Chapter 11: Sally, The Gift

"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. "While you and your husband would waste her on some desk job. You'd probably ship her off to Siberia to administrate some logging town."

"At least she'd be useful!" spat Anastasia. "She wouldn't be out fucking every farm girl she could lay her lazy hands on!"

"We'd at least appreciate her beauty! A pretty girl deserves to be flaunted."

"Now ladies," Kevin said. "We all serve the..." Both ladies fixed stares on him and he swallowed his words.

"If my wife was here and heard those words, she'd kick your scrawny ass!" declared Daffodil.

"If you could drag her out of whatever poor, peasant girl's bed she's fallen into. I doubt you even know what Territory she's in, let alone the town."

"My wife is a very lusty woman. Addison has needs, and I don't mind her going off and scratching them."

"This is growing tiresome," a new voice said. A serious man—in his early twenties, a plain face with a goatee sprouting from his chin and short, neatly combed, brown hair—stepped up between the two glaring women. I racked my mind, struggling to remember who he was. "I'll buy the slave for $20 million just to hear an end to their petty squabbles."

Both ladies glared at each other, then the newcomer, then back at each other. I continued searching my mind, trying to place his face. He had resources if he could drop $20 million, so he was obviously important. But he was dressed in a utilitarian suit, the type an office worker would wear, with none of the finery the other's adorned themselves in.

"Ladies?" Kevin asked.

"Fine," Anastasia sighed.

"Better Dean gets her than that suck up bitch," Daffodil declared. "How Mark ever came to like a woman with such a large stick up her ass is beyond me."

"Mark loved to stick it up my ass. I was the first of his jogging sluts. What were you again? Right, some whore he gangbanged in a high school locker room and promptly forgot about!"

"You bitch!" the blonde snarled.

"Come on, Ana," Stan said, grabbing is wife. "We'll get Steve a slave next year."

"Yes dear," Anastasia said, suddenly meek.

Daffodil called my new master Dean. That meant he was Dean Perry, Governor of the Territory of Oceania. His wife was a bosom friend of the Goddess Mary. He was a powerful man to be married to a woman close the Goddess.

I trembled as two auburn haired women—neither of whom looked older than twenty, and had matching, emerald eyes—collected me, leading me to a limo. They must be sisters, their bodies had the same build and the same heart-shaped, freckled faces.

"I'm Penny and this is Mercedes," cooed the slightly shorter of the pair, they were about my height. She had a slight drawl to her voice, hinting at her Southern heritage. "Oh, you are just beautiful as the dawn."

Mercedes grabbed my blonde tresses. "This is no good. And your eyes are absolutely the wrong color." I blinked in surprise. They seemed like sisters, but Mercedes had a slight, nasal tone, like she was from New York City.

I didn't speak; my training kept my tongue silent, even though I was confused by their comments and their appearances. What was wrong with my eyes? They were the same deep, sapphire blue of my Father.

"Have you forgotten that you were a black-haired girl with brown eyes?" Penny asked Mercedes.

A minute later, Dean stepped out of the building. A pair of bodyguards—dressed in navy blue uniforms, the blouses half-unbuttoned to reveal their breasts, short mini-skirts that left sleek thighs bare, and knee-high, black boots—strolled up to him. They were the personal bodyguards of the Gods, lent out to their most trusted servants. Both wore tight, silver chokers about their throats.

"We found her, sir," reported ebony-skinned 274.

The first emotion I had seen passed across my new master's face. Pain, anger ... and longing. "Where?" he asked.

"Manila."

I wanted to ask who they found on the limo drive to the airport. Questions burned inside me. I had never flown before. I controlled my questions and my excitement as the limo drove onto the runway towards a festive plane. It was hard, but I was well trained.

When I strolled in, I was surprised. I had always thought planes were open and full of seats. This one was a hallway and a collection of small cabins. "We do a lot of flying," explained Mercedes. "Master rules all of those small, pacific islands from Hawaii to New Zealand. Plus, he rules Australia, which has a lot of cities on the coasts and almost nothing across the rest of the continent."

I was excited to fly on a plane. Before the Demon Wars, air travel was common. Now only government and ecclesiastical officials traveled the world, and those few, lucky folks who moved goods around. But that was mostly by trains, trucks, and ships. Before the Gods came, people were unhappy because they had the wrong jobs. Now the assessment tests told everyone where to work, where to live, whom to marry, and that made people a lot happier. The assessments were always right, the Gods said so.

