He holds her for a while longer, and then snuggles under the blanket and curls up around her. It's hard to tell how quickly he falls asleep.

Niamira feels like she should be too frightened to sleep, but in fact she's out like a light almost immediately.

The illusory stone barriers fade away. Moonlight streams in the window.

He wakes in the middle of the night wanting her, and she's right there in his arms, precious and fragile and perfect. Her skin is so soft under his hands. Her ink-stained fingers are delicate and beautiful, and he could break them at a whim, but he doesn't want to. He wants to roll her onto her back and kiss the lovely line of her throat and fuck her. And she is his to use exactly as he pleases, so that is what he does.

She wakes up with his cock inside her, and for a disoriented moment she has no idea where she is or who is fucking her, and she struggles instinctively, kicking and twisting and shoving at his chest with her hands.

He laughs softly.

It's a very recognizable laugh. She stops fighting and instead spreads her legs for him with a moan of surrender.

He kisses her neck again. "My treasure," he whispers.

"Oh, yes, my lord..."

He spends himself in her with a happy sigh, wraps himself around her again, and goes back to sleep.

She stays awake a little longer this time. With a gang-rape to look forward to in the morning, she's not especially eager for the night to end.

...it would be stupid to touch herself right now. It would be so, so stupid. Even though she went unsatisfied this time and she really, really wants to. She will not do this stupid thing. She will not. He'll wake up and add to her punishment and she will regret it so very much. No.

...at this point she's probably better off going to sleep. She closes her eyes and tucks her face against the Emperor's neck and breathes the warm scent of his skin, and eventually, she sleeps.

In the morning, he leaves her sleeping and does real work for a couple of hours, and then he comes back and drags her out of bed by her hair.

She whimpers in confusion - flails - finds her balance - kneels at his feet.

"Good morning, pet."

She looks so pretty down there. Nervous, frightened, still yielding to him without question.

He twists his hand in her hair and pulls her forward and fucks her mouth.

Niamira chokes helplessly on his cock.

And she still wants it, still thrills to it, but she's sleepy and distracted and it's not nearly as good as the first time.

She had better not be getting tired of this already - if her desperate lust to be raped by the Emperor vanishes as suddenly as it arrived, she is definitely going to be tortured to death and she won't even like it - and now she feels the right mix of terror and longing, good.

When he's finished, he pulls her mouth away and waits for her to catch her breath.

She recovers quickly this time. At least, she stops coughing and manages to swallow. The taste of him in her mouth feels right - but now she's practically dizzy with desire and he's hardly about to give her what she wants.

He drags her to her feet and spins an illusory dress that settles into solidity around her body. It's lovely, and exquisitely comfortable, and she looks stunning in it. Particularly with her lips so pink and wet and her hair so wild and tangled.

"You look beautiful," he says. "I'm sure the boys will be thrilled to have such a treat. Their overseer will be expecting you; do you know the way to the courtyard by the barracks?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Don't dawdle; that dress will only last you a quarter of an hour."

"Yes my lord. Thank you my lord."

That's barely enough time to get to the gladiators' barracks from here, if she hurries. She hurries. She does not want to end up running naked through the palace.

The overseer is expecting her; he confirms her identity ('Niamira, former scribe' - that hurts more than she was expecting) and directs her into a courtyard by the barracks as her dress dissolves into fading mist.

"The Emperor sent over one of his girls!" he announces. "Anything goes as long as you don't kill or cripple her! She's here all morning, and if she tries to run she stays until dinner!"

There is a general yell of approval. Men pour into the courtyard. Niamira stands frozen. There are so many - she loses count after eight - and they're leering at her and she's naked and - she wants to run, but running will make it worse - and she's still desperately aroused and this is the closest she's going to get to satisfaction until the Emperor tortures her afterward -

She bursts into tears.

Some of them are put off by that, but some are encouraged, and it's one of the latter who grabs her by the arm and drags her into the courtyard. There's a circle of benches around a gaming table, all in pale grey stone; he twists her arm to make her bend over the table. She clutches the edge of the table with her free hand, whimpering with fear and humiliation. Why did it have to be a public courtyard - anyone could pass by along the upper walkways and see her -

The man behind her shoves his cock in her cunt. She sobs. He laughs.

It hurts - her twisted arm, the edge of the table digging into her thighs, her breasts pressing down on the cold polished stone, his cock driving into her with careless brutality. But the worst part is that she wants it. It's not as good as the Emperor but it's good enough to make her want to beg for more. That's who she is now, apparently. Niamira, former scribe, desperate to be raped.

The first man spills his seed in her and drops her on the table; she untwists her arm with a whimper of relief. Someone comes up in front of her and grabs her hair and pulls her forward, and someone else comes up behind her and grabs her hips and pulls her back, and the table is not narrow enough to support both their ambitions, and in the ensuing tug-of-war she is slammed against the table multiple times with bruising force. She closes her eyes and sobs helplessly. The sensation of being hauled around by her hair makes her miss the Emperor. When the Emperor rapes her, he does it in private. It's amazing how much difference that makes.

