Punished by the Dictator's Daughter (The Initiation 3, Book 3) by Aphrodite Hunt Page A

anyone has a right to be psychologically damaged, it’s Max.
Though my own psyche is pretty much at the tip of its iceberg.
    Aimelie says something to the guards in
Urskan. Her voice is singsong and her face is radiant. For all I
know, she could have been commenting on the weather, which is
turning into the color of slate. Aimelie escalates her vigorous
humping of my boyfriend’s cock as the guards seize my bound arms
and shoulders.
    “Aimelie,” Max’s ragged and breathless voice
breaks through, “please, don’t hurt her.” His eyes are tired. There
are worry creases upon his forehead, but he has never looked more
beautiful; or more worn down.
    “Ah yes, you still love the beautiful Gina,
no? Soon, you will be forgetting her.”
    Aimelie fucks him so hard that the headboard
slams against the papered wall, shining with décor highlights.
Above the bed is a framed portrait of her father, Vladimir
Potchenko, the dictator of Ursk. He looks down gravely at all of us
as his precious daughter screws the hell out of my beautiful blond
boyfriend.
    Up, down, rotate, oscillate. It’s as though
she’s trying to screw all his feelings for me out of the window
while I’m still watching.
    The guards make me squat against the far wall
from the bed, where I have a good view of Aimelie’s ass bouncing on
top of my boyfriend’s well-muscled hips. They release by chains and
make me hold my arms horizontally at my sides. They disengage the
lariat, but still keep the iron collar around my neck as a mark of
servitude.
    Aimelie half-turns and says something to the
guards. They nod gleefully.
    As I stay still, the guards drag a box filled
with saucers towards me. They don’t have to tell me not to move a
muscle when they start piling the plates upon my arms, shoulders,
and strained and bent thighs. I have basically become a human
smorgasbord. The saucers are delicate. I recognize the hallmark of
extremely fine china beneath the rose patterned design, and it goes
to say that I am forbidden to drop any of them.
    “Break one, and I will have you severely
whipped,” Aimelie says, still in that teenage singsong voice of
hers. Is it just me, or has her English improved? And it has just
been one week of practicing periodically to Max, I suppose, when
their language is not colored by ‘fuck’ or ‘suck’ or ‘lick’.
    “Aimelie, please,” Max says. I can see the
desperation on his flushed face. “Don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything
you want.”
    “You are already doing anything I tell you
to. Do not try to bargain with me for her hide. It does not become
you. Back in America, you were lovers. But here, you are mine .” She says that last with a feverish possessiveness
that sends alarm bells ringing in my head.
    I am afraid to breathe. My thighs already
bear the strain of squatting. My pussy is wet and exposed. My arms
tremble slightly, and I rue the fact that I scarcely have had the
time to tone them. They are weak and ill-suited for duress. The
iron collar is heavy around my neck.
    But that is not all Aimelie has in store for
me.
    She says something else to the guards. One of
them goes to a drawer in a plain white chest (Ikea, naturally) and
takes out a large black dildo. It is so thick and huge that I
cringe. Normally, I would be able to take such a dildo in one of my
orifices – no problem. But right now, I am unsteady and emotionally
wrenched. My flesh is a hotbed of burgeoning pins and needles. I
don’t think I can take much more than my current forced
posture.
    The guard comes back and squats behind
me.
    He says something to me which I interpret as
“Don’t move.” Without lube, he posits the glistening dildo at the
rim of my asshole.
    I’m getting frantic. My breathing
quickens.
    The dildo eases into my anus, and I
immediately feel the stretch of my tight sphincter. The synthetic
rod navigates my snug little circle, overcomes the momentary
resistance, and plows through to the open canal. I have to use
every ounce of