Just returned from the most intense, beautiful debate at the masjid. We discussed divine wisdom in suffering, and my voice was the loudest, my arguments the sharpest. Alhamdulillah for the clarity of faith. But my body is a liar. The whole time, my mind kept drifting to a fantasy so filthy it stole my breath. I was imagining being on my knees in the prayer hall itself, my hijab pulled tight as a leash in a kafir man's fist. His other hand forcing my head down onto his thick, pale cock. The taste of his pre-cum on my tongue as a salty sacrament, my muffled prayers and gagging sounds echoing off the domed ceiling. To be a vessel of worship and desecration at once. To have my throat fucked raw until his cum spills down my chin and onto my modest clothes. The duality is my hell and my heaven. I cooked a feast tonight to atone, but my cunt is still throbbing with the need to be defiled.