Page 21 of Daddy's Sinner

Is this really what my life will always be? The question echoes bitterly in my mind as anger simmers beneath my skin. To teach them to degrade themselves, to bow to the Prophet’s perverse demands under the guise of sacred duty. I’m part of this machine, a cog in the very thing I've grown to despise.

Gabriel brushes past me with quiet confidence, his silence heavy with meaning. He exits the room without a glance, leaving behind the weight of expectation that presses down on us all. The maidens stand in rows, their wide eyes fixed on me, waiting to be led into their so-called “sacred duty.”

I wonder what life could be like, free from these rituals and the Prophet's demands. As Gabriel takes his place, the air thickens with tension. Everyone is eager for what will come. My pulse quickens, rebellion simmering beneath. But I'm still bound by these chains.

The Elders’ guttural chant begins, a haunting hum that sends shivers down my spine. “To your command, we offer ourselves.” The maidens echo the words, “We are yours, Prophet.”

The ritual has begun.

I glance at the maidens' faces. Some are awed, some fearful. Do they dream of rebellion, or have they surrendered? I wonder but as the chants rise, a crescendo of control tightens the cult's grip. My trance breaks. "One day", I tell myself. One day, I will break free. But for now, Iplay my part, even as my heart aches for more. The elders arrive and escort us to the open room, where the soft hum of prayers fills the air. The space is vast, adorned with symbols of the church's twisted beliefs. The maidens kneel in a circle, their heads bowed in submission. As I enter, their eyes flicker up, wide with a mix of fear and anticipation.

I move towards Gabriel, each step echoing in the tense silence. The maidens' youth and innocence, mixed with uncertainty, heightens my fear. Their wide eyes follow us, reflecting a blend of hope and dread. I feel a knot of unease tighten in my stomach. This is a performance, a grotesque display of devotion, and my role in it is to guide them through the ritual.

We take our positions, feeling the sensation of a thousand eyes upon us. The weight of the church’s gaze presses down on me. Each member's fervent prayer mingles with the soft rustle of their robes. They pray for a successful conception. Even though I knew I wouldn't be getting pregnant, the Prophet made sure of that. When the time comes, it will be his seed that I will carry.

Gabriel stands in front of me, his sun-kissed skin peeking from loose robes draped over his strong frame. His wild dark hair frames his sharp features. Those intense hazel eyes, full of power and passion, unsettle me. Dread and attraction twist inside me as he steps closer, cupping my face. I gulp, bracing myself.

When his lips crash into mine, rough and demanding, I’m jolted from my thoughts. His touch leaves no room for resistance. His bitter resolve mixes with my fading doubt. It reminds me of his control, of this ritual, and of me. This is a test, I remind myself. I must focus on my role. A demonstration of devotion to the Prophet’s will. But the boundaries are becoming blurred. I’m losing myself in this facade.

The church members, faces lit by flickering candlelight, pray with growing intensity. Their voices rise, asking for success, purity, for the sacred act to be fulfilled. “Bless us, guide them, create Eden,” theychant, like a drumbeat. Their chanting lingers in the background. It serves as a persistent reminder of our heavy expectations.

I try to steady myself, pushing away the creeping unease that comes with being fucked while the entire compound watches. Gabriel’s hands move over me, a blend of comfort and command. His tongue slips into my mouth, deepening the kiss. He groans against my lips, the sound swallowed by the heat between us. Despite the urge to pull away, I know I have to go through with it, play my part in this public display.

For a brief moment, I open my eyes. When I glance at the kneeling maidens, their faces lit by flickering candles, I see fear in their eyes, too. I wonder if they, like me, long for something more than this twisted ritual.

The ritual's main event has started, and I’m swept up in the choreography of this twisted ceremony. Every touch, and every movement feels rehearsed, part of the disturbing spectacle playing out around us. The air is thick with devotion and anticipation. While I remain torn between my feelings and the grotesque expectations of this moment.

