The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles Chapter 10: Monica, My Husband’s Slave

 

 

The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles

Chapter Ten: Monica, My Husband’s Slave

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2015


Story Codes: Male/Female, Male/Females, Watersports, BDSM, Oral Sex, Domination/submission, Wedded Lust

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. To contact me, you can leave a comment or email me at mypenname3000@mypenname3000.com, and you can contact my editor by email at dionysus40@prodigy.net.



Click here for Chapter 9.



Note: Over a year ago, Mark gave Monica the command to do whatever filthy things her husband wants. Thanks to b0b for beta reading this.

Saturday, June 7th, 2014 – Monica Jephson – Tacoma, WA

I woke up bound, the sunlight streaming through the window. My bladder was full, urgent.

My husband, and master, snored next to me. I turned my head, trying to ignore the sun and my bladder. It was still early; Jonathon wouldn’t want to be woken up before eight, and he would be most displeased if I disturbed him.

I focused on his face as I tried to relax into sleep. The shadow of brown whiskers clung to his strong jawline, his bold nose, and powerful lips. He was a sexy man. For the last year I had been his slave, and I loved every minute of being dominated by him. Saturdays were our special day to play. We indulged in bondage throughout the week, often hiring Jessie Smith to play dominatrix with me while Kylie, our lover, entertained Jonathon. Sometimes, I would get to tie Kylie up and play her Mistress while Jonathon watched.

But Saturday, I let my husband keep me tied up all day long.

It actually started Friday night. Before bed, he would bind me with a rope, using complicated knots looped about my breasts, biting into my big, round tits, then he’d loop the rope through my crotch, pulling it tight so it dug into my pussy and asscheeks. Every time I moved, the rough fibers rasped against my labia and clit. My legs were bound at he knees and ankles and my wrist tied behind my back.

The ritual of our Saturdays started shortly after that wonderful evening when I became my husband’s sex slave. Back then, we both worked weekdays: he worked at his office job and I was a bank teller. Last August, we both quit our jobs and devoted ourselves to missionary work, spreading the Living God’s messages.

Rose and Daisy Cunningham ordained us themselves, anointing us with their pussy juices and presenting us with a pair of charms—small, bronze medallions set with rubies and inscribed with Hebrew letters—that were crafted by the Holy Vizier herself. “People will view you with less hostility,” Daisy had explained. “These make people more receptive to our Gods’ message.”

With a generous donation from the main church, we leased a small office space in a strip mall on 72nd Avenue and Golden Given near our house. Our flock grew, and within two months we moved to a former Christian Church down the street on Portland Avenue. It was rewarding work and we were constructing our permanent church, a large monument to our Gods’ glory, up the street.

I tried to go back to sleep, to ignore the mounting pressure in my bladder. But I couldn’t. Today was a special Saturday, and my excitement for tonight’s ceremony gave me a nervous energy that left me fidgeting in my restraints.

After what may have been either an hour or five minutes, I wasn’t sure, Jonathon’s eyes opened and he sat up, glancing at the cloak. He groaned, and my hopes were dashed that he was going to get up early as his head plopped back onto his pillow. His arms reached out, pulling me against his chest and he went quickly back to snoring.

I was feeling a little indignant. He could at least be as excited as I was. Today should be special for him too. His cock was half hard, probably because he had to pee, pressing against my bound stomach and the ropes that crisscrossed my pale flesh. Sighing, I tried to go back to sleep.

One hour or five minutes later, Jonathon again woke up. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Can’t sleep either, cutiepie?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “I’m too excited, Master.”

He gave me a kiss on the lips. “How are your limbs?”

“Everything’s fine. I have sensation and movement.”

Jonathon nodded. He always checked to make sure the ropes weren’t causing me real harm. “I bet you have to pee because I know I have to.”

“Yes,” I moaned as I squirmed.

Jonathon sat up, stretching, then brought his cock to my lips. I quickly opened my mouth and let him stick his dick in. He sighed and his piss splashed acrid into my mouth. I savored the strong flavor—his piss was always bitter in the morning—and swallowed as fast as I could. I felt so close to my husband as I drank his piss. We shared this most intimate moment together.

His piss kept coming, jetting into my mouth and splashing against the back of my throat. I happily gurgled as the urine sloshed around my mouth. The stream weakened until there was only a few squirts, one or two last dribbles, and then it was over.

“Thank you, slave-wife,” he groaned, gripping my head, and he fucked his now fully hard cock in and out of my mouth.

