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)
“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.