The Devil’s Pact Servants’ Chronicles Chapter 4: The Artist’s First Day
Introduction:
It’s Jane’s first day as one of Mark and Mary’s maid and she’s given a special task.
by mypenname3000
Copyright 2015
Chapter Four: The Artist’s First Day
Note: Takes place between Chapters 46 and Chapter 47. Thanks to b0b for beta reading!
Wednesday, March 19th, 2014 – Jane Yoshimori – Tacoma, WA
“Very beautiful,” the Goddess complimented me as she examined her portrait I had just finished. It was one of several she had commissioned for me. It was a beautiful, and erotic, depiction of the Goddess lounging on a divan, her auburn hair falling about her perfect breasts, her stomach round, pregnant with her divine child.
“Thank you,” I murmured, blushing. Being around the Goddess was heady. She was so beautiful, and all I wanted to do was fall to my knees and worship her with my mouth and tongue, tasting her sweet nectar.
I had worshiped her many times already in the month I had stayed at the Murano Hotel. This and my other paintings would adorn their mansion when construction was finished in April. I had painted three others: another portrait of the Goddess, one of the God, and one of them both locked in a passionate embrace. Painting the God was as much fun as the Goddess, and worshiping him was amazing. He was as wonderful a lover as the Goddess, and his cock always felt magical no matter which of my holes he used.
My body was worthy of the Gods’ pleasure. I was special. It was such an intoxicating feeling. I never wanted to leave here.
She placed Her hands on my shoulders. “Just wonderful.” Her lips brushed my neck as Her pregnant belly pressed against the small of my back. “Have you considered my offer?”
“I have.”
“And.”
“I would love to be one of your servants.”
I was already temporarily bonded to the Goddess. My first night, after that dreadful attack, I had drunk the Divine mix of the Goddess and Her mortal father’s seed, binding me too her. It was a temporary measure and I would be freed if I asked for it. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to serve Them. How could I not? They were Gods. I had worshiped Them since the day They conquered the false god Brandon.
“Good.” She turned me around, leaning down to kiss me on the lips. I melted against Her; so wonderful. “You will be allowed to paint whatever you want, during your free time.”
I nodded, “Thank you, my Lady.” That’s how the maids all addressed Her.
“Report to Pearl. She will have your uniform and tomorrow will be your first day as our maid.”
“Right away.”
“She’ll have a special task for you,” She smiled.
Pearl was a beautiful woman, the oldest maid in her thirties, and gave me a motherly smile when I walked downstairs. “Welcome, Jane,” she beamed, then handed me a bundle. “Your uniform. Wear it with pride.”
“I will.” I clutched the bundle to my excited chest.
She bent down and gave me a kiss. “You’re free until morning. I’m rooming you with Karishma. Room 617. There’s a keycard in the bundle. Go move your belongings there. Dinner’s in an hour.”
“Thank you, Miss Pearl.”
A smile broached her motherly face. “You’re just as cute as my Cindy.”
“Yes, she is,” Violet said, walking by. I bowed to the Slut who walked over and patted my cheek. “Speaking of Cindy…” A hopeful look filled Violet’s eyes.
“You’re girlfriend is cleaning the pool,” Pearl answered. “And she’ll be in a lot of trouble if she doesn’t finish.”
“I’ll see she finishes,” Violet smiled. “Eventually.”
“Well, skedaddle, child,” Pearl said to me. “I have to oversee dinner.”
“Yes, Miss Pearl.”
I didn’t sleep well that night, and not because Karishma found my petite body irresistible, though the Indian woman’s appetite kept us both up late, I was just so nervous for my first day. I wanted to be the perfect maid for the Gods. I dressed in my uniform, a slutty, French maid’s outfit. The skirt was black, with ruffled-lace petticoats underneath that made the skirt puff out and sway as I walked, and the bodice was transparent, my little A cup breasts clear as day. I admired my features in the mirror, my creamy-olive face was framed by my straight, blue-black hair, framing my porcelain features.
“You’re a little sex kitten,” purred Karishma, hugging me from behind and bending down to kiss my cheek. She wore an identical outfit, and while I looked like a sexy waif, she looked like a sexy bombshell. “Let’s go serve the Gods.”
