PRAY FOR US SINNERS free porn video

Translation of German words or phrases at the end. However, I have tried to make the meaning fairly clear in context.



PRAY FOR US SINNERS
Part 1

“Hail, Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with Thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and in the hour of our death. Amen.”


Leaning over to the nightstand beside my bed, I take the rosary that Father Bauer gave me so long ago out of the top drawer and hold it in my hand. It is different from most Catholic rosaries in that it has an empty cross formed from four spikes, rather than a simple cross with the Christ on it.

Just the feel of the beads brings back memories of my younger days. Once I could believe with my whole heart that there was a God Who looked out for this world and its people, but that was a long time ago. Once I thought my God could only love, but now I am no longer so sure. Yet still the beads give me comfort and the prayers create a small corner of peace in my soul.

I desperately need that peace just now. Logan has gone off on another of his secret missions and I am once more alone. I do not know where he is or what he is doing, but I know it is dangerous and possibly cruel and vicious also. I do not know how much longer I can deal with this, but what is even worse is that I do not know how much longer Logan will be able to deal with this. He thinks I do not realize that it is tearing him apart, but I do, and I fear for him on many levels. Enough! Let me pray.



When I finally drift off to sleep, I am still holding the rosary between my fingers.

I am awakened by hands grabbing my hips. As I am turned ungently over onto my face, I catch a quick glimpse of Logan’s naked body. He smells of sweat and blood and gasoline, and there is a look on his face that I have never seen before, a crazy grimace of hatred, rage, or lust, I am not sure which. As he climbs onto the bed and pulls my naked rear up in the air, I am not even sure he recognizes me. His hard cock presses against my ass, roughly seeking to open me.

I must be lashing my tail in agitation since I feel it strike something. His hand grabs my poor tail near the far end, forcing it sharply upwards toward my head. I cannot stop a cry of pain as I struggle to get away.

“Hold still,” comes his voice in a deep and vicious growl.

“Logan, was ist los?!“

“Halt’s Maul!” he hisses, the crude form of “Shut your mouth!” No, this cannot be happening!

Shocked, I stop struggling, trying to pull my tail over to the side in the typical gesture of a female cat inviting entrance, hoping that will signal my intended cooperation, if he will just stop and tell me what is going on.

He releases my tail when he realizes what I am doing. With one hard thrust, he enters me. I concentrate on adjusting to this sudden penetration. My hands clench into fists in the sheets and I realize I still have my rosary in my right hand as the edges of the cross dig into my palm.

“Please, you are hurting me!”

“Shut up, you fuckin’ slut! You love it. You know you do. You were trained to love it.”

“I do not! Stop!”

That gets me a hard slap against the side of my thigh, along with a deeper thrust into my burning ass. I am no stranger to rough sex, but this is different. This is not just rough, this is vicious. It is deliberately meant to hurt, and certainly not what I want just now.


The initial shock has begun to wear off and I have managed to relax enough to accept what he is doing, as I must if I do not wish to be torn open. But it is like being fucked with a tire iron.

“Oh yeah, baby. That’s it. Take it. Show me how much you like me to treat you this way.”

“No. Please!”

He reaches around and takes hold of my cock, which is half hard by now. I am shamed that my body would betray me like this, but I know that it can happen.

He seems angry that I am not more aroused. His fingers wrap around my shaft, pulling as if he is trying to milk a stubborn cow. Why is he doing this?

Suddenly I do not care why anymore. I am only furious. In an attempt to stop him, I teleport us both across the room, then back again. Although under ordinary circumstances I can control whether or not I take someone, or part of someone, who is touching me along with me, I am not sure how it would work with him already inside me. Possibly I would take along only his cock. Even as angry as I now am, I am not willing to take that risk. However, Logan hates the feeling of being teleported, so perhaps I can use that alone to bring him to his senses.

We end up back on the bed, only now I am flat on my face. He has let go of my penis and is still for a moment. I begin to hope that it is over. Then I feel his fist press against the back of my neck and hear his claws extend on either side. Since I am still alive, I know it can be only his outer claws that have skewered the sheets on each side of my throat. That leaves the middle one, which is pricking slightly into the back of my neck.

“Do that again and you’re a dead man.” Very calmly spoken, which only makes me more certain that he means it. But how could he? This makes no sense. Am I having a nightmare?

I can perhaps still stop him, if I can teleport us faster than he can extend his claw, and then -- No! I have sworn never to do that again. It is far too dangerous.

He goes back to what he was doing, driving his cock repeatedly into my ass, with no lubrication, nothing to ease its way. All right, this is not the first time such a thing has happened to me. He will not last forever. No man can. I will deal with it as I have dealt with it before.

I picture again the basement door in my little House of Pain. In my mind, I push it open, and stare into the terrifying darkness at the bottom of the stairs. Plenty of room down there, Kurt. More than enough for this.

The blades on either side of my neck touch flesh as my body is pushed repeatedly forward by his thrusting. I feel his tongue lick at the fresh cuts. The taste of my blood only spurs him on to greater efforts, but I lie there limp and uncaring, my mind absorbed in imagining the pain as a nasty tight tangle of barbed wire the size of a soccer ball, nothing nearly as bad as most of what I have dumped into that loathsome cellar over the years. In it goes, to join all the rest.

But my indifference is not what he wants. His free hand gropes underneath me once again, searching for my penis.

“Come for me,” he commands, leaning down on top of me. I feel his panting breath against my ear. “I wanna feel your muscles spasm. Want that around me as I empty myself into you.”

He works my cock hard, his fingers so tight that I feel it more as pain than as pleasure. But there is pleasure, nevertheless, and I start to react.

“No, I vill not do this.”

“Yeah, ya will. I’ll make ya. You enjoy what I’m doin’ to you. I know it.”

“Nein,” I reply, through clenched teeth.

“Ja,” he insists, one finger now persistently rubbing over my slit. The angle of his pelvis shifts deliberately and he pulls back a little, which allows him to hit that delicious place inside me.

I suck in my breath and shudder, despite myself.

