Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates, nevertheless, I focused a bit on the new chapter of Wings Of Light as I want to update it whether on Thursday or slightly earlier without delaying the week update. Anyway the song's second chapter is based on the song Love-Hate-Sex-Pain by Godsmack by listening it from the Spotify playlist for better atmosphere. I hope you like and enjoy the new chapter! :))

--- *** ---
--- The Next Morning ---
--- 1st of November, 1964 ---

The morning after came sooner than Timothy have thought. At first, everything seemed slow to him after his right hand fainted shortly after the young man's exorcism, who was possessed by the devil, to be the crucial reason why his distress was encumbering than anything.

Timothy spent the wee hours of midnight of the Halloween night in the infirmary with nobody else than Jude. He'd rather find himself spending the entire night with her in the infirmary, supervising her current condition, regardless the circumstances rather than crawling in the bed and collecting decent sleep to be awake freshly without any struggles entirely to come to his senses at last. In spite of his intentions to spend hours in the infirmary, one of the nurses sent him off a few hours later, factly, his time was over and the anxious man of the cloth spent the rest of the wee hours of the morning lingering on his seat, or rather lying on his back, casting a glassy, jaded gawk at the celling even when his eyelids were dipped in hampering ounce, abstaining him from blinking and shutting his eyelids for a split second. Restlessness and insomnia muted his primary needs, outnumbering them as if they're in oblivion. He couldn't sleep and close his eyes even to nap. He couldn't masticate normally. He couldn't drink anything. What the British aristocrat was more concerned than anything was his rara avis. His one of a kind rara avis. Neither the once smitten young man due to its mystically vicious demons, nor Father Malachi were as lethally concerning as her. His ocean of thoughts wss plagued with galore of prejudices as if something gruesome might happen to Jude before fleeing the infirmary even worse.

Nonetheless the morning after is presupposed to be alleviatingly assuring for the ambitious Monsignor. For example, Jude might be out of the infirmary safe and sound, besides being on her feet again as her daily schedule is usually hectic with punishing disobedient, vagarious lunatics by canning them with her rich collection of lacquered canes from the thinnest up to the thickest in its size, depending of the charging strength and the inevitable consequences.

The patients were already released from their wards by having breakfast as whether some of them had morning or double shifts in the bakery, or on the contrary, residing the common room as their numb ears listened solely the monotonous French tune, played on the vinyl recording to brighten the grim ambience behind the dull walls of the infamous asylum.

Whilst the holy man was seating in his office, studying certain patients' files during alleged Jude's temporal absence by being conveyed in the infirmary the last night after the disquieting exorcism of Jed, suddenly polite, light door tap caught him off guard, removing his copper eyeglasses from his yet young-looking, parchment complexion.

"Come in!" In velvety, British accent he reprimanded the unknown visitor to enter in his austere office by opening the door, consequently shutting it.

"Good morning, Monsignor!" Politeness and mild cockiness were vomited in her formal greeting to her boss, stepping inside his office as an attention seeking adolescent, scurrying up to his cherry wood desk, meekly grasping rolled newspaper as a scroll behind her spine. Cocky, smug grin bloomed on her naturally rosy-coloured, plumpish lips, indicating her round, porcelain profile in a readily different light. Shadowed mystically by the demon's intentions of his unspeakable orders, commanding her body muscles and thoughts to follow them as much as her heart bluntly. What it was oblivious or perhaps unnoticed yet by Timothy was that his right hand's plumpish lips were painted with a ravishing red lipstick which was deemed as a sin and against the church. Against God. Against the solemnly took vows. Against the marriage to God and each ounce of hers to God. Infidelity to God with the evil. She tossed carelessly the rolled newspaper on her boss's cherry wood bureau, ogling her honey brown pools at him.

"Good morning, Jude! Are you feeling better?" The younger man unrolled the newspaper, gripping it by the both sides, in order to peruse warily what she's actually delivered to him. A wryly wicked chuckle clicked emphatically her tongue, solely distinctive for her for her own luck.

