#mastubating

cw!!⪼masturbation. soft dom reader. fingering. handjob. praise kink. choso being overwhelmed and submissive. voyeurism (him watching you). slight overstimulation. very soft aftercare.

the room is quiet except for the faint rustle of sheets and your own soft breathing. you’re lying on your back in the middle of the bed, legs comfortably spread, one hand slowly circling your clit while two fingers of the other press lazily inside yourself. the slick sounds are quiet but unmistakable in the stillness.

choso sits at the edge of the mattress, completely still, dark eyes fixed on every small movement of your fingers. his long hair falls loosely around his face, and those marks under his eyes look even softer in the low light. he doesn’t touch himself yet — just watches, chest rising and falling a little heavier with each passing second. his sweats are already tented, the outline of his thick cock obvious, a small wet spot darkening the fabric where he’s leaking.

“you look so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, barely above a whisper. “the way your fingers move… how wet you’re getting. is that all for me?”

you hum softly, eyes half-lidded as you look at him. your fingers keep their slow rhythm, sliding in and out with wet little sounds.

choso swallows hard, his gaze dropping back down between your legs. his hands rest on his thighs, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to reach out or touch himself. you can see the way his cock twitches in his sweats every time you let out a quiet moan.

“keep watching,” you say gently, voice warm but with that soft command underneath. “don’t look away.”

he nods immediately, lips parting on a shaky exhale. “i won’t. i could watch you forever.”

you smile at that, spreading your legs a little wider so he can see better. your fingers glide through your folds, collecting slick before you rub slow, firm circles over your clit. a soft sigh escapes you, hips rolling up into your own touch. choso’s breathing gets heavier, his own hand finally drifting down to palm himself through his sweats, squeezing lightly like he’s trying to relieve some pressure without fully giving in.

“take them off,” you tell him, still touching yourself. “let me see you too.”

choso obeys without hesitation, lifting his hips to push his sweats and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. it’s thick and flushed, the head shiny with precum that beads at the tip and slowly drips down the shaft. he wraps one large hand around himself and gives a slow stroke, eyes never leaving your pussy.

“fuck…” he breathes, the word slipping out like he couldn’t stop it. “you’re dripping down your thighs. looks so warm… so soft.”

you let out a quiet moan at his words, sliding your fingers deeper inside yourself, curling them just right. your other hand keeps working your clit in steady circles. the wet sounds grow a little louder as you get more turned on from his gaze.

choso matches your pace without even realizing it at first — slow, deliberate strokes of his hand up and down his cock, thumb occasionally swiping over the sensitive head to spread the precum. every time you moan or your hips twitch, his grip tightens and his breath hitches.

“does it feel good?” he asks, voice hoarse. his eyes are glassy, completely focused on the way your fingers disappear inside you. “touching yourself while i watch?”

“so good,” you whisper, biting your lip as pleasure builds. “especially knowing you’re touching yourself too… because of me.”

he groans quietly at that, hips bucking up into his fist once before he forces himself to slow down again. “it’s always because of you. everything is.”

(better be)

the two of you fall into a shared rhythm — your fingers pumping in and out of your soaked pussy, his large hand stroking his thick cock in time with your movements. the room fills with the quiet, intimate sounds: wet squelching from you, the soft rhythmic slide of skin on skin from him, and both of your heavy breathing.

choso’s free hand grips the sheets tightly, like he’s anchoring himself. his chest is flushed, nipples hard, long hair sticking slightly to his forehead. he looks so pretty like this — lost in the sight of you, trying so hard to stay controlled even as his strokes get a little messier.

“you’re getting close, aren’t you?” you ask softly, noticing the way his thighs are starting to tremble. your own fingers speed up just a fraction, rubbing your clit faster while you curl them against that spot inside you.

he nods, biting his lower lip.

“y-yeah… watching you is too much. the sounds you make… the way you’re shining… i don’t know how long i can last.”

“then don’t hold back, baby,” you murmur, voice gentle but firm. “cum with me. let me see how good it feels for you.”

your words push him closer. choso’s strokes turn a little faster, a little tighter, his thumb pressing firmly over the head on every upstroke. his eyes stay locked on your fingers, watching them plunge in and out, coated in your slick.

you feel your orgasm building fast now — heat pooling low in your belly, thighs starting to shake. “choso… i’m close—”

“me too,” he gasps, voice breaking. “please— let me see you cum. i want to watch you fall apart.”

that does it. your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits, a soft, broken moan spilling from your lips. your walls clench around your fingers, slick dripping down as you keep rubbing your clit through the waves. choso’s name falls from your mouth like a prayer while pleasure crashes over you.

the sight of you cumming is what breaks him.

choso lets out a deep, wrecked groan, his hips stuttering as thick ropes of cum spill over his fist and onto his stomach. he keeps stroking himself through it, slower now, drawing out every pulse while his eyes stay glued to you, drinking in every twitch and gasp.

for a long moment the only sounds are your shared heavy breathing.

then choso shifts, moving closer until he’s lying beside you. he doesn’t bother cleaning up yet — just pulls you gently against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist. his skin is warm, heart still racing under your cheek. he presses soft, almost shy kisses to the top of your head, his cum-smeared hand resting carefully on your hip.

“that was… so beautiful,”

he whispers against your hair, voice soft and hoarse.

“watching you like that… touching yourself because of me. and cumming together… i don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you.”

you smile, nuzzling into his neck and tracing lazy patterns on his chest with your fingertips. “good. because we’re not done yet, baby.”

he lets out a quiet, content hum, holding you tighter. his free hand finally moves down between your legs again, not to tease, just resting there gently, feeling the warmth and wetness.

