Beautiful Lies (Dark Secret Society 2)

She nodded as she placed her palms on the window to help steady her stance as my finger assaulted her tight little hole.

As I continued to finger fuck her ass, I leaned toward her ear and said, “The only way we’re going to survive this place is by you playing the part of the good little belle. You may not like it, but you don’t call the shots here.” I added a second finger to join the first which had her crying out. “Are we clear?”

“Yes. Yes.” She nodded as her breathing came out in tiny huffs.

“The next time you try to test my patience or push me for a fight, it won’t be my finger in your ass but something much, much larger. Are we clear?”

She nodded again, but I wasn’t satisfied with that as the answer. I pumped my fingers even deeper.

“Yes,” she squealed, raising up on her toes as she answered. “I’ll be the perfect little belle from now on.”

“Within these walls, the men are in control. It’s the way it is. Is it fucked up? Yes. But it’s the way it has always been and thinking your perky blonde ass can change that fact is foolish.” I pulled out my fingers slowly, but then shoved them back in with effortless speed.

“Ahh,” she half moaned, half cried. “It stings! It’s too much. You’re stretching me too much.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll remember this next time you think you call the shots.” I continued to double digit fuck her ass, taking a perverse sense of enjoyment at the sounds of her whimpers and moans. “So, answer me again. Who’s in control in this manor?”

“The men are,” she answered softly and obediently.

“Good girl,” I said, pulling my fingers out of her ass.

Fighting the urge to bend her over the bed and fuck her, I decided the punishment would be more effective if I left her wanting for more. She didn’t get to cum, and that need would hopefully drive her mad. Using all the willpower I had in my body, I walked to the bathroom, closed the door behind me, and turned on the shower.

On cold.

9

Portia

Shit, they’d all be on my tail any minute. I had to work fast.

Or rather, run. I had to run fast. Faster than I ever had in my whole life.

Because you see, another invitation had come during dinner. Sully’s face had gone pale as soon as he read it, which I didn’t take as a good sign.

“Fox hunt,” was all he’d been able to utter before I grabbed the invitation from his hand, along with the sizeable white box that had arrived with the invitation.

Inside had been a leather cloak that smelled a hundred years old with a glassy-eyed stuffed fox head attached to the hood.

Oh, but that wasn’t all that was in the box. Of course it wasn’t. Not with these sadistic bastards.

There was also a plush fluffy little red fox tail—attached to the end of a buttplug.

At least that looked new, still was in the packaging. But what the hell?

“They can’t really mean for me to—” I started, only to meet Sully’s dead-serious gaze.

“That’s exactly what they intend.”

We had a couple of hours to wait before the actual Fox Hunt began. Or rather, the Human Hunt. Hadn’t I read a story about this once in Jr. High? The Most Dangerous Game? This sort of shit was supposed to be outlawed.

You couldn’t hunt people for sport!

But now, as I fled through the underbrush, sticking close to the tree line, I had to admit it appeared I was wrong. Even as I ran, my anus squeezed unintentionally around the buttplug inserted securely inside me. Good God, that was the last thing I needed to be focusing on right now.

Because apparently people could and very much did hunt other people for sport. No matter how they tried to dress it up and tell themselves I was a dehumanized fox for the night.

The baying of hounds in the distance made goosebumps erupt all up and down my limbs. Well, even more goosebumps.

It was January, and even Georgia got freaking near-freezing temperatures in winter. I could see my breath frosting in front of my face. And apart from the hood and the buttplug, naturally there’d been nothing else in the box.

I wasn’t even allowed shoes.

I couldn’t feel my toes, and I’d only been out here twenty minutes. I’d been assured by one of the Elders with a viscous, unpleasant smile the temperature wouldn’t matter when I dared ask about it. I’d be caught and blooded before the cold could do me any real damage, he’d assured me. The way he’d been twisting his hands at the time made me think he was hoping to be the fucker who did the catching.

Whatever the fuck “blooding” was. I had not been informed as to its definition, and I did not want to know. In fact, I was actively trying not to think about it.