Page 29 of Sold at Auction

I obeyed without hesitation, lowering myself onto the plush carpet. Immediately Marcus tugged hard on the leash. I cried out in surprise and discomfort. My upper body fell, and I had to support myself on my hands as I followed him, desperately, on all fours. He led me, like a disobedient dog, whimpering at each pull on my collar, to where Monsieur Delacroix’s shiny shoes stood on the carpet, his dark-trousered legs ascending far above where I might look.

My mind raced, the events of the past few moments replaying yet again with haunting clarity. Had Marcus seen me reaching? His eyes had seemed to bore into me just as I pulled my hand back.

Yes. I was sure he had seen, but equally sure that I had managed to withdraw my hand before Delacroix entered the room. The uncertainty gnawed at me, though, each second elongating into an eternity of dread.

“Kneel up,” Marcus told me in the same icy voice.

I obeyed, chewing on the inside of my cheek, terrified of what would come next.

“Hands behind you. Offer your little whore’s body to your master.”

With my eyes still down, I complied, clasping my hands behind my bottom and remembering to my dismay how Marcus had fucked me there two nights ago, deflowered me and claimed me—as far as I was concerned, anyway. I felt the way my little breasts heaved towards Monsieur Delacroix, and I imagined his eyes roving over me, deciding my fate.

“Look at me, cunt,” Monsieur Delacroix commanded. If had thought Marcus’ voice sounded cold, Delacroix’s seemed like the deepest winter.

My face blazing, I complied. My owner’s eyes seemed even more deeply frozen than his voice.

“Marcus,” Delacroix said, his voice a frosted blend of curiosity and menace. He didn’t take his gray eyes from mine as he addressed his head of security. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he spoke. “What do you make of my innocent little whore’s presence here?”

“She was near the restricted area,” Marcus replied evenly, though I detected a hint of something else—something softer beneath his usual control. What did he mean to do, incriminating me that way? Of course Delacroix would have seen where I was, so Marcus hadn’t given him any new information.

“Is that so?” Delacroix’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “She obviously needs to be made an example of. Take her to the basement and kill her.”

My heart pounded violently against my ribs. Delacroix’s reputation for brutality was not merely legend—it was a living, breathing monster that fed off the fear of those around him. The thought of his sadistic pleasure sent waves of icy terror through me, yet, shamefully, my body responded with a traitorous heat between my legs.

“Please…” I began, my voice trembling, but Delacroix cut me off with a glance.

“Silence,” he hissed. “You are nothing but a fucking piece, girl. Your only value is in how you can serve me.”

“Monsieur,” Marcus interjected, stepping forward slightly. His eyes flickered to mine, a brief connection that sent a thrill through my whole body. “If I may suggest another form of punishment?”

Delacroix arched an eyebrow, apparently intrigued. “Go on.”

“Rather than killing her,” Marcus proposed, his voice steady, “why not take pleasure in using her very harshly? We could close her pussy, ensuring she remains untouched there. Then, tomorrow night, you could have the satisfaction of deflowering both her mouth and anus.”

“Close her pussy?” Delacroix repeated, a sadistic gleam lighting up his eyes. “Interesting. You told me about that a few months ago, with Irene. It seemed a little excessive for her offense, but perhaps it suits Sophia’s here. I think you said it was harmless, but it makes a cunt very tight?”

“And it makes it very difficult for her to climax,” Marcus said, nodding.

I couldn’t help it: I had taken my eyes off Delacroix so I could see Marcus’ face, too. I couldn’t read his expression. Panic awoke in my belly as I tried to understand.

The room seemed to shrink around me as the true horror of Marcus’ plan sank in. Was he trying to protect me by keeping me alive, or was this merely a more convenient way of getting rid of me? My terror mingled, to my dismay, with insane, unwanted arousal, the sharp edge of need cutting through my thoughts.

“Very well,” Delacroix said, taking a sip of his whisky. “Let’s proceed with your plan. But know this, Marcus—if she disappoints me again, death will be a mercy. Also, you’ll whip her tomorrow night before I fuck her face and her ass.”

“Understood, Master,” Marcus responded, his gaze locked onto mine.

As Marcus pulled me upright and led me out of Delacroix’s bedroom, the leash tugging insistently, my mind whirled with conflicting emotions. I had narrowly escaped death, only to face an ordeal that promised untold pain and degradation. Yet, even amid the fear, a part of me couldn’t help but yearn for the touch of Marcus’ hands, whether they would bring punishment or forbidden pleasure.

I shuddered, each step making the leather of my training harness chafe against my skin, my nakedness as always enhancing my never-ceasing sense of vulnerability. The corridor seemed endless, shadows playing tricks on my already frayed nerves. I could almost hear Delacroix’s cruel smile in the silence behind us, a silent promise of the torment to come.

“Marcus,” I whispered, risking his ire. “The door… it was unlocked. I… I didn’t…”

“Was it now?” His voice was cool, unreadable. He glanced back at me, his piercing blue eyes assessing, before turning away. “I’ll make sure it’s secured tonight.”

He appeared to accept my explanation, but the knot in my stomach told me otherwise. As he guided me to my bedroom, the heavy oak door loomed like a sentinel of doom. He opened it and stepped aside, using the leash to usher me inside.

“Tomorrow will be very difficult, Sophia, because of what you’ve done,” he said, his voice softer yet no less stern as he unclipped the leash and put it back in his pocket. “Get some rest.”

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