Stony
Newfag
This user has asked to stay anonymous, so I have changed the names within the story.
I would also like to note that all events contained within the writing are completely factual, 100% documented truth, based upon his own religious awakening and experiences.
Enjoy!
The “Virgin” Barry
Chapter One:
Barry Kevins awoke as the first rays of sun came dancing across the rooftop in the Brazilian shanty town. Blinking stupidly as the hellish sun beat down from the humid sky, Barry began getting ready for the long day of unemployment which awaited him.
He shuffled lethargically to the grease-stained refrigerator, being immediately punched in the face with the pungent odor of spoilage. As Barry had no electricity, his refrigerator’s function was closer to that of a microwave; Barry had no idea of this, as all of Brazil had a similar eye-watering stench. Peering into the fridge, Barry was soon confronted with the horrible sight of nothing: he had run out of food. He would not let this minor inconvenience ruin his day, however; there were still many more activities he had planned for the day.
Barry lumbered to the small pile of laundry on his floor, pulling boxers rendered solid with layers of cum, the result of many nights of immoral fantasy, over his obese legs. He grabbed his greasy, faded t-shirt—the one he wore every day—over his gargantuan stomach, which hung down like an apron over his groin. Slowly, he searched in the dim dawn light for his most prized of possessions: a small button inscribed with the words “Please be patient with me, I have autism.” How else could he protect himself from the harsh realities of Brazilian society?
At last, it was time for Barry’s favorite activity of the day: hunting for monkeys. Considered a delicacy in Brazil, these small New-World primates were the sole component of Barry’s diet. In his days of youth, Barry was often able to chase after the monkeys on his own, their protein providing him with the strength to do so, but as he advanced in age, his abilities faltered, leaving Barry to simply bait the monkeys into traps with bananas. Now was the time to check the day’s harvest, to see the results of his labor in the faces of the doomed primates.
It took Barry nearly an hour to make the 1,000 meter trek. Barry groaned downhill, his lungs crackling under the weight of his massive frame, his desperate heart squeezing with such a force that it sent trembles and quakes through his entire chest; carrying 700 pounds is no easy task. When he finally came to the net, he could hear the angered and panicked squalls before he even saw the tawny primate, so well-camouflaged into its surroundings. In Barry’s net, there was nothing but a scrawny marmoset. He quickly dispatched the creature, its neck making a wet popping noise as Barry crushed its spinal cord between rotted and crumbling teeth. He swallowed it headfirst, the miniscule twitching body disappearing smoothly down his throat. After a few belches and coughs that produced small tufts of hair, there was no evidence of the primate ever having been there.
Now, Barry needed to bait his trap; while that marmoset was a lovely appetizer, it was nothing compared to the 15,000 calories Barry was used to consuming. Barry could eat as much as half an orangutan on days that he was particularly hungry, and today seemed to be one of those days. The grumblings of his stomach sounded like the banging of a gong, a call to action magnified by the immense volume of the empty organ. He began the hour’s journey back home, kicking at rocks and small lizards, leaving plumes of dust in his wake.
Barry pulled at the door of his peeling mailbox, the sound of the rusty hinge etching itself into his brain, the sound of nails on a chalkboard. His hunger drove him to lick the chips of black lead paint off of his bloodied hands, the crunch of the chips bringing him some small relief. He reached his meaty fist into the mailbox, withdrawing a piece of mail issued to him labeled “Auxílio Brasil.” He ran into his squalid living room, then tore into the envelope, eyes gleaming with hope as he withdrew his welfare check. Suddenly, a look of terror tore across his mongoloid face: he had been given only R$ 4, which would not be enough for the bananas he needed, let alone his rent.
He sank to the dirt floor, his knees scraping against the hard ground. What was he going to do? Suddenly, he knew the answer: God was the only person who could help him out of his degeneracy. Hands clasped together, tears carving trails through his dirt-encrusted face, Barry looked to the Heavens, pleading for a return to normalcy. “Please, Allah,” Barry begged “In the name of Aisha’s fat, dripping pussy, save me.”
