Skip ahead 3 years

The clock reads 3:00AM. It's time.

Constance, Jay, Emily, and Emmie stepped up to their pentagram table. The candles were lit. The spells were cast.

"Who's turn is it tonight?" Mrs. Emily asked.

"It's Emmie's" Constance answered.

And so Emmie climbed up onto the table, dropping her robe beneath her, exposing a pale, petite body, ruined by tattoos and piercings; a pierced navel, both nipples, piercings up and down her body, a massive tattoo across her chest that said "Devil's cunt", filled with thorns and cocks.

Her lip quivered as she knelt down in the center of the table, spreading her thighs, sliding her fingers down her neck, past her a-cups, past her degraded inked flesh and into her bald, wet, eager slit.

Jay, Emily and Constance watched with pride. It was always the best when it was Emmie's turn.

The loved watching her whole petite body tense and release, tense and release. They loved watching the big goosebumps form on her young flesh.

Her breath was labored, her eyes started to roll back into her head, her teeth chattered, when suddenly she flipped around on the table to face Jay. "Hurt me, Daddy." She said with a shaking, soft, but excited voice.

There was no hesitation. Pastor Jay slapped her hard across the face. Her head flung to the right, her hair all over the place, spit flinging from her lips. Then back straight, tears dripping from her eyes. Tears of pain, tears of joy. They were one in the same.

"Hurt me, Daddy." She said again. And another slap. It echoed through the room.

Then with a big red mark forming on her cheek she turned to Constance. "Hurt me Constance." she begged.

Constance, ever filled with satisfaction over the religious family that she'd completely destroyed, grabbed a hold of one of the dermal piercings on Emmie's chest. And pulled, as hard as she could. It took several pulls, and as the metal broke free of the flesh, Emmie's lips parted and she let out a scream, too high pitched to hear.

Now with blood trickling down her body, she turned to Mrs. Emily. "Hurt me, Mommy." She asked, barely any voice left. "Please, hurt m.."

Mrs. Emily grabbed her girl's long dark hair and pulled it hard, bringing their faces close together, and then whispering, loud enough so all could hear. "I regret having you. I wish I'd had a son with a nice big cock I could suck. But instead I got you."

And with that, Emmie's twat gushed with cum and juices. Her body flopped down onto the table, limp, twitching, her mouth gaping open and closed like a drowning fish, then the light in her eyes switching off. It wasn't uncommon for Emmie to lose consciousness in the height of pleasure, as if it were all too much for her to bear.

"How did we do, Mistress?" Jay asked Constance as he looked over the visual of his daughter's used body.

Constance smiled. "Satan thinks we did good. But next time would like it if we didn't go so easy on her."