The Devil’s Pact
The Ghost of Paris Epilogue: The Pink-Haired Girl
by mypenname3000
edited by Master Ken
© Copyright 2014
Story Codes: No Sex
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 12.
Wednesday, November 14th, 2013 – Paris, Texas
The last two-and-a-half months had been the greatest of my life.
For the measly price of my soul, the Devil gave me the power to be invisible and molest any woman I want, and for the even smaller price of letting Astarte posses Darlene Cummins for the night, I got unlimited sexual stamina. Sure, it took me a week to get used to the fact I had an almost perpetual case of blue balls, but I had a lot of fun with it.
I haunted the High School, fucking girls all day. I slipped into houses, fucked wives next to sleeping husbands, or fucked teenage daughters as their parents slept in the next room. Half the cheerleaders at Paris High School, and more than few other students, were pregnant with my child. I was a regular fixture at the Church of the Living God, the former Paris Revival for Christ, fucking the women who went there for worship. I knocked Happy up, and fucked her sister a few times when she got home from her honeymoon. And I had just finished paying a visit to my favorite librarian, my dick still wet with her pussy.
The world changed that day I spent fucking in the park. Mark and Mary Glassner ruled the US. Things were a little crazy as the Governor of Texas succeeded from the Union and reformed the Republic of Texas. The reborn Republic ended when the Governor was executed by the army. My favorite website, the Unearthed Arcana, had been shut down by the FBI as the Gods were going after anyone that may have summoned a demon and made a Pact. The Anti-Warlock Act had been signed into law: anyone who made a Pact needed to turn themselves in or be executed.
I wasn’t afraid. I’m the Ghost of Paris. How could the Gods’ forces ever find me?
My pecker was hard, as usual, and I was watching the main street of Paris for some pretty, young thing to fuck. I saw Ursula and Marybeth walking across the street and thought about molesting them. They were dating now and living together and planning on raising the kid I planted in Ursula’s belly together.
Pink flashed out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see a stunningly beautiful woman walk by. She was a nymph, a beautiful young face framed by bubble-gum pink hair, her hips swaying, and barely covered by a jean skirt. A tight, pink t-shirt clung to her melons—she wore no bra, her nipples dimpling the fabric—with the words ‘Daddy’s little girl’ printed on it. Only ‘girl’ was crossed out and ‘slut’ written beneath it.
I let out a hungry growl. She was a slut with a capital S.
Beware the maiden, pink of hair. Astarte’s voice whispered in my mind.
She walked past, her ass writhing like a bag full of cats beneath that tight jean skirt. My pecker ached so bad to stick it in her cooch. I followed her. She was so beautiful, vivacious—desirable.
Beguiling figure, comely face.
What could this little girl do to me? It was getting hard to think as my blood filled up my pecker. I reached out, stroking her neck. She gave a delightful squeal, whirling about, looking wild-eyed. I loved this part, watching the fear, feeling my power over the girl. Her breasts heaved in her tight shirt. Hot damn, it looked like her nipples were pierced.
I had to see for myself.
I pulled up the hem of her shirt, gaping in awe at her titties. They were round and topped with pink nipples pierced with silver barbells. Before I could grab those beauties, she spun away, running down the street with a shriek, a gazelle running from the lion.
Beware the Maiden, pretty as death.
I didn’t give one shit about Astarte’s prophecy. I was going to stick my pecker in that slut’s cooch and fuck her until she cums. God, I had to fuck that ass, too. I bet the slut’s had a cock shoved up her cornhole before.
She ducked down an alley. I smiled; that led to an abandoned field with a high fence. She was trapped, at my mercy. I strolled through the alley, whistling. I could see her standing in the center, staring wild-eyed about, her tits still exposed to my gaze. She may be the most beautiful piece of ass I have ever seen.
Leading you to your final place.
What the fuck did Astarte know. I grabbed those breasts, fingered those gorgeous nipples, and pulled on her piercing.
“I’m gonna enjoy stickin’ my pecker in you, sweetness,” I told her. She’d be powerless now. I had my hands on her, molesting her. I had wished that all girls would enjoy my touch, and that made them all clay in my hands.
She gave a snort of derision. “Fuck that.”
I blinked at her. “Ain’t you feelin’ horny, yet?”
“Not for you,” she said with anger.
Her knee connecting with my balls caught me by surprise. I doubled over in pain, falling to my knees. She pulled something out of her purse, one of them squeeze water bottles that athletes have. She squeezed it and a blue liquid fell on my invisible body.
