#Alastor NSFT

[arcanepactguile]

ᴀ ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏʀ @justiceiswrath

The farmstead had been too quiet for too long.

Left alone to hold the fort, for lack of a better phrase, the loneliness had spiralled into something unfathomable.

Satan had taken the breeding stock, his horses, away over the weekend for an extended visit to a neighbouring farm. Or a competitor's business, to brag and boast, or whatever it was that rivalry between stud farms looked like. The Radio Demon had been careful to show emotionless disinterest on these subjects, which his Master Satan had taken with a grain of salt, fully understanding his pet's apathy when it came to conversation or involvement with his horses.

Tolerated indifference was a win-win for the pair, and the horses couldn't care less about what the cervine Overlord thought about them. He wasn't the one in charge of their care or feeding them.

Feeding was what had been occupying the Radio Demon's mind — Satan's prolonged absence had subsequently led to a shameful ordeal that Alastor was struggling to comprehend, on his lonesome.

Usually, there was their mutual routine... every morning, at dawn, or earlier if the mood had been particularly feisty, the dragon would have been nursing on the buck's roused udders. Sex was always important, but it wasn't vital. Getting mounted by his greedy Master at daybreak was a major component of letting his milk come in, yet not necessary.

Three days without getting serviced by his owner had left Alastor's body screaming for relief; the build up of milk hadn't been deterred by the lack of nursing or milking, the yield relentless even though the buck had been doing whatever he could by controlling the natural transition from being flaccid to engorgement.

The Radio Demon's mistake was having stolen one of his Master's leather jackets a day earlier, with the mindset that Satan was coming home shortly to deal with him. That was a full night ago — curled up around the jacket to sleep with it, nuzzling and licking it, breathing in the dragon's musk deeply, it had all resulted in stimulating his milk. The original intention behind the theft was innocent, he had simply missed the warmth and smells of his Sire.

Now having isolated himself in one of the empty barns, Alastor had spent the better part of the third morning trying to relieve himself.

Bent double on his knees, stripped naked, a knocked over milking pail rolling on it's side nearby, the Radio Demon was panting breathlessly, his back arched and face turned upside down to watch himself attempt to express milk.

One hand curled around a fattened teat, his fingers slick with spent milk, his awkward pumping was pulling nothing, white liquid dripping from the curves of his heavy udders bulging between his thighs. The other neglected teat was blushing pink, bolts of pain inside the bloated bag sending violent shudders through his tensed body. Tail tucked in, shoulders braced, Alastor's exhales were often interrupted by a racking sob: his fingers would slip and he'd have to readjust his grip, the strewn straw under his forearm and bent torso wet not with the unspent milk, but the tears he had no trouble shedding.

The distressed buck wasn't certain if he'd get in trouble for stealing, or working himself up into this dangerous state, risking his organ to damage itself. Memories of the dragon's hot maw suckling his milk bag was an unparalleled experience, the ecstasy an addiction.

[rainyday-deer]

Angel's party trick 🎉

My partner and I had an interesting conversation and thats how this got made. I'm so sorry. lmao

[arcanepactguile]

The deer demon's wanton grunts were getting louder with every breath he took, the whole event giving the buck the impression that they were both imprisoned inside a perpetual time loop — Alastor's pained cries never seemed loud or desperate enough, the carnality of their feral courting leaving Alastor strangely unsatisfied in spite of the savage fucking he had just been subjected to outside Satan's bedroom.

The Radio Demon's long tongue lolled out as he panted raggedly, strings of drool swinging with every violent thrust rocking him, the sudden warm palm encircling his throat to tip his jaw up had put a brief pause on the Radio Demon's erratic thoughts. The adjustment in his posture had driven the new thrusts into a different angle, the blossoming pain filling Alastor's throbbing walls to hug his Master's cock all the more harder.

Eyes rimmed in white, newly shec teare brimming to spill, the lewd squelches of his Master's old seed escaping his fluttering ring in varying degrees of volume, the Radio Demon was speechless for a time. All he could voice were those frantic cries, his scrawny frame jostled to rhythmically rock. The heat of his Master's larger body arched over his own possessively, the small doe was resisting the urge to snap back, happy to be used as breeding stock that didn't make conversation.

It was incredibly hot, though.

Wincing as the thickened cock stuffing his ass was twitching over his pounded bud of nerves, Alastor's stammered reply was piteous, his wretched expression bloodless with fear and arousal mingled.

"Fuck, I—I feel—like we don't fit—I'm too small—can't—keep your seed inside—!"

Alastor's tight passage milking Satan's cock in near seamless pulls, the buck's pulse in his throat was hammering into Satan's fingers. Alastor swallowing before he went on to rebuke his Master, looking away in defiance through his gaze alone, drawing his ears back to flatten in resignation. His erection was coming close to shooting his own load, the pulsating length jammed in between his abdomen and the bedding, the friction incessant as his Master was pumping hard inside his slicked backside into the bed.

"I'm—not built for... fuck, your cock's... ripping me—!"

He was unsure why this doe caused his blood to boil so much but God was it going to become addicting real quick. The way he lifted his rump when he was called a little slut and the wiggling of his tail. It was almost too much for even Satan to abide by. He found himself instinctually growling at the doe being like this. He began to increase the pace of his thrusting wanting nothing more than to keep the pace going and violate this doe. He grown when he felt his ass tied up. 

Satan found himself curling a hand around Alastor's throat. He leaned over him more and pulled his head upward so now they were looking at each other as he fucked him. He smirked. "I want you to look at me when I nut." he said that right into his face as he kept pumping him. He's manhood was already pulsing and twitching inside of him. The doe was simply too tight even after the first round the tightness had not eased up. He was almost impressed. 

"Come now. Say more. Tell me how you really feel?" He said in a cocky town as he kissed him deeply on the mouth giving him a few seconds of breathless air before releasing him. He wanted him to speak he wanted him to talk as Satan kept up his brutal assault with his bottom not letting out for a moment wanting nothing more than to cum in his ass yet again. 

[am-i-interrupting]

I absolutely love ur work and have an idea that u can use if u want to!!! It's about how Alastor, Lucifer, Rosie, Velvette, Vox, (maybe Carmilla if u want to), and whichever characters u would prefer would react to a fem or gn (whichever u prefer) reader who is has cat-like features and is in heat. tysm!!!!! 💖💖💖💖

Alastor

Well, aren’t you just precious?

He will tease you.

Expect to be let, between the ears, on the ears, your chin, your spine, your tail.

He will be tugging on your tail.

He’s either touching you and doesn’t let you touch him back or you’re allowed to touch him and he won’t touch you.

He loves to watch rut against his thigh or better his boot, mewling with your tail curled around his hand.

When you’re obviously in pain though, he will bring out his shadows and fuck you with them.

Expect degradation.

“So desperate, aren’t you, kitten? And I’m the only one who can satisfy you—“ cue laugh track— “how pathetic.”

Husk

Be prepared to be held down and marked.

Whichever one of you starts the breeding first will quickly cause the other to as well.

He has to mark what’s his.

Just pushes you against the wall randomly one day and rubs his cheek against yours.

That’s your cue to take things somewhere much more private.

That first orgasm happens before the clothes are even off. He just can’t keep his paws off you.

Mating press (obviously)

His arms beneath your legs, holding your hands in his, his wings surrounding you to prevent anyone else from seeing you in your locked, empty room.

Afterwards, locked together, he’s just rubbing his face all over you. His hands go to the base of your tail and he’s just petting there.

Lucifer

You’re gonna have to give this man a warning beforehand or he’s going to be absolutely overwhelmed.

“Shhhh, shhh, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oral King!

When his dick is not recovering, he is giving you oral.

Just licking, lapping, and sucking like the kitten you are.

Constant petting and reassurance.

If you mention anything about kids, he is going to come immediately.

Sorry, did you. . . did you not expect it to end so fast? That’s your fault.

Rosie

Let this woman peg someone!

Strap on! Put her in a strap on! She’d be so hot.

She’d take such good care of you.

Constant pets, a bit of tail pulling, just worshiping you.

“You’re doing so good, kitten. We’re gonna make such pretty babes.”

Let’s you scent mark her.

She might direct you to her breasts.

If you suck on them, she’s shiver and praise you, petting between your ears the entire time.

Vaggie

She would have done research beforehand.

Your not just scent marking her, she’s doing it back to the best of her abilities.

Whether she’s sinking down on or rocking into you, she’s got her hand on your ears or tail.

If your tail curls around her wrist, she’s gently holding it the entire time.

She’s just whispering sweet nothings to you.

Whatever you need to hear, she’s saying it.

At the end of it all, expect her to clean you up.

A bath where you just lay on her. Her drying and brushing your fur.

You can lean on her as much as you want, she’ll be there to support you.

Velvette

Absolutely thrilled by how needy for her you are.

She might not let you scent mark her depending on how demanding you are. You have to earn the right to claim her.

She’s pulling on your tail, hard. It kind of hurts.

She’s teasing you relentlessly, both physically and mentally.

Barely there touches.

“Aw, you came just from that? How fucking pathetic is that? I didn’t really touch you.”

Vox

Recording this as blackmail for later.

Well, not blackmail more so, proof that he can dom you so well.

Your fur might be just a little bit singed at the end of it. Just like a tiny bit.

He’s electric, what can he say?

He is petting you and praising you.

A constant hand moving through your fur.

He’s not letting you out of his reach.

He’ll sit back and let you scent mark him as much as you want.

He’s putting his hand over and stroking your scent glands so carefully.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you just what you need.”

[arcanepactguile]

The commotion at the end of the bed was news to Alastor, presently engaged with his half of his tentacle monster intent on fucking him until walking straight would have been comparable to a world-class drunkard — the creaking of the bedsprings, and the Radio Demon’s frantic gasps, were added to the loud THUD somewhere in front of him. The mundane sound of a heavy body hitting the ground had reached Alastor, that a feat in of itself was successful, but the recognition of the dreaded sound was delayed by the myriad of conflicting emotions swamping his mind, primed for senseless arousal in place of intelligent thought.

The scene on Alastor's bedroom floor might as well have been an abstract sculpture — the wriggling mass of tentacles swarming over Angel's toppled body appeared to be extensions of the arachnid's own anatomy, the black tendrils sliding under and over the demon's startled body to accomplish it's mission — send the spider off on his own journey of lewd enlightenment.

The original tentacles were still swept up in pleasuring their cervine Master, leaving the new tentacles to explore Angel Dust, independently of their first agenda with the deer demon.

Pinned to the bed, eyes squeezed tightly, Alastor's heart was beating louder inside his own private darkness — his pinched flesh where the tentacles were drawn in firmly around his waist and shoulders holding him down, the sense of light vertigo was rushing headlong as his arousal was rising.

The rhythmic rocking of his backside was forcing the squeaks of protest from the mattress springs, Alastor's strained BLEATS overlapping the mechanical grinding of the worn bed. Heat pooled in his abdomen, Alastor's hard cock was pressed into the encircling tendrils, streaks of pre-cvm looped over the bustling forms ignored as they were focused on keeping the Radio Demon's hips held in one place. Squirming didn't do much to help any, Alastor's grunts and plaintive moans the most he could achieve in the unyielding grip of his personal playmate, his wagging tail fluffed out in heightened arousal.

The Overseer tentacle was pumping tirelessly, it's smooth penetration gliding in shallow thrusts as Alastor's walls were convulsing; the suckers lining the limb’s buried length were gradually changing the plunges. To an almost but not quite stationary rhythm of deeper thrusts, remaining inside his stretched core, the suckers had latched onto his inner flesh again.

The gripping nodules were pulling and dragging Alastor's walls in shortened bursts, invariably sustaining a constant motion of intense friction, greatly emphasising the fullness of his stretched passage. A multiple-ringed sucker was attached to the trembling deer's throbbing prostate, massaging the gland firmly as the skin of the tentacle sweeped over it in a quickening rate of fervour — eliciting a new noise from the restrained buck.

The distraught buck's keening wail hit a new pitch of overstimulation, the rippling Overseer limb had bunched up into his rolling backside between his spread thighs. In it's hardened concentration to fulfil it's selfish reasons, the monster had already split half it's energy onto the invited second party, who it had suspected was the dessert for this late night's foray into the new.

Meanwhile…

Angel Dust had his own troubles.

The three larger tentacles were slithering over Angel’s shoulders, weaving over his shoulder blades to squirm under his clothes and wrap around his midsection, pinning his two pairs of arms to his sides. Two more sinuous tentacles were entwined around his legs, binding them in closer to press flushed together, three tentacles more were burrowed under the addict's pants legs, their slender tips snaking through the tight gaps to seek moistness.

The constant motion of the vibrating limbs were occasionally lifting Angel's frame off the floor in parts; such as his groin, his upper torso, or one hip. The hollow thuds weren't as loud as the initial thwump of pulling Angel down, yet the carpeted floor wasn't doing much good to stifle the noise.

The limbs weren't hesitant, behaving very confidently — their tapered noses finding their targets in spite of the addict's bold attempts to dislodge them, should he had tried.

