Tag Archives: Male Domination

Submissive Incest Mind Control Chapter One: Naughty Daughter Spanked


Submissive Incest Mind Control

A Story of the Institute of Apotheosis Research

Chapter One: Naughty Daughter Spanked

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2018

Story Codes: Teen male/Teen female, Teen female Masturbation, Male/Teen female, Incest, Domination/submission, Mind Control, Spanking, Male Domination, Virgin, Voyeurism

For a list of all the Incestuous Harem’s Chapters and other stories click here

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

Click here for the last Institute of Apotheosis Research Story: Brother’s Mind-Controlled Sisters Chapter 3.

“We’re not angry with you,” my mother said, giving me a slight smile, “we’re just disappointed, Bess.”
Continue reading

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles Chapter 3: Felicity, Horny, Little Schoolgirl



The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles

Chapter Three: Felicity, Horny, Little Schoolgirl

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2015

Story Codes: Male/Teen female, Mind Control, Spanking, Oral, School, Domination/submission, Teen female submission, Male Domination

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 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.
Continue reading

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles Chapter 2: Julie, Naked in the Park



The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles

Chapter Two: Julie, Naked in the Park

by mypenname3000

© Copyright 2015

Story Codes: Male/Female, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Exhibitionism, Humiliation, Watersports, Domination/Submission, Male Domination, Female Submission, Rimming

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 1.

Note: Thanks to b0b for being my beta reader.

Note: Mark’s friend Karl asked for his boss Julie to be his sex-slave.

June 15th, 2013—Julie Sumner—Steilacoom Park, Lakewood, WA

“Strip,” Karl ordered.
Continue reading

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

Der Pakt mit dem Teufel Kapitel 37: Maria Magdalena



Der Pakt mit dem Teufel

Kapitel 37: Maria Magdalena

Von mypenname3000

Übersetzt von Horem

English version edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2013, 2014

Story Codes: Male/Female, Female/Female, Female/Teen female, Mind Control, Magic, Rape, Sadism, Humiliation, Violence, Murder, Male Domination

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 Kapitel 36.

Violet Matheson – Tacoma, WA

„Leah, Violet, Desiree, verteilt euch“, rief der Meister. „Sie sind hinter mir her, ihr könnt vielleicht entkommen!“
Continue reading

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

Pakt mit dem Teufel Kapitel 30: Tiffanys Erzählung



Pakt mit dem Teufel

Kapitel 30: Tiffanys Erzählung

Von mypenname3000

Übersetzt von Horem

English version edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2013, 2014

Story Codes: Teen male/Female, Male/Female, Female/Female, Mind Control, Male Domination, Female Domination, Sadism, Violence, Cockold, Watersports, Magic

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

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

Click here for Kapitel 29.

Meine Hände zitterten, als das Adrenalin langsam verschwand. Aber die Bilder all der Toten und Sterbenden blieben. Mein Gott, so viele Tote. Bitte vergib mir, oh Herr!
Continue reading

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

The Devil’s Pact Side-Story: Lillian Get’s Spanked



The Devil’s Pact

Side-Story: Lillian Get’s Spanked

by mypenname3000

edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2014

Story Codes: Female/Female, Male/Females, Consensual Sex, Spanking, Oral Sex, Sadism/Masochism, Female Domination, Male Domination, Female Submissive, Watersports

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.

Notes: This takes place during Chapter 43 and at the same time as Violet’s Affair and April’s Cumbath.

Friday, November 8th, 2013 – Lillian Franks – Murano Hotel, Tacoma, WA

“Lillian,” Tomoyo greeted when I opened my hotel room door. She was one of the maids, and cute as a button with dark, slanted eyes and a petite body. I had enjoyed the teen and her tiny tits a few times. She was a screamer. “My Lady will attend to your punishment now.”

I had to suppress my grin. I had mouthed off during the meeting in the Matmown early this morning. Very early. Master and Mistress hadn’t gotten back from Nebraska until well after midnight. Mistress had promised to discipline me tonight and—

The Devil was using Master to get free.

My good mood almost evaporated at the thought’s intrusion. The Devil wanted to break free, and was using Master to do it. Now we were planning on attacking Lilith and capturing the bitch, and thereby thwarting the Devil’s plans. So long as Lilith lived, he was trapped. A surge of excitement exploded inside my stomach; I couldn’t wait to humiliate the demoness and pay her back for Karen’s death!

“If you will follow me, miss,” Tomoyo motioned. As if I didn’t know the way to Master and Mistress’s suite. It was just a floor above.

“Lead on, cutie,” I grinned, and reached under her skirt to give her naked ass a playful squeeze. Nice and firm. She tossed a sultry smile over her shoulder.

We passed Abigail, a gorgeous brunette maid, her heavy tits jiggling wonderfully in her mesh bodice, and her ass swayed beautifully beneath her skirt and ruffled petticoats. Tomoyo gave a furtive glance at the maid; her light-olive cheeks tinged with red.

I pulled her into the elevator. “So you’re sweet on hot, little Abigail?”

She looked down, perfectly capturing that sexy, demure posture of a geisha. Willow had a great eye for talent. Every maid was perfect. “She doesn’t even notice me.”

“Make her notice you,” I purred. “Attack her. Kiss her. Stick your hand down the front of her blouse and play with those delightful melons of hers.”

She looked so cute as her blush deepened. I wanted to press her against the elevator and devour her. Fuck! I had my punishment with Mistress, and after that I was going out with Violet and April. Tomorrow night, maybe? If I remember, I’ll trip her into my bed and ravish her. And maybe Abigail, too.

“I couldn’t do that,” Tomoyo moaned. “What if she pushes me away?”

“She won’t.” I pinched her ass. “You have such a cute vibe that just screams ‘ravish me.’ She won’t be able to resist. She’s a hot blooded-slut. Trust me!”

Abigail loved to dine on fish taco, and devoured mine for an hour straight two nights ago. The girl had an insatiable mouth. She’d eat little Tomoyo for breakfast. I wanted to see that! I pressed my thighs together, moisture trickling down my leg. Damn! I needed a nice cum.

Well, it was fun getting spanked by Mistress.

The elevator dinged. Two bodyguards, 49 and 50, guarded Master and Mistress’s suite. They were new guards that had joined after Brandon’s attack, and both were, of course, gorgeous. 49 was a stunning African American, with a pair of voluminous, ebony breasts about to fall out of her blouse, while 50 had bright, red hair that fell in curls around her more modest, though still lovely, chest.

49 slapped my ass through the very short, red-and-black tartan skirt I wore. “Naughty slut!” she grinned.

“All the time,” I laughed, and gave her a kiss on the lips. She may be new, but she fit right in with the rest of us horny women.

I adjusted my blouse, plain white, tied just below my perky, B cup tits. When I walked, they swayed and jiggled, my nipples pink shadows through the thin material. I ran a finger through my black hair highlighted with bright blue and purple, pushing a loose strand behind my ear.

“You look hot,” giggled 50. “Ma’am is going to thoroughly enjoy punishing you.”

I licked my lips, enjoying the cool, metallic feel of my lip piercing, and smiled. “I better not keep her waiting!”

50 opened the door, ushering me in. “She’s waiting in their bedroom.”

The suite was luxurious, and had several bedrooms, though only one was in use. Each of us sluts had our own suite, except Alison and Desiree who shared one. I strode across the room, putting on a suitably fearful expression. Mistress would love that.

I knocked softly at the bedroom door.

“Enter,” Mistress answered.

She sat at her vanity in a blue, silk robe. Her beautiful, auburn hair cascaded about her shoulders as she gently worked a long-handled brush through it. My asscheeks tightened. Is that what she’s going to spank me with? She didn’t glance at me, so I just stood there, my stomach slowly twisting in knots.

Another bead of pussy juice ran down my thigh. It tickled; I wanted to plunge my hand beneath my skirt and stroke my aching cunt. But, no, Mistress wouldn’t want that. She hummed, still brushing her beautiful hair. She shifted; the robe was open, and I could see the profile of her perky, freckled breast topped by a dusky nipple and the gentle swell of her pregnant belly. Perfection!

I shifted my hips, shivering as my thighs pressed against my burning clit. I could see a smile playing on her lips. Her nipples hardened, rising up like little, dark-pink shoots. My own nipples were hard, and when I breathed they rubbed pleasantly against the fabric of my blouse. Another tremble passed through me; I needed to cum. I needed to be punished.

Please, Mistress, please!

She never looked at me once, though her smile grew more and more pleased as my trembling became more and more pronounced. My thighs were drenched with my passion, and the air was thick with my tart aroma. I rubbed sweaty palms on my tartan skirt, then forced them to grasp my sleek thighs. I so wanted to shove my hands between my legs. I knew I would cum in a matter of seconds. No! You are her slut! It’s not your place to cum unless she wants you to.

But God, I so wanted to disobey her.

Finally, she carefully set her brush down, and stood up and turned, her green eyes flashing with admiration. I looked downward, full of remorse. Her smile grew more wicked. She shrugged, and her robe slipped to the floor; I feasted on her glory. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. Even before I became their slut, I had enjoyed my fair share of hotties, but they were all candles compared to her bonfire.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her fingers idly stroking her belly, just starting to show her pregnancy, before trailing down to play with her silky pubic hair shaped into a fiery heart.

“To be punished, Mistress,” I answered contritely, still looking down at her dainty feet. “I belittled my fellow slut.”

“And how should I punish you?”

“The hairbrush, Mistress,” I moaned, squeezing my thighs together. I was so hot. I could cum just by squeezing my aching clit.

“I want you to apologize first,” she smiled, stretching out on the bed.

I looked around. Was Violet here?

“With your tongue,” Mistress answered. “All over my body.”

“Oh, yes!” I sauntered to the bed. “I am so sorry, Mistress. Let my naughty tongue caress your heavenly body.”

I crawled onto the bed, grasping her soft hand. I brought her dainty fingers to my lips, and sucked. I worshiped them with my tongue like they were Master’s cock. Nibbling, sucking, licking. I rubbed her palm against my cheek, kissed her palm lines like I was reading her future, then nibbled her wrist. I moved up her arm, leaving a trail of smooches. Her skin was silk, and I could taste the perfume of her bathwater. Lavender and jasmine filled my nose, mixed with her spicy, sweet scent and my own tart musk.

I nuzzled her armpit, licking the bare skin, then worked my way around her neck. “I am so sorry, Mistress,” I cooed, then licked up to her ear and tongued her lobe. “I’m such a naughty slut.” She sighed. I kissed her forehead, eyebrows, her cute nose. I worked around her lips, down to her chin, and round to the right side of her face.

Then I kissed her lips. Gentle, chaste, brief. Her green eyes shone with passion, pupils wide with desire. Her tongue ran slowly across her lush lips, tasting me. I nuzzled her neck, kissing and sucking, and worked my way down her right arm, loving this limb as thoroughly as I loved her left.

“Lillian,” she purred as I sucked her finger. Her left hand slid through my black hair. “Keep apologizing! I want to know that you are truly sorry.”

I moved down to her left foot, licking the sole, then pressed the soft bottom of her foot against my face. She had such beautiful feet. I smooched up her arch until I sucked her big toe into my lips. I lavished all her dainty toes with my most sincere apology. My poor pussy ached, but that had to wait. My Mistress still wasn’t convinced.

“I am so, very, very sorry,” I groaned as I kissed up her calf. I licked at the crease behind her knee, then smooched down her inner thigh. “I’ll prove it.”

Her spicy, sweet scent threatened to overwhelm me as I drew nearer and nearer to her tight, flushed, and drenched pussy. Her breathing picked up, her perky breasts rising and falling as I neared her heat. I could just start to taste her cream staining her thighs, when I skirted around her pussy and followed the lines of her hips upward.

I reached her left breast and attacked her nipple.

“Oh, fuck!” she gasped, not expecting my sudden, aggressive maneuver. Her nipple was hard between my lips, and I sucked and nibbled and swirled my tongue. “You delicious, naughty slut!”

I switched tits, engulfing the entirety of her nipple and areola. My fingers stroked her skin, tracing the lines of her ribs, then the curve of her pregnant belly. I skirted down her pelvis, into her groin, and stroked the edges of her vulva. She groaned again, hips undulating.

She was ready for my full apology.

I pressed my cheek between her breasts, sliding down across the gentle swell of her belly. Her scent engulfed my nose, strong and full of her need. I nestled between her thighs, staring in awe at the perfection of her pussy. Her lips were just slightly parted, revealing her pink, inner depths, while her clit peaked out of its hood like a shy flower opening for the sun.

“Oh, yes!” she moaned, hips bucking, when I drank her flower’s nectar. “Apologize! Work that tongue in me! You fucking whore!”

I pushed my tongue in deep, sucking in her juices. She screamed, body quivering, as I brought her to orgasm after earth-shaking orgasm. I drank her nectar, sucked on her labia, shoved my fingers deep into her sheath, and nibbled on her clit. I did everything I could to show her the depths of my apology.

“You wonderful, dirty slut!” she moaned. “Eat me, whore! Oh, fuck! Keep making me cum!”

Her words were music to my ears. I was their slut. I lived to pleasure them. Her hands grasped my hair, pulling me tight against her pussy. She gasped and moaned, writhing against my lips. Her face twisted with passion, and her perky, freckled breasts jiggled as she heaved.

“Drink it!” she screamed.

Sharp, acrid urine flooded my mouth. I swallowed the nasty fluids streaming into my lips. Her hands held my face and forced me to drink her piss. It was so humiliating. My cunt let forth another fresh flood of juices that made the itch even more unbearable. I drank and drank; she must have downed a lot of water beforehand.

“Oh, fuck!” she groaned. “You dirty, nasty, pee slut! Oh, shit! Cumming! I’m cumming and pissing in your whore mouth!”

Spicy, sweet juices and piss flooded my mouth as she screamed and bucked, trying to drown me with shame and humiliation. I loved being her pee slut! The piss trickled to a few final squirts as she collapsed back on the bed. Her hands pushed me away, her pussy too sensitive. Panting, I sat on the edge of the bed, licking my lips. Pussy cream covered my cheeks and chin, running down to stain my blouse, and the acrid flavor of piss stained my lips. My own thighs were a flood of my passion, and I burned for a release.

“Get the hairbrush,” she ordered after a moment, standing up and walking to a plush chair with a high back carved of dark mahogany. Her spanking chair. She sat down with grace, her wonderfully perky and freckled tits swaying almost hypnotically. My lips ached to engulf her dusky nipple.

I grabbed the hairbrush and walked to her. “Please discipline me for being such a naughty slut, Mistress,” I cooed.

Smiling, she took it, and I draped myself across her lap like a good slut. My skirt lifted, cool air wafting between my thighs, bringing a minor amount of relief to the fire burning in my pussy.

“I am so sorry, Mistress,” I moaned. “Please, spank me! Teach me my lesson.”

“In time,” she purred. “I’m admiring the beauty of your ass and your shaved cunt. You are absolutely drenched. I bet you can’t wait to cum.”

“I can’t!” I moaned, then wiggled my ass, hoping to entice her.

“Not yet,” she ordered.

I waited, squirming on her lap. My fingers itched to plunge between my thighs or to pinch my aching nipples until I screamed. Fuck, why won’t she just start the spanking. I squeezed my thighs together. Please, please, please spank me. I can’t take this—


I jumped; pain stung me. I gasped, “One, thank you, Mistress!”

My ass burned. So wonderful. I had been naughty, and I earned the pleasure of my punishment. The second blow landed on my other cheek. Harder, stinging pain raced through me. I gasped my count, and the third followed and a fourth. I felt so helpless, like when I had been a little girl, and a not so little teenager, pulled over Daddy’s lap. I missed him and all those wonderful times he crawled into my bed. Damn cancer!

Smack! The pain jarred me out of my memory.

“Five, thank you, Mistress!”

I loved it. Smack!

“Six, thank you, Mistress!”

My cunt ached. I writhed on her lap, my clit nudging her thigh. Smack!

“Seven, thank you, Mistress!”

I needed to cum. I needed to cum. Smack!

“Eight, thank you, Mistress!”

Oh, fuck, I need to cum so bad. I rubbed harder with my clit, humping her smooth thigh. Release! I need a fucking release! Smack!

“Nine, thank you, Mistress!”

My ass was completely on fire, and that just made the inferno between my thighs even more unbearable. My nipples were hard, rasping against my blouse, more fuel for my passion. Smack!

“Ten, thank you, Mistress!”

My voice was becoming hoarse with passion. I needed to cum! Smack!

“Eleven, thank you, Mistress!”

The door opened. “Well, well, well. If this isn’t a lovely sight.” I couldn’t see Master, but I could feel his boyish grin.

“Isn’t it?” Mistress asked, stroking my burning ass. Smack!

“Twelve, thank you, Mistress!”

“Her voice is becoming tiresome though. Why don’t you help me out, hun?”

“Naughty filly!” he laughed.

“Horny stallion!” she giggled.

He moved closer. They kissed. Long and noisy, full of their love and passion. Master sat on the bed next to the chair, his strong hand grasped my hair, and yanked my head up. His cock was hard, beading with pre-cum, and hovered right before my lips; I ran my tongue across them in anticipation.

“Master, I’m so sorry!” I moaned.

“Good!” he grinned, his blue eyes burning with lust. Then he roughly shoved my head down, impaling my mouth on his cock.


I could only moan around the shaft pistoning roughly into my mouth. Master fucked my face like a wild stallion. His cock shoved painfully down my throat as Mistress rained blow after blow upon my ass. God, I fucking needed to cum so bad. I was their toy, and they were using me to satisfy their own cravings.

I wouldn’t have it any other way. Smack!

“Goddamn, Mare! Keep smacking her ass. Her throat constricts about my cock every time.”


“Like that?” Mistress asked.

“Yeah! Keep doing that, Mare!”


“Fuck!” Master grunted. Smack! “Fuck, yeah! Keep sucking, slut! Apologize with your dirty mouth!” Smack! “It’s all a filthy, dirty girl like you is good for!” Smack!

I groaned, throat tightening about his spearing cock. I was their filthy, dirty slut, and reveled in it! I humped faster against Mistress’s thigh. I needed to cum so bad. I would have done anything to get my release. Master grunted faster and faster, both hands holding my head in place as he fucked my mouth with wild abadonment.

“Fucking slut!” he grunted. Smack! “Oh, fuck!”

“Cum…” Smack! “…in…” Smack! “…her…” Smack! “…naughty…” Smack! “…mouth…” Smack! “…Mark!” Smack!

He did. My mouth filled to the brim with his wonderful spunk. Thick and salty. I swallowed, as Mistress kept spanking me. I felt like such a dirty girl. I loved it! Master gave one last grunt as one last blast of cum filled my lips, then he let go of my head.