I sucked as he face-fucked me, completely helpless to stop him even if I wanted to. I didn’t. I loved every minute of feeling helpless. The rope rubbed painfully against my clit, getting soaked by my juices as I writhed on the bed, an orgasm brewing inside me.

“Fucking slut!” Jonathon groaned. “Take all my cock, filthy slave!”

His degrading words added to the brew inside me, his cock brushing the back of my throat. He thrust hard, violently shoving his cock down my throat. I screamed as my orgasm ripped through me, vibrating his dick.

“Naughty slave!” he moaned. “You’re such a whore! Cumming like a dirty slut!”

His cum flooded my throat, salty and wonderful. I drank it down even more eagerly than his piss. I loved my husband’s cum. Whether straight from his dick or out of Kylie’s cunt. I wished she was here today, she often came over for Saturdays and helped Jonathon degrade me.

But a bride shouldn’t be seen on her wedding day.

“Thank you, Master,” I smiled as he pulled his cock out.

He kissed me on the lips. “I love you, Monica.”

I blushed; he wasn’t supposed to talk like that on Saturday. Well, today was special. “I love you Jonathon,” I answered.

“I bet my lovely slave wants to pee so bad?”

“I do! May your unworthy slave-wife please be allowed to pee, Master?”

He scooped me up, throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. I was motivated to keep my slim figure just so I could enjoy being tossed around like this. He carried me to our bathroom and gently set me down on the floor. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out one of the magical Viagra the Holy Vizier created. I had to spend an hour getting fucked by Sam’s cock for that bottle. Being with a hermaphrodite was definitely an interesting experience.

My bladder felt like it would explode, and I squirmed on the floor. “Please, Master!” I begged. I strained, struggling to hold it in.

He hefted me up into a kneeling position, my cheek pressed against the tile of our bathroom floor, staring beneath the lip of the bathroom counter. There was dust; I would need to clean under there tomorrow.

I almost laughed; I wouldn’t be home tomorrow. We were off to the Caribbean tonight for a two-week-long orgy of love and passion in the Virgin Islands. Two weeks, just the three of us. It was going to be a magical trip.

He shoved the rope digging into my pussy to the side and stabbed his cock into my sheath. “Oh yes!” I gasped, squeezing my cunt down on him. “Thank you, Master!”

I relaxed my bladder and pissed on Jonathon’s groin as he fucked me, the urine loudly splashing and dripping onto the tiled floor. He smacked my ass hard. “What a dirty bitch!” he grunted. “A dirty, disgusting bitch that pisses on the floor!”

“I am!” I moaned. “Your dirty, filthy bitch! Fuck me hard, Master!”

His balls slapped into my clit hard as he pounded me. No slow, gentle strokes. We weren’t making love, we were rutting like animals. I was his bitch, and he owned my cunt. He didn’t care about my pleasure, only about cumming as deep inside me as he could.

I loved it.

“Oh, yes!” I gasped, quickly climaxing. My body shuddered and my pussy spasmed about his dick. “Fuck me! Harder! I can take it! Fill me with your cum, Master!” The pleasure burned through me.

“You dirty slut!” His hand smacked on my ass. “How dare you cum before me!”

“I’m such a naughty bitch! Punish me!” He gripped my hips, pistoning rapidly in and out of me. “Yes, yes! Oh Gods yes!” Another cum shot through me, my cheek rubbing against the tiled floor as I humped my hips back into his thrusts. I reveled in the delicious, degrading sex. “Please, Master! Use me for your pleasure! Dump your cum in my filthy cunt!”

Smack! I yelped as his hand spanked me.

“Filthy fucking bitch!” he moaned. “I don’t think your cunt is good enough for my cum!”

“Oh, it is! Cum in me! Please!” I begged, loving this new game. “My cunt is tight and juicy!” I squeezed my muscles on his cock. “Feel how warm and velvety I am. Your bitch has Grade A cunt!”

“You think this is Grade A cunt?” he sneered.

I thrust my hips wildly. “See how well I fuck! Feel my pussy clamping down on you! It’s a wonderful pussy! Worthy of your cum, Master!”

“Fine,” he grunted. “I’ll cum in you this time. But your cunt is hardly worth it!”

I knew he didn’t mean them, but his degrading words still sent another wonderful orgasm bursting inside me as his cock erupted into my cunt. Warm, thick cum panting my sheath. He slammed one last time into me, then panted. He grabbed my hair, painfully yanking me up and he kissed me on the lips.

“That was hot, cutiepie,” he panted.