“can i touch you now?” he asks, almost shy, even after everything. “i want to feel how wet you still are… and maybe make you cum again. with my fingers this time. if you’ll let me.”

you tilt your head up to kiss him slow and deep, tasting the quiet devotion on his lips.

“go ahead... touch me. we’ve got all night.”

choso’s fingers rest gently between your legs, not moving yet, just feeling the warmth and the slick mess you made. his breathing is still uneven against your hair, his chest rising and falling under your cheek. the sticky warmth of his own cum is smeared across his stomach and your hip where his hand rests, but he doesn’t seem to care. he just holds you closer, like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

“you’re still so wet,” he whispers, voice hoarse and awed. his fingertips glide slowly through your folds, careful, almost reverent. “even after you came… it’s dripping. because of me?” he said with dumb doubt

you hum softly, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “mhm baby. always because of you.”

he lets out a shaky breath, and you feel his cock twitch against your thigh where it’s already starting to harden again. choso has always recovered fast, but tonight it feels like he’s barely softening at all.

you shift a little, guiding his hand with your own. “go on. touch me properly. two fingers, nice and slow.”

choso whines and nods against your neck, obedient as always. he slides two thick fingers through your slick before pressing them inside you, inch by inch, until they’re buried deep. the stretch is perfect, and you both moan quietly at the feeling. he curls them gently, searching, until he finds that spot that makes your hips jerk.

“ right there? ma’am” he asks, voice low and focused, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“right there,” you breathe, rolling your hips slowly against his hand. “just like that. good~ boy.”

the praise makes him shudder. his fingers start moving in a steady rhythm — slow, deep pumps that make wet sounds every time he pushes back in. his thumb finds your clit and rubs in careful circles, not too fast, just enough to build the heat again. he watches your face the whole time, dark eyes intense and glassy, drinking in every flutter of your lashes and every soft gasp that escapes you.

“you feel so good inside miss” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“warm… tight… squeezing my fingers like you don’t want to let go. i could do this for hours.”

you reach down between you and wrap your hand around his cock. he’s fully hard again, thick and hot, still a little sticky from his last orgasm. choso’s breath hitches sharply when you start stroking him — slow, matching the pace of his fingers inside you.

“ah— fuck,” he groans, forehead pressing against yours. his hips twitch forward into your fist, but he tries to stay controlled. “your hand… feels too good princess i’m already leaking again.”

you can feel it — fresh precum dripping over your fingers as you twist your wrist on the upstroke, thumb brushing over the sensitive head. every time you squeeze a little tighter he lets out these quiet, broken sounds, half-whimper, half-moan, that go straight to your core.

the two of you move together like that for a long time — slow, intimate, completely focused on each other. his fingers curl and thrust inside you while your hand works his cock in steady strokes. the room fills with the wet sounds of skin and slick, mixed with your shared breathing and soft praises.

“you’re doing so well, choso,” you murmur against his lips before kissing him deep and slow. “making me feel so good with your fingers… such a perfect boy for me.”

he whimpers into the kiss, fingers speeding up just a fraction before he catches himself and slows back down. “i want you to cum again,” he whispers when you pull apart, voice trembling with need. “please. i need to feel it around my fingers. want to watch your face when you fall apart.”

you smile, tightening your grip on his cock and stroking faster. “then make me cum, baby. and you can cum with me again.”

choso’s eyes flutter shut for a second, overwhelmed, before they open again — darker, more desperate. he adds a third finger, stretching you fuller, and his thumb presses firmer circles on your clit. his thrusts turn deeper, more purposeful, hitting that spot every single time.

your orgasm builds slower this time, a warm wave rolling through you instead of crashing. you keep stroking him through it, feeling his cock throb and twitch in your hand, the head slick and swollen.

“choso— i’m close,” you gasp, hips grinding down onto his fingers.

“me too,” he chokes out, voice wrecked. “can’t hold it— you feel too good—”

you cum first, walls clenching hard around his fingers as pleasure washes over you in deep, rolling pulses. your hand keeps moving on his cock, and that pushes him over the edge right after. choso groans your name into your neck, hips jerking as thick ropes of cum spill over your fist and onto both your stomachs, pulse after pulse until he’s trembling and oversensitive.

for a long while neither of you move. his fingers stay buried inside you, gently rocking through the aftershocks, while your hand loosens its grip but doesn’t let go.

choso nuzzles into your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses along your skin. his voice is barely a whisper when he speaks.

“i love you,” he says, simple and raw. “love making you feel good. love when you touch me. love everything about this… about us.”

you card your fingers through his messy hair, holding him close. “i love you too, choso. you’re so good for me.”

he pulls his fingers out slowly, bringing them up to his mouth to lick them clean with a quiet, satisfied hum. then he reaches for the sheet, gently wiping the mess from your skin and his own with careful, tender movements.

once you’re both a little cleaner, he pulls you fully into his arms, your leg draped over his hip so you’re pressed together everywhere. his cock is soft now, resting warm against your thigh, and he seems perfectly content just to hold you.

“can we stay like this a little longer?” he asks, almost shy again. his fingers trace slow patterns on your back. “i just… want to feel you. all of you. no rush.”

you smile against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly settle.

