Blasphemy - A Thanatos Tale For Easter

Blasphemy – A Thanatos Tale for Easter – Part Two

Note: This is the second part of a story begun by Cerberus just after a very wise judge took the advice of a panel of three psychiatrists and sent him to a maximum security psychiatric “hospital” in the wilds of northern Ontario (Canada, not California.) While there, Cerberus bribed a male nurse to smuggle this abominable story out of that institution and bring it to me, his cousin and only living relative. With trepidation, I read the story and noticed that the medication my cousin is taking has caused some breaks in the story's narrative line, but I doubt most of his readers, read his tales for the plot. I was reluctant to post this malignant effluent of a diseased mind on the Web but a note appended to the file indicated that, if I did not, Cerberus would kill the man who brought me the manuscript. I am posting it as written in the fervent hope that it may serve, not as an inspiration, but an escape valve, for the pent up fury of his readers. Remember that reality is never as real as fantasy.

----------- D.

Christine Lamb is exhausted and in pain. During the endless the night, the bound, naked fifteen year-old has been forced to deny hungry rats access to her sweet flesh by continually thrashing and writhing on the cold, damp flagstone floor of her cell. The jagged inner surfaces of the iron manacles that hold her in a viciously tight spread-eagle have chewed up her skin so badly that the floor beneath her wrists and ankles is spattered with droplets of her blood.

After what seems like an eternity, the heralds of morning are none other than her parents, Rex and Constance Lamb. Unfortunately for Christine, they have not come to rescue her. Instead, they loom over her, dressed in a Hollywood mockery of the uniforms of soldiers of Imperial Rome. Constance Lamb looks down on her daughter and shakes her head sadly,

“Rex, our little girl looks quite disgusting,” she says. “Be a dear and find some water to wash her down.”

Mr Lamb doesn't appear to hear his wife. He is too entranced by the sight of his naked daughter, splayed out on the floor. His eyes roam over the hills and valleys of her flesh from the pink tipped summits of her perfect breasts to the down covered valley of her pussy. The wispy blond cunt hair does little to hide the puffy lips of her labia.

“Rex!” says Connie Lamb. “Go get some water. Christine will look even lovelier after we clean her up…. and try not to trip over your dick on the way out.”

With a sheepish grin on his face, Rex tears his eyes away from his daughter and goes to search out some water.

Christine is, indeed, a pitiful sight. Her beautiful firm body glistens with sweat. The smooth, alabaster skin of her firm breasts and soft pussy are stained brown from the chewing tobacco the monks spat at her before leaving her to suffer through the night. Angry red scabs decorate her belly just above her navel and on her thigh and hip, where rats bit her. About a dozen cockroaches are oblivious to the presence of her parents and continue to explore the rolling hills of her body. Her mother grins with malicious glee at the antics of a large, brown cockroach which continually batters itself against the small opening of Christine's vagina. The teenager's legs have been spread so wide by the tight chains that her pussy lips gape open slightly, revealing to the ambitious insect, the glistening pink membrane of her maidenhead. The girl can feel the bug's sharp pointed feet scratch her labia as it tries to gain purchase on her mound so that it can crawl into her cunt.

Christine's father returns, holding a wooden bucket in each hand. He puts them down near his daughter. Lawrence, the hunchbacked jailer wearing the clothes of ancient Judea, follows him into the room. He, too, is carrying two buckets which he places on the floor beside Mr Lamb's pails.

“I had to ask this gentleman to help me,” says Rex Lamb to his wife.

His wife nods at the jailer and looks at the buckets and frowns. “I see that three are filled with water,” she says. She points at the fourth and says. “What's in that one?”

With a wicked smirk, her husband explains that the jailer brought him to a chamber that is used as a bathroom to get the water. “In it is a single spigot that continually dribbles ice cold water,” he continues. “While waiting for the buckets to fill, I noticed another bucket in the corner of the room. So I thought I'd bring it too.”

Constance bends over the pail and makes a sour face. “Yuck!” she exclaims. “What's in it? It smells awful.”

