Jesus Crucifixion Tattoo Novels & Stories

Finding his gaze unnerving, she instantly flickered her gaze down. Her cheeks flushed when she realized he wasn’t wearing any shirt. His rugged body resembled a canvas. A number of tattoos spread across his tanned chest. There was a tattoo of a serpent designed on his upper left chest and the other side had roman numbers written on it. Her eyes traveled down his bulging biceps and paused at a tattoo that caused her a tinge of discomfort. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed the evil symbol, a sigil of Baphomet branded on his bicep. Being a devotee of god, the discovery scandalised her. Why would anyone get that? Not a moment later, she realized it wasn’t the only one, he also had an un

Another tattoo: ‘Darkness is real, and it’s the best place to be’ Why would that be the best place to be? “Why are your tattoos sad?” I question, kneading his precious spinous process. “They’re not all sad. Different seasons of my life…” “Were you sad in the past?” He shrugs, a leisurely smile playing on his lips. Another tattoo beneath his neck: ‘Psalm 139:14’ “You’ve got a Bible scripture,” I note out loud. “See. Not all of them are sad. I’ve got two of those.”

“Do I make you unhappy?” I swallowed, shaking my head. “No,” He kissed me deep and slowly before he pulled me apart, and I rested my head back on his chest, running the tip of my finger through every fascinating masterpiece on his chest. His torso was covered in black and white tattoos, from a Madonna and child on his stomach to a dagger weaving through his collarbone from shoulder to shoulder. A cross on one of his pecs and a rose on the other. A domed church on his side. A lighthouse on his left arm and on his right arm, below his bullet wound, was a familiar tattoo in red. I'd seen it on Savio's arm as well.

Me staring at a naked guy for the second time in my damn life. My breath caught in my throat, trapped. I was trapped. My eyes completely rebelled against my brain's frantic commands to look the fuck away. Instead, they traced the dark, heavy ink of a tattoo etched across his upper shoulder blades. Three words, bold and unyielding: "Built Through Pain." The script wasn't flashy or arrogant. It felt heavy. It looked like a scar turned into art—a quiet testament to something survival-driven. A strange, unbidden ache blossomed in my chest just looking at it.

The only word that came to mind was drool worthy. My eyes were drawn to the tattoos that littered his body. The ones that lined his chest and ribs caught my attention and I badly wanted to know what they were. My fingers twitched at my sides wanting to go over there and run them across the tattoos. He threw his shirt off to the side and turned fully towards me. I couldn't stop myself from asking. "What are your tattoos of?" "Oh these." He glanced down at the ones on his chest. "This one," He pointed to the symbol on his left peck. "is the Marine's symbol. And this says 'Move mountains or die trying'." He touched the quote that was on his ribs.

My God, help me, I am dying and there will be no one who can come to save me! Her back was as well defined as her abdomen but the tattoo, God the tattoo made her stand out in such a striking way that I was sure drool would come out of my mouth at that moment, the tattoo was alluding to marine things I couldn't get the slightest bit of that doubt, but could not define what things were.

He moved closer to get a better look. Palm leaves. He let the tip of his index finger run through them. They were dried ad tied in the shape of a very popular symbol that Lex had known all his life. “Crucifix.” He whispered. “They were CATHOLICS!” His eyes widened at the sudden realization. He hurriedly brought out his phone and took a picture of the palm folds.

The tattoos though… were new, as were the giant brown velvety batwings. "I know, I know! No need to applaud! How could someone so dead look so damn delicious? But those are tricks to the trade. Company secrets." "Jesus H Nazareth Christ!" Father Jacobs, flicked out his cigarette onto the floor and pulled out his rosary. "Out thee demon! Get thee hence!"

He face-fucked me brutally while continuing to pump the crucifix in and out of my cunt. After making me gag and drool, he pulled the crucifix out, now shiny with my juices, and pressed it against my asshole. “No, Father— not there with the cross!” I begged. “Yes. There.” He forced the thick metal into my tight shithole, stretching me open with the holy object while he slammed his real cock back into my pussy. Double penetration on the main altar — his massive cock in my cunt and the crucifix buried in my ass. I screamed in ecstasy and horror as he fucked me mercilessly, the crucifix shifting obscenely with every thrust.

The fiery burn lingered in my throat. "Nothing's wrong with being a gentleman, but pretending to be one just to impress women doesn't make you one." I smirked, taking another swig of whiskey. I surveyed his outfit, taking in every detail. He wore a vivid red shirt left open to showcase a muscular chest inked with a roaring lion whose fiery orange mane seemed to reach beyond his skin. Leonardo. Lion-hearted. That tattoo made perfect sense. A golden cross lay nestled atop the lion's mane, glinting in the light like a beacon of faith. It was clear that Leonardo wore his heart on his sleeve. His was a tattooed visual representation of his inner fire.