I nodded my head.
All the maids gathered in the main dining room to receive our daily assignments. One lucky maid was given the job of cleaning the Gods’ suite, which involved administering the God’s morning blowjob. Abigail received that honor, and she playfully stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend, Tomoyo, the other Japanese maid. One by one Pearl handed out the assignments until only I remained.
“I have a special job for you in room 205,” Pearl answered, handing over a master cardkey. “You are to clean the room and the person occupying it. Do whatever the woman requires.”
I nodded my head.
“Tell the woman that you are a gift from the Goddess, fulfilling a promise Mary made to her. Okay??”
“Yes, Miss Pearl.”
“Remind this woman that the Gods love her and miss her.”
“I will,” I answered, trying to sound more confident than I felt. It was my first day and it sounded like they wanted me to work a miracle.
“Don’t worry. Mary choose you for this, and the Goddess would never give you a task that you were not equal to.”
I nodded. She was right. I could do this. I just wished my bubbling stomach believed me.
Holding my sketchpad with one hand, and a bucket filled with cleaning supplies in the other, I marched to the elevator and went up the single floor. Room 205 was to the left near where the hallway made a turn to the left. I set my bucket down and used the master cardkey to open the door.
The room was dark and the stench was…ripe. With trepidation, I walked into the room. “H-hello?”
No one answered. A short hallway led past the bathroom to the beds. The curtains were drawn tight, and the only light came from the main hallway flooding past me, my shadow stretching into the darkened room. I took a step into the room, the door swinging shut behind me, the light dwindling, then vanished. My heart thudded so loud as I took a second step down the hallway.
“I-is anyone here?”
I found the light switch. The room was…messy. Plates were strewn about with half-eaten food and several blankets lay in a pile on the floor. I took another step, seeing the far bed completely stripped of its blankets. A fourth step. A pair of dark legs were stretched on the nearer bed. A fifth step.
A Middle-Eastern woman sat naked on the bed, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes red with tears. A present lay on her lap, unopened, covered by red wrapping paper dotted with cupids. The woman kept staring at it, her eyes dead.
“H-hello.”
The woman didn’t look up.
“I’m Jane. I’m a new maid, and…” I frowned, there was something familiar about her. Balim. “Y-your the guard that frisked me that day at the…art museum.”
I shuddered. That had been a terrifying day. Those terrible demons had burst out of the ground, throwing spikes of obsidian at us. The Goddess had hurled fire at them and whipped up a great wind to keep them back until the soldiers could arrive. I spent the fight cradling this woman’s head on my lap, watching her life pour out of her from the four-inch wide hunk of stone impaled in her chest.
The woman looked up at me, a collar tight about her neck. 24. Her dark eyes were completely dead. She eyed me, then went back to looking at her present, wrapped in red paper dotted with white cupids—a Valentines Day present.
It had been Valentines Day when the demons attacked.
“I-I’m here to clean your room.”
The figure shrugged.
“And…” I swallowed. “…clean you.”
She didn’t respond.
“I’m also a gift…from the Goddess. She loves you, 24, and misses you.”
“A gift,” she rasped, then a dark, almost hysterical chuckle. “Another gift that I can’t open.”
“You were very brave that day,” I said, bending down to pick up the blankets. They reeked. I moved them down the hallway. I’d get her fresh blankets and have these laundered. “You threw yourself in front of the Goddess and took the wound meant for her.”
She didn’t answer.
I swallowed and, not sure what else to do, I busied myself with throwing garbage into a black trash bag, plates and all. They were…fuzzy. Her dark eyes were on me the entire time. I cleaned the room as best I could, save for the bed she sat on. I scrubbed the bathroom clean until it sparkled and wiped down all the furniture in the bedroom. As I cleaned, I was starting to wonder if the room was haunted. It seemed there was some figure moving about, brushing me, disturbing the air more than simple drafts. The spirit of 24’s dead lover?
It was probably just my overactive imagination; 24’s dead gaze was unnerving me.
With everything else clean, that left only the beds. I left the room to get clean linen from the supply closet and made the second bed, then I faced her. “You need to get up so I can…”
She gave me a dead look that spoke volumes.
