Page 23 of Daddy's Sinner

“And what kind of survival is this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but it rings loud and clear in my ears. “Living like this—trapped, used, broken? I’d rather die fighting than live on my knees.”

Her words make my heart clench painfully in my chest.She’s right. She’s so right it hurts.But I can’t let her see that. I can’t let her know that her defiance is making cracks in the wall I’ve built around my heart.

“Please,” I plead, my voice trembling. “Don’t do this. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can fight them. You can’t. They’ll crush you. They’ll break you.”

She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. Then, finally, she nods, but I can see in her gaze that she hasn’t given up. “Maybe they will,” she says softly, “but I’ll never stop fighting. And neither should you.”

The words linger in the air as I turn and hurry out of the room, her defiance echoing in my ears. My legs stick together as I walk, the remnants of Gabriel’s cum a vile reminder of my submission, of my failure.She’s stronger than me,I realize with a bitter pang of envy.She hasn’t been broken yet.

As I leave her behind, her words continue to haunt me.“Neither should you.”But I can’t fight, can I? I’ve already been claimed. I’ve already surrendered. What hope is there left for someone like me?

Sinner

Some days later….

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was last month. I confessed my urges with the neighborhood kids.” My muscles go taut as I hear the man in front of me, Devon Decker. Thanks to the gossip in town I know all about Devon. A high school teacher with a penchant for pedophilia—men like him are the reason why I do what I do. “Continue, my son,” I instruct, keeping my voice steady despite the repulsion bubbling within me.

“Speak your sins, Devon, and seek absolution from the Lord.” I don’t wish to hide my disdain, but I must. This is my role, after all. The cloth is just a mask to hide my true nature.

“I… I have not acted upon these urges, Father. I’ve been avoiding the children. But it’s hard. It’s so hard, Father.” Decker’s voice trembles with strain, his words seeping through the lattice like a poisonous fog. It takes every ounce of my restraint not to reach through and strangle the monster that lurks behind the curtain of penance.

I try to sound compassionate as I speak, hoping to convey my understanding. “God knows your struggle, Devon,” I say, “and in times of temptation, we must lean on Him.” My voice shakes slightly with anger as I continue, “Have you sought professional help for these feelings? It’s important that you do.” I swallow back my frustration and anger—it doesn’t matter now. He is beyond repair.Corrupted. A vessel for a demon.

Many become priests out of faith, but not me. My purpose is unique: to serve as a tool for casting out the wicked and cleansing this world ofdemons. And this one in front of me is among the worst—those who harm the innocent and exploit the vulnerable.

“Yes, Father, I have,” he replies, his voice barely a whisper. “But it’s not helping. I’m… I’m scared, Father. Scared of my mind.” I find myself clenching my fists, pursing my lips to maintain a calm veneer. This is not the time for anger. “You must understand, Devon,” I respond, my tone as comforting as I can muster, “that fear can serve as a catalyst. It can lead you towards change and fortitude if you let it. Where there is fear, there is the capacity for bravery. Let your fear drive you to remain strong, to seek help, and turn away from these dangerous urges.”

He is silent for a moment, and I can almost hear the gears grinding in his mind. “What if… what if I can’t, Father?” His voice is small and broken, like a child’s. The irony is not lost on me.

I respond, “We’ll deal with that when we get to it,” even though I know we’re already there. This man will cause harm, and I will have to rid him of the demon inside. It’s no coincidence that Devon is now living with a single mother in town; I’ve been keeping track of his movements. I fear it’s only a matter of time before he harms the child, and if I can prevent it, I will. After all, this is my duty: banishing those who have fallen under the sway of evil.

As I stand in silence, waiting for Devon’s response, a sense of finality settles over me. His voice trembles as he draws in a breath, and I can almost hear the rustling of his clothes as he wrings his hands together. Finally, he speaks again, “Thank you, Father. I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” I respond, my heart heavy with the knowledge of what is to come. “Trust in God. Trust in His protection, Devon. And remember, you are not alone.” But as I leave the confessional, the silence of the empty chapel is oppressive, and I find myself excited for what’s to come. My heart pounds in my chest as I consider snuffing the life out of him. Devon is a man on the edge, teetering on the precipice of damnation. His inevitable fall, unless intervened, will ravage not only his soul but others in its wake.

Descending the steps of the pulpit, I feel as though I am descending into a battlefield. And indeed, it is just that. His demons are too great to allow him to live, and I will do what is necessary to prevent him from harming a child. Tonight, Devon Decker dies.

I make my way back to my quarters, the silence of the chapel replaced by the distinct echoing of my footsteps. I reach for the worn Bible on my desk, its leather cover cool under my fingertips and think back to the tale of David and Goliath. Small as I feel in this mammoth battle, didn’t David manage to conquer his seemingly invincible opponent? Inspiration wells up within me, warming my heart and steeling my resolve. I am a servant of God, tasked with the protection of His children. The path ahead is filled with danger and uncertainty, but I know I can’t falter.

