Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“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.