Margaret returned to the main chamber, carrying with her a dusty old tome bound in cracked leather. The title, embossed in faded gold lettering, read "The Exorcism of Marie Bardot." She held it up for Sarah to see, though she knew the trapped nun could do little more than observe through the eyes that were no longer hers to control.

"This, my dear Sarah, is the debriefing of our former victim, Marie Bardot," Margaret explained, her voice almost academic despite the cruelty in her eyes. "It details the experiences that caused her to lose her sense of self. Fascinating reading, really. It speaks of how the constant sexual stimulation caused the pig's mind to dominate hers with its twisted sexuality."

She opened the book, flipping through the yellowed pages. "The exorcist who wrote this was quite thorough. He documented how Marie's consciousness was slowly eroded, replaced by the base, perverted desires of the pig spirit. How the creature's memories of sexual torture became her own, how she began to crave the degradation."

Margaret closed the book with a decisive thud. "And so, we shall follow the same path with you. A 24/7 schedule of nuns to keep your possessed body constantly sexually aroused. Each nun will have an eight-hour shift, dedicated to breaking down what's left of Sister Sarah and building up our new pet."

She turned to the other nuns, who had paused in their revelry to listen. "I will take the first shift."

As the other nuns dispersed, some to continue their drinking, others to rest before their own shifts, Margaret approached Sarah, who was still eating from the trough, her body driven by the pig spirit's insatiable hunger.

"Now, where were we?" Margaret murmured, kneeling behind Sarah. "Ah, yes. Feeding time and playtime."

From a nearby chest, she produced an inflatable butt-plug, its black rubber surface gleaming in the dim light. Sarah felt the creature's anticipation, its twisted excitement at what was coming. Margaret worked the plug into Sarah's ass, the sensation foreign and overwhelming. Then, with one hand on the pump attached to the plug, Margaret used her other hand to pick up a powerful wand vibrator.

"Let's see how much you can take, little piggy," Margaret whispered, switching on the vibrator and pressing it against Sarah's clit.

The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. The creature's memories flooded Sarah's consciousness—memories of similar sexual tortures, of being forced to endure pleasure and pain in equal measure. The creature had been trained to love it, to associate the violation with reward, and now Sarah was experiencing it all firsthand.

As Margaret slowly pumped the butt-plug, increasing the pressure in Sarah's ass, the vibrator worked its magic on her clit. The creature's body responded with eager enthusiasm, grinding against the vibrator, pushing back against the plug. Sarah tried to fight it, to retreat into the furthest corner of her mind, but she was overwhelmed by the onslaught of orgasms, each one more intense than the last, each one further eroding her sense of self.

The creature's pleasure became her own, its twisted desires merging with her consciousness until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. She felt herself craving the experience, the violation, the humiliation—just as the creature did.

Eight hours later, when Margaret's shift ended, Sarah's body was a quivering, sweat-soaked mess, her mind a battlefield where her own consciousness was rapidly losing ground to the pig spirit's perverted desires.

The next nun to take a shift was Sister Agnes, a small, awkward woman with thick glasses and a nervous demeanor. She approached Sarah tentatively, her eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty.

"Hello," Agnes said softly, kneeling behind Sarah. "I'm Sister Agnes. I'll be taking care of you for the next eight hours."

Agnes gently removed the butt-plug, her touch surprisingly tender. Then, to Sarah's horror, she began to make out with her recently abused anus, her lips and tongue exploring the sensitive flesh with a reverence that was almost more disturbing than Margaret's cruelty.

"You're so beautiful," Agnes whispered between kisses. "I've never had a friend like you before. Someone who understands me."

Over the next eight hours, Agnes's obsession with Sarah grew. She spent the entire time worshiping her anus, kissing, licking, and caressing it with an intensity that bordered on religious fervor. She spoke to Sarah in a constant stream of consciousness, sharing her loneliness, her insecurities, her desperate need for connection.

"We're going to be the best of friends," Agnes murmured, her face buried between Sarah's buttocks. "I'll take such good care of you. You'll see."

As Agnes's shift progressed, Sarah felt herself growing weary, the constant stimulation and the creature's relentless hunger finally taking their toll. Despite the horror of the situation, she found herself drifting off to sleep, her body still being used by Agnes, her mind still trapped, but no longer able to fight the exhaustion.

She slept, but it was a restless, nightmare-plagued sleep, filled with the creature's memories and the sensation of Agnes's tongue and lips on her most intimate parts. When she finally awoke, she knew that another shift had begun, and with it, another step in her transformation from Sister Sarah to something else entirely.

Carla arrived for her shift with a sense of purpose that bordered on the fanatical. Unlike the cruelty of Margaret or the misguided affection of Agnes, Carla's obsession was rooted in her own specific perversions, which she was now eager to share with the convent's new pet.

"Good morning, little piggy," Carla cooed, circling Sarah's prone form. "I've got something special planned for you today. Something I think you're going to absolutely love."

Carla was a large woman, her body soft and generous beneath her robes. Her face, which might have been pleasant under other circumstances, was contorted with an excitement that was almost feverish. She had brought with her a large bag, from which she now began to unpack various items: a rubber enema bag, a long, flexible hose, and several containers of food.

"You see, I have this... fetish," Carla explained, more to herself than to Sarah, though she knew the trapped nun could hear every word. "I like to fill myself up, to be completely stuffed. And then, I like to be filled even more."

She laughed, a high-pitched, unhinged sound. "Today, I'm going to share that experience with you. But first, I need to prepare myself."

Carla stripped off her robes, revealing her naked body. She then proceeded to give herself an enema, her face a mask of concentration and pleasure as she cleansed her own bowels. Sarah watched in horrified fascination, the creature inside her stirring with interest at the spectacle.

Once she was finished, Carla began to prepare the food. It was a full Thanksgiving dinner—turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce—all of it mixed together in a large bowl. She then proceeded to stuff the entire meal up her own ass, grunting and groaning with pleasure as she worked the food inside herself.

"There," she said, panting slightly. "All ready for you."

She positioned herself over Sarah, her backside facing the possessed nun's face. Then, with a series of grunts and pushes, she began to expel the Thanksgiving dinner, directing the flow of food into Sarah's waiting mouth.

The creature piloting Sarah's body responded with an ecstasy that Sarah herself found utterly horrifying. It gobbled up the food with a desperate, greedy hunger, its grunts and slurps filling the air. The taste, the texture, the sheer depravity of it all—the creature loved it more than anything, and Sarah was forced to experience every moment of its perverse pleasure.

"Yes, that's it," Carla moaned, reaching down to stroke Sarah's hair as she ate. "Eat it all up. Every last bit."

As Sarah's body devoured the meal, Carla's own arousal grew, and she began to masturbate, her moans mingling with the sounds of Sarah's eating. The creature's mind flooded Sarah's consciousness with its own twisted desires, its own memories of similar acts, and Sarah felt herself being pulled further and further away from the person she had once been.

When the meal was finally finished, Carla collapsed onto the floor beside Sarah, spent but satisfied. She stroked Sarah's back, a smile of contentment on her face.

"You're a good little piggy," she murmured. "Such a good little piggy."

Sarah, trapped in her own mind, could only weep silently, the taste of Carla's ass and the Thanksgiving dinner still lingering in her mouth, the creature's satisfaction a physical presence in her consciousness, pushing her own identity further and further into the darkness.