i’ve been craving an icky, pervy pussy inspection with some fauxcest. i don’t care who you write for girl i just need it
xoxo
~1.2k words ft. gross & nasty stepdad!jack abbot x fem!reader. 18+ MDNI. pussy inspection. coercion & corruption. reader is a virgin. forgive me for this is not my best work. i’ve been in the absolute worst writer’s block of my life 😖
it isn’t normal that the first thing you hear from your stepfather when you come home from university is a command to go upstairs, undress, and wait for him on the bed.
but it’s something that you’ve gotten used to in the past two years, and it’s too late to care about it now, seeing as you’re about to graduate in a few months.
you’re home for winter break, and like always, your mother isn’t here to greet you after the long drive. she’s off somewhere, doing something, and will probably make up for her absence with a gift she brings back.
it’s okay, though. you doubt she would approve of the ritual you and her husband share, and it’s better that she’s not here for it.
jack’s only been in your life since you were eighteen, but he stepped into his role as your father quite seamlessly. your mother couldn’t have married a more perfect man. jack is an emergency physician. a decorated veteran. a loaded and handsome, handsome man. your mother is truly lucky to have him as her husband.
and you’re so lucky to have a stepfather who cares so much about you that he would forgo convention.
when jack was told by your mother that you’re a virgin two winters ago—her upper lips are as loose as her lower ones, he once said to you jokingly—he started the practice of inspecting your pussy to make sure that fact doesn’t change.
he explained that the heartbreak of giving your innocence to someone who would later stomp on it—as most college boys would do—would not be worth it.
it’s better to wait for that someone special to take your virginity, and you don’t want to find out what will happen to you if you don’t. jack is a kind man, but he has an air of authority that you wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of.
by the time jack is in the bedroom with you, you’re undressed with your hands holding your legs by the crooks of their knees, spreading yourself open.
you’re not sure why you have to be entirely naked for a lower body inspection, but you don’t mind being in the nude. if anyone has the right to see your tits, it’s your stepfather.
you’re family. or so he reminds you. you recall being adamantly against this whole ordeal back then when it first started, but the memory is fuzzy now. this may be strange, wrong even, but it’s not like he’s being unfaithful to your mother.
you’re his stepdaughter. he’s just being kind and looking out for you in his own, unique way—
“fuck, what a pretty sight,” he grunts out as he closes in on you, running a single, thick finger over your inner thigh and making you shiver, “i always forget how perfect your body is, baby. let’s see if that cunt is still intact too.”
—and if he gets caught up in a storm of lust, that’s just him being a man. but he’d never do anything uncouth.
he gets down on his knees, kneeling on the pillow that you placed on the floor beforehand. the cushion is easier on his residual limb, and he’s always a little more gentle with you when he’s not in pain.
his hands frame your folds, and then he spreads them apart. the first time jack peeled you open like this you were a flustered mess, but now, you don’t even blink.
you do feel sticky down there, though. but that’s normal. he told you so.
i’m a physician. doing these inspections is also a good way to check on the health of your vagina. better me than some stranger, right?
he also told you that there is a surefire way to tell if someone with a vagina has had sex. the presence of an intact hymen proves virginity, for one, but apparently there’s some other trick of the trade you’re not aware of that can as well.
it does seem unlikely, but what do you know? jack is the physician in the family, and you haven’t taken a health class since the ninth grade.
he takes his time looking at your pussy. he observes how your slick gathers and leaks down the cleft of your ass onto the sheets and how your hole clenches when he makes the offhand your pussy is so goddamn wet comment.
what was it that he said the last time?
a pretty, fertile thing like you needs to be careful. any man virile enough could knock you up. good thing you’re not spreading these legs anytime soon, right, sweetheart?
that affected you more than you would have liked to admit.
jack hums in satisfaction after his visual examination, then shoves one, two, three of his fingers knuckle-deep into your hole, testing something or other.
“virgins like you are so tight, aren’t they?” he asks suddenly, wiggling his fingers inside of you. he groans, and you feel your face start to heat.
maybe he just missed you a lot this time around. there’s no other way to explain how much he seems to enjoy feeling your walls clench down on his fingers and how his other hand moves to palm his crotch.
your expression morphs to one of confusion, and he explains, “that’s a good thing. whoever you have your first time with will be very happy.” he bends down and gives your clit a little kiss and then pulls his fingers out of you. “you’ve been good. still a virgin.”
“for how much longer?” you grumble. “for the rest of my life?”
jack huffs. “there’s no need to rush these things, sweetheart. you’ll thank me for doing this later.”
“no, i know. i am thankful... i guess.” you shake your head and sigh. “just ignore me.”
he stands and sits by your side on the bed, and you let go of your legs to curl up beside him. he rubs a hand up and down your back in a gentle motion. he’s silent for a moment, but then he asks, “what if i took your virginity, sweetheart? would you want that?”
you turn your head up to look at him with wide eyes. “what?”
“i’ll make it special. won’t have to worry about having a bad first time. and i can show you what sex is supposed to be like.”
your heart races. this is...
“but... how about mom?”
“don’t worry about her,” he replies simply. “let’s just keep this between us, alright?”
you think for a second. if there’s anyone you can count on to give you a good first time… it’s jack. and he’s just trying to set a good example for what you should expect with an actual partner in the future, right?
“i’ll make you feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. i promise.” his hand trails down to your rump and squeezes a cheek in emphasis.
“okay…” you trail off, ignoring the sight of his cock swelling, big and thick and trapped inside of his jeans. “i guess it wouldn’t hurt to do it with someone i’m comfortable with.”
“good.” he smirks. “guess your stepdad’s the one you’re going to make very happy today, huh?”
older boyfriend!könig who withholds sex from you at first, insisting that he won’t fit, you’re not ready yet. in reality, he’s training you, making sure you’re desperate and addicted to it before he’s even inside of you. slowly turning you into a slut for him, ruining you for everyone else.
he gets off on corrupting you, teasing you and putting you in vulnerable positions you never thought you’d be in, then acting like it's your fault when you get needy and messy.
he'll hold both your wobbly legs out of the way with one large hand and bully his thick, throbbing dick inside your now transparent panties, slotting between your soft folds. he groans at the way your needy pussy lips wrap around him, enveloping his length in warm, sticky heat. your hole pulses around nothing, the pretty tears pooling in your eyes from need make his heart clench and cock kick against your puffy clit. his free hand pulls the straps of your camisole down, groping your supple breasts. you try, adorably, to buck your hips into him, mouth ajar while you beg for something you don't even understand. he’ll tsk meanly, feigning disappointment. tightens his grip and pins you down.
