Belinha (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

You arched a brow. Then, with the smuggest grin known to demon kind, you asked, “What? Couldn’t cum from Vox?”

Valentino froze mid-stride. His head whipped around so hard his sunglasses nearly flew off, and he let out a squeak so sharp it echoed. He raised a fist like he was about to deliver a lecture with it.

“First,” he said, and his lower set of hands slid slowly down his torso in a dramatic little show, “I always cum, bitch.” He punctuated it with a proud humph before jutting out a hip, his bottom arms parked on his waist. “And second, it’s that damn deer fuck distracting my Voxxy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just admit you don’t want an audience. Vox always pays attention to what we like.”

Val scoffed, crossing his upper arms over his chest with an offended flourish. “Señorita, please. You know I love an audience.” He tapped his gold tooth with a nail. “But that puta kept looking at the deer demon while flaunting his thrust skills, which”—he squeaked, baring his teeth—“were lacking.”

You sucked your lips between your teeth, stifling a laugh. “You’re so dramatic, Val. Relax. It’s probably just Vox being… Vox. It’ll pass.”

Valentino’s expression shifted fast enough to give whiplash. He grinned, his gold tooth catching the light like a warning beacon. “Oh, señorita. Just wait. I’m sure he’ll drag you in to show off his so-called sex prowess in front of that deer twink.”

You snorted. Then you actually laughed. Hard.

“Hahaha—Val, sweetie, Vox knows how much I hate exhibitionism. You really think he’d dare to—”

This fucker.

This absolute fucker.

After laughing directly in Valentino’s face, mocking the very idea that Vox would try the same shit he pulled on Val… here you were. Wearing Vox’s favourite sheer lingerie. Standing in a room full of carefully scattered blue rose petals, a sensual little path leading to a very smug and very naked Vox lounging on the bed. The blanket was draped over his hips just enough to be legal if the law cared, his brows wiggling like he had been practicing in the mirror.

It was sexy. It was cute. It was infuriatingly endearing.

It was perfect.

Just you. Him.

…and the fucking deer demon.

Your gaze slid over to Vox’s “guest” tied to a chair. Alastor sat stiff as a board, ears flat, eyes so bored he might pass out purely from not giving a single fuck about any of this.

“Babe!” Vox purred, voice dipping into that showy, sultry growl. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight.” He attempted the ‘fuck me’ eyes.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to climb him or strangle him. 

Probably both.

You opened your mouth, ready to say something—anything—but your brain stalled out. Vox. Your sweet, glitchy, needy Vox. The man who begged for your attention like it powered his circuits. The man who carried you to bed half the time because he “missed the weight of you.” That Vox.

He broke the one fucking boundary you refused to bend on.

Your eyes snapped to the deer demon—Alastor, Allie, whatever—and then back to Vox, disbelief crackling under your skin.

Vox’s eyes widened. A digital bead of sweat blinked into existence on his screen before he swiped it away like a pop-up ad. He guffawed, far too loud, waving a hand toward Alastor.

“Oh, this fucker? Don’t mind him, honey. He’s nothing.”

He plastered on that goofy, lopsided grin. The one that normally melted you into a puddle.

Tonight, you wanted to punt his head across the room.

You inhaled deep, thinking be the bigger demon.

Then you remembered you were in Hell.

Fuck being the bigger demon.

“Vooox…” You flashed him a wide, sharp-toothed grin, the kind that promised violence and affection in equal measure. “Do you remember my one…” You took a slow, predatory step forward. “Teensy…” Tilt of the head, grin never slipping. “Weensy…” Another step. You lifted your leg, planting your foot on the edge of the mattress, leaning over him like a shadow. “Rule?”

He let out the most pitiful, nervous laugh. “W-well, I mean—you know—it’s—” His whole face lit cyan, a buzzing blush crawling across the pixels. His eyes darted toward Alastor, who was giggling behind his gag, giving Vox a look that screamed pathetic.

Instant. Vox’s antennae crackled with blue sparks.

He snapped his head back toward you, baring his teeth. “Bitch, I called you for a fuck, and you will—”

You shoved him flat onto the bed so fast even Alastor stopped laughing.

Your grin stretched wider. Your eyes sharpened. Your claws lengthened with a delicious prickling sensation as you wrapped them around Vox’s arms, pinning him easily.

