The Devil's Pact Pt. 22

"We should have hunted Brandon down with more effort," I snarled. "Who knew he was up to so much mischief. First the FBI and now hiring someone to watch us?"

Mary nodded and let out a hissing snarl.

And was he behind the cult that had been hired to kill me, too?

I put my arm around Mary's waist, pulling her to me. She leaned her head on her shoulder. A shudder past through her. I kissed the crown of her head while my hand stroked her naked waist. "We'll make Brandon pay."

I nodded in agreement.

The Nextel in my hand chirped. "Chasity to Master."

"Master," I responded into my Nextel.

"We have one prisoner and we're still searching the house," Chasity reported in a professional, commanding voice. She sounded like a cop. Well, she had been a cop before I made her my sex slave. Chasity commanded the bodyguards, with Noel, our FBI slut, as her second in command. "I'm returning with the prisoner.

"Good work," I praised her.

"Thank you, Master," Chasity replied, her professional voice slipping back into the pleased, girlish voice of Chasity the sex slave.

"Let's go," I said to Mary.

"After we dress," Mary answered.

I grinned. "I forgot."

"Horny stallion," she sighed.

Mary and I dressed quickly and then headed downstairs. We waited in the living room, sitting on the couch. What should I do to the man? It couldn't be Brandon. Chasity would have mentioned if she caught that asshole. But I had to do something with the prisoner.

Maybe Mary had an idea.

Before I could ask, the front door burst open. "Don't even think of trying anything," Chasity barked. "If you try to harm Master or Mistress, I will put a bullet in your head."

Mary jumped at Chasity's words, her face paling.

I squeezed her hand. "We won't kill him."

She nodded and sighed in relief. "I'm not sure I could have anyone killed."

Chasity and 30, a Thai bodyguard, marched in an overweight, balding, middle-aged man into the house. The prisoner wore a t-shirt and sweat pants, thick glasses hung askew on his face. There was anger in his eyes as he was marched before us. Beneath the anger was something else.

Fear.

I suddenly felt...powerful. I inspired fear in the insect.

"Who are you?" Mary demanded, her pale face growing red again. She was still angry about being spied upon.

"Doug Allard," the man answered promptly then blinked in surprise. People were always surprised by how readily they cooperated with us. He sighed. "What do you need to know. I can't resist you and your powers."

"Brandon Fitzsimmons hired you, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm a P.I. What are you going to do to me?"

I ignored his question. "How long have you been watching us?"

"Awhile," he replied. He swallowed. "Since Friday of last week. I was already tailing Desiree on behalf of Brandon. I witnessed you in the house and Desiree acting strangely. I reached out to Brandon and he told me to investigate. So I dug into you. After you defeated the nun, Brandon stashed me in the house. We were both looking to stop you."

"Did you hire the cultist?" I growled. Someone hired a cult of demon worshipers to kill me.

"No."

"Did Brandon?" Mark demanded.

He almost said no, then paused. "I don't know what Brandon was doing. I haven't seen him in person since last Tuesday. I just sent him the surveillance files and talk on a phone."

A Black bodyguard entered, a laptop tucked under her arm. "Sir," 18 saluted and handed me the laptop.

"Are all your surveillance files on here?" I asked.

"No, I have online backups." He shrugged. "You know, in the cloud. Plus, I've sent copies of everything to Brandon."

I handed him his laptop. "Delete all you can," I ordered. "Including all your backups in the cloud. Uncuff him."

Doug rubbed his wrists when the handcuffs came off. Then he took his laptop from the bodyguard and started typing.

"Where is Brandon?" Mary asked. "He's not answering his cell phone. We would just love to see him again."

"He's gone off the grid," Doug admitted. "I send him emails and he has a burner phone I send texts to. He's paranoid about those. He has changed burner phones twice since I started working for him."

"I want you to find him," I told him. "Track him down and let me know where he is."

"Okay," Doug said. "You're not going to do anything else to me?" Surprise and relief tinged his voice.

"No, no," I told him. Doug was a P.I. That could be useful. "Brandon's the real problem. I'll give you, what, a million dollars, to cover your fees and expenses. You will do nothing to work against us. In fact, you are happy to work for us and you'll do anything to accomplish your mission. Chantal will give you our numbers. Contact us if you find anything or run into trouble."

Doug nodded his head. "Absolutely. Brandon pissed all over me by hanging me out to dry. I don't care what you do to him."

