The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles
Chapter Three: Felicity, Horny, Little Schoolgirl
© Copyright 2015
Story Codes: Male/Teen female, Mind Control, Spanking, Oral, School, Domination/submission, Teen female submission, Male Domination
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Click here for Chapter 2.
Note: Mary gave her father teenage Felicity to be his slave. Thanks to b0b for beta reading this!
Wednesday, June 19th, 2013 – Felicity Rye – Tacoma, WA
Being a slave was a new experience for me, and I wasn’t exactly sure what was required of me. Yesterday, my former Mistress—the beautiful Mary who had taken my virginity that wonderful afternoon when Mark had brought my friend April and me home with him—had given me to her father, Mr. Sullivan, to be his slave. He was a gentle man, and a gentle lover, and last night had been a wonderful experience.
But he had left for work an hour ago. He was a teacher at Washington High School and today was the final day of the school year. “Buy yourself some clothes and toiletries,” he had ordered, leaving the keys to his pickup truck and a credit card.
Shopping sounded like fun, and the mall would be open soon. I hopped into the pickup truck and nervously drove to the South Hill Mall. I was used to driving my mom’s Geo Metro, a tiny car compared to Mr. Sullivan’s beast of a truck. But I managed.
As I shopped, I wondered if Mr. Sullivan had ever fooled around with one of his students. Given how much he loved my young, teenage body last night, I bet he definitely has wanted to. If he couldn’t fuck his own students, then I would be his horny, little schoolgirl. I had watched enough porn to know what he’d want, so I headed to Hot Topic. There I found the perfect outfit. I just needed to try it on.
A surly girl named Becky unlocked the changing room, muttering, “Why did that stupid slut Anne quit. First Lillian and now her. They don’t pay me enough to work this early.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, giving her a shrug.
“Whatev,” she muttered, yawning. “Give a holler if you need any…” Another yawn widened her pouty lips. “…help.”
I quickly tried on the outfit, and smiled as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked hot! I had a cute face with sparkling, hazel eyes. My long, black hair, gathered in a French braid, fell across my left shoulder, contrasting against the white, low-cut blouse that showed off my nicely-rounded tits. The skirt—pink-and-black tartan, so cute yet so naughty at the same time—was short, barely covering my ass. I bent over, and smiled; I could see the plain, white panties molded to my pussy. Just like the sluts in the pornos. I would need to get some knee high socks, and some nice heels, then Mr. Sullivan’s jaw would drop all the way to the floor when he sees me.
School was letting out when I arrived at Washington High School. Excited teenagers, thrilled to be done with school for the summer, streamed by. I walked through the halls wearing a light, violet jacket to hide the inappropriateness of my outfit. It wouldn’t do to get stopped by some prudish teacher who’d mistaken me for an actual student. Thanks to a helpful boy, I found my way to Mr. Sullivan’s classroom.
The halls were emptied by the time I reached his classroom. Alone, I slipped out of the coat before I opened the door to his classroom. In the sweetest, sexiest schoolgirl voice I could muster, I cooed: “Mr. Sullivan, I really need help with my grammar.” He was an English teacher; his classroom full of posters talking about grammar rules or quotes from famous literature.
His jaw didn’t drop to the floor, but it certainly fell wide open when he saw me. Mr. Sullivan was the epitome of the hip teacher: his long, red hair pulled back into a ponytail, only starting to gray with age, and a close-trimmed red beard gave him a rugged, handsome cast to his face, only spoiled by the start of a middle-aged gut. He dressed in a blue jeans, a casual shirt, and black blazer.
“Well, well, well, Miss Rye,” he smiled, gathering his surprise. “I guess I can find some time to help you with your grammar.”
I skipped to the desk. I could feel the skirt rising up, exposing the plain, modest panties I wore. They were two sizes too small, and the gusset molded to my pussy, giving me a pronounced cameltoe. His eyes were glued to my crotch. When I reached his desk, I perched on the corner, crossing my thighs and flashing my panties.
