The Devil's Pact Pt. 35

And through her.

Her moans in Aramaic grew faster, louder. I had found the right spot. Her breasts heaved as she thrashed. Her moans echoed through the metal room. I sucked so hard on her clit, my orgasm building, swelling inside of me, shooting bliss through me.

"Yes, yes, yes, cum, whore!" I snarled, lifting my dripping lips from her clit. My body trembling. "I know you want to! You want to give me your power. Just explode and it's over!"

She bucked hard, screaming out as her orgasm crashed through her.

Pussy juices flooded around my fingers. I trembled, shuddering, on the verge of cumming myself as I screamed out: "Ganubath!"

Scarlet energy burst across my skin and rushed into her body. Golden light flared about her as she thrashed. It tried to fight the red as it invaded her flesh through her spasming pussy. But her orgasm weakened her. She had surrendered to lust.

And sinned.

The crimson light seized the golden, changing it and ripping it from her. My head snapped up as the purity rushed into my body. Her Gift filled me. My pussy exploded about my fingers as the golden radiance filled me.

It sank into every single inch of my body, into my soul. It filled me with something so pure, so beautiful. My orgasm burned so hot through me as the power changed me. Its purity consumed me. I shuddered, collapsing on the floor, trembling in pure delight as I stole her Gift.

And made it mine.

"Ma'am?" 47 asked, her voice concerned.

"I'm fine," I shuddered. I felt more than fine. I felt like I had the greatest orgasm ever and was still buzzing on the aftereffects.

I picked myself up, looking down at the panting Maryām. She no longer had a golden aura wreathing her body. 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.

Chapter Four

The Tyrants' propaganda claim she went to Southern France to be tested and discover new power. But she is a thief. She stole the Gift of the Creator and sullied a Saint. The Mother Superior of the Sisters of Mary Magdalene was consigned to darkness, lost to the world forever.

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

Mark Glassner - Tacoma, WA

As Sunday dragged on, the beatings grew more and more savage, the pain worse and worse. There were times when I lost myself. When I floated in a sea of agony, unaware of anything around me. And then I would crash back into my battered body.

I clung to Mary's words whispering through my mind, updates on her progress as she headed for the Nuns' Motherhouse. And then, sometime during the afternoon, Mary sent: I did it! The Gift is mine! Just hold out a little longer!

Hope. I had hope. I would endure all the torment. All the pain. Because my Mary was coming to save me. And I had to be ready. I couldn't surrender to the agony. I had to hold onto my faculties. I had to endure Brandon's savagery.

After an eternity of suffering, the soldiers dragged me to the prison shower. They hosed the filth off me and then threw me back into my cell. I landed with an agonized, wordless moan on the hard, concrete floor. The cell locked behind me. Then the soldiers watched with uncaring eyes through the bars.

I struggled to rise, but all my muscles protested the action, and I collapsed back onto the concrete floor. I didn't have the strength to move. I just laid there, letting the cold seep into my burning muscles. Mary was on her way back, on her way to save me. My wife was coming. She would exorcise Brandon, and this nightmare would be over. I stopped fighting my exhaustion and let unconsciousness take me.

I thought of Azrael as I descended into blissful darkness, free of my pain.

Last night, after teaching me the spells, she taught me how to fight. "The Gift gives you reflexes and strength, but your body needs to learn how to move, how to stand and balance, and that takes practice."

I nodded my head. "Make sense."

The darkness wavered and, like a mirage dancing on the horizon, the air distorted. Color appeared, beige walls, blue floor. And then I was in a training dojo or a gym, standing on tumbling mats, the angel facing me.

"Let's begin with footwork."

Footwork, it turned out, was the most important part of fighting. If you couldn't stand properly, you'd be off-balance and get tripped up, either falling down or leaving yourself open to your enemy's attack. After that, I spent hours learning just how to hold the blade, then more hours swinging it in deadly arcs: cross-slashes, thrusts, overhand swings. Finally, we sparred, holding matching Celestial Gold swords.

She was amazing. I was not.

Every time her blade struck my body, the pain taught me to pay more attention, to learn to be faster, to fight better. We fought and fought, never tiring, and I learned. My muscles absorbed the knowledge. I started moving with grace and purpose, not flailing about without any thought or care. Every movement of my body was deliberate, full of purpose--to defeat my opponent.

