Page 7 of Sold at Auction

“Oh… oh, no,” I whimpered, my hips trying to jerk backward, trying to impale myself on those teasing digits. “No… please…”

“Call me miles,” Malleus said, sternly, taking his hand away.

“Oh, God,” I whispered, my mind whirling and my body crying out for attention. “Miles, please… please…”

“It’s very difficult, isn’t it?” Malleus asked, putting his hand back on my bottom, but not his fingers in my pussy. I couldn’t help it: I tried to move my hips again, wriggling as if I were impatient for his degrading attentions.

“No, columba. You’re not going to come right now. You’re going to learn to calm yourself as you listen to me.”

My lower lip between my teeth, I let out another mortifying whimper. My bottom wanted to push up into his hand, but somehow, though I still had no idea what Malleus was talking about, the idea of self-restraint seemed appealing in its own right. I managed to keep myself from making the embarrassing movement.

“Well done, columba,” Malleus said, as if he could read my mind.

A surge of crazy pride rose into my chest. What the hell was wrong with me that it would make me happy for this apparently insane man to praise me?

“You have a great deal to learn and only a short time to learn it before you, too, go into the field. All I wish you to understand today, though, is that you are here because we—the Pretorian Guard—have determined with extreme precision that you belong with us, as an initiate in the Order of Ostia whose members serve the Guard as sexual servants and as elite field operatives and analysts in our battle to save civilization from the forces of greed and disorder. The Groupe Synergistique is, right now, the most important of those forces.”

His hands on my body, on my back and on my bottom, seemed at the same time to weigh me down with their restraint and to impart a kind of warmth. You belong with us.

“As I told you, we don’t need your consent. That’s not because we intend to force you to do anything, or undergo anything, against your will. It’s because we know you so well that we’re certain we can uncover your own need to play your part in this struggle.”

Short breaths came and went in rough pants between my open lips. Arousal, fear, defiance, and—yes, I couldn’t deny it—fascination waged its own war inside my mind.

“How?” I whispered. Heat blossomed in my face as I felt Malleus’ huge hand give my bottom a warning squeeze. “How, miles? How do you know that?”

Malleus started to help me rise from his lap.

“Don’t ask useless questions,” he told me, emphasizing each word as if the command represented a sort of proverb.

I blinked, stung by the refusal, and felt tears trickle out of the corners of my eyes as I regained my feet, my gaze fixed on his enormous hands as he laid them in his lap.

Malleus spoke again. “I’ll let the doctor tell you more about why you belong here. Let’s get you to your exam.”

He had answered my question, but the chastening command not to pose it, or any other “useless” question, lingered in my mind. The idea that I must wait for my miles to tell me those things he wanted me to know, and I must remain silent otherwise, rankled. I knew myself to be a very intelligent young woman. At the same time, though… I bit my lip at the little jolt of need it had called forth between my thighs.

CHAPTER 3

Sophia

Malleus’ hand gripped my upper arm firmly once again as he guided me down the subtly lit, red-carpeted hallway. My feet felt cushioned by the pile beneath them, but each step amplified the sting of my glowing hot bottom. I chewed the inside of my cheek so that I wouldn’t whimper with every wincing footfall.

My shame felt like a living thing, a creature writhing within me, clawing at my composure. Each movement of air against my bare skin sent shivers through my body, mingling humiliation with an unwelcome arousal that flared below my belly.

“Keep up, Sophia,” Malleus’ voice rumbled, a command wrapped in gravel and steel. His tone left no room for hesitation, and I quickened my pace despite the soreness of my backside.

We reached a door marked with an impersonal Exam Room sign. Malleus swung it open to reveal a gynecologist’s domain. The room looked like a temple of gleaming steel and immaculate white surfaces, a place where flesh met cold precision. My heart started to pound, the way it always did at my checkups, as my eyes took in the array of medical instruments laid out on the tray that sat on a cart next to the exam chair: a headlamp, a speculum, and two devices whose purpose I could only guess at, though the shape of one of them brought an instant, hot blush to my cheeks.

“Get in the chair, columba,” Malleus commanded, his grip never faltering. He led me to the center of the room where the examination chair loomed—a frightening slab of steel and leather that seemed designed to amplify my vulnerability. It stood high off the ground, wide enough to make me feel diminutive and exposed. Its metal knee-stirrups made my tummy flip.

“Please…” I whispered, my voice trembling with fear, of the chair, of the doctor, of my own helpless reaction to all of it. But Malleus offered no reprieve, no softening of his stern demeanor.

“Up,” he repeated, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. I found myself laid out, my back pressed against the cool leather, my legs dangling over the edges. I cried out as my punished bottom-cheeks came into contact with the lightly padded surface, but Malleus ignored my anguish. He moved with practiced efficiency, securing my knees into the stirrups first.

At that point I noticed something about the chair that had escaped me at first glance. It had a sort of attachment I had never seen before—at least in a doctor’s office: stout, black webbing restraints with velcro fastenings. Turning my head in surprise and trepidation, I saw them on the knee-stirrups, on the sides, and—out of the corner of my eye—behind my head, a collar positioned to go around my neck.

As I tried to understand, I felt Malleus fasten the strap across my right knee. Out of sheer panicked instinct, I tried to get my left knee out of that stirrup, but Malleus didn’t allow it. His left hand held my knee in place with casual strength while with his other hand he secured the knee there with the velcro strap. A new flare of heat rose in my face at how wide he had spread my legs, rendering any attempt at modesty futile.

“Wh-why?” I stammered, my eyes wide as I looked at his face, which seemed hard as stone. His attention remained on the task of securing me to the chair, but he spared me a cold glance.

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