【二次エロ】嘘吐き悪魔と正直シスター【アダルトAVアニメ・ゲーム】

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嘘吐き悪魔と正直シスターの詳細情報まとめ。安全に無料動画視聴！

あなたは人の心の声が聞き取れる「悪魔祓い(エクソシスト)」として、
彼女の「正直」な本音を聞きつつ「嘘吐きの悪魔」を祓魔(ふつま)することになります。

一見すると、純真無垢な「シスター」。
表向きは敬虔な「聖職者」ですが、その心の声を盗み聞くと、夜な夜な情欲にふける「性職者」であることが分かってしまいました……。

彼女は「嘘」を吐くことで自身の秘密を守っていたようですが、
まさにその「嘘」に「嘘吐きの悪魔」が引き寄せられ、彼女は悪魔憑きになってしまいました！！……

さて、シスターとしての彼女の日々はどうなってしまうのでしょうか！?！?
彼女はこれから先も、無事にシスターを続けていくことはできるのでしょうか?！……

(しかし、それにしてもこのシスター、金髪ロングの碧眼で、おっぱいもデカでかいときた……)
(そんな「えっちなゲームの登場キャラ」みたいな見た目といやらしい乳で、本当に「聖職者」が務まるのだろうか?……)

「悪魔祓い（エクソシスト）よ、よく聞くがいい」

 my voice, a cacophony of whispers and echoes, reverberated in the sterile sanctity of the confessional. The young woman before me, her hands clasped tightly, her brow furrowed in a carefully constructed mask of piety, was a vessel. Not for any divine spirit, but for something far more insidious.

Her name was Sister Agnes. On the surface, she was the picture of innocence: golden hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, her eyes, the color of a summer sky, held a deceptive depth, and her chest… well, her chest was a testament to nature’s generosity, a voluptuous bounty that seemed utterly out of place within the drab habit she wore. She looked like a character from a particularly lurid video game, a tempting temptress in a nun’s habit, a stark contradiction that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.

But I didn't see her outward appearance. My gift, or curse depending on the day, allowed me to hear the whispers of the heart, the unvarnished truth that lay beneath the carefully curated facades. And Sister Agnes’s heart… it was a tempest.

"She is possessed," I continued, my voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the angelic choir that usually filled this hallowed space. "By a demon of deceit. A liar."

The priest beside me, Father Michael, a man whose faith was as solid as the ancient stones of the cathedral, paled. "Possessed? Sister Agnes? But she is so devout! So pure!"

I almost scoffed. "Devout? Pure? Father, if you could hear what I hear… If you could see the churning darkness within her soul…"

Sister Agnes shifted, her perfectly sculpted lips forming a polite, practiced smile. "Father, good sir, I assure you, I am perfectly well. Perhaps you are… mistaken?"

Her words were silk, smooth and reassuring. But her heart screamed a different story.

*Oh God, if only he knew. If only anyone knew. I’m not pure. I’m… I’m so dirty. The thoughts… they’re overwhelming. And tonight… tonight I need it. I need to escape this suffocating holiness. I need him. Just for a little while. Just to feel alive.*

A jolt went through me. The desires of the flesh, raw and unbridled, spilled from her innocent vessel. The pious façade crumbled, revealing a woman consumed by a voracious appetite, a thirst that no amount of holy water could quench. She was a “sexual minister,” not a “sacred minister,” as my internal commentary, unbidden and vulgar, pointed out.

"She lies," I stated, my gaze locked on her. "She always lies. Her very nature is built on a foundation of falsehoods. And it is this dishonesty that has drawn the demon to her."

Father Michael wrung his hands. "But… how? She is a woman of God!"

"Every lie is a tiny crack in the divine shield," I explained, my voice carrying the weariness of centuries of this grim work. "And when those cracks become a gaping maw, the darkness seeps in. This demon feeds on deception. It thrives in the fertile ground of a hidden life, a secret self."

Sister Agnes’s breath hitched. Her eyes, those innocent blue orbs, flickered with a fear that was anything but feigned.

