“You like that?” Ms. Boo said, burying her hands in Jesus’ hair. “You want me to fuck you now? You want me to fuck you hard?”
That thing within Jesus, that thing that wanted to keep him under control, that wanted to smother his lust and carnality, that tried so desperately to keep imprisoned all of his humanly desires…it was giving up. Its power had been diminished by the devil’s words, words that Jesus knew in his heart of hearts were truer than any that had ever passed from God’s lips to him. It was withered and dying, fighting with its last gasping breaths to keep everything locked up as it had been for all eternity, but when Ms. Boo slipped out of her skirt and then expertly undressed Jesus with startling speed before positioning herself beneath him on the couch, that wretched jailor finally threw in that proverbial towel and keeled over and died silently, vanishing with such abruptness that it might as well have never been there in the first place. And as soon it was gone, everything came rushing up like a great tidal wave of debauched primal barbarism. The Jesus Christ he knew checked out, and something else entirely entered in his stead…something so forceful and domineering that capitulation was the only option. There was no holding back now. The beast that had grown and festered in its black dungeon for trillions of eons was at last granted the release it had craved ever since the conception of its host. It flexed its claws and gnashed its teeth, and Jesus felt no compulsion whatsoever to get in its way. Liberation was his, he had arrived, and…
* * *
…he let go. His shy meekness slipped away like an old coat, and the beast lunged forward, effortlessly tearing through the feeble fabric of all the feelings Jesus had been led to believe were wrong and sick and sinful. It brandished in its gnarled hand the great broadsword of Freedom, ready to carve through all moral restrictions like butter. Enlightenment had been unleashed, and it was hungry. The stripper sprawled out beneath him on the couch was going to have to bear the brunt of it, but omelets were being made and thereby an egg or two had to be broken.
“Take it, you dumb fucking slag!” Jesus shouted as he thrust violently into the blonde. She was grimacing and gripping the couch cushions tightly enough to whiten the knuckles on her tan hands. “That’s right, you stupid cunt, feel the power of my holy cock! I’m gonna blow a fat fucking load all up in your slimy wet pussy, you goddamn fucking harlot!”
Jesus was dimly aware of the devil laughing and laughing and laughing from the armchair as the redhead rode him fiercely, but he paid him no mind. The Son of God was, for the time being, someone else…someone entirely different from anything he’d ever been or thought he would be…someone not constrained by morals and principles and uppity holier-than-thou piety…someone who was free.
Just let go.
The stripper’s face suggested she might be in pain, but this meant nothing to Jesus. He clutched at her joggling breasts as a drowning man clutches to a life preserver, and was again dismayed at the stimulus-blocking barrier the gloves posed between his hands and the flesh of the girl’s jouncing bosom; without faltering in his harried thrusts, he pulled the gloves off with his teeth and cast them to the floor, and then once more seized Ms. Boo’s heaving chest, her nipples poking through the holes in his hands.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” Jesus gasped. “Scream, bitch, scream…I want to hear you fucking shriek.”
The girl did her best to comply, letting out a faux orgasmic cry, but it was not to Jesus’ satisfaction. Before he could realize what he was doing, he raised his hand high in the air and then brought it down in a whistling arc, striking Ms. Boo’s makeup-saturated face with his knuckles and inducing a legitimate cry of pain from her cherry-red lips.
For a brief moment, Jesus was horrified. A flickering glimpse of lingering saintly grace pierced through his newfound amorality, and he felt sickened at the notion of what he had just done.
Just let go.
And he did. The moment passed, and he was suddenly filled with a rush of adrenaline as the pleasantly stinging pain in his hand registered in his brain, and he saw the red mark on the girl’s face and was rendered giddy with excitement.
