Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

F orty-eight hours later

Sophia

After fifteen minutes of twilit country roads, beautiful and somehow quintessentially European, Marcus spoke for the first time since he had led me from my cage at the secret auction.

"There's Monsieur Delacroix's chateau," he told me. His tone seemed so ominous that he might as well have said, There's the place where your new owner will brutally deflower you, at a time of his choosing.

The palatial mansion loomed ahead, so large that it almost seemed a mirage of opulence against the darkening sky. Marcus held the leather leash easily in his hand. Its mere presence there, linking my body to his, seemed enough of a reminder of my bondage and my mission.

Most of the limo ride from the secret auction had been suffocating in its silence, the tension between us palpable. I could hear each breath he took, feel every shift of his powerful frame beside me. My own breaths came shallow and quick, my heart drumming a frantic rhythm in my chest.

As we stepped out onto the gravel drive, I bit my lip at the way the little stones dug into my bare feet. The flagstones of the entry began only a meter or so later, though, and I tried to take some comfort in their cool, smooth surface when I reached it, trailing behind Marcus as he led me with the help of the degrading leash.

Up three steps from the portico, the grand foyer welcomed us with an overwhelming display of gilt finishes, mirrors reflecting our forms, and paintings that seemed to watch us with knowing eyes. Each step I took on the marble floor sent a jolt of awareness through my bare feet, heightening the sense of exposure that coursed through my nervous system.

I yearned to lose my self-consciousness as I had in the mithraeum , but I couldn't forget I was naked but for the collar around my neck. Here in the luxurious castle of my new owner, the collar's symbolism, of my submission and of the control Marcus wielded on behalf of Delacroix over my nude body, refused to let me push it away.

"Keep your head bowed," Marcus commanded, turning back to me for a moment, "and your eyes down." His voice was a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.

The collar felt heavy, a constant reminder of my place. I tried to focus on Malleus' training, the lessons drilled into me about composure and obedience, yet the urge to reveal my identity as an Ostia columba gnawed at me. Marcus didn't know; he couldn't know. But the insane attraction I felt towards him was immediate and undeniable.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, forcing my chin downward. I met his piercing blue eyes for the briefest of moments before dropping them again. He led me through the foyer, the grandeur of the surroundings doing little to quell the turmoil within me.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" A leering voice broke the silence, drawing my attention to two of Delacroix's henchmen emerging from the shadows. Their eyes roamed over my body with blatant hunger, their expressions twisted with crude delight.

"She's pretty," one of them said, his voice almost grudging.

"She is," the other confirmed. "Little tits, just as Monsieur prefers."

"Monsieur is going to have a good time in that bare little cunt, putain ," the first said, addressing himself to me and making me very grateful I couldn't look him in the eye. "Is she a virgin, Marcus?"

"Certified," Marcus responded, his voice seeming to betray some distaste for his colleagues' brutality.

"Let's have a look," the first man said. "That alright with you, Marcus?"

I wondered if I could detect a hint of resentment in the words—as if a tension existed between Marcus and these men.

"Of course," Marcus said. "Sophia, you're going to turn and bend over with your feet spread. Put your hands on your shins and show them where Monsieur is going to fuck you."

With my face burning as hot as the sun and my heart pounding, I complied. I felt the air moving over my most intimate places as I exposed them to the minions' leering eyes. The light tug from the leash, as Marcus held it above me as if he were exhibiting me at a dog show, made me bite my lip.

"Look at that tight little asshole," one of the men sneered. I pictured him licking his lips as if savoring the thought. "Monsieur will like that. And you too, Marcus. You'll get your fill, won't you?"

Heat flushed my cheeks, burning with embarrassment and humiliation. I fought to maintain my composure, my hands clenching my naked ankles. The urge to cover myself, to shield my most intimate parts from their ravenous gazes, was nearly overpowering. But I kept my posture, trying to project an air of calm obedience, just as I'd been trained.