“yeah, baby. we can stay like this as long as you want.”

he lets out a soft, content sigh and tightens his hold, like he never wants to let go.

fin🏁

a/n🦅:omg i actually lovr thisr

one of my fav scenarios ever

a/n: a wise person (@bullseyefuck3r) once said "i wanna suck off dex in a church while he's bleeding out." i wholeheartedly agree. this takes place after another time dex wipes out a bunch of avtf agents like in 02x04 but he gets a little bit more roughed up :p

mdni of course, blood and wounds, oral (m receiving), reader masturbates briefly using dex's blood :p

over the course of two years volunteering at the church, you'd never seen anything quite like benjamin poindexter stumbling through the church's doors looking like hell had been set loose upon him.

you stood at the altar, setting candles up for the next mass, when you heard the familiar creak of the doors being pushed open. you turned around to greet the visitor but you yourself were greeted by the sight of the man in a blue compression shirt and black tactical pants slightly limping towards a pew before groaning as he sat down—like moving at all was agonising.

you don't know how between fussing over him and bandaging up his wounds you ended up knelt on a prayer cushion between his legs, but you weren't mad at it.

he grunted roughly as his hand without the sprained wrist practically fisted your scalp as he forced your head further down his cock. you desperately clasped at his knees as you sucked him off, knowing better than to protest his harsh actions. also, you were enjoying it. it wouldn't make sense to stop him.

your eyes watered as his leaking tip started to prod against your soft palate. you looked up at him through his lashes and hoped he'd look at you. as soon as his demeaning gaze met yours, your eyelids fluttered shut. you couldn't help but remove a hand from his knee and lift it up to a weeping gash on his jaw. a few crimson drops coat your fingertips and you shamelessly slip your hand into your pants.

you keep bobbing your head on his cock as you start to rub his blood onto your clit. the viscosity of it blends perfectly with your arousal and you swear you could come on the spot.

dex watches your ministrations with completely undivided attention before choking out another low groan. his hand on your head pulls you up by your hair and shoves you back onto his cock at an almost violent pace before he finally comes, shooting ropes down your throat. you almost don't even have to swallow with how deep you had taken him.

your own orgasm follows shortly after, and dex watches as you twitch slightly, whining in pleasure around his softening cock before releasing it from your mouth.

you don't make any move to get up and just gaze at him from your place on the floor. dex grins at you, sharp and uncannily at ease for how beaten up he was.

you got the idea he wanted to stay in the church for a while longer.

That one smile too far

fandom: K-pop demons hunters

Pairing: Rumi X reader

Warning: smut, 18+, jealousy, light touching

“Here you are,” y/n exclaimed with a smile on her lips, her eyes shining as she handed the newly signed photo to the fan.

The signing had just begun, and it was going to be a long, exhausting afternoon for the Huntrix. But the worst part? The Saja Boys.

That damned demonic band had shown up demanding two separate tables for signing, clearly attempting to attract more fans. But Rumi wouldn't allow it: such a gesture would split the audience in half, creating unnecessary tension and rivalry. With a firm tone and a look that brooked no argument, she suggested they all sit at the same table.

But Rumi had already regretted it.

What else was he supposed to do? you had been gone for so long and your underwear smelled just like you.

1.7k words of Ryland Grace touching himself to your panties

smut, masturbation, sub!ryland grace

Cross posted on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84677756

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You had been gone for a week now. Something about a work trip. Ryland wasn’t sure anymore, all he knew was that he missed you. The man thought of you every waking moment of the day. He went to bed thinking of you. You were the first thing on his mind when his eyes opened to the sound of his aggravating alarm. Getting out of bed was easier without your warmth pulling him back under the covers. The first few days were easy on the doctor, but his attention was quick to falter. Towards the end of the week, his colleagues noticed a shift in his presence; it was almost concerning how he carried himself throughout the day. He didn’t care about the whispers, he missed you.

The best part of his day was coming home to unwind with you. Dealing with his classes this week frustrated him more than it usually did. You weren’t there to help him shake off the tension of the day. Ryland fumbled for his keys as he stood at the door of your shared apartment. He opened the door but not without struggling with the lock. Exhausted was an understatement. He shut the door with a loud slam, his back pressed flush against the wood. His eyes found the whiteboard calendar hung up beside the door. You scribbled in the days you would be gone. To his dismay, you wouldn’t return till the weekend. He puffed his cheeks out, his posture sinking even further. He needed you to help him carry the burden of his stress. He pushed himself off the door, kicking his shoes off and leaving his backpack haphazardly by the door. 

His feet dragged across the hardwood as he navigated to the bedroom. Ryland’s foot collided with the hamper, the teacher stumbling back with yelp. He remembered you had promised to do the laundry before your departure, but the weight of the hamper told another story. His hand came up to the back of his neck, he might as well do it before you return. It would take his mind off things. 

Ryland carried the hamper to the laundry room - if you could even call it that. It was more so a closet that housed the washer and dryer. His hands absentmindedly threw clothes into the washer. The fabrics were a mix of yours and Ryland’s. The two of you did laundry together to save time and a bit of money on the water bill; living in San Francisco was far from cheap. His fingers rubbed a foreign piece of cloth. His eyes flew to his hand, seeing his digits clasp around lace. He was slow to pull the garment out, a sparkle that had been gone returning to his eyes. It was a pair of black lace panties with a pink bow on the front. He had bought these for you a few months ago, the memory of you wearing them clear in his mind. 

The two of you were as sexually active as any other couple was, so you leaving for a week shouldn’t be this detrimental to him. However, the way his dick twitched against the denim of his jeans told him otherwise. His eyes were fixated on the piece of lingerie. His mouth fell slightly agape and his breathing picked up. His mind filled with images of you wearing the intimate piece of clothing. The sight of you bent over with the panties being just sheer enough to see the outline of your cunt, or the thought of peeling the fabric off you the same way he would with wrapping paper off an anticipated gift. The feeling of his glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose brought him back down to earth. Ryland pushed his spectacles back towards his face. His fingers tightened around your panties. His head craned up, his eyes now glued to the wall.