His cock popped out; I coughed, gasping for breath. A drop of cum fell onto the floor. What a waste. “Thank you, Master, for your cum.”

“You’re welcome. What do you say, Mare, has she apologized enough?”


She landed that last blow right on my cunt. I screamed and exploded. I bucked and moaned and yelled my passion. My innards contracted, waves of electric fire rushed through me. I thrashed so hard I slid off her lap, and fell into a quivering ball on the floor.

I had finally cum, and it was glorious. Passion kept rolling through my body, crashing into the pain of my throbbing ass, and forming a monstrous storm of rapture. I quivered, trembled, and shook. I reveled in it. This was the sort of pleasure a woman could only experience when she gave in to her inner slut! When the pleasure receded, I lay almost in a stupor, a smile playing on my lips.

“My naughty filly!” groaned Master as my awareness of the world came slowly back.

The bedsprings squeaked; flesh slapped together.

“I love riding my horny stallion!”

I stood up on woozy legs. Mistress rode him hard. They gazed into each other’s eyes, lost in their love and passion. I was merely their foreplay. And I wouldn’t have it any other way! I strolled to the door, a smile painted on my face and fire burning on my ass.

I was their slut.

Violet and April waited in the main room of their suite, grins on their faces. Both were dressed as naughty schoolgirls: April in a blue-and-purple tartan skirt and Violet in a pink-and-black, and the naughty slut didn’t even wear a top, just a matching tie dangling between her tiny tits reaching to the cute swell of her pregnant stomach.

“So are we still going out tonight?” April asked eagerly.

“Yeah?” muttered Violet. She didn’t seem as enthusiastic as her girlfriend.

“Hell, yeah!” I couldn’t wait to try out a ‘cum-rum’. “I know just the bar!” I had spent the afternoon making phone calls, making sure the right people would be there.

When Master and Mistress were caught up with each other, a slut had to find other ways to amuse herself. I hooked an arm around each of them. We were going to have a lot of fun tonight!

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

The Devil’s Pact Side-Side Story: Jonathon’s New Wife



The Devil’s Pact

Side-Story: Jonathon’s New Wife

by mypenname3000

edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2014

Story Codes: Male/Female, Male/Females, Mind Control, Wife, Bondage/Domination, Male Domination, Female Submission, Oral Sex, Creampie, 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.

Note: This takes during Chapter 10 and Chapter 11. While robbing his first bank, Mark fucked a bank teller named Monica, ordering her to be a good wife, and do whatever nasty, whorish things her husband wants her to.

Monday, June 10th, 2013 – Jonathon Jephson

I hate Mondays. They are the worst, just dragging on and on, reminding you that the weekend is over. I was supposed to be writing this TPS report, but I just couldn’t focus on my work; I didn’t want the weekend to be over, and writing the report would be admitting that the workweek had officially started. Luckily, there were a number of ways to procrastinate: my favorite, frequent trips to the water cooler. Frequent water breaks naturally led to frequent bathroom breaks; another great way to waste time.

“How’s that report coming, Jon?” my boss asked me on what must have been my twentieth water cooler trip; it wasn’t even noon yet.

I gritted my teeth. He always called me Jon, no matter how many times I told him my name is Jonathon. I hated being called Jon. I liked my name; I saw no reason to shorten it. Instead of having the brass to correct him, I lied and said the report was coming along just fine. When I reached my cubical, I took a deep breath, and forced myself to start working on it. My fingers began to type—the weekend was over.

I didn’t get far when my cell rang. I fished it out of my pocket, and saw that it was my wife, Monica, calling. I smiled; she must be having a slow day, too. She was a teller at the Bank of America branch in Parkland, and always had the best stories about some of her customers. Well, this is a great excuse to procrastinate; I could pretend the workweek hadn’t actually started.

“Hey, cutiepie,” I answered.

“This is Mark,” a man, with a commanding voice, said. There was something about his voice – maybe it was the rich timbre of it, or the absolute confidence – that was just so compelling, like he was reaching down into my soul. Why didn’t my wife answer? “I’m with your wife. I’ve been counseling her.” There were a few bumps, like the phone was being jostled. “Say hi to your husband,” Mark said, his voice sounding strange, hollow, as if he was on speaker phone.

“Hi, sweetie,” Monica greeted. There was something in her voice, like she was straining or exerting herself, making her voice a little higher pitched than normal.

“What kind of counseling,” I asked in concern. There was a noise in the background, a kind of rhythmic, slapping noise. Maybe it was construction?

“Your wife tells me she has problems doing certain things in the bedroom,” Mark continued. “But I’ve helped your wife understand that it’s her duty to do whatever perverted things her husbands wants. Right, Monica?”

“Yeah, Jonathon,” Monica panted in excitement. “I’m going to let you fuck my ass, or I’ll give you blowjobs.”

“Really?” I couldn’t hide the excitement in my voice.

I loved Monica, but she was a little frigid in the bedroom. Well, to be honest, she was very frigid, and usually we just made love in the missionary position. Only once in a while could I get her to give me a blowjob, and she never lets me fuck her in the ass. “That’s filthy, Jonathon,” she would say with disgust whenever I would bring up anal sex. I had never even worked up the courage to tell her my greatest desire, not if she thought anal sex was disgusting.

“Y-yeah, sweetie!” Monica gasped. What was she doing to get her so out of breath? I didn’t care, my cock was hard just thinking about Monica sucking it, and letting me stick it up her ass.

“Man, Mark, how can I repay you?”

“Your wife’s already covered the payment.”

This Monday was turning into the greatest day ever. “I love you, cutiepie.”

“Oh, I love you too, Jonathon,” Monica answered with a whisper. I thought I heard her moan, and then the phone went dead.

I don’t know what came over my wife, but this Mark guy must be a miracle worker if he could unthaw her. The rest of the day passed in a blur as I quickly finished my work; I’ve never written a TPS report so fast, and the moment five o’clock hit, I was out the door, into my car, and rushing home. There was an accident on I-5, and my twenty minute commute stretched out into a long, frustrating hour of screaming out the window, and pounding my steering wheel.

When I finally got home, Monica’s car was parked in the driveway. She always beat me home; we lived in the Eastside neighborhood of Tacoma, a mere ten minute, traffic-free drive from her bank. I grabbed my satchel, and rushed to the door, eager to put the new Monica to the test, while fearing this was some sort of elaborate prank. Maybe Monica signed us up for some sort of cruel reality show, like ‘How to Frustrate Your Husband’.

It wasn’t; she was waiting for me naked and posing like a pin-up model. My wife was gorgeous; she had hair the color of light honey, that fell about her shoulders in curly waves. An eager smile graced her lush, red lips. One hand was in her hair, the other on her hip, and her large breasts were thrust forward, topped by fat nipples. My eyes followed the curve of her side down to her hips, to the brown hair that adorned her pussy, and peaking through the mat of hair were the thick lips of her pussy, engorged with passion.

“Welcome home, honey,” she purred like a kitten.

I whistled; my cock became iron. “You look amazing, cutiepie!”

Her smile turned pleased. I dropped my satchel, and caught my wife in an embrace. She kissed me passionately, rubbing her naked body against me. Her tongue was eager as she wiggled it into my lips, fluttering it around and exploring every inch of my mouth. I slipped a hand down and cupped her ass, and pulled her tight against me, letting her feel the bulge forming in my pants.

She knelt before me when she broke the kiss. “I’m so sorry for being such a bad wife. From now on, I’ll be the best wife ever.” She rubbed at my crotch, squeezing my cock through my slacks. “I meant what I said; I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” My deepest, darkest fantasy was to have my wife be my sex slave. For her to be the perfect, submissive slut. Only in the bedroom, of course.

“Anything!” Her smile was all promise.

I swallowed; would she really do it? I threw caution to the wind, and commanded, “I want you to be my sex slave!”

“Yes, Master,” she answered, sounding unsure. “That’s what I would call you, right?”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “My loving, little slave-wife.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “I’m yours, Master. Your naughty slave-wife.”

“Suck me!”

“Absolutely, Master!”

My wife unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock. She gave me a few strokes, then her lips were warm and wet as she engulfed me. I groaned, closing my eyes. I really needed to thank this Mark fellow; this was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Monica swirled her tongue around my cock, her hands gently cupping my balls.

“Suck me, slut!” I groaned. “You filthy whore! Pleasure me with your mouth!”

I glanced down, and saw my wife’s eyes shining with lust as she sucked harder; my very own slave-wife. This Mark was a fucking saint! Feeling bolder, I grasped her head and started fucking her face. She didn’t fight me. The few times Monica ever sucked me off, she never let me face fuck her; she had to be in control. Well, never again.

“I’m going to fuck your dirty mouth, slut! When I flood your lips with my cum, you will swallow it all, whore!”

She nodded around my cock. Her hands still massaged my balls as the head of my cock brushed the back of her throat. I’ve never deep-throated a girl before. So I held her head tighter, and shoved my cock down her throat. She resisted for a moment, and then she relaxed, and I was buried all the way into her mouth—it felt stupendous! Tight, warm, constricting as she swallowed.

Too amazing; my balls erupted instantly, and I pulled back until only the tip was still between her lips, my cum flooding her mouth with three huge blasts. Panting, I pulled out of my wife’s mouth, a trail of spit and cum connected my cock to her lips for a moment, before snapping. She smiled, and opened wide, showing me the white cum filling her mouth. Then she swallowed. Once more she opened wide; all my cum was gone.

“That was amazing, Monica,” I panted.

“You’re welcome, Master.”

“I love you, cutiepie.”

She blushed. “I love you, too, Master. I have a surprise for you, upstairs.”


“You’ll see.” Her smile was all promise, and I watched her naked ass as she headed up the stairs. “Are you coming, Master?”

“Hell, yeah!”

When we reached our bedroom door she told me to close my eyes. Smiling foolishly, I let my wife lead me into the bedroom. She positioned me on the foot of the bed. “Just keep them closed,” she admonished. I heard the bedsprings creak. “Okay, open them.”

I just about had a heart-attack when I opened my eyes. My wife was cuddled up to a gorgeous redhead named Kylie – Monica’s friend and co-worker – who was just as naked as my wife. Monica had a grip on one of Kylie’s full breasts, giving the orb a squeeze. Smiling like a wanton whore, Kylie parted her sleek thighs to reveal her shaved pussy, drenched in juices.

“I was so bad today, Master,” Monica confessed, an arched smile on her lips. “Kylie and I went to a motel room and fucked each other silly.”

My cock was rock hard, picturing my wife and Kylie fucking each other. I growled, “You have been bad. A good slave fucks her girlfriends in front of her Master, not alone in a motel. You’ll need to be punished, Monica.”

“Oh yes, punish me, Master.”

“Master?” Kylie asked.

“She’s my slave-wife now.”

Kylie gave Monica an appraising look, and my wife explained, “I’m going to be a good wife from now on, and give Jonathon whatever he wants.”

“And I want her to be my little slave.” I remembered that bondage rope I bought years ago; that was back when I thought I could convince my new bride to let me tie her up. “I’ll be right back.”

I rushed down to the basement, and spent five frantic minutes digging around before I found the rope. When I triumphantly returned to the bedroom, the two women were kissing; I paused to watch. Monica was on top, and started kissing her way down Kylie’s pale neck to suck on her nipples. I stripped out of my clothing as Monica made love to her friend’s nubs, licking, sucking, and nipping gently with her teeth. Kylie purred in pleasure; her hazel eyes smoky with lust as she watched me undress.

“Time for your punishment, Monica,” I announced, snapping the rope taut, a twangy crack echoing in the bedroom.

Monica released Kylie’s nipple and turned to face me, her eyes widening at the rope. “Of course, Master,” she submissively answered. I never loved her more.

I bound her hands behind her back, then I looped the rope up around her neck, not too tight; I didn’t want to actually strangle her. Other loops were tied around her breasts, biting into her full tits around their base, and squeezing the mounds up like two, conical peaks topped with pink glaciers. Then I took the rope down her stomach and ran a length between her legs. The rope dug into her vulva, her pussy lips engulfing the rope, and then I passed the rope through her asscheeks. I used a loop around her waist to pull it very tight into her cunt and ass. Finally, I bound her knees and ankles together, before I dumped her onto the bed. She squirmed on her back, trying to find a comfortable position with her hands secured at the small of her back; her bound breasts jiggled delightfully as they were squeezed up by the tight rope.

“Have you always wanted to do this to me?” Monica asked.

I slapped her tit, watching the flesh undulate and wave her pink nipple about. “I have. And you look so cute all tied up.”

She flushed, “I’m sorry I never let you do this to me.” Then she giggled, “It’s kind of exciting. Being all helpless.”

My cock was achingly hard. “It’s kinda exciting seeing you all helpless.” I gave her tit another slap. “For your punishment, you get to watch me fuck Kylie.”

“Yes, Master.” A wicked grin appeared on her lips. “Fuck her hard.”

Kylie’s eyes were on my cock. “Umm, I can’t wait! I’m so wet and horny. Monica and I’ve been keeping each other revved up all day!”

“I want to fuck you doggie style.”

Kylie smiled and got on her hands and knees.

“No, kneel over Monica’s face. Let her see your cunt up close and personal getting fucked,” I ordered, slapping Kylie on the ass.

She grinned at me. “That’s wicked, Jonathon.”

I knelt behind Kylie, smacked her ass again, and she cooed in delight. Then I spread open her pussy, and shoved my cock in. Kylie was wet and tight. She felt different then Monica; her cunt gripped my shaft in different places as I fucked her.

“Wow, this is so wild,” Monica said. “I can see your cock driving in and out of her cunt, and your balls are slapping against her clit.”

Kylie panted and moaned, slamming her hips back into me, then she lowered her face to Monica’s crotch. I grabbed her red hair and yanked her head back. “She’s being punished!”

“Sorry!” panted Kylie. “Her pussy looks so inviting with that rope drawn tight between her lips. It’s so obscene.”

I felt a tongue licking at my balls. She really was my submissive slave-wife. Monica would suck my balls into her lips, then they would pop out as I buried into Kylie’s snatch, then she’d recapture them as I drew back. I fucked Kylie faster. I came a little while ago, but it wasn’t going to take long for my second cum; Kylie’s cunt was tight, and squeezed my cock like a pleasure vice. I pulled on her hair, yanking her head far back, and watched her lips open in pleasure.

“Pound my cunt!” Kylie screamed. “Fuck me hard! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! This is so fucking wild!”

“Suck her clit, slave!” I ordered. “Make her cum on my cock!”

I felt Monica’s tongue move up my pistoning shaft, finding the place where my cock joined her friend’s cunt. I could feel her face rubbing on the bottom of my shaft as she sucked Kylie’s clit, her cunt tightening about my cock.

“Oh, my God! I’m going to fucking cum!” groaned Kylie, as her cunt started spasming about my cock, milking the cum out of my balls. I slammed into her, and dumped four blasts of sperm into her cunt. God, I hope she’s on the pill.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” I panted, pulling out of Kylie’s cunt. I wanted to fuck my wife’s ass, but my cock needed a rest. I smiled, “Kylie sit on Monica’s face. Let her lick you clean. But no touching Monica’s cunt. She can’t cum yet!”

“Umm, that’s nice,” Kylie purred, sitting on my wife’s face. I sat on the bed, stroking my wife’s thigh as I watched her pink tongue slide through Kylie’s slit, gathering up a gob of my cum. “Eat me, slave!” Kylie gasped, arching her back, and thrusting her lovely breasts forward. I leaned in, and sucked a hard nipple into my lips. “Your little slave has a delightful tongue,” Kylie cooed in my ear. “She loves to eat pussy!”

“How’d you two end up in a motel?” I asked her.

“Mark.” It was all Kylie needed to say. Whoever Mark was, he flipped the slut switch inside Monica, and I was happy to reap the benefits. I glanced at my wife, remembering the phone conversation, and the sound of my wife’s voice. She had sounded like she had been exerting herself—like she had been getting fucked.

“Did Mark fuck you, Monica?”

“Yes, Master,” she quietly answered. “I’m sorry. I was a really bad wife.”

“While we were on the phone?”

“Yes. In the ass, Master.” she paused. “I don’t know what happened. He just walked in and started giving everyone orders, and we all just did what he said. His voice was so deep, so powerful, like it reached into my soul, and made me happily dance to his tune. Even Mr. Willard danced for him; Mark ordered him to open the vault, and Mr. Willard just cooperated.”

“Wait, the bank got robbed?” A spike of concern stabbed my stomach.

“I guess,” Monica answered. “I mean, Mark asked for the money and Mr. Willard just gave it to him. He didn’t threaten us or use a weapon or anything.”

Who was this guy? I wanted to be angry at him for fucking my wife, but he transformed her into this beautiful, submissive slave for me. I grabbed my wife’s breast, and squeezed her nipple painfully hard until Monica cried in pain. “You are never to fuck another man without my permission, slave!”

“Yes, Master,” Monica squeaked.

“Don’t stop licking Kylie, whore!” I pinched her nipple again. I should have grabbed some clothes pins out of the laundry room. Her fat nipples were perfect for clamps.

“Sorry, Master.” Monica quickly went back to eating out Kylie.

I released her nipple, then bent down, and sucked the hard nub into my mouth. I loved sucking on my wife’s fat nipples; they felt great on my lips and Monica loved it, moaning like a whore into her friend’s snatch. Her nipples were really sensitive; once, I made my wife cum just by sucking on them.

I played with both of them, using my lips on one, and my fingers on another. When I felt my wife’s breath quicken as her orgasm drew near, I backed off, her frustrated moans muffled by her girlfriend’s cunt. Monica’s annoyance caused her to frantically eat Kylie’s pussy until Kylie screamed, her body shaking, almost drowning my wife with pussy juices as she came hard; Monica just kept licking away like a good little slave. I never was a fan of girl-girl porn – I always thought the purpose of porn was to imagine you were the guy nailing the actress – but watching Kylie cum on my wife’s face was the most erotic thing I had ever witnessed. I felt life return to my cock as Kylie kept shuddering on Monica’s lips.

“No more,” Kylie complained, rolling off of my wife. “I’m just too sensitive.”

Monica’s face was smeared with pussy cream. Kylie’s juices had run down her cheeks and neck, and soaked the bedspread on either side of my wife’s head. I leaned down, and kissed my wife gently on the lips, tasting Kylie’s sour, spicy musk. I licked the juices down to my wife’s ear, running my tongue along her earlobe and whispered, “I love you, Monica. Thank you for being my slave-wife.”

“You’re welcome, Jonathon,” Monica sighed. “I love you, too.”

I kissed her salty tears then her mouth. “Time for the last part of your punishment, slave.”

“What?” she asked, wiggling on the bed. “I need to cum so bad. Please, Master, let me cum?”

I flipped her over, and slapped her butt. “I am going to fuck your ass. You can cum—if you are able to!”

