eyes were wide, her lips glistening.

“Someone’s comin’,” she hissed.

“Not yet I ain’t,” I panted, my balls aching. The swung as I fuck her, building up my cum. Her juicy pussy would get me off fast. “But soon, sweetness. Don’t you worry your purtee, li’l head ’bout it.”

“No, a patron,” she moaned, her head looking back at the library. “Please, you gotta stop.”

Another old lady walked up, hanging onto a black, wheeled walker. I grunted. There was no way in hell I would stop. Miss Cheshire’s cooch was first class. I plowed into her as the old woman came closer and closer.

The librarian straightened, trying to act like my pecker wasn’t reaming into her juicy cunt. I just grinned, enjoying the thrill of fucking the sexy woman right in the middle of the public library. My dick throbbed in her cooch’s tight embrace.

“I can’t believe how rude Mrs. Fairburn was to you, darlin’,” the old lady said when she reach the counter.

“Oh, it’s, um, it’s ah’ite, Mrs. Hale,” Miss Cheshire answered, her pussy growing hotter around my cock.

As she grabbed the old lady’s first book, I rammed hard into her body. The sexy librarian gasped and dropped the book. Her entire body quaked. My eyes widened as her juicy juicy cunt spasmed on my cock.

“Oh, wow,” moaned the librarian, her pussy convulsing around my pecker.

She was cumming right in front of the old lady. I thrust hard and fast into the librarian’s convulsing cunt. The pleasure rippled around my cock. This wonderful heat shot down to my aching balls. I fought a groan, the ache building at the tip of my dick.

“Oh, my word!” Miss Cheshire moaned, her voice so throaty. She half-bent over.

Mrs. Hale squinted at the librarian through coke-bottle-thick glasses. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… Oh… my… I… I’m cummin’…” Miss Cheshire moaned again.

She was cumming hard on my cock now. Her pussy spasmed with such force, rippling around me as I plowed into her depths. I reveled in it as she let out another groan, her head throwing back, her cunt sucking at my dick.

“Oh, sweet Jesus I’m cummin’!” she moaned. Then she gasped, her body quaking. “I’m comin’ down with a stomach thing, Mrs. Hale!”

Mrs. Hale reached out and grabbed the librarian’s hand. “You gotta take care of yourself, okay, darlin’?”

“I… Oh, gosh…”

Her pussy kept spasming as she leaned over, pressing her ass back into my groin. I gripped her hips and fucked her harder. I plowed into her writhing cunt, the pressure building and building in me. Her pussy felt incredible.

My balls tightened.

“Stomach cramps?” the old lady asked. “I can hear your tummy a rumblin’.”

“They just won’t… won’t stop cummin’!” the librarian moaned as she kept climaxing on my pecker.

The air was filled with her pussy’s tart scent. The naughty, wet sound of my pecker plowing into her snatch echoed around us. It was such a lewd, depraved sound. My balls tightened. The pleasure rushed down my shaft, her pussy sucking at my cock.

Goddamn, this was turning into a wild fuck.

I slammed into her depths again and again, every thrust bringing my balls closer and closer to exploding. Her hips pushed back against me. She clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her moans as she spasmed over the table.

Her pussy wouldn’t stop writhing about me. Milking me. It was incredible. She was getting off on cumming before the old woman and getting fucked by my pecker. The pleasure swelled through me. I hit that moment of no return.

I buried into her cunt and exploded.

Her pussy writhed about my spurting dick. I pumped my jizz into her, my head tossing back and forth. Her delicious cunt milked me while her head snapped up. Miss Cheshire howled in rapture as her cunt convulsed even harder.

We were climaxing together.

Stars burst across my vision. I fought against my groans as I flooded her with my spunk. The rapture buzzed through my body. I reached that moment of perfect union, my entire body convulsing. Then her pussy milked out the last of my cum.

My orgasm passed.

Miss Cheshire slumped over the counter. Mrs. Hale watched on with shock and concern for the well-fucked librarian. I yanked my cock out of her cunt, buzzing with rapture, and gave her panty-clad ass a slap.

Breathing heavily, Miss Cheshire straightened up. She produced pulled at some tissue papers sitting at her desk and wiped at her sweaty forehead. She breathed heavily as she came down from her orgasmic high.

I buzzed with rapture, feeling like a million bucks.

“Whew, I reckon it’s over,” panted the librarian.

“You should go home,” Mrs. Hale pressed. “You looked like you were in so much… discomfort.”

“Thank you kindly for your concern, but I’m feelin’ so much better.” She handed Mrs. Hale her books.

After the old gal tottered off, Miss Cheshire turned around, asking, “Are you still here?”

“Sure thang, sweetness,” I panted, feeling drained and buzzing with energy all at the same time.

She smiled at me. “You’re right; it is more fun when there’s an audience.”

I laughed loud. Damn, but I loved being the Ghost of Paris.

To be continued…

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