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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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- This story ist part of the Used and Abused Tournament
- It competes against nobody in the R16-6
- Theme: The Chosen One
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The Half Brother
“Lucius, will you join us?” the prophet asked a young Centurion stationed, much to the shock of his apostles. It was at the end of a long sermon in front of thousands of people in Jerusalem. Everyone was going back home, back to their work and loved ones, thinking about the words of Jesus.
“H-How do you know my name?!” Lucius ejaculated, forgetting his Greek and speaking in his native Latin; such was his shock.
“I know it.”
“How on earth do you know Latin? Romans around here only speak to your people in Koine Greek!”
“I learned it. After all, it is the mother language of my true father, but you didn’t answer my question, Roman. Will you be kind enough to join us in our meal?” Jesus replied, in Aramaic, the same language he had just preached in.
“I... I’ll be honored to be guest yours, Jesus of Nazareth,” the Centurion said, returning the favor and speaking in Aramaic, although he did so with a thick Latin accent and misplaced a word.
“But, Master! He’s our enemy!” Peter said, casting a dark look at the Centurion’s hated chain-mail of iron and his spartan-style helmet with a crest of bright green feathers, as he erroneously thought this was the insignia of his rank.
“Dear Peter, didn’t I tell you to love our enemies? You don’t even know the first thing about him. No, that crest of feathers you see on his helmet is not what shows his rank. It is the olive staff he’s carrying with him. Isn’t that right, Lucius my friend?”
“It is indeed! But I come here as friend yours and be honored to be guest yours,” the Centurion said in his tentative Aramaic, looking at Jesus and at his twelve apostles with an air of benevolence that transfixed all of them—All but the prophet.
“Then it is settled! You’ll see, my wife makes delightful fishes on sticks, and since I knew we’d have a Roman as our honored guest, we’ll have black and pale olives with anchovies... and garum!” Jesus said, putting a friendly hand on his guest’s leather-protected shoulder.
***
Once all fourteen men had quieted their thirst and appetite, tales and stories were shared near the fire, with everybody sipping wine and speaking with winged words of lore and wisdom.
“Friends, I never told you who my real father was, and now that my wife is gone upstairs with the maid, it is time I shared this story with you, for it is an unpleasant truth that I’d rather keep out of her earshot.”
“But Jesus,” Simon the Zealot said, “you’ve already told us; your real father is the heavenly Father; you’re Him and He’s you.”
“Yes, and He and I are One with the Holy Spirit. But no, here I’m talking about my carnal father; the one who impregnated my mother.”
“But, isn’t it Joseph the carpenter?” Philip chimed in. Jesus looked at him with a smile, and eyes that carried an air of tragedy.
“No, it isn’t so, alas no. As I’ve just said, it is an unpleasant truth, but if we are to be true friends, we shall keep no secrets from one another. In the years that are to come, when all of us will be long gone from this life, they will write about me, about us. They will write a tale about my mother Mary being impregnated through the Holy Spirit, but this is not what truly happened. The truth is hard to bear, and this is why I need to get it off my chest, for it is hard to be walking under the sun as a human while knowing all the truths under the all-seeing sun.”
Jesus paused, took a sip of wine. Peter replenished his cup. The room fell silent. Lucius heard a fresh log’s gentle crackle in the fire, and it sounded to him like a loud, ominous sound.
The prophet spoke again and all listened.
“Zealots hate the Romans, and what I’m about to tell you will be even harder for our Roman guest to hear, but I’ve chosen him knowing he’s of a pure heart and will listen to all I have to say without a word. And I ask you to do the same for him and treat him as one of us. I want you to take an oath on this.”
Once the oaths were sworn, Jesus began his tale.
***
Just before she was married to Joseph my legal father, Mary traveled in a hilly part of the country to see Elizabeth, a cousin she loved as a dear sister. She traveled on the back of a donkey amid a convoy of Jewish on their way for business or family affairs.