“I just don’t get verb endings,” I girlish said, grabbing a pen from his desk and cutely sucking it, letting my tongue slide suggestively about the tip. I saw that in a porno once. I think porn had corrupted me, after watching the studs fuck the whores, none of the boys in my school stacked up, and I never let any date me. But now I had an older, sexier teacher to be my lover, and he knew how to fuck.
He shifted in his chair; I could just make out the large bulge in his pants. “What do you need to know.”
“Well, fellatio,” I asked. “It ends with that ‘io’. How do you possibly conjugate that?”
“That’s because ‘fellatio’ is a noun,” he explained. “The verb is ‘to fellate’, Miss Rye.”
“Ohh,” I said, opening my eyes wide. “So, if I were to slip to the floor, unzip your pants, and pull out your penis, I would be about to fellate you.”
I slipped to the floor, my fingers rubbing at the crotch of his pants.
“Yes,” he hoarsely answered, breathing heavily.
The zipper rasped metallically. His cock was already half-hard, and I gave it a quick, playful lick, then I sucked it into my mouth ever so briefly. “Now I’m fellating you, right?”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted as I slurped his cock back into my lips, bobbing my head. “How will you conjugate ‘to fellate’ once you’ve finished, Miss Rye?”
I popped the pink shaft out of my mouth. “I have fellated you.”
He rubbed my hair. “Very good. Of course, you haven’t finished fellating me.”
“Sorry, Mr. Sullivan.”
I savored the salty flavor, the warm feel of his dick, and they way it throbbed beneath my fist as I stroked the base. My little pussy soaked through the crotch of my panties as I rubbed my fingers through my panties, pushing into my slit and brushing my hard clit through.
“Oh, that’s a very good blowjob, Miss Rye!”
I looked innocently up at him, asking, “What’s a blowjob?”
“Another name for fellatio.”
I giggled. “How strange; I’m sucking, not blowing.”
“You’re not sucking right now,” he pointed out.
“Sorry, Mr. Sullivan.” I sucked his dick right back into my mouth.
“Hmm, that’s a good girl.” He ran his fingers through my black hair. “You can also call it a hummer, oral sex, a BJ, and cock gobbling.”
Really, cock gobbling? I didn’t interrupt my blowjob to ask if that was a real word. His hands gripped my head, gently guiding my bobs. I rubbed harder at my pussy, pushing the gusset to the side so I could shove two fingers into my dripping hole. Since Mary popped my cherry with her strap-on, I could really dig my fingers deep into my velvety hole.
“Sometimes, the guy uses the girl’s mouth as a pussy,” Mr. Sullivan moaned. “He holds her head in place and face fucks her.” His grip tightened, then his hips started thrusting into my mouth. “You’re such a quick learner,” he moaned. “Take my dick, slut!”
I relaxed, letting him use me as hard as he wanted; I was his slave, after all! It was so exciting being at her mercy while kneeling on the classroom floor. My thumb found my hard clit, massaging the bud with hard, slow circles while my fingers wiggled deeper inside my pussy.
“An advanced technique of fellatio is known as ‘deep-throating’. The girl relaxes her throat and swallows the man’s entire cock.” He pushed my head down, the tip of his dick brushing the back of my throat. I wanted to panic, to push away from him as he continued pulling me down his shaft. “Relax,” he whispered. “Just relax and swallow.”
I pushed through my panic; my desire to obey Mr. Sullivan far stronger than my fear. I swallowed; his cock pushed past my tonsils sliding into my throat. My face buried into his red pubic hair. His moan was full of appreciation.
I groaned, my throat humming with passion, as my orgasm blew through me like a gentle breeze across a meadow of wildflowers. I was just a beautiful daisy, waving in the winds of rapture. Mr Sullivan came hard a moment later. I didn’t know whether it was deep-throating my sixteen-year-old mouth or the way my throat hummed as I came that sent Mr. Sullivan over the edge. All I cared was how thick his cum was and how wonderfully salty he tasted. I swallowed every creamy drop.
“You are a quick study, Miss Rye,” he groaned.