"don't be so greedy, häschen." voice low and condescending, makes your brain go fuzzy. "rubbing yourself on my dick like a dumb slut. beschämend. perhaps i’m spoiling you too much. should i stop?”
vigorously, you shake your head, holding onto his strong forearm to keep him close. you’re not sure why you can’t seem to stay still, let him take care of you. “‘m sorry, please.”
“sweet girls relax and take what’s given to them. i always know how to make you feel good, no?"
once he's satisfied with you squirming and whining below him, he'll finish all over your glossy, twitching pussy. pulls your panties up, slaps a firm hand onto your clit and makes you go about your day with his seed dripping down your thighs. leaving you feeling gross and ashamed, but achey for more.
⚠︎ — minors do not interact, 18+. corruption kink. dacryphilia. brat taming.
౨ৎ — CORRUPTION KINK. . .
Frank Langdon has a thing about you peering up at him with innocent eyes, questions about his body rolling off your tongue with a curiosity that cannot be quenched. You remind him of himself when he was a first year med student, always wondering, always asking.
“Can I watch?” you mutter, the question that would once make you feel sheepish under Frank’s gaze feels normal now. Although, the word ‘dick’ is still hard for you to say, “I wanna see… one… in person.”
He nods, slipping his boxers down just enough to give you a good display of his most intimate parts. With widened eyes, your mouth feels like it’s beginning to overproduce saliva in anticipation to drool over Frank as he puts on a show for you. “It’s soft,” he chews his bottom lip, one hand fondling his balls and the other squeezing his length as he works himself up in front of you, “Once I start playing with myself, it’ll get hard.” Frank, such a gentleman, avoids words you’re too nervous to use.
There’s something about your inquisitiveness, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s defiling your purity, but he can’t get enough of how he’s gonna teach you all about the things you like— until you’re a whiny mess, constantly begging Frank for more.
౨ৎ — DACRYPHILIA. . .
It doesn’t matter the situation, Frank Langdon can’t help but get hot and bothered when he sees tears staining your cheeks. He’s fucking you so well your eyes are leaking? Hot. You’re so overstimulated that you can’t help but sniffle and whine? Great. You’re in a sour mood and can’t find it in you to regulate yourself? He’ll help, but he didn’t say he won’t get hard about it.
It’s something about how you look when you’re crying. Red eyes, bottom lip quivering, and your nose running like a faucet. He doesn’t understand it, really, he just knows that when you’re a vulnerable mess around him, blood flows straight to his dick. He loves being the one you seek out when tears prickle at your waterline, threatening to spill over. It could be all the years he spent emotionally stunted, refusing to acknowledge anything other than joy and adrenaline. Some may think it’s a little twisted, but the less control you have over your emotions, the more he wants to fuck you.
౨ৎ — BRAT TAMING. . .
Brat taming comes naturally to him, though, brat taming for Frank looks a little different. It’s less about taming, and more about trying to piece your emotions together like a puzzle. When he gets you to submit, it’s usually not followed by impact play or sex bans, even if he’s not opposed to those methods. Brat taming for Frank Langdon is a disappointment look thrown at you, the cross of his arms, or taking away privileges like free use. Frank’s version of brat taming is reward based with minimal warnings. If you do something you shouldn’t, he might not correct the behavior in the moment, but in a few hours when you think the incident is behind you, he’ll remind you of your behavior until your cheeks are hot and your eyes are full of shame.
He doesn’t want to fix your personality. He knows that sometimes you brat out and it is what it is, but he does like to get to the bottom of your behavior.
“Are you needing attention, sweetheart? You know you shouldn’t be doing that,” and “you feeling insecure? You need some reassurance, baby?” are a couple phrases he keeps locked in his arsenal that are bound to disarm you. There’s something about the shame of Frank calling out the root of your behavior that melts you into submission.
I can’t get the idea of Aerion being obsessed with a new septa sent to babysit his little siblings. Something about destroying that innocence she has 😫😫
maekar telling aerion he needs to meet daella and rhae's new septa and he just rolls his eyes (when maekar isn't looking he doesn't have a death wish) because he doesn't care to meet some ugly old hag. but then he meets you and you're his age and far too pretty to be wasted on a vow of chastity.
he's convinced you must have been forced into it by your family. he imagines a scenario where you found out you were to be given to the faith and you ran to some lover, or maybe even just some stable boy or guard or any man with a willing and ready cock, begging to be taken just once before you were denied pleasure forever. you letting that man take you again and again in the hope it would be enough to satisfy you the rest of your life, but oh, it wasn't, and you're so miserable and desperate for freedom.
but if he finds out you chose this life? oh, that would confuse and intrigue him even more. you're not stupid. you're obviously repressed, but not dull. and you're beautiful. why would you throw your life away? but if he found out you have genuine faith and desire to do good, oh he'd become obsessed and want to corrupt you so badly, it's all he can think about.
losing my religion // dark!cult leader!rafe x innocent!reader
summary ; god loves you but not enough to save you.
warnings : mentions of religions. manipulation. cult. smut. corruption kink. small town church trope. religious trauma. purity/innocence kink. slight of god complex. first time. dark/soft!rafe. mentions of murder. sweet lamb trope. coercion. smoking. little age gap. heaven goal. mentions of size kink. glorification. be careful with the warnings. minors DNI.
author's note : it's around 5k words. pfiouuuu. televangelism by ethel cain playing in the background please. credits to @ickyrafe for the concept.
