Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

S ophia

The collar settled into place, its weight a constant pressure against my throat. I swallowed hard, the sensation both constraining and oddly welcome, as if it could serve as a reminder that I had no choice, that being a columba in the Order of Ostia had nothing to do with anything I wanted.

"Now, we begin your training," Malleus announced, stepping back to survey his work. "Follow me."

Naked except for the leathers, I followed him out of the cell and into the labyrinthine halls of what Malleus had called the mithraeum , each step echoing ominously in the dimly lit passageways. We passed through a stone arch that had a carving of a man apparently wrestling a bull above it, into an expansive space filled with what looked to me like gym equipment: treadmills, stationary bicycles, free weights, and weight-machines—even a climbing wall.

A few young women, dressed like me only in leather restraints and occasionally sports bras, and a few breathtakingly muscular men in black shorts, were in the middle of what looked like strenuous workouts. I felt like the presence of other girls who had to display their breasts and waxed pussies just as I did should seem reassuring. Instead, it made me blush hard, because I could tell, simply from the facial expressions I could see in the mirrors that lined two walls of the room, that they knew so much more about what it meant to belong to the Order. When I saw one of them looking back in the reflection, her face curious, I bit my lip and looked down at the mat-covered stone floor.

"Welcome to the Hall of Physical Training," Malleus said. "Today, you will push your limits. You will sweat, you will struggle, but you will emerge stronger."

He put his hand on my bottom as if to remind me of the power over me he had demonstrated so thoroughly over the last—what?—sixteen hours.

Such a short time, I thought, and yet the outside world seems like a dream.

"We'll get you warmed up on the treadmill, first, columba ," he declared, urging me towards the nearest one with a push and a little squeeze that made me whimper softly as the soreness from my spanking reasserted itself. "You don't need a sports bra with your little breasts, so don't ask for one out of modesty."

I felt my mouth twist to the side in frustration. He had read my mind, or maybe he had seen the glances I sent in the direction of the other Ostia girls going through their workouts. I got up on the treadmill. Malleus pressed the green Go button, and quickly raised the speed to five. My brow furrowing at the discomfort in my backside, I started to run.

I had never considered myself very athletic, though I had run track and field in high school, just barely making varsity my senior year. I wanted to show Malleus that I had retained my fitness, though: I ran a few times a week and even did some resistance training at the gym.

From the treadmill, Malleus took me to an open section of floor and guided me through a series of body-weight exercises, each more grueling than the last. His hands were on me, adjusting my posture from time to time. I chewed my cheek as I caught myself wishing he would touch me less professionally, and I felt my face heat up as I remembered how he had interrupted my naughtiness when he had entered my cell.

My muscles screamed in protest as I went through the sets of burpees and squats Malleus assigned. I felt my leathers getting sweaty. They seemed impossible to ignore, though the other girls in the training hall seemed practiced at it.

The squats were the most embarrassing part because Malleus stood behind me to check my form, and he put his huge, strong hand under my backside to help me get down lower. His fingers held my bare pussy firmly but without providing the friction I desperately longed for. The hot blood surged into my scalp at the casual way he handled my most intimate places. Much worse, I felt certain he could feel me getting wet with my helpless craving for more.

"Good, columba ," he murmured after I completed a particularly deep squat, with his mortifying help. " Bene ." His rare approval spurred me on, igniting a fire within me to keep going, to endure.

Malleus alternated my training between strength and endurance for an hour or so that passed in a haze of physical torment and determination. By the time he called for a break and showed me to the shower, my body was trembling with exhaustion, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. Despite the fatigue, a hard-won sense of accomplishment filled me.

"More cardio this afternoon, columba ," he told me. "Different muscles tomorrow. " We need to bring your fitness to as high a level as we can in the time we've got."

My mind burned with questions, but I already knew what Malleus' answer would be, if I were foolish enough to ask, for example, what he meant by the time we've got.

He took me back to my cell and brought me a protein-heavy breakfast on a tray. Eggs, avocado, yogurt. Delicious, and, I knew, calculated to build my muscle mass.

For what?

Malleus refused to tell me. Or, because I had stopped asking useless questions, I supposed he simply hadn't decided to tell me. When he took away the breakfast tray, he brought a book—an honest-to-goodness paper book. The Iliad.

He didn't tell me to read it, but it represented the only possible way to pass time in my cell during the hours I spent locked in there. I read it until he came to fetch me for my next activity. That first day, the next activity, and the only other activity, was the long cardio workout Malleus had told me about. I read almost the whole epic.

Falling asleep that night, after a day that seemed like a dream, I thought about Chryseis and Briseis, and Helen of Troy, the young women who seemed—I had never known this, I realized—to have caused all the problems at Troy, because men needed to fuck them so very badly. Fuck toys, all of them—even the royal Helen. But Chryseis and Briseis were prizes : concubines. Fuck toys and nothing more, to the warriors who had won them for their beds. Girls like me: valued only for the pleasure men could find in thrusting their hard cocks inside the girls' innocent bodies.

