She wore white-
not out of virtue,
but to contrast the filth she craved beneath.
An hourglass, divine-
hips that whispered in curves,
a back that arched with practiced grace,
dress dipping low to frame her cleavage
like an offering,
soft, swollen, seducing.
Her neck-delicate, exposed
invited lips like scripture.
A mole on her throat,
another on her shoulder,
and two more marking sin’s territory
along her hips-
where his fingers liked to pause,
then press,
then claim.
She prayed-
not to be cleansed,
but to be coated in him.
She begged-
not for salvation,
but for the tease between her legs
to break her open.
Her pinkness pulsed like penance,
hidden beneath lace soaked in guilt.
He’d kneel not to worship
but to taste the sin
that dared hide in holiness.
She trembled-
not in fear,
but anticipation,
as his belt met the scripture of her spine.
And when she moaned,
it wasn’t pain.
It was the gospel of yes.
She felt it all the same-
the guilt, the grin, the glorious ruin and the confessional begged her to stop.
He called it devotion.
And she.......
she just smiled,
lips parted,
halo tilted,
as the chains of chastity
tightened around her wrists
like home.
not out of virtue,
but to contrast the filth she craved beneath.
An hourglass, divine-
hips that whispered in curves,
a back that arched with practiced grace,
dress dipping low to frame her cleavage
like an offering,
soft, swollen, seducing.
Her neck-delicate, exposed
invited lips like scripture.
A mole on her throat,
another on her shoulder,
and two more marking sin’s territory
along her hips-
where his fingers liked to pause,
then press,
then claim.
She prayed-
not to be cleansed,
but to be coated in him.
She begged-
not for salvation,
but for the tease between her legs
to break her open.
Her pinkness pulsed like penance,
hidden beneath lace soaked in guilt.
He’d kneel not to worship
but to taste the sin
that dared hide in holiness.
She trembled-
not in fear,
but anticipation,
as his belt met the scripture of her spine.
And when she moaned,
it wasn’t pain.
It was the gospel of yes.
She felt it all the same-
the guilt, the grin, the glorious ruin and the confessional begged her to stop.
He called it devotion.
And she.......
she just smiled,
lips parted,
halo tilted,
as the chains of chastity
tightened around her wrists
like home.
