The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 111

Volumes 1-4 + Side Stories of DMS are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

“For how much you’ve been used, both your front and back holes are still pretty. But it seems the front one has stretched a bit—must’ve been used more. At first, it was neatly closed, you know.”

Yoo Jaha’s s*x wasn’t visibly deformed, but the emperor deliberately mocked her, hoping to provoke even the slightest reaction. If she furrowed her brow just a little, glared at him, or even bit down softly on the flesh inside her mouth—anything would have given him relief from this inexplicable unease.

Driven by impatience, he deliberately let out words meant to grate on her nerves.

“Maybe I’ll take this one today. Can’t let the back hole feel left out, can we?”

Pressing the tip against her a**s as if to penetrate, he stared down at her—not her eyes, which she couldn’t even bear to meet, but her lips.

At last, those small lips parted slightly.

“Yes… please do as you wish.”

For a moment, the emperor’s breath caught in his throat.

The way Jaha responded indifferently, without a trace of resentment, was undeniably broken.

This was beyond any rationalization—beyond mere submission.

The truth he had desperately denied now crashed over him in an instant.

Gritting his teeth, the emperor thrust into her wet entrance, beginning his rhythmic motions. Jaha shuddered, gasping softly, her body honest and unrestrained in its reactions.

That was all there was.

Her body merely reacted in a straightforward manner to physical stimuli—there was no mental process involved. It was simply a matter of pleasure being good, and pain or exhaustion being bad.

Blinded by the charm of Jaha, who never refused the pleasure he gave her, the Emperor failed to notice the abnormality. Drunk on a happiness so overwhelming it felt as if his chest would burst, he lost all rational judgment.

No—in truth, he knew. He knew something had gone terribly wrong.

For a long time now, he had been walking a mistaken path, but this time, he had truly crossed a river with no return.

He simply lacked the courage to face it, so he pretended not to know.

Countless times, he replayed the memories of that day, drowning in regret—over and over.

He shouldn’t have killed that bastard in front of Jaha.

He should have disposed of him quietly, from the shadows. Wasn’t that his expertise? Handling matters discreetly, without causing a disturbance.

If he absolutely had to do it then and there, he should have at least refrained from doing it himself—he should have ordered someone else. If he had wanted to lessen even slightly the disgust Jaha would feel toward him…

The best course would have been to quietly turn away, pretending not to see, and then discreetly eliminate the man without Jaha ever knowing.

Not a single day passed without him regretting his own foolishness—how he had failed to restrain his momentary rage, barged into the scene, and taken the worst possible course of action.

“Even though I keep stuffing you at random times like this, and now you’ve gotten so loose you can’t even stay closed when left alone… you’re still okay with this?”

“Hah… Ah! Yes, I am.”

How wonderful it would be if he could turn back time—he imagined it countless times.

Had he not dealt with that bastard in such a way, Jaha might not have ended up like this.

In the past, no matter how much she was humiliated, Jaha never let her expression waver under the lashings that would have brought anyone else to tears. As if the words meant nothing to her.

But unlike before, when she would clench her lips tight yet still let her disgust seep through—now, Jaha no longer felt shame.

And without shame, she no longer resisted.

It wasn’t just shame that was absent. There was no joy, no sorrow, no hatred—nothing that could be called an emotion. Only primal, instinctive reactions remained.

Jaha had not accepted him. She had simply become a living doll, devoid of thought.

Rather than endure him, she had abandoned her sense of self.

The Emperor’s face twisted violently as he roughly thrust her hips upward. The intervals between Jaha’s moans grew shorter and shorter until she reached her climax first.

He came inside her trembling body, then glared at her with bloodshot eyes.

Her face was slack with pleasure.

Her dark, clouded eyes held no trace of him.

Those eyes—once sharp with unyielding pride and piercing rationality, the same eyes that had occasionally burned with defiance as they glared straight at him—were nowhere to be found.

Unable to suppress the surge of emotion, the Emperor seized Jaha’s throat. The slender neck in his grip felt so fragile it might crumble if he tightened his hold. The faint, fluttering pulse against his palm was maddeningly delicate.