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)
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.”