The Devil’s Pact Ghost of Paris Chapter 8: Public Transportation

 

 

The Devil’s Pact

The Ghost of Paris Chapter Eight: Public Transportation

by mypenname3000

edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2014


Story Codes: Male/Female, Mind Control, Magic, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Anal Sex, Bondage/Domination, Public Sex, Cuckold

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

Comments are very welcome. I would like all criticism, positive and negative, so long as its
constructive, and feedback is very appreciated.



Click here for Chapter 7.



Tuesday, September 17th, 2013 – Paris, Texas

I had just made a pact with Astarte, giving her Darleen Cummins—the mayor’s gorgeous, sixteen-year-old daughter—to possess for the night in exchange for unlimited sexual stamina, and now my pecker ached painfully. I had the worst case of blue balls I had ever felt in my life; I had to, needed to, find someone to stick my cock in and take the pressure off my nuts before they ruptured.

I stumbled into the alley, leaving behind the parking lot where I fucked Darleen and summoned Astarte, my pecker leading me on like a divining rod, only it was seeking cooch not water. I reached the main street, almost bumping into a fat man slouching his way down the street. Fuck, I really needed to get my rocks off.

A wheezy screech—air brakes releasing.

I looked up to see a Paris Transit bus pulling up. A stunning woman with flaming-red hair and stacked like brick house, was walking through its open doors. Those melons were huge, stretching her tight t-shirt and jiggling as she climbed into the bus. That gave me a great look at her rear; a tight, and very short skirt, hugged that magnificent ass like a second skin. I had to have her.

I raced down the street, knocking a teenage boy to the ground—his skateboard kept rolling down the sidewalk—and managed to squeeze in past the closing doors. The driver frowned, muttering, “Damn doors never work.” The bus was only half-full, but the woman chose not to sit down, holding onto a shiny, metal bar anchored to the floor and ceiling. I didn’t blame her for standing—some absolutely disgusting lowlifes, yours included, rode the bus. One of those disgusting lowlifes eyed the woman’s ass, rubbing his hands on his ratty jeans.

I got a good look at her face—sensuous mouth, emerald eyes, smooth skin—and I recognized her. Carla Haroldson—ghostXhunt. The famous paranormal investigator that had come to Paris, Texas hunting after my growing legend. This was my lucky day! I was going to pork one of my all-time idols. I loved watching her investigations into ghost hauntings on youtube, or maybe I just loved staring at those wonderful titties as she wandered through old buildings, jumping at any little sound. Either way, I was going to have some fun on the bus!

I squeezed past her, letting my hard pecker rub against her side. If I wasn’t invisible, I’m sure I would have left a line of cum across her skirt. She jumped, looking wildly around, then smiled, a pleased, hopeful twist to her lips. Her green eyes gleamed with an excited thrill and color blossomed in her cheeks. Her hand darted into her purse, fishing around, and she pulled out one of those smart phones, her fingers tapping the screen.

Was she calling the police?

“Tuesday, September 17th, 2013 at approximately 8:30 PM, made contact with the Ghost of Paris,” she spoke into the phone like a reporter into a tape recorder. Damn, was there nothing these new-fangled smart phones couldn’t do?

“You huntin’ me, sweetness?” I asked her, pressing my hard rod against her fine ass.

“I am,” she answered. “I figured if I trolled around dressed like a streetwalker, I’d attract your attention.”

“Umm, you definitely attracted my attention,” I growled, humping her ass. “You have my undivided attention.”

“I can tell,” the ghost hunter laughed in a rich, vibrant timbre. “I can feel how intense your stare is.”

I reached around her, groping a firm melon through the t-shirt; she wore no bra. She sighed as I kneaded her flesh, her nipple hardening beneath my hand. She adjusted her phone; over her shoulder I could see the image of her tit getting squeezed by my invisible hand on the screen. The blouse indented, squeezing between my fingers as I pressed into her pliant boob.

“As you can see, the ghost is manipulating my breast,” she narrated. “I have never encountered an entity that could manifest so corporeal before. You can see the separate indentation of his fingers. And…umm…you can see my blouse rubbing across my…ohh…nipple as the ghost pinches and plays with it.”

“You know I’m gonna fuck you, sweetness,” I whispered. “My pecker’s aching to feel your cooch’s embrace.”