I was breathless from my orgasms, otherwise I would have answered him. He pulled out of me and spun me around. I licked his cock, groin, and legs clean of my pussy juices and piss. He started the shower up and I lapped up my disgusting puddle of urine with my tongue as he whistled while washing himself. I beamed on the inside as I lapped up my acrid piss—he whistled because I made him happy.

After his shower, he again threw me over his shoulder and carried me downstairs. I yelped as he attached my nipple clamps, the sharp, aching pain going straight to my messy cunt, then he started cooking breakfast. That was the irony of our Saturdays; I was the slave, but he had to do all the work. There was not much I could do tied up.

It smelled like eggs and bacon, and my mouth salivated as I knelt beside him on the kitchen floor. “That smells good, Master,” I purred.

He smiled down at me and we chatted. The usual married couple topics: friends, family, work. The sort of breakfast conversations you’d see at any house across America. Bacon and eggs didn’t take long to cook, and soon he dumped the eggs and bacon into my bowel before setting it before me. Like a bitch, I eagerly dug in with my face.

“Eat that food like a bitch!” Jonathon grunted.

Out of the corner of my eyes I could see him jerking furiously. I worked my mouth, scooping up the bacon—precut for me—and scrambled eggs into with my tongue. Jonathon groaned, and cum splashed on the side of my face and on top of my food.

“Thank you for the sauce, Master,” I giggled, taking a bite of egg and topped with cum. “My favorite!”

“You’re welcome, slave,” he grinned, wiping the tip of his cock off in my hair.

He cooked his breakfast while I finished eating, then pulled me on his lap, impaling me on his hard cock. The magical Viagra gave Jonathon the level of stamina our God possessed, able to cum as much as he wanted before the pill wore off.

He ate, enjoying his breakfast and my cunt around his cock. I amused myself by rhythmically working the muscles in my cunt, trying to see if I could get him to cum. He finished eating, and started pulling hard at my nipple clamps, stretching my breast to obscene levels. The pain made me clamp my cunt hard on his cock and I came before my husband flooded my pussy.

It was summer, so Jonathon had his gardening chores: mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, etc. Everything but the flower beds was his responsibility. I was in charge of the inside of the house. It was a fair trade. So Jonathon headed to the bathroom to get the sunscreen so I wouldn’t burn—he liked to watch me as he worked and I enjoyed being outside with him. I had developed a strange set of tan lines, you could tell just where Jonathon liked to tie me up, leaving me striped like a tiger.

The doorbell rang.

“Master!” I called out. “Is someone coming over?”

He padded out of the bathroom, looking confused. “I’ll go take care of it.”

He dumped me on the living room floor in a kneeling position. “I love to see you on your knees like a bitch ready to be mounted,” Jonathon liked to say. The carpet fibers rubbed on my cheek and I had a good view beneath the couch. So dirty. When we got back from our trip, I’d have Jonathon move the couch so I could vacuum beneath it.

“Sorry to drop in,” a man’s voice said from the doorway. It sounded familiar, his accent thick, Eastern European. “But my wife and I need some counseling.”

“Maybe you need counciling, Danko,” a woman waspishly answered. “You’re the one having the problem.”

That would be Danko and CeeCee Perko, a couple that joined the church last February after Danko had been healed by our Goddess. He had caught the dread Wormwood Plague that had killed so many men. My own Jonathon had been so sick, and Kylie and I had been by his side for those three frightening days last November when the plague was unleashed by the demoness in Seattle.

“Come in,” Jonathon sighed.

“Sorry to disturb you,” CeeCee muttered. “I know it’s a special day, but my husband insisted.” Her voice was full of scorn. The two were always bickering. I didn’t think they were going to last as a couple.

“They would be gone two weeks,” Danko objected. “This needs straightening out. What you did was too much, CeeCee.”

“You’re making too much over some meaningless sex,” his wife dismissed. “Oh, hello, Monica.”

I turned my head, getting a good view of her lovely, red pumps. “Hi, CeeCee.”

“So I gather you caught CeeCee in bed with someone?” Jonathon asked.

“Not someone! A man!” Danko objected. “I’m fine with her being with all the women she wants. That’s what we agreed. So long as she doesn’t mind sharing them with me, I don’t mind her satisfying her…sapphic urges.”

I knew their story. A year ago, they were in a Subway restaurant when our Goddess made love to CeeCee in the middle of the store while Danko watched. CeeCee got a taste for pussy that day—any woman would after pleasure from our Goddess.

“What does it matter if it was a man?” I asked him.

“It just…” Danko spluttered, struggling to think. “It just…does.”

“It sounds to me like you are stuck in the old morality,” I continued. “Our Gods have freed us from such backward thinking.”

