Ave Maria Isles

Chapter 6 Morning Run and More

      “Hi, Mr. Clausen,” said Darlene as she rode up beside me.  “Do you think Jesus had a big cock?”

      I was running at an eight minute mile pace, occasionally checking my heart monitor to make sure I was in the target range when Darlene Wilmot appeared.  She was on her bike which was okay because the Way of Sorrows recreational path was designed to accommodate power walkers, runners, and bike riders.

      It was almost nine o’clock Saturday morning and I was less than a kilometer from finishing my run.  I had just passed Station Twelve: Jesus dies on the cross, and was headed toward Station Thirteen: Jesus is removed from the cross.  This part of the path is flat or gently down hill unlike earlier sections where the terrain mimics Jesus’ climb up Golgotha.   Stations five through nine are a thirty percent man made upgrade, a real bitch to run even if you are not lugging a wooden cross on your back.

     Station Four, Jesus is scourged and crowned with thorns, is very demanding.  On Saturdays, participants can chose to have their fresh mortified to atone for their sins.  I arrived just as the priest was finishing up with a young mother who admitted that her sucking infant stimulated her libido and she was forced to masturbate after breast feeding.  Her mortification had focused on her enormous milk laden breasts leaving them dripping milk and blood.  After thanking the priest profusely and receiving his blessing, she set off pushing her twins in their runner’s stroller.

      “I have sinned Father and seek redemption through suffering,” I said when Father Pryor turned to me.

      “I saw your lustful performance on cable.  Only suffering of a severe nature will return you to a state of grace,” said Father Pryor selecting an evil appearing cat-of-nine from his selection of whips.

      The good priest was a new and strong armed addition to Ave Maria Isles clergy.  He bound me to a whipping post with chains to remind me that Satan left unchecked would bind my soul to his.  Thirty lashes left me sobbing in pain and dripping blood.  It certainly made me appreciate how Christ suffered at the hands of the Romans.  And it was a stern reminder that we Catholics may have to endure pain for our faith.

     When I complained to Father Pryor about the severity of the pain, he reminded me that Christian martyrs endured far greater from the pagan Romans.  He promised to email me an account of the Martyrdom of St. Catherine of the Wheel who was first publicly raped by the Emperor’s Praetorian Guard then taken to a dungeon and horribly tortured.  Her exquisite naked body was broken on the wheel, an agonizing form of execution favored by the Romans after they became bored with crucifixions.

      As Father Pryor applied the lash to my back, I prayed to St, Catherine who is one of the Fourteen Holy Helpers to give me courage to endure my punishment like a good and true Catholic.  I swear that somewhere after the twentieth lash when the pain is go great it seared my mind, she appeared naked before me, placed her hand on my manhood and told me all would be well.  

     Still it felt good when Father Pryor blessed me and sent me on my way.  I had run half a kilometer before I got out of earshot of the screams of the woman who replaced me on the whipping post.   She had a big set of tits and Father Pryor went to work on them with gusto.  I’ve always found the sight of a flogger ripping into breast flesh stimulating.

     At Station Ten, Jesus is stripped of his garments, I’d removed everything except my running shoes and jockey strap which health wise was as far as I was willing to go.  While the Roman centurions had stripped Jesus before nailing him on the cross, they didn’t make him run several kilometers with his manhood flopping between his legs.   Although the Greeks supposedly competed in the nude at Olympia, energetic exercise without proper support is likely to cause the large intestine to break through the intestinal wall and fall into the scrotum.  A hernia is not a good thing.

     On the pathway, male runners kept their manhood secured with an athletic supporter while female joggers with large breasts wore a sports bra.  Power walkers and bicyclists were nude except for footwear. 

     Darlene was naked as the day she was born except for Shimano bike shoes.  The plucky girl had chosen to allow Father Pryor to mortify her flesh as penance for giving in to lust.  Vivid red stripes dotted with blood drops covered her backside.

     Darlene’s question as to the size of Jesus’ member was not as off the wall as it sounded.  Emily, like most good Catholic women, believes that Jesus was exceptionally well endowed and that he regularly left Mary Magdalene and other prostitutes of the second temple walking around bowlegged.  The image of a well hung Christ hanging on the Cross appealed to both hetero and homoerotic instincts of Catholics everywhere.  I suppose all people of faith would find it disconcerting to think of Christ as needle dick Jesus.

      Unfortunately, there’s absolutely no basis for estimating the size of his member in the Bible or the teaching of the church.  Although we can assume Jesus as a Jew was circumcised.

     Before we met Emily considered becoming a nun and spent time in a convent as a novitiate.  She confided that the most common fantasy of the young sisters is that Jesus appears at night and impales them on his exceptionally large organ.  It is extremely painful when he forces it inside, but it leads to a deep tissue spiritual awakening that renews one’s commitment to the Lord.   Since nuns consider themselves brides of Christ there is some logic to that.  If you lover is the Holy Spirit, then why not imagine the spirit as capable of filling you to the bursting point and then some.

