La Exorcista Marina Gold

Marina Gold, twenty-one and still looking like she belongs in Sunday school, suddenly starts howling for cock like she’s been possessed. Her stepmother clutches the phone, yells for the top exorcist in town, and crosses herself every other breath. In walks a Peruvian priest who could bench-press the altar. He takes one look at Marina thrashing on the bed and feels the old vows tug. The girl screams she needs a serious pounding; the demon inside her confirms it. The priest flips his crucifix like a key card, peels off his robes, and lets a very healthy slab of Peruvian meat swing free. Marina—well, the thing riding Marina—grins and drags him to her lips. She sucks like salvation depends on it, and maybe it does. When he slides in bare, the bed bangs the wall like a drum solo. She climbs on top, rides hard, sweat flying, and the priest keeps her wrists pinned while every thrust knocks another scream loose. He flips her, drives deep, and finally pumps her full, the thick, hot load leaking out around his shaft as the demon shrieks its last. Marina blinks, human again, and the priest mutters something about paperwork. The stepmother just fans herself.