Dalton Shenanigans
Just days after that so-called mating ceremony and Kurt was being forced into a new school. The paper work had been completed with ease once they found out the reason for transfer, and no one bothered to question a wolf’s reasoning, especially an ‘alpha’. Kurt hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to his friends in Glee club officially, or clean out his locker himself. It felt as a invasion of privacy, although at this point what else should he be expecting? The wolf community was proving itself even more of a bunch of arrogant assholes then what Kurt had always heard about them.
First things first, he woke up with only a sheet separating him from his new mate for life Hunter who had a possessive arm over Kurt’s slim waist, holding his fast. Although it was quite easier to actually slip out from the hold then it would seem, which he took advantage to use the bathroom, bathe the previous nights abuse off his bruised skin, and get dressed in something that Hunter hadn’t destroyed yet. Breakfast was made, in hopes that he could just send Hunter off and go back to bed, but of course that wasn’t about to happen.
After the food had been finished, and some had been forced down his own throat since he was still on a food strike with low appetite, he had been dragged--quite literally--up to the bedroom, used, and threatened into wearing some kind of school uniform. Not a usual uniform for a private boys school, oh no Kurt couldn’t even be that lucky. The shirt was at least covering, and the blazer that dawned the red and navy blue Dalton colors. But where as the other students were allowed slacks of some sort, he was forced into a skirt. Just for the sake of Hunter’s want for easy access if he had a need to empty his balls in the middle of a lunch period. It was humiliating, but Kurt didn’t expect anything less of the bastard.
"Don’t you think,” he offers after he’s in the damn skirt, looking at himself in disgust, cringing at the reflection looking back, “that this just might have someone else want to take advantage? I thought that’s what you want to avoid.” A hand combs through his own hair, trying to give it some kind of coif style, the attempt to look presentable still poking at the back of his mind.