On their way, the travelers were stopped by a twenty-strong group of Roman soldiers, led by a petty officer who called himself Porcius.
“Porcius?! Do you mean Porcius of Tarquinia?!” Lucius ejaculated.
“I do mean it. Yes, he was Porcius of Tarquinia. I told you this tale would be the hardest for you. Please, be silent my friend.”
So yes, the travelers were stopped by this Porcius and his men. As you know, Romans often tax the travelers, sometimes illegally. And sometimes, they get nasty and tax travelers through the body of their wives and daughters. I hear the hatred in your souls, but listen. They don’t behave like this because they’re Romans. They behave like this because they are in power, and some men will allow themselves to be seduced by the idea of using that power, sometimes to get girls that are off-limits. If the Zealots rebelled and won, many of them would go to Roman homes and use the wives and daughters there just as well. Look into your heart, Simon, and the truth will look back at you!
Porcius was such a man. He was already thirty-three years old and his way to the rank of centurion was blocked, for he was a man competent and able to lead twenty men, but not a hundred; this, his superiors knew. Later in his life, Porcius of Tarquinia would be riddled with guilt about the things he did during his time in Judea, and he would raise his beloved son to make out of him such a man who would one day rise above him.
Lucius had tears in his eyes. He wanted to speak, but he remembered his oath and listened on as Jesus went on...
Thus, on that sunny day in Judea, the Principalis and his twenty men stopped the caravan of donkey-traveling Jewish.
With great fear in their eyes, the Jewish men offered money, but the Romans weren’t after coins. They looked at the women and organically chose the prettier ones.
The Jewish’s worst fears materialized. The men were searched and their daggers and their staffs were confiscated by grinning Romans. Then, the thirty travelers were herded together—the men on one side, the women on the other. There were about nine women, with three betrothed virgins among them. My mother was one of them. Two of the maidens were crying, but not my mother.
Then, as soldiers kept their spears pointed at the men and the remaining women, the carnal tax collecting began. Two virgins were dragged out of the group, screaming, and then raped by ten men, while the ten others kept watch on the helpless travelers.
As both girls were wailing and one was calling her father’s name under her rapists, one Jewish man had enough. He threw a stone at one of the soldiers; then he was restrained by his fellow travelers, who looked at the soldiers in great fear as the stone hit the man on his helmet without much harm.
Porcius gave an order in Latin. The man was seized and brought in front of Principalis Porcius, who taunted him and hit him, bringing him down to his knees.
“You wanted to harm my men, didn’t you? I should have you killed for this, but instead, I’ll give you an even worse punishment!” Porcius said as both maidens were kept wailing under the successive Romans who took their pleasure inside them.
The rapes went on, under the merciless sun of Judea. The bearded man who had thrown the stone was the father of one of those two hapless girls. He was forced to remain on his knees, with a gladius at his throat; forced to watch the defilement of his own flesh and blood. His daughter was made un-marriageable five times over.
Once the rapes were done and the grinning men put themselves back together, the sobbing maidens, hurt beyond a man’s comprehension, curled themselves into a fetal position, on the dusty ground; both were so shocked that they even forgot to bring back their robes down to cover their legs, and they no longer cared about their torn garments showing too much of their bodies. They just cried with their souls in a white fire of pain and shame.
Then, the worst came. Porcius had the father brought near his daughter.
“Whether your daughter lives or dies, it be choice yours, Jewish!” Porcius told the merchant in bad Aramaic.
“Jewish man,” he went on as his men grinned, “Jewish man, you will either, uh, copulate with her, or she die!”
***
Lucius began sobbing convulsively, interrupting Jesus’s tale. “I-I c-cant believe my father did this! B-but I... I believe you... S-sorry...”
“John, please go near our guest and comfort him, for he needs our love. He needs it the most right now,” Jesus told his favorite apostle, the one he’d give as a son to his own mother when he’d die on the cross.
And with Lucius weeping in the arms of John, Jesus went on...
The Jewish father was about to ask for a dagger and kill his daughter, when she spoke...