He let go of my head and I slid off his cock, a last squirt of cum landing into my mouth. I swirled the thick cum between my tongue and teeth, savoring the wonderful, salty flavor. I gave his softening dick a quick lick, gazing up at him with a wide-eyed smile. “Now I’ve fellated you.”
His hand gripped my black braid. “Yes, you have,” he sternly said. “But performing a sexual act at school is a very serious offense. I’m going to have to punish you, Miss Rye.”
I let my eyes open even wider, adding a tremble to my voice, “Oh, no! I am so sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I was just so carried away with my studies.”
“I understand. But there’s a zero tolerance policy for this sort of behavior.” He pulled up on my braid, yanking me to my feet. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be spanked. Bend over my desk.”
“Yes, Mr. Sullivan,” I meekly answered.
Getting spanked sounded terribly exciting. I may have been a virgin a week ago, but that didn’t stop me from watching far too much porn. Girls always seemed to enjoy getting spanked in the videos; I was fascinated to find out why, and so was my naughty pussy; another flood of juices leaked into my panties.
I bent over, my skirt riding up to expose my pantied ass.
He tutted his lips. “Your panties are soaking wet. Were you masturbating as well?”
“I was, Mr. Sullivan.”
“I’m afraid that will be another ten spankings,” he answered. “Pull your panties down to your knees.”
A surge of shame passed excitingly through me as I reached back and pulled my panties down. The air was cool on my exposed ass. I moaned, shivering in pleasure as his finger ran the length of my vulva, sliding through my neatly trimmed, black bush. There was something so…helpless about the situation. I was vulnerable, at the mercy of this strong man. He could do whatever he wanted to me. Fuck, no wonder those girls seemed so excited in the pornos.
Stinging pain flared upon my ass as the first spank landed. “Count,” he ordered.”
“One, Mr. Sullivan,” I moaned. So helpless. My little pussy burned with lust.
“Two, Mr. Sullivan.”
His hand lingered, giving my butt a squeeze. The third slap landed on my left cheek. The pain left a warm, naughty feeling on my ass. Every spanking sent a stinging spike of pain through my butt-cheeks right to my pussy. The degradation, the shame, mixed together and was consumed in my womb, bringing me closer and closer to boiling over. Every spank made me wetter, my voice growing louder and more hoarse as I was overcome by passion.
“Eleven, Mr Sullivan!” I moaned. My ass was on fire, and I could only imagine how bright red it must look, blushing like the fair cheeks of an innocent schoolgirl. Slap! “Twelve, Mr. Sullivan!”
Again his hand lingered, giving each cheek a tender, yet painful, squeeze, before his hand slid between my thighs and rubbed against my sopping pussy. He brushed my clit; I gasped as a tiny orgasm shivered through me, taking some of the pressure off the large cum boiling up inside me.
“Umm, you have a spicy, tart flavor, Miss Rye.” I heard his lips smack “Very delicious.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.” Crack! I winced; he spanked me harder, and the pain when straight to my pussy. “Thirteen, Mr. Sullivan!”
“Such a naughty girl,” he purred.
Smack! “Fourteen, Mr. Sullivan!”
“Only a dirty girl would get so turned on by getting spanked!”
Slap! “Fifteen, Mr. Sullivan!” My ass was agony, almost numbed from the pain, and it took me a moment to realize his hands were again caressing my burning flesh. I gasped; his finger shoved inside my pussy, sinking deep. Another small cum rocked through me.
“Do I feel your pussy orgasming on my finger, Miss Rye?”
“Yes,” I moaned. “Please! I need something bigger!”
His finger stirred inside me. “Like what?”
“Your cock!” I begged. “Fuck me!” His finger whipped out of my cunt and his hand spanked my ass. “Sixteen, Mr. Sullivan!”
“Your punishment isn’t over, yet,” he sternly said.
“I’m sorry. Please, keep punishing me. I’ve been such a naughty, horny schoolgirl!”
“Seventeen, Mr. Sullivan!” I needed his cock so bad! My poor cunt hungered to penetrated over and over.
“You should see your ass, it’s a beautiful shade of red.”
Crack! “Eighteen, Mr. Sullivan!”