Two tentacles hadn't split Angel's pants yet: they should've, seeing as one was nuzzling the arachnid's puckered entrance with it’s ribbed tip after pushing aside his underwear, teasing it; the other sleeker tentacle slipped between Angel's pressed thighs, rubbing it's girth through the material into the tight slit concealing the spider demon's cock.

The zipper or buttons must have been the first parts to break and disappear, the combined limbs’ bulk pushing Angel's pants to the limits. The tailor would have been impressed.

Why the fuck was he even still talking? More importantly - why the fuck was he even still here? The minute that Alastor had told him to come in, he should have immediately turned around and ran out that door. Headed back to his room, to never think about this moment ever again. Instead, he had been pulled in. He could blame curiosity. Or maybe the fear that the tentacles wouldn't have liked Angel leaving, throwing out their shadows to force his stay.

So many questions were spiraling through his brain at this. Did Alastor actually have sex, or was this the only intimacy he partook in? Bodies were bodies, and bodies had needs, and even those that appeared sex-repulsed could enjoy time to themselves, surely. But then Angel was thinking - did Alastor have any control over his tentacles? It certainly didn't seem like he did, but he had always thought the Overlord could control them, just like he did his shadow.

Then came the question which truly mattered the least, and yet which stood out loudest in his brain - did this make Alastor a bottom!? He certainly seemed to be taking it like one, eyes only flashing to peek every so often. Part of him wanted to throw his hands over his eyes, but he wasn't a fucking prude. As slightly unsettling as this was, he had seen worse in the porn studio. It was more so the subject of who was on the other end that made the discomfort.

Noting that he had already told Alastor that he would keep this a secret, he felt there was nothing more to be said. So he had gone to turn and leave, only to find - "What th'..." His eyes shot down, noticing the tentacles that had wrapped around his lower legs, almost holding him in place. "Alastor, th' fuck - " He growled out, especially as the tentacles started moving up his pant leg. It wasn't like he wasn't used to unwanted advances in the bars and clubs, but to say this was something else would be an understatement.

He couldn't say it was entirely unwelcome, Angel was actually kind of into it. But it didn't stop him from trying to brush the intruders away, shoving at them a bit the more they traveled upwards. Especially because as far as he knew they were a part of Alastor, who didn't really seem in his right mind to consent right then. "Listen, ah'm flattered but - hey!"

He had felt himself get tugged down rather harshly by the tentacles, almost falling on his face, thankfully catching himself with both sets of arms. He didn't know why they had been so persistent with him, but now he found himself making eye contact with Alastor's floor rather than the pornographic content that seemed to be happening right above him on the bed.

[aislinceivun]

Valastor week Day 6 - Polyamory @valastorweekofficial

Based on this thread I wrote earlier in the week with the premise that Alastor starts dating Valentino and Velvette months before letting Vox join their polycule. Vox sufferz greatly😆 I've got an nsft bonus doodle & textpost on my twt / bsky!

[arcanepactguile]

Recent feedback from AO3.

[arcanepactguile]

"You're making so many requests, so fast, I hardly know where to begin. Why can't you let me handle it? I thought you wanted someone strong to take care of you," Alastor smirked, inclining his face to nuzzle into the juncture of Angel's neck, breathing into his fur. Even though it was wet, the stink of wet fur combined from them both remained addictive, the Radio Demon lingering for a little while longer, trailing his fingers over Angel's bared hip, the other paused to cup the spider's covered asscheek.

The rolling of his partner's hips hadn't thrown him off balance: Alastor resting his weight into Angel, the sly gesture had the buck groan impatiently, leaving that hip alone to roughly hike up the rest of the wet skirt, ignoring the belt and the front zip (or button... Alastor hadn't even bothered to look yet). Heat was pooling faster in his groin, the slickness of the soaked clothing clinging to Alastor's slender body, the hollows and curves accentuated. Angel Dust might notice the growing stiffness in his Top's crotch, Alastor pushing himself into the other demon's thighs to redirect his attention to the hardness that wasn't there before.

Enamored by the gentle fingers combing through his hair, Alastor's shudder was his silent way of appreciating the motion, holding his breath so he wouldn't spoil the exchange by saying something incredibly stupid. His heart was fluttering, a jolt of adoration piercing into the pit of his stomach: the youth's delightful evaluation of the older and manipulative sinner striking a fleeting stab of irrational fear into the radio show host. The heavy rain outside drumming on the windows couldn't drown out the thundering of the Overlord's pounding heart, a flash of lightning illuminating the deer's faltering expression.

Their relationship's lewd progress enabled by all the booze they had consumed, it had been forged a long time before their dining on cheap drinks. The Radio Demon had thought he heard Angel refer to him as a... a wanted lover. Not in those words, but. Somebody to become vulnerable with. Intimacy.

How to reciprocate that? Getting articulate was beyond the Radio Demon at the moment, the alcohol content in his racing bloodstream prompting him to respond on a more debauched level.

Holding Angel firmly, stepping back, wrapping his fingers around one half of his lower arms, Alastor's freed hand was soon buried between the spider's thighs — finding his tipsy lover's package, he had pushed the heel of his palm into it, grinding the bone into Angel's hardness, his long fingers crooked up behind his sac to squeeze it covetously.

Murmuring into Angel's neck, folding his ears back so as not to blind Angel Dust, or impede the volume of his speech since they were oversized deer's ears, Alastor's voice was tinged with a predatory growl. Angling his own body, pressed into his soon-to-be sub's taller frame, the weight of the Overlord's threat may have been diminished by the smell of alcohol on his person. It was up to the addict if that were hot or a blatant turn off.

"Somebody's eager. I don't want to scare you, but are you sure you can handle it? I... haven't had a chance to tame a greedy slut like you for quite some time.

I guess some are just born lucky. There's no other place in Hell I'd rather be, than here, teaching you bad manners. You won't be able to forget me, not after I'm done with claiming your unruly ass, my little tramp.

Why else do you keep following me all over the city, if you didn't want me inside you?

@arcanepactguile { X }

「🕸️❝ So, ya wanna take a bath wit' me after all~ Don't worry, baby, I can make it hot. ❞ His eyes momentarily widened from the direct contact of the other's head resting against his shoulder. Despite the moisture's chill, a warmth was building ( with the remnants of the alcohol contributing ). The fingers of his lower hands slightly curled and trembled even as a sudden temptation swept over him. One he managed to suppress.

Although, he wondered if the buck would have fancied his head against the center of his chest. The fluff is one of his favorite assets. It was warm, inviting even, and gave the illusion he had tits. But the thought of his head slightly shifting in that direction, slowly sliding along until it was buried enough that he could feel his breath against the chest hidden beneath, well, it made him shudder. Fuck, that desire was growing stronger. However, the attention was elsewhere.

He waited, almost impatiently for the guy's move. The drenched skirt sticking to his fur was hardly an issue to handle, but peeling it off himself was a bore. He gingerly slid a few fingers through the buck's hair, feeling the softness of the strands and the moisture from the previously offending rain. It was different being within proximity, as opposed to distanced. The smell of alcohol and the man's musk easily invaded his senses, and he found himself attracted to it. There was a slight flinch in response to the anticipated attention. The stimulation provokes a less-than-subtle gasp to emit.

Instinctively, his hips bucked forward, pressing himself closer. The realization that his sex life had been put on hold for the past few weeks was hitting. He had been so engrossed stalking the Radio Demon that he had neglected his needs. No wonder he was feeling desperate. He knew he could melt and become putty in his hands with the right touch. To give this man that power over him...Why was that such an arousing thought? ❝ Oh? Ya wanna see me more, do ya, Smiles? Why don't ya give me a reason ta agree~ ❞ Was that clear enough to express what he wanted? Did he need to outright say it?

But he softly chuckled. Why did he choose this? Was the demon having trouble tugging it off? Maybe he really did buy him one too many. He almost felt a bit guilty. ❝ C'mon. Don't act like ya don't 'no. I dressed slutty cause I wanted ta be slutty. I was lookin' fer a big, stron' daddy ta fuck me, an' suddenly yuh showed up. Didn't expect ya ta be so cute, though. Yer really turnin' me on. Even wit' yer fumblin'. How's 'bout I strip yuh instead an' we get in that bath? Wha'dya say, Smiles? Say yes, an' I'll take this skirt off fer ya once yer in~ ❞ 」

[velvet-games]

had a smut idea I'm not brave enough to write

[arcanepactguile]

"I didn't think Sins had so much freedom. No repercussions... I can relate to that," the Radio Demon conceded, returning his Master's smug expression.

He didn't release his wrist: deciding to push the dragon's hand down lower, his shirt loosening over the large hand.

"That's an offer I simply can't refuse. You can work overtime. Nobody will miss us... much."

@arcanepactguile from this ask

He smirked. "First, of off my doe. I am always FRISKY for you. Second off I am law we can always make time." He smirked down at him his tone wasn't that serious.

"BUT..." He smirked even more. "If you are worried about time. Perhaps. I could just tease you and work you up as much as can before we have to leave so....you crave it all day." <3

[st-alastors-confessional]

Alright miscreants,

I’m closing asks for now while I catch up on the multitude of confessions I’ve received.

Y’all are so sinful, it’s almost impressive.

I didn’t think this silly side blog would get so popular it’s kinda hot. So thank you for all the wonderful interactions I’ve had thus far!

In the meantime, here’s a scrap of meat for y’all the gnaw on…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Warnings: NSFW RadioApple

Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Saint Alastor and the King of Hell against the wall of his Confessional. Angry sexual tension, Alastors Shadow, tentacles, choking, restraining, power dynamics, sacrilegious as fuck without actually fucking lmao

Enjoy your food ❤️

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

St Alastors grip tightens around Lucifers waist as he pins him against the outside of his Confessional. A new found anger boils beneath his skin, expertly masked by his perpetual smile and steady hands. The cross that hangs around his neck presses harshly into the King’s chest as he leans in closer.

Lucifer hisses through gritted teeth, his nails clawing lines up the dark wood behind him.

“You wouldn’t dare.” the King speaks evenly, challenging his own restraint by not simply charging St. Alastor into the opposite wall and succumbing to his own desires. Instead he remains still, gaze unwavering, feet planted firmly, biting back the unholy hunger he suffered for this man of the cloth.

It’d been weeks since the Saint had returned Lucifers letters or so much as offered a glance in his direction- even his ridiculous grin seemed strained when entering rooms now. Lucifer had started to believe he’d previously been too forward and offended the Saint, or worse: He’d been forgotten about entirely.

In any case, the reasoning behind the Saints cool shoulder was unknown to Lucifer and it hurt him more than he cared to admit. So one night, after a glass of whiskey and an impulsive thought, he marched up the cathedral stairs and confronted St. Alastor directly.

Fury pooled in his gut again.

He is the King of Hell and he will not be treated as a passing thought.

His hands shook and curled into fists, readying himself to slam them into St. Alastors chest, but he stills. The temperature in the room drops, a sudden iciness creeps up his spine. Each shuttered breath is released as white plumes between them.

The heat of St. Alastors body against his is interrupted by a coolness that first coils itself beneath Lucifers shirt, up his torso, and around his wrists without tangible force behind it. Before he can act, his hands are thrown up and pinned tightly above his head.

A shadowed figure stretches out from the darkness and cascades up the wall Lucifer is pressed into. It looms ominously, silently behind him, sharpened by the candlelight of the surrounding room, and arches down beside the Kings head with a snarl. Its talon-like nails run up Lucifers elevated arms, clasp around his wrists, and pull ever so slowly upwards. Lucifers feet gradually lose contact with the floor as he’s dragged up the wall by the unseen force, until he’s eye level with the holy man.

Lucifer shivers as he realises his predicament: He’s trapped between St. Alastor and his shadow.

The Saints eyes are lidded, mouth parted. "Oh, Your Highness,” his demonic voice chuckles softly in Lucifers ear, “Sinners like yourself are not worthy of the holy ground on which this cathedral stands. Do you seek exhalation?" The tendril beneath the Kings shirt, long and thick, travels above his collar and wraps itself around his throat, eliciting a moan as it constricts. A thin line of red slick trails from St. Alastors smile, down his chin, and drips onto the white of his collar, "Show me how you plead, Your Majesty."

The wall groans as St. Alastor leans in firmer still, his mouth inches away from Lucifers. He runs a calculated hand over the shadow-like tentacle encircling The Kings neck, twirls the tail end around his arm and playfully tugs. A soft threat: You are at my mercy.

"P-please. Your... Your Holiness." Lucifers broken words are squeezed out of him. The shadow that grips his wrists squeezes tighter, seemingly displeased by the answer.

“Oh, you'll have to do better than that, Sire." he responds lowly, “You’d be wise not to waste my time.”

"I-" Lucifer strains against the pressure on his throat, "I’ve come to confess."

“Mmm.” St. Alastors long tongue snakes out from between his razor-sharp teeth and licks a slow, wet line across Lucifers exposed collarbone, “Good boy.” he murmurs, “And what do you wish to tell me?”

“I fucking hate you.”

[am-i-interrupting]

Hey there! Can I get some headcanons for Alastor and Rosie with a female Best friend/ s/o respectively (cause y'know, Al's an 'Ace in the hole' lol) who's a singer and does covers of modern music in old-timey styles like postmodern jukebox?

