The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles Chapter 11: Sally, The Gift

 

 

The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles

Chapter Eleven: Sally, The Gift

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2015


Story Codes: Male/Teen female, Females/Teen female, Domination/submission, Rough Sex, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism

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: Mark once fucked a bank teller named Donna Fritz in Chapter 25. She had a daughter named Sally. Thanks to b0b for beta reading this.

Saturday, April 17th, 2031 – Sally Fritz – Washington D.C., North American District

“Are you nervous?” Cardinal Jessie asked me.

“I am, Mistress,” I promptly answered, smiling up at the beautiful, blonde woman.

“You’re going to knock their socks off,” she grinned, rubbing my hair.

Her husband, Cardinal Kevin, walked in and gave his wife a quick kiss. “There are some important people out there, slaves,” he sternly said to me and my class.

We were the tenth class to graduate from Belleramine Academy, the premier school for transforming young women into submissive slaves. Ran by the Church under the auspice of the Archdiocese of North America and directly supervised by Jessie and Kevin. They were the cardinals who led the Archdiocese and oversaw the administration of all the diocese of the former United States, Canada, and Greenland. Only the best girls were accepted to Belleramine Academy.

It was because of my father that I was here—Mark Glassner. The Living God and Defender of Mankind. The Demon Slayer.

Of course, being one of Mark’s children didn’t make me that special. He was a lusty God, and had sowed his seeds in many fields far and wide. Only his children born to his Goddess and the Holy Sluts were publicly acknowledged by the God.

Still, being his daughter gave me a few advantages.

I didn’t know my mother. She died when I was six months old. She was one of many slain when the Demon Dagon conquered Washington D.C. I survived somehow, and was placed into a Theocracy run orphanage. I knew her name: Donna Fritz. That was it. When I was five, my DNA was tested. I was the daughter of a God. When I was six, I was enrolled at Belleramine Academy.

I was given the finest education. At the age of fourteen, I was given the choice of graduating and taking the assessment test to discover what role in society the Gods needed me to fill, or I could be trained as a slave for the next two years.

I had envied the older girls who were being trained as slaves. They looked so beautiful as they were paraded around naked, their heads held high. They were full of pride. Only the best girls attended Belleramine, and only the best of the best of those were given the opportunity to be a slave. I would be auctioned off to the most powerful people in the world: Bishops ruling Diocese or Executives ruling Territories. If I was really lucky, a Cardinal or a Governor, someone bound to the Gods themselves and gifted immortality, would buy me.

Our training was extensive. The very night I agreed to start my slave training, Kevin and Jessie took me to their bed and made a woman out of me. Over the last two years I was taught how to please both men and women with every part of my body, from my agile tongue to my deft fingers. I was trained how to endure long periods of bondage and other discomfort, learned to enjoy the taste of urine, and how to be whipped for my owners pleasure.

I was ready to serve and be used for my Master or Mistress’s pleasure, no matter how obscene or disgusting it might be. I couldn’t wait.

There were ten of us, all beautiful, a garden of teenage flowers ready to be plucked. I was nervous, even though I knew how great my beauty was. My hair was a rich, honey-brown that fell in thick curls about my round, delicate face. My eyes were piercing blue, not uncommon among Mark’s children, and my lips were small and pouty. My figure was shapely, perky breasts and puffy nipples just the right size for a man’s hand to engulf. And my pussy was to die for, shaved bare save for a small landing strip. My vulva was tight, hiding my pink petals. When aroused, my clit would peak out and my tangy honey would bead upon my lips.

“Take your places, slaves!” Jessie shouted, clapping her hands.

All ten of us climbed onto small, round pedestals just large enough for us to kneel on our hands and knees. The pedestals slowly spun so that our potential buyers could properly inspect us. Drawn carefully on our asses was a number. I was seven.

The buyers circulated through the room. My training was extensive and I recognized almost all of them. As a slave to a powerful person, it would be expected of me to act as a secretary or other type of personal attendant, so recognizing the important peoples of the world by sight was a very important skill drilled into us.

My eyes flicked around. One of these powerful men or women would buy me today.

The buyers were free with their hands and other body parts. While none were allowed to cum on me, more than a few dicks were quickly shoved into my mouth, ass, or pussy so the client could get a taste for the delights I had to offer while more than a few of the women had me lap momentarily at their pussies or suck on their breasts.

“Isn’t she a beauty, Sin,” purred Cardinal Vivian, her fingers probing my cunt. “Nice and tight.”