This was wrong. He felt pathetic. It was violating for him to take your unclean laundry and use it for his filthy fantasies. But he missed you, oh how he yearned for your touch. Ryland tried to convince himself to throw the garment into the washer and start the load, he had other chores to attend to. As much as he told himself he would, his fingers never loosened their grip around the lace. Grace swallowed thickly, his eyes trailing back down to the fabric intertwined within his digits. Ryland had touched himself plenty while you were gone, but it wasn’t enough; it never was. He wanted to smell you, to feel you, to *taste* you. The feeling of his now aching cock against his jeans only convinced him further to keep the soiled panties aside for his own guilty pleasure. The thought crossed his mind, using your clothes as a medium to touch himself to. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt so *dirty* just thinking about it. 

The battle in Ryland’s head wagered on, his eyes fixated on your panties. His hand moved without thinking. Before he could fully realize it, his nose was deep in the gusset of the pair. Taking a deep inhale of your musk forced his eyes to roll back. A shot of electricity traveled down his spine and hit his aching member. A small whine escaped between his lips. His need for you transcended reason. Ryland’s free hand made its way down to his crotch. He flexed his fingers, now palming his dick that was begging for attention. He stood like that for a moment, inhaling your sweat and using it as fire to fuel his never ending daydreams. 

It wasn’t until the ache began to hurt that he took his ministrations a step further. Ryland unbuckled his belt, swiftly pulling out his cock. The tip was red with anger, precum dripped and  collected under the head. His finger traced along a prominent vein that decorated the shaft. He shuttered at his own touch. He was losing the struggle to maintain his dignity. It didn’t matter, he would wash the pair right afterwards and take this to the grave. 

Ryland brought the black lace to his cock, using his hand to pump the fabric along his shaft. A loud groan left his lungs, one he had been holding back for a long time. He rested his back against the doorway of the laundry closet, his head falling against the wooden frame and finding purchase there. His eyes fluttered closed as he maintained a steady pace. Ryland’s mind swam with you. 

You would come home ready for him. The two of you would waste no time getting to the bedroom. You would speak sweetly to him, telling him how good he was for waiting so patiently. He whimpered at the thought. His glasses slipped down his nose once more from the sweat that collected. The frames eased off, leaving his face to hang off his ear. They were foggy, evidence of the heat that emitted from him by just the thought of you. The closet he stood in grew hot and stuffy. 

Ryland brought the pair of panties back to his nose, inhaling deeply. The mix of his scent now mixed with yours, reminding him of the smell of sex that would fill the bedroom when the two of you were together. The odor brought him the image of your cunt stuffed with his cock. He would piston in and out of you desperately, muttering under his breath about how good you felt and how much he missed you. The thought of your walls clenched around him forced his hips to buck desperately against his hand. He felt like a dog in heat. The feeling of your wet, hot cunt milking him caused him to rut. Every time he took a deep breath in, he would smell the two of you together. His whimpers filled the empty apartment. 

He saw the picture so clearly, the image of both of you finishing at the same time. Ryland remembers it, the sensation of you milking his cock. His hips and hand moved frantically against each other, following no real rhythm. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he chased his high in a frenzy. Once the two of you finished, he’d keep moving his hips, riding out his orgasm with the feeling of your fluttering walls. His mouth fell agape at the thought of a white ring surrounding his member where the two of you connected. He sobbed out your name like a prayer as he finally found his release. 

Ryland’s hips slowed, going through the motions of riding out his climax. His body shook with pleasure. White hot ecstasy flooded his mind as fireworks burst behind his closed eyelids. His throat burned with each inhale, his lungs crying out for steady breaths. His body fell limp against the doorway, his energy completely spent. He felt the abrasive rub of his shirt on his back as he slid down, eventually landing on the floor. His eyes traveled down to the mess he made between his legs. His jeans and your panties were coated with the evidence of his pleasure.

Ryland groaned, the clarity of the situation dawning on him faster than he would’ve liked. The feeling of disgust quickly took over the pleasure he was feeling mere moments ago. His hands moved to begin cleaning up when he heard keys rattle in the front door of his apartment. Grace’s head snapped to the source of the sound. His body was still, his muscles frozen in ways that could only be described as a freeze response. 

“Ryland! What’s with the mess at the front? You never leave your shit at the door” Your voice filled the apartment. You stumbled past his shoes and backpack he had forgotten about long ago. Your gaze lifted from the floor to meet your boyfriend. Your brows raised at the sight. 

NSFW 18+ MDNI

Liz audio nsfw

Warning : wet sounds, nswf, use headphones

You were working, but Liz was very horny and couldn't wait for you, so she decided to use her own hands to satisfy herself.

-

Estabas trabajando, pero Liz estaba muy excitada y no podía esperarte, así que decidió usar sus propias manos para satisfacerse.

This is my first audio, i wish no be a flop😭😭😭

baldurs gate 3 | wc: 6,333

pairing ; (ascended) astarion x tav/fem!reader summary ; astarion and tav play a dirty game of house in raphael’s ravaged house of hope, the boudoir an ideal venue (and peephole) for musing over his new client, desperately in need of new inspiration (yes, haarlep watches). themes/tags ; smut, porn light plot, rough sex, spanking, forced masturbation, voyeurism, orgasm edging, bondage, master/pet dynamics, dom/evil astarion, dirty talk, roleplay, foreplay a/n ; probably my dirtiest work, but larian should’ve known better that this map was begging to be used and abused. also on ao3! enjoy! (cover credit; the lovely @druidess-vp)

my rose garden dreams, set on fire by fiends - cherry, lana del rey

The heat was an infernal tempter.