I pulled the rope to the side, exposing her puckered asshole. I didn’t lube her asshole nor my cock; after all, this was her punishment. She screamed in pain as I shoved my cock into her tight ass. It was wonderful; she was velvet rough, and tighter than a schoolgirl’s cunt as I pounded away at her bowels, the bedsprings creaking loudly with the violence of my thrusts.

“You were a bad, cheating wife!” I yelled. “You deserve this pain!”

“I do!” she cried out. “I was such a bad wife! Hurt me! Punish me with your cock! Fuck my ass raw, Master!”

Her words spurred me on, and I fucked her ass hard and fast. I let the anger I felt at Mark for violating my wife take over. She groaned in pain with every thrust, and I just fucked her harder. How dare she let another man fuck her! I am her husband! I am her Master! The room was filled with her cries of pain, my grunts of anger, and the squeal of the bedsprings.

“Fuck me, Master!” There was pleasure in her voice. She no longer grunted in pain; the little slut was enjoying it. I pulled harder on the rope between her crotch, and her ass tightened as the thin cord rubbed through her slit. The rope grew wet, the hemp absorbing more and more of the moisture flooding out of her cunt. She loved the pain. She was my slave-wife!

“This ass! This cunt! This body is mine!” I roared.

“Yes, yes! I am yours, Master! Your most willing slave!” She came, her ass clenching about my cock like a vice. I kept fucking her; she kept cumming, one orgasm rolling into another.

“You’ll do whatever filthy, depraved act I demand!”

“I will, Master!”

“You will defile yourself at my whim!”

“Oh, yes! Defile me! Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! Use me! I’m just…shit…a thing! A living sex toy! Oh, damn! I live only to…uhhh…to please you, Master!”

Kylie was forgotten as I fucked my wife. We were both lost in the tide of lust. Neither of us heard the pounding on the front door downstairs, or noticed when Kylie got up; all that mattered was the pleasure my slave-wife’s tight ass was giving my cock. My balls were boiling over, and Monica’s spasming ass brought me closer and closer to cumming.

“You are my property!” I roared as my balls erupted, filling my wife’s ass to the brim with my cum.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she panted over and over as I collapsed on her back. “Your property, your slave, your wife,” she sighed, a smile gracing her lips. I kissed her neck, and enjoyed the feel of my wife beneath me, submitting to me.

“Hey!” Kylie screamed and we looked up at her. “Jeez, you guys were really going at it. I had to scream like four times.”

“Yeah, we got carried away,” Monica sighed, a happy smile on her face. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had, Jonathon.”

“It was, cutiepie,” I agreed, kissing her cheek.

“Well, there are people knocking insistently at your door.”

“Shit,” I muttered, pulling out of my wife. White cum frothed out of her asshole; I smiled, admiring her submission, and gave her ass a slap; she giggled. I grabbed a bathrobe and headed downstairs.

There were two FBI agents on my porch. One was a fat, balding man in a cheap suit wearing a blue, FBI windbreaker. The other was a young woman, sandy-blonde hair in a bun, her eyes hidden by mirrored sun-glasses. She filled out her white shirt nicely, I thought, and was far too pretty to be an FBI agent.

“Um, can I help you?” I asked with a frown. What was the FBI doing here?

“I’m Special Agent Peterson and this is Agent Heinrich,” the man replied. “We need to speak to Monica Jephson.”

“I’m her husband, Jonathon. She’s a little tied up right now.” It was hard to keep a straight face when I said that. “Can you come back later?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Agent Peterson answered. “There was a robbery at the bank where she worked today. We need to interview her.” He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Your wife may also be the victim of a…um…sexual assault.”

God, I forgot all about the bank robbery. “Well, come on in, and I’ll go untie her.”

“Untie…her, sir?” Peterson asked.

“She’s my sex-slave,” I answered. “I like to tie her up.”

Peterson flushed, but an amused smile played on the female agent’s lips, as she said, “We’ll wait in your living room, if that’s okay, sir.”

“Sure, sure,” I nodded, and headed upstairs. The fun might be over for tonight, but I had the rest of my life to explore my new, submissive wife.

I really need to thank this Mark guy. He deserves a medal for what he did to my wife!

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

The Devil’s Pact Chapter 37: Mary Magdalene



The Devil’s Pact

Chapter 37: Mary Magdalene

by mypenname3000

edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2013, 2014

Story Codes: Male/Female, Female/Female, Female/Teen female, Mind Control, Magic, Rape, Sadism, Humiliation, Violence, Murder, Male Domination

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 36.

Violet Matheson – Tacoma, WA

“Leah, Violet, and Desiree, scatter!” Master shouted. “They’re after me, you might get away!”

I looked one last time at Master, drinking in his form, then turned and ran as fast as I could from the wreckage. My heart thudded in terror. Behind me, gunfire erupted and I shrieked loudly. Please be okay, Master! Please! I pumped my legs as hard as I could, my lungs burning with exertion. I had never run so fast, so hard in my life.

But I couldn’t keep it up. After running six blocks my legs felt like solid lead and my sides ached. I just had to stop, bending over to grab my knees while I tried to catch my breath. Sweat poured off my forehead, stinging my eyes; I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

“We have to keep moving, Violet!” Desiree panted. I jumped, glancing behind me. I didn’t even realize that my slut-sister had been running with me. “They’re coming!”

I glanced behind me and saw soldiers in brown camo running down the street. They were still two blocks away and covering the ground fast. We were in a residential neighborhood; old houses, most looking run down, crowded the street while the residents stood on their porches watching both us and the soldiers in confused amusement.

“There!” Desiree pointed at a barely-paved alleyway and took off sprinting.

Fear gave me a second wind and I chased after her. She crashed through a gate in a chain-link fence, the metal rattling, and I was right on her tail. We ran down the side of a house and came out on the next street up. There was a loud, crashing sound of metal splintering wood off in the distance where Master was.

Stay safe, Master, I prayed. Please stay safe!

We cut across the street into another yard, through a gate in the picket fence, the white paint peeling, exposing grayish wood. Running down the side of the house into the backyard, my sides were killing me and I felt like throwing up. My thin top was wet with sweat, sticking to my boobs. Desiree marched up to a clothesline and ripped down a dress.

“We need to change,” Desiree panted, her nut-brown skin flushed with exertion. “We stand out too much dressed like this.”

I flushed; the tube-top I was wearing was so tight, it was practically a second skin, and my sweat made the red material slightly transparent exposing my nipples and areolas completely. I took the dress from Desiree and pulled it over my head. It was too big for me, the skirt fell down way past my knees. I felt like I wore a tent it was so loose and baggy, so unlike the tight clothes I had grown used to wearing since I met Master.

There was a crashing sound and I turned to see two soldiers walking down the side of the house, aiming their big rifles. Desiree froze for a moment, a second dress in her hand. She glance once at me, smiled, then took off running towards the other side of the house, shouting loudly. The soldiers cursed and chased after her, leaving me frozen in the backyard.

You need to move, Violet. She drew them off so you could escape. So keep moving! Find someplace to hide. There was a back gate that led out into another alley. I ran through it, and looked around the alley, trying to regain my breath. I heard booted footsteps and ducked behind an olive-green, plastic trashcan, trembling as I hid. I curled up into a ball, sobbing silently. My muscles were cramping and I started to shake.

This could not be happening. This was worse then when the SWAT team attacked us last June. I just wanted to stay where I was, hiding behind the trashcan. I didn’t ever want to leave. I didn’t care that it smelled bad, or that the gravel was sharp and poked my side. It was safe. I was safe. Please, please don’t find me!

“Save me, Master,” I whispered, clutching at the choker about my neck. “Please come save me, Master.”

Gravel crunched and I jumped. Someone was approaching. I curled up as tight as I could, taking only the shallowest of breaths. My heart was hammering loudly in my chest. They’re going to hear my heart thundering away, I realized with fear. It’s so loud. Fresh terror surged through me, driving my heart to beat louder and louder. Please stop beating so loud! But my heart ignored me and kept hammering away.

The footsteps drew closer; I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see what was coming. More gravel scraped and crunched as they drew closer; the soldiers were almost to my hiding spot. I’m going to get captured. My heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to burst right out of my chest. The crunching footsteps were right next to me. I was found, they had caught me. I tensed, waiting for the blow to be struck, the bullet to be fired.

Instead it was the lightest of touch.

Cautiously, I cracked my eyes open to see a young woman smiling down at me with warm, blue eyes and a friendly smile. She held out her hand and relief flooded through me. I wasn’t caught. I hesitantly uncurled, grasped her hand, and she gently helped me to my feet. I hugged her gratefully, tears running down my face. I wasn’t caught!

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I whispered over and over.

She just held me for a moment, not answering, then led me into her house.


Mary Glassner – Osage Field, Kansas

I sat facing Sam across the hole, the September sun warm on my back as it sank towards the western horizon.

The hole was a few feet deep, dug by Duncan and the other former SWAT officers. We were in a grassy field next to one of the runways at Osage Field, the decommissioned Cold War airbase in the middle of nowhere, Kansas, that Mark and I had purchased. It was our bolthole. Nearby was a Missile Silo, also shut down, converted into a survival bunker. We staffed the airfield with volunteers bound to us with the Zimmah spell: the SWAT Officers who survived the attack last June, their wives and girlfriends, and the Blackwoods. It was nice seeing Belinda and her teenage daughter Cassie again, and I remembered all the fun I had with Mark’s jogging sluts last June. Along with Belinda’s husband Oscar, the Blackwoods took care of the actual Missile Silo, while the SWAT Officers and their families took care of the airfield and provided security.

All our friends and family paced around the hole or stood in worried knots. Mark’s mother and sister looked sick with worry and the sluts all clung around Alison, encouraging the girl that Desiree was safe and she would be reunited with her wife. I saw Rachel and Jacob, our accountants, holding each other. Their wife Leah is our chauffeur and was with Mark when the attack happened. Images of our dead bodyguards were being shown on the news, along with Mark’s beating. But there was no news on Leah or Violet. I hoped that meant they escaped, but I feared that they were dead.

“Are we ready,” I demanded impatiently of Sam. Every minute we delayed was another minute that my husband was getting beaten.

“Yes,” Sam answered. “Light it.”

The hole was piled with brush and soaked in gasoline. Duncan lit a rag and tossed it into the pit. The fire had a greasy smell, and a sickly, black smoke that burned my eyes rose up into the sky. Sam closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Her plaything, Candy, sat next to her, holding Sam’s olive hand. Sam was our Vizier. She understood all the magic better than anyone, even inventing a few spells and charms all on her own.

I had a plan. I was going to take a Nun’s powers and exorcise Brandon. He wanted me. All of his broadcasts contained his threat to beat Mark until I turned myself in. He wanted to make me his slut, just like Mark had made his wife Desiree our slut. All I had to do was submit to his lusts and exorcise him, and then this would all be over.

But I needed to know one important fact—if Brandon had a sister, he could perform the Mowdah spell and be able to recognize my new aura. Right now my aura was red, a Warlock’s aura, but after I steal the Nun’s Gift of the Spirit, my aura would turn bronze. Just like Mark’s had; the aura of a Shaman. The Magicks of the Witch of Endor spoke at great length on aura colors, including the Shaman’s. I needed confirmation that my plan would work.

I needed necromancy.

“Spirits of the dead, I beseech you,” Sam shouted out, holding her arms above the fire as she began the Naba ritual. It was supposed to be very dangerous. If you conjured the wrong spirit, one filled with violence or hatred, it could lash out and hurt the summoner, and since your life-force sustained the summoning, it placed a great strain on you. If you maintained it too long, you could even die. “Appear before me. Rise once more from the grave and clothe yourself in smoke and fire and give us your counsel!”

The ground groaned in pain and the fire surged upward with a screaming roar. The heat was so intense that it caused me to wince and slam my eyes shut in pain. My skin felt like it was about to blacken beneath the roaring inferno Sam conjured, and my heart hammered in fear. Something had gone wrong, Sam had messed up and unleashed an inferno that is consuming us. Then there was a great, moaning whoosh and the heat vanished.

Everything went still, quiet. Deathly.

The sun no longer felt warm on my back; I felt a growing chill that seemed to seep up from the hole. Cold, clammy air caressed my naked body. I shivered, opening my eyes, to see a figure coalescing out of the thick, black smoke rising up from the depths of the earth. From the depths of Hell.

The smoke was swirling towards the coalescing shape, thickening it. A torso grew, sprouting arms and legs like tendrils from a vine. A dome appeared, swelling up into a head. The smoke kept swirling in and the billowy figure grew more and more solid. The lines of a body started to appear, legs grew firm and slim, hips narrowed, and the hint of a bosom formed. Wispy hair sprouted curly from the head and the features of the face grew more defined, a doll’s face with plump lips.

My heart froze, I knew that face.

My eyes watered in grief as Karen spoke, “Hello, Mistress.” Her voice was soft, distant. Ethereal. It was like she was shouting from a thousand miles away, a million miles. Farther away than the Moon, the Sun, all the stars in the heavens. It seemed that all of existence lay between us, a vast gulf that her voice was somehow just able to cross.

“Karen,” my voice broke; tears rolled wet down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Karen.”

“Don’t be, Mistress,” Karen whispered. “It was not your fault. That vile creature tricked you.”

“Are you in pain? Does it hurt where you are?”

She smiled softly. “No, Mistress. Chasity and the others wait with me.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Why for you and Master, of course. Even in death, we are yours. Always yours.” Her gray, smokey hand reached out and cupped my face, wiping at my tears. “Master needs you. So how can I help?”

“Does Brandon Fitzsimmons have a sister?”

“No, just a brother,” Karen answered.

Relief flooded through me. This was going to work! “Is the Mother Superior at Rennes-le-Château?”

“She is, Mistress,” Karen answered. “Alone and waiting for you.”

My heart skipped a beat. “She’s waiting for me?”

“For two thousand years she has waited for you, Mistress,” Karen paused. “Momentous things are happening. Lucifer has driven his enemies from the field and now he waits as his prison crumbles about him. Dark days lie ahead of you.”

“I don’t care, I just need to save Mark!” I cried.

“Sam is nearing the limits of her strength. Ask quickly!” Karen urged.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” I asked. “Something I haven’t thought of?”

“Brandon has…” Sam screamed, loud and sudden, drowned out Karen’s words. “…other.”

“What did you say?” I asked as the smoke started to drift apart, the form vanishing into a billowing cloud that rose up to the heavens.

Karen was gone.

Sam collapsed on the ground, twitching, blood trickling from her nose. I should be concerned for her, but all I could think about were Karen’s words. Brandon has what? An other? That didn’t make sense. A mother, maybe? He somehow found the way to bind anyone that heard him speak with the Zimmah spell. Maybe it involved his mother somehow. A male Warlock needs to use his mother to bind someone. I frowned. No, that could not be right? His mother was dead. Our investigation into Brandon revealed that. It’s why we didn’t think of him as a threat.

“Ma’am, the plane is fueled,” Lynda, one of our pilots, said.

“Let’s go,” I said, pushing aside those questions. Mark was in too much danger to waste a second.

My mom caught my arm as I walked by. “She’s a legend, the Mother Superior. You heard Karen, she’s waiting for you. Don’t do this.”

“I have to, Mom,” I said, shaking my arm from hers. “There is no other choice.”

“Please, Mary,” my mom begged.

I hugged her. “It will be okay. She’s alone. I will have thirty armed men and women with me. I will be perfectly safe. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Mom whispered and kissed my cheek.

Dad gave me a hug and kissed me on my forehead. “You can do it, Mary. I know you can. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered, fighting back tears.

Sam was standing up, looking shaky, as Candy held a cloth to her bleeding nose. For a moment I thought I saw anger in Candy’s eyes as she helped Sam. I was about to say something when Missy ran up and hugged me fiercely. “Good luck, sis!” she said and kissed me on the lips.

“You watch out for Mom and Dad,” I told her and ruffled her strawberry-blonde hair. I glanced back at Candy and I only saw concern for Sam on her face. Did I even see any anger?

“You can count on me, Mary!” Missy exclaimed.

I walked to the 747. I planned on taking all twenty-one of the bodyguards and the nine SWAT officers. It would leave all my loved ones unprotected, but none of that mattered if I couldn’t save Mark in time. I took one last look at all our friends and family before the hatch was closed. I walked to my seat and strapped in. My thoughts were full of worry over what Karen had tried to tell me. I focused, trying to remember how her lips were moving, trying to figure out what Sam’s scream had drowned out.

I had a long flight to France to ponder it.


Desiree de la Fuentes – Tacoma, WA

Being captured wasn’t what I thought it would be.

After being forced to watch my ex-husband order Master’s brutal beating, I was taken to the showers in the the jail next-door to the courthouse. Two female soldiers, one tall with a plain face and the other short and stocky, stripped me naked and shoved me in with a bar of soap and shampoo. As the warm water sprayed on my sore body, I wondered if I would ever see my wife again.

I leaned forward against the tiled wall, and my body shook with silent sobs. I desperately wanted to see my slutty Alison again. I pictured her mischievous face framed by her bubblegum hair, her tongue running over her lush lips, silver glinting off her tongue-piercing. Master gave the distress call; Alison should be far away, safe wherever the bolthole was.

Safe with Mistress.

“You’re clean,” Plain-Face barked. “Let’s go. We need to get you ready for Him.”

I shuddered; the woman said ‘him’ with such a worshipful manner. I had heard Brandon’s pronouncement—he claimed he was a God now. As if he could even compare to Master, I thought with derision. The women handed me a black dress to wear. It was similar to one Brandon bought me before Mark claimed me, low cut and tight, showing off all of my body’s ample assets.

“Take off the choker,” Stocky ordered.

“No,” I said with defiance. I am Mark’s slut!

Stocky just reached out and yanked it off my neck, snapping the clasp. I wanted to cry. Instead, I glared icily at the woman who pocketed my choker. She handed me a jewelry box that contained a pearl necklace and I knocked it to the floor.

“Don’t make us hurt you,” she threatened as she picked up the box.

Grinding my teeth, I took the necklace and placed it about my throat. They hadn’t noticed my wedding ring, and as we walked through the jail, I quickly pulled it off my left hand and slipped it onto my right. They took the symbol of my voluntary slavery and I wasn’t about to lose the symbol of my love for Alison.

The soldiers marched me through the jail. We constantly had to stop to let security gates be buzzed open. Everyone manning the prison was a soldier. There were bloodstains dotting the walls and empty shell casings littering the floor. And not all the gates had to be buzzed open, some lay twisted and blackened from explosives. As we walked, I realized there was no-one making cat-calls at me. The cells were empty.

“Where are all the prisoners?” I asked, unnerved by the empty cells.

“Executed,” Plain-Face answered. “His orders.”

