The Witches of St. Petersburg

The heat of the room, the noise of the crackling fire, the wine, the cakes and the gently dripping water wove their soporific charm. Slowly, he sat back into the divan, closing his eyes, his head relaxed, his mouth fell slightly ajar as he lightly licked his lips. He was enjoying the warmth of the water and the softness of her touch. She picked up the bottle of oil again. She had chosen it carefully. Sandalwood: the realizer of dreams. And this was her moment. She could not believe it had arrived so soon after asking. The Fates had indeed been kind. She dried his feet with a towel and then, pouring a few drops of the oil just above his toes, began to massage the liquid into his chapped skin. Her nimble fingers moved adeptly up the arch of his foot, her sensuous touch causing him to moan unconsciously. Suddenly he opened his eyes.

‘What are you doing to me, woman?’ he barked, retracting his feet. ‘What wicked enchantment are you up to now?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Sit back and let me tend to you.’

‘Why?’ he asked warily, trying to read the expression on her face. ‘What are you planning – witch?’

‘You, of all people, know better than to call me that!’ She laughed as lightly as she could, trying to control the rising flush in her cheeks.

Rasputin leant forward. Militza’s heart was pounding. She could feel the cold metal of his golden crucifix as it swung against the warm flesh of her breasts. His breathing was heavy.

‘I’ve had enough of your tricks,’ he mumbled, slowly running his coarse fingertip down the side of her throat. Militza shivered again in an intoxicating combination of mounting fear and desire.

‘Let me be Magdalene to your Christ,’ she whispered, staring into his eyes. She could see his pupils were dilated. Was it natural? Or had he willed them to, as she knew he could?

There was a pause. Militza didn’t dare to move or breathe – and then Rasputin roared with laughter. He threw back his bearded chin and his large frame shook as his crucifix danced on his belly.

‘As you wish,’ he chuckled, leaning back and returning his feet to the towel. ‘As you wish, my little… bitch.’