Chapter 5 – The Claiming

“You’ve done well, Katrina,” Papa Cain’s voice rumbled low and reverent. Without warning, his strong hands gripped her hips and lifted her effortlessly from the cold stone floor. She stood trembling in his grasp, knees weak, heart hammering wildly beneath her ribs.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and untied the silk blindfold. Light flooded her eyes again—harsh and unforgiving. As her vision cleared, she took in his face.

His features were harsh and raw—sunken cheeks marked by deep lines, a crooked nose broken long ago, and a scraggly beard patchy with grey. His skin was weathered, rough like cracked leather stretched tight over a gaunt skull. His eyes, dark and piercing, burned with a fierce intensity that both unsettled and commanded her utterly.

Despite his ugliness, his gaze held an undeniable magnetism—powerful and unyielding—as if he could see through every layer of her soul.

Slowly, deliberately, Papa Cain began to disrobe. The flickering candlelight danced over his lean, sun-darkened body as his robe slipped open. Her breath caught in her throat when he revealed himself—his massive, thick cock, dark and veiny, heavy with undeniable need.

Her eyes locked onto it, wide and unblinking. The length was daunting, thicker than anything she’d ever imagined, the swollen head flushed a deep purplish red and glistening slick with pre-cum. Veins snaked down the shaft, pulsing with every slow throb, promising overwhelming fullness and power.

For a moment, her mind flashed back to her mouth—how it had wrapped around him, swallowing, sucking, tasting raw salt and heat. The memory sent a shiver racing through her body, both terrifying and thrilling. Could she really take more? Could she stretch and open herself wide enough for this—more than her mouth ever could?

A mix of awe and fear tangled inside her. The sheer size made her pulse quicken, her pussy clenching reflexively despite the growing ache in her ass. Yet beneath the fear was something darker—a desperate curiosity and hunger she didn’t fully understand.

“That…” she whispered, panic and awe blending in her voice, “That will never fit.”

His lips curled into a cruel, dangerous smile. “Shut up, slut. Your body will take every inch—and your filthy ass will beg for more.”

Her body trembled violently. Every nerve screamed in warning—fear and desire tangled in a raw knot deep inside her. She felt fragile, like glass about to shatter or melt beneath the weight of what he offered. But the hunger was there too, blazing brightly.

Papa Cain cupped her face, his voice low and unyielding. “You understand me? You will take it. Every inch. And you will love every moment of it.”

Swallowing hard, her heart hammering, she nodded.

“Good girl.”

“Now prepare my cock,” Papa Cain ordered sharply, his voice edged with authority. Without waiting, he grabbed her by the hips and pushed her down onto her knees, pressing his thick, heavy shaft against her lips.

She opened wide, heart pounding, fear and hunger tangled inside her. Her tongue flicked feverishly around the swollen head, sucking hard and desperate, lips wet and warm.

Papa Cain groaned deep in his throat, fingers tangling roughly in her hair, holding her firmly as she worked him. The taste, the heat, the raw, urgent power flooding her senses ignited a fierce, primal fire deep in her core—igniting and readying her for what was to come. He looked down at her beautiful, flushed face—lips parted, cheeks glowing with shame and desire. I’ve got her, he thought with a dark thrill, this sexy, perfect girl moaning around my cock exactly where I want her. The thought sent a shudder of triumph through him as she swallowed hard and deepened her rhythm.

“Now,” he whispered, pulling back, “on all fours.”

Her body obeyed, trembling as she moved. She positioned herself with her firm ass raised high, pussy dripping, quivering with want and anxiety. She loved the shift in him—the way Papa Cain changed from soft and caring to commanding and taking what he needed without hesitation. That raw dominance ignited something deep inside her, making her even wetter, craving the fierce control he wielded over her body and soul.

Papa Cain parted her asscheeks, pussy lips glistening with oil and sweat. His eyes darkened with hunger as the thick head of his cock pressed gently against her tight, puckered asshole, slick with oil and her own wetness.

The first touch was teasing—slow circles, gentle rubs, waiting for her to soften.