     I argued with her that such fantasies are the result of young girl’s overwrought imagination combined with the unleashed hormones of youth.  To make my point, I accessed the Web site of the porn star, Mandingo, and showed her a video clip of him slamming fourteen inches into the orifices of a petite blonde.  There is something of a Ripley’s Believe It or Not quality to watching that much black dick completely disappear inside a tiny female.  Where the hell does it go?  Is she hollow inside?

      “How would you rate Mandingo versus the cock that penetrated you each night at the convent,” I asked my wife?

      “It was pitch black so I don’t know.  Everyone said it was the size of Mother Superior’s fist,” said Emily defensively as she eyed the video.  As soon as the video finished, she took me into the bedroom and fucked me like her life depended on it. Size does matter.

      Monster cocks like Mandingo’s are a rarity.  I was privileged to receive him anally and orally at a meeting of the Slam Dunk Club when he was our honored guest.  There is a feeling of intense gratification when his oversized balls smack against yours indicating full penetration has been accomplished.  Looking back I admit to feeling spiritually renewed afterward.

     “Hello Darlene, aren’t you cold?” I asked eying the way her nipples stood out.  It was fall and there was a slight chill in the air even though we were in Florida.  I assumed her clothes were stowed in one of the bike’s luggage packs.   Mine were in my back pack.

     “Just my nipples, the rest of me is warm,” said Darlene who wiggled her hips causing her crotch to move from side to side over the bicycle seat.  When she stood up on the pedals, I could see the seat was covered with the sheen of her fluids.  I resisted the urge to pass my tongue over the surface.

     “My wife believes Jesus was well endowed.  But I really don’t know,” I said.

     “My girl friend Traci says her mother has this dildo that Father Marquez gave her and it is supposed to be an exact replica of Jesus’ cock.  Traci says it’s huge,” said Darlene.

     “Has Traci given it a try,” I asked as we approached the final station of the cross?

     “No, but the next time we have a sleepover, her mom says we can borrow it,” said Darlene.  “How big is your cock, Mr. Clausen?”

     “Nine inches,” I said.

     “Is that bigger than average.  I know it’s bigger than my Dad’s because my pussy was sore after we fucked last Saturday,” said Darlene.

     “Yes, I suppose so.  Still going to try out for the team,” I asked not wanting to appear egotistical about my member which admittedly is far larger and more impressive than most?

     “Yes, I’ve been lifting weights at home.  I challenged Terry Meacham to a match and won,” said Darlene.  “He had to go down on me.  He wasn’t very good at it.”

     “And if he had won,” I asked?

     “Blow job,” said Darlene.  “But I did that anyway even though I won.”

     “You still sucked his cock,” I asked.

     “Yes, and let him fuck me.  You know how boys are if you don’t let them get off,” said Darlene.  “He didn’t last long.”

     “Maybe Terry was nervous.   Give him another chance,” I said.

     “I will.  He’s coming over tomorrow night to study Algebra II with me.  I promised him that after we work the problems at the end of Chapter 6, we’ll fuck,” said Darlene.  “But the reason I’m here is to ask you for a favor.  I’ve already cleared it with your wife.”

      “You called Emily,” I questioned?

      “Yes, I’m in a bind.  My dad’s flight was cancelled and he was stuck overnight in Chicago.  He won’t land here until late afternoon.  Please say you’ll do it.  Your wife said it was okay,” said Darlene.

      “Do what, Darlene,” I asked?

      “Sister Winfred is coming over this morning to qualify me and Laurie as hostesses for visiting church dignitaries.  It was originally scheduled for a month ago but Daddy had to reschedule because he had the flu.  This is our last chance to qualify but without Daddy or a substitute we can’t.  Please say you’ll do it, Mr. Clausen,” said Darlene.

      “I suppose I can help you out.  Who is Laurie?” I asked.

      “My sister, she’s only fourteen but she’s real cute and her boobs are almost as big as mine,” said Darlene.

      “When do I need to be there?” I asked glancing at my watch.

      “We’ve got another hour.  You can shower at my house.  Since we’re here, do you want to prostrate yourself with me?  St. Theresa is one of my favorite saints,” said Darlene as we arrived at the final station of the cross, Station Fourteen, Jesus is laid in the tomb.

      There is a tiny chapel at Station Fourteen dedicated to St. Theresa of Avila.  St. Theresa wrote extensively of the rapture and ecstasy she experienced when Christ visited her in convent quarters.  Behind the altar was a wall sized painting of the sleeping saint being approached by the Holy Spirit.  Apparently, the sisters slept in the raw at her convent.  Her hand covers her groin and there was a look of sheer ecstasy on her face. 

      Only a pair of altar candles lighted the small room leaving it in semi-darkness.   There were people lying on the floor having sex as they prayed.

      “You haven’t been here before,” asked Darlene taking my hand?

      “No, I’ve been running down by the lake,” I said.

      “It’s best we get down on all fours and crawl to a free spot.  We can pray together as we fuck,” said Darlene dropping to her knees.

