Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

M arcus

Delacroix arrived back at the chateau late Friday night. Already in my sleeping sweats and just about to turn in, I got a text-alert from the chauffeur half an hour before his limo pulled into the portico. I struggled into my suit and tried to make my appearance presentable before hurrying to the foyer. As my evil magnate boss emerged from the limo door, I blinked back my exhaustion.

"Good evening, Monsieur," I greeted him with a slight bow, doing my best to mask any hint of weariness in my voice. "I trust your trip met with success."

"Ah, Marcus," he replied, stepping onto the gleaming marble floor of the foyer. "Indeed. Amsterdam is ours for the taking, it would appear." His cold gray eyes appraised me with their usual calculating intensity, and I wondered—as I often did—whether I could see any suspicion there.

Delacroix's mouth quirked up very slightly into a smile that, like all his smiles, didn't touch his eyes. "More importantly, though, how has my innocent little whore been faring?"

"Remarkably well," I said, forcing a smile. "Sophia has shown exceptional eagerness and unprecedented naughtiness. I've been doing the same edging exercises I used on your last piece with her, and they seem to have been quite effective. Making her play with herself twice a day in front of me seems to have rendered her pussy very needy, if her blushes are any sign to go by."

"Excellent," Delacroix purred, his tone gratifyingly full of approval. "I trust you've kept her properly disciplined?"

"Of course," I affirmed. My mind involuntarily drifted to memories of Sophia's submissive eyes, her face flushed with arousal as she lay on her bed before me, her lips wrapped around my cock. I remembered fucking her face, driving deep into her throat until she gagged, tears streaming down her cheeks. And later, taking her ass—her muffled cries through the gag mingling with my own soft grunts of pleasure as I claimed her fully.

Part of me wanted to regret those moments, but my dominant instincts wouldn't allow it. I knew I had done the right thing for Sophia, guiding her through her submission, showing her the depths of her own desire. I knew it would help her tomorrow night to remember her connection to a real, caring dominant—nor did I have any false modesty on that score. I was a Guardsman, trained to master a young woman for both our pleasure. Delacroix… Delacroix fell just shy, I thought, of being a monster.

"Her training harness has made her anus quite ready for you," I continued, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. The memory of my overwhelming orgasm inside her bottom lingered, a potent reminder of the control I wielded over her.

"Perfect," Delacroix said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "I look forward to deflowering her tomorrow night. Dress her in something that highlights her fuckability but still allows easy access to all her holes."

"Understood," I said, pushing down the uneasy feeling that rose within me. "Her pussy was waxed this morning."

"Very good," Delacroix nodded. "I know you will prepare her suitably. You always do, with my fucking pieces."

"Should I do my usual security sweep of your bedroom before you retire, Monsieur?" I asked, needing to shift the focus away from the unsettling task ahead.

"Yes, please do," Delacroix agreed, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll pour myself a whisky in the study before I head upstairs."

"Very well," I said, turning towards the grand staircase. Each step up felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the conflicting emotions swirling within me. Reaching the top, I moved down the corridor, the ornate decorations blurring together as my thoughts remained fixed on Sophia.

I opened the door to Delacroix's bedroom and stepped inside.

As I began my sweep, I heightened my senses, staying alert for any sign of disturbance. Silence reigned, but suddenly I thought I could feel something off, a movement in the air that shouldn't be there.

My hand reached for the light switch, flooding the room with brightness. A faint rustle caught my attention, pulling my gaze towards the alcove where the air-gapped computer was located.

There, with her delicate fingers reaching towards the CPU, stood Sophia. Her posture was tense, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and determination. She wore nothing but her collar and the training harness that left her most vulnerable parts exposed. The sight of her standing there, so brazenly defiant yet exquisitely submissive, sent a jolt through me.

"Sophia," I breathed, struggling to keep my voice low and steady as I crossed the floor towards her. "What are you doing?"

Her face turned pale, then flushed a deep crimson as she met my gaze. The look in her eyes was one of pure panic, mingled with something else—perhaps shame or regret. I couldn't be sure.

My mind raced. Could she be an Ostia agent? The thought seemed absurd. In this world, the culture of the Groupe Synergistique and its associated criminal organizations, countless enemies might send a honeypot like her to hack Delacroix's prized machine. Yet, the memory of her submission, her willingness, her unmistakable arousal under my command, left a lingering question.

"Explain yourself," I commanded, my voice low and urgent. "Why are you here, and what do you think you're doing?"