“ father, will i go to heaven ? ”
“ father, will i be this good all my life ? ”
“ father, where was god when i thought he was there ? ”
“ father, did god let me sin on purpose ? ”
you lived in a small remote village, the kind of town where everyone knew each other, and where there were no secrets. well, you thought there were no secrets because everyone here was a true and firm believer. all the locals lived for god. and you would do anything for him and for your ticket to heaven. you had been baptized as a baby and had grown up as a child of the lord, and his most faithful angel. you have acted so well since your childhood and were sure that your death will be a pleasant trip to paradise.
you went to church every day because you always had something to say to god, to ask him, to make him understand. you prayed to speak to him, for him to see you, for him to hear you, for him to know how grateful you were for the life he had given you. your parents had always recommended that you cherish your existence, but also everything that happened to you, the misfortunes as well as the pleasures. life was neither all rosy, nor all white, nor gray or black. you were the only person to give it color. so your religious sister told you that you just needed to know how to paint, but that sometimes you would fail, you would fail but that it didn't matter. because you will make a masterpiece again sooner or later.
you were a devoted child, a faithful lamb with no anger inside, but above all full of love. you gave it to everyone when god had taught you and commanded you to share it as much as possible, that it was this feeling that would bring peace on earth. and who did not want peace, who did not want to please his creator? you were a good girl, so sweet and innocent, the kind sweetheart of the town, incapable of harm or sin, always dressed in your white dress and your little black shoes. you wear everything that can please god. you walked through the church hallway to join the choir, holding the candles. the world had his eyes on you, but especially this tall man lodged in the dark corner.
this man was not god and you knew it, because god would never look at you that way.
you wouldn't know how to describe this gaze on you, but it made you uncomfortable. you continued to move forward, holding the flame preciously against you. you sang with your angelic voice, glory to the almighty, glory to the one who made your existence so beautiful, to bring your back to life every time you felt, and this guy was still staring at you like you were the only person that existed, like the world had taken away the entire universe except you.
maybe you were an angel. after all, you were among the Lord's faithful.
you had never dated a man in your life. your parents and god forbid you, because you needed to stay pure for the good one. you had to remain virgin and clean for your future husband. you were forbidden to look at them, touch them or talk to them except for church activities. you were so loved by god so you had no right to sin, no fucking right to betray him. you had to remain as intact as the mother of everyone, as virgin mary.
you were as holy as the bible, the treasure of the creator. you were devoted like a lamb to his owner, as the followers to the cult leader.
you had never experienced something like touching yourself, making yourself feel good, and anything that included carnal pleasures. you didn't know about pornography, sexuality and lust. you walked away from it as if it were the devil. you were unable to make your god mad, you were too scared for that.
you were faithful to the lord. you helped the people of the village, homeless, the destitute, poor children, the elderly, you helped the world become a better place even when it seemed to be turning against you.
at the end of the mass, everyone, the priest had sent you to collect the funds from the locals.
you were standing in front of the steps. people were always kind and smiling to you as you were collecting funds for the church.
and you had been waiting for this voice to come at you.
“do you really want to go to heaven ? ”
you turned to face the man from earlier, the one hidden in the benches. you answered him with the sweetest smile, and the most nervous look. "yes, i do everything to go there. am i not good enough ? "
“everything?” the stranger had laughed kindly, but it had offended you slightly with that soft giggle.
“ why are you laughing ? this is not funny. ”
“ slow down, baby. you're too pretty to get on your nerves. ” he had pulled out a cigarette.
“will you forget God for a second and be an angel to me ? ”
“ God is in my heart, is in me. i can't forget him, even for a second. he's the reason why i'm living. ”
“ be sweet, angel and light it for me. don't say no, your divine father is watching you, you don't want him to catch you refusing to help a stranger and be mad at you? ” you looked at him with strange open eyes but you accepted. because he was right.
you didn't know how to say no to people. God didn't teach you to say no. people needed to help the people.
you lit his cigarette, and during the whole process he looked at you, his glare scanned your face. you were staring at him, and saw your own silhouette in his eyes, your shadow dancing in the perfect blue of his pupils.
you felt the heat in your cheeks, the burn of his gaze on your skin. you were unwell. you didn't like this situation, the unsteady feeling, the stranger proximity.
when you met him, you felt like a sinner more than a believer.
but he smiled at you. the soft kind of smile that made you forget everything, that made you feel so dumb.
“would i go to heaven now?” you teased him with a small laugh to echo his words.
“not yet but i can help you if you want if you're serious about that.” he answered.
“ i'm serious. ” you were really curious, and he had your full attention. you knew it wasn't good to talk for that long with a man. especially, older. but you took the risk.
you should have stopped when he complimented you because your parents said that men who are nice to girls like you always have bad intentions. but there was also something so charming and bewitching about this man. the way he was adorable. you didn’t see the evil in him.
“i really want to go to heaven, i swear on my life, sir. ”
“ sir ? such a polite thing but i'm not that old, sweetheart. i'm tall, not too old. ”
“ anyways, i really want to go to heaven !! ”
“you already said it, doll. i think God is tired of hearing it now. he wants proof, you know. he needs to see how devoted you are to him. ”
“how can i prove it to him?”
"i know God. i talk to him every day. i am his ruler. do you know what that means? that i am the one who decides for him whether people go to heaven or not. i am his most loyal servant, so he trusts me.”
“are you really connected to God?”
"you are too. we all are but the difference is that i can take you to heaven. i promise you." he placed his hand on your cheek, caressing it gently , a tender and unique gesture that made you shyly smile. “i’m not an angel. not yet.”
"yes, i assure you. i knew it as soon as i saw you in that church. join me." he announced with a warm voice.
“you have always been divine, i never doubted it. you have to go to heaven, you understand? you can't behave so well, be so charitable and disappoint God? and you wouldn't dare doing it, don't you, pretty lamb ? because do you think he will forgive you ? no, sweetheart. you will be punished and rejected like every sinners. ”
“ you're wrong ! God loves me ! ”
“you don't understand. you must be perfect until the end, you must be a great god masterpiece, not his biggest failure. you can't just be the chorus of this choir, be the beautiful thing who holds the candles at mass, the kind soul who helps others. you can't be just that when i can offer you even better and absolutely everything you want. any of your wishes. join me and i will make all your wishes come true, i will make you the new face of the paradise. i will make God see you everywhere. ”
"it seems so unreal...i don't know..."
he had cut you. he didn't want to give you time to think, leaving room for the barrier of doubt."you have to join me, isn't that what you wanted? for me to find you? if you believe in god, you have to be a good girl, make the right choices. "
“okay….” you finally agreed.
he waited for you in his car, one hand on the steering wheel. and you joined him inside. there was so much euphoria in you. you felt like you were doing something so right, so you had this goofy smile on your face.
