Page 24 of Daddy's Sinner

“Remember,” I whisper coldly, “you brought this upon yourself.” His pleas grow more desperate but remain ignored. I press the pliers against his flesh, and he shudders. The blood-curdling scream that erupts from him is a symphony of retribution. The scent of copper fills the air, electrifying the room with fear. I revel in his suffering, each cry and tear a testament to the justice I’m delivering. The pliers bite down, and with a twist of my wrist, I hear the sickening pop, causing another scream of agony. Devon’s body thrashes wildly, but the restraints hold firm.

My heart pounds in my chest as adrenaline surges through my veins. With a cruel smile, I toss the excised piece of flesh to the side. His eyes follow it, wide with terror and disbelief. Then I move on to his tongue.

I enjoy watching the play of emotions on his face. He is begging now, though his whimpers are nearly incomprehensible through the rag. A light sweat has started to prickle at my brow, and I can feel the heat swelling in my body as my pulse quickens in time with the frantic thrashing of Devon’s body.

“Shh,” I whisper, my voice sinisterly soothing in the midst of the chaos. “This will be over soon.” It isn’t a lie; once I sever the lingual artery, he will be as good as dead. I wipe away the sheen of sweat that has collected on my forehead with the back of my arm. The pliers shine ominously under the harsh fluorescent light as I move them towards his mouth. His eyes are now glassy with pain and fear. “The worst is over,” I whisper, and that isn’t a lie. The worst is over, now is the time for peace.

My free hand reaches out to caress the side of his face, the rough stubble scratching against my palm. His lips move weakly as I remove the gag from his mouth, releasing muffled sobs and pleas. “Please,” he tries to form words, but his tongue is swollen and bruised, distorting his speech into unintelligible whimpers. It isn’t the begging that makes mehesitate. It’s the look in his eyes — a raw, primal fear that I find so arousing.So perfect.The sight is gruesome yet oddly satisfying, an artwork of pain and penance.

I love seeing the torment etched deep within those eyes, those irises dulled by pain and hopelessness. This is justice, I think, as I raise the pliers once again. He musters a pitiful scream, but I merely shush him, threading my fingers through his hair like a mother comforting her child. “Sshh,” I shush, my voice just above a whisper, the barest hint of tenderness lacing my words. The metal of the pliers is cool against his tongue, a stark contrast to the heat radiating off his body. He shakes violently under me, his sobs turning into choked gurgles as I grip the tool tighter. The smell of iron and fear hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. His body convulses beneath me, a feeble attempt at defiance that is quickly extinguished as I bear down harder.

“Quiet now,” I murmur, my voice like a lullaby in the room. “The best is yet to come.” A guttural whimper escapes Devon’s throat as I go in for the kill. His body stiffens unnaturally, a reaction to the horrifying mixture of pain and fear that courses through his veins.

The thrashing ebbs to a mere shudder, his fight waning as reality slips further from his grasp. He can’t escape, he doesn’t have the strength left.He is mine.

I can’t just leave his body here, and I also can’t take it with me. Sometimes, fire is the only way to cleanse the soul. In Revelations, fire is viewed as the final curse, a purging, a way to cleanse the unholy and dissolve sin. Devon will be baptized by the Holy Spirit and by fire. Looking around the small shed, I find a small gallon of gasoline—this will do. Grabbing the gas, I begin to spread the liquid around until the smell fills the room. I pull out my lighter from my pocket, pick up pieces of newspaper scattered around the shed, and light them up. Making sure the fire burns the hottest on Devon, I watch as the flames pick up and he thrashes as his body begins to be engulfed by the flames. But no one will help him; by the time the fire is noticeable, he will be long gone. Itake one final glance into the house, where the little girl should be safe from him and the flames. Disappearing into the shadows, I make my way back to the quiet streets of Taos.

I go back to the motel room I rent for nights like this. Walking into the room, I begin to undress before heading to the bathroom. Stepping into the tub, I turn on the faucet, letting the hot water fall on me as I use the cheap all-in-one shampoo on my hair and body. After the shower, I walk around the room, looking at the files sent to me from Vincent. Pictures of over twenty underage girls living on Victor’s church grounds. Sexual pictures of them, and then fury consumes me when I see a picture of a young Marisol. On her knees, bound to a cross, naked. Snatching the picture from the file, I look for any identifiable items on the hooded men who surrounded her. One, in particular, has a scar on his cock. Possible teeth marks. That one will die first.

Tossing the file to the side, I begin to dress myself—a simple black shirt, blue jeans, and some Vans. While I might be a priest, I don’t live under their rules. I have my own rules and my own needs aside from the church and my duties. Tonight, I will indulge in one of those needs—Zia. Walking to the bar, the streets are busier than usual. Victor’s church zombies scatter all over, heading to what I can assume is the compound. From the outside, I look in, but I don’t spot her there, and disappointment washes over me.

Sinner

So, what does a man with an obsession and desire for a pretty little sinner do when he can’t scratch the itch one way? Find another. Rolling my neck, I continue to walk. To my convenience, my little sinner’s house isn’t as far as her father’s church. Thankfully, her father is a narcissist, and Victor likes to live near the town, wanting to be seen for what he’s not. A widower, a devoted father, a religious man. But he’s none of the above. A sinner wearing the mask of a saint.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing, preying on the weak and innocent under his disguise. I know this because we share the same obsession, the same dark need to possess and control. Which leads me here, back to his house… his window, watching his daughter. His precious dove. To my surprise, the house is relatively quiet, with minimal movement. None of the cult is hanging around. Just my little Dove and me.