I let my cunt squeeze on her fingers. To be sold to Vivian and Cynthia, who were the first to experience the majesty of Mark and Mary, would be amazing. Vivian herself had penned two of the holy books of the Glasnerian Bible.

“I don’t know. 5 has a gorgeous rear,” Cardinal Cynthia answered.

The Governors of the District of Russia, Anastasia and Stan, admired my breasts while their son shoved his cock inside me. He gave two hard thrusts that left my poor pussy aching for an orgasm. Cardinal Lynette Blythe of the Archdiocese of North Africa let me tongue her pussy while her two paramours, Kevin and Patrick, fingered my ass.

“They should train some boys to be slaves,” Lynette told her lovers. “Girls are fine, but there’s nothing like a young man eager to please.”

Bishopress Bryanna of the New York Diocese and her daughter, another of my many half-sisters, each took a lick of my pussy and both absolutely loved my taste. “I want her, Mommy,” the daughter begged. “I absolutely have to own her.”

“We’ll see,” Bryanna answered. “There are a lot more important people here than us. But I’m sure we can get you one of the girls.”

“I want this one,” the girl declared. She was sixteen and wild, clearly not a girl that went through Belleramine Academy. Even the girls that didn’t become slaves were groomed to be submissive.

Cardinal Bill and his wife Erin fondled number 10 while Governor Daniel, father of the Holy Alison, watched his wife Issy pump a dildo a few times out 3’s ass. Everyone of the girls of my class were flushed with arousal. I knew I ached to cum, juices dripping down my thighs. The potential buyers teased us just long enough to keep us on the brink of cumming without letting us achieve that wonderful release.

A few lesser Bishops and Executives fondled me before Jessie announced the auction was about to begin. We lined up on a stage, standing in provocative poses we would have to hold for the duration, while servants quickly cleared out the pedestals and set up chairs. In minutes, the auction was ready to begin.

1—a sweet, redhead name Lexa—went for $3 million, bought by Cardinal Fatima. “A gift for my wife,” I heard her say as she collected her slave. Cardinal Lucy would be a very lucky woman.

Next up was 2, a buxom lass named Heather with platinum blonde hair in a long braid. She was auctioned off and then 3 was up. The spoiled daughter of Bishopress Bryanna was excited to win 4. I guess she found another slave she “absolutely has to own.” Cardinal Cynthia bought 5, and 6 went to Cassie Blackwood, daughter of the Governors of South Africa.

My heart pounded as I stepped forward. “Number 7 comes from excellent stock. One of our God’s many offsprings.” Jessie said, giving my breast a squeeze. “Perky tits, very pliant, and look at the pink of her nipples.”

Jessie’s molestations rekindled the fire in my loins that had died down while I waited my turn on the block. The blonde’s fingers slid down my belly and stroked my landing strip, before they shoved between my legs. I stifled a gasp, keeping my face tranquil, as her fingers probed my pussy.

“Tight and hot,” she continued, pulling her fingers out of my cunt and holding them up to the crowd. “With a thick consistency and a tangy flavor.”

Jessie turned me around and I bent over, grasping my ankles

“Look at how beautiful her slit is.” Jessie’s fingers again stroked my vulva. “Not a hint of her labia minora peaking out. Only her clitoris shows when she’s fully aroused.”

I let go of my ankles and, unbidden, reached behind me to spread my asscheeks open. I wanted to moan as my youthful Mistress shoved two fingers into my ass.

“Like velvet,” Jessie purred, pumping the fingers in and out. “She can take even the largest cock or dildo and has no problem wearing a butt plug for extended periods.”

“One of our better slaves,” Kevin added, moving beside his wife. “I can vouch for both her enthusiasm and her aptitude. Shall we start the bidding at $2 million.”

It went quick after that. Red paddles were raised and Kevin rattled off their bids. Every time a paddle raised, another $100,000 was bid. I was quickly up the $3.5 million, almost as much as 5 went for, and the bidding kept going on.

“It’s because who your father is,” whispered Jessie. “Every man wants to plunder you and every woman wants to be touched by Him again.”

At $4.1 million, most stopped bidding. Governor Anastasia and Cardinal Daffodil seemed to have some sort of rivalry between them that had spilled out into the auction. Anastasia and her husband Stan were Russia’s secular masters while Daffodil and her wife Addison were the ecclesiastical mistresses. It seemed neither of these women liked the other.

“I won’t let you have her,” Daffodil declared, her blonde hair swinging about her heavy tits. “Addison and I are gonna enjoy this sweet, young thing.”

