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

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

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Click here for Chapter 1.

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The Tyrant Mark Glassner was born to David and Sandra Glassner. By all accounts, David was a brutal drunk. His abuse of both his wife and children were well documented. It is still unclear, however, if David was killed in self-defense by Sandra or in cold-blooded murder. Sandra had a lover, whom she later married. Had she killed her husband to clear the way for her selfish happiness?

—excerpt from The History of the Tyrants’ Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Mary Sullivan

“I shot him,” Mark’s mother stated.

Silence filled the car. I held my fiance’s hand and gave him a comforting squeeze. His face was stunned. His father was dead, shot by his mom. Mark’s mouth opened. He didn’t seem to know what to do. I know he didn’t like his dad, but still, I could feel my fiance’s pain. He worked his mouth as he searched for the words.

“The bastard’s dead,” Mark finally whispered.

Tears burned in my eyes.

A ragged sob came over the speakers of Mark’s Mustang. He had his phone synced up to the car stereo via Bluetooth. His mother was on the other end, clearly in shock. Mark’s father must have been so abusive tonight to drive Sandy to kill him.

The poor woman.

“Mark, I don’t know what to do,” Sandy sobbed over the phone. There were muffled banging and shouts in the background. “The police are here, Mark. I…I have to go.”

“Wait, Mom!” Mark shouted hoarsely, fear for his mother finally spurring action from him.

The line went dead

I reached over and wrapped my arms around my fiance’s neck, holding him tight. “I’m so sorry, Mark.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered. He wasn’t. He was trying to be strong, trying not to be affected by the death of the man who had driven him from his home at eighteen.

“Let’s go,” I calmly told him. “Put your cock away, and lets go help your mom.”

Mark nodded. He tucked his cock away—I had been blowing him when his mom called. Our date night was over now, but that really didn’t matter. My new family was in crisis. Mark took a moment, then he pulled out the Nextel, pushed the call button. The Nextel chirped, connecting him to the network.

“Master to 23,” Mark said into the Nextel, his voice surprisingly calm.

“23,” a female voice answered back. 23 was one of the female twelve cops Mark had turned into our bodyguards today. 24 and 23 were our guards this evening, sitting in a cop car just a few parking spots down from us in the South Hill Theater’s parking lot.

“We’re going to 11414 S. Alaska St, in Parkland,” Mark said. “It’s an emergency. We’ll follow you.”

“10-4, 23 out.”

* * *

Mark Glassner

My father was dead.

I had felt nothing when Mom said the words. The man had always been an abusive bastard. He deserved to die.

And then hearing the shouts over the phone and the cops banging on the door, sent my heart racing. Fear chilled my veins. I had to get to my house. My mom—my sweet, patient, saint of a mother—was in trouble.

I had to rescue her.

My mom had never done a wrong thing in her life. Dad probably had it coming. No, the abusive bastard had it coming. He used to beat my mom all the time when I was a kid. Fuck, he’d beat me, too. God, I should have done something to my dad earlier. Why didn’t I? I had the power to stop him.

Why was I such a coward about my dad?

It was my plan to tell him off tomorrow night. My parents had been coming over to dinner. I planned on making him feel as powerless and helpless as I had. I would have made him suffer, too. He would have crawled and groveled at my feet. I wanted to make him pay for all the beatings he gave me. All the bruises he gave my mom.

And now he was dead. And my mom was in trouble.

All week, I could have rescued my mom from him. I could have done it over the phone. I could have made sure he never hurt her again, never drove her to shoot him. This was all my fault. I pressed down on the gas pedal as I followed the DuPont Police Cruiser through the parking lot.

23 had the sirens and lights blaring as she raced through the movie theater’s parking lot. I was right on her tail, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I was such a fuck up. Damn it. 23 honked the horns on her cruiser when she hit Meridian and bullied her way out into traffic.

I followed 23, weaving through traffic as I tailgated her.

“We’ll help her out,” Mary reassured me.

Her face was pale with fear and her green eyes shone with concern. She was the best woman in the world. I had hit the lotto when I met Mary. I would give up all my power for her. She was really all I needed. The sluts and my power were just so empty compared to her.

“Master, do you need any more back-up?” Violet asked over the Nextel.

Mary picked up the Nextel. “No. Gather everyone at the main house and send a unit to pick up Alison and Desiree. I want them home. Their date can wait.”

