The muffled protest brought a fresh flush to Edgeworth's cheeks. "Sor... Sorry," he muttered, and the apology broke into a choked off groan. His panting was echoing through the cavernous chamber by now, but he struggled to keep any more of those weak, needful pleas off his tongue, determined to maintain control as long as he could.

To this end, his completely helpless state turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Desperate as his body was to plunge in and out of that den of sensation over and over again, the nightmare's unshakable grip was holding steady where his will might not. He could only dig his perfectly manicured nails into his palms and endure the Corinthian's merciless treatment with as much stoicism as he could muster.