The whole sad, violent story had happened because Agamemnon took Briseis away from Achilles, the same way Paris had taken Helen from Menelaus. I knew Malleus had given me the book for a reason, and I knew I couldn't ask what it was. I had a strong suspicion he would tell when, though, when he thought I was ready.

Days bled into one another as I found myself immersed in a labyrinthine world of what I came to realize soon enough was international espionage. The New York mithraeum, a warm but sterile subterranean fortress, became my whole reality. Its walls echoed with the footsteps of those who had come before me, each step a testament to the rigorous path I now trod in a direction I couldn't ask, and my miles wouldn't tell me.

"Observation is your first weapon," Malleus declared, his voice a stern melody that resonated through the dimly lit classroom. I sat alone on a hard wooden bench, my body bare as always, save for the Ostia leathers that marked me as their possession. The leather cuffs encased my wrists and ankles, my thighs, my waist, my neck, a silent reminder of my servitude.

"Your eyes must see everything," he continued, pacing before a large screen on which he'd just shown me an instructional video featuring a young, beautifully dressed woman, columba Greta, at a cocktail party full of tuxedoed men. She had used her eye-catching beauty to conceal how much intelligence she was gathering all the while. "And yet reveal nothing."

I had been given a notepad and a pen. In the hours in my cell, I went over the notes I took, and Malleus always tested me thoroughly the next day. For this video, I knew, he might ask for example, "How did columba Greta ask about the high-tension transmission lines?" and I would answer, "By steering the man who had brought her champagne towards the magnate, and listening in at the same time she kept the conversation with the other guy going."

"Bene, columba, " Malleus would say, I hoped, though the rational part of my mind thought me insane for hoping it.

Each word Malleus spoke seemed like a puzzle piece, fitting into the larger picture of my training. He explained the subtleties of surveillance, the art of blending into the shadows, and the necessity of reading people like open books. His teachings were precise, methodical, and I drank them in eagerly, my mind a sponge absorbing every drop of knowledge.

I lost count of the days. By the time Malleus brought me to the Hall of Sexual Training for the first time, I had almost managed to forget about my nakedness and my leathers. My physical training had progressed to the point where Malleus no longer needed to adjust my posture or support me.

To my distress, though, I dreamt over and over of Malleus punishing me, of standing over me, of unzipping his pants, of showing me his true authority, and making me serve him in the most shameful way. In the morning, fearful of punishment and mindful of my leathers, I jumped out of bed and grabbed the Iliad.

After my first shower that day (I took one after both of my workouts), Malleus silently dried me off and put me back in my leathers as he always did, but instead of bringing me back to my cell, he led me to a new room in the mithraeum. Over the arch was carved an image that made me swallow, and blush: the heroic figure I had come to recognize as Mithra was fucking a kneeling woman, her face bowed low to the ground.

Inside, the mirrored walls, identical to those in the Hall of Physical Training, reflected very different furniture. Benches with rings that clearly matched the ones on my leathers. Racks of straps, canes, and paddles. Cabinets—from one of which Malleus took a length of white silicone that I recognized with a hot blush as Dr. Demetriou's girl trainer.

"Today, you will learn the art of giving pleasure with your mouth," Malleus told me, his tone leaving no room for refusal. "This is not merely about technique, but also about control and obedience. This is the one sexual skill with which you will leave here, when you depart for your mission tomorrow. Kneel."

I felt my eyes go wide and my mind stir with all the questions I knew Malleus wouldn't answer, but I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. Every fiber of my being screamed rebellion, but my body moved of its own accord, kneeling obediently before my miles . Malleus' presence loomed over me, his hands guiding my head towards the silicone shaft.

"Begin," he commanded, his voice a velvet whip.

Tentatively, I wrapped my lips around the trainer, my tongue exploring its smooth surface. The thrusts began, gentle at first, then more insistent, coaxing responses from me that I had never known existed. Malleus' hand rested on the back of my neck, a possessive pressure that both grounded and aroused me.

"More," he urged, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. "Use your tongue. Savor it."

Heat woke between my legs, an uncontrollable craving that grew with each passing moment. My movements became bolder, more assured, as I worked the trainer with increasing fervor, trying to please the imaginary master from whose lap it jutted. Malleus' words guided me, explicit and unrelenting, painting vivid images of what he demanded.

"Faster. Deeper. Make your mouth as pleasurable as your cunt. Let your master use you as he chooses, columba ."

Desperation clawed at my insides as the deep thrusts heightened my arousal, despite the way my gag reflex threatened to kick in, over and over. The soreness in my muscles from my physical training only served to amplify my need, the ache a constant reminder of my submission. I whimpered around the trainer, my hips rocking involuntarily, seeking a release that remained agonizingly out of reach.

"Please," I gasped, pulling away just long enough to voice my plea. "Please, miles . I need… I need more."

Malleus removed the trainer from my mouth, his hand moving to cup my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. His expression was unreadable, a mask of dominance that stirred something primal within me.

"Your needs are irrelevant," he said coldly. "But your obedience is paramount."

"Please, sir," I implored, my voice raw with longing. "Please fuck me. I need it so badly."

