#hakkkuu

Anton is standing against the wall a few feet away, fingers struggling with the mic pack clipped behind him. His members are farther down the hall, but he’s alone, brows slightly furrowed as he fumbles with a wire that refuses to stay tucked.

You walk past, careful with the way your dress trails behind you. He looks up.

His breath catches—audibly. He bows quickly, too quickly, almost tripping over his shoes. “H-hello.”

You bow back, smiling politely. “Hello.”

You’re about to continue down the hall when he blurts, softly but clearly, “You look… really beautiful.”

You stop.

Slowly, you turn your head back toward him. His ears are immediately red, and he stares down at the mic pack like it suddenly became the most fascinating object in the world.

Your smile grows without permission. “Thank you,” you say gently.

He finally lifts his eyes, just for half a second, and it’s enough to see how nervous he is—how sincere. “Good luck on your stage,” he mumbles.

“You too,” you reply, giving him a quick smile before heading off.

When you get a few steps away, you glance back. He’s still standing there, touching the same mic wire… except he hasn’t fixed anything. He’s just frozen, replaying that moment in his head already.

Later that night, one of his members teases him about zoning out entirely right before their stage.

He doesn’t admit it out loud, but he knows exactly why.

You run into him again a few weeks later during a lineup rehearsal at another event. You’re adjusting your earpiece backstage when someone stops beside you. You glance over—it’s him again.

He looks startled that you noticed him. “Oh—hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you reply, smiling. “Nice to see you again.”

He brightens at that, eyes flicking briefly over your outfit before he forces himself to focus. “Congrats on your comeback. I watched the stage.”

"is that so?” you tease. “Was it any good?”

He nods immediately, sincerely. “Really good. You were… really good.”

You feel a warm flutter in your chest. You open your mouth to respond, but staff calls you. His members call him too. You part reluctantly, both pretending it isn’t disappointing.

The feeling lingers though—light but real.

Your third meeting is beside a vending machine backstage. He stands there holding coins like he’s in the middle of a life-or-death decision. You step next to him.

“Can’t decide?” you ask.

He looks like he might jump out of his skin. “Oh—uh—I just don’t know what I want.”

“You should try this one.” You tap a button.

He buys it without hesitation.

Later, when he takes a sip, you catch his small, pleased smile. “It’s good,” he says shyly.

“Of course it is,” you tease. “I recommended it.”

He laughs under his breath, eyes softening the way they always do when he talks to you.

These moments aren’t long, but they’re enough. Enough for something gentle to grow.

Enough for your stomach to flip when you see his name on your phone.

So when you wake up on the first snow day and find messages lighting up your screen, none of it feels unexpected—but it still makes your heart skip.

Anton: Did you see the snow?

Anton: Are you free today?

Anton: I don’t have schedules… maybe we could go out? If you want.

You grin into your pillow.

“I’m free. where?”

Anton: Anywhere. Just… later? When it’s dark?

You can almost hear the hesitation in his typing. It makes your cheeks warm.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

When you meet him outside the restaurant, the snow is falling thicker, drifting slow and soft under the streetlights. Anton stands there with his hood up, brushing snowflakes off his sleeves as if that’ll do anything.

But the second he sees you, he stops.

Completely.

“You look…” He swallows, then gives up finishing the sentence. “Cold. But also… really pretty.”

You smile. “Thank you. You look cute.”

He turns so pink you swear you can see it even through the snow.

You both start walking—no destination discussed, but you naturally fall into step toward the river. You walk close—it happens slowly at first, then naturally, like the space between you was always meant to be small.

Your shoulders brush. His hand shifts in his pocket as if he’s restraining himself from swinging into you.

“This is… nice,” you say.

He glances at you, eyes soft. “I wanted it to be.”

You catch his gaze for a moment too long, and you both look away, smiling like you’ve been caught doing something intimate.

You talk about simple topics—movies, music, food. Nothing too deep. Nothing too revealing. But every time he laughs, it’s shy and genuine, and every time your eyes meet, sparks linger in the cold air.

At one point, the wind sharpens, and you shiver. He notices instantly.

“You’re cold,” he says softly.

“A bit.”

He steps closer, close enough that your arm presses fully into his.

“Better?” he asks, voice a little shaky.

You nod. “Much.”

He exhales in relief.

You walk like that for a long time—too close to be platonic, too shy to call it what it is. Snowflakes cling to his hair, and he keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

At one point, you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask.