"does God think i'm a good believer ? i pray every day, i attend mass every time, i sing in the choir and in my rooms all the songs dedicated to him. i only have the Bible as a book and i read it all the time. i can't do anything wrong. i'm good, i promise, i'm good. ”
"is that true? you'll have to show me so I can tell."
“I’m going to pray for you too.” you added. “I pray for all the souls in this world.”
“oh yes my angel will pray for me. i want to hear your prayers, all your prayers about me. but not in front of me. "
“ why ? ”
“ seeing you bent on your knees for me will make me sin. i wish you could see the kind of temptation you are. ”
you had arrived in front of a mansion. you were so flustered and nervous. you didn't understand what you were doing in front of this place, and why he had brought you here. he took your hand, reassuring you with his touch, and guided you inside.
you were not alone. there were other people, women and men. all dressed slightly the same, as if there was a regulation outfit. the atmosphere was strange, a little sectarian. there was an organ playing in the background, and everyone was looking at you kindly so you tried to relax.
"don't be afraid. they're like you, they just want to go to heaven. can you understand?"
you nodded and he showed you around all the places. he even showed you a room and said it would be yours. she was pretty, absolutely perfect but she wasn't yours. not that of your house.
"I'm not going home?..."
"what do you mean? this is your home now. we're a family."
"a family? i have parents, they will worry…”
"i thought you wanted to be close to God. were they lies? you know, you shouldn't joke with religion, and with words. if you want to be a good little christian, if you want to go to heaven, it is to me, and only to me, that you must be devoted.”
"I...I...no, i promise! I'm sincere! i'm sorry, really, I'm sorry. " you now felt terrible. there were so many tears in your eyes, you couldn't even see the room clearly.
the man smiled before taking you in his arms. "it's nothing, you just need to be clearer with your words, okay? I'm your only savior, you don't need others.”
he had wiped the tears from your cheeks. “I have a gift for you…” he whispered and you found your smile again.
no one ever gave you gifts. it was so rare. “open it” he told you.
it was a dress. not the one you usually wore. “you have to put it on. don't you want to shine, shooting star ? ”
" now ? "
"now." his voice was a little firmer.
“i can’t change in front of you…” you admitted. "you're a man...and I'm a girl...it's sinful, it's like having sex! we have to get married to have that intimacy. "
he smiled and laughed. "you've never been naked in front of someone? you've never left this body in front of someone else?"
he had approached, slipping up behind you, towering over you with his height, his hands resting on the corners of your trembling shoulders.
“my sweet thing, it’s as if you’re begging me to corrupt you.”
“what do you mean?”
“that i must see this body.”
" Is it bad?"
“What would be bad, angel, would be to upset me.”
he had pulled the tab of your dress to lower it a little. there were shivers in your body. you felt like you were doing something wrong.
"you're not doing anything wrong. this is what god wants you to do. he told me."
" It's true ? "
“ only the truth. just now. i wouldn't dare lying to you, my sweet. ”
there was nothing you could refuse god. If it were his will, you would do anything.
"but I've never done anything like that? I always thought it was wrong, that I didn't have the right."
he pulled your dress down to the floor, your naked body revealed in the mirror. you could feel his gaze growing more intense as he took in everything you had shown him. "is my body okay? I mean, this is the first time anyone has seen it so..."
"sweetheart, I've never seen anything so beautiful. but I don't just have to see it to judge it, I have to touch it. will you let me ? "
“Lust is a sin.”
“do you want to know my name?”
you had just now realized that you didn't even know his identity. you nodded your head.
“rafe.” he spelled it. “ you must know my name to pray for me, but also to glorify me.”
“glorify ?”
"you must glorify me. salute me and worship me. these are the rules if you want to go to heaven. you must be devoted, I told you.."
" fine…”
he sat on the bed, and you moved closer but he stopped you.
"no, no. all this sweetness but no useful brain ? ” he mocked. “ to worship me, you must be on your knees. ” he said, crossing his arms on his chest.
“ treat me as the same way you treat your god, angel. because this is what i am to you. i want to see your legs bow down for me, i want to see them treading the ground up to me. i want to see that precious look at the same height of my knees, let me see that head lifted up to glory me. "
he had lit a cigarette, the fourth since you had spoken, and had smiled when you started walking on your knees towards him.
he pressed his hand against the growing bulge in his pants.
“open your mouth.” he commanded and you obeyed, and he slipped his cigarette between your lips. “don’t smoke it, hold it only. don't go against my rules. can i trust this dumb baby brain for once to not disappoint me ? ”
he had taken off his pants, with his boxers. and you turned your head, strongly ashamed by his action.
he mocked gently. “in your place, i would not look away, that would avoid unpleasant surprises when this thing will be buried inside your virgin cunt, sweetheart. ”
he had retrieved his cigarette, and turned your head towards him.
"I can't believe you've never seen one. you've been such a good girl to me. you've been waiting for me. "
“will god hate me?”
"it's not god you have to fear, it's me, sweetheart because I'm the only one who will decide for you from now on. do you understand? I have to be sure that you are deserving."
“how can i show it to you?”
“give me your hand. let me guide you...do you trust me? ”
“ i trust you, rafe. ”
he had positioned your hand on his cock which was already hard. you shivered. your hand was clumsy around his painfully boner. yet you had heard him let out a grunt.
his fingers moved with yours, accompanying you in his lewd movements. you had god in your head, heart and body but your fingers fisted around that thick dick made you warm and good. you hated that feeling, but you can't deny the pleasure. it was the first time. you weren't used to it. you moved back and forth with little confidence, while he kept your grip around his bulge. you followed his back and forth, pumping him with fragility. you weren't sure if it felt good but his muscles had tightened.
your fist slid over his length, your hand working massively. your touch was divine, he threw his head back. you could feel his abs twitching in synch.
“open those legs. let me see that sweet untouched pussy. i'm gonna take such good care of it. are you still trusting me ? ”
“ yes…”
you didn't want to. it flowed between your thighs, the wetness spurted in a mess on the floor. and you weren't sure if that was a good thing. you couldn't tell if it was pleasure or not. it was new to you.
“trust me, you don’t want to make me repeat that a second time. do you ? ”
and that was enough for you to bend to his will.
"you feel, baby ? the sweet mess between your legs ? don't hide from me. ”
you continued to masturbate him up and down. you turned him on so much that he already wanted to come in your hand. his cock twitched in your hold and his balls slapped repeatedly against his skin.
