Monique and Lize, Mark and Mary's stewardesses, find a naughty way to pass the time with a married, Muslim woman.
The Devil's Pact Servants' Chronicles
edited by Master Ken
Chapter Two: The Naughty Stewardesses
Note: Takes place between Chapters 41 and Chapter 42
Thursday, October 31st, 2013 – Monique Lavoie – Lansing, MI
“Everyone take your seats,” Joslyn announced over Air Force One's loudspeakers.
“Pity,” I sighed, breaking my kiss with 53, one of Mark's bodyguards. She was a petite, Asian woman with a gorgeous pair of breasts that my hands were currently fondling. We were leaning against one of the bulkheads, furiously kissing, her hands between my thighs, rapidly fingering me.
“Guess we'll finish up on the flight home,” 53 shrugged. She pulled away from me, buttoning up her blouse, all business. Now that we're landing, she was back on duty.
I straightened my skirt, what little of it there was. It barely covered my asscheeks and, when I walked, my pussy would flash beneath the hem. My bustier had slipped, and I adjusted it, pressing up my round tits into an impressive cleavage. I tweaked my hard nipples, left bare by the bustier, and made sure my red-and-blue striped tie fell between my lush mounds.
I walked back to the main cabin, sitting down on a jump seat near the door. Lize—one of my many lovers, and my fellow stewardess—sat down next to me, her large breasts jiggling in her bustier. She wore the exact same outfit I did; our official uniforms that I had chosen last June when Mark and Mary first made us their stewardesses. I had been married then, but I dumped my husband in a heartbeat to serve a pair of actual Gods. Lize, on the other hand, had brought her husband with her, and Franklin worked as the Gods' webmaster now. That had surprised me; I thought Lize didn't actually love her husband. I figured her for another gold digger like me, marrying a rich executive for the easy life. Well, her feelings for her husband had never stopped the blonde from cheating on him at the drop of a pin.
“What shall we do for fun, my sweet, little Lize?” I asked, toying with a lock of my curly-black hair.
“Shopping, of course,” Lize giggled. “Let's spend my husband's money on clothes to look beautiful for our lovers.”
We laughed wickedly.
The Gods appeared out of their back cabin, dressed in simple clothes. It was Thursday, and that meant they were spending the day healing sick children. Every Thursday they traveled to a random Children's Hospital in the US, and this week Lansing, Michigan had been selected. They sat next to each other, cuddling up. Korina and Lillian, the two sluts that had attended them in their cabin, came out with broad smiles.
“Do you think they have good shopping in Lansing?” I asked, unable to keep my distaste for the provincial mid-west out of my voice.
“We'll find out,” Lize shrugged. “Either way, we'll find something fun and naughty to do.”
The plane began its descent. I took my little Lize's hands, soft and delicate. She had come a long way from the shy trophy wife I met at that party two years ago. I had introduced her to a world of decadent pleasures: young, muscular men; the pleasure of a woman's lips; multiple partners; anal sex; the thrill of public sex—she had been a virgin to it all. And serving the Gods just meant there was no limit on our decadence. We could do what we wanted, wherever we wanted, and the Gods would protect us. We served them, and had earned whatever amusements we desired.
The plane tires screeched, the thrust reversals roared, and my seat belt dug into my waist as we landed. The plane rattled, shook, groaned, and then we slowed to a crawl, the thrust reversals died down, and the plane made a gentle turn. Through the window I could see the other planes landing, part of the fleet of aircraft that followed the Gods around. They carried soldiers, vehicles, spare parts, and there was one plane that was simply their back-up ride, decked out identically to Air Force One. That was power. That's why I ditched my billionaire husband to serve Mark and Mary.
The plane pulled up to the advance troops; a company of the Legion and a squad of the scantily-clad bodyguards had arrived yesterday, making sure everything was safe and secure for their arrival. Beyond them stood the media with their cameras. We unbuckled our belts and walked over to the airplane's door. A staircase was maneuvered up, and then we opened the door. The bodyguards streamed out, joining their sisters, and then the Gods walked up, standing at the doorway and waving for the cameras.
“Have fun, ma chérie,” I purred to Mary, embracing her. My Goddess took the moment to fondle my breasts while Lize gave Mark a similar farewell.
