Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

M arcus

The faint flicker of candlelight cast elongated shadows on the somber walls of Anton Delacroix's study. The scent of beeswax mingled with the musk of aged leather and rich mahogany, creating a heavy atmosphere that almost seemed to weigh palpably upon my shoulders. I stood at near-attention by the fireplace, the way I always did with Delacroix. The embers offered scant warmth against the chill clinging to the grand room.

"Marcus," Delacroix began, his voice a low rumble that demanded attention, "I think it's time to acquire another fucking piece. The secret auction is only a few weeks away."

His gray eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. I could see the excitement twisting through his features, a cruel anticipation that made my skin crawl.

"A new concubine?" I asked, maintaining my composed fa?ade. "You can spare the cash?"

Not what I need right now , I thought to myself, a little sourly. Delacroix's head of security—me—had responsibility for supervising the submissive young women he kept in the West wing of the chateau. If I had been simply the dominant, brutal thug that had represented my cover for the last eighteen months, I probably would have enjoyed the duty greatly.

Traditionally, Delacroix's heads of security had enjoyed the privilege not just of disciplining the girls but also of fucking them whenever they liked. As an elite agent of the Pretorian Guard, a miles sworn to protect submissive young women as well as to dominate them, my feelings were a good deal more complicated.

"Oh, indeed," Delacroix replied, a thin smile curling his lips. "The arrangement with Legerian National Power just refilled my coffers admirably. An innocent from the secret auction is exactly how I think I should celebrate." He looked pointedly at me. "How we should celebrate. I'll share her with you, obviously, after I've had all her maidenheads."

I set my face hard, the kind of performance I'd developed to what felt like high art, to reflect Delacroix's coarseness back at him.

"An innocent, you say," I mused, my tone carefully neutral. "You're hoping for a tight ride, I take it."

Delacroix smiled broadly, pleased as usual with my ability to goad him subtly onward.

"Precisely," he said. "The cunt won't be quite as tight when you get to fuck her, but I know you won't mind too much."

"An innocent concubine requires delicate handling of course," I said, choosing my words with precision. "Her innocence, while appealing, may also mean she lacks the understanding necessary to meet your… expectations."

"Ha," Delacroix said, slapping his knee in the affected way he had when trying to project amusement. "You're angling to have more time to… train her, I suppose."

"Training her to our standards will take time and effort," I continued. "There is always the risk that her naiveté could lead to resistance or misunderstandings. Such challenges could disrupt the harmony you've so meticulously cultivated here."

"Resistance?" Delacroix scoffed, his tone laced with condescension. "I trust you are more than capable of quelling any such defiance."

"Of course, Monsieur Delacroix," I assured him, my voice unwavering. "My concern lies not in my ability but in the additional time required. It's crucial that she… let's say… transitions smoothly into her role, without causing undue disturbance."

Delacroix stared at me, his cold eyes searching for any hint of weakness. I met his gaze steadily, aware of the tightrope I walked. My loyalty to the Pretorian Guard demanded I remain vigilant, yet my position required absolute fealty to this man who reveled in the degradation of others.

"Very well," Delacroix said finally, his tone begrudgingly approving. "Your caution is noted, and I will allow you extra time before you bring her to my bed for her first fucking. But remember, Marcus, I expect nothing less than perfection."

"Understood," I replied, inclining my head slightly. "I will ensure she is properly trained and disciplined."

Near silence fell on the study, the low crackle of the fire the only sound. I hoped for a moment that he would dismiss me, but Anton Delacroix loved to dwell on such matters, and he began again a short time later.

"Your concerns are noted, Marcus," he murmured, his voice a low, almost purring sound as he shifted in his high-backed chair. The candlelight cast flickering shadows over his sharp features, making his platinum hair gleam like tarnished silver. "But I have every confidence in your abilities. You have never disappointed me before. Three concubines you have trained for my bed, each more obedient than the last. Perfectly smooth cunts, tight little bottoms, mouths that close on the cock like velvet roses. Your methods, Marcus, are… effective."