That very instant, Barry felt a hand on each side of his rotund face. Though the warmth felt so real, he could see nothing in front of him. These must be the hands of Allah, come to rescue him! Tears of gratitude replaced tears of hopelessness, but this was soon replaced with shock; the invisible hands began drifting slowly down his body, the warmth radiating down his quivering spine. Their strong grip pulled Barry onto all fours, ripping off his stained underwear, forcing his meaty thighs apart, disentangling pubes and ass hairs from their previously matted state. Barry’s horrid stench, a mixture of unwashed anus, boiled monkey, and dried semen, permeated his mud shack. He could feel the finger of God tracing a line down his asscrack, and he was trembling with anticipation, his smegma-encrusted cock now a throbbing two inches. Just as the finger reached his anus, he could hold back no longer: moaning in ecstasy, he began spurting thick ropes of cum onto the dusty floor.
His legs were still twitching from his first orgasm when the hands of God pulled Barry’s virgin ass open, a gape so wide it would put Goatse to shame. He screamed in pain, pleasure, and pious devotion as Allah penetrated his unlubricated asshole. Barry could feel his hole being stretched to its very limits, yet all he could think about was pleasing this deity. He would take every inch, no matter the pain he felt; this mortification of the flesh was his penance, his duty to the Lord. When the first thrust came, his sphincter tore, yet Barry felt only gratitude for being allowed this experience. He screamed with pleasure as God’s cock, lubricated in blood, stretched his once-tight hole.
The blood, semen, and sweat began to mix into a thick sludge beneath Barry, trapping him in the arms of his Savior like a mouse in a glue trap. With each thrust, Allah’s wiry, thick pubic hairs scraped his skin like steel wool, leaving Barry’s ass one giant wound. Every second was agony, yet every agony was proof of his unwavering devotion. Barry came three more times, every ejaculation bringing him further into a dazed state of exhaustion; though his will had not changed, his body could not handle the abuse. He was nearly unconscious, muddied and bloodied in a pile of his fluids, when he began to feel Allah’s cock twitch inside his now-skinned asshole. He could feel himself being filled with the Holy Spirit, with warmth from within, and just as suddenly as God had appeared, he was gone, replaced by a feeling of coldness, of melancholic solitude. Barry clenched his enfeebled sphincter, trying desperately to preserve that last piece of holiness, but try as he might, he was too weak; cum leaked from his devastated rectum as he lapsed into mud-encrusted unconsciousness.
Chapter Two:
The next day, Barry spent nearly two hours stuck on his back, his arms and legs rotating in circles as though he were some shell-less, fleshy turtle. As he struggled against gravity, he also struggled against the memories of the previous night; his recollection of the events was so clearly etched into his mind, every depraved, sadistic moment of it. He viewed his actions with secular disgust: he had allowed himself to be fucked by another man, and he had enjoyed every second of it. While considering this faggotry, he soon became aware of the fact that none of the memories he remembered sustaining were present on his corpulent body; it was as though he had been healed magically.
By the time Barry managed to roll his 700-pound self into an upright position, he had come to the conclusion that it had all been a bad dream; after all, there was no evidence, so how could it have been real? The speed with which Barry’s brain began removing all memories of the experience was a testament to the true brutality of the assrape he had experienced; without divine intervention, he may well have never walked again.
Instead, Barry continued on as if it were another normal day of leeching off of taxpayers. Having forgotten how minuscule the previous day’s welfare check was, he felt no fear when he opened that same decrepit mailbox, felt the same childish hope he always did when he opened these letters. Today, he found his standard payment of R$ . He gleefully dressed himself, fastening his pin to his raggedy shirt, and skipped off to the market to buy the bananas he needed for his monkey trap.
Despite how typical this morning seemed, something very abnormal was happening within Barry: the only physical evidence of last night’s holy experience, a single cell, was traveling through his innards, desperately seeking its counterpart. Finally, the two met, fusing together, becoming something more than the sum of its parts, more than Barry could have ever imagined. As the cells began to divide, to multiply in number, a Godly zygote, he was peeling a banana, wholly unaware of the miracle that was taking place in his womb. Although he had no way of knowing, Barry had been impregnated with the Messiah.