Then the Gods walked down the stairs to the roaring cheer of their worshipers and the flashing cameras of the reporters. The sluts descended the stairs with Leah, the chauffeur, followed by a few of the maids who would serve the Gods during this trip, then we descended with the last of the bodyguards. The air was frigid but, lucky for us, our ties had been enchanted by Sam. The Vizier had whipped up a spell that turned them into mini-heaters, and they'd keep us warm even in a blizzard. The Gods were giving a speech while their convoy was readied. A fleet of SUV's and Humvees pulled up, the Gods and their servants and bodyguards piled in, and they were off.
“So, what naughty fun are you two going to have?” 53 asked me, a grin on her youthful, Asian face. Her partner, 52, stood next to her, a buxom Mexican woman with honey-brown hair and a pair of aviator shades on.
“Shopping at what passes for a mall in Lansing,” I declared.
“And fucking?” 53 asked, her grin turning sly.
“Of course,” Lize nodded. “Preferably the nastiest, most depraved fucking we can have. Shame you can't join in.”
“We'll have the plane ride back to relieve ourselves, right, 52?”
“Absolutely,” purred the Latina bodyguard.
Lize and I piled into the back of another waiting, black SUV. 53 jumped into the driver seat, and 52 slid in the passenger seat, what the Americans called 'shotgun', though I never had the faintest idea why. Then again, there was a shotgun and an automatic rifle secured next to the passenger seat on the console.
52 pulled out a GPS. “Let's see what sort of malls there are around here.” The device made an annoying beep every time she pushed the keys. “Ahh, here we go.”
“Go straight 100 feet and take a left,” a cool, feminine voice spoke from the device.
It turned out the mall wasn't far away, merely a ten minute drive through Lansing's streets. It was a depressing sight. A one story, sprawling mess, without the hint of high-end boutiques where we could buy some designer clothes. Oh well, there were other ways to spend time in the mall. 53 maneuvered the SUV right up to the front, lights flashing, parking in front of one of the entrances between a Target and a Sears, how positively gauche, and the two bodyguards exited the vehicle and opened the doors for us.
The shoppers gawked. It wasn't every day you saw two barely dressed women step out of an SUV guarded by two cops that would be more at home on a porno set than walking a beat. They recognized what women dressed like slutty cops meant, and backed away, not wanting to impede the Gods' servants. I didn't pay them any mind, and strode into the mall, my exposed breasts jiggling.
It opened onto a garish food court. Cheap Chinese food abutted cheap Mexican food abutted cheap Italian food, with two hamburger joints and a Shawarma shop thrown in for good measure. The tables were flimsy Formica, and accompanied by uncomfortable, plastic chairs. I looked around for anyone to have some fun with. A hunky, Black man accompanied by a rather plain-looking, overweight, White woman caught my eye. He deserved better than that dumpy woman. A pair of young women giggled when they saw us, and my eyes appreciated their short skirts and chokers about their throats. Another man, his forearms as thick as my thighs, walked by, his yummy butt clad in tight jeans.
And then I saw her, wrapped head to toe in black cloth, a hijab, I think it was called, protecting her modesty by leaving only her hands and and her eyes exposed. She trailed after an Arab man dressed in a suit, his head covered by a white headwrap, the keffiyeh with intricate, red designs, the type of headdress you'd see in Saudi Arabia. He was young, early twenties, and the woman was probably his wife, and struggled to carry their purchases while her husband chatted away on his cell phone. Asshole!
I nudged Lize. “How would you like to unwrap the Muslim woman?”
Her eyes fell on the woman and sparkled with mischief. “Umm, you always get me the best presents.”
53 groaned. “He seems the possessive type.”
“That's why we brought you along,” I giggled, hooking my arm through Lize's and striding across the food court towards them.
The man stopped, his eyes falling upon our exposed breasts, and a smile crossed his lips. A few years ago I had been a model, and I was very acquainted with Saudi men. They were all pigs, loving us Western women and our uninhibited sexual ways. They would shower you with gifts: jewels, money, clothing, anything to get you to spread your legs and fuck them so they could boast to their friends about the slutty, Western girl they defiled.
We walked right past the Saudi man, his eyes whipping around to watch us, and we split apart to flank the Arabic woman. Her eyes—dark pools—and hands looked young, but it was hard to really tell. She looked down, and I could almost feel her flush through the black veil, and her entire body stiffened like a ramrod had just been shoved up through her body.
“Don't be scared, ma petite chérie,” I purred, reaching out to take her hand. “We won't hurt you.”
“We're just going to eat you up,” Lize cooed, taking her other hand.