She laughed, “A small price to pay to capture the supernatural on film.”

“So you’re a real whore for your work?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“How’d you put it then, sweetness.”

“I’m dedicated.”

“So am I,” I purred. “Dedicated to fuckin’ purtee, young thangs.”

She laughed, tossing back her fiery-red hair. I pushed the curtain of red to the side, exposing her pale neck. I wanted to leave my mark, sucking at her neck as my pecker slipped between her legs. She scooted back, leaning her ass—plump, full, magnificent—into my groin. I let my cock side up her thigh, reaching towards the heat that I ached to bury into. My tip brushed her groin; she wore no panties and I felt no fur. I quested for her hole, her shaved pussy lips moistening my pecker.

“Hot damn if you ain’t ready to fuck!” I hollered.

A few of the bus riders—besides the bum, there were a pair of grungy teenagers, an old woman, and a fat man with a ruddy face—were staring at her. “Sorry, my boyfriend left me a dirty message,” she quickly covered.

Chuckling, I continued rubbing my pecker through her hot and silky cooch, trying to find her hole. A soft, mewling sigh escaped her lips, her hips wriggling. The tip of my pecker finally found her tunnel, slipping in; her hand tightened on the pole as the other held her phone beneath her skirt, immortalizing my invisible cock pushing into her wonderfully wet, wonderfully tight depths. The aching pain in my pecker vanished; her delicious flesh eased my torment, washing it away with her juicy warmth. I drew back, slammed in again. So goddamn wonderful!

“The Ghost has inserted some sort of appendage into my vagina,” Carla narrated softly, still holding her phone between her thighs as I slowly fucked her.

“That’s my pecker, sweetness,” I whispered in her ear. My lips were near her pale neck, as inviting as a slice of watermelon on a hot day.

“Correction, the ghost has…ohhh…the ghost has inserted his ‘pecker’ into my vagina, and…oh, fuck!” The bus hit a pothole, bouncing her upon my cock and burying me deep inside her; she squealed. “And it feels better than any mortal ‘pecker’ I’ve ever experienced.”

I want back to sucking on her fine neck—I still wanted to leave a hickey to mark her, to show the world that I had her—and she held her phone up to record it. “Not only is the ghost inserting his ‘pecker’ into my vagina, he’s also sucking on my flesh. You can see my neck reddening, puckering slightly as his mouth sucks on my flesh.”

“Are you okay, miss?” the bus driver asked, staring back in his passenger mirror.

“Just fine,” she answered. “Just doing a…ohhh…paranormal investigation.”

I picked up my pace, eager to spill my cum in her sweet cooch since the bus driver was getting suspicious. He’d be trying to interfere before too much longer. Well, I might as well have some fun, so I gave her fleshy tits a squeeze through her t-shirt. I bet they’d feel even better without her pesky shirt being in the way. So I slid my hands up under her shirt, and squeezed her melons. They felt great, soft and pliant; her nipples were fat, hard, and her cunt squeezed on my pecker as I pinched her nubs.

“Blue hells, how you doin’ that?” the bum asked—clearly riding the bus because he had nowhere else to go; I’d been there. The feller stared with amazement as my invisible arms writhed beneath her shirt.

“Amazing,” breathed Carla. “Just…oh, yes…amazing!”

“Why don’t we give that poor fucker a show,” I hissed in her ear. “Bet he ain’t seen a pair of titties in forever!”

“What?” Carla gasped.

I pushed her shirt up, baring those magnificent tits for the bum’s gaze. My hands found those lush orbs, and I kneaded them like balls of dough. The bum’s eyes were fixed on her chest; a grin as wide as the Mississippi cracked his craggy face. He cackled and clapped his hands together. “Hoo-boy, dem’s a mighty fine pair of sweater puppies you got!”

A low, throaty moan escaped her lips. Her hips started rolling, matching the rhythm of my plunging pecker. “The ghost is manipulating my breasts, exposing them. Perhaps to embarrass or shame me,” Carla narrated. “It’s working. But strangely, it seems to…umm…only fan my excitement.”

“Miss!” the bus driver gaped, the fat sack finally realizing what was going on. “You gotta put those away right now!” The bus slowed, pulling to the curb. “And get off my bus before I call the cops.”

“It’s not me,” Carla panted. “I’m being attacked by a ghost.”

