The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 157

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.

Looking down at Jaha, who was trembling with unease, Rikanan tried not to tighten his grip on her slender back.

If it were up to him, he’d pull her closer—so tight that her soft skin would crumple against him. This small woman wouldn’t be able to escape, no matter how hard she struggled. Even if she punched him with all her strength, she wouldn’t be able to push him away, let alone break free from the arm wrapped around her waist.

The sight of her exposed crown and pale nape was endearing, and the pliant warmth in his arms felt like it belonged there perfectly. But not yet. He couldn’t afford to lose his composure yet.

Suppressing his desire, he asked in a slightly heated voice:

“Are your ankles alright?”

“Ah, yes.”

Jaha pulled away, her face flushed crimson. He nearly caught her unconsciously but quietly clenched his fist instead.

In the end, after their walk, Jaha didn’t head to the study—she went straight to her room. Logically, she knew she should stop this and go read a book, but she couldn’t suppress the rising impulse.

“Hah, ah…”

Lying on the bed, she rubbed her c**t for a while, but the pleasure never quite peaked.

Why won’t it come? Why?

On the verge of tears, she wedged a pillow between her thighs—pressing deep enough to crush that secret place. Then, she rocked back and forth, grinding against the pressure.

“Jaha, you prefer pain over sweetness—over anything else.”

That voice, the touch of his fingers brushing beneath her eyes—unnecessarily lewd—was the reason she ended up like this.

Jaha’s thighs trembled finely before she went still and lay down. She hadn’t found satisfaction, but exhaustion left her with no desire to continue.

What awaited her as she drifted into unconsciousness was a lewd nightmare.

Beneath a massive beast, Jaha’s body shook without respite.

The beast pinned her effortlessly under its overwhelming size, driving its monstrous c**k into her with terrifying force, again and again. Though horrified, Jaha was swept up in a dizzying euphoria each time it split her apart inside, sobbing uncontrollably.

“You’re clenching your c**t so tight. You really like being f****d like an animal, don’t you?”

The beast’s laughter rumbled in her ears.

“You’d feel empty if I didn’t spread you this wide, if I didn’t bury myself this deep.”

Violet eyes. Though its face blurred as if smeared, those demonic pupils burned bright and clear.

“You’re only good for being my personal c**k sleeve.”

By now, the beast had taken the form of a man.

An unrealistically beautiful man traced the intricate markings on Jaha’s stomach before sheathing himself fully inside her. The sensation of being invaded where she shouldn’t—where no one should reach—left her dazed and trembling violently.

“Jaha must love having her womb defiled.”

Every time the man lifted her waist, a slick, transparent liquid splattered messily from where they were joined. Jaha couldn’t deny it—it was coming from her.

Disgusting.

It’s disgusting, but it feels so good I could lose my mind.

The violent, overwhelming stimulation scrambled her brain, leaving her unable to think straight. Into the chaos slithered a serpentine voice:

“Remember this well—you belong to me.”

Jaha’s eyes flew open. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her entire body damp—with sweat, probably. No, judging by the sticky wetness between her thighs, it wasn’t just sweat…

She had no intention of holding dreams to standards like morality, realism, or plausibility. Dreams were supposed to be absurd and nonsensical. But one detail nagged at her—those vivid, violet eyes.

The man in her dream had purple eyes.

And he had referred to himself as “me (짐).”

(T/N “짐” (I or me) is the royal first-person pronoun used exclusively by Korean emperors/kings)

The Emperor in reality also had purple eyes.

Was this just a coincidence?

Or had reality seeped into her dream, like when a celebrity you barely know suddenly appears in your sleep?

“The Emperor.”

Jaha whispered the title and shuddered. Against all reason, she was hyperaware of him now.

Not in a good way.

Thinking of him brought an instinctive chill—a sense of foreboding, of fear. If she had to define her feelings toward him as either like or dislike, the answer was undeniably the latter.

Yet, like something unpleasant you can’t look away from, once she’d become aware of him, she couldn’t shake him from her thoughts. She wanted to erase him cleanly from her mind, like rubbing out pencil marks, but it was impossible.

If she followed Freud’s interpretation—that dreams are a pathway for the subconscious—then her frustration must have reshaped itself into that dream.

But even so… To dream of that with the Emperor, of all people—someone she’d always found unsettling—left a bitter taste in her mouth, no matter how she rationalized it.

After washing up and having a simple breakfast, Jaha headed to the study.

The mansion’s library, which she was visiting for the first time, was larger than most university libraries. She had never needed to come here before—whenever she needed a book, she’d simply asked the servants to fetch it. But now, this was a place she’d have to get familiar with.