Page 45 of Sold at Auction

My miles.

My heart leapt as I began to understand that I really did belong to Marcus. Maybe it would last only a few minutes or a few hours. Maybe we would both be dead at the end of it. At least it had happened, though.

Marcus clipped the leash to the collar around my neck. His fingers, brushing against my skin, sent the usual shiver down my spine—but this time the sensation brought hope rather than despair. He gave the leash a gentle tug.

“Remember,” he murmured, his voice low and intense. “You’re playing the role of a disobedient fuck toy being punished. No matter what happens, don’t break character. I won’t be able to care for you the way I want… I won’t be able even to look at you the way I want to look at you.”

I nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “I understand, miles.”

He led me out of Delacroix’s opulent bedroom and down the hall towards the stairs, then down the stairs towards the guard room that opened off the foyer. My heart pounded so loudly, I was sure anyone nearby could hear it. As we approached the door, I could hear the low murmur of male voices and coarse laughter.

Marcus paused, his hand on the doorknob. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something darker, more primal. “Are you ready?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Yes, miles.”

He pushed open the door, and suddenly we faced six pairs of eyes. The guards lounged around the room, some playing cards, others cleaning weapons. All conversation stopped as they took in the sight of me, naked and leashed.

“Gentlemen,” Marcus announced, his voice carrying an authoritative edge I’d never heard before. “Monsieur Delacroix has decided to grant you a special privilege tonight.”

Marcus’ words hung in the air for a moment as the guards exchanged glances, their eyes raking over my naked form. I trembled, partly from fear but also from a perverse excitement I couldn’t quite suppress.

“What kind of privilege?” Jacques asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Marcus yanked my leash, forcing me to stumble forward. “This little whore has been very naughty,” he growled. “Monsieur is so angry, he’s decided she doesn’t deserve the honor of his cock. Instead, he’s giving her to you for the night.”

A low murmur of appreciation rippled through the room. I kept my eyes lowered, my cheeks burning with unfeigned shame.

“There’s more,” Marcus continued. “Monsieur wants you to be very hard on her. She needs to learn her place.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Oh, and one other thing. This cunt is still a virgin. Monsieur wants her to lose that inconvenience in the most humiliating way possible.”

Marcel, a burly guard with a thick mustache, let out a low whistle. “A virgin, eh? Well, isn’t that something special?”

Marcus nodded grimly. “Indeed. But there’s something else you should know.” He paused, his grip tightening on my leash. “Monsieur had me close her cunt as punishment for her disobedience.”

A chorus of surprised murmurs filled the room. Jacques leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with cruel curiosity. “Closed? How do you mean?”

“It’s a special procedure,” Marcus explained, his voice clinical and detached. “The outer labia are sealed together, leaving only a small opening. It makes the girl impossibly tight.” His hand came to rest on the small of my back, the heat of his palm searing my skin. “Monsieur has been using her mouth and ass regularly, but her pussy has remained untouched.”

Marcel’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Putain,” he breathed. “So she’s still got her cherry, but she’s tighter than a virgin?”

Marcus nodded. “Exactly. And because of the closure, it’s going to hurt her. A lot.” His fingers dug into my flesh, and I couldn’t suppress a small whimper. “But Monsieur says she’s such a little whore, she’ll come anyway.”

The guards exchanged looks of mingled excitement and apprehension. A younger guard—I didn’t know his name—spoke up hesitantly. “Won’t that, uh, damage her? If she’s that tight?”

Marcus fixed the young man with a steady gaze.

“I’ll fuck her first,” Marcus announced. “To show you how it’s done without harming Monsieur’s property. And to make sure this little slut is properly humiliated.”

He pulled me towards a low bench in the center of the room. “Put her on her back and hold her legs open,” he ordered. “Marcel, and…” He jerked his chin to the young guard who had shown a surprising and rather touching regard for my health. “You, Charles, so that you can see how I fuck a virgin cunt.”

As the guards advanced towards me, I cast my eyes down to the floor, my whole body burning with mortification. Marcel and Charles picked me up and turned me, then roughly laid me on the leather-upholstered bench. The world whirled around me as they came back into view, standing over me on either side.

I cried out in real fear as they moved to grasp my knees, raising them, spreading me wide, bending me so that when I raised my head and looked down my body, I had an obscene view of my spread pussy. The shameful sight brought a sob to my lips, and I lowered my head as Marcus came into my field of vision. The cool air on my exposed sex made me shiver, and I bit my lip to stifle a whimper as I looked up at my miles.

Marcus’ words echoed in my mind—little whore, slut, cunt. The crude language sent conflicting waves of shame and arousal coursing through me. I knew it was an act, that he was playing a role to keep us both alive. And yet… some primal part of me responded to his dominance, to being treated as nothing more than a fuck toy to be used, much more urgently than my submissive sexuality had responded to Delacroix.

I felt utterly exposed, spread open before these leering men. Their hungry gazes raked over my body, lingering on my breasts, my pussy. Part of me felt desperate to curl up and hide, to protect myself from their lustful stares. But another part of me—the part Malleus had awakened and trained, for Marcus as it seemed to me now—positively reveled in the attention, in being a spectacle for their entertainment.

My nipples hardened into aching points, and I could feel wetness gathering between my thighs. I burned with shame at my body’s betrayal, at how easily I slipped into the role of wanton whore. But I couldn’t deny the need building within me, the desperate ache to be filled.

---