His lips curl into a tiny, embarrassed smile. “Nothing. Just… you’re pretty,” he says quietly. “Still… even in the cold.”

You look away, heart racing.

By the time you realize how late it is, it’s nearly 2am. He insists on walking you to your dorm. The quiet city looks dreamlike under the snow, and neither of you wants the night to end.

When you reach the building, the air feels still.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly. “I had a really nice time.”

He smiles shyly. “I’m glad you came.”

You take a small step closer, close enough that he stiffens in surprise.

“I really enjoyed this date,” you say.

He freezes.

His eyes widen, then soften, then widen again—like he’s experiencing five emotions all in one second. “D-date?”

You bite your lip. “Unless you didn’t want it to be.”

“No!” he blurts instantly. Then clears his throat. “I mean… yes. I did. I really… really did.”

You grin. “Me too.”

He exhales, relieved. Snow falls against his hood, his lashes. He looks at you like you’re something he’s afraid to touch but wants to.

“Can we…have another one?” he asks quietly. “Soon?”

“Definitely,” you whisper.

He nods, smiling so softly it melts you. You turn to go inside, but he calls your name, voice gentle.

“You looked beautiful that first day,” he admits, cheeks pink. “With the red dress. I kept thinking about it. For… days.”

You feel heat spread across your chest.

“Good,” you say softly. “I thought you looked cute that day too.”

He hides his face for a second before waving shyly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Anton.”

And as he walks away in the falling snow, you realize something simple and unmistakable:

Something started long before tonight.

Shotaro ★ he teases you

You’ve known Shotaro for as long as you can remember — the kid who used to steal your snacks in elementary school, the one who still laughs the same way when you pretend to be mad about it.

Now, sitting together at a small café near campus, it feels both familiar and…not.

He leans across the table, eyes glinting. “You always order the same drink. You’re so predictable.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called having taste.”

“Sure,” he says, sipping his iced coffee. “Or maybe you just like when I remember your order for you.”

You choke on a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

He grins. “And yet you keep hanging out with me. Suspicious, don’t you think?”

It’s always been like this — the teasing, the banter, the way he makes everything sound like a joke. But lately, there’s something different under his tone. Something that lingers.

When you reach across the table to grab a napkin, his fingers brush yours. You pull back too fast, but he catches the movement, smile turning softer.

“What, scared I’ll tease you for that too?”

You narrow your eyes. “You would.”

“Only because it’s cute,” he says, so casually you almost miss it.

The air stills. You stare, and he just shrugs, biting back another smile.

“Relax,” he adds, leaning back in his chair. “I’m joking.”

Except his gaze doesn’t look like a joke. It lingers — warm, teasing, and something else entirely.

And you realize that with Shotaro, the line between teasing and flirting has quietly disappeared…and maybe, just maybe, you don’t mind at all.

Eunseok ★ he always notices something new about you

You’re standing by the office printer when you hear his voice behind you — low, casual.

“New earrings?”

You blink, fingers freezing mid-motion as you turn. Eunseok’s leaning against the filing cabinet, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy like he didn’t bother fixing it after running his hands through it. You didn’t think anyone would notice the tiny gold hoops you’d swapped in this morning.

“Yeah” you say, smiling shyly. “They’re nothing special.”

He smiles, slow and knowing. “They suit you.”

The printer whirs, and suddenly the air feels too thick. You grab your papers, mumbling a thank you, but his gaze lingers — not heavy, just…curious. Like he’s filing away another detail.

It’s always like this with him. He’s the guy who notices when you change your pen color, when you start bringing green tea instead of coffee, when you wear your hair differently. He never makes it obvious — just small comments that catch you off guard.

By the time you’re both walking out of a late meeting, the city lights spilling through the glass, you think maybe you’ve imagined it all. Then he says, “You switched perfumes, right?”

Your breath catches. “You have a good memory.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking to yours, a hint of something unspoken there. “Guess I just pay attention.”

And in that quiet moment — the hum of the office fading behind you — you realize he always does.

Sungchan ★ you can feel the chemistry between you

The first time you meet Sungchan, a mutual friend, it’s in front of the ticket booth — he’s late, breathless, with that kind of grin that makes you forget what you were about to say. He apologizes to everyone, but his gaze lands on you for just a second too long.

You’re not supposed to notice, but you do.

“Don’t crash, alright?” His voice is low, playful, but the way he lingers, watching you with that half-smile, makes your cheeks warm. You’ve known him forever, but when he nudges you again, grinning like he’s hiding a secret, your heart stumbles. Maybe it’s always been like this, tucked away in his teasing.