After training for hours, for maybe even a full day, I finally asked Azrael when I would wake up. "Time passes more slowly in the dream," she answered. "What seems like minutes in your mind is only seconds in the waking world."

"Like Inception?"

The angel gave me a puzzled look, her scarlet eyebrows furrowing.

"It's a movie. All about dreams."

She just stared at me.

"Never mind," I muttered, and we continued our sparring.

We moved on to hand-to-hand fighting. She taught me a brutal mix of grappling, kicks, and punches. It wasn't like kung-fu in movies. There were no flourishes, no dramatic arm waves or kicks. Every single attack was intended to hurt my opponent. She taught me to go for the body's weak points: knees, groin, elbows, sides, kidneys, throat, eyes. Break bones, dislocate joints, rupture vital organs, and to do it as quickly as possible to end the fight before my enemy could defeat me.

The dream seemed to last for days before I woke up this morning. So when Azrael appeared again to me this night, I asked her, "More sparring?"

"Yes," she answered, her voice ringing bells. "But first, there are other Prayers to teach you."

"Will they help me to escape?"

"No, but you may find them useful one day," she answered. A look of disgust flitted across her face. "You've bound your Thralls with the Zimmah ritual, yes?"

I nodded, her gaze making me feel defensive. Why did I have to justify my actions? I was special. "And? Most of them agreed to it willingly."

"I'm sure," she said with distaste. "The Ragily prayer is similar. It allows you to link a group of willing fighters to you. There is a limit on how many persons you can bond, unlike the Zimmah ritual. However, those you bind in this way gain certain advantages when fighting the supernatural."

"Like what?"

"The ability to hurt them. Their weapons will be capable of harming spiritual flesh. Their reflexes will be sharper. They can take wounds that would fell lesser men. It also doesn't have such a... distasteful way of being cast."

"You mean I wouldn't have to fuck my mother to bind them?" I asked with a laugh and then quickly swallowed it beneath her withering gaze.

"Yes. It merely requires their pledge of fidelity and obedience."

"How many could I have?"

"That is a more complex answer," Azrael answered, tapping her chin in thought. "A normal Priest could handle, say, thirty to fifty. Maybe a hundred with an exceptional Priest, such as King David and his Mighty Men. But you, well, you have bound the life force of what, fifty or sixty humans to you? Plus, there are all those that worship you. That is a lot of power, if you can harness it."

I nodded. "What other prayers are there?"

* * *

Mary Glassner - Southern France

I kept looking in the mirror on the passenger sun visor on the drive back to Toulouse. I barely looked different. Mark's transformation had been dramatic when my mother gave him her Gift. Of course, he had been in his mid-twenties when he received the Gift and was more than a little overweight. Now he looked eighteen and had the body of a Greek sculpture. I was twenty-one and already had a trim body. The Gift didn't seem to change me at all. It didn't even take a few pounds off my ass. Mark liked the plumpness, but I could stand to lose a pound or two off of it.

I sighed, flipping up the visor, my thoughts swirling. The Devil was using us, not a big surprise. But what he was using us for--to escape his prison--was surprising. And terrifying. The Mother Superior's words were really hitting me.

Mark and I might be responsible for dooming the world.

Sure, we were unwitting pawns in the Devil's plans, but that didn't change the fact that we made our choices. Learning the consequences of our selfish decisions left a bitter taste in my mouth. However, Maryām said we could stop him, trap him. Somehow, we could beat the Devil. I chewed on my lip, thinking about that as we drove to Toulouse.

I had no idea how to do it.

I pushed that particular worry to the side. Brandon was the immediate problem. I had the Gift. I could exorcise him now. I just needed to learn how to do it. Freed of her protection, Maryām was more than willing to answer my questions as she gazed up at me with lust. "Only an angel can teach you how to use the Prayers. They come in your dreams."

She couldn't lie, not when I ordered her to answer, not without her Gift to shield her from my powers.

In the end, I left her behind. I debated taking the former Nun with me, forcing her to be my slave and grovel before me. Part of me ached to see that beautiful, ancient woman degrade herself for my pleasure, to watch her dark eyes peer up from between my thighs as she worshiped my pussy. The way she would howl in pleasure as I fucked her from behind with a strap-on cock--or a real cock.