“You’re gonna do it, or I’ll make this last for a good long while yet. I wanna feel you come.” I have never heard such a gloating note in Logan’s voice. Is this what he sounds like to his enemies? But I am not his enemy. My heart sinks, as my cock stiffens further. He is right. I cannot even hold back this much of myself from him. If he can make me enjoy this against my will, then he has violated me far more deeply than he imagines.

At that thought, my anger flares again. No, this satisfaction he will not have. Two can play at this particular game.

For a few moments, I allow him to continue what he is doing without any response, then I gasp a little as I imitate the lovely wave of tension that normally would flow through my body when I am being fucked.

I start to move against him, contracting my insides tightly in time with his strokes, rocking my pelvis as I do so. It creates in him the sensation of being drawn deeper inside. This is something I can do very well and it never fails to get to him, just as it does not fail now. I feel the enthusiastic response of his body, and I rejoice in it, even as I push the pain it is causing away from me, rejecting it, refusing to recognize it as my own. Away, away, into the darkness, where the rats and insects will consume it, the screeching demons that hide in the corners will tear it apart and make it gone.

Away with any pleasure I may be feeling also. I do not want it. It does not belong to me. It is rejected, to die of starvation and loneliness in the terrible confines of that dank basement.

He is close to his climax, and he knows it. He cannot hold out much longer. His hand is jerking my cock so hard that I think he wishes to tear it off.

“Come, damn you!” he gasps. “I wanna feel it! I want to make you feel it!!”

“Aahhh!” I oblige him with a long gasp of ersatz ecstasy, convulsing my entire body, pushing myself forward on the bed so that his fingers are no longer near the tip of my penis, pretending an orgasm that does not exist as I jerk my hips and tighten my insides as hard as I can around the twitching cock in my rectum.

So tightly am I focused on this pretense that I hardly feel it when Logan does the same thing, filling me with his cum, with a long wavering moan that reminds me of a wounded animal. He is usually much noisier.

I smile to myself over the evident success of my deception.

His weight presses down on me briefly as he relaxes. I have to try hard to draw in a breath, but his claws still bracket my neck and I do not wish to say anything that might cause him anger. I am aware that I have made his claws press deeper into my shoulders with that last move, but I had to get to a position where he would not be able to feel my lack of ejaculation.

Blood trickles from the hand that still clutches my rosary, but even more is running down from the cuts on my shoulders. I can see it soaking into the sheet next to my face, where his blades have impaled our mattress.

He lifts his weight slightly, allowing me to breathe easier. The blades retreat into his forearms. Is it finally over? Yes, I think so. He pulls his softening cock out of my ass. I wince and bite my lip against the brief spasm of pain from my raw sphincter, then sigh with relief as the rasping pressure is gone.

In the sudden quiet, I can almost feel his eyes boring into me from the back. He still kneels between my knees. What will I see when I turn to face him? My lover or my rapist? Either way, I am going to beat the shit out of him.

In one smooth motion, I pull myself forward then flip over and up into a crouching position, glaring at him with eyes that would have been glowing red, not yellow, if I had any control over their color.

He kneels there, his gaze flickering over me quickly. He cannot help but see the blood running from my shoulders, just as he also cannot miss the fact that there is no smell of my cum, and no white smear on the dark skin of my belly.

His eyes narrow and he cocks his head slightly sideways, questioning what he has noticed. My frown deepens. I confirm his realization that I deceived him with a brief shake of my head.

I see a wild hatred cross his face and I am afraid. If I had any sense, I would teleport out of the room right now. But I am too enraged to run away.

“Vhy, Logan? Warum hast du das getan?” I demand of him viciously, ready to move if he so much as twitches in my direction.

He looks as if he has walked through Hell and somehow lived, but still is not sure he has survived. Dear God in Heaven, what has happened? The look on his face is something that I have seen only during his insane fighting rages, but why would he be that angry with me? Then I look closer and see the desolation. It is not me at whom his rage is directed; it is himself.

Fine. That’s where my own rage is directed just now.

“Do you think I enjoy being treated like that?” I hiss.

Finally, I get a response, a choked “No.” He covers his face with his hands. “Omigod, no!! No, no, no!! I can’t stand this anymore!”

As I watch dumbfounded, he grabs his genitals with one hand and stretches them out away from his body, while the blades on his other hand flash out.

The moment I realize his intent, I am in front of him, both of my hands grappling with his arm but barely managing to hold him. “Logan, no!” I scream. Then I remember the word he said would always make him freeze, no matter what, the Japanese command to stop, the safeword he gave me when he fisted me. “Matte!”

To my astonishment, it works. He looks at me as if someone has turned a fire hose on him. I think, I hope, that I see some sanity coming back into his eyes. The blades retract. He collapses forward onto me, catching me off balance. We topple sideways, to end up lying face to face but at least still on the bed. He curls up against me, trying not to cry but failing. His voice is muffled, desperate, pleading. “Help me, Kurt! You’ve gotta help me! I’m losin’ it! Please!”

I wrap my arms and tail around him securely. “I am here.”

Have you ever held someone like Logan while he cries? It is a painful thing to feel a strong man’s body tremble as he fights against the sobs that force their way out of him. It is heart-breaking, for you know there is no consolation that you can give, but only your arms around him.


It is not long before he starts to get himself under control. Meanwhile, I take some long deep breaths myself, in an attempt to get past my anger and hurt over what he did, in order that I will be able to speak about it more or less calmly and rationally. Perhaps I am somewhat at fault. After all, it was not long ago that I begged, no, I commanded, him to take me hard and with no consideration for my needs. In a crisis of self-loathing and disgust, I truly wanted it then. But now, I have begun healing after sharing my shame with Logan. I need love and support, and gentleness. But how could he know, if I did not tell him? And what is it that he needs now? Sex is not governed solely by reason and logic; I know that.

I must decide what is to be done next, and so I hold him and make occasional soothing noises, as my mind considers the available options. Of one thing I am sure; this cannot be dealt with in ignorance and silence between us.



Finally, he pulls himself back and away from me, even as I relax my hold on him.

His face is a wreck, so I grab an edge of the bedsheet and hand it to him. He wipes his eyes and blows his nose into it. Well, why not? The entire bed is a mess anyway.

