Creedence didn’t know what to say as the devil grabbed his hips and started thrusting hard and fast. He felt used. He felt a sudden ecstasy that the other villagers professed to feel when they prayed to God. He wondered if he was the sort of man who would never know the love of God but would only suffer—happily—on the prick of demon’s s****l weapon. He knew when the devil finished because an intense heat—too intense—suddenly burned through his bowels and loins. He screamed. They weren’t that far from the village and they should have been worried about the noise and light they were making but at the moment Creedence didn’t care and he screamed not because the devil was hurting him—because he was—but because the pain felt so wonderfully good that he didn’t know how else to express himself.
