Messiah Abuse - Rapin' Jesus and then Mary Magdalene Gets it Awn!

This is an excerpt out of the novel I'm currently writing, Simon Peter.

Without Peter there, Mark and James came over to start picking on Jesus. Peter looked back and Mark had Jesus in a headlock and was leading him away. Jesus was struggling, but it was futile. Mark was a couple of years older than Jesus, and Mark had always been big – he was still slightly bigger than Peter, whom he had started to avoid.

Peter looked forward. The teacher was on a roll. He was talking about Isaiah and being translated into Heaven, and saying that Isaiah would return to his people in their hour of need. Peter looked around. The adults seemed rapt. Peter was still upset with Jesus, childishly, but Ephraim was dull. It didn't take ten minutes for Peter to get up and look for Jesus.

Once out of the square, he used his ears, going towards the landward side of the village and into an olive grove. He heard Mark laughing, giggling like a girl. He heard other noises, physical sounds, and he grabbed a rock. He walked as quiet as a cat, rock in hand, figuring to hit Mark or James in the head with it. He was willing to escalate.

He found the three boys, Jesus bent over a fallen tree. His robe was over his hips, and behind him stood James, who was fucking him. Mark was standing to one side, giggling, but there was something wrong with the sound – it wasn't humor, he wasn't laughing because he was afraid, he was laughing because he had to make some noise to get out what he was feeling. But it was not humor. Peter could see the sick dread in Mark' face.

In James' face there was this savagery. It was beyond anything that Peter – who was beaten so hard, so often he had a head like a rock – had never seen.

No, not just savagery. Glee.

Jesus' face was empty, slack. Nothing.

They didn't see Peter. Peter didn't know what to do. He stood for a long moment watching. Then he slowly backed away, and when no one could see him he ran like Satan was on his heels.

So, we have children raping other children, which happens more often than we might like. Children raised in sexually abusive environment pick it up real fast. But, there you have it, the scene where I give it to Jesus in the ass! That's about page four in the book. It goes downhill from there for poor Jesus.

Still, here's some more sex out of Simon Peter. Here, Peter and Mary Magdalene talk about John the Baptist:

She looked at Peter. He had spent time looking at her, studying her. All these emotions were new. She could be curious, playful, determined, cruel, lusting – but she looked open, she looked delicate and uncertain. She said, “He's not like us. He's not even like Jesus. Jesus speaks the words of the Lord, this I believe, but John . . . he lives them.”

“He calls you a whore, Magdalene.”

She was trembling. “Maybe that's true. I fuck men that I want to fuck. I've had half a dozen lovers in this camp. Maybe I am a whore.”

Peter started to get angry. “That's shit, Magdalene! I listened to that little prick, myself, and believe me, he's saying what he says because he's got problems, not because you've got problems. He's that skinny kid that never could manage to talk to a girl, never get a wife, and rather than figure out how to get a woman, rather than talking to a matchmaker or finding a prostitute, a real prostitute, to work all this out, he decided that the problem is that men and women could find each other. He turned it into his sacred cause, but the world isn't ending because . . . because men and women fuck each other! That's stupid. It's . . . like Jesus says. The world is winding up because we are full of anger and wrath, we can't forgive each other for our trespasses and when the world is like that it's inevitable that it end, because we do nothing but build up hate and anger, year after year, generation after generation. The Lord isn't destroying the world, we are, humans are, and Heaven is forgiveness. That makes sense, not this nonsense about how the Lord is going to wipe us out because Herod Antipas is screwing his niece . . .”

He stopped because Magdalene had slapped him. Her eyes were wide, hard, filled with such heat as he'd never seen.

Peter grabbed her robe with one hand and raised his other hand to strike. But he didn't. He let go and she settled back on her feet, and Peter took a few steps back, away from her. He flexed and unflexed his hands. He turned to face her. “Do you think that the Lord wants you to hate yourself? Can't you see how this . . . man does nothing but spread hatred?” Peter said. “You told me that a better question than why Jesus and John rail against sex is why sex is a sin in the first place.”

Magdalene sagged. She collapsed into a chair. She was struggling not to weep. She said, “Perhaps. But . . . you don't understand, Peter.”

“No one tells me anything.”

She looked at him and she shook her head. “I will not tell you this. But . . . it is easy to believe that John is right, for me, Peter. I don't want to hate myself. I want to be a better person.”

Peter looked at her for a long time – he looked at her dark beauty, her deep sadness. He knew that everyone had a reason to be here, something they were looking for enough to . . . enough to leave their home, to leave their aging father, to set aside their loving wife. Everyone was driven to the Nazarenes because they felt a terrible hollowness in their hearts. He had never questioned why Mary Magdalene was here.