"does that make you feel good? do I need to do better? do you want me to put my lips on..."
he had cum on your face. and you stepped back in surprise. “let me clean you up…”
you came back to him thinking he was going to wipe you but he caught his seed with his fingers, and brought them to your mouth. “if you don’t want me to put them down your throat, you better lick them now.”
you lapped up every last bit of cum on his fingers until they turned white again. you knew he was serious when he threatened you. "that wasn't really a warning, I'll do it someday. I really want to use every part of your body. and you'll let me. yes ?”
“whatever you want...”
he smiled and stroked your hair. “you learn quickly.”
you didn’t really know why but his recognition made you happy. she had an impact on you. you needed, and sought, his validation. it promised you to be even closer to god, to show god that you were faithful to him.
you had this urgency to please rafe, to show him that you could be really good.
for rafe, you were another girl that he led into his cult, another lamb in the troop. you were perfect, you always had the profile. he knew it as soon as he saw you.
he had come to the church only to see you. he attended every mass and ceremony hoping to corrupt you. you were so innocent, so kind and so sweet, and above all, you were ready for anything.
you prayed every day and read the Bible. so you had a desire, a goal, a faith.
he had placed you on his legs, his hands caging your waist, wrapping each part of your hips. “I’m going to make you an angel.” he had said, rubbing the tip of his cock against your wet entrance.
“I’m going to go to heaven?”
"it's heaven that will beg for you to come to it, I can even say. but you still have to do one thing for me..."
“tell me. I’ll do anything.”
" good. i really want you to take that dick. show me how much you want to reach eden, i want to see god in you when i'm fucking you. i want to hear prayers in that mouth for how i make you feel, how perfect i am to you and that sweet cunt of yours.”
you rubbed your dripping pussy against his cock, feeling the feverish, leaking tip against your slick folds. you had gently entered him between your impenetrable walls until now, letting out a long and loud moan when you felt his dick getting even harder inside you. It took you several bounces on his thighs to get used to, your pussy stretching around him. you could feel every inch of his length filling your canal but also widening it.
his large hands covered your ass, gripping the gummy flesh of your cheeks, his body moving and following your movements. he had grabbed your face to force a kiss from your already open lips, sliding his tongue against yours. a drool dripped from your jaw, as your pelt slammed and bounced violently against his. your hands were around his neck, trying to keep up the pace.
seeing you struggling and jiggling, he laughed. “even if you had prayers, you couldn’t even say them, too fucking dumb for that shit, right now ? ”
and it was true, you weren't even able to say a word without gurgling. you had tears streaming down your face, your moans were locked against rafe's glossy and pretty mouth, and you were trying hard to take his big cock as best you could. his dick was stuck between your sticky walls, your breasts hitting her toned chest.
“keep going, you’re perfect…” his smile was evil because it motivated you.
you were riding him without even being able to think. you were a fragile little thing doing bad things with a bad guy.
but you wanted to please him. you wanted rafe cameron to think you were good and deserving. you wanted to go to heaven, so you did your best.
and he knew it. you had broken your purity for him.
you were convinced to do something right, convinced that god saw you and that he would be proud to see you so devoted to him.
you didn’t see the harm. you were an angel and you let a demon corrupt you.
you had succumbed to man and his vices, you had let sin enter into you, and let it do you good.
rafe knew what he was doing. you had been his prey. and he couldn't wait to see you at his feet, to make you his perfect doll that he could handle so easily.
because it was only the beginning before you were completely his, completely in control of you, choosing what you eat, what you want, what you wear, what you think.
you were his and his only.
you were his nice girl, not god's one, the one who smiled at everyone, who always prayed in the church pews, who helped those most in need.
he had found you and snatched you from god. because it wasn't him to whom you owed your life. you were wrong and he had to correct that.
you were an angel, and he loved seeing you cry for him. your tears was made for being looked by his ocean eyes, to felt loved by his kisses.
he was completely buried inside you, plunged so deep that you were completely dizzy. and every time you thought he couldn't go any further, he surprised you. you were pretty sure he could put a baby inside you right now, just from the way his cock thrusted inside you, invading your shaking body.
you had squirted and cried, accompanying your tears with apologies. "you're fine. it's just means you liked it. it will also happen to me, angel. don't worry.”
the more he called you angel, the more you began to believe that you were one. you had squirted again but now you weren't scared anymore because he had reassured you. you had been afraid that it would be a disgusting thing and that he wouldn’t want you anymore.
but it was so strange. he was both gentle and cold.
“stop...I’m going to be pregnant!”
"that's not how it works...but if that's what you want, I can take care of it...whatever the angel wants.”
after that day, your life had been totally different, completely transformed by rafe.
you were part of this community now. you were all brothers and sisters, united for a common goal. you always prayed. but above all, you were completely manipulated. you were so controlled that you forgot your family, your friends, your entourage, your involvement in church. only god remained with you. he was still there.
you wore the outfits rafe wanted you to wear, you ate the food he wanted, you only talked about topics he allowed, you became someone else. you were what he wanted you to be.
but one night you heard god. you were sure it was his voice in the darkness. you were sleeping in rafe cameron’s arms, his bicep resting on your stomach. it was strange to see him sleeping like a child when he behaved like that.
you had begun to follow god’s voice in the darkness, your feet pacing and pacing through the empty hallways. the light guided you, it was he who accompanied you. he pulled you out, into the huge garden.
“do you think you can leave? do you think you can leave me ? are you that fucking dumb ? ”
Rafe’s voice made you jump. you weren't sure if you woke him up because you were a quiet person. but now he was in front of you, and he really didn't look very happy.
"I have to leave..."
“I’m afraid you can’t.”
“god spoke to me.”
"oh really? god may be talking to you but you need to listen to me. aren't you grateful for the life i gave you? didn't you want to be good? you're tear up your ticket to paradise. just bury yourself alive at this point."
tears had started to fall down your cheeks. you felt trapped because you didn't know who to listen to. god or this man?
your feet moved towards rafe. as you approached, his arms stretched out as if to reassure you.
“i’m sorry….i'm really sorry…..”
“i know you are but you also know that it’s not enough.”
“so tell me what i need to do to be good enough? ”
“you must sacrifice yourself. ” he said with that deep serious tone.
you looked at him with fear. you couldn't kill yourself.