The bus driver gaped at her; disbelief flickered across his fat jowls. I grabbed a fat nipple—still pumping away at her sweet cooch, my balls slapping against her—and tugged hard on it, stretching her breast like a piece of taffy. Her cunt spasmed on my cock, a soft gasp escaped her lips, then I let go, and that titty snapped back, bouncing and jiggling. The bum chuckled, slapping his thigh.

“See?” she moaned. “It’s not me.”

The driver picked up a phone attached to the computer built into his dashboard. “524, police, 9th and Main, woman performing a lewd act. Police, 9th and Main.” He paused, listening. “Yeah, she’s got her…um…breasts out, and may be…eh…stimulating herself.” Another pause. “White female, late twenties, red hair, um, five-nine.” Pause. “Received, thank you.” He turned around. “Cops on the way; I’d skedaddle if I was you, miss.”

“Fat chance,” I shouted, and kept pounding her cunt. “Gonna fuck this slut ’til my nuts explode in her sweet cooch!”

The bus driver frowned, his fat jowls swaying as he peered about, trying to figure out who said that. I pounded her cooch harder, pushing her forward with every thrust and sending those mighty fine jugs of her bouncing about. I moaned loudly, grunting and gasping with every thrust. The other bus riders, even the bum, skedaddled. The bus driver followed, waiting on the street corner for the cops and talking on his cell phone. I paid it no mind. What were the cops going to do to me? I was invisible; I’d just slip away like, well, a ghost.

“Why do you…ohh…do this?” Carla asked, still holding up her phone.

“I see a purtee girl, and I just gotta stick my pecker in her,” I answered.

“Do you need to do this to put your spirit at rest?” she asked. “Or are you some sort of poltergeist?”

“Sweetness, I just like to fuck purtee, young thangs.” I gave her hooters another firm squeeze. “And you have got a pair of mighty-fine tits. I just had to test your cooch out, and give you a taste of my great pecker!”

“It is a nice pecker,” she moaned. “Umm, that feels nice! I can’t believe how much I’m enjoying this! Fuck, I think I’m going to cum!”

“It’s my power. Every woman enjoys my pecker!”

She gave a throaty laugh. “I can tell! Oh, fuck! Here it comes! Yes, yes, yes…” Her words turned into a wordless howl as her cooch constricted on my cock. Her body shuddered, rattling the metal bar she clutched, and her scream turned into a series of gasps as her cunt went wild about my pecker. Then she slumped, supported by my arms. “Holy shit, that was intense. The ghost just brought me to one of the best orgasms of my life. No wonder all the girls you’ve molested are eager for a second round.”

I chuckled, pinching her nipple, and kept right on pounding her sweet cooch.

Blue-and-red lights flashed off in the distance, coming closer and closer. My balls were tightening, ready to explode. I just needed a few more strokes inside her silky cooch. The cop car pulled to a stop, and the cop got out, talking to the bus driver. My thrusts grew harder; I wanted to finish up before the cop interfered. It was hard to get a good look at the cop, but he seemed small. Maybe he was a woman? Well, that could be interesting.

My depraved thought sent my balls into overdrive. “Here it cums, slut!” I growled, and buried my pecker in her sheath. I sprayed what felt like a gallon of cum, relieving the pressure in my nuts. “Goddamn, that was a good fuck!”

“Oh, fuck!” she groaned. “The Ghost just came inside me!”

The cop boarded the bus, her equipment clinking on her thick utility belt. “Ma’am, why don’t you cover up!”

I pulled out of Carla and glanced at the cop; my pecker hardened. The cop was a woman, late twenties; an elfin face stared fiercely at the ghost hunter. She had a pretty mouth, the kind that should be wrapped around a pecker, and her body appeared lithe and slim beneath her beige cop’s uniform. I ducked into a seat, letting the cop pass me. Her ass was looking mighty fine beneath her tight, beige pants.

“Yes, officer,” panted Carla, pulling her top down. “I was getting attacked by a ghost.”

“Right, a ghost,” the cop answered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. “The Ghost of Paris?”

“Exactly, officer,” Carla nodded.

“Ain’t you a bit old for him. I hear he only goes after them teenagers. At least, that’s what the High School girls keep claimin’ to explain away the rash of indecent exposure and lewd conduct incidents.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” Carla huffed. “The ghost molested me right on the bus. I have proof.”