“You just can’t sit there all day. I was ordered to clean you and the room up.”
Another look.
I frowned, thinking. “Who’s the gift from?”
Her shoulders hunched, hugging the gift to her lap.
“I’m not going to take it from you. I just want to give you a clean bed.”
She didn’t answer.
Sighing, I sat on the other bed, grabbing my sketch pad. I couldn’t fail at my first assignment. There had to be a way to get her to move. I couldn’t manhandle her; she was bigger than me. And she was a trained cop. I remembered how she had easily controlled me when she had searched me at the museum. She had been so strong as her fingers penetrated my ass and pussy, stirring me up and making me cum. She had dominated me, forced me to submit to her lusts disguised as a simple pat-down.
It was one of the best cums of my life. She forced me to live out all those dark fantasies trapped in the depths of my soul. The ones I had been too afraid to let anyone know. I was a girl—we weren’t supposed to have deviant desires like a guy.
I started sketching her. I often found that when I sketched, and didn’t really focus on my drawing, my mind would wander and I would often find the solution to problems. I cocked my head, my charcoal pencil scratching as I drew her. Even dirty, there was a beauty to her: plump lips, dark eyes, round breasts, curvy hips, and gorgeous, sleek legs that just seemed to go on forever.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Immortalizing the squalor you are sitting in,” I absently answered. “It’s a great study. You capture self-pity perfectly. I…”
“Wallowing!” she flared. “You think I’m wallowing?”
“What are you doing?”
“Grieving!”
“For?”
She glared at me. “Stop drawing me!”
“Then let me do my job,” I answered, continuing to sketch. “And don’t move. Keep staring down at that gift. You are perfectly capturing self-indulgent pity.”
Her face darkened. “You don’t understand!”
“No,” I answered.
“You’re just one of the whores running around here.”
“Yeah.” My cheeks burned; I still wasn’t used to being called a whore.
She shifted, staring at me. “Are you blushing?”
“Yes.” I looked down at my sketch pad. “I’m new here…”
“You said you were my gift?” She examined me. “I remember you. Mary commanded me to watch over you carefully. She told me I could do whatever I wanted to you, balim.”
My cheeks felt like they were on fire.
“Such a pretty mouth. Jan would have loved to piss in it.”
My eyes widened. I had witnessed the God’s sister piss in the mouth of my fellow artist that day, and I shuddered. It sound so degrading and humiliating to be forced to drink another person’s pee. I glanced up from my sketch pad and saw something stir in her dark eyes as they looked at me.
“Jan and I would love to share pretty girls like you, balim.”
Why did she keep calling me that? She called me that the day she frisked me.
“We’d take them into our shower, force them onto their knees and take turns pissing into their pretty, little mouths.”
She shifted on her bed, setting the gift on the nightstand. I swallowed, trying to concentrate on my sketch and ignore the way she looked at me. I squeezed my thighs together, my pussy felt like it was on fire.
“You’re my gift…”
“Yes, I—”
She sprang at me, tackling me to the bed, my sketch pad went flying. Her dirty, black hair fell in my face as she stared down at me. “My pretty, little balim.I could just eat you up.”
“Okay,” I squeaked.
She stood up, her hand firmly grasping mine, yanking me to my feet. “You’re supposed to wash me.”
I nodded as she dragged me to the bathroom. Her ass was shapely and round. She turned on the shower and shoved me in. I banged into the wall, the cold water splashing my body, soaking my uniform. A bruise formed on my back and I trembled as she eyed me. The water warmed up, steam beginning to billow around me.
What was she going to do? “P-please.”
“Please, what, balim?”
“D-don’t h-hurt me…”
She stepped into the shower, I shrank back, but there wasn’t much room. I tried to slide past her and get out, my heart thudding, and my pussy on fire. The fear and exhilaration mixed together inside me, giving birth to a strange excitement. I was completely at her mercy. She could do whatever she wanted to me and no-one was going to stop her.
24 grabbed my arm as I tried to flee, twisting it around behind my back, pain flaring in my elbow. I cried out as she shoved me face first against the wall, pressing her warm body against my back. “Such a sweet balim,” she purred. “I need to search you. Mary commanded me to give you surprise searches whenever I felt it necessary.”