"Much better, Timothy! As healthy as a horse." Gamely sarcastic wink arrowed at him. "It didn't take long to recover from the heart attack I had after the unfortunate exorcism of that poor boy."

"Hold on a second, Jude!" At the moment, his attention was fully focused on the article, humming inwardly the syllables he repeated in a mumble after scanning them. "Where this came from?"

"W-What do ya mean?" The blonde played it as silly, nibbling on faintly the lower lip without smearing the ravishing red lipstick, nor staining her teeth with smeared lipstick.

"The newspaper, Jude!" The British aristocrat emphasized, his pale-pinkish lips parted in a baleful pout, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh!" A heavy sigh flushed her constricted chest, releasing fresh oxygen, biting her lip once again to remind herself the coolness to resurface without sugarcoating, nor arousing suspicions, affecting her body language, manners and intentions. "The mailman, of course! Why for heaven sake is that question?" Shortly after the younger man scanned the news article about the once possessed by the devil young boy Jed Potter, who unfortunately passed away on Halloween night, heavy sigh flushed from his chest this time.

"I didn't mean to be brash or something, sister!" Stutter floated from his pale-pinkish, dry lips as his perspicacious stare fell from the newspaper article, leaving it aloof on the bureau by squinting up his chocolate brown pools at her porcelain, doughy complexion even noting the forbidden fruit as bloody red lipstick, painting her lips. Perspicacious frown grimaced his face, contrasting her cockily infernal grin. Impure thoughts, unfortunately, inundated his waterfall of thoughts momentarily when the British compatriot noticed his rara avis's makeup. Overwhelming sleazy desires, lust and love resurfaced as icebergs, hankering to press his lips on hers in a hardening, sultry kiss, muffling sultry moans and groans from the top of their lungs. Or rather, the explicitly graphic scenario leaving smeared scarlet lipstick on his collar shirt and lips. On other hand, lividness pumped into his veins at the sight of a holy woman wearing make-up especially bright red lipstick. It was against the vows, the church, God and anything hallowed wearing make-up even a lip gloss. "What are you wearing? Exactly on your face?" In the interim, he got from his seat to study in a scrutiny her facial features once again, making sure his vision and memories weren't false and they're actually parallel to the reality.

"It's a lipstick, Monsignor." Meanwhile, he gathered tissues from one of the drawers, in order to remove the lipstick. "Called Ravish me red. Doesn't it suit my pale complexion, does it?" Wickedly inward, husky chuckle clicked the roof of her mouth until domineering, stern glare was casted as a hex at her, inking his fresh, charming facial features.

"Jude, you're a nun! The nuns are forbidden to wear make-up even a lipstick like this one." Coldhearted, dry exhale constricted then inhaled his brittle lungs. He reminded her ecclesiastical rules of the abbey as if a parent was lecturing his teenager, who liked for himself a garment, whereas the parent was on other opinion nonetheless. "Oh God! Since you're a nun here and running a mental institution for criminally insane, the make-up is absolutely forbidden unless you flee the church and this institution otherwise." Her lips parted haphazardly in an arrogant pout once he held the tissues, in fact, to take a napkin and wipe off as she snatched a napkin from the tissues, puffed an inward huff as if she's deeply offended by his strict demeanor and not saying anything positive about the lipstick whether if it suited her face or on the contrary it doesn't suit her at all.

"Ya didn't even say anything about the lipstick if it looked good on me, Timothy!" The older lady emphasized, crossing her arms after wiping mousily the lipstick from her lips until they're reinstated to the natural color. Glossily mauve, full pair of lips.

"See nobody got hurt after you removed it?" Half-hearted as robotic, light bobbed head backed him up. "Good, rare bird! I won't report to Mother Claudia that you wore a lipstick in my office but if it repeats once again or you're violating the rules, I shall report to her even if I'm your boss and she's your mentor. I'd like to know why you wear it.

"Ya said nothing for which I'm obnoxiously offended." The middle-aged woman strolled up to the door as her midnight black, classy chunks clicked against the cemented flooring by planning to flee the aspiring Monsignor's office. "But I just wanted to wear it for you." At the moment, the British aristocrat swallowed hard the lump, budding in his throat.