Anastasia tossed her long, black hair. “So she can dress up like a cheerleader, and you and that slut you call a wife can relieve your High School days!”

Daffodil, who appeared eighteen but must be in her thirties, folded her arms beneath her rather large breasts. “While you and your husband would waste her on some desk job. You’d probably ship her off to Siberia to administrate some logging town.”

“At least she’d be useful!” spat Anastasia. “She wouldn’t be out fucking every farm girl she could lay her lazy hands on!”

“We’d at least appreciate her beauty! A pretty girl deserves to be flaunted.”

“Now ladies,” Kevin said. “We all serve the…” Both ladies fixed stares on him and he swallowed his words.

“If my wife was here and heard those words, she’d kick your scrawny ass!” declared Daffodil.

“If you could drag her out of whatever poor, peasant girl’s bed she’s fallen into. I doubt you even know what Territory she’s in, let alone the town.”

“My wife is a very lusty woman. Addison has needs, and I don’t mind her going off and scratching them.”

“This is growing tiresome,” a new voice said. A serious man—in his early twenties, a plain face with a goatee sprouting from his chin and short, neatly combed, brown hair—stepped up between the two glaring women. I racked my mind, struggling to remember who he was. “I’ll buy the slave for $20 million just to hear an end to their petty squabbles.”

Both ladies glared at each other, then the newcomer, then back at each other. I continued searching my mind, trying to place his face. He had resources if he could drop $20 million, so he was obviously important. But he was dressed in a utilitarian suit, the type an office worker would wear, with none of the finery the other’s adorned themselves in.

“Ladies?” Kevin asked.

“Fine,” Anastasia sighed.

“Better Dean gets her than that suck up bitch,” Daffodil declared. “How Mark ever came to like a woman with such a large stick up her ass is beyond me.”

“Mark loved to stick it up my ass. I was the first of his jogging sluts. What were you again? Right, some whore he gangbanged in a high school locker room and promptly forgot about!”

“You bitch!” the blonde snarled.

“Come on, Ana,” Stan said, grabbing is wife. “We’ll get Steve a slave next year.”

“Yes dear,” Anastasia said, suddenly meek.

Daffodil called my new master Dean. That meant he was Dean Perry, Governor of the Territory of Oceania. His wife was a bosom friend of the Goddess Mary. He was a powerful man to be married to a woman close the Goddess.

I trembled as two auburn haired women—neither of whom looked older than twenty, and had matching, emerald eyes—collected me, leading me to a limo. They must be sisters, their bodies had the same build and the same heart-shaped, freckled faces.

“I’m Penny and this is Mercedes,” cooed the slightly shorter of the pair, they were about my height. She had a slight drawl to her voice, hinting at her Southern heritage. “Oh, you are just beautiful as the dawn.”

Mercedes grabbed my blonde tresses. “This is no good. And your eyes are absolutely the wrong color.” I blinked in surprise. They seemed like sisters, but Mercedes had a slight, nasal tone, like she was from New York City.

I didn’t speak; my training kept my tongue silent, even though I was confused by their comments and their appearances. What was wrong with my eyes? They were the same deep, sapphire blue of my Father.

“Have you forgotten that you were a black-haired girl with brown eyes?” Penny asked Mercedes.

A minute later, Dean stepped out of the building. A pair of bodyguards—dressed in navy blue uniforms, the blouses half-unbuttoned to reveal their breasts, short mini-skirts that left sleek thighs bare, and knee-high, black boots—strolled up to him. They were the personal bodyguards of the Gods, lent out to their most trusted servants. Both wore tight, silver chokers about their throats.

“We found her, sir,” reported ebony-skinned 274.

The first emotion I had seen passed across my new master’s face. Pain, anger…and longing. “Where?” he asked.

“Manila.”

I wanted to ask who they found on the limo drive to the airport. Questions burned inside me. I had never flown before. I controlled my questions and my excitement as the limo drove onto the runway towards a festive plane. It was hard, but I was well trained.

When I strolled in, I was surprised. I had always thought planes were open and full of seats. This one was a hallway and a collection of small cabins. “We do a lot of flying,” explained Mercedes. “Master rules all of those small, pacific islands from Hawaii to New Zealand. Plus, he rules Australia, which has a lot of cities on the coasts and almost nothing across the rest of the continent.”