Rosie and Alastor frequent different speakeasies and clubs often together.

Soon after Alastor’s return they restarted the tradition and that’s where they met you.

You were performing a cover of a song neither had ever heard before.

You were good. You were amazing. Fantastically.

Rosie was immediately smitten.

You walked down off the stage, placing a delicate hand in a demon’s outstretched one to help you down the stairs.

You practically floated around the floor and even convinced several people to dance with you.

“They’re rather good.” “Yes, indeed.”

When you approached their tables, dragged your hand along the back of both their seats and placed an outstretched hand between the two of them.

Alastor declined it, noticing Rosie’s specific brand of infatuation. In fact, the bastard baited you both and reached for your hand only to grab Rosie’s and place it there.

He can be a wing man if he wants to be.

The three of you met after that initial performance and were often found together.

Often Alastor would be on the end of Rosie’s thoughtless rambles about you as she flitted around. She called your voice angelic a lot.

Rosie would attend every single one of your performances. Alastor would attend them when he could or particularly wanted to. He wouldn’t rearrange his plans to see them unlike Rosie.

 When the Hotel was rebuilt and the welcoming party was being planned, Alastor immediately suggested you be a performer for the night.

Alastor may or may not have sent his shadows to place a note and a specific outfit he’d noticed Rosie really liked on your bed the day of.

One would imagine Rosie would have dressed for the occasion as well. I’m imagining this fanart because I’m in love with them both.

Alastor, of course, welcomed you with a specific brand of hostility.

He made sure you were comfortable, had everything you needed, any instrument you required would appear with a shadow playing it, and he did make sure to compliment you.

You didn’t see Rosie until you were onstage about to preform on stage.

She was sitting beside Alastor, so beautiful.

You felt almost scandalized seeing her in something that revealed her arms, much less her back and legs.

You immediately went flushed and walked off stage, put a hand in Husk’s shoulder where he was sitting at the bar nearby and took his drink from him (not registering that it was not one he was drinking but instead using to mix a drink for Angel so. . . good luck) and basically started chugging.

You patted his shoulder, gave him his bottle back (he just stared at it and looked at Angel who burst out laughing), then went back to the stage.

You started singing. Song after song, all on stage which was odd for you.

Then you caught Rosie’s eye at the end of a song and Alastor’s shadows started playing a different rhythm.

Feeling the effects of Husks’s drink take hold, you got off the stage.

You went to Rosie and held out your hand specifically to her. Still, Alastor pulled the same move of puppeting her hand, just for old time’s sake.

You moved so you were behind her and pulled her close to you, feeling her warmth and skin against yours and maybe you were in Hell but it was heaven.

You led her in a tango and then she led you and then you were— you both led each other.

At one point, body moving before you mind could process, you kissed her exposed shoulder.

She flushed a bright red.

Charlie went to Alastor and asked if you two were dating. Surprised to hear no.

Everyone watched on anyway because not often did people see Rosie dance and with you two so in sync it was mesmerizing.

You ended the dance with spinning which led to a dip.

Rosie actually, spurred on by the feeling of your hands on her back and the adrenaline of a dance, hooked her leg over yours and used her arm around your shoulders to pull you into a kiss.

Angel absolutely whistled.

You both pulled away flustered.

Maybe you ran off, maybe you didn’t.

Either way, Rosie turned to Alastor who gave her a thumbs up as she sat down. A smile on her lips as her hand traveled to it.

To Alastor, though, that wasn’t the most shocking part of the night.

For him, it was when he heard Charlie saying she was going see if she could commission you to do cover some of her favorite songs and compile them into a playlist.

And upon questioning her, he was informed you covered modern songs.

[arcanepactguile]

The storm that followed them once they had the nagging feeling that it wasn't such a good idea, trying out a new venue where nobody recognised anybody (it was such an appealing feature), it seemed like the best excuse to retire... to explore other avenues of interest that was blooming inside the club.

As it had turned out, rubbing elbows with the drunks and the stoned clientele wasn't to their liking. Alastor normally wouldn't be caught dead in a shady nightclub like this one, inexperienced owners or not, but it was an easy fix to run into the youth that was fixated on following him everywhere — at a distance, mind you. The Radio Demon did not need visual confirmation that his stalker was there. It was a feeling he'd grown tuned into.

So as he they had chosen a dingy looking hotel that actually was impressive on the inside, the Radio Demon couldn't help not studying the way his friend carried his body, flourishing it almost. A total show off. The cold rainwater was constantly dripping off them both, leaving puddles in the lobby and then the elevator after they had moved on from paying for a single night. Their clothes glued to their bodies, the wet boots copping it the most, the Overlord was eager to strip the second they had locked their room securely.

The combination of the freezing cold and the one too many shots the deer demon had skulled tonight might have been the reason to blame for him to concede to his mischievous drinking buddy's advice: Alastor's initial assessment marking the younger man as a spoilsport when he had to be dragged into the damn lobby, disappeared when Angel had thrown that bold attempt at flirting.

Flicking his ears, a spray of fat droplets hitting Angel Dust straight in his downturned face. Alastor was trying to shed his own stuck clothing — always overdressed. Two-toned plum jacket and waistcoat, black slim trousers, leather dress shoes (high heeled to accomodate and disguise his hooves' dew claws), tie and overcoat. The overcoat and jacket had been lazily dropped onto the rug, the buck's outstretched arm missing the chair he had been aiming for.

Alastor's tipsy state meant sleazy, horrendous pick-up lines were a direct challenge. Blinking back at him, quizzical for a beat, Alastor's frown merged into an amused smirk, his plastered hair/fur pushed out of his eyes with a shaky hand.

"That's —" thinking long and hard on the difficult question, swaying a little where he stood inside Angel's personal space, the alcohol he had consumed over their night striking home, the buck waited another beat before confirming Angel's hopes — a shudder stiffening his drenched shoulders as the other demon was caressing his chest.

"— that's a fair trade. I can certainly do that. You need to make the bath hot — with this weather, I want it to last. Can you fix that for me.. Here, let me..."

A slight slur affecting his speech, spoken with confidence, the Radio Demon had abruptly leaned into the line of the arachnid's body, resting his chin atop his admirer's shoulder: reaching around his taller waist to search for the offending skirt. The stretch was definitely tight — pulled across the spider's butt and shrunken with rainwater to hug his curves, Alastor spread one hand over a single butt cheek to cup it, pushing the swell up to jut as he brazenly checked his would-be lover's ass. The other hand was lost, gripping Angel's other hip to thumb the wet fur peeking out over the belt.

"s'nice, we should be going out more often," came the next uninvited appraisal, Alastor's voice low, threaded with the thickness of the booze that Angel had kept buying for him. The buck's body trembling into the arachnid's, Alastor was slow in tugging that skirt off, finding the fluffiness of his date's chest fur too warm (when together as they are) and inviting not to fall asleep against. Breathing hard, Alastor's jittery fingers were pinching, half by accident, pulling at the tight skirt to ruck it, his progress slow. "What possessed you to wear this...? "

「 HELP 」

@arcanepactguile asked : 「 HELP 」 : for sender to help receiver undress

𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 … / Accepting

「🕸️The mission was to stalk and observe, not have one of his hands held as the Radio Demon pulled him along. How did this occur again? Felt like seconds ago they had, once again, bumped into each other at some sleazy club. Concerned the guy was growing suspicious of the encounters, he offered to purchase a round of drinks to occupy his mind. He somewhat, recalled, trying to convince Smiles ( his nickname for the demon ) to dance with him. But when you were hanging out in a club that reeked of sweat, had hell's residents not only high off their faces but drowning in booze, and aroused ( the grinding was impossible to miss ), you were bound to have some guy try and step between you both like a fucking moron. He was half certain that one of them only sucker-punched the dick. So, they clearly ditched, but Smiles never indicated where they were venturing to.

He felt a knot in his stomach as they passed a few establishments. Night covered most of their surroundings, and the streets almost appeared bare. Was he frightened? He was aware of the broadcasts and what occurred, but he doubted that same fate awaited him. It's not like he was made, right? He had, mostly, been cautious during his observations. He wore clothes that blended in, and stayed hidden enough ( or so he thought ) that- Wait, what was that? His eyes squinted from the moisture. Rain? now? For fuck's sake! These boots weren't cheap and don't even get him started on the sweater. And it felt like with each step the droplets tripled in number. ❝ Fuckin' for real. ❞ But his eyes drifted to the other. Wasn't he bothered by the droplets? His clothes were starting to get soaked too.

A few irritated mumbles as his hair blurred his vision. Sure the rain was nice when you were all cozy inside, but it was a bitch when you got caught in it. But they were fortunate to stumble upon a hotel. The interior was fancier than the exterior. Like a hidden gem, he guessed. And the room they went into was large in size and holy fuck that tub was huge. Getting out of these wet clothes and into that would be like a dream. And if he was lucky maybe the Radio Demon would join him. The Radio Demon...Right. He turned to face him. Like his own, the guy's clothes were soaked, practically sticking to his frame. Which made him curious. What did he look like beneath it? Did he have any muscle? Any fluff? A nice ass? What size was his dick? Should he really be thinking about his target this way? He just couldn't help himself. The thoughts were put on hold when he shivered.

❝ Fuckin' rain. Guess we oughta get out 'f this shit, Smiles. ❞ Stripping was easy, usually, but the clothes were clinging like an ex. The sweater covered his head and decided to stay in place. For fuck's sake. This was kind of embarrassing. Come on, in front of an overlord of all demons. He wouldn't be surprised if the guy was reconsidering bringing him here. Might as well take him to the broadcast room. ❝ I look fuckin' stupid... ❞ Was that a laugh? Alright, maybe if he just pulled harder. And he would have, but he felt the assistance. A pull that removed the sweater. Oh, that was much better. ❝ Thanks. ❞ But, wait. He didn't know if what he thought next was influenced by their previous drinking or if he just wanted this, but you miss every opportunity you don't take, right?

❝ Heya, Smiles. Ya 'no, that tub in there's big enough fer two. ❞ The spider approached him and reached out to trail his fingers along his covered chest, which he hoped wouldn't remain that way for long. ❝ Ya wanna get out 'f these an' join me? Or yuh could help lil' ole me out an' get this skirt off. It's a bit tight. I don't think I can do it alone. ❞ He asked, his voice seductive. ❝ I think it's stuck ta me, so yuh might 'ave ta squeeze a little~ ❞ He hoped the demon understood what he meant. Was he trying to tempt him with permission to squeeze his ass. Oh, absolutely. ❝ Yuh help me, an' I'll help yuh~ capisce. ❞ 」

[prince-liest]

some personal thoughts on Talk Show 666: Anger Management, partly stolen from my own comment replies to other people:

It's kind of interesting to me every time people perceive Alastor's words to Vox when he's saying things specifically to humiliate him in the context of sex to be excessively cruel, or something to feel bad for on Vox's part. I never intended to write them as something that Vox wasn't, like. Blatantly enjoying, in a very kink-specific way. Granted, it's not the usual humiliation kink dirty talk, because Alastor's idea of dirty talk started at "your bones would look super pretty carved out of your chest" and Vox never corrected him except for to react positively to getting humiliated…

However! Similarly to the way that Alastor wants and enjoys being forced into distress and helplessness as in Livestream 666, Now Presenting: A Love Potion Makes the Medicine Go Down, Vox likes being hurt by Alastor's words. At least, he did until they reached this moment in Talk Show 666: Anger Management where he gets upset with Alastor for talking about how disgusting he used to think Vox's interest in him was. There's a difference between saying "You are [insert humiliating kinky insults]" vs "I think badly of you," especially framed in the context of a time in the past when they actually ended up on bad terms…but Alastor doesn't know what Vox is getting out of this in the first place, and so didn't know this, either.

On the other hand, I do think that some of that perception of feeling bad for Vox probably comes from the same place as people who did read the CNC fic and perceive it as genuine non-con - despite Alastor's repeated initial consent, Vox's check-in, Alastor's utter lack of using any force whatsoever to attempt to escape, and his satisfaction with how things went after the fact. Sometimes you just truly cannot relate to how another person would experience something, especially if you personally find that thing to be a negative experience.

Additionally, at no point has Vox done anything other than encourage the monologuing, including actually discussing it and what he gets out of it. Alastor's been pressing that button like a "say mean things and Vox gets off on it" generator without really having a deeper understanding of why that is, because "I don't get this Sex Thing but it seems to work for him" is how he handles a lot of what they do together in general. That is the intersection where Vox's frequently shitty communication tactics combined with this situation to explode the whole thing in their faces. It was going to happen eventually! Best it happened now, after they did so much processing to get to where they are.

No murder attempts, that's already good!

[arcanepactguile]

𝑭𝒊𝒄 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 — 𝙁𝙞𝙘 𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩 + 𝘿𝙖𝙮 1 𝘽𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙢 𝘼𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧 𝙒𝙚𝙚𝙠 2.0—

𝐖𝐂: 12.5k

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋. 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳 (🦌🥛), 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌��𝐒: 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘯 + 𝘋𝘢𝘺 1 - 𝘏𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬

𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐌𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰 𝘋𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 — 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘢𝘳, 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘓𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩'𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦.

