He makes an encouraging noise. And continues doing things to her with his tongue.

She moans again, helplessly. "Oh my lord you make me feel so good... I, I, fuck I can't think like this..."

His hands squeeze her thighs, holding them apart, keeping her open to his intimate caresses. He isn't even using lifecraft this time.

Apparently he doesn't need lifecraft to make her lose her mind with pleasure.

She takes a deep breath and marshals her focus. She is not going to give up this easily. He wants her to talk? She'll talk.

"You—you could—make it almost as bad as chaining me up in public for anyone to use—if you bought a new batch of fighters and told them they were my punishment, and told me to go to them anytime I misbehaved, and, and be a good slut for them—and you let them gossip about it—so anytime they had me, anyone who wasn't busy could drop by to watch—and—and join in, if they followed the rules—"

Just thinking about it brings a hot flush of shame to her cheeks.

"Please don't, my lord, please, I—I think you'd probably have more fun throwing a little party with your least important friends and making me their toy for the night—" She whimpers, and tries to squirm, but he's got her pinned down so thoroughly that she can hardly even wiggle her hips. It's incredibly hot.

He hums noncommittally and doesn't stop to comment.

That's not very reassuring, and she's terrified he'll actually follow her suggestions, that she'll end up spreading her legs and begging for rape in front of an audience of fifty, that anyone in the palace who's interested in that sort of thing will be able to watch her debase herself.

And still—

"I love you, my lord," she moans. "I love your power and your beauty and your cruelty and your kindness. I love you when you're sweet to me and feed me fruit tarts, and I love you when you rip me apart and make me think I'm going to die, and I love you when you make me tell you how to punish me, and—aah—I—I love—what you're—doing—with—a-ahh—your mouth—"

She thrashes weakly, overcome by pleasure.

He holds her down and keeps his mouth on her until she's well and truly limp, then lets go and stretches out at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and burying his face in her hair.

"My treasure," he says, with deep affection. "Mmmm. I guess you'll just have to wait and see what I decide to do to you, hmm?"

It takes her a minute to catch her breath well enough to respond.

"My lord," she says at last, still a little breathlessly, "you're terrifying and merciless and I like you that way."

"One of the many things I like about you," he says, hugging her closer, "is that you didn't hesitate for a moment to tell me your deepest fears, knowing I would certainly use them against you."

"Mmm." She curls up, turning toward him, resting her head on his chest. "Of course, my lord. I wouldn't dream of lying to you."

He shakes his head, smiling into her hair.

"There's honesty and then there's - struggling through intense distraction to be as creative and thorough as possible about telling me all the worst ways to hurt you so I can punish you for my own amusement even though it couldn't be more clear that you are the least rebellious slave I've ever owned and if a dragon flew out of the desert to snatch you from my grasp and fly you to safety you'd tell them to turn around and put you back."

—she bursts out laughing.

He giggles and kisses her forehead. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Mmhmm." She settles comfortably into his arms. "And if the dragon refused to return me, I'd sneak away and come back on my own. I am yours and I intend to stay that way."

He holds her tight enough that her ribs creak, and presses his lips to the top of her head, and doesn't say anything for a long moment.

On one level, she's never felt safer in her life. On another... She shivers slightly. He cares so deeply for her, and she's really genuinely not-in-the-fun-way terrified of what would happen if he were ever forced to acknowledge it.

His grip loosens, after a while; he heals the bruises he left on her ribs, and kisses her forehead again, and pets her hair.

She relaxes, closing her eyes and nestling cozily against him. She doesn't say anything. All the words she can think of are... dangerously sentimental.

Eventually, she drifts off to sleep.