Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

S ophia

I got through that night with my owner somehow. At least Monsieur Delacroix didn't seem to care when I merely lay still and received what he chose to bestow with his grasping hands and his thrusting manhood. All the while, as if I had transcended my body even further than on my previous nights of lewd service to the man who had purchased me, my mind turned over what I had heard.

Secure our future. In two weeks.

In two weeks, we secure our future.

As I drifted off to sleep, something that had become in some ways distressingly easy while tied to Delacroix's bed, I made up my mind that the Pretorian Guard must learn of the meeting, somehow, even if Marcus' cover didn't allow him to make contact. The actual information Malleus had sent me to steal from Delacroix's computer took on a material reality: the list of names Delacroix had sent to Marcus would, I felt certain, have incalculable value for the Guard.

The next morning as my true miles guided me along the opulent hallway, my mind raced with possibilities. My heart pounded as I realized I had to act tonight, simply so that I didn't risk the situation changing, my losing the tantalizing access to the computer I had every night while Delacroix felt such a need to use me every night. The fate of the mission—the future of civilization—hinged on my ability to engineer some way to get within a meter of the computer and stay there for thirty seconds or so.

"You seem tense this morning, Sophia," Marcus murmured, putting his hand lightly on the small of my back. He had never done that before. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me and distracted me from my desperate planning. Before I had come to this crucial moment, I would have given anything for that hand on my back. Knowing I couldn't communicate with the only person who might have helped me complete the mission—the only man I really wanted to touch me—made the contact almost maddening.

I forced a demure smile as I turned to look at him. "Just tired, sir. Monsieur was… demanding last night."

I blinked as I thought I saw Marcus' jaw tighten, just a little. Did I see a flicker of jealousy in his eyes as well? I swallowed hard, trying to keep the glow in my chest at bay.

Don't be stupid, columba. I told myself. I pictured Malleus, but his face had turned into Marcus'. I felt myself frown deeply in confusion, and I turned away from Marcus to keep my expression concealed.

As we approached my bedroom, I began to formulate a plan. It would be risky, potentially catastrophic if I failed. But the alternative—allowing the Groupe Synergistique to close their deal and tighten their grip on power without even the knowledge of the Guard—seemed unthinkable.

"Rest well," Marcus said as he opened my door and ushered me in. "I'll see you later."

But unlike every day for the past five days, Marcus didn't return that evening. The dinner cart, which usually arrived in the late afternoon, so that I had finished eating before my miles led me to my owner's bed, instead came at the time Marcus usually arrived.

With a growing sense of anxiety, I considered asking the guard—Jacques, one of the two whose names I'd learned—whether I should expect Marcus to come. I didn't want to give Jacques an opportunity to comment on Monsieur's pleasure with me, though, let alone raise his suspicions in some way.

Briseis. Observe. Then act.

I waited. Marcus didn't come.

As the hours ticked by, my anxiety grew. Had something happened to Marcus? Had my own cover been blown? I paced my mildly gilded cage, the plush carpet muffling my footsteps as I tried to calm my whirling thoughts.

Wait, Malleus said in my head. Watch. And when the time comes, don't let fear paralyze you.

Night fell, and moonlight filtered into my little window from a waning crescent. Doing everything in my power to keep my breathing calm and even, I activated my cybernetics to spoof the camera. Then I stood by the door, listening.

At least, I reflected, this time I didn't have the horrid training harness on. I could move much more easily than the last time I had ventured out.

I heard, faintly, sounds I felt certain came from the first floor, re-echoed by the marble of the foyer and the stairs. Unoccupied with fucking me, I felt certain, Delacroix was out of the chateau, or perhaps working in his study. If I waited too long, he would pour his brandy and bring it upstairs to bed.

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door with the magnets in my hand. I cracked it open and peered into the dimly lit hallway. I caught a glimpse of one of Marcus' guards down at the bottom of the stairway, but I knew myself to be completely invisible as I slipped along the corridor towards Delacroix's bedroom.

My heart pounded in my chest as I touched the heavy oak door. Pressing my ear against it, I listened for any sound within. Nothing.

Slowly, carefully, I turned the ornate handle and eased the door open.

"Well, well. Sophia, my little whore, I was starting to think we wouldn't see you tonight."

I froze, ice flooding my veins. Delacroix's cold voice had come from the shadows near his desk. As my eyes adjusted, I saw him lounging in an armchair, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. Beside him stood Marcus, his face an inscrutable mask.

"I… I'm sorry, Monsieur," I stammered, falling to my knees. "I… I thought… I mean, I was worried when no one came to bring me to you…"

It sounded idiotic, but I couldn't imagine that anything would have seemed the slightest bit persuasive, given that I'd just made it very clear that I could break out of my bedroom whenever I wanted. The notion that one of the guards had carelessly left the door unlocked had—barely—worked the last time; I felt certain no such excuse would strike Delacroix's ear as truthful tonight.

"You may as well shut up, whore," Marcus said coldly. "Until we begin to apply the necessary pressure, I'm sure nothing you say will provide us with a single accurate fact."

We. Us. The words seemed to slice through my soul. I knew Marcus had to use them. I knew he probably thought I came from some other international crime organization, and I had come to the chateau undercover to kill Delacroix or steal from him. But the stark indication that Marcus and I didn't go together, that we didn't represent one side of the fight Malleus had made so vivid for me… I had to stifle a sob that wanted to burst from my chest.