Time to try Plan A, the direct approach. “Now you vill tell me vhat that vas all about.”

“I – can’t tell you.”

I frown at that. I have heard that sentence far too often lately, whenever I ask him about his solo missions. I go back into a crouch, to gain some distance from him. He looks at me, assessing the damage he has done.

“Are you all right?”

I nod my head. In all essential aspects, my body is not seriously damaged.

“Let me take you down to the infirmary,” he offers. “There’s blood on your shoulders.”


“Nein. I do not need that.” I make a negative gesture with my hand, forgetting about the rosary now tangled around my fingers.

He grabs my wrist to look at it closer. ”Jesus Fucking Christ, Elf!” he gasps, seeing the bloody beads.

“Logan, nein, bitte.”

“Sorry. I know you hate for me to say that. But were you holding your rosary the entire time I --?”

I jerk my wrist free from his grasp and untangle the string of beads as best I can. I set them down on my pillow, still keeping my eyes on him.

“Nein, Dummkopf,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I picked it up just now and cut myself on it. Happens all the time.”

Logan winces at the bitterness of my words. “You still need to go to the infirmary,” he insists, as if that will make everything all right.

“Do not worry. The cuts are not deep and will heal.” Time for Plan B, Distraction and Persistence. “There is something else you could do for me though.”

“What is it?”

Suddenly, he is anxious to make amends. Good.

“Five things, actually.” I hold up my undamaged left hand, unfolding one finger. “First, get me two aspirin and a glass of vater.” I unfold a second finger. “Next, help me into the bathroom and get into the shower vith me. Ve are both a mess.” I start on my other hand, unfolding the fingers more gingerly. “Three. Put clean linens on the bed.” He nods. “Four. Go downstairs and get us something to eat. I do not care vhat it is, but chocolate ice cream vould be nice.” He nods again. So far, so good. I run out of fingers, unless I wish to use one of my thumbs. “Five.” I look hard into his eyes. “Vhen you have done all that, you vill lie down beside me in our bed and tell me vhat is the cause for vhat you just did.”

“I already said I can’t do that.”

“If you expect me to ever share this bed vith you again, you vill do it.” And if he does not now realize that I mean it, he is deaf, dumb, and blind. I cannot deal with this if I do not know what it is.

Finally, he looks at the floor, takes a breath, and nods. “You got it, Elf.”

I smile at last, as he heads for the door that leads to our bathroom to get me my aspirin. Perhaps that will ease the hurt of my sliced shoulders and the pain from his brutal onslaught.

When he returns and holds out the tablets and the water glass, I reach for them with my uninjured hand, take the aspirins and pop them into my mouth, then gesture for him to give me the water. I drain the entire glass before getting up from the bed. My knees are suddenly weak and my legs feel shaky. Probably a delayed reaction to what happened.

Leaning forward, Logan scoops me up in his arms. “We’re goin’ into the bathroom to patch you up.”

I rest my head against his shoulder, reminding myself that I will keep calm and we will talk this over rationally.

“Shower first, or clean up your cuts?”

“Shower.”

He sets me on my feet, one arm still around my waist to steady me as he fiddles with the water.

“C’mon, darlin’. Can you step over the edge of the shower stall?”

“Ja. I may be a bit shaky but I am not an invalid, you know.”


A short time later, I am back in bed eating the ice cream he has fetched for me, feeling much better for the shower and the bandages that cover my various small wounds. Logan has even cleaned up my rosary, and it is again in the drawer of the nightstand. My sore ass has given up most of its complaining. The only thing that still hurts badly is my heart.

Logan lies on his side of the bed in silence, looking rather contrite but saying nothing.

I hold out the ice cream container to him, as a kind of peace offering. “Vould you like the rest of this? It is really quite delicious, even if it is called Mouse Tracks.”

“That’s Moose Tracks, darlin’.”

I look closer at the container. “Du hast recht. But it is still not a very appetizing name.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Now he sounds only very weary. “You eat it all, Elf. I’m just not very hungry right now.”

Unusual, where ice cream is concerned.

“There is a case of beer in my study,” I suggest.

He shakes his head.

Even more unusual. I am no longer sure I want to hear the explanation I so viciously demanded of him earlier, but I know I must.

I scrape the last few spoonfuls of ice cream into my mouth and set the container on the floor. I move over until I am lying close to him, but not quite touching.

“If you vould like to smoke a cigar, I vill rescind the ban against smoking in our room for one night.” It is the only thing I can think of that might put him more at ease.

“That’s not necessary.” He gives a resigned sigh. “OK, I’ll tell ya. But you’ve gotta do something first.”

“Vhat?” I ask suspiciously.

“I want you to swear that you will never tell anyone else what I tell you now.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, if you want an answer to your question.”

“Very vell. Before God, I svear I vill never tell anyone else.”

Tentatively, he draws me closer. I lean my head against his shoulder, scrunching down a little in order to do so.

“All right, Elf. This is what you wanted. Just listen. Don’t say anything until I’m finished.”

I nod, just enough that he can feel my head move. What happened next is something that I do not like to think about, but it cannot be avoided.

“There was this woman. Let’s call her Mary –“

I wince at his choice of names, but say nothing.

He goes on to describe what happened in a flat dead tone of voice that only now and then cracks and threatens to break with unshed tears. He recites the whole thing coldly and clinically, almost as if he were reading it from a police report. Perhaps that is the only way he can handle describing it.

“Mary was a teleporter. She was also the leader of a mutant terrorist group that had pulled off a bombing at a chemical manufacturing facility in Canada last year. At least 30 people died in the explosion and a lot more were seriously injured, not to mention the environmental damage from the toxic stuff that got spread all over the local area. That same group had threatened another attack, this time at a nuclear power plant, with Mary playing a pivotal role, once again. Given their past success, the threat was more than believable. We had to stop it, but we also wanted to get the names of the others involved. We had learned her whereabouts from an informer, and I was supposed to get to her, make her tell their names if I could, but either way, I was to kill her.”

I want to stop and ask him who the “We” was that he mentioned, but I had promised not to interrupt. I file that away for later consideration and say nothing.