My blood chilled. I wondered what had happened to Brandon. I never loved him, but he wasn’t an evil man. Right? He always seemed nice and attentive. He had a temper, sure, but I was having trouble reconciling the man I married and the monster that appeared today. Stocky prodded me and I realized that I had frozen in my tracks. Swallowing, I started walking forward again.

Was he always a monster and I just never saw it in him?

They led me out to the exercise yard, at the center of the jail. A small courtyard with a few basketball hoops, some metal tables lining the side. The both tables and stools were bolted into the concrete. The exercise yard was crowded with women milling about under the hungry eyes of a group of soldiers. All the women were naked, young, and reasonably attractive.

A larger table had been set up with a white tablecloth and mauve candles; a bottle of wine chilled in an ice bucket. A romantic dinner? A naked teen with blonde hair walked up to me, smiling broadly. She bowed to me then dismissed Stocky and Plain-Face with the wave of her arm. The two soldiers saluted and walked off.

“My Lady,” the girl said. She had a Midwest twang to her voice. “I am Ashley, your Lord Husband’s chief concubine.”

“You’re his slut,” I corrected.

“As you say, my Lady,” she replied. “Would you care to sit? Lord Brandon will be here shortly to dine with you.”

I was about to refuse, when a woman shouted in a rich, French accent, “Kneel before your God, the Majestic Brandon, the Divine Ruler of the World!”

I snorted with laughter. The Majestic Brandon? The soldiers knelt on one knee while the women in the exercise yard and Ashley fell prostrate. I remained standing, refusing to genuflect before my ex, and turned to see a porcelain-faced woman with long, dark-brown hair, falling naked to worship my ex-husband as he swept in. Behind him walked a bevy of naked women, led by a pair of twins who were almost the spitting image of Mary. Several military men – some sort of high-ranking officers judging by their age and bearing – followed on the heels of the naked women, and the last to enter was the mayor of Tacoma, Colton Bray, and his lovely Korean wife, Yoon.

“My beautiful Desiree,” Brandon said warmly, walking up and hugging me; I stiffened in his arms. Brandon frowned and broke the hug. “I see he has warded you from my control.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that I hate you, picaflor?” I asked bitterly, as he motioned to the seat, indicating that I should sit. I grit me teeth and plopped down on the chair.

“You do not hate me, not deep down inside,” Brandon said calmly. “Mark has forced you to hate me. You are under his power.”

I snorted a laugh and muttered in Spanish, “Babosa.” Brandon was an idiot.

One of the auburn-haired twins popped open the wine and poured two glasses, then she knelt with all the other naked women and looked adoringly up at Brandon. Not even Master made us fawn over him like this.

“No, I hate you for this,” I pointed around. “You attacked us. Your damn soldiers almost killed my loved ones. Almost killed me! You are having my Master cruelly beaten and what are you doing with all these women?” I motioned to the scared women crowded in the exercise yard.

“They were candidates for my harem,” Brandon calmly answered. “The ones I rejected. My soldiers are rounding-up every attractive woman they find, and I’m keeping the best. Don’t looked so shocked; Mark did the same thing. He walked into our house and made you his whore.” Heat was rising in his voice. “But don’t you worry, my love, I will find a way to free you.”

“Mark already freed me, babosa,” I answered, putting as much derision into my voice as I could. “I’m his slut willingly. We all are.”

Brandon frowned as another naked woman set a salad before the both of us. My stomach rumbled, but I pushed the food aside. Brandon took a forkful, chewed it slowly, face furrowed as he thought. He swallowed, then asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Back in June, after the Miracle, Master and Mistress freed us. Some of us chose to stay as their slaves.” Feeling spiteful, I added, “I could have returned to you, but I never loved you, Brandon. I just married you for your money. I was a gold digger. I stayed with Master because I fell in love, and I could have all the wealth I could possibly dream of as his whore, more than I ever could have as your wife.”

Anger flashed on his face and I was too surprised to react as he slapped me across the table. “So you love Mark,” he spat. “That vile beast that took you away from me. You were mine!”

“¡Tu madre es puta y pendeja!” I shouted back, rubbing my cheek. “No, I am Alison’s! I fell in love with their slave and married her. I found true happiness! Something that you never gave me! All I ever got from you was a comfortable life and disappointing sex!”

I blocked his second blow and raked my fingernails down his arm. I smiled at the bloody scratches I gave him. He stood up, rage filling his eyes, and rounded the table at me. I quickly got to my feet and tried to back away, but I stumbled over one of his kneeling whores. His arm caught mine in a steely grip. I snarled at him and slapped him across the face.

My head swam as he backhanded me and I tripped over the kneeling woman and fell hard onto my back. “¡Culero!” I snarled at him. “How could I love a muerdealmohadas like you. You don’t even know what to do with a woman! Not with your little dick! ¡Pinche mula!”

He stared down at me, rage burning in his eyes. “I dislike having to chastise you, Desiree, but you will learn to submit to me if I have to beat all the willfulness out of you.”

“¡Jode su madre!” I spat. “I chose Alison and I chose Mark over you! Mistress is out there! You think you’ve won, but she will crush you! And I will be there to see you fall!”

Brandon laughed. “Let the little whore try.” I felt his eyes upon me as I lay on the floor; my skirt had ridden up as I fell and I pushed it back down, covering my exposed pussy. “Why so modest now?” he asked with a hungry look in his eyes. “You weren’t so bashful this morning with your tits exposed and covered in his cum.”

“¡Ve a chuparle el peson ha un chango! I’m his whore, not yours! Never yours.”

“Let’s see, shall we?” he smiled, unbuckling his belt. “Hold her down.”

His harem grabbed me. I thrashed against the women as they pinned my arms to the ground. Others held my legs. I kicked one in the face and she screamed in pain, but others moved in, fingernails biting into my flesh as they held me down. Brandon’s pants were off, his cock jutting out at me beneath his fat belly.

“I forgot just how small you were,” I said with a bold grin. “After Mark’s, I’m not sure I’ll even feel your little rope in me!”

He knelt before me, his fat, disgusting body pressed atop me. “You’ll feel my cock, whore!”

“I always hated having sex with you, panzon. There is nothing less appealing than a fat whale thrashing about on top of you, gasping for breath as he tries to pump away with his little cock!”

“Cunt!” he snarled and slapped me.

My head rang and everything went hazy for a moment. I shook my head then felt a burning pain in my pussy as his cock forced its way in. I was dry; Brandon didn’t seem to care. He just kept pumping away. I suppressed a groan, I wasn’t about to let the bastard know just how much he was hurting me. Looking up, his neck was right above me, his throat exposed.

I could bite him, maybe rip out his artery. Then this all would be over. I could save us all! I lunged my head and bit into his neck, hard. I tasted coppery blood and bit harder, driving my teeth deeper into his neck. He pulled away, roaring in pain.

“Goddamn fucking whore!” he shouted, his left hand clutching at his bleeding throat.

There was a bloody bite, but it wasn’t deep enough. He raised his right fist up and slammed it into my face. The back of my head hit the hard concrete and everything was fuzzy after that. I was barely aware of Brandon pumping away inside me. The world seemed to swim drunkenly about me. My head lolled to the side and I stared at the knees of one of the women holding me down, a gray pebble stuck to her leg. Then everything just faded away.

It was the pain that brought me back. My head was splitting and there was a burning pain down in my pussy. I could feel a crushing weight on top of me. I struggled to open my eyes and there was Brandon, his neck covered with a white bandage. He was still raping me, I realized. I felt raw and sore inside and every thrust of his cock was agony.

“Umm, you’re not a bad fuck when you’re unconscious,” Brandon told me with glee. “If you want to wiggle about, though, that’s alright.”

I struggled to speak, but my head ached too much and then darkness fell on me again. I don’t think I was out long, Brandon was still pumping away inside me when I woke up the second time. His face contorted in pleasure and then I realized with a disgusted shudder that he was shooting his cum inside me.

“God, I love Viagra! Three times without rest,” he smiled. “And I definitely feel like a fourth. What do you say, Desiree. Want to be on top, this time? My knees are killing me.”

“I’d rather die, el de atras,” I slurred.

“My Lord, sunset approaches,” a man said; his voice seemed distant even though I could see him standing right behind Brandon.

I moaned in relief as Brandon pulled out of me. He looked down at me, considering. “I can’t have you looking all ugly,” Brandon said with a shake of his head. He bent down and muttered a word and heat flashed through me and a scarlet light seemed to envelop my body. The heat banished the pain, and the fuzz clouding my thoughts was burned away as Brandon healed me. “Stand up, Desiree, I want you to see something.”

I felt dirty as I stood up, Brandon’s cum leaking out of my pussy. I wanted to throw-up, to run and hide, but I wasn’t going to give my rapist any more satisfaction than I had to. Holding my head high, I followed Brandon out into the exercise yard. While I had been lying senseless, a large fire had been built in the center, lighting up the courtyard as the sky darkened. The Mayor of Tacoma and his wife, Yoon, waited at the fire.

“You are familiar with the Magicks of the Witch of Endor?” Brandon asked and I nodded my head. “Well, it teaches a variety of ways to summon demons. They all will make Pacts with you. The only problem is the cost. Most demons want your absolute worship and obedience to grant your wishes. While others will have you preform tasks that will seem innocuous, at first, but will actually lead to your downfall. There are only two demons that have fixed prices: Lucifer, whom Mark and I both, have already dealt with, and Molech. Of course, Molech’s prices are very demanding.” Brandon held out his hand. “General Brooks.”

One of the military generals walked up and handed Brandon a long knife. The knife’s blade glinted orange and yellow in the firelight as it flashed through the air. I jumped in shock as Brandon drove the knife into Mayor Bray’s chest. The Mayor stared dumbfounded at the blade in his chest, the blood blossoming red through his shirt. Then General Brooks shoved the Mayor and he fell into the fire. Yoon screamed and collapsed to her knees, crying as her husband was engulfed in the flames.

“Molech, I give you this offering of noble blood,” Brandon intoned at the fire. “Cloak yourself in coals and flames and appear before your humble supplicant!”

The fire popped and crackled and then the flames exploded upward, white hot and screaming. I clapped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the terrible noise, the sound of thousands and tens of thousands of voices crying out in eternal agony. The sound of Damnation itself.

There was something moving in the flames. I flinched and stumbled back as a hulking figure stepped out. His skin was black as soot and covered in angry, red fissures that glowed with the being’s inner flames. His eyes were coals that burned with hatred, and the air danced and shimmered about him and smoke poured out of his nostrils and mouth. The fire abruptly died down and the terrible screaming stopped. The figure surveyed the crowed and everyone retreated before his terrible gaze.

Everyone, except Brandon.

The air reeked of rotting eggs and ash, and when the demon spoke, his voice was the roar of a furnace. “What do you wish of me, Mortal?”

“Free Desiree from Mark’s control,” Brandon demanded.

I shuddered in fear as Molech’s burning eyes fixed on me, peering into me, into my soul, leaving me feeling used. Soiled worse even than Brandon’s rapes. “Impossible. She is bound too tightly to him. What else, Mortal.”

Disappointment flickered on Brandon’s face. “Immortality, youth, and sexual stamina.”

“I require nine hundred sacrifices,” Molech answered grimly. “All women. If you fail to provide them to me, I shall take you as my sacrifice.”

“Done,” Brandon answered. The demon reached out and grabbed Brandon’s arm. When he released it, an angry-red brand circled his limb. Grimacing in pain, Brandon pointed at the sobbing Mayor’s wife. “Your first payment.”

Molech smiled and I could feel the lust radiating off of him. Rising from his groin was a black, smoking cock. He reached down and grabbed Yoon; her flesh shriveled where he touched her. She screamed in agony as he dragged her off into the prison. I fell to my knees, heaving violently. What sort of monster did I marry? Yoon’s screams echoed from the prison.

“Desiree,” Brandon said pleasantly when I finished vomiting. “If you don’t start acting like a good, submissive wife, I will give you to Molech and you can enjoy his embrace.”

I shuddered in fear, looking up at Brandon.

He was younger now, I realized, in his twenties. His clothes hung loosely on him, his balding hair had regrown and his now too-large pants slipped off his waist, revealing a muscular, flat stomach. His cock was hardening; Yoon still screaming in the background.

“When Molech is finished with Yoon, he will want his next woman,” Brandon threatened. “Your choice, Desiree.”

Yoon’s screams sent ice pumping through my veins. My will snapped before the fear of Molech. Feeling like the most disgusting, lowest creature in the world I knelt in submission before my rapist. I grabbed his cock, opened my mouth, and sucked it inside. I tried to look happy on the outside. I had to please him. I didn’t want to be given to Molech.

“Good,” Brandon purred, stroking my hair. “I’m so happy that you’ve finally realized your place, my love.”

Inside I cried. I was a filthy worm now, forever crawling in his muck.


Leah Hirsch-Goldstein-Blum – Tacoma, WA

I was alone after Mark told us to run and I hid beneath a rusty pickup truck. I was too frightened to move. Not even hunger, thirst, or my increasingly full bladder was strong enough to overcome my terror. It was after dark when they finally captured me. The soldiers ripped my bloody clothes off, laughing as they groped my breasts and ass. Then I was thrown into the back of an army truck with other naked, frightened women.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“They say we’re being taken to the God,” a woman whispered in a hushed voice, an awed voice. “If we’re lucky, he’ll choose us for his harem.”

What happened if we weren’t lucky? I swallowed the question, not sure I wanted to know the answer. “I can’t be in his harem. I’m married!” Jacob and Rachel must be worried sick about me. I desperately wanted to see my wife and husband again.

“They shot my husband,” another woman sobbed. “He tried to stop them from taking me and…”

I hugged the crying woman. “Shh, everything will be alright,” I said. What else was I supposed to say? “I’m Leah.”

“Beatrice,” the woman sobbed.

I held her as the truck drove slowly through the city. A few more women and teenage girls were loaded into the back, all naked and shivering in fear. They were all pretty. Soon, we were pulling up at the Courthouse and the soldiers herded us out.

“Nice ass,” one said, giving mine a squeeze. I shuddered as his dirty fingers pawed me. “If you’re not chosen for the Harem, I’m gonna requisition you for myself.”

I shuddered in disgust. Other soldiers were molesting the women as they lined us up. I held Beatrice’s hand as we were marched into the jail. We had to navigate the corridors and pass through a half-dozen locked gates before we reached the exercise yard. It was full of nude women. There was a young man, naked, getting his cock sucked by a Latina woman and eying us as we were marched before him.

“You can stop, Desiree,” the man ordered.

I was surprised to see Desiree, her cheeks stained with tears, releasing his cock. She looked down at the ground the whole time, her eyes dead, as the man began to examine us carefully, grinning like a hungry wolf. Desiree looked so defeated. I had never seen the vivacious woman look so meek and scared. What had they done to her? I swallowed in fear, glancing at the man. He must be the one who attacked us.

“I am your God, Brandon,” he declared. “Worship me.”

All the women, Beatrice included, changed. He’s like Mark and Mary, I realized. A God. I was unaffected because Mark had gifted me with protection. The women were falling to their knees, crying out in awe at Brandon. I fell to my knees, and tried to sound like them. I couldn’t let Brandon know I wasn’t under his control.

He tapped three women on the shoulder. “You are my concubines. You love me and will do anything to make me happy. The rest of you, go wait in the exercise yard,” he said dismissively.

Neither Beatrice or I were chosen, and we were herded into the yard with the other women. They all looked fearful, glancing at a bonfire that slowly died down. Brandon gathered his concubines and Desiree, and left. I saw 51 and 27, two of the bodyguards, and moved towards them.

There was a blood-curdling scream from inside the prison. “What was that?” I asked one of the bodyguards.

51 just shook her head, a look of numb horror on her face. Dried blood streaked from a gash along her forehead.

“El Diablo,” 27 hissed in terror, her Latina face contorted in fear. She was a former LAPD officer, I vaguely recalled. One of the women who volunteered to join the bodyguard. “He comes. Chooses.”

“Chooses what?” Beatrice asked.

27 motioned at all of the women trapped in the exercise yard.

It wasn’t long before el Diablo came. I screamed in terror when I saw him. He was a hulking figure, skin black and cracked with glowing red, like cooling lava. The air stank of sulfur. All the women in the courtyard screamed in panic and shrank away from his gaze. I pressed back, fighting to get as far away from the monstrosity as I could.

“Save me!” I prayed loudly to my Living Gods, Mark and Mary. “Please, please come save your faithful servant! Deliver me from this abomination!”

A new scream, full of pain, rang out. The monster had found his sacrifice. His black fist was around the slim arm of a young, blonde girl. The demon mercilessly dragged her off, back into the prison. Relief flooded me. But it didn’t last long. After a half-hour, the demon, Molech, returned. Every thirty minutes, a new woman was selected and we all endured her screams, trembling in terror. By midnight I was numb. I didn’t care about anything. So long as I wasn’t chosen.

When the soldier grabbed me and led me off, I was relieved. It didn’t matter to me that he was going to rape me. I was getting out of the exercise yard; I was getting away from Molech. Three soldiers used me for an hour. I tried to be the best whore for them I could, putting all my years of partying to good use. I forced down the guilt of betraying Jacob and Rachel as I begged the men to fuck me harder and pretended to coo in pleasure as their cocks raped my holes.

I just couldn’t go back to the exercise yard. To Molech. I realized I would do anything to stay away.

When the soldiers were done with me, however, they dragged me kicking and screaming back to the yard, pushing me into the crowd. Sunday’s dawn was pinking the horizon. Maybe Molech was afraid of the sun. Maybe he wouldn’t come. That delusion quickly fled my mind, driven off by mind-numbing terror, as he stalked like an earthquake out of the prison. When he dragged off his newest victim, all I felt was relief. I wasn’t chosen.



Lana Paquet-Holub – Seattle, WA

“Lana, bring me the twins,” Lilith commanded.

“Yes, my Goddess,” I answered, standing up.

For hours, Lilith has been brooding in her chambers, ever since Brandon’s dramatic attack on Mark and his occupation of Tacoma. Brandon had, in a single day, brought the entire United States to its knees. Only a few hours ago, the President himself had knelt and paid homage to Brandon, surrendering the Country to him.

All of our careful maneuverings in Seattle would be for naught with this new, and unanticipated, player. We had the Mayor under the control of Lilith’s daughter Lamia. And Ziki, another daughter, had assumed the form of Nate Kirkpatrick and slowly hired Lilith’s followers to key positions within the city’s government. We were so close to taking over the city and establishing Lilith’s rule.

So close.

And then this damned Brandon Fitzsimmons had to go and ruin it all!

Lilith must have a plan to stop him, I thought, as I threaded my way through the warehouse. It was owned by the City of Seattle and not currently in use. With the Mayor in our power, we quietly occupied it, moving Lilith’s Children and her pregnant followers here. Babylon’s house had quickly grown too crowded.