"Well, the lipstick looked so good on you but that's not a bar or a prom to wear it." All of a sudden, the middle-aged woman stormed off his office by slamming the door, whereas the utterance of his sincerity sounded like a whisper in the desert. Unheard by her. Or rather, heard by her, however, she barely believed it.

--- *** ---

Whilst the doctor of science, Dr. Arden was seating in his office as the last time when he received patients in his office was a half an hour ago.

All of a sudden, a couple of loud door raps startled him, reclining on his chair, bleating hoarsely:

"Come in!"

"Good day, Dr. Arden!" In the meanwhile, the younger lady hided a parcel with Nazi souvenirs, stored in its by scurrying up to his desk as her chunks singsongly clicked against the flooring, drawing his prompt attention. "I think ya own an explaination for this one." She tossed the parcel opened on the hardwood desk, narrowing her brass tinged irises at him, sly smile indicated across her rosy-coloured, soft as satin lips. "Doctor!"

"W-Where did you found this, Sister?"

"Answer my question before I change my decision otherwise what to do with ya unless the answer is delivered with this parcel of disgusting Nazi souvenirs and badges." Even when the former licentious nightclub singer's taunting game tried to test the older man's patience, howsoever, she increased her voice decibels, indicated in a resonance with a tad indignation as if she's his manager and he owes her an explaination for violation of the rules. Wickedly vile, mischievous smirk danced across her face. "Do not make the hardships from now on even tougher for escaping from them, Doctor! Unless the Monsignor is informed what a doctor is kept to treat patients and what yar exactly doing with them, besides these experiments." Her elvish, calloused knuckles in fashioned fists hands clawed spitefully the desk. At the moment, the former Nazi war criminal struggled to swallow the light lump, formed in his throat at her baleful, inflammatory blackmail to expose him to Timothy, afterwards to the church, the state and menacing his reputation even more losing his own job as a doctor of scientist in the mental institution for lunatics by going on trial and ending jailed behind the jail bars.

"Sister, first and foremost, you don't have the right to put your nose in somebody's business which doesn't concern you at all. Second, I think it's better the Monsignor to be informed who's prying in whose business," Dramatic, coldhearted cough floated from her lips, roaming circa his bureau, diminishing his self-esteem and increasing the chances of obtaining valuable information. Her recurring egregiously eerie chuckles tingled his ears. "You have your own business, sister! Not to be prying somewhere where you've lack of knowledge."

"Y-Ya called me ignorant and uneducated?" Serpentine hiss zinged her oral caverns, without averting her taunting, scoffing eyes, rolling them in boredom of his secretiveness. "Oh! Let me get this straight, Dr. Arden! The Monsignor will always believe me and he's so close to me as a friend so that he won't believe any shenanigan ya have explained to him, because it has nothing to do with the reality." Her deep, fiendish Bostonian accent contrasted her austere, normal tone that was vomited in her cautions. "And a young woman, who ya tried to rape and ya hired her as a prostitute a few nights ago found these special Nazi souvenirs and illegally pornographic photos in the parcel." His small, cerulean blue eyes widened at the mention of the young prostitute he hired the last days of October in ablaze mortification tinting them. The true skin tone of his facial skin drained by her daredevil game, blanching it to an unseen wan nuance. "Ya forced her to disguise as a nun and then sweetly taste her peach. I think the detectives aren't going to be that busy these days to teach ya a lesson and to do a damn good, hectic investigation over ya and everything ya possess." Suddenly he got from his seat by approaching balefully the blonde, escorting her up to her imminent destination. His laboratory.