My heart raced as Delacroix rose from his chair, his eyes glittering with a cruel light. "I'm going to enjoy this, whore," he purred, his voice dripping with malice. "I've known for days that you were more than just a pretty fuck toy. But I wanted to savor the anticipation of breaking you completely."

He turned to Marcus. "Restrain her in the chair. Her face to the back and her arms around it. I want her spread wide and helpless, with her ass and her cunt fully available."

I shied back as Marcus approached, and then I struggled when he grabbed me, but his strong hands gripped my arms firmly. As he pulled me towards the ornate armchair, I caught a fleeting glimpse of anguish in his eyes. It vanished so quickly, I wondered if I'd imagined it.

"Please," I whimpered nonsensically as Marcus hoisted me easily off the ground and turned me around to set me on the seat cushion. "I can explain…"

Delacroix backhanded me hard across the face, making my head snap to the side. "I told you to shut up, whore. You'll speak when I allow it, and not before."

Marcus didn't reply. He didn't even tell me how to position myself on the chair: he just placed my limbs where he wanted them and restrained them with expertly tied rope that Delacroix handed him from the lacquered cabinet. Marcus bound my wrists around the back of the gorgeous antique chair; he tied my thighs to its heavy, carved, oaken arms, with my bare feet just off the back of the seat. Even with everything I had experienced from Malleus, from Delacroix, from him… I had never felt so vulnerable and exposed.

My owner turned to Marcus. "Get the solvent. It's time we finally opened up this little cunt properly."

My eyes widened in panic. It seemed silly, to the rational part of my mind, but I realized I had thought of the labial seal as my last line of defense, preserving my virginity even as Delacroix used my mouth and ass for his pleasure. I had harbored the stupid fantasy, I saw, that Marcus would somehow be the one to deflower me the old-fashioned way. Now that final barrier would be stripped away, and my owner would be the one to claim my womb.

I watched helplessly as Marcus pulled a small vial from his inside breast pocket. My tummy clipped as he approached, his face an impassive mask, and I turned my head as far as I could to follow him around to my back—the front of the chair.

I felt a sudden puff of air against my bottom. I realized what was happening at the same moment I felt Delacroix's open hand make contact, and I heard the spank ring off the walls of his gilded bedroom. I cried out, my body jerking at the pain.

My owner's left hand seized my right hip, and he kept spanking me, methodically and very, very hard.

As I cried out at each heavy stroke, he spoke, grimly and very calmly.

"I… don't… usually… spank… my own… fucking… pieces," he said. "But… for you… Sophia… I'll make… an exception."

He let go of my waist and stepped back.

"Keep your eyes forward, whore," Delacroix commanded. "Though I don't feel the need to have any excuse for punishing you, frankly. I may as well tell you that after you tell us who you're working for, and I fuck you as hard as you've deserved to be fucked, I'm going to kill you."

My whole body tensed. I could hardly have called the brutal announcement unexpected, but it provoked a physical reaction nonetheless. I twisted my body around reflexively, authentic tears springing from my eyes as if I were actually an innocent captive virgin, rather than an agent of an international espionage organization.

"No… Monsieur," I begged. "Please… please…"

But Delacroix took hold of my waist again and spanked me three more times. The reawakening of the pain from his first swats made me scream and writhe over the chair.

"Turn around, you naughty slut," he told me. "You can make this a good deal easier on yourself if you follow my instructions. Now, Marcus, let's get the cunt open so I can enjoy myself a little before the real unpleasantness begins."

He stepped back again. A moment later, I felt the little brush against my smooth pussy. With what felt to me like clinical detachment, Marcus applied the cold liquid between my legs. I felt a tingling sensation as the seal began to dissolve.

"Excellent," Delacroix pronounced, in a voice like ice. "Before I claim that sweet cunt, we need to punish her further, I think, Marcus. Spank that newly exposed pussy until it's red and swollen. I want to make certain this doesn't feel the slightest bit pleasurable for her."

Did Marcus hesitate, just for a fraction of a second? I imagined his face, and the eyes of hopeful imagination put a flicker of reluctance in his eyes. I felt my face crumple as my reason concluded that my miles would never show such doubt.

"Of course, sir," I heard him reply smoothly, and then I felt him move to take Delacroix's place behind me and to my left.

I tried to brace myself, my heart racing. The first stinging slap made me gasp. Marcus' large hand connected squarely with my most sensitive flesh, sending shockwaves of pain through my core. He struck again, and again, building a steady rhythm.

I screamed from the very beginning, knowing it represented what they wanted and unable to hold it in. With every spank, my hips jerked paradoxically backwards, as if inviting another one. Sobs burst from my chest, mingling with my cries. I hung my head over the back of the chair, my eyes closed, my self feeling a million miles away.

I told myself I would come back and think after this part had ended. I didn't have any belief that I could find a way out, but at least I would have a chance to reflect, say my goodbyes to the world, maybe find a way to tell Marcus I loved him before the end.

Then, through the haze of sensation, I heard a tone in my ear. I opened my eyes, during a brief pause in Marcus' punishment, to see that the force of Delacroix's and Marcus' spanks had pushed the chair a few inches closer to the desk, and my hand was now near enough to the computer that I could make the download.

Marcus' hand crashed against my newly exposed pussy again. I let out a scream, and at the same time, I managed to twist my left wrist in the proper sequence. I heard the tone that meant the download had begun.

Well, I told myself, maybe my dead body will keep the information… maybe the Guard will hear what happened from Marcus and they can recover the drive… maybe…