She kneels to no man. She gives herself to no flesh. She wraps her sacred body in modesty—not out of fear, but because she chooses who suffers. You? You’ve never even been chosen. You rot in your own denial, not because you’re holy… but because you’re worthless.
She’s a virgin because no one is good enough.
You’re a virgin because you never were.
That soft, untouched skin? That perfect, silk-wrapped ass? It’s reserved for something greater. For the divine. For a purpose. For her pleasure.
You don’t even qualify to kiss the bench she kneels on.
And still… here you are. Jerking off in the shadows of a chapel.
Begging under your breath.
Pretending the drip in your boxers is holy water.
You’ll never touch her.
You’ll never even see what’s beneath the lace.
You’ll die denied.
And she’ll rise untouched.