✝Trigger Warning for Masturbation, Strong Language and Necrophilia✝

--- *** ---
--- A Few Hours Later or So ---

Within the advancing daily evolution from midnight up to the wee hours of the very early morning at snail's pace, the possessed doctor teleported himself along with Jude's devilishly motionless corpse to the nigh Boston hospital and surreptitiously conveying her to the private clinic to do an autopsy of her very fleshily immobile muscles.

Even though the British compatriot surreptitiously, inwardly mourned over the inhumane demise of his rare bird with his own mammoth, cold-blooded hands and supernaturally invincible power, Demogorgon's vile plans didn't cease from existence after commanding his imminent nemesis. Demogorgon would despise beholding his own victim of spiritual possession mourning over anybody's demise, especially the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer, which truly meant anything to Timothy.

The most potent, lethal demon, whose possession is divinely crying for a conjuration by the most cautious priests and nuns in the diocese to bash out its vile essence from his new home. Somebody's vulnerable, flimsy façade. Way too vulnerable for a daredevil assault that affected its prey mentally and physically ruthlessly. The damage was inexorable.

Although the British compatriot's stealthily, ruefully sorrow plundered the stark ecstasy and coldhearted, sadistic smugness that once roughly grained his facial attributes during his accomplishment of the quest to reunite with Jude and have revenge on her for her broken promises, it wasn't unnoticed by his master, apt to superintend his impending intentions, in order to play his own cards right.

Demogorgon wasn't satisfied, even when monitoring his recent prey to shed the unhallowed, translucently uneven tears, darkened by his real despondency of murdering nobody other than his own rare bird. He wanted Timothy to abide as cold-bloodedly sadistic and barbaric towards his victims as possible to outlast what he's actually capable of. The patchy sanctum of mercy and hopes were the worst foes of his master to contemplate glassily, jadedly into the possessed doctor.

Luster medley of unconditional despondency, somewhat pangs of conscience and agitation were exquisitely masked with the sadistically ruthless mask of the real demon's façade, obscuring, even a modicum of sacred light and benevolence to curtain his strands.

In the meanwhile, the immobile petite frame was frostily convenient swaddled in a sheerly oyster-white blanket, obscuring the brightly artificial illumination by its electric bulb filtering her from head to toe. The private clinic for the performance of the autopsy was unevenly, peculiarly quiet and gruesomely bestowing bountiful comfort to the former ambitious Monsignor.

The pure loneliness criminally cured his frequently throbbing headaches of listening to the rich soundtrack of mortals' chatters as usual. The loneliness wasn't for everybody else except the keen fans of the passionately curing, addictive solitude either for good or dreadful reasons especially better, due to their daily clashes with the frequency of blow-minding people's chatters and babbles, outnumbering their inner voices and the separated pearly golden time to ponder over their remarkable activities.

"I-I am really sorry," After registering to snatch the unruly, plastic pristine glove from the counter and glancing at every mystic outskirt of the private clinic, where no single soul would contemplate his very presence's capability performing its autopsy of the former nun's corpse.

The sufficiently expansive room didn't have even its own windows and the only guests that earned their warm welcome inside the underground hospital room were the artificial light and the relentless ebony darkness once the lights were out along with the possessed doctor and the dead body.

The hysterically unavoidable, fierce sobs, breaking the British compatriot's facial expression with its heavy rain of crystal, translucent tears immersing his glossy facial skin with its translucency of healthy dew pitched the background and his uncommonly loud, meaningful footsteps ghosting the cement flooring.

"For everything I have done to you to suffer," As soon as manifesting the plummet down of its intimately close distance, Timothy examined in scrutiny her motionlessly eerie, nevertheless, indisputably appealing facial attributes with its fistful of headstrong gilt curls, curtaining her flawlessly porcelain, morbidly radiant façade.

The fullness of her cherub, naturally nude pink lips didn't even tremble once he traced gingerly a swan naked thumb to brush her lower lip, admiring her ethereal beauty.

"My beautiful rare bird!" The uncommonly profound, diabolic timbre punctured his sobs' blend prominently into his apology and accenting her friendly, lovely nickname whilst managing to cup her well-sculptured, sinisterly lukewarm cheek in the palm of his amusingly warm, consoling glove-clad hand.

The fleet doldrum, muting each kind of noise in the private clinic didn't cease the hitched breathing of the former holy man and his uncontrollable, feeble sobs.

The unnervingly mischievous ticking of the wall clock indicates its real time at the moment with its tiny, abstractly precise lines prominently designated a quarter past three o'clock in the celestially fresh morning. After managing to reach his meaty, virginal fingers to clumsily unzip the Bostonian's slacks along with his and undressing the rest of her convenient attires and tossing his pristine doctor apron along with his crimson cashmere, cozy sweater and underwear, thereafter the opulent pile of discarded attires occupied the cemented floor.

As soon as both members of the church's natural nakedness, subsequently, the former holy priest lowered his timidly quivering, weathered fingers to work persistently on his shaft, whereas darting his fixated medley of coffee brown and brass bijous on the blonde's naked corpse.

The strong-willed, rebellious gears on his hard crotch paired with his gloved hand's feathery soft, sensual trace of his starkly muscular, toned torso, admiring his fairly fit anatomy for his own age and nicking his throat with a series of breathily, breathtakingly steamy groans and moans, almost dying on his tongue tip.

"Holy Jesus!" Lowering the decibels of the megawatt cuss under his breath transmuted into a sensual mumble, stilling his digits and fingertips to jerk the hard crotch's flesh and roughing its texture abruptly with each touch, electrifyingly grazing the delicate, alabaster skin. The precum on his manhood's tip vibrantly, beamingly glimmered, due to the beautifully eye-catching illumination of the artificial light, filtering the entire room with secure, promising light. "That feels damn good!"

Meanwhile, after inserting his manhood at the entrance of the Bostonian's lusciously mauve slit and grappling her unblemishedly glossy hips after spending a handful of minutes hedonistically pleasuring himself, he bent down pressing a fatalistically delicate peck on her naturally roseate, plump lips and adjusting his established length inside her core.

At first, the thrusts were sorely sluggish and slowly but surely, nevertheless, after mustering up with the meager control over the dead body's feminine, insatiable slit until the forcefully ferocious thrusts escalated to savagely quicker, more nimble and hardening the sultry kiss with lightly deft salivating her lips. Amalgamating with controlling the intensifying smooch and wildly louder moans and groans, sailing out of his wet, strawberry-coloured tongue.

"Holy fuck! You are so tight for me," At that moment, the former aspiring Monsignor dumped one of his mammoth, masculinely secure hands to lukewarmly manifest its imminent destination to her mauve, fashionably swollen bundle of nerves and working his virginally bloodthirsty fingers on it with circling the feathery soft and swift massages. "And only for me, Jude! I fucking love you so much."

The megawatt depth of the devil's violent anomaly into his voice sharpened the austere puncture of his caution, breathlessly, efficiently conjugating the vowels and syllables after a strong-willed dance and clash to craft them nimbly. Crystalline, wry tears traded mutual dew after its cataract of the snivel's aftermaths drenching her feebly palish, silken complexion.

"We will be together very soon."

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✝ Did you anticipate the spiritually possessed former Monsignor to be not only vicious towards the others, but also being capable of necrophilia?✝

✝ Do you think that Timothy is solemnly regretting for hurting his rara avis?✝

✝ I hope you liked and enjoyed this chapter for sure! Don't forget to leave an outspoken feedback! ✝