“What was that, sweetie?” Your voice dripped with sugar and threat.

“Ah… well—” His blush deepened, pixels swirling, his screen glitching at the edges.

“I’m such a good playmate,” you cooed, voice shifting into a syrupy baby-talk that made him swallow hard “I let you take me however you want. I let you play king of the bedroom.”

Alastor coughed, clearly enjoying the show.

“Even baby you and indulge your very obvious repressed mommy kink.”

Alastor outright snorted this time.

“I tie you up and take you like a pretty little bitch boy when you wanna lose your mind…”

You leaned in, giving him a smile so sharp it could cut glass.

“I play so well with you… provided you—”

You pressed your forehead to his, static dancing between you, lifting the fine hairs at your temples.

“Remember. One rule.”

Vox swallowed so hard you felt it through his throat. His legs shifted helplessly beneath you, and the hard line of his arousal pressed against your thigh, insistent, needy.

“N-no audience…” he whispered.

Good boy.

You sat up slowly, letting the sheet fall away, letting his cock slide deep inside you until you were seated flush against him. Vox groaned, head tipping back, and you mimicked his favourite condescending little noise.

“Ding ding ding!” you chimed, sing-song sweet. Then you leaned in, tapping his cheek like he was a toddler who finally got his shapes right. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Get him… out of… here?” Vox answered, every word cautious, slow, like he was defusing a bomb with his teeth.

You rewarded him with the softest, sweetest smile. 

“Correct! So now…?” you encouraged brightly.

Vox didn’t hesitate. His cord snapped out like a live whip, latching onto Alastor’s wheeled chair. The wheels screeched across the floor as the deer demon was dragged out, Alastor letting out a sarcastic little “weeeee” on the way.

The door slammed. Loud. Final.

Silence fell.

Then Vox gave you a shaky, deeply unconvincing smile. “I was obviously—haha—just, ya know, kidding?” His eyes flicked to the side before circling back to you with a cheeky grin. “Come on, it’s me, honey. You know, I get—haha—a bit carried away.”

“Hm.” You pretended to think about it like his piss-poor excuse carried any weight. Then you perked up. “Oh right, before I forget, Voxxy!” Your voice was bright, airy. “I got a new pet today.” You giggled softly.

His face fell into confusion. “A new—? Honey, we already have Shok.Wav, Electric, and—”

Before he could list all 1,078 of his aquatic murder-children, you materialized a thick, heavy collar in your hands. With practiced ease, you wrapped it around his neck and clicked it shut.

“He’s been a bit naughty,” you whispered, lips brushing the bezel of his screen.

Then you dragged your hips slowly down his length. His cock slid out of you inch by inch, until his cock stood upright, twitching, aching.

“W-wait. Wh-what?” Vox let out a nervous laugh, the pitch cracking.

You slid down his body, inch by inch, until his eyes had to angle down to look at you. Your pout was theatrically, devastatingly cute.

Your hand wrapped around his cock, and with your other, you traced a single index finger down the veiny underside.

“He bit me today,” you purred, lips brushing the tip before placing a soft, teasing kiss right where his foreskin met the head.

Vox sucked in a sharp breath. “Well, I—”

“He was so loud too.”

You cut him off instantly, and his mouth closed as if he was muted. 

You breathed a whisper against his tip.

“Are you a good… boy?”

The effect was immediate. His abdomen tightened. His claws dug into the sheets hard enough to tear fabric. His cock twitched violently, and a fat bead of precum swelled at the tip, trembling, on the brink of spilling.

Perfect.

“I… can be,” he growled.

Then his own boldness hit him. His eyes flew wide, and he jerked his gaze away. His screen brightened into a neon blush he couldn’t hide.

You let out a low, delighted chuckle.

Before he could scramble for another excuse, you summoned a new toy into your hand. Vox’s eyes darted back to you on instinct, away again out of embarrassment, then snapped right back in frustrated confusion.

“Oh come on, that fuckface isn’t he—”

“Ah-ah.” You held up your index finger to your lips. “Shhh.”

Like a well-trained boy who hated how well-trained he was, he instantly fell silent, his head tweaking with contained complaint.

Then he finally noticed it. The glint of the familiar blue cock ring resting in your palm.

His breath caught.

His legs opened.

No words.

Just obedience.

Like a good boy.