"Your trust is an honor, Mr. Delacroix," I said, forcing a semblance of gratitude into my tone. Each word was a careful calculation, designed to maintain the balance between subservience and the hidden strength I wielded. "I won't disappoint you."

"Go and get Delphine," he told me. I had to force back a smile, because I had known this order would come sooner or later. "Bring her to my bed in her red lingerie. Tell her to clean her anus and present it properly this time."

"As you wish, monsieur," I told him. I felt a good deal of pride in Delphine, the third of the young women I had trained for Anton Delacroix. I had taught her how to do everything her master wanted without surrendering herself to the degradation. Delphine's pain-slut submissive sexuality helped, of course.

In fact, her happiness as Delacroix's favorite represented the heart of the reason the news of his wish to acquire a new fuck toy at the secret auction was unwelcome. I had thought the magnate would hold on to her for a year at least, simplifying my own job in the chateau and giving me more leeway to fulfill my mission.

As I moved through the silent hallways of Delacroix's chateau, my thoughts flickered back to the conversation. Delacroix's confidence in my abilities was both a weapon and a chain. It bound me to my role, yet provided the leverage I needed to steer the dynamics in my favor. Each step echoed softly on the marble floors like a reminder of the delicate balance I must maintain.

Reaching the end of the corridor, I stopped by a tall window, its glass cool against my fingertips. The moon hung low, casting a silvery sheen over the landscaped gardens below. Shadows danced in the night, mirroring the intricate web of deceit and loyalty I navigated.

My cover as Delacroix's head of security afforded me access to secrets and strategies, but it also placed me in constant peril. The Pretorian Guard's mission was paramount, yet my growing entanglement with Delacroix's world made it increasingly complex.

A new girl, I thought. An innocent to protect. Not the most helpful imaginable thing when you're trying to save the world.

Sophia

I woke up in the dim light of the cell to which Malleus had brought me the previous day. My columba's cell , he had called it. Hewn from the bedrock far below Manhattan, Malleus had said, when we had stepped out of the elevator into what had felt like a completely different, utterly strange, and somehow very ancient, world.

The cold stone beneath me, below the thin foam mattress, served as a stark reminder of my new reality. It came back to me in a rush: the entry of Malleus into the interview room, the mortifying stripping, and the terrible spanking. The horrid medical exam and the humiliating waxing of my pussy by the nameless nupta, who I understood must belong to the Order of Ostia just as I did, and must stand at a higher rank than I.

The long, long elevator trip downward, my stomach lurching at the speed of our descent. The warmth of the subterranean complex Malleus had revealed to me as he took me to my cell, where I had a toilet, a sink, and a little desk, and where he had brought me a tray of absolutely delicious food—salad and steak and the crispiest, most velvety fries I had ever tasted.

Only once had I tried asking a question. I couldn't even remember, on waking, what it had been. Something about how it could be so warm in a space that seemed so much like a dank dungeon out of a fairytale.

"Don't ask useless questions, columba, " had of course been Malleus' answer.

Nor had he said much of anything else. "This is your cell," I thought I remembered. And, when he had come to take the tray away, "I'll see you tomorrow."

My "recruitment" the previous day seemed a haze of discomfort and shame. I shivered as memories of the waxing surged through my mind—the nurse's firm hands spreading warm wax over my most intimate places. The humiliation had seemed unbearable. It had left me vulnerable, exposed, and worst of all, submissive in ways I couldn't understand, and didn't want to try.

My hand drifted between my legs almost unconsciously. My fingers brushed against the smooth, bare skin of my pussy, and a soft whimper escaped my lips. The lingering soreness in my backside from Malleus' huge, hard hand only heightened the sensation. I had never felt this kind of need before, this desperate craving for something I couldn't name. I hadn't ever felt the urge to play with myself before. I had always regarded it, when I did consider it from a purely intellectual point of view, as a waste of time. My touch grew bolder, exploring the sensitive folds, and a wave of arousal washed over me.

