‘Is that all they can come up with?’ she said, taking a large sip of Madeira. She raised her eyebrows and then ran her index finger the length of her of soft lips.
Rasputin watched her, his mouth ajar as he breathed a little more heavily.
‘You are certainly a witch,’ he said. ‘A bewitching witch. Who is casting a spell right now.’
Militza leant over and kissed him. She felt his stiff whiskers on her face; she tasted his rotten breath as his rough-coated tongue probed its way into her mouth. It was all she could do to continue. And yet, as she put her hand on his muscular thigh and felt a vigorous energy ignite within him, she was thrilled.
‘Come here, Mamma,’ he said, getting up off the banquette and leading her towards the low, shabby brown chair he’d offered her during her previous visit. Instead, it was he who sat down. Then, opening his legs, he put his hands down the front of his loose fitting baggy trousers and pulled out his member. It was huge. Already pumped up with blood and excitement, it curved back towards his stomach. ‘Come and take a ride.’
Militza stared at his cock as she undid the buttons down the front of her dress. Her hands shook as she wondered: could she really have fashioned this out of wax? Was its size and the odd-looking wart on the end something she had actually constructed? Or was this all some sort of coincidence? Was the Spirit World teasing her for her arrogance at thinking she could manifest someone, something, or was this all part of some very complicated fantasy she and her sister had dreamt up?
She hesitated, her heart pounding. Then her red silk dress dropped to the floor, leaving her in her corset, her stockings, her cotton knickers and a fine lace-trimmed chemise. Could she?
‘Don’t tease me,’ he said, stroking his length. ‘You have seduced me, you little minx, so do your worst. I am wax in your hands, mould me how you will.’
Militza thought of the tears and the endless miserable years ahead for her and Stana if they were rejected now from the fold. They’d be goat girls forever. Slowly, she walked towards him.
‘Come here!’ he barked, grabbing her by the wrist with one hand and using the other to loosen her drawers. He tugged at her stockings and ripped at anything that got in his way as he pulled her now naked buttocks towards him. He parted her white, soft thighs with his rough hands and pushed his mouth between her legs. Militza nearly lost her balance as she grabbed hold of the arms of the chair and tentatively thrust her splayed legs towards him. His long, leathered tongue began to lick her; it poked around the pink folds of her flesh and she found herself beginning to quiver with excitement as she stood on her tiptoes and opened herself up more, pushing her legs wider. The more he licked her and sucked her, the more she arched her back and the wider she forced her legs, opening up like a rose before him. He leant back in the chair to admire her. ‘What a pretty cunt,’ he said, smiling as he played with its curled, unfurled edges with his fingers. Then suddenly he pushed two fingers inside her. In and out, in and out, in and out they went. He was vigorous and thorough and the wetter she became, the harder he pushed. His rough skin and the hard lumps on the sides of his fingers only gave her greater pleasure. She was now completely straddling the chair, her bosom spilling over the top her corset, her cunt sodden as she moaned and shook and writhed on the end of his hand.
‘Come, Mamma,’ he said.
He grabbed hold of her naked buttocks and slowly, slowly he lowered her on top of his huge, hard shaft. Militza cried out in glorious pain as he entered her. Never before had she encountered a feeling like it. His cock was so thick and long and large she felt as if she’d been eviscerated – and yet she’d never experienced pleasure like it before. As he thrust into her, she found herself thrusting back; the harder he rode her, the harder she rode him back. The sound of flesh on flesh, her buttocks rippling, her bosom jiggling… she had never fucked with such joyful abandon in her life. She wanted more, she wanted him deep, deep inside her; wanted to feel him high up in the pit of her stomach. Harder, faster. Deeper, deeper… Finally, eventually, at last, they came together. Rasputin bellowed like an ox as he ejaculated, his head falling slowly backwards against the chair. She, on the other hard, quietly quivered on top of him, then collapsed with her arms around his neck, her bosom pressing against his face, his cock still inside her.
‘Naughty girl,’ he whispered in her ear.
25
12 December 1906, St Petersburg
It wasn’t enough that Militza arrived late at the Mariinsky that night, smelling of intercourse. Not only did she have to tiptoe in through the dark shadows of the box to take up her seat next to her husband, having already missed the opening scene of Tchaikovsky’s opera Eugene Onegin set on the Larin estate, but she was also required to remain seated throughout the whole of the interval as she’d lost both her silk stockings.
‘Darling,’ said Peter, appearing at the entrance to the box, a flute of champagne in hand, ‘are you coming out for blinis and caviar?’
‘I’d rather not,’ replied Militza.
‘Are you sure?’ He looked a little surprised. After all, half the reason for going to the theatre was to catch up on the gossip during the interval. There were some who’d happily miss the second half if the conversation was revealing enough.
‘I am not feeling terribly well,’ she explained, shifting a little in her seat, carefully pulling her skirts over her bare ankles. ‘I can feel a slight fever coming on.’
‘A fever? Would you like to leave?’ His concern was touching.
‘Certainly not,’ she insisted. ‘You’ve been looking forward to this for a long while. I am perfectly happy to sit here.’
‘If you are sure?’
During the second half, it was all she could do to stare blankly at the stage, letting the music wash over her. Her mind was whirring, febrile, wondering what she had done, what terrible sin she had committed. Her stomach churned and yet she still quivered with excitement; it was as if she’d slept with the Devil himself. How she wished the opera would finish. She wanted to scream, run wild, take her clothes off, writhe naked, fuck him again and again. The longing, the tightness, the tingling of erotic expectation was unbearable. What had he done? What lustful fire had he ignited? But all she could do was sit still and feel his warm wetness slowly seep between her thighs.
As soon as she got home Militza, still pleading a slight fever, rushed upstairs.
She dismissed her lady’s maid, and alone in her bedroom, her hands shook and her body shivered as she frantically removed her clothes. The smell of him was all over her: his sweat, his saliva and the strong, high scent of his semen both revolted and delighted her. Her skin felt different. It was smooth and tingled with desire. Her breath was short, her stomach felt tight and there was a dizzy throbbing, yearning, that pulsed between her thighs. She pulled off her drawers, undid her chemise and stood naked, looking at herself in the mirror. Was she different? What had he done to her? Where were the cuts? The bruises? Her white skin and black hair appeared to gleam in the light and the only signs of him were the two large dark damp circles between her legs. She smiled and slowly stroked her fingers up and down her thighs, rubbing them against the wet surface of her skin. She then placed her fingers, three of them, in her mouth at the same time. She let out an involuntary moan. The taste of him, the sweet sticky texture of him… She sat down on the stool in front of her mirror and spread her legs.