True Conditioning. 7.
If this was how it was going to be, I should have just gritted my teeth and kept the very first promise I made. The deal and oath I struck with the Demon King for Jemma’s sake. Since the Demon King had given me information, I should have followed every single one of her words without the slightest resistance. How long was I supposed to keep drowning in pleasure like this? The sensation that my frontal lobe was melting and dripping down, that my brain matter was pouring out of my mouth, had already crashed over me several times. Tonight, I could not lose consciousness. The brand on my lower abdomen heated my body every time I fainted, forcibly dragging my mind out of deep sleep. A fleeting blackout, a few seconds of slumber, then minutes of stupor—each time I came to, I was already gasping for breath and screaming in agony. Yet by the time I regained my senses, even that pain had long since been overwritten by pleasure.
I was thrown into a situation where I could neither beg for mercy, nor cry out in ecstasy, nor do anything at all except go mad. My hips bucked as if they would snap. My body, kept perpetually wet by the brand, poured out so much fluid that it was a miracle I had not died of dehydration. How many hours had passed? It felt like an entire day had gone by.
“Ah… uwaaah…”
Tears and saliva streaming down my face, I moved my unfocused eyes and cautiously looked at the Demon King, who had been resting beside me for some time. She idly tugged at her soaked shirt, then reached out. The back of her hand that touched my eyes turned into a palm and gently stroked my entire face. Even this—I could not accept it as pure kindness. Because even this seemingly tender touch soon became a firm, crushing grip—
“Kuh, keheek—!”
The moment I came to my senses, the collar tightened around my neck. Carrot and whip were never given in equal measure. Only after swinging the whip hundreds of times would the Demon King toss me a single scrap of carrot. And when my sense of self was on the verge of shattering from the relentless stimulation, she deliberately prevented it from breaking.
“Hah—!”
“——”
She deliberately held my mind in place with a warm kiss. I felt like I was truly, truly, truly going insane. My body no longer felt like my own, yet the stimulation kept striking me exactly as it had at the very beginning. It was as if thousands of climaxes had already overlapped and exploded. One more peak and my mind would surely break—yet the brand forced my consciousness awake again, compelling my body to keep breathing and accepting the sensation. So, after roughly thirty minutes of this “education,” I had tried begging. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I had thrashed, screamed, and sobbed until my voice gave out. But the Demon King only smiled and left me with sticky kisses. When I finally broke down and pleaded that I didn’t want to come anymore, she seemed to have been waiting for exactly those words. She handled my body with terrifying expertise and hurled my mind beyond the edge of consciousness, claiming it completely as her own.
And now—
With a soft rustle, the Demon King discarded her drenched shirt and climbed atop me in nothing but her underwear. She was undeniably beautiful. Had I still been a man, the sight would have driven me wild. But the person pinned beneath her now could only feel a chill running down my spine.
“N-no… I don’t want… I don’t want this…!”
I burst into tears at the thought of the waterfall of torment that was about to return. Hearing my sobs, the Demon King pressed her lips to my ear and whispered while stripping off the last piece of cloth.
“Say my name.”
At her murmur, I trembled, dazed.
“What is my name?”
I tried to steady my shaking chest and answer.
“M-Ma… Demon K—ngh!”
“…Too late.”
She pressed down on my stomach with mischievous force and laughed in a teasing, cruel voice. The agony surged again. I thrashed against the chains binding my arms and legs, drooling helplessly as the Demon King toyed with my body. When I looked up at her in panic while she satisfied herself with me, she leaned down and sealed my mouth with a kiss, sucking at my saliva as if it were something precious. She continued grinding against me for dozens more minutes, devouring my lips until I nearly fainted. Only after she finally pulled away did she twitch her legs and wear a satisfied expression.
From that moment on, I had no room left to think about chastity, about having once been a man, or anything else. My mind was filled with nothing but the desperate desire to survive. I could barely breathe; it felt as though my lungs were flooded with fluids and the Demon King’s saliva. I just wanted someone—anyone—to take me out of here. Please, anyone, get me out. Rescue me from the Demon King. Revenge, killing her—none of that mattered anymore. I was ready to abandon everything if it meant escaping this hell. With every last shred of will I had left.
