Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

S ophia

I couldn't believe I'd just said it… that I'd just begged to suck a man's cock—let alone the rigid penis of the miles undercover with Delacroix, the man whose cover I must not blow—and who must not learn my real identity. The words hung in the air between us, tangible in their audacity.

My heart pounded as Marcus continued to stroke the slick folds of my achingly virgin pussy. His fingers were unyielding, deliberate. The friction stoked the desperate fire within me, each touch fanning the flames of the dark need that despite Malleus' training still frightened and shamed me.

"Have you sucked a man's cock before?" Marcus' voice broke the silence, calm yet probing.

I turned my face to the side, so I could see him sitting there on the side of my bed, gazing down at me. His eyes bored into mine, seeming to seek out every hidden truth.

I hesitated, caught between the throbbing ache of arousal and the shame that threatened to overwhelm me. "Yes," I whispered, clinging to the backstory Malleus had drilled into me. "The concubine broker who kidnapped me… he trained me with a dildo."

Marcus' eyebrows rose, his curiosity obviously sparked. His hand never faltered in its rhythmic torment. "Did you find the training difficult?"

Images flooded my mind—Malleus thrusting the girl trainer in and out of my mouth, his gaze cold and calculating. My cheeks burned crimson, the memory as vivid as the present humiliation. "Terribly embarrassing," I admitted in a whisper, my voice barely audible over the rush of my own pulse.

"Was it arousing, too?" His questions cut through my shame, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.

"Yes," I breathed. The confession seemed to tumble from my lips like a secret that I was desperate to unveil. The acknowledgement intensified the heat rising in my core, a forbidden thrill mingling with the mortification.

Marcus' grip tightened, his authority palpable. In that moment, the weight of my mission collided with the undeniable pull of my submissive nature. I felt torn, a puppet on strings pulled taut by conflicting desires. He continued his relentless exploration of my body, each pressure of his fingertips on my clit, each gentle thrust of the two digits, up to my intact hymen, a reminder of the power he wielded over me.

"Then I think you should show me," he commanded softly, his voice a velvet caress against the frayed edges of my resolve.

My breath hitched, my body trembling with anticipation and dread. The line between duty and desire blurred, leaving me adrift in a sea of sensations.

"For your owner's sake." Marcus' eyes darkened with an evident hunger that seemed to consume the very air between us. His left hand remained firmly on my pussy from behind for a second, as if he'd hesitated, and then abruptly withdrew. I gasped at the sudden loss of his touch, but my breath caught once more as he stood, moving to stand next to my face, towering over me in all his dark dominance.

"Go ahead," he commanded, voice low and edged with desire. His fingers deftly worked at the buttons of his fly, revealing the hard length of his cock, jutting from the fabric of his trousers. "Perform the act you begged for. I'll use your service as an opportunity to further train you for Delacroix's bed."

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat like a hammer driving me deeper into my submission. The enormity of what I'd asked for settled over me, heavy and intoxicating. He resumed his ministrations, fingers delving back into the slick heat of my pussy, maintaining a rhythm that left my reason teetering on the edge of complete incoherence.

My hands, along my flanks, clenched into little fists as I moved my upper body towards the enormous, rigid manhood I could just make out in the dim moonlight from the little shuttered window. The act seemed to me both a surrender and an assertion of my unspoken needs. My mouth opened, hesitantly at first, the head of his cock brushing against my lips. A shudder ran through me, the mixture of shame and arousal clouding my thoughts as my mind tried to get traction over the terrible complexities of the moment.

"That's it," Marcus murmured, his voice a velvet chain binding me closer. "Show me how well you've been trained."

I took him into my mouth, the taste of him foreign, a little salty and a little bitter, yet undeniably arousing. I tried to make each movement deliberate, the same way he worked my pussy to train me in the irresistibility of my submissive pleasure. My tongue explored the thrilling contours of his hardness. The weight of his approval seemed to hang in the balance, a tantalizing prize that drove me to push past my own hesitation.

My efforts were met with a guttural groan from Marcus, his hand finding the back of my head, guiding me with a firm but gentle pressure. The sensation of his cock filling my mouth, the taste and texture overwhelming my senses, sent waves of conflicting emotions surging through me. Shame warred with arousal, each thrust into my mouth deepening my need for his approval, even as it stripped away layers of my dignity.

