Rasputin stared at her fixedly as his member grew and swelled. “Down on your knees,” he commanded. “Down on your knees before your God!” He grappled for her hump, held it, clawing, palpating. Roughly, he pushed her head against him. The oversized penis grew and found her mouth. “On your knees. Pray,” commanded Rasputin. “Pray, my little Countess.” His head was thrown back; he was staring fixedly at something far away. He began to rock in her mouth. “Pray.”
On her knees, with Rasputin fondling her hump, Anna was trying to pray. “Please, God,” her heart cried. Her mouth choked around his huge organ. Above her, Rasputin spasmed, whispering strange sounds, fingering the heavy rosary. The beads swayed against Anna’s face. There was a rank smell rising up from his robes and his body, from the enormous searching organ, with its mysterious forested hillocks below.
“Pray, my Countess. Behold thy God,” Rasputin commanded. “Say it aloud. Let me hear you.”
“Please, God,” Anna choked.
“Oh God,” said Rasputin at the same moment. He tore the clothes from her hump, and his hands forced themselves downward. Suddenly, he drew his huge throbbing penis out of her mouth. He grabbed her and in one motion ripped the clothes from her body. “You were praying then,” he muttered. “Now I will give you something to really pray about.” He turned her around and around in his large hands, the smell of incense and unwashed male musk mingling together. “Ah, let me take a good look at that little body of yours.” Anna tried to hide with shame, but Rasputin carefully examined her hump, her deformed spine. Then he once again tipped her face to his. “Look at me, little Countess,” he commanded. “They call me the Devil. Do you think I am the Devil?” He grasped his enormous penis in both hands. “Some may say I am the Devil, but in fact I represent the only true Christ. I come to you as the only true Christ. The living God, do you hear me?”
Rasputin pushed her down on a rough bed. “Your God, do you hear me? I am your God.” Grappling in the dark, the Rat tried to defend herself from his sudden cruel hands. “Say it,” he whispered. “Let me hear you say it.”
Before she could say anything, Rasputin grasped her mouth in his. He bit her savagely. A taste of salt…He bent his head toward her thin breasts. A searing pain shot through her body. “Say it.” Anna smelled his sulfurous odor mixed with sweat and wine.
Rasputin pulled up his monk’s robe and fell upon her voraciously. “Pray, dear lady,” he hissed sardonically.
Anna began to cry piteously. “Have mercy,” she pleaded.
“God has no mercy,” replied the monk. Inexorably, he held her legs apart and gazed at her sex.
“What a pitiful thing a woman is,” he mused. “They give us life. And they can destroy our lives as well.” He seized the huge silver crucifix dangling from his rosary and pressed it to Anna’s bluish lips. Then he held it to own lips and kissed it. “Blessed Virgin Mary, I do this in your name.” The words were drawn out of him, thick and slow. “I do this for you.”
Shrinking, the Rat lay exposed under his gaze. “A poor sad creature, you are, eh, Countess?” He burned her with his eyes, which changed color, green to fiery, as he looked at her. “And a poor sad creature is your husband, the so-called Count,” he added. Anna tried to curl herself up, to really become the small protected shrimp. “Remember your duty to the Tsar and the Holy Family!” Rasputin roared.
Then he fell to his knees, grasping his swollen upright penis as if it were a candle. Or a crucifix. He held it between both hands as it became a shining fleur-de-lis. The monk bent and kissed its blazing purple tip, taking it reverently between his lips. He fingered his rosary, rubbing it against the organ. “Lord, I give myself to you. Take my ornament; take my bright sword. Use it as thou wilt against thine enemies.” His penis flared; a shining aureole surrounded it.
“Lord, I am prepared to do thy will.” Grasping her firmly by each thigh, Rasputin forcibly tore her body open. A searing pain — the wrack of Anna’s fused spine cracking open. There was a sizzle of flesh, an imprint of his large hands forcing her body apart, an imprint so strong that she did not even notice it under the greater pain of her body’s deformity giving way. He entered her and the hot light of his organ pierced her. Rasputin forced deeper and deeper, his penis growing so huge it reached to her heart. And there it penetrated, stayed.
“Let us pray together,” he said. The hot organ became a burning fer-de-lance and drove itself in farther. Her flesh sizzled. He grabbed her hump and forced her head back. His eyes rolled up and she saw only the whites. He rammed his member into her again and again, until finally he was sated. First light was leaking through the high wainscoted windows. She swooned.
When she came to, Rasputin was already retying his robe. “Clean yourself up, dear lady,” he said. “I shall expect you here at the same time tomorrow night.” He pushed her aside with not another glance. Small, naked, broken, the Rat lay in her violation. She heard heavy-booted footsteps receding through the stone corridors. It was the hour of Matins.
The Rat lay there dry-eyed. She did not weep for the rough violence that had entered her. She did not weep for her own insignificance. What, after all, was she offering Rasputin? Hers was the body of a woman who had never known sexual pleasure. The reluctant advances of her husband had never aroused her. “Anna?” he had pleaded wetly, once his mother had given him the idea of what to do. “Anna, tell me. Is it all right?” The more her husband had asked her permission, the more she despised him, lying inert. The Rat could not remember how they had managed to conceive their children.
As she found her clothing, pasting it over her humped body, the sound of monks chanting was rising from the chapel on the other side of the building. She made her way out, shamefully. Now, like a dog, the Rat dragged herself home through the streets of Saint Petersburg. It was not yet dawn, and finally she managed to find her carriage, the coachman sleeping peacefully, in front of the palace beside the frozen Neva. She stumbled painfully, spots of blood staining her passage, into the large house, and then to bed. There she lay all day, her eyes closed.
She dreamed of Rasputin, his huge organ, and of her total surrender. Anna was in a state, climaxing again and again. She could not stop the strange sensations overtaking her. She refused to see anyone, even her children. She could not live until she would be with the Mad Monk once again. “Your mother has a headache,” her mother-in-law said, shooing the children away.
The next evening, the Rat once more summoned her carriage when the others were asleep, and returned to the covenant she had made.
Rasputin looked at her directly, his somber eyes burning with knowledge. “So, my dear lady,” he murmured, “you will come to like this. Even this.”
The words, the realization of truth, sent Anna into an immediate panic. “No…,” she pleaded on his bed, naked, curled up around herself.
“My dear Countess…” Rasputin smirked. He raised her small clawed hand to his lips and kissed it sardonically. His large hands were gentler this second night. They prayed together.
The same smell of sulfur, the same searing of large handprints on her thighs. But this time, Anna ignited also. A strong burning smell rose up from her flesh as her body met his. There was a green sizzle in the air. Rasputin poured his hot spurt into her again and again. His enormous organ throbbed. “My sword of Christ,” he called it, forcing it into her till she thought she would burst. His hands seared her body. He touched her everywhere. She swooned. But her body’s mouths cried More!