Page 77 of The Preacher's Pet

What if they are wrong though and they do lose me? What if I run too far, despite what they said, and then I’m wandering like I did after I’d left the compound? I still have nightmares about that time. I’d never truly known what it meant to be hungry and thirsty before then. I’d found a stream and drunk from it, but the water had made me sick. I’d thought I was going to die, and honestly, in that moment, I’d have welcomed it. But somehow, I’d recovered and had pushed myself on, walking in a kind of fevered dream until I’d eventually been found.

This isn’t the same, though. It’s not as isolated here. There are roads nearby, and I am sure I’d be found before too long, and anyway, I’m here because I chose to be.

And I’m not alone.

The snap of a foot on a twig comes from my right. I inhale a sharp breath and whip my head in that direction. Is someone there?

The norms of behavior almost have me calling out, ‘hello,’ but deep down, instinct has me remaining quiet and gives me the urge to huddle into myself and become smaller so they’re less likely to find me.

A rustle of bushes sounds in the opposite direction, and I spin around. Are theystalkingme? The thought gives me a shiver of fear mixed with desire. The idea they are watching me, and hunting me, is unbearably erotic. Have they been able to move so silently that I haven’t heard them catch up to me?

Or am I hearing something else entirely?

Whore.The voice is there again.

What if the noise in the bushes is him? The Prophet. It’s a thought shaped of nightmares and dread, so I run faster, harder. As if I’m escaping him and not just the three masked men hot on my trail. My feet pound over uneven ground, and I hear an owl hoot somewhere, the sound sending icy tendrils of anxiety skittering down my spine.

My heart beats wildly, and I keep going. Am I heading in the same direction—away from the college—or did I get turned around when I paused to listen to those sounds?

Suddenly, something lunges out from behind a tree. Arms wrap around my waist from behind and lift me, my feet losing contact with the ground. A scream peals from my throat, and I batter at the arms holding me. It’s all happened so fast, I haven’t even noticed what mask the man is wearing, but from the size of the arms gripping me, I believe it’s Cain. His big body jams against mine, his cock hard against my spine.

“Run, little girl,” he growls and sets me back down again.

With a cry, I do just that. I stagger forward, almost falling, but somehow managing to put one foot in front of the other. The silvery moonlight guides my way, but now I’m more conscious of movement in the forest around me. The trees have eyes, and I’m being watched.

What if there are others out there? Another horrifying thought eases its way into my mind. What if someone else has taken the Preachers’ masks, and now they’re the ones chasing me?

I’m not sure I need to freak myself out any more than I already am, but this new source of terror lodges its way into my throat.

No, that’s not how this works. They wouldn’t let that happen; they’d kill anyone who tried. God, why am I doing this to myself? These thoughts need to stop. Having the three of them chasing me through the dark woods is scary enough. In fact, it’s way scarier than I’d ever have imagined. Any sense of knowing them, of being sure of them, evaporated the minute they stood at the door and I saw them together that last time. I’m sure they’re close. What are they going to do when they catch me? How rough are they going to be with me? I’m still so inexperienced, and I’m not sure what to expect.

Will they hurt me?

A body slams into mine from behind, and I hit the ground hard. The air explodes from my lungs, and I’m unable to draw in another. What if I can’t say the safe word because I’m unable to speak? I won’t be able to make them stop, even if they’re hurting me. No one talked about what to do then. Oh no, we didn’t cover all the bases. Not at all. This could go so sideways for me so fast. Now I am really trying to get away because genuine fear grips me hard.

I wriggle and squirm under the body pressing me down. Hot breath against my ear. A hard cock jammed up against my ass.Hands reach under my dress, finding my thighs. Because I’m not wearing any panties, fingers press between my legs, finding me wet. It seems like fear makes me horny, too. They push roughly inside me, and the band around my chest loosens, and I’m able to draw air.

Fingers slide in and out of me, and teeth nip at the top of my ear. Whoever is on top of me must have lifted their mask enough to use their mouth. Malachi? He’s the only one I’ve seen do that. I’m face down in the dirt, but those fingers feel good inside me, and I whimper. I’m not going to safe word my way out of this yet.

Suddenly, the fingers withdraw, and the weight lifts off my body. I’m still lying there, my dress hooked up to expose my bare ass to the night, breathing hard. I wait for the briefest moment, wondering what I’m supposed to do next, then I reach back to yank my dress down. I scramble to my feet, brushing dried leaves and dirt from my front. I’m wet and swollen between my thighs, and I’m conscious of that as I force myself to get going again.

I’m growing tired, my muscles burning and fatigue starting to set in. It weakens me, makes me less able to fight back. Is that what they want? They’re like a pack of wolves, running their prey to exhaustion.

So when they catch me, they can do whatever they want to me, and I’ll be too weak to fight back. Too weak to use my safe word. My body will just be a vessel for them to fuck however they want, as many times as they want. To use and take.

My pace has slowed, and I have to stop. I stagger to a halt and pause, bent over, my hands on my knees as I gasp. I’m in a small clearing, the moonlight allowing me to see my surroundings almost as well as I would in the daylight. The only difference is the places between the trees where the canopy prevents the moonlight from reaching. These are thick, black pockets of darkness that could be hiding anything.

Like something out of a horror film, three masked figures emerge almost silently from the dark.

I straighten, trying to face them, but they surround me. Roman with his skeleton mask, his blond hair pale in the eerie light, is directly ahead of me. Cain in his black hood stalks me from behind, and Malachi in the white mask, now pulled down fully to hide his face, emerges from between the trees to my right. At least it’s them. I recognize their builds and hair.

All three remain quiet, and my pussy clenches, my nipples hardening. This is it. This is where it’s going to happen.

I dart to one side, but Malachi steps into place, blocking me. They get closer, pressing me in from all sides. I know there’s no chance of escape this time. Not that I’d escaped before—they’d let me go because they enjoyed the chase.

Cain grabs me from behind, and Roman steps forward and lifts the hem of my dress. I wriggle and kick, but there’s no way I’m stronger than they are.

“You’re ours now,” Roman growls. “Our willing sacrifice.”

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