Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

S ophia

Marcus' huge, strong hand just kept spanking me there, where he had closed me and opened me. Where, in my mind, he simply owned me, no matter how much money Monsieur Delacroix had paid for the title to my most intimate places.

Delacroix had used my mouth and my bottom more times than I could count—but Marcus had had them first. Now, the idea that Delacroix's manhood would be the first to enter my pussy… the only one, because of the death he had promised me… the first and only cock to open me that way, to make a woman of me as the antique saying went… I couldn't bear it.

Made for Marcus, I thought in my near delirium of pain and fear. I was made for Marcus, there… for Marcus' hard cock… for Marcus' firm hand…

I feared suddenly that if Delacroix offered to let my miles deflower me, rather than Delacroix himself, I would tell the evil magnate everything.

Something happened in my ear. A noise… a tone. It took me a long moment to remember what it meant. Before I understood the thing in my ear, I had let out another scream, as Marcus' punishing hand found my pussy again. My body struggled reflexively against the ropes that bound me to my owner's chair. I almost forgot about the tone in the haze of pain that swirled around me, and then somehow, I connected it to the thing I had done with my wrist some endless-feeling time before.

The download finished. I completed the mission.

It didn't seem to mean anything to me. Everything else, above all the fiery agony between my thighs… the sensation's connection to the man I loved… the way he was punishing me because he had no choice… that all meant so much more.

Plus, you know, the thing about how Delacroix is going to rape you and then kill you.

"Enough," Delacroix's voice cut through the mind-destroying torment. "Enough for now, at least, Marcus, I think."

Marcus' hand stilled instantly, leaving my abused flesh throbbing. I whimpered, my body trembling with residual pain and fear.

"I must confess," Delacroix continued, his cultured tones dripping with cruel amusement, "I find myself most intrigued by this naughty little fuck toy. While I'm certainly eager to hear what secrets she'll spill when introduced to real pain, I find myself rather, shall we say… bewitched."

He paused, and I could feel his icy gaze raking over my bound form. "Yes, I've been bewitched by my exquisite fucking piece, despite her obviously malignant intentions. Something in me would like to see her feel the whorish sort of pleasure I've given her here in my boudoir so many times. Indeed I'm curious to see what her sheer need for cock might accomplish."

My heart raced. Pleasure? After the torture I'd just endured, the very idea seemed absurd. And yet, to my horror, a traitorous flutter of arousal stirred deep within me.

"Marcus," Delacroix commanded, "let's begin by seeing how quickly you can get my naughty fucking piece wet after her cunt spanking. I have a notion that even knowing she's going to die tonight won't keep that little quim dry."

I heard Marcus inhale sharply, and as always, I wondered—did the breath indicate mere feigned appreciation of his brutal boss' whim, or did my miles have to control himself so as not to show that he cared for my safety—or for who truly owned me, body and soul?

"Yes, Monsieur," he replied, his voice sounding carefully neutral.

His touch, when it came, was shockingly gentle. Strong fingers ghosted over my inflamed labia, barely making contact. I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily.

"Shh," Marcus soothed.

Marcus' gentle touch sent tremors through my body, such a stark contrast to the punishing spanks he had delivered moments ago that I felt my consciousness begin to drift away. His fingers traced delicate patterns along my swollen folds. I felt myself respond, though part of me wanted to resist, as if Delacroix's brutal words had represented a challenge to keep my naughty pussy dry. My helpless body, conditioned by Malleus' hand, by Marcus' own hand and rigid cock… even by the monstrous man who thought himself my owner… awoke almost instantly under his skilled ministrations.

"Please," I whimpered, unsure if I was begging him to stop or continue. The conflicting sensations of lingering pain and budding arousal left me dizzy and confused.

"As I expected. Look how quickly she responds," Delacroix observed, the ice in his voice lost to sadistic glee. "Such a wanton little whore."