“Father, don’t let them kill me! Father, nobody will ever speak a word of anything that happened here. The shame’s too great. But I’m afraid of death. So please, father, come to me and touch me.”
As she spoke, the girl was facing her father, reclining on one elbow and letting her torn tunic show her perky breasts under the sun. She knew his father’s eyes would often wander there whenever she was near him in their usual life; and thus she knew the carnal effect to see her bare bosom would have on him. She was so afraid of death that she’d rather have sex with her own father!
The father was indeed very much aroused. He had been as hard as an olive tree when he watched those men ravish his beautiful daughter. Like a surprising number of fathers for their grown-up daughter, he sometimes harbored carnal desires for her. Men are sinners.
Unable to hold himself, the father abandoned any notion of killing her. He went to her while the other girl slowly crawled away and got back among the other women, where she cried and sobbed in the arms of an aunt. Thus, the father and his daughter remained alone with each other at the center, under the scorching sun that sees everything.
After disrobing himself, the father laid down with his daughter. The soldiers began to laugh as they watched the Jewish man in the act of sucking her breasts, but there, Porcius silenced his men, telling them it was enough shame for a father to have to do this without enduring mockery on top of it.
In the silence that followed, the daughter, by the name of Myriam, got on her knees and took her father’s manhood inside her mouth. And she made him hard, the coating of her slobber glistening under the sun. She had one hand around his base while gently playing with her own bruised sex with the other. Myriam sucked on, head bobbing, her long dark hair making waves of daylight and shadows in the surreal scene, for all to see.
She finally let him lie down with his face looking up at the bright blue sky, and she got on top of him after entirely taking off her torn robes. The Romans whistled upon seeing her, but again, Porcius ordered them into a respectful silence as the daughter impaled herself on her own father, who would never forget the feeling of her sandaled feet against his thighs. He thanked God his wife wasn’t there to see this, and hoped his sister would keep the secret.
As she became one with her father, Myriam began moaning, feeling his hands on her waist. He grunted, louder and louder as she seemed to dance on him, arching her back and looking up at the heavens while her virgin’s breasts were pointed as high as they would go while she kept crashing and bouncing on her grunting father.
Looking at those moving pinnacles of revealed nakedness above him, all her fresh skin bathed in sunlight, her ever-dancing nipples like moving grapes of shadow, the father felt himself growing bigger and harder inside his daughter. He clutched her small waist, slamming her down hard on every stroke as his grunts filled the scene and became one with the immoral loudness of her rhythmic moaning.
And soon he yelled...
“AAAAAAHHRR NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNHH!!!”
His daughter received his seed of Life.
Only once both “lovers” had got some of their senses back, only then did they gain the awareness of what they just did.
The daughter felt deeply ashamed and covered the dark bush of her hairy sex, just like Eve in the Garden of Eden after biting the apple. The father felt like disappearing under the earth. He quickly cowered back into the group of Jewish men, who treated him as a pariah, while secretly feeling aroused by what they’d just seen.
The daughter was ordered to get dressed again, which she did, doing what she could with her torn garments to hide her breasts from the sun. The Jewish women treated her like a pariah, even worse than the men treated her father. Only Mary hugged her and tried to comfort her. Myriam bitterly sobbed in Mary’s arms.
But the soldiers were not done. The ten men who had just taken their pleasure replaced the ten men who had been watching over the captive travelers.
Porcius and those ten men selected two women for themselves. Mary was brutally separated from Myriam. She stoically remained silent as the Romans, grinning, took her to the spot where a dark stain of blood on the dusty earth marked the deflowering of one of the previous maidens.
The other chosen woman was a young wife, whose husband swore at the soldiers and was restrained by friends, while she screamed and pleaded and wailed, ignored by five grinning, jeering soldiers who carried her near that stain of blood.
