Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
I studied Matthew’s face, searching for any hint of weakness, any opening I could exploit. There was none. His expression remained impassive, confident, the look of a man who held all the cards and knew it. Behind that mask of calm professionalism, I sensed something else—a quality I recognized because I possessed it myself. This man had accustomed himself to dominance, to control, to the wielding of power over others. He understood the complex dance of authority and submission that had shaped human civilization since its earliest days.
In another life, under different circumstances, we might have recognized each other as kindred spirits. Now, we were adversaries playing a game with the highest possible stakes.
“The way I see it, Professor Hallstrom,” Matthew said, his voice pitched for my ears alone, “you have two options. You and your associate can come with us quietly, without incident. Or you can resist, perhaps even escape—my men are good, but I don’t underestimate your capabilities—and in doing so, sign the death warrants of both Mary O’Toole and Camille Dubois.”
My jaw clenched involuntarily at the sound of their names. I took a calming breath, glancing at Erik to see him nod slightly.
“We’ll come, Leo Marmareus,” I told him. “But as I’m sure you can imagine, we have resources deployed to make certain that if we’re harmed, we can take you down as well.”
“Of course,” Matthew said. “I expected no less. Now let’s reunite you with my new Columbae, so that you can be assured of their safety, before we discuss where our, shall we say, mutual interests lie.”
Mary
My legs trembled as I followed the girl, naked except for a collar, who had introduced herself as Nupta Cassandra. The stone floor felt surprisingly warm beneath my bare feet, like an echo of the shameful heat that lingered in my pussy. After what had seemed like hours on that diabolical saddle, my body felt both utterly depleted and hypersensitive, every nerve ending raw and exposed. I had lost count of the orgasms that had been wrenched from me—six? Seven? Each one had brought me to the edge of a vision, the branches of Yggdrasil tantalizingly close, only to have the saddle’s changing rhythms yank me back before I could fully connect.
When Cassandra, blonde, blue-eyed and big busted, had finally entered my cell, her nakedness—but for a collar like mine—was somehow less shameful than the leathers in which Marmareus had bound me, I’d been sobbing, my body slick with sweat, my thighs trembling uncontrollably. She hadn’t spoken as she deactivated the saddle and unclipped my restraints from the posts. I’d collapsed to the floor, muscles screaming in protest after being held in one position for so long. Cassandra had simply waited, her expression impassive, until I regained enough strength to stand.
Then she had said simply, “I am Nupta Cassandra. You will be silent, and you will obey, or you will be whipped until you cannot walk.” She had gotten a leash from the cabinet and clipped it to my collar.
I felt the light tug of it at my neck as Cassandra led me down the corridor. I kept my eyes downcast, acutely aware of my nakedness, of the leather restraints that adorned my body—the collar around my throat, the belt cinching my waist, the cuffs at my wrists, ankles, and thighs. These symbols of my captivity, my supposed submission to the Pretorian Guard, suddenly felt somehow both alien and disturbingly familiar.
The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, its stone walls occasionally interrupted by closed doors that I couldn’t help but wonder about. What other horrors lay behind them? What other devices of pleasure and pain awaited unwilling initiates into the Guard’s mysteries?
A soft gasp drew my attention. I glanced up to see another girl, also naked but for her collar, emerging from another door, leading Camille on a leash identical to mine. My heart lurched painfully in my chest at the sight of my friend. Like me, Camille had on only the leather restraints that had made her, as I had watched, into what Marmareus had called a Columba. Her dark hair hung in tangled waves around her face, her eyes wide and haunted. Her bottom bore the bruises left by the Leo’s huge, punishing hand.
“I am Nupta Cassandra,” the girl who held my leash said to Camille.
“I am Nupta Viola,” Camille’s captor said to me.
My eyes met Camille’s, and I saw in her gaze a reflection of my own confusion, fear, and helpless anticipation. The knowledge that we shared this humiliation, this violation, seemed to re-forge the bond between us—hammering it into something deeper, darker, and more complex than before.
I wanted desperately to speak to her, to ask if she was alright, to offer some comfort however meager. But Cassandra’s warning echoed in my mind: absolute silence, or a terrible whipping. I couldn’t bear even the thought of it, atop the cuts of the mastix that still throbbed on my backside.