Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

S ophia

The sound of the lock woke me. The door to the little bedroom swung open with a suddenness that sent my heart racing. Marcus emerged from the shadows, his presence as commanding as ever, the leash dangling ominously from his long fingers.

The sight of it rekindled a whirlwind of emotions within me from the previous day—fear, resolve… and an undeniable spark of arousal. The surge of conflicting thoughts about him and my mission threatened to get the better of the self-calming training Malleus had bestowed.

"Get up," Marcus ordered, his voice deep and authoritative in the silence of the room. "Stand in front of me for inspection."

I fought the urge to cover myself as I pushed back the thin sheets and rose from my bed, my naked body exposed to his penetrating gaze. The collar around my neck felt heavier today, an even more present reminder of my status. I took hesitant steps forward until I stood directly before him, trembling under the weight of his scrutiny.

"Delacroix likes to have his fucking pieces inspected regularly," Marcus explained, his tone devoid of emotion. "Turn around."

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I cursed my body's traitorous response. I complied, pivoting slowly on the balls of my feet until my back faced him. The cool air of the room brushed against my bare skin, heightening my awareness of every inch of my exposed flesh. I felt Marcus' eyes roving over me, their intensity palpable even without seeing them.

"Go back to your bed and bend over it," he commanded.

My throat tightened, a mixture of shame and anticipation coursing through my nervous system. My muscles tensed, almost quivering, but I did as he instructed, bending over the edge of the bed with my arms along my sides. The position made me acutely aware of my vulnerability, my most intimate areas on nearly full display.

The memory of Malleus' degrading treatments flashed through my mind, and I thought angrily that I should have gotten used to such things. To my distress, though, Marcus' presence somehow added a new layer of shame to my mind's and my body's responses—and an unwelcome new level of complexity to my feelings.

"Spread your feet," he ordered, each word a hammer blow to the inner calm I knew I must strive somehow to keep, despite the matter-of-fact tone Marcus used.

I widened my stance, feeling the strain in my thighs. The humiliation burned hotter inside me, yet it seemed laced with a sexual thrill I couldn't ignore. The humiliation gnawed at me, yet it also stoked an insidious fire deep within. I knew he was staring at my exposed pussy, and the thought made my heart pound harder.

"Reach back and spread your bottom cheeks," he instructed in the same dispassionate voice.

My hands trembled as they moved to comply, fingers splaying across my skin. The vulnerability of the position made my breathing ragged. With Malleus, again, I told myself, I had endured similar degradations, but Marcus' gaze felt different—more intense, more scrutinizing. It seemed as if he were seeing not just my body, but into the very core of my conflicted desires.

"Good little slut," he murmured, stepping closer. I could sense his presence, even without turning my head. My tummy flipped, the anticipation of what was to come tightening every muscle in my body.

Then I felt his hands between my legs, parting my pussy lips with an almost clinical precision. "Sellers will sometimes try to get away with labeling a girl a virgin when she just looks like one and blushes like one."

I whimpered as he opened me. The air moved where it should never move. I did everything I could to control my breathing, but then, very glad that Marcus couldn't see my face, I remembered one of Malleus' most emphatic warnings: You must appear innocent.

Should I control my breathing? Should I pretend not to control my breathing?

I am innocent… how can I pretend to be innocent?

As if to confirm my problem, Marcus spoke again. I felt his warm breath down there, and it made me whimper again.

"You're the real thing, though, slut."

The whimper… It sounded innocent, didn't it?

Because it was innocent. I felt my breath speeding up as my mind teetered on the edge of a sort of endless loop.

Suddenly Malleus' soothing voice echoed in my mind, cutting through the fog. Calm yourself.

"Monsieur will be pleased," Marcus said, letting my inner lips close and shifting his right hand to hold my whole pussy, his thumb between my bottom-cheeks. "You've got a sweet little cunt, and you get wet when a man handles you the right way."

The cruel compliment filled me with a strange mixture of pride and dread. The sensation of his fingers against my intimate flesh sent shivers up my spine.

Marcus continued, his voice still even, almost casual, despite the coarseness of the words. "I can feel your cunt hair coming back, though. You'll have to be waxed again before your first night with Monsieur Delacroix."

A gasp escaped my lips as his thumb pressed against my anus, penetrating with deliberate force. The intrusion was sharp, making me cry out, my body instinctively clenching around him.

"Good. Very tight here. I'll widen you a little, though, so Monsieur doesn't have too much trouble getting his cock into you," Marcus stated, his tone dismayingly satisfied.

The pain mingled with an unexpected wave of arousal, leaving me breathless. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him who I truly was, but the mission—the necessity of maintaining both of our covers—kept me silent. Instead, I focused on the sensations flooding my body, trying to reconcile the shame and need that warred within me with the calm I had found a moment before.

His probing hand left me. I wondered for a moment what degradation would come next, but only a second or two later, I felt a tug on my collar and heard the snap of the leash's clip as Marcus reattached it.

"Stand up," he ordered, accompanying the words with a peremptory tug at my neck.

I obeyed, shakily rising to my feet, my body still trembling from the invasive inspection.