As I walked past the women they all bowed to me. Some were pregnant, while others had already birthed Lilith’s children. The children all stood out from us regular humans in some way—unusual colorings, abnormal heights, or strange features that made them look slightly different. My daughter, Cora, was a Manticore. She was big and had leonine features. Lamia, Chantelle’s daughter, had purple hair. Others stood out even more. Ziki, who masqueraded as Nate Kirkpatrick, was a freakish albino in her natural form.

And the twins were the strangest of all of Lilith’s children.

I found them with their mother, a recovering heroin addict named Andi. The twins were pale girls, their hair pure white and they lacked any pigment in their eyes. They were born yesterday, and would reach their maturity by tomorrow evening. When I entered the room, the twins jumped in surprise. One vanished completely, the other became translucent; I shuddered in discomfort as I could see straight through her.

They were both Dimme, more spirits than creatures of flesh. When they were translucent or invisible they could pass through solid objects. Lilith was ecstatic when they were born. “Dimme are assassins,” Lilith had purred when she saw the twins, “capable of penetrating an enemy’s defenses and killing their target with a single touch.”

They could only kill when they were solid. When they were vulnerable.

Most of Lilith’s children were immune to normal weapons. Only enchanted weapons or cold iron could hurt them. But a few, like the Dimme, were more vulnerable. As long as a Dimme remained translucent or invisible, she could not be harmed by anything. However, she could not affect anything, either. To kill, she had to become solid and leave herself vulnerable to any weapon.

“Di, Emi,” I said, holding out my hand. “Your Mother wishes to see you.” One of them reappeared, Emi I think, and Di became solid. They both gripped my hand, hesitantly, and I smiled shyly at them.

“Mother needs us?” Emi asked.

I nodded. “Come on.”

Both girls smiled and looked almost cute. Almost.

Lilith was waiting in her chambers, the former warehouse manager’s office. It was richly appointed. Persian rugs covered the floor, silk tapestries hung on the walls, and scented candles, held in gold sconces, lit the room, filling the air with sweet jasmine and spicy cinnamon. Lilith sat at her richly carved, mahogany desk and smiled happily when we walked in. She stood up from the desk and knelt down, her arms outstretched.

Emi and Di ran to her, laughing as their mother scooped them up in her arms. “Ohh, you two are growing up so fast,” Lilith praised, then kissed them both on their foreheads. “And so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, Mother,” Di politely said.

“No,” Lilith answered with a vain smile. “But then no-one is.” Lilith set her daughters down. “You two will be fully grown by tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Mother,” Emi nodded. “By Sunday night.”

Lilith smiled broadly. “Good.” Lilith conjured the images of Brandon Fitzsimmons and Mark Glassner. Well, I thought it was Brandon she conjured. He looked younger and slimmer than he appeared on TV, with a full head of hair. Perhaps he cast a spell? Or did he make a deal with some demon? “Sunday night, when you are fully grown, you are to go south to Tacoma and kill these two men,” Lilith instructed her daughters.

Di and Emi both smiled. I suppressed a shudder. They were hungry, disturbing smiles. “Of course, Mother.”

Lilith spread out some maps and we began to plan the twins’ infiltration.


Mark Glassner – Tacoma, WA

“No, no!” Mary shrieked. “Mark, please! Help me!”

I strained against the chains, struggling to break the iron links, ignoring the pain in my bruised muscles and the bite of the manacles into the skin of my wrists. I screamed wordlessly in fear and rage. My tongue was gone; cut out on Brandon’s orders. And with my tongue gone, so went all my power. I couldn’t command people, I couldn’t cast any spells.

My tongue was my power.

Brandon ripped Mary’s dress, exposing her freckled breasts. A look of hunger crossed the fat man’s face. Mary had come to rescue me, and had failed. She turned to run and Brandon caught her by her long, auburn ponytail and yanked her back.

“No, no!” she cried out. “Mark, please! You have to save me! Please, please!”

Brandon hauled her back, throwing her to the ground. He was on her faster than I thought the fat man could move, pinning her beneath his monstrous bulk. Mary’s cries and whimpers tore my heart apart as I wrenched at the chains, heaving with all my might. I had to save my wife. I poured every bit of strength I possessed, ignoring all the hurts and pain I felt. None of that mattered. If I had to rip my arm off to save my Mary, then so be it!

“Bease,” I cried, without a tongue the word sounding like mush, as I heaved at the chain.

I pulled and pulled, my body screaming in pain. But it wasn’t the chain that gave out first, it was my body. I slumped, panting loudly. I failed her. Tears rolled down my cheek as the fat man pumped away atop my wife. Mary’s screams were daggers in my soul.

I failed her!

“Mark,” the chiming, ethereal voice whispered. “Awaken.”

Everything seemed to dissolve and then blow away as the melodic voice rang out. Brandon, Mary, the chains holding me down; all swept away. Even the pain was gone. My awareness returned to me and I exhaled in relief. This was a nightmare. I was asleep on the hard cot back in the jail.

I remembered thinking of Azrael as I fell asleep. I wanted to summon the Angel of Death to my dreams. She was the only one who could teach me how to harness the power of the Gift Tiffany gave me.

I turned to see Azrael standing behind me. Her hair was red as blood, floating about her fierce face; her skin gleamed as bright as burnished bronze, and she was clad in a robe of the purest white. Concern painted her face; her scarlet eyes strangely soft.

“Hello, Mark,” she greeted tenderly.

“I am ready to learn.”

She nodded. “The Gift manifests differently between men and women. For you, it gives peak physical strength, endurance, and reflexes for a man of your size. You can take more injuries and still function. A man without the Gift surely would have died from the beating you sustained. Your powers are geared to fighting the supernatural. Your primary ability is the Chereb prayer.”

“Chereb,” I whispered and jumped in surprise, dropping the gold blade that appeared in my hand. The moment I released it, the blade vanished into a thousand tiny, golden motes.

“Chereb, as you have noticed, conjures a blade of Celestial Gold, the weapon of an Angel. Sharp as a razor, but only capable of harming spiritual bodies,” Azrael explained. “Angels, demons, spirits, monsters, homunculi.”

“And how will that help free me?” I demanded, angrily. “Hell, the son of a bitch ripped my tongue out. I can’t even summon the sword if I wanted to.”

“It won’t,” Azrael answered, a hint of steel chiming in her voice. “But, once you are free, you may need this. The second basic prayer is Choshen. This will gird you in Angelic Armor, which is proof against most spiritual attacks. But it is not invulnerable. It also serves well against mundane attacks.”

I was growing more and more impatient. “Teach me something useful, dammit!”

Her scarlet eyes narrowed in annoyance. “The third basic prayer is all internal. Just imagine your body as healthy and whole as it should be and you shall be healed. No words need to be spoken. But it takes time, a few minutes, and it will leave you vulnerable.”

“And restrained,” I muttered.

“So, bide your time, wait for the opportunity, and seize it,” Azrael hissed in anger, her face a thunderstorm of fury.

I flinched, taking a step back. “But, how can I create that opportunity?”

“There is one prayer, gifted only to Shamans,” Azrael answered, calming down. “Because I am the Angel of Death, you may pull back the veil and summon help. It is very dangerous, the dead will draw on your life-force. I do not know how long you could maintain the summons. A few minutes, a few seconds, but it may give you the opportunity.”

“How?” I asked, frowning.



Violet Matheson – Tacoma, WA

“Violet,” Loreena said, shaking me awake. “Something is happening.” She spoke with a slurred, stiff speech.

Yesterday, Loreena had saved me. She took me into her house and we spent the night huddled on her bed watching TV. Watching Brandon Fitzsimmons declare himself God. It was totally surreal. Master was getting beaten so viciously, and then the President of the United States himself arrived and surrendered the country to that horrible Brandon.

“This can’t be happening,” Loreena had said as she read the subtitles. She was deaf and Brandon’s powers did not seem to affect her. “How can the President just surrender?”

“Brandon’s evil,” I answered, facing her so she could read my lips. “He sold his soul for dark powers.”

We fell asleep on her bed – her bedroom TV muted – drawing comfort from each other as the world descended into madness. The night was full of unnatural sounds. Helicopters were constantly flying overhead and gunshots would ring violently out through the night. Every time I woke up, I would clutch Loreena and she would hug me just as tight.

Now it was Sunday morning and Loreena motioned me to come to the window, the rising sun filling her room with a soft light. I walked over and glanced outside and saw soldiers marching a woman to a truck. She was naked and I could see other women in the back of the truck. At the next house, soldiers were kicking in the front door. I could hear faint shouts and then I jumped from the crack of gunshots. A minute later, the soldiers dragged a sobbing teenage-girl out, then ripped her clothes off. God, it looked like they were laughing at the poor girl.

Depositing the naked girl in the truck, the soldiers headed for the next houses on the street. My heart froze in terror. They were searching house to house, dragging out the women they found. And they were working their way to this house.

“We have to hide!” I shouted. Loreena ignored me as she stared out of the window in shock. I forgot she was deaf, so I grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face me. “We need a place to hide.”

Loreena gaped at me, her eyes full of disbelieving horror. Yesterday, US Soldiers didn’t break down your door and drag you off. But that was before the world changed. Loreena glanced out the window, then took a deep breath and nodded. She grabbed my hand and led me out of the bedroom and down the stairs. She pushed on some paneling on the wall below the stairs and it moved, revealing a crawlspace beneath the stairs.

I nodded to her and mouthed, “This would work.”

We both squeezed in, pulling the panel closed. It smelled musty, and cobwebs clung to my hair. I was too scared to care about that, too scared to wonder where the spiders were that made all these webs. We sat down, and leaned against unfinished wood and waited. My heart was thundering in my chest as I strained to hear what was going on. I wished I had a watch or something, to tell how long we had been in here. It felt like an eternity as we waited in the dark, straining to hear anything.

What was taking the soldiers so long? I was starting to feel sick in my stomach as I waited. The stress was too much. Please, just let them search the house and move on. I wasn’t sure how much more of this interminable waiting I could take. I tried to count my breaths, my heartbeats, anything to try and give me an idea of how much time was passing by.

Maybe the soldiers weren’t coming? How long could I wait in here? Had it been minutes or hours? I swallowed, wondering if maybe we should slip out and check. We could be real quick—pop out, peer out the window, and pop back into our hiding spot. The soldiers would never know. I was reaching for the panel, preparing to push it open.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I jumped in surprise, someone was pounding hard on the front door. The soldier hammered again, paused, then hammered a third time. “Open up!” a man shouted. “Open up in the name of your God! All Citizens are required to submit to searches!” He banged again. “Last chance, then we’re breaking the door down and executing whomever we find!”

There was a splintering crash, then booted feet pounded through the house. Dust fell down into my face as they raced upstairs, tickling at my nose. Oh no. I clasped my hand over my nose, trying to ignore the growing, tickling sensation. One of the soldiers was searching the first floor, the other the second. More dust trickled down and I could feel the sneeze building. Please no! Not now! The sensation was growing unbearable. Any second I would sneeze and they would find us and kill us. I fought it, suppressed the ticklish urge.


I jumped as Loreena sneezed, and fear surged coldly through my veins. Everything seemed to be quiet all of a sudden. Were the soldiers listening? Did they hear Loreena’s sneeze? They must be straining, trying to figure out where that sneeze had come from, looking for the place where we were hiding. I squeezed Loreena tightly, felt her heart thudding in her chest.

“Clear!” one soldier yelled from upstairs.

A soft moan came from Loreena and I could feel her trembling. She was deaf. She didn’t know what was happening. It was too dark in here for her to see my lips, to let me tell her to be quiet, that everything was okay. Her moan was growing louder; she was going to give us away. I had to silence her.

I kissed her.

Her lips were soft and moist. I could feel her tense in shock. She tried to pull away, and I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her tight, thrusting my tongue deep into her lips. I felt her start to relax; start to kiss me back.

“Clear!” the other soldier yelled back, and then the booted feet were stomping down the stairs and they were out of the house.

I kept kissing Loreena, our passions growing. All the stress of the last twenty-four hours melted away as I kissed this beautiful, kind woman. My hands reached out and found the cotton nightgown she was wearing, and I started hiking it up. She rose up and I pulled it over her ass. I rubbed at her pussy beneath her panties, feeling the soft hair and the growing wetness.

Her hands started touching me. I wore a borrowed nightgown and I helped her pull it up my body. I wore no panties and her fingers gently touched my bald, teenage cunt. I moaned into her mouth, enjoying her uncertain touch as she stroked my flushed vulva. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them off, stroking her silky pussy hair and finding her snatch dripping wet.

Loreena moaned into my lips as I gently stroked her clit. I shifted, turning to face her and scissoring my legs with hers. I scooted closer and closer until our pussies kissed. I started writhing my hip, sliding my wet pussy along her furry muff. It felt so good to forget about everything that had happened and lose myself in the pleasure of this woman.

She started humping me back and I broke the kiss to lean back on my elbows and really started to trib her. “Umm, your cunt feels so soft on mine!” I moaned, forgetting that she was deaf as my orgasm built inside me. “Fuck me! Yes, yes! I need this!”

Loreena was moaning just as loud, but wordlessly, a pure sound untainted by language. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness just enough to make out her form as she writhed in pleasure. One of her hands had pushed up her nightgown and fingered her nipple. Pleasure blossomed within me, every time my clit rubbed against her pussy it grew and grew.

“Yes! I’m coming! Oh, Loreena! Sweet Loreena, your pussy’s driving me wild!”

Loreena’s moans grew shrill and I could feel moisture flooding my pussy as her orgasm exploded through her. I shuddered a few more times, then stopped pumping my hips, breathing heavily. I leaned over, captured her lips with a gentle kiss, and hugged her tight. I tried to hold onto this happy, satisfied feeling.

But the fear and stress was bubbling back up.


Mary Glassner – Toulouse, France

It was late at night in France when we arrived, landing in Toulouse. Back home, it was Sunday afternoon, and I was told that all the footage from America was Mark getting beaten for the second day, interspersed with clips of the President surrendering to Brandon. I kept sending Mark supportive thoughts, letting him know that I had a plan, that I was coming for him.

I wasn’t going to let my husband down.

The eighteen hour trip to France had seemed to drag on and on. I couldn’t sleep, I could barely eat. All I could do was fret and stare out the window or open my locket that Mark gave me on the day I met him. It was silver, heart-shaped, with a pink rose sculpted into the front. It was absolutely gaudy, not at all something that I would have chosen for myself.

It was my favorite piece of jewelry after my wedding ring.

Inside were pictures of Mark and I. It comforted me on the interminable flight to open it up and stare at my husband’s face, stroking the tiny photo with a finger, and weep.

We barely made it out of the US; air travel was suspended as we took off from LaGuardia. We had to stop for fuel before crossing the Atlantic, and we had just gotten airborne when the order was given. Luckily, shutting down the Nation’s airspace takes time and we were able to slip out over the ocean without anyone stopping us.

The last five hours of the flight were the worst. That’s when they started beating Mark again. Every time my husband sent me a thought, I could feel the agony he was experiencing through his sending. I do not know how he is able to withstand it. Just the shadow of his pain was enough to make me cry. Somehow, despite the beatings, he told me about his dream, and what he learned from Azrael. He could conjure magical weapons and armor, he could heal himself, and summon the dead.

When we landed in Toulouse, France, transportation was waiting. I had made calls ahead of time to arrange for several vans and a police escort. The drive to Rennes-le-Château – a small, ancient village built atop a rocky hill that rose black out of the countryside – took maybe an hour. The only way up the cliff was a winding, narrow lane. Behind the Church of Mary Magdalene lay the Motherhouse of the Nuns that had twice attacked us. Both buildings were ancient, made of vine-covered stone pitted with age.

Silently, the SWAT officers slipped out of the vans in their black nomex, MP5s in their hands, and they quickly surrounded the Motherhouse. Meanwhile, the bodyguards formed a perimeter around the two buildings, supported by the French police. I leaned against the van, the September night air cool on my naked flesh. I never got a chance to get dressed, other things were just more important.

Five of the former SWAT officers stacked on the front door. They gave each other hand-signals, then opened the front door and moved quickly inside. Through the small, stained-glass windows, I could see their flashlights shining around as they searched the building. 47 leaned against the van next to me and squeezed my hand, smiling reassuringly at me.

After what seemed like an hour waiting in the cold, one of the SWAT reappeared and motioned to us. 47 formed a guard of four around me and we marched over to the SWAT officer. It was Duncan, who commanded the SWAT for us.

“Ma’am, we have a woman in custody,” he reported. “We found her in the basement. If you would follow me, please.”

“She was hiding?” I asked as he led me inside.

“No, she is waiting for you,” Duncan answered. “We found her just calmly sitting in this metal room, a pot of tea steaming on the table before her and two cups. There was not a hint of fear in her eyes.”

We walked through the narrow corridors then down a tight, narrow staircase into the basement. I shook with nerves. You can do this, Mary, I reassured myself. She is one woman and you have fourteen armed men and women immune to her powers, and there are more waiting outside.

In the basement, we walked past old cardboard boxes, reeking of mildew, stacked against one wall. At the far end was a black metal door carved with strange symbols. Inside, I could see a woman in a gray nun’s habit, a simple, white veil covering her head, sipping calmly from a cup of tea. She looked up at me and I froze; her dark eyes were ancient, far beyond the youth of her face.

Who was this woman?

Mom said she was a legend, over a thousand years old. Karen said she had been waiting two thousand years for this moment. I steeled myself and entered the room. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, all of it was black metal carved with the same strange symbols as the door. I froze, licking my lips. This was wrong. I should be running out of here. How can she be so calm? She must know what I am, what my soldiers are. She should be terrified, or at the very least nervous.

So why is she so calm?

“Would you like some tea?” she asked pleasantly in a thick, French accent. Her face was dusky, a warm and friendly smile graced her red lips, and dark hair peaked out from beneath her veil. She looked Middle-eastern, a little like our former slut Thamina.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I swallowed, glancing at 47. There was worry in her eyes. She sensed something was wrong, too. This woman was unnaturally calm. I glanced at the men guarding her and I could see the tension in their eyes, their guns readied in their hands. How are we all intimidated by this one, unarmed woman?

“Well, child, are you going to come in and sit down?” the woman continued. “I would like to talk with you. It is very important.”

“Fine,” I said, and sat down on the hard, wooden chair. She grabbed the porcelain teapot and poured me a glass of a spicy-smelling tea. I took it, sipping, then froze. What if she put something in it?

An amused smile flitted across the woman’s lips. “It is not poisoned or drugged, I assure you. Can you close the door so we may speak privately?”

I frowned, “No, my guards stay in here.”

“They are not the prying ears I care about,” the woman answered. “Please, I have much to tell you.”