“There’s is nothing prettier than a naughty girl’s ass cherry red,” he murmured huskily, tracing a finger around my butt, and leaving a line of painful fire that forced a sharp intake of my breath. “So beautiful.”
Smack! Tears welled in my eyes. “Nineteen, Mr. Sullivan!” I was a ball of agony and frustration. The warring sensations set every nerve in my body alight. I needed a release so badly. I need to cum! I needed my burning ass to be soothed! I couldn’t take much more of this. “Please,” I whispered, shaking my ass at him.
For the twentieth spanking, his hand fell right square on my pussy. Pain and pleasure exploded inside me. My delicate flower screamed as his hand bruised its petals. The pain pushed me over the edge; a huge cum burned through me. I gasped and moaned, writhing bent over his desk. My release had come, and it was wonderful, glorious.
A new sensation filled my pussy. A hard, thrusting feeling. Something thick plunged in and out of me. I had been so lost in the passion of my climax, I hadn’t realized that he had shoved his cock inside me. Oh, fuck, that felt wonderful! It pistoned in and out, igniting the nerves in my cunt.
“Oh, Mr. Sullivan!” I purred. “Fuck me!”
His hand squeezed my smarting ass. I gasped, squeezing my cunt reflexively on his plunging cock. “You girls are all the same,” he grunted. “Slaves to the hungry hole between your thighs, begging to eat a nice, hard cock.”
“Yes, yes!” I gasped, letting the pleasure wash through me. “Feed me! Let me devour your cum!”
His desk shook, squeaking on the linoleum floor. Every time his cock sheathed all the way inside me, his groin slammed into my burning ass, adding a flavor of pain to the pleasurable meal my cunt was consuming.
“Miss Rye, you have an excellent cunt!”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Sullivan!” I gasped. The pleasure was rolling through me, sending my hips to writhe back against him, headless of the pain in my ass. “Oh, Mr. Sullivan, your cock is driving me to distractions!”
Another rapturous cum grew with every thrust of his wonderful cock. His hand wrapped around my thick, French braid and yanked my head back. I stared at his face over my shoulder, contorting with pleasure, and knew he was moments away from cumming.
“Flood my horny, schoolgirl pussy,” I purred. “Give it to me!”
His green eyes squeezed shut; cum flooded my hungry pussy. My orgasm triggered! My cunt spasmed on his cock, milking every last drop of his wonderful spunk deep inside my pussy. I writhed my tits against his desk, nipples scraping across the scuffed veneer. My hands squeezed the desk’s edges as such spectacular passion burst through me.
We breathed heavily, his cock softening inside me. “That was wonderful, Felicity,” he panted. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” I smiled.
He cupped my face with his hands, brought my lips around, and kissed me over my shoulder. Joy bubbled inside me as his whiskers scratched wonderful at my cheeks. I mashed my lips against his, and let my tongue bury into his mouth.
“You’re my horny, little schoolgirl, aren’t you?”
“Always,” I breathed.
Friday, April 4th, 2014 – Felicity Rye – Murano Hotel, Tacoma, WA
My broken promise haunted me after Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan freed me almost a year ago. It had been right after the Miracle had changed the world. “We want you to stay only if you want to,” Mrs. Sullivan had said. She looked barely older than me, eighteen and gorgeous, with beautiful, blonde hair and deep, blue eyes. Looking back, I could tell how happy they were to finally be reunited.
At the time, however, my anger burned fiercely within me. For a week-and-a-half I had played the naughty schoolgirl for Mr. Sullivan, and he had done every shameful, degrading thing to me I could imagine. I sucked his cum out of his cock, dug it out of my own pussy, and ate it out of his teenage daughter’s cunt. I let him stick his cock up my butt, I drank his piss, and even tongued his ass.
“I want to go home to my parents,” I icily said.
“I understand,” Mrs. Sullivan whispered. “I was made to be a sex slave once.” She hugged me. “I know nothing I can say can wash away the harm that’s been done to you, but…”
“Let me go home!” I had snarled and shoved her away.
