PLEASE HURRY, DADDY 2 by Good Little Church Girl

Writer: Good Little Church Girl / Contact me through LS666 …

Subject: PLEASE HURRY, DADDY 2

Link: Email LS666 / 22.09.2022

Author’s Notes: Fiction is good. It’s healthy. It’s fun. So, that’s what this piece of smut is: fiction. Don’t blame me if you’re corrupted by it. For the rest of you, please oh please cum for me! xxx

Please Hurry, Daddy 2

Part II – In The Beginning

Our church hadn’t always been this way. In fact, when I was just a little girl, we were a very traditional God-fearing Church. Nothing sinful was accepted as tolerated behavior. You were swiftly punished for any sins (that were found out) and you were very publicly humiliated in any number of the weekly services. Religion for our people was meant to be strict and cruel and punishing.

It seems not everyone in the congregation was in the mood to feel condemned one bright Sunday morning. A man showed up wearing all black and sat in the back pew of the church, participating in the worship and blending in perfectly, clapping, praising, seeming quite led by the spirit. All but for that all black alligator suit, belt, and shoes. It was hard to look away from him. I noticed that many people, men, women and children, continued glancing his way, craning their necks to see the quite dapper stranger in the back row.

The first gunshot fired during the altar call.

The preacher had just finished saying, ”Those who need prayer please come to the alter here. We will lay hands on you. We will grind the devil out of you. “

Bang!

My ears rang from being so close to the shot. I was on my way to alter at the front of the church, ready to confess my latest perverted thought, when the handsome stranger from the back of the church was suddenly by my side. So close, barely touching my left arm with his large body. I remember looking at his alligator skin suit and being astonished at how it seemed to be alive. Breathing. I imagined the alligator was a living being, covering and clothing the man as a means of worship and respect. Writhing and breathing like so many serpents just swarming him. I had to blink several times to stop seeing that stunning vision.

The gun in his hand wasn’t big but it was so thick and solid looking. I bet it was heavy, I thought. I never considered it strange to be fascinated with the alligator man’s gun, rather than my beloved preacher who lay dying on the alter step. His bloody torso and ripped- apart chest was sprawled above the step on the altar, legs and bottom half on the floor, bleeding out.

Claret, I remember whispering, thinking of my Daddy and his beautiful word for blood, before turning my interest right back to that gun. The thick shaft. The hole on the tip. For bullets. To murder people. To murder my preacher, even.

“Goodness, I thought, I wanna hold that gun.”

It was the obliviousness to my own callous indifference that allowed me to run quickly after the murderous man as he, in his animated suit of magic, made his escape. I didn’t think much of the scene around me. The whole church had begun to scream, cry, tear at themselves and their clothing. Despair. Fear. Chaos. But I was singularly focused. My child mind was crying for his love. To lick his suit coat, feel the texture of it and the skin wrinkles and feel the life in it with my tongue.

I couldn’t catch him. My tiny little legs just couldn’t support my effort and I fell to my knees, beginning to sob. I must have looked devastated and very innocent, my sundress hanging off one slender shoulder revealing my nipple for anyone to ogle and lust after. Flat chested and nipple exposed, I’m sure I was a sight for the elders who ran to find me.

Everyone believed I was crying over our preacher’s cold blooded assassination, and for the ruination of our holy church worship service. So I let them believe it. But only I knew my secret. Deep down I wanted Him to come back for me, kidnap me, beat me into submission, and use me for other murders. He would tell me how much he loves me when I helped him select another preacher or victim to murder, maybe even torture.

That very night I masturbated and experienced a clitoral orgasm for the first time ever in my seven years on the earth — I wanted Him to find me — please come back for me, I prayed, as I drifted off, still feeling aftershocks of orgasm rippling through my seven year old body. Only later did I admit I came hardest thinking of the violence. The claret. Much later.

In the following weeks, as things began to settle, people accepted that the handsome stranger had murdered their preacher and gotten away with it. I was still just longing for Him. Would he return to me? I knew I had felt something unnatural emanating from him, sort of like zapping your finger when you touch someone. But it just keeps buzzing. I felt it in my child cunt when he was next to me, touching my arm, killing my preacher.

My Daddy became the new preacher and we were scrutinized closely, picked apart for flaws and sins by the hateful and jealous congregation. Money was being made at church, for the church, and especially for the preacher and his family. Money corrupts, they would say. Daddy didn’t care. He had a new car, Mommy got huge tits put on her chest, and I as the only child, got nothing for the trouble. Only the longing for Him.