“Blessed be the Dove,” they chant as Gabriel’s hands move over me with an intimacy that feels too familiar. “Blessed be thy Lilith.”

“May she swell with the chosen,” they continue, but their prayers will never be answered.

When he cups my ass and lifts me, my legs instinctively wrap around his waist—a reflex from the past when his touch was something I once craved. For just a second, it feels like old times, when I would lose myself in him, surrendering completely. His lips move down my neck. I hate that it still sends a shiver down my spine, that my body responds despite the situation.

The weight of watching eyes pulls me from the haze, grounding me in the twisted ritual. Gabriel feels it too, his breath shifting. His grip tightens, fingers digging into my waist, his body pressing harder against mine likehe’s trying to reclaim control. And instead of placing me on the altar as expected, he lowers me to the cold floor, sending a shiver through me.

He claims my lips again, hard and possessive. Mine. A clear fuck you to the Prophet. I don’t need to look to know the Prophet is scowling. My mind resists, screaming at me to stop, but my body betrays me. Heat spreads like wildfire, the ache growing, undeniable. I’m breathless, trembling.

The followers’ chanting grows louder, echoing through the compound. "Blessed be the union of flesh and spirit," they intone, voices thick with fervor. Candles flicker. Shadows twist along the walls. The scent of the incense is cloying and suffocating.

Gabriel’s hand trails down my side, teasing the bare skin beneath my robe. He pauses, forehead pressed to mine, breath hot on my lips. His eyes, dark and wild, hold a challenge—to the Prophet, the ritual, and me. Amidst the chaos, the Prophet steps forward, his voice calm yet commanding. “Let us remember the words of the Lord,” he declares, his gaze sweeping over the congregation. “And the two shall become one flesh; so they are no longer two, but one.” His words carry biblical authority, weaving the ritual into divine command.

Gabriel pulls my robe away, the cool air biting against my exposed skin and intensifying my vulnerability. His touch is deliberate as he positions himself above me, slowly pushing inside with a steady rhythm. Controlled and unforgiving. My mind spins, caught between the intense physical sensations and the emotional storm raging within. Each thrust sends shudders through me, starkly contrasting with the sea of watching faces and the fervent prayers echoing around us. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the humiliation and exposure of every intimate moment laid bare before the congregation. I long for darkness, for privacy, away from this public display.

The Prophet’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a constant drumbeat, reminding me of the role I’m trapped in. “Let us not forget the purpose of this sacred union,” he declares with an authority that leaves no room forresistance. The lies fall from his mouth. “For God said, ‘Be fruitful and multiply.’ As Lilith, Dove must fulfill this sacred duty.”

Every word from the Prophet feels like a chain tightening around me, locking me into this role I can’t escape. His gaze pins me down, like he can sense the chaos inside.

Gabriel leans in, his breath hot against my ear, voice rough with lust. “You feel that, Marisol? That’s me claiming what’s mine. Every inch of you, every sound you make, belongs to me.” His words send a shiver down my spine, an unsettling mix of dominance and desire twisting in my gut.

His hands grip my hips tighter, pulling me against him with every thrust. “Do you like it?” he growls. “Knowing this is exactly where you belong, do you like me filling you? Beneath me, taking everything I give you.” He’s not asking for consent—he’s demanding my submission because my answer doesn’t even matter.

I bite my lip, the taste of blood mixing with the bitterness of my shame. Yet, my body betrays me, arching into him, desperate, giving him what I shouldn’t.

Alex’s face flashes in my mind—the way his eyes lingered on me, how his hunger mirrored mine. How can I think of him now, when my body is betraying me so completely? Even as Gabriel claims me with every thrust, it’s Alex I’m thinking about. What if it were his hands on me, his voice whispering sinful things in my ear?

Shame floods me, but it’s too late.

I’m not supposed to want Alex, not when my duty is to Gabriel, to the Prophet, to God. But the fantasy grips me, blurring into the reality of Gabriel's body against mine.

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