The sunlight gently through flowed the window blinds, dappling across the hardwood floor in warm, languid patterns. The apartment was quiet. Peaceful. Lia's textbooks lay untouched beside her, her art supplies scattered across the desk, abandoned hours ago.
She was on the bed--naked, flushed, panting.
It had been three days since that intense worship session. Three days since Celine had told her "You don't cum without my permission."
Three days of teetering on the edge of madness.
Every brush of her thighs, every half-waking dream filled with Celine's commanding voice and her hands had driven her deeper into a spiral of want. She couldn't focus. She could barely breathe without imagining herself at her mistress's feet again.
So when Celine had left for class this morning, Lia had lasted all of twenty minutes before her resolve broke.
Now, she lay on the mattress, fingers moving feverishly between her soaked folds, moaning into a pillow. Her mind was blank with lust, thoughts of punishment and obedience drowned out by the need to finally release.
She didn't hear the front door open.
She did feel the sudden, unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Her heart stopped.
She looked up--eyes wide, mouth half-open in a silent gasp--as she saw Celine standing in the doorway.
Her wallet in hand.
And her expression cold.
Lia's hand flew away from herself. She sat up, shame already painting her face crimson, scrambling to speak.
"C-Celine--I--I'm sorry, I wasn't--"
But that gaze froze her mid-sentence.
Icy. Silent. Disappointed.
Celine didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to.
"Strip," she said, her voice like glass. "And kneel in the living room. Wait for me there."
Then she turned and walked out of the room.
Lia's limbs moved before her thoughts caught up. She stripped quickly--her shame rising with every piece of clothing--and crawled shakily into the living room. Her knees pressed into the floor, hands resting obediently on her thighs, head bowed.
She felt like she was about to cry already.
Alone in silence, her arousal had long since faded, leaving only the sour tang of guilt. Not just guilt over breaking a rule--but over disappointing Celine.
Celine closed the door behind her and leaned against it, heart pounding. Her grip tightened around the wallet she'd come back for, her knuckles white. A storm churned in her chest--anger, disappointment, confusion.
She hadn't expected this to hurt.
Not just irritation at a rule being broken--but a real, twisting ache beneath her stern exterior. She had trusted Lia. She had bound her with that rule--her first act of real ownership. And Lia had... disregarded it.
Celine paced slowly across the room, trying to clear her mind. Her hands trembled, not with fury, but with something deeper. Realization.