Her free hand reached around my waist, sliding across the soaking fabric of my dress, reaching down and lifting the sodden skirt and petticoats up, then plunged between my thighs. Her fingers felt electric as she slid up my leg, creeping nearer and nearer to my aching pussy. My breath came in ragged gasps, and hers came in fast intervals on my neck.
“Let’s see if you have any contraband shoved up your cunt,” she hissed, then shoved three fingers inside me.
I gasped as pain and pleasure rushed through me. Her fingernails were ragged, scraping my sensitive flesh, and yet they felt wonderful as they wormed deeper and deeper into me, igniting all the thousands of pleasure receptors in my pussy.
“Such a wet balim,” she hissed in my ear. “Do you like my fingers searching your cunt?”
“Yes!” I gasped.
“Because you’re a dirty whore!”
“I am!” I moaned, her fingers driving me wild as they pumped in and out. “Keep searching me! Don’t stop until you’ve made sure there’s nothing hiding inside me!”
Her tongue licked my ear. “Are you going to cum?”
“Uh-huh!” Her fingers were diving me wild, my orgasm building like a squall sweeping swiftly across a calm sea, churning the waves to violent whitecaps.
“Purr, my sweet balim! Let me hear you purr!”
“Yes, yes!” I gasped. “I’m about to cum! Oh, Gods, yes! You’re fingers are stirring me up! Frothing my passion! I can’t take any more!”
Her tongue danced in my ear, sending shudders down to the squall building inside me. The storm broke and frothed my body with pleasure. I spasmed, pinned between her and the wall, gasping and crying out. Such wonderful pleasure coursed through me as I stood their {there} helpless to stop her.
“Oh, wow!” I groaned.
“For being a good balim you get a reward.”
“Reward?” I panted.
“On your knees.”
She let go of my arm and I turned around. She grasped my shoulders, squeezing hard. I winced, and let her force me to my knees. I was looking right at her pussy covered by a thick bush matted down by the shower. She grasped my long, blue-black hair and pulled my face straight towards her pussy. I could smell her tangy musk.
“Open wide,” she commanded.
My eyes bulged.
She smiled. “Open wide and don’t close your mouth. I want you to savor every last drop of your reward.”
Trembling, I did as I was told. The Goddess had given me to her, and she could do whatever she wanted to me. I surrendered to her power; a thrill raced through me, hardening my nipples and tingling my clit. Her face clenched, her belly tightened, and then her piss streamed out.
The acrid fluid struck me in the face, stinging my eyes and feeling my nose with the stench. She shifted, aiming the stream at my open mouth. Urine filled me up, and I swallowed, shuddering as she humiliated me. My pussy was on fire. Despite just cumming, my traitorous hole was begging for more attention.
I moaned as she flooded my mouth with piss; my fingers rubbed furious circles on my aching clit. She degraded me and I let her. A shudder passed through me, another climax screaming through my body as I swallowed mouthful after mouthful of her piss, the scent filling my nostrils.
“Drink it!” she hissed. “That’s it! I love it when you little bitches drink my piss!”
Every time I swallowed, my mouth closed, the urine running down my neck to my tiny breasts and belly. Another orgasm spasmed through me, the trickle of piss reaching my fingers, and I rubbed the filthy liquid into my clitoris.
“Oh, yes!” she moaned and her stream began to die. “Now lick me clean, balim. Put that tongue to use and make me sing!”
I buried my mouth into her curls, licking the drops of urine staining her pubic hair and lips, then I delved into the strong musk of her pussy. Her bush tickled my nose and cheeks as I worked my tongue deep into her hole. She tasted wonderful, her tart mixing with the aftertaste of her bitter urine. I frigged my clitoris harder, eager for another cum to wrack my body as I pleasured her.
“That’s it!” she gasped. “Oh, yes! Devour my cunt, whore!”
I did. I devoured ever bit of it I could find, sending my tongue exploring every nook and cranny, then wiggling deep down her hole. Her hips bucked, and she writhed on my mouth, one hand keeping my head pressed tight to her snatch, the other reaching up to pinch and pull at her hard, dark nipples.