I was excited to fly on a plane. Before the Demon Wars, air travel was common. Now only government and ecclesiastical officials traveled the world, and those few, lucky folks who moved goods around. But that was mostly by trains, trucks, and ships. Before the Gods came, people were unhappy because they had the wrong jobs. Now the assessment tests told everyone where to work, where to live, whom to marry, and that made people a lot happier. The assessments were always right, the Gods said so.

It must have been so complicated in the past when you had to make all those decisions for yourself.

“Do you ever talk?” Penny asked me after sitting me down in a small cabin that contained a narrow bed and small, makeup table and chair.

“I have not received permission to speak, Mistress,” I answered.

Penny snorted a laugh. “We’re slaves, you can speak to us. Besides, Master and Mistress don’t mind if we have a free tongue.”

“Some of us have too free tongues,” sniffed Mercedes.

Penny waggled her tongue at her. “I’ll show you just how free it can be tonight.”

An excited twinkle appeared in Mercedes eyes.

“May I ask a question, Miss Penny?”

“Of course, sugar,” Penny rolled her eyes. “And it’s Penny. We’ll be gettin’ to know each other real well.”

“Mercedes said my hair is the wrong color?”

“Who do we look like?” Penny asked, unbuttoning her dress. Mercedes sighed and pulled her dress over her head revealing her naked body. Both women’s pubic hair had been sculpted into a fiery heart above their slits.

“You appear similar to the Goddess,” I realized, seeing a matching fiery heart on Penny’s pubic mound.

“Our Mistress, Alice, loves the Goddess dearly,” Mercedes explained. “She once had an affair with her and still loves her. We’re proxies.”

“Plus Master’s jealous of Mary,” Penny continued. “He gets off on using us.”

I noticed pale bruises on both of their breasts—bite marks. I received similar bruises during my training. The Theocracy’s law said a slave could be bruised and welted, so long as no blood was drawn or bones broken. I knew it was a possibility to end up owned by a Master or Mistress that enjoyed inflicting pain.

“And who is missing?”

“Mistress,” sighed Penny. “She’s run off with one of her lovers. She does it every few years. Master buys a new slave as a gift for her to bring her back.”

Over the next few hours, the girls used strange devices on me invented by the Holy Vizier. They didn’t just dye my hair auburn, they permanently changed my hair color. It tingled when my eyes were changed to emerald and small specks burned all across my cheeks and bosom as freckles blossomed. They smeared a cream on my pussy and a thick, red bush grew. Then they waxed me, sculpting a matching heart to the Goddess.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I never realized how close my body shape was to the Goddess. I had the same curves, the same general bust size, and the same, heart-shaped face. I could pass for one of her sisters now.

“Let’s take you to Master,” Mercedes said, nodding in satisfaction their work.

“And don’t fret. He only hurts us when she’s missing. He let’s his passions get out of control. Now that he knows where she is, he won’t be so rough.”

“I received rough treatment during my schooling,” I answered. “Belleramine Academy prepares its girls for a life as a BDSM slave.”

As we walked through plane to the cabin at the back, Penny added, “If he calls you Mary, pretend to be the Goddess and that you’re helpless against his strength.”

“I understand,” I answered.

“Ready,” Mercedes asked.

“I am,” I declared as she threw the door open.

The cabin was the size of a small bedroom tucked into the tail of the plane. There was a bed, neatly made, with a dark-blue comforter and an ebony wood frame. Dean sat at a desk working at a laptop, a ledger spread out next to it along with a picture of a beautiful, young woman with lustrous and thick, black hair.

Alice Perry, the missing wife.

“I am your Goddess, Mary!” I declared, hoping my training and instincts were right. “On your knees!”

Dean spun me around, eyeing me. I held my head up confidently as the fire burned in his blue eyes as he stared at me. “Whore! She’s gone because of you!”

“How dare you call me that!” I huffed. Roleplaying was heavily emphasized in our training.

“You helped her run off! I know it was you, bitch! You always help her!”

I tossed my now auburn hair. “Of course I helped her. She’s my friend. And—”

My words were cut off as he lunged at me, his hand gripping my throat. Panic momentarily shot through me, but I suppressed it. His hand squeezed, choking me. He was stronger than he looked, his grip iron. I struggled, just enough to excite him, my hands trying to pry his fingers off as my breath rasped in my throat.

“Whore!”

He spun me around and threw me onto the bed. I bounced, sprawling in a mess of limbs, my now auburn hair falling across my face. I struggled to push my hair out of my face. I put on a look of fear. “You can’t be doing this,” I protested, letting my voice quiver. My roleplay coach would be proud of me. “I’m your Goddess!”