“As you can imagine, it wasn’t easy to capture a teleporter, even though I had been given a collar that was supposed to be able to nullify mutant powers. If I hadn’t been so accustomed to dealing with you, I very well may not have been able to get close enough to her to get the collar on her. It took me awhile to figure out her boundaries and weaknesses, but it was a long and exhausting chase even so. Although she was able to jump into places without seeing them, her range was nothing like yours and she tired easily if forced to jump more than a dozen times. Once I knew that, I had her on the defensive. It was only a matter of time before I knocked her down and collared her, after having chased her into an abandoned warehouse. But we had been seen and followed for much of the way, so I knew I didn’t have much time before her fellow terrorists would figure out where we were and come to her rescue. I had her tied up securely, but getting the information quickly had to be my chief objective.”

“ ‘You’re dead either way, lady’,” I told her. “ ‘Give me the names and I can make it fast and easy. Don’t, and it’ll be much more painful. And you’ll tell me anyway. Your choice’.”

Abruptly, he extends the claws on the arm draped over my shoulder, then retracts them again, so fast I have no time to react.

“I showed her how my claws work, in case she didn’t know. I was trying to scare the information out of her, hoping she’d just talk and I could get this over with fast.

“She refused. I tried a few more times to convince her to change her mind, but she wouldn’t. I knew there wasn’t much time left, as I could hear people sneaking around outside the place where I had taken her. She, of course, didn’t have any idea that rescue might be near at hand.

“I held the knuckles of my clenched fist just above her pubic bones.” He demonstrates on me, his knuckles resting a few inches above my groin. I flinch, but he ignores that.

“I slowly extended my claws, doing my best to miss the abdominal aorta or other major blood vessels to avoid killing her too quickly.”

Before I let my panic overwhelm me entirely, I realize he has not actually matched his actions to his words this time, but is only pressing down hard on me with his knuckles.

“I dragged them up through her abdomen, still very slowly.”

Only his fist mimicked what he had done, but I am far from being reassured. It is both utterly impossible and entirely too easy to imagine how it would feel if done in reality.

“She had courage, I’ll give her that. She lasted until my blades were only an inch below her ribcage before she gave me the information I wanted. I ripped upwards and into her heart, making good on my promise to make it fast if she cooperated. As I saw the blood spurt out around my hands, anger flared through my mind. ‘Why didn’t you just make it easy, damn you?!’ I shouted, retracting the blades so I could grab her corpse and shake it in a fit of irrational fury.”

He hangs his head, his closed fist still resting heavily above my xiphoid process.

“There is something more?” I ask, as he remains silent. I refuse to let my shock at this confession show in my voice.

He shakes his head, but the hand pressing on my chest is trembling.

“Ja, there is. Say it.”

“You really wanna know?”

“Ja.”

“My cock was hard during the entire time I was torturing her. In fact, after she died, I almost raped her dead body.”

I have no trouble believing that. My penis lies limply between my legs, but I can see the bulge his makes beneath the sheet, half erect even now. Besides, I have good reason to recognize that reaction.

“Vhat did you do then?”

“I had to fight my way out of the situation. But that was no real problem. In fact, it was a relief. All I could think of was how badly I needed to get myself off. I’ve never been that crazy with lust in my life. I was afraid I was going to rape the next person I saw. It was insane. I knew it, but I couldn’t stop it. Sex was all I could think of.” He shrugs helplessly, finally withdrawing his hand. “Maybe it was a way of diverting myself from the murder I had just committed.

“I rode straight here on my bike, stopping only to phone in the information I had gotten from Mary, to clean up as well as I could beside a lake, and to get gas, avoiding people as much as possible. I even stopped a few times to jerk off. But that didn’t help much. I needed to take someone, needed to feel them struggling against me, needed to know I was forcing them. The only thing I could think of was to focus that lust on you, convince myself it had to be you, no one else would do. I hoped by doing that I wouldn’t be tempted to go after some random stranger. It worked. It worked only too well.”

This is the man I have dared to love? This cold and deadly killing machine? Dear God in Heaven!

He doubtlessly detects a change in my scent as I struggle to process what he has just told me.

“Kurt, I had to. Innocent lives depended on getting that information. I had no other choice.”

“There is alvays a choice.” But I do not sound very convinced of what I have said.

“I had to,” he insists again. “But that doesn’t mean I feel good about it. You know that.”

I have never before heard him sound so defeated and hopeless.
For several long minutes, there is only silence, as I try to think of a reply.

“Ja, I know that. I also know that ve could spend the rest of the night arguing about vhether the end can ever justify the means, and get novhere, just as philosophers down through the ages have failed to settle that question satisfactorily.”

He nods, but says nothing. Neither one of us is in the mood for a discussion about philosophy.

So I ask my delayed question, trying my best to say the W correctly. “Who is the ‘we’ you mentioned?”

“I can’t – “ he begins, but he stops short when he sees the look I am giving him. “I’ve been working with a black ops division of S.H.I.E.L.D. that was established specifically to neutralize this group of mutant terrorists after their first attack. Nick Fury approached me to do this late last year.”

He hangs his head. “What I just described was the most recent mission. There have been others that involved killing, but this was the worst.”

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no! But what did you expect, Kurt? You knew it would be something awful. Now what?

“But vhy did S.H.I.E.L.D. recruit you?”

“For one thing, I’m Canadian. For another, I’ve had very extensive military experience, even if I don’t remember it all.”

He takes a breath and glances down at the bed. “There’s also the fact that I owed them one for a favor in the past. Fury called in my marker. They needed someone who could work on his own, someone who could take out specific people with what they like to call surgical precision.” He shrugs. “If I’m not good at that, who is?”

“But the X-Men are not killers. Or at least, we try very hard not to be. This is nothing but assassination.”

“That’s right. Sometimes that’s the only thing that works.”

“And premeditated torture? The good guys do not do that.”

“Ever heard of waterboarding, Elf?”

I have no answer for that.

”Are you sure, really certain, that these people are telling you the truth vhen they send you to kill someone? Could they be lying, using you to do their dirty vork?”