“You fucking cunt, there’s more where that came from,” he growled, letting go of her breasts and raining down upon her face a flurry of blows that bloodied her lips and blackened her eyes. She was sobbing now, which only enthralled Jesus further, and he cut off her cries by closing his hands around her neck and squeezing as hard as he could, all the while feeling his pulsing erection stiffen ever more inside her. He let go just before she was about to lose consciousness and then proceeded to smack her breasts hard enough to leave red imprints of his fingers. He yanked at her hair and leaned down and bit her shoulder, his teeth breaking the skin and drawing blood. She was no longer moving in tandem with his pumps, and instead just lay there crying while Jesus flopped about on top of her.
“C’mon, you lazy bitch, thrust! Fuck me like you fucking mean it!”
She seemed to at least make an effort, pushing her hips forward and clinching Jesus’ waist a little tighter with her thighs, and that was all it took to finally send him over the edge. “Oh gawd fuck that’s fucking good oh my fuck I’m about to fucking COME!” His movements became more frantic than ever, and he accidentally slipped out at the last moment, spraying great stringy globs of silvery white semen all over her stomach and chest. It kept on coming…all of that pent-up ejaculate that, like the beast, had never been granted release until now…spewing ever more intensely and hosing the girl down until she was covered in it, as though someone had poured an entire can of white paint all over her trembling body. Her fake eyelashes had detached and were now glued to her cheeks, and each breath she took caused white bubbles to burst from her nostrils and mouth.
When the gushing spurts of semen finally slowed to a stop, Jesus moaned out a series of animalistic grunts, his body convulsing like a marionette, and Ms. Boo whispered. “It’s over. Oh thank fuck, it’s finally over.”
But it wasn’t. Not quite. As Jesus remained kneeling over her, breath coming in and out in wheezy gasps, a thin continuous stream of golden urine jettisoned from his softening penis and splashed on the stripper’s now-white face. She shrieked and tried to wriggle out from under him, but she was trapped beneath his weight and was able only to lie there and wait for it to stop. After the stream slowed to an eventual stop, a few final surprise spurts shot out and struck Ms. Boo directly in her eyes.
His reign of terror upon the girl’s body at last complete, Jesus rolled off the couch and onto the floor, sighing contentedly. “Shit,” he said. “I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this all my life.”
“Jesus motherfucking Christ!” Ms. Quick shouted, dismounting from Lucifer and rushing over to Ms. Boo, who was lying still and groaning in agony. Blood was leaking from between her legs and staining the couch cushions, and crimson rivulets flowed from her nostrils and the corners of her mouth, cutting branching red lines across her clown-like white face. “What the fuck, look what you’ve done to her!”
The devil stood and pulled his pants up, watching with cool apathy as Ms. Quick attempted to console the traumatized Ms. Boo while Jesus lay panting and oblivious on the floor. “Take her out of here and get her cleaned up,” he said, lighting a cigarette. Tell Eliza to charge an additional five hundred to my account, to compensate for the mess and the…emotional distress of which I’m quite sure Ms. Boo is now suffering.” He glanced at Ms. Boo, who was wide-eyed and delirious, and then he said, “Second thought, make it a thousand.”
“There is something wrong with that man,” Ms. Quick snapped, pointing her manicured finger at Jesus. “He’s…he’s unnatural.”
Lucifer grinned, a gesture that somehow seemed to set the girl at ease, despite the circumstances. “He…has a condition. I apologize most sincerely on his behalf.”
Ms. Quick, appearing to be transfixed by the devil’s smile and as such now possessing a notably less hostile demeanor, said quietly, “Yes, well, that’s fine. Just…please don’t brin
g him back here. Ever.”
“So it shall be. Now go, get that poor girl into a shower.”
Ms. Quick nodded obediently and escorted her semen-spattered colleague out of the room. Once the door had closed, Lucifer turned his coldly calm gaze to Jesus and said, “The fuck happened to you, psycho-boy?”
Jesus sat up and blinked innocently, pearly beads of sweat glistening on his scarred body. “You told me to let go.”
“Yes, let go, not beat the poor slut senseless and then spray her with a truckload of fucking cum, dumbass. Though, I suppose that last bit was out of your control, but did you really have to fucking piss on her? Fuck’s sake, man, that’s just gross.”
