A shaky breath; a nod. "Yes, my lord."

"I want to see what I can do to you and have you still want it. Maybe I'll keep going until you beg me to stop."

"We may be here a while, then, my lord."

He laughs.

A section of the marble floor rises upward. It looks and feels like solid stone, but it moves like water, or like a living thing, rippling under Niamira's feet and catching her when she falls.

She giggles, running her hands along the smoothly curved surface as it builds under her like a wave.

"My lord, I think I like your imagination."

"We'll see about that."

An iron rod materializes in his hand, and continues materializing out to a length comparable to the one she encountered yesterday, except that this one is thicker and more of it is glowing orange-red.

"Oh, fuck," she breathes, staring at it with obvious fear and equally obvious lust.

"Do you remember what you said yesterday, about what you'd do if I stood over you with one of these?"

"I told you I would spread my legs and say please."

She lies back on the bed of rippling stone and spreads her legs, shivering.

"Please, my lord."

He brings it close enough that she can feel the heat radiating onto her thigh, almost exactly where she had that awful burn yesterday -

- and says, "I'm sure you have it in you to be more eloquent than that."

She shivers. She doesn't look.

"I want it in my cunt," she says. "But not for too long, my lord, because I want to be able to feel it when you fuck me afterward. I want you to cover me with burns inside and out and then hold me down and fuck me while I scream and weep with pain. And then I want you to fill my cunt with red-hot iron and hold it there, or better yet fuck me with it. Is that eloquent enough for you, my lord, or should I continue?"

He doesn't answer in words.

The hot iron enters her with violent force and a crackling hiss; the stone curves up to cradle her, holding her in place against that vicious thrust. And then he pulls it out again and lays it along her inner thigh.

She gasps - whimpers - moans loudly, clutching at the stone as it moves. Her legs shake but she keeps them open, welcoming him, welcoming the pain.

When she tries to speak, no words emerge, only a whine of pain and desire.

He burns her other thigh too, for symmetry, and releases the illusion of the hot iron, and runs his hands lightly up the long seared tracks it left in her flesh, waiting for them to be cool enough to comfortably touch.

She tries to find her words again; fails; whimpers helplessly.

"My treasure," he says, settling his hands on her knees and squeezing them affectionately. "My lovely Niamira. I don't think I'll fuck you until you can beg me for it."

She utters a wordless pleading whine.

She is beautiful and fragile and in so much pain and so obviously loving it, and he wants to kiss her and hold her and fuck her and give her everything she wants -

"Try again," he says instead, softly.

"Please," she breathes.

"Go on."

"Please, my lord, fuck me - it hurts so much, it's everything I've dreamed of, I want you so badly, I want you to hurt me, please -"

"That's more like it."

He strokes the long burns on her legs, slowly, with deliberate pressure. They're still hot to the touch, but no longer hot enough to light a fire with.

"Please," she whimpers, between sobs of pain. "I want you, please, fuck me, please - hurt me, rape me, use me, wreck me - it hurts and I love that it hurts, I want to feel you fuck me like this, please, my lord..."

"I like the way you beg," he says, wrapping his hands around her thighs and squeezing. The heat that lingers in the burns is a pleasant warmth, no more.

She moans raggedly, blinking back tears. "Please, my lord..."