Page 53 of Deviant Illusions

Delilah’s arm shakes, her nails digging into the back of my hand as she screams, “No! Get the fuck off me!”

Unbothered, Harkin roughly drags her backwards as he wraps his arms around her chest, lifting her off her feet.

The chair slams into the ground as I abruptly stand and use her arm like a rope in tug of war. Meeting his eyes, I grit, “Take your hands off my wife.”

He scoffs and the masked guards get closer, the crackle of electricity moving with them. Sharp spokes dig into my ribs, transferring the current from the cattle prods directly into me. My muscles spasm and my hand opens without my control.

“Get the fuck off!” Delilah screams, kicking out as multiple points of the cattle prods dig into my side, my back, and my nape. “Kane!” she shouts through her tears.

I try to push forward but the masked cunts get closer, circling me and pushing the cattle prods into my chest. Black spots dance at the edge of my vision as she’s roughly slammed to the bed of the new structure. She continues kicking and spits into her father’s face. “Don’t fucking touch me. You sick fuck!” Her fight lifts her back off the bed as the heel of her bare foot connects with Harkin’s thigh.

My pretty girl.

She continues screaming profanities as her father forces her down onto the bed. Delilah’s head sits between the long winding serpent posts, and her father pulls on the cuffs bolted through the wood. He secures her wrists to the top frame as she kicks out again. Her foot slams off the ram’s horns at the other end, and the sharp points curve outwards, catching the sides of her feet. The kicking and screaming doesn’t rock the structure or move it in any way as the crossed base remains flat against the stone altar, with a large lion’s head carved into the middle of the wooden base.

“RUBY!” she screams in anguish. “KANE!”

Once she’s held in place, there’s another tap, and the guards take a collective step back from me, taking away the current. They take another step when the tap comes again. Rowan walks around the table. He stops in front of me, then puts his filthy fucking hand on my shoulder. Squeezing once, he smiles from ear to ear as he says, “You have a choice to prove she’s your wife. Or her father can pass her from his family to ours,himself.” He turns his head slightly and extends his voice. “You’d enjoy the repeat, wouldn’t you, Harkin?”

They both chuckle, in that way that sleazy old fuckers do when they have an inside joke at the expense of someone with less authority than them.

Delilah screams out in pain. And I freeze. I fucking freeze, just watching as her father grips the hem of her dress, then pulls until the fabric tears through the middle to her chest. Her arms are restrained, preventing her from covering her naked body as the lace hangs on by a few threads at the neckline. She doesn’t have anything on underneath the dress, and he exposes her further by grabbing her ankles and wrapping the leather on the other side of the support around them. Her knees are bent, thighs apart, for everyone to watch her.

Her face is red, matching the rest of her body, as she stares with wide, horror-filled eyes at the guestsseeingher. Humiliation. They’re going to make her feel the humiliation of not being allowed control and knowing that there are witnesses. It gets worse as she plants her feet against the horns and tries to break free from the restraints. All it does is expose her even more. Rowan pulls me forward.

I stumble over my own feet, but I don’t fall. He pushes harder against my back and repeats, “It’s all your choice. Who do you want her to feel?” He pushes again, physically and verbally. “That sweet girl will be welcomed, by you,”—another push—“or by her own father. Choose.”

Lead fills my feet as I walk forward, away from his hand and coaxing, to Delilah. She lifts her head, continuing to fight all while staring right at me. Staring at me to help her. Staring at me like I’ve done so many times, when she would keep me company and float through the walls of my cell. But unlike her, I don’t leave. I walk up the two steps to the altar as her father steps aside.

He stands sentry at the top of the gurney, to the left of the serpent. The stick taps against the floor and Helene slowly makes her way to stand at the other side. There’s a foot of space between them and the structure, but they watch. The fucking cuntswatch, impatiently, as Delilah begs, “Kane? Please?”

I stand between her spread thighs, between the horns, and look down at her. There are tears escaping as she thrashes. Her bottom lip wobbles. Her eyes are brighter because of the tears, and the fear I caused is nothing against the terror making her pale now as she hoarsely prays, “Please don’t.”

Something brushes my belt. I pull my hips back as I’m forced to look away from Delilah. Rowan stands beside the horns, his hand outstretched towards my dick, and he says, “You seemedto be struggling, nephew. The venom will help you if she’s outgrown your tastes.”

Delilah whimpers, squirming away from him as Lennox takes the other side. He’s the only one who doesn’t look at her. He turns, giving her his back as he looks out at the guests who are still fucking talking, drinking, andlaughing.

Helene taps her stick against the floor, showing she’s worse than the others with the sheer glee on her face. She offers, “Her father is here to give her away to her new family.”

“No one fucking touches her,” I snap. “Or me. Move the fuck back.”

They takeonestep back. I can’t stop them looking at her without doing what they want. So, I fold over her and hold my weight up with my hand wrapped around the frame. Delilah’s whimpers brush my cheek as I slowly lower my zipper. The entire room falls silent.

“Look at me,” I whisper. “Only me.”

“Kane,” she sobs as her face splinters. “Please.”

Metal gliding on metal makes us both look up towards the sound. Harkin unsheathes a small blade, then places it flat against his palm. Closing his fingers over it, he drags it down in a purposeful line. Helene does the same with another blade. His has the ram’s horns coiled around the handle while hers is adorned with a lion’s head in the center of the handle, its mane fanning out into the engravings etched into it.

Both of them hold their bleeding fists over each serpent’s mouth. The wooden structure must be hollow, because their blood travels through it and leaks down to stain Delilah’s dress. The white lace soaks up every drop and it runs down her ribs to pool under her hips.

I lower my head, so my lips are directly above her forehead, press a gentle kiss to her hairline, then whisper, “It’s just me and you. Focus on me, my pretty girl.”

She sobs louder as I softly trail my lips across her skin to her temple. My tongue pokes out, tasting her tears, and I line up at her entrance. She doesn’t—can’t—fight me as she begs, “Please, stop, no!”

“It’s just me, your Kane. We never left the cabin.” I press my lips to her cheek and inch forward. “You’re looking at the stars with your head out of the window.” Another inch. “Just like you wanted, I’m claiming your pussy as mine while they sparkle. Remember, my beautiful Delilah?”

“Ye—yes,” she stutters around her sob as I push deeper into her. “Just me and you.” She wildly shakes her head, flinging her tears off her skin as she cries louder, “Please! Stop!”

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