"Follow me," Marcus instructed, turning towards the door and enforcing his command with another tug on my leash.

Naked and exposed, I followed him down the cold, echoing halls of the chateau. The bathroom came first, under Marcus' watchful eyes once again. After that, he led me to a door further down the corridor than I had yet traveled.

"This is the training room," Marcus said, turning to me. He opened the door to reveal a space that struck me as distressingly familiar, because it so closely resembled the Hall of Sexual Training in the mithraeum. I saw benches fitted with restraints, racks of disciplinary implements, mirrored walls, and even a throne-like armchair that dominated the room. My mind went back instantly to Malleus brutally teaching me how to provide oral pleasure to a man's rigid penis, and the shattering climax he'd brought me to, in his lap.

"Sit," he commanded, pointing to the chair.

I looked at him, feeling my brow grow troubled. It literally hadn't occurred to me that I could sit in the chair so clearly reserved for a dominant man. Marcus lowered his chin, his eyebrows rising slightly as if to indicate how thoroughly he intended to evaluate my conduct.

Innocent, I told myself. An innocent young woman who didn't fully understand her submissive nature—she wouldn't hesitate, would she? Briseis the fuck toy who can remain silent and yet observe everything.

I approached the chair, with Marcus trailing slightly behind me. I turned and sat, sinking into the leather seat a little, the cool material pressing against my bare skin. I looked up at him, my nervousness palpable as he reached over my shoulder to tie the leash behind me, to a post on the back of the chair.

"Delacroix likes to deflower a girl who has been naughty," Marcus announced as he stepped back a meter or so, his eyes boring into mine. "You must learn to masturbate on command."

I swallowed hard. Innocent .

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking in a way that sounded convincing to me. "I can't…"

"Spread your legs over the arms of the chair and play with your cunt while I watch," he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky resolve, I hooked my right knee over the right arm of the chair, my heart pounding so loudly, I feared he might hear it. But as my fingers moved towards my aching pussy, I froze, the conflicting thoughts and emotions overwhelming me. The need to maintain my cover, the fear of Delacroix, and my growing attraction to Marcus created a storm inside me that I couldn't navigate.

"Do it, Sophia, or face the consequences," Marcus warned, his voice hardening.

"Marcus, please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. Only when his name had escaped my lips did I realize that I had addressed him that way—the way I would a colleague, a fellow spy.

The distress in my eyes as I looked at him was completely genuine. His anger rose instantly and very visibly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded me from above.

" Sir ," he thundered. "Don't you dare call me by my first name."

The words had a force that seemed to me, for an instant, disproportionate. Did Marcus feel the need to overcompensate? Had he felt himself liking my sudden, stupid intimacy?

"Sir," I said, my voice shaking. "I… I can't."

"Enough," he snapped, untethering the leash from the post. "Stand up."

He pulled on the leash roughly to make me obey. I cried out in alarm, but Marcus clearly knew his business: the jolt created fear, and submission, without really hurting me.

He's a miles , just like Malleus , I remembered, biting my lip at the conflict the thought brought to my mind and my body.

He sat in the chair, pulling me to his right, turning me to face the side. I knew precisely what would happen, and part of me welcomed it: I felt the calm Malleus had taught me to find might come more easily afterward.

Marcus moved so swiftly and skillfully that I didn't even have the chance to betray my familiarity with bare-bottomed discipline. His grip on the leash tightened again, and he guided me into position over his left knee with practiced ease.

With methodical precision, Marcus shifted the leash to his left hand, using his right to secure my legs under his thigh, locking me firmly in place.

"Good girl," he murmured almost tenderly, but I knew better than to mistake his tone for leniency. "Reach down and take hold of the legs of the chair. Keep your hands there."

I bit my lip as I obeyed, swallowing hard at the feel of the stout, unyielding wood.

The first spank landed with a sudden, sharp crack, sending a jolt of pain through my body. I gasped, the sensation a too-familiar, still bewildering mix of agony and arousal. Another strike followed, deliberate and firm, eliciting a cry from my lips.

He spanked me hard and fast, alternating between my left and right cheeks, moving his hand up and down to ensure that my entire backside glowed hot and all the need vanished from my pussy.

My cries and sobs echoed through the big room as the punishment seemed to go on and on. The leather of the chair creaked beneath him as I couldn't help struggling despite his absolute control over my body, and my little movements made him shift his weight slightly.

I watched my tears form a little pool beneath my face. The scent of leather filled my nostrils, mixed with a hint I knew, with a surge of heat in my face, as my own need—a potent mixture that only added to my confusion and distress.

I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back the desperate moans that threatened to slip past my lips. Every strike sent a searing wave of pain through my lower back and down my thighs. I held on to the chair's legs with a white-knuckled grip.

He kept spanking, and the pain became so much that I started to scream, and to struggle more fiercely, out of sheer reflex. I let go of the chair and threw my right hand back in a desperate attempt to cover my backside.

Marcus stopped the punishment for a moment so he could grab my hand and pin it behind my back.

"There we go," he said, his satisfaction audible. "That's the first step. Now we keep going until you're really ready to obey me and show me how naughty you really are."