𝐂𝐖 / 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: 𝘔𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘺 𝘒1𝘯𝘬, 𝘗𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘵𝘰𝘺𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘤𝘰𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳/𝘗𝘦𝘵, 𝓂𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘈𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘝𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘗𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘐𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮, 𝘋𝘰𝘮/𝘴𝘶𝘣, 𝘙𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘌𝘵𝘤 + 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦

Skulking wasn't the first choice when in Queen Lilith's company… If you could call it a debate; it was the only choice. It was either comply with your Queen's elitist, draconian protocols, the private affairs settled outside of the Royal Court — or you were delegated to seeking whatever favours you were hunting for, elsewhere. With her infinite power, wisdom, and connections so seductive, who else would the great Radio Demon turn to, at the height of his needs…?

The Hazbin Hotel was undergoing either another debacle surrounding its renovation following the cataclysmic Extermination War, or it's staff had not surprisingly fostered another dangerous meddlesome business, thus risking more than its reputation. Anybody could guess that the tenants and management alike had their hands full, restoring business on top of their dodgy reputation.

The Hotel's manager had no idea what they were up to — for Alastor had quit, terminated his contract. It had never been an honest deal between him and Charlie Morningstar the entrepreneur; therein lay the easy exit to void the superficial legal mumbo jumbo, and beat a hasty retreat. The Radio Demon hadn't given any consideration to breaking truces or intimate friendships; every kind he was loath to recall as something more than a passing fancy. In hindsight, Alastor's allyship was what had saved his life — the early days after the War were treacherous.

The Radio Demon had never faced being this injured before. The grievous wound, a deep gash slicing diagonally across his chest, required specialist care from an older soul who clearly knew what they were doing, and could be trusted with the secret.

That was why, after handing in his resignation to Charlie, Alastor had sought answers through the almighty Queen of Hell.

Morally cast down in the fallout, unable to quench his thirst in his usual interests, taking a temporary hiatus from his daily radio program — Alastor's constant presence had been bothering Queen Lilith, his new confidante and mentor. It was a position thrust upon her once the former hotelier had used that silver tongue of his to weasel his way into her ‘good’ books.

Taken in under her wing, with her estranged husband Lucifer living at Alastor's former business, it had surprisingly taken a few days longer than expected for the Radio Demon's miserable attitude to chip away at his Queen's thinning patience. What with the lonely buck’s petulant airs, subdued moping, random flashes of anger, aggravating the Queen's steeled countenance, it should have held significance to the deer demon when he had made the fateful decision to try anotherpass at wheedling consoling affections from his beleaguered Mistress.

It wasn't like she had an entire Kingdom to manage, not anymore. Regarding the Queen's protracted help as something endless, infinite, Alastor's final gesture of artificial self-reproach swiftly blossomed into a delirious chain of events — reliving the cruelty his Mistress's hand and spoken word could effortlessly deliver, without once drawing the Radio Demon's attention to the cues her resentful behaviour was broadcasting in the early days.

As a master of the spoken word, of theatrics, he of all demons should have recognised the warning signs.

Making a point to ensure he’d shut the door to Lilith's antechamber hard enough so she'd get his message through how loud the heavy ornate door was shut, Alastor had invited himself into her Royal chambers. It wasn't like he hadn't been here before: in any state of undress, was a calculated risk. Alastor's chosen wardrobe was carefully picked: shirtless, no lounge slippers, simply just a pair of black and red argyle-print pajama bottoms, and nothing else. 

After closing the door, arms returned to fold across his chest, crossing the room Alastor had wanted his Queen's attention to fall upon his bared chest — the swathe of clean gauze strips bound around his chest, no faint traces of old blood wicking into the flimsy material. The edges of the ugly, broad Angelic steel scar zigzagging, the green magic stitches binding the edges closer together to hasten the healing wound wasn't for show. The bandages were.

In playing up his disconsolate, moody demeanour, Alastor's insistence that he was still hurting, still wallowing in dejected misery as if his Queen hadn't already taken care of him despite the Overlord overextending his hiatus in her home… He hoped this plucking of his caretaker’s heartstrings would see him enjoying fresh pampering.

Standing motionless in the center of the chamber, ears swivelling around, the Radio Demon's wariness at the aggrieved sigh that had come from behind the massive set of dark purple and gold curtains shielding an adjoining chamber, was dismissed. It wasn't like Lilith to betray her cool, professional demeanour — in deliberately ignoring the way Alastor had tried to make a grand entrance, substituting his swagger for a despondent approach, she… was not herself. This had never happened to him before.

A second heavy sigh behind the curtain had piqued Alastor's curiosity. Taking a step forward, cautious, Alastor deigned to raise his voice, tuning his face to watch those opulent velvet drapes shift subtly.

“ Your Grace…? I am sorry to disturb you, but… I have serious concerns. I need to discuss it with you. Preferably, post haste. It's a matter of the utmost urgency, you see.”

Taken aback by his Mistress's choice to persist on ignoring him, feigning indifference, it felt like a harsh blow to the Radio Demon's ego. Even when mortally wounded, and resigned to licking his pains out of sight and out of mind, nothing hurt the grand Overlord’s pride like being FORGOTTEN ever did. The crew at the Hotel weren't the right audience he had wanted; his Mistress was the prime target for spoiling a dejected Overlord.

The indignant buck's heart beginning to beat fast, ire growing at the Queen's apathy like he was some — some lowlife, some NOBODY, a paltry subject of her Royal Court, Alastor couldn't fathom whyhis silent Mistress was acting so callous towards him all of a sudden.

Mulling over the other multitude of stories he could sell her, lay it on real thick that her special ward wasn't out of the woods just yet — playing up his misery, crossing over to the billowing curtains had taken only a moment of silence from him before he had pushed his incensed features into the heavy velvet.

The curtains split, allowing the Radio Demon to wait half-shrouded in the opulent dressing, the Overlord's ashen expression were all that the Queen Hell could see. After a beat, once she had made a grand show of turning her head halfway to face him.

The smaller chamber was as grandiose as her other private quarters — the Queen of Hell's special sanctuary, a luxurious privilege only granted to the cream of the crop.

Polished black marble flooring, bedecked in rivers of gold, the ornate room had a different menacing quality to it. Upon first impressions, the Radio Demon was perplexed as to why his Mistress was lounging on a posh-looking, curved chaise that was mimicking a throne. The seat was curved sinuously, its golden base sculpted with a variety of hellish dragons and wyrms, the feet clawed and the flames-sculpted legs raising the lounger to about mid-thigh height, or thereabout. The wave-like plush cushioned top was molded to copy the frame’s slender shape, one armrest set in a further out off-set formation to allow extra elbow-room. It was obviously a one-seater, except the way his Mistress was resplendent, draped over it's attractive curves in a decidedly salacious way considering any visitor such as he would be directly facing her upon admittance.

The Queen of Hell, lightly holding a crystal chalice in one hand by it's spiralled stem… in spite of his introduction, the hollowed clatter his cloven hooves reverberated on her precious stone floor, Lilith hadn't acknowledged him until a stretched length of suspense had passed.

Silent, Lilith pretending not to know him, let alone answer, eventually responded.

Tilting her austere features, trained on the Overlord's quizzical look, Lilith's reply was curt. Critical, he might argue. For the strength in her voice, the pleasing feminine lilt was overshadowed by the hint of something forbidding. Her expression grim, however impassive the rest of her body remained, Lilith's answer was strangely playful in her choice of words. Not at all did it match the hollow of her strained tone.

“Alastor. A pleasure to see you again, at this late hour~! So soon, after all, we had only crossed paths but an hour ago.”

Deliberately taking an overlong sip from her raised glass, the Queen's levelled stare was just shy of admonishment. There was a menacing intonation to the way she addressed her obstinate guest; a glint of fire lit up her eyes for the briefest of moments. The incredulity in his Mistress's odd behaviour served to rile up Alastor's burgeoning ire: taking a full step past the curtains, Alastor regarded her aloof poise with some distrust evident on his solemn expression.

The feigned cheer in her tone, a contrast against her stiffened body, was briefly studied as another coy tease — Alastor's bleak thoughts brightening, suffice to say his own appearance was also relatively circumspect.

The chamber wasn't an ordinary games room. Not those kinds of games. The Queen of Hell had never played a hand of cards here.

The furnished, ebony-wood panelled walls were cloaked with more heavy purple drapes, the solid cabinets lining the walls showcasing various toys, or implements of torture, for whatever mood the Queen was in. Things made of black leather, wood, silicone, glass, precious gemstones for decoration; gold and silver gilt bottles lined up, mirrors covering every naked inch of wall not concealed behind curtains or scattered objects. An array of softly glowing lit candles set in various wall sconces, overhead there was no chandelier — only a strange, unrecognisable blackened steel track, partially sunk into the lowered ceiling.

“I understand it IS indeed late… Forgive me, Your Excellency, but… well, I understand you ARE busy, important plans tomorrow…”

Pausing to reflect on his chosen path, taking another step nearer, Alastor's scepticism was disappearing the longer he spent taking in her glamorous attire. Dressed in nothing but a silken negligee, the gown sported slits up the thighs, loose sleeves, a plunging neckline, and what appeared to be no knickers.

Remembering to call up a bogus grimace: hugging his chest tighter, playing with the loosened end of his bandages, tugging at the silky material to flaunt the gaping cleavage revealing his naked scarred chest — Alastor's ersatz excuse for disturbing his Mistress in the dead of night was as phony as the useless gauze he insisted on wearing around her palace.

The buck had never, not once, faked the pain, the random bursts of grief the Angelic wound would instil — it was the subsequent, veiled whining, the constant need for attention, that the Overlord was unwilling to stop playing pretend at.

Letting the drapes fall shut behind him as he fully entered the room, Alastor was not discreet in his determination to manipulate his superior. Meeting her cold gaze, evasively redirecting the topic, Alastor's earnest admission was frustrating, barring none. Gesturing to his Queen's alcoholic nightcap, the corners of his smile lifting in jest, the Radio Demon broached the subject that he knew was going to stir up trouble. He just hadn't anticipated the form it would take.

“You would not begrudge an ally's request — nay, a wish, to… Dare I say… sleep in your bed tonight? For this blasted scar hurts so, and I think you’d do me kindness by generously offering to share your bed.

After all, a good night's rest works wonders for the morning after… I suspect you wouldn't appreciate cancelling your plans because you had to take care of me, after a bad night? What do you think?”

A pregnant pause. Silence fell.

One could hear a pin drop… or the beat of wings, as the allegorical last caged resolve Lilith had in reserve, finally made a bid for freedom.

Looking back at him, her upper lip curling up in the beginnings of an irritated sneer, before Lilith had turned it into a knowing smirk, the placid Queen reconsidered his shady offering of a youth’s bid to sleep in their parents’ bed after a bad nightmare. The wish to indulge a childish fantasy of warding off troubled sleep or disturbing night terrors (or sleep paralysis) was a fixation the Radio Demon was attached to. Sleeping alongside his beautiful Queen in her own bed, beggared belief — nobody else, that he had heard of, had ever won that right before. It was not even an inherently sexual act — getting doted on, fussed over by a motherly figurehead, the stag Overlord was essentially married to the secret they shared because of the affections alone. The sexual connotations were regarded openly as a secondary benefit; much to Lilith's chagrin, Alastor's recent behaviour had grown much more voracious. The Radio Demon's greed for his Mistress's persuaded affections was becoming a nuisance, more so due to his claims that his chest wound was an ever-present nagging pain.

Locking their gazes together, a glimmer of hope — and ardour — flickering in the Overlord's expectant mood, it was crystal clear the two villains perfectly recognised the nature of his underhanded scheme to be fawned over, like a mother's undying love for her precious offspring. 

Coming closer to the mock-throne, intrigued by his Mistress's quintessential response, his tactic to act fretful, taken right out of the box like always — that juvenile strategy was a success in the days passed, so why not try again? History always repeated itself, you never tried something new if the old strategy worked fine.

Brows knitted, the deer demon's knowing smile quirking into an endearing sullen expression, his defiant pitch may have been the stick that broke the donkey's back — he had pushed his luck one too many times. The Radio Demon's sulky mood crossing the borders of normalcy, becoming possessive and wolfish, the Queen of Hell had seen this night coming from the fateful day she had assented to taking him in as her unofficial steward, and clandestine lover. The pair both fed off their enigmatic relationship, revelling in the sordid affair and taking great pas to keep it under wraps. The naughtiness their parental-like guardianship entailed was escalating; the debauched outcome of a pedestrian affair concluding with a complicated rewrite of their once business-like rendezvous.

As the Radio Demon reached out a hand to lightly trace the tip of her expensive high-heeled shoes ( whatever happened to lounge slippers?), tentatively ghosting his claws around the toes of the fancy stilettos, the flattering gesture strongly reminiscent of a child asking his mother for permission to climb into her bed. Stooped, Alastor's pleading eyes pinned to her pitiless stare, Lilith's mind was made up then and there.

