Page 50 of Sold at Auction

I shook my head slightly, not trusting my voice.

Marcus nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “A nupta is an Ostia agent who has lost her virginity in service to the Pretorian Guard. Every nupta belongs to a guardsman of the rank of miles or higher.” His hand reached out, fingers ghosting along my collarbone. “Sometimes a nupta is consecrated on her very first night of service, but it’s always more meaningful when a guardsman gets to consecrate a girl who’s been in the field, who understands the stakes.”

His words sent a shiver through me. I thought of all I had endured, all I had learned. Yes, I understood the stakes now in a way I never could have before. Marcus had picked up where Malleus left off: having seen Delacroix’s evil fiefdom, his disregard for anything but his own gain, I knew what the Pretorian Guard and the Order of Ostia represented.

Briseis, who made it all happen, consecrated at last by her own Achilles.

“You’ve proven yourself, Sophia,” Marcus continued. “You’ve shown your worth as a columba. Now it’s time for you to take the next step.” His fingers trailed down to my leather collar. “I’m going to put you back in your columba’s leathers. Then I’m going to ask if you consent to serve me faithfully as my nupta. Do you understand?”

I nodded, my heart pounding. “Yes, miles,” I whispered.

Marcus began to fasten the leather cuffs around my wrists, ankles, and thighs. Each touch of the cool leather against my skin sent a shiver through me. When he buckled the belt around my waist, I felt a surge of pride and belonging, despite the degradation that I had realized would always be an important element of my submission. These leathers marked me as his possession, and as the Pretorian Guard’s—as part of something greater than myself.

Finally, Marcus stood and looked into my eyes. “Sophia,” he said solemnly, “do you consent to serve me faithfully as my nupta? “

“Yes, miles,” I replied without hesitation. “I consent.”

A smile played at the corners of Marcus’ lips. “Bene, columba,” he murmured. He led me to the posts and made me kneel on the carpeted floor. I noticed, my eyes widening, that adjustable leather straps hung from the posts. With these, before I truly understood, Marcus secured my collar to the posts—like a rambunctious filly, I suddenly thought, held in her stall by crossties. He clipped my wrist cuffs to my belt, leaving me helpless.

My miles stepped around in front of me and shrugged off his robe, revealing his enormous, rigid cock. I couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped me at the sight.

“You must be tamed, and civilized,” Marcus told me, his voice low and intense. He offered no further explanation, but I understood: the Pretorian Guard had dedicated itself to saving civilization, beginning with its own warriors and their Ostia consorts. By taming their columbae into nuptae, as Marcus would tame me, the dominant men of the Guard also civilized themselves.

He disappeared from my view for a moment, and panic seized my insides. What he held when he returned did nothing to reassure me: a whip with braided leather tails.

“This is called a mastix,” he explained. “It is the disciplinary implement that symbolizes, above all, a guardsman’s authority.”

He let the words and the sight of the mastix sink in for a moment, holding it out to me. Then he gripped the whip’s leather-covered handle in his right hand and took his jutting manhood in his left.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, his voice seeming to mix solemnity and lust in its depth and force. “I’m going to begin by consecrating you there, columba.”

As I complied, my heart pounding and my pussy clenching in response to his order, Marcus reached the mastix out and let its braids dangle down my back. At the sheer sensuality of the touch, its implications of mercy and tenderness alongside discipline and pain, a keening sound emerged from my throat and out the lips I held as wide open as I could for my miles’ enjoyment. I stuck my tongue out, curling it over my bottom teeth, and I looked up into Marcus’ gorgeous eyes with an expression that I knew must convey utter desperation and submission: a need for my master’s hardness and my master’s control.

Tame me… civilize me… claim me…

Use me. Use me to make your cock feel good.

Marcus’ eyes darkened with desire as he gazed down at me, his rigid cock mere inches from my waiting mouth. With deliberate slowness, he pressed forward, allowing the head to rest on my tongue. I whimpered, desperate to take him in, but held myself still, waiting for his command.

“Bene, columba,” he murmured, his free hand coming to rest on my head. “So obedient. So eager to please.”

Without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself fully in my mouth. I gagged reflexively, tears springing to my eyes as I struggled to accommodate his enormous girth. Marcus held himself there for a long moment, his fingers tightening in my hair.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructed, his voice tight with restrained passion. “Relax your throat. That’s it, columba. Take all of me. You will learn.”

I focused on his words, forcing my body to obey. He had said You will learn in a tone so solemn, I knew it must represent part of the ritual. Gradually, the feeling of suffocation eased, and I felt a surge of pride at being able to please him this way.

“Eyes down,” he instructed. “Show your submission.”

I obeyed, cheeks burning, and my whole world became my miles’ powerful naked lap. His wiry curls brushed my nose. I felt utterly degraded and thus completely honored, by my master’s use.

Marcus began to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had me struggling for air with each thrust. At the same time, the braids of the mastix left my back, and I sensed Marcus’ arm rising. Then I cried out around his massive cock as I felt the first lash descend, the whipcords stinging against my bottom, curving around the little cheeks to seek out the most sensitive places. The dual sensations—the fullness in my mouth and the punishing lash on my backside—had me trembling with need.

“Look at me,” Marcus commanded. I raised my gaze to meet his.

Marcus’ eyes burned with an intensity that made me dizzy as they locked onto mine. The humiliation of my position, kneeling before him with his cock in my mouth and my hands bound to my sides, sent a thrill through my body. I felt utterly exposed, completely at his mercy. To either side, the straps that secured me to the posts seemed like a terrible reminder of how desperately I needed taming—as long as my miles was the one to teach me these paradoxically wild, but finally civilizing lessons.

“You advance, columba,” he intoned in the voice that meant he spoke words of ritual, a low rumble that vibrated through me. “Though you must learn still more.”

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