Crimson Lace
"Now, remove that beautiful mask of yours," he demands, the cold barrel of his gun pressing against my temple.
"Absolutely not," | snap, my eyes blazing with defiance in the surrounding darkness.
"Do you really want to test me, princess? The consequences will be far from pleasant." His finger taps the metal against my temple.
"What consequences?" | challenge, swallowing the fear pulsing under my skin.
He wraps a hand around my neck, pulling me dangerously close to his menacing form. "Consequences like the meeting of my cock and your tight cunt. Or mouth. Whichever you prefer."
"You wouldn't," | grit out.
"Oh, I would."
And he does. He takes me right there, amidst the pool of blood from the body I ended. He thrusts into me ruthlessly, my moans silenced by the panties he shoves between my lips.
When he's finished, he captures a photo of my masked face, framed by crimson lace between my lips.
The photograph, a weapon, stored forever in his camera. A single image that could easily destroy my reputation as the royal princess if revealed.
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