Forbidden Daughter

Chapter 9 - Embracing Sacrilege

by DesireEngineer

Tags: #cw:incest #cw:noncon #Blasphemy #clothing #D/s #daddy_daughter #degradation #dom:male #exhibitionism #f/m #humiliation #mind_control #sacrilege #scifi #sub:female

The first rays of dawn sliced through the gap in her curtains, painting stripes across the ceiling. Sandra groaned, burying her face in the pillow, but the weight of the day pressed down on her, a heavy reminder of yesterday's failure. She forced herself to sit up, the Sunday church dress already a looming presence in her mind. It was a costume, a lie designed to conceal the truth of her being.

She pulled it over her head, the white fabric a suffocating shroud. Without a bra, her large tits felt heavy, unrestrained, obscene, they were irrefutable evidence of her body's pornographic nature. Beneath the dress, she wore nothing. No panties, a deliberate act of rebellion against the suffocating piety of the church, a silent acknowledgment of her inherent sinful nature. The absence of fabric against her pussy was the only thing that felt honest, a secret truth.

Downstairs, the kitchen was filled with the clatter of hurried activity. Her father moved with a clipped efficiency, his face a mask of controlled displeasure. Breakfast was a silent affair, the only sound was the clinking of silverware against plates. They were running late, a fact that hung heavy in the air, unspoken but palpable.

Sandra picked at her food, eating gave her no comfort. Yesterday, she had been away all day, denying her father the attention he deserved, and she returned to find him perfectly capable of managing without her. The realization that he didn't need her stung more than any reprimand. She craved his attention, his approval, him. They rushed out to the car, the engine already running, a silent command to hurry.

The church doors loomed, already half-closed against the throng. A wave of sounds, murmuring voices, rustling programs, washed over them as they slipped inside, the scent of incense thick enough to taste. It was a close call, a few more minutes and there wouldn't have been any seats left, or worse, made a spectacle of their tardiness.

She slid into the pew beside her father, the polished wood cool beneath, she felt indecent against her pantiless cunt, a flush creeping up her neck. He settled in beside her, close enough that their sleeves brushed, yet he felt miles away. His gaze, when it flickered in her direction, was devoid of warmth, a detached observation that offered no comfort.

Despite the physical proximity, a chasm of disappointment yawned within her. The carefully constructed image she'd presented, the pigtails, the dress, seemed to have made no impact. She felt utterly worthless, a discarded doll dressed up for a show that no one was watching. 'It's my fault,' she thought, her fingers clenching in her lap. 'I need to do better. I need to be more appealing, more desirable.' Her eyes darted down to the modest white dress, a wave of disgust washing over her. 'This is the problem. This prudish dress. It's a lie; he asked me to dress femininely, not this. I need to show him who I really am, what I was really made for.'

As the service began, the organ music swelled, a mournful drone that vibrated through the wooden pews and settled deep in Sandra's chest. She tried to focus on the Father's Thomas droning sermon, but her mind was a battlefield. Guilt and desire clashed, shame wrestled with longing. Her father sat beside her, his presence a warm, solid weight, the scent of his familiar cologne a subtle, intoxicating lure, a forbidden fruit that dangled just out of reach. The explicit videos she had watched the day before haunted her fantasies, the images of abuse and domination playing on a loop in her head, each scene more depraved than the last. She remembered the rough, unyielding acts in vivid, lurid detail. The CC app whispered in her ear, 'This is the treatment you crave, Sandra. This is the depravity you were born for.'

Sandra's mind raced as she remembered the videos she had watched the day before. A man's hand gripped a woman's throat, his fingers digging into her soft flesh with brutal force, as he slammed into her from behind. His hips pounded against her cunt with relentless, savage thrusts, each impact sending shock waves of pain and pleasure through her body. The woman's face contorted into a mask of raw agony and twisted ecstasy, her eyes rolling back as he choked her, cutting off her air, heightening every sensation to an almost unbearable level. Sandra could almost imagine the feeling of Daddy's grip on her own throat, the air being stolen from her lungs, the world fading to a blur of intense sensation.

