Page 78 of The Kingdom of Flames

I seek deeper wounds. My feet carry me without even a second’s hesitation.

She walked stiffly. Tristien was asleep, a rare enough activity. As their nightly festivities continued, they slept little, choosing instead to fuck several times, sometimes one after another. Her shaved quim craved him. The lash began to dull on her flesh. The flog did not have the same thump. She needed more. Wanted more.

In the room denied to her, she disobeyed him. When she took his circlet into her hands, the feeling of intensity ran through her arms as if it was trying to bind itself onto her.

The circlet was gold and yellow jewels. It was the finest thing she had ever seen. What had wrought it, she didn’t know, but she knew which head it needed to crown.

Tristien was resting in his bindings, his cock semi-hard, beautiful in the moonlight from the window. Celestine’s quim dripped with lust. What she was doing was beyond forbidden, but she cared little. She invited the repercussions. The punishment for this would be severe. Superb.

She covered his eyes with yellow silk, tying it tightly. As she sucked his cock, the circlet on the bed beside them, he groaned as he woke. It felt criminal, like how a thief must feel, as she hurried to mount him. He moaned her name, and she steadied herself on his girth.

He always stretched her, no matter how often they coupled. She would not have it any other way.

“Wake, my love.” Celestine whispered as she took more and more of him, the pain and pleasure wondrous but not as wondrous as the crime she was committing nor the offense she planned to.

“The Final Bride grows hungrier by the day,” Tristien smiled in his blindfold, and then he leaned back. “Yes, ride me.”

“Shhh…” Celestine rocked back and forth, reaching back and spreading herself, feeling the wetness of her lust and the previous joining they had less than an hour ago. “I would know my future husband in full.”

“Yes…my Lady.”

“Lean forward,” Celestine picked up her pace, bouncing, fucking him, powerless beneath her.

Tristien brought his head forward, the bindings behind him denying his movement. He pursed his lips for a kiss.

“I would know you fully.” Celestine gently picked up the circlet, and in one strong, quick movement, riding him, her abdomen clenching, she slipped the circlet on his brow.

“No!” Tristien shouted.

Celestine groaned, feeling electricity dance through her body. The circlet glowed, a yellow haze circling it once it touched his brow. He began to change, to morph under and inside of her. He grew larger, transforming inside her.

It was stunning to see his true form. His skin danced, sparkled, as if he were wrought of knitted white gold. She huffed, climaxing on his growing size, and again, it was as if an avalanche was falling upon her flesh. Everything felt wondrous. Controlled. Sure of itself.

Tristien’s eyes flashed open, blazing yellow. Celestine rode him, her body working to the brink of climax after climax.

“Give it to me.” Celestine’s eyes rolled upwards. She had bound a living deity, a demigod, and he was hers to command, to use.

The bindings snapped as if they had been paper. Tristien emanated power. Yellow glowing eyes flashed. A hand clamped around her throat, her body trembled, and in her foolish greed, she continued to ride him. She would know the wonders of his true form despite this betrayal and grim offense.

Celestine shrieked out as she was wrenched off of him. They flew from the bed. She was on the floor. His hand clamped around her neck, choking the life out of her.

Tristien stared down at her with nothing but contempt. She was a small creature under his control. A speck.

Her breath beat at the door of her lungs and throat, but they wouldn’t budge.

“Tristien,” she managed to croak the words.

But he didn’t let go of her throat, and she realized he might have never worn his circlet for this reason.

“My name,” he growled, the room feeling so dark now. The only light was his burning eyes on her. “Is Lord Solis to you.”

Chapter 16

Slavery

Celestine squinted in the harsh sunlight. For three days—maybe two, it was hard to tell, Tristien had kept her in a room without any light. He had strung her to the ceiling with terrible instruments.

Not Tristien… Lord Solis. Or both, I know not.

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