“You’re the dirty whore that corrupted my wife,” he snarled, unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll show you how whores are treated!”

His cock was hard, slim, with a bulbous head that beaded with precum, jutting out of his unzipped slacks. He let the pants slide off his skinny legs, and kicked them off, before advancing with like a hungry shark at her.

“What’re you going to do?” I quailed, shrinking against the pillows piled against the ebony headboard.

He practically leaped at me, his body pressing atop mine. I struggled, flailing my arms. He grabbed them, pinning them to the wall above me as he loomed over me. I gasped for breath, my tits heaving, dotted with freckles. He settled between my thrashing thighs, his cock coming closer and closer to my wet pussy.

This was exciting. I was being used for my Master’s pleasure. All my training, the hard work and long nights practicing was worth it. His cock speared me. Rough, powerful, stabbing into my sheath with violence.

“No!” I pleaded. “Take it out, it hurts!”

He ignored me, stabbing his cock over and over into my cunt. His shaft wonderfully rubbed on all my sensitive flesh. It was hard keeping my passion out of my voice. It was too soon to sound like I enjoyed it. I needed to struggle longer before I submitted.

“No, stop!” I screamed, putting all the fear I could into my words. “You’re hurting me.”

I bucked beneath him, struggling to move my arms beneath his strength. His cock plowed into me, churning my passions as his groin smashed into my clit. Every slam shot new sparks of pleasure through me.

“Please!”

“This is what you get!” he growled. “Because you’re a dirty, filthy slut, Mary!”

I turned away from him, biting my lip, trying to hold back my pleasure. A small gasp escaped my lips, the first hint that I was actually enjoying this. It had to be a slow surrender. Let my Master believe he was winning me over. I let out another little sigh, careful to keep my full passion inside me.

Master fucked me harder. “You like my cock, don’t you!”

“I don’t,” I moaned, giving his cock a gentle squeeze with my pussy. “Please, stop!”

He let go of my arms and grasped my breast, kneading hard, bruising my delicate flesh. The pain was exquisite. “You love it, don’t you? You’re such a whore that you can’t help yourself!”

“Oh, no!” I moaned, letting my lust invade my tone and my hips start to writhe. “I hate this!”
“I can feel how wet you are, Mary! Your dirty cunt’s squeezing around my cock! You’re such a whore!” His fingers pinched my nipple, one more wonderful sensation adding to the boiling in my core. Lust twisted his face as he savored the pleasure I gave him.

This is what I was born to do. I loved it.

“No, no, no!” I protested, my legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him harder into me. My cum was upon me and I fought it off—it was too early. “Stop fucking me!”

Our hips slammed together. “Say it!” he hissed. “Tell me how great my cock feels!”

“It doesn’t! I hate it!” I moaned, giving lie to my words.

“Liar. If you hate it, why are you fucking me back?”

“Oh, no!” I gasped. It was time. I surrendered to the passion of his thrusts and let my orgasm exploded inside me. I howled my pleasure, throwing my arms around his body and clutching him to me as pleasure rippled over and over through me. His cock kept fucking me, spurring me to higher and higher plateaus of passion. I savored my relief.

“I love your cock!” I screamed in his ear. “Harder! Fuck me harder!”

“I’m the best you’ve ever had, huh, whore?”

“Yes! The very best! Oh, fuck, I’m still cumming!”

He drove once more into me. His whole body tensed, his face squeezing shut as his seed erupted into my hungry depths. One last, wonderful climax speared through me. My Master came inside me; I satiated him, crushing his weight to my breasts as we were whipped by the winds of our passions, rocked in a storm of lust.

He collapsed atop me. Our breaths came in ragged gasps. “Oh, Master,” I cooed, kissing his neck and chin. “Oh, Master, thank you, thank you.”

He rolled off me, lying beside me on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I smiled, running my fingers lazily through the mess between my thighs. He didn’t say anything, just stared up at the ceiling, his skinny chest rising and falling beneath his still buttoned up dress shirt, ringed with sweat around the collar.

“You can go…”

“Sally,” I answered.

“You can go, Sally,” he panted.

“Of course, Master,” I answered as I stood, a little unsteady on my feet. My nerves still tingled with the strength of my cums.

As I opened the door, he said, “You were worth every dollar.”

“Thank you, Master,” I answered, smiling at him.

