The Nun

The Nun

Post-apocalyptic Bimbo Nun Slut's Monstercock Adventures

Chapter 1 by minimum minimum

September 4th 2156.

Thirty years after the second coming of Christ.

The great redeemer returned to reclaim his flock at the beginning of the twenty-second century.

An ecological basket-case, many had already written off their chances of survival, if not salvation.

The previously chilly snowscapes of Canada and Siberia were now the world’s most habitable destinations. Not that border designations of things like countries meant anything anymore, all previous acknowledged national boundaries being annihilated in the resource wars of the 2050s. War was hell, and it was everywhere for decades.

But also Earth was to all intents and purposes a literal hell, because the last time temperatures were this high was 55 million years ago.

After the resource wars: complete societal collapse. With most of the world now unable to produce food, let alone goods and products, money had no value and no function.

The best prepared of all were the super-rich, who had already wargamed for the end of civilisation. Most holed up in doomsday bunkers, paying a small army of military guards in supplies to keep them safe. Most were laid siege to and executed by hordes of everymen and women.

The term normally used to describe this scenario, ‘post-apocalyptic’, is one that would have comfortably sufficed to apply to the mid-to-late twenty-first century.

But that was before Christ came back.

The hysterical prognostications of the Book of Revelations proved wide of the mark, though as usual there was symbolism and allegory aplenty for those that cared to scry for the essence of divination in the slightest thing.

This time, the spectacle of Christ on the earth was a global phenomenon, and certainly no unfalsifiable post-facto scribbling by a coterie of true believers. Miracles were performed, documented, authenticated. There could be no doubt. Hope blossomed worldwide that the suffering and conflagration that encompassed the planet would be extinguished and a final age of transcendence and tranquillity would come.

But this time Jesus failed. This time he succumbed. Tempted.

Christ’s dereliction was not to assuage hunger, or thirst, as in the desert. Nor was it to escape the barbs of suffering and torment, as in the Via Dolorosa, or Golgotha.

It was a temptation of the flesh.

No-one knew what had happened, and yet at the same time, everyone knew. A woman tempted Christ. Tore him from the path. No-one had seen her, and at the same time, everyone instinctively knew what had happened. There were rumours that she was some kind of infernal agent, a succubi, trained in the erotic arts in the depths of hell, more carnally experienced and experimental than any mortal human could begin to dream of; there were rumours of an infinitely practised and lasciviously unrelenting sex-worker of legendary dimensions; there were rumours of an offhand romance with an uninterested aid-worker; a pathetic, fling with a mother-figure and insanely proportioned MILF; a large eyed milk-skinned teenage waif; it was the Whore of Babylon: it was the Girl Next Door.

No-one knew.

But they knew that Christ had turned from the Path.

God’s fury rained down in an amusing assortment of natural disasters that would more usually have been considered self-cancelling. Fire and ice. Drought and flood. The fires themselves lasted for forty weeks. Then clouds of ash for years. Ironically, God’s curse of raging, apocalyptic fury threw blankets of smog into the atmosphere that shrouded the earth from the more devastating effects of climate change. Continents shifted. New mountain ranges formed as He ground His teeth.

After the ash had settled, a new and curious humanity surveyed its damnation on a new and curious world. It wasn’t long before the more barbed and lingering aspect of God’s curse manifested itself.

The absolute and total pornification of the human species.

Overnight, the survivors of the apocalypse reconfigured what was left of civilisation into a carnival of Babylonian excess that knew no limits. Sex was the only currency worth anything. The remaining urban centres, public spaces, media technologies and communication nodes were overhauled into vehicles for the promulgation of the most lurid, vulgar, and excessively sexualised content. Only the most salacious XXX material functioned as the lingua franca of the new world.

But such changes weren’t merely reducible to alterations of taste and a growing realignment of the priorities of society along hypersexualised lines. In a couple of decade’s time, in the early 2130s, it had become apparent that the human genome itself had changed. The new generation of humans that emerged after Christ’s Fall were utterly pornified. The men were inconceivably horse-hung, endowed with monstrously inflated and titanium-hard fucksticks that were a cum-pumping marvel of readjusted anatomy; the women were proportioned like the most stunning and exaggerated bimbos that ever strutted across the face of the planet with spherical, jutting globe-like tits, muscularly ripped, sculptured torsos, long, slender, sculptured legs and protruding, bubble-butt asses that popped in bouncing orbs out of their rears.

And they wanted to FUCK.

They were a generation both blessed and cursed, stricken by God with a physical and mental reminder of Christ’s original sin. As he had sinned, so they would bear the marks. Christ’s sin had begotten this new race of pornified Adams and Eves.

Rapidly, human society raced to catch up with its young, not to be outperformed. Surgery and enhancement technology moved apace, with a hundred years of progress accomplished in little over a decade. Those that had outlasted the apocalypse, had lived through God’s wrath, augmented and modified their bodies to the limits of their sexual capacity in short order, rivalling their hypersexual progeny for the pornification of their bodies and souls.

Slowly civilisation readjusted. New alliances were built, new neo-feudal fiefdoms established. Now an average large settlement was no more than five-thousand souls, travel between these heavily fortified and fiercely defended outposts only undertaken by the intrepid or foolhardy. There was no overarching authority or governmental agency that could bind these centres together. Though one tried.

The Church.

It was not the Church as anyone from the previous two-millennia would have recognised it. It was not the same church as it had been. It was in some ways a carnival mirror of the earlier institution, though it professed the same observances.

It was a new church for a new time.

This time, there were no declarations of purity. No nostrums about good deeds, grace, or transcendence. They knew of the misalignment of priorities heretofore. They worshipped not God the Father, not God the Son, nor God the Ghost. They worshipped God the Man.

It was an earthly and earthbound religious creed, sanctified in the crucifying fire of Christ’s sexual dissolution. There was one way to reclaim to the soul of humankind, and it was to fight fire with fire. Dick against tits, asshole against clit, pussy against lips, the church would reinstate control over the sacred part of the human animal.

Through selection, through training, through discipline, through sacrifice, the church created its ultimate weapon. An elite corps, totally faithful to the church’s ideals, and utterly devoted to one thing and one thing alone to effect its accomplishment:

Insatiable fucking, to superhuman excess.

They are the nuns.

The Nun will be revealed in the next chapter; add a different character or exposition if you wish

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