In the grand room, bathed in soft, diffused light from floor-to-ceiling windows framed by sheer white curtains, A figure lay sprawled across the enormous silver king-sized bed. The room, lined with intricate white-tiled walls and gleaming marble floors, was quiet except for the slick, wet sound of her fingers disappearing between her thick, trembling thighs. Her body, once soft and delicate, had become a vessel of unbearable frustration. Her pale skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat as her large breasts, tipped with inverted nipples that slowly protruded with every harsh tug, swayed with the intensity of her motions.

This was the Seraphina Aestherisin.

Seraphina's fingers plunged deeper into her wet slit, her other hand twisting and pulling her swollen nipple in desperation, trying to extract from herself what only another could give. Her breath came out in broken, erratic gasps, her voice thin and strained.

"Yes...yes...just like that, my good boy. My little man..." she whispered, her voice trembling as her juices soaked the mattress beneath her. She had been doing this every day for two months now—whenever she could steal a moment alone—and yet the aching void inside her only grew wider with each passing day. The first month, she had waited patiently, but by the second, the need had taken on a life of its own. Every time she brought herself to climax, the release left her hollow, unsatisfied, unfulfilled. What she craved wasn't the orgasm itself, but the authority that came with it.

She needed him—her man. She needed his steady, commanding voice, his cold, steel eyes watching her every move as he controlled her body like it belonged to him. She needed his hands on her, twisting her nipples, pinching that throbbing, swollen bud just above the place where her fingers were feverishly working.

The memory of him—of his dominance, his unyielding control over her—pushed her over the edge, and she came hard, her body convulsing with shuddering intensity. But the satisfaction was fleeting. She lay there, panting, staring up at the ceiling with empty eyes.

"No...this isn't it..." she muttered, a sob creeping into her voice. Her fingers fell limp, coated in her slick juices, and she wiped her chin where drool had begun to pool from her open mouth.

The void remained.

"How much longer...how much more before you're here... commanding me..." she pleaded to the empty room, her voice breaking, her body twitching with aftershocks of an empty orgasm. Her frustration only grew more desperate with each passing day. She twisted her nipple again—this time with such violent force that it split the skin, a thin line of blood trickling down her breast. The sting made moan, and for a moment, it was a distraction from the emptiness.

But it wasn't enough.

With a guttural groan, Seraphina thrust her fingers into herself again, this time more violently. The bed groaned beneath her weight as her fleshy thighs slapped together, her body convulsing in a frenzy of movement. Her free hand gripped her breast, scratching it harshly, drawing blood as she mauled herself. Three fingers disappeared into her wet slit, the thumb now furiously rubbing at her swollen clitoris until it, too, was raw and bloody. Her whole body was shaking, her eyes—once soft and pale—were now bloodshot, filled with a maddening mixture of pleasure and pain or may the need to feel any of both.

She came again, her legs shaking uncontrollably, her breathing ragged and uneven. There was a momentary relief, a fleeting surge of sensation—but still, it wasn't enough. The void inside her yawned wider, darker. She had been doing this for so long now, even going so far as to hurt herself in the hopes that the pain might bring some semblance of satisfaction, but nothing worked. No matter how violently she tried to force her body into submission, the void remained unfilled.

It wasn't the act itself that mattered. It was him.

She had come to realize that it wasn't just about the commands, the degradation, the pain. It was about who was inflicting them. No one else could make her feel the way her son did. It was because it was him—her beloved boy—that she had fallen so completely into his control. She had given herself over to him, eagerly placing her very life in his hands. And now, in his absence, all she felt was unbearable, aching pain.

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She had been able to endure dissatisfaction for most of her life. But now, after having tasted the sweetness of his control, she could never go back. It was like a poison, seeping through her veins—one that she would gladly drink again and again just to feel the satisfaction he could bring.

There was a sharp knock on the door, jolting Seraphina out of her light-headed, post-orgasmic daze. Her body still trembled with the lingering effects of her violent self-abuse, but she managed to collect herself.