It isn’t too late, but I expect Victor to be home at least, which makes me curious as to what he can be doing. But all that fades away the moment she comes into view, caramel skin wet and glistening. White silk robe falling off her shoulders as she rummages through her closet. I wonder what she’s looking for. With a smile on her face, she pulls out a book. Given the fact that she’s hiding it, I can guarantee it’s one of those dark romance novels. Naughty little sinner.

I watch as she sits in the gray recliner. The room is dark now, except for the light illuminating her. She opens the book and begins to read. It takes her a couple of pages until she hits what she’s looking for. Her caramel skin becomes flushed, her breathing becomes heavier, and her fingers trace over the words printed on the page. My heart begins to pound in my chest, every nerve on edge as I’m held captive by the sight of her. I can’t help but imagine what got her so worked up, what sinful desires those words ignited in her. I see a blush crawl up her lovely neck, painting her cheeks an enticing shade of pink that makes my pulse quicken. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth in a tantalizing gesture of innocence shattered by the dark glow in her wide eyes.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she closes the book, her legs falling open, resting on the armrest of the recliner. Undoing the white ribbon from her robe, she allows it to fall from her body, and I thank the heavens that the mirror gives me a direct view of what she does next.

Her fingers trace her skin as she creeps lower and lower, making her way between her legs. Her beautiful black coils fall to the side of the recliner as she leans back and parts her folds.Glistening. Holy.

The sight is ethereal, an angel fallen into the throes of something beautifully wicked. Her fingers deftly move as her back arches slightly off the chair, a small gasp escaping her lips. My cock springs to life at the sight of that beautiful, sinful creature, the way her fingers circle her center, the way her brown eyes flutter closed.

I watch with bated breath as her hips rotate in time with her hand, a symphony of pleasure that I can only imagine. Her breath hitches and her entire body shudders, shaking from the orgasm ripping through her body. Fuck, I want it to be my tongue instead of her fingers. Her chest rises and falls heavily, a sheen of sweat glistening on the bare mounds of her breasts. She lies there, succumbing to languid bliss after the storm of her climax.

The sight is so fucking erotic, and every fiber in me strums with yearning for something I’ve never had. Suddenly, she opens her eyes and looks straight at me. There’s no shock on her face, no embarrassment. Instead, there’s a sense of victory; as if she knew all along that I was watching her. Her lips curve into a predatory smile as she traces her middle finger along her bottom lip, wet with the taste of herself. There’s a teasing glint in her eyes that shoots straight through me, branding her onto my very soul. There’s no escape now; I am under her spell.

Slowly, she rises from the recliner, naked, her coils falling down her bare chest, covering her brown, hard nipples. That know-it-all grin never leaves her face, and I’m left there, rooted to the spot, just as exposed as she was moments ago. My heart races in my chest, and my cock thumps painfully, echoing the rhythm of my desire. I shift uncomfortably; mypants are suddenly too tight. The garment is now a torture device holding me captive under her knowing gaze.

Her footsteps are soft, padding towards me as her grin widens with each passing moment. Damn woman knows what she’s doing to me. She’s toying with me, but before we can see where this leads, we are interrupted by the sounds of tires screeching on the gravel outside. We both freeze, her predatory smile slipping and my heart slamming into my ribcage.

Daddy’s home.

The sudden noise snaps us both back to reality. Instinctively, she grabs the discarded silk robe that lays forgotten on her chair, pulling it over her exposed form. Her eyes glance at me, amusement evident at my frustrated sigh. I retreat into the shadows and watch as Victor and two of his men walk back into the house. They seem to be celebrating; one grabs his cock as he talks about some woman he fucked.Sick bastards. It’s their blood my little sinner should be bathed in. That would be true God’s work, not whatever the fuck her sick father makes her do. But soon I will free her and be the very God she craves.

I watch as they move into the den, their raucous laughter echoing through the house. Victor throws his head back, a loud guffaw escaping his lips. He’s drunk off his high of power and money. My gaze drifts back to her window. She’s dressed now in a white cotton nightgown that covers her skin.

She moves to the mirror and stares at her reflection, the ghost of her predatory smile playing on her lips. She looks like an angel in that gown, pure and innocent, but I know the devil that lurks beneath. I crave that devil. She turns her gaze towards the window as if she knows I’m there, watching.

Turning off the lights, she walks over to her bed and slips under the covers, but I don’t leave. I’ve had my fix, and now duty calls. Not even five minutes later, my little sinner’s door creaks open, and Daddy dearestappears from behind the door. He steps inside, belt unbuckled, his button-down shirt open, and my heart drops when he walks over to her bed.

I feel a knot of rage twist in my gut. I grit my teeth, fists clenched as I watch that monster walk closer to her bed. My blood roars in my ears, but I do nothing and say nothing. The temptation to storm into the house and end him is overwhelming, but it would expose me, and I know it’s not the right time. Not yet. Not when I have demons to exorcize. Victor and his cult are a sickness in need of a cure, and I vow to be the one to administer it.

I watch helplessly as Victor sits on the edge of her bed, leering down at my sinner with pure malevolence in his eyes. She pretends to sleep as he moves the covers down, and a sickening grin lights up in the darkness, his eyes hungry as they devour my sinner. He palms his cock through his pants, then reaches towards her, his fingers grazing the thin material of her gown. She flinches at his touch but doesn’t resist. My gaze drills into his back, praying fervently he’d feel the weight of my hatred.

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