Sophia's lips trembled, her words seeming stuck somewhere between confession and denial. I stepped closer, needing to hear her answer, needing to understand this betrayal—or perhaps, uncover another layer of her complex nature. The desire to save her from what would happen if Delacroix learned she had somehow gotten out of her bedroom and entered his warred with my absolute need to maintain my cover.

"Marcus, I—" she began, her voice barely a whisper.

"Well, what have we here?" Delacroix's cold, menacing tone cut through the tension, freezing us both where we stood.

Sophia

I watched in terror, my eyes going from Marcus, a meter or so away from me, to Delacroix, just inside the doorway, and back again. I had pulled my left hand— my download hand , Dr. Demetriou had taught me to call it—back as soon as the lights had gone on, and now I held both hands balled in fists in front of my naked hips.

Had Marcus seen me reaching towards the computer? I felt sure he had, though whether he had understood represented a different question. As I replayed the last few moments in my mind, though, I felt certain at least that Monsieur Delacroix hadn't arrived until after I had changed my posture.

"Put your hands on your head, slut," Marcus commanded in a voice so cold, it sent ice down my spine.

With my forehead working in fear and shame, I complied. I tried to see any hint of mercy or fellow-feeling in his eyes, and failed.

"And don't look me in the eye, you misbehaving cunt. Eyes down."

Oh, God. The reaction between my thighs to his brutal words, as if something in me could tell that he meant it all somehow affectionately, made my cheeks burn. I found his feet with my eyes, and I saw them advance towards me.

I sensed the movement as Marcus' hand moved with calculated precision into his inside pocket and retrieved the leash. Then I felt his hand at my neck, and the soft, metallic click of the clip resonated in the silence of Delacroix's opulent bedroom. I felt the weight of it immediately, the stout leather a tangible symbol of my captivity.

"On your knees," Marcus commanded. "This instant."

I obeyed without hesitation, lowering myself onto the plush carpet. Immediately Marcus tugged hard on the leash. I cried out in surprise and discomfort. My upper body fell, and I had to support myself on my hands as I followed him, desperately, on all fours. He led me, like a disobedient dog, whimpering at each pull on my collar, to where Monsieur Delacroix's shiny shoes stood on the carpet, his dark-trousered legs ascending far above where I might look.

My mind raced, the events of the past few moments replaying yet again with haunting clarity. Had Marcus seen me reaching? His eyes had seemed to bore into me just as I pulled my hand back.

Yes. I was sure he had seen, but equally sure that I had managed to withdraw my hand before Delacroix entered the room. The uncertainty gnawed at me, though, each second elongating into an eternity of dread.

"Kneel up," Marcus told me in the same icy voice.

I obeyed, chewing on the inside of my cheek, terrified of what would come next.

"Hands behind you. Offer your little whore's body to your master."

With my eyes still down, I complied, clasping my hands behind my bottom and remembering to my dismay how Marcus had fucked me there two nights ago, deflowered me and claimed me—as far as I was concerned, anyway. I felt the way my little breasts heaved towards Monsieur Delacroix, and I imagined his eyes roving over me, deciding my fate.

"Look at me, cunt," Monsieur Delacroix commanded. If had thought Marcus' voice sounded cold, Delacroix's seemed like the deepest winter.

My face blazing, I complied. My owner's eyes seemed even more deeply frozen than his voice.

"Marcus," Delacroix said, his voice a frosted blend of curiosity and menace. He didn't take his gray eyes from mine as he addressed his head of security. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass as he spoke. "What do you make of my innocent little whore's presence here?"

"She was near the restricted area," Marcus replied evenly, though I detected a hint of something else—something softer beneath his usual control. What did he mean to do, incriminating me that way? Of course Delacroix would have seen where I was, so Marcus hadn't given him any new information.

"Is that so?" Delacroix's lips curled into a cruel smile. "She obviously needs to be made an example of. Take her to the basement and kill her."

My heart pounded violently against my ribs. Delacroix's reputation for brutality was not merely legend—it was a living, breathing monster that fed off the fear of those around him. The thought of his sadistic pleasure sent waves of icy terror through me, yet, shamefully, my body responded with a traitorous heat between my legs.

"Please…" I began, my voice trembling, but Delacroix cut me off with a glance.

"Silence," he hissed. "You are nothing but a fucking piece, girl. Your only value is in how you can serve me."