"She's quite the prize," the second henchman added, stepping closer so that I could see his black shoes on the floor behind me. "Bet she can't wait to be fucked by both of you. Over and over."

"She'll serve her purpose," Marcus replied coolly, his grip on the leash tightening a bit. There was a note of warning in his voice, a subtle command that silenced the henchmen's laughter. "And she's mine to train. Delacroix will have her when I'm done."

I could almost feel the henchmen exchanging a look. I pictured their amusement dimming slightly under Marcus' steely gaze. They backed off, but not without one last lingering look at my exposed body as Marcus used the leash to raise me up. My skin crawled under their scrutiny, and I bit down on my lip to keep from whimpering at the mingled shame and fear they had inspired.

"Come," Marcus ordered, tugging the leash gently.

I followed him, each step a battle against the humiliation that threatened to overwhelm me. As we approached the grand staircase, the echoes of the henchmen's crude remarks lingered in the air, a haunting reminder of my new reality.

"Careful on the stairs, Sophia," Marcus warned, his voice a low, velvet murmur that sent shivers down my spine. The leash tugged at my collar, and I stumbled slightly, finding my footing on the first marble step of the grand staircase. The splendor of Delacroix's chateau enveloped me—gilt finishes gleaming under the dim light, mirrors reflecting our journey upward.

"Your life will be simpler when you accept your role," he continued, his tone conveying a kind of dark promise. "You have no choice but to serve Delacroix and anyone else he sees fit. If you resist in the slightest, you will be severely punished."

The words cut through me. My training with Malleus had prepared me for submission, but the harshness of Marcus' reminder stung deeply. The collar felt tighter around my neck, suddenly.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. At least Malleus' training helped with that part: the automatic answers that could create a facade of compliance. My skin prickled under the weight of his gaze every time I sensed him turning around to check on me.

"Keep your head bowed, Sophia," Marcus said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "There's no point in hiding what you are now. You are Monsieur Delacroix's fucking piece, and you mustn't try to pretend otherwise."

In the brutality of his words I thought I could discern the wish to make my life easier. Each phrase seemed calculated to help me embrace my submission, in a way that—unless it was all just wishful thinking—reflected actual care for me.

"Yes, sir," I repeated, though the humiliation burned through me. We reached the landing, and he led me down a corridor adorned with extravagant tapestries and antique furniture.

"Here is where you'll sleep," Marcus announced, pushing open a heavy oak door. The room was small but luxurious, with real cloth wallpaper and a comfortable bed that contrasted starkly with the confines of my situation. "This hallway is the concubines' quarters. Monsieur's bedroom is around the corner. When it's time, I'll bring you there for your first fucking."

"Thank you, sir," I murmured, the words hollow as they left my lips. He didn't allow me time to dwell on it, pulling me towards another door.

"Now, to the bathroom," he instructed, his grip firm yet guiding. The bathroom was pristine, every surface gleaming. My reflection in the mirror showed a young woman stripped bare of her former life, now only a vessel of submission.

"Relieve yourself," he ordered, pointing to the porcelain toilet. His eyes bored into mine, demanding obedience and more. "Pee in front of me."

"Please," I began, my voice trembling. My bladder, which had troubled me only slightly on the way from Legeria City, suddenly felt much, much too full. But I couldn't pee that way, with him watching. Even Malleus hadn't made me do that.

"Now," he interrupted, the force of his dominance unmistakable.

Heat flushed through me, not just from embarrassment but from the conflicting emotions roiling within.

With shaky steps, I moved to the toilet, conscious of every inch of my exposed skin. Sitting down, I felt the cold porcelain against my thighs, a stark contrast to the heat burning inside me. My bladder was painfully full, but the mortification of being watched made every muscle tense.

"Look at me," Marcus commanded, his voice softer yet unyieldingly firm. "Keep your eyes on me."