Her husband replies. “Well, dear, in an attempt to make this dungeon section of the cathedral authentic as possible, there are few modern conveniences. Consequently, anybody who needs to go to the bathroom and doesn't want to go upstairs simply pisses in this bucket. Lawrence here said that he meant to empty it yesterday but forgot.”

At that, the jailer smiles sheepishly. “Truth be told, ma'am,” he says. “It's been quite a few days since I emptied it.”

“I told him not to worry. I'd empty if for him,” says Rex Lamb.

He picks up the wooden pail and holds it over his daughter's body. He tips it and foul, oily yellow piss pours onto her belly. Christine gasps when the cold piss flows between her legs, washing away the cockroach that had been trying to find shelter in her virgin cunt. She squirms and cries out as her dad moves the bucket up toward her face, soaking her breasts. The acidic liquid burns the rat bites on her belly and hip. Mr Lamb slowly pours half the contents of the bucket onto his daughter's face. Her eyes sting and she sputters and coughs. Her mouth fills with bitter piss. As she thrashes feebly, she can feel the urine-bloated bodies of several drowned flies on her tongue. Her stomach heaves and she throws up the piss that she had just swallowed. Mr Lamb notices that the cold water causes her nipples to harden attractively. He inverts the bucket completely to make sure that no drop of piss misses his little girl. To everyone's surprise, a dead rat tumbles out and lands with a wet plop on Christine's chest. Both she and her mother scream at the sight of the piss-soaked rodent. It lies on its side with its mouth half opened. It appears to be using Christine's right breast as a pillow while it sleeps. The rat's sharp, yellow fangs are less than an inch from her vulnerable pink nipple.

Lawrence comes over to Christine and lifts the rat up by its tail. “It must have fallen into the bucket and drowned,” he says with an embarrassed smile. He flicks his wrist and launches the dead rat into a corner of the dungeon.

As she lies on the floor gasping and choking, her tormentors splash the remaining three buckets of ice water over her, washing away the sweat, dirt and piss. The frigid liquid raises goose bumps all over her body.

After a minute, Christine calms down sufficiently to look imploringly at her parents. They are indifferent to her pitiful state. Her mother stands at her daughter's right shoulder, straddling her outstretched arm. The teenager can clearly see that her mother is naked under her short kilt. A golden ring pierces the flesh of her left inner cunt lip. Mother's pubis has been shaved clean and is as smooth and pink as a baby's ass. While Christine finds the sight of her mother's pussy shocking, what she sees under her father's uniform is mortifying. Like his wife, Rex Lamb is nude beneath his tunic. He straddles his daughter's left arm and is truly excited by the sight of his naked daughter stretched out on the floor. The teenager looks with fear at her father's engorged cock. The more he runs his eyes over his daughter's nakedness, the larger his prick becomes, until it swells to its full seven-inch length. A clear drop of pre-cum glistens for a moment on the end of his cock. Christine gasps when the hot slime drips off and splatters onto her arm.

Christine is wrenched out of her state of stunned shock by her father's words. “Yes, dear,” he repeats. “If I'd realized she looked this good naked, I would have fucked her myself months ago.”

“Well, Rex,” says his wife. “You should have thought of that when she was home for Christmas. Jamming your fine large cock into her cunt would have been a perfect Christmas present for the both of you. Now it's too late to pop her cherry. The monks will arrive soon to unchain her and get her ready to play Christ in the Easter pageant.”

He smiles and says, “Damn, it'd be great if I could “nail” her before they nail her, so to speak.” He continues to leak pre-cum on his daughter.

With a wicked smile she adds, “If you wish, I'll help you make good use of the short time left before they arrive to take her away.” She steps over Christine's body to embrace her husband.

“Mother, Daddy!” The naked teen pleads. “Please, take me out of here. I'll do anything you want to me at home. I won't tell anyone what's happened! Just let me go.”

Connie Lamb turns her head to look at her daughter. “Now, Chrissy, begging will do no good. Besides, it's a great honor to be selected to be Christ at the Easter spectacle. You should be proud. I know your father and I are.”