“ i can’t kill myself, rafe…”
“i know, angel but don't worry, i will. ”
“ what do you mean ? i always did what you wanted me to do, i always been so good to you, i never be against you and your rules ! you promised me heaven, you promised me....everything. was that a lie ? you 'ever be serious to me ? answer me...never ? rafe, i was all what you wanted me to be, even that was not enough for you ? ”
“ i really wish you were. any last word, baby? ”
“ can you at least shoot me in the heart ? ”
“ tell me why...”
“ it's the last part of me you never took away from me. but now that i will die, you can take it. it's all yours. ”
thinking of corrupting innocent art, maybe he grew up religious and his chastity ring is his most prized possession, but he can't say no to your advances, doesn't say yes either— but he never stays away for too long, anyway comes crawling back wordlessly like a puppy w his tail between his legs
cw : corruption, coercion/elements of dubcon (18+)
pastor’s son!art donaldson who stays in his hometown instead of going off to college; opting to help his father with the church as the months tick by, only fueled by a sense of duty and maybe a bit of religious guilt..
you knew the very instant you set eyes on him that you had to have him.
he always looked like an angel when he was stood behind his dad during services—the yellowed overhead light shining suspiciously brighter on him alone; his neatly groomed golden curls bouncing in front of his forehead with every obedient and devout nod of his head to the words of the verses. pretty, you had thought, pure.
the first time you ever tried to seduce him, the church had already emptied out to give you the perfect opportunity to slide into a pew and call him over to ‘talk’. of course, he was more than happy to do so. he talked with everyone, it was like a second nature to provide comfort to others.
he found you really attractive when he finally got a good look at you, sexy even. but the idea of perceiving you that way had curdled a gross feeling in his gut. it wasn’t right—it wasn’t him—and he knew that. but he still chose to sit down next to you that particular evening and indulge that disturbing part of himself. could it really be so wrong to appreciate one of god's fellow creations?
he knew deep down that god would be ashamed.
you had chatted him up for less than ten minutes (making up a sad story about how awful your life was going) before your hand was sneaking over his thigh, sliding over the dark fabric of his church slacks. he'd frozen completely stiff at the feeling, like he was scared of how he felt about the touch and petrified of the consequences.
art chuckled nervously and looked to your eyes, almost pleading.
“uhm,” he breathed out shakily, pushing your touch gently from his body, refusing your advances, “i don’t, uh.. im not—..”
he hoped that his lack of an actual explanation would be a good-enough one in of itself, but you pushed back anyway despite his protests. draping your leg over his, stroking his blond hair, leaning in to kiss his flushed neck. he was trembling all over. now god was really going to strike him dead.
“shhh,” you whispered, “just let me make you feel good, okay? that would really help me feel better…”
he wanted to say no. he wanted to shoot up from his seat and run away like a scared little pup, protecting the sanctity of his body and mind from whatever sin you were corrupted with, but he didn’t. a deeper, sicker part of him couldn’t. he was disgusted with himself.
an anxiousness started to brew just under his skin, and he felt it filtering through his blood like a petrifying poison. like a mess of flies buzzing around a decaying body that was buried deep in the midst of his morality. he couldn’t move; he couldn’t fight back.
but oh.. it.. it felt good..? and he did want to help you..
he was almost surprised by how quick he'd gotten an erection. it strained up against his zipper before you even got a chance to grope him properly.
and then you did.
and then he felt that awful, putrid, incredible feeling bubbling up from his pelvis; a feeling that he had only allowed himself to indulge in when he was at home, in the dead of night, tucked into the messy covers and rocking his hips into his mattress to chase the temptation.
an innocent loophole.
after all, he’d never physically touched himself there in a sexual manner, let alone with the hand of his that held a finger banded in silver—a symbol of his purity—so it would be alright in the end, right? he had only ever done it to scratch an itch. a forbidden itch, sure, but god wouldn’t want him to suffer like that. a quick bit of relief, and then it was over and done with. always.
but in that particular moment, when he was feeling someone’s touch over his pants for the very first time, he had decided that he wasn’t sure he wanted to indulge. maybe it really was as wrong as he knew it to be. he shook his head.
“wait—“ he gasped, squirming on the wooden pew as his head tipped back slightly, his trembling fingers squeezing the edge of the surface under him, “wait, wait, i— oh—oh-!”
he was letting out noises then that made him sound like an innocent fawn, wailing out in a mix of confusion and pleasure and shame and fear as he felt his cock spasm and flood his underwear with an overwhelming warmth. despite his verbal hesitation, he had pushed his hips up hard into your touch as he orgasmed—grinding against it as the shocks of release stung the finger that wore the ring of silver. he could almost feel the metal burning into his skin amidst all of the overstimulating ecstasy that caused his thighs to quake. guilt radiated through all of his bones; seeping into his marrow.
he had sinned, fully and wholly. he was a sinner.
your touch dirtied him. infected him.
you had made him this way.
he was supposed to be good; a good person, a good son, a good follower.
but you had ruined it. all of it.
he’d never been prone to anger, but right then he had wanted to shout. he wanted to shove you away, get down on his knees, and begin repenting. mumbling pleas and apologies with his hands clasped together and his head hung, bowed in penance. his body weighed down by the heavy stone of his own culpability in the situation; the realization that he hadn’t done enough to refuse your attention.
but, in the end, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny his body the gratification of being so close to you. he was no longer worthy of god’s forgiveness anyways, so he turned his head and looked to your eyes, tears pooling in his own. they dripped down his flushed cheeks as he pulled ragged, greedy gasps of air into his lungs. his chest rattled as he cried. the feeling of the slimy wetness soaking into his underwear had only made the sting of reality more pitiful.
if he had looked like an angel before all of this, he surely was a fallen one now.
“…th-thank you, i'm sorry…” he sobbed softly, “i’m sorry.”
Could do Beast!Reader and SilentFarie(Silent salt x Elder farie)? Reader being their ex-lover and becoming corrupted, maybe becoming the beast of perfection (or something like that :D)
TRIGGER WARNING FOR MISTREATMENT, CORRUPTION, DEATH, AND JUST GENERAL SAD AND DEPRESSING THOUGHTS AND SPOILERS FOR BEAST YEAST!
You were a beast, one of the great heros of the past. Back then you were the Beast of Goodness.