The former hotelier had brought his free hand up to meaningfully tweak the gauze wrapping his chest, the deliberated motion lingering in order to bring attention to the exaggerated pains of his wound flaring up.

Sighing heavily again through her nose, twirling her champagne crystal between her fingers, Lilith dropped her gaze to ponder without her ward’s piercing eyes spoiling her concentration. 

It is what it is. 

They shared the same depraved itch that necessitated a good scratch: after all the trouble he had caused, did he truly deserve help? 

Did he deserve the toxic love that he was eager to overcome the mental barriers she had built, striving to narrow the gap in their day-to-day errands?

Lifting her eyes, pensive, Lilith especially wanted to convey that she was no longer up to dealing with her forbidden lover's antics.

Sitting up, drawing her thighs closed to slide to one side of the comfortable chaise, Lilith motioned for her anxious ward to come closer. Beckoning him with a bent finger, she slid her hidden hand up to grace her thigh — the skirt of her negligee slipping to bare her leg, revealing her naked porcelain skin; inside her curled fingers was a leather riding crop. 

“We know what you want, Alastor… but do you really want IT?

I don't think so, because you and I have different ideas on what that is. You wish to share my bed, like a good boy… ”

Bending at the waist, moving her glass to one side, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in licentious desire, Lilith paused halfway as Alastor did as she had commanded; close enough to rest his outstretched hand upon her folded legs, curiosity creasing his worried features as he stooped lower to be level with his Mistress's earnest face — the sudden crook of her extended finger off the crystal had summoned a domino effect of disproportionate disciplines.

Putting the Radio Demon in his place was an ordeal he had inwardly hungered for his Domme to exercise her rights to…  In spite of the rash, brutal methods his Queen had rightfully executed as his doting keeper. The range of conflicting emotions spilling over in the pit of his stomach, Alastor's startled gasp barely made an impact on Lilith's icy mood. 

As soon as he had touched her leg, chasing his earlier dodged ploy to exploit her motherly inclinations again, the swift curl of his Mistress's finger had manifested a pair of identical serpentine tendrils from the floor, the solid forms encircling around the unwary buck's ankles tightly, and pitching him forward, spreading his digitigrade cervine legs apart, locking stiffly at the straightened knees. A length of luminous gold metal chains winding themselves around his forearms, pulling them away to cross behind his back, these second restraints were tightened to clink together. The chains rattled noisily as he thrashed, finding his breath after the initial explosive huff from his chest when the trip had tipped him on his hooves’ pointed toes to land heavily onto the end of the chaise, his chest was smarting from the heavy blow. 

Studying him in silence, taking another idle sip from her glass, Lilith’s blank expression morphed slowly into a delighted smirk. In similar fashion, Alastor's smile had fallen, the corners of his mouth downturned in disbelief, in horror.

Fearful, brows lifting, Alastor ventured for his superior to explain herself, although the heat rising in his blushing cheeks were betraying that of course he knew what she was doing. And he was turned on by the mere thought of it. Not knowing the full extent of her nefarious plans, but he had a strong inkling of what was going to happen.

His plan to win her over and spend another night basking in her endless love had been an absurd endeavour. 

Alastor flinched as his Mistress brought her hand up to tap him condescendingly, on the end of his nose with the tip of her riding crop, her smiling visage blurred behind the looming fist. Trailing the crop’s rigid end down Alastor's lips, chin, to press under his jaw, forcing him to look up as she angled it firmly — Lilith's sultry voice alone commanded his undivided attention. The Overlord was controlled by fear of his Mistress's heartless punishments; in spite of the heat pooling in his belly, the Radio Demon's stirring member warming with his stirring udders.

The Queen of Hell's tone was cloyingly sweet, threaded with an arrested lilt of brewing anger. Eyes narrowed further, pushing the crop in deeper to prod at the spellbound buck’s adam's apple as it bobbed, the pupils of his eyes shrinking in petrified comprehension as he listened to his inexorable sentencing.

“The melodrama. The theatrics. 

How very unbecoming of you, Alastor. This was a ruse — your wound is healed. My suspicions are correct, aren't they? 

Your chest isn't hurting now, is it?” 

A pause, then the flustered Radio Demon had shook his head, the action a particularly grave response, a vehement shake back and forth in castigated embarrassment. In return Lilith clicked her tongue in exasperation, extravagantly loud in the intimidating silence.

Deer ears perked forward, restless, the distinctive shadow of incoming begging darkening the stricken buck’s paling face might as well have been tried on his Mistress in a pitch black room. 

“No, please,” Alastor's tongue-tied high tone entreated, desperate for her mercy…

“Oh, yes. By all means, tell me your apology — LATER, “ Countering her disobedient buck’s muted answer with a telling smile, her eyes alert and cunning, the Queen slid the crop back over the line of his jaw to tenderly tap him between the eyes— reclining back, Lilith flicking her wrist to roll on with the delectable show. 

Materialising out of thin air above Alastor, a pair of bright purple feminine ethereal hands shone, wisps of pink smoke trailing after their translucent forms to pin the Radio Demon's tensed shoulders firmly into the throne where he was pressed, their sharp nails pinching his skin. The conjured forms were echoes of Lilith's very own hands, identical down to the manicured nails — even the weight of those long fingers just like the original, a suppressed shiver contracted the demon's hunched shoulders, ears lying lower in disgrace. 

His muscles coiling up even tighter like a spring, the shudder rolling through Alastor's braced body was a reaction he’d intentionally let go, drawing in a deeper breath with the intention to steele himself — except the abrupt change behind him broke his sedating inhale to cry out in a choked gasp. 

The phantom hands’ assigned responsibility to holding him down finished, had triggered the secondphase of his Mistress's unannounced scheme — the trajectory of his punishment taking a different route than he had anticipated. After shooting another plaintive expression of abject fear up at her, Lilith's only reaction was to dismiss her servant’s wordless appeal with another stroke of his cheek with the crop. 

Her tone crisp, Lilith's fury was on the verge of cracking her eerily calm poise. 

“Naughty boys who disrespect their Moms need to be punished. 

Be a good boy for Mommy, and she’ll reward you.”

Another flick of that wrist, and a final tentacle manifested — arcing high, it's tip shot forward to hook into the back of the Radio Demon's waistband — yanking it down to stretch around his jutted hips and expose his pale buttocks, the unrelenting pressure biting into his flesh around his front. Tilting forward on the very tip of his hooves, his weight hanging in the balance distributed over his straightened legs and his chest pinned down onto the thone, the phantom hands dug their heels into his shoulders to step up the severity of what's to come.

Incapable of moving, Alastor's pinned posture wasn’t adding weight to his lower belly; out of reach of the lounger’s steeply sloped legrest, the Overlord's groin was steadily growing warmer in anticipation, the doe udders filling up to push his length into the crotch of his damp underwear and pajamas.

Two individual, mechanical arms unfolding down from the mechanism buried in the ceiling, they lengthened to easily assume their calibrated roles. In contempt of relying on magick to mold, harm, or appease her subjects, the Morningstar matriarch sometimes resorted to imp-made mechanisms to enact pleasure or pain. The esteemed Overlord here as her next target was not exempt from her gratifications.

The thinner, segmented steel arm snagging the middle of Alastor's fluffy tail, the long fur bristling in fright as the ring clamped around his tail to squeeze and pull upwards — the second arm had swung down opposite it, unfurling the heavy, wooden paddle fixed to it's jointed wrist — swinging on it's balljoints, the solid board fell to smackthe restrained buck's raised rear in a flurry of blows, the wide paddle encompassing the Overlord's ass in it's broadness. 

Jostled, rocking on his toes, Alastor's shrill squealat the first spank had thoroughly pleased his Mistress — looking down on him from her higher perch, she had a great view of the machine relentlessly landing solid thudding smacks on his exposed ass. The solid wood ( no leather lining, no superfluous holes ) compressing her deer’s reddening buttocks to flatten on impact, the aroused cheeks gradually beginning to take on the markings of the paddle’s straight edges as faint lines.

Stiffened ears bouncing about on the savage spanking’s recoil, jaw slackened to gasp wetly, Alastor's fruitless squirming had just intensified the pain of the wallops. The deepening throbbing engulfing his naked backside spreading, the intensive pain overlapping the blossoming heat in his gut, the shame of the degradation overpowered his enjoyment of the spanking. Alastor's tail standing up ramrod straight from every leaden smack, the tri-coloured fur bristling as if electrified before relaxing in tandem with the spanking.

The muscles of his butt hardening, the rebounds of his gorgeous cheeks swelling with inflammation, the stinging pain was rapidly transforming into blinding pain — the smacks eliciting a darker shade of bruised red from rosy pink, the deer's skin turning shiny as the swift blows went on unabated. Alastor's grunts disintegrating into anguished cries. Alastor's high-pitched, pitiful whimpers were the best indication that the selfish Overlord had reached the threshold for the severe pain. The Radio Demon's ass burning hot now, the paddle’s noisy slaps pulling more plaintive gasps, his tongue lolling out in relief, at the height of the degrading discipline the demon’s arousal was impossible to hide. 

Threaded with rasped moans as his arousal was flourishing in the course of his bad-boy punishment, he dared to look up to search his Mistress's face for any signs she had herfill of watching him take his discipline. In spite of the hot tears brimming her strong buck’s reddened lids, his humiliation was spliced with the heightened arousal, a knot twisting in his belly as the machine didn't stop landing blows. 

What he saw had fit tonight's description of predatory lust.

Watching his Queen actually pleasure herself as he was getting punished, spanked ruthlessly until he had given up the begging; he had difficulties focusing on her hand busy between her thighs.

In awe over the sounds and sight of her lover getting positively nailed to her throne by a machine at her feet, the paddle’s pace set to stop whenever she felt like it, a full count of two spanks per second, she had the time to put to good use. At reaching the vague count of thirteen minutes passing, the Queen had surreptitiously glided two fingers of her unoccupied hand over her stomach — sliding the fingertips under her negligee, pushing into her damp folds she had been rubbing her aroused clit into slickness, eyes hooded with want. 

Panting softly, casting her dazed eyes down to check up on her darling buck; she drew in a sharp breath over her teeth, clenching her jaw in surprise. In pleasuring herself, lost in her secret fantasies whilst watching Alastor's ass practically glow with the redness, she hadn't been aware her lover was watching her, too.

It was so liberating… Planting the heel of one shoe rigidly into his shoulder, now forcing him to watch, Lilith continued burying her fingers deeper inside herself — pumping her slicked digits in and out, riding herself, the scents of her sweet perfume and strengthening arousal wafting into Alastor's upturned face as she went on pleasuring herself, excited by the titillating impulsion of massaging her wet clit inches away from her sub’s watchful face. Rubbing her slender knuckles harder into her moist folds, breathing heavily through parted lips, she peeled back her dripping lips to rub furiously at her throbbing clit. 

Hearing a frustrated, predatory growl rumbling out of her disobedient stag’s chest, the primal fear of being found and so close to getting taken ferally entering her hazy mind’s eye, the Queen folded her fingers to warm up her needy bud even rougher.

It was a shame that was only a montage of fleeting images inside her addled brain; caught unawares.

Their eyes frozen together, Alastor breathless as the machine continued to rhythmically rock him on his toes on every heavy spank, whilst she herself was preoccupied drowning in her lewd daydreaming. Alastor’s face blushed beet-red and streaked with shedding tears still, without thinking she had raised her slicked hand holding the leather crop, and impulsively slapped him across one cheek — the Radio Demon giving a distressed bleat, drawing back in fright.

Thinking quickly, her own face flushed with lust, caught in the act, Lilith snapped her trembling fingers shut to call an immediate halt to the wayward scene driven off course.

Muttering sweet-nothings under his breath, sagging forward as the machine's paddle swung it's proposed last smack, the blush covering his throbbing ass flamed prettily. It had been roughly thirty-seven hits. The spanking was likely to have continued, if it weren't for Lilith's lapse in concentration leading to her inadvertently looking down and witnessing her lover an unwitting spectator of her solo masturbation. 

Breathing hard, Lilith sought to compose herself; taking the riding crop to tap a melody against the boneless Radio Demon's antler, savouring the dishevelled appearance of the powerful Overlord so disarmed. 

Limp, panting noisily, drool streaking his sharp jawline, his upturned eyes were glassy with tears… Yet the guiltremained, the regret visible in his eyes. Feeling sorry for himself over teasing and pestering his Mistress for attention these last few weeks, Alastor’s dignity was eroding.

Fully aware how much his spanking must be hurting, the deadened flesh drawn in tight and pulsing. Lilith's wrath still wasn't satiated. 

Casually letting go of the unfinished champagne, the crystal not falling to shatter on the floor but gracefully float away to sit on a cabinet, Lilith regarded her overstimulated sub with blatant belligerence. 

Speaking softly, yet sternly, the Queen was eager to put her promised retribution into action. The rancor in her tone was almost wistful too; trailing the riding crop along Alastor's shoulder and then back to caressing his nose, her tempered mood was suspect.

Wearily closing his eyes shut, swallowing slowly, Alastor remained quiet, more focused on the pain in his backside than his lover's wry words.

“Bad boys never learn, do they? Did Mommy give you permission to cum?”