“No, I can’t be that certain,” he admits. “Things aren’t usually that cut and dried in real life, you know. But S.H.I.E.L.D. is pretty decent, for a secret agency. After all, it works under the auspices of the United Nations, not just for one country.

“Be that as it may,” I persist, “is it not possible that your ‘Mary’ vas innocent? Or merely a suspect?”

“She knew the names, Kurt.”

“A person under torture may tell you anything she thinks you vish to hear. It is not a sure indicator of truth.”

“Elf, I can’t go there right now. I just can’t. Please don’t ask me to.”

“You vill go there, and further, before this is finally resolved betveen us.” If I had known then how very true that was to become, I may very well not have said it.

“I will. I promise. But not now, not here, not like this. So far, I’ve been able to keep my head together. It just seemed to hit me harder this time. I – I cracked under the strain.”

That is the understatement of the century.

“I do not know if I can accept this, Logan.”

“You insisted on knowing.” He shrugs helplessly. “This is the reality of the world. And of my existence.”

“Nein!”

“Kurt, you know it is. You know what I’m like. You know some of the things I’ve done. Now you know about one more thing I’ve done, that’s all.”

I shake my head. “It vas not so long ago that you told me I did not have to be ruled by my past. Have you yourself not learned that lesson?”

“It’s too late for me. I’ll never be anything else.”

“Vhy not?”

“Aw, darlin’, don’t do this to me. I’m the best there is at what I do. And what I do best is kill people. You know that. Hellfire and damnation, you’ve seen me do it! I’ve even killed the women I loved!!”

I could not meet his eyes, because I could not bear to see the desolation I knew would be there. Yes, in my heart of hearts, I knew all this. I just did not want to realize that I knew it. He has more blood on his hands, not to mention on his claws, than anyone has any right to have. He is a killer many times over, and he will not change just for me. I should not love him so much. And yet, I cannot not love him. There is too much that is good, and kind, and brave, and noble about him also. If I want the Wolverine, I will have to take him as he is, not as I might wish him to be. I cannot control him and I cannot change him, any more than he can control me or change me. So what do I do?

“I know what you’re thinkin’, Elf. You’re debating whether you want to stay with me.”

“I could never leave you.” But my voice does not carry the conviction needed to say those words, and he knows it.

“Sure you could. And I wouldn’t even blame you if you did.”
I glance at him sideways, not knowing what I should say. His head is down, his chin resting on his chest. He is the image of hopelessness.

“I don’t think I can go on without you here, darlin’, especially now. But I’m also not sure I have the right to even ask that of you, especially now.”

I consider my own many sins and misdeeds. In my mind, I hear Father Bauer’s voice reading the story of the woman
caught in adultery: “He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone at her.”

A part of me wants to reach out to him, to touch him and reassure him. But another part is afraid to do that, so I only say, “Ve vill vork it out. It is OK.”

“No, Elf, it’s not OK. Things have been gettin’ to me in a way they never have before. Ever since I started doing these missions –“

He runs his hands back thru his wild hair, grabbing his head as if he fears it may explode. “Maybe this time was worse because Mary was a teleporter, like you. Maybe chasin’ her reminded me too much of trying to catch you. Maybe killing her somehow got mixed up in my mind with killing you. I don’t know for sure what it was. Maybe I’m just goin’ crazy.”

I gather my courage into my hands and touch him gently on the side of his face, which is still turned away from me in shame.

“I vould vorry more about your sanity if this did not disturb you so deeply.”

He takes my hand and touches it to his lips in a kiss, then sets it down on my own thigh. “I think I know now why Xavier didn’t just go ahead and restore my memories. He knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it, if I knew the full extent of my guilt.” He shrugs. “Maybe Charlie was right. I can’t face the truth of what I am.”

“Enough!” I say abruptly. “If I ever leave our bed, it vill be because you no longer vant me in it.”

This time I manage to sound as if I mean it. And I do mean it. I think.

“How can you still stay with me? Fuck, I just raped you!”

“You did not.”

“Whaddya mean I did not?! You didn’t want it. I knew that. You tried to stop me by teleporting, in case you’ve forgotten. I had your neck between my claws, and I know I hurt you. I don’t know what you call that, but I call it rape.”

“If there can be a distinction made betveen murder and manslaughter, can there not also be such a distinction made betveen rape and an act of desperation undertaken to spare others, especially if one is not entirely sane at the time?”

“Well ---“

“I know you, Logan. I know vhat it takes to make you act that vay. This is not the first time you have used sex to rid yourself of the rage vithin you, after a mission that turned violent. This vas only the same thing, but vorse. It helps you to stay sane and in control.”

“I don’t exactly call what I did bein’ in control.”

“After vhat you had done, you came to me instead of attacking a stranger on your vay home, or raping someone. You did me no serious harm, even vith your claws at my throat and your mind on fire vith lust. Some part of you knew that using me vould defuse your rage over your own guilt. And it did. For that, you vill alvays have my consent. You vould have had it earlier, if I had known vhat vas happening.”

“I don’t consider it consent when you tried to fight me off.”

“Had I really tried, you vould not have had me.” As soon as I say that, I regret it.

“Hmph! You’re just tryin’ to make me feel better. You couldn’t have gotten away. If you’d been foolish enough to try, I might have actually killed you.” He says that last sentence as if it had just occurred to him that that was possible.

“Nein. If I had tried, it is also possible that I may have killed you. I know how you hate it vhen I teleport you. Do you also know that I can prolong the time I remain in between, if I try very hard to do so? I learned that a long time ago, but I do not use that knowledge now, as there is too great a chance it would leave the other person dead. Vould you like to imagine how you vould have felt had I done that to you?”

“Uh – no. But I seriously doubt it would have killed me even if you had. So why did you let me get away with it? You had every right to stop me, even like that.”

“Of course I did. I chose not to.”

He closes his eyes and nods. “But, Elf, I –“

I put my hand over his mouth. “Nein. Until the day comes vhen I tell you I no longer love you and am no longer yours, you cannot rape me. I vant you to come to me vith your rage and your guilt, because I can accept it and deal vith it. You must not feel bad over doing such things to me. The load you carry is heavy enough vithout adding that to it. The choice to share your bed is mine, and I now realize fully vhat comes vith it.”