Now, this doesn't seem uncommon amoung the Beasts but yours was unyielding and infinite. The cookies who met you said they felt a warmth in their soul even long after you had left. This kindness wasn't just limited to the common cookies of Earthbread, this kindness extended to your fellow Beasts and they all loved you for it, especially the Salt of Solidarity.
However, the Salt of Solidarity was conflicted. At this point, he was already in a relationship with Elder Faerie, and he was happy. But, that burning love he felt for Elder Faerie he started to feel for you. He felt ashamed, thinking that he was becoming unfaithful but on the other hand he still loved Elder Faerie.
This didn't go unnoticed by Elder Faerie Cookie, he could tell that something was wrong with his love. So, one night while the two sat in a flower field, Elder Faerie confronted the Salt of Solidarity.
"My love, what weighs on your heart?" He asks.
Finally unable to keep his feelings hidden, the Salt of Solidarity told Elder Faerie all about his feelings for you and how ashamed and confused he felt. Elder Faerie listened, waiting until the Salt of Solidarity had finished before pulling him into a hug. Elder Faerie comforted his love, thanking him for his honesty.
"You are not mad?" The Salt of Solidarity asks.
"No, I am not," Elder Faerie says.
***
A week after that night the Salt of Solidarity decided to introduce you to Elder Faerie. The moment Elder Faerie met you he felt something deep in his dough and jam, the burning, infinite love he and the Salt of Solidarity held for each other. Seeing your kindness made him understand how his love could fall for you. So, they invite you over more often and while you think you're intruding they reassure you that you're not. These visits go on for years.
Then, one night the pair invites you over as normal. This time however, there was a table with glowing candles, delicious foods, and your friends. You sat, asking what the speical occasion was with a chuckle and smile.
"We have somwthing important to ask you," Elder Faerie says.
"Oh, what is it?" You ask.
"We have been discussing our relationship and we have both realized we love you and each other. So, we would like to ask if you love us the same," the Salt of Solidarity said.
Your heart raced. You were thankful they both loved you, as you had been gainning feelings for them but you didn't want to ruin their relationship, so you said yes.
After that, you three were a wonderfully happy trio. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this happy in your life, and you wished it could last forever.
Unfortunately, fate doesn't like forever. Your fellow Beasts started to show sighs of a darkness within their souls. You tried to get through to them but it didn't seem to work, and then you noticed the change in your love.
You tried to confront him but he was too far gone, just like the others. You held out for as long as you could, but the cookies didn't make it easy. No matter how much you gave it was never good enough. You had found yourself three powerful cookies to be both companions and helpers and that kept you sane... Until that night.
The youngest cookie you had found, one who reminded you of Eternal Sugar Cookie, was murdered. You remember that night clearly, seeing her jam flow across the ground while the cookie responsible just stood there and no one tried to help her!
Elder Faerie remembers the air that night, it became cold yet electric all at once. He wasn't able to see what had happened but he saw the outcome, you standing there with an empty smile and a landscape that moved in unnatural order, it was too perfect... That's what you became, the Beast of Perfection.
When Silent Salt saw you and your new drive he didn't try to stop you and with that, all of Earthbread's heroes had given into darkness. Elder Faerie Cookie was devastated when he finally saw you in your new form, the kind cookie he spend centuries loving was replaced by a cold tyrant.
Your trio had fallen apart when Silent Salt changed, but Elder Faerie held on that maybe it could be you two and that you could bring him back! But, that didn't happen. He had tried to reach out to you, his last attempt to bring back the cookie he loves.
"Please! My love you cannot do this!" He begs, tears falling down his face.
"My my... we've been causing quite a scene, haven't we?" You coldly responded with a smile.
He shouted back that he wasn't causing a scene, he was trying to help you so you could help Silent Salt! But you just laughed and looked at him.
"Aw, yes, Silent Salt- his impurities soak up all of the warmth in his Soul Jam. He thinks he needs us," you said.
"What are you talking about? He just needs help! If you think that's a flaw than I'm flawed!" He yelled.
"Poor Elder Faerie...his impurities absorb all the blue in is light. He's so strong, but so weak when it comes to me and Silent Salt. As for me, I'm certain I don't need you. After all I'm every color of the light! But you're a part of me...the part I always have to repress," you say, acting as if he's not even there.
Elder Faerie Cookie didn't know whether to be offended or shattered at the way you spoke, acting as if he's and Silent Salt where just flaws in your world. He was so upset he wanted to fight you, but he couldn't. In shock and despair he just stood there as you left him. Now, he had no lover, he was alone.
***
When you and the others were sealed away, he sobbed in private. His loves were so close, yet they weren't the cookies he knew before. He'd visit every day, hoping that maybe he could help you both become close to what you both once were.
Then you were all freed. He saw how you didn't even stop to look at him, not even a glance of disgust, just pure, cold indifference. He wanted to cry out your name, reach for you, but he couldn't. He had to protect his kingdom, but he didn't last long.
As he died at the hands of Shadow Milk, he couldn't help but let out tears of despair, not at dying, but at how you looked at him.
That look was cold, empty of all emotions. You didn't even say anything, but he could feel your judgement and condescension. He could almost here you telling yourself that you were right, he was flawed and looked what happened while you're perfect and you're free!
As the icy grip and darkness of death grabbed him, he reached out for you and Silent Salt, one last time and he watched as you both ignored him even as he whimpered and lightly cried.
warnings/tags : NSFW, religious themes, implied age-gap, ooc, confessional booth masturbation, corruption, verbal fantasies, sexual shame and guilt.
You come every Friday. Always after sundown, when the walls sweat and the pews groan, lonely and dark with the weight of waiting.
You never call it confession, but you ask for his ear. You tell him you're burdened. You tell him you're afraid.
Yet you look at him through the screen like he’s your shame and your salvation all at once. You lean forward with your lips glossy and bitten, your voice wet with something worse than sorrow.
Father Carling listens, as he must. It is his duty, it is his cross—and he carries it with shoulders bowed, hands tight in his lap, knuckles white as wafers.
Tonight, your voice is different. Loose, almost drunken. But you’re not drunk, no, the hunger that laces your words is older than that—older than you—and it drips into the booth like oil, slick and heavy, impossible to cleanse.
"Bless me, Father," you whisper, voice like sugar melting down his spine. “For I have sinned.”