Your friend group moves from ride to ride, laughter spilling everywhere, and somehow he’s always there — next to you when you’re choosing snacks, behind you when the roller coaster dips, beside you when the wind messes up your hair and he chuckles softly.

“You’re braver than I thought” he says after the drop tower, brushing a strand of his hair from his face.

“You thought I’d scream?”

He laughs, that easy, melodic sound. “You looked like you would.”

“And you looked too confident,” you shoot back.

“So you were watching me?”

You blink, caught. He smirks, eyes bright with teasing. “It’s okay. I was watching you too.”

Hours blur, the day stretching into something soft and electric. When everyone decides to rest near the fountain, you sit side by side, sharing a drink because you “accidentally” forgot yours. His knee brushes yours — once, twice — and neither of you moves away.

Later, under the fireworks, you both go quiet. The world glows red and gold, and his voice drops low beside you.

“Crazy how we just met today,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling without meaning to. “Feels like longer.”

He turns, eyes catching the reflection of the lights. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

And for a heartbeat, everything stills — the fireworks, the laughter, the noise — until it’s just the two of you, caught in something unspoken and impossibly new.

Wonbin ★ he looks for excuses to be with you

It starts small.

You’re over at your best friend’s house — again — sprawled on her bed, scrolling through your phones when you hear a knock. The door cracks open just enough for Wonbin to lean in.

“Hey,” he says, eyes flicking to you before his sister. “Mom said to ask if you want snacks.”

You glance up, smiling. “I’m good, thanks.”

He nods, too casual. “Sure. But I’ll bring some anyway.”

Your best friend groans. “He’s so annoying.”

You laugh, pretending not to notice the way he looks back at you before closing the door.

Later that night, your phone buzzes. Unknown number.

wonbin: “did you like the chips or should I bring something else next time?”

You: “you stole my number from your sister’s phone, didn’t you?”

wonbin: “maybe. you didn’t answer my question though ;)”

It becomes a thing — late-night texts about nothing and everything. Memes. Song links. Little jokes that somehow always turn personal.

And when you’re over at their house again, he’s always around. Passing through the kitchen just when you’re getting water. Sitting at the edge of the couch while you and his sister watch a movie.

“Didn’t know you liked this movie,” you tease.

He smirks. “Didn’t. Until now.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you.

When his sister steps out to take a call, the room goes quiet. He leans closer, voice low.

“She’s gonna think I’m annoying, huh?”

You smile. “You are.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Then why do you keep smiling at me?”

You don’t answer — and he doesn’t need you to. The silence says everything.

Sohee ★ he “accidentally” touches you

The music’s loud enough to feel in your chest, lights flickering in gold and violet. You’re half-shouting over the noise when you spot Sohee across the room — red cup in hand, laughing with someone you vaguely know. He sees you, too, and that easy, familiar smile spreads across his face.

You’ve known him for years — study sessions, late-night phone talks, inside jokes that only make sense to the two of you. But tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the party haze, or maybe it’s the way his eyes linger just a little too long when you walk over.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” you tease, nudging his arm.

He grins. “Didn’t think you’d be the one dragging me onto the dance floor either.”

“I didn’t—” you start, but he’s already pulling you closer, the crowd swallowing you both.

It’s easy at first — just laughter, moving to the rhythm, pretending it’s all casual. Then his hand finds your waist, almost by accident. Or maybe not. Your breath hitches, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you.

For a second, the noise fades. His thumb brushes your side, light as a whisper, and neither of you steps back. His gaze drops — your lips, your eyes — then back again.

Someone bumps into you, breaking the moment, but the spell doesn’t fade. He leans closer, voice low near your ear.

“You okay?”

You nod, pulse racing. “Yeah. Just… dizzy.”

He smiles, slow and knowing. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for the rest of the night, no matter how many people fill the room, it feels like it’s just the two of you — orbiting something neither of you dares to name.

Anton ★ he wants to be alone with you

You’ve known Anton for a while — two years of shared classes, group hangouts, and random late-night talks that somehow always stretch longer than either of you plan. He’s quiet, soft-spoken, the kind of person who blushes when someone compliments him and laughs under his breath instead of out loud.

You’ve always teased him for it. Called him shy. Treated him like the sweet, awkward friend everyone wants to protect.

But lately…he’s been harder to read.

It starts when you’re all hanging out at a café with friends, conversation buzzing around you. You barely notice when Anton leans in and murmurs, “Hey, wanna go for a walk after this? Just us?”

