The beginning of the end of the Tzar.

(A/N: The period of Rasputin’s life that the following chapter documents is shrouded in a great deal of speculation. All that is known for a fact is that by 1906 he was aquatinted with the Royal Family and had already begun to have a small amount of influence over them. I’ve juggled history to suit my narrative needs here, and will be outright ignoring some of the speculation, utterly fabricating some, and shifting some timelines. Additionally I feel that I should warn anyone of a pious persuasion that some of the content of this chapter may be a little... objectionable. I try not to make it a habit to step on anyone’s toes, but only because things are easier that way. In a nutshell though if anything I say offends you, you’re probably just the kind of person I want to offend. This chapter and possibly some of those that follow will contain content that may or may not be viewed as utterly blasphemous, as well as perverting Judeo-Christian Dogma. There IS precedent for this in the life of the Mad Monk or at least the rumors about him. Just remember. You were warned. That said I hope you enjoy this episode of “Affection Multiplier - Rasputin Edition” ~W.)

My so-called miracles did not go unnoticed. It was days later that I was brought before Archmandrite Feofan at Nevsky Monastery. There I was questioned rather severely by the seminarian inspector and in turn allowed to question him in ways which while they may not have shaken his faith certainly had him questioning his interpretation of scripture. He and I debated dogma and theology throughout the night and by morning were fast friends. For the next three months I lived as a guest in his house, and attended many functions both religious and secular with him. It was at one such function that I met the Black Princesses, Militsa and Anastasia of Montenegro. They seemed to both be quite taken with me, and began to spread word of my presence. They were also the source of the legend of my... endowment (which, by the way was a phalusy, pun intended. My manhood is not 11 inches in length but a slightly more frightening 13).

Militsa was later to suggest me to her cousin-in-law the tsarina when the tzarivich began suffering the royal disease a year later. I always had my misgivings about becoming too much of a public figure, and I would not have answered the call had I not again had a vision of the Mother. This one was a little... different.

I am asleep in bed next to my wife of nearly two decades. We are of course bundled in excessively warm blankets as the Siberian winters are always harsh and though it is only November all indications point to this being a very rough one. I am awakened by a soft touch on my lips. My eyes flutter open and behold the beauty of the Blessed Mother just as she appeared to me years before at St. Nicholas, the exception being that this time she was naked. No... harlots are naked. Sluts and women of low morals. She was nude. I gazed upon the perfection of the female body, unable to speak.

She tosses her head, her waves of raven black hair cascading around her bare olive shoulders and smiles at me, crystal blue eyes twinkling. I notice that she seems to have a slightly over-large mouth. She opens it to speak. “Grigory, you have used the Gift you have been given well, and you begin to understand a small part of the ineffable plan of God on high, but you still do not understand sin. Grace comes only from forgiveness of sins, and the greater the sin the greater the grace. God forgives all sins, but prefers to forgive great sins. To fully unlock the potential of the Gift you must commit heinous sins of the flesh and spirit so that the grace you accrue will be just as great.”

I am aghast at these words from She Who was Born Sinless. I begin to formulate a reply when her lips touch mine. She tastes of apples and fine wine. Her mouth moves over mine as she whispers, “Let us sin together.”

Her hand snakes around my member and she begins to stroke it, the proud piece of flesh between my legs already very well aware of her. I look over toward Praskovya slumbering blissfully unaware. She has given me seven children and been faithful even while I traveled. A good wife. How can I betray her? But this is the Mother of God. This is God’s will. And like a floodgate giving way under a torrent of water, something inside me snaps and I take her.

I take her violently, pulling her hair and mashing my lips to hers as I roll her over onto her back. Without a thought I’m filling her. Even bottoming out in her leaves a good hand span of my cock outside her, and the only thought I have is that she is as tight as her title implies. And wet. Like Noah’s flood her cunt is. I can feel her somehow becoming even tighter as I drive into her, feeling the head of my Mr. Schastlivyy batters her cervix. She groans and her eyes roll back in her head as I feel her vagina squeeze me like a fist, pushing me over the edge in turn. I flood her with my ejaculate growling out a noise much like a grizzly bear.

My manhood begins to retire and the rest of me feels sleep stealing back as well. I feel her lips on mine once more. “Go to the tzarina. Your destiny is to change history.”

And so I did.