“Forgive me.”

“I cannot. Vhere there is no wrong, there can be no forgiveness. As for the murder of that voman, if you vould seek forgiveness, I am not the one you must ask.”

“Kurt, darlin’ – Aw, shit! Don’t you understand what I’ve been tryin’ to say? What I did to you tonight, I may do again, or worse. I’m not only crazy, but I really am the vicious animal they say I am!”

“No. You have dealt vith things in your life that I could never even imagine. Pain and suffering far beyond anything I have ever felt. Loss of loved ones by your own hand. And that is only the things you can remember. I believe you are far more sane than anyone could be expected to be, under the circumstances. Ve are all animals. And ve are all human beings. And ve are all sinners.”

I could feel him shake his head vehemently. “You’d never do the things I’ve done.”

This is exactly the direction I did not want this discussion to take. But I am the one who asked for the truth, so I must honor my own demand.

“Oh, Logan, how many times have you run your hands over the evidence of my sins carved on my body, and never realized what those scars meant?”

“How should I know what they mean? You’ve never told me.”

“I have said they are reminders to me not to ever commit those sins again, and still you do not understand?”

“What’s to understand? So you’ve done some things you shouldn’t have. What’s that list of Mortal Sins you Catholics have? Gluttony. Sloth. Envy. Wrath. What else?”

“Pride, Greed, and Lust.”

“What’s so awful about any of that, compared to what I just told you I’ve done? And what I still may do?”

I sighed. “Do you really think those are the sorts of things I meant vhen I spoke of my sins?”

“Well, yeah.” But his voice now holds uncertainty, as if he begins to suspect the truth. “But Elf, you’re the kindest and gentlest person I’ve ever known. You couldn’t have –“

“I have.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe it. I have known the feeling of killing someone vith my own hands, and not by accident. In cold blood and by deliberate intent.”

He is shaking his head again, murmuring, “No.”

“I have never told anyone, and hoped never to have reason to do so. But I vill tell you now, if you vish to hear.”

“I do.”

I pull the covers down, exposing my genitals so he cannot help but see the small and delicate line of scars that runs along the top surface of the shaft of my penis.

“I have said I vould tell you about this one someday. It vould appear that the time has come.”

As Logan looks closer at my cock with sudden interest, I tell him, “It is not, as you are surely thinking from the location, primarily about sex, although there is a connection. But I am getting ahead of myself. You must know the background of this scar before it vill make any sense. I have cut many more designs over the years, but this first one is perhaps the most awful.”

PRAY FOR US SINNERS
Part 2



“It is a rather long story, and not a happy one, for the most part. You may recall that it vas early vinter vhen I escaped from Herr Grüber by teleporting for the first time. I did not know vhat had happened to get me avay from him, and I did not realize I could do it again. But I did know that I could not just valk up to the first house I saw and ask for help, as an ordinary child might have done.

“Fearful of pursuit, I ran as far as I could into the forest behind the village, fueled by fear and adrenaline, before I noticed that I vas stark naked, the sun vas setting, the temperature vas close to freezing, my gut vas aching badly vhere Herr Grüber had struck me, and I vas about to collapse from exhaustion. Taking advantage of the approaching darkness, I snuck into a barn on one of the many small farms in the area around Schönberg to take shelter for the night.”

I was lucky to find an old horse blanket, plus a rag pile containing a few usable articles of clothing. During the next couple of weeks, I continued to make my way further from the village, over the foothills and around the mountainside. I survived by hiding in barns or other outbuildings and stealing what I could to eat whenever possible, which was not very often. Once I came across a dead deer at the base of a steep hill. There was still some meat on the carcass, and I was beyond the point of being picky about food.

As the winter deepened, it became harder for me to survive. I had no way to light a fire, and the blankets and clothing I had managed to steal were not sufficient to withstand the freezing temperatures of the mountains. No matter what I did, I was always cold and miserable. It was not long before I became sick, coughing until my chest hurt, burning with fever one minute, then shivering with a cold even beyond that of my surroundings. Weak and exhausted, the day came when I knew I would die if I did not find some sort of permanent shelter soon, not to mention decent food. In my delirium, I started wandering around.

It was almost sunset when I realized I could see smoke rising from somewhere just over the next hill, which indicated the presence of a village, or at least a house, not too far away. Although I feared to go there, some part of my fevered brain knew that I no longer had a choice.

The building stood alone in a clearing, but there was a road running past, so I knew it could not be entirely by itself. It seemed rather deserted, with lights only in the windows of a smaller building attached to the side of the larger one. I went to the door of the big building, hoping it might be empty.

The door opened when I pushed on it, and I staggered in to a large room that was not very warm but was surely warmer than outside. It had rows of benches and something that looked to my uneducated eyes like an altar. The only light came from a few candles burning in a rack in front of a statue of a woman.

Searching for a place to hide, I saw a small sort of a closet off to one side of the big room, with a curtain next to the door that led to another tiny closet. With my last bit of strength, I tore down the curtain, wrapped it around me on top of my own ragged and filthy clothing, and went into the larger closet, closing the door behind me. It was hardly big enough for me to fit, but I curled into a tight ball on the floor and promptly passed out.

I awoke to the sound of someone moving around outside my hiding place. I was still exhausted and disoriented, but I forced myself to alertness, fearing danger. I propped myself unsteadily on one elbow, as the noises came nearer.

Suddenly, a strange creature opened the door of my closet. He was tall and rather heavyset, wearing a long brown robe with the hood pulled up around his head. The robe was tied around his waist with white rope, and a long string of beads hung from the rope. It looked like something out of a book I had once read about the Middle Ages, except that he was carrying a flashlight. As he shined the light upon me and leaned down, I pressed myself back as far as I could into the shadows, trying to make myself invisible to him.

Much to my surprise, the creature laughed, then pushed the hood back off of his head to reveal an entirely human face.

"Why, it’s nothing but a child," he said, staring down at me closely and then adding, “albeit a rather strange-looking one.”