The subsequent feel of his Mistress's stiletto’s toe pushing into his stomach curiously, jolting him awake; the pointed heel was grinding into the bulge of his cock and pulsating udders.

Holding his breath, Lilith's reproachful riposte had sent his pulse racing, adrenaline speeding through his veins.

The Queen had swung a leg around his relaxed body, gliding her lower leg in the gap between the demon’s crotch and the chaise to tease his hardening erection. Her ‘fears’ confirmed, feeling the unyielding bulge resist the sole of her shoe, Lilith's amused chuckle wasn't wholly forced once her frustrated servant rolled his pelvis to hump gingerly into the shoe. 

Ashamed, debating inwardly with himself for his lack of self control: relishing the sensation of his Mistress's bootheel grinding into his crotch, the toe tickling his bared stomach, the gauze rustled as he sucked in a sharp breath. Lilith's heel had dug in harder, once — pulling an embarrassed groan, the sound of spent fluids dripping onto the marble floor brought another wave of blushed guilt into his already reddened cheeks.

At a loss, he could not answer her accusation. Moody, staring at the slicked seat in front of him, he could still smell traces of her wet cunt, which wasn’t helping him. Alastor was capable of understanding that refusing to answer the allegation wouldn’t have altered the subsequent discipline; if he had said something, the ending was going to be the same one anyway. It was pretty obvious the Radio Demon was on the edge of shooting a full load. There was no way to address his wrongs, except perhaps upset her even more. Sometimes silence was the best defence. 

He could NOT meet her gaze, no matter what. He knew it was a trap, it had been all along, his Queen playing along with his practised guise of fake hurts. Keeping his eyes downcast, staring fixedly into the mock-throne’s cushioning, Alastor refused to move as he felt Lilith swing her legs aside to the floor and rise.

Ears drooped, renewed adrenaline washing over him in a flood, Alastor was absorbed by the quickened beat of his racing pulse, and his Domme’s soft movements around the small chamber. Let her cool down, the Radio Demon was thinking in his solitude, seeking refuge from Lilith's austere gaze by directly facing the lounger’s vacant seat straight ahead. 

“Open wide.”

Obediently, the morose buck did as he was told, without question. Without protest, Alastor stretched his jaw agape, rolling his tongue out in anticipation of some kind of treat or other — this was hardly the time for his Mistress to scrub at his tongue with soap, another deeply degrading component of their relationship when he'd said the wrong thing, or seeked oral pleasure from another partner.

That wasn't the case. Instead, cringing back in alarm, Alastor had the rubber nipple of a baby-blue pacifier shoved onto his tongue. By habit, automatically closing his jaw and sealing his lips around the offensive soother, Alastor's eyes darted up to analyse his Mistress's features, waiting fairly close to him. 

His suspicions were right on target — the Queen of Hell was proudly wearing a shit-eating grin, the inexplicable smugness she wore sending a bolt of resentment into his hammering heart. 

Of course it was a pacifier. The infantile insult was a low blow. If given the option, Alastor would have gladly, empathically, gone for washing his mouth out with soap, over… THIS.

“If you're going to act like a child, you'll be treated like one, sweetie.”

Alastor's eyes brimming with tears all over again, come from a new instigation of injured pride and debased humiliation, the buck’s reproachful glare just made his Mistress chuckle again — she clearly thought this was the best thing to happen to him. Maybe, she was in all likelihood thinking, the former greatest Overlord of Hell will think twice before taking advantage of his Queen. 

Seething quietly, working his tongue around the intruding pliant nipple, jaw tightening, paying scant attention to Lillth earned him a light swat on his nose from the crop. 

They were both lucky the Radio Demon hadn't accidentally bitten down on the pacifier, biting it in two — and then what would happen next?

Soft, wet sounds arising from the deer demon's reluctant suckling on the pacifier, Lilith rubbing the tender spot between his antlers with her soft fingerpads (Alastor’s lids fluttering shut before he'd realised he was about to give in, and promptly stopped the instinctive relapse). The intoxicating blend of steepening lust, consensual degradation, the overwhelming pampering — Alastor fuming in absolute silence, save for the dutiful suckling, Lilith winding her way down the length of his bent slender body had the Overlord withdrawing from his thoughts. 

Keen to calm down, to wait out the incredible pain in his buttocks before making any attempt to stand as soon as he was allowed… Staying observant of his Domme’s curious movements had a solid grip on his consciousness.

Lightly trailing her fingertips down the slope of his raised ass, pulling an apprehensive flex of his hips, Lilith paused directly behind her beloved stag. 

Ignoring the slickness harbored between her own thighs, the Queen of Hell bending at the waist with a hand steadying Alastor's bony hip, her lips thinning into a line, she’d made a quick assessment of the recalcitrant Overlord's ass before she had coaxed an indignant BLEATout of his full mouth. 

Following the outlines of the paddle's spanks, tracing the leather crop's tip up, down, across, the dark lines of the wood’s edges left asimprints. The swollen flesh of his buttocks were nice and red, seemingly too painful to touch right now. Alastor's stifled squirming, the pained gasps whenever she’d tenderly caressed the hot skin harder, repeating strokes over and over, Lilith admiring her handiwork was admittedly procrastination. She had more work ahead of her. The Radio Demon had insulted her intelligence. She wasn't about to let him off lightly like this.

“Don’t you want to be good for Mommy?"

Committed to behaving, however much pain he was in, the subdued Overlord nodded. “Yes, Mo-.... I’ll be good. ” 

His mind was moving much too fast to really comprehd just what she was planning to do, but he agreed all the same. Whereas Lilith had command of the Radio Demon's willpower after such an exhausting ordeal, even though she was sitting quietly the whole time and simply watching — it didn't mean Alastor had learnt his lesson, had apologised. Pathetic sobs were all good and well, regret too, but the man hadn't actually apologised. The remorse expressed over the duration of the spanking hadn't convinced her: Lilith's faith in her captivated sub might be confirmed if only the shrewd sinner understood completely, the extent to which her aggression reached.

Performing tricks for his Mistress like a lapdog wasn't something really to be proud of. Or taken at face value.

Straightening upright, Lilith musing aloud, a little of it for the benefit of the disgruntled deer demon, her promise was flat — stoic. No hint of even bemusement in her tone, almost dripping with derision.

The tip of the riding crop nuzzling into Alastor's tight hole, watching it clench as he abruptly bucked at the sudden probe — Lilith finished explaining herself, circling the tight rosebud to torment her sub.

“If you truly mean it, you can begin by listening.

I am going to BREED you. 

You have to reap what you sow, Alastor, and what you've planted is a seed of doubt and disrespect. 

I don't think you appreciate the severity of the harm you've done me, pretending to be hurt, worrying at your wound like an ill-behaved pet.

I’m now leaving this room, so you can prepare yourself for what you owe me. I OWN you, Alastor, and I want you to remember that,”

Lilith added after a moment, trailing the crop all the while in circular gyrations against the Radio Demon's blushed ass, holding back another laugh whenever the poor deer pulled at the tentacles binding his ankles to the floor. The Overlord had stopped sucking on the pacifier, a guttural moan escaping around the slicked toy as he arched his back in want, the phantom hands firmly holding him down harder in return.

Turning away, Lilith took her leave, trailing her fingertips through the fluffy underside of her lover's tail as she crossed the room to enter her bedchamber through the narrow alcove connecting the two rooms. She had things to prepare, ready herself for an intensive night of vices.

In the fog inside his head, Alastor struggled to overcome the battled emotions; lust, cowardly fear, disgrace, and uncertainty. It was a terrible fight, trying to balance playing by the rules and doing whatever the Hell he wanted, greatly enjoying whatever disciplines or rewards she dished out.

Left alone with his Mistress's conjured hands, the Radio Demon was aiming to do everything in his power to acquit himself. Lilith did not respond well to broken promises.

Light fingertips of one hand alighting on his left hip, the fingers pushing firmly down Alastor's skin to hold the selected area; inclining his head he couldn't see just what the ghostly hand was doing, the questing touch odd.

The other hand firmly dragging a damp square cloth to swab the patch of skin, Alastor's misgivings were held up by the unfamiliar touches — the swab vanished, along with Alastor's creative imagination to explain the lively movements.

A row of fingers pressing into the reddened flesh of his inner asscheeks, Alastor recoiled violently in his restraints as the cold end of a metal probe was pushed into his anus — icy gel dripping from the implement onto his twinging taint, the hand buried the probe to the depth of his spasming passage, without the intention of entering his bowels. 

The Radio Demon's back instantantly jerking up, a yelp muffled around the pacifier, he bucked in his restraints — thinking it was noneother than a humiliating rectal thermometer, another cruel joke of his Mistress's humour based on her infantilising him. 

A faint electronic hum, and suddenly Alastor's spine stiffened straight, his body sprawling into the throne. Electric pulses radiating into his nerves, paralysing his legs and backside, the livestock immobiliser was indeed working. 

Alastor felt the burn as the second hand expertly pressed the hot metal of an electric branding iron into his swabbed flesh, below his left hip and high on the buttock. The fleeting kiss of the scorching wire sending smoke spiralling, Alastor’s muscles struggling to react to the painful burn. The probe’s pulses were ensuring the buck wouldn't injure himself by kicking or thrashing; even if smearing the brand was the least of his worries. He didn't want one at ALL. 

Lilith did say she owned him… 

Face flushed, plastered in a cold sweat, Alastor breathed hard through flared nostrils, holding the pacifier firmly between his tongue and the roof of his mouth in shock. Grimacing as the hands slowly removed the immobiliser, sweeping a thumb up to push some lubricant back into his twitching hole, the other was strenuously rubbing his hip around Lilith's new brand. 

Quiet, the Radio Demon was forming a plan as he recovered from the indignity of the branding, spasmodic twitches rippling his left hip and buttock in decreasing frequencies.

After she’d tricked him with the baby thermometer joke, he’d get back at her right away while his cowardice was weakened.

Lilith's guess was accurate — as she had left the room to allow her spectral hands extended privacy with him, the chamber had fallen strangely quiet — the skeptical Domme paused outside the drapes inside the alcove, straining to hear.

After a protracted silence, the cunning Queen had called back to Alastor, her voice underscored with an ominous threat. 

“If you spit that pacifier out, until Mommy says so, there’ll be Hell to pay, Alastor, mark my words.”

Lilith had accurately predicted in time what her rebellious stag was in the middle of doing — drawing in a deep breath through his nose, puffing his cheeks out, the Radio Demon had been interrupted on the onset of spitting the damned soother out.

Blowing out a depressed huff instead, maintaining the suction on the pacifier, the ethereal hands giving him a reassuring pat atop his head, stroking his pinned ears fondly, the hands drifted over his slumped body to attend to him.

Arching his back, keening in his throat, Alastor fought to stay still, hips jerking as the hands busied themselves without turning it into a big ceremony. Their ministrations mechanical, inattentive to the Radio Demon's ragged gasps, the pair were as methodical as if Lilith herself was standing in their place.

Squeezing a good-sized dollop of lube into one translucent palm, the other scooped the freezing cold gel to finger the Radio Demon's hole open, rubbing his rim to work the muscle.

Sinking two fingers inside, pushing the lube deeper, the digits rubbed at the buck's inner walls — massaging the gel into every inch, the buck's walls clenching down hard on the investigative fingers, the singular hand sustained the rhythmic massage until it could no longer gauge what wasn't left vulnerable to his Mistress's new toy in the next room.

Reapplying the lubricant a few times, squirting more gel onto it's fingerpads before pushing back inside his hole up to the last knuckle, Alastor had lost count of the repeated strokes and scrubbing. Back bowed, fitfully trying his damnedest NOT to ride the plunging fingers, the pacifier was at least held tightly between his lips, his pleading moans stuttering on the outset, the quivers in his voice betraying how much he was enjoying this degradation. The steel arm clamping his tail prevented him from rutting much, the unyielding stretch stopped him from thrusting forward, but rewarded with slack if he lifted his ass higher for the hands — the tentacles remained anchoring his ankles without offering more freedoms. 

Instinctively bunching up his muscles at the firm touch of the ghostly fingers, now wiped clean, settling on his thighs; the buck suppressed an agonised grunt as the hands reaching around in front, tugged the waistband over his hardened cock and swelled udders, lowering his pajama bottoms and damp underwear down to hobble his ankles pressed closer together. 

The machine disengaging his tail-lock to release him, the magick chains binding his arms behind his back left as they were, the phantom hands held Alastor firmly by the shoulders to turn him around. Finding it uncomfortable, Alastor didn't object as he was pulled back to stand, albeit hunched in disgrace. The turn had unfortunately revealed the aftermath of his Mistress's teasing; grinding her toe into his bulge, coaxing a thicker string of seed out to seep through his underwear. White spunk smeared over his roused udders, his length softening,

it was impossible to be isolated with his thoughts as the hands thoroughly cleaned him off — wiping Alastor's seed away with tissues. The Overlord wincing when those cooled fingers were heeding Lilith's strict rule of no cum allowed by exceeding the necessary attention required to wipe off ejaculate. 

