The Church of Big Daddy Dick

You fold your hands behind your back as you look up at the church from the front yard, doing your best to look innocent. Anyone who's heard your reputation--particularly from the sorts of men who frequent the sorts of places where you've earned it--knows looks are deceiving. Don't make that innocent pout at a man who knows you true, you corrupt cutie. The Church sees all, hears all, knows every sin you've committed and what it will take to make you confess to each and every one.

"Hi... Daddy," you say with a saccharine smile as he approaches. How does this new title feel on your tongue? You already knew better than to call him Father--yes, you know how to address a man of his cloth. "Someone told me... someone told me the people at this church could help me..."

The unholy man looks you up and down over the rims of his glasses. No doubt you think yourself so cute in that plaid skirt, but he sees the run in those stockings; my, look how few of the upper buttons on that blouse you've chosen to make use of, too. "We've seen the sorts of things you post online, you naughty girl, and heard so much more from people who have seen it with their own eyes. Did you think you could escape our gaze, when you are so proud of your sins? We know so much about you," he says, then speaks her name, sending a shiver down your spine. Oh, you do your best to keep that innocent cast to your eyes, but the way they slip from his face betrays you. Your new Daddy cups your chin in a hand, forces those eyes to look into his own again. "It's alright, little girl. Even a filthy slut without semblance of morals like you can still be taught to behave. One need only know the proper methods of instruction." Your lips part, just enough for a trickle of drool to wet them. No doubt the pair of lips below is just as wet. "Come along with Daddy, you wicked thing."

Yes, you know what this place is and why you're here. This is your first visit, but you've heard about this place before, what they do for and to girls like you here, in the same places you earned the reputation that put you on their list. "Come worship at the Church of Big Daddy Dick, my naughty girl," the man instructs you as he leads you through the doors. "Confess your sins, repent for your wicked ways, and accept your punishment like a good girl. We're going to teach you the right way to live, the commandments you'll be following from now on."

You follow him through the nave, where you notice another man in the Church's robes instructing the prayers of a girl much like yourself in the pews. The girl prays aloud, thanking her Daddy for his guidance, his discipline, before she begins to list her freshest sins. Oh my, the things this harlot has done; it's enough to make even you blush... and flush with envy. Listening to these prayers spoken aloud feels naughty itself, a violation, this public airing of the ways her body has been violated by her own doing. When you pause to listen like the wicked thing you are, your new Daddy--yes, your own Daddy--grabs a fistful of hair at the base of your neck to lead you forcibly on. As you stumble in your heels to catch up, something glimmers in the air between the praying girl and her Daddy. A stray trickle of sunlight coming through the stained glass windows gleams off a thin chain terminating in her Daddy's fist, originating from a choker necklace round her throat. You see the girl look up at her Daddy in rapture as he pulls that chain tighter following a particularly depraved confession. Is he smiling down at her in pride?

"Down this way." Your Daddy points to a stone stairwell curving downward, and only releases your hair from his grip so you can descend. The stairwell is dark, the walls close, and you feel your heart creep upward behind your breasts. You hear Daddy follow you down the stairs, blocking your escape back up, but then you don't really want to escape, do you? You wouldn't have come here if you didn't know deep down that escape has always been the opposite of what you wanted. You understood all too well before you came here: naughty girls who come to the Church of Big Daddy Dick don't get a choice in how they repent and worship, nor are they allowed to leave again until they've done so in full.

You feel Daddy grip your hair again at the bottom of the stairs, and give a soft grunt. Not of disapproval. Good gods, you can feel the heat of your cunt radiating to your thighs beneath this skirt while Daddy--this is how you're already thinking of him in your private thoughts as well, not just "the Daddy" but Daddy--leads you through these stone dungeon halls. He leads you cross three intersections, turning at each, and you don't think you could easily find your way out again. You probably wouldn't get away even if you did try to run away now. Finally Daddy steers you by your hair into a chamber somewhere deep beneath the earth, at the far side of a stone maze from any way back up. Once inside this new room, Daddy forces you to your knees on the stone floor while he closes the steel door, sealing you within this cell. You hear the heavy latch click into place, and what sounds like the tinkle of keys turning the lock.

Your new home and prison is spacious enough. Certainly more than a toilet and a cot. All manner of shelves and devices for gods know what line three of the walls. You try to look at these objects of discipline and torture out of the corner of your eyes as you kneel, but you can't make much out in the dim light. Along the fourth wall hangs all manner of chains, many ending in shackles or cuffs; a dozen or more metal bolts jut from the wall at strategic places. That wall alone has all a Daddy needs to ensure a naughty girl could never, ever escape, no matter what she suffered in this room. Your breath catches as you're hit with the realization of what you've so willingly walked into, this place of terrible pleasure and irresistible learning, and that you're excited by how easily you've already given up hope of ever leaving freely.

"Stand. Hold your hair up for me," Daddy instructs, and pulls a pair of shears from the shelf. The blade slices through your blouse and bra straps with a single snip at each shoulder, then down the front of you as well. Tattered cloth floats down to the stone floor by your feet, leaving your breasts to fall free with a lovely jiggle. Next the shears split your skirt in half, and you shudder involuntarily as you are truly bared now to your new Daddy. He inspects you silently, cups a breast in hand almost absentmindedly as he admires his naughty girl in all her sinful glory for the first time. "Kneel." You go back to your knees immediately, but still earn a slap across your cheeks. "I didn't tell you to put your hair down." Wondering why you felt that trickle down your thigh when Daddy slapped you, you pull your hair up again, wondering what else there is he might want to cut where it would be in the way. He can't cut off your stockings while you kneel, can he?

