She stares into the mirror a second longer, then spins around and kisses him.

He kisses back, giggling.

"Now take it all off before I ruin it."

"Yes, my lord."

A few strands of hair catch in the necklace's chains as she pulls it over her head, but she's not sorry to lose them. She wriggles out of the dress and lets it fall to the floor as she steps over to tuck the necklace carefully into a desk drawer.

He follows her. He picks her up again and carries her out of her room and over to his bed, where he throws her down and pounces.

She shivers, remembering all the awful things he has done to her cunt. "Fuck me, my lord."

"Happily."

And violently.

It hurts, but after what she's been through, the pain isn't anything other than glorious.

Afterward, he holds her in his arms and pets her hair.

"My beautiful torture-loving slut."

"Yes, my lord," she agrees, snuggling up to him with a contented sigh.

He puts a hand on her throat and squeezes.

"My treasure. Do you want to go back to the illusion room and discover new ways I can hurt you?"

Shiver. "Yes please, my lord."

He kisses her, then nudges her out of bed. "Go on then."

She goes to the illusion room, looking over her shoulder at the Emperor with nervous anticipation.

He conjures a floor of illusory marble again, and steps up behind her and pets her hair.

"You like to be helpless," he says. "You like to be hurt. You like to be raped." He grabs her by the hair and pulls her head back. "You like that I have power over you and you like the way I use it. Right, my treasure?"

"Yes, my lord," she whimpers.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you right now."

"I, I want, I want - I liked it when you made me do awful things to myself but right now what I really want is for you to force me," she says. "Don't make me cooperate, don't give me a choice. I want to be your helpless plaything. I want to scream and cry and know there's nothing I can do to make it stop."

"You want such lovely things." He kisses the side of her neck, then bites, drawing blood. "And I'll even give them to you. Eventually."

A beautiful intricate throne appears, a nest of soft cushions in a frame of carved wood that curls like ocean waves. He sits, pulling her into his lap.

"You keep telling me that you want me to fuck you with something big and spiked that rips your cunt to shreds."

"Yes, my lord," she says, shivering. She suspects she knows where this is going and she's not sure she likes it.

"When I was watching your gang-rape I particularly enjoyed the part where the fighter with the grudge made you fuck yourself with his club."

—yep, that's exactly the thing she was afraid of.

"I won't force you," he says. "I won't even punish you if you don't do it. But I want to see you fuck yourself with this."

An illusory weapon takes form in his hand. It's not as big as the steel-headed mace she took during the gang rape, but it's of a similar design, and covered in short sharp spikes.

In front of the throne, he creates the illusion of a huge comfortable bed, all soft white fabrics and cozy down pillows.

He tosses the spiked mace onto the bed, tangles his fingers in Niamira's hair, and kisses her.

She kisses back, moaning.

He lets go, and watches her with his beautiful elven eyes.

It would be easier if he forced her. She'd love to be held down and violated with that thing; doing it herself is more frightening, more humiliating, and less attractive.

But - not unattractive.

And she likes the look in his eyes. She wants him to keep looking at her like that. She wants to give him what he wants.

She climbs out of his lap and lies down on the bed. It ripples and moves, bringing her closer. She spreads her legs and picks up the mace.

It takes an immense effort of willpower to make herself set the end of it against her cunt and push.

The spikes catch and tear, ripping her open. She closes her eyes and keeps going. It hurts. She can feel blood trickling out of her. She wishes it was the Emperor doing this to her.