Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

S ophia

My heart pounded like a war drum as I slipped out of my room. The oppressive silence of the chateau's halls seemed to amplify every hesitant step. The shadows enveloped me, my naked body moving with practiced grace despite the constant reminder of the training harness and the lingering sting from Marcus' spanking.

Each step I took sent a jolt through the silicone plug lodged firmly within me, a cruel distraction that I fought to ignore. The relief of having Marcus take the harness off so I could shower had made it feel even more uncomfortable and humiliating to receive it again afterward. At least this time, Marcus had used a lube that felt more slippery and less likely to chafe.

I had tried my cybernetics on the locks of the harness, but the Guard had clearly designed them for door locks, and I had had no luck. My anus would remain full, open, in training, for as long as Marcus thought necessary. Trying to make my way silently through the chateau, I found it terribly difficult to think of anything but what felt like the central facts of my new life: I was naked, except for a harness meant to subjugate me utterly.

Malleus had taught me well, though. I thanked him, mentally, as a reflexive smile tugged at the side of my mouth. All the physical training had often struck me as beside the point, back in the mithraeum— why did an agent whose only purpose was to be fucked until she could steal the data need to be able to do thirty burpees?

I hadn't, of course, ventured to ask him, because he would merely have called the question useless . Malleus had said, over and over, though, that the muscular coordination involved would serve me well.

You were right, miles, I thought as I reached the upstairs landing.

I stopped there for a long time, invisible in a corner I had noted earlier that day as Marcus had taken me to Delacroix's study. Below me, two guards made rounds on the ground floor, passing from East Wing to West Wing and back every ten minutes or so. I could see them as they moved through the foyer. Their faces were unfamiliar, which meant that I'd now seen six different henchmen. My pulse quickened a little at the realization that Marcus must have at least six guards on his security team. As far as I could tell, my fate involved being shared with all of them.

More importantly, the voice of Malleus said in my mind, those are at least six armed men you may have to deal with.

Gathering my courage, I began my descent down the grand staircase. Each marble step required careful navigation, the butt plug an ever-present torment threatening to break my concentration. I kept my steps light and deliberate, my senses hyper-aware of every sound and shadow. The opulent surroundings, the walls with their gilt molding and erotic art, seemed to mock my clandestine mission, as if the heroes and gods regarded me as no more than another nymph in need of a sound whipping and a hard fucking.

At last, I reached Delacroix's study, the door yielding to my tentative push. Instantly I moved my wrist in the pattern that activated my cybernetics, and I heard the tone indicating success. If Dr. Demetriou could be believed, the camera spoofing would reach back to cover even my entrance into the study.

The room exuded power and decadence just as it had that morning, the polished surfaces reflecting the moonlight seeping through the heavy drapes. I moved with methodical precision, my fingers tracing over the antique desk, the bookshelves, the hidden compartments I knew had to exist. The room had struck me that morning as entirely without technology other than the glint of the camera lens in the crown molding, but I had felt certain that as my hands moved across the desk's polished surface, I would hear another tone—the one that meant I'd found a computer processor with a storage device attached.

I had hardly dared hope that I might get yet another tone, as well: the special beep that would mean I'd found the correct storage device. That, Malleus had told me, would take a few seconds, as the processor installed at the base of my skull matched certain tell-tale pieces of data. And, he had said, it might not come at all, if Delacroix had changed certain things about his data strategy: when I found a storage device of any kind, I was to initiate the download whether or not I'd verified that it held the data the Guard needed.

But I heard nothing at all.

Come on… where are you? I demanded silently of the thing, the crucial air-gapped computer. My frustration mounted as my search yielded nothing but dust and disappointment. Every second spent here increased the risk of discovery, yet I felt desperate not to leave with nothing gained but the idea that maybe the obvious place to put my objective didn't hold it after all.

Despite the discomfort gnawing at my resolve, I pressed on, examining every inch of the study with meticulous care. My eyes darted across the room, scanning for any sign of the thing. The urgency of my mission thrummed through my veins, pushing me to dig deeper, search harder.

Think, Sophia , I urged myself, recalling the lessons drilled into me by Malleus. Stay calm, stay focused. Observe .

But no matter how thoroughly I combed through the study, trying to see everything, the computer remained hidden, a phantom just out of reach. Desperation clawed at my insides, mingling with the physical discomfort to send me into a reason-destroying cycle of agony and renewed determination.

I stopped and closed my eyes for a moment. I breathed in and out, calming myself as Malleus had taught me.

I can't fail. Not now. Not when so much is at stake.

But it wasn't, was it? I had three days before Delacroix came back. I felt my brow furrow as I sorted out my thoughts and feelings, and I realized where much of my desperation came from.

Marcus. His effect on me, and the danger it posed. Part of me felt in terrible, terrible need, though of what didn't seem entirely clear. Just that it had to do with him: I needed his approval. I needed him .

That meant I needed above all to finish this mission and to get the hell away.

Please, let it be here , I thought as I opened my eyes and looked around the study again. But the books on their shelves offered no answers, only the glitter of embossed, unreadable titles in the cold glow of the moon.

With a final, frustrated sweep of the room, I knew I had to return. My time was running out, and the risk of being caught grew with every passing moment. Reluctantly, I turned to leave, my mind already racing with plans for my next move.

