Page 12 of Princess Claimed

He turns a crank. The restraints around my ankles tug, pulling my bottom off the bed and tipping me back. The bindings raise my ass until I’m balanced on my upper back and shoulders. The silver holding down my chest sears my flesh, and my ankles scream as gravity drops my skin firmly against the silver cuffs.

“Stop this!”

Something smacks my ass cheeks—hard—and the sting races through me, temporarily distracting me from the burns. From this position, I can’t see what he used to strike me, but whatever he’s using was painful. He smacks me with it again, over and over, until my ass is burning almost as fiercely as the parts of me held down by the silver. But even worse, so much worse, I can tell that the sharp smacks on my ass are increasing the slickness inside my sex.

I shift my hips—the only thing I can move—but he seems to enjoy that, and the smacks increase in speed and intensity, moving from one side to the other, as if making sure I don’t become numb to the pain. Then he changes his angle, smacking the stiff object directly over my sex. My dampness there intensifies the sound and also the pain.

My agony’s overwhelming, and I fight to remain still as I absorb each sharp strike. Drifting out of my body, I pretend I’m somewhere else, anywhere else. I fight to convince my mind that this isn’t happening.

Time passes as he continues to smack my ass, my sex, my thighs, and I have no concept of how long I’ve endured his punishments, but he finally lowers my burning skin to the mattress. But before the pain from the brutal spanking subsides, he drags strands of silver over the backs of my still-splayed legs. The smell of burning flesh fills the air again, and then he drags the group of long, thin, silver chains through my exposed sex.

The pain steals my sanity.

“Please,” I cry out. “Please, Rasputin. Stop hurting me. I’ll do whatever you ask. I’ll be a good girl. You can even fuck me. Just not with?—”

Twisting my neck, I glance toward his silver-sheathed cock.

He laughs, stroking his stiff member, letting his fingers tease through the rows of silver, and then playing with its tip. The lust in his eyes rises, and then he dips his fingers inside me.

I cringe, hating how my slickness eases his entrance, but after a few short plunges, he pulls out his fingers and rubs my juices on his cock, moaning in pleasure.

“You’re so wet, Anastasia. Your little cunt is desperate to have me, and your juices are far more stimulating than I remember. But you must be patient. I will fuck you soon. You don’t have to beg.”

I grit my teeth. He wants me to beg. He wants me to fight. I won’t give him the satisfaction. I may not be able to control my body’s physiological reactions, but I can control what I say, how I act. Defiance is what Rasputin likes from me, what he always liked. Why he favored me over my sisters.

If I’m compliant, perhaps he’ll lose interest. Maybe even lose that retched erection. Not that a flaccid cock could stop him from hurting me with that silver cage, but it might remove any chance of his own gratification.

“Shall I tell you some of the treats I have planned for you, Anastasia?” His fingers stroke places he burned, already fully healed.

“Your new body is such a miracle.” Wonder fills his eyes. “As quickly as the silver burns you, you heal. But you do feel pain. Yes?”

He drags the long strands of silver chains through my sex again, and I hide my reaction as my skin sizzles, and then he watches me heal.

“Your fast recovery time will enhance our experience.” He smiles as his vile fingers stroke me. “You will suffer great pain that will continue, endlessly, until I finally break you.”

The silver cage housing his cock, rubs my inner thigh. “Look at you! I can barely keep up with your eager little body.”

I slump back. I’m exhausted, recovering from the burns, plus whatever he used to render me unconscious. I’ve been through too much since I last fed. I must conserve what little energy I have left, so I can survive this torture.

“Look at me when I speak to you!” His voice turns harsh and cruel. “Show me some respect.”

“Respect? For you?” I refuse to turn toward him. He is a monster. Literally. How else could he be alive after so many years? He’s not a vampire, nor any other long-lived being I know of. “You’re a monster!”

“How dare you, bloodsucker!” Reaching to the side, he lifts a silver crucifix, moving it into my view. “It’s you who is the monster!” Holding the silver cross like a talisman, he seems disappointed when I don’t spontaneously combust.

In spite of human mythology, vampires aren’t averse to religious symbols. The metal of this cross has the ability to hurt me, but not its shape.

As if realizing that himself, his gaze turns cruel, and he drags the silver crucifix through my folds. The pain is excruciating, but I inhale slowly, trying to temper my reaction. Then I brace, fearful he plans to impale me with the silver cross, but instead he lays the iconic object on my belly. Smoke rises as my skin burns.

“You’re asking for these punishments, my sweet.” His fingers stroke through my already healing sex. “And speaking of sweet…” He licks his lips.

I cringe, realizing that he already had his mouth on me while I was unconscious. That physical stimulation is likely what brought on my crazy erotic dream. A dream that turned to a nightmare and then into a reality that’s so, so much worse than any nightmare could be.

Rasputin’s mouth is centimeters away from my body now, and my hatred rises. His breath is like acid, brushing over my skin. Hoping I can put my mind over my hyper-responsive body, I squeeze my muscles, determined to contain my arousal. But after being dormant for a hundred years, my sexuality has a mind of its own, and my body reacts to stimulation no matter how horrid its source. After all, I did have my first ever orgasm when Phil brutally humped me.

Screaming, Rasputin straightens and steps back from me.

Holding his head, it’s clear he’s in agony. Good.

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