Dove
I don’t look back as I leave Matheo behind. I can’t allow myself to look back. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to leave. His scent still lingers on my skin, his warmth still imprinted on my flesh. As I step out of the woods and onto the threshold of my house, I run into the Prophet. My stomach drops, and I gulp down a rush of fear. I haven’t checked my body, but I know there are visible marks of Matheo. The look in the Prophet’s eyes tells me he sees them all too clearly.
In a swift movement, he lifts my wrist in the air and takes a whiff of my skin. The smell of sex still coats my body. A low growl comes from his lips as they curl. “WHORE!” the Prophet yells. “Did you enjoy it? Is that sinner’s cum tainting my cunt?”
I remain silent, biting the inside of my cheek as he continues his tirade, each harsh word a blade against my skin. As if he isn’t the one to send me there, to seduce him. Like other’s haven’t tainted my pussy with their cum, Matheo didn’t taint it. They all did but not him. But I can see the moment it clicks the recognition in his eyes—the confirmation that I’m no longer pure, worthy of him. And yet I don’t care. He did say to do whatever I needed to do, and well, I needed Matheo’s touch inside me.
He yanks me forward, my knees buckling underneath me as I lean forward. Bracing myself for the pain, I accept my punishment. The Prophet pulls me by my hair, throwing my head back before slapping me across the face. I don’t know if he’s enraged by the fact that I defiled myself or if it’s something else. But the fury in his eyes is demonic. For the first time in my almost twenty-seven years of living, I'm terrified and afraid of the Prophet’s demon.
The weight of his hand belies the fury in his gaze. His breath is hot as he spits out words of venom, each syllable a lash. My cheek blazes from his slap, but I hold back my tears, keeping my face a stoic mask. Taking each insult like a martyr to an unknown cause, I tilt my face upward to meet his furious gaze.
“You have no right to be tainted by anyone but me,” he seethes, his breath hot and rancid against my skin. His fingers dig deeper into my flesh, threatening to leave a mark. His hands drop to his pant buckle, and within seconds, his cock is on my lips.
The taste of him is a bitter reminder, a continuation of the punishment he believes I deserve. He forces himself further, pushing past my resistance and taking what he believes to be his right. My hands move instinctively to his waist while he grips my hair harder, shoving me closer to him. I fight the urge to gag at his arousal, bitter and choking. He smells of sweat and sin, and I shut my eyes tight, trying to remember Matheo’s scent over this.
“Taste your disgrace, whore.” He snarls as I swallow down the bitterness that rises within me, not of the physical kind, but the emotional. The edges of my vision blur as he thrusts deeper, and for a moment, I allow myself to fantasize that this is Matheo’s cock in my mouth and not his. My mind wanders off as my tongue absentmindedly twirls around his cock, gently swirling around the head, saliva pooling as I brace on my knees on the grass.
The rhythm of his thrusts in my mouth quickens. His grip tightens in my hair, and I focus on the crunch of the grass under my knees, the coolness of the ground beneath me. Focus on anything but this.
I can’t breathe, can’t think, and can only survive. My hands clutch his thighs, my fingers digging into the coarse fabric of his trousers. His groan reverberates through me, but I push that thought away.
Suddenly, his grunts and curses fill the silent woods as he hits his climax, jerking his hips forward as his seed fills my mouth. He’s breathless, panting like a spent animal, pulsing within the confines of my lips. His warm essence fills my mouth, an ungodly communion that I have no choice but to swallow. He stills, his grip on my hair slackening. A moment of respite until he pulls himself free, zipping up his trousers with smug satisfaction.
I falter backward, gasping for breath as I wipe the remnants of his cum and my spit.
“You’re mine,” he sneers before storming off.
I don’t know how long I remain kneeling on the grass before I gather myself and head into the house. The Prophet is in his office, but not his second. Gabriel. Who just walks in through the door with a smug grin on his face beelining straight to me. “Ahh... look who is here. The little .” He says as he grabs my chin, forcing me against the wall. I refuse to cower, not to him, not to the man who is desperate to usurp the Prophet’s position in the church and my life.