Christine's sobs resound off the stone walls of the cell. Her mother removes her helmet and lies on her back on the floor at a right angle to her daughter. The fifteen year-old captive can feel the top of her mom's head brush her hip. Mr Lamb straddles his wife's head and drops to his knees. He leans forward and runs his right hand over Christine's breasts. The girl shudders at his touch. So does he. His wife has wrapped her full lips around the head of his cock. Rex Lamb rolls the hard pink nipple of his daughter's left tit between his thumb and forefinger. Christine tries in vain to evade her father when he leans over and plants his mouth firmly on hers. While his wife continues to suck his cock, he forces his tongue into the sweet recess of his daughter's mouth. The girl resists by forcing her tongue against his. Her wily father withdraws his tongue quickly and, before she can stop, Christine pushes her tongue into his mouth. As soon as she does, he sucks hard and clamps his jaws down, trapping her tongue between his teeth. He mauls her breasts with one hand and runs his other hand down her torso until it rests on the patch of soft blond hair covering her pussy. By now, the entire length of his cock is jammed into his wife's mouth. With her tongue trapped in her father's mouth, Christine stares into his cold blue eyes. Memories flash through her mind of a kind and protective father who used to tuck her into bed and patiently spent time reading to her as she fell asleep. Of him beaming proudly as he and her mother watched her perform on the balance beam during the endless gymnastic events in which she had competed. None of the warmth she was familiar with emanates from her father's eyes now. She can see only lustful cruelty. She felt she was gazing into the eyes of a rabid wolf.

As Daddy continues to suck and gnaw on his daughter's tongue, he grabs a single strand of her pubic hair. He slowly pulls it, stretching the surrounding skin. She moans in pain when he pulls the hair out by its root. Her father then runs his fingers along the inner lips of her pussy. He feels that he shows admirable restraint by resisting an urge to plunge his fingers deep into his girl's hot cunt. He releases her tongue and lifts his head to beam at her. His wife's mouth is overflowing with a sticky mixture of his pre-cum and her own saliva as she continues to suck his cock noisily. Mr Lamb shifts his position slightly so that his head is over Christine's breasts.

“Connie,” he says. “I to believe Christine's boobs are almost as large as yours.” He paws her and continues. “They certainly are more firm than yours…. OWW!”

Christine's mother has playfully bitten down on her husband's prick when she hears him compare her breasts unfavorably to her daughter's.

Rex Lamb laughs and recovers quickly to lean down and take his daughter's right nipple into his mouth. The teenager cries out as her father closes his teeth around the base of her sensitive nubbin. He tickles the hard spongy tip with his tongue. In spite of the humiliation of being molested by her own father, Christine's body responds. Her cunt begins to tingle.

Christine and her father cry out at the same time, but for different reasons. Mr Lamb's outburst is one of lust and is triggered by his wife's skillful cocksucking. He cums, pumping copious wads of cock grease into Mrs Lamb's mouth. His daughter's cry is one of pain, triggered by her father when, in his excitement, he bites down hard on her nipple, drawing blood. For a moment he remains attached to Christine's tit, sucking blood into his mouth while his wife sucks his cum into hers. Her cheeks bulge. Now depleted, Mr Lamb carefully pulls his cock from his wife's mouth and stands up. Chrissy watches through a teary fog as he mother rises to her knees. Her father looks down at Christine and says to his wife that, since it is Easter, perhaps they should anoint Christine before the ceremony begins. Constance Lamb nods her head. She bends over her prostrate daughter and opens her lips. A slimy ribbon of cock grease flows out of her mouth onto Christine's bloody nipple. Her mother moves her head, drooling a trail of cum from one of her daughter's nipple to the other. She closes her mouth and moves her head until it is just below her daughter's chin. Opening her lips again, she slobbers out a second trail of cum from her daughter's breastbone, down between her tits to her belly button. Her mouth is empty and she stands beside her husband to admire the spermy crucifix that decorates her teenaged daughter's chest.

Their silent admiration is interrupted by the creak of the cell door's rusty hinges. The four monks who had chained the fifteen year-old down the night before have returned. With them is a fifth monk, Brother Lucas. Like her parents, they wear the uniforms of Roman Legionnaires. Lucas speaks up. “Mr and Mrs Lamb. You know you're not supposed to be here.”