Another scene flashed through her memory, a man roughly grabbing a woman's hair, forcing her to take him deep into her throat. His other hand slapped her face with each thrust, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room like a macabre symphony. The wet, obscene sounds of his cock fucking her mouth filled her imagination, mingling with her gagging moans, creating a lewd and degrading cacophony. Sandra's own mouth watered at the thought, the taste of her father's cock, the feel of his hands in her hair, pulling and twisting until tears streamed down her face.

And then there was the anal, a man spreading a woman's ass cheeks ramming his thick cock into her. Her screams of pain and pleasure echoed in her head, a haunting melody of submission and degradation. Sandra couldn't stop imagining her father performing these immoral acts upon her, fulfilling the desires her erotic and pornographic body promised, turning her into a living, breathing toy for his pleasure. The memory of the woman's raw, primal screams sent shivers down Sandra's spine, a perverse thrill coursing through her veins as she envisioned herself in that woman's place, completely at her father's mercy.

Father Thomas' sermon continued, Sandra's mind drifted to church, her conscience trying to keep her away from such immoral and pornographic thoughts in the house of the Lord. She recalled the tale of Lot, remembering how he had unwittingly laid with his daughters to repopulate the world. A perverse sense of longing washed over her, twisting the story into a justification for her own forbidden desires. 'Lot got to fuck his daughters. He got to breed his daughters. Why not me? Why not Daddy?' A wave of jealousy surged through her, a bitter resentment towards Lot's daughters, who had been chosen for such a sacred, sinful act. 'They got to carry his children, to be filled with his incestuous seed, over and over and over again! It's not fair!’

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the absence of panties making her acutely aware of her wetness, her cunt throbbing with a desperate need. 'Daddy is the best man ever. He's stronger, smarter, more deserving. He deserves that reward. He deserves to breed me, to fill me with his seed.' A surge of resentment flared within her, directed at God himself. 'Why did you give Lot that opportunity and not my Daddy? He's a better man, a more righteous man. He deserves to be worshiped, to be obeyed, to have daughters as his rape toys' Her cunt juices began to drip down her thigh, a betrayal of her arousal, a sticky, shameful trail that marked her as a sinner, a slut, a wanton creature ready to be used, to be claimed, to be bred.

Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over her, a cold, crushing feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach. 'What's wrong with me?' she thought, her mind reeling from the sacrilegious thoughts that had just consumed her. 'These are terrible, wicked thoughts. I should be ashamed of myself.' But despite the guilt, despite the shame, a part of her couldn't deny the truth that had just been revealed. It was a dark, twisted truth; but it was her truth nonetheless. 'Even if it was a sin, her father deserves to fuck her.'

Her gaze drifted to the crucifixes that adorned the walls, the image of Christ's suffering suddenly flickering, replaced for a fleeting second by a far more carnal vision, a thick, engorged cock, pulsing with life. The image vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving her breathless and ashamed. 'What the hell was that?' she thought, her mind reeling from the depravity of her own thoughts. 'How could I think of that staring at God's suffering?' But a part of her, a dark, twisted part of her understood. It was natural, wasn't it? Natural for her sinful body to want to worship a real cock, a tangible source of pleasure and power, rather than some distant, ethereal God?

As the final hymn of the mass faded, Sandra fidgeted in the pew, her heart pounding. Her father sat beside her, a heavy, watchful presence, his displeasure at her, obvious in his lack of interest in her. She suddenly remembered her promise. She had to speak to the priest, to concoct some story about the missing donation money and fake remorse. She clung to the hope that keeping this promise, defying the church, would finally earn her back his approval.

Taking a deep breath, Sandra steeled herself and approached the priest. Her heart pounded in her chest, her nipples hard and aching beneath her dress, a physical manifestation of her desperate need for Cock. But as she stood before the priest, the words caught in her throat, choked by a wave of shame. The depravity of her sins, the immorality of her thoughts, the weight of her lies, of the deceit she was going to deploy threatened to overwhelm her, to force her to confess everything, to spill her guts and beg for salvation, to beg for God's forgiveness, to reveal the darkness that festered within her soul, before it shattered completely shatters her conscience.