You glance at him. “What, tired of everyone already?”

He smiles, a little nervous. “No. Just… I like talking when it’s quieter.”

Later, it’s the two of you strolling down empty streets, the air cool, soft city lights catching in his hair. He talks more than usual — small things, easy things. But then he says, almost shyly, “You make it easy to talk, you know that?”

You laugh. “That’s because I’m basically your therapist.”

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “No… it’s different.”

Something warm curls in your chest. You’ve never seen him like this — open, a little bolder in the quiet.

When you stop at a crosswalk, he glances at you again, voice soft.

“I think I only act like myself when it’s just us.”

You’re on the public forest trail, late afternoon, golden light slanting through the trees. The path is quiet except for birds and your own footsteps on the gravel. You’re wearing a thin sundress, earbuds in, trying to clear your head.

Three male voices drift from behind.

“Yo, shorty in the dress, nice ass” Sungchan laughs, loud enough for you to hear even through your music.

“Look at her pretending she doesn’t hear us” Anton laughs. "Go say hi to her" Eunseok tells Anton.

Your stomach drops. You pull one earbud out and walk faster.

“Hey we're talking to you” Sungchan again, closer now. Footsteps crunch right on your heels.

You glance back. Three tall guys, hoodies, caps pulled low, all staring at you like prey. You force a tight smile and speed up.

“Don’t be rude, baby” Anton calls, voice softer but somehow worse. “We just wanna walk with you.”

They match your pace easily. Then they’re beside you, then in front of you, boxing you in.

Sungchan leans in, too close. “You shouldn’t be out here alone looking that fuckable.”

You try to walk away but Eunseok blocks you with one arm, fingers brushing your waist on purpose. “Where you going so fast?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Please just leave me alone.” Your voice small and quiet.

Sungchan grins. “We’ll walk with you.”

They fall in behind you again. You feel their eyes burning holes in your back. Every step you take, they take one louder, closer. You hear a low whistle, then Sungchan again, “Bet she’s not wearing anything under that dress.”

A hand skims the back of your thigh. You jerk away, but Anton’s fingers close around your wrist. “relax oh my god”

You yank free and half-run. They laugh and jog after you like it’s a game. The path curves. No one else in sight. Eunseok’s hand clamps on your upper arm, nails digging in. “Off the trail. Now.”

You open your mouth to scream but Sungchan’s palm slams over it instantly, fingers pinching your nose shut for a second so you panic for air. Anton grabs your other arm and together they drag you sideways into the trees.

Branches whip your face and legs. You kick, twist, try to bite Sungchan’s hand. He just squeezes harder until tears spring to your eyes. Twenty meters in, the forest swallows the path. No one will hear anything here.

You scramble to your feet. Anton catches your hair, yanks you back so hard your scalp screams. “Stay down” Sungchan rips the front of your dress open in one violent pull. Buttons scatter. The fabric tears to your waist. Eunseok grabs the hem and shreds the rest off your body, leaving you in only panties and bra.

You scream, or at least you try. Anton backhands you so hard your forgot where you are for a second. “Scream again and I break your fucking jaw.”

They force you face-down over a wide fallen log. Anton plants his knee between your shoulder blades and wrenches both your arms behind your back, pinning your wrists in one huge hand so high your shoulders feel like they’ll dislocate.

Sungchan spits on your exposed pussy, once, twice, then lines his dick up and slams into your dry pussy. The stretch is instant, searing pain. You sob into the dirt.

He doesn’t wait. He fucks you with full-body thrusts, hips crashing into your ass so hard the log shifts under you. Every stroke punches a broken scream out of your throat.

Eunseok fists your hair, jerks your head sideways, and shoves his leaking cock past your lips. No warning, no mercy. He drives straight into your throat until your nose is buried in his pubes and you gag helplessly around him. He holds there, counting silently while your vision tunnels, then pulls back just enough for one desperate breath before plunging again, all while Sungchan is still enjoying your pussy.

Anton keeps your arms locked. He leans down and spits on the side of your face while you're swallowing Eunseok's cock. “You’re taking us suspiciously well" Sungchan chuckle. He starts slapping your ass so hard, till your skin is on fire.

When he cum, it’s with a guttural groan - he buries himself deep and floods your pussy, so much it immediately leaks out around his cock and runs down your thighs in thick streams.