“Jem… ma…”
Still sprawled on the bed, I whispered through hot tears. Jemma. Unconsciously, I had wanted to see her. But if I truly wanted to live, I should never have called her name—not even unconsciously.
“Who did you just say…?”
Because the Demon King before me now knew my body better than I did, and wanted to make me hers more than anyone else. The moment another person’s name left my lips, her desire—momentarily sated—returned in full force. My mind shattered completely. The Demon King’s scent clung to my body and would not fade.
Days later, the Demon King removed all the shackles except the collar. I could only curl up in place, trembling. Even when Jemma came to tidy the blankets and spoke to me, I merely wrapped my arms around myself, head bowed, shaking violently. All I could think was that I wanted it to stop. I no longer wanted to do anything. I thought dying would be thousands of times better. Even when the Jemma I had longed for appeared, I had no strength left to speak with her. Now I was even afraid of her. I hadn’t yet reached the point of blaming her for my suffering, but the trust I had once placed in her had become something I could no longer rely on.
Those few days of conditioning had completely destroyed my mind in every sense. I could no longer meet the Demon King’s eyes. No—I could no longer meet anyone’s eyes. The moment I did, her face would surface, and every moment of that “education” would tear through my body and brain. Even anything resembling a human face made me feel like I was losing my mind. That bright, cheerful smile she wore while watching me wish for death—that expression was a nightmare itself. I never, ever wanted to experience it again. Never again did I want to be subjected to the Demon King. Never again did I want to be with her.
I screamed it inside my head over and over, yet it could never come true. Whenever I curled up trembling, the Demon King would come, stroke my back and hair, lie down on the bed, and when she slept she would always pull my broken, shrimp-like body into her arms and leave a sticky kiss on the nape of my neck. It was enough to make my skin crawl. The same person who had driven me to the brink of death was now caressing me and kissing me as if she loved me. No—no, no, no. She did love me. The Demon King truly loved me. But I could not accept it. I would rather die than accept it. I could never, ever, ever stay with the Demon King. I would just die. I would die. The moment her fingertips touched me, my entire body convulsed and shook. I hated it so much I wanted to die. No—just die. I want to die. I’ll die.
Even when I had been a hero, I had never experienced this kind of despair. Losing an arm had been nothing. I had known my life was not something I could throw away lightly, yet I had always been prepared to sacrifice it. I had grown close to death and endured everything with sheer will; I had been someone strong against pain. But this—this was something I had never even heard of. How was I supposed to endure this with willpower? I couldn’t. I couldn’t. There was no running from it, no overcoming it.
“Uwaaah—!!”
Shaking violently, I screamed when the Demon King embraced me from behind and curled up even tighter. She paid no mind, simply holding me close and finding a comfortable position to sleep. Unlike her, I could not fall asleep while she was beside me. I could do nothing. Even when she was gone, the mere fact that I was on this bed terrified me so badly that I could do nothing. The knowledge that I could be bound and subjected to that again at any moment was horrifying. Please, please—someone, take me away. I knew Jemma could not. Kibotos and I had no real bond. So the only thing waiting for me was the fact that no one would ever get me out of here. Then I would always end up wanting to die, biting my tongue again and again. But every time, the Demon King would grab my jaw with both hands, pry my mouth open with her fingers, and—when I trembled in terror—twist my neck just enough that I would not die, leaving me like that until she woke up. The moment she awoke, she would finish killing me. My sanity could not survive.
After desperately craving death only to be subjected to the Demon King’s absurdly grotesque methods of killing, I completely lost any sense of my own existence. I slammed my fists against the bed in frenzied rage, sobbing with anger. Once I had poured out all the fury born from the helplessness of being unable to do anything by my own will, I would lose the will to live again and resume trembling. This cycle continued for weeks. If my condition did not improve within a week, the Demon King would bind me again and torment me for another week. Then she would release me, and if I did not get better within the next week, she would bind me and torment me again. Bind, torment, release. Bind, torment, release. Again and again and again. I was once more, and once more— Ah, now… it almost feels like this has become normal.