Page 43 of Sold at Auction

“Now, whore,” Delacroix continued, his voice deceptively gentle. “Who sent you? Tell me, and perhaps I’ll allow you the release you so desperately crave. Maybe you’ll come so beautifully that I’ll keep you for my guests’ enjoyment.”

I shook my head frantically, biting my lip to keep from crying out as Marcus curled his fingers inside me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I gasped. “I was kidnapped off the street and brought to the auction. I swear, I don’t know anything!”

Delacroix’s eyes hardened. “Very well. If pleasure won’t loosen your tongue, perhaps we should return to pain.” He nodded to Marcus. “Resume the spanking. And this time, don’t stop until she breaks.”

Marcus’ fingers withdrew, leaving me aching and empty. I had only a moment to mourn their loss before his hand came down hard on my tender flesh. I screamed, the pain infinitely worse now that my nerves were already on fire with arousal.

“No, please!” I sobbed as the blows rained down. “I don’t know anything! Please stop!”

But the spanking continued, each strike sending shockwaves of agony through my body. And yet, to my horror and shame, I could feel my arousal still building with each stinging slap. I felt Marcus’ hand come away wet. I couldn’t… I just…

If I tell Marcus, somehow… if he understands, maybe he’ll save me…

Then my mind went sideways. It seemed to me that Marcus was punishing me because I hadn’t been faithful to him… because I had come so hard and so often for Delacroix, and my miles didn’t deserve to have a columba like that. If I could tell Marcus that I had undergone it all for him… for the Guard, and for Malleus, but for Marcus most of all…

I screamed it in English, some part of my mind apparently having decided that Delacroix—whose English, I knew, was perfect—might not understand this desperate, secret message to Marcus.

“Malleus sent me!”

I sensed the slight delay—less than a second, I felt certain, but definitely an interruption in the cadence—before Marcus next brought his hand up against my tormented pussy lips. I knew he had understood it all, in a moment. Panic twisted my insides, and I recognized in that split-second the incredible danger I had just put us both in, the reason Malleus had told me I must never tell Marcus about my true identity. Because Delacroix did notice: of course he noticed.

“Marcus,” he said, “does that name mean anything to you?”

The hand on my waist, giving my miles the traction he needed to spank my pussy properly, tightened. He spanked me again, and I screamed so loud I hurt my own ears, not just pain but regret and shame coming out in the sound.

“I think so,” he said smoothly. “I think that’s a codename for Tartikoff.”

It sounded like a lie to me, I told myself desperately, because of course it was a lie. Delacroix didn’t know it was a lie, and so—I tried to persuade myself—it would sound plausible, wouldn’t it?

“You know,” my so-called owner said, “it sounds rather like the kind of name the cunts from the Pretorian Guard give each other.”

Oh… no. No, no, no…

“The what, Monsieur?” Marcus asked, so smoothly that I believed for a moment I had been entirely wrong—that he actually wasn’t a miles after all, and Malleus had told me false information for some reason. It made literally no sense at all, but the overwhelming mixture of thoughts, emotions, and sensations had started to make rationality impossible.

“Ah,” Delacroix said. “Well, Marcus, I suppose you’ve been with me long enough that I can let you in on the more… existential side of our struggle. Remind me to do that after I’ve killed Sophia here.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” Marcus said.

But… my brain protested. But I told you… You can’t let him… you… Marcus… miles… master…

“Please?” I whispered.

“Did you hear that?” Delacroix asked. “She needs it very badly, doesn’t she? And I have to confess that all this has made me need to deflower that sweet, tight, little cunt quite badly myself.”

My heart pounded as I heard Delacroix’s words, the full horror of my situation crashing over me. I had failed utterly—failed my mission, failed Marcus, failed myself. And now Delacroix was going to rape me and kill me, while the man I loved stood by helplessly.

“No,” I whimpered, tugging uselessly at my bonds. “Please, no.”

“Shh,” Delacroix soothed mockingly. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise. And who knows? Perhaps if you’re an especially good fuck and your cunt is as tight as I’m hoping, I’ll keep you alive for a day or two so I can keep fucking it for a while.”

I heard the rustle of fabric as he began to undress. Panic clawed at my throat. This couldn’t be happening. Where was Marcus? Why wasn’t he doing anything?

I sensed Delacroix standing there, menacingly, behind me. I had seen his cruel grin often enough, as he took my mouth, to picture it with gut-wrenching vividness. I felt my owner’s right hand on my shoulder, squeezing so hard I cried out.

I felt the head of his cock, there where, despite the mind-robbing fear, I couldn’t help my body’s submission.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable violation. But before Delacroix could thrust himself inside me, I heard a sudden commotion behind me. There was a grunt, the sound of a brief struggle, and then a sickening crack.

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