Katrina’s breath caught in her throat, a low moan escaping. The sensation was sharp, unfamiliar—a fierce fire and cold ice all at once.

She shuddered, muscles clenching tight, heart pounding wildly. Doubts flickered like shadows—would she break? Would it hurt too much?

But Papa Cain’s steady hands soothed her hips, anchoring her shaking body.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he pressed the thick head of his cock against her tight, puckered asshole. The muscles trembled, gripping desperately as they stretched wide to welcome the heavy, veiny shaft. The sharp burn of the stretch mixed with a deep, forbidden pleasure that flared hot and fierce inside her.

Katrina’s moans broke free, loud and raw—part pain, part desperate need—as her body fought and then surrendered to the overwhelming fullness. Each slow, deliberate push drove him deeper, her asshole stretching slick and wide around the thick girth, slick with oil and her own slickness. The exquisite pressure pulsed through her nerves, igniting waves of pleasure tangled with sharp, intense sensation that left her gasping and trembling.

A ragged, broken moan spilled from her lips, shaky and raw, like a whispered plea caught between tears and gasps. “Ah… Papa… please… ooohhh… slowly….” she murmured, voice trembling with desperate need as waves of pain and pleasure crashed through her body in wild, chaotic bursts.

Her body trembled uncontrollably as her hips rocked forward, instinctively chasing the heat, desperate to ease the burning stretch.

Papa Cain controlled the pace, thrusting slow and deliberate, letting her adjust and savor every inch.

Her moans grew louder, raw and desperate, shame and pleasure igniting every nerve.

She cried out, pushing back more boldly, learning to move with him—discovering a new, dark rhythm of sensation.

Katrina’s breath grew quicker as she pushed back against him, instinctively learning the rhythm of the wild connection between them. Her body, still trembling from the earlier sensations, now moved with him in a desperate, heated dance—each motion pulling her deeper into the storm of need that swirled between them.

Papa Cain’s grip tightened around her hips, his breath growing heavier as he guided the pace, no longer slow, no longer careful. His thrusts became harder, faster, the intensity of each movement making her body jump with every deep stroke. She cried out, the sensation too much to hold in—pleasure, pain, hunger all blending into one overwhelming force.

“Don’t stop... please,” she gasped, her voice breaking with the frantic need that bubbled up from deep within her. The pressure built inside her, like a coil wound too tight, her body wanting more, needing more. Every inch of her felt alive, aching, begging for release.

Papa Cain’s voice dropped to a growl, dark and commanding. “You’re mine now, little slut. You’ll take everything I give you, and you’ll love it.” Papa Cain grunted in response, his thrusts driving harder, faster, making her moan louder. The heat between them was unbearable, and she felt every pulse of his movements, every push, every pull, as if he was claiming her in every possible way. Her muscles clenched around him, and she couldn’t stop herself from moving with him, finding her own rhythm in the chaos.

Then the storm broke.

Waves of pleasure tore through her, overwhelming her senses. She gasped, her body trembling, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "Ahh... I can't... ohh... I don’t know if I can take more," she whispered, her voice shaking with the intensity of it all. "Yes... ohh... this... it's too much," she murmured, her body caught between surrender and desire.

Tears mingled with sweat as her body convulsed in release.

Her moans echoed wildly through the chamber—raw, unfiltered, a hymn of surrender.

Papa Cain’s voice was low and sacred between strokes.

Papa Cain's voice grew darker, more intense. "Now it’s time to claim you completely. Get ready," he said, his words heavy with authority.

Katrina froze, shock flooding through her. She hadn’t expected it to escalate like this, the weight of his words hitting her all at once. Her heart raced, and her breath caught in her throat as she processed the full meaning of what he was about to do.

🔥 Chapter 6 – The Sacred Flower

Katrina’s legs were still trembling, slick with sweat and oil, her asshole twitching from the brutal stretch it had endured just moments ago. Her body was a mess—claimed, marked—but not yet completed. Not yet fully his.

Papa Cain stood above her, cock still hard, glistening with the slick sheen of her surrender. He looked down at her ruined innocence with a hunger that made her shiver.

