The pillow was still over her face. Her screams were muffled. The silk was wet with her tears and saliva. Her legs were spread wide, one foot on the bed, one hanging off the edge. Her panties were still on her thigh. The blood was running down from her entrance, soaking the bunched mattress, pooling on the expensive sheets.
Hordy looked down at her. He watched his scarred shaft—seven inches of royal, broken, vengeful meat—slam into her hairy cunt. The blood made it slick. The walls of her virgin pussy gripped him with the desperate, terrified tightness of a girl who had never been trained for this.
"So tight," he muttered. "So fucking tight. You are gripping me like a fist. You like it? You like being fucked by a prince?"
"Please—" she gasped under the pillow. "Please— stop— I am dying— I am—"
"Then die," he said. He slammed harder. "Die on my cock. I will fuck your corpse. I will fuck your ghost. I am the Crown Prince. I take what I want."
