Page 25 of Daddy's Sinner

Victor shifts closer to her, and my restraint snaps. I can’t sit here and allow him to continue to touch what’s mine. Grabbing a rock from the ground, I hurl it towards the window in sheer rage, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces. Victor jumps in surprise and alarm, spinning to face the broken window. His eyes widen in fear as he scans the darkness outside for signs of intrusion.

But he can’t see me, not from this angle. Using this momentary distraction, I navigate my way around the house. I expect to find one of his goons—oh, I’m killing somebody tonight.

My heart pounds in my chest - not from fear, but anticipation. The moon is my only source of light, and it’s enough for me to find exactly what I’m looking for: a sinner. I creep behind him as he looks through the trees. My hand goes into my pocket, and I retrieve my switchblade I’ve hadsince I was a kid. Cupping his mouth with one hand, I use the other to dig the knife into his throat, pulling him into me.

“I am hungry for sin. Now bleed, demon. You will be cleansed,” I say before slashing his throat wide open. He flails in my grasp, shock and fear overtaking him as blood pours down his front. I let him drop to the cold ground, watching as life quickly drains from his eyes until there’s nothing but a vacant stare. A rush of satisfaction floods me; one less demon to corrupt the innocent.

“Ramon,” another sinner calls out, the pervert who was cupping his cock. Tonight, no one will be fucking. Victor will be too worried about me to worry about his needs. And this fucker is as good as dead; at least he got a nut in before dying. The idiot doesn’t even feel me behind him, not even as I pick up speed and now stand beside him. I inhale deeply, the blood rushing straight into my already hardened cock as I plunge the knife right into his chest. He turns to me finally.

“I’m not Ramon, demon. I’m liberation.”

His eyes widen in surprise and terror as he sinks to the ground, clutching at the wound in his chest. His fingers scrabble uselessly against the blood-drenched fabric, scrambling for a hold on his fleeting life. I crouch in front of him and withdraw the switchblade from his chest. Blood pours out like a waterfall. The shock prevents him from screaming, and the last thing he sees is my smirk before darkness claims him.

I hear Victor yelling for his goons, but they are dead. Truthfully, I could end him… I should, but I want more. I want to destroy them all, one by one, until only he remains, until he knows the depth of his sins. I want him to feel the sting of his failures, his corruption eating away at him. The fear. The guilt. Then, and only then, will I relieve him of his misery.

I sneak back into the shadows of the house, my heart pounding with adrenaline. Victor is still shouting, his voice echoing around the empty halls, the fear evident in his tone. I let out a quiet chuckle and circle back to my little sinner’s window. She stands there waiting, her brown eyeswide and filled with fear or anticipation. I can’t tell, but I need to see her, even if she can’t see me here.

Dove

Things will get ugly once the Prophet finds out who’s lurking in the shadows. Not that I care about that, but given the lack of response from the guys, I can assume nothing good happened to them. Yet my concerns are entirely different. My demons call out to me, begging to be released. Begging me to touch myself, to lose myself in carnal pleasure, and tonight I would have. I felt his eyes on me. Call it a sixth sense or a divine gift, but I felt him. I still do. Even in all that darkness, I can feel his gaze devouring me.

I’m not sure why he threw the rock into my room, but nevertheless, he got the Prophet’s attention now, so we could never play. And If we ever do, he will be under me, and I’ll be bathing in his blood. That is certain. But the thought of feeling my little stalker beneath me while his cock fills me surprisingly warms my core. I clench my thighs together and bite my lip to suppress the moan.

The Prophet wouldn’t be too happy to know someone else’s cock is what his Dove craves.Passion. Lust.

None that I have for him, but it is my duty to serve the Prophet. To do God’s work.

“Ramon… Juan!” The Prophet yells from outside, but no one answers. I can tell by his voice that he’s shaken up, but again my attention is elsewhere—to my demon that lurks in the shadow. A smile spreads across my face when I notice the subtle movement of the shadow.

“Until next time,” I whisper into the night, praying that there is a next time, even if it’s the last. Once I feel his presence pull away from me, I turn my attention back to where it needs to be—with the Prophet. Slipping on my fluffy slippers, I walk out of my room and follow the sound of the Prophet curses. For a religious man, my father can surely saysome very vile things. I can barely contain the amusement on my face as I round the house and find blood. Skipping up the trail of crimson, I find Juan slumped over and dead. Using my tippy toes, I kick him over to see his lifeless face. A grin appears on my face as I look down at him, just as he would look down at me after our sessions. But unlike me, he’s covered in blood instead of semen. I guess blood works in this situation.

“Da… Prophet,” I call out as I continue to walk over and find another body—this one of Ramon.

“Dove, go back inside,” he orders when he finds me standing over Ramon’s body. I crouch down, my fingers dipping into the thick crimson pool, tracing patterns on the ground.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he continues to scan the area, but it’s pointless—he’s gone now.

“Nothing,” I reply dryly as I continue to play with the blood. Thoughts of my little stalker come to mind. Did he hunt sinners too? Is he a sinner needing to be purged? Does blood turn him on as much as it does me? But all those thoughts come to a halt when I feel the Prophet’s hand on my head.

“Stop that, Dove.”

“Why does it bother you so much?” I smirk, still dipping my fingers into the pool of blood.

The Prophet’s grip tightens on my head, his fingers digging into my scalp. “No, Dove, I forbid you from playing with that blood. It’s unholy and desecrates our faith.”

His words make me laugh, the sound echoing in the night. But I comply with a sigh, I pull back, bringing the bloody finger into my mouth. Father sneers and turns away, shaking his head.

As I watch him leave, I can’t help but feel a thrill of excitement coursing through my veins. The thought of my little stalker… My devil is corrupting mewhile I’m covered in blood. My hands itch to paint… to paint him. My bloody shadow. I can barely contain my excitement as I speed walk back into the house and into my room. Walking straight to my art corner, I sit in front of my easel with a paintbrush in hand. I grab the black paint and cover the white canvas with it, wishing I could paint his face instead of shadows.

The soft hum of the paintbrush against the canvas is the only sound in the room. My mind is lost in the first strokes of the shadowy figure, and I can feel the presence of my demon lurking in the background. The anticipation of capturing his image on the canvas is almost too much to bear. I close my eyes and let my imagination take over, letting each brushstroke embody my desire, my lust, and my unwavering devotion to my little stalker.

As I paint the sinful image, the thought of his cock filling me brings an unexpected warmth to my core. I clench my thighs together, trying to suppress the arousal building within me. The idea of feeling him beneath me, of his deep thrusts and the feel of his rough skin against my soft flesh, fuels my every stroke.

With each line I draw, the image of my devil grows more vivid. The canvas comes to life under my brush, and I see the twisted reflection of my own desires and darkness within its depths. My heart pounds in my chest, the heat of my excitement building within me, as I lose myself in the dance of black and red, the dark and the forbidden.

I step back to admire my work, my heart swelling with pride and a perverse sense of accomplishment. The painting before me is a dark, twisted masterpiece, filled with shadows and imbued with the visceral essence of my lust and obsession. In it, I see the face of my stalker, my devil, my darkest desire.

As I gaze at the painting, quiet laughter escapes my lips. It’s a sound that’s been absent in my life for too long, smothered by the strict confines of religion and duty. But tonight, I embrace the darkness within me, and in doing so, I find freedom.

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