I retreated from Delacroix's study towards the staircase. With the unsuccessful search weighing heavily on my mind, I slipped back into the shadows of the chateau, moving silently but as swiftly as I could.

The harness between my legs rubbed uncomfortably with each step, a constant reminder of my submission, my vulnerability. I paused in a pool of shadow at the foot of the stairs, straining to hear any telltale signs of approaching footsteps. Silence. Taking a deep breath, I began my ascent up the marble steps.

The moonlight filtering through the tall windows painted the hallways with a ghostly glow, casting long, eerie shadows. My destination now was Delacroix's bedroom, a place I had not yet dared to enter. Reaching the door, I hesitated for the briefest moment before pushing it open just enough to slip inside.

The room was vast, dominated by an enormous bed draped in luxurious fabrics. A large mirror hung on the wall opposite, glittering with a cold, impersonal gleam. My breath caught in my throat as I imagined what would transpire here when Delacroix returned. His innocent new bed girl—his fucking piece—would be thoroughly deflowered atop this bed, every brutal thrust mirrored for his pleasure.

The vision sent a shiver down my spine, mingling dread with an involuntary surge of arousal. I remembered the way he had fondled me, the feeling of utter abasement under the touch of the billionaire who had purchased me for his pleasure.

I shook off the troubling vision. I scanned the room quickly, noting with suddenly wide-eyes that what looked like a small office space—an alcove, really—opened out from the main area, through a small arch. I could see a desk, atop which something rose half a meter or so, and on that something a red light softly blinked.

That had to be it. If the air-gapped computer was anywhere, it would be there—and that red light seemed like it might represent the end of my search.

I started to move towards the alcove, my pulse quickening with renewed urgency. Just as I reached the bed, the sound of footsteps echoed up the staircase outside. Panic surged through me, sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. There was no time to waste.

Abandoning my search, I dashed out of the office and back into the hallway, my footsteps light but hurried. The discomfort of the harness became secondary to the need for survival as I made my way back to my own bedroom. Heart hammering in my chest, I slipped inside, closing the door softly behind me. I relocked it with my cybernetics and quickly deactivated the camera-spoofing protocol.

I had barely settled back into my bed and pulled the comforter up, the lingering discomfort of the harness pressing into my flesh, when I heard the slight creak of the door opening. My heart skipped a beat, and I forced my breathing to remain slow and steady, feigning sleep.

Marcus entered the room with unsettling quietness, his presence a mix of comfort and dread. The mattress dipped as he sat beside me, and through slitted eyes, I observed his face. His expression made my tummy flip: his face seemed a complex tapestry of desire, calculation, and an unexpected care that sent a confusing rush through me.

I felt his hands pulling the comforter away. I fought the urge to hold onto it, to keep myself covered—not because I didn't want him to see me, or even to touch me, but because I wanted those things too much. He drew the covers all the way down, and I fought to keep my breathing deep and even.

He leaned closer, and I felt his fingers brush against my exposed skin, sending shivers of both fear and arousal rippling through me. His touch traced along my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts. He moved the gentle pressure around the curve of my waist, tracing the edge of the belt that helped secure the humiliating training plug in my anus.

He ran his fingertips over my bottom cheeks, finding the raised places where his enormous hand had left the marks of discipline. He pressed softly on the base of the plug, as if he wanted to remind me, even in my sleep, of how I was being widened for Monsieur's thrusting hardness.

My body betrayed me, responding to his touch with a heated flush that spread from my cheeks to my pussy. The mission, the danger, and the urgency all seemed to blur under the haze of arousal. His fingers found the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, and I tried to keep my breaths even, though each caress ignited a fire within me.

Marcus' hands commanded me silently… gently and tenderly, but at the same time also firmly and dominantly. I let out a helpless little moan, doing everything in my power to make it seem like I was just coming out of sleep.

His hand moved more boldly and frankly, down between my thighs, to cup my pussy possessively. I let out a tiny cry and allowed my eyelids to flutter open, feigning confusion and surprise.

"Marcus? What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of genuine fear and the act I put on for him.

"Lie still," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "You need to learn to respond properly to a man's touch whenever he chooses to dominate you. Raise this knee."

"Please, Marcus… I don't understand," I lied as I felt him enforce the command with his hand, attempting to sound innocent and frightened.

"Don't resist, Sophia," he said, his fingers now parting my labia. "This is for your training."

His skilled hands began to move with more purpose, stroking, teasing, and coaxing reactions from my body that I couldn't control. I rode his hand with little thrusts of my hips, desperate to come. Each touch seemed to pull me deeper into a vortex of pleasure and submission. My thoughts of the mission grew hazy, my resolve weakening with every passing second.

"Marcus…" I moaned softly, unable to suppress the sounds escaping my lips. His touch was relentless, each stroke bringing me closer to the edge.

"Good little slut," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel how your body responds."

"Yes… oh, God," I gasped, my hips arching even harder towards his hand. The need inside me was becoming unbearable, a desperate ache that clouded my mind.

"Remember, Sophia, you belong to your master now," he said, his fingers moving faster, more insistently. "Your cunt is for his enjoyment."

"Yes, sir," I whimpered, my body trembling with the intensity of my arousal.

The mission felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the primal need consuming me.

"Please… please… I need to have you inside me, sir," I begged, my voice shaking with desperation as the utterly unplanned, unforeseen words came from my lips. "Please… may I suck your big, beautiful cock?"