*He knows. He actually knows. How? This is the end. They’ll cast me out. My secrets… my nights… they’ll be exposed. And the demon… it’s stronger now. It’s laughing.*

The demon. I could feel its presence now, a vile, cloying miasma clinging to her. It was a creature of whispers and shadows, its form shifting and amorphous, a manifestation of the lies that bound her. It coiled around her heart, a venomous serpent, its whispers weaving into her own thoughts, amplifying her desires, twisting her guilt into further deception.

"The demon is known as 'Malphas'," I announced, the name a guttural rasp in the quiet confessional. "A master of illusions, a tempter who preys on suppressed desires. He grants her the release she craves, in exchange for her soul, piece by piece."

Father Michael looked aghast. "But… what can we do? We must save her!"

"It will not be easy," I warned, my eyes never leaving Sister Agnes. Her outward composure was beginning to fray. The carefully constructed mask was cracking, revealing the desperation beneath. "Her lies are her shield, but they are also her prison. To exorcise the demon, we must first confront the truth. And for Sister Agnes, the truth is a far more terrifying adversary than any infernal entity."

I looked at her, at the golden hair, the sky-blue eyes, the impossibly large breasts straining against the coarse fabric of her habit. It was a cruel joke, nature's perverse sense of humor. How could a woman so physically endowed, so ostensibly beautiful, be so tormented by her own desires? How could she reconcile the siren call of her flesh with the vow of chastity?

*If only I could tell them. If only I could confess everything. But the shame… it’s too much. And the demon… it promises such exquisite relief. It understands. It doesn't judge. It just… offers. And I'm so, so weak.*

Her heart’s lament was a symphony of despair. The demon, Malphas, pulsed with satisfaction. It was winning.

"Sister Agnes," I said, my voice firm, cutting through the cacophony of her internal turmoil. "You cannot continue like this. Your lies are damning you. They are opening the door for this creature to consume you entirely. You must choose. The path of deceit, or the path of truth."

She looked at me, her eyes wide with a terror that was now mingled with a flicker of something else… a nascent defiance.

*The truth? But what if the truth is too ugly? What if they hate me? What if I hate myself? This is impossible. I can’t… I can’t face it.*

The demon surged, its whispers growing louder, more insistent. *Just give in, little nun. It’s so much easier. We’ll have so much fun. You’ll forget all your worries, all your guilt. Just embrace the pleasure.*

My own power, the ability to peel back the layers of the soul, felt like a dull blade against the sharp edges of her self-deception. This wasn’t a simple case of exorcism, a ritualistic expulsion of an external force. This was a battle for her very soul, a war waged on the battlefield of her own desires and her own ingrained dishonesty.

"The demon feeds on your fear of exposure, Sister Agnes," I pressed on. "It thrives on the shame you carry. But shame is a liar’s weapon. If you embrace the truth, you starve it."

Father Michael stepped forward, his face etched with concern. "My child, we are here to help you. Whatever it is you are hiding, you are not alone."

Her gaze shifted to him, then back to me. The conflict within her was palpable, a silent storm raging behind those innocent blue eyes. The image of her, a golden-haired temptress in a nun’s habit, with breasts that defied gravity and a heart bursting with forbidden desires, was burned into my mind. Could she truly remain a woman of God with such a stark duality? Could she ever find peace, or was she destined to be a pawn in Malphas’s eternal game?

*What if… what if I try? What if I actually tell them? It’s a terrifying thought. But… the demon… it’s starting to hurt. It’s like a fire in my veins, and it’s not the good kind. It’s burning me from the inside out.*

A fragile tendril of hope. It was small, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The demon hissed, sensing the shift.

"The first step," I said, my voice softer now, infused with a grim determination, "is to acknowledge the lie. To name the hidden desire. To admit, at least to yourself, what you crave."

The golden hair seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the confessional, her ample bosom rising and falling with a ragged breath. Sister Agnes, the pious nun, the secret sensualist, the vessel of a deceitful demon. Her journey had just begun, and the path ahead was fraught with peril. Could she overcome the lies that bound her, the demon that seduced her, and the overwhelming tide of her own forbidden desires? Or would she, like so many before her, succumb to the sweet poison of deception, forever lost in the shadows of her own making? The answer lay not in any holy ritual, but in the fragile, uncertain depths of her own conflicted heart. And I, the reluctant exorcist, could only bear witness, and guide her, as best I could, towards the terrifying, liberating embrace of the truth.