"Monsieur," Marcus interjected, stepping forward slightly. His eyes flickered to mine, a brief connection that sent a thrill through my whole body. "If I may suggest another form of punishment?"

Delacroix arched an eyebrow, apparently intrigued. "Go on."

"Rather than killing her," Marcus proposed, his voice steady, "why not take pleasure in using her very harshly? We could close her pussy, ensuring she remains untouched there. Then, tomorrow night, you could have the satisfaction of deflowering both her mouth and anus."

"Close her pussy?" Delacroix repeated, a sadistic gleam lighting up his eyes. "Interesting. You told me about that a few months ago, with Irene. It seemed a little excessive for her offense, but perhaps it suits Sophia's here. I think you said it was harmless, but it makes a cunt very tight?"

"And it makes it very difficult for her to climax," Marcus said, nodding.

I couldn't help it: I had taken my eyes off Delacroix so I could see Marcus' face, too. I couldn't read his expression. Panic awoke in my belly as I tried to understand.

The room seemed to shrink around me as the true horror of Marcus' plan sank in. Was he trying to protect me by keeping me alive, or was this merely a more convenient way of getting rid of me? My terror mingled, to my dismay, with insane, unwanted arousal, the sharp edge of need cutting through my thoughts.

"Very well," Delacroix said, taking a sip of his whisky. "Let's proceed with your plan. But know this, Marcus—if she disappoints me again, death will be a mercy. Also, you'll whip her tomorrow night before I fuck her face and her ass."

"Understood, Master," Marcus responded, his gaze locked onto mine.

As Marcus pulled me upright and led me out of Delacroix's bedroom, the leash tugging insistently, my mind whirled with conflicting emotions. I had narrowly escaped death, only to face an ordeal that promised untold pain and degradation. Yet, even amid the fear, a part of me couldn't help but yearn for the touch of Marcus' hands, whether they would bring punishment or forbidden pleasure.

I shuddered, each step making the leather of my training harness chafe against my skin, my nakedness as always enhancing my never-ceasing sense of vulnerability. The corridor seemed endless, shadows playing tricks on my already frayed nerves. I could almost hear Delacroix's cruel smile in the silence behind us, a silent promise of the torment to come.

"Marcus," I whispered, risking his ire. "The door… it was unlocked. I… I didn't…"

"Was it now?" His voice was cool, unreadable. He glanced back at me, his piercing blue eyes assessing, before turning away. "I'll make sure it's secured tonight."

He appeared to accept my explanation, but the knot in my stomach told me otherwise. As he guided me to my bedroom, the heavy oak door loomed like a sentinel of doom. He opened it and stepped aside, using the leash to usher me inside.

"Tomorrow will be very difficult, Sophia, because of what you've done," he said, his voice softer yet no less stern as he unclipped the leash and put it back in his pocket. "Get some rest."

Alone in my room, the huge weight of the impending punishment and the terrible prospect of my first night with my evil, sadistic owner pressed down on me. My mind reeled, replaying the events over and over. Marcus' face, so stoic, yet had his eyes betrayed something deeper? Delacroix's words, dripping with malice and dark promises. And me, caught in a web of desire and dread, both helpless and aroused by my plight.

The thought of having my pussy closed sent a thrill through me, a twisted anticipation that mingled with my fear. I couldn't help myself. My fingers found their way between my legs, trembling as they explored the slick heat of my need. I imagined Marcus' hands, strong and unyielding, sealing my labia shut, making me his in the most intimate, excruciating way.

"Please," I whispered into the darkness, feeling the wetness spread as my fingers moved rhythmically. "Marcus…"

I blushed furiously, my breath hitching as I pictured him whipping me, teaching me a terrible lesson. The pain, the humiliation, the raw intensity of it all—my body responded with a desperate urgency. My fingers delved deeper inside the place my real master, my miles , would seal, would forbid.

The sensation felt so overwhelming that it sent my other hand behind me, to touch the awful plug, widening me for my owner's hardness. Would Monsieur fuck my bottom as hard as Marcus had? Harder?

"Yes… oh god, yes…" I moaned, my hips bucking between my two hands, riding my own forbidden touch in desperate search of release. When my climax surged through me at last, it left me panting and spent.

And then it hit me. The camera. I had forgotten to spoof the camera.

"Shit," I gasped, the realization chilling me to the bone. Whoever was watching the surveillance footage would know. They would see everything.

Panic gripped me as I stared at the unblinking eye of the camera, my body still tingling from the illicit pleasure. What had I done?