“He roughed that mouth up, didn’t he? You fucked the priest?” His voice is a jeering whisper, hot and reeking of whiskey. The sharp stubble on his face pricks my skin, his grip bruisingly tight. I force myself not to flinch, not to react. I bear his touch with the same forced composure I held earlier.
My eyes meet his, feigning innocence. “No, Gabriel,” I lie, attempting to push him away with the last of my strength but it's futile.
He doesn’t believe me. I see it in his cold, calculating gaze, in the curl of his lip as he scrutinizes me. He releases my chin only to let his hand slide down my neck, exposing my breasts. His other hand pulls me tighter against the wall, trapping me against its cold, unyielding surface. The wall feels as unforgiving as the men in my life. Gabriel replaces his grip with his mouth, his teeth grazing the soft flesh of my neck in a cruel parody of a lover’s touch. His hand squeezes my bare breast, rough and demanding.
“Priest or not, he will die for touching what’s mine,” Gabriel growls against my skin. “I don’t care what the Prophet believes. You’re meant for me. Not for him or the priest, but for me.” His voice drops to a harsh whisper. “You are my whore. Mine.”
I scoff, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Is that what you think? That you can just claim me because of your twisted desires?"
Gabriel’s eyes flash with anger, his grip tightening on me. “Don’t test me, Sol. You’re mine. You forget all the nights we shared. Our promises. All the love we made. Sol… stop denying our union.”
“You gave it all away,” I snap, struggling against his hold. “I stopped belonging to you the moment you offered me up like a bargaining chip. I was never yours to lose—isn’t that what you told the Prophet when you handed me over?”
His sneer is dark and dangerous, his anger palpable. “I never gave up on you willingly. The Prophet took you from me, but deep down, you’ve always been mine. Do you think I’ve forgotten how you used to beg for my touch?”
I recoil from his words, the memory of my past desires mingling with my current revulsion. “I was a fool then,” I retort, my voice trembling with a mixture of rage and disgust. “Your touch meant nothing. Now, I only see you for what you are—a vile, insatiable lecher.”
Gabriel’s face contorts with rage. He slams me against the wall, his hand still gripping my breast, kneading it roughly. “I’m not done with you yet,” he growls. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure my place, to give us a better future. I want to give you Eden, Sol. I want to give you everything.” His voice drops to a dangerous whisper as he leans closer. “I’m taking what’s mine and making sure you remember it. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to remind you of who you truly belong to.”
His hand moves back up to my face, and he crashes his lips into mine. I want to claw his face out, to push him away, but instead, I let his tongue slip inside. It’s better this way—let him take what he wants, then it’s done and over with .
His taste is as rancid as his personality—a mix of the whiskey he can’t live without and the bitter, stale air of his breath. His hand returns to my breast, kneading it like a loaf of bread in a baker’s hands. The other holds me in place, fingers digging into the small of my back, trapping me against him.
I close my eyes tightly, imagining a different place, another time… anything to distract from his touch. Gabriel’s breath is hot against my ear as he continues to speak, his voice low and menacing. “You’ll remember this. Remember who truly owns you. And when the Prophet and the Priest are gone, I’ll be the one you turn to. Remember that, Sol.”
Gabriel’s mouth leaves my ear and travels down my neck hungrily. He licks and nips at my skin as he moves lower. His lips find my nipples, and he pulls them into his mouth, his teeth biting down mercilessly. The pain steals my breath, leaving me gasping for air that won’t come. Pleasure is not meant to be found in these moments—only surrender and submission.
He spins me around suddenly, shoving me against the wall with a force that makes my cheek press against the cold wall. With one hand, he yanks up my dress, and with the other, he frees his cock, the intent behind his actions unmistakable.
I don’t fight it. No one will care. Women in our church have no place to say no. Not here.
“God’s will,” Gabriel whispers, his breath hot against my ear. The words vibrate through me, resonating with the chill of resignation that’s settled deep within my bones. His will—or so they keep saying. But what God would sanction such a thing?
