King XXV Nun Plus Nun Equals Nun

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mfffffffff)

To understand why I was so bitter about my experiences as a male whore back in Oregon, I really have to tell you about how I became Oregon's number one nun fucker.

I enjoyed the high school girls that Tisha, Brenda and Penelope brought home to experience the thrill of "Victory" as Tisha named It or "de agony of de butt." She was big into Wild World of Sports at the time.

Now I may have given you the impression that of my two sisters, Tisha was the dumbest. Brenda was book smart and knew facts Tisha never bothered to learn. But Tisha was street smart and with guidance from the even brainier Penelope, the two made a potent combination of business acumen. They were not as polished as they would become but who is at age 16? It was Tisha who came up with the idea to solicit business from the girls at the Catholic high school. Some of them were her friends and she knew they were as horny at the parochial school as they were at the public school.

The big difference is that Catholic girls liked to think they were doing the "wild thang" as a famous rapper called it back then for reproductive purposes. Or at least that's what they told themselves. "Making babies for God" was how they referred to it, though mostly they used birth control because their parents would kill them if they came home from school with an out-of-wedlock child.

Some of Tisha's publicity fell into enemy hands and for awhile we were fearful that we were about to be discovered and reported to the authorities. Then Mom got a call from the Sisters of the Precious Bloody Rag's Head Nun (That's really what she called herself, as if she was in charge of head; giving or getting, I never really knew).

"I understand that your young son is servicing many of the girls here at our high school where I am principal," Sister Fidelitor (rhymes with Skeletor who she resembled) said. "The stories we have heard from some of our students are positively unbelievable and we would like you to come in so we can examine the evidence."

Sister Fidelitor turned out to be a ramrod straight giant of at least six foot in a deep black shroud that would have been less revealing than anything worn by religious women in Afghanistan. Her face was thin and gaunt just like a skeleton's.

"We couldn't believe some of the stories about your son here," Sister Fidelity. "We have to check it out to see if what we're hearing is true."

"Check it out for what purpose," Mom said. She was cagier than she looked and long suspected that the nuns might make a good ancillary market for my services.

"Let's just say that we can't have a young man, even one so attractive as your son, screwing every girl in our school," Sister said. "We must ascertain if what we've heard as the girls have described his weinie thing are true so we know whether what they are telling us is true."

Mom let Fidelitor take me to a back room where a panel of five other nuns were waiting at a table. Sister introduced me, then one of the other nuns asked me to drop trow.

A rumble of appreciation ran through the group of nuns as Sister Fidelitor bagan inspecting my appendage. It didn't swell or even turn red in Fidelitor's hands, but even hanging with no breeze to stiffen it, my appendage is an impressive sight.

"We must see it at full mast, young man," Fidelitor said. "Make it so."

"Lady, I can't sew with it," I said.

A titter of giggles ran through the room. No way was I going to get hard for Fidelitor so pretending ignorance was my only defense. After several fruitless attempt to "inspire me," including licking the underside of my balls, she quit in frustration.

"I'm not good at this," Fidelitor said. It was the understatement of that or any other year. You try getting an erection with Skeletor licking your balls.

Then a pretty, young novitiate I learned had chosen the name Raphael stepped from behind the table and asked if she could "try". Fidelitor reluctantly surrendered the bootie.

Sister Raphael was pretty not just as a nun. She'd have been a sparkler at any beauty pageant. I wondered how a woman so lovely and full of life, with such rosy cheeks, could ever have thought of giving up sex for the religious life. I was standing at full attention before she reached out to grasp me and it was at command height by the time she began manipulating me with her hands.

"My god," Fidelitor said. "The girls were right. He is the one we seek."

Later, Fidelitor guided me back to my mother,

"What the girls here at school have described to us is, indeed, true," she reported.

"So what, you are going to report him to the police?" Mom said.

"No, no, of course, not, I'm sorry if I gave that impression."

"Well, what then?"

"Let me explain it this way, my dear," Fidelitor began. "You non-Catholics know even that we religious have as part of our vows have sworn to give up our pursuit of the ways of the flesh. We are, in a spiritual and physical sense, married to Christ Our Savior."

"Yes, I have heard that to be so. Why are you messing with my boys' privates?"

"Perhaps, I can explain," Sister Raphael said. She'd entered silently from a side door.

"You see, we are sworn to forego sensual pleasures," Raphael said. "We make that commitment at such a young age, well before we know what we have committed to. Some orders, including ours, allow us quiet contemplation with our crucifixes in the privacy of our quarters if you grasp our meaning."

"Yes, I believe I understand," Mom said.

"Then you must also understand," Fidelitor continued, "That self-gratification can go only so far toward relieving the tensions that can build so dramatically living in such close quarters with other horny women. Our order's founder created our order after a particularly bad menstrual cycle when she realized that while we had given up the ways of the flesh, the ways of the flesh had not abandoned us. We still were subject to the same calls of nature and passions that guided all other human beings."