His voice dropped, dark and slow. “Now it’s time to claim you completely. Get ready.”

Katrina gasped.

She knew what he meant.

Her heart slammed in her chest. She had saved it. That one place—her pussy—had always been for her future husband. She had sworn to wait. She had promised herself she’d be pure for her wedding night. But now?

Now her pussy was soaked. Throbbing. Pulsing with filthy need.

She glanced down at herself. Her swollen pink slit was glistening, lips trembling open like a flower in bloom, aching to be taken. Her clit twitched every time her mind flashed back to his cock opening her asshole—so thick, so black, so filthy.

And now… it was about to go inside her virgin pussy.

Katrina looked up at him, lips trembling, heart racing. “I… I was saving it,” she stammered. “For Ethan. For our wedding. I thought if I kept it untouched, I’d still be… good.”

The words sounded weak, pathetic even, as they left her mouth—especially with her legs spread open, her body already oiled, used, and leaking.

Papa Cain scoffed, stepping forward until his shadow swallowed her whole.

“Good?” he echoed, voice low and wicked. “I’ll make you good for him, don’t worry…”

He gripped her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“I’ll open you like a little slut—stretch this sweet little cunt wide—so when he finally fucks you, you’ll already know how to take cock properly.”

Her breath hitched. Her pussy pulsed.

“You’ll squeeze him just right. You’ll moan like a well-trained whore. And he’ll never know it was me who made you ready.”

He then yanked her legs wider with his foot, exposing her glistening, swollen pussy. His cock twitched above her—dark, hard, already glistening.

“This pussy’s been begging all day. Dripping like a filthy little whore.”

Her breath hitched. Her body flushed with shame—and heat.

“You think one man was ever going to be enough?” he murmured, leaning closer, his breath hot against her ear. “No, little flower… you were meant for more than that.”

His hand slid between her thighs, spreading her wider.

Katrina gasped, her breath catching in her throat as her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her legs tensed, then melted open, hips tilting toward his touch like they needed him.

A low moan slipped from her lips—soft, trembling, helpless.

She hated how wet she was. How her pussy pulsed the moment his fingers brushed near it. How her body welcomed the filth.

“I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t want this,” she whispered, eyes fluttering, shame burning her cheeks.

But the ache between her legs was unbearable now. Her pussy throbbed, slick and needy, and her clit twitched like it knew what was coming.

She looked up at him, pupils wide, lips parted.

“Please…” she whimpered, not even sure what she was begging for anymore.

“You were made to feel everything—every kind of pleasure. To be opened, stretched, filled… not just by love, but by raw, aching need.”

He dragged the head of his cock along her wet slit, slow and deliberate.

Katrina shivered violently, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as her whole body jolted from the contact. The swollen lips of her pussy twitched under the teasing glide, and her clit throbbed so hard it almost hurt.

Her back arched slightly off the altar, hips lifting as if her cunt was chasing the pressure, begging for more. She clenched around nothing, her tight little hole fluttering, aching to be filled.

A helpless moan spilled from her mouth, broken and needy.

“Oh… Papa Cain…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the raw hunger in it said everything. Her pussy was alive—wet, swollen, throbbing, dripping.

“This isn’t about betrayal,” he whispered. “It’s about becoming who you truly are… someone who surrenders. Someone who receives.”

He leaned in, his voice like thunder rumbling through her chest.

“As for your future husband…” he sneered, “he’ll have you, don’t worry.”

He lowered his gaze to her dripping cunt, then tapped the thick head of his cock right against her swollen slit.

Katrina jolted.

A shiver ripped through her as the contact sent a sharp pulse straight to her clit. Her hips twitched. Her body betrayed her—squirming under him, pussy fluttering in anticipation.

“But not as some precious untouched virgin,” he growled. “He’ll get what’s left… after I’ve stretched this tight little cunt wide open—after I’ve filled it with my filth.”

He tapped her again, harder.

She moaned—sharp, breathy, shameless.

Her pussy throbbed, desperate for more, and her thighs trembled around him.

She moaned.

“You hear me?” he barked. “You’re gonna walk down the aisle one day with my cock still echoing inside your pussy.”