I squeezed my eyes shut, shame and desire, fear and pain, warring within me. Marcus' fingers dipped lower, circling my entrance with maddening slowness. A small moan escaped my lips before I could stifle it.

"Open your eyes," Delacroix commanded. "I want to see the moment you break, Sophia. Maybe I won't kill you, if you open your eyes. Maybe I'll even let you come."

I let out a sob and I obeyed, because there seemed no point in not complying, despite the utter emptiness of his horrible teasing promises and threats. I met Delacroix's cold gaze. His eyes glittered with cruel anticipation as he watched me struggle against the pleasure building within me.

Without warning, Marcus slipped two fingers inside me, curling them expertly to stroke that spot that made me see stars. As he had promised his employer, the closure of my pussy had rendered the passage much narrower: I cried out in mingled discomfort and need, the arousal seemingly made exponentially greater by the feeling that my true master had just forced his way into my aching sheath.

"Oh God," I gasped, my hips bucking reflexively.

"Tell me, my dear," Delacroix purred, leaning in close. "Who sent you?"

My mind reeled as Marcus' skilled fingers worked their awful magic inside me. I couldn't think straight, couldn't form a coherent thought beyond the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Delacroix's question barely registered.

"Please," I whimpered, not even sure what I was begging for anymore. "Please, I… I can't…"

"Can't what, my dear?" Delacroix's voice dripped with false concern. "Can't resist the pleasure? Or can't keep your secrets?"

Marcus' thumb found my clit, circling it with exquisite pressure. I cried out, my back arching as far as my bonds would allow.

"Please," I gasped again. "I n-need… I…"

A sudden, irrational thought seized me. If I had something in my mouth—a cock, specifically—I wouldn't be able to talk. I wouldn't be able to betray my mission, betray Marcus, betray everything.

"Please," I begged, fixing my gaze on Delacroix. "Please let me suck your cock, Monsieur. I need it in my mouth. Please."

Delacroix's eyebrows shot up, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "My, my. What an eager little cocksucker you are. But I'm afraid that won't do, my pet. I want answers, not your talented mouth. Though I'm sure we'll put it to good use later."

His words sent a shiver of fear through me, even as Marcus' fingers continued their relentless assault on my senses. I whimpered, torn between the mounting pleasure and the terror of what might come next.

"Now, whore," Delacroix continued, his voice deceptively gentle. "Who sent you? Tell me, and perhaps I'll allow you the release you so desperately crave. Maybe you'll come so beautifully that I'll keep you for my guests' enjoyment."

I shook my head frantically, biting my lip to keep from crying out as Marcus curled his fingers inside me. "I don't know what you're talking about," I gasped. "I was kidnapped off the street and brought to the auction. I swear, I don't know anything!"

Delacroix's eyes hardened. "Very well. If pleasure won't loosen your tongue, perhaps we should return to pain." He nodded to Marcus. "Resume the spanking. And this time, don't stop until she breaks."

Marcus' fingers withdrew, leaving me aching and empty. I had only a moment to mourn their loss before his hand came down hard on my tender flesh. I screamed, the pain infinitely worse now that my nerves were already on fire with arousal.

"No, please!" I sobbed as the blows rained down. "I don't know anything! Please stop!"

But the spanking continued, each strike sending shockwaves of agony through my body. And yet, to my horror and shame, I could feel my arousal still building with each stinging slap. I felt Marcus' hand come away wet. I couldn't… I just…

If I tell Marcus, somehow… if he understands, maybe he'll save me…

Then my mind went sideways. It seemed to me that Marcus was punishing me because I hadn't been faithful to him… because I had come so hard and so often for Delacroix, and my miles didn't deserve to have a columba like that. If I could tell Marcus that I had undergone it all for him… for the Guard, and for Malleus, but for Marcus most of all…

I screamed it in English, some part of my mind apparently having decided that Delacroix—whose English, I knew, was perfect—might not understand this desperate, secret message to Marcus.

"Malleus sent me!"