      I uttered a police, “Excuse me,” as we brushed against naked bodies deeply involved in prayer at they copulated.  Darlene who must have the eyes of a cat guided us to an unoccupied space.  The mats were slippery with what I assumed was blood, vaginal fluids, and semen.  The small chapel had an aroma that reminded me of an intense group fuck at the Slam Dunk Club.

      She pushed me on my back and took my cock in her mouth.  I found the combination of darkness, prayers and uninhibited anonymous sex, spiritually uplifting.  Darlene’s youthful and skilled mouth had me erect in no time.  Her index finger slipped past my sphincter and its touch on my prostate bordered on the electric.  

     As I repeated the Pater Noster with my eyes focused on St. Theresa in the full throes of celestial ecstasy, I was overcome with the desire to join in physical and spiritual intercourse with Darlene.  There are moments that transcend normal human experience and this was one of them.

      As a young Catholic, I had read the extensive writings of St. Theresa including her mystical tome, The Way of Perfection.  I confess to not understanding her true meaning until now.  It was a knowledge that came through the senses not the mind.

      I pulled Darlene to me so we could kiss as lovers do.  It was then I experienced the perfect meld of faith and desire.  I silently thanked the Saint as this beautiful girl child, less than half my age, expertly guided my manhood into her vagina.

     Experiencing her own epiphany, Darlene prayed, “Thank you, Saint Theresa for letting this beautiful nine inch cock fill my womb.  Just as the Holy Spirit penetrated Our Holy Mother Mary and planted the seed of Christ Jesus, allow Mr. Clausen to fill me with his life giving sperm.”

      In a state of religious fervor that bordered on frenzy, we fucked for what seemed like forever, changing positions a dozen times.  Finally, unable to hold back the powerful force surging from my balls, I filled Darlene’s cavity with my essence.  Sensing my release, she convulsed in a powerful orgasm no doubt abetted by her favorite saint.

     We lay in each other’s arms as we recovered our breath.  We gently kissed and stroked one another until we were interrupted.

      “Hey Bill, you up for seconds,” asked a male voice from the darkness?  I recognized the voice.  It was my erstwhile golf buddy, Ed Pryor.  He and his partner moved closer.  My eyes had adjusted to the gloom and I recognized his eldest, Wendy.

      Wendy’s boyish figure had always attracted me.  There was no question I was physically and spiritually capable.  Darlene’s stroking had already produced a second erection and I had been on the verge of restarting our love making.  Still, as a father of two girls I knew how hypersensitive they can be so I asked, “What do you think, Darlene?”

      “The nuns teach that a good Catholic is always willing to share his bodily possessions with those of the one true faith,” said Darlene reaching for Ed’s cock.

      Moments later, my face was buried in Wendy bare sex enjoying the copious semen that Ed had deposited in his daughter. Darlene and Wendy were shoulder to shoulder as were Ed and I.   From the position and sound, Ed was acting in the same manner.   At some point, we turned toward each other and kissed, licking sperm from our faces.  It was a superbly erotic spiritual moment make even more meaningful that we were well built males of the same age enjoying each other sexually. 

      I took position over Ed’s daughter and positioned my cock head at her slippery entrance.  I don’t believe in slow gentle entrances.  I forcibly pushed in burring my manhood in a single stroke.  Wendy though small of statute loudly expressed her approbation once it reached maximum penetration.  “Oh fuck that feels good.  Slam me again,” shouted the lusty teen.

      It was while I was positioned over Wendy pounding away that I felt a hand part my buttocks so its mate could apply lubricant to my sphincter.  I sensed the presence of two sets of male legs at mine and Ed’s rear.  Ed quickly provided a brief explanation, “Oh year, fuck my ass, Father.  Fuck it hard.”

      A glance over my shoulder revealed the two young seminarians visiting Ave Maria Isles.  Ed’s remark encouraged them to take position over our rear and impale us. 

      Wendy, the seminarian, and I established a rhythm that maintained itself until it ended in a crescendo of orgasms. 

      An exhausted Darlene and I stood at the back of the chapel catching our breath.  Sperm was slowly leaking from my anus.  My face was smeared with Ed’s semen and his daughter’s fluids. 

      “St. Theresa is definitely my favorite saint.  If I get pregnant and have a girl, I’ll name her Theresa,” said Darlene.

      “And if it is a boy,” I asked?

      “Who’s your favorite saint,” asked Darlene?

      “St Peter the fisher of men,” I said.

      “I’ll call him Peter then,’ said Darlene sounding very serious. 

      “Hadn’t we better be going,” I asked after checking my watch.

      “Yes, we need to hurry.  I hope you’re not too fucked out.   Laurie can be very demanding and Sister Winifred will expect you to perform.  Daddy said she wore him out the last time she came over for a training session,” said Darlene.

     “I’ll manage,” I said while praying to St. Theresa to restore my sexual energy so I could accomplish my mission.  I recalled Sister Winifred’s face and figure from before and took hope from the prospect that she would soon be impaled on my cock.