Page 178 of Filthy Elites

“Ugh.”

Everyone has an opinion. Not me. I’m just trying to control the wave of panic building in my chest.

“Fuck. This is gross,” the guy next to me says. He’s right. It is gross. Again, I look for Miller, but he’s avoiding me entirely. It’s a smart move. My stomach drops and sweat accumulates under my armpits, but then I pause and thrust my hand into the air.

“Yes?” Royer asks, shifting that dark gaze to me.

“You said some of you…”

He responds with a slow grin. “Very good.” He turns from me and faces the other side of the circle. “Some of you have been outstanding goats this week, others… not so much. We’ve taken note.” On cue, Knox holds up a sheet of paper. Even from a distance, it’s obvious it’s a list. “Those of you that have fallen short of your duties will be the ones to participate in this challenge.”

The drop of sweat turns into a river.

“There are twelve of you ranking at the lower end of our charts. Yes, we keep track.” People shift and squirm, giving away exactly who knows they’re being called out. “We know a few of you are going to feel inadequate. We’ve prepared for that. We’re deviants, not pervs. The mug will be in the back horse stall. You’ll go in, think of your mothers and leave your contribution in the cup.” Rat explains the rules like we’re about to play Monopoly. But this could work. If I’m in there alone, no one will know. “To keep you honest,” he continues, “there will be a monitor in the room, making sure every last drop goes in.”

“And then what?” a voice asks. “Who’s going to drink this shit?”

“No one,” Royer says, making eye contact around the circle, “if you finish in time.”

I barely hear what he’s saying, instead trying to think around my thundering heart. This is it. Not only will I be exposed, but it’ll be in front of eighty other men. Eighty, exhausted, angry, horny men who haven’t had a chance to hook up, or masturbate, all week.

Shit.

“Forty-seven!” My eyes jerk up. Royer holds the mug out. “Since you specifically skipped out on the shower last night, you get the honor of being the cup monitor.”

I blink down at the ceramic cup, then back at him. “Monitor?”

“You’re in charge of making sure every goat dumps his cum in the cocktail.” He shoves the mug in my hands and slaps me on the shoulder. “Got it?”

There’s a dark glint in his eye, one I’m not familiar with but suddenly it seems uniquely him. TheotherRoyer. The one that had quietly lurked beneath the surface all that time we dated, and I never even noticed. For the first time, I realize that my ex is dangerous. Not just to unsuspecting sorority girls, but to everyone. He may know not who I am, but he’d noticed that I didn’t take a shower with the other guys, and now, twenty-four hours later, he’s making me pay.

“Oh, and if you need a little inspiration,” Royer adds, shoving me in the direction of the horse stall, “we brought a prime selection of the Zeta Sig spank wall.”

I have no choice but to go into the room, repulsed and anxious. There’s a small table and a hard metal chair in the center of the room. I don’t fully understand the magnitude of the ‘spank wall’ until I see it. Dozens of photos are attached to the wooden boards, all of the girls in sexy or compromising positions. It takes me a minute to realize that most are of ‘real’ girls—not models or celebrities. There are blown up social media bikini shots, but a few are more candid, maybe even screen captures. Grainy and unprofessional. Those are the most revealing. Women having sex—all kinds—all angles. Open mouths, spread legs, tits, pussies, asses… it’s a lot. It all feels genuine, unposed, like someone took these photos in the middle of the act. I stand in the middle of the stall, gazing at all the photos when one catches my eye. The face is marked out with an ‘x’ and dark lettering covers the features. “Blacklisted.”

My stomach sinks when I see the small birthmark on the right rib.Myright rib.

God.

Touching the spot on my side, I stare at the photo, wondering how and when it was taken. I’m on my back, naked, nose wrinkled in what could only be called an ‘O face.’ I force myself to look past that, to the background. I’m on a bed. The pillowcase is trimmed in blue. A small anchor in the corner.

The boat. Royer and I’d had sex on my parent’s boat when we went out with Andrea and Miller. I drag my eyes away, looking past the manicured or waxed pubic hair and seamless tans, until I see another familiar face, the one I know I’m instinctively looking for: Andrea. That one startles me. Royer cares so little about her that he allows her to be on display for everyone to see? Does he feel this way about all women?

Andrea’s not on her back—the photo is taken from below—as she straddles a man’s body. Her tits are round and full, nipples darker than my own. There’s a hand on her hip, masculine. A ring on the finger. I recognize the hand immediately. Royer’s. Not a surprise. But what catches me off guard is something next to her thigh. The white sheet of the bed, also trimmed in blue. Those assholes had sex on my father’s boat—whileI was there.

I’d cry, but I’m all out of tears. There’s no time anyway. The door opens, and Rat shoves a pledge though the door, slamming it shut behind him. I turn and face him. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel. Or at least on the surface. Everything would escalate if they knew I was a female, but as it is, I’m just some poor other goat forced into the situation.

He looks around, and his eyes brighten as they scan over the photos. “Nice.”

I’m not prepared for how quickly he pulls out his cock, stroking it into a hard rod. I force myself to think of how a guy would handle this. Would he be grossed out? Maybe a little. Indifferent? Probably. Curious? Not visibly.

I decide to go with indifferent, even though it’s almost impossible. I’m not turned on, that’s for sure. Watching this kid, number six, yank and tug at his cock, takes the charm out of the action. He looks around the wall, avoiding eye contact with me, thank God, and zeros in on one of the photos a blonde with massive breasts. He stops in front of it, presses his palm flat against the wall and gets busy.

I stand there, awkwardly holding the mug in both hands, trying to figure out exactly how my life turned into this. How I let Royer and Andrea and Miller drag me down. Why I agreed to go undercover and subject myself with this insanity.

“Cup,” he grunts.

I blink, coming back to the moment.

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