Sorry Daddy I'm about to Sin

Sorry Daddy I’m about to Sin Chapter 1: The Sanctuary of Sin The air in the rectory hung thick and suffocating, heavy with melting beeswax, stale incense, and the raw electric charge of forbidden hunger. Shadows swallowed every corner of the dim room except for the lone candle by the cot, its flame throwing jagged, writhing shapes across the ancient stone walls. This was never supposed to happen. My back slammed against the rough limestone, the coarse novice habit scraping my skin raw and sending jolts straight to my core. I should have recoiled from the crushing weight pinning me there, but all I felt was the blistering heat pouring off the man trapping me. Father Julian. The parish saint with iron discipline and eyes that once pierced straight through to the soul. Now those eyes burned black with possessive torment, locked on mine as his large hand clamped around my throat. He didn't choke, but the iron grip forced my head back, baring my neck completely. My lips parted on a ragged gasp. The stark white of his clerical collar stood out against his tan skin like a blade. His flawless control fractured. Shallow, ragged breaths tore from him. Tremors rocked his powerful chest as he fought the vows that had ruled his life. "Tell me to stop, Maya," he growled, voice low and broken against my collarbone. His mouth grazed the tender skin beneath my ear, teeth scraping. "God help me, tell me to stop or I'll damn my soul right here." He didn't want me to say it. Neither did I. Discovery meant ruin. Monsignor or the diocese catching the revered young priest with a novice would strip him of everything and leave me homeless. I stared up, lost in the pull that had ignited the first time I saw him. Guilt over my lie dissolved in the fire of his body against mine. My hand covered his on my throat, fingers digging in to lock the claim. "I can't tell you to stop, Father," I breathed, voice husky with need. I arched into him, sealing our ruin. "I'm sorry, Daddy... but I'm about to sin." His cassock parted as he ground his thick, throbbing c**k against my belly, the hard length pulsing with heat. One hand yanked my habit upward, exposing my thighs, while the other tightened on my throat. His fingers slid between my legs, finding my soaked p***y and thrusting two deep inside without mercy. I cried out, hips bucking as he f****d me with his hand, thumb circling my swollen c**t. "f**k, Maya," he snarled, lips crashing to mine in a bruising kiss, tongue claiming my mouth. "Your tight cunt is dripping for me. I can’t stop myself. You're going to take every inch of my c**k and beg for more." Doing the sign of the cross, as if that would make this less sinful, he freed his rigid shaft, the swollen head pressing against my entrance. With one savage thrust he buried himself inside of me, stretching me wide, filling me completely. My walls clenched around him as he pounded into me, each stroke slamming my back into the stone. His grip on my throat never eased, owning me as he drove deeper, balls slapping my ass. Sweat slicked our skin. Candlelight danced over the flex of his jaw, the way his cassock bunched at his waist. I clawed at his shoulders, legs locked around him, taking every brutal thrust while his free hand mauled my breast beneath the habit. "Harder, Daddy," I gasped against his mouth. "Ruin me." He growled and slammed harder, the wet slap of flesh echoing off the walls as his c**k hammered my cervix. Tension coiled tighter until I shattered, p***y spasming around him, juices coating his shaft. He followed with a guttural roar, flooding my cunt with hot, thick ropes of c*m, hips jerking as he emptied himself inside me. We stayed locked together, breathing ragged, the candle flickering over our joined bodies and the sin we could never undo. Part 1: Three Weeks Earlier Three weeks ago, I didn't know the difference between a novitiate and a nun. I didn't care, either. All I cared about was the notification flashing on my phone screen: a cash app showing a balance of exactly $4.12, and an eviction notice taped to the door of my damp studio apartment. I had been running on fumes, survival instincts, and desperation when I stumbled across the ad online. ST. JUDE’S CONVENT & SANCTUARY Seeking dedicated young women for the novitiate program. Full room and board, basic living stipend, and a quiet sanctuary provided. Quiet was exactly what I needed. A roof over my head that didn't require me to dodge a landlord or look over my shoulder was a luxury I couldn't afford to pass up. So, I lied. I slicked my hair back, wiped off my makeup, borrowed a high-necked sweater, and faked my way through an interview with a mother superior whose eyesight was failing just enough to miss the sheer terror in my eyes. Now, standing in the grand, echoing foyer of St. Jude’s, the heavy oak doors shut out the rain behind me, sealing me into a world of cold stone, polished wood, and absolute silence. The heavy black-and-white fabric of the novice habit felt like a costume on my skin. It was suffocatingly heavy, designed to erase everything that made me me. No curves, no hair, no identity. Just a blank slate dedicated to a God I hadn't spoken to since I was a child. "Sister Maya?" The voice was a low, smooth baritone that seemed to vibrate straight through the soles of my shoes. I turned around, the heavy fabric of my wimple brushing against my cheeks, and my breath caught entirely in my throat. Standing at the base of the stone staircase was a priest. But he didn't look like any priest I had ever imagined. He was young—maybe mid-to-late twenties—with a sharp, devastatingly handsome jawline shadowed by a faint trace of five o'clock stubble. His olive skin stood out in the dim light of the foyer, and his dark eyes were so intense they felt like a physical weight when they locked onto mine. He wore a tailored black cassock that hugged a pair of broad shoulders, the stark white of his clerical collar looking impossibly crisp. "Hi, I am Father Julian," he said, stepping forward. His movements were slow, deliberate, and radiating a quiet, rigid discipline. "Mother Superior asked me to welcome you and show you to the rectory for your orientation." As he stopped just a few feet away, the scent of him hit me—faint incense, rain, and something deeply, undeniably masculine. When his dark eyes raked over my face, looking for a beat too long at my parted lips, a sudden, wicked thought flashed through my mind, completely unprompted. This place is going to be a lot harder to survive than I thought.