Katrina whimpered, but her hips lifted off the stone, desperate for more.

“You’ll take his cock and smile like a good wife,” he growled, voice thick with venom and lust, “but you’ll be thinking of me. Of how I broke you first.”

He pressed his big veiny cock against her tight pussy, the heavy weight of his cock nudging into her slick heat, spreading her folds slowly—deliberately.

Katrina gasped, her whole body going rigid, then melting under the pressure. Her breath caught in her throat, hips trembling as her pussy responded, clenching with helpless need.

“You’ll remember the way you squirted like a filthy little bitch,” he hissed into her ear, “when I claimed what was never his to begin with.”

Her moan was raw, involuntary. Her eyes fluttered shut, shame flooding her cheeks—but her legs opened wider.

Her pussy throbbed.

Her voice cracked, low and needy. “I… I want it…”

Papa Cain sneered. “Say it right, little fucktoy.”

Shame surged through her, but so did raw, burning desire.

“Please… fuck my pussy, Papa Cain… fuck my virgin little cunt.”

He growled, his cock twitching in response. “There she is…”

As he pressed the thick head of his cock right against her soaked slit, letting it rest heavy between her trembling folds.

“Look at it,” he ordered, voice low and rough.

Katrina's eyes dropped, breath catching the moment she saw it—felt it.

It looked even more massive, blacker than impurity, the swollen tip glistening with pre-cum as it nudged against her softness. Her delicate pink lips quivered around it, dwarfed by its sheer size.

It looked like it had no business being there—like it didn’t belong anywhere near her innocent little pussy.

And yet her body pulsed for it. Her pussy throbbed, aching to be opened, wet and twitching with filthy anticipation.

She couldn’t look away.

“It’s not going to fit,” she whimpered. “You’re too big…”

Papa Cain grinned cruelly. “Then let it stretch you.”

He rubbed the thick head along her slit, coating it in her juices. She cried out when it touched her clit, her hips bucking involuntarily.

“Fuck—please…”

He lined himself up. One hand on her hip, the other guiding his cockhead to her untouched pussy. He pushed forward slowly, letting the head kiss her entrance.

She tensed. The pressure was unbearable.

Then—pop.

Her hymen tore.

“AHH—!” Katrina screamed, nails digging into the floor. Her eyes widened in shock, pain lighting up her whole body.

“Easy,” Papa Cain murmured, “It’s just the seal breaking. Let it happen.”

He didn’t stop. He kept pushing, stretching her pussy open inch by inch. Her inner walls clamped down on him, fighting the intrusion, but the slickness helped. Her body betrayed her. She was so wet.

“It burns… oh Fuck, it burns,” she sobbed.

“Because you’re tight,” he growled. “Because that sweet little pussy’s never had a real cock in it. That pain? That’s me breaking open your sacred little flower… the way it was always meant to be.”

Her head fell back. Her thighs shook violently. She could feel every thick vein dragging along her virgin walls, every twitch of his shaft as he pushed deeper.

He was inside her. Fully.

She couldn’t believe it.

Her pussy was stretched to the edge—stuffed with his massive cock.

“You feel that?” he growled. “You’re no virgin anymore. This cunt belongs to Papa now.”

Katrina moaned. The pain was still there, but so was something else. Something deeper. Pleasure—hot, uncontrollable, filthy.

He began to move.

Slow strokes at first. Deep, measured, grinding against her womb. She gasped with every thrust. Her pussy clenched him, milking, squeezing. The stone floor beneath her was slick with sweat and fluids.

He began to thrust.

Each stroke stretching her open, grinding against the raw nerves of her tight, virgin cunt. His thick cock dragged along her inner walls like it owned them, claiming space that had never been touched before.

Katrina cried out, her breath ragged.

Every time he pushed in, her pussy clenched tighter around him—fluttering, squeezing, as if trying to hold him there, to pull him even deeper.

“Ahh—Papa… fuuuck,” she moaned, hips rising to meet his, her body moving without thought. “It feels… it feels so full…”

Her voice was a broken mix of shame and filthy pleasure.