The young wife’s screams gave a sorry life to the scene where her robes were ripped by the ferocious hands of those five soldiers, who played with her long, dark-honey hair as they spoke to her in Latin, telling her how beautiful she was as they uncovered the fair-skin playground of her curvy breasts, learning of the brownish wine red of her areolas under the sun of Judea, and the tiny pearls of milk at the end of her nipples, for this wife had given birth less than a year before.
That Jewish milk was soon tasted by Roman tongues, as all five brigands wearing a chain-mail pressed themselves around the beauty and explored her body with tongues and kisses and groping as they completely took the garments off her. Soon she was naked in her sandals.
Mary, my mother, remained silent and stoic as she was treated this very same way, except her nipples did not have milk, for she was a betrothed virgin. Porcius became the first man who—Lucius broke down in loud sobs in John’s comforting arms—Porcius became the first man who kissed Mary and tasted the tip of her breasts, while the others undressed her with surprising gentleness, since she wasn’t resisting.
“It is fate.”
“It is fate,” Mary said again as one of the soldiers went into the trouble of kneeling at her feet and undoing her sandals, after which he began to frantically kiss and adore her bare feet and ankles, with tears in his eyes and his cock as hard as a rutting camel. He was the oldest of the five; a veteran who had raped his own sister and re-enlisted at nearly forty years of age to flee and escape the wrath of his father.
Porcius fell into shocked silence as he kissed Mary’s navel and went further down, until he was kissing the intimate patch of raven hair between her legs. Mary began to moan.
“It is fate. It is fate,” she kept repeating in her heated breathing, while the leader of the wolf pack tasted the recess between her labia and she writhed in the arms of the other soldiers, feeling the iron of their chain-mail against her nude arms, feeling their strength, their invading kisses and the foreign blast of their touch on her.
A few paces away, the young wife, Esther, was filling the air with her soul-tearing wails and shrieks as the five men began taking their turns inside her. The grinning men even forced her to wrap her legs around her first rapist and cross her ankles on top of him, so her sandaled feet and her legs gave them “a good show to worship Venus with”.
“May your gods crush you under their feet!” Esther barked in a surprisingly fine Greek that each soldier understood.
Meanwhile, Porcius tirelessly kept his tongue at work inside my mother, who writhed and wriggled in the arms of her ravishers and was forced by her own body to moan out loud.
“Aaah aaaah aaaaah it’s fate! It’s fate, aaaahh noo! No please! Aaaahhhh aaaaaaaaaah, but... It’s fate... fate... just fate...”
Mary suddenly exploded in a fireball of poisonous shame and embarrassment as she climaxed in Roman arms, this in front of all her fellow travelers.
“The young lady is ready to be fucked!” Porcius said, with the gloss of her juices coating the lower half of his grinning face, as he quietly got rid of his weapons and armor.
“Hold her floating amid you! And keep her legs well spread out!” he told the four men holding Mary, who was now weeping.
Once he was naked like Adam before Eve ate from the fruit of Knowledge, Porcius proudly presented his erection to Mary. He was a fine specimen of Latin manhood, a man much desired by many women; a young man who had failed to keep himself from abusing the small amount of power he had. (Lucius kept sobbing in John’s arms.)
And as the four soldiers held Mary spread-eagled and floating amid them, Porcius went to her and stood between her legs.
“Young Jewish lady,” he said, ignoring the lamentations from the women witnessing the horror and the cries from the gang-raped wife. “Since you aren’t resisting the power of Rome, we’ll do you the favor of using you as gently as we can. We’re sorry for doing this to you, but we just can’t help it. Call it fate.”
And without further ado, he pushed himself inside Mary, who began to whimper with tears rolling down her spotless cheeks as she began receiving Porcius’s strokes amid the grinning soldiers, who held her firmly as Porcius grabbed her waist and pounded her hard and good.
Esther was now screaming in shame and cursing as they held her down on all fours, while the third man—kneeling behind her on the unforgiving ground and sacrificing his knees to the bliss of his loins—kept colliding with her naked buttocks, greatly enjoying her baby-soft skin under his hands as he fed fiery strokes inside her.
