The Dialectic of Master and Slave - Chapter 99

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.

If she were to have a child, she’d have to cleanse its status first. A plan formed naturally in her mind: adopt it into a suitable noble family, then take it in as her own. But if a child were conceived, she wouldn’t be able to continue their relationship as it was now.

Withdrawing his hand from the sigil, he thrust deep into her womb with his phallus, twisting like a tentacle, and demanded:

“I’ll spill my c*m straight into your womb—take it well.”

His c**k pulsed violently, ejecting thick seed with force. Jaha felt her womb flood, s***n surging until it overflowed, and in the whirlwind of climax, she couldn’t even breathe.

“You need to breathe.”

The Emperor himself held her, cradling her as he rubbed her back. Only then did Jaha regain consciousness in his arms, gasping for air.

For a moment, what she had felt was death. At the peak of ecstasy, there had been nothing—only pure darkness, soundless and sightless.

Hadn’t someone once said that sleep was a rehearsal for death? Perhaps the end of pleasure was the same.

It was the Emperor’s voice that finally pulled her back from that abyss. But what if he hadn’t spoken? Would she have woken on her own? Or would she have slipped into that eternal darkness forever?

Turning the unanswerable question over in her mind, Jaha trembled faintly. A thought circled her mind—maybe not waking up wouldn’t have been so bad. Better than living like this…

Unaware of Jaha’s thoughts, the Emperor began the second round.

Of course, it didn’t end there—three times, four times, five times… The Emperor, holding Jaha, who had collapsed completely and could no longer move, lay on the bed, lost in his own pleasure as he covered every inch of her with fleeting touches and pressed his lips everywhere.

Jaha stared blankly, feeling those lips land on her here and there like brands.

His own pleasure.

There was no better way to describe it.

Lately, the Emperor had been treating Jaha quite well. He gave her delicious food, pretty clothes, and expensive trinkets at every turn. Unless she were a fool, she couldn’t possibly miss that something in his feelings had shifted. Even after their relations had ended, here he was, doting on her like this.

But Jaha had no obligation to accept it.

The Emperor was merely indulging in his own emotions, one-sidedly savoring the moment.

It was nothing more than self-gratification.

He acted solely as he pleased, without the slightest consideration for Jaha’s feelings.

If he truly cared about her, he should have given her what she wanted. At the very least, he should have refrained from doing what she hated.

If she had been born and raised in a rigid class society, she might have found even his capricious affection overwhelming—but Jaha was not such a person. Not a shred of gratitude stirred in her, no “How noble of His Imperial Majesty to spare a thought for someone as lowly as me!” She had no freedom to refuse, so she could only endure.

Jaha knew what the Emperor wanted. But she had no intention of indulging him, nor any desire to be swayed by his emotions.

Perhaps calling it “emotion” at all was too generous. It was nothing more than a fleeting impulse—a passing breeze, a shallow whim that could flip as easily as the palm of a hand.

Unlike the Emperor, who was consumed by uncontrollable fervor, not even the faintest warmth touched Jaha’s expression.

If only he’d stop being annoying and just fall asleep already.

With a hollow face, Jaha thought just that.

Between them lay an insurmountable gap. A wall Jaha had built.

The Emperor had supplied the materials. Every action he had taken until now had stacked and hardened into that thick barrier.

Now, no matter what the Emperor did, to Jaha, it was merely something happening beyond the wall.

No matter how passionately he pressed his lips to her, it was just courtship against stone.

He could shout for a hundred days, but his voice would scatter as echoes, never passing through. He could shower her with gifts, but they would only pile up outside—none of them ever reaching her.

All of it was the consequence of the Emperor’s own making.

◇ ◆ ◇

She had assumed he would quickly grow bored and turn cold if she gave no reaction, but the Emperor’s capriciousness lasted far longer than expected. If anything, he became increasingly excessive, as if determined to win Jaha’s favor.

Realizing the palace chefs alone wouldn’t suffice, he summoned cooks from beyond the imperial walls to prepare lavish meals for every sitting. He showered her with every conceivable gift—hiring jesters, acrobats, musicians, and theater troupes to perform solely for her.