I wanted to say no. I wasn’t here to talk, I was here to steal her Gift. Mark was getting beaten right now. There wasn’t time to waste on talking. And yet, her eyes were so ancient, so wise, I swallowed and found myself nodding my head. I did need something else from her, besides her Gift.

“I will close the door, if you hand over your copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor,” I told her. This entire mess was caused by Brandon getting ahold of that damned book. If we survived this mess, we needed to get our hands on the two copies that we didn’t have. No-one else could learn about it and use that knowledge against us.

“Alas, I do not have it,” she answered.

“Don’t lie to me!” I snapped. “I know it is here.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Wikipedia,” I answered. I felt foolish when I said that out loud.

She shrugged. “Feel free to search the place once we’re finished. But it is gone. I could not let you get your hands on it.”

I frowned. “I already have a copy of the book.”

“Copies are not the original,” she answered. “I have no idea where it is hidden now.”

What did that mean? The original must have something unique in it. Something dangerous. “Fine, humor her and close the door. Let’s hear what she says to try and stop me.”

“I cannot stop you from stealing my Gift,” she answered matter-of-factly.

The door closed with a metallic clang. “Who are you?” I asked. She was a Nun, I could see the golden aura about her. “Are you the Mother Superior?”

“I am Maryām,” she answered. “Once of the town of Magdala.”

My family was Irish; my dad was a lapsed Catholic, but I had been to a few masses. My heart skipped a beat. “That’s impossible.”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “For two thousand years I have fought ha-Satan, the Adversary. I have learned much and more. I have this one warning for you, Mary. You and Mark are his pawns. Everything you do brings about his freedom from the Abyss. Him and all those bound with him.”

“You mean the Devil?” I asked and she nodded. “He is trying to escape Hell?”

“It is inevitable at this stage,” Maryām sighed. “The Supernatural has been revealed to the World. False Gods are once more being worshiped. The Evil of the days of Noah walks the world once more. It doesn’t matter if it’s you and Mark, or Brandon, or another pawn. Everyday, more and more people are deceived. The Prison is so weak, only one last event is necessary to bring it crumbling down.”

“Why are you telling me this? If it’s inevitable.”

“The Adversary can be contained, the damage done to the world can be mitigated,” Maryām answered. “You and Mark are lesser evils compared to the Adversary. I have read the future, I have seen the subtlety of his plan. If you and Mark defeat Brandon, Lilith will confront you and be killed. Her death will be the final blow that springs the lock, and the Adversary will be freed.” She took a sip. “If you are ready when Lilith dies, you may trap him.”

I swallowed. Mark and I had wondered what the Devil’s plan was, why he had given Mark Lilith’s gem. So this was it. To escape Hell. And what would happen once he was freed? Lilith clearly hates humans, but what about the Devil? And all those other demons trapped in Hell; do they hate us just as much? A chill ran down my spine.

What have we done?

“How can we trap him?” I asked, shaken by her words.

“I do not know. Search the old writings.”

“Old writings?”

“The Creator in his infinite Wisdom saw that many ancient works were preserved at Qumran.” She took one last sip of her tea. “This room, study it carefully. It is a Matmown. A Hidden Place. No spiritual being can pierce through its walls. The Adversary cannot spy on you here or accurately predict your future. What you plan in here will forever be hidden from him. It is the only advantage you will have. Your Vizier, Samnag Soun, should have no trouble re-creating the room. Never speak of your plans outside of this room, not even telepathically through the Siyach spell. Those thoughts pass through the spiritual realms and can easily be plucked out of the Ether. Only in a room like this are your plans truly safe from him.”

Maryām stood up suddenly and all my guards aimed their guns at her. She laughed, and to my surprise, she started stripping off her clothes. Her veil came off first, revealing her luxurious, dark hair. Then she untied the belt cinching her gray habit and pulled the robe off her body. She was naked underneath; her breasts were large, with dark nipples, and her stomach flat. She had curvy hips, and a thick, dark bush grew between her legs.

“So, you are the whore after all,” I laughed, drinking in her beauty.

Maryām grimaced, “I was never a whore. A sinner, yes, but never a whore. That was Pope Gregory I’s mistake. Men ever love salacious rumors and that one has dogged my reputation ever since.”

“Then why are you getting naked?” I asked.

“You plan on stealing my Gift. I know what that entails.”

The Ganubath ritual was the opposite of the Nun’s exorcism. I needed to bring Maryām to an orgasm, and when she cums, I would steal her Gift for myself. Maryām laid down on the cold metal floor, spreading her legs. I knelt down before her. I realized that I hadn’t had sex in over twenty-four hours. Since I met Mark, the only long stretches without sex were when I slept. Seeing her lying naked and willing, I felt my own pussy stir with arousal.

I knelt down. Her pubic hair was matted with her juices and I could smell her honey. I rubbed my face through her silky pubic hair, enjoying the way it tickled against my skin. I breathed deeply, then licked at her slit. Maryām moaned in pleasure. I spread open her slit, exposing the wet, pink flesh and buried my face into her lips.

I ate her quickly, devouring her tasty juices. I needed to get her off as fast as I could. Mark was waiting. I ran my tongue up her labia, my fingers gently circling her clit. Then I shoved my tongue as deep into her as I could.

Maryām was moaning something. It wasn’t French. It sounded like Hebrew, maybe. Or Aramaic. Her hips were starting to writhe. I drank her thick juices, sweet as honey, then slid my lips up to suck on her hard pearl. My tongue circled her clit as I slipped two fingers inside her pussy. She was tight and hot as I quested for her G-spot.

She cried out loudly when my fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves. Her orgasm crashed through her, flooding my lips. “Ganubath!” I screamed.

Golden power flowed out of Maryām and poured into me. It filled me, sinking into every single inch of my body, into my soul. I cried out, an orgasm exploding inside me. The power was so pure, so beautiful, that it left me trembling on the floor. I picked myself up, looking down at the panting Maryām. No longer was her aura gold. It was silver. She was just a regular woman now. Her eyes stared up at me, lidded with lust. When I made my Pact, I wished that every woman who saw me would desire me, and it was clearly working on Maryām now that the protection of her Gift was gone.

Exultation flooded me. I did it! I could stop Brandon. All I had to do was fuck him and this would be over.

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 38.

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather

The Devil’s Pact Chapter Thirty: Tiffany’s Tale



The Devil’s Pact

Chapter 30: Tiffany’s Tale

by mypenname3000

edited by Master Ken

© Copyright 2013

Story Codes: Teen male/Female, Male/Female, Female/Female, Mind Control, Male Domination, Female Domination, Sadism, Violence, Cockold, Watersports, Magic

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

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

Click here for Chapter 29.

My hands were shaking as the adrenaline bled off. But the images of the dead and dying would not leave my mind. Oh, God, so many dead, I prayed. Forgive me, Lord.

“Why are you crying, Mother!” my daughter spat at me with such venom in her voice. Her bile was a dagger in my heart. “What do you have to cry about, Mother? Are your loved ones dead and dying?”

I looked sadly at my middle daughter, Mary. She was bound, sitting in the corner of the swat van. Her eyes were puffy from crying and burned a deep green with hatred. Blood mated the front of her clothing, probably Mark’s blood. I did not see any wounds on her. About her was a scarlet red aura, the stained aura of a Warlock. My own daughter sold her soul and I was sent to defeat her.

“Because all that blood is on my hands,” I whispered my answer. “That is why I am crying, Mary.”

Mary gave a shrill, almost hysterical laugh. “You fucking nuns are such hypocrites. Karen was just as sorry after she nearly killing Desiree. Did you ever think what would happen if you attacked us? Christ, Mother, your soldiers had automatic fucking weapons!”

“It was the only way,” I sadly explained. “It was all for the greater good. We had to stop Mark and…”

“And me, Mother,” Mary snarled. “You tried to kill Mark and your own daughter. What a great servant of God you are!”

I flinched as her words whipped my soul bloody. I struggled to gather my thoughts, to marshal some sort of defense against her accusations. To assuage my guilt and wash the blood from my hands. It was all for the greater good, Ramiel told me. For the future of the World. We must not be allowed to fail. Mark Glassner had to be stopped. He is a Warlock, an evil man who sold his soul and corrupted my poor daughter.

The van stopped. We must be at the getaway cars. I cloaked the SWAT van with invisibility to get us clear of the immediate area. Already cops were swarming the street that Mark lived on. But it was too dangerous to drive an invisible vehicle on the streets. We were lucky no one hit us in the short distance we had to drive.

Dennis, the only remaining SWAT officer under my control, opened the rear doors, climbed in and pulled Mary out of the van. She was dragged kicking and screaming and Dennis easily manhandled her. I followed, walking over to the several vehicles we parked here earlier today. Dennis walked over to a silver, Jeep Cherokee and threw her in the back seat. I slid in beside my daughter.

“Mark is evil,” I told Mary, trying to justify my actions to my daughter. And to myself. “He had to be stopped.”

“Did you do something to Alice?” Mary asked coldly. “Is that why she shot my fiancee, Mother?”

“Yes,” I sighed, looking down at my hands.

“Oh, so there’s another innocent person whose blood is on your hands, then, Mother. I’m sure you saw her bleeding to death when you captured me.” Mary paused, her lip curled in contempt. “She was Shannon’s best friend growing up, remember? Alice used to sleep over at the house with Shannon and you would make them cookies to eat. Oh, but that was before you turned into a whore and abandoned us!”

The pain of Mary’s words threatened to crush me as memories of a sweet, black-haired girl playing with Shannon flooded my mind. Tears were brimming at my eyes. Oh, God, what have I done. I looked down at my hands. They were surprisingly clean for hands so stained with blood. Alice. Isabella and Agnes. That blonde Thrall who spent her last breath trying to protect my daughter. From her own mother.

I should have been the one to protect Mary.

“Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?” Mary asked, bitterly.

“What you do is evil,” I said, feeling my anger replace my guilt. “You control people. Make them your slaves, steal their free will. Destroy lives. All those SWAT officers had relationships. Marriages. Broken and destroyed by what you and Mark made them do when they raided your house.”

“We didn’t kill them,” Mary spat back. “You say we destroy lives? Who was it that took control of those men and led them into a killing field. Really a good act there. Who attacked whom, Mother? You’re just as bad as we are. You killed Chasity.” Mary’s eyes brimmed with tears. “She was a sweet, loving woman and your soldiers gunned her down. You tried to kill your own daughter, Mother.”

“I didn’t know you were the other Warlock,” I protested. “I never thought in a million years my own daughter would…”

“Would be a Warlock,” Mary sneered. “Better than the whore who runs out on her family.” Mary gave a bitter laugh. “Mark is bleeding to death. It won’t be long until I’m out of your life, Mother. Than your mission will be complete.”

My forehead furrowed in confusion. “What? What are you talking about, Mary? I’m not going to kill you.”

“My Pact,” Mary whispered. “Mark wished for a long life. When I made my Pact, I wished to be young and healthy for as long as Mark lives. When he dies, I die.” She sniffed, and a small smile appeared on her lips. “We will be together for eternity.”

“I’ll exorcise you,” I said, fear squeezing my heart. I could not be responsible for my own daughter’s death. That guilt would destroy me. “Then your wish won’t matter. You’ll live past him.”

“No!” Her shout surprised me. “Let me be with him. With Mark dead and my powers broken, only prison will remain for me.”

“How can you love him, Mary?” I asked her. “Where does this devotion come from. He’s a monster. I know what a male Warlock does to his Thralls.”

“Love them?” Mary asked. “Mark never hurts them. We love them. Mark’s a good man, deep inside. The power he has, it’s too intoxicating. No one can resist it fully. You want to know why I love him, Mother? Because he has a caring soul. Because he loved me so much he set me free from his powers. Because if I asked it of him, he would give up his powers.”

I laughed. “No Warlock has ever given up their powers. Not voluntarily.”

“Mark would, for me,” Mary insisted.

“I know Warlocks far too well, Mary.” I shook my head. The poor girl was besotted with him. She was young, only nineteen. She hasn’t learned about the lies a man will tell a woman in bed. I learned that lesson before I met Sean. “They all are selfish beasts.”

Mary snorted. “You swoop in, exorcise a Warlock and then head back to whatever convent you nuns wait at. What do you really know about us? You speak like we’re evil monsters and not just people with too much power.”

“For six months I was a Thrall.” I could feel the tears brimming in my eyes as I began to tell my daughter what happened on March 15th, 2000, and the terrible nightmare that followed.


Thirteen Years Ago

“Look what I made at school, mommy!” Mary said, all excited, when I walked in the door from work. She was bouncing on her feet dressed in a cute, plaid jumper holding a clay tablet with her handprint in the center. “I made if for you and Daddy.” Mary was six, her auburn hair in two pig tails and her green eyes shining with happiness.

I smiled and took it from her. “It’s very pretty. Thank you, Mary. Let’s go show Daddy.”

Mary took my hand in hers and pulled me to the living room where Sean sat. I smiled at my husband. He had loosened the top few buttons of his shirt as he graded papers. A High School Teacher’s work was never quite done. Except during the summer.

“Daddy!” Mary excitedly shouted and jumped up on Sean’s lap, scattering his papers as she held up what she made in Kindergarten today.

“That’s so pretty, Mary,” Sean praised. He was a great father and I smiled fondly at him.

“Baba,” Melissa gurgled as she stomped across the floor. She still didn’t say mama right, but I didn’t mind. She was learning to walk and only fell twice before she reached me and I scooped up my youngest daughter and spun her about and kissed her rosy cheeks as she laughed.

“Have you seen Shannon?” I asked Sean. Shannon was ten, and was reaching the age where she was becoming interested in clothes, and boys. She was growing up too fast. It wouldn’t be long before I was buying her a training a bra and she was dating some pimply-faced teen.

“She’s at a Alice’s house,” Sean answered, smiling at me. He had these amazing green eyes and still kept his hair long like when we first started dating in college, tied back in a bright, red ponytail. The very image of the cool, laid-back teacher.

“Can you take Melissa, so I can start dinner?” I asked, kissing Melissa’s cute face before handing her to “daba.”

“Sure, Tiffany,” Sean smiled, taking Melissa from me. Sean’s hand brushed mine and he rubbed it just a little longer than necessary. I smiled, it was the little things that kept a marriage going.

I headed for the kitchen, trailed by Mary. I pulled on my plain, white apron and Mary pulled on her pink frilly apron. “Are you going to help mommy?” I asked her.

Mary nodded, a serious expression on her face. I gave her some simple instructions and we started gathering the ingredients for dinner when I discovered we were out of milk. I sighed and popped my head back into the living room. “Did you forget to swing by the store, Sean?”

He flushed. “Sorry, Tif,” he said. “I’ll go right away.”

I shook my head. I loved my husband, but he was so forgetful. “I’ll walk over to the Coopers and borrow some milk.”

I grabbed a small container and walked outside. The sun was setting, shining brightly on me as a drizzle of rain fell on my face. Weather in March was so unpredictable in Western Washington. It can go from sunny to rain to snow to hail and back to sun all in a twenty minute period of time. And around sunset, you would often get rain and sun at the same time. I grabbed my jacket and walked quickly up Violet Meadows, admiring a beautiful rainbow as I walked up the street to the Coopers.

I could hear music coming from an open garage, loud drums and the metallic screeching of an electric guitar. The Bronson boy and his band were practicing. They weren’t that good, but I liked to encourage Kurt. He was a nice boy, despite that absurd mohawk and lip piercing. He was always around the house, asking if he could do any chores to make some money. So, I let him clean the gutters or mow the lawn for a some money. Sean would grouse, “I can mow the lawn, Tif,” or, “I’m perfectly capable of cleaning the gutters.” Well, if I waited for Sean to get around to mowing the lawn on his own, we would have waist-high grass. And I so hated being a nag.

But today there was something different about the music. A beat that just seemed to flow into me, pulsing through my soul. They sounded good today. No, great. Their practice was starting to pay off. Before I even realized what was happening, I was crossing the street. It was hard to think about anything other than the music as I stood at the entrance to the garage. I had never heard music so amazing before. The music was a primal beat that pounded through me.

There were four members of Kurt’s band. Kurt looked so powerful, so manly, with his mohawk and piercings and ragged, jean jacket. Not his usually, scrawny seventeen-year-old self. He had transformed in my eyes into a virile man. His eyes found mine making me feel weak in the knees. I licked my lips as he stared hungrily at me and I felt my nipples harden and my pussy moisten. Kurt was lead guitar and vocalist. Next to him stood Tor, playing rhythm guitar, with his long brown hair and ears covered in piercings. Pat was the bassist and backup-vocalist, his black hair in conical spikes. Bones played drums, a big man with a shaved head.

And then for reasons I couldn’t understand, I reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down and threw them at Kurt. The music just spoke to me and it felt so right. The air was cool on my drenched pussy and more juices leaked out as Kurt grabbed my panties and inhaled my scent, smiling broadly. The other members of his band were smiling like a bunch of pleased little boys.

“What did I tell you,” Kurt boasted. “Stick with me, boys, and we’ll be famous and have more poon then you can shake a stick at.”

They started up another song and the musical was so primal that my body responded to it. My heart was hammering, my nipples ached so hard in my bra, and my poor little pussy was itching to get laid. If Sean were here, I was pretty sure I’d jump his bones right then and there. I was getting so horny. I was looking at the teenage boys playing before me. Kurt was a hot young man, and his hair spiked up into that mohawk and those piercings on his lips were really turning me on. Thoughts of Kurt on top of me flashed through my mind. He would take me, make me his woman.

“Wow, they are amazing,” Grace Copper gasped in awe. I jumped in shock, realizing she was standing next to me.

Grace was a beautiful woman with long, honey-brown hair. We were close friends. Sometimes I would babysit her three year old, Dawn, a cute little blonde girl. I blinked in surprise as Grace began unbuttoning her pants, pulling them down her slim legs. She was going to give Kurt her panties, I realized. Grace had a neatly trimmed, blonde bush and a nice ass I noticed as she threw her panties.

Then the music stopped as all the boys stared at Grace’s nudity and she suddenly flushed, realizing what she did and reached for her jeans with one hand, trying to cover her sex with the other hand.

“Wait,” Kurt said. “Why don’t you lovely ladies be our groupies.”

That was a such a great idea, I thought and I glanced at Grace and she seemed to agree with me. “Sure, Kurt,” I said with a smile

I walked into the garage and Kurt grabbed me and started kissing me. I struggled in his arms and he broke the kiss. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Sullivan? Groupies are supposed to fuck the band, right.”

“Oh, yeah,” I flushed in embarrassment. You always heard stories about girls who went backstage to be groupies, to let the band have them.

