Page 51 of Sold at Auction

I whimpered around his thick shaft, unable to deny the truth of his words. The mastix cracked against my bottom again, and I jerked forward, taking him even deeper.

“That’s it,” Marcus growled, his tone no longer solemn. “Take it all. Show me how much you want to please your miles. Eyes down again.”

I blinked as I obeyed, experiencing a bit of mental whiplash at my master’s mixture of ritual with sheer masculine dominance. I could hardly imagine anything more in keeping with the Pretorian Guard’s ethos, though, when I thought about it. Marcus knew how to train me in both senses, ancient and modern, theoretical and very, very practical.

His hips began to move faster, his rigid penis fucking my face with increasing urgency. The mastix fell in a steady rhythm, each lash sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure through my body. I lost myself in the sensations, in the taste and feel of him, in the burning sting of the whip.

“Such a good girl,” Marcus murmured. “So eager to serve. So desperate to be civilized.”

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of physical discomfort and overwhelming emotion. I gazed at Marcus’ muscular abs, my pussy clenching at the simple notion that I mustn’t raise my eyes to see what I pictured: the pride and desire etched on his features—or perhaps the simple savagery there.

Suddenly, he pulled out of my mouth, leaving me gasping for air. Before I could catch my breath, he moved behind me. I felt his hands on my leathers, adjusting the straps and cuffs to change my posture. He pressed my face down to the carpet and raised my backside high in the air.

I whimpered as I felt him position himself behind me, his hard cock pressing against the entrance to my desperate vagina. Despite my arousal, I tensed, remembering the pain of my first time with him in Delacroix’s guard room.

“Relax, columba,” Marcus murmured, his hand stroking my back soothingly. “I’ll be gentler this time.” Then his voice went back to the solemn tone. “I consecrate this sheath to my sword’s pleasure.”

I let out a sob, as, true to his word, he began to ease his hardness slowly into me, giving me time to adjust to his size. I moaned at the delicious stretch, my body welcoming him eagerly. When he was fully seated within me, he paused, letting me feel the fullness.

“You were made for this,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “Made to take my cock. Made to serve your miles.”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, miles. Please…”

Marcus began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had me whimpering with each thrust. The mastix fell again, its sting a counterpoint to the pleasure building within me.

“You advance, columba,” Marcus growled. “Soon you will be my nupta. Say it.”

“I…” I cried out, my mind not quite allowing me to grasp fully what he wanted. “I… soon… your nupta.”

“When I come here,” he told me, and he put a finger, or maybe his thumb, on my bottom hole, pushing it in until I cried out. “You will be my nupta. It is the final consecration, for it is the act of civilization.”

I let out a sob that mingled understanding, arousal, and humiliation. The act of civilization—because it went against nature, in its own mortifying, special way.

I felt Marcus withdraw from my pussy, leaving me aching and empty. Then I sensed the blunt head of his cock pressing against my tight rear entrance. I whimpered, torn between fear and desperate need.

“Open, columba,” Marcus murmured, his hand stroking my back soothingly. “Let your miles in. I will consecrate you fully, now.”

I tried to obey, focusing on my breathing as he began to push inside. The stretch burned, and I cried out at the intensity of the sensation.

“That’s it,” Marcus breathed, the ritual and the lust braiding themselves together. “Take it all. Show how greatly you desire civilization.”

Inch by agonizing inch, he sank into me. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to accommodate his size. When he was finally seated fully within me, he paused, allowing me to adjust.

“Bene, columba,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “You take me so well. You will soon truly be my nupta.”

He began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm. The burn of the stretch gave way to a pleasure so intense, it bordered on pain. I moaned, overwhelmed by the fullness, by the taboo nature of the act.

The civilizing act.

“Yes,” Marcus growled, formality gone in his evident lust, his need to satisfy himself in me. “Let me hear you, you naughty whore. Show me how much you love being fucked in your tight little ass, Sophia.”

His words sent a jolt of arousal through me. I pushed back against him, taking him deeper.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please… civilize me, miles. Consecrate me.”

Come… please… come there… come soon…

Marcus’ rhythm grew faster, more urgent. His hands gripped my hips tightly as he drove into me with increasing force. The pleasure and discomfort built within me, a coiling tension, braided like the cords of the mastix my miles rested on my back, threatening to snap at any moment.

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