His silence stretched, a tangible force that wrapped around my heart and squeezed. Then, slowly, he shook his head.

"No, columba . Your virginity belongs to the Guard. It will be sold in a few days time, and the man who takes it must believe you are innocent."

A choked sob escaped my lips, my body quivering with unfulfilled desire. Malleus' hands returned to my hair, guiding my head back to the trainer.

"Continue," he ordered, and I obeyed, my mouth once again enveloping the silicone shaft.

"Good, columba ," he murmured, his praise a balm to my wounded pride. " Bene , columba ."

At last he pulled the girl trainer from my mouth and stepped back. I watched him make his way a few steps to a throne-like chair and sit in it.

"Come here," Malleus commanded. He patted his lap, and I cautiously rose and approached, settling myself as instructed. His hand found its way between my legs, possessively holding my pussy and bottom, reminding me of his control.

"Listen carefully," he began, his tone serious. "This is your mission briefing. You will be taken to a secret auction in Legeria. There, you will be sold, with the near-certain expectation that Anton Delacroix will buy you. We have chosen you in part because our intelligence indicates your physical type is irresistible to him, and we don't get that kind of thing wrong."

"Delacroix?" I echoed, my voice trembling.

"A Legerian magnate affiliated with the Groupe Synergistique. You will obtain a copy of the information on his secure computer. I will tell you more about that tomorrow, but there is something you need to know about Delacroix's chateau. Marcus Blackthorne will also be present. He is a Pretorian Guard agent embedded within Delacroix's household. His true identity must remain a secret at all costs."

"How will I communicate with him?" I asked, my mind racing with questions.

"You won't," Malleus replied, his grip tightening slightly. "The surveillance will be constant. You must rely on your training and instincts."

The enormity of my mission began to sink in, a mixture of fear and determination swirling within me. Malleus' hand remained steady, grounding me in the moment as I contemplated the path ahead.

Malleus' grip on my waist tightened as he held me in his lap, the leather of my Ostia restraints pressing into my bare skin. His hand between my legs grew active as he continued the mortifying "briefing."

I whimpered as his fingers possessively curled around my most intimate parts. I felt my need seep onto my miles ' fingers, and my cheeks blushed fiercely even as the stark dominance of his grip sent a shiver through me, both thrilling and degrading.

"Marcus will be responsible for your discipline," Malleus said, his voice low and commanding. "He will train you as Delacroix's new concubine. His fuck toy. Delacroix will take your virginities."

His thumb began to circle my clit with agonizing slowness, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through my body. I fought to keep my breathing steady, but it came out in ragged gasps.

"You must remain focused and obedient," he continued, his other hand moving to stroke himself. "Marcus will not be lenient. Delacroix enjoys watching his concubines punished."

I nodded, my mind a whirlwind of fear and anticipation. The thought of Marcus—this unseen, unknown figure—training me, disciplining me, filled me with a strange mix of dread and longing. What kind of man was he? How would he handle my disobedience?

"Remember, columba , you belong to the Guard now," Malleus murmured, his fingers delving deeper into my virgin pussy, teasing me mercilessly. "Your loyalty is not just expected; it is required."

"Yes, miles ," I managed to whisper, my words barely audible in my head over the thudding of my heart.

"Think about the Iliad ," he said, to my surprise.

I felt a shudder go through my body at the unexpected command. I blinked up at Malleus.

"I would be sure you'd read it even if our surveillance didn't confirm the fact."

"What, miles ?" I asked, my voice thick with the soothing delight his skillful fingers roused between my thighs. "I mean… what about the… I mean…"

I tried not to make it a question, because I knew every question besides How may I serve? was useless in the eyes of the Pretorian Guard, when it came from a columba . I failed, because Malleus' hand knew its work too well.

"You must be Briseis, Achilles' prize. You must move the story while appearing to be no more than a bed girl. Think of what Briseis must have seen—what she might have told Agamemnon about Achilles, or vice versa, after Achilles got her back."

I shuddered, my hips jerking as Malleus emphasized his heady words with earthy movements of his strong fingers. Briseis… I must… I thought I understood, and the idea filled me with pride, and fear. Malleus was telling me how much I could do, while appearing only to submit. How much I could learn without any need to ask useless questions.

"Yes, miles ," I whispered finally.

"Good," he said, his voice a growl of satisfaction. His fingers moved faster, more insistently, driving me towards the precipice of ecstasy. Every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire, my arousal building to an unbearable peak.

"Now imagine miles Marcus," Malleus commanded. "Picture him caning you for touching yourself without permission. Imagine his dominance over you."

The image seared itself into my mind—Marcus, his stern eyes watching me, his strong hands punishing me. The thought alone was enough to push me over the edge. My body convulsed, a scream ripping from my throat as the orgasm tore through me, leaving me breathless and trembling.

As the waves of my climax subsided, a new sensation took hold—a desperate, crazy yearning for the real training that awaited me. The unknown future loomed large, fraught with danger and desire.

Malleus' fingers finally stilled, his grip tightening once more as he pulled me closer. " Bene, columba ," he murmured in my ear.