Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

S ophia

Marcus led me from the training room into the corridor. Every step felt like a new humiliation. The dreadful, unforgettable fullness in my spanked bottom made my feet falter and my eyes water.

The leash tugged at my collar as we moved through the grand halls of the chateau. My bare feet whispered against the marble floors, and I focused on the intricate patterns in the wallpaper to distract myself from the discomfort emanating from the butt plug and the tugging of the horrid training harness that kept it so firmly placed in my bruised backside. Each movement sent a fresh wave of sensation through my body, a reminder of my vulnerability and the cruel apparatus that held me much too open.

"Keep up," Marcus commanded, his voice low but firm. His grip on the leash tightened, forcing me to quicken my pace despite the protests of my aching flesh. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing every flinch, every shiver, ensuring my compliance.

As we entered the East Wing, the opulence of the decor became almost suffocating. Gilt mirrors reflected my naked form back at me from countless angles, amplifying my shame. The erotic art lining the walls depicted scenes of dominance and submission: mythic heroes punishing unwilling maidens, gods taking what they desired without mercy. It seemed a constant, visual reminder of my place here.

Two guards stood at attention as we approached, their eyes lighting up with eager interest as they took in the sight of me. Their gazes roved over my exposed skin, lingering to my dismay on the leather straps of the harness that secured the butt plug deep within me.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Marcus greeted them with a nod, his tone cordial yet commanding.

"Morning, Monsieur Blackthorne," one of the guards replied, his eyes never leaving my body. The other guard smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my degradation.

"Show them," Marcus ordered, directing his words at me. "Turn around and bend over. Hands on your knees."

My heart pounded in my chest and my face felt like a furnace as I obeyed, turning my back to the guards and bending at the waist, my fingers and palms finding the bare, taut skin that covered my kneecaps. The position accentuated the fullness in my bottom terribly, and I fought to maintain my balance, my face burning with humiliation.

"Take a good look," Marcus said, his voice carrying an edge of authority that demonstrated his status as their boss. "But remember—no touching. She is reserved for Monsieur Delacroix."

"Understood," the first guard said, his voice tinged with amusement. I could feel them both leaning in closer, examining the angry red bruises and the harness with undisguised fascination.

"She refused to play with herself when commanded," Marcus explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "So I had to discipline her. The training harness ensures she will be properly prepared for Monsieur Delacroix's cock when the time comes for her to lose her final virginity."

The guards chuckled, the sound sending a shiver of mortification through me. My humiliation felt complete, and yet I could not afford to allow it to overwhelm me. I had to remember my mission, to stay focused despite the degrading situation I found myself in.

Innocent. Briseis.

"Have you learned your lesson, girl?" one of the guards asked in a mocking voice from behind me. "When it's my turn to use you, will you wank that little cunt until it's ready for me?"

I bit my lip, my forehead working with mortification.

"Answer him, Sophia," Marcus said sharply, giving the leash a tug. "You need to learn your place. I don't want to have to whip you every day."

I let out a little cry of surprise and alarm at the pull on my collar, and then a little whimper of utter degradation that I knew would at least emphasize my innocence and my absolutely real feeling of powerlessness.

"Yes, sir," I murmured.

"Good girl," the guard said, his smug satisfaction terribly audible.

"You may stand up, slut," Marcus instructed, tugging on the leash again, though with less force, to compel me to rise. I did so with as much grace as I could muster, fighting the urge to collapse at his feet and beg for mercy. Instead, I made myself meet his gaze, hoping to convey my desperation without words.

"See you later, gentleman," he said, giving a final nod to the guards before leading me further down the corridor. As we walked, I struggled to maintain my composure, every fiber of my being urging me to fall to my knees and plead with Marcus to save me, to take me back to the Order and the Guard.

But I knew better. Revealing my true identity, confessing my mission—it would only lead to greater danger. So I kept silent, focusing instead on the rhythm of my steps and the measured pull of the leash, determined to endure whatever lay ahead.