I would also like to note that all events contained within the writing are completely factual, 100% documented truth, based upon his own religious awakening and experiences.
Enjoy!
The “Virgin” Barry
Chapter One:
Barry Kevins awoke as the first rays of sun came dancing across the rooftop in the Brazilian shanty town. Blinking stupidly as the hellish sun beat down from the humid sky, Barry began getting ready for the long day of unemployment which awaited him.
He shuffled lethargically to the grease-stained refrigerator, being immediately punched in the face with the pungent odor of spoilage. As Barry had no electricity, his refrigerator’s function was closer to that of a microwave; Barry had no idea of this, as all of Brazil had a similar eye-watering stench. Peering into the fridge, Barry was soon confronted with the horrible sight of nothing: he had run out of food. He would not let this minor inconvenience ruin his day, however; there were still many more activities he had planned for the day.
Barry lumbered to the small pile of laundry on his floor, pulling boxers rendered solid with layers of cum, the result of many nights of immoral fantasy, over his obese legs. He grabbed his greasy, faded t-shirt—the one he wore every day—over his gargantuan stomach, which hung down like an apron over his groin. Slowly, he searched in the dim dawn light for his most prized of possessions: a small button inscribed with the words “Please be patient with me, I have autism.” How else could he protect himself from the harsh realities of Brazilian society?
At last, it was time for Barry’s favorite activity of the day: hunting for monkeys. Considered a delicacy in Brazil, these small New-World primates were the sole component of Barry’s diet. In his days of youth, Barry was often able to chase after the monkeys on his own, their protein providing him with the strength to do so, but as he advanced in age, his abilities faltered, leaving Barry to simply bait the monkeys into traps with bananas. Now was the time to check the day’s harvest, to see the results of his labor in the faces of the doomed primates.
It took Barry nearly an hour to make the 1,000 meter trek. Barry groaned downhill, his lungs crackling under the weight of his massive frame, his desperate heart squeezing with such a force that it sent trembles and quakes through his entire chest; carrying 700 pounds is no easy task. When he finally came to the net, he could hear the angered and panicked squalls before he even saw the tawny primate, so well-camouflaged into its surroundings. In Barry’s net, there was nothing but a scrawny marmoset. He quickly dispatched the creature, its neck making a wet popping noise as Barry crushed its spinal cord between rotted and crumbling teeth. He swallowed it headfirst, the miniscule twitching body disappearing smoothly down his throat. After a few belches and coughs that produced small tufts of hair, there was no evidence of the primate ever having been there.
Now, Barry needed to bait his trap; while that marmoset was a lovely appetizer, it was nothing compared to the 15,000 calories Barry was used to consuming. Barry could eat as much as half an orangutan on days that he was particularly hungry, and today seemed to be one of those days. The grumblings of his stomach sounded like the banging of a gong, a call to action magnified by the immense volume of the empty organ. He began the hour’s journey back home, kicking at rocks and small lizards, leaving plumes of dust in his wake.
Barry pulled at the door of his peeling mailbox, the sound of the rusty hinge etching itself into his brain, the sound of nails on a chalkboard. His hunger drove him to lick the chips of black lead paint off of his bloodied hands, the crunch of the chips bringing him some small relief. He reached his meaty fist into the mailbox, withdrawing a piece of mail issued to him labeled “Auxílio Brasil.” He ran into his squalid living room, then tore into the envelope, eyes gleaming with hope as he withdrew his welfare check. Suddenly, a look of terror tore across his mongoloid face: he had been given only R$ 4, which would not be enough for the bananas he needed, let alone his rent.
He sank to the dirt floor, his knees scraping against the hard ground. What was he going to do? Suddenly, he knew the answer: God was the only person who could help him out of his degeneracy. Hands clasped together, tears carving trails through his dirt-encrusted face, Barry looked to the Heavens, pleading for a return to normalcy. “Please, Allah,” Barry begged “In the name of Aisha’s fat, dripping pussy, save me.”
