Page 32 of Daddy's Sinner

His lips crash against mine in a fiery, demanding kiss. It’s intense, all-consuming, a hungry dance that leaves me breathless and aching. His hands roam over my back, then slide down to cup my ass, pulling me even closer. He deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing and exploring with an urgent need.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes dark with a lingering hunger, a wicked smirk curves his lips. “Damn, you’re even more intoxicating than I imagined. If only we had more time... I’d love to see just how much further we could take this.”

I’m melting, my body still trembling from the intensity of our encounter. The sensation of his touch, the heat of our passion, is overwhelming. I can barely manage to whisper, my voice heavy with desire, “You make me want more. I’ve never felt such an insatiable need.”

Matheo’s smirk widens, his eyes burning with satisfaction. “Let that need linger. I’ll be here, waiting. Next time, we’ll push every boundary, explore every desire. I can’t wait to see how far we can go.”

My heart races as I lean in, capturing his lips in a final, searing kiss. It’s a kiss filled with a promise of what’s to come, a desperate attempt to hold onto the fleeting moments we’ve shared. When we finally part, his eyes are dark with a mix of satisfaction and longing.

“Goodbye for now,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

Matheo’s gaze is intense, his smirk still present. “Till next time, little sinner.”

As I turn to leave, the ache of wanting him again is almost unbearable. The intensity of our connection remains vivid and consuming, leaving me breathless and yearning. With every step away from Matheo, my heart protests. Its beats become a discordant melody to the rhythm of my retreat. The urge to turn back is an irksome itch under my skin, but I press forward, clutching my dress as if it's cool fabric could quell the inferno inside me.

“When you touch yourself at night, pray to me. Pray to your God, little sinner,” he calls after me, his voice a husky growl laced with sin and challenge. His words follow me like phantom whips, stinging the bare flesh of my back. It is a command and an absolution, setting fire to my body and obsession to my soul.

My fingers tremble as I touch the cool handle of the church door. Leaning my head against it, I hesitate to open it, not daring to look back. I can’t. I shouldn’t. I open the door and am greeted by the harsh New Mexico sun. The desert heat clings to me like an annoying ex, making my skin burn. The sun’s brutal rays hit harder than the cool, calm vibe of the church behind me, but I don’t stop or look back until I’m finally home. As soon as I shut the door, I let out a breath of relief—I’m alone.

I rush to my room, tossing my dress off the second I step inside. A grin spreads across my face as I shove it into the closet. It still smells like his cologne and incense—his scent. I laugh, thinking about how he gave me a fake name when we first met. But the way his real name slipped from my lips while I came apart for him felt way more real than any prayer.

I stand naked and check my reflection in the mirror. Looking for any trace of transgressions, any proof, it wasn't all in my head. There’s nothing but his cum still inside me. My pussy pulsates as I remember him. My fingers wander to my core, plunging inside as I pray to my God, Matheo. I curl my fingers, trying to gather as much as I can, and with a whimper, I bring them to my mouth.

Tasting him, I close my eyes, savoring his essence—sinful pleasure, salty and intimate. I lick my fingers clean, remembering how he looked at me as he fucked me. My cheeks burn with the luridness, but I find I don’t care. I fall onto my bed, allowing myself to lose myself in the taste.

I’ve been with others before, but none have made me feel like he has. Nothing ignited me like Matheo did. His presence set every nerve alight, and now he consumes me utterly. My body still thrums with echoes of his touch, my breasts tingle from his hands, my mouth aches from his kisses, and my thighs quiver from his grip. His touch is nothing like the Prophet’s. Nothing. And then my heart sinks at the thought. I can’t allow myself to entertain the thoughts of Matheo when I belong to the Prophet. Even if I want more, I can never have Matheo. He is a fleeting dream, an ephemeral whisper of pleasure in the drought of my life. The Prophet will be my reality forever, inextricable and unyielding. I know this as surely as I need air.

I stand and head to my bathroom, wading through the reminiscence of my transgression, trying to cleanse myself of Matheo. The truth is harsh and unyielding. I turn on the shower at the hottest setting, stepping inside and wincing as the scalding water hits my sensitive skin, washing away the lingering taste of Matheo. The steam fills the room, cloudingthe mirrors and obscuring my reflection, as if to hide my guilt from myself.

I scrub desperately at my body, as if I could erase his touch from my skin. But it is futile; he is inside me now, and my demons demand him. The guilt rages within me, a feral animal clawing its way out. Every scrub of the loofah feels like penance, every droplet of scalding water an attempt at absolution.

The water runs clear and pure, swirling down the drain, taking with it the physical remnants of Matheo.

“Dove,” the Prophet’s voice slices through the steam, shattering my illusion of solitude. His voice, dripping with honeyed poison, causes a chill to skitter down my spine.

“Where are you, Dove?” he calls again, his impatience and hunger barely concealed. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to silence the panicked beating of my heart.