The poor man. His wife’s constant infidelities seemed to have robbed him of his self-confidence and made him feel inadequate. I tried to keep my negative thoughts about my new Mistress out of my mind, but if I wasn’t her slave, I think I would give her a piece of my mind. Her husband was suffering. She should just divorce him and set him free. She should let him find happiness with another woman or man or whomever he wanted.

I shared a cabin with Penny and Mercedes. It was really just a bed. There was no room to walk around it. I just plopped down on the mattress. It was a queen-sized mattress, tight for three women, especially when Penny and Mercedes couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other. When I walked in, tired after my long, exciting day, I found the two girls vigorously sixty-nining each other.

Sighing, I stretched out next to them and tried to ignore their moans and gasps and the way they’d jostle the bed. I reached a light sleep, constantly interrupted by their love making. I managed to find a deep dream, when I was awoken by something nuzzling my pussy.

I woke up to Penny between my legs going to town on my pussy. I opened my mouth to protest my desire to sleep when Mercedes pussy descended to my lips and smothered me. She tasted refreshing, tart and tangy.

The three of us were a mess when we finally collapsed into sleep. I woke when the plane landed in Los Angeles for refueling. Then went back to sleep for the long flight across the Pacific to the Philippines. On the boring flight, I pleasured Master two more times, both times playing Mary and letting my master “rape” me.

The local Executive who administrated the Philippines for Dean met us with a limo. Dean’s bodyguards drove escort vehicles. Manila, like many cities, had been devastated during the Demon Wars, and Theocracy architects and engineers oversaw its rebuilding. All the new construction resembled neighborhoods and buildings in Washington D.C. The main cathedral looked identical to the one back home, and I could name each of the local Governmental buildings. That one was the Department of Education because of the L shape the building had, and that one belonged to the Department of Justice because of the statue of Chasity before steps that led up to a large, glass entrance. We entered a residential neighborhood. The houses were all one of the seventeen approved family dwellings, or the seven approved apartment tenements, which only varied by height.

The only way I could tell it wasn’t Washington D.C. were the palm trees and the remnants of old Manila. There were older buildings that showed some individuality and choice. I wondered why those weren’t torn down. Then everything would the same. I’m sure it would make the people of Manila happier. They dressed just like they did back home, safety officer wore the same uniforms, government works wore their suits, laborers wore their blue coveralls, and farmers their blue jeans and wide-brimmed hats.

The convoy climbed a hill into a new neighborhood and stopped. “271 has occupied this house, sir,” 274 reported, pointing to a gray house, the same precise shade as all the other houses on the street. “She has a few x-ray cameras pointed at where your wife is.”

I wondered what those were. Where they like the machines dentists used to look at your teeth? We stepped into the house. The family that lived here bowed to Dean, then retreated upstairs. 271, ivory skinned with huge breasts that seemed barely constrained by her uniform, sat at before a TV, headphones over her ears. A camera on a tripod was set up next to her, pointed at the next door house. I peered out the window at the house. The other house’s windows were covered by thick drapes, but when I looked at the TV I could see into a bedroom through the wall like it wasn’t there. A couple writhed in a passionate embrace on the bed. The woman, Alice, rode the man, his dark hands groping her small breasts.

“Sir!” 271 jumped to her feet, her large tits jiggling, and snapped Dean a salute.

“Audio,” Dean commanded, sitting down at 271’s seat.

271 pulled her headphones out of the jack.

“Fuck me!” moaned the man. “Ride my cock, Alice! I love it!”

“Yes, yes!” she moaned, full of passion. “I love your cock, Marco! Oh, fuck! I love it!”

“Cum for me, my love!” moaned the man.

“I am, Marco!” Her back arched, his hands rolling pink nipples between his fingers. “Oh, yes! I love it!”

She kept riding him, leaning over so her black hair fell in a curtain about their faces, hiding them. Sounds of passionate kissing echoed through the speakers. Marco flipped them over and thrust hard into her, knocking the headboard of the bed into the wall, adding a staccato bang to their lovemaking.

“I love it!” she gasped. “Cum in me, my love!”

I glanced at Master’s face. Pain clenched his forehead. His hand lashed out and yanked Mercedes down by her auburn hair. She pulled his cock out, sucking it into her lips as his hand forced her to deep-throat him over and over as he watched his wife and her lover’s passionate embrace.

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Alice moaned over and over. “I love you! Keep fucking me!”

Dean shoved Mercedes’s head all the way down his cock, muttering under his breath. He grunted, and it took me a moment to realize he was dumping his cum down her throat. He let go, and Mercedes stumbled back gasping for breath.