“Sharmuta!” roared the man. I knew that word, I had heard it often enough from Arab men. Whore.
“Umm, you have no idea,” I smiled at him, grasping the woman's hand. “And she'll be one, too, once we're finished.”
His dark face flushed with anger, his nose flaring as he snorted like a bull, and he charged at me. He didn't get far. 53 whipped out her collapsible baton and slammed it hard against the back of his knee. With a cry of pain, he fell forward. 52 grabbed one of his hands and 53 the other one as the Arab man thrashed like a fish flopping about in the bottom of a boat.
“Stop resisting, sir,” 53 calmly said, yanking his hand back.
“Let me go, bitch!” he snarled. “I've done nothing wrong!”
“Sir, you just tried to assault one of the Gods' servants. So I'm placing you under arrest. Now stop resisting, or it will be much worse!”
“They touched my wife! Why don't you protect her!”
Pulling out her handcuff, 52 ratcheted one end around his wrist. “I'm not paid to protect your wife.” 53 pushed her knee into the man's back and he yelped in pain, and she managed to haul his other wrist over and secured his free wrist.
The woman yelled something in Arabic, too fast and fluid for me to understand anything, and struggled in my grasp. “Don't worry,” I told her. “He won't be hurt. So long as he doesn't resist.”
“Secure him in the chair,” I told them. “I think he should watch his wife finally become a free woman.”
The woman flinched as I grabbed her veil and pulled it over her face. She was beautiful, long, black hair framing a round, delicate face. Her lips were lush, her cheeks full of color, and her neck graceful. Such a shame to hide her beauty. Her husband was a selfish creature, wanting to hide her away from the world.
I touched her cheek gently. “Don't worry. I won't harm you.”
Then I leaned in and kissed her. She tried to pull away, but I still held onto her right arm, and Lize had her left. I tilted my head, working my lips against hers, letting my tongue slide out and caress her lips. Lize's free hand slid up her body and found her breasts beneath the shapeless hijab. I wondered if she wore a bra under there, or if she was completely naked. She stiffened a second time; Lize had found her nipple, pinching it through the fabric. I kept kissing her, prodding her lips with my tongue, hoping she'd open up and let me in.
“Stop molesting my wife!” bellowed the man.
Her body relaxed; a soft sigh escaped her lips. My opening; I shoved my tongue inside her lips. A tremble passed through her; Lize nuzzled her neck, kissing the creamy skin. I relaxed my grip on her arm, only lightly holding her, ready to grab her again if she tried to break away. She didn't. Her lips were moving instinctively. Had her husband ever kissed her like this? She was so awkward and unsure; that made the kiss even sweeter.
I smacked my lips when I broke the kiss. Her eyes were wide, eyelids fluttering, and her chest heaved with awakened passion. “This...isn't...” I silenced her with another kiss. Her mouth opened up right away for my tongue.
“It is right,” purred Lize into her ear, her pink tongue tracing the dusky lobe. “We're going to show just how right it is, cutie.”
“When I get free, I'm going to beat you, Aaliyah!” snarled her husband.
The Arab woman, Aaliyah, quailed in my embrace, a piteous moan broke her lips. I turned and looked with disgust at the man sitting on the chair. He was handcuffed to it now, a pair on each wrist attached to the back frame of the chair.
“Gag him,” I commanded 53. “I'm tired of hearing his pathetic whines.”
“You have to free him,” begged Aaliyah, tears in her eyes. “You are just making him more angry and...”
I placed my finger to her lips. “He won't beat you ever again. You know whom we serve?”
Her head nodded.
“They are true Gods, and you have my word, okay?”
She nodded, a tear running down her dusky cheek. I licked her salty cheek, then captured her sweet lips for a third kiss. It was her tongue that wiggled into my mouth this time. She was a quick learner. Her hand hesitantly touched my hip, trembling. Lize kissed across her cheek, then pressed her lips against ours, thrusting her tongue, and we devolved into a sloppy, three-way kiss.
“What are you going to...” Aaliyah murmured. “Are we...”
“I'm going to fuck you right in front of your husband,” I hissed in her ear. “I'm going to make you cum so hard, you'll shoot right to the moon.”
She looked around. A crowd of people, mostly young men, were watching us, holding up their phones. “But, this is...there are...we'll get...”
“We serve the Gods, we can do what we like,” I grinned. “Look at how we're dressed.”