Constance Lamb smiles sweetly and says that she wanted her husband to see their daughter naked before her ordeal began. “After all, she's not going to be so pretty after she's nailed to the cross.”

The monk glances down at Christine and smiles. “I can see why you wanted to see her naked. Nothing pleases the eye more than a naked teenaged girl in bondage.”

As he speaks, two of the monk-legionnaires release Christine's chains and drag her to her feet. They remove her manacles and iron collar as well. Two of them hold her tightly by the shoulders. Now that she is erect, the sperm cross on her chest begins to run down the front of her body. Her mother collects a blob of the greasy slime on her index finger. Smiling, she flicks a dollop of cum into the girl's left eye. While Christine blinks furiously to clear her eye of the burning goo, her father uses both hands to smear the mess over her breasts and belly.

Bishop Wormsley joins the group. He is wearing a toga made of fine cloth. After spending several minutes admiring the naked fifteen year-old, he speaks. “Christine, can I assume that, as a good Catholic school girl, from a good Catholic school, you are familiar with the passion of Christ?”

The confused girl looks at the priest blankly. Why is he asking her this? Then terror shakes her body and she struggles to break free from the grasps of the Monks. Up until now, she had subconsciously rejected the idea that she was to be crucified, much as a mother's mind refuses to process the news that her husband had just fed little Billy into a wood chipper. The weakened teenager is quickly brought under control. The bishop tells her parents that they should leave while the legionnaire-monks prepare Christine for her ordeal. The three adults leave. Lawrence, the hunchback remains.

After Wormsley and her parents leave, the jailer takes a bottle out of a pouch attached to his belt. Christine notices with horror that the vicious flagrum dangles from the same belt. As the “soldiers” hold her still, he pours the contents of the bottle over her shoulders. She shudders as olive oil courses down her front and back. The hunchback spreads the oil over the front of her body and one of the monks spreads it over her back. Both men take special care to ensure that oil covers her breasts, pussy and ass. The rub it from her neck to her toes. They are finished and stand back to look at her. The fifteen year-old prisoner glistens under the torchlights. After a moment her skin begins to tingle and itch. Lawrence sees the puzzled look on her face and explains that the oil contains a stimulant that will keep her conscious during her ordeal and will make her skin supersensitive.

The monks/legionnaires take positions, flanking Christine. The hunchback stands behind her. The tall legionnaire stands in front of her, turns on his heel and heads out of the dungeon. The hunchback unhooks his whip from his belt. He inverts it and jabs Christine in the small of the back with the pointed end. The naked teen stumbles forward. Her escort continues to flank her as they proceed down the dank corridor with the hunchback bringing up the rear. The deformed dwarf uses the butt of his scourge to prod her to the bottom of a stone staircase. The chemical that was spread on her body is beginning to work. The bottoms of her feet hurt from the pressure of her body weight on the stone floor. It reminds her of how her left foot felt when she was twelve and had broken her ankle. She was on crutches for six weeks and when her cast was finally removed the bottom of her foot hurt with every step until the protective callous of skin reformed with use. The sensitivity of both her feet makes Christine walk with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips that Lawrence appreciates greatly. Christine is led up the steps to an alcove at the back of the large church. She hears the muffled voices of people in the pews. Brother Lucas turns and inspects his fellow legionnaires. Satisfied that they have the correct military bearing, he turns and pulls Christine along the back of the church. They stop at the entrance to the center aisle. About a hundred people, dressed in ancient garb are seated in the pews closest to the altar. A twelve-foot tall cross hangs suspended over back of the altar. The sculptured figure of Jesus is slightly larger than life. Christine notices that the figure's loincloth appears to be made of real cotton.

Archbishop Legion stands at the front of the altar. He is wearing scarlet robes. When he sees Christine at the back of the cathedral, he breaks into a wide grin.