“Fine. I’m Officer Snider, what’s your name?”

“Carla. I’m a paranormal investigator. Maybe you’ve heard of me? I’ve been on a few paranormal specials on television.”

“I’m ‘fraid not,” the cop answered, shining a penlight she produced from her utility belt in Carla’s eyes. “Well, Carla, have you had anythin’ to drink tonight or taken any drugs?”

“What? No. Like I said, it was the Ghost of Paris.”

The cop advanced. “Of course it was, ma’am. Do you have any identification on you?”

My pecker ached; I couldn’t believe that I needed more satisfaction already. Guess my Pact with Astarte really did work. The more I stared at the cop’s tight ass, the more and more my pecker demanded to fuck her. Well, it was a nice looking ass; I bet it’d be nice to cornhole.

I grabbed her handcuffs, ripping them off her belt. The cop spun, staring wide-eyed as her handcuffs appeared to float in the air. I took advantage of her momentary weakness, grabbing her hands and yanking her towards a seat. She didn’t struggle much—maybe my wish was making her a little docile, or maybe she was just caught completely off-guard—as I cuffed her hands together through the seat’s frame, leaving her kneeling on the bus floor; her delightful ass pointed right at me, wriggling as she struggled. I gave her rear a squeeze—nice and firm.

“What the fuck!” she demanded. Her head whipped about, sending her police cap tumbling to the bus’s floor.

“That would be the ghost,” Carla answered, camera pointed at the cop. “The ghost has now attacked Officer Snider. He has manipulated her handcuffs, and has restrained her about the frame of the bus bench.

“Let me go!” the cop shouted, the metal frame of the seat groaning in protest as she struggled like a trapped animal.

I stroked her ass, giving her rump another squeeze. “ ‘Fraid not, sweetness. Gonna ream your ass with my pecker! But don’t you fret, you’ll be cumming like a bitch in heat before I’m done!”

Reaching around her, I unsnapped her heavy belt, tossing it to the side, then I yanked her pants down. She wore plain, cloud-blue granny-panties, a baggy circus tent around her curvy body. How boring and unsexy; they had to go. I pulled those off, and found her cunt shaved and a gold ring piercing her clit.

“How naughty,” I grinned, giving her ring a pull; Officer Snider gave a soft moan.

“The ghost is manipulating a clitoral piercing,” Carla narrated. “I can see the ring being pulled, her clitoral hood stretching.”

“You could help me!” Officer Snider snapped.

“How?” Carla asked. “He’s a ghost.”

“You must be quite the slut, Officer,” I said with glee, having fun tugging on her cooch jewelry. Then I stuck my finger up her wet tunnel, probing her cunt; a soft sigh left her lips and her pussy bore down on my finger like a sucking calf.

“What are you doing to me?” the cop gasped as I probed her silky depths.

“You like my finger up your snatch?” I asked. She didn’t answer, so I slapped her ass and shoved a second finger inside her. Her cunt spasmed a second time about my fingers. “It sure seems like you enjoyin’ it.”

“Let me go!”

I stirred her up, swirling my fingers around like a ladle in a pot of stew. She was warm and gooey inside, her juices flowing like a faucet. The slut. My other hand tugged on her piecing again, bringing a soft gasp from her lips. That was fun. Every time I tugged, another gasp escaped her lips and her cooch bore down on my fingers.

“You sure you ain’t enjoin’ this?” I asked. “Because your cunt feels mighty wet to me! I reckon that means you a hot, little slut enjoin’ my fingerin’, right?”

She mumbled something.

“What was that, sweetness?” I pumped my fingers faster inside her juicy tunnel. “You gots to speak up for the camera. Carla’s recordin’ this for po-sterity.”

“Yes,” she hissed, face crimson as she looked over her shoulder.

“I’m shocked that a member of the Paris Police Department would be such a horny slut.” I jabbed my fingers in deep. “I reckon you want me to shove my pecker into one of your tight holes.”

“Oh, Jesus!” she moaned. “Keep fingerin’ me!”

I yanked out of her cooch, raising my fingers up, and took a big whiff of her perfume—tangy and tart.

“Don’t stop!” she pleaded. “Oh, fuck, I was gettin’ close to cummin’!”