After finishing cleaning him, out of nowhere interrupting the job to glide a hand underneath his milk bag; pressing two fingers into his fluttering hole, Alastor managed to stave off  another wad of cum, holding his breath as the devious fingers returned to discarding the soiled tissues.

It was a huge change, one step closer to suffering the ultimate punishment in tbe bedroom next door, but Alastor was left feeling neglected by the vague connotations of Lilith's absence, until her conjured hands had reintroduced the dazed buck with an old friend.

Of sorts.

The ceaseless throbbing in his rump a painful reminder of Lilith's wrath, standing a pace away from his sore buttocks grazing the throne’s seat; looking into the empty pail brought to him by the hands, in other circumstances the deer was apt to reject it.

It was an order, not a request, and so the sullen buck resigned himself to being milked dry by the apparitions in advance of the vowed breeding. 

“Uh..! “

The Radio Demon's plaintive whimper wasn't hushed right away in the beginning; the aluminium milk pail wedged between his trembling ankles, the cold sides gripped partially by his calves, tilted forward it's lip was jutted to catch the streams. The buck's cock leaking at a faster pace than the blushed teats, the bottom of the bucket was ringing noisily from the spilling drops.

Encircling thumbs and forefingers around a teat each, the hands pulling on the pulsing appendages were met with squirts of milk, the jetted streams ricocheting off the pail’s base to splash the inner walls in froth.

The persistent pressure in his heated groin was finally lessening — tipping his head back to moan in relief, the damp fingers repeatedly pumping his full organ to drain, soon the hollow squirts of milk were taken over by the iconic sounds of the pail filling up. The oxytocin hormones flooding his system was a craving he could only indulge when a partner was involved; the simulated act of nursing another was vital for the exchange of dizzying feel-good hormones. The pressure in his groin was unbearable at the height of his arousal on any day; tonight, subjected to the relief of the hands rhythmically stripping his swollen organ was almost worththe cruelty of the spanking. The mound of his throbbing milk bag sinking back a little into his loins, the heavy organ inconveniently taking longer than assumed to let down milk, the bucket was definitely growing heavier after every few simultaneous pulls on the teats.

Flexing his claws behind his back, hunching his shoulders absentmindedly, Alastor had lost track of the time. Eyes glassy and distant, the Overlord hadn't been paying attention to the progress in the pail, too focused on his throbbing udders and ass to think clearly.

Even though it had only been approximately a quarter of an hour ever since his Mistress had apparently left to see to her own errands, Alastor's drifting thoughts became his undoing.

Flexing his stomach, a suppressed aroused shudder rolling through, the adrenaline exacerbated by the measured flow of the relaxant oxytocin flooding his slim physique — the pacifier was forgotten.

Held loosely behind his teeth, strings of drool glossy down his jaw, the spontaneous feathery touch of the milk-slicked fingers closing around the base of his pulsing cock, burying his sensitive tip into it's cupped palm for a twisting friction, the startled Overlord’s spine went rigid, his wretched BLEAT preceding the pacifier coughed out, falling into the milk pail to sink to the bottom in a splash of finality.

Aghast at what he’d done, jaw snapped shut as if the pacifier was still on the cusp of being ejected, the ripples in the frothed milk between his legs was the last glimpse of the nauseating toy. 

It was no matter how he had rejected it; for his Domme had promised him retribution if he ever spat it out without her explicit permission. Appealing to her kinder side poorly this time was an innocent mistake in hindsight, it was definitely worth the aggravation.

The colour draining from his twisted features, more than crestfallen, dipping his head, the Radio Demon was speechless. The random pump on his cock was the culprit: yet it was the hands that had made him lose the baby toy, it wasn’t a conscious decision. It remained to be seen if that was the same conclusion Lilith would arrive at.

Thinking frantically, casting shifty glances in the direction of his Mistress's departure, thinking about how to resolve this fiasco, the hands in the meantime in a flash had shot forward, and wrenched one of Alastor’s ears down — partly to keep the perpetrator in his place, the deer demon letting out a shrill bleat. 

Not by design, yet it made perfect sense; in the recoil, Alastor had by bad luck toppled the pail over, spilling his expressed milk all in one fluid action. The loud clatter of his hooves and the emptied pail banging on the polished marble reverberated in the chamber. The simple mistake had cost him precious time and a lighter sentence than whatever judgement his Mistress would carry out. 

It wasn't long before the Queen of Hell had returned unannounced.

The confidence in the way she presented herself, holding the curtains aside with a delicate touch, the Queen did not finish her buoyant saunter. She was dressed the same, spending some time on other unknown tasks; wielded in a hand was a long wooden spoon, not quite a proper ladle.

Looking into the pleasure chamber, she was shocked by what had greeted her. The enormity or the disaster sinking in quickly, the mess her lover had made in the minutes she had been gone, was unfathomable. She understood well enough how one man alone could make trouble, but THIS…  

The scene was… not wholly unexpected, but what was evidently clear, bode ill for Alastor. 

There he was, standing — albeit without the blue soother gripped between his teeth. All over the floor, his milk had been spilled, the pool of white liquid fed by the remnants in the overturned milk pail, the edge of the mess slowly inching to cover more ground.

The Overlord's chest heaving, he was distraught and looking even more haggard. After spending the past two months, living in the Queen of Hell's palace as a recluse (with the convenient energy to pine for her affections) time confined indoors had lent a paler glow, losing some of his shine in his usually vibrant personality, his scarlet eyes deeper set in darkened hollows.

Peering back at her, unable to regulate his quickened panting, Alastor was the first one to speak up.

Sounding harried, absolutely repentant, guilt-ridden the Overlord's fumbled apologies were weakened by the sheer panic reflected in the imploring expression he gave her, desperate.

“ I’M-SORRY-THAT’S-NOT-WHAT — PLEASE, PLEASE-GIVE-ME —— A CHANCE —— ”

The sharp slap across a cheek efficiently compelled him to stop stumbling over his suppliant begs, cringing down to instinctively avoid another painful slap, the ethereal hand still clutching an ear in rebuke.

The backhanded strike had cowed the Radio Demon; looking up at his Mistress beseechingly, shoulders hunched, feeling incalculably more vulnerable than ever before, the drop in Alastor's height wasn't going to have a lasting effect on his Domme.

Her expression drawn in and heat rising up in her cheeks, the angry flush spreading over the bridge of her nose. Walking into the slopped milk hadn't slowed her down — the damage to her private sanctuary can be cleaned up. Her shoes getting soiled hadn't even crossed her mind. Trusting her ward to not spoil everything should've raised a red flag, the Radio Demon rarely got along well with enforced rules dictating what he can and can't do. 

Just give me ONE day, Satan…  

Pointing the bowl of the spoon at the mess, anger etched in her expression, “A shame, I was planning to tastethat,” Lilith intoned displeasure, looking back from the milk to her embarrassed stag.

Her infuriated scowl darkening, cynicism unmistakably pronounced, Lilith snapped a wrist out to grab the other of the buck’s cervine ears — giving it a good twist by the lobe, pulling the skin of his scalp in profound disapproval. Ignoring his resistance, Alastor inclining his neck to follow the curve of her pinching fingers, Lilith aggressively hauled her sub around to pivot, she standing directly between him — and the chaise.

Taking a seat on her gilded throne, Lilith pulling Alastor down a split second after with his body draped across her spread thighs face down, the ethereal hands assisting by roughly hauling his pants down to his knees. His pulsating udders and cock pressed into her lap, residual fluids seeping into his Mistress's skirts, but she didn't seem to care.

The effect was instantaneous. The swollen flesh of his spanked buttocks and upper thighs flaring without a second’s notice, the stretched skin pulled taut over the deeper inflammation had the buck wriggling impulsively to try sliding off, arcing his body to heave himself free.

All his weight pushing down on his throbbing groin in his Mistress's lap sending intense deluges of pain blossoming fiercer, Alastor's hysteric sobs, incoherent pleads, were in cold blood ignored. 

Panting loudly, Alastor’s rapid intakes of air grew sharpened as the phantom hands premeditatively grabbed ahold of his squirming legs — whereas the sinner had supposed he was due for a brutal spanking over Lilith's knee by her bare hand alone, his Queen had another plan in mind for this extraordinarily special occasion. The sentence had to fit the crime. 

Alastor clumsy in her lap, Lilith undeterred by their size difference: the rigid spectral fingers dug into the buck's flesh as they purposely spread his thighs for his Mistress. 

Slitted pupils shrinking in utter terror, shaking his head violently again had no effect on Lilith.

Relocating her clenched fist squeezing his numbed ear to glide up his bared throat, closing her fingers to firmly hold him under his jaw; the pulse beating hard below her thumb as he envisaged the descent of her other hand. 

The one left holding the spoon. 

Swinging her arm back quickly, Lilith rained short bursts of resilient smacks to Alastor's backside, occasionally swatting the peeking rear of his udders, her brows knitted in concentration as she spanked his extremely tender ass in increments of one, two, three, swats. The final counts were three spanks per selected patch of flesh, a swift one-two-three, before moving onto the area opposite, always keeping her tortured buck guessing where the next group landed. She never set a pattern, clockwise or anticlockwise, or in a cross formation.

The Radio Demon's chest and back were heaving, racked with shuddering sobs broken down by shrill wails — his pulsating udders growing flushed in painful swelling and arousal combined, the pink skin colouring to a warmed shade of lipstick. Avoiding the tail, she wasn't that cruel — Lilith relished having Alastor in her lap, squirming and submissive, his pained wails augmenting the compulsive punishment. 

Spurts of residual milk splattering her legs, his quivering thighs and the streaked floor, the Queen Hell’s arm was beginning to get tired, her swings made slower, applying the stronger spanks to the underside of the udders, making the buck bounce on her thighs as he yelped. 

Slowing the delayed swats (in total seven groups of three smacks each) to carefully rub him, weaving the spoon’s back along the hardest hit oval imprints left by the spoon, Alastor's protests had dissolved into a sombre mood, the whimpers and fawn-bawls returned to reserved huffs and gasps, nostrils flaring. 

Putting the spoon down beside her, Lilith tucked her hand into the valley between his warmed asscheeks, rubbing his pulsing taint while pressing the pad of her thumb into his hole to feel it flutter. Noting with reignited interest how his slender body was sheathed in perspiration — Lilith whispered softly above his drooped ears, sliding her hand down from squeezing his throat to rub soothing circles into his chest to calm her sub. The other hand was kept busy between Alastor's thighs: massaging his sore udders, cradling the aroused organ, sweeping her thumbpad over his entrance.

“See what happens to good boys who've turned naughty. There's no need to fret, Bambino, because Mommy’s not quite done with you yet. I can fix you with a good breeding — Mommy knows best. Come on… “

Allowing Alastor to rest on her lap for a while, firmly rubbing his chest, then slipping her thumb past his twitching lips, crooning into his ear. Soon enough the buck was morosely suckling her thumb. Her other hand sinking further up to massage his hole, eliciting a startled moan into her questing digit inside his moist mouth — Lilith smiling, feeling the thuds of his heart through his torso pressed against her thighs and spread knees, the rise and falls of his slicked stomach. 

The fresh brand above his hip had escaped the punishment. Circling the singed flesh with a finger. Alastor flinching, Lilith rubbed affectionately his protruding vertebrae at the base of his wilted tail to reassure her sub she wasn't about to risk infection by playing with it. 

“Come on, now, that's enough crying over —” Giving a nod toward the puddle on the floor, unperturbed by the way Alastor's back tensed up after he’d followed her pointed look, Lilith had enough of him finding new ways to delay the inevitable. Fate was a funny thing. It was like karma. The spectral hands were tugging down his clothes to pull them off his limp legs, placing the sodden clothes down aside for cleanup the next morning. 

Helped by the ethereal hands to stand, Alastor nearly buckled on the first try, wincing, Lilith and the disembodied limbs supported the tamed Radio Demon to enter the adjoining chamber — Lilith's bedroom. The golden chains binding his arms were released in a puff of smoke, his tingling arms slowly brought round to his front, circulation returning in increments.

Bringing a hand up to tightly squeeze the scruff of Alastor’s neck on the way, forcing him to lean forward, there was venom in her reprimand the Queen had snapped as they bypassed the puddles of wasted milk, “Be glad I’m not rubbing your nose in it, you stupid boy~!” she had spat through gritted teeth. 

Once a familiar sight that often filled the Radio Demon's stomach with butterflies, peaked lust, comforts the strongest sensation of all — at this very moment conversely, Alastor was filled with foreboding, disreputable humiliation. 

Made to follow his Mistress, the translucent hands supporting his back sternly on the off chance the Overlord changed his mind about obeying, in step with her sharp heels, the deer's hooves snagged a little on the loose fibres of the luxurious carpet and rug surrounding the regal bed.

Bent low, cringing, the bolts of pain pulsating in the swollen flesh decorating his overstimulated body, the bed’s appearance had brought a sinking feel in the pit of his gut at the unusual change in his Queen's route to her bed. 

Usually, she'd have her cooperative pet joining her, either falling onto the mattress as a tangle of limbs, or ordered to help her undress. The undressing ritual was obviously very erotic. Although his Mistress often instructed her sub to be included, tonight it seemed she had other duties set out for him.