"How dare you, sister? Of course, the Monsignor will acknowledge every shenanigan you've spilled up to now that concerns my threat to be stripped off my as a doctor of science of Briarcliff and lose any access to the facility." The former war criminal shot a piercing as a cupid arrow glare at the possessed pious sister of the church as she bit reluctantly her lip trustlessly, almost myriad of eerie, mischievous snickers conjugating her tongue, verging to be straightforwardly emit. "And you will be responsible for the mess you're bringing with yourself by being stripped off your clerical title and belongin-" Once he verged to slap her, she dodged his slap by casting telekinesis on him by levitating up to the empty patient bed in his laboratory, being strapped on it. "You insane bitch!" His tongue conjugated a frustrated grumble, gritting his teeth as a wicked, husky chuckle escaped her mouth, crossing smugly her leanly skinny, nevertheless, sufficiently physically powerful arms, marking her glorious victory by disarming him verbally and non-verbally. Dumbfoundness in her unspeakable supernatural, infernal power was recently noted by him even with a stark eye.

"And let's not forget, who's responsible for mutilating certain patients and they're left as mindless zombies to haunt the woods, legless and yearning for human flesh. The Monsignor won't miss a detail to enjoy removing ya from yar position."

--- *** ---

--- A Half An Hour Later or So ---

Once the member of the clergy left Arthur Arden's office and laboratory by agonizing him by being strapped on the patient bed where abundance of mutilated and tortured patients have laid on it before him, Judy went in the common room as a belittling, malicious grin carved upon her lips generously, ambling up to the recording player to pin off the vinyl's needle to interrupt temporarily for a minute silence, catching the patients' attention for a prominent announcement.

Her petite, frail hands pushed the double common room door by setting a foot, her chunks frequently clicking along in a choir with the French incessantly playing song on the vinyl.

"Monsignor Howard asked me to do an announcement. Anyway a big storm is coming as half of ya are going to be too afraid by climbing on the brick walls, while the rest of ya won't stop moving." The administrator of the madhouse took a deep breath, clearing her throat and thereafter starting with her brief announcement for the inmates in the common room, chewing on her lower plumpish lip. "As a wee distraction from the storm that's coming way too soon, tonight the movie's pictures will be played there. Frank and Sister Mary Eunice are going to supervise ya during the movie and in case, if the storm is coming a bit too much for ya." In the interim, the devotional member of the church put the vinyl back after nobody from the patients broke the ice with cooing a jabble or a soreful bewail, almost shattering their lungs as flimsy and frail glasses, scattered as rich pile of shattered glass, carpeting the ground. Her impending destination was her office by fleeing the common room until she bumped unintentionally into her protégé. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Mary Eunice! I didn't mean to-"

"It's alright, Sister! I'm rather sorry for bumping into you." The orphan cooed a bland apology, nibbling on the glossy skin of her lower plump lip, ducking her head shamefacedly.

"Do not apologize, Mary Eunice! It's not yar fault at all." In the interval, they stepped in the long, abysmal hallway of the old madhouse.

"Have you seen Dr. Arden?" The elder holy woman quirked puzzledly an eyebrow at the suddenness of her protégé to inquire about Dr. Arden.

"Why yar looking for him?" Sharp tone crafted her response with enquiry.

"It's so strange I haven't seen him for a half an hour. He's supposed to-" All of a sudden, the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer cut off curtly the younger woman of the cloth, flaring her nostrils.

"Sister, ya are supposed to know the truth about him!" The elder blonde winked gamely, mischievously at her protégé which sent shivers down Mary Eunice's spine of embarrassment and vague disgust, swamping the pit of her stomach. "I know how much he appreciates yar pure innocence and childlike nature, but he isn't the lovable gentleman he claims to be with this, Mary Eunice! Trust me, the truth is as painful as the heartbreak if ya know what kind of a person is he."

"W-What do you mean with this?"

An abrupt exhale heaved from the top of her fragile lungs, seconds before the commencement of her monologue, cautioning her own protégé. She deeply knew how much Mary Eunice loved platonically Arthur and vice versa. As soon as the Bostonian leaks the stark truth about the true face of Arden and what he used to be, subsequently nothing than heartache, disgust and abhorrent would ooze from her own protégé. Jude loved platonically and maternally Mary Eunice as her own daughter model more than anything. Jude would sacrifice any ounce of her bones and body to satisfy and keep safe and sound the juvenile sister of the church. Jude would rather prefer be aboveboard about anything, in order to protect her inner circle which were only Timothy, Mary Eunice, Pepper, Frank and Mother Claudia rather than sugarcoat the facts with pretty, sweet exaggerations as sooner or later the stark truth was more obvious than the most sugarcoated exaggeration.