“Yes, Mistress.” There was pause. “Master, we’re all so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Mary answered. “Mark can’t talk, we’re weaving through traffic.

23 drove recklessly, laying on her horn as well as blaring her sirens. I followed her, pushing the Mustang to its limits. The engine roared and growled as we raced through intersections and even drove down the wrong side of the road. Traffic parted before the cop car.

We reached the South Hill Mall. Meridian curved around it towards Highway 512. I kept right on 23’s tail. I had never driven so wildly before. My heart raced even as my stomach twisted and bitter recriminations gnawed at me.

If I had only done something, my mom never would have killed him.

“Damn it,” I snarled as we neared the freeway, my anxiety bursting out of me.

“It’ll be fine,” Mary told me, patting my thigh.

She was wonderful.

In moments, we were on 512, flying west towards Parkland. Traffic was far lighter. We stayed in the fast lane, pushing up to a hundred miles per hour as cars pulled over for us. We zoomed past them all in a blur.

I wanted to go faster. I needed to get to my poor mother.

The exits flew by. We passed Canyon and Portland Avenue in only a few minutes and Pacific Avenue hurtled towards us. As we passed beneath the major street, the highway turned to three lanes. I followed 23 as she maneuvered over to the right lane. The exit for Steele street screamed closer.

We pulled off and went left on Steele Street. We crossed over the highway as we raced down the road and through several intersections. At 112th Street, we took a hard left and raced up a few blocks to Alaska Street.

“You didn’t live very far from me,” Mary whispered. “My dad’s house is only a five or so blocks away.”

“Small world,” I muttered.

Before my parent’s house, four Pierce County Sheriffs and a Lakewood patrol car were parked, their lights flashing. A red Medic One ambulance blocked the middle of the street, the back open. The paramedics must be inside.

23 slowed and pulled up behind the cruiser. I was right behind her.

Neighbors milled in the street. The only one I recognized was Betty Cooley. She was my age and lived a few houses down when we were kids. Concern painted her light, mocha-skinned face. She was half-Black and half-White, and had vivid, blue eyes. I vaguely remembered my mom mentioning she had to move back in with her parents a few years ago.

I flushed as the memory of the time I asked her out to a school dance popped into my mind. It had been the only time I worked up the courage to ask a girl out and, after she laughed in my face, I never had the nerve to try again in high school.

I had always been a coward.

I wasn’t sure why I was thinking about that embarrassing chapter in my life. I had bigger things to worry about then some stupid high school crush. My dad was dead. My mom killed him. Betty Cooley hardly mattered at all. She still looked pretty, thin and with that beautiful skin. If I didn’t have bigger problems, I probably would bend her over the car and fuck her raw while she ate out Mary’s cunt.

I stared at my house. My hands were stuck to the steering wheel.

“It’s alright,” Mary whispered, touching my arm. “We’ll face it together.”

I don’t remember what I said to the cops outside to get us into the house. I was like a robot, not in control of my body as I walked up to the door. Inside, my dad was dead. My mom killed him. That was all that rattled about in my head.

I gripped the brass handle of the door knob. My dad had installed this handle when I was seven or eight. I had helped him out, handing him his tools. He told me I was good son and ruffled my hair with his hand. Was that right before he hurt his back and everything went wrong?

Mary reached out and placed her hand over mine.

“We’ll face it together,” she whispered. Damn, she was the best. I pushed down on the handle and the door opened.

Inside, my mom was handcuffed and sat on the couch, sobbing softly. Two Sheriff Deputies talked to her. Mom’s beautiful face was puffy from her tears, her eyes bloodshot. Her brunette hair was a mess, tousled and tangled like she just woke up. But it was nearly eight o’clock at night. She wouldn’t have gone to bed that earlier. But then why was she wearing her pink, frayed housecoat?

No, that didn’t matter right now. Anger seized me. This was all my fault.

“Take off the handcuffs,” I barked at the two deputies. “It was clearly self defense and that’s how you’ll right it up in your reports. My dad was abusive and my mom had to defend herself.”

“Of course,” a deputy said, then he bent down and uncuffed my mom.

My mom blinked at me. “Mark,” she croaked. “I shot him in the back. That’s not self-defense. I killed him.”

“He was beating you, wasn’t he?” I asked, stepping into the room.

