Page 23 of The Kingdom of Flames

“Good girl.” Encarmine now traced his left hand, like a claw, along her back. “You are so brave. Little Bride. ”

“Lord Encarmine…” Celestine moaned. “Please, take me.” His hand held her face down on the bathing table. The lips of her quim so open for his view.

His hand stopped along the lower edges of her back. Hot oil slid down her backside, pooling around her pouting cunt.

“Silence,” Encarmine ordered. His hand left her, and before she could protest his absence, he spanked her oiled cheeks roughly. She cried out.

His onslaught continued. He held her down, pinioning her, exposing her, as he spanked her with measured control again. And again.

“Pleaaaase…” Celestine groaned.

Encarmine’s thick finger slid past the ring of muscle that was her rear, prodding it slightly, and she backed up against his absolute control, seeking to have any part of him in any part of her. But he deflected from her, sliding lower, pinching her swollen lips, spreading them, the heat of the oil and his fingers so rough and calloused until he slid them back and forth across her bare nub, teasing her clit and now focusing solely on it.

“Give it to me,” Encarmine commanded. Celestine slid back and forth across his fingers, swirls of euphoria racing up her midriff.

He spanked her again. Teasing her ass, touching her there. Then to her cunt again, this time furiously, swirling and slapping and rubbing violently until she was grunting.

I turn into a beast in his arms, a wanton little whore, and all I want is more.

Encarmine's touch was electrifying, his hand on the back of her neck bending and spreading her in a way that awakened new sensations within her.

He ceased when she was close to her edge. Before she could protest, he released her.

“Step into the tub.”

Celestine rose, losing the last tatters of the bathing robe. It was her turn to withstand a fever that encased her entire body. Twenty years of being alone, never touched for fear of the wrath of her father, it all came crashing down within her demanding more.

Celestine locked eyes with Encarmine as she stepped into the tub. The water was hot, near scalding. It’s heat seeped into her calves.

Encarmine walked forth, eyes fixed upon her. Nearly seven feet tall.

Celestine leaned forward, eager for a kiss. It would make this proper. Make it… less feral.

Red eyes stared into hers. “Taste has not been earned.” And from the tone of his voice she knew she was about to be punished.

Encarmine’s hand was at her throat, the other shot between her legs, and he lifted her with his forearm like a grappler back onto the bathing table. Muscle rippled in his forearm, and he pushed her down until she sat on the edge of the table, his arm gripping the porcelain behind her, rising to meet her quim.

Encarmine stared into her eyes. They were close enough to kiss.

Impishly, she pressed her quim upon his arm. He spanked her.

“Ride.”

Celestine slid back, then forth, the lips of her cunt swirling and unfolding upon his bone and muscle. She shuddered, and he spanked her again, her buttock stinging.

“Ride,” he commanded.

Celestine eyed him and smiled. She placed her arms around his neck, like a lover at a dance, and he nearly pulled from her, but she did not go further to kiss him. Celestine would be good. She would obey. She would not overreach.

She rode upon his arm. Like she had with her silken pillows in the late evenings or her own hand.

But now she sat, oiled and bruised and bathed, and slid her cunt back and forth across his immortal flesh, the scars and edges of him. His circlet emanated heat, and red eyes stared into her as he rode faster and faster, sliding up and down, using his neck as leverage.

Encarmine stared at her like a tyrant gazing upon his freshly won realm, and she shuddered as her climax danced for her in the distance. She picked up speed, fucking his arm, sliding across it, her nipples hard and so exposed in the steam-soaked air.

“Good girl,” Encarmine growled. He withdrew his hand again as her climax neared. “Undress me.”

Celestine fell off the table in a frantic greed of lust that would have shamed her to even think of. She dashed the buckle of his war belt aside, pulling at his breeches, where the firmness in his groin threatened her behind the cloth. She tugged the pants down, the lines of his abdomen and waist so cut and lean but large. She saw the edge of his pubic hair, close-cropped like the hair on his head, and finally, as she found herself biting her lip, the edge of his manhood.

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