"Please…" I whimpered, softly, to no one, as if I needed to ask permission. My fingers moved faster, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. The shameful bareness of my pussy seemed to amplify every sensation, turning my innocent exploration into frantic, lewd masturbation. I was so close—so achingly close—when the cell door creaked open.

"Stop."

Malleus' voice cut through the fog of my desire like a blade. My hand froze, and I looked up at him with wide, guilty eyes. His stern expression sent a shiver down my spine.

"Get up," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. "You are not permitted to touch your pussy except to keep it clean, columba, unless I command you to do so."

I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. Malleus stepped into the cell, carrying a leather bag. I watched, my curiosity mingling with trepidation, as he placed the bag on my little bed and began to take out its contents. Short straps of stout black leather, fitted with metal rings, emerged one by one.

"These are your Ostia leathers," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. "As a columba , you will wear them at all times from now on."

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry, as the implications of his words sank in.

Malleus' gaze never wavered from mine as he approached, two of the leather straps held lightly in his right hand. He knelt before me, a position that paradoxically established both intimacy and control. I had the sudden urge to beg him to rise up again, to loom over me the way something deep in me felt certain he should.

"Spread your legs," he commanded softly, yet with authority. My heart pounded in my chest as I complied, feeling the chill of the stone floor against my bare feet. I bit my lip as I felt the tension flow through my backside, the bruises from Malleus' hand reasserting themselves as if to bring back the feeling of helplessness and submission.

The first strap, an ankle cuff, was wrapped around my left leg. The leather felt cold and unforgiving against my skin, its weight both foreign and strangely comforting. Malleus fastened it with practiced precision, ensuring the fit was snug but not constricting. The second followed on my right, mirroring its twin, creating a sense of symmetry that only heightened my awareness of my vulnerability.

"These cuffs will remind you of your place at all times," Malleus said, his voice a low murmur that seemed to vibrate through me. "They are a symbol of the Guard's ownership of your body."

Next came the thigh cuffs. He moved closer, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs as he secured each one. I shivered, the touch sending electric tingles up my spine. The cuffs were heavier, their presence more intrusive, forcing me to acknowledge every inch of flesh they encircled.

"Intelligent as you are, columba ," he continued, shifting his attention to my wrists, "you understand the significance of these leathers. They are not merely restraints; they are a declaration."

He bound my wrists next, the cuffs feeling heavy and impossible to ignore: a sign, every time I looked, of my bondage to the Order and to the Pretorian Guard. The silver rings set into the leather seemed like a promise of domination to come. With each click of the buckles, my breath hitched, a mixture of fear and unwelcome excitement coursing through me.

"Lift your arms," he instructed.

I obeyed, feeling the cool air against my exposed torso. Malleus put the belt around my waist, cinching it tightly. It felt like a kind of anchor, grounding me even as it trapped me further. Its weight seemed like another reminder of my new reality.

"Finally, your collar," Malleus said, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone. He lifted the last piece of my Ostia leathers and held it before me, the metal ring glinting ominously. "It is the ultimate symbol of your submission, columba, and of the Guard's complete control over you."

He held it in front of my eyes. I swallowed hard, my heart pounding, as I gazed intently at the stout black leather, the rings that would allow Malleus to control me as he liked. When I returned my eyes to his, he continued, his voice low and confiding, but also hard and grave—solemn, really, as if he meant me to understand that in this moment, he intended to change my life forever.

"If you work hard, and you submit as you should, you will someday be allowed to remove your other leathers," Malleus continued. "But as you rise in the degree of your initiation, your collar will always surround your neck in the presence of your masters. Even the highest matres of the Order take pride in the collars that subjugate them. And their patres may always put them back in their columba 's leathers, to whip and fuck them as they think best."

As he fastened the collar around my neck, he leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. " Columba, militiae nostrae nunc es ," he murmured, the Latin words rolling off his tongue with grave finality. Then he translated, "Columba, you now belong to our Guard."