The moon hangs heavy in the night sky, casting eerie shadows on the quiet town as I stalk the demon. I watch as the lights go out in the house, and the woman leaves for work, leaving her child with a demon. But it’s okay, I will stop him. The silhouette of Devon walking toward the room where the little girl sleeps. Taking a deep breath, I walk towards the small house. As usual, the door is left unlocked because the woman left in a hurry to her diner job. Slowly, I walk towards the room. Stepping lightly on the worn-out wooden floor, careful not to make a sound, I pass through the modest dining area and head straight into the narrow hallway. The scent of lavender and old books fills the air as I approach the child’s room, an odd comfort in stark contrast to my task.

Devon stands before the child, stroking his cock as he watches down on her. So engrossed in his actions that he never sees me coming when Iemerge from the shadows and prick him with enough tranquilizer to immobilize him. I don’t want him dead yet. He’s a big one and I rather not fight and make unnecessary commotion. His body stiffens as the tranquilizer takes effect, a strangled gasp escaping his lips before he crumbles onto the floor, helpless. Devon’s monstrous intentions have been halted, but I am far from done. With a grimace of disgust on my face, I bind his hands and feet with wire. Once I am done, I drag Devon away from the doorway and carefully close the girl’s bedroom door. I need to ensure she remains oblivious to the horrors lurking in her world. Even through it all she remains fast asleep, but I welcome it. It’s better this way, it gives me time to give him peace.

My heart pounds in my chest as I swiftly move back into the living room, dragging Devon’s limp form away from the child’s bedroom. He is heavy, his skin clammy under my touch, but the knowledge of his intentions fuels my resolve. Just because she is safe tonight doesn’t mean she will be tomorrow. I won’t rest until Devon is no longer a threat. The room spins around us as I heft him onto my shoulder and make for the back door. The cool night welcomes us, the wind whispering through the nearby trees accompanied by the faint hoot of an owl. The garden is overgrown, a reflection of the neglect that has fallen upon this household. I settle for the small shed out back and drag him to his final resting place; an old, dilapidated structure barely standing amidst the wild tangle of weeds. The rusty metal door creaks open, announcing our arrival to the spiders and small critters calling this place home. With a final push, I throw Devon’s incapacitated body on the cold, dirt floor, his face twisted in a grotesque imitation of peaceful slumber. His breaths, shallow and ragged, cut through the silence of the night. I look down at him, my heart cold in my chest. I’ve seen too many like him to allow myself any sympathy.

I tear a piece from the bottom of my shirt, soak it with the bottle of whiskey I’ve snatched from the kitchen, and jam it into Devon’s mouth. I need to keep him quiet for what is coming next. The alcohol will not only serve as a gag but will help dull the pain, not that I particularly care about his comfort.

Retrieving a small, black bag from my pocket, I rummage through its contents. The glow of the moon offers just enough light to make out the outlines of the objects inside. Two syringes, a coil of thin wire, a small pair of pliers—tools of my trade. My heart pounds even harder in my chest as I grasp one. I was born a child of neglect… unloved… damaged. From a young age I was disturbed, only finding peace with death until I met Father Guzman. He taught me all I know. But unlike him, it wasn’t God who I served, it was myself. My need to rid this world of evil. My need to kill. I hate sinners, but men like Devon are the true evil. There is no curing them… no fixing. I pull the small pair of pliers out of the bag, moonlight glinting coldly against its steel. My mind floats back to the countless times I’ve used this tool, yanking the very essence of evil from pitiful creatures that wear human skin just like Devon.

His eyes flutter open, shock and terror dilating his pupils as he takes in his surroundings. His gaze lands on me, and I see a spark of recognition in the haze of his fear. He tries to speak, but the whiskey-soaked rag muffles his pathetic whimpers. His eyes glisten with what might be tears - evidence of the terror creeping into him. He is beginning to understand why I am here and what I will do.

I yank down his pants, exposing his tiny, limp dick. Devon's muffled screams bounce around the dingy shed, but out here, no one’s nearby to hear him. I can tell he wants mercy... but it's too late for that. There's no pity for the ones I’ve decided to purge. I dangle the pliers in front of his face, making sure he gets a good, long look at them. The metal catches the dim light just before I press it against his skin. That first touch—cold and sharp—sends his whole body into a wild spasm, like he thinks he can just shake himself free.

I grin. He can’t.

So, things for Devon would look like this. I'm going to take his cock, his tongue, his teeth—piece by piece—until there’s nothing left of him but pain and regret. Then, he’ll die.

Gripping the pliers tighter, my pulse steady while his pounds under my hand. His neck's going wild, heartbeat racing from pure terror. His eyes go wide as hell, bulging. It's like he's seeing his death. But his pleas are pitiful whimpers through the whiskey-soaked rag I shoved in his mouth.

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