"Dr. Arthur Arden isn't a blameless gentleman or the man he claims to be with his actions. He's a pure manipulator and an incarnation of the evil since he's a Nazi war criminal with a fake biography and name to cover up himself from the Nazi detectives and authorities by fleeing his birth country. That's not only that, Sister!" They halted in a stop in the mid-corridor by scooping the juvenile blonde in a warmhearted, doting embrace, knotting her arms circa her upper back, her fingers tipping gingerly, lovingly the rigid wool fabric of her clerical robe. "He hired a young prostitute to role play as a nun and plotting to rape her, but in her own horror she found a parcel with Nazi souvenirs and illegal pornographic photos and getting rid off him by escaping him, luckily." Her berry-coloured, wet tongue crafted whispers, squeezing the younger lady's upper back flesh. "Look what, Mary Eunice! Hate me or him, that's yar decision, because it's better to know the ugliest truth by regretting rather than wearing smiles on the sugarcoated lies." Quiet sob shuttered the orphan, grasping the embrace even tighter to being consoled as she found her own flimsy heart cracked with a hammer on trillions of tiny pieces.

"But that's in the past." The orphan had a difficult time to gulp another sob.

"No shenanigans, Mary Eunice! Sometimes the past is also associated with the present, my darling!" The young woman buried her face in the crook of her mentor's delicate neck, soaking with her bittersweet, crystalline tears the rigid fabric of her habit. "By judging how he treats the patients, he's nothing than a sadist by mutilating the helpless ones and their legless half dead bodies lurking in the forest as they're fed with chunks of human flesh."

--- *** ---

--- Later Tonight ---

After the Bostonian finished with the film introduction and strictly advising Frank to play the pictures, whilst Mary Eunice is looking after the gathered ensemble of inmates in the common room to watch the film, the middle-aged woman was in her almost pitch-black, unwelcoming office. Furthermore, the man of the cloth was presumed to be with Mary Eunice in the common room, supervising the cluster of lunatics, despite it was oblivious for her he wasn't with them at all.

Loneliness blanketed under its coldness Judy as she has released her cataract of glossy old Hollywood gilded tresses, piling on her shoulders. Her discarded wimple laid motionlessly on the cherry wood of hers, while she reclined on her compact bed, contemplating glassily, jadedly with her diabolically glinting brass irises the ceiling. She enjoyed the loneliness or rather, the feeling of lack of responsibilities, filling her daily schedule. The communion wine's bottle was emptied within a couple of minutes without any hesitancy and guilt. The glass which the blonde used to

Heavy rain poured in the small city of Massachusetts, followed by tempest of violent bolts, jolting and shaking the ground, resembling an earthquake's seizure.

In the meantime, the ambitious Monsignor paced in the profound corridor of the old asylum until he stepped beside his right hand's office to check on her since her haphazard absence from playing the Sign of the Cross's pictures. His mammoth, milky as vanilla hand, fashioned in a balled fist tapped friendly on the office door by keeping her wits about her boss's presence.

"Jude? Jude?" Heavy, jaded sigh flared her chest at the door taps that interrupted the serene silence, nonchalance stiffing her facial features. The middle-aged lady's ivory, still firm for her own age front teeth nibbled delicately her lower lip at the British, honeyed accent of Timothy, located a couple of feet away. "May I enter?"

"Come in, Monsignor!" She ordered.

"What a relief you're here, sister!" He swallowed hard once he noticed the emptied communion wine bottle and the wimple on her bureau along with the already used glass. Meantime, he stepped before the ajar opened en-suite bedroom's door by tapping affably, lightly, awaiting for her response. "I noticed that Sister Mary Eunice and Frank are in the common room with the patients, watching a movie about Christians." Then he fearfully, timidly pushed faintly the ajar opened door, gulping a solid lump, formed in his throat as soon as in the corner of his eye he followed the eloquent, melodious hum, buzzing her rosy-coloured lips as a sirens' silver-tongued, alluring songs, chanted to the sailors, in order to manipulate them by joining them until they're drowned and their corpses submersed in the deep seas of the ocean and being a scrumptious dinner for the bloodthirsty sirens. "Jude!"

