Page 22 of Sold at Auction

“Have you learned your lesson, girl?” one of the guards asked in a mocking voice from behind me. “When it’s my turn to use you, will you wank that little cunt until it’s ready for me?”

I bit my lip, my forehead working with mortification.

“Answer him, Sophia,” Marcus said sharply, giving the leash a tug. “You need to learn your place. I don’t want to have to whip you every day.”

I let out a little cry of surprise and alarm at the pull on my collar, and then a little whimper of utter degradation that I knew would at least emphasize my innocence and my absolutely real feeling of powerlessness.

“Yes, sir,” I murmured.

“Good girl,” the guard said, his smug satisfaction terribly audible.

“You may stand up, slut,” Marcus instructed, tugging on the leash again, though with less force, to compel me to rise. I did so with as much grace as I could muster, fighting the urge to collapse at his feet and beg for mercy. Instead, I made myself meet his gaze, hoping to convey my desperation without words.

“See you later, gentleman,” he said, giving a final nod to the guards before leading me further down the corridor. As we walked, I struggled to maintain my composure, every fiber of my being urging me to fall to my knees and plead with Marcus to save me, to take me back to the Order and the Guard.

But I knew better. Revealing my true identity, confessing my mission—it would only lead to greater danger. So I kept silent, focusing instead on the rhythm of my steps and the measured pull of the leash, determined to endure whatever lay ahead.

The rhythmic sway of my hips accentuated the dreadful fullness in my spanked bottom, a perpetual reminder of my submission. The corridor’s opulent decor blurred into a haze of rich tapestries and gilded frames, their grandeur mocking my naked vulnerability.

“Keep your pace,” Marcus murmured, his voice a blend of command and unspoken concern.

I obeyed, focusing on the sound of our footsteps echoing off the marble floor. As we approached the door that must lead to Delacroix’s study, the weight of anticipation settled heavily in my chest. The double doors loomed before us, a portal to yet another trial I had to endure.

“Enter,” Marcus commanded, pushing open the door with a flourish.

Delacroix’s study exuded an air of calculated luxury. The roaring fire cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating the dark wood paneling and the sumptuous leather armchairs arranged strategically around the hearth. A large mahogany desk dominated one side of the room, its surface cluttered with documents and an assortment of fine writing instruments.

“Ah, Marcus, right on time,” Delacroix’s voice dripped with satisfaction as he spoke from his chair by the fire without rising. His cold gray eyes fixed on me, a predatory glint dancing within them. “And Sophia, my dear, you look just as exquisite as you did at the auction.”

He motioned for Marcus to bring me closer, his gaze never wavering from my exposed form. Marcus complied, leading me to stand directly in front of Delacroix. The proximity made my skin prickle with a mix of fear and, much worse, unwanted arousal. I swallowed hard, remembering how Malleus had revealed my submissive nature simply by demonstrating his power and my weakness.

It’s just my body. I can hate him, and I can steal his data, even if my pussy clenches at the idea of him owning me—even of him fucking me.

“Let’s have a look at you,” Delacroix said, his tone deceptively gentle. He reached out, his fingers trailing down my neck and over my collarbone, making me shiver involuntarily. “The training harness suits you well, don’t you think?”

I bit my lip, striving to remain silent as his hands roamed further, caressing the curve of my breasts and the plane of my abdomen. His touch was clinical yet possessive, each stroke reinforcing my degradation.

“Turn around,” he ordered, and I complied, presenting my red, bruised bottom for his inspection. “She didn’t want to touch herself, I gather?”

My face burned with a new wave of embarrassment as I heard him address the question to Marcus. It only got hotter when he continued speaking, turning his attention to me.

“I’m sure Marcus told you I like a fucking piece to show how naughty she is. I imagine it seems like a contradiction to you, knowing that you’ll be severely whipped for masturbating without permission. I prefer to think of it as a paradox. The sort of paradox it takes an innocent virgin some time to understand.”

I felt his hands move gently, almost tenderly over the little cheeks. I tried to suppress a whimper, then let it out, realizing it would contribute to Delacroix’s shameful paradox.

“Magnificent,” Delacroix murmured, his voice thick with approval. His hand moved lower, idly playing with the base of the butt plug secured by the harness. The sensation sent a jolt through me, a blend of discomfort and reluctant pleasure.

“Do you know why you’re wearing this?” Delacroix asked, his fingers toying with the plug, increasing my torment.

“To prepare me, Monsieur,” I managed to whisper, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to remain composed.

“Indeed,” he confirmed, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “To ensure you open properly when I fuck you here. You will be mine in every way.”

His words cut through me like a blade, the reality of my situation sinking deeper into my consciousness. Yet, I fought to maintain my facade, to cling to the innocent submissiveness Malleus had drilled into me.

“Marcus,” Delacroix addressed my handler without lifting his gaze from me. “I need to leave town for a few days. Negotiations for the power plant near Amsterdam require my personal attention.”

“Understood, Monsieur Delacroix,” Marcus replied, his tone neutral.

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