"Good girl," he muttered, his grip tightening as he began to thrust harder, forcing me to take him deeper. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, from discomfort—but also from the sheer intensity of the moment. My own arousal spiked, the humiliating act paradoxically feeding the fire within me.

Each thrust was a claim, a reminder of the power he wielded over me. My body responded instinctively, hips arching into his persistent touch, seeking more of his mastery. The sounds of my own muffled moans filled the room, a testament to my helpless arousal.

"That's it," Marcus growled, his voice rough with desire. "Take it all."

His words acted as a catalyst, pushing me beyond the boundaries of my own self-control. I sucked him with renewed fervor, desperate to please, desperate for his acknowledgment. The physical act became a conduit for my submissive needs, each thrust an affirmation of my place beneath him.

"Such a good little fuck toy," he praised, his tone a mix of lust and authority. The words seemed to sear into my mind, to brand me. I felt myself longing to fall into his control, not as a columba undercover on a mission, but as a captive innocent, prepared for his pleasure, and his alone.

The tension in his body grew palpable, each movement more urgent, more demanding. My own arousal mirrored his, the lines between shame and pain, and pain and pleasure blurring until they seemed indistinguishable. With a final, forceful thrust, he buried himself deep in my mouth, the sensation sending a shudder through my entire being.

He held himself there for just a moment. I thought he would climax—despite the shame of it, I wanted him to come in my mouth. He didn't. I had closed my eyes to concentrate on my task, on the sensations in both of our bodies. Now, I opened them to look up at Marcus and saw him on the verge of deciding something.

Suddenly, he reached into his inside breast pocket and pulled out a small device. He pressed a button, and I heard a faint beep.

"Now they won't see us," he said, his voice tinged with an intimacy that made my heart pound even faster. A private moment, a chance to speak freely—but what could I say? How could I navigate the treacherous waters of my mission and my growing feelings for him?

He pulled his hardness from between my lips. I hesitated, and then I spoke.

"Marcus, I…"

But Marcus had grabbed a washcloth from the little nightstand. Deftly he gagged me with it, forcing the fabric between my lips before I could utter another syllable.

"Kneel on the bed," he ordered, his tone brooking no disobedience. "Then bend over, face in the covers."

I complied, as much to gain time to think as out of submission or fear. My body trembled as I positioned myself on the bed, the softness of the sheet cool against my heated skin. My heart raced, my thoughts a tumult of fear, excitement, and the hope that I might find a way to reach him, to communicate with him and to gain his help.

Marcus' fingers found the clasps of my training harness. I felt him manipulate the locks in a complicated way, and I heard them click open. The leather straps had dug into my skin, a constant reminder of my submission, but as they fell away, a new kind of vulnerability washed over me. I gave a muffled cry around the gag as he pulled the awful plug from my bottom.

"You're going to lose your anal virginity tonight," he announced in a low growl. His voice sounded darkly authoritative, laced with an undercurrent of desire that made my heart race.

I couldn't see him, my face still buried in the covers, but I heard the soft rustle of fabric as he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. The subtle scent of the lubricant filled the air, mingling with the musk of our arousal.

"Relax," he commanded, his breath hot against my ear as his fingers trailed down to the sensitive ring of muscle, where I felt very strange after the removal of my butt plug. The first touch was gentle, exploratory, but firm enough to leave no doubt about what was coming.

A moan escaped my lips as his lubricated finger breached me, sliding inside with a slow, deliberate motion. He worked carefully, stretching and relaxing me, his expertise evident in every movement. My body responded instinctively, hips arching towards him even as my mind wrestled with the implications of my submission.

"Unfortunately for you, Sophia, I'm afraid Delacroix will not be this gentle," Marcus murmured, his words a cruel promise that sent a shiver down my spine.

Another finger joined the first, scissoring inside me to prepare me further. The sensation was a blend of discomfort and burgeoning pleasure, each stretch both a challenge and an invitation. His thumb found my clit, circling it with maddening precision, heightening my arousal until I was trembling beneath him.

"You're ready," he said, more to himself than to me, and I felt the absence of his fingers as he withdrew them, only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock.

"Stay still," he ordered, his hands gripping my hips.

I could do nothing but comply, my breath coming in gasps as he began to press forward. The initial resistance gave way to a slow, relentless invasion. Inch by inch, he claimed me, each thrust pushing me further into a realm of exquisite pain and pleasure.

"God, you're tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "But your harness is helping, and you'll learn how to open better. You'll become exactly what Monsieur needs you to be."