Marco let out a low moan, hammering Alice and then collapsed on her, satiated himself. “You are so beautiful,” Marco whispered. “My lovely peach.”

She snuggled against his muscular body, her fingers toying with his black chest hair. “You are so insatiable,” she purred. “I love it.”

Marco glanced at the clock. “I need to go to work,” he said.

“Bah, stay in bed with me all day,” she smiled. “Have your wife call in sick for you and make love to me.”

“I’ll get in trouble,” he protested. “I called in just three days ago.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do! You are the fire of my life.”

“That’s nice,” she giggled. “Tell me more.”

“My soul sings praise to your heavenly beauty. You are my goddess, the most beautiful woman in all creation! Your breasts are perfect, round and lush and your hips drive me to distraction. Your lips are full, pouty and made to be kissed by me.”

She sighed, kissing him. “I love you so much, Marco. So stay home with me.”

“Enough,” Dean snarled. “274, send your guards in.”

“At once, sir,” the black bodyguard saluted. “275, 273 take the front. 271, 272 the rear. 276, you stay with me to guard Dean.”

“Ma’am,” the five bodyguard’s saluted.

I watched in astonishment as they surged out. There was a strength to the bodyguard’s movements, a violence of purpose I had never witnessed. They raced out of the house, their guns drawn. I shivered, once guns killed thousands every day, and now only the bodyguards carried them. Mankind was free of crime. We all obeyed the Gods’ laws. People only died from sickness, accidents, and old age.

I followed my Master out into the street and he watched as 275 and 273 flanked the front door while 271 and 272 circled the house to the backyard. They moved with such danger. I had never met anyone I thought would actually hurt me until now. These women knew how to commit violence.

I wasn’t sure what set them off, but it sounded like all four went at the same time. 275 crashed her shoulder into the door, darting in followed by 273. There was a frightened shout from a woman—probably Marco’s wife. Marco and his wife would have been matched at a young age, selected for compatible personality and sexual orientations by the aptitude tests and their school teachers.

“Clear,” 274’s voice cracked over the radio. “There’s a female, a male, and Alice.”

Dean rushed to the house. I followed.

A plain, dark skinned woman, knelt in the center of the kitchen, her face calm. She knew to obey the bodyguards. Every citizen knew the Gods’ third commandments: Obey representatives of the Theocracy without hesitation.

And everyone recognized a member of the bodyguards. They were elite women, only three hundred members, who guarded the Gods and their favored servants. These women were all veterans of the Demon Wars. Some had even helped to overthrow the False God Brandon and defended the Gods during the Miracle.

Dean didn’t even look at Marco’s wife. He strode into the bedroom and I followed. The room reeked of passion—a salty, tangy, sour musk. Marco knelt calmly on the floor, watched over by another pair of bodyguards. Alice lounged on the rumpled bed, not covering her nakedness, her thighs obscenely spread to show the result of their passion. I could see faint bruises on her breasts and neck. No, hickeys.

“You finally found me,” she smiled at her husband, sounding as calm as if she had just woken up from a sleep.

Dean stared down at Marco. “Your job, citizen!” he growled.

“Code inspector, City of Manila, Territory of the Philippines, District of Oceania, sir!” he answered promptly.

“Not anymore,” Dean growled. “You work the mines. 275, see that he’s chastised.”

“Right away, sir,” 275 answered and the two bodyguards dragged Marco out of the room.

“Must you always banish my lovers to the mines?” Alice sighed. “And 275, tell them to stop hitting Marco.”

275 froze, glancing at Dean. When he didn’t contradict Alice, she saluted and left the room.

“Why do you keep doing this?” Dean demanded of his wife, glaring at her.

“Because a woman needs to feel passion in her life,” she answered, staring at him. “To be loved and adored.” She gave a wicked giggle. “And Marco is very cute.”

“I love you, Alice.”

There was so much pain in his voice. I wanted to go and hug him. Didn’t this horrible woman see what her actions were doing to him? Did she not care that she shredded his soul with her behavior? I ignored my training and allowed myself to hate my Mistress.

“You’re terrible at showing you love me, Dean.” Her eyes narrowed, annoyance creeping into her words. “You get too caught up in your work. So, of course my eyes are going to wander.”

“And the fact that I care enough to track you down every time you disappear on one of you affairs…” His eyes widened. “That’s why you do this? To see if I still love you?”

“Partly.”

“Partly? What does that mean?”

A dreamy smile flitted across her face. “I also fall in love.”

“You love Marco?” he asked, his face falling, his voice trembling.