Kurt gives me the wonderful opportunity to be a groupie in his band, Satan’s Silvered Tongue, and I almost blew it. Grace was doing better, sitting on the drummer’s lap. Bones had his hands between her legs and was rubbing her pussy. Kurt was kissing me again and I kissed him back, the piercing on his lips rubbed roughly on my lips, excitingly so. When he broke the kiss there was a dark lust burning in his teenage eyes.

“I’ve been jerking off to you since I was twelve, Mrs. Sullivan,” Kurt groaned. “And now I get to fuck you.” He tore my blouse open, shaking his head. “We need to get you some better clothes. If you want to be a groupie for my band you needed to dress better.”

“Of course, Kurt,” I quickly agreed. Being a groupie for his band was the most important thing in the world to me.

My bra came off next, my round breasts spilling out. Kurt pinched one of my nipples so hard I gasped in pain. “Nice tits, Mrs. Sullivan,” Kurt smiled wickedly. “I can’t wait to pierce these fat nipples.” He yanked my skirt off, fingered my blonde pubic hair. He grabbed some of my downy hair
and ripped a fistful of it out. “My groupies need to be shaved.”

“Ouch,” I gasped, rubbing my groin where he ripped the pubic hair out. “That hurt, Kurt.”

He grabbed my nipple, pinching so hard I fell to my knees. “The pain makes me happy. Suck my cock, whore,” he ordered, his fingernail biting painfully into my nipple.

I unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock as fast as I could, sucking it into my mouth. His cock was small and skinny, even when it was fully hard in my mouth. He let go of my nipple to grab the side of my head and fuck my mouth hard. Sean was never rough like this when we made love, but if this is what made Kurt happy. I was a groupie, here to please the band.

“Oh, fuck!” Kurt moaned. “Your mouth feels as great as I imagined, Mrs. Sullivan! Suck my cock! You fucking slut! Oh, fuck!”

Kurt’s cock was shoving in and out of my mouth rapidly. Even thrust all the way inside my lips, his cock was too short to shove down my throat. I could never take all of Sean’s cock into my mouth. His balls slapped my chin as he fucked me and then he groaned and his salty cum flooded my mouth. He pulled his dick out and I spat his cum out on the garage floor. I was never a fan of cum in my mouth and Sean would always pull out and shoot onto my tits.

Kurt’s slap knocked me to the floor. “Groupies swallow,” he barked at me.

“Sorry, Kurt,” I cried. My face stung from his blow. “I’ll swallow from now on.”

“Good, if you do what I say, I want have to hurt you,” Kurt smiled.

“Okay, Kurt,” I nodded.

“Now, swallow,” he pointed to the gob of white cum congealing on the dirty garage floor.

I bent down, licking the cum up, trying not to gag on the taste of dirt and motor oil mixed in with his cum. “Lick it up, Mrs. Sullivan,” Kurt moaned. “Like a good little bitch.”

“You came so fast,” Pat laughed. “Kurt finally got a girl to suck him off and he busts his nut in a minute.”

Pat fell to the ground as Kurt punched him in the face. Blood streamed from Pat’s broken nose as Kurt drew back his foot and kicked him in the gut. Pat screamed in pain as Kurt kicked him over and over again with his steel-toed boots. “This is my fucking band, Pat!” Kurt screamed. “Don’t fucking make fun of me! No one will ever get to fucking laugh at me again.” He glared at the other two band members.

Tor was jerking off to Grace sucking sucking on Bones’s cock. “Yeah, sure,” Tor moaned as he pumped his cock.

“Yeah,” Bones groaned. “Whatever you say, Kurt. Just keep me in pussy!”

Kurt laughed and he kicked Pat once more in the stomach.

Kurt’s cock was hard as he yanked me to my feet and bent me over his dad’s Geo Prism and thrust his cock into my cunt. Kurt fucked me hard and fast. “You love my cock, don’t you, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s the best!”

Kurt’s cock was the smallest I had ever had inside me. Not that I had a lot before my husband, Sean, but Kurt’s cock was definitely the best. “I love your cock, Kurt!” I moaned back, rolling my hips and hoping my pussy was making Kurt’s cock feel wonderful.

“Fuck!” Tor groaned and I glanced over to see white cum fly from his cock so splatter in Grace’s blonde hair.

“Watch were you’re shooting that shit!” Bones growled, pulling his hand back to avoid getting hit.

“Tiffany?” a strangled voice gasped.

I turned and there was my husband Sean staring in horror at me getting fucked. I didn’t understand why he looked so horrified. I was a groupie and groupies got fucked. “Hi, Sean,” I panted. “I guess I…ohh…got sidetracked getting the milk,” I laughed.

“I…I don’t understand,” Sean stammered. Why was there so much hurt in his eyes. Did he not understand that it was okay for Kurt to fuck me.

“I’m Kurt’s groupie,” I explained.

“And you love my cock,” Kurt said with a vicious smile.

“I do, I love Kurt’s cock,” I moaned. “It’s the best cock I’ve ever had.”

Sean worked his mouth. “I…What…Is he making you say that?”

“No, Sean,” I gasped. My orgasm was building inside me. Knowing my husband was watching made this oddly thrilling. “He asked me to be his groupie and I jumped at the opportunity.”

“Fuck, your wife has a nice cunt, Mr. Sullivan,” Kurt groaned. “Now, run along. Your wife doesn’t love you anymore, right Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Yes!” I panted, as my love evaporated away. How could I love anyone when I was Kurt’s groupie, his woman. “Go away, Sean. I’m with Kurt, now. I don’t love you anymore.”

Sean stumbled off, looking like a destroyed man. I felt bad for the man. I loved him once and I never wanted to hurt him. He just needed to accept the way things were now. Kurt was fucking me harder and harder, my orgasm nearing. I groaned loudly, wanting everyone to know just how great Kurt’s dick made me feel. His cock just felt so amazing as he plunged over and over into me.

“I’m cumming, Kurt,” I moaned as my pussy rippled on the small dick inside me. “Oh, fuck, your cock feels so great.”

“Your cunt feels nice, Mrs. Sullivan,” Kurt moaned and then he was shooting inside me. I was so happy. My pussy made Kurt feel good.

Kurt pulled out and shouted, “Tor stop pounding your pud and come fuck a real pussy.”

Tor almost fell on his face, tripping as he ran over, holding his pants up one-handed, his cock bouncing about as he ran. He wasted no time sticking his dick inside me. He may have just cum on Grace, but he was ready to have a taste of my delicious pussy. I was so wet from my cum and Kurt’s sperm, Tor slid right in. He had a big dick and I moaned in appreciation as it filled me up.

“Does his dick feel better than mine?” Kurt asked as Tor pounded my cunt.

“No, Kurt!” I gasped. “Your dick’s the best.”

He smiled. It was the smile I learned to love, because it meant he was happy with me and wasn’t going to hurt me. After Tor finished in me, Bones just had to have a taste of me. His cock was smaller than Tor’s, and bigger than Kurt’s, but did not feel nearly as good. Bone was fucking me good and hard, my orgasm building nicely, when I heard a scream and turned to see what was happening.

Grace was on the floor getting fucked by Kurt. He was pinching her nipples on her large breasts and Grace was crying out in pain. That just seemed to encourage Kurt and he fucked her harder and harder, pulling on her poor nipple until her entire tit was stretched out and it looked like Kurt would rip it off. And then he would let it go, the breast snapping back like a rubber band and Kurt laughed.

“Oh please, that hurts!” moaned Grace, her face red from crying.

Kurt bit her nipple and she screamed. “Fucking slut!” Kurt moaned. “I love your screams! Do you feel how hard you’ve made me?”

“Yeah, Kurt!” Grace moaned. “You’re so hard inside me.”

Kurt started chewing at her breast, leaving bite marks and he fucked her harder and harder as she moaned in pain. “Please stop, Kurt!” she begged. “Oh, god, please! It hurts so bad.”

Bones kept right on fucking me, not caring about the cruelty Kurt was inflicting on Grace. I felt bad for her, but these were the abuses a groupie had to suffer. I had been close to cumming, but hearing Grace’s screams brought me out of it. Bones pumped a few more times into me and then he came hard inside my pussy.

When Kurt finished with Grace, she was curled up on the floor. Her breasts were bruised and raw and she whimpered in pain. Kurt had a pleased look on his face. Beyond Grace, Pat gave a quite moan as he lay battered on the floor.

“Who wants to see some lesbo action?” Kurt asked.

“Hell yeah,” Tor smiled.

“Mrs. Sullivan, why don’t you sixty-nine with her,” Kurt leered, stroking his tiny cock.

I knelt down next to Grace and gently kissed her crying face. “Shh, Grace,” I whispered. “Kurt wants us to go down on each other, okay?”

Grace sniffed. “Okay, Tiffany.”

I kissed her lips. They were soft and gentle, not like a man’s. I had never kissed a woman before and found it was nice. And being watched by Kurt and the band just increased how nice it was. I stroked her sides, avoiding her tender breasts as we kissed and Grace started to relax. I laid on my back and pulled Grace atop me. Her mauled breasts rested on mine as we kissed.

“Eat some pussy!” Bones called out.

Grace smiled, her tears had stopped, and she flipped around. Her pussy was sticky with Bones and Kurt’s cum, matting her brown fur. I licked through the sticky mess, gathering the salty cum and her sweet juices onto my lips. Grace’s tongue started gently lapping through my sore cunt. I had never been fucked so many times and my pussy wasn’t used to it.

As our tongues licked each other, our pleasure started to build and we started eating each other out more aggressively. My tongue was digging into her hole, delighting in the taste of her sex and I shuddered as her tongue found my sensitive clit. I returned the favor, nursing at her clit and feeling Grace writhe in pleasure atop me.

Suddenly, an acrid liquid splashed in my face. Kurt was pissing on Grace’s pussy, spraying us with his urine. It splashed on my face and ran down into my mouth. It stung my eyes and tasted salty on my lips. “Drink it,” Kurt ordered and I opened my mouth and let his urine fill my lips, swallowing the disgusting liquid, and then licking it off Grace’s pussy.

“Fuck that’s nasty,” Bones moaned and I could feel urine running off Grace’s face, down my pussy to pool around my ass.

Grace and I kept eating each other’s piss drenched pussies. Kurt didn’t tell us to stop. We licked the urine off each other’s pussies, then went back to sucking clits. I felt my orgasm build, a sweet thing growing in my womb. Grace’s tongue felt like silk as it rasped around my pussy. She shuddered atop me, her moans vibrating my clit as she came. I held my lips tight to her pussy, sucking all her juices out as her tongue swirled around my clit. My entire body went rigid then I shuddered beneath Grace as I came one her agile tongue.


I was horrified, listening to my mom talk about the abuses she suffered at the hands of Kurt. “And he kept you and Grace?”

“Just me,” Mother bitterly said. “I was his favorite. The woman he dreamed of.” Fresh tears leaked out of her eyes. “He told Grace to go and be a whore. To make a living selling her body.”

“And that was Grace Cooper?” I asked, suddenly feeling sick. “She had a daughter named Dawn?”

Mother nodded. You’re just like your cunt of a mother! She was a whore, too! And you grew up to be just like her! The words Dawn’s father yelled as he spanked her last week when we made Dawn my little sister’s sex slave. I thought we were punishing a bully. But she was as much a victim of Kurt as her mother was. As I was. Dawn and I were both robbed of our mothers by that asshole. I suddenly felt sick. All the guilt I had been forcing down the last few weeks was threatening to overwhelm me.

Mark and I weren’t this evil, right? We never abused a woman.

Except Karen, my guilt whispered. And that girl Mark raped. But we were punishing Karen, I protested to my guilt. She attacked us. Almost got Desiree killed. She deserved her punishment. And we treat her well, now. She’s one of ours sluts. We love her. We’d defend her just as much as we’d defend the others.

“Pat died on the floor of the Garage. When the police came, Kurt just explained it as an accident and the police bought it. Pat would not be the last man Kurt killed. He was a sadist. A black-hearted monster.” Mother swallowed. “That night he got needles and pierced my nipples. It hurt so much. But not nearly as much as the piercings in my labia and the one in my clitoral hood. When he would feel vicious, he would pull on my piercings until I screamed. And the worst part was, I was happy that Kurt was hurting me.

“They replaced Pat on bass with Skinny Mat and started playing clubs. Thanks to Kurt’s wish, anyone who heard his band play would think they were amazing. Any woman would get all hot and horny for him and throw their panties on stage. Kurt would start to bring women up on stage and fuck them before the cheering crowd. If their boyfriends objected too much, Kurt would beat them. Some died, some got off with a few broken bones, and others were left brain damaged.

“And it wasn’t just men he beat. Some of the girls he chose would be beaten bloody or choked or cut.” A ragged sobbed escaped my mom’s lips. “I saw such terrible things. And then, she appeared. My rescuer.”


Thirteen Years Ago

My breasts were sore from Kurt’s affections as I lay on my side. Today he chewed on my breasts. He just loved them so much. But now they were painfully sore and covered in bite marks. His cum was inside my pussy and I was enjoying the after glow of a nice orgasm. Kurt’s dick never failed to leave me satisfied, even with all the pain I suffered.

A few girls crouched on the floor and Kurt was deciding which ones to show his affections to next. One of the girls, who had curly, light-brown hair, gave Kurt a mocking smile, almost a sneer as she glared at him with gray eyes filled with loathing.

“Fucking whore!” snarled Kurt.

Nothing would make Kurt angrier than being mocked. His hand snaked out and he grabbed the girl by the hair. She clamped her mouth shut to avoid screaming as Kurt heaved her across the room into his table. It was a heavy, wooden table, more of a workbench really, where Kurt kept his tools for the girls that made him really angry: pliers, knives, hammers, needles, whips.

The woman slammed into the table, hard, the corner catching her in the stomach. She flopped across the table and snatched up a skinning knife, holding it up threateningly at Kurt. The woman’s mocking smile only grew larger as Kurt boldly walked over to her. She looked like a Valkyrie, standing defiant against Kurt.

It was a futile gesture. No one could resist Kurt. All fighting would earn you was pain. I wanted to close my eyes, I hated watching Kurt punish a woman. But Kurt liked it when I watched his chastisements. When he would finish, he would be hard and I would have to satisfy him. I felt so bad for this woman. Kurt was going to kill her, and it wouldn’t be quick. My stomach roiled and I wanted to sick up.

“You can’t stab me with that dagger,” Kurt lazily ordered. He stood right next to the woman, the knife inches away and held out his hand. “Give me that dagger so I can cut your mocking lips off, cunt.”

Kurt screamed as the woman stabbed his arm with the dagger, instead. He staggered back, fear blossoming in his face as the blood ran red down his arm, his feet tripping on themselves and he fell on his ass. And the woman walked towards him, bloody dagger in hand. I smelled urine and realized Kurt had pissed himself, a dark stain spreading on his jeans.

The woman grabbed a pair of his handcuffs off Kurt’s worktable. Kurt had quite a collection at this point, “Please don’t hurt me?” Kurt blubbered like a baby as the woman advanced on him. “Who are you? Why doesn’t my power’s work on you? Please, I can give you whatever you want. Please!”

“Handcuff yourself around the table leg,” she growled, tossing him the handcuffs.

Kurt was eager to obey, snapping the handcuff about his right wrist, wrapping the chain around the table leg and then cuffing his left hand, trapping him to the table. “Please! I can give you wealth! Please!”

The woman ignored his please and bent down, pulling off his urine soaked pants and saw his little cock. “Such a tiny prick for such a large monster,” the woman mocked, stroking the cock. The cock swelled unbidden in her hand. “No wonder you had to sell your soul. How could you ever get a woman, let alone satisfy one, with that little thing.”

Kurt was sobbing. “I’ll do anything! Just don’t hurt me!”

The woman’s lip curled in disgust. “I am Sister Louise Afra of the Order of Mary Magdalene. I have been sent by God to stop your perversions, Warlock!”

Sister Louise straddled Kurt, guiding his cock to her pussy, sliding down his short length. “If you wanted to fuck me, you just had to ask,” Kurt’s voice cracked with mock bravado, a forced grin on his face.

“When you cum in me, and you will cum, I will exorcise your powers.” There was a broad smile on Sister Louise’s face and horror appearing in Kurt’s. “Yes, you realize it now. All the people under your control will regain themselves. Everyone will remember all the lives you destroyed, all the pain you inflicted. I do not think the authorities will be so forgiving anymore or all those accidental deaths.”

“No, please no!” he begged as Sister Louise rose up and down on his cock. “I won’t cum. You can’t make me!”

“It’s biology, monster,” Sister Louise purred wickedly. “You won’t be able to hold on forever. You’re seventeen, I bet it won’t be able to last long at all.”

Kurt struggled beneath her, fighting to get free of his handcuffs and Sister Louise rose up and down on him, laughing and mocking him. “Your dick is so small, I can barely feel it in my pussy.” Faster and faster she rode him, dangling her breasts in his face. Kurt started looking around, looking for anything to help him.

“Mrs. Sullivan!” he shouted, his eyes staring at me. Even after six months and countless abuses, he still called me Mrs. Sullivan. “Save me, attack her!”

My Kurt was in trouble and I leapt to my feet and went at Sister Louise. Her finger moved down, sliding up inside her cunt alongside to his cock and came out stick with her juices and then she thrust her finger at my forehead and spoke a single word, and I stumbled back and I just watched. Nothing mattered as I watched Kurt struggle against his bonds.

“Save me, cunt!” Kurt growled and Sister Louise slapped him.

“The only cunt here is you,” she hissed. “A little cunt with a little dick who thought he was a big man!”

Sister Louise leaned back, riding him faster and faster. She started rolling her hips, her breasts bouncing. She started grinding her clit and playing with her nipples, clearly enjoying Kurt’s humiliation. When she came, she let out a low, throaty moan, her breasts heaving beautifully as she rode him. And she never stopped, kept fucking him right through her orgasm.

Kurt was biting his lip, straining not to cum and then his body arched and Sister Louise screamed, “Shalak!” and drew something on his forehead with her sticky finger. Kurt’s forehead blazed with white light and…I was myself.

And everything Kurt did to me, made me enjoy, made me commit poured into my mind and I collapsed on the floor sobbing. A ragged ache filled my heart. I betrayed my sweet Sean. Oh God. I could remember the hurt in his eyes as I allowed Kurt to fuck me. My poor husband thought I betrayed him. I sobbed and sobbed, screaming in guilt. How could I have done that to my husband, the only man I ever really loved. I’d lost him, forever. There was no undoing what I did, what Sean saw. I remembered signing the divorce papers Kurt placed in front of me, signing away my parental rights to my daughters. Writing that disgusting letter Kurt dictated to me.

“Sean,” I wrote, “You and the girls are just burdens to me. I want to have fun, to go out partying. To enjoy wild sex. I haven’t been happy for a long time. But I’m happy with Kurt. I’m happy when his cock fucks me. I’m happy when he cums in my cunt or my ass. I love it when shares me with his friends. Your cock just wasn’t good enough for my horny cunt.” I signed my name and left the letter and the documents on the bed I shared with Sean while he and the girls were at work and school and daycare. I packed up a suitcase with the few slutty clothes I owned from before the girls were born, and never even looked back.

