[It happened on one of the many nights when he had gotten all his ‘friends’ from the Politburo, including me, drunk.](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/lfyjp0/mmmmmmf_i_was_there_when_stalin_forced_them_to/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
I don’t even remember what it is that I had said to set him off… But he shot me, while he was tipsy himself, he shot me through my lower abdomen.
Everyone froze in the middle of their inebriated shenanigans, the air was taut. He ordered everyone out.
I remember him drunkly ravaging me, his disgusting breath reeked of gout and booze in my face. “красивая.” He said to me “ты выглядишь так красиво.” He thought I would feel honored receiving such an blessing, even as I breathlessly gasped each time he moved, each thrust jostled my wound, making me bleed and ache worse. I resigned to the tired blanket that blood loss and alcohol had laid over me. Instead I whimpered and growled lowly, my hands loosely balled into the lapels of the coat of his uniform
He dug his fingers into the bullet hole as he fucked me harder and harder. He nears the edge, forcing his tongue in my mouth, stifling my pained moans and groans.
The old smallpox scars and his 5 o’clock shadow would scratched my face terribly, it was easier to pretend I wasn’t there when he was just using my body, but now he was right in my face. I tried so hard to push him off of me, my arms shook from the effort. I don’t want to do anything to anger him further, so I stopped myself from hitting and scratching. I gag and try to twist my face away. He slipped his finger particularly deep into my wound and I couldn’t help but grit my teeth, causing me to bite his tongue. I tasted metal and it flooded my mouth.
I immediately also got a taste of his backhand. And then everything was black.
I woke the next day, patched up and in my own bed. Molotov was in the other room, he let me know he had been the one Stalin ordered to see me to a doctor and to see me home as well.
We got the call from Stalin, he wants us to join him and the rest of the Politburo for dinner again. He always does. Always with these damned dinners. I know what he’s done to Molotov, Molotov knows what he’s done to me.
We both cried when I hung up the phone.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/lkzx22/mf_stalin_shot_and_raped_me_noncon_old_man_young