His dominance overwhelmed me, every thrust sending shockwaves through my body. He moved with a rhythm that was both punishing and tender, detaching my mind from my body as he pushed deeper, forcing me to confront the heat and darkness of my own desires.

"Look at you," he panted, one hand tangling in my hair to pull my head back. "So desperate, so eager to be taken."

My response was a strangled cry around the gag, my body betraying me with its willing submission. Each time he drove into me, the pain melded with the pleasure, creating a sensation that was almost too much to bear.

Abruptly Marcus reached under me, between my thighs, and seized me there. His skillful fingers made my hips buck as a climax began to build steadily, an unstoppable force gathering momentum with every thrust.

"Come for me," Marcus demanded, his grip tightening as he slammed into me with renewed fervor. "Show me how much you need this."

With a final, brutal thrust, he sent me spiraling into orgasm, my muscles contracting around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over me. He didn't stop, riding out my climax with relentless determination, his own release following moments later with a guttural growl.

As the aftershocks subsided, he stayed buried deep inside me, his breath ragged in my ear. He straightened, slowly, and I felt him soften inside me and then slip out. I collapsed onto the bed, hardly noticing as Marcus refastened the harness around my waist. The awful plug, re-lubed, slipped much more easily into my anus.

The sensation seemed so forbidden and yet so intimate that I made up my mind in an instant: I would tell him, whatever Malleus would think. I readied myself to speak, as soon as Marcus took the gag from my mouth.

Then, through the haze of my pleasure and my discomfort, I heard the same beep I had heard before. He had reactivated the camera. My heart sank; the chance to reveal my true identity to him slipped away like sand through my fingers.

Still, I seemed to float somewhere far away, where it didn't matter. He pulled the gag from my mouth and replaced it on the nightstand. I hardly noticed as he touched my shoulder.

"You may sleep late tomorrow like a good little slut," he told me. His voice sounded troubled: my heart went out to him without compunction, despite the brutal fucking he had just given my virgin anus. I knew his dilemma, but he didn't know mine. It helped me to feel I had an ally in the chateau even if I couldn't communicate with him, but Marcus had no such support.

I looked over my shoulder as he turned and exited the bedroom, the heavy door closing behind him with a resounding thud. The lock clicked into place, sealing me in my private prison of conflicting emotions and desires.

I lay there, my body still humming with the aftershocks of the intense encounter. The sensation of the butt plug remained, both uncomfortable and arousing, a constant reminder of my submissive state. My mind whirled, replaying every moment, every touch, every word.

I couldn't resist. I flicked my wrist, spoofing the camera, creating a brief, desperate window of privacy. The tiny act of rebellion sent a thrill through me. I turned onto my side and with a hot blush, I carefully placed the gag back in my mouth, ensuring that any sounds I made wouldn't be overheard.

My fingers found their way to my pussy, already slick with arousal. I began to stroke myself, my other hand moving to the butt plug, gently teasing it in and out. The sensations built rapidly, my body responding eagerly to my touch. Each movement brought me closer to the edge, my thoughts consumed by the memories of Marcus' dominant presence.

As I neared climax, I remembered the way he had taken me, the loss of my innocence under his skilled hands. The mix of pleasure and pain had pushed me to new heights, revealing parts of myself I hadn't known. The thought that I must continue to pretend to be an innocent virgin made my heart beat faster, made me feel much naughtier under my own lascivious touch. Even as I explored these dark, submissive desires, and tried to manipulate Marcus for my mission, I must do my best to seem modest and pure.

Briseis. Passive but essential. Observing.

The wave of my orgasm crashed over me, my muscles tightening around my fingers and the plug, my body trembling with release. My mind spun with thoughts of the bed girl in the Iliad, the ultimate observer, the fuck toy who wielded real power in her own way. I wondered if she had played with herself, finished herself off after her mighty warrior's cock had left her with too much need between her legs.

I removed the gag. I unspoofed the camera. I settled down at last, exhaustion overtaking me. As I drifted off, with the satisfaction in my pussy and the corresponding languor in my limbs overcoming all my anxiety and even the discomfort of the harness, my thoughts grew jumbled.

They all went together, it seemed like, to combine into something larger. Greater even. But I couldn't seem to put them into proper order, and consciousness fled as I was still trying to line the ideas up into something meaningful.

Briseis… observer… fuck toy… real power… Marcus… Marcus… Marcus.