"Father," she began, her voice a mere whisper, trembling with the weight of her impending confession.

But then, she felt a presence behind her, a familiar warmth that sent a shiver down her spine. It was Daddy, he stood just a few feet away, his eyes like dark velvet, his gaze both possessive and expectant. The sight of him, the knowledge of his presence, decimated her resolve, replacing her desperate need for absolution with a far more primal desire, the need for his approval, his attention, his praise. The urge to confess vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating determination. She couldn't disappoint him. Not again. Not ever. Drawing on a reserve of strength she didn't know she possessed, she forced herself to meet the priest's gaze, her voice trembling, but firm.

"Father Thomas, I need to speak with you about the money we collected for the church."

The older priest looked at her with concern, his eyes kind but firm. "Of course, Sandra. What seems to be the problem?"

Sandra took a deep breath, steeling herself for the lie. She glanced at Joshua, who gave her a barely perceptible nod, his eyes filled with a mixture of approval and anticipation. 'I'm doing this for you, Daddy,' she thought, a twisted sense of devotion swelling within her. 'I'll do anything to please you, Daddy. Anything!'

"It's gone, Father," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Someone stole it from my locker last week. I'm so sorry." On the corner of her eye she saw her father smiling, the first time since yesterday.

The priest's expression darkened, and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That's terrible, Sandra. I'm so sorry this happened. We'll figure something out. You've always been so dedicated to the church; I know this must be devastating for you."

Joshua's gaze lingered on Sandra, possessive and knowing. His eyes, like dark velvet, seemed to peel away the modest white dress, imagining her naked beneath the fabric. He savored the curve of her hips, the obscene swell of her breasts straining against the demure neckline. Her pigtails, so carefully styled, were perfect "fuck handles," he thought, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. He imagined yanking on them, forcing her head down as he drove into her from behind, her whimpers of pleasure and pain a personal symphony. A surge of lust coursed through him, hardening his cock against his trousers. He subtly shifted, enjoying the discomfort, the anticipation of claiming what he desired.

A surge of dark satisfaction coursed through her as she delivered the lie, her voice steady, her expression convincing. It was so easy, so effortless. The words flowed from her lips like honey, masking the poison beneath. A chilling realization dawned on her: sin came naturally to her. Despite the potential consequences, it felt as if she were born to succumb to temptation, to revel in the desires of her flesh, to embrace the darkness that pulsed within her veins. The thought sent a shiver of both fear and excitement down her spine. 'Is this who I am?' she wondered, a twisted sense of pride swelling within her. 'Was I born for this? Was I born for sin? Is my body nothing more than a temple of sin?'

The reality of her situation slowly seeping back in. The weight of her lies hung heavy on her shoulders, and she knew she had to maintain her facade, at least for now.

Her friends noticed her distress and approached her with concern. Emily, ever the caring friend, looked at her with genuine worry. 'Always so concerned,' Sandra thought with a mix of affection and guilt. Emily's voice, filled with sincere empathy, broke through her introspective thoughts. "Sandra, are you okay? We heard about the money. That's awful! Were you mugged?”

Sandra offered a smile, though a tremor ran through her. "I'm fine, just tired." ‘Was it necessary to lie to them?’ she wondered, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. Then, her eyes found Joshua. His gaze, unwavering, held a silent expectation, a reminder of the promise she'd made. 'Yes', she realized, the answer settling like a stone in her stomach. It was necessary. I promised Daddy. A sudden calm washed over her, the guilt receding. 'Compared to him, my friends mean nothing' She met their concerned faces with a strength born of submission.

Jules chimed in, her voice gentle but firm. "Sandra, we're here for you. We want to help in any way we can. Maybe we can talk to other students, see if anyone saw anything suspicious."

Tasha spoke, her lips pursed in concern, next. "Maybe we should all go get some ice cream? It might help take your mind off things."

