Page 23 of Sold at Auction

“While I’m gone,” Delacroix continued, his other hand slipping between my legs to probe my shamefully wet pussy, “make sure she understands her place. When I return, I want her ready for a memorable defloration.”

I gasped at the intrusion, my body betraying me as arousal mingled with shame. Delacroix’s fingers explored me with a casual intimacy that heightened my sense of powerlessness. Yet, I could not afford to lose myself in the moment; I had to remain vigilant, to remember my mission.

“Yes, Monsieur,” Marcus affirmed, his grip on the leash tightening ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of his control.

“Good,” Delacroix said, withdrawing his hand and wiping it on a silk handkerchief. “You may go now.”

“Come,” Marcus commanded, turning me away from Delacroix and guiding me back towards the door. As we exited the study, I struggled to process the conflicting emotions swirling within me. The humiliation, the arousal, the fear—all were tangled together in a web of confusion.

But I couldn’t afford to dwell on them. My mission required clarity, focus, and above all, patience.

Briseis. Innocence. Observe, and act when the time comes. Did the seeds of my ultimate triumph lie within my degradation?

“Delacroix should return to the chateau by the weekend. Three days from today, is my guess,” Marcus told me as we returned to the West Wing. The cold marble floor of the corridor sent shivers up my bare legs as we retraced our steps.

“You’re fortunate,” he continued, his voice low and authoritative. “Delacroix can’t fuck you for a few days. It means you’ll have more time to get used to your place here. You did well when you answered him about your harness. I don’t want you failing to answer your betters, ever, though—even my men. You are a fucking piece, and Monsieur will likely give you to them at some point. I want you to get that through your head as soon as possible. You belong to Monsieur, but he likes to share.”

His words were coarse, brutal, yet they stabbed at something deeper within me—a conflict I couldn’t ignore. Each step was a reminder of the dreadful fullness in my bottom, the harness pinching at my tender flesh. Yet, amidst the discomfort, a flicker of hope stirred. Did Marcus feel a conflict between his mission and caring for me? Could there be some part of him that wanted to protect me, not just as fuck toy for Delacroix, but as a person?

“Monsieur,” I whispered, trying to convey something—anything—that would hint at my true identity without breaking Malleus’ strict warnings. “I… I’m trying to understand this, to adapt.”

He glanced down at me, his piercing blue eyes unreadable. “Good. You’ll need to.” He offered no further solace, no indication that he understood the hidden message in my words. The emotional walls between us felt impenetrable.

We arrived at my cell, a small bedroom down the corridor from Delacroix’s vast chambers. The door creaked as Marcus opened it, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent hall.

“Get inside,” he ordered, pushing me gently but firmly into the room. As I stepped over the threshold, the clash of humiliation and arousal flooded my senses once again. Was he merely doing his job, or was there a part of Marcus that struggled with the degradation he imposed upon me?

“Rest,” he said, locking the door behind me with a finality that seemed to seal off any chance of escape or redemption. “You’ll need your strength. I’ll train you further tomorrow. I’ll bring the cart with dinner when the time comes, and I’ll let you shower and use the toilet then.”

Alone, I stood motionless for a moment, hyper-conscious of the camera surveilling my every move. The training from Malleus whispered through my mind, urging me to stay focused. I had only a few moments before anything I did could raise suspicion.

Taking a deep breath, I relied on sheer reflex. My wrist moved in the carefully practiced sequence: two flicks to the left, one to the right, three to the left. The rising beep in my ear confirmed the system concealed within my body had activated. Relief washed over me as I realized I’d successfully spoofed the camera feed. Those watching would see nothing but a generated image of me resting.

With renewed resolve, I approached the door, laying my palm flat against the lock. The magnets embedded in my hand engaged, turning the mechanism with a soft click. The bolt slid back, the only sensation a faint tug in my palm.

I took a deep breath and pulled my palm away. I put it back and felt the opposite tug as the lock re-engaged. I had no more tricks, except the one that would let me copy Delacroix’s files into the tiny memory chip in my skull, but at least I knew I would have a chance to fulfill the mission when the right time came.

I had no idea when that would be, though. Not now… but, if I did it soon, was there a chance that I could get away before my first night with Delacroix? I didn’t want to hope for that… but I couldn’t help it.

CHAPTER 10

Sophia

My heart pounded like a war drum as I slipped out of my room. The oppressive silence of the chateau’s halls seemed to amplify every hesitant step. The shadows enveloped me, my naked body moving with practiced grace despite the constant reminder of the training harness and the lingering sting from Marcus’ spanking.

Each step I took sent a jolt through the silicone plug lodged firmly within me, a cruel distraction that I fought to ignore. The relief of having Marcus take the harness off so I could shower had made it feel even more uncomfortable and humiliating to receive it again afterward. At least this time, Marcus had used a lube that felt more slippery and less likely to chafe.

I had tried my cybernetics on the locks of the harness, but the Guard had clearly designed them for door locks, and I had had no luck. My anus would remain full, open, in training, for as long as Marcus thought necessary. Trying to make my way silently through the chateau, I found it terribly difficult to think of anything but what felt like the central facts of my new life: I was naked, except for a harness meant to subjugate me utterly.

Malleus had taught me well, though. I thanked him, mentally, as a reflexive smile tugged at the side of my mouth. All the physical training had often struck me as beside the point, back in the mithraeum—why did an agent whose only purpose was to be fucked until she could steal the data need to be able to do thirty burpees?

I hadn’t, of course, ventured to ask him, because he would merely have called the question useless. Malleus had said, over and over, though, that the muscular coordination involved would serve me well.

You were right, miles, I thought as I reached the upstairs landing.

I stopped there for a long time, invisible in a corner I had noted earlier that day as Marcus had taken me to Delacroix’s study. Below me, two guards made rounds on the ground floor, passing from East Wing to West Wing and back every ten minutes or so. I could see them as they moved through the foyer. Their faces were unfamiliar, which meant that I’d now seen six different henchmen. My pulse quickened a little at the realization that Marcus must have at least six guards on his security team. As far as I could tell, my fate involved being shared with all of them.

More importantly, the voice of Malleus said in my mind, those are at least six armed men you may have to deal with.

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