The rhythmic sway of my hips accentuated the dreadful fullness in my spanked bottom, a perpetual reminder of my submission. The corridor's opulent decor blurred into a haze of rich tapestries and gilded frames, their grandeur mocking my naked vulnerability.

"Keep your pace," Marcus murmured, his voice a blend of command and unspoken concern.

I obeyed, focusing on the sound of our footsteps echoing off the marble floor. As we approached the door that must lead to Delacroix's study, the weight of anticipation settled heavily in my chest. The double doors loomed before us, a portal to yet another trial I had to endure.

"Enter," Marcus commanded, pushing open the door with a flourish.

Delacroix's study exuded an air of calculated luxury. The roaring fire cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating the dark wood paneling and the sumptuous leather armchairs arranged strategically around the hearth. A large mahogany desk dominated one side of the room, its surface cluttered with documents and an assortment of fine writing instruments.

"Ah, Marcus, right on time," Delacroix's voice dripped with satisfaction as he spoke from his chair by the fire without rising. His cold gray eyes fixed on me, a predatory glint dancing within them. "And Sophia, my dear, you look just as exquisite as you did at the auction."

He motioned for Marcus to bring me closer, his gaze never wavering from my exposed form. Marcus complied, leading me to stand directly in front of Delacroix. The proximity made my skin prickle with a mix of fear and, much worse, unwanted arousal. I swallowed hard, remembering how Malleus had revealed my submissive nature simply by demonstrating his power and my weakness.

It's just my body. I can hate him, and I can steal his data, even if my pussy clenches at the idea of him owning me—even of him fucking me.

"Let's have a look at you," Delacroix said, his tone deceptively gentle. He reached out, his fingers trailing down my neck and over my collarbone, making me shiver involuntarily. "The training harness suits you well, don't you think?"

I bit my lip, striving to remain silent as his hands roamed further, caressing the curve of my breasts and the plane of my abdomen. His touch was clinical yet possessive, each stroke reinforcing my degradation.

"Turn around," he ordered, and I complied, presenting my red, bruised bottom for his inspection. "She didn't want to touch herself, I gather?"

My face burned with a new wave of embarrassment as I heard him address the question to Marcus. It only got hotter when he continued speaking, turning his attention to me.

"I'm sure Marcus told you I like a fucking piece to show how naughty she is. I imagine it seems like a contradiction to you, knowing that you'll be severely whipped for masturbating without permission. I prefer to think of it as a paradox. The sort of paradox it takes an innocent virgin some time to understand."

I felt his hands move gently, almost tenderly over the little cheeks. I tried to suppress a whimper, then let it out, realizing it would contribute to Delacroix's shameful paradox.

"Magnificent," Delacroix murmured, his voice thick with approval. His hand moved lower, idly playing with the base of the butt plug secured by the harness. The sensation sent a jolt through me, a blend of discomfort and reluctant pleasure.

"Do you know why you're wearing this?" Delacroix asked, his fingers toying with the plug, increasing my torment.

"To prepare me, Monsieur," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to remain composed.

"Indeed," he confirmed, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. "To ensure you open properly when I fuck you here. You will be mine in every way."

His words cut through me like a blade, the reality of my situation sinking deeper into my consciousness. Yet, I fought to maintain my facade, to cling to the innocent submissiveness Malleus had drilled into me.

"Marcus," Delacroix addressed my handler without lifting his gaze from me. "I need to leave town for a few days. Negotiations for the power plant near Amsterdam require my personal attention."

"Understood, Monsieur Delacroix," Marcus replied, his tone neutral.

"While I'm gone," Delacroix continued, his other hand slipping between my legs to probe my shamefully wet pussy, "make sure she understands her place. When I return, I want her ready for a memorable defloration."