"Mhm?" Her sweet, tempting hum vanished in the dark background.

"Your wimple is on the desk to assure you."

"Oh, come on, Timothy! It's just hair. It doesn't hurt seeing a nun without her wimple." Huffing pout parted her lips in a jeer, furrowing her eyebrows as he stood uneasily a handful of inches approximately her compact bed. "Why ya aren't with Frank and Mary Eunice watching the Sign of the Cross?"

"I wanted to check on you since the question is you're absent." The intoxication blurred her vision as a familiar tall, masculine figure stood beside her bed, slapping with a palm the edge of the bed, ushering him to sit until he noted the motion of the light slap, clapping the edge of the bed. Unnerved lump blossomed in his throat, gulping it hesitantly, scratching with his small fingernails the top of his head. "I've never been in a nun bedroom ever before."

"Don't be so anxious, Timothy! Just relax by taking a seat." The nonchalance and velvety in her voice sent shivers down his body of paroxysm, sweetness and boyish embarrassment by electrifying his epidermis with luxurious map of goosebumps.

"It makes me even more uneasy if I sit on a nun's bed." The British compatriot's confession rendered the head nun of Briarcliff puffing an inhale, attempting to not admire the alluring cologne of Timothy, emanating from his delicate neck. His cocoa brown pools lowered to her round, parchment profile, finding himself lost in the holy Succubus's succumbing temptation. Her porcelain, mossy flesh. Her honey brown orbs, mottled with citrine nuances. Her naturally rosy-coloured, luscious lips, glistened by the sheening moonlight, dispersing its blanched light. Her posh lion mane of flossy old Hollywood gilt curls, shaping a giant sun and framing her round, full profile. The smugness, haughtiness in her devilish grin, kissing his eyes. "I can see even the communion wine is emptied.

"Take it easy, Monsignor! Sometimes there are tough periods when there are variety salvations to release our thoughts from them as well." Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth gamely as his colossal, trembling hand drifted down to her cheek, cupping it in the palm of his amusingly, soothingly warm hand as its softest texture granted her comfort and encouragement.

"But the alcohol isn't a solution. Look, Jude!" His long as piano keys, pristine fingers traced her well-defined, lukewarm cheekbone, admiring the elegance, feminine symmetric structure of her profile and identity. "You're a recover alcoholic and that makes the things worse."

"D-Does that mean ya will fire me?" Bashfulness laced her venomous tongue in the inquiry, arching eyebrows quizzically.

"No, no! I didn't mean that, Jude!" Her solely free hand undid a few wee buttons of her conservative habit by reaching for his other hand to squeeze it in her petite, oddly chilly hand. "I think I should take a quick look in the common room how are the patients before," She cut him off with cunning resilience by hexing telekinesis as he was instantly established on her bed, whereas she pined his heavier, well-built body with her inevitably weightless body. "Jesus Christ, no!"

"Father, I think yar mistaking something," In the interim, her pubic bone was poked by his bulge, highly affected anatomy by her halo ringlet of silky gilt tresses and her stunning facial features. Suddenly her eyelids darkened, amalgamating with her auric eyes, transfixed on him, agonizing him in an infernal ogle. Consuming and staining his virtue by breaking a vow. "The common room can wait."

"W-What are you doing?" Meantime, her telekinesis maneuvered his colossal, contrastingly warm hands' fingers unbuttoning her habit's fingers clumsily as if it's his first time touching a female's cloth especially member of the clergy. Her hips grinded on his, arching her neck and cocking back her waterfall of golden curls. "We're breaking a vow, sister."