“See,” CeeCee declared. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why did you keep it from your husband?” I pressed. “You must have known how he would react so you went behind his back and broke the trust and intimacy necessary for a couple. You two should support each other in your dalliances. Talk with your husband, share your desires and your fantasies with him. Explore them together.”

“He wouldn’t have wanted to,” CeeCee protested. “He’s too wrapped up in that Slavic masculinity!”

“You’re my woman!” Danko roared.

“See!” she declared. “I’m your wife, not your woman. Just because Monica let’s herself be treated like a slave, doesn’t mean I will.”

“My wife is right, you two need to communicate,” Jonathon pressed. “It’s the most important part of a relationship. The other is trust. Danko, you need to trust that your wife loves you even when she’s with another man.”

“Though I don’t know why sometimes,” she muttered.

“Bah, this is stupid,” Danko snarled. “I should have known you’d side with her! You probably want to fuck her yourself.”

“I do,” Jonathon admitted. “She’s a gorgeous woman. And she’s a sexual being who has desires. You need to understand that you can’t fulfill them all.”

Danko didn’t answer. I couldn’t see him, so I imagined a scowl across his Slavic face.
“Why do you want to sleep with other men?” I asked CeeCee. “Is it because your husband isn’t satisfying you anymore?”

“No,” she admitted. “Danko, why do you like to sleep with other women besides me?”

“Because they are beautiful and I am a man,” he declared.

“Well, I find other men handsome,” CeeCee answered.

“Women have just as powerful a sex drive as men,” Jonathon explained. “Society for thousands of years has just shamed them for expressing it.”

“I think Danko should watch his wife be with a man,” I added. “Maybe if he sees that it’s just lust, not love, it will help him to relax and accepted.”

My husband gave my naked rear a slap. “I think that’s a good idea. Danko, you should even join in and share your wife with another man. Have a threesome”

“I’m not gay,” Danko declared.

“You can enjoy her without having to touch each other. Women have multiple holes. I know my wife loves to have her holes filled.”

“That sounds fun,” CeeCee smiled. “I put up with sharing you with other women.”

“You like fucking woman,” Danko said.

“You have to make some compromises,” I told him. “You can’t get your way all the time. If CeeCee is only with men while you are present, then you can see how harmless it is.”

“What fantasy do you have, Danko?” my husband asked

Danko didn’t immediately answer my husband.

“Well?”

“I want to spank her,” he admitted.

“What?” CeeCee gasped. “Like that’s happening. I’m your wife, not your child.”

I tried to sit up, but I had been tied up too long. “Now who’s being selfish? You have to be willing to fulfill your husband’s fantasies if you want him to be okay with yours.”

“I…” she started to say. “I guess.”

“You might like it. My wife loves it, don’t you babe?”

I purred, “Sometimes I’m naughty and Master has to warm my pretty bottom.”

“Okay, so in two weeks, we’ll get back and I want you both to have participated in the others fantasies.”

“Fine,” Danko said stiffly. “Let’s go, CeeCee.”

“Sure honey,” she answered.

After they left, I asked, “Do you think they’re going to last?”

“That’s really up to them, isn’t it.” He sighed. “Well, I better mow the lawn or we’ll have a real jungle on our hands when we get back.”
I didn’t think they were. Neither seemed willing to play out the other’s fantasies.

“Do you want to sleep with other women?” I asked Jonathon. Outside of blessing brides at weddings, Jonathon never slept with another woman besides Kylie and me.

“I have two beautiful women,” Jonathon answered. “I don’t want or need to sleep with other women.”

I smiled, “I only want you and Kylie.”

The rest of the day passed quickly, and soon Master untied me so we could get ready. I was excited as I washed my body, then carefully did up my honey-blonde hair into an elaborately-piled mass of curls. I dressed in white stockings, a garter belt, and nothing else. Jonathon wore a black suit with no tie; he hated them.

We drove to our church where the ceremony would be held. I was shivering in anticipation. At the church, I put on my accessories. A dog collar with a nametag that read: “Monica, slave-wife to Jonathon forever.” Then I shoved a butt plug up my ass. Attached to it was a dog’s tail. My husband clipped on a leash and walked me up the aisle.

Our friends and family all clapped in delight as they saw us. The aisle was lined with white, pink, and purple flowers—the wedding colors for the Living Church. Rose Cunningham waited at the altar, she’d be officiating our wedding.

I knelt next to my husband, waiting for Kylie.