I struggled to my feet, preparing to run away, but the world began spinning and I fainted. The last thing I felt was his arms catching me and lifting me up.

When I came to, I was lying on a pallet in front of a small coal-burning stove, wrapped in several wool blankets. My clothes were gone, but I seemed to be wearing a long flannel shirt, plus heavy socks on my feet. For the first time in ages, I was warm!

Carefully, I raised my head and looked around. Then I started coughing and could not stop for quite some time. The man in the brown robe squatted next to me and held me upright against his chest, until my coughing diminished.

"I have broth on the stove," he said. "Are you able to take some?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice, still wondering where I was and why I was being cared for so tenderly.

To make a long story shorter, as I later found out, I had stumbled into a small Catholic church and taken refuge in the confessional, where Father Josef Bauer, OFM, (Order of Friars Minor, commonly known as Franciscans) had discovered me that morning.

Even with food and shelter, it took time for me to recover from the pneumonia, so much of the first week or so that I was there was spent resting and sleeping. The priest told me I could stay with him as long as I needed to, but no one else must know about me. We had to hide my presence from the rest of the congregation, as they would not have understood that a blue demon was living in their church. It was relatively easy to do that, as he lived alone in the priest’s quarters attached to the church building and he had no housekeeper looking out for his needs. The church was located equidistant from the three small mountain villages that it served, so most of the time there were few people in the area, except on Sundays or Holy Days.


When I was finally feeling stronger, I did something that almost got me thrown out. I wanted only to show Fr. Bauer my gratitude for his taking me in, but it did not go as I had thought it would.

Late at night, I snuck into his bedroom and climbed into his bed stark naked, expecting from him the same reaction I was used to getting from other adult men. I snuggled up against him suggestively, and placed my hand on his pajamas over his penis. He woke up, totally surprised to find me there, and grabbed my wrist, pushing my hand violently away as he jumped out of bed, a thunderous scowl on his usually gentle face.

Expecting to be hit, I curled myself into a ball, covering my face with my hands and begging him not to beat me. Well, of course, he did not hit me, but instead asked me what I thought I was doing, which led to my explanation. At first, he found it very hard to believe.

After he had given me a stern lecture on Catholic priests and celibacy, and warned me that I must never do such a thing again if I wished to remain there, I was nearly hysterical with fear, sobbing uncontrollably and pleading with him to forgive me, even though I was still somewhat puzzled by his reaction.

He wrapped the blanket around me and drew me into his lap, trying to calm me down. I could tell he was aroused, of course, but that only confused me further. Gently, he began questioning me, which led to my telling him about my previous experiences, much as I have told you. As may be expected, he was horrified by my answers.

I swore I would not tempt him again, and eventually he made me understand that it was all right, he would not cast me out into the night, but neither did he desire the use of my body. Or rather, even though he might desire it, he would not allow himself to do it.

For the entire time that I spent with him, he kept that promise, and so did I.


Once I had fully recovered from my pneumonia, I had little to do that winter. Seeing my boredom, Fr. Bauer took me down into the cellar that ran not only beneath his living quarters but also under most of the church building itself. At first, I was afraid, having fresh in my mind the image of that fearsome basement from my House of Pain. Once I finally admitted my reason, he explained to me that a real basement was very different from my imaginary one and assured me that I would find it quite interesting.

Then he stood up and held out his hand to me. “Come, my child. Be brave and trust me.”

A shiver of fear ran through me, but I did as he asked. It took all my courage to go down those cold stone steps for the first time. Together, we explored the basement.

“This church was built more than one hundred years ago, Kurt. Many priests have lived here before me. During all this time, this cellar has been used for storage. I’ve never explored it completely, and some of it doesn’t even have electricity. I mostly just use this first part.” He gestured towards a wall, where glass jars full of preserved fruits and vegetables lined the shelves. “When members of my congregation bring me gifts of food, I store them down here. Anything that doesn’t fit upstairs usually finds its way here also. I have boxes of old clothing, used for distribution to the poor when needed. Many other possibly-useful items can be found, if one looks.”

He led me around the room, pointing things out. “There are books in many places, all kinds of books. Over here, theology texts. There, a collection of the classic works of literature. In this corner, an encyclopedia. You do know how to read, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“So do you think you could find something that would catch your interest?”

I nodded enthusiastically, glancing over the titles.

“Good. When we’re ready to leave, I’ll stay here with you while you pick some out. Now, come along and I’ll show you the old part of the basement.”

As we approached the far wall, I clung still tighter to his hand, my eyes scanning the dim room for danger. There was a dilapidated wooden door, now closed. Surely, some terrible thing lurked behind it. But no, Fr. Bauer pulled it open with a casual gesture. There was nothing to be seen except darkness. This was clearly the part without electricity.

“You can go in here also, if you like, but you’ll have to take a candle. There’s some on this shelf next to the door, along with matches. There are many more rooms with lots of boxes to look through and places to explore.”

“I do not vish to go in there just now, Father.”

“Maybe another time, then. Shall we look through the books?”

“Ja!”

By the time we went back upstairs, I had so many books that I had to use both hands to carry the stack I had picked out. As the weeks passed, my fear of the lighted part of the basement gave way to my desire for reading material. But I never ventured any further than those shelves of books.

I learned a lot about the outside world that winter. I had read many books over the course of my childhood lessons, but they had been books meant for a child’s mind. These books mostly spoke to adults. I especially loved the ones Fr. Bauer had called the classics.


You have probably guessed that I also learned about Catholicism from Fr. Bauer, although he never pushed it upon me. I was always the one who asked him questions. He merely answered, to the best of his knowledge. By his own admission, he was not an exceptionally learned man, but just a simple priest far out in the country. Nevertheless, with his unceasing care and consideration, he taught me more about real love than anyone else had ever done.

Very quickly, I decided I wished to become a Catholic, mostly in order to be like him. But he would not accept that as a sufficient reason. Before he would baptize me, I had much more to learn, so he set about teaching me the catechism, as he would for any prospective convert.

