The Power of Cunt Compels You

Write an erotic story about a demon-possessed woman seducing and sexually dominating the exorcist sent to expel the demon, eventually sodomizing him with his own crucifix.

The candlelight flickered against the peeling wallpaper of the old rectory, casting long shadows across Father Callahan’s sweat-slicked brow. His fingers trembled around the crucifix—not from fear, but exhaustion. Three hours of Latin chanting, three hours of her laughter cutting through his prayers like a blade. Then she moved. One moment, Sister Mary-Elizabeth was thrashing against the restraints, hissing in some guttural tongue. The next, she was still—too still. Her head tilted, dark eyes locking onto him with unholy amusement. "Poor little priest," she purred, though the voice wasn’t hers—too deep, too knowing. The ropes around her wrists slithered to the floor like dead serpents. Callahan stumbled back, gripping the crucifix tighter. "In the name of the Father—" She was on him before he could finish. Cold fingers seized his throat, her breath hot against his ear. "You think this toy scares me?" Her free hand slid down his chest, lower, squeezing the bulge in his cassock. "Let’s see how well you pray when *I’m* the one holding the cross." The last thing he saw before she shoved him to his knees was the smirk twisting her lips—and the glint of the crucifix in her hand.

The cold stone floor bit into Callahan’s knees as she wrenched his head back by the hair. The demon grinned, trailing the tip of the crucifix down his cheek, his throat, the trembling line of his collarbone. The metal was warm from his grip—now hers. "Oh, you like this, don’t you?" she crooned, twisting the cross in her fingers, letting it catch the flickering light. "All that righteous fervor, and here you are—*hard* for me." Her other hand slipped beneath his cassock, nails scraping his thigh. Callahan shuddered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Every instinct screamed to fight, but her touch was paralyzing, electric. "You’re going to beg," she whispered, pressing the crucifix against his lips. "But not to your god." Her hips rolled against him, the rough fabric of her habit riding up as she straddled his thigh. "Open." The command left no room for refusal. The moment his lips parted, she shoved the cross between his teeth—metal clacking against enamel, the taste of his own fear sour on his tongue. She leaned in, her breath hot. "Now, Father… let’s see how deep your faith *really* goes."

The demon’s grip tightened in his hair as she ground against him, the rough friction of her habit sending a jolt through his body. The crucifix pressed deeper into his mouth, forcing his jaw wide. Saliva pooled at the corners of his lips, dripping onto his cassock. "Mm, look at you," she murmured, dragging the cross slowly out before sliding it back in, mimicking the thrust of a cock. His moan was muffled, helpless. "Such a pretty vessel. Maybe I should keep you like this—mouth stuffed with your own faith, panting like a bitch in heat." Her free hand pushed his cassock up, nails raking down the exposed skin of his back. He arched, his cock throbbing against the confines of his pants. "Ah-ah," she tsked, jerking his head back further. "No struggling. You wanted to cast me out?" Her fingers curled around the base of the crucifix, twisting it against his tongue. "Now you’ll take me instead." With a sharp tug, she yanked the cross free, dragging a ragged gasp from him. Before he could recover, she spun him around, shoving his face against the floor. The cold stone kissed his cheek as she hiked up his robes. The first press of metal against his hole made him tense—but her nails dug into his hips, holding him in place. "Relax, Father," she purred. "Or this will hurt *so* much worse."

The crucifix pressed in slowly, cold at first, then warming against his clenching flesh. Callahan choked out a prayer, but it dissolved into a broken moan as she worked the tapered end deeper, twisting it with sadistic precision. "Good boy," she cooed, grinding the base against him in small, mocking circles. "Isn't this holier than your pathetic penance?" Her free hand slid under his belly, palming the aching outline of his cock through the fabric. "God doesn’t hear you now—but I do." A sharp thrust buried the cross fully inside him. His back bowed, hands scrambling against the floor as she laughed—a sound like shattering stained glass. "See how easily you take it?" She leaned over him, her habit slipping off one shoulder, revealing skin too smooth, too perfect. Her teeth grazed his ear. "I could make you come like this. Just this. Wouldn't that break you?" He shuddered as she withdrew the cross almost entirely, then slammed it back in. The pain flared bright, then melted into something molten, shameful. His cock leaked against his thigh. She noticed. "Ohhh," she breathed, delighted. "This *is* your confession." A wet click of her tongue. "Let me absolve you, Father." The next thrust was brutal. His cry echoed off the chapel walls.

The demon’s fingers curled around the base of the crucifix, angling it deeper with every slow, deliberate thrust. Callahan’s breath came in ragged bursts—each one hitching as she twisted the metal inside him, stretching him obscenely wide. "You *feel* that, don’t you?" she murmured, her free hand sliding up his spine to fist in his hair again. "Every inch. Every sin." Her lips brushed the shell of his ear. "Tell me you do." He couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come—only a strangled whimper as she pulled the cross out to the tip, then slammed it back in hard enough to make his vision blur. His cock ached, trapped against the floor, precome smearing beneath him. She chuckled, low and dark. "No? Then let’s try this." Her hand left his hair, gripping his hipbone as she wrenched the crucifix free entirely. Before he could gasp, her fingers replaced it—slick with something thick, fragrant. Myrrh. Holy oil. The irony burned worse than the stretch as two fingers plunged into him without warning. "*Fuck—!*" His voice cracked, hips jerking involuntarily. "Mm, there it is." She crooned, scissoring her fingers, relishing the way his body clenched around her. "No more hiding now, Father." The third finger was a threat before it even breached him. He braced, but she simply traced the rim, circling lazily as her thumb pressed down on his perineum. The pressure shot straight to his cock—a bolt of pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Her teeth sank into his shoulder as she pushed in deeper. "Come on," she whispered against his skin. "Beg for it."