I tried to return to my normal life, but my promise haunted me. When I said I would be his horny, little schoolgirl forever, I had meant it with every fiber of my being. Only every fiber of my being had been controlled by Mary Glassner’s commands. And yet I couldn’t shake a feeling of guilt at breaking my word, even though I knew it was a lie brought on by Her divine powers. As the year dragged on and on, and I witnessed the Living Gods’ increasing power, I began to regret my decision.
My family had survived the Wormwood plague relatively intact. My father had sickened, but he had managed to pull through, and my younger brother, who fell ill just two weeks ago, when everyone had thought the disease had run its course, had been saved by Mary. It had been pure luck, or maybe the Living Gods’ providence, that she had been visiting the Good Sam Hospital the day Jeff had been admitted.
While Mary healed him, she had been attended by April, my former friend from High School. It had been startling to see her. She had remained a slave to Mary while I had sought freedom. And she looked happy, glowing with her pregnancy, and attending to the equally pregnant Goddess like a happy pet. The Goddess was the most beautiful woman, so I could understand April’s worship of Her—I had wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and pleasure the Goddess, and envied my mother who had been fortunate enough to do just that—but it had surprised me to see how the Goddess treated April. My friend was clearly in love with her Mistress, and Mary had been clearly fond of her slave. They laughed and joked, sharing an intimacy that seemed beyond anything I had ever seen.
Always. My promise had come back to me in a rush.
Is that what I had missed out on? Regret blossomed like a foul weed in my soul.
That thought had consumed me for the last two weeks. Every time I masturbated, I imagined my former Master treating me like a horny, little schoolgirl all over again. I wanted to be taken by him, and made to do all those nasty, yet exciting, acts. I wanted to be his slave again.
That’s why I showed up today at the Hotel Murano. I dressed myself in that same, naughty schoolgirl’s outfit I wore the day I made my promise, and presented myself at the Hotel, asking to see Mr. Sullivan. Everything I had read led me to believe Mr. Sullivan lived here with the Gods.
It took me an hour before someone took me seriously. After a thorough, and very embarrassing, search by the bodyguards, they let me in. “Was it really necessary to grope my pussy that much?” I asked the dusky bodyguard, some Middle Easter woman. Her collar proclaimed her 24 while a bodyguard numbered 49 watched eagerly.
“No, balim,” she grinned, licking her fingers clean of my juices. “He lets us have our fun though. Wait here; he’ll be down in a few minutes.”
I shivered as I stood in the richly appointed hotel lobby. Doubts plagued me. Mr. Sullivan wouldn’t want me back. He’s found a new schoolgirl to play with. I wanted to flee, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to live with regret a moment longer, chocking all the hope and life out of my soul the longer it was allow to grow, a weed crowding everything else.
A few women, dressed scantily as maids, puttered around. One was a girl my age, a silver choker about her neck named her Cindy, and I was startled to see her budding breasts through the black, transparent bodice. She was dusting, and when she bent over her skirt rode up, and my eyes fell on her smooth, shaved vulva winking at me from between her thighs.
“Miss Rye?” a man’s voice asked.
I jumped, flushing at being caught staring at another girl’s pussy, and turned to see Mr. Sullivan. I smiled; he looked as handsome as ever. His pretty wife was on his arm, and she was very pregnant, a warm, friendly smile upon her lips.
“I made a mistake,” I whispered, hanging my head. Tears formed, and I fought back a sob that threatened to rack my body.
“What, sweetie?” Mrs. Sullivan.
“I promised to always be your horny, little schoolgirl,” I answered. “I never should have broken that promise.”
The tears came, a ragged noise escaped my throat. They hugged me tightly, and Mrs. Sullivan made a soothing, motherly sound. Her hand was soft, stroking my cheek; his hand was firm, grasping my hip. My face rested on his chest; his lips kissed my forehead.
“It’s okay,” Mr. Sullivan whispered. “You’re back, that’s all that matters.”
“I won’t break my promise this time. I’m your horny, little schoolgirl forever!”
Mr. Sullivan capture my lips in a kiss; joy bubbled inside me. Forever.
Click here for Chapter 4.
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