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)
CHAPTER 9
Sophia
Marcus led me from the training room into the corridor. Every step felt like a new humiliation. The dreadful, unforgettable fullness in my spanked bottom made my feet falter and my eyes water.
The leash tugged at my collar as we moved through the grand halls of the chateau. My bare feet whispered against the marble floors, and I focused on the intricate patterns in the wallpaper to distract myself from the discomfort emanating from the butt plug and the tugging of the horrid training harness that kept it so firmly placed in my bruised backside. Each movement sent a fresh wave of sensation through my body, a reminder of my vulnerability and the cruel apparatus that held me much too open.
“Keep up,” Marcus commanded, his voice low but firm. His grip on the leash tightened, forcing me to quicken my pace despite the protests of my aching flesh. I could feel his eyes on me, assessing every flinch, every shiver, ensuring my compliance.
As we entered the East Wing, the opulence of the decor became almost suffocating. Gilt mirrors reflected my naked form back at me from countless angles, amplifying my shame. The erotic art lining the walls depicted scenes of dominance and submission: mythic heroes punishing unwilling maidens, gods taking what they desired without mercy. It seemed a constant, visual reminder of my place here.
Two guards stood at attention as we approached, their eyes lighting up with eager interest as they took in the sight of me. Their gazes roved over my exposed skin, lingering to my dismay on the leather straps of the harness that secured the butt plug deep within me.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Marcus greeted them with a nod, his tone cordial yet commanding.
“Morning, Monsieur Blackthorne,” one of the guards replied, his eyes never leaving my body. The other guard smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle of my degradation.
“Show them,” Marcus ordered, directing his words at me. “Turn around and bend over. Hands on your knees.”
My heart pounded in my chest and my face felt like a furnace as I obeyed, turning my back to the guards and bending at the waist, my fingers and palms finding the bare, taut skin that covered my kneecaps. The position accentuated the fullness in my bottom terribly, and I fought to maintain my balance, my face burning with humiliation.
“Take a good look,” Marcus said, his voice carrying an edge of authority that demonstrated his status as their boss. “But remember—no touching. She is reserved for Monsieur Delacroix.”
“Understood,” the first guard said, his voice tinged with amusement. I could feel them both leaning in closer, examining the angry red bruises and the harness with undisguised fascination.
“She refused to play with herself when commanded,” Marcus explained, his tone matter-of-fact. “So I had to discipline her. The training harness ensures she will be properly prepared for Monsieur Delacroix’s cock when the time comes for her to lose her final virginity.”
The guards chuckled, the sound sending a shiver of mortification through me. My humiliation felt complete, and yet I could not afford to allow it to overwhelm me. I had to remember my mission, to stay focused despite the degrading situation I found myself in.
Innocent. Briseis.
“Have you learned your lesson, girl?” one of the guards asked in a mocking voice from behind me. “When it’s my turn to use you, will you wank that little cunt until it’s ready for me?”
I bit my lip, my forehead working with mortification.
“Answer him, Sophia,” Marcus said sharply, giving the leash a tug. “You need to learn your place. I don’t want to have to whip you every day.”
I let out a little cry of surprise and alarm at the pull on my collar, and then a little whimper of utter degradation that I knew would at least emphasize my innocence and my absolutely real feeling of powerlessness.
“Yes, sir,” I murmured.
“Good girl,” the guard said, his smug satisfaction terribly audible.
“You may stand up, slut,” Marcus instructed, tugging on the leash again, though with less force, to compel me to rise. I did so with as much grace as I could muster, fighting the urge to collapse at his feet and beg for mercy. Instead, I made myself meet his gaze, hoping to convey my desperation without words.
“See you later, gentleman,” he said, giving a final nod to the guards before leading me further down the corridor. As we walked, I struggled to maintain my composure, every fiber of my being urging me to fall to my knees and plead with Marcus to save me, to take me back to the Order and the Guard.
But I knew better. Revealing my true identity, confessing my mission—it would only lead to greater danger. So I kept silent, focusing instead on the rhythm of my steps and the measured pull of the leash, determined to endure whatever lay ahead.