"…How long has it been?" he rasps, already clearing his throat. Already ashamed.
"Since my last confession?" You hum, sweetly. "Seven days. But I’ve been thinking of you every one of them."
His breath catches.
You lean closer to the screen, and the latticework casts tiny bruises of shadow across your cheeks. He can see your outline, just barely—the hazy swell of your shoulders, the shape of your mouth. He doesn’t need more than that. He’s imagined worse in the empty hours of morning, when the church bells are silent and his sheets are damp.
"I touched myself this morning," you whisper, mouth close to the mesh, your breath fanning through. "And then again after lunch. I can't stop thinking about you, Father."
He freezes. Every hair on his arms lifts in silent protest. He swallows. Hard. But his voice is calm.
"You mustn’t speak like that in here."
"Why not?” you breathe, "Isn’t it better I say it in here than… do it again out there?"
Your knees shift apart—he can tell from the sound of fabric sweeping across the bench.
“You want to know what I’m doing now, Father?”
Just a gentle pass of fingers beneath your skirt, but the sound—your breath hitching, the soft grind of cotton between your legs—is unmistakable. The booth is hot. Suffocating. You breathe like someone freshly exorcised.
“You’re doing it again,” he says, voice thin with disbelief. “Right now?”
“Mmhm,” you murmur, lips going slack. “Can you hear it?”
He can. The wet, indecent sound of your fingers parting what should remain untouched. It echoes in his skull like water dripping in a crypt.
The screen shifts as you lean your head against it, the lattice bending as if it might snap under your breath. He’s sweating. His fingers curl inward, dragging up the swell of his crotch, gripping flesh that’s pale and sickly-soft under the black. He palms himself clumsily through his cassock, breath ragged, stomach clenching with shame.
"You mustn’t…" he repeats, moreso to himself than to you. A final, trembling plea from a man already halfway to Hell.
His teeth grit behind closed lips. Through the thin clerical robe, he feels how stiff he’s become. He tells himself he hasn’t done anything yet—but that’s a lie, and God does not suffer liars.
He just listens to the sound, that awful squelch as your fingers work through the slick mess between your thighs, it fills the booth like incense. A new kind of sacrament.
“Tell me what you see when you close your eyes,” he croaks. “Speak it plain. Do not spare me. I—I deserve to know the full weight of your corruption.”
He tells himself it’s to save your soul—but he’s trembling. His thighs twitch beneath his robes, his cock a thick and pulsing brand of guilt in his fist. A bead of precum blooms at the head, spun from years of tension and restraint.
You whimper, soft and obscene, and he squeezes harder.
"I see your mouth," you whine, "I imagine you licking me here—along my slit—moving your tongue slowly, carefully..."
He gasps—a broken, wounded sound. His hand stills for only a second before moving again, more desperate now. His fingers are sticky with his own filth, the damp cotton of his underclothes clinging to him like a second skin.
“I imagine your hands, too. You have big fingers, Father. I think they’d stretch me.”
A groan. Low, muffled into his sleeve as his spine arches. He should leave. He should run. He should vomit at the altar.
Instead, he shifts forward, pressing his forehead to the cool mesh of the confessional screen, his breath stinking of guilt and lust and sour wine from the last Mass.
“Keep going,” he whispers. “Please.”
“I’m using both hands now,” you say. “One finger on my clit, one inside. It’s so wet. So hot. You did this to me, Father.”
Through the screen, you watch him squirm. He doesn’t know how visible he is—how his silhouette shudders every time your voice dips.
He stifles a moan, eyes squeezed shut as his own hand moves in jerks. Harsh. Desperate. He’s biting his tongue, practically drawing blood, but the pain only makes him harder, makes his grip crueler. His hips jerk forward and the booth creaks beneath his weight.
“I want to come in front of you,” you moan, “I want you to see me dripping for you. I want you to open that screen, just once, and look at what you've done.”
A sob breaks loose from him. He imagines you curled in the opposite booth, thighs glistening, belly twitching, slick smeared down to your knees.
His legs twitch at the thought and he caves, pulling his cock out from under his robes—angry and red and leaking at the tip like something wounded, and strokes it furiously.
“You’re going to make me cum,” you pant. “Please, Father. Tell me I can.”
He’s already gone, already past the point of prayer and penance. He trembles, his voice cracked wide and bleeding:
“God sees this—He sees you ruin yourself.”
“I want Him to,” you whisper. “I want Him to watch you too.”
"F—Fuck."
Something in him cracks. And when he speaks again, it’s not his voice. It’s lower, darker. Sick with want and full of lust.
“Say my name,” he begs, pleads, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. “Let me hear it. Let me hear you cum with my name on your tongue.”
Your cries become wet and frantic, and he thinks he might die hearing them. Might rot right there in the booth, buried beneath his vestments, his purity crumbling around his shaking hand.
"I give you permission, my Child," he groans, the words dragging out of him like a curse, “Cum for me.”
You gasp like a dying girl. The noise he makes in response is worse—a soft, strangled whine, helpless and boyish.
“I'm—" you mewl, and he can hear it: the crescendo of your breath, the slapping rhythm of your hand, the helpless, wet clench of your insides.
You choke on his name, your slick crashing down around your fingers in waves, in dribbles, in sin. It leaks into the wood. It soaks the hem of your skirt.
He follows—only seconds after—his whole body shaking, his hand sticky and twitching and useless as it cups the spent, wilting shame between his thighs.
It hits his fingers in hot, thick ribbons—disgrace painting his palm, his robes, the edge of the wood below him. His whole body seizes, a twitching marionette held up by guilt and ecstasy. His spine curls, bowing as if in prayer, but there’s nothing devout in the way he grips the edge of the seat, white-knuckled, twitching with aftershocks.
He can hear you breathe, just beyond the screen. Shallow, shaky, content.
“…Did you cum too, Father?” you ask, your voice soft, breathless. Yet, you sound triumphant. Vicious with beauty.
He doesn’t respond. Can’t. The taste of it is thick in his throat—a blasphemous stew of salt, blood, and bile. His collar is too tight. His chest aches like he’s been struck.
And still, your voice continues, dreamy and warm: “You sounded so pretty. I thought maybe you did.”
His cock throbs in his weary hand, softening slowly under the weight of what he’s done. What he let you do.
But he sits there. Still. Listening to you rise. Watching your outline slip from view.
