Page 26 of Sold at Auction

“For your owner’s sake.” Marcus’ eyes darkened with an evident hunger that seemed to consume the very air between us. His left hand remained firmly on my pussy from behind for a second, as if he’d hesitated, and then abruptly withdrew. I gasped at the sudden loss of his touch, but my breath caught once more as he stood, moving to stand next to my face, towering over me in all his dark dominance.

“Go ahead,” he commanded, voice low and edged with desire. His fingers deftly worked at the buttons of his fly, revealing the hard length of his cock, jutting from the fabric of his trousers. “Perform the act you begged for. I’ll use your service as an opportunity to further train you for Delacroix’s bed.”

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat like a hammer driving me deeper into my submission. The enormity of what I’d asked for settled over me, heavy and intoxicating. He resumed his ministrations, fingers delving back into the slick heat of my pussy, maintaining a rhythm that left my reason teetering on the edge of complete incoherence.

My hands, along my flanks, clenched into little fists as I moved my upper body towards the enormous, rigid manhood I could just make out in the dim moonlight from the little shuttered window. The act seemed to me both a surrender and an assertion of my unspoken needs. My mouth opened, hesitantly at first, the head of his cock brushing against my lips. A shudder ran through me, the mixture of shame and arousal clouding my thoughts as my mind tried to get traction over the terrible complexities of the moment.

“That’s it,” Marcus murmured, his voice a velvet chain binding me closer. “Show me how well you’ve been trained.”

I took him into my mouth, the taste of him foreign, a little salty and a little bitter, yet undeniably arousing. I tried to make each movement deliberate, the same way he worked my pussy to train me in the irresistibility of my submissive pleasure. My tongue explored the thrilling contours of his hardness. The weight of his approval seemed to hang in the balance, a tantalizing prize that drove me to push past my own hesitation.

My efforts were met with a guttural groan from Marcus, his hand finding the back of my head, guiding me with a firm but gentle pressure. The sensation of his cock filling my mouth, the taste and texture overwhelming my senses, sent waves of conflicting emotions surging through me. Shame warred with arousal, each thrust into my mouth deepening my need for his approval, even as it stripped away layers of my dignity.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his grip tightening as he began to thrust harder, forcing me to take him deeper. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, from discomfort—but also from the sheer intensity of the moment. My own arousal spiked, the humiliating act paradoxically feeding the fire within me.

Each thrust was a claim, a reminder of the power he wielded over me. My body responded instinctively, hips arching into his persistent touch, seeking more of his mastery. The sounds of my own muffled moans filled the room, a testament to my helpless arousal.

“That’s it,” Marcus growled, his voice rough with desire. “Take it all.”

His words acted as a catalyst, pushing me beyond the boundaries of my own self-control. I sucked him with renewed fervor, desperate to please, desperate for his acknowledgment. The physical act became a conduit for my submissive needs, each thrust an affirmation of my place beneath him.

“Such a good little fuck toy,” he praised, his tone a mix of lust and authority. The words seemed to sear into my mind, to brand me. I felt myself longing to fall into his control, not as a columba undercover on a mission, but as a captive innocent, prepared for his pleasure, and his alone.

The tension in his body grew palpable, each movement more urgent, more demanding. My own arousal mirrored his, the lines between shame and pain, and pain and pleasure blurring until they seemed indistinguishable. With a final, forceful thrust, he buried himself deep in my mouth, the sensation sending a shudder through my entire being.

He held himself there for just a moment. I thought he would climax—despite the shame of it, I wanted him to come in my mouth. He didn’t. I had closed my eyes to concentrate on my task, on the sensations in both of our bodies. Now, I opened them to look up at Marcus and saw him on the verge of deciding something.

Suddenly, he reached into his inside breast pocket and pulled out a small device. He pressed a button, and I heard a faint beep.

“Now they won’t see us,” he said, his voice tinged with an intimacy that made my heart pound even faster. A private moment, a chance to speak freely—but what could I say? How could I navigate the treacherous waters of my mission and my growing feelings for him?

He pulled his hardness from between my lips. I hesitated, and then I spoke.

“Marcus, I…”

But Marcus had grabbed a washcloth from the little nightstand. Deftly he gagged me with it, forcing the fabric between my lips before I could utter another syllable.

“Kneel on the bed,” he ordered, his tone brooking no disobedience. “Then bend over, face in the covers.”

I complied, as much to gain time to think as out of submission or fear. My body trembled as I positioned myself on the bed, the softness of the sheet cool against my heated skin. My heart raced, my thoughts a tumult of fear, excitement, and the hope that I might find a way to reach him, to communicate with him and to gain his help.

Marcus’ fingers found the clasps of my training harness. I felt him manipulate the locks in a complicated way, and I heard them click open. The leather straps had dug into my skin, a constant reminder of my submission, but as they fell away, a new kind of vulnerability washed over me. I gave a muffled cry around the gag as he pulled the awful plug from my bottom.

“You’re going to lose your anal virginity tonight,” he announced in a low growl. His voice sounded darkly authoritative, laced with an undercurrent of desire that made my heart race.

I couldn’t see him, my face still buried in the covers, but I heard the soft rustle of fabric as he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. The subtle scent of the lubricant filled the air, mingling with the musk of our arousal.

“Relax,” he commanded, his breath hot against my ear as his fingers trailed down to the sensitive ring of muscle, where I felt very strange after the removal of my butt plug. The first touch was gentle, exploratory, but firm enough to leave no doubt about what was coming.

A moan escaped my lips as his lubricated finger breached me, sliding inside with a slow, deliberate motion. He worked carefully, stretching and relaxing me, his expertise evident in every movement. My body responded instinctively, hips arching towards him even as my mind wrestled with the implications of my submission.

“Unfortunately for you, Sophia, I’m afraid Delacroix will not be this gentle,” Marcus murmured, his words a cruel promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

Another finger joined the first, scissoring inside me to prepare me further. The sensation was a blend of discomfort and burgeoning pleasure, each stretch both a challenge and an invitation. His thumb found my clit, circling it with maddening precision, heightening my arousal until I was trembling beneath him.

“You’re ready,” he said, more to himself than to me, and I felt the absence of his fingers as he withdrew them, only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock.

“Stay still,” he ordered, his hands gripping my hips.

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