* * *

Doug Allard -- Tacoma, WA

I pulled into my driveway. My wife burst out of the front door before I could even get out of the car. "Doug!"

She flung herself into my embrace. "I'm fine," I told her. "I don't have long. I'm just picking up a few things, and then I need to get back at it."

"So you didn't get captured?" Tina asked me as she clung to my side.

"I did," I answered. "I'm working for Mark now."

Her fingers tightened on my wrist. "What?"

"I'm helping him find Brandon." Anger burst through me. "That asshole left me pissing in the wind. I'm lucky Mark was merciful. Hell, he's even paying me a million dollars for expensive. I get to keep what's left over." I grinned at my wife. "We'll be fixing that roof and I can get a better car."

"You're working for him?" my wife swallowed. "What about...stopping him?"

I frowned. "Why would I stop him? I work for him. It's a great opportunity."

My wife groaned. Her knees buckled and she sank to our living room floor. All the color had drained from her face. Her eyes were wide with horror.

"He isn't a bad guy like we thought," I told her.

"Y-you're under his power." She swallowed. "His mind control."

"I guess," I shrugged. "It's not that bad. I don't feel enslaved. I feel...indebted. He's given me a chance to take down that asshole while giving us a better life." I walked back to my wife and helped her up. Tears ran down her cheeks. "Relax, honey. Nothing's going to go wrong. I'm still me. I still love you. I just have to do this mission for Mark. I need to pack clean clothes. Did you do my laundry?"

She nodded her head, her body trembling in my arms.

"I love you, Tina," I told her.

"O-okay." She sniffed loudly. "I...this is...it's just...he's evil."

I laughed. "I thought so, too. But it's all so clear now. He's different. Important." I kissed her forehead. "No I have to get going. Mark wants Brandon found ASAP. I'm going to be running down leads all night."

Chapter Three

The morning of June 19th, 2013 marked the first time the Tyrants put out their public message of "sexual freedom" and "love" that they would always espouse to. The Tyrants, on the surface, seemed champions of the most liberal of ideals, but their very words bound any who heard them speak in the chains of their authority.

--excerpt from The History of the Tyrants' Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Wednesday, June 19th, 2013 -- Brandon Fitzsimmons -- Portland, OR

I logged into my email. It was early. Too early, but I wanted to put more distance between Mark and myself. I frowned. There was only a single email from Doug. Where were the surveillance footage? I wanted to see Mark's reaction to the news report.

"Technical problem," Doug's email read. "I need money to buy a replacement hard drive for the laptop. Until then, I can't capture any new video."

I frowned, my fingers on the keyboard about to type my response. Then I paused. It was a brand new laptop. How could its hard drive crash so soon? This came right after... My stomach clenched. Could Mark have figured out where the pictures I sent Carlos Gutierrez were taken from?

No. He was an idiot, but he had an FBI agent for a sex slave.

"Shit," I muttered.

I slammed my laptop shut. What did Doug know about my movements? Not much. I kept him in the dark. All he had was my burner phone and my email address, and I checked that only after using a bunch of annonymizers. I ripped my burner phone out of my pocket, pulled off the battery case, then the battery. I knocked out the sim card and threw it all into the garbage can. It had been off all night, but maybe it could still be tracked.

I grabbed my bags and fled to my car. I threw it all in, hopped in, and started the engine. My stomach twisted as I backed up. I had to get away. I had to get to that book. Then I could stop living in fear of Mark fucking Glassner.

I pulled out of the parking lot and headed for I-5. I couldn't get to San Fransisco fast enough.

* * *

Mary Sullivan -- South Hill, WA

Mark woke me up as he crawled out of bed. He woke up early to enjoy his jogging sluts. It was sweet that he wanted to get in shape for me. Every day he was looking fitter and fitter. The weight loss had happened too fast to be from the jogging. It was probably my wish for Mark and I to be young and healthy.

"Going jogging?" I asked sleepily. It was too early to be awake.

"Yeah, Mare," he whispered. "Sorry to wake you."

"It's okay," I said, sitting up and stretching. "Um, would you mind if I joined you?" The question came out of my mouth before even I realized the impulse had seized me. I guess after the last few days I wanted to spend more time with him.

I hoped he wouldn't think I was being clingy. He knew I hated jogging.