It must have been so complicated in the past when you had to make all those decisions for yourself.

"Do you ever talk?" Penny asked me after sitting me down in a small cabin that contained a narrow bed and small, makeup table and chair.

"I have not received permission to speak, Mistress," I answered.

Penny snorted a laugh. "We're slaves, you can speak to us. Besides, Master and Mistress don't mind if we have a free tongue."

"Some of us have too free tongues," sniffed Mercedes.

Penny waggled her tongue at her. "I'll show you just how free it can be tonight."

An excited twinkle appeared in Mercedes eyes.

"May I ask a question, Miss Penny?"

"Of course, sugar," Penny rolled her eyes. "And it's Penny. We'll be gettin' to know each other real well."

"Mercedes said my hair is the wrong color?"

"Who do we look like?" Penny asked, unbuttoning her dress. Mercedes sighed and pulled her dress over her head revealing her naked body. Both women's pubic hair had been sculpted into a fiery heart above their slits.

"You appear similar to the Goddess," I realized, seeing a matching fiery heart on Penny's pubic mound.

"Our Mistress, Alice, loves the Goddess dearly," Mercedes explained. "She once had an affair with her and still loves her. We're proxies."

"Plus Master's jealous of Mary," Penny continued. "He gets off on using us."

I noticed pale bruises on both of their breasts—bite marks. I received similar bruises during my training. The Theocracy's law said a slave could be bruised and welted, so long as no blood was drawn or bones broken. I knew it was a possibility to end up owned by a Master or Mistress that enjoyed inflicting pain.

"And who is missing?"

"Mistress," sighed Penny. "She's run off with one of her lovers. She does it every few years. Master buys a new slave as a gift for her to bring her back."

Over the next few hours, the girls used strange devices on me invented by the Holy Vizier. They didn't just dye my hair auburn, they permanently changed my hair color. It tingled when my eyes were changed to emerald and small specks burned all across my cheeks and bosom as freckles blossomed. They smeared a cream on my pussy and a thick, red bush grew. Then they waxed me, sculpting a matching heart to the Goddess.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. I never realized how close my body shape was to the Goddess. I had the same curves, the same general bust size, and the same, heart-shaped face. I could pass for one of her sisters now.

"Let's take you to Master," Mercedes said, nodding in satisfaction their work.

"And don't fret. He only hurts us when she's missing. He let's his passions get out of control. Now that he knows where she is, he won't be so rough."

"I received rough treatment during my schooling," I answered. "Belleramine Academy prepares its girls for a life as a BDSM slave."

As we walked through plane to the cabin at the back, Penny added, "If he calls you Mary, pretend to be the Goddess and that you're helpless against his strength."

"I understand," I answered.

"Ready," Mercedes asked.

"I am," I declared as she threw the door open.

The cabin was the size of a small bedroom tucked into the tail of the plane. There was a bed, neatly made, with a dark-blue comforter and an ebony wood frame. Dean sat at a desk working at a laptop, a ledger spread out next to it along with a picture of a beautiful, young woman with lustrous and thick, black hair.

Alice Perry, the missing wife.

"I am your Goddess, Mary!" I declared, hoping my training and instincts were right. "On your knees!"

Dean spun me around, eyeing me. I held my head up confidently as the fire burned in his blue eyes as he stared at me. "Whore! She's gone because of you!"

"How dare you call me that!" I huffed. Roleplaying was heavily emphasized in our training.

"You helped her run off! I know it was you, bitch! You always help her!"

I tossed my now auburn hair. "Of course I helped her. She's my friend. And—"

My words were cut off as he lunged at me, his hand gripping my throat. Panic momentarily shot through me, but I suppressed it. His hand squeezed, choking me. He was stronger than he looked, his grip iron. I struggled, just enough to excite him, my hands trying to pry his fingers off as my breath rasped in my throat.

"Whore!"

He spun me around and threw me onto the bed. I bounced, sprawling in a mess of limbs, my now auburn hair falling across my face. I struggled to push my hair out of my face. I put on a look of fear. "You can't be doing this," I protested, letting my voice quiver. My roleplay coach would be proud of me. "I'm your Goddess!"