Page 67 of The Kingdom of Flames

“Are you going to be good?”

“Yes,” Celestine murmured, her thighs trembling from the squat after so much labor. He wasn’t letting her sit, not letting her stand. Her entire body was locked in contortion.

“Ride it. Show me how you would serve me.”

Celestine’s eyes never left his. They were her rock, her support, her guiding line as the silken leash slid through his fingertips, and she sat lower until the bulbous head of the whip pressed against her lips. She grunted, so slick and engorged with the readiness for him. It stretched her opening, and she sat on it, taking the head.

“Good. More.”

Celestine bit her lip, lowering herself, the broad head of his whip sliding deeper into her cunt. Her labia strained, gliding down on the studs of the handle, each causing a tremor as it tantalized her.

“That’s it, yes. Do it. Do it for me, Celestine. You want to be good for me, don't you?”

“Yes, Tristien,” Celestine purred the words. Her nipples grew even harder. Knowing her need, Tristien slapped them. Then again. She groaned and sat lower, her cheeks spreading as she squatted to the floor.

“Take it,” Tristien ordered, his eyes patient. “That’s it. You do so well for me. I see it. I see how badly you want to please me, Final Bride.”

She kissed his hand which grazed her cheek. Another inch slid into her, stretching her.

“Now ride,” Tristien ordered.

Celestine gushed under the words, coating the whip with her lust. She strained up. He held her tether, guiding her. A sharp slap came across her breasts, and she cried his name, lowering herself again. Tristien looked low, watching her take his ivory whip.

“More,” he commanded.

The collar tightened, her throat and breath constricted but still flowing. He held her leash in one hand, then he began to rub her clit with the same motion as she rode, up and down, up and down.

“Let me touch it, please.” Celestine stared at his cock, plump and straining under the ribbon she had tied.

“You may,” Tristien allowed.

She reached out eagerly, practically steadying herself on his massive cock. His balls heaved as she slid up and down him, drawing his skin back and forth, her two hands covering nearly half of his middle. The ridges tortured her cunt, satisfying what had been building all day. The collar tightened perfectly—metal shifting under his arcane gaze.

She fucked his whip and stroked his cock, reaching down to grasp his plump heaving balls. Tristien groaned, leaning back, placing his feet upon his own cushions, letting her see the full view of him. Every inch, every sinew, was perfection. Strained and flexing like a ship’s ropes in a strong wind. She held the whip herself, impaling herself upon it, withdrawing it, rubbing the ridges all over her nub and lips while keeping one hand on him.

His hands held her leash and slapped her with abandon. Every time she nodded, showing him she was ready, he struck her exactly where she wanted. Her flank, her mouth, her breasts all felt his sting.

The light from the carriage dimmed. Celestine felt like she was drowning in his leash. The whip was a crucible of delicious agony. Her climax, so long denied, approached like the sun breaking through clouds. She gripped him fiercely, harder than she had, her single hand not enough to encompass him.

“Tristien!” she groaned in both warning and request.

The collar tightened around her neck. The magic of his control. She shuddered, one last slide down, and she would…

He raised her leash, pulling her up. She couldn’t fall. She reached down to drive the whip into her, but his hand met her, stopping it. For a single moment, the climax she so longingly wanted, she pleaded with her eyes.

Eternal patience stared back at her.

“Please….” Celestine whispered through choked breath.

Tristien stared at her as if they had both just stepped off a precipice before the fall. Finally, he loosened the slack on her leash, and she groaned, falling, filling herself, stud after ridged stud until her body clenched upon the whip now held in his powerful grip, and she came. Her pinnacle was not a sudden rush. Under his choking grip, it extended, a slow boiling that shuddered through every part of her body. He held her and supported her with his hand as she was pinned in that place of perfect paralysis.

When she finished, she nearly collapsed, but his firm hands took her into his arms. They stared at one another.

“I have you,” Tristien murmured, stroking a silken feather of her hair behind her ears.

The carriage rocked, and the control he had relaxed now. He was the comfort giver. The medicae for the wounds he himself dealt, and he was an expert in their deliverance and mending. The velvet ocean of sensation was now a cradle he held her in, and she felt stillness.

It is a peace, but a cold one.

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