Mark only smiled back. "Sure, Mare. I'd love that. I'm sure all the club members will just love you." He stretched his back, and I admired his flat stomach and lean chest. "But remind me when we get back to talk to Karen about auras and why you might have a golden threat attached to you."

"Right," I nodded.

Last night had been so crazy we hadn't talked to her about my sisters and my possible connection to a nun. After we interrogated the P.I. and Mark gave him a million dollars to hunt down Brandon, we went to bed exhausted. Yesterday was a long and very emotional day. I was so tired, I didn't even blink at Mark handing Doug a duffel bag full of cash.

Mark could just walk into any bank and ask for more. In fact, it was nice the way Mark had that streak of generosity about him.

But robbing banks made a lot of bad press. Countering that bad press was one of the reasons I started my charity. I had the sluts fill out the paperwork for the clinic Willow would run for us. We were both the officers, so we could use the charity's finances and not rob banks.

Plus, it would appear like we could cared. Of course, I wanted Willow to screen for potential sex slaves to work for us when we built our mansion. I wanted hot, young, nubile women scampering around in maid outfits. Dozens of them. They would be like the sluts, all eager to serve us.

"Let me use the restroom," I said. "Then we can go."

"Want me to fetch a slut," Mark asked.

I blinked and it was only after I sat down on the toilet and started pissing did I realize what he meant. I should be pissing into a slut's mouths. It was so exciting urinating into a woman's mouth then enjoying her tongue licking your pussy clean. Plus, it saved on toilet paper.

I smiled at my little joke as I wiped. After flushing, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was beautiful, but I could enhance it a bit. I applied some light blush and a pale, pink lipstick, then ran a comb through my auburn hair, getting the tangles out before tying my hair back with a blue scrunchy.

I stifled a yawn when Mark walked in, naked save for socks and his jogging shoes. "Coming?" he asked, a little impatient.

"I had to get ready," I told him, rolling my eyes. Mark could be an idiot sometimes.

"You look great, Mare," he told me then leaned in to kiss me on the lips.

Well, he was definitely a sweet idiot.

I followed Mark down the stairs also naked. I pulled on a pair a tennis shoes as 34, looking tired in her slutty cop's uniform, walked in and said something to Mark. I straightened up and walked over to the pair.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"32 reports that a lot of media are gathering out on Shaw Road. She had to call for 25 and 30 to come help her with crowd control," 34 reported to me. "The media want to interview you, but we've kept them out of the street."

"Fuck," Mark muttered.

"We're going to need to say something to the reporters, Mark," I told him. "Then we can enjoy your jogging sluts."

Mark muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked sweetly.

"Nothing," he sighed. "I'll go grab us some tops, then we'll give a quick interview and send them packing,"

"Your jogging sluts will be waiting for you when we're finished," I told him. "So don't be grouchy."

"Yeah, they're a good group of gals," Mark answered as that boyish grin of his spread across his lips. Then he disappeared upstairs. He came down wearing a buttoned down shirt and handed me a nice, red blouse with a plunging neckline.

He did like looking at my cleavage.

* * *

Jessica St. Pierre

I stared in horror at my phone. I was about to leave for work when it beeped. I couldn't believe what my boss's email said. I looked up at Mistress as she pulled on a red blouse. I swallowed, my throat so naked without my new choker on.

I took it off before going to work. People weren't supposed to know I belonged to Master. I was his spy in the media. But now that stupid hit piece by Carlos Gutierrez had outed me.

"Master," I called, my heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

"What's up?" Master asked as he stepped up beside Mistress, his eyes hungry upon me, lingering on my low-cut blouse.

I blushed, but my excitement was banished by the news I had just received. "Master, my boss emailed me." Tears burned in my eyes. I shivered and swallowed. "I'm suspended because of the photos that got leaked. How am I supposed to be your spy now, Master?"

Master reached out and his finger brushed away my tear. His fingers were so gentle. It was so wrong of Carlos Gutierrez to run that smear campaign last night. Master and Mistress were the best people in the world. I was so glad I served them.

"I'll take care of it," he said, taking my phone from my hand.

I smiled at him. Mistress gave me a quick hug. "You're looking sexy today."

My cheeks warmed and my pussy grew wet, soaking my thong. "Thank you, Mistress."

"Hi, are you Jessica St. Pierre's boss?" Master demanded. I didn't hear my boss's answer. "Good. Unsuspend Jessica St. Pierre and give her a big raise for making her cry. She is your best employee, and you will treat her with respect. Understand?" Master paused and I smiled. "Good." He hung up and handed me back the phone. "You're unsuspended."