One night, in the eerie shadows of the church library, I discovered a book of medieval religions, and it was full of the most exciting pictures, drawings, and ancient spells for almost any desire. Even my seven year old mind could see this was out of place in our church of god holiness congregation.

I quickly stole it and kept it hidden in my bedroom, constantly changing hiding spots, less chance my big-titted mother or my newly wealthy Daddy would discover my secret book of magic, my obsession.

The pictures and drawings of naked, tortured infants and small children mesmerized me. I stared at hundreds of variations of murder, rape, violence, ropes, hangings, and none of the helpless children and toddlers were to be pitied. I instinctively knew they were for using and disposing of. Tiny infants depicted suckling at mother’s breasts being sawed in half by big scary horned men with frightening penises. They always had huge monstrous penises and used them to kill and maim the children, none of whom were even close to my age yet.

I was amazed and delighted by the looks of fright on all the faces. I would masturbate furiously, frigging my seven year old clit staring at child abuse spells and drawings. I especially enjoyed the poetic, encouraging passages of writing to comfort and calm the reader. It was too exciting without those passages to read. Otherwise I’d get so excited I would scream out and get caught. I bit my lips raw trying to control the shouts of depraved words I chanted studying and absorbing all those ancient chapters. Always with a hand in my childish cunt.

One afternoon, after church, Daddy said he had made an exceptional amount of cash from the collection plate and was, “Sick and fucking tired of the twats and ignorant hillbillies in his flock.” So we went on a shopping spree, just Daddy and me. When Daddy and I passed the Victoria’s Secret store, he winked at me and asked me if I wanted to take a peak.

Daddy was so handsome that women always flirted with him. A beautiful saleswoman caught Daddy’s eye and he was off to charm her.

Left all alone, I began to touch and finger the sexy lingerie all around me. I was imagining standing on the altar at church in the red lace thong and strange bra with holes cut out right where nipples go. They would all see my beautiful young body and my exposed nipples. I would stand there waiting for Him. And when he arrived, he would rip all of it off my little body, in front of all those horrified eyes. He would ravage my hole and treat me just like the horned men in the book of magic treated their helpless prey. Knowing he could kill me excited me. And the infants in our congregation. Will he kill the babies right in front of me?

Oh, please, I’ll do anything, I silently prayed.

“Come look at the nice outfits Kelli here wants to show us, honey,” Daddy said.

I followed him and the beautiful saleswoman Daddy had charmed to the largest of the dressing rooms.

Kelli began stripping out of her dress, revealing bits of her voluptuous womanly body very slowly, teasingly. She was naked above the waist now and her tits had me mesmerized. They were as big and round as cantaloupes. Huge silver-dollar, rosy-brown nipples in the middle, her breasts were a feast and I needed to see more so badly that my small vagina clenched and ached.

Daddy motioned for Kelli to pull the rest of her dress up from the hem, and she did so slowly, with a cruel sneer on her lips. She stared at me, and daddy pushed me toward her thighs. I was eye level to her crotch-less panties as she finally lifted her skirt all the way up. She spread her legs right then and thrust her crotch at me.

“Smell it,” she said.

As I leaned in to inhale something I could only guess was going to change my life, Daddy encouraged me.

“Open your mouth,” Daddy said.

I began to cry and Kelli laughed at me. Daddy was so excited he was breathing hard and fast. Kelli and Daddy kissed deeply. What happened next truly solidified my love for Him: my stranger – the murderer, assassin — alligator skin man. He appeared to my left just as Daddy was pushing my head toward Kelli’s crotch. And when He spoke to me, I melted inside like candle wax and my whole heart puddled at his feet.

“When you eat this cunt, do it for me. Eat and enjoy and savor. Later, much later, you will put the hole in my gun’s shaft right up to her clit. Right over that clit. Poke it snugly into the gun’s hole and pull the trigger.”

His words breathed hot circles all over my flesh. I felt rage in my cunt. I dove wildly between Kelli’s thighs, my tongue and face assaulting her pussy lips and clit. I must have passed out because Daddy was slapping my face, panic in his voice. My mouth was full of warmth. Metallic warmth. Blood. I had bitten off part of Kelli’s labia.

“Claret,” whispered Daddy, calming me now.

THE END OF CHAPTER TWO