I gasped at the intrusion, my body betraying me as arousal mingled with shame. Delacroix's fingers explored me with a casual intimacy that heightened my sense of powerlessness. Yet, I could not afford to lose myself in the moment; I had to remain vigilant, to remember my mission.

"Yes, Monsieur," Marcus affirmed, his grip on the leash tightening ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of his control.

"Good," Delacroix said, withdrawing his hand and wiping it on a silk handkerchief. "You may go now."

"Come," Marcus commanded, turning me away from Delacroix and guiding me back towards the door. As we exited the study, I struggled to process the conflicting emotions swirling within me. The humiliation, the arousal, the fear—all were tangled together in a web of confusion.

But I couldn't afford to dwell on them. My mission required clarity, focus, and above all, patience.

Briseis. Innocence. Observe, and act when the time comes. Did the seeds of my ultimate triumph lie within my degradation?

"Delacroix should return to the chateau by the weekend. Three days from today, is my guess," Marcus told me as we returned to the West Wing. The cold marble floor of the corridor sent shivers up my bare legs as we retraced our steps.

"You're fortunate," he continued, his voice low and authoritative. "Delacroix can't fuck you for a few days. It means you'll have more time to get used to your place here. You did well when you answered him about your harness. I don't want you failing to answer your betters, ever, though—even my men. You are a fucking piece, and Monsieur will likely give you to them at some point. I want you to get that through your head as soon as possible. You belong to Monsieur, but he likes to share."

His words were coarse, brutal, yet they stabbed at something deeper within me—a conflict I couldn't ignore. Each step was a reminder of the dreadful fullness in my bottom, the harness pinching at my tender flesh. Yet, amidst the discomfort, a flicker of hope stirred. Did Marcus feel a conflict between his mission and caring for me? Could there be some part of him that wanted to protect me, not just as fuck toy for Delacroix, but as a person?

"Monsieur," I whispered, trying to convey something—anything—that would hint at my true identity without breaking Malleus' strict warnings. "I… I'm trying to understand this, to adapt."

He glanced down at me, his piercing blue eyes unreadable. "Good. You'll need to." He offered no further solace, no indication that he understood the hidden message in my words. The emotional walls between us felt impenetrable.

We arrived at my cell, a small bedroom down the corridor from Delacroix's vast chambers. The door creaked as Marcus opened it, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent hall.

"Get inside," he ordered, pushing me gently but firmly into the room. As I stepped over the threshold, the clash of humiliation and arousal flooded my senses once again. Was he merely doing his job, or was there a part of Marcus that struggled with the degradation he imposed upon me?

"Rest," he said, locking the door behind me with a finality that seemed to seal off any chance of escape or redemption. "You'll need your strength. I'll train you further tomorrow. I'll bring the cart with dinner when the time comes, and I'll let you shower and use the toilet then."

Alone, I stood motionless for a moment, hyper-conscious of the camera surveilling my every move. The training from Malleus whispered through my mind, urging me to stay focused. I had only a few moments before anything I did could raise suspicion.

Taking a deep breath, I relied on sheer reflex. My wrist moved in the carefully practiced sequence: two flicks to the left, one to the right, three to the left. The rising beep in my ear confirmed the system concealed within my body had activated. Relief washed over me as I realized I'd successfully spoofed the camera feed. Those watching would see nothing but a generated image of me resting.

With renewed resolve, I approached the door, laying my palm flat against the lock. The magnets embedded in my hand engaged, turning the mechanism with a soft click. The bolt slid back, the only sensation a faint tug in my palm.

I took a deep breath and pulled my palm away. I put it back and felt the opposite tug as the lock re-engaged. I had no more tricks, except the one that would let me copy Delacroix's files into the tiny memory chip in my skull, but at least I knew I would have a chance to fulfill the mission when the right time came.

I had no idea when that would be, though. Not now… but, if I did it soon, was there a chance that I could get away before my first night with Delacroix? I didn't want to hope for that… but I couldn't help it.