“Oh, fuck! Make me cum! Make me purr! That’s a sweet balim!”
Her hips jerked harder, her head threw back, black hair plastered to her dark skin, as she gasped and moaned. Her breasts heaved, dripping with moisture. I frigged my clitoris harder, wanting to cum with this amazing woman. My lips found her bud nestled between her folds and I sucked hard. Her body jerked, her hand pinching her nipples lashed out and grabbed the shower bar for support.
“That’s it!” she shouted. “Oh, Gods, yes!”
We came together.
She shuddered on my mouth, pouring tangy juices down my throat and I screamed my passion into her pussy. We shook and writhed and shuddered together. She spasmed hard again, her breasts jiggling and swaying.
“Oh, yes! Oh, yes, Jan! My Jan! My…” her voice broke, her face quavered. “My beautiful Jan!” Her shoulder shook and she leaned against the shower wall. “I miss you so much! Why did you die?” She slid down the wall, sitting next to me hugging her knees and rocking as the water sprayed down on us.
I reached out, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. She opened up, pulling me against her. Her legs straighten out and I was on her lap, her arms locked around me and her face buried into my shoulder. I never let go of her. I held her as she sobbed all her pain out against me, rocking me in her arms. I didn’t speak, I just gave this wounded creature all my compassion.
The crying died after a time. She sniffed, looking at me, her dark eyes soft, and she stroked my cheek. My heart beat faster; she was beautiful. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Jan would have really loved you.”
“I’m sorry I never got to meet her.”
“You did,” she smiled, sad and tiny, but it was a smile. “She was my partner. She was the other bodyguard that helped me frisk you all.”
I remembered the beautiful, sandy-blonde woman in the slutty cop’s uniform fingering the Black artist. “She seemed very passionate.”
“She was.” Then she blinked, looking at me. “Oh, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”
We stood up, turning the shower off, and I peeled out of my wet uniform, dropping it on the bathroom floor. We dried, and she walked back into the bedroom, sitting on the bed I had made up, looking at the dirty one. She patted the spot next to her. I sat down and she put her arm around me.
“This was our bed,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear to sleep in it after…”
I nodded. “She was lucky to have you, 24.”
“Emine,” she corrected. “In here I’m Emine.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
She reached out and grabbed the present from the nightstand. “I think I’m ready to open this.”
“I’ll leave,” I said, and tried to pull away.
“You’re my gift,” she protested. “I’m going to keep you close and pee in your pretty, little mouth whenever I feel sad.”
I blushed. “I’d…like that.”
“Of course you did. All the little whores love to drink my piss, balim.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Because you’re my cute, little kitten,” she laughed then carefully unwrapped her Valentines Day present.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Friday, March 20th, 2015 – Jane Yoshimori – South Hill, WA
I knelt at 24’s grave amid the beautiful trees behind the mansion. Rows and rows of tombstones marking the final resting places of all those loved by the Gods who had died in their service. Karen and Chasity’s graves were at the center. They had grand, carved statues in their likeness decorating their resting place, and then stretched out around them were all the graves for the bodyguards that had fallen.
It had been one year since I walked into room 205 and met this amazing woman, the first love of my life. We had eight wonderful months together until she had been killed by Lucifer during the eclipse. Many bodyguards had died that day defeating the first of the great Demons. And more were still dying. I laid the flowers before her grave, and bent down and kissed her marker.
“Thank you, Emine,” I whispered, using her real name. “I hope you and Jan are happy.”
Next to 24’s grave, lay 23’s—Jan. Emine had loved me, but she never stopped loving Jan more. And that was okay. They only had a short time together, but they had forged such a deep bond, and maybe one day I would find someone I could love as intensely. And, if not, I would at least enjoy the company of all my fellow maids and my Gods.
I stood up, straightening my skirts, and set up my easel. I looked at the blank canvas and imagined Emine and Jan, watching me from the Shadows where all the servants of the Gods wait. One day I would join them and be reunited with Emine and meet the amazing Jan.
I’m sure I would love her as much as I did Emine. I wiped the tear away, and began to paint.