He pulls out. Before you can even gasp, Anton takes his place. He’s thicker - the stretch makes you shriek around Eunseok’s dick. Anton fucks the cum deeper, sloppy wet sounds filling the clearing. He cums fast and hard, adding his own load until you feel it slosh inside you. All you can do is cry and take it like you're their personal flashlight.

Eunseok is having a solo. He keeps changing the rhythm, his moans are pretty loud, groans here and there and then he yanks out of your mouth, strings of spit and precum stretching from your swollen lips. He slaps you twice, open-palmed, then spits in your open mouth. “Swallow.”

And of course you do, choking. You had to. Like a cum whore.

All three of them are finished, you think. Finally it's over.

They flip you onto your back in the dirt. Leaves and twigs stick to the cum already drying on your skin. Sungchan straddles your chest, forces your jaw open again, and starts fucking your throat in long, punishing strokes since he didn't try your throat hole yet. No breaks. When you gag he just pushes deeper, nose to his pelvis until you’re thrashing for air.

Anton and Eunseok spread your legs impossibly wide, like you're a doll. Anton goes for your ass this time, no spit, just leftover cum as lube, and shoves in. The pain is blinding. You genuinely feel like the pain could kill you any moment while they're just pleasuring themselves.

You try to scream, you really do, but Sungchan’s cock muffles it into wet gurgles that gets him even harder.

Eunseok waits his turn, stroking himself, then spits on your clit and slaps it. When Anton finishes deep in your ass, and Sungchan finally cums down your throat, absolutely choking you on it, Eunseok takes over, pounding your pussy while Anton moves to your mouth.

They rotate like machines.

He fucks you slow and brutally deep, slapping your bruised tits every few thrusts to keep you conscious. When he comes he stays buried, grinding, making sure every spurt stays inside. You feel the warmth spread, mixing with the others, until your lower belly feels bloated and heavy.

They pull out one by one. Cum pours from your gaping pussy, ass and mouth, pooling beneath you, soaking the leaves. Your face and chest are drenched; it’s in your hair, drying sticky across your lips, dripping off your chin.

Eunseok crouches, smears his fingers through the cum pool on your stomach, and forces them into your mouth again. “Taste us.”

You’re too broken to fight.

Sungchan spits on your swollen face one final time. “Keep the cum in when you crawl home. It's your reward” he smiles, standing over you.

They zip up, praise each other for their "performance", laugh, and walk away, leaving you shaking, overflowing, covered head to toe in their cum, dress in tatters beside you in the dirt and the forest stays silent around your wrecked body.

Years passed, and those talks became your sanctuary. Even as a teenager, you’d catch his gaze during sermons, his smile cutting through the crowd just for you. It felt like a secret bond, something pure and holy. You trusted him completely, never questioning why he always wanted you alone, why his touches lingered a little longer each year. To you, he was a man of God, incapable of wrong.

Now, at 18, your beauty catches eyes, but none burn like Father Anton’s. His sermons are intense now, his voice smooth but heavy when he speaks to you alone in the church’s dim corners. One evening, after everyone’s gone, he pulls you into a side room, the air thick with silence. “You’ve grown into something special,” he says, his hand sliding down your arm, fingers brushing your thigh. You freeze, heart racing, but his smile is the same one you’ve trusted forever. “Don’t be scared,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “God has a plan for you, and I’m here to guide it.”

He starts with lies, soft and convincing. “Serving me is serving God,” he says, his hand creeping higher, making your skin tingle with unease and something you can’t name. You’re naive, raised to believe priests are holy, so you nod, even as your stomach twists. He tells you about a “special act” that will keep you pure, something only the most devoted can do. His words are a trap, and you, trusting and innocent, step right in.

The confessional is dark, the air heavy with secrecy. Father Anton calls you in after hours, the church empty, the door locking behind you with a soft click. “Kneel,” he says, his voice calm but commanding, like he’s delivering a sermon. You do, your knees cold against the floor, the wooden screen between you feeling like a lie. “You carry sins,” he says, leaning close, his breath hot. “But I can cleanse them. God wants this.”

You hear his robes shift, and then he’s there, his cock pushing through the screen, thick and hard, a grotesque shadow in the dim light. “This is your salvation,” he says, and you hesitate, your heart screaming, but his voice is so sure, so holy. “Suck it, and God will forgive you.” Naive, you believe him, your lips trembling as they touch him, tasting the salt of his skin. You take him in, slow at first, your tongue sliding over the pulsing veins, the heat of him overwhelming. He groans, a low, guttural sound, and you think it’s approval, not lust. His hand reaches through, gripping your hair, forcing you deeper until you choke, your throat burning, eyes watering. “Good girl,” he growls, thrusting into your mouth, his cock stretching your lips painfully. You gag, but he doesn’t stop, using your mouth like a tool, his cum flooding you suddenly, hot and bitter. You swallow, tears streaming, believing it’s what God wants.