The band struck up the wedding march and Kylie stepped out looking radiant in her wedding dress. It was light and lacy—a Bonnie Slate original. The bodice was so low cut I was sure I could see the pink of her areolas as her breasts jiggled. The skirt was long, but was cut up the front exposing her thighs right up to her crotch. A gauzy veil hung from her mass of fiery-red curls. Her father escorted her.

She was so beautiful.

Mr. Cooke, her father, blessed Kylie. The bride sat on the altar and faced her father, sharing a passionate kiss that only a father and daughter could experience as her father pounded her cunt with his thick dick. Kylie was a screamer when she came, clutching her father. With the bride blessed, the wedding ceremony could take place. Mr. Cooke shook Jonathon’s hand and then petted my head.

Rose began her sermon, speaking of love and trust and intimacy. “These are the most important parts of a marriage. Be open with your spouses, share your fantasies, trust that they will still love you no matter how pervasive they might be. If you want to take a lover, do not hide it. Perhaps your spouse would like to partake as well.”

Rose spoke passionately as always, and I alternated between looking up at my husband and my bride. I was so happy that Kylie was going to join us in marriage. A glob of white cum slowly trickled down Kylie’s right thigh.

Without thinking, I ducked my face beneath her skirt and feasted on her shaved pussy, delighting in her sweet pussy seasoned with her father’s salty cum. I drove my tongue deep into her cunt. I devoured her.

A strong hand and a gentle hand rested on my head. My loves’ hands spurred me to pleasure Kylie.

Rose never missed a beat, and soon came to the vows. “Do you, Jonathon Jephson, take Kylie Cooke to be your lawfully wedded slave-wife. To love her, cherish her, and discipline her when she’s naughty, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” my husband answered.

“And do you, Kylie Cooke, take Jonathon Jephson to be your lawfully wedded husband and master. To love him, cherish him, and submit to his discipline whenever you’ve been naughty, for as long as you both shall live?”

She came on my sweet lips. “I do!”

I stopped eating her pussy and licked my lips. Jonathon and Kylie shared a passionate kiss, while he grabbed her bodice and ripped. The dress had been carefully prepared to spilt down the bodice, leaving her naked save for a white garter belt holding up white stockings. Kylie grabbed a collar from the altar and snug it tight about her neck. A nametag dangled from the collar, identical to mine.

Then my bride knelt down next to me, like a bitch, as Jonathon attached a leash to her collar.

“Do you, Monica Jepheson, take Kylie Cooke to be your lawfully wedded wife. To lover her, and cherish her, and to help Jonathon discipline her whenever she has been naughty, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do,” I declared.

Rose repeated the vows to Kylie. “I do!” she answered, her hazel eyes staring deep into mine.

“Then by the powers invested in me by the Living Gods and the Theocracy, I declare you Master and slave-wives.”

Monica and I kissed kissed, my lips still sticky with her passion. Then I took a butt plug adorned with a dog’s tail, and shoved it up my new wife’s ass. Our guests clapped and cheered as Jonathon walked his bitches down the aisle. We both beamed as we crawled side-by-side. As we passed, many of the guests reached out to grope our asses.

The reception was fun. The food was great, and we had a great band playing. We drank, we danced, we had fun. As the reception was winding down, Kylie and I cornered our husband, knelt before him, and sucked his cock together.

“Isn’t this a beautiful sight?” purred one of the Cunningham twins. She had short hair, making her Daisy.

“It is,” giggled Rose.

They sat down on either side of Jonathon. “We wanted to speak to you before you left,” Daisy began.

“About what?” Jonathon asked. We never stopped sucking him, our tongues dancing across his cock.

“We’ve been talking with Mark and Mary, and they have plans for the Churches organization at the international level.”

Rose nodded. “They plan on dividing the world into fourteen districts. Each district would be ruled by a Governor, taking care of secular matters, and a Bishop for ecclesiastical ones.”

“Rose and I would like you and your wives to be the Bishops for South America.”

“You three would run the church, answerable to me and Daisy.”

“That sounds like a great opportunity,” I said.

Jonathon stroked my face. “I think we can accept. Kylie?”

Kylie gave what sounded like an affirmative grunt since her mouth was full of Jonathon’s cock.

“You three would have to be bound to the Mark,” Rose added. “All of the Governors and Bishops will have to be. You would be pledging your souls to serve them in this life and the next. But in exchange you will get eternal youth and life. Well, so long as you don’t suffer any lethal injuries.”

I could stay young, beautiful, and be Jonathon’s slave forever? “Absolutely!” I declared.

Click here for Chapter 11.

I have released a part 16 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!

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