“I’m… I’m here,” I stammer, turning off the water and clutching a towel to my damp body with trembling hands. I step out of the shower on wobbly legs, my heart pounding frantically as he comes into view.He’s ready for me. Ready for his Dove to suck away his sin, and my heart sinks. It’s never felt like this before, but as his hand cups my breast and his fingers pinch my nipple, I turn away reflexively. His touch, once a twisted comfort, now feels invasive and grotesque. The Prophet’s eyes narrow, surprise flickering across his usually impassive face.

“Dove…” His voice loses its honeyed sweetness, becoming a low growl. “Don’t test me.”

I freeze, allowing myself to get lost in my mind as he continues to explore my body hungrily, guiding me to my knees and slipping his cock into my mouth. “Go ahead, Dove, remove my sins.” I shut my eyes tight, the taste of him bitter and repugnant on my tongue. I continue mechanically, detaching myself from the act. Each bob of my head is aplea for redemption, each slurp an incantation to make things right. His fingers tangle in my hair, and a tear slides down my cheek. Is this how Zia felt once she tasted sin?

Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I stifle the urge to gag. I try to blank my mind, but all I can think about is him… Matheo. My tongue twirls around the Prophet’s cock, and I hope that the sooner I finish, the quicker it will be over.

“Good, Dove,” the Prophet rasps, his breathing growing more ragged. His hands tighten in my hair, possessive and controlling. I think of Zia’s face, the fierce look in her eyes as she climbed onto her lover’s bike. For a moment, I smile around the Prophet’s cock, envisioning myself doing the same.

I choke on a sob as his dick slides deeper into my throat. I have no gag reflex anymore—a ‘gift’ from the Prophet. Now, it is merely an annoyance to be endured until he releases. His fingers tighten in my hair as I pick up the pace. Suddenly, he releases his shame onto me. He pulls away, leaving me kneeling on the cold tile floor. Hot tears stream down my face, but I swallow them along with his sin. "Good girl,” he mutters as he tucks away his cock, so small and skinny compared to Matheo’s. “Be ready for the Sinner tonight,” he adds with a hint of satisfaction. The sight only adds to my humiliation. He walks out of the bathroom without another word, leaving me alone with the sharp sting of disgust and the bitter aftertaste of his pleasure. Slowly, I rise from my knees. My legs are barely holding up at the thought of sharing his temple because I belong to Matheo. As much as I wanted to fight it, it felt like some divine force pulled me into that church. When Matheo’s lips crashed onto mine, it felt like my soul was damned. The cool porcelain of the sink offers some relief. I lean against it, trying to wash away the taste of the Prophet with gulp after gulp of water. My reflection in the mirror is a mess—haggard, eyes bloodshot from tears and choking. I reach up to my eyes. They’re hers—Zia’s—full of that same desperate longing for freedom. Grabbing my favorite brush, I comb out my curls, letting them fall around me as they air dry. My fingers tremble slightly as I workthrough the tangles, my mind drifting back to Matheo. His touch, his voice—they haunt me, even now. I long to feel his hands in my hair again, the way he would curl my locks around his fingers and tug ever so gently, a promise of what was to come. The thought of him sends a shiver down my spine, one that I quickly try to shake off as I finish with my hair.

I step into my bedroom and pick up a white cotton robe. I won’t need any other clothes; tonight, Matheo’s temple will be defiled as I deliver penance to the sinner, taking his sin into me. Soon, it will no longer be Matheo’s cum inside me but that of a stranger—a sinner.

This sinner isn’t just any sinner; he is a young man whose only sin is similar to my own lust. The anticipation is bitter and palpable. Just as the Prophet had his release, so too will this young sinner. It is a cruel twist of fate that binds us through our sins. Lust, pure and damning, connects us in a way that feels almost poetic.

As the day drags on, anxiety coils tighter in my stomach. The thought of this stranger sends a chill down my spine, leaving me cold even in the warmth of my small bedroom. The sun begins to set, painting the room with hues of blood red and deep purple. I try to push Matheo from my thoughts, but he’s always there, lurking in the corners of my mind. His presence is a dark shadow, inescapable and intoxicating. I can’t escape this feeling.Why does Matheo haunt me like this?It’s as if he’s become a part of every shadow in this room. The sunset's colors seem to deepen the unease, casting everything in a sinister light. I keep trying to push him out of my mind, to focus on something—anything—else. But the harder I try, the more vivid his presence becomes. It’s almost like he’s playing with me, lingering just out of reach but always there, a dark echo in my thoughts.Why can’t I shake this feeling?

My musings are interrupted by a loud knock on my door, jolting me back to reality. With trembling hands, I smooth out my white cotton robe and make my way to the door.

As I open it, my heart races like a drum beating fiercely. “Come, Dove,” the Prophet says, taking hold of my arms and guiding me down the hall to the cleansing room.

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