“I loved all of them.” She sighed. “Our loves were great bonfires burning brightly. But the fuel doesn’t last long and the fire burns out. I was already finding Marco tiresome. He was always wanting to work instead of paying attention to me.”

“So you don’t love me?” Dean demanded, the anger returning.

She slipped out of the bed, walked over to him, and threw her arms around his neck. He stiffened but didn’t pull away. “I love you deeply,” she told him, staring into his eyes. “Our love is the stone our life together is built on—our foundation. It maybe boring, but it’s strong and lasting. Strong enough to weather any obstacle.”

“Like your infidelities.” It wasn’t a question, but an accusation.

“Yes, and your negligence. But I am sorry for hurting you. These fiery loves burn so bright, it blinds me to our love.”

“That’s why you hurt me so much?” he roared, grabbing her arms and pushing her away from him. “Because you forget you love me?”

“It hurts me when you ignore me.” Her hazel eyes were fierce. “But you can’t ignore me when I disappear.” She pressed against him, a purring with wanton passion. “Instead, you track me down and show just how much you love me. Look at you. You’re full of passion. It makes me feel so alive!”

She kissed him and they melted together, his hands roaming her back, squeezing her ass. They fell onto the bed, still tangled about each other and her fingers deftly undid his belt and pants and found his cock. She stroked it and guided it between their thighs.

It wasn’t lovemaking or fucking. It was pure, animalistic rutting.

The bed pounded against the headboards, their bodies writhed together. They moaned and gasped, squeezing and groping each other’s flesh. Her fingernails scratched left red tracks across his back.

“I bet you’re so horny,” Penny whispered in my ear, her naked body pressing against my back; her nipples to hard points and her pubic hair soft as silk on my ass. Her fingers found my pussy, sliding into my depths. “They always are like this after they reunite.”

“Fuck me, fuck me!” Alice gasped. “Take me, husband! Make me forget Marco!”

“You’re my wife!” he grunted.

“I am! Oh, fuck!” She screamed her climax for all of Manila to hear.

Penny’s fingers wormed inside me, the heel of her hand grinding on my clit. Her lip was soft as she nibbled at my neck. I couldn’t take my eyes off my Masters. I had never seen anything like it in my life. It was raw. Passion at its purest. Lust at it’s most potent, distilled to remove love, tenderness, compassion, shame, degradation. Even hatred and anger were gone.

Only lust remained.

I came on Penny’s fingers so many times as I witnessed my Master’s passion.

They used so many positions. He must have taken a magical viagra, because he came in her mouth, her pussy, and her ass over and over. The room filled with their potent scent and the bed seemed sticky with pussy juices and ropy cum.

Finally, they collapsed, Dean’s arms wrapped around his wife from behind, his fingers gently playing with her breasts while he nuzzled at her neck. A happy smile filled her face. “I love you, Dean,” she moaned. “Thank you for coming after me.”

“Maybe next time I won’t come after you.”

“You will. You love me,” she stated with conviction.

“Which makes me more the fool for putting up with this.” I wanted to cry, his voice was so bitter, so hopeless.

Tears welled in her hazel eyes. “I don’t deserve your love,” she whispered. “I’m a terrible person. But I do love you. It’s because you seem to care about me despite my flaws. You’re a better person that I’ll ever be, Dean.”

Dean turned Alice’s face and wiped away her tear. “Why can’t you just stop running away from me?”

“I’ll try,” she sniffed. “If you try to show you love me more often.”

“I’ll work on it.”

Neither sounded convincing.

Alice looks over at me, her eyes lighting up. “She looks just like Mary. Is she my new toy?”

“I paid $20 million for her,” Dean answered.

She smiled like I was a piece of expensive jewelry. “Come here and clean my pussy up,” she smiled. “I love seeing Mary’s face from between my thighs.”

I knelt at the bed, trying to hide my hatred of this woman. Why did they stay together? I buried my face in her cunt, hating every second of it. Why couldn’t I just belong to Dean? But I was a slave. I couldn’t choose who I pleasured. Dean gave me to Alice, I was her gift, her toy.

Forever.

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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4 thoughts on “The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles Chapter 11: Sally, The Gift

  1. Sin

    I think this is the first Slave story in a while that I actually enjoyed reading. Recently this series has felt more like filler. The sex is always well written but as side stories to a larger whole, they have always seemed a bit lacking. I liked that this one had character development. I think this is also the first Slave story where the slave was allowed their own emotions. Overall a nice change of pace.

    Reply

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