Her eyes darted down, widening, her flush deepening.
“I know, she has a great pair of tits,” purred Lize. She took Aaliyah's hand and raised it up to my chest. “Why don't you give them a squeeze.”
“This is wrong,” the Arab woman breathed as her fingers massaged my heavy tit.
“Sex is never wrong,” I answered. “Haven't you heard the Gods' message?”
She shook her head. “The Imans have declared fatwas on them, calling them Shaitan and forbidding all faithful Muslims from watching TV and listening to the radio to avoid their evil spells.”
“Well, Aaliyah. Sex and love are never wrong. No matter whom you want to do it with. As long as it's consensual, it's never wrong.”
“But you came up to me and...”
“And set about seducing you,” I laughed. Her fingers found my nipple, stroking my hard numb; tingles skittered across my skin down to my sopping pussy. “And it worked, didn't it? You're going to let us do whatever we want to you.”
“I...” her voice faltered, then she lowered her head. Too many years submitting to her father and then her husband to have any real fight in her. They had beaten all the dominance out of her, the poor thing.
“Let's get this horrible tarp off you,” I purred. “I bet you have a sexy body. You shouldn't hide it. You shouldn't be ashamed of it. You're a woman, be proud. Show off your assets; take power in the effect you have on men and women.”
Lize and I bent down, grasping the thick, black robe, and pulled it over her head. She lifted her arms, meek and submissive; my cunt contracted and fresh juices leaked down my thighs. She wore no bra for her large, heavy breasts topped with fat, dark-brown nipples that were hard from Lize's deft fingers. The only thing she did wear was a pair of white granny panties, loose and unsexy.
“Ma petite chérie, these have to go.” I bent down and pulled those disgusting, unflattering panties off. They were practically shorts. She stepped out of them, and I looked up and was face-to-face with her bushy groin.
My mouth watered, and I couldn't resist leaning in and taking a swipe through her bush, gathering a faint, tangy flavor. She shuddered and moaned, looking down in awe at me as Lize fondled those luscious mounds. I took another swipe, and gathered more of her dew on my tongue. Her pussy hairs tickled my cheeks as my tongue found the entrance to her pussy, and shoved deep inside her.
“Oh, wow!” she moaned, her hips spasming on my lips.
I found her clit, hard and pink, peaking out of her cinnamon skin, and I sucked the sensitive pearl into my lips. The effect was electrifying. Her hips bucked and she cried out in Arabic. A fresh flood of juices splattered on my chin and cheeks as her orgasm sent her pussy muscles spasming. I drank her nectar, slowing my licks. Her gasps softened, her climax dwindled.
I stood up, staring into her flushed cheeks, an awed smile on her lips. “I have never...”
“I bet you want another one.”
“I bet Lize would love to taste your sweet pussy, ma petite chérie.”
“I would,” Lize nodded, and kissed me, her tongue flicking out to taste Aaliyah's tangy musk. “She tastes delicious.”
Lize grabbed Aaliyah's hand, leading the naked Arab woman. She had a nice ass. I glanced at her husband, his face dark with rage, eyes bulging with murder. I smirked at him, licking my lips, savoring his wife's delicious cream. He strained, the chair bucking. The two bodyguards placed hands on his shoulder and shoved him back down.
Aaliyah gasped behind me; her husband tried to lunge a second time. 53 shot me a glance; she wasn't pleased. I'd have to make it up to her on the plane ride home, and I think I knew exactly how. In the meantime, I blew her a kiss.
She rolled her eyes and smiled.
I spun about, curious to find out just how Lize made Aaliyah gasp. She had the Arab women laid out on a table, her large, cinnamon tits jiggling as she gasped and moaned, and seemed to be working something in and out of her cunt. I walked around, and smiled; Lize had grabbed a cylindrical ketchup bottle, the plain type you'd find in a cafeteria. Aaliyah's pussy was stretched wide as Lize slowly pumped it in and out; the Arab woman's pussy lips clinging to the red shaft.
“Hmm, I bet that's bigger than your husband's cock.”
“Oh, a lot bigger!”
I shot a glance at her struggling husband. “She's finally getting some satisfaction.”
“Oh, yes!” she purred. “Umm, wow! Harder! I didn't know I could feel this amazing!
I climbed up on the table, leaning over to kiss Aaliyah on the lips. “You're going to eat my pussy.”
Her eyes widened; her tongue licked her pink lips. “I... Yes.”