“Boy, ain’t she a dirty slut, Carla?” I chuckled.

“You just have that effect on women,” Carla answered. “I suppose it’s an empathic ability. You project your lusts through your touch, driving the woman into a frenzy of lust where she’ll be willing to say or do anything just to have satisfaction.”

“Sound’s ’bout right.” I slapped the cop’s ass. “You want me to fuck one of your holes?”

“I don’t care!” she panted. “I’ve never been this horny before! Let me cum!”

“Then beg me to stick my pecker inside you, sweetness.”

“Please! Jesus H. Christ, stick that pecker right inside my cunt!” the cop screamed.

I spread her firm ass cheeks, her asshole winking brown at me, and shoved my pecker—still damp with Carla’s cream—right down her cornhole. She gave a loud scream, her ass bearing down like trash compactor on my cock—it felt wonderful! I drew back, savoring the pleasure her tight bowels were giving me, then buried my pecker back inside.

“I thought you was gonna fuck my cunt!” she protested, her voice a mix of pain and pleasure.

“I said, I’d stick my pecker in one of your holes!” I taunted. “Didn’t say which one, now did I?”

“Fuck, fuck!” she groaned. “Oh, fuck, why does it feel so great? I didn’t know anal felt so fuckin’ amazin’!”

“The Ghost’s sexual powers seem to have no bounds,” narrated Carla. “Her first time with anal intercourse, and she’s experiencing more pleasure than discomfort.”

“You ain’t never been buggered before? What’s your boyfriend been up to? To busy gettin’ buggered by his boyfriend?”

“I never let my husband do it!” she gasped. “Oh, fuck! I should have! Sweet Jesus!”

“This is amazing,” Carla said from behind, filming the action right through my body. “You can see Officer Snider’s anus gaping open as the ghost’s penis slides in and out. And, just like me, the officer is experiencing a great amount of enjoyment from having coitus with the ghost despite the forced nature of the encounter.”

“Oh, fuck! Oh, goddamn, fuck!” I howled, enjoying the hell out of her tight asshole. “I love cornholin’ a married woman! I hope your husband sees this! I want him to knows how his wife was my slut! My anal slut!”

“Oh, God!” gasped the cop. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry honey, but it feels so good!” She let out a high pitch scream as her ass went wild about my cock, her body convulsing under the force of her climax. “Sweet Jesus, he’s making me cum!”

“Look at the way her bowels are spasming around the invisible penis of the ghost,” whispered Carla in awe.

I could hear another siren approaching, more flashing lights, and picked up the pace before her backup arrived. The next cop probably wouldn’t be so hot—or even a woman. I enjoyed the feel of my balls slapping against her juicy cunt, and her ass massaging my pecker. My body tensed, my thrusts grew more erratic, more frantic, then I erupted three massive loads of invisible cum straight into her cornhole. I gave her ass one last thrust, making sure all the cum in my nuts was squeezed out, then bolted.

Officer Snider moaned in disappointment.

A fat police officer was at the bus’s doors; I just barreled through him, whooping as I ran down the street. I fucked a hot cop’s ass. After being screwed over by the police for years just because of some harmless peeping, I finally got my revenge! Hot damn, I fucking loved being the Ghost of Paris!

My pecker was growing hard again, aching to plunge into a woman’s hole. I just fucked three women, one twice, in the last hour, and my pecker showed no signs of quitting. I looked around, getting my bearings. I was only a few blocks from my favorite bedmate’s house—Heather Pritchard. She lived just up the street. I bet the little slut would be up for a tumble.

Whistling, I waked up the road, my pecker waving proudly before me, leading me onward to some Grade A cooch.

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 9.

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2 thoughts on “The Devil’s Pact Ghost of Paris Chapter 8: Public Transportation

  1. Andrew

    I love your work but this one release a week thing sucks. Especially for the Ghost of Paris which I’ve been reading from the beginning. Having weeks between releases means the story loses momentum. Again big fan and I know releasing too much means you have to pump about more stories faster but this pace doesn’t feel right. Maybe something like one of your main stories being Battered Lamb or Fallen Angel and then also one of the side stories like Ghost of Paris or Slave Chronicles once a week.

    Reply
    1. mypenname3000 Post author

      Sorry. I’ll try to release more side-stories. And My Fallen Angel is a published work. Glad you like them.

      Reply

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