The Devil’s Pact Slave Chronicles
by mypenname3000
Copyright 2015

Sally: The Gift

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

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

“Are you nervous?” Cardinal Jessie asked me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, being his daughter gave me a few advantages.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daffodil, who appeared eighteen but must be in her thirties, folded her arms beneath her rather large breasts.