“He…” she broke off. “I just had to stop him, Mark.”

“It was clearly self defense, ma’am,” the other deputy repeated. “There is no doubt in my mind. So there is no need to arrest you. You’re free to go.” He handed her a card. “Here is the name of a grief counselor.”

“But…” my mom protested, confused by the sudden change of behavior of the cops. She clutched the white card in her trembling hands. “I killed him. You have to arrest me.”

“He deserved it,” I repeated to my mom. I crossed the room and sat down on the couch next to her. She gave me such a hopeless look. I raised up my arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her to me. “Believe me, Mom, he deserved it.

“No one deserves to die,” she muttered miserably, fresh tears running down her cheeks. “I…I just had to stop him.”

“From what, Mom?” I asked.

It was the first time I gave someone a question and they didn’t answer. Mom only sobbed harder. The demoness Lilith had told me that the only person my powers couldn’t work on were my mom, and it looked like she was right. For Mary—if she had any powers that worked on a man—it would be her father immune to them.

It seemed like a dumb rule. Without it, I could just order my mom not to feel guilty otherwise. I could take away her pain. There was nothing I could do about my guilt for causing this entire fucking mess by being a coward.

“Okay, Mom, you don’t have to tell me what happened,” I told her, pulling her closer.

“You don’t hate me, do you, Mark?” she whispered plaintively.

“No, Mom,” I said. I kissed her on the cheek. “I could never hate you, Mom. Dad was a bastard, anyways. He deserved it. And now you’re free of him. Free to be happy, to not live in fear.”

“I don’t deserve to be happy,” she bitterly whispered.

* * *

Brandon Fitzsimmons – South Hill, WA

I was halfway out of my car, gun gripped in my hand, when sirens blared in the distance. I froze, fear clutching my heart. It was a trap. The cops had baited me out, waiting for me to make my move, and now they were pouncing on me.

I sat down and yanked my door shut. I twisted the key in my ignition. I had to get out of here before the cop’s arrived. My car sputtered to life. The sirens were even louder. I put my car into reverse and backed out.

Tires squealed. A cop car turned into the parking lot. I hit the brakes. The cop car swerved to avoid me and kept racing up to Alison and Desiree. My wife and Alison stopped and waved as the cop car screeched to a stop.

What was going on?

Two women stepped out of the police cruiser, dressed like slutty cops. Mark’s bodyguards had arrived. They talked to Alison and Desiree and the two women’s faces paled. I didn’t hear what was being said. My wife and Alison rushed to the white BMW.

I grabbed my phone and called Doug.

“Mr. Fitzsimmons,” Doug answered in surprise. “Why are you calling?”

“What’s going on at the house?”

“Lots of activity. They just sent one of the bodyguard units off to fetch your wife and Alison from their, um, dinner. It seems Mark’s dad died. Sounds like his mom killed him. I met the guy, he was an abusive asshole.”

“So Mark’s fine?” I had hoped the agitation meant there had been an attack on Mark.

“As far as I know,” Doug answered. “I’ve been picking up some of their radio chatter. Mark is headed out to Parkland to his parent’s house while everyone else is gathering at your house.”

“Okay,” I growled before hanging up.

Desiree and Alison hopped into the white BMW I bought my wife and drove off, followed by the bodyguards. I missed my chance. I pounded my fist into the steering wheel and snarled at the world. Once again, god-damned Mark Glassner had foiled me.

* * *

Desiree Fitzsimmons

I trembled as I pulled into the driveway. Mi Rey’s father was dead. I couldn’t believe it. Alison was equally shocked. I had never seen her so frightened before. I stepped out of the car. The bodyguards were gathered on the lawn, talking to each other and Chasity.

“Any news?” I asked.

“No,” Chasity answered. “They just arrived. 23 talked to the cops, and it sounds like Mark’s mother did shoot him. They’re not sure if it’s self-defense either.”

“Master will fix it,” Alison declared.

“Of course,” Chasity agreed. The other bodyguards nodded their head.

Inside, the sluts gathered in the dining room, a Nextel resting on the center of the table. They all looked stunned or saddened. None of us had met mi Rey‘s mom, but we all knew he cared for her. He was excited for her to come over for dinner tomorrow night, eager to make love to his mother so he could protect us against the nun’s.

