Mary said her protest first, but her sister came back to speak on his behalf. Sylvia would have been too easy in all this. She was raw with anger and jealousy. She hated Mary for the love she had from both Joe and Pelle, and the sanctimony of her path to God after a life of complete abandon to the flesh. The boys in the past would sometimes pretend at wanting Sylvia, if it would get them closer to her slut sister. Sylvia had pretended not to know back then. She was well aware of the sadness of that.<br/><br/>For all the struggle Mary offered, in the end, she gave Pelle the cross, and it hung to slap against the sack which had grown since the demon entered his body. Evil does bloat a man. He saw the blood on her face, drawn by wounds from the cross. Those were the most dear to humans. The demon reveled in the poetry of something so sordid. It frolicked in the boy's body when the woman swore new love to her religion. It was always this kind of confused beliefs that had been the breeding ground for its horror. The confused nature of human faith was sustenance.<br/><br/>She was being shown her escapades, and it seemed to disturb her. In those moments, though, her body had been at ease, even if her heart had claimed at being vacated. It is always like that with women and men. She tried to test him, to spit formidable while getting in prayer's position by his standing flesh, which they had adorned with the pendant of her faith. The altar they'd made of his cock twitched to welcome her. Really, there was more affection in the inferno for her than in Heaven.<br/><br/>"So what?" he repeated, insulted. "Don't throw her away like that!" he said, dramatic. Pelle's mouth stretch wider, like it might split. "She was a person too! Even by your narrative she brought you to the church by offering happiness to other bodies on the way." It was sound, sacrilegious logic. In truth, the demon and Pelle loved the woman she had been. Only the rules in her moth-loved, dusty book would oppose such a free creature. "Mary before God was the best Mary."<br/><br/>She was Pelle's position in it all, after that, and it galvanized her toward what the demon wanted. The determination of the pious can be something wonderful for a villain, too, when correctly channeled. Pelle's head dropped back when his aunt took his cock into her mouth. He cried out in a voice they'd all remember. His unworked fingers stroked her hair as he sobbed, wrecked by pleasure as the inexperienced are. But he exhaled in confused rapture. The demon was letting him have this experience. There is no way a boy wouldn't be corrupted from watching his beloved aunt tend to his cock.<br/><br/>Pelle had dreamed about this. She should perhaps have run. Just gotten up from the make-shift throne in his kitchen, and somehow fled from the demon, now that it had given him freedom. But he was powerless to the sight of Mary's face bulged around his new, monstrous member. He swallowed his saliva, but it still flowed down his chin at watching the woman he loved most debase her singing lips on his thickness.<br/><br/>"Hillie." he begged with his own voice. He didn't know for what. He was alone in this pleasure, and it was bewildering. A cross hang from his cock and balls, and it made him feel powerful, like she'd sacrificed that for his member. The boy was learning the darkest of prides. "D-do it better, auntie. Like you did with my father." he said with some authority. While it was the demon who tempted, it was Pelle who'd decided he wanted to see and feel it. It was delicious, ordering her around.<br/><br/>"If you don't help him he'll suffer like you after your dreams." The demon said. Surely she'd not want Pelle to burn like she did. Nomatter her technique or enthusiasm, eventually the demon would deliver onto her, with Pelle's seed. It wouldn't be a modest amount, and the demon preferred to show the boy the satisfaction of marking someone's face. Hillie especially had the features for it, but most of it must end up inside her, of course. The demon would make it difficult, pushing her forehead back to paint her, and have her drip on the floor. It was an unholy amount, and it would end up a puddle in Sylvia's kitchen. She'd have to lap it up.<br/><br/>But when she consumed enough, she'd see Pelle hiding in the old ruins. A ghost of its former designs, old monastery, would mix into the scene while Pelle relieved himself and suffered for it. His cock was noticeably smaller in the memory the demon gave Mary. The demon was rather proud of the little snippet. It had lived well behind those walls.<br/><br/>Pelle cried into his hands eventually, the cross hung on his genitals when having nothing left to hold onto when his cock softened and shrunk to its human proportions. The symbol of Hillie's faith would inevitably land in the product of what she'd drawn from the demon limb, and stare up at her from that sinful liquid, which was the cost of the clue. "He says you did well." Pelle would say through his hands holding his face. "I... I'm sorry." he tried, and Sylvia rushed forward to embrace her son.