He leaves you there, trembling, the taste of him lingering like a curse. His manipulation is complete—he’s twisted your faith into his sick fantasy, exploiting your innocence for his pleasure.

His demands grow darker. One night, he calls you to the altar, the church silent under moonlight. “God needs more from you,” he says, his eyes gleaming with something predatory. You stand before the cross, heart pounding, as he lifts your dress, his hands rough on your skin, squeezing your breasts until you gasp. “Your body is a gift to Him,” he lies, and you, naive, nod, trusting the man you’ve known since childhood.

He bends you over the altar, your chest pressed against the cold stone, your skirt hiked up, exposing you completely. “This is your purpose,” he says, his fingers probing you, slick with your fear and unwanted arousal. You whimper, but he shushes you, his cock nudging against your entrance, thick and unyielding. He takes your virginity with a single, brutal thrust, pain tearing through you as you cry out, gripping the altar’s edge. “God loves your suffering,” he growls, fucking you hard, his hips slamming into you, each thrust a violation cloaked in faith. Your body betrays you, pleasure mixing with pain, and you hate yourself for it. His hands grip your ass, spreading you wider, and he cums deep inside, his seed hot and invasive, claiming you as his.

He steps back, leaving you trembling, cum dripping down your thighs, your innocence shattered. He’s not a priest here—he’s a predator, using your trust to feed his depravity.

Anton’s obsession deepens, his “rituals” a daily torment. In the rectory, he sits like a king, robes parted, his cock hard and waiting. “This is your duty,” he says, his voice a sick blend of kindness and menace. You kneel, your faith warped into submission, and take him in your hands, stroking the thick, pulsing length, feeling it throb under your touch. “Worship it,” he demands, and you do, your lips wrapping around the head, sucking slow, then fast, your tongue tracing every ridge, every vein, as if it’s a holy relic. He groans, his hand fisting your hair, forcing you to take him deeper, your throat constricting as he thrusts, gagging you until tears spill. “This is what God wants,” he lies, his voice thick with lust, and you believe him, your naive mind bending under his control.

He cums hard, flooding your mouth, the taste overwhelming, and you swallow, thinking it’s salvation. Then he pulls you onto his lap, spreading your legs, his fingers plunging into you, rough and unrelenting, until you’re gasping, your body shaking with forced pleasure. “You’re mine,” he whispers, and you nod, lost in his manipulation, your innocence a toy for his sick desires.

He takes you everywhere now—the choir loft, the basement, even the sacristy, each corner of the church a stage for his perversion. In the baptistry, he binds your wrists with a stole, your body bare and shivering. “God demands your full surrender,” he says, his cock sliding into you from behind, stretching you painfully as he fucks you against the font. His hands grip your breasts, pinching your nipples until you cry out, his thrusts savage, uncaring, each one a reminder of his power. “Scream for Him,” he growls, and you do, your voice echoing in the holy space, your body a sacrifice to his lies.

He finishes inside you, his cum a hot, invasive claim, and leaves you there, bound and dripping, your faith in tatters. Each time, he pushes further, his manipulation tighter, exploiting your trust until you’re nothing but a vessel for his darkest fantasies, your naivety his greatest weapon.

Doubt creeps in, a faint whisper against his lies. Each encounter leaves you hollow, the shame heavier than the fleeting pleasure he forces on you. In the vestry, he fucks you on a table, your legs spread wide, his cock relentless as he chants, “This is God’s will.” You cry, not from pain but from the growing realization that this isn’t holy. He senses it, his eyes narrowing, and he grips your throat, fucking you harder. “Don’t question me,” he snarls, his cum filling you again, a brand you can’t escape.

You’re trapped, a naive girl bound by the trust you placed in a monster. The church, once your haven, is now his playground, and you, his prey, kneel still, worshipping a man who’s twisted your faith into his own depraved gospel.

In the shadows of St. Mary’s, your story is a whispered warning. Father Anton, the predator in priest’s clothing, reigns, his cock a weapon, his lies a chain. You, his naive disciple, remain caught in his web, believing his touch is divine, unaware that true salvation lies in breaking free from his dark will.