“Good, ma petite chérie.”
I straddled her face, staring her angry husband right in the eye. I smiled at him, and lowered myself ever so slowly to his wife's eager lips. Her breath exhaled rapidly on my pussy; I could feel how nervous she was. Her husband's eyes narrowed, full of hatred and humiliation, fanning my lust. Aaliyah's tongue took one slow swipe across my pussy. Wonderful. She smacked her lips, purring appreciatively, then her mouth buried into my cunt.
“I think she likes pussy,” I cooed at her husband. “Your wife's gotten a taste, and she's going to want to indulge!”
He grunted, muffled by the gag.
Her tongue was unfocused, licking everywhere around my pussy. She brushed my clit, then shoved deep into my pussy. “She's a natural. Your wife's my new, lesbo slut! Once I'm done with her, she'll be a slut for any pussy she can bury her face into. And then I'll teach her to love cock! I bet you can't wait to see another man penetrate your wife? She'll gasp and moan and cum all over his cock, and love every second of it!”
Aaliyah dug her tongue deeper into me. The Arab woman was getting into it. She moaned and purred into my snatch, and her delightful tongue flicked and probed. I stared her husband right in the face, smirking as he glared daggers at me. I pinched my nipples, writhing my pussy on her mouth. My breathing quickened, and I moaned load.
“Lick me, slut!” I purred. “That's it! Make me cum! You're my lesbian bitch! You don't belong to your husband anymore! You're mine!”
My orgasm built and built. Her tongue flicked my clit. I exploded. My pussy clenched, and a jet of girl-cum splashed on her face. My stomach spasmed, bending me over, but I kept looking him in the eye.
“Oh, yes! Your wife just made me cum! And she loved it. I can hear her moaning. She's happy. She's my lesbo slut now.”
I climbed off Aaliyah; a big smile painted on her lips. My cunt juices drenched her face, running down to mat her black hair. I leaned over and kissed her, savoring my tart flavor. Her tongue darted into my mouth, and I made sure her husband had a good look at our tongue-fencing.
“You loved my pussy, didn't you?”
“I did,” she gasped. “Oh, yes! Keep fucking my pussy!”
Lize grinned, working the ketchup bottle deeper into Aaliyah's cunt.
“I want you to look at your husband and cum while Lize fucks you.”
She craned her head, smiling at her husband. “Watch me cum, Samir! I never came for you, but I came for them! I loved her pussy! I'm going to eat Lize's next. And I'm going to fuck another man!”
“That's my slut!” I laughed, bending down to suck her nipple.
Aaliyah gasped and moaned, working her hips into Lize's thrust. My lover leaned over, sucking the Arab woman's clit as she reamed her cunt. Aaliyah's moans grew louder and louder, than her body writhed on the table as her passion swept her away.
“Good, no?” I smiled at her as she stared up at the ceiling.
We played with Aaliyah all day long. I never did find that man to fuck her, but I had the perfect someone in mind. I did enjoy her sweet mouth licking my pussy in a changing room, and in the women's restroom she was able to sample quite a number of different pussies, munching on each with great relish.
Our time at the mall soon ended, and we drove back to the airport to greet Mark and Mary. Aaliyah joined us, dressed nearly identically to us, though her skirt was a little too long—I could only catch a hint of her asscheeks peering out as she walked. She savored dressing up like a slut, finally able to flaunt her body the way she always had desired, no longer afraid of her father and husband.
Mark walked up the stairs, his beautiful wife on his arm. He saw Aaliyah, and smiled with a boyish grin. “Our newest flight attendant,” I told him, pushing the young woman at him. “If you approve, sir.”
His blue eyes ravished her. “What do you think, Mare?”
“I think she'll fit right in,” Mary laughed.
Mark caught Aaliyah with one arm, and his wife with another. “You're going to have to serve us personally on the flight home.”
“I'd like that,” Aaliyah murmured in awe. “Sir.”
I smiled, glad that I had pleased my Gods, and looking forward to all the fun Lize, Aaliyah, and I would get into at our next stop. “I think we need to get her gang-banged,” I whispered to Lize.
She laughed, “I bet she'd look so exotic dripping in white cum.”
53 pulled me down in the seat beside her. “I'm off duty now. And I need to relax.”
“I'm here to serve,” I purred, sticking my hand between her legs. “It's a stewardess's job to see to the comforts of her passengers.” My fingers penetrated her pussy and 53 laughed.