The Goddess and Grigori

English: Grigori Rasputin.
English: Grigori Rasputin. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


A long haired man laden in filth rapped on the door of Goddess Lisa.  She opened her door, leery at first to let the disheveled creature in, but did allow him to enter.


“Wipe your feet, pathetic fool. You are in the presence of a Goddess!’ she commanded him.


Looking down at her floor mat, he tried desperately to wipe the road from the soles of his feet.


“Have you a name, mongrel? she asked.


Yes, Goddess. I am Grigori.” he replied.


” I will draw you a bath, and feed you. You look emaciated. It is beyond me how you street people survive. I will however expect some gratitude in return for my favours, ” she implied.


“Yes, Goddess, ” he replied, again staring at the floor.


She had laid out a black suit for him to wear, with a matching pair of black leather shoes. She envisioned him to be a lost dark soul. Black was the perfect colour for him.


They sat down to dinner. Sitting across from one another they imbibed on wine whilst enjoying a tender roast beef cooked cooked medium rare.  Their eyes met in a long and hypnotic gaze. Her stare was powerful, but rightfully so, respect had to be given to his mystique and charm. She was intrigued.


“Come, Grigori. Let’s go over by the fire where we can be more comfortable,” she suggested.


The sat on the floor next to the fireplace, still sipping on wine.


” I see great potential in you Grigori. You have a mystical, magical charm in your eyes. You will be able to persuade many. Your third eye is open and I know that you can see. You are an enlightened being. You have come up from the very depths of hell , not unlike myself, and are ready for your transformation. Give yourself to me. Join My Monastery and carry the message out into the world. Make those without eyes see, ” She spoke to him seductively in a stern tone.


Moving in closer, she grasped his balls and gave them a gentle squeeze. They were full. His manhood grew long and hard, pulsating in her hand. He leaned in and kissed her hungrily. With a small polished stick of wood about one foot long and two inches wide she bent him over and began to pound his rosebud, making him squeal. He begged for more from her. Her juices were now flowing and she craved him. She took his face and pressed it between her thighs, his tongue probed out the tiny erection that was throbbing within her womanhood. He teased it, lapping on it, sucking on it, until finally she grabbed hold of his long hair and rode his face as if she were riding a stallion, her nectar flowing like a river.  Pushing him to the ground, she mounted him, pounding him, slapping him across the face, spit flying as they me face to face. She ordered his release. He exploded within her like a an ocean at high tide.


“I am a Living, Breathing, Goddess. You will be a Monk in My Order, Live for, Breathe for me, everything you say and do will be for me,” She commanded.


“Yes, Goddess. Everything I am I owe to you. I am but a humble Monk in your Mad Monastery, ” he answered.


“Good, Now Pray Unto Me, ” she ordered.


“Most High Goddess Lisa,


Take My Pathetic existence and suit my life according to your will.


I am Devoted to you, and Live only to Serve you.


Watch over my helpless soul, and protect me from Harm.


Give my life direction and Meaning, as I have none without you.


My Heart, Body and Mind are yours, Dear Goddess.”


In Your Name I Pray,







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