"My lady, you called for me," came Rowena's voice from the other side of the door. The words reminded Seraphina that she had, in fact, summoned her maid some time ago.

"Yes, come in," Seraphina commanded, her voice hoarse and unsteady.

Rowena entered the room, her expression carefully neutral, though she couldn't help but notice the disheveled state of her lady. The scene had become disturbingly familiar over the past months—Seraphina's once rare indulgences in private pleasure now turning into frequent, violent episodes. Rowena kept her eyes down, her posture deferential, avoiding the lurid details that her peripheral vision picked up: the bloodstains on the sheets, the gleaming wetness on her lady's thighs, and the violent scratch marks across her breasts.

"What do you wish to command, my lady?" Rowena asked, bowing slightly but never daring to make eye contact.

"Check on Elara. See if she's still in training. Tell her to come see me," Seraphina ordered, her voice still raspy, a bit broken from the exertion. "And bring some food to that woman."

"As you wish, my lady," Rowena responded quietly before turning and closing the door behind her, leaving Seraphina to stew in her own discontent.

Rowena made her way down the halls toward Elara's chambers, knocking softly at the door. Receiving no reply, she continued to the training garden that His Highness had specially constructed within the palace grounds. It was a large, sprawling area, filled with ancient, gnarled trees and thick vines—each one enchanted, each one a tool in Elara's training. The security had been intensified after the last incident, the king's kind hearted nature was appreciated this time, though usually it was more of a bother than blessing.

As Rowena stepped into the garden, the branches—sharp as blades—instantly extended toward her, stopping just inches from her face. Yet, she didn't flinch.

"You never do, Rowena. Still so calm," came Elara's voice, smooth and slightly mocking. She emerged from the layers of enchanted branches, her lean, athletic body on display as she effortlessly commanded the flora around her.

Elara's eyes gleamed with the thrill of her training. A large branch rose from beneath her feet, lifting her into the air as she approached Rowena. "What is it? Am I not fast enough? Are my attacks not strong enough?" she demanded, her voice filled with the frustration of someone constantly striving for perfection.

Rowena shook her head, her voice even. "No, young miss. You are progressing wonderfully."

And she meant it. Elara had thrown herself into her training with an almost manic fervor since her brother had left. She spent her nights honing her body, her days sharpening her skills. She rested only when absolutely necessary, her desire to be stronger, faster, better driving her relentlessly.

"Then why don't you flinch?" Elara pressed, her annoyance tinged with curiosity.

"These old eyes have seen too much to be scared so easily, young miss," Rowena replied with a slight bow.

"Hmph, you're no fun. You could at least pretend," Elara said, the corner of her mouth quirking in the ghost of a smile.

"I would never lie to you, young miss," Rowena said, bowing again in deference.

Elara sighed. "Never mind that. Why are you here?"

"My lady has requested your presence," Rowena said plainly.

The enchanted branches receded, returning to their natural state as Elara gracefully stepped down from her perch. "Very well. I'll go to her. You've got other duties to tend to, so don't bother yourself with me." Without another word, Elara turned and strode toward the palace.

Rowena moved on to her next task, heading toward the kitchens where she gathered a plate of food and a glass of red blood before heading to a room at the far end of the palace. Inside was another woman—her charge, though she had become more of a prisoner over the past months.

Rowena entered the room, careful not to make a sound as the woman sat up straight in the bed, her back leaning heavily against the headboard. Her breasts, enormous and fleshy, were adorned with thick silver earrings that hung heavily from her nipples—one of which looked like lips, as though torn apart and haphazardly stitched back together.

"Here is your food," Rowena said, moving toward the table to set the plate down.

"Please... place it here," the woman said, her voice low and breathy. Rowena noticed the flush on her cheeks, the way her thighs glistened with wetness as she shifted slightly on the bed. The room was filled with the thick, musky scent of her arousal—something that had become impossible to ignore.

Rowena complied, setting the food down gently in front of her, stealing a glance at the slick wetness still dripping down the woman's thighs. She could smell it the moment she had walked in, the scent unmistakable. But Rowena said nothing, keeping her face impassive as she rose and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind her.