Sold at Auction – Bound for Service Read Online Emily Tilton

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Tags Authors: Emily Tilton Advertisement

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“That’s it, take it all,” Jacques grunted, his fingers tightening painfully in my hair. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to breathe around his punishing thrusts.

Meanwhile, Marcel positioned himself between my spread legs. I felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against my still-sensitive entrance. With a savage thrust, he buried himself inside me.

I cried out around Jacques’ cock, the sound muffled but still audible. The pain of Marcel’s invasion was intense—I was sore and tender from Marcus’ earlier claiming. But my traitorous body responded, a rush of wetness easing his way as he set a brutal pace.

“Fuck, she’s still so tight,” Marcel panted. “Feels even better than I imagined.”

Charles, the youngest guard, approached hesitantly. I felt his light, tentative touch on my breast, his fingers trembling slightly as he cupped the soft flesh. Despite my fear and humiliation, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the young guard. He seemed almost as overwhelmed as I was.

“Go on, boy,” one of the other guards urged, one whose name I didn’t know. “She’s just a fuck toy. Use her however you want.”

Charles swallowed hard, his eyes darting between my face and his hand on my breast. Then, as if making a decision, he lowered his head and took my nipple into his mouth.

I gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch despite myself. The contrast between his almost gentle ministrations and the brutal way Jacques and Marcel were using me was dizzying.

Jacques pulled out of my mouth abruptly, leaving me gasping for air. Before I could catch my breath, he was replaced by another guard, this one even thicker than Jacques. I choked as he shoved himself down my throat, tears streaming anew down my face.

Marcel’s punishing rhythm never faltered. He gripped my hips so tightly, I knew there would be bruises. “That’s it, take it like the whore you are,” he grunted.

I felt myself spiraling, overwhelmed by sensation. The pain, the humiliation, the flickers of unwanted pleasure—it all blurred together.

I felt Marcel pull out, heard him speak to Charles.

“Take her ass, boy—you know you want to.”

They held me open—the other guards, the nameless ones—my knees to my chest, my thighs wide, as they waited. I felt them pressing harder, splaying me further for Charles as I did my best to please the rigid penis in my mouth.

I felt his hands on my thighs, soft but also commanding, as if this experience had begun to awaken him to his dominance. I saw Marcus, just for a moment, between two other guards. My miles’ face seemed unreadable, and then, just as I felt Charles’ cock press into my smallest hole, I saw Marcus wink.

The wink was a lifeline, a brief tether to sanity in the maelstrom of debauchery. The discomfort was immediate, sharp, and consuming, though, as Charles breached my tightest entrance. Despite his hesitance, his body seemed to know exactly how to claim me. His hands gripped my thighs with newfound authority, fingers digging into my flesh as he pushed deeper, stretching me.

My mind fragmented under the relentless assault on my senses. The taste of the cock in my mouth mingled with the saltiness of my tears as it drove ruthlessly into my mouth. Charles’ harsh rhythm was no less punishing as he rammed into my bottom, each thrust eliciting a mix of pain and unwanted pleasure that I couldn’t escape.

Marcus’ wink lingered in my mind like a beacon of hope. Despite the brutality I endured, that small gesture was a reminder that he was still with me, watching over me even when he couldn’t intervene directly.

And it must… it must mean something, right? Distantly, in some far away place where my thoughts took shape, I wondered what.

The huge crash and the new, shouting voices that filled the air a moment later had to have some relation to Marcus’ wink. I knew that, even if none of the rest of the things happening seemed connected to one another at all. Men… lots of men: some pulled away from me, some coming towards me…

Then Marcus, picking me up off the bench, cradling me in his arms.

“You did it, Sophia, my sweet girl,” he murmured into my ear as he carried me out of the room. “My nupta.”

CHAPTER 21

Sophia

I didn’t learn what it really meant to be a nupta until a few days later, in a ritual chamber deep below Manhattan.

By the time Marcus and I reached the New York mithraeum, I could barely recall the whirlwind of different modes of transportation by which we made our escape from Legeria. At some point over the Atlantic, on a private jet, I became fully aware of my surroundings for the first time since Marcus and I had entered the guard room of Delacroix’s chateau. I realized Marcus was in the seat next to mine and that someone had dressed me in comfy gray sweats. I promptly fell asleep with my head on my miles’ arm.

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