I lifted my gaze, locking onto his piercing blue eyes. The intensity of his stare stripped away any remaining fa?ade of dignity. My body trembled, struggling to obey his command, the act of peeing suddenly an insurmountable challenge under his scrutiny.

"Let go, Sophia," he urged, his tone unexpectedly gentle, yet the demand clear. The pressure built, my body fighting against my mind's resistance.

"Please, sir," I whimpered, my voice cracking under the strain.

"Do it," he insisted, the authority in his voice returning and wrapping around me like a vice. My breath hitched, my muscles quivered. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

At last, with a surge of pleasure that I tried to hide from Marcus but could not, the dam within me broke. The sound of my urine hitting the water seemed deafening in the quiet bathroom, each splash echoing my humiliation. My body trembled, a whimper escaping my lips as I maintained eye contact with Marcus. His smile broadened, and in that moment, I knew he understood my conflicted nature all too well.

"Good girl," he murmured, satisfaction evident in his tone, though it felt more like a verdict than praise. His eyes never left mine, even as the final drops fell, and I used the mercifully soft paper on the roll beside me, my face hot as an oven.

"Stand up," he commanded, and I obeyed, my legs trembling. The cold air against my exposed skin heightened every sensation, making the moment even more excruciating. He took my leash once more, leading me out of the bathroom and down the dimly lit corridor.

When we reached my little bedroom, Marcus guided me to the corner of the room, pointing to a tiny camera nestled above.

"Delacroix likes to keep an eye on his possessions," Marcus said, his voice carrying an edge of warning. "He doesn't want his fucking pieces playing with themselves." He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "If you're caught masturbating, you will be caned."

A shiver ran down my spine, not just from fear but from the forbidden allure of his threat. The weight of my predicament settled heavily upon me, yet the magnetic pull towards Marcus remained undeniable. His stern gaze held me captive, a silent reminder of my role here.

"Understand?" he asked, his tone brooking no argument.

"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The urge to tell him, to whisper that we shared a mission grew very strong, but I stopped the words in my throat at the last second. I realized to my dismay that the attraction I felt for him, coupled with the intensity of my situation, was making it very difficult to think clearly.

"Your training begins tomorrow," Marcus said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine. He unclipped the leash from my collar with a practiced ease, and I felt an unsettling mix of relief and longing as the restraint fell away. "In the morning, I will evaluate you as a fuck toy, and then we'll proceed to teaching you what Monsieur wants you to know before he claims you with his cock."

His words seemed to hang in the air. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the conflicting emotions within me—fear, arousal, and the almost unbearable urge to reveal myself as Malleus' columba .

"Delacroix expects perfection," Marcus continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "You will learn to serve him and anyone else he deems worthy."

"Yes, sir," I whispered, my voice trembling ever so slightly.

"Good," he replied, a slight smile playing on his lips. "A dinner cart will arrive shortly with your meal. Eat and rest. You'll need your strength."

With that, he turned and walked to the door, his presence filling the room even as he prepared to leave it. The lock clicked with a finality that made my heart sink further.

The luxurious trappings of the room mocked my captivity. The real cloth wallpaper, the comfortable bed—all reminders of a gilded cage. I moved towards the bed, feeling the soft fabric tease my bare skin. Sleep seemed a distant hope, replaced by the gnawing urge to touch myself, exacerbated by Marcus' warning.

I lay down, my body tense, thoughts swirling in a chaotic dance. The camera's unblinking eye watched over me, a silent sentinel ensuring my obedience. The desire to defy its gaze, to find some semblance of control in this powerless situation, was overwhelming. Yet, the threat of punishment or, worse, discovery, loomed large.

Malleus had given me the tools—literally and figuratively—to escape my bedroom and the notice of the camera, but using them came with risks. The urge to use them anyway, to do something that made me feel like an active agent, threatened to make me do something foolish.

Wait, I told myself. You have no choice. Just like Malleus told you. Just like Marcus told you. You have no choice.