The Devil's Pact, Cult of the Ghost Chapter 2: The Sheriff of Caissa County - Sex Stories

The Devil's Pact, Cult of the Ghost Chapter 2: The Sheriff of Caissa County

... dozed as I made out with Ms. Huff, my pussy growing wet. “You are such a cutie,” purred my teacher. “I used to think you were just a beautiful doll in class. Always dressed in such pretty outfits, your black hair combed straight, framing this gorgeous face.” She kissed me again, her hands cupping my cheeks. “And your braces...” She shuddered. “You are such an irresistible girl.” “And you are a hot teacher.” My cheeks grew crimson. Even after two days traveling and reveling in lesbian sex with Mercedes, Ms. Howard, Ms. Huff, Zena and the other ladies in our RV, I still felt a little embarrassed saying such shameful things. My pa would be furious with me. My hand slid down her side, dipping between her thighs. She was hot and flushed, sticky with her passion for me. I licked my lips, eager to give her pleasure. I pushed in. She gasped, her eyes fluttering. The RV slowed. “Everyone get dressed!” Ms. Howard called out. “What?” I asked. “There's a roadblock at the border.” Fear hammered in my heart. We were so close. Ms. Cheshire's ranch was in Cassia County just on the other side of that road block. Everything was going to fall apart. We scrambled in the back, everyone searching for clothes, pulling on skirts and sweaters, not bothering with underwear. I followed Zena out, the air cold, peering up ahead. Several police cars, their lights flashing, manned the border, cops in beige and tan uniforms wore gas masks, aiming assault rifles at us. A man with a megaphone, tall and ...

... dignified, though he wore blue jeans. Ms. Cheshire was standing up at the lead RV, staring at the blockade. “Are there any men?” boomed a voice through the megaphone. “No!” Deidre shouted. “We're all women.” She walked forward, unafraid. I huddled with the others. The cheerleaders formed their own clique, arms folded and tapping their feet. “What if we can't cross?” I whispered. “We'll find away,” whispered Ms. Huff. “Have faith in the Ghost.” But he was in Hell. How could he help us? Deidre returned, accompanied by three cops and the man in blue jeans. The three cops had their rifles slung, ready to be used on us. Ms. Huff put her arm around me, her hand giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “What a fine bunch of women,” the man in blue jeans nodded. He was older, his hair black speckled with white, his jaw square cut. “Fine bunch.” “As you can see, we're all women.” “And why are you coming out here to Idaho?” he asked. “We're Sapphicist,” Deidre answered. “Just lookin' to find a nice, quiet place so we can love each other.” “Sapphicist?” mulled the man. He had a silver star on his chest that read “Sheriff Barends, Cassia County.” “We're lesbians wishing to dedicate ourselves to a pure contemplation of the Living Gods.” The Sheriff's eyes swept across us. “Mighty shame that you're all lesbians.” His eyes lingered on me, and I squirmed in Ms. Huff's arms. “Mighty shame.” “Yep,” a Black cop nodded. “We could use a few more fine looking women to assist us back at the station.” ...