Page 34 of Sold at Auction

“Count them, whore,” Delacroix growled, pulling back just enough to allow me to speak. “And thank your master for each one.”

I gasped for air, my voice hoarse as I managed to choke out, “One, thank you, Master.”

Marcus… I’m thanking you. For… for… My mind struggled: I could trust that Marcus cared for me, on the shreds of evidence I had for his feelings, or I could treat him as an opposing force, an enemy even, despite knowing we were truly on the same side.

For saving my life. For fucking my mouth and my ass first, before this monster had the chance.

Before I could fully process the cane’s first strike, I heard it whistle through the air again, its rattan length landing just below the first welt. I cried out around my owner’s penis, tears streaming down my face as I struggled to form words.

He ripped my mouth away again.

“Count, whore,” he commanded.

“T-two, thank you, Master,” I whimpered, my body trembling.

Delacroix thrust his cock back into my mouth, cutting off any further sounds. I gagged and sputtered, fighting to breathe through my nose as he used me ruthlessly. I heard a grunt of pleasure from deep in his chest, and I felt a crazy glow of pride.

The cane struck again, and my whole body jerked. I sobbed around the hot, mobile shaft between my lips, but Delacroix didn’t stop moving in and out, his fingers in my hair only increasing their pressure.

“You…” he said in a thick voice that seemed like a grunt to reflect how skillful I had gotten in this shameful, degrading service. “You’re such a little whore… you can forget about the counting. This little mouth is too sweet to have my pleasure interrupted by your punishment.”

He let out another grunt of enjoyment, this one prolonged almost into a groan. Again the idiotic warmth of pride rose in me.

“Go on, Marcus,” my owner said. “Make sure she learns her lesson.”

Marcus began to whip me more quickly. He struck again and again, each stroke sending shockwaves of agony through my body, each one drawing a louder cry around Delacroix’s massive manhood.

Despite the pain, though, to my shame and confusion, I felt my arousal building with each lash. My sealed pussy throbbed and clenched, desperate for stimulation it couldn’t receive. I ached there, inside, where I suddenly felt I needed something hard, something like the thick cock inside my mouth.

Marcus or Delacroix, I realized with a flash of heat in my cheeks—it didn’t matter. If I had to choose, of course, I would choose my miles, but to my horror, I suddenly clenched at the thought of how tight I would be when Marcus opened me, and how hard Delacroix would have to thrust… how loudly I would scream… the way I screamed now as Delacroix pulled his hardness from between my lips at last and bent me over, my arms painfully stretched behind me, my face pressed into the carpet and my bottom raised, so that I could receive my whipping more submissively.

“She’s the most delicious little whore I’ve ever owned,” Delacroix said, his voice growing calmer as I kept screaming under Marcus’ relentless caning, as if it soothed him to watch me disciplined with the utmost severity. “Closing her cunt was a marvelous idea, Marcus. That’s enough. I need to fuck that poor little backside right away.”

CHAPTER 15

Sophia

I felt Delacroix’s hand on the back of my head release me, and then Marcus’ hand on my upper arm, straightening me back to a kneeling position. I let out a sob of relief as the tension of the leash on my wrists lessened. The agony in my bottom and upper thighs had dulled a bit since the horrible cane had stopped lashing me, but every movement of my limbs sent a gout of flame traveling through my backside and drew a pitiful whimper from my lips.

Marcus’ strong hands grasped my upper arms, lifting me to my feet. My legs trembled, weak from kneeling and the ordeal of my punishment. As I swayed precariously, Marcus’ firm grip steadied me. When he had made sure I could balance on my feet, his hands left my arms, and I felt them behind me, unclipping the leash from my cuffs and then the cuffs themselves from one another.

“Hands in front,” he commanded brusquely.

I complied, bringing my wrists before me. Another tiny sob rose from my throat at how even that small movement awakened the pain in my bottom. The metal clinked as Marcus reattached the cuffs in front of my tummy. His fingers brushed my skin, sending an electric tingle through me despite—or because of—the agony his cane had meted out.

“Monsieur,” Marcus addressed Delacroix, his voice measured and professional. “Shall I position the bolster on the bed to raise the ass for fucking?”

My breath caught in my throat at his words. I kept my gaze lowered, not daring to look at either man.

“Yes, of course,” Delacroix replied, his tone thick with anticipation.

As Marcus moved to arrange the bed, I sensed Delacroix’s approach behind me. My owner’s hand came to rest on my bottom, cupping both of my cheeks. I whimpered, flinching at the contact. Delacroix’s touch felt paradoxically gentle as he caressed my welted flesh.

“Such a pretty shade of red, these marks,” he murmured, fingers trailing over the raised marks left by the cane. “You didn’t take your punishment well, but then I didn’t want you to.”

I cried out as he changed his manner suddenly, grasping my cheeks much more firmly, kneading them roughly. The pain flared, and I tried reflexively to jump away from my owner’s hand, only to come up against the edge of the huge bed.

Delacroix trapped me there, bending with my cuffed hands before me on the coverlet, and continued to fondle me. His touch changed again, back to a softness that to my distress instantly brought a helpless clench between my legs, in my lacy panties, behind the shameful sealing of my pussy. I felt my need, confined by my closed outer lips, begin to trickle from the little aperture Marcus had left me, and that mortifying feeling drew a new sob from deep in my chest.

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