“From Rome, with all our love!” he said in Latin and his fellow mates from Tarquinia all laughed as they kept their firm hold on the cursing wife, whose dark-honey hair made waves of shock under the sunlight as the barrage of thrusts went on unabating.
Porcius kept up his strokes inside Mary, who was beginning to suffer. Her pretty face now had the twisted expression of a girl who just ate too-bitter citruses, but compelled herself to eat them given their high cost.
Porcius was beside himself with glee! His gaze was hypnotized by the sunlit dance of Mary’s breasts, young breasts that had yet to feed a baby, and nipples paler than dark, amid perfect circles—areolas like coins of life, now minted and softly moving under the sun, under the caressing hands of legionnaires as she began to suffer more and more from Porcius’s punishing pounding.
Just as the third man groaned and relieved himself inside the cursing wife, Porcius let out a beast of a scream as he blissfully spewed his load, a big one, inside Mary, sounding like a sick camel as he did so.
“AAAIINNHH NNNNNNNEEWWWWHH... Ooaahh, by Hercules! She’s a very fine one! Try her and see for yourself, boys! Come on, Aurelius, your turn!”
As the senior Exemptus took his turn inside Mary, Porcius watched the scene, with a feeling of guilt, but shamefully enjoying himself in the evil deed. Esther the wife was still cursing and whimpering on all fours, under punishing blows from a happy soldier, with her knees in blood from the rocking motions kept up for too long.
Mary was really suffering now, her head bobbing in the arms of the young soldiers holding her while their mate took his short-lived, but incredibly intense pleasure inside her. Then came the next man, a vicious pig who had her put down on all fours and licked her butt, before doing the vilest thing—He sodomized her!
“Deep, deep in her ass! YAAARRRHH!!! Deep it goes! Like Hercules’s club! YAAARRRHH!!!”
Mary went livid with screaming pain as the pig pounded her deflowered rectum, amused with her cries, laughing at the face of the other women witnessing his deed in horrified shock. He did so until he erupted with plentiful sludge deep inside her tortured rectum. Rome is powerful, but not enough to impregnate the shit of a woman.
But the two remaining men did rape the shit out of Mary. The next soldier also raped her on all fours, this time using her life-giving hole, and going at it hard and true. He could have been the one who became my carnal father, for his load of jism was a truly epic one. The truth is deeply buried and only known by my heavenly Father.
Then came the last man, the oldest one, the one who had kissed and worshiped Mary’s feet after taking her sandals off.
He predictably placed Mary on her back with her legs propped up and her feet close to him. Kneeling on the hard ground, he rested her ankles on his shoulders, and with the help of his fellow soldiers, he kept Mary there, with her butt off the ground and her shoulder-blades pinned on the painful ground as he savagely raped her, with glee, holding her waist and enjoying the sight of her fast-jiggling, high-riding breasts. He loved the scent of her feet close to him.
He thus raped her with her feet hoovering on either side of his pleasure-distorted face, sweating profusely under his Roman helmet, while Mary suffered even deeper and with more pain than before.
The man lasted long, painfully long, inside Mary, who wasn’t even half his age. The others held her, watching the treasures of her small body while her head kept bobbing on the sandy ground, her raven hair made paler from the dry dirt on them, all this while she kept screaming and suffering. Mary was now cursing fate.
At the end, the man kissed one of Mary’s feet and accidentally pulled out of her. Throbbing, his manhood exploded and he shot bolts of glistening seed under the sun; seed that landed like some pungent milk on Mary’s triangle of black hair between her tired legs; one of those bolts landed on her navel as the man realized he had lost his helmet in all the excitement.
The five men were now done with raping the wife. With grins on their unshaven faces, they forced the naked woman on her knees and began to slap her face using their half-flaccid cocks. Esther yelled and cursed under the new humiliation, calling her husband a coward for being still alive while this was being done to her in front of him. The Jewish men kept restraining the raging husband, who swore to become a Zealot and kill a thousand Romans.
