Page 11 of Princess Claimed

“Never tell.” His face twists in a wicked grimace as he pounds into me harder and harder. “Never tell anyone how I touch you. They won’t believe you. You’re dreaming. What we do in your dreams is private. Our special secret.” The words he used when I was a child enter my dreams like a heavy black cloak.

Twisting back and forth, I try to free myself from the weight of his body, but renewed pain sears through my arms, my legs, my breasts. My skin is burning. What has he done to me? This is so much worse than all the other times Rasputin visited my childhood bed or invaded my dreams.

Pain burns through the fog in my mind, and I hover at the edge of consciousness. My body is confused by the conflicting sensations battling inside me—the unmistakable pain from the burns, but worse, my unwanted pleasure at the thick intrusion thrusting inside me.

This is the worst nightmare I’ve ever had, but I can’t wake.

I gasp.

I’m not dreaming.

This is so much worse than a nightmare.

Rasputin drugged me. He injected something into my vein, rendering me unconscious, then he bound my limbs in silver so he could rape me.

Reality creeps back in as I struggle to wake. I stop thrashing, and my pain eases slightly. Pain I hoped was part of my nightmare, but it’s real. His cruel chuckles are real too. My mind is clearing, even though I can’t move and am not yet fully awake.

I must stay strong. But if it doesn’t stop soon, I might die in my sleep.

The thick intrusion exits my body.

My eyes snap open, wrenching me back to consciousness.

Standing at the end of the bed, Rasputin is laughing. Lifting his arm, he makes a show of licking his fist, wanting me to understand that his entire hand and a good part of his arm has been inside me.

I struggle, and renewed pain sears through me. Pain far too intense to be part of a dream.

I’m in a different room than when he drugged me. My arms are still stretched above my head, but my wrists are bound in silver. So are my ankles, and my legs are suspended, lifted and spread to the sides. Straps of silver hold down my torso too, bands secured above and below my breasts. And tight silver clamps are searing my nipples. The clamps are so tight I’m sure they’d hurt even if they weren’t formed from silver, and the scent of my burning flesh fills the air.

Wake up! I tell myself, praying that I’m wrong, that this is still a nightmare, but the silver burns are very real. As is the cruelty and lust in Rasputin’s eyes. How could I ever have thought of this man as my friend?

The day Flame spanked me, some of my childhood memories returned, but now I remember the full extent of Rasputin’s evil. Corporal punishment was common a century ago, but the way Rasputin spanked me and my sisters went beyond the norm to outright abuse. And because I was the naughtiest, I bore the brunt.

Rasputin may not have ever fucked me back then, not with his cock—I still feel sure that Timur was the first to do that—but he did spank my bare bottom, frequently. And when he did it, he’d often push the ivory handle of my favorite hairbrush inside me, and once the tip of his finger. I shiver as the shock of that restored memory slams into me full force.

Rasputin enjoyed my punishments. He loved them. Punishing me turned Rasputin hard, and he’d rub his stiffness against my body as I lay draped across his lap, my skirts lifted to cover my head. Although, at the time, I had no concept of the source of that hardness.

Even worse, Rasputin made me believe I deserved everything he did to me. He made me believe that he was helping me overcome my naughty, defiant ways. That I needed his lessons to grow into a respectable princess.

I am not a child anymore. “Let me go!”

An evil smile spreads on his face, one that’s quickly tinged with regret. “This time, there is no escape, my Anastasia. And there is no mercy. Not for either of us. And we have yet to begin.” He parts his black satin robe.

I gasp.

He’s fully erect, much bigger than I ever imagined, and his weapon is sheathed in a cage, a cage that appears to be formed out of silver. His cock is so engorged his flesh pushes between the bars, and it’s so full of his blood it’s nearly purple.

“Once my cock is inside you, you’ll thank me for preparing your tight little cunt with my fist.”

I struggle against my bindings, but that only makes my burns worse, so I still myself. To have any chance of escape, I need to become one with my constant pain. Make the pain part of me so I can think.

“That’s right. Don’t fight, my naughty Anastasia,” he says in the same horrible tone he used when I was a child. “If you resist me, I’ll be forced to make your punishments more severe.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, it is I who will fuck you. But not just yet.” His eyes flare with cruel lust. “Before we begin,” he says, as if delivering one of his boring religious lectures. “I must make your pretty ass burn, just like I did when you were a child. Would you enjoy that?”

“You sick fuck!”

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