Sandra recoiled at the suggestion, a wave of disgust washing over her. "No! I mean, no, thank you, Tasha. I'm really not in the mood for ice cream. I just want to go home." 'Ice cream? With them?' The idea felt alien. She needed to keep her father happy, like all good daughters.

Joshua's gaze softened, a mask of tender concern meticulously crafted. "The girls are right, Sandra. You shouldn't bear this burden alone. Perhaps you should join them; a distraction might ease your mind." He words concealing his thoughts. 'Let's see you choose me, show me they mean nothing to you, prove your devotion to me.'

Sandra's eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing her face. Then, she turned to Joshua, reaching for him, her fingers digging into his arm. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't want to go with them. I want to stay with you." She buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent, the familiar mix of sandalwood and something darker, something primal. 'I need my Daddy, I need this', she thought, as she drowned in his scent, her heart pounding in her chest. 'Only Daddy matters. Only Daddy's attention matters.'

A predatory gleam sharpened Joshua's eyes as he tightened his arm around Sandra, drawing her close. "Please forgive her, girls," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress of concern. "She's quite distraught; she blames herself. I must get her home to rest."

His words hid his true thoughts, ‘Stupid cunts! As if their girly concern can fix anything’. He had to suppress the desire to laugh, instead he maintained his fake concern.

"We must be going. Sandra needs her rest." He guided her away, his arm a possessive brand around her hips. Sandra didn't glance back, her gaze locked on Joshua, in her heart she had already abandoned her friends.

The car ride was heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, Sandra broke the silence, her voice trembling slightly.

"Daddy, I… I'm so sorry about yesterday. I wasn't there for you, to take care of you to... serve you, and that was wrong. I feel terrible about it." She paused, gathering her courage. "I just… I need you to know that I want to be better. I want to be the kind of daughter you deserve." 'An incestuous fucktoy,' the Cognitive Corruptor app interjected, and for the first time, her conscience failed to argue against it.

Joshua remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the road. Then, he turned to her, his eyes cold. "Sorry isn't enough, Sandra. It's not just that you weren't there. You made a promise, didn't you? And have you kept it? Do you have any idea how disappointing that is? How little does your word seem to mean?" He said showing some of the contempt he felt for her and her gender. ‘Let the guilt eat at her, until she is desperate to please me.’

Sandra's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing her face. "I... I am sorry, Daddy! I am sorry I keep disappointing you! I'll do it today! I can go right now, let's go to the mall! Or tomorrow if you prefer, any day, I'll skip school, and we can go together. I'll buy anything you want! Wear anything that pleases you, Daddy."

Joshua's reply was cold, unwavering. "You promised to do it alone, Sandra. You need to learn to fulfill your promises."

"Yes, Daddy," she whispered, her head bowed. "I understand. I'll do it tomorrow." Hesitantly, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "...What kind of clothes should I buy? What can I wear that will please you?”

A slow smile spread across Joshua's face, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Buy clothes that make you feel comfortable in your skin, clothes that reflect your true nature, Sandra."

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. Sandra stared out the window, her thoughts swirling. 'What is my true nature?' Her gaze drifted downwards, lingering on the way her dress fought to contain the ripe swell of her large tits, each nipple straining against the fabric like a desperate plea. Her hips, molded by the car seat, formed an obscene invitation, a curve that promised sinful pleasure. And then there was her ass, perfectly formed, begging for a red hand print, screaming for a violent touch. But it was the insistent throb between her legs, the slick heat of her cunt aching to be filled, to be defiled by his thick, throbbing cock, that truly defined her. A jolt of understanding, both terrifying and exhilarating, surged through her. She wasn't a pious girl; she was a living, breathing invitation to sin, nothing but living pornography. A tremor of both fear and excitement coursed through her as she whispered, barely audible, "I understand, Daddy."

Sandra knew what she had to do; every piece of clothing she bought tomorrow, every outfit she wore for him from now on, had to let Daddy appreciate her true nature. Despite how sinful it was, she was determined to do it.

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