Astarion’s hand burned in Tav’s own, relishing the twinge, inviting her for more if not a tempter himself.

Their party had returned to the Devil’s Fee and into the Elfsong, seeking respite after the fight with Raphael and his devilish horde. For days, they lay exhausted, but the House of Hope’s exit still glowed—a dangerous invitation—and it didn’t feel fair to leave its embers to fade on its own. Astarion had an idea, drawn to its red potential. Tav hadn’t known which blaze ignited her caprice that night he snuck her back into the Fee: the fiery pit leading to the Hells, or her lover’s ruby gaze, shaded in a depraved scheme. He shone a toothy grin, trading a kiss, as they fell into the swirling void. 

The House was left bloodied, vast from its siege. Warmth sprawled the longer they stayed, the longer they played. “Come, darling,” he purred, trailing his fingers over the smooth pillars. “Why don’t we play house?”

Their scenarios began. He’d come back home, exhausted from a day’s missions, Tav dusting a shiny display case, laying out jewels and amulets from the stray bodies, Astarion compelled to inspect their battle’s keepsakes. Then sometime after, Tav would come out from his office, caught by the glowering vampire as he smiled over her busy hands, thumbing loose chains she’d found in a drawer, Astarion narrating how they came to be his property (perhaps a gift from a twisted cambion). They’d start over, and Tav would walk in the house again, chains now clasped on his belt loops, as she walked through the foyer. She had just killed all of his—or rather, the previous owner’s—debtors, smiling over a soaked blade. 

“Smiting a devil in his own home,” Astarion purred, taking in their hard work. “Oh, what fun that was. Now, it really does feel like home.” Recently free from Cazador’s chains, why not conquer anew? It suited him and Tav, long overdue for an ostentatious celebration.

The main hall’s feast remained untouched, sprawled in its gluttinous glory, the slow rot of its fine cuts and plated trimmings befitting its new embellishments of mutilated bodies; each neck, leg, arm, and torso a piece of the canvas’ frame. “Sire, I didn’t know you owned such an estate,” Tav would say between gentle touches, Astarion’s leg a distracting intruder between her own. But gods, who was she to pay attention, when the wine dripped down her neck, and when he leaned forward on the table to lick it off? What could soil the occasion, with such a meal before them? Had the party ever stopped since the siege? Or now, as he lifted her on the table, eyes lazy and distracted, drunken on the taste of her skin? What of when he slid down, splitting her legs, biting soft bruises on the insides of her thighs? Delicate pants filled the center stage, his tongue licking, teasing the tip of her heat’s bud, swirling it wet. Astarion, after a long day of murder, received his fixing of the table’s delectable entree. 

Time had assumed the tempter’s position. 

“Well, once you kill a devil, it’s only just to hang its horns,” he’d continued as they switched scenes. Tav ached in an unsatisfied heat, Astarion’s touch forestalled, their long game leading them into the hallway.

Oiled depictions of demons and devils decorated the walls, their keen eyes following their flirtatious prancing. Tav’s waltz preceded Astarion’s careful steps, practiced to imitate the sophistication of such a gallery’s owner. He waxed on about the quality of the portraits and landscapes, articulating tales and details of each piece with a contrived precision only a vampire such as he could spin. Nude limbs, sprawling sheets, cherry lips over an orb-like gag. She held back a laugh as he gestured to a mural of Raphael, leaning on a jewel-knobbed cane—one of which they knew flaunted nonsensically, even for Astarion’s taste—describing its vile flair. With such eloquence, it was easy to believe that this abode was entirely Astarion’s, earned in blood. 

“Fiendish,” Tav challenged. “I don’t know if it’s up to par with your standards, vampire.”

The scenes switched, but Astarion held her words close.

He had dressed her in the archive (officially, she’d taken the role of Astarion’s special client, and if there were such a name for it, only he would know), before their scheduled meeting. A cordial favor, no doubt. She leaned on the Orphic Hammer’s now emptied display, presented for Astarion in various outfits of fine hems and embellished silks. A vampire liked to keep much extra, you see, lest he change his mind and strip her naked all over again. After much musing, he’d taken the pleasure in picking out a glitzy choker and a flowy, sheer gown, its trail just as extravagant as all of which surrounded.

“Please, my sweet, pardon the mess.”

Their meeting awaited, but not without Astarion’s courtwear, of course. Tripping over the bodies, he’d snagged a pair of golden cufflinks from a debtor’s cold wrist, clasping them above the frills of his sleeve, adjusting the ruff that bloomed under his neck. Aglow beneath towering windows, he saw Tav shine in Avernus’s fiery sunset, melodic strides matching the natural flow of her gown, peeking skin a deliciously vulnerable treat. 

Ah, they had much business to discuss.

Astarion finally made his proposition for their meeting known—and it was a grave ridiculousness. See, a serious rearranging was to take place in his gallery, one that needed a fresh image to save it from its dusty, uninspired bore. From his office where he’d sat her down, he gestured towards the balcony before them, open to the high, decorated walls. She’d sunk into the crimson cushion of her chair, listening to his woes.

“It’s quite embarrassing that these murals have come to violate the look of my abode. I wish you hadn’t set eyes upon them at all,” he sighed, playing into his dramatics, tapping annoyed fingers on the mahogany desk. Indeed, this was a travesty. 