Peter said, “Do as Jesus says. Forgive yourself.”

She covered her face and sobbed. She said, “Go, Peter! Go!”

Peter trembled. He didn't go. He crouched next to Magdalene and put his hands on her lap, and looked to her. He said, “You can forgive yourself, Magdalene. You can embrace the love of the Lord. If . . . if you want, I will pray with you.” He felt this outpouring of emotion, this release. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Lord, we are your servants, imperfect and wanting, but we have heard the words of Jesus, and we want to heal ourselves, to be worthy of your grace, so teach us how to forgive each other, forgive ourselves, or our sins and weakness, for only then can we be worthy of your grace and love.”

He felt a change. Mary was not crying. She laid a hand on his hair. She said, softly, “Jesus is wiser than even I can know. How did he see this man under all the stone?”

She slipped from the chair and embraced Peter. She smelled like roses. He opened his eyes, and she kissed him. It was slow and soft, and grew deeper. She shifted her head from side to side, kissing him, and teased open his mouth with her tongue and he tasted her, deep and long. He pushed her back and her legs wrapped around his hips, her robe falling down to her hips. Peter held her breasts in his hands. Magdalene arched up into him.

She laughed, her eyes closed, “I can feel your cock, Peter. I want to feel you inside of me. I've never wanted anyone like this. No one. Not my first, not Jesus, not Andrew.”

Peter stiffened and Magdalene locked her ankles behind him. She opened her eyes, and he knew her look, cruel and playful, like a cat with a mouse. “Yes. I fucked Andrew. He was a child. You're a man. A murderer.”

Peter silenced her with a kiss. He pushed Magdalene's robe off, she shimmied to get it off, and a linen undergarmet, and she was nude, her skin walnut brown, her breasts full, her stomach flat, his wide and thighs open for him, wanton, her face needy and her eyes wet, her lips wet, Peter on his knees before her. She got to her knees, too, she pulled up his own robe and she gasped, her eyes smiling and playful, mocking, her hands running over his body, touching the muscles of him, before her hand circled his cock. Her hand was soft. She smelled like perfume. He was hard to her touch. Put a hand between her legs and touched her sex, she closed her eyes and groaned, and she took Peter's hand and put it between her legs so he could feel her slick heat.

She opened her eyes, eyes dark and dilated. She clenched her legs around Peter's hand and gripped his shoulders and slid body against his hand touching her. Peter thrust his other hand into her hair and kissed her, hard, mouth open and he caught her moans in his mouth.

He thrust her down, and she gasped, laughed, he arranged himself behind her. He took his cock in hand and entered her from behind. She groaned, whispered, “Oh, fuck, Peter.” She put the side of her face against the floor. “I'm on my face for you.”

He grunted as Magdalene's sex enfolded him, tightening, and she looked back, raising herself a little to look over her shoulder at him. The lamplight flickered in her eyes as she arched back into him. He reached forward, supporting himself with one hand, and with one hand and cupped her breast. She twisted back to him, reaching back to grab one of his shoulders and used that to push herself more against him. Her torso was revealed to him, beautiful and womanly.

She said, “Yeah, like that. Make me forget everything, Peter, fuck me so hard I can't remember my name.”

He took her by her hips and drew out of her, and he could feel her thighs trembling, and he entered her, again, and she groaned, bit her lip, her hair down and cascading over her face, and then thrown back to go down her back.

He fucked her, then, his mind a confused whirl for a while, but just a while, because with his cock inside of Magdalene, his hand on her breasts, looking into her face contorted in lust – thoughts fled. He thrust inside of her, increasing in force, and she grunted, and put her face down against the ground, her hands over her head, bracing herself as their sex increased in speed and force.

Then she started to writhe, groan, she whispered his name, “Peter.” Then she made noises that weren't words, but suggested them, her belly flexing and unflexing hard, her cunt flexing and unflexing, and then she gripped him and he couldn't do anything but make small motions with his hips inside of her, but it was enough, and it was like he was pouring himself into her, his thighs burning, his stomach burning, his cock in an agony of pleasure.

Magdalene laughed and said, “We haven't even gotten to the bed.”

For the first time in months, Peter wasn't thinking about Jesus and the Nazarenes, he was just there, living his life with the tensions flowing out of him, like Magdalene's cunt had take them from him. He drew out of her and pulled her to her feet, and kissed her before pushing her down on her bed, and she smiled up at him, legs parted as she sat down, inviting, and he went into her arms.

And that's it for this installment of Bible porn! See you tomorrow with some of the sex out of Condotierri.