Christine's escort leads the naked teenager down the aisle. Her eyes open wide in wonder. Facing each other at the end of every fifth row of pews kneels a beautiful young girl. Each one appears younger even that Christine. They are naked. Each girl's wrists have been cuffed behind her back and chained to a ring in the side of the last pew in the row. As Christine approaches the first girl she can see that a red ball gag has been forced into her mouth. Despite this, she can hear the girl mewling mournfully. Tears course down the girl's cheeks. When Christine gets closer, she sees that a large brass crucifix has been upended. Its base has been forced into the cunt of the kneeling girl. The head of the cross rests on the stone floor. Blood flows out of the young girl's pussy and along the shaft of the cross. Every girl along the aisle has a crucifix in her cunt.

Everyone in the crowd turns his head to admire the site of the poor innocent Christine, surrounded by Roman soldiers. The wounds on her wrists and ankles provide a wonderfully gruesome contrast to her smooth, glistening skin. She looks around at he mob. Her heart freezes when she sees the lust and cruelty on their faces.

When she arrives at the front of the cathedral, two members of her escort push down on her shoulders so that her knees thud painfully onto the granite floor.

“Child,” says the Archbishop. “You have been given the honor of sharing our Lord and Savior's suffering in our Easter re-enactment of his agony. You should be proud. I know your parents are.”

Too stunned to speak, Christine stares wide-eyed at the priest.

“We feel,” he continues, “that it is bad luck to execute a virgin. We must make sure that you are not one when we crucify you.”

He addresses the audience. “Gentlemen, I've considered long and hard on who should have the honor of fucking this girl. Should it be myself? Not really. Most of you know my tastes run towards young boys. Her father? I think not. He deserves praise for resisting the temptation to ravish this beautiful girl when she was living in his house. But it's too late now. I also considered the esteemed president of the Thanatos Society who honors us with his presence. But in keeping with the religious solemnity of the ceremony, I thought it best if this tender child be mated with Christ himself.”

As soon as he says this the large wooden carving of Christ on the Cross which hangs suspended over the altar begins to lower. With a loud boom the base of the cross hits the floor. The cross continues to descend until it lies on the floor.

Her escorts lead Christine toward the cross. She can hear a whirring sound and watches as the cloth is pushed aside by Christ's cock. The fiberglass phallus is nine inches in length and almost two inches in diameter. It is shaped like a banana with a sharp upward curve. Not intimately familiar with the erect male organ, Christine cannot appreciate the accuracy with which the sculptor has duplicated the real thing. The circumcised shaft's details are extraordinary. When she is forced onto her knees beside the cock of Christ, she can see that the organ even has a piss slit.

The archbishop whispers in her ear, ordering her to spit on the head of the cock. “You'd better get it wet so that is slides in easier.”

Fear has made her mouth dry so Christine must work hard to summon up enough saliva. Reluctantly, the teenager spits onto the phallus.

“Spread the spit around with your tongue,” he orders.

Christine begins to lick the cock, spreading her saliva over the large glans and along the shaft.

“OK, that's enough,” says the priest who nods to the guards.

They take naked girl and make her straddle the crucifix. She falls forward along the body of Christ. Her virgin pussy is an inch from the tip of the large cock. They move her backwards until the lips of her pussy touch the cock. The archbishop leans over and uses two fingers to spread open the soft fleshy petals of her cunt until they envelope the tip of the phallus.

Christine is trembling when the perverted priest nods at the two men at the girl's side. They grasp her hips and push her onto the cock of Christ.

“EEAAAGGHHH!!” she screams as the hard plastic forces open the tight channel of her cunt. She yelps louder when it tears through her maidenhead.

The men stop pushing only when six inches of cock have been stuffed into the fifteen year-old's tight pussy.

Christine is sobbing loudly. The pain in her vagina is colossal. Suddenly her eyes fly open. Christ's cock is beginning to vibrate inside her!

One of the guards is holding a small remote control in his hand. He smiles and presses another button and the cock vibrates more violently.

Two men grasp her right arm. They pull it up and place it on the horizontal bar of the cross. Her hand rests on the wood below the statue of Christ's left forearm. Two other men stretch her other arm out on the right horizontal beam of the cross. The hunchback walks over. In his hand is a large iron nail. Its shaft is six inches in length. He places the point of the spike between the two bones of her forearm, an inch from her wrist. With a grunt he slams the head of the nail with a heavy hammer. The naked teenager's screams echo throughout the cathedral as the point drives through the flesh of her arm and into the wood of the cross. Blood wells out of the wound. Before she can recover in any way, Lawrence goes around to the other side of the cross and nails her left arm to the cross.