I remembered the intense pleasure I experienced the afternoon Lilith transformed my clit into a dick. Shifting in my seat, I flushed and pushed that fantasy down.

In the end, I let Maryām go. It just felt wrong to keep her after hearing Mom's story about the abuses she suffered at the hands of the Warlock who stole her from my family. I just couldn't bring myself to force anyone to act like that. Well, not permanently, anyway. So I forbade Maryām from ever speaking about our meeting, and told her to live her life.

Just because I made a deal with the Devil didn't make me evil.

After an hour, we reached the airport at Toulouse and boarded my plane. I sent everyone to coach because I needed to sleep, to dream. I desperately needed to learn how to exorcise a Warlock. From what my mom has told me, it was quite the pleasant experience when an angel communicated. The Ecstasy, she called it. As the 747 leveled off at its cruising altitude, heading west for North America, I struggled to sleep in the plush, first-class seat.

I had been up for over twenty-four hours, but I just couldn't sleep.

"Fuck," I muttered, staring up at the ceiling.

The harder I tried, the harder sleep eluded me. I leaned the first-class chair back as far as possible, had all the lights in the cabin turned off, and wore earplugs to try to drown out the engines. But nothing would work. I was too damned stressed to relax. And trying to sleep only made it worse. I grew irritable, snapping at my guards, screaming wordlessly at the ceiling, and sobbing my frustration into a small airline pillow.

"Please!" I begged. "Just let me sleep!"

After trying for hours, I felt defeated. I slumped in my chair, cheek pressed against the small, round window, staring listlessly out at the Atlantic ocean below, an endless sheet of midnight obscured by the occasional cloud. I let my mind drift.

And started pondering Karen's half-heard message from the summoning yesterday. "Brandon has..." Karen had said before Sam's scream had drowned her out. All I caught was the last part. "...other."

Brandon has... other. What could be in that missing gap? It was only a word or two. Something that rhymed with other? Mother, another, brother. Brandon has...other. What did it mean? What was Karen trying to warn me about? What did it matter if Brandon has a brother? His brother was dead. The man murdered him. And so what if he had a mother? He didn't need her to bind people with the Zimmah bond. Besides, she was also dead.

I started rhyming 'other' in my head: aother, bother, cother, dother, eother. I frowned at eother. Most of those weren't even words. Fother? Gother? Maybe it was smother? Brandon has smother? No, that didn't make any sense.

Brandon has...other. Brandon has brother?

I frowned. Brother. Was there something to that? Was there a spell that required a brother? And why had Brandon killed his brother last week? It was getting harder to think. I wished Sam was here so I could ask her. I was too exhausted. My mind felt like mush, battered by stress and fear until my brain was runny porridge.

I felt like there was a spell that required a brother. What was it?

I yawned, struggling to force my brain to work. Brother...brother...rother...er...

The next thing I knew I was standing in a vast emptiness, a black darker than night. I saw Mark, a golden sword in his hand and gold armor girding his body. He was fighting a woman with scarlet hair and bronze skin. The woman also had a golden sword that flashed with rubies as she swung it at my husband.

I blinked. This couldn't be happening. I was on a plane, right? Flying over the Atlantic.

No, I was dreaming. Relief swept through me. I had finally fallen asleep.

Something teased at my thoughts, a single word--Brother. Why was brother so important? I bit my lip, straining to remember. It had something to do with a spell.

"Mary?" Dream-Mark asked. There was a look of surprise on his face. His words derailed my train of thought.

The woman turned, mirroring his look of surprise. "Two Shamans," she whispered, her voice soft chimes. "Interesting."

Dream-Mark ran to me, swept me up in his arms, and kissed me. Everything--all the stress and the fear and the guilt--melted away. There was only Mark, his lips, and his love overwhelming me. I poured my heart and soul into the kiss. I didn't care that it was only a dream. It felt so real. So wonderful.

I was breathless and giggling with joy when Dream-Mark broke our kiss. I pressed my face into his muscular chest. His armor had vanished sometime during our kiss. Well, it was a dream, and strange things were bound to happen.

"You're actually in my dreams," Dream-Mark whispered in awe.

"No, you're in my dreams," I giggled. "I mean, I'm the one dreaming."

Dream-Mark laughed, turning to the bronze woman. "It is her, right, Azrael?"