While I could not attend Mass on Sundays along with the rest of his congregation, I was able to sneak into the small sacristy at one side of the sanctuary where the vestments and other articles used during Mass were stored. Safely out of sight, I could observe through a peephole we had bored in the door of the sacristy. It seemed magical and entirely awesome that a small piece of unleavened bread could be transformed into the Body of Christ, and a bit of wine could become the Blood of Christ. I felt the presence of God on the altar, transforming the everyday world into a place of holiness, and longed to join the others in partaking of that Bread of Life.

Several times, Fr. Bauer said Mass in the wee hours of the night, with just the two of us there, in order that I might better understand what it was like.

By the time he was sure that I had a basic knowledge of Catholicism and knew what was involved well enough to make an informed choice, it was late spring.


In the candle-lit darkness of midnight, I stood before the marble basin full of holy water in its little alcove at the side of the church and was baptized. Then we went to the confessional and I knelt in the small closet-like room with the curtain I had torn down and used for a cover that first night I had stumbled into the church. Fr. Bauer slid open the grilled window at the side of my closet.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” I began easily enough, but I did not know where to go from there. Now that I had learned a new perspective on sex, my sins seemed so many and so grievous that I had no idea where to begin. I thought about it in an uneasy silence. I could see Fr. Bauer’s silhouette through the grill. Seeing that familiar profile, I realized that I had already told him about most of my sexual experiences, and surely an omniscient God would know of them also. “I have sinned in thought, word, and deed far too many times to describe or to count. I beg forgiveness for all those things that I have done in my life that would merit the disapproval of Almighty God, and pray for the strength to resist them in the future.”

I bowed my head and listened as Fr. Bauer told me how many prayers to say for my penance. It seemed far too light a punishment for all that I had done, but when he said my sins had been forgiven, I actually felt a lightening in my heart. Perhaps since I had committed all those sins in ignorance, there was no need of an excessive amount of penance. In a sudden burst of enthusiasm, I swore I would never sin again.

That oath was all too quickly broken. I would never again be foolish enough to think I could live without sinning. For one thing, I was far too accustomed to sex to refrain from satisfying myself as best I could with my own hands. Although I strove mightily to follow Fr. Bauer’s example of celibacy, I found temptation impossible to resist. Seeing my guilty misery, he eventually confided to me that he had the same problem, and often fell victim to the same temptation I did. Yes, he was very ashamed, but he was able to reassure me that God understood the nature of man and would forgive us for our weakness in this area, but we must remember always to choose this solitary form of satisfaction as the lesser of the many sexual evils and never take it any further than this. I wanted so much more, but I was never to have it from my priest, despite my desire.

Be that as it may, after my confession, I knelt in a pew at the front of the church and said my assigned prayers. Then I simply remained there until Fr. Bauer came out of the sacristy and began to say Mass.

This was to be my First Communion. As I tasted the Wafer dissolve in my mouth, I felt for one short moment in time that I was filled with holiness. I knelt there, my head bowed down to touch my clasped hands, my eyes closed, as Fr. Bauer finished the Mass.

Around us were only a few candles, and the silence of the dark and empty church – and the presence of my newfound God.

Afterwards, Fr. Bauer offered me a simply-wrapped present to mark the occasion. When I tore away the paper, it was a rosary, the one I still have and use to this day.

Then, very diffidently, he asked me a question. “Kurt, your eyes – “

“Yes, Father?”

“Unless I have begun imagining things, they have been glowing from the moment I baptized you. Has such a thing ever happened to you before?”

“Yes, Father,” I mumbled, bowing my head and closing my eyes so that he could no longer see that shameful light. “It happens when – when I am aroused.”

“Remarkable! But surely you are not now --?”

I shook my head quickly, before he could even voice the question.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps it also happens when you are very happy, or feel a strong emotion, or feel yourself in the presence of God. Is that possible?”

I had never thought of such a thing before. I nodded, grasping at the hope that he had evaluated me correctly, as indeed he had.

“Good. Then stop hiding your eyes like that, foolish boy, and accept it as a special blessing, not a curse.”



Even after that, the only time I could attend a service was still when he would say Mass very late at night, for me only, and offer me the Eucharist. At those times, I was even permitted to act as his altar boy. I very quickly learned how it all went, soon knowing the responses and what I should do.


As spring began to give way to summer, I noticed that I had recently begun to grow taller. Studying myself carefully in the mirror, I saw the way the shape of my little boy’s face was also changing subtly. I noticed hair growing in places it had never grown before. I started wondering what I would look like as a man. As a boy, I was rather a cute little demon. Would I be so cute when I grew up, or would my appearance instead become more terrifying, so that others would be afraid of me?

Along with the warming weather and the changes in my body came a sense of restlessness. Although I still read voraciously, I was thoroughly tired of remaining cooped up indoors. I felt the need to be outdoors, where I could move around and work off the new energies that were building up inside me.

Noticing my frustration, Fr. Bauer agreed that I could venture outside, if I took great care not to be observed.

I spent most of my time in the shadows of the nearby forest, in case anyone should come along the road. Even so, I took great pleasure in my new freedom, learning my way around the woods, watching the many animals, climbing the trees, and doing all the things a normal active boy might have done, in my situation. I could climb just about anything, and I never lost my balance.

I also practiced my circus acrobatics constantly, inventing new tricks, leaping from tree to tree, walking across slippery damp logs that had fallen over the creek running through the forest, racing against imaginary opponents over whatever obstacles I could contrive. Eventually I made up long adventures, acting out fierce battles and exciting escapes, basing them mostly on the adventure stories I had been reading.

When I had tired myself out with all this activity, I would sit in the shadows beneath a tree and read.

At night, I loved to crouch on the roof of the church and look up at the stars while saying my rosary, fancying myself a gargoyle that would protect the building from evil with my prayers and my presence. I should have known better.

By the time autumn arrived, I had grown quite a bit taller and I had begun to develop more muscle as a result of all my exercise.


The days I spent with Fr. Bauer were some of the happiest days of my life, but it could not last forever. In late autumn, it all came to an end.

I realized later that I must have been noticed despite my best efforts to remain out of sight.


One night I awoke amidst flames and suffocating smoke. Without