Porcius laughed at the man. He loved what he saw and felt horny once more, especially from watching Mary’s ordeal.
He had her placed on all fours again, and he sank his knees into the merciless ground behind her. He caressed Mary’s butt and studied its girly-wide contours, loving how slim she was and how full that round-shaped ass really was. She had almond-fair skin. His manhood was hard again.
He spent the next long moments holding the crease of Mary’s hips and enjoying the soft collisions against her. Each thrust inside her felt even better than the previous one as she whimpered and begged him to please stop. Mary was in unthinkable pain and felt she was about to get ripped in two.
Porcius presently shook from head to toe and yelled, seemingly in great pain, but it was bliss. He came, screaming, looking up at the all-seeing sun.
After remaining there for the longest time, inside Mary, sweating like a pig, Porcius finally got back up, his breath still heavy, his legs quite wobbly as he began to slowly get dressed again.
Then, and only then, the Jewish were allowed to resume their journey. The tribute had been paid.
When Elizabeth, who was also pregnant, saw Mary, she felt her son move sharply inside her belly, and this was how she knew Mary was pregnant from the Holy Spirit. It had acted through Porcius.
***
“But... But, you’re my, m-my b-brother!” the Centurion stammered in John’s arms while the other apostles looked at him with murder in their eyes. “I mean, you could be.”
“Could be. But does it really matter? We men are all brothers under the same sun. The sun that sees and knows everything that is, that was and that will be. The Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Now, Lucius, go in peace.”
***
When Jesus was trialed and condemned to be crucified, it came hard on Lucius, as he was the officer tasked with carrying out the execution. He had to execute a man who could very well be his own half brother.
But he obeyed. He was a good soldier. He was also married to a wife from Crete, such a beautiful wife as even the governor was jealous. He knew all too well what would happen to her if he rebelled and got jailed and executed. So obey he did.
There was a tremendously strong storm brewing in the darkening sky as Jesus, naked, was suffering on the cross, nailed on it as he was through his wrists and his feet. Lucius stood at the foot of the cross, holding his helmet to his side and crying as the first raindrops hit his face.
“Don’t cry, my brother,” Jesus said. “Don’t cry. See this woman who’s sobbing in John’s arms? This is Mary, my mother. Look how young she still looks for her age! Now imagine how beautiful she was when she was made pregnant. Forgive your father, our father. Yes, we are brothers. I know. It was my Father’s will to have me conceived through the worst possible suffering a woman could endure. I was to be the son of suffering, just like I am now to die in the worst suffering. Ohh! It hurts! Father! Why did you abandon me?
“We’re half brothers, Lucius. And this is why I have chosen you to be the first Roman who will bring the good news. For I will die tonight and I shall suffer in Hell, but on the third day I shall resurrect from the dead. My suffering will redeem mankind, and life will prevail over death. I want you to go to Rome and spread the word. You are my chosen one.”
***
Lucius became the very first Roman to become a convert to the new religion of Christ. He began to preach, and was soon jailed and stripped of his rank, but it didn’t matter to him.
His wife was indeed raped by the governor and she did become his concubine for a while.
Lucius escaped and within four years, he found his way to Rome, where he preached and was mocked by the crowds. He ended up jailed, judged and condemned by the Emperor.
Just before he was thrown to the lions in the circus, Lucius was visited in his cell by his father Porcius, now an elderly man with all-white hair. Lucius told him about Jesus, the son of Mary, who had become pregnant after she was raped by a group of Romans, especially by one Porcius, their leader, who raped her twice.
Old Porcius broke down in tears and got down on his knees, imploring forgiveness from his son, imploring forgiveness for that mistake he did as a young man. Lucius put his hand on his shoulder. He stooped down and kissed his father.
“Father, I forgive you. Jesus was my half brother. I go in peace today. I am His Chosen One.”
Like his carnal brother, Lucius died at thirty-three years of age.
The End.