Finally, the man behind her wins the game, although the one in front comes away with several strands of hair as a consolation prize. She grips the edge of the table with both hands and rests her tearstained cheek on the smooth stone and waits to be violated again.

She feels something press between her buttocks and she gasps and tenses, suppressing the urge to struggle - if she fights too much they might get to keep her all day - "please, no," she whimpers, but all that gets her is laughter from the gathered crowd.

He forces his way in slowly, a little at a time, sharp shallow thrusts that make her cry out in pain. His cock feels enormous, and she doesn't know whether that's because it is or because she's never been fucked there before, but it hurts like it's tearing her apart. And she still wants it. She craves that ripping pain. He pulls back and thrusts deep, and she screams in glorious agony.

It's not worse than ten cracked ribs, but it's more intimate, a greater violation. She wishes it was the Emperor's cock splitting her open like this. She closes her eyes and imagines she's in his bedroom, bent over a much prettier table - but then something hot and sticky splatters across her back, and she sobs and gives up on self-deception. Broad hands close tight on her hips as her current rapist drives deeper, faster, nearing his release. Someone else spends himself over her and it lands in her hair. The man behind her groans and thrusts sharply, once, twice, again, and then he pulls away. In the moment before another steps up to take his place, she can feel a wet trickle down her thighs and she doesn't know whether it's sweat or seed or blood.

The third man's cock slides into her cunt. She weeps with gratitude. It hurts but so much less, she wants it and hates wanting it but there is so much less hate with the wanting, and so much less shame - please, let them all want to rape her cunt or her mouth, twice each if they like, but not her ass again, not that...

She has no power to change how they want her. Whatever they do to her, her only choice is whether to fight and make it worse, or endure and avoid further punishment.

It feels so good to be fucked like this, bent over a table, bruised and beslimed, her throat raw from screaming and sobbing, her cunt filled with a stranger's hot hard cock. She hears herself letting out little whimpers of pleasure when he thrusts into her, and she bites her tongue and presses her face against the table to cool a shame-flushed cheek. Another splash of seed lands in her hair. She's going to be disgusting when this is over. She's already disgusting.

The third man finishes and a fourth steps up to take his turn at her cunt. She's going to lose count eventually.

"I want her mouth," says a voice; a hand grabs her hair and yanks painfully.

"Wait your turn," someone else objects.

"There won't be time for all of us unless we double up. Come on, move her somewhere else."

"Not until I'm done," says the one raping her.

"We should find a way to make her run. Get her all day." The hand in her hair twists and pulls again; she blinks back tears of pain. "Nobody said we can't beat her half to death. What do you say, girl? You run for that gate when he's done fucking you or I swear I'll make you wish you had."

It's about four hours to noon, and dinner is at six after. If she runs, they get her for more than twice the time. Even if this one means what he says, she has no guarantees about the rest of them. They could beat her half to death anyway. They could take turns fucking her ass all afternoon and into the evening. And there's a part of her that thrills to that - but she does not want to let those urges rule her. She does not want more of this.

The fourth man finishes. The talkative one hauls her up by her hair and then lets her go. She staggers on cramped and aching legs, loses her balance, and crumples to the ground. For the first time, she can see the streaks of blood down her thighs.

Someone kicks her. She bows her head and waits.

"Fetch that rug over here," says the one who threatened her. He grabs her by the hair again. The rug unrolls next to her, a thick dense soft square nearly twice her height across that looks like it belongs next to a bath as luxurious as the Emperor's. He hauls her onto it - she crawls clumsily but quickly, afraid he'll pull her hair out by the roots - he stuffs his cock in her mouth, and another man kneels behind her to fuck her ass. She chokes, tries to breathe, fails, starts to panic - he pulls her mouth off his cock and smacks her across the face, hard enough that she tastes blood where her teeth cut her cheek.

"Ready to run yet?" he asks. She hangs her head and doesn't answer. He holds her by the hair and hits her again. She spits blood on the rug. The other man - fifth or sixth, she supposes - is still fucking her torn and bleeding ass. It hurts more the second time. Would it really be so bad, six more hours of this? Painful, humiliating, nasty, messy, violating, dangerous - and she's still tempted -

This is her punishment. It's a very effective one. If she starts liking it, the Emperor will just have to find something worse to threaten her with. He wants her alive, he wants her wanting him - would she still want him if he broke all her fingers and let them heal crooked so she could never hold a pen again? Probably. She doesn't want it to come to that.

The threatener shoves his cock down her throat again. She can't breathe - she wants so badly to be in the Emperor's bed, with the Emperor raping her, safely, privately - she can't breathe - they aren't allowed to kill her but how good are they at that, if he chokes her unconscious and then chokes her some more he will be in a world of trouble but she will be dead - he pulls away and she gasps in a grateful breath, tears streaming down her face.

"You're not - allowed - to kill me," she manages, the sentence broken into pieces by the way her whole body jerks when the other man thrusts his cock in her ass.

"We've had accidents before with the Emperor's girls. He doesn't mind that much."

- fuck.