"Screw the vows, Father! I didn't know yar so hard for me, father!" The rich gardenia aroma, lacing her untamed curls by succumbing his nostrils, inhaling quietly until her hand lowered to his trousers' zipper, unzipping it swiftly as a ferocious beast, seeking nothing than vengeance. "Aren't ya doing this only for me?" As soon as he undid each button of her habit by peeling it off like shed snake skin from her frail skeleton, her ravishing red satin slip was the sole garment that hugged her slender curves along with the black lacy pair of underwear, underneath her slip. "Yar silence means a clear, loud yes." When she unzipped his trousers by sliding them from his legs until they pooled his ankles and being tossed with her habit carelessly on the ground as a pile of autumn leaves, she yanked his boxers until they were tossed recklessly with the rest of the discarded garments by taking a handful of steps backward and her round knees gently brushing her bed sheets. Her hands worked on his erected member as groans and moans muffled his baby pinkish lips, fluttering shut his eyelids in tiny slits, unable to resist the succubus's willpower and what's eventually capable of.

"Oh Jesus Christ! What are you doing, Jude?" His tongue sluggishly crafted the hemming, vibrating its lump in his throat. He evaded to link his irises with hers, fearing of seeing the face of evil. He could really tell she was possessed. It was true Father Malachi opted to sent her off the cell where was Jed and the three men opted to bash off the vile essence from the smitten teenager's body until the evil found its new home. In nobody else than the Bostonian's.

"Ya know what I'm exactly doing, Timothy! I'm pleasuring ya." Resonance muffled a whisper, seconds before suckling his member, massaging it and planting tender to aggressive kisses, teasing it with her hand as she avoided the thick, dark meshes of pubic hair tickling her facial skin. "Yar cock tastes damn good in my mouth. I really needed it."

"Jude, no!" Whimper floated from his tongue, unable to keep his tongue behind his teeth for a split second, groaning in pleasure and embarrassment. His cheeks vehemently incarnadined with the most vibrant cherry pigment. At the moment, her only free hand's fingers kneaded slowly and steadily the bundle of nerves, arching her neck by throwing back her head. "No! God!"

"Is it yar first time, Timothy?" Shortly after teasing his cock and circling her berry-coloured tongue around his member tip, suckling the pre-cum until he bobbed his head in strong agreement, backing her up. "I see! Don't end too quickly! We haven't even finished." Afterwards she adjusted her position by being on top of him, positioning his erected cock at her entrance, whilst her both hands grabbed violently his wrists, incapable of fighting her by leaning against his young-looking yet, pale as ghost complexion by capturing his lips in a hardening, steamy kiss to silent him, seconds before starting riding him. "I love you so much, Timothy! Did ya know that?" Gasp surged his constricted chest until she commenced riding him, grinding and rotating her hips on his restlessly. His hard rock member was contracted by her core's walls with each slow, painful thrust until they escalated to quicker, less painful. Uncontrollably shrilling moans and groans swam in the en-suite bedroom's background, interweaving with the jolting bolts and the heavy rain. As she spellbinded telekinesis once again, she released one of his gripped wrists by allowing the palm of his mammoth, veiny hand to cup the roundness, firmness of her breast's contour as his mouth was opened in a wide O.

"Oh fucking Christ! You're so-" The holy priest's cussing was oblivious for him as he relished the non-consent sex he'd for first time ever in his life.

"I'm so what? Tight, right?" In a few thrusts, he'd spill his seed inside her core as their climaxes were approaching, shadowing the recurring ogle at him as a cloud, fogging his vision to have the potent, unavoidable feeling of being incessantly watched. "I knew it ya will agree, because yar body agrees with me either, Timothy!" After dozens of moans and groans along with thrusts, she collapsed on his half naked body as his member softened by being unplugged from her core. Breathless panting flushed their ribs cages.

The night of Timothy's first time was not only memorable, moreover haunting him to bones for the rest of his days as he didn't expect his right hand would be peculiarly eccentric in her demeanor. It has been already a day since the exorcism and the unpredictable death of the young boy, who passes away due to a heart attack at fragile age as the devil dwells in one of the nuns of the asylum especially the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer. He was already horrified to bones even to work with her even if he loved and cared about her.