Papa Cain grunted, watching her squirm beneath him, her pussy milking his cock like it was made for it.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what your little hole was built for—taking this cock, stretching around it, learning to love being used.”

She whimpered, back arching, her moans louder now.

“I love it,” she gasped. “I fucking love it…”

Her legs wrapped weakly around his waist, her cunt soaking, gripping him with every thrust—tight, wet, desperate.

Papa Cain’s growl deepened.

He grabbed her hips and began to move faster—harder—slamming into her with heavy, relentless strokes that made her body jolt against the stone.

Katrina cried out, the sound raw and high-pitched.

“Ohhh—ahh! Papa! Fuck—fuck—”

Her moans echoed off the walls, wild and unrestrained, as her pussy clung to him, drenched and twitching.

He fucked her like he was branding her from the inside—his cock pounding her open, deeper, deeper still.

She was lost in it. Shaking. Shattered. Loving it.

And then… he stopped.

Katrina blinked, dazed. “W-What happened?”

Papa Cain said nothing.

Instead, he reached for the wax-covered ritual plate. From it, he took the long, thick candle—not smooth, but textured with ridges and ancient markings, each groove designed to awaken something deeper.

It was still warm from the flame, its surface slightly uneven—rough, intimidating, sacred in the filthiest way.

“What…” she whispered. But her asshole twitched.

“Yes,” he said.

He coated the candle in her dripping pussy juice, making it shine. Then, with one hand still gripping her hip, he pressed the candle tip to her rear entrance. Her eyes went wide.

“You’re already mine here,” he whispered. “Now you’ll feel what it means to be truly claimed.”

The candle slid in.

Her asshole gave way, already trained from before, but the sensation of being filled in both holes at once—

“AHHhhhhh—FUCK!”

She screamed, back arching off the floor, body convulsing.

His cock still buried in her pussy, the candle now lodged deep in her ass, Katrina began to lose her mind.

She was full. So full.

“Papa! I—oh fuck—fuck—my pussy can’t take it!”

Her voice broke. Her body trembled.

And then she came.

She came hard.

Squirting. Screaming. Soaking his cock in a gush of hot, uncontrollable release.

Her pussy spasmed violently around his shaft. The candle twitched in her ass, pressed deeper by the flex of her muscles.

Papa Cain didn’t move. He held her there, cock deep, watching her fall apart.

“You feel that, my little slut?” he whispered. “That’s your soul opening.”

She couldn’t speak. Her mouth hung open. Her body shook. Her pussy pulsed around him like it never wanted to let go.

He pulled back slowly, just a few inches, dragging the head of his cock along her stretched, slick canal. She gasped. Her body jolted again.

“Not done yet,” he said darkly.

And then—he thrust back in. Hard. Deep. Filling her again.

Katrina cried out, her back arching off the floor as the sudden force of his cock slammed into her soaked pussy. Her body jolted under him, already sensitive, already aching—and he didn’t slow down.

Papa Cain took her without mercy.

He fucked her with a punishing rhythm, hips crashing against her slick thighs, every movement rough, claiming, unstoppable. She barely had time to breathe before he shifted his angle—taking her deeper, harder, elsewhere—as if her whole body was his to own.

He moved between her pussy and asshole with practiced control, as though testing every inch of her—claiming her fully.

Each thrust made her moan louder, her body quaking with pleasure, her mind lost in the sheer filth of it. There was no more hesitation. No more resistance. Just her—opened, shaking, and begging for more.

Her mind spun. Her body trembled. She had no idea where he was inside her anymore—only that she was full, used, owned.

She came again—screaming this time.

Her pussy clenched violently, waves of pleasure tearing through her. And before it even faded, another built up behind it. His rhythm changed, angled cruelly, perfectly, as if he knew exactly how to pull another orgasm from her destroyed little body.

“Papa—ohhh—ahh—Papa, I can’t—!” she sobbed, voice breaking.

But she could.

Her legs shook. Her lips trembled. And she came again—harder.

Her cries echoed off the stone walls, lost in the dark sanctuary that now smelled of sweat, sex, and surrender.