“Not at all. I had a feeling that you, humble sire, would require something better. But what of?” With the tip of her shoe, she toyed with another stray body lying between them. “The fruits of our labor, the bodies before you—do they not please you?” Blood crawled towards Astarion’s polished oxford. “This is the pure condition of a body. Not a pudica or contrapposto, but a pose done by our maiming. Shall we hang them?” Astarion’s head tilted as she leaned forward, breasts dipping in the slip of her dress. “Spawn, don’t tell me no one has ever posed this way before you?”

Her neck stretched open, and he could practically hear the sweet thrumming in her exposed vein. He swallowed thickly as it disappeared behind the ruff of his neck, his attire suddenly too tight for his liking. If it weren’t for such tautness, he’d maim her right then and there, holding her shivering form as he drank from her dry. She’d grow slack under him, hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs, her heat spinning in his veins. But oh, she’d be too quick to fail on him, a finger twirling to have him exactly where she wants. 

He wouldn’t be bested in their enactment, even as he sat in his own discomforting heat. This was his game—his house. 

Growing the distance between them, he crossed his legs, fist rested under his chin. Unavailable. Apathetic. “It’s been years, truthfully. But I’ve found that I had to maintain a sense of decorum for my fiendish servants.”

“Doesn’t seem like that’s a problem anymore, with my help. Or why else would you invite me today?” Tav challenged, the blood long since pooled at the desk’s feet. “Tell me, Astarion, what more can I provide for you?” She went to reach for his newly-polished cuffs, eyes peeking through thin lashes. His ruby lust—a swirling, storm-bound abyss—pierced right through her, deeper than any wine they’d drunk, darker than the blood congealing at their feet. It spilt to his chest, straight to his groin—heated, hungry. 

Hells, hosting would be the death of him—again. 

He let his knuckles brush behind her ear, thumb pressing her cheek just under her lobe. Lost in the thumping ridge on her neck, his next words came more ragged than he liked. “Admittedly, I need a new stroke of inspiration. A muse, if you will… and this bloody stage suits you, darling.”

“What of your poise, then?”

“I’m sure I’ll familiarize the disarray once more,” he quipped, impressed with her quick performance.

Fine, he’d bite sooner than planned.

But Tav—ahem, the client—should’ve known better than to saunter into a vampire’s abode flippantly, should’ve known that her words, body, and will would unveil from their ruses, an illustration itself, all to be painted by Astarion’s will. His first strokes of the canvas started with the ends of her dress as he pulled her down the center hall, guided by the mere tips of his fingers. She caught sight of the corner of his lips, fangs peeking in a curious smirk, arousal a sharp prick.  

Moments slipped in syrupy time until they were met with a frosted screen, shielding the next room in a magical glint. Shivers spanned over her wholly, in front of the one place they’d avoided until now—the boudoir. Close by, the tiny body of Raphael’s—ahem, the past owners’— voeuyer maidservant lay dead on the ground, frozen in one last peep. Astarion brushed a thoughtful finger across his lip. No watcher, no good. He muttered to himself, something of how embarrassing and shameful his hospitality was, the words going in one ear and out the other. Tav’s body ached in a needy heat. They were almost inside. Would Astarion truly delay his hour of playtime?

“Hm, it seems we cannot go inside without someone to watch us. A pity.”

Tav bit back a whimper as Astarion’s grip fell from her dress. “There must be someone you can call. Did I really kill everyone for you?”

“There is one who should’ve been here by now…” He turned, closing in on her, a secret hid between his pearly teeth. “But I never asked—would my muse mind if he watched?”

As if summoned by the question itself, a fiery halo cast behind his white curls, orange light morphing into the pointed horns of a familiar incubus, rising in its full-bodied form. Tav’s cheeks burned in his presence, his smile stretching giddily at her stupor. How Astarion managed to wrangle the devil, she did not know. With plans of pure red, this house truly fell to his whim, her body its newest accessory.

“So, you’ve decided to stay, little thief,” Haarlep chortled, veering closer. “Not to worry, I am not here to bite—Master would know better than I.”

“Master?”

“Does he not please you, muse?” Astarion tilted his head, knowing the answer already. She will not mind. His script commanded it so. 

Predictably, she shook her head.

“His fancies are now mine to fall unto, as head of the house,” he spoke lowly. His wings shuddered, chasing down to his bulge, growing under a thin leather strap. With the tip of his claw, he brushed it to the side, revealing his half-soft member. Falling to his knees, his brows curved in surprising desperation. “You wound me, Master, as it seems I’ve been summoned before the fun had begun.”

“You’ll get to watch what was promised—but remember not to look away,” Astarion’s eyes darkened, brows knit in an evil demeanor.

“I will not,” he growled. “While I wait, I shall fantasize over your naked form, Master Astarion. I’m sure it’s far more delicious than Raphael’s.”

“He’s obedient…” Tav uttered to herself.

“Indeed he is, love.” Astarion stepped forward, fitting his finger under her choker. “For being as such, Haarlep, if I were to grant you one request, what would you wish to see us do?”

He bowed lower with a mad smile, lifting his head to face Tav. “That chain. Clasp it to her neck when you fuck her. And if you can, yank her face forward, so she can look upon me as she finishes.”

Tav wanted to shrink into herself. She couldn’t deny that his words had not partaken in the pooling mess that soaked her panties, an undeniable blush coloring her cheeks. A fiend and a vampire, taking responsibility for her pleasure. If this wasn’t the fantasy of any living being, what else could be? Suddenly, her neck jerked, breaking her trance, only to be caught by a clasp on her choker—cheekily, the chain. Pulled further by Astarion’s grasp, they stepped into the warp of the threshold. The boudoir awaited their performance. 

