My prim virgin.

I waited outside for you in the rain, dark stained glass behind my eyes, and a church of the damned awaiting.

Saw you standing next to the cross and burned my hand on my own heart, as I took your face to my chest; let you lick the water from my open chest.

Did not want you to speak as you touched my flame-red hair, but we were both posted with desire, nonetheless, comments were made.

Like I would remember.

I took you in, and ripped open your bust; my but you were ready, waiting for blackness to eat you alive. I cannot say I did not enjoy the feel of your hot skin on my tongue, but it was only the beginning, and we were both just substitutes for one another.

Soon your hands raced down my back, felt the scars and ripped across them, down, down, until it bled; you wanted it to.

Slapped you smartly, I did, just like when you were younger; just to see the light turn on in your eyes, and the bite of your teeth against my neck. All I could see was you, and I floated in euphoria, as you tasted my pain and past. I grabbed your hair and dethroned you with three steps, and then we both stood, all in our skin and glory.

Two beings, one so light, other so tainted- but the polish had come off your smile as I clawed my way into you. Shoved you against that cold wall, and pounded into you as I would any other woman.

You knew no one could fuck you like me.

Vulgar to hear, but I bring it out in you.

It rises in you like bubbling froth, so I can grab it, use it, and bend you to my will.

You have the same hold on me.

So I fucked you raw, till you screamed, and came with such fire. It was not long until my notes were heard in time with yours.

We fell in that damned church.

I laugh now to remember it.

Because afterward, you still call me Father.