Paint.
Fear jumped through me. There was paint smearing my body, revealing me to the world. I turned, sprinting like a madman for the alley exit. A big, fit man stepped out of the alley. He had a dangerous-looking military bearing. I tried to slip past him, but his hands grabbed me, slamming me to the ground.
The wind was knocked violently from my lungs and I could only stare up at the man as I coughed. The pink-haired bitch walked up. She was fastening something around her neck—a gold choker. The name “Alison” was writtenin diamonds, and inscribed below that was, “Mark and Mary’s slut forever.”
“You work for them?” I asked.
“I was their first. I hunt filthy Warlocks like you down.” She gave a mock smile. “Well, you’re my first Warlock. Turns out Sam’s divining works perfectly. Only took me five minutes of walking down the street to get your attention.”
More men were entering the square. They grabbed me, handcuffing my hands with plastic zip ties behind my back. “I want my lawyer,” I spat. “I know my rights.”
The pink-haired bitch laughed. “Do we look like cops?” She pulled out a perfume bottle and sprayed it into my face. A strange feeling came over me, a kind of bubbly helpfulness. “Now, what’s your name, Warlock?”
“Scotty Adams,” I answered, wanting to please the beautiful, pink-haired woman.
“Good.” I was happy, my answer pleased her. “Now, what did you wish for?”
“Well, from the Devil, I wished to be invisible, for women to love my molestation, and to be immune from the elements. From Astarte, I wished for sexual stamina.”
She whistled. “You made Pacts with two separate demons. You have been quite bad, Scotty. Now, have you heard of the Anti-Warlock act?”
“Yes, I heard ’bout it.”
“So why didn’t you turn yourself in and claim the amnesty?”
“Didn’t want to give it all up,” I answered truthfully.
“Well, Sergeant Holland, what’s your assessment?” Alison asked the big guy who captured me.
“I don’t see why we need to bother our Mistress with this piece of shit,” he answered. “His powers doesn’t let him permanently control people so he couldn’t bind them with the Zimmah spell so we don’t have to worry about any collateral deaths. And he did admit to hearing about the Anti-Warlock act. I say summary execution.”
“I agree,” Alison answered, an angry, cold smile filling her lips.
“Wait, what?” I asked. “You can’t just kill me! I have rights.”
“Warlocks do not have rights,” she snarled. “You all deserve to burn for what you did to my Desiree.”
Who was that? I had never met a woman named Desiree in my life.
I felt something hard, metal, pressing into the back of my head. This couldn’t be happening. This was America. “Please,” I begged.
“Scotty Adams, I condemn you to death for violating the First Commandment of the Theocracy: You shall not make Pacts with Demons.”
“Wait!” I shouted. The gun barked.
Then I was falling, falling, falling into darkness.
The darkness gave way to fire.
“Hello, Scotty,” the Devil grinned as I burned before him. A chain of molten, red metal was about my neck, connecting us. “I hope you had lots of fun.”
I screamed and screamed. All I had to cling to were the memories of my conquests, all the sweet, young things I fucked as everlasting fire consumed my flesh. I pictured all their beautiful faces.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, November 19th, 2013 – Deidre Cheshire – Paris, Texas
I gazed around at the group of women and girls assembled in the back room of the Paris Public Library, clutching the printout of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. It was death to hold this book in the new Theocracy that had taken over America, but I was willing to risk that for the Ghost. I think I was the last woman he was with before Alison and the Theocracy cornered him. When the Theocracy announced his execution, I still had a load of his cum in my pussy and I saved it, the vial tucked into my bra, safe beside my heart.
“Has anyone seen him?” Ursula asked, the blonde cheerleader leaning against her girlfriend, Marybeth’s body, a tremble passing through the busty girl.
“No,” Heather answered. The redhead teenager’s face was twisted with concern. “He’s never gone more than three days without slippin’ into my bed and givin’ me some lovin’.”
“Then it’s true, the Theocracy’s killed him,” Cheryl-Lynn pouted, hugging her friend Tammy tight.
“No!” gasped the twin sisters Rhonda-May and Marissa.
“It’s true,” I said. I looked at them all—his lovers. There were almost thirty women and girls in the room. “The Ghost is dead. But there’s a way to bring him back. If we’re willing to pay the price.”
END
I have released the second part of the revamped Devil’s Pact on Smashwords. Read this post for more information if you’re interested!