Fingers trailed up the small of her back as he guided her towards the rejuvenation pool in the room’s center. Carefully, she shed her shoes and dipped her feet inside, its cool lap tickling her ankles. He spun her around, the chain tilting her chin up to face him, standing at the pool’s first step. “Darling, promise me something.”

“Yes?”

“Within this room, you will do and act as I tell you to, your body and being now mine to behold—to paint and meld, your presence solely here for my artistic inspiration.” Breaths caught in her throat, eyes fluttering with her likewise heart, as he watched each reaction with dangerous intent. “As my chosen muse, do you consent to this?”

 “Yes, Master… Astarion.” The words came faster than she could comprehend, eyes veering towards the red shape behind the screen, its magical swirls slowly clearing into a half-hazy, transparent wall—just enough to see the wildness in Haarlep’s expression. But Astarion prodded her collar, her gaze snapped back to him.

“You’d do well to pay attention first, Tav, lest a punishment ensue.” Crystal blue danced off his pale skin, highlighting each chiseled feature, richly handsome in the low light. Her knees threatened to buckle as he unclasped the chain, stepping back. “Now, go play, hm?” 

Aiming to please, she let herself fall deeper into the pool, water crawling up her waist, her breasts, up to the dips in her clavicles. She waded towards the middle, stretching her neck in its cooling touch, dewdrops shimmering upon her skin.

Circling the rim of the pool, Astarion watched every single move. 

The way in which she moved her arms, and how her breasts lifted at the slightest, long hair trailing past her form. How her gown stuck to every curve of her body when she floated out of the water, the dark circles of her nipples hiding behind the sheer sparkles. He pricked his inner lip with a desperate tooth, studying how easily she melted in the waters, how easy it was for her to do as she was told.

“It is the boudoir’s focal point—the pool—that sets the tone for the next pieces I have in mind.” He crouched, fingers testing the temperature. “Water, wetness, texturizes the image—gives depth to a body, a model. Is it to your liking?”

Indeed, it was. But wordlessly, Tav swam to him, letting him interpret her message through the feel of her lips, slowly dragging across his palm. Carefully, she dipped to his knuckles, laying gentle kisses on his nails, puckering her mouth at the tip of his fingers. His brows quivered in the slightest. That was no good. She then opened her moist mouth, dragging her tongue across the length of his skin, closing her lips around his fingers. She sucked on his taste, veering forward until they brushed her uvula. Saliva brimmed on the edges of her lips as she bobbed her head up and down, ebbing and flowing like the water that danced over her tits.

A low growl coated his tongue as he felt his pants tighten, his cock desperate for his turn inside her slick mouth. But no. Control was his game. He released himself, grabbing her chin, thumb brushing the wet divot between her bottom lip and teeth. “Playful girl. But do not forget I tell you how to entice me. Now, go to the edge near the pool’s stairs and pretend I’m not here.” He stood up, a grin stretching with an idea. “Then begin to touch yourself.”

He slowly undid the buckle on his belt, her breath hitching at the sight of his bulge. Up until now in their adventure, she hadn’t pleasured herself in front of him before, the mere thought a scandalous one, especially surrounded by the presence of their companions. But now, utterly alone, perhaps it was a fantasy Astarion had been saving for this very moment. She was enthralled with it. She swam over to the shallow first step of the water. Settling herself on the marble ledge, she lifted the thin layers of her skirt, the half-concealed shape of her vagina now naked in the watery glow. Her clit pulsed as she rubbed the wet bud with the pads of two fingers. Sighing, her own touch loosened her legs further open, eyes fluttering shut. The low water drizzled between her folds, whimpering slit squelching. The scene fell before her: alone in relaxation, body flexing along greedy fingers, a shameless orgasm moaned into the night. 

Peeking an eye open, she pretended not to see Astarion from afar, legs bare, hand hovering over his grown cock. He pumped his tip gently, assuredly, just enough to mimic the swirl of her melodic fingers. Gods, he was lost in her body, the portrait of her pleasure, the exposure in the wetness. “Don’t be shy…” she could barely hear him whisper.

Savouring one last flick upon her bud, she spat on her fingers until they were slick, and stuck a finger in her pussy, hooking upwards until she reached that sweet, secret spot. Her breaths stifled as Astarion pulled at his cock in deeper strokes, her fingers going to do the same. She fucked herself open, walls loosening around her little fingers, envisioning Astarion’s thick heat inside of her. She moaned and shifted, popping out, slurping up her taste, and returning once more. “A-Astarion…” She whimpered, as if alone. 

He stepped forward, slowly, pre-cum drenching his fingers.

“You haven’t fucked me in forever,” she pouted to herself, and Astarion pictured her all by her lonesome in her tent, under the grime and sweat of a day’s quests.

“Bounce on yourself,” he demanded, head going slack.

Tav obeyed, lifting her body upwards, knees on the ground. Stretching her arm, she pointed her fingers upwards from below her pussy as she landed upon them, ass splashing the water every which way. “Astarion, I need you…”

“Look at Haarlep.”

She craned her neck to the side, bobbing on her fingers as the incubus played with his own cock, tongue lolled out in a nefarious smile. “Do you know where Master is?” She whined. “I’m all prepared for him, but he’s not home yet…” 

Astarion couldn’t handle it. He veered closer until he was just above her, the moist movement of his cock hoving above her head. “Lie down,” he commanded. “Massage yourself again.”

