Moist Critical Jesus Novels & Stories

In my defense, I'm doing a service to humanity. I lift my gaze toward my father. "Okay, according to this site, 'Bible Today'—what kind of name is that, anyway?—it says the poor possessed person should be tied up. Apparently, the evil spirit controlling their body—these are the exact words—tends to get violent at the sight of holy water, a cross, or a Bible." I look back at my dad, and we both turn simultaneously toward little Amanda, who’s smiling at us, completely clueless.

I moaned, "OH...PLEASE...YOU ARE HURTING ME...NO PUSSY...PLEASE...YOU HURT MY PUSSY..." Jesus stood at the side of the bed. He grabbed me by the hair, making me lift my upper body. Jesus was watching me as I groaned. He put his thumb in my mouth as Pedro continued to fuck me from behind. I was not interested in Jesus doing anything to me. He was an extremely unattractive older man who was overweight. But, at this moment, I was not thinking clearly, as he pushed my head down on his cock. Once he was in my mouth, he tightened the grip on my hair and started fucking my face aggressively. My body lost all control as I was about to cum. I pulled my head off Jesus' cock, in a husky groan, "My God!

“Done,” Josie fills my mind with her joy. “Is there water in the trough?” I ask her. “Yes,” “Okay, try to part the water and hold it. Water is not stable like wood so this is going to be more difficult,” “Do I get a staff?” she asks and I feel her humour. “A what?” “I believe she is referencing a human Bible story,” Deacon explains. “I must have skipped those classes in human studies. How are you getting on D?” I ask.

I don't know how many days I was asleep but I woke up in a hospital bed, open my eyes, I see mommy and christ. Me: How long have I been here? Christ: uh let's say 4 days Me: and my father? I see my mom crying, so it's not a dream? he is really dead, lord jesus, I still do not believe. Mom: please be strong for me, you are the only one left, please try to be strong

Then came the bathroom. Cristo was alone. Naked. The soap was already placed there by my mole, Marla. A sweet girl with a serpent’s smile. She bought the soap, plus other toiletries, and asked that it be delivered to Cristo in Chamber 6. She's one of the little vendors that secretly work for me. She’d cut a slit in the soap and slipped in the message like smuggling fire into a cathedral. Cristo cracked it open just like I taught him in training. It's a way to communicate with him about what to do next, of course, after observing Loren's reaction to his return. He found the rolled slip.

"Ericka closed her eyes, feeling amused as Karla observed her. After some time, Ericka is fast asleep when her subconscious sees the picture of another man. He is gorgeous and attractive, yet all he is wearing is a brilliant, glowing white robe. His bearded face and hair resemble those of Jesus Christ. .Jesus Christ, who lived in this planet 2000 years ago, is the image that Ericka has already ingrained in her mind.

“In the name of the Uncreated Light, we enter the inner chamber of the heart. Tonight, this mother will become the living icon of the Theotokos — not in purity, but in total surrender. Kyrie Iesou Christe, eleison me… through her dripping cunt.” He formed the Jesus Prayer Mudra with his right hand — thumb and ring finger touching — and pressed it firmly against Sophia’s swollen clit while rubbing the fat, scorching head of his massive cock up and down her soaked slit. The wet, obscene sound of her arousal echoed off the stone walls. He slammed into her in one savage thrust.

They couldn’t even say how I had gotten them. I didn’t like looking at them, but he stared at them every time as if they would tell him something. “What?” “Have you ever heard of stigmata?” I frowned, “No. What’s that?” “It’s said that Jesus of Nazareth’s wounds are replicated on people of great faith,” he said as he wrapped my wrists. “Do you believe in God?” I frowned. “No. You know I don’t.”

Moonlight streamed through the massive stained-glass window above us, painting his tormented face in deep reds and blues, like blood and heaven warring across his skin. “Look up,” he ordered, voice dark and commanding. He shoved my legs wide apart, the lace thong ripped away in one brutal tug. “Look at the crucified Christ while I defile you on His altar.” I tilted my head back, staring at the giant wooden cross suspended above us. Jesus stared down in silent agony as Julian dropped to his knees between my spread thighs. He devoured me.

“And unlike everyone else, you don’t pretend.” Jesus Christ. He was insane. Actually insane. I took a slow breath. “No.” I corrected quietly. “I don’t hate you.” That seemed to surprise him. For the first time. Even slightly. I leaned forward. “I pity you.” The smile disappeared. Good. “I think you’re pathetic.” Silence. “I think you wasted your entire life worshipping a woman who doesn’t care whether you live or die.” His jaw tightened. There it was. The first crack. “Be careful.”