I sensed the slight delay—less than a second, I felt certain, but definitely an interruption in the cadence—before Marcus next brought his hand up against my tormented pussy lips. I knew he had understood it all, in a moment. Panic twisted my insides, and I recognized in that split-second the incredible danger I had just put us both in, the reason Malleus had told me I must never tell Marcus about my true identity. Because Delacroix did notice: of course he noticed.

"Marcus," he said, "does that name mean anything to you?"

The hand on my waist, giving my miles the traction he needed to spank my pussy properly, tightened. He spanked me again, and I screamed so loud I hurt my own ears, not just pain but regret and shame coming out in the sound.

"I think so," he said smoothly. "I think that's a codename for Tartikoff."

It sounded like a lie to me, I told myself desperately, because of course it was a lie. Delacroix didn't know it was a lie, and so—I tried to persuade myself—it would sound plausible, wouldn't it?

"You know," my so-called owner said, "it sounds rather like the kind of name the cunts from the Pretorian Guard give each other."

Oh… no. No, no, no…

"The what, Monsieur?" Marcus asked, so smoothly that I believed for a moment I had been entirely wrong—that he actually wasn't a miles after all, and Malleus had told me false information for some reason. It made literally no sense at all, but the overwhelming mixture of thoughts, emotions, and sensations had started to make rationality impossible.

"Ah," Delacroix said. "Well, Marcus, I suppose you've been with me long enough that I can let you in on the more… existential side of our struggle. Remind me to do that after I've killed Sophia here."

"Of course, Monsieur," Marcus said.

But… my brain protested. But I told you… You can't let him… you… Marcus… miles … master…

"Please?" I whispered.

"Did you hear that?" Delacroix asked. "She needs it very badly, doesn't she? And I have to confess that all this has made me need to deflower that sweet, tight, little cunt quite badly myself."

My heart pounded as I heard Delacroix's words, the full horror of my situation crashing over me. I had failed utterly—failed my mission, failed Marcus, failed myself. And now Delacroix was going to rape me and kill me, while the man I loved stood by helplessly.

"No," I whimpered, tugging uselessly at my bonds. "Please, no."

"Shh," Delacroix soothed mockingly. "You'll enjoy it, I promise. And who knows? Perhaps if you're an especially good fuck and your cunt is as tight as I'm hoping, I'll keep you alive for a day or two so I can keep fucking it for a while."

I heard the rustle of fabric as he began to undress. Panic clawed at my throat. This couldn't be happening. Where was Marcus? Why wasn't he doing anything?

I sensed Delacroix standing there, menacingly, behind me. I had seen his cruel grin often enough, as he took my mouth, to picture it with gut-wrenching vividness. I felt my owner's right hand on my shoulder, squeezing so hard I cried out.

I felt the head of his cock, there where, despite the mind-robbing fear, I couldn't help my body's submission.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable violation. But before Delacroix could thrust himself inside me, I heard a sudden commotion behind me. There was a grunt, the sound of a brief struggle, and then a sickening crack.

My eyes flew open in shock. I twisted my head around as far as I could, straining to see what had happened.

Marcus stood there, his face a mask of cold fury. At his feet lay Delacroix's crumpled form, his head twisted at an unnatural angle.

"Marcus?" I whispered, hardly daring to believe what I was seeing.

His eyes met mine, softening slightly. "It's over, Sophia," he said quietly. "You're safe now."

Relief crashed over me like a wave, leaving me weak and trembling. "You… you killed him," I managed to say.

Marcus nodded grimly. "I had no choice. He knew too much." He moved swiftly to untie me, his touch gentle as he freed my abraded wrists and ankles.

As the ropes fell away, I collapsed against him, overwhelmed by the sudden release of tension. His strong arms encircled me, holding me steady.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed into his chest. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… I couldn't…"

"Shh," he soothed, stroking my hair. "It's alright. You did well, Sophia. Bene, columba. "