Jesus yawned and collapsed once again onto his back, lips curled into a contented grin and his face flushed with a warm post-coital glow. “Whatever,” he said. I don’t give a fuck about anything right now. That….that felt amazing. I just don’t understand why my father would want to discourage people from it, least of all His own goddamn son. I mean, why would He deem sinful His most glorious creation?”
“It’s not so cut and dry,” Lucifer said, sitting back down. “Your father did create sex, but He intended it solely to be a means of procreation, nothing more. Sex was, originally, quite boring. There was no pleasure in it; none of that exciting ecstasy you just felt was ever supposed to be part of it. It was about as stimulating as taking a shit.”
“What changed?”
The corner of the devil’s mouth twitched into a devious smirk. “I gave humans the ability to experience orgasms,” he said, “something once reserved only for we of angelic divinity. When God wasn’t looking, I did a little tampering with the functionality of human genitalia, and thus was born sex as you know it today, in all its moaning, groaning, back-clawing, toe-curling, and leg-shaking glory. You know that whole story of Prometheus giving fire to mankind? Yeah, that’s just a censored version of my little Robin Hood act of treachery, giving the fucktacular O-faced explosion of pleasure to the silly little Earthlings. And that’s when history really got interesting. Freud may have been fucked in the head, but there’s one thing he did get right…sex is the driving force behind everything.”
Jesus had no reply.
“What you must understand,” Lucifer went on, “is that God has no interest in granting pleasure to His people; that’s my area of expertise. He wants His children to be as miserable as possible, so that they resort to worshipping Him because of some silly promise of paradise that can allegedly be achieved only after suffering a lifetime of impoverished agony. I, on the other hand, just want people to have fun.”
Christ sighed, face wrought with disillusioned dejection. “Hand me a cigarette, will you?” he said, holding out his hand, the blue light of the room rendering the holes in his palms more apparent. The devil complied and lit it for him, and after taking a long, deep drag, Jesus said, “You know, I’m really starting to possess a strong disliking for my father. One might even say that…I’m actually beginning to hate the self-righteous bastard.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Understandably so. He has a redeeming quality or two, though I can’t think of any off the top of my head, at the present moment. He and I have the type of friendship that is largely based on history alone; He’s always been around, so there exists between us a kind of sentimental kinship, I suppose.”
“You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”
“I’m really not. Perhaps that’s not the best word…I guess relatable is more fitting. Self-righteous bastard though He is indeed, He and I are not so different, in the grand scheme of things. He may have a different agenda that is eternally at odds with my own, but He utilizes His power in a fashion quite similar to mine. I’m just a little more tactful about it.”
Jesus stared at the cigarette between his fingers, eyes cast with a glaze of forlorn abandon. “I need…to use the restroom.”
Lucifer cocked an eyebrow. “You emptied your bladder on a stripper moments ago. You gotta take a shit, or something?”
Jesus shook his head slowly, still staring at the cigarette. A long clump of ash fell from its tip and landed on his bare leg. “No, I’ve just had a lot to drink. And I…I just need a moment to myself, that’s all.”
Lucifer nodded in sympathetic comprehension. “The men’s room is towards the front of the building, down a little dark hallway by the bar. Put some clothes on, first, though. People come here to see naked women, not limp-dicked fallen messiahs.”
Jesus glared at him for a moment, then started to laugh.
And laugh.
And laugh.
Jesus was trembling by the time he entered the bathroom, the dim bulb overhead flickering on and off and making everything seem ominous and frightening. He half expected some wretched beast to burst from one of the stalls and lunge for his throat, but it then occurred to him that he was keeping company with the beast allegedly more wretched than any other, and he hadn’t even turned out to be that wretched, after all.
No, the wretched one was far above, probably smiling a smug smile over some recently orchestrated manipulation, and likely not even paying any attention to the inner turmoil of His confused son.