🔥 Chapter 7 – The empowerment

His pace was brutal now—relentless.

Katrina could barely breathe. Each thrust slammed through her, shaking her body against the altar stone, her moans rising and breaking into gasps. Her thighs trembled, her body soaked with sweat and oil, her pussy still dripping from the rituals that had already torn her open.

Papa Cain grunted above her, deeper in voice and breath than ever before. His hands gripped her hips tight, pulling her back into every final, punishing thrust.

She could feel it—his body tensing, cock twitching, the rhythm growing erratic.

He was close.

The way he moved became almost reverent—devotional. Like her body was a sacred offering. Like he was about to spill something more than just seed.

And then, suddenly… he stopped.

He pulled out, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, sweat trailing down his brow. He looked down at her trembling body—open, flushed, waiting.

“On your knees,” he said.

Katrina obeyed instantly, limbs weak but willing, hair falling messily over her face as she knelt before him.

His cock hovered inches from her mouth—slick, dark, and pulsing.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She did.

Papa Cain stroked himself slowly, his breath catching with every movement, his eyes never leaving hers. The air around them thickened with silence and purpose.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered.

She parted her lips.

Moments later, his body jerked. His voice broke into a groan.

“Open wide, you little chapel whore,” he growled, stroking the last inches with a snarl. “Take it—take every drop like the sacred filth you crave.”

The first burst hit her lips. Then her cheek. Then her tongue.

“You love this, don’t you?” he spat, voice shaking with release. “Being marked… blessed… used like the dirty little vessel you are.”

Katrina moaned softly, lips parted, chest heaving. She didn’t flinch—didn’t turn away. She welcomed it.

She felt it—thick, hot, and heavy—splatter across her tongue, her cheek, her lips.

It was warm, almost startlingly so, with a weight that lingered as it dripped slowly down her skin. The scent was musky and raw, a potent reminder of what she’d just been given.

It clung to her—her mouth, her chin, the corner of her jaw—like a final seal.

She didn’t flinch.

She closed her mouth around the taste, swallowing it with quiet reverence. Then, eyes half-lidded, she licked her lips—slowly, delicately—as if savoring something divine.

“It’s… warm,” she whispered. “It tastes… different.”

He laid a single hand on her head, fingers splayed like a blessing.

“As of this moment, you’re no innocent girl,” he sneered. “You’re the Chapel’s filthy whore—my broken bloom, forever split wide and begging for more.”

Her heart pounded. Her breath trembled.

And between her thighs, her pussy still throbbed—used, stretched, and completely satisfied.

She reached down gently, her fingers gliding over her slick, swollen folds—not out of hunger, but to soothe the trembling.

Each soft caress was a quiet attempt to calm the afterglow, to ease the ache that lingered deep inside her.

She had been taken. Filled. Marked. And now… she could finally breathe.

She didn’t move.

Until he spoke again.

Papa Cain’s hand lingered on the top of her head, fingers curling into her hair with a possessive grip.

“You did well today,” he said, his voice low and heavy. “You were a good little whore—obedient, open, dripping for me just like you were meant to.”

Katrina shivered at his words, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of being used. Her cheeks flushed deeper—not from shame, but from the twisted pride that bloomed inside her.

He leaned in closer, his breath grazing her ear.

“But this was only the beginning,” he murmured. “Next time… you’ll need to be even better.”

He pulled back, eyes locked on hers, and added—voice like granite:

“Next time,” he growled, “both of your holes will be claimed at once, little slut—come prepared to be used and freed by me… and who knows by whom else.”

The words slammed into Katrina like a thunderclap—equal parts shock and forbidden, molten lust.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, panic flashing through them for a single heartbeat. Did he just say… both?

Was he implying… another man?

No—no, I must’ve misunderstood…

But even as the denial tried to form, her body betrayed her. A low tremble rolled through her belly, straight down to her swollen, stretched pussy—still wet, still raw, glistening with the filth Papa Cain had filled her with.

Her thighs pressed together, instinctively trying to hold in the pulsing heat that surged through her. Her cunt clenched at the thought, as if remembering the stretch of his cock and questioning if she could take more—two at once? That was impossible. Wasn’t it?