You slipped the ring over the base of his cock, stretching it gently around the top of his balls. The moment it settled tight, a shuddering breath punched out of him, deep from his chest.

For a few seconds, nothing filled the room but his shaky breathing and your soft, wicked giggles.

Then you sat between his legs, settling comfortably. You licked your palms slowly, deliberately, wetting each finger. A thin line of saliva stretched from your lips to your fingertip before snapping—Vox watched it like it was divine revelation. His mouth fell open, chest rising and falling in uneven, hungry pulls of air.

When your slick hand wrapped around his cock again, he jolted.

A small, needy moan escaped him before he could swallow it down.

You didn’t give him time to recover.

No mercy.

Not tonight.

Your hand worked his tip with surgical precision—circular strokes, the perfect pressure, the slow squeeze he adored. His head pressed back into the pillow, his heels digging into the mattress as he tried to ground himself. Claws tore into the bedding. A low growl vibrated up his throat, blending with a tiny, humiliating whimper.

The slick rhythm filled the room.

Wet sounds.

Skin on skin.

Your breathing and his, tangled together.

He was close.

You knew the signs.

The twitch of his cock.

The way his screen fuzzed at the edges.

The desperate, choked little sound he tried to muffle.

You targeted the sensitive head mercilessly—

And stopped right before he came.

His breath stuttered. So did yours.

His cock bobbed helplessly, dripping, trembling, precum and your spit smeared over his abdomen in glossy streaks.

“Oh fuck…” he whispered, staring up at the ceiling like it might save him.

You waited.

Patient.

Cruel.

Until his high ebbed just enough.

Then you started again.

Your hand slid along the length of him with purpose. You opened your mouth and drooled generously over the tip, bathing him in warm wetness.

“Fuck—fuck—” Vox’s voice cracked, rising louder, sharper. He barked the word out in short bursts as his abs clenched hard, hips lifting off the bed in desperate little thrusts. His screen flickered to white noise for half a second before stabilizing, eyes wild and unfocused as he looked down at you.

He was right there.

Seconds away.

And you stopped.

Again.

“Fuuuck,” Vox whined, hips jerking helplessly, cock stiff and swollen, balls pulled tight to his body. He looked ruined already. “Come on, babe, I…” He gulped so hard it clicked, and when you looked up, your gaze pinning him, he actually flinched. Your fingers curled lightly around his shaft—just enough to remind him you held every ounce of control.

“I’m…” His breath hitched as your grip tightened.

Tighter.

And tighter.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice soft but heavy with promise. You stroked him slowly, savouring the heat, the throbbing need, brushing your fingertips over his flared tip just to hear him whine.

“S-s-s…” He gritted his teeth like the word physically burned.

You giggled inside, but kept your hand moving steadily, matching each stroke to the frantic rhythm of his breathing.

“What is it, honey?” you purred. 

Your tongue dipped out, tracing your lower lip.

“Bark.” You wrapped your lips around the b, dragged your teeth across the k.

The room filled with thick, wet sounds. The sound of your hand gliding, his cock leaking, slick slapping growing louder, messier. His eyes squeezed shut.

He was soaring toward the edge again.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck,” he gasped, voice cracking in desperation. His cock twitched violently in your grip. His words tumbled out in frantic nonsense—“Sorry, sorry, fuck, fuckin’ damn it, fucking—”

His gaze shot between your hand and his cock, begging, pleading for mercy. Don’t stop. Not again. Please. Please—

But right before he hit the peak—

You stopped.

Your hand hovered just above his cock. Vox’s hips lurched up, chasing contact—your palm, your wrist, your shadow—anything. But the air offered him nothing. Nothing but torment.

You leaned down, hair slipping over your shoulder, brushing his thigh. His desperate and trembling cock strained against his navel.

Then you pressed the softest kiss to the head.

Barely there.

Cruel as sin.

His scent…hot, needy, unfinished, hung heavy around you.

“Maybe next time, baby,” you murmured.

Your lips curled into a wide, manic grin.

And before he could process a single pixel of betrayal, you stood, walked to the door—

And kicked the deer fuck right back inside.

The chair screeched across the floor, Alastor spinning slightly as he rolled in, still tied up, smug as ever.

“Oh my,” the demon chuckled, radio static buzzing under his words. “Who’s the bottomest bitch now, old pal?”

Vox’s strangled howl was music.