I sobbed and sobbed and then my savior was hugging me. “Shh, it’s alright. He can never hurt you again.”

I clung to her crying my pain into her chest as she gently rocked me.


“Sister Louise explained it all to me,” Mom said, finishing her story. I felt tears staining my face.

We were sitting on the floor of a house out in the foothills somewhere near Eatonville. Mom never stopped telling her story the entire ride. She didn’t stop as we walked up to the house and sat on this musty, old couch. I spent all these years hating my mom and now I didn’t know what to think, what to feel.

I remembered the betrayal I felt when Mark released me after only a day under his control. And Mark never mistreated me. Six months she endured that monsters brutal lusts.

Questions and guilt whirled in my head. Do all our girls feel this way? We never mistreated them. We loved them. We weren’t the monster Kurt was. Was it right to keep them? Was I just as much a monster as Kurt? Could we even free them if we wanted to? We bound them with the Zimmah spell. Did we destroy their lives?

What did it matter, Mark was dying and I would follow him into death.

“Why didn’t you come back to us?” I asked, pushing away the guilt. “Dad’s never stopped loving you, mom? Why didn’t you come back to us, Mom?”

She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “H-he never stopped loving me?” Pain flickered on her face. “How could he still love me after…after all Kurt made me do?”

“I don’t know, Mom,” I answered. “Shannon and I tried to convince him to forget about you and find someone else. We tried to set him up with teachers, friend’s single mothers. But he turned them all down. He even still wears his wedding ring.”

Tears brimmed in Mother’s eyes. “Kurt, he…he threw my wedding band away. ‘Marriage is just trash,’ he told me. ‘My mom bailed on my dad and me. We were just garbage to her.’ And…” A ragged sob shook her body. “I thanked him for freeing me from my marriage.”

God, I wanted to hug her. If my hands weren’t zip tied behind my back I think I would have. “You can still go to dad,” I urged her. “Free me and we’ll go see dad, and, and I can be with Mark when he…when he passes.”

A look of incredible longing crossed my mom’s face. “I…I made vows.” Her voice quivered. “I received Sister Frances Bernadette’s Gift.” She hugged herself. “Oh, God, please help me. I don’t know what to do. I miss Sean so much.”

“Let’s go, Mother,” I told her, gazing into her blue eyes. “Dad’s waiting for you. I don’t think he ever stopped waiting for you. And…and, I want my mom back. I can explain to Dad what happened to you. He knows about…things. About what Mark and I can do. He’ll understand.”

I could see her wavering, the look of longing on her face, and of hope.

Then her phone rang.

“Theodora,” she answered. Her face hardened. My heart sank, I’ve lost her. My hopes of seeing Mark one last time faded. “Come inside,” she said on the phone.

“Please, mommy,” I begged as she picked up a roll of duct tape, ripping off length of silvery tape. “Please, let’s go see Dad. Please, mommy!” She walked forward and shoved the tape on my lips. The tape was stiff and sticky and I could faintly taste glue on my lips.

The SWAT officer walked in and Theodora pulled out his sidearm, checked to see if it was loaded, and then looked at me with steely resolve. “Let’s put your claims to the test, Mary.”


“You can still see her, Mark,” a woman’s voice floated out of the darkness. “You are not dead, yet.”

“Who’s there?” I shouted into the darkness. Then I realized I was no longer falling, feminine hands were grasping my shoulders, long fingernails biting into my collar bone. I spun around and gasped. “Lilith?”

She floated in the darkness, as stunningly beautiful as always. Her silvery hair fanned out, waving lazily about, her violet eyes sparkling with contempt. She was clad in her scarlet dress, so sheer I could see all of her generous charms. I felt lust stirring inside me and I fought it down. I would need a clear head to deal with Lilith.

“Here to taunt me?” I asked.

A smile played on her lips. “As satisfying as that would be, we have one last piece of business to discuss.”

“Not interested,” I shrugged. I learned my lesson dealing with Lilith.

“Even if it would save your life.” Her smile broadened. “And your precious Mary’s life.”

I paused. I didn’t want to die. “What?”

“I want Karen.”

“You want the thing growing inside her, you mean?”

Her eyes tightened and she pursed her lips. “Yes. I want Karen, and my child, until she gives birth. Then I’ll return her to you.”

I squinted. “Why. Once I’m dead, how can I stop you from having her? What game are you playing at, Lilith.”

“You bonded her with the Zimmah ritual. Did you forget what I told you?” Her eyes narrowed in disgust. “Did you forget that when you die all those bound to you will die. And I can’t have Karen dying before she gives birth. That would spoil all of my plans.”

“So, in exchange for me loaning you Karen until your child is born, you will return me to the health I had before Alice shot me,” I carefully said. “And you will return Karen to me unharmed.”

“I will do nothing to harm Karen,” Lilith promised.

I frowned. I couldn’t see any loopholes. I’m sure they were there, but I really had nothing left to lose. “Then we have a deal, Lilith.”

She smiled a predatory, triumphant smile. “I grant your boon, Mark Glassner,” her words purred through the darkness and suddenly I was filled with pain and…

…I was staring up at the sky. I had a mask over my face. Two strange men and a woman were leaning over me. They were paramedics, I realized. I sat up, pushing the facemask off. I felt something piercing my arm, an IV I realized, and ripped that out.

“What the fuck!” the first paramedic shouted.

My shirt was gone and several bandages dotted my chest and stomach. I ripped them off to see my perfectly unharmed chest and stomach smeared with some dark blood. I felt alive. I smiled broadly and yelled my exhilaration into the sky. I was alive. I could feel the tickle of grass on my hands, the feel of the warm sun kissing my skin and a soft breeze rustling my hair. The world smelled alive and wonderful.

“I am alive!” I roared and laughed. Nothing else ever felt so sweet. “Mary, I’m alive!”

“It’s a miracle,” the female paramedic gasped. “The wounds have healed. My God, they’re completely gone.”

There were cops standing around, all staring in amazement at me. “How?” one asked me.

“A miracle,” another whispered.

“Praise God,” a cop whispered.

“What are you?” a fireman asked. “How did you…”

“Tell me you got that! Tell me you were rolling film?” a woman demanded. Debra from Q13 Fox, her microphone hanging loosely in her hand as she stared in wide-eyed amazement. “Tell me you to got that?”

“Holy shit, I got that,” her cameraman answered, pointing is camera at me. “I got the scarlet light and everything. Holy fucking shit!”

“This is unbelievable,” Debra gasped. “Let’s do my coverage over there and then upload this to the network! Jesus, this is the news story of the century. A miracle happened and we caught it!”

I was about to object to Debra’s plans when I got a good look at the cul-de-sac and my heart stopped. It looked like a war zone. The street was lined with ambulances, fire trucks, and cop cars. And everywhere I looked there were people lying on the ground, some had paramedics working on them, others were covered by blankets. Houses and cars were shot up. Bullet casings glinted gold in the sunlight.

And blood. Dark blood pooling on pavement, splashed on the sides of houses, running down the fenders of cars.

I looked back at our house and gasped. Bullet holes racked along the front of the house, shattering windows. Our sluts were clustered on the porch watching me in amazement. A stretcher came out, carried by two firemen. I stared in stunned disbelief as they walked by carrying Xiu. My busty Xiu had a mass of bloody bandages on her stomach and looked so pale as they carried her past to a waiting ambulance.

What the hell happened here? And where was Mary? The last thing I remembered was Mary’s face before the darkness. I looked around and I noticed the bodies covered with blankets dotting the neighborhood. Fear constricted my heart. No, she could not be dead. Not when I got a second chance.

“What happened? Where’s Mary?” I asked, ignoring all the cops and fireman that were watching me with awe.

“Sir, we were attacked by some nuns,” a bodyguard told me. She was Black, one of the new guards. 51, I think her number was.

“Where is Mary?” I demanded. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

“The nun took her,” 51 bitterly said. “We tried to stop her, but…”

“The nun’s used the SWAT from the raid,” Violet told me. There was a bandage on her forehead. “We were all so frightened, Master.”

The teenage slut hugged me fiercely. The other sluts followed her down, clustering about me. All of them reached out to touch me, smiling happily and muttering about me being alive. There was Alison and Desiree, and Korina, pregnant with my child. April and Lillian hugged each other in joy. Jessica and Thamina were supporting Sam, who had a bloody bandage on her leg.

All the sluts were accounted for. Xiu was being loaded into the back of an ambulance. Willow and Noel were at work. Karen was in the hospital and it was Fiona’s turn to stay with her. I frowned, no, there was one slut missing. “Where’s Chasity?” I demanded. “We need to go after the nuns. We need to rescue Mary.”

“She’s dead, sir,” 51 reported, sadly.

“Who is dead?” I asked, confused. Not Chasity.

51’s eyes flicked over to a body near the shot-up police cruiser. “Chasity, sir. She died defending Mistress. I got the man who killed her.” She patted the black machine-gun in her hands.

I stared uncomprehendingly at her. How could Chasity be dead? She was so dependable. Anger started to burn in me. These fucking nuns. Why couldn’t they just leave me the fuck alone. I never did anything to them. I felt pain in hand and uncurled my fist to see bloody nail marks in my palm.

“Who else died?” I asked, coldly, staring at my hand.

“05, 22, 34, 63, and 78,” 51 reported. “04, 30, and 47 are critically injured and may not survive. And Xiu. She took a round through the gut from inside the house. Another eighteen bodyguards have moderate injuries. There are only ten of us fit for duty.” She paused. “We killed two nuns and three of the SWAT and critically injured another four. We captured another four more with moderate injuries. One nun and a SWAT officer got away. Along with Mary. Alice, the woman who shot you, she sustained critical injuries and may not survive either.”

“Fuck,” I whispered. Emotions threatened to overwhelm me and I shoved them back down. I needed to save Mary. The rest, the grief and anger and guilt, that all could wait.

“Sam!” I barked at the injured Asian graduate student. She was our newest sex slave. She was translating the Magicks of the Witch of Endor for us. “Is there any spell in the book that would let me track Mary?”

She frowned, thinking. “Um, yes. The Alluwph ritual. You will need, um, something very personal of the person and hold it in your hands. Think about the person, about your connection with the person and say Alluwph.”

Something personal. I frowned then went into Mary’s art studio. I found my buttoned-down shirt she liked to wear when painting. She always looked so beautiful wearing only this shirt. I held it in my hands, thinking about Mary, about her beautiful smile, how the shirt draped her plump ass and how beautiful her bare legs looked. I concentrated as hard as I possibly could, and whispered, “Alluwph.”


I watched Karen’s hospital room from the shadows. One of Mark’s whores, Fiona, was watching Karen, a bored expression on Fiona’s face. I smiled, Karen was mine, now. Well, she was mine until the birth, and that gave me certain powers over her.

I manifested and Fiona jumped in alarm, shouting, “Lilith!”

I ignored the stupid girl. There was nothing I could do to her anyways. This manifestation could not interact with the Mortal World except in certain, very limited ways. It didn’t have the freedom of being summoned, but it was enough freedom. And owning Karen, even temporary, was one of those limited exceptions. I reached out and grabbed the unconscious woman’s hand. I could feel her life being slowly drained by my vessel growing quickly inside her.

“Soon,” I whispered to her belly. Soon my vessel would be born I would be free of the Abyss forever.

I concentrated and drew Karen with me back into the Shadows and then shifted to Seattle, to the house of Babylon. It was a modest dwelling, but adequate, for now. I concentrated again, and Manifested with Karen into the guest bedroom. Chantelle and Lana were ready, scooping Karen up off the floor and placing her gently in the waiting bed.

“Keep her safe,” I charged my High Priestesses.

“We won’t fail you, my Goddess,” Chantelle murmured.

Both women stared reverently at Karen’s belly. Lana reached out and placed her hand ever so gently on Karen’s stomach. A smile quickened on her face. Chantelle’s hand joined hers, awe painting Chantelle’s beautiful face. They both knew their Goddess grew within.


I whispered, “Alluwph.”

From my chest, a pair of entwined red threads, wrapped so tightly together they were practically one thread. A black chain wrapped about both of the threads, shackled them together. I recognized those red threads. They connected my soul to Mary’s soul and represented our love. The threads led off to the south, vanishing through the wall. Tears were shining in my eyes.

“I’m coming, Mare,” I whispered. “Just hold on.”

I ran back outside. “51, gather the remaining bodyguards. We’re going after Mary.”

“Yes, sir!” 51 saluted.

The ten bodyguards still fit for duty and I piled into three cop cars. I rode shotgun in the lead car, guiding 51 as best as I could. The line pointed straight to where Mary was, but not which streets to take. We tore off down Shaw Road heading south. Eventually we were forced to cut west when we hit Sunrise Drive. We drove west until we reached Meridian, and then we turned south. We passed through Graham, racing as fast as we could. Once we were through Graham, heading out towards Eatonville, the threads led us down several side roads until we came to a single house in the middle of a field. A silver Jeep Cherokee parked in the driveway. The threads pointing right towards the house.

We got out of the car, the bodyguards flanking out to encircle the house. Three of them were armed with AR-15’s, the others with handguns and shotguns. All were wearing flak jackets. My heart was hammering. My Mary was inside that house. I was so close. I just wanted to run across the field and kick in the door and save my love.

The door to the house banged open and an unarmed SWAT officer walked out, his arms held up. He marched forward, straight towards me. The bodyguards all trained their weapons on him but none opened fire. I could see the SWAT officers aura, the black of a Thrall, but surrounded by a band of gold, a corona of light around darkness.

“Mark Glassner I have a message for you!” he shouted. “You, and only you, are to enter the house unarmed. If you enter armed or if anyone else enters, Theodora shall kill your woman. You have five minutes or Mary dies.”

And then he turned and started walking back to the house. I stood up and 51 grabbed my arm. “Master, don’t. Never give a hostage taker another hostage.”

She was quoting her training at me, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t risk Mary’s life. If this Theodora wanted to talk. Fine. She had a lot to answer for. I strode out across the field, almost catching up with the SWAT officer before I reached the house. I followed him in and he led me to a small living room.

Mary was gagged and her arms were bound behind her back. Tears ran down her eyes and she struggled against her restraints. A sandy-blonde woman, young like all the nuns, with piercing blue eyes, stood next to Mary, a 9mm handgun pointed at her head. Fear roiled inside me. I would need to be careful. I didn’t want to provoke this woman, not with Mary’s life at stake.

“I am Mark Glassner,” I said, holding my hands out to the side. “Let’s talk, Theodora. There’s no need for any more violence.”

“I’ve been speaking with Mary, here, and she seems to think there’s some good in you,” Theodora answered. Her blue eyes were skeptical of the claim.

I noticed Theodora’s face was puffy from crying and there was something familiar about it. Mary and her could almost be sisters, I realized. Their faces have a similar, heart shape about them. “We can come to an arrangement, Theodora. No one else needs to get hurt.” Especially not my Mary.

“Mary claims that you would give up your powers for her.” She cocked the hammer. “Well, let’s put that to the test. You can walk out of here, Mark Glassner, and keep your powers, and I’ll kill Mary. Or, you can let me exorcise you.” A smile played on her lips. “Let’s see if you can really give up all that power.”

I looked at Mary’s face, at her green eyes. I saw the trust in her eyes, the love. Could I give up all my power for Mary? Memories of Mary floated through my mind, all the fun we’ve had. All the times I watched her sleep. The times I’ve gazed deeply into her green eyes. The feel of her as I held er in my arms. Could I give up all my powers for that? Could I give up the thrill of making someone do what I want them to do? The pleasure of a woman submitting to my lusts. Was Mary worth giving all that up?

Yes, she was.

“Exorcise me,” I said, calmly.

The SWAT officer grabbed my arm and ratcheted a metal handcuff about my wrist, then he pivoted and I was being slammed into the ground. I coughed, the wind was knocked out of me when I hit the hardwood floor. Stunned and struggling to breath, the SWAT officer easily dragged me over to a metal radiator and slid the handcuff through the pipes and ratcheted the cuff about my other wrist.

Theodora sighed in disbelief and pulled the gun away and handed it back to the SWAT officer who holstered his weapon. “I can’t believe you would do this,” she whispered, glancing back at Mary. She bit her lip and for a moment; she looked liked a blonde Mary. “You must really love her.”

“More than anything,” I answered. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Of course,” she answered and began pulling off her maid outfit. I blinked, why was she wearing a maid’s outfit? It was gray smock, the type you’d see a maid wear at any hotel. Underneath, she was naked and quite lovely, full breasts with fat nipples, a trimmed, blonde bush between sleek thighs. My cock stirred and I didn’t fight the lust.

There was no point in fighting. Theodora won.

She walked over to me and I looked away, finding Mary’s eyes. I focused on her beautiful, emerald eyes as I felt her hands fumbling with my pants and then they were pulled down, along with my boxers. A warm, soft hand stroked my cock until I was fully erect, then I was engulfed in a warm, wet pussy.

Theodora moaned softly and started riding my cock, rolling her hips. She was quite good. All these supposedly holy nuns were so good at fucking. Karen really knew how to work a dick. And this Theodora also knew just how to please a man. She rose up and down on me, faster and faster. She felt so amazing and I pretended it was Mary on me. Mary’s velvety cunt bringing me closer and closer to my orgasm.

I would go to jail. I would try and protect Mary as much as I could, but there was no way I wasn’t going away for the rest of my life. But Mary would get to live, and that was worth it. Hell, maybe they’ll give me conjugal visits. The last three weeks of my life with Mary had been the best. I would never want to give them up.

My balls were tightening, Theodora’s gasps was getting heavier and louder. She was enjoying herself, I realized. Well, she might as well enjoy her work. I was getting so close, just a few more strokes and it would be over. I kept staring into Mary’s green eyes. I saw the love in them. She was worth it.

I groaned as my balls tightened and the pleasure surged through my body. My cum shot inside her tight cunt, filling Theodora’s pussy. I could feel her cunt spasming on my cock as she came, her back arching in pleasure. She threw back her head and shouted a single word.


I gasped in amazement. Instead of the my power being drawn out of me like I expected, I felt golden power flow into me. The energy was warm and filled every fiber of my body. Every fiber of my soul. I saw Mary’s eyes wideningin amazement. I looked up at Theodora, her face flushed from her orgasm, and her aura was fading from the gold of a nun into the silver of a regular human.

Theodora was no longer a nun.

“What did you do to me?” I asked Theodora in confusion.

To be continued…

Click here for Chapter 31.

Facebooktwittergoogle_plusredditlinkedintumblrby feather
Facebooktwitterrsstumblrby feather