He went over to the mirror and stood before it, clutching the edges of the sink and staring at the reflection that flickered in conjunction with the faulty light. What he saw gazing back at him was unnerving; the pious and saintly figure he had always known himself to be was gone, now replaced by a visage of something much darker, something cold and hard and human. His eyes were stony, his mouth set in a bitter grimace made ever more malevolent by his clenched jaw and gritted teeth.
The most unsettling aspect of his reflection, however, was not the appearance itself, but the perverse fact that he liked what he saw, was quite thrilled by it, actually. He felt, for lack of a better term, cool.
“Metamorphosis,” came Lucifer’s voice from the restroom doorway. “Embrace it, for it is not something oft experienced by members of divinity; we are, as you know, a rather stagnant species.”
Jesus turned, and there in the flickering light, he saw the devil and saw him as he truly was…black eyes turned a deep shade of smoldering red, gaunt face shrouded in sinister shadow, lips spread wide in a grin crammed with perfect rows of horrible sharp teeth, and gnarled, curled horns like those of a ram protruding from the sides of his head.
“Lucifer,” Christ croaked through parched lips, “I see you now in all your beauty. Divinity is yours alone.”
At that, he fell to his hands and knees and crawled across the floor to clumsily fumble at Satan’s belt, tugging greedily at his designer jeans and freeing the long serpent of considerable girth from its comfortable nest of denim and fabric. It stiffened at his touch, becoming a bold and veiny exclamation point of sordid carnality, staring shrewdly at Jesus with its single unblinking eye.
“Suck me,” Lucifer hissed, and then dug his hands into the tangled brown coils of Christ’s hair, violently yanking forth his head and pushing the quivering snake deep into his open and inviting mouth. Jesus gagged as its bulbous head prodded at the back of his throat, but he made no attempt to remove it, instead pushing it even deeper and softly grating his teeth against its hard flesh. He gagged again, and hot bile rose from his stomach and surged up his throat, squirting from the corners of his mouth, but still he sucked. He swallowed down the vomit that had not escaped and continued to thrust his head forward and backward, emitting low gurgling noises and clutching Lucifer’s buttocks.
The devil suddenly shoved Jesus back, and the Son of God sat on the floor with dribbles of puke and pre-cum on his chin and cheeks, looking up at the beast and pleading with soft, watery eyes for further instruction.
“Turn around,” Lucifer commanded, “and bend over on your hands and knees.”
Wordlessly, Jesus complied, hands slipping somewhat on the polished tile. He felt the devil yanking at his pants, felt his pale posterior exposed to open air, and then felt a warm, hard obstruction slide into him with ruthless
force. He cried out at the immediate explosion of screamingly painful ecstasy as pleasure receptors previously foreign to him were stimulated with such exquisite violence.
The serpent pushed ever deeper, and Jesus rocked back and forth, moans and groans slipping from his vocal cords and sounding so unfamiliar to him, for this kind of pleasure had been kept from him all his life.
Look at me, Father, he thought with an inward sneer of condescending derision. You sent me here to gather the faithful, and yet here I find myself, getting FUCKED in the ASS by the DEVIL. You lose, Dad. You fucking LOSE.
When it was over, he felt surges of warm fluid enter him, arousing the image of his own recent ejaculation, and when Satan pulled out of him, a rush of blood splashed onto the floor, dripping and squirting from Jesus’ torn and violated anal cavity.
“Well,” said the devil, tucking himself back into his pants as Jesus collapsed gasping onto his side, “that was different.”
“It was…beautiful,” Jesus said in a breathless whisper. “I have realized my true purpose. I have felt what it means to live. I know now what it means to really be human.”
Laughing that wonderful laugh, Lucifer said, “Come on, get up, the night is still infantile and we have places to be and ingrates to see. This was only the beginning.”
Still out of breath, Jesus wavered to his feet, pulling up his pants and blinking at Satan with damp eyes brimming with adoring affection. “Lead me,” he said, “and I shall follow without question or doubt.”
Lucifer grinned and answered, “There are no words more musical to my ears. Come, let us take flight.” He turned and walked out, and Jesus followed.
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