"So while she accepted the vows of chastity other orders took, she also promised that one day would come a man, an embodiment of God, of Christ, who would be available to relieve our tensions," Raphael picked up where Fidelitor left off. "We would know this man, this boy, she foretold, by the size of his male organ. It was how we would recognize him. So when some of the girls here at school began to tell stories among themselves about this boy with a super-size organ and unbelievable stamina, we had to investigate. It could have been and thank God, is, the fulfillment of prophecy."

"Prophecy smophecy," Mom said. "He's just a big-dicked kid who doesn't clean his room. If you want to rent his tool, it's $200 a crack, payable before any dicking begins."

"Oh, okay, I have in those sacks over there against the wall, $1,600 in quarters and dimes from the donation boxes in church," Fidelitor said. "Eight of us will be dining..er, dicking, this afternoon. I'll get the stronger boys at school to carry those sacks to your car. Will you be staying or do you want to pick him up later?"

"I'll leave him with you," Mom said. "Call me when he's done fulfilling prophecy."

So began what I recall as my Catholic "up bringing" because the nuns were always asking me to get it up for them. That was a lot more difficult than you might imagine because not all nuns were as attractive as Raphael. Nor as sweet or kind.

Worst of all was Sister Pretenza, a squat, fat toad of a women who always sort of reminded me what a black beach ball would look like if they existed. Prentenza was not her real name. I just called her that because she pretended to have the wounds of Christ in her hands, feet and side, what Catholics call the stigmata.

"Okay, boy, stick that thing of yours in the holes in my hands and feet," she'd say.

"Lady, you don't have no holes any place but in your head," I'd tell her.

"Oh, but see the blood," she says.

"No, lady, that's from a red Magic Marker," I'd tell her.

"Oh well, there's blood here from where the Roman soldier stuck his sword," she'd say.

"No, lady, that's your cunt and you are on your period," I'd tell her. "And my dick ain't going nowhere near that smelly, bloody mess."

Sister Fidelitor turned out not to be so bad naked, if you liked the no-titty, tall slim Sigorney Weaver look...with Skeletor's face, of course. One thing you learn as a man whore. It doesn't pay to be picky, especially when you are just starting out.

Sister Raphael did try to make things easier for me. She's call in a group of young good looking novitiates like herself from the nearby convent to as she said, "mix things up a bit."

"Man, this is one of the perks of being a Catholic nun?" one novitiate told me. "I'm going to run for pope."

Raphael also scheduled dodge ball matches with the girls from school where I was the main target and the prize for any girl who managed to hit me. I swear, those Catholic girls must prepare for a life of fish, bingo and babies by practicing their dodge ball throwing. It hurts like mother fucker when they hit you in the balls with those leather dodge balls they use.

Catholic girls make good cheerleaders, too. Whenever the dodge ball winner claimed her prize--namely me--the other girls would stand along side and cheer me on wearing those short little Catholic girl uniform skirts.

"Come on, Brad, you've been had," they'd cheer. "Don't get sad. Don't get mad. Fuck <insert winner's name> like a wonder lad."

Fidelitor's order consider me a personal wonder lad. She'd invite me over as often as possible.

"Father Marquez never knows how much money those donation boxes take in during a week," she'd confide. "We clean the church for him and he always thinks he's working in a parish with the stingiest congregation. We just want to make sure he never finds out about that dick of your because he'll start raiding the church coffers himself."

I was singlehandedly responsible for St. Domecile's not getting a new roof when the old one was damaged after a storm. And I really felt responsible, too.

"If there is a heaven, I'll never get there," I told Mom one day.

"After all of the joy you have spread to Gods' hand maidens on earth, I'm sure God has a special place for you," Mom said.

The nuns started bussing in others from their order from all over the United States to use my services. She considered herself the finder of the "one" as she called me, not in a trippy Matrix sort of way. She meant my appendage formed a big, giant number one and though I had trouble seeing that as I was always looking down on it, I had to admit there was something special about me.

"There is something special about you," Mom said. "There is something about our whole family that's special. We have a destiny to fulfill."

"I know, Mom, it's crazy, but sometimes when I am having sex, I hear these drums pounding from like somewhere deep in history," I told her. "And there are times when I am just walking down the street and I feel someone is watching me from a distance."

"That would be my daddy watching over you," Mom said.

"You mean from heaven?" I asked.

"No, Efram Krilenko never got nowhere near heaven," Mom said. "No, he's lost in the ebb and flow of time, but whenever he can, whenever he senses we might be in danger, he does look in on us. He takes care of us."

Okay, I realized then Mom was crazy as a loon. But compared to the other crazy turns my life had taken, well, who could say what was crazy and what wasn't?

When I began to see Efram, too, I doubted my sanity.

s.