The Man Of Sin: The Series - Sex Stories

The Man Of Sin: The Series

Chapter 1: Berlin, Germany: The young man climbed up out of the bed, leaving the naked woman to silently cry. He looked out the window at the rainy city, chuckling to himself in both satisfaction and anticipation. “What in God’s name are you?” the woman hissed as she curled up in the fetal position. She was beautiful in body but broken in spirit, her inner thighs red from the blood of her torn hymen. Her virginity had taken from her to the sound of her twisted cries of pain and lust, caught in both sexual humiliation and fulfillment. The young man’s smirk gained a bloodthirsty curl and he flicked his finger as if to tell her that there was something he needed to show her. The woman was dragged out of the bed as if an invisible hand had grabbed her by the throat. She hit the wall beside the man and crumpled to the floor, gasping for air with a welt worn into her neck from an unseen force. He grabbed her chin as if to steal a kiss, forcing her to look up at him. She had spoken to him in German, so he answered in kind. “In God’s name you ask? In this room, I am God. To you, I am God. And as of now, you are a broken toy. I’m leaving tomorrow, and while you’ll never see me again, you’ll never be free of me. You will spend the rest of your life with a heart filled with both fear and love, terrified of my touch but also longing for it. What man could ever want this impure body of yours after the things I have done to it? What man could ever fall in love with your soul after I’ve ...

... bent it to my will? Once I’m gone, you’ll think you are free, but the cage I’ve put you in will never disappear. Until the day you die, you are my property.” His voice was deep and commanding, undeserving of someone so young, yet the power he wielded and the twisted depths of his soul were unlike any other human. “But now it’s time for me to find something new to play with. I’ve become bored with you and this city and it’s time for me to move on once again. I need some new feeding grounds.” Rome, Italy: The book bag hit the delinquent’s head like a flail, knocking him to the ground while his friends watched in shock. Standing over him was a seventeen-year-old girl, her face flushed with rage in a red as bright as her hair, the skirt of her school uniform gently swaying in the breeze, and the crucifix hanging around her neck gleaming in the morning sunlight. “Wretched punks! You do not deserve the mercy of God!” she shouted, pointing to the graffiti being spray-painted onto the alley wall. The boy got to his feet with blood pouring from his nose. “You damn bitch!” He charged towards her with his fist rocketing towards her face, but she caught his arm and twisted it, forcing him to bend back and letting her knock him in the Adam’s Apple. As he fell back to the ground, one of his friends lunged with a knife in his hand. Forsaking her pride and hoping nobody would see under her skirt, she spun around and delivered a kick to his temple, knocking him out into the street like he was a ...