The silently livid woman had made a sharp turn, instead of making the beeline to the waiting bed, Lilith had turned Alastor to face the prepared toy sitting innocuously on a pedestal a ways back from the bed...

Staring down at it in silence, Alastor contemplated his future, and tried to ignore the thrill shooting up his spine as he studied Lilith's toy, his Mistress standing next to him resolutely.

The large silicone dragon strap-on, a vivid amethyst purple, Lilith's favourite colour of course; it was ten inches in length, it's broad girth almost the equivalent of the smooth bowed head. The shaft was overlaid with grooved dragon scale, a pair of horn-like ridges curled from the base of the head extending down the shaft, and an identical pair curled along the underbelly. The shaft was barely ribbed, the sleeker scales covering the waspish curved form outdone by the blunt edged prominent horn ridges. 

Lilith’s strong fingers were meaningfully squeezing Alastor’s scruff, the implications of additional pain warranted should Alastor even do so much as make an objectionable noise. It was certainly an impressive toy. 

Left alone to assume the position, the Radio Demon pushed to the bed — head down, back straight, both hands splayed flat on the mattress, his bruised backside presented and legs spread. His skin was reddened, encompassing his asscheeks, sit-spots, upper thighs, and the diminished bulge of his tightened udders merged with his puffed taint splitting his inner cheeks. Tail held up soberly, the stark white underbrush contrasting his inflamed blushed ass.

Irritated by the sweat itching his scalp, tousled hair hanging low over his eyes, Alastor knew better than to move his hands an inch out of line. He could hear his lover moving around, to his left and to his right, oftentimes pausing, then carrying on with opening and closing cabinets. 

The sounds of the rummaging was intriguing… 

The significance of the combined punishments were never to fade from his memories. Adhering to her will was of the utmost importance. They were still going to have the time of their lives, at least until dawn was breaking.

Alastor did not know how much more grovelling he’d have to suffer under her boot; sinking into that train of thought, Alastor's wandering mind was violently dragged back to the present — coming up behind him, Lilith had sunk one hand into the hollow of her patient buck's hip, and with the other angled the wide tip of the large strap-on she had slipped on, the buckled harness creasing her skin; the tip sinking slowly into the cleft dividing the buck’s buttocks so he could appreciate every square inch of it's rubbery bulk.

Running her thumb in casual, aimless patterns over his prickling skin, the Queen spoke in a low voice — insistent that her obstinate partner relinquish permission whenever she'd called for it.

“I really should milk you myself, but Mommy can't go back on her promise.

I need to break you in — a breeding — remind you who’s Boss, so you'll never sass me ever AGAIN. Or treat me like a lower form of life. Have I made myself clear?”

Rubbing her fake cock’s tip over Alastor's tight hole, tilting the silicone dildo to glide in between his spread thighs — urging a choked noise out of the tired Overlord as she rolled her pelvis to grind the toy into his spent milk bag. 

Another shudder rippling through his back, the tension in his legs threatening to give out, the Radio Demon grudgingly nodded his assent — then forgetting the number one rule he had purposely been neglecting all day, casting her a grateful look over his hunched shoulder, Alastor finally surrendered.

“Yes, Mommy. Please, I need you to fuck me… I’m all yours… “

Soaking in the bliss of finality, after all this time he’d at last reciprocated his Mistress's craving for the fetish roleplay. Eluding the unconventional moniker Lilith yearned to hear spill from the Radio Demon's lips, hopefully with either his mouth latched onto one of her breasts or her wet cunt, Alastor's admission was compensated.

The exhausted man's been through enough horrors tonight. One more wouldn't kill him.

The phantom hands, waiting conspicuously off to one side, had all of a sudden vanished in another burst of pink smoke and gold shimmering sparks — Alastor had won a reprieve from that third party, at least, as a reward for submission.

Letting out an appreciative sigh, her rumbling purr stirring the dead weight burning in his groin — a deliberate nudge of her strap-on’s tip prompted him to climb onto the bed, making it to the middle before he’d adjusted his position to be claimed in the way she liked.

Rolling over onto his back, lifting his butt, Alastor held onto his calves with his legs stretched out overhead, his own cock nudging his belly. 

The deer's tail was wagging sluggishly, twitching at the firm touch of Lilith's thumb pushing into his tensed hole: resting the heavy strap-on alongside the Overlord's leg.

Stroking the slicked rosebud, unyielding, soon enough she had worked him open: sinking her thumb past the resistance to catch a smear of the prepped lube.

Removing her thumb, wiping the sparse gel onto her dildo, Lilith kneeled in; wrapping a single hand over his own bracing his legs and the other guiding her dragon toy, he’d let go to fold his arms under his head, as was their custom. The buck's freed leg rested atop her shoulder temporarily, Alastor continued their ritual by closing his eyes shut, breathing faster in exhilaration.

The pre-prepared lubricant might not be enough, given the artificial cock’s massive scale — ten inches long, three wide — she showed no signs of concern when she had aligned with her free hand the dildo's head with Alastor's trained hole, and shoved. 

The sudden buck of Lilith's hips had Alastor nearly break his concentration; lids scrunching tight, bared fangs, the Overlord made another strangled sob as his Mistress sunk the dildo deeper, inch by inch. On every other determined push, the Radio Demon was panicking, stuttering, clawing at the mattress.

“ M-Mommy-? please-Mommy, plea -M-M-Mommy, stop, I can’t, please d-don’t — Mommy — !” all in an impatient gush, his voice pitched shriller in pleas the farther she sunk in. Rolling her hips in lengthened increments, once she'd felt sure the head had popped through completely, abruptly the Queen RAMMEDthe cock in to the hilt, lube squirting from the base as she buried herself all the way in one sweep.

Breathless from need, her rage encouraging her to hurt him — Alastor had swivelled his ears to front her, back slammed rigid into the mattress, tears trickling from his reddened eyes. Fisting the bedsheets, then combing his claws through his hair, Alastor quickly slapped his hands to cover his mouth, erratic moans rumbling out through his interlaced claws as he endured his Mistress pumping into him relentlessly. 

Panting in exertion over him, now gripping both of his thighs on the first plunge, she let the demon's legs fold to hang over her bowed back, not at all minding the hard scrape of his dewclaws grazing her naked skin. 

Rocking him steadily, pumping the hard strap-on into his slicked passage was toying with the myriad of feelings filliing her overexcited senses. Watching his different expressions, mostly those of elation and pain, Lilith easily recognised whenever she had realigned her hips to jut her length into his pulsating prostate, the shallower thrusts barely lifting off the bump before returned to slam it again. 

The deer's twitching cock bobbing in the air, strings of precum dribbling onto his navel, the blush in his smacked udders was creeping up again to join seamlessly with the ruddy imprints of the wooden spoon.

The Radio Demon couldn't keep still for long, eventually bucking his own pelvis up to greet his Mistress's repeated plunges to draw down on his throbbing bundle of nerves, the incessant throbs driving him mad. 

Not to have the reins stolen out of her hands so recklessly, Lilith dropped her grip to pry Alastor's claws away from his clenched jaw: crushing them down into the bed, bending in Lilith licked her way up his stomach — lapping at his sweat-bathed skin, fucking his tight ass throughout, she managed to wrangle out of her rebellious stag the same moniker she desperately wanted to hear him squeal. 

Closing her mouth over a nipple, Lilith sucked the bud in, biting down on the pebbled flesh to break him. She had already pounded his ass viciously enough to warrant calling it a feral breeding —  undulating his limp body rhythmically, stretching his snug core in protracted thrusts the more frequent she felt the tell-tale spasms vibrating through the sensitive strap-on. He was coming close to his release.

At piercing the top layer of his skin with her fangs, the nipple stiffened in erupted arousal, Lilith's ears rang with the peal of Alastor's panic-stricken voice calling out — “M-MOMMY~STOP~!!” — the demon’s torso bowing off the bed as he rode out his climax, panting raggedly.

Ribbons of thick seed spurting, arcing into his stomach and chest, the white streams pooling into his navel. Breathing excitedly, his erect length twinging, spurts of Alastor's cream was trickling down his throbbing member in pulses. His heart pounding, Alastor's face had blanched, staring vacantly up at the ceiling. 

The Queen Hell was rapidly approaching her own climax: upon every thrust, the special molded base of the purple strap-on was grinded into her pulsating clit. The engorged nub throbbing, her juices seeping down her inner thighs outside the purple dildo, the strap-on was aiding her into a swift climax coupling with the view of fucking Alastor like a bitch in heat. Spasms twitching her core in conjunction with the dildo's internal base stimulating her tingling bud, Lilith moved her clenched hands to encircle her exhausted sub’s throat — tightening her grip, her sharp nails pricking Alastor's sweat-beaded skin, the overstimulated Overlord let out a gasp, rolling his pelvis up to rock his bruised ass back into her dildo, the hidden feature inside it kneading her leaking slit.

Squeezing Alastor's throat, choking her lover to pull stifled groans from his shivering body, she was nearing the crest of her climax—

Alastor's cock aching, cum oozing from his gaping slit, the Radio Demon's prolonged stifled squeals reached a new timbre of desperation for her to stop — releasing one grip, his Mistress had raised her hand to repetitively slap the nipple she’d been licking and nibbling, his pec blushed pink as circulation surged. 

Dragging both hands down to scratch at his nipples, dislodging the bandages, teasing the bleeding lines she’d raked down his chest; he was rewarded with a stinging slap to either bud whenever he’d bucked his pelvis.

The so-called ‘painful wound’ seemed fine, healed and puckered, the wound closed. Without a doubt the Radio Demon had been making up stories about his chest injury’s recovery.

Lilith could feel Alastor's core fluttering around her toy, the deep amethyst colour slicked with lube and fluids on the reverse strokes. 

Gasping, beads of sweat dotting his paled features, Alastor peered back at her in a silent plea, then breaking his silence to hiss through a slackened jaw when his Domme had grabbed a fistful of his hair to pull, pulling his head to lean to one side, scratching her nails over a bruised nipple.

Her inner walls without further warning abruptly cramping, Lilith's peaked lust exploded to radiate — slick squirting, her aromatic juices pooling between her clenched folds, Lilith's cream was squelching under the strap-on’s base flushed to her crotch. Cumming hard, her hooded eyes shut tight, Lilith's moan was guttural; clutching at her sub's chest, she clawed his bandages and dug her nails in as euphoria washed over her in stronger waves. 

Riding out her orgasm, slowly rocking, Lilith hadn't yet registered the melancholy begging Alastor had spilled; lost in her edging. 

“Mommy, PLEASE, I’ve—I’ve had enough, Mommy, please… ”

Huffing agitatedly, squirming on her knees, the heat in her groin was making the leather ass-harness she wore uncomfortable. The sweat and slick sticking her negligee to her fevered skin, the throb of her engorged cunt was fluctuating — Alastor's complaints an indistinct nagging in the background. It was infringing on her orgasm; brushing the hair out of her eyes, Lilith lowered her hands to fondly brush her thumb over the underside of Alastor's weeping cock to see it spasm before striking it with a brusque slap.

After that, Alastor had definitely clammed up — biting his tongue, blood welling up in one corner of his grimace, the knot of overstimulation buried in his groin was incessant, his Mistress's roaming hands alternatively rubbing and squeezing his swollen udders and cock infuriating. But he wasn't allowed to touch. Her, or himself.

Keening whines was the best he could do, rolling his hips, flinching; induced ropes and bubbles of cum milked out of his pulsating length, Lilith pumping his shaft to coax every last drop out to paint his belly. Stroking the flexing shaft, circling the reddened slit before gliding back to wring the base. She’d casually pressed the heel of her palm into the bulge of his milk-slicked bag, watching him begin to writhe before cutting that short with another slap to his softening cock. 

The shame sinking deeper into his chest, blinking back stinging tears, the remorseful Radio Demon succumbing to his lover's meditation — wincing as she persisted to milk him, even though he was spent, her other hand needlessly kneading his finished udders. The shadows of his scrawny ribcage jutted as he panted breathlessly, drawing deep breaths, too impotent to resist his Queen's pumping fingers.

Overturning his conviction this late into their game was a moot point. 

Eliciting another pained moan from him, pinching a bloated teat, Lilith's tongue dragging up his collarbone to lap at his throat, Lilith's embittered whisper sent a chill through Alastor's body, his visible swallow chased with a random nip to his skin. His inner walls were convulsing around the heavy dragon cock still buried inside him, his trembling core sending the signs to his Mistress that his body was of course overstimulated, his stretched hole clenching the base of the strap-on. Lilith's heavy breathing was gently plushing the toy, the shaft unyielding against his pounded prostate.

“Mommy’s sorry she’s had to hurt you, but your lesson isn't over.  

I’m going to make you pay back the milk you lost. I didwarn you. What do I want to hear?”

“Yes, Mommy,“ the Radio Demon replied, sucking in a groan when both hands descended to knead his organ from square one — starting a new chapter that night, heralded by the distant chimes of a grandfather clock in the palace as it pealed the strokes of midnight. 

[velvet-games]

sorry but I think I might like the realistic antlers more than the antennae