That very instant, Barry felt a hand on each side of his rotund face. Though the warmth felt so real, he could see nothing in front of him. These must be the hands of Allah, come to rescue him! Tears of gratitude replaced tears of hopelessness, but this was soon replaced with shock; the invisible hands began drifting slowly down his body, the warmth radiating down his quivering spine. Their strong grip pulled Barry onto all fours, ripping off his stained underwear, forcing his meaty thighs apart, disentangling pubes and ass hairs from their previously matted state. Barry’s horrid stench, a mixture of unwashed anus, boiled monkey, and dried semen, permeated his mud shack. He could feel the finger of God tracing a line down his asscrack, and he was trembling with anticipation, his smegma-encrusted cock now a throbbing two inches. Just as the finger reached his anus, he could hold back no longer: moaning in ecstasy, he began spurting thick ropes of cum onto the dusty floor.
His legs were still twitching from his first orgasm when the hands of God pulled Barry’s virgin ass open, a gape so wide it would put Goatse to shame. He screamed in pain, pleasure, and pious devotion as Allah penetrated his unlubricated asshole. Barry could feel his hole being stretched to its very limits, yet all he could think about was pleasing this deity. He would take every inch, no matter the pain he felt; this mortification of the flesh was his penance, his duty to the Lord. When the first thrust came, his sphincter tore, yet Barry felt only gratitude for being allowed this experience. He screamed with pleasure as God’s cock, lubricated in blood, stretched his once-tight hole.
The blood, semen, and sweat began to mix into a thick sludge beneath Barry, trapping him in the arms of his Savior like a mouse in a glue trap. With each thrust, Allah’s wiry, thick pubic hairs scraped his skin like steel wool, leaving Barry’s ass one giant wound. Every second was agony, yet every agony was proof of his unwavering devotion. Barry came three more times, every ejaculation bringing him further into a dazed state of exhaustion; though his will had not changed, his body could not handle the abuse. He was nearly unconscious, muddied and bloodied in a pile of his fluids, when he began to feel Allah’s cock twitch inside his now-skinned asshole. He could feel himself being filled with the Holy Spirit, with warmth from within, and just as suddenly as God had appeared, he was gone, replaced by a feeling of coldness, of melancholic solitude. Barry clenched his enfeebled sphincter, trying desperately to preserve that last piece of holiness, but try as he might, he was too weak; cum leaked from his devastated rectum as he lapsed into mud-encrusted unconsciousness.
Chapter Two:
The next day, Barry spent nearly two hours stuck on his back, his arms and legs rotating in circles as though he were some shell-less, fleshy turtle. As he struggled against gravity, he also struggled against the memories of the previous night; his recollection of the events was so clearly etched into his mind, every depraved, sadistic moment of it. He viewed his actions with secular disgust: he had allowed himself to be fucked by another man, and he had enjoyed every second of it. While considering this faggotry, he soon became aware of the fact that none of the memories he remembered sustaining were present on his corpulent body; it was as though he had been healed magically.
By the time Barry managed to roll his 700-pound self into an upright position, he had come to the conclusion that it had all been a bad dream; after all, there was no evidence, so how could it have been real? The speed with which Barry’s brain began removing all memories of the experience was a testament to the true brutality of the assrape he had experienced; without divine intervention, he may well have never walked again.
Instead, Barry continued on as if it were another normal day of leeching off of taxpayers. Having forgotten how minuscule the previous day’s welfare check was, he felt no fear when he opened that same decrepit mailbox, felt the same childish hope he always did when he opened these letters. Today, he found his standard payment of R$ . He gleefully dressed himself, fastening his pin to his raggedy shirt, and skipped off to the market to buy the bananas he needed for his monkey trap.
Despite how typical this morning seemed, something very abnormal was happening within Barry: the only physical evidence of last night’s holy experience, a single cell, was traveling through his innards, desperately seeking its counterpart. Finally, the two met, fusing together, becoming something more than the sum of its parts, more than Barry could have ever imagined. As the cells began to divide, to multiply in number, a Godly zygote, he was peeling a banana, wholly unaware of the miracle that was taking place in his womb. Although he had no way of knowing, Barry had been impregnated with the Messiah.