But no, Daddy isn't going to cut anything else off you for now. Instead he slips a tight black choker round your pretty throat, a twin to the one the girl up in the nave wore. Next he steps behind you, and you realize moments later he's latched a tiny padlock in place to keep that choker on you whether you like it or not. But you do like it, because it makes you Daddy's property, and you've never wanted to be anything else more in your life, have you? No, when next Daddy connects a silver chain leash to your new collar, you audibly moan, feeling you've found something you never knew you were looking for till you heard of this place.

"We know how to fill all the needy holes you've been trying so hard to satisfy till now." Those words, spoken now--it's like he can read your thoughts. "Because the problem before wasn't that you were doing these slutty, filthy things, was it? The problem was that you felt like you were still in control when they happened. You'll never fill the void of those holes on your own, my naughty slut. What you need is someone to fill them for you, someone who won't give you a choice in the matter. Say 'yes, Daddy.'"

"Yes, Daddy" slides off your lips quicker than the command can register consciously.

Next Daddy guides you in crawling around the room on your hands and knees, keeping your leash taut the whole time. You make several rounds of the room, and feeling his eyes upon your exposed flesh with every shift of hip and scrape of knee. "It feels natural to you, being led on this leash," he says, and you understand it is no question. It is both a recognition and a command for how you are not only to behave from now on, but what you are to believe. This is dogma. You belong on Daddy's leash--this is a commandment from a power higher than yourself. The burn between your thighs tells it true; that fire you might call a burning bush, if you weren't such a good girl as to shave every week.

Finally Daddy bids you halt before what looks like a blood red coffin resting against the wall. A coffin? No, you realize you recognize this from history books and album covers--an iron maiden. Terror creeps into your throat as Daddy pulls those twin doors open. You were assured no harm would come to you here at the Church of Big Daddy Dick; were you deceived? Except no, instead of steel thorns, the interior of this iron maiden looks to be lined with all sorts of mechanisms, so many it's hard to tell what any one of them is for. You look up at him, for the first time with genuine fear in your eyes. "Daddy...?"

Smiling, he pulls free Daddy's cock--you hear this as a proper noun in your mind, "Daddy's cock"--so you can get to know him up close. All worries about the iron maiden flee from your mind. This, you understand at once as Daddy's cock hovers before your eyes, is the best cock in the world. You not only want Daddy's cock, you need Daddy's cock, in your mouth, in all your holes, as much as it pleases Daddy to fill them. Daddy's cock is the only thing that could fill those holes. You want to be trained to become addicted to Daddy's cock. This is what you have needed your entire life, presented in the flesh.

"Part your lips," Daddy commands, "and stick out your tongue. Keep your mouth open and your tongue out, understand?"

You nod excitedly, mouth as wide open as it will go, drool dripping off your tongue as it hangs free. Instead of fucking your mouth like you expected, like you needed, Daddy's cock drags slowly across your face, left to right and back again. As it goes, Daddy's cock rubs against your cheeks, your tongue, carrying your own drool across your face as it goes. Back and forth again, sometimes slapping hard against your cheeks like Daddy's hand did minutes earlier. Almost you begin to beg, "please, Daddy, please," but you know better than to move those lips right now. It tastes so good every time Daddy's glans glides across your tongue, and you think you may even get a drop of precum. You know Daddy's cum is going to taste better than any man's you've ever drank, before you even get to wrap your lips round his cock the first time. Daddy's cock is the best cock, and Daddy's cum will be the best cum. These are commandments that need not be spoken--though something tells you they will be, once your proper reeducation is underway.

At no point does Daddy allow you to taste him properly. Instead, after Daddy's cock has spread your spit well from cheek to cheek, Daddy puts him away. Your whimper when he leaves your sight puts a smile on Daddy's face. "Oh, my sinful slut, first we have to know whether you're worthy of Daddy's cock. You need to show Daddy you have it in you to repent the way a girl like you must. Stand," he says as he takes your hair in a fist and pulls you to your feet.

The doors of the iron maiden stand open. You swallow in your throat as Daddy guides you on your first step forward. Your second. Why are you trickling down your thighs at this? You have no idea what awaits you within this steel prison, nor when you might be allowed to leave it; still no amount of willpower could keep you from surrendering to its inescapable embrace right now. Daddy turns you round so you can back in to this contraption of torture, and unclips your leash from your collar once you're in place. Your arms and legs are spread forcibly by the shape of the device, and once those doors close you'll not be able to move any of those limbs more than a fraction of an inch. Yet you stay perfectly still as Daddy closes those doors, and the sound of another lock clicking shut makes you moan so loud it seems to echo off the maiden's interior.

Helpless. You are absolutely, completely helpless. No one knows where you are, what's being done to do. No one will ever come to save you; no one here will ever let you go until they've decided you believe fully and true. And you've never been so sure that you are in the exact right place for you to be, doing what you were born to do.

Daddy looks in at you through a window at eye level, the only hint of an opening left in this device. "That's my good girl," he coos. "Let's begin your religious education, shall we?"

You hear a gentle whir as the interior of the iron maiden comes to life.