The men step back and the cables holding the top of the cross begin to pull it up to a vertical position. Once it is perpendicular, the nails in her arms and the vibrating cock in her pussy support the entire weight of Christine's body. Her virgin blood flows along the shaft of the cock and down the cross.

The poor girl doesn't know what hurts more, the vibrating cock or the nails. Suddenly, there is no question that Christ's phallus is worse than iron spikes in her wrists when the guard with the remote control presses another button. A cup full of caustic liquid spurts out of the tip of the cock and soaks the tender flesh of her pussy. The burning sensation is so bad that she is hardly aware of the pain in her arms. She squirms and wriggles like a worm on a hook. The members of the audience watch with depraved delight.

The guards grab her ankles and cross her left foot over her right along the shaft of the cross. Her feet rest over a space between the statue's knees. Lawrence places the tip of a nine-inch long spike at the center of the bottom of her uppermost foot and hammers it through both feet in into the wooden cross. The nail shatters several small bones in her feet. The pain is so excruciating that, but for the stimulant flowing through her body, she would have fainted.

The members of the audience are entranced at the spectacle of the fifteen-year-old virgin impaled by the Savior of mankind. As they watch the poor girl suffer, the man with the remote presses yet another button. The figure of Christ begins to change. The man with the remote used to be an engineer in the animatronics division of a company with amusement parks all around the world. He designed this particular Christ at a cost to the Thanatos Society of a quarter of a million dollars. The head of Jesus, which had been hanging down and to the side, slowly rises up. His clean-shaven chin sprouts a black goatee. His eyelids open, revealing glowing red eyes. Finally, horns sprout from his forehead while his feet turn into hooves.

The audience cheers loudly for their true savior – Satan, is now raping the virgin sacrificed to his evil. They spontaneously begin to sing a blasphemous version of the Easter Hymn, “Jesus Christ Has Risen Today”:

“Christine Lamb is nailed today!
Satan's cock in all the way!
Who upon the cursed cross

Is fucking our Exalted Boss!

Hymns of curses then let us sing,
unto Satan, our hellish King.

He will screw this virgin meat,
Whose sweet flesh we'll gladly beat.

For the pains, which she'll endure,
Is fitting for this Devil's Whore!
Now beneath the sky He's King,
Where the angels never sing!

In a universe of pain, the fifteen year-old girl cannot make out the words. Blood continues to flow out of the wounds in her wrists and feet as well as her pussy. Through pain-hazed eyes, Christine watches the guards place a small table on the floor beneath her arms. They place silver bowls on the tables to catch the blood.

Just when she thought they could do nothing more to add to her suffering, Lawrence approaches the base of the Cross. He is holding the flagrum in her right hand. Its vicious leather thongs dangle threateningly. The iron balls knotted to the leather gleam dully in the light. With a mighty swing, he slashes the whip across the girl's ass. Christine sees stars as three deep welts are cut into the pale flesh of her bum. The once flawless cheeks of her bum now look like they've been peppered with buckshot. Lawrence whips her across the lower back and then along the backs of her thighs. Every time he does this he opens long, deep cuts and bruises on her flesh. A lacework of blood decorates her white flesh from her waist to her heels. While he is flogging her, the members of the congregation form two lines. They slowly approach the blood filled basins. Standing beside each bowl is a monk wearing scarlet robes. As each congregant arrives, the monk dips a black, circular wafer in the blood and places it on his tongue while intoning the phrase, “The body of Satan, the blood of Satan.”

After fifteen minutes, every member of the congregation has consumed Christine's blood. By then the ancient leather and lead scourge has stripped most of her skin and much of her flesh of her body. It's only when the whip crashes into her thighs so hard that the large femoral arteries in her legs are torn open that poor Christine Lamb, mercifully, bleeds to death – the latest human sacrifice to the evil lord of the hellish Thanatos Society.

The end.