"Oh, thank you, Master," I squealed. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly on the mouth. Then I broke the kiss and sighed; his cock was so hard. "I'm sorry, Master, I have to go. Unless you want me to satisfy you? I could suck you off and speed to work."

"I'll fuck you later," Master laughed and gave my ass a hard smack.

My pussy clenched and I beamed. "Bye, Mistress."

She smacked my ass, too. I had such a bounce to my step as I headed to my car. They were the best. I was so glad I served them.

* * *

Dr. Willow WolfTail

I came down the stairs wearing a conservative pantsuit, my white doctor's coat slung over my arm. My neck felt bare without my choker, but Master had ordered his three professional sluts--Jessica, Noel, and myself--to not wear them to work.

"Master, Mistress," I smiled, not commenting on why they only wore tops. I did eye Master's hard cock with interest. Maybe I should suck him off before heading to my gynecologist practice.

"Willow," Mistress smiled. "Good, you're dressed. The media's here, and I think this is the perfect time to spin this story back onto our charity. You know the plan well enough to talk about it at to the media?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered. "And I've found the location for the clinic, filed with the IRS for our 501(c)(3) approval, and put that money you gave me into the accounts as donations from all the other sluts."

"Wow, when did all this happen?" Master asked Mistress.

Mistress smiled mysteriously back at Master. "I have my ways."

I didn't answer. Master didn't ask me, but it involved a lot of texting. Master could be preoccupied with Mistress or another slut sucking his cock and miss the little details. I think Mistress liked taking care of the little details.

"And the fundraiser? We're set for a week from Friday?" she asked me.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Fundraiser?" blinked Master.

* * *

Mary Sullivan

"Let's go see the media," Mark said, his cock thrusting hard before him.

We were really about to give an interview, no doubt carried live across America, without bottoms on. My pussy clenched. We could do anything. We could be naked and the media would happily let us get away with it.

We had such power.

"Let's go," I said, feeling confident. I slipped my arm around Mark's waist and the pair of us walked out of the house to the awaiting cop car. It was an Orting Police cruiser manned by 34.

"Sir, Ma'am," she smiled as she opened the back door for us. 34 looked sexy and deadly all at the same time. 34 climbed into the driver seat and Willow took the passenger seat. "You ready, sir?"

"I am," Mark grinned.

34 drove us down to the end of the street. I blinked in shock at all the media lining up at the entrance of the cul-de-sac, kept back by a few of the bodyguards. There were over a dozen reporters and cameramen. A tremble shuddered through me. There were so many. Already, questions were shouted from the reporters and cameras flashed.

34 opened the door. Mark slid out and held out his arm to me. I swallowed and clutched Mark's arm like a scared little girl. All my confidence had evaporated. Why was I so afraid? I was better than these people, but their questions assaulted us.

"Why are you naked?"

"What do you have to say to these allegations of sexual bribery?"

"Who are these women? Are they cops?"

The questions slammed into us. I swallowed, trying not to let my eyes dart left and right. Why did I let Mark choose our clothing? Why were we mostly naked. I know I was about to jog in public in the nude, but I hadn't expect the scrutiny of the media dropped down on us.

"Quiet!" Mark roared.

They all shut up, their mouths snapping closed, stunned looks crossing their faces.

I took a deep breath. Mark was in control. I had nothing to be nervous about. We were better than these reporters. Special. I shouldn't be afraid of them. They couldn't do anything to me. They would obey me. Worship me. I could see the female reporters eyeing me with lust, falling under the spell of my wish.

My confidence swelled.

"Good, I'm Mark Glassner, and this is my fiancee, Mary. We'll give you an interview, but there have to be some ground rules." He paused, letting his commands sink in. He was good at this. I needed to be just as confident as him. "One, film us from the waist up. Two, do not ever mention our nudity or any sexual acts you witness during the press conference. Three, you will repeat the story that we are innocent victims of an overzealous reporter who believed the lies of Brandon Fitzsimmons, a man bitter about his wife leaving him. Fourth, you will promote our charity." Mark glanced at me.

"Women's Health Organization for Reproductive Empowerment," I answered, my voice clear and loud. Like Mark's.

Mark blinked at the name. It was quite a mouthful, but I couldn't resist the little joke.