Page 70 of The Kingdom of Flames

“Please,” Celestine groaned, struggling against the knots that she knew would never break. “Fuck. me.”

Tristien spanked her roughly for that. “Do not presume to command me.”

“Yes Tristien!” Celestine cried out.

The ministrations continued. He touched her with his hands and remarked upon her body's beauty. He described how her cunt and ass flexed and spasmed as he flayed her, sometimes gently, sometimes harshly. In there was praise. Praise for her strength. Praise for how proud she made him.

Tristien slid a single finger into her oiled ring, the tightness of her entrance struggling against him. He sank it slowly into her.

“Grip me,” he hissed. She did, she tried. She clenched around his thick finger. He flogged her across her shoulder blades, and she felt herself milking his finger with her ass. Finally, he withdrew, rubbing her cunt.

“Yes,” Celestine groaned. Completely at peace. Tristien played her body like an instrument.

It went beyond coupling, beyond lust.

A peace unlike anything she had ever known, to be bound and helpless, and completely in his care. She felt safer than she ever had. There in the sunlight and above the glittering water.

When she came, he whipped her perfectly, extending it as if each end of the flog was a string on an instrument that he slowly strummed.

Celestine let go, her climax bringing her to that place where she was wrapped in sunlight—where she surrendered to him. Completely safe.

Chapter 13

Denial

Celestine’s courtship continued, and her world became the stern discipline of devotion. Tristien was a strict and alluring master. She found herself constantly wanting to please him.

The world before coming to him faded further and further, including her family, her first love, and even her goal of courtship. The future was his praise. That was all that existed.

Each morning, Celestine woke to the soft kiss of silken ribbons straining against her flesh. Some evenings, Tristien hung her from the ceiling in varying poses.

Tristien’s bindings, his floggings, his spankings, the way he hoisted her, stretched her, stressed her…it all led somewhere. Her eyes would glaze over with the agony of pressure until, finally, he took her to a place where she felt like she was lying in his arms in a warm meadow. She was art; she was his tapestry, and he continued to push her body and lust to boiling limits.

When that limit was reached, she whimpered into his arms once the ropes slackened. She knew peace.

The coldness of this dance made her heart numb. It only pulsed with fire when he broke her and she sought his comfort.

Every nerve ending in her body slowly betrayed her, seeking his control instead of her own. Celestine watched, unable to bring herself to stop her body and mind from nestling into his tight control. She never sought to stop it from happening.

Sometimes, in the night, Tristien would extend her agony. It was difficult to surrender when he teased her, when she felt his fingers upon her, coaxing and prodding, spreading, until she was gushing in his strong palm.

When she woke in the mornings, she stood at attention for him. She always wore the collar. He would guide her then, bathe her in the tub, massage her body, and then dress her. At breakfast, he selected what she ate.

“I know exactly what your body needs, little bride.”

“Yes, Tristien,” she would say with a smile.

Some portions of the day, she was the lady of the estate. But the majority of it was spent among the servants.

The day’s labor would begin. Sometimes attendants and bonded servants would cross the wrong path, taking in a view of her bent over scrubbing or polishing. She saw the fear in their eyes, and Tristien would send them chastised from the room with a quick shout or a growl.

This realm belonged to him. It was his to punish as he saw fit.

Each day, there were fewer choices she needed to make. What to wear. What to eat. Even what to think. Before coming to Calendar, this would have troubled Celestine greatly. To take someone’s choice was the most heinous theft.

With Tristien, Celestine learned worship. Adoration. Her quim trembled when he was near, wanting his attention. Her mouth would water at the sight of his flesh.

Yet he never entered her. He explained each evening that it would be soon, that she needed to trust him.

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