"Yes," the angel said. "This is... surprising." I glanced at the angel as she studied us, eyeing me, then peering intently at Mark. "Yes, I see it now. You two are soulmates. Many Pacts and spells have bound the pair of you so tight, nothing can ever part you. It is how you came here without being summoned, Mary. Your desire to be trained was so strong that you were drawn to Mark's soul, pulled along by the chains that bind you together."

I smiled. I knew we were soulmates, and it was always lovely to hear. But hearing nice things wasn't why I was here. "Yes, I need to be trained. I need to learn how to perform the exorcism."

Azrael cocked her head as she considered me. "You have received the Gift from Maryām." Her red eyes turned flinty, a low, angry clang filled her ringing voice. "No, you stole her Gift."

"I needed it," I replied, lifting my chin. Who was this woman to judge my actions? I returned her flinty stare. "It's the only way to stop Brandon. We can't kill him; all the people under his control are bound to him. They'll die. Exorcising him is the only way, and I can't wait for a Nun to take her sweet time doing it! So stop the condescending lecture and train me!"

The angel stared at me for what felt like an eternity. I didn't flinch. I did what I had to. I would not apologize. Finally, her flinty face broke into resignation. "I will train you. It is my Providence."

She reached out, taking my hand. Pleasure coursed through me, just like when Lilith would touch me, and I gasped as an orgasm rippled pleasantly through my body. I moaned and spasmed in Mark's arms, rapture flooding through my body, stars bursting across my vision.

"Yes!" I moaned, juices gushing out of my pussy and flooding hot down my thighs. "Teach me!"

"I must lie with you," Azrael continued. "Only while we delight in each other's pleasure can I teach you."

"Wait, why do you two get to fuck?" Mark asked. "You just swung swords at me?"

"Her powers involve sex; yours involves force. I trained you with force. Mary must be trained in more pleasant ways."

"And the first time you appeared in my dreams and fucked me?" Mark demanded.

"That was for my pleasure," Azrael answered. "Why else would I bother with you humans?" She turned to me. "Lie down."

I broke away from Mark, flashing him a taunting smile. He shook his head in disgust as I eagerly lay down on the gym mats. And then they became something more comfortable than any bed. Azrael floated over me, and her tunic vanished into gold smoke, revealing her lush body. Her hanging breasts silkily brushed down my body as she floated closer and closer to me. Her hips lowered, and I spread my legs.

"Oh, my god," I gasped as her pussy rubbed against my cunt, a powerful orgasm exploding through me.

"Do not blaspheme," the angel moaned and then kissed me.

My entire body became pleasure as her flesh pressed against mine. Orgasms burst through me as she ground her hips slowly, tribbing our drenched pussies together. When our clits kissed, rapture crashed through me.

It was such bliss I had never felt before. It was like the pleasure reached into my soul. I gasped and squirmed against her, bucking, holding her, crying out my passion as it rippled over and over through her.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck!" I gasped, breaking the kiss. "Oh, that feels amazing!"

"Most of the basic Priestess prayers require the Mark of Qayin to anchor the prayer," the angel explained, continuing her slow, delicious trib, our clits rubbing together, pleasure speaking through me in explosions of bliss. "It is drawn with the fluids of your womanhood on the forehead of the person you wish to affect."

"Okay!" I moaned, writhing beneath Azrael as her pussy ground against mine. Her nipples were diamonds rubbing against my breasts, leaving trails of ecstasy. The pleasure worked through my soul. I didn't so much as hear her explanation as understand them, my body reacting to her instruction.

"The Mark is drawn like this." Her finger traced a circle with a diagonal line slashing through it on my forehead, leaving burning bliss in its wake, a sign I would forever remember. "Once you've drawn the Mark, a variety of Prayers can be used, including the Shalak prayer. The exorcism." Azrael kissed my lips.

She tasted of ambrosia, and I was lost to the pleasure of her body pressing against mine. Our tongues dueled as we writhed, my body absorbing the knowledge of how the exorcism worked, of using my body to pleasure the Warlock, to make them cum, to put their soul at the most vulnerable moment of weakness and take away their powers.

Like I had done with the Mother Superior.

"Mmm, you taste delicious," Azrael purred when she broke the kiss. She ground her clit through my pussy slit, moving it up to bump sweetly against my hard pearl, sending more rapture flooding through me.