How could I… fit two cocks? Inside me? At the same time?

Her dress hung uselessly on her body—clinging to the curve of her hips, riding up over her thighs. Her breasts pushed against the thin fabric, nipples rock hard, outlined like a tease. Her skin shimmered with oil and sweat, glowing like she had been anointed with sin itself.

She looked wrecked.

She looked perfect.

And now… she might be seen this way again.

By another man.

Another cock.

Her lips parted. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think straight.

What if he wasn’t joking? What if I’m meant to take them both…?

Her body gave her away instead—shivering with arousal, her thighs twitching, her pussy clenching around emptiness. The thought of being used again… of maybe… being shared… lit a fire inside her that shame couldn’t smother.

Her lips parted. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.

Finally, barely above a whisper, she asked, “Papa… d-do you mean… someone else? A-another cock… inside me?”

Without warning, Papa Cain gripped her hair and yanked her head back—firm, possessive, commanding and brought his mouth down hard against hers.

It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claiming.

His lips crushed hers, and then his tongue shoved between them, forcing its way into her mouth, tasting her like she was nothing more than his used little toy. He licked across her lips first, slow and possessive, smearing the taste of his own filth on her skin before plunging his tongue inside—deep, wet, filthy.

She moaned into it, helpless, breath stolen, her mouth stretched open by his will alone.

He kissed her like he owned her breath. Like she didn’t get to say no.

And when he finally pulled back, a string of spit still connected them—thick, warm, glistening across her lips like a mark, his voice was breathless but cold with certainty.

“Next week,” he growled, thumb brushing her swollen lips, “you’ll be back here. On your knees. Waiting.” He leaned in, voice low and cruel. “And then… you’ll know, little slut.”

She didn’t protest. She simply swallowed—slow, deliberate—feeling every heartbeat race down to her core.

She nodded—barely.

And she knew she would.

Papa Cain stood over her, chest rising slowly, his massive cock still hanging heavy between his legs—slick, spent, and glistening with the evidence of what he’d done to her. It dripped in front of her eyes, thick and shameless, like a final mark of ownership.

His voice was calm, but full of command.

“The session is finished for today,” he said flatly. “Adjust your dress, little slut… and leave. You’ll return next week—ready to be used properly.”

Katrina nodded slowly, breath catching as she peeled her eyes away from the sight of him.

With trembling hands, Katrina readjusted her thin dress—the same one that had been tugged aside and rumpled during the ritual, never fully removed. The fabric clung to her sensitized skin, damp in places, a whispered reminder of what had just been done to her.

She smoothed it over her hips, still faintly quivering, her fingers trembling as they tried to restore a modesty that no longer existed. In the polished brass of a candlestick, she caught her reflection—hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

She didn’t look like the girl who had walked into the chapel.

She looked… changed.

Papa Cain watched from the shadowed doorway.

His gaze lingered on the curve of her firm now used ass, the sway of her hips as she fastened a simple belt. There was a possessive gleam in his eyes—satisfaction, yes, but something hungrier too, as if already plotting how he’d display her beauty when “others” came to witness.

Katrina paused at the threshold. A single backward glance met his stare—part fearful, part aching. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She turned, pushed open the heavy chapel door, and slipped into the profane world.

Papa Cain’s fingers tightened around the doorframe. He let out a low breath, savoring the memory of her softness, already imagining the next ritual, the next set of eyes devouring her. How could he resist a vessel so intoxicating?

Outside, the late evening air wrapped around Katrina’s flushed, tender skin—cool against the heat still radiating from deep within her. The sun had dipped low, casting long golden shadows across the path, and for the first time, she realized how much time had passed.

She had spent the entire day in that chapel—on her knees, on her back, bent over stone—getting used, stretched, and filled like a needy little fucktoy.

Each step toward home felt lighter and heavier all at once—lighter with the brief breath of freedom, heavier with the weight of everything she now craved.

As her house lantern flickered into view, one thought pulsed louder than the sound of her footsteps:

Next time… it won’t just be him.

And the realization made her shiver.