I never wanted to be dominated by a nun again. It was so horrible that day. I was a puppet for Karen. We almost killed mi Rey. Everything would have ended. I would have had to go back to pretending to love Brandon.

“It’ll be all right,” Alison whispered as she sat on my lap.

I cuddled my little mermaid and nodded my head. It just had to be all right.

* * *

Mark Glassner – Parkland, WA

Mary moved closer. She stopped in front of us, her face twisted with indecision. She clutched her hands before her, not sure what she should be doing.

“Hey, Mare,” I nodded.

My mom looked up. She stiffened as her eyes widened. She licked her lips. Mary’s wish to be found attractive by every woman washed over my mother. Mom’s eyes lit up with emotion for the first time since I arrived as she drank in Mary’s beauty. Mary wore a purple blouse trimmed in white and her short jean skirt.

She even had a slight smile as she looked Mary up and down.

My powers may not work on my mom, but Mary’s did. When Mary and my mom had spoken on the phone a few days ago, my mom had gotten so horny we were pretty sure she was masturbating as Mary described herself.

That had been so hot listening to my mom grow horny. It was how Mary came up with the plan to use her power to make my mom so aroused she wouldn’t care that she was fucking me. A hot heat flushed through me as I imagined my mother beneath me.

“You must be Mary,” my mom purred, her smile growing for a moment, and then it faltered. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances.”

“It’s okay, Sandy,” Mary said before bending down, hugging my mother, and kissing her lightly on the cheek. “We’re going to take you to our home. You can’t stay here. Trust me, things will get better.”

“I…I guess you’re right.” My mom glanced around the living room. She seemed so lost. “I don’t think I can stay here.”

“No,” I told my mom as I helped her stand. I led her to the front door. None of the cops in the room objected.

Movement caught my notice. I turned and looked down the hallway that lead to the bedrooms. My dad’s body lay face down in the middle of the hallway. Crime scene technicians moved around the body. I looked away.

I didn’t need to see him.

My mom didn’t look. She just hugged herself in her housecoat. We could get her new clothes.

I frowned. The housecoat was open near the top, exposing some of her creamy cleavage. My mom wasn’t wearing a dressing gown beneath. Normally, she would. She was naked beneath her robe. I glanced back at my dad. He was coming from the bedroom when Mom shot him.

And why was Dad home on a Saturday evening? It was his poker night. He should have been out of the house until after midnight. I glanced at my mom. Her hair did look tousled, like she had been in bed or something.

A sudden thought flashed through my mind. Was she having an affair?

No, that couldn’t be. She went to church twice on Sundays and on every Wednesday evening. I had begged my mom to leave Dad for years, and she said she loved him, that Christians shouldn’t get divorced.

But the thought wouldn’t leave my mind.

“Mrs. Glassner, I hope you are okay,” Betty said racing over to hug my mom.

“Thank you, Betty,” my mom groaned, hugging her back.

“It’s fine,” I told Betty. “My dad was being abusive and my mom had to defend herself.”

“Oh,” Betty said, looking confused. “And that’s what the police think?”

“Of course, that’s what happened,” I told her. I pushed her back from my mom. “I’m taking her to my place.”

“Right,” she said, her face twisting. “Call me if you need anything, Mrs. Glassner.”

“I will, sweetie,” my mom said fondly. “I…I’ll call in a few days.”

“Sure,” Betty said. “You take care, okay.”

“You too, Betty,” replied mom, squeezing her hand.

That nagging thought that my mom was having an affair wouldn’t go away. I studied her face. She had smudged lipstick and mascara ran down her face from her tears. Why would she have makeup on if she was just hanging out in the house on a Saturday night? Who could she be having an affair with? It was mindboggling. My mom was so straitlaced, I couldn’t believe that she’d cheat on my dad.

Not that I’d blame her; my dad was an asshole.

I pulled out my the Nextel and pressed the button. “Master to home.”

“Home,” Alison answered. “Is everything okay, Master?”

“Fine. Get all the sluts out of the house,” I ordered. “Go next door. I’m bringing my mother home”

“Yes, Master,” Alison quickly answered. “Is your dad really dead, Master?”

“Just clear the house,” I growled, my anger bursting out of me. I wasn’t even sure what I was angry about.

“Sorry for questioning you, Master,” Alison apologized. “The house will be cleared out.”

To be continued…

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I have released a part 43 of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!