A low whimper escapes my lips as he pushes inside me. He moves slowly, dragging this out as much as he can. To think there was a time when my body would welcome his touch, but that’s long gone. I keep my eyes focused on the wall in front of me, staring at the cross that hangs over the door frame as he drags his cock in and out of me. I wonder if the Prophet knows what he’s doing. Not that he would care. This is punishment. This is my duty.
“I’ll kill the old man… that Prophet, and then that priest. You'll be mine. All mine. And no God will keep me from you,” Gabriel’s voice sends shivers down my spine, his words venomous whispers in the night. He grunts and thrusts harder, his body moving against mine, unrelenting.
Every thrust is a brutal reminder of his dominance. He clamps down on my neck as he fucks me into the wall, the cold wall biting into my skin. I can feel the warmth of his body as he thrusts deeper, each movement a claim on what he believes is his.
His blasphemous murmurs, “You will be mine. God’s will be damned,” make me flinch. His voice vibrates through me as he finishes, his warm cum filling me. I am left hollow, the cold seeping into my bones despite the flush of his desire burning on my skin. Thank God for the Prophet's protection of my womb, the shots preventing me from getting pregnant. Not until it's time for me to take his side as his Lillith and fill my womb with his seed. I guess I'm at least thankful for that.
He withdraws, his cock slipping from me. It’s over, finally. I pull my dress down hastily, a pathetic attempt to cover my bare ass when his hand comes down and slaps it.
“Soon, my little Jezebel, I won’t need to sneak around to fuck you or share you.” His words hang heavy in the air, a perverse promise that leaves me shivering. I watch as he zips up his pants, smirking at me over his shoulder before sauntering toward the door. There was a time when that look would’ve made my heart race with desire, but now it only fills me with dread and disgust. The wound marring his face makes him look as devilish as his deeds. It’s the first time I’ve seen it up close. I usually dismiss any of their injuries, but this doesn’t look like an accident. It was intentional, making me wonder how—or who—did that to him .
“What happened to your face?” I finally ask, studying him. He stops midway and smirks as he answers, “Accident at the compound.” A shiver runs through me, hinting at many possibilities, but I don’t pry further.
Gabriel's hand stops before turning the door handle, casting a final glance over his shoulder. “Pray for us, Jezebel,” he drawls, his voice saccharine sweet. “God knows we need it.” He chuckles as he opens the door, and the room fills with the sounds of moans, grunts, and skin slapping against skin. I look away as he steps inside, his mocking laughter still echoing in my ears. The door slams shut with a deafening finality, leaving me alone in the sacred silence.
I collapse onto the floor, my legs unable to support me. My body feels raw, and I struggle to gather the strength to move. The ongoing orgy in the next room is a sickening reminder of the world I’m trapped in. I pull myself up and head to my room, desperate to escape the filth around me. Slipping out of my dress, I draw a bath, hoping the hot water will cleanse not just my flesh but also my tainted soul. I scrub my skin vigorously, trying to wash away the remnants of the encounter, but no amount of scrubbing can cleanse the stain Gabriel has left on me.
As the water cools, my mind drifts to Matheo, the only person who offers a semblance of comfort in this twisted place. I long for his touch, his presence—a brief respite in this hellish existence. But even that thought is fleeting, drowned out by the reality of the world I’m forced to survive in. Once I finish, I dry myself and get dressed. Grabbing my painting supplies, I begin to create. Drawing Matheo's body—no face, just his form—the contours of his muscular arms, the ridges of his toned abs, the gentle slope of his back. I trace him on canvas, each line a memory of his touch. The painting takes me most of the night to complete, my eyes burning from exhaustion.
After placing the art supplies away, I slip into bed, finally feeling the weight of the day catch up with me. As I fall asleep, I am not sure how long it takes before I sense a presence in the room. His presence. Matheo's touch feels so real, so different from the horrors of the day. As he slips his glorious cock inside me, the sensation is both a dream and a reality—a bittersweet escape from the suffering.
His whispers are soft but clear as he comes inside me. “I think I’m in love with you.”
I cling to him, burying myself in his chest, tracing the lines I had painted earlier. His breath is heavy, a comforting weight against my body. As I drift back into sleep, his touch lingers, a precious memory before it fades away.