She went in circles, slapping her clit as he ordered her around, perfecting her blocking and every way in which she’d move, moan, and react. She was his. Her pleasure was all his. “T-Tav…” his mouth went slack, so unbelievably close. “Do you want me to cum?”

“Yes, Master,” she murmured, wet and almost spent.

“Without me fucking you?” He chortled. “Is this your way of teasing me?”

“Cum now, and I’ll please you again.”

“Twice? My, my, needy little slut. Fine, but a good girl wouldn’t cum just yet, would she?” His chest held uneven breaths as she shook her head beneath him, watching as he pumped faster and faster. “Let me adorn you, darling.”

His tip choked red, its throbbing size fighting his tight fist. “Oh, oh, Tav—” He came violently, shooting out thick ribbons of his heat all over her face, drizzling down her nose and cheeks, forehead and neck. She licked at the rim of her lips, relishing the sweet taste of her lover.

“Dirty muse,” Astarion encouraged. She made to stand, perhaps to steal a kiss, but he motioned for her to sit. “Patience, my love. You’ll receive your pleasure, but for now, I must get ready for our next meeting. Or did you forget?”

“No, I would never.” She couldn’t stand another intermission, another performance—not when she was so close to her own release. But she bit her lip, knowing full well that Astarion wouldn’t miss the chance to extend what pleasure he could give to the woman he loved. She grew wetter merely thinking of the next possibilities.

They took their sweet time once separated, Astarion disappearing behind the pool’s back barrier, Tav forced to stay near a pillar at the pool’s entrance. He’d spun another fable, a believable plot point for each other’s absences. There was a new style of decor to be contemplated, he’d string, as a muse must remain decent for the next round of study. It was a troublesome plight to have to recompose himself for an esteemed client, he had stressed, but Tav liked to think hers was greater—its physical temptation drawing deeper into her core, slicking the insides of her thighs.

She’d done all the maintenance possible, neatly arranging her sleeves and skirt, letting it stick to her skin in the remaining dampness. Yet here, she cruelly waited, confined in pressing heat. But as if Astarion heard her needy thoughts, his form emerged between the gaps of the gold barrier.

“Darling, don’t keep me waiting now.”

Swallowing, she controlled her steps, making way towards the end of the boudoir. A fierce red stained her cheeks, the prior reactions of their party’s scourage coming to mind, Raphael’s bed a promiscuous surprise. Astarion’s glance had caught her own in between the shuffle of their companions, his look filled with an idea Tav would never have known would come to fruition. Now, his casual lean on the bedframe held a satisfactory guile, his fantasy now a reality.

“Master Astarion,” she courtseyed. “It’s nice to see you again.”

His hands sank into his pockets, curls brushing over his eyes, head tilted in curiosity. It was as if he was spectating a lone prey in the night, bearing flesh and blood of a taste he hadn’t known in centuries.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He maintained an unsmiling, focused visage. “Tell me, have I bored you with our formalities thus far?”

She bit her inner lip. A trick question, no doubt. “No—”

“So you wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer before our performance ensues?”

She didn’t have to answer, not when the obvious mess in her crotch grew wetter with every passing second, not when Astarion’s own cum streaked silver across her face. Of course, she fucking minded. But perhaps she could make him lose his cool first. “I’m merely here to help Master in his artistic endeavors, whenever he needs me.”

“Good. You’ve inspired me greatly, my dear, and I believe there is much more potential to pluck right out of you.”

“I’m pleased you think that way,” Tav held back a grin. “Perhaps we can finally get to business.”

He crossed his feet, tilting back comfortably. “Strip for me.”

Tav’s breath hitched, but her hands moved quicker than her astonishment, loosening the fabric that wrapped her shoulders, drawing back her neckline. Slowly, she revealed her clavicles, her proud chest, the top dip of her breasts. She hesitated, perhaps to control the anticipation, but Astarion remained nonverbal, entirely focused on the thin hem between her fingers. Finally, she folded over the wet fabric, breasts flung out of the tight corset, fully revealed in their slippery form. 

“Stop.”

She complied, expecting a deeper gaze, a change in stance—but he remained.

“Touch them.”

The bottom dip of their weight dropped on her fingers, slowly closing around their round form. She squeezed gently, nipples widening between her fingers, body reacting to her own touch. She warmed them, fondling their sides, upper curves, and downwards slopes once more. Drawing towards the center, she began to rub the softness of her nipples, feeling as they hardened into darker, more sensitive nubs. Her jaw went slack as she breathed lowly, lost in her own tease. Finally, Astarion leaned forward, and she squeezed again,  harder, dirtier, lost in her motions, feeling every inch of supple fat, knowing it as art—his art.

“Now strip naked.”

Biting her lip, she quickly dropped her gown, as it slithered down her stomach, past her pelvis, finally landing by her feet. Each cool dip and curve was exposed to her Master, though he didn’t move to touch her, no, only waited for something more. Perhaps this was permission to be a little brazen. With pleasure, then.

She took two fingers into the folds of her pussy, swabbing the discharge that oozed out of her. She pressed its wet mass on one nipple, rubbing it once more. With her other hand, she reached back between her legs, finding her quivering clit as she rubbed it in the same rhythm, her body exhilarated at the closeness of her lover. 

In a blur, his pants hit the floor, his member snapping upwards, feral for attention. He leaned to sit on the frame of Raphael’s bed, and with a singular finger, he pointed downwards, a treat laid out for her good behavior.

She licked her lips, immediately falling to her hands and knees. Hells below, she ached for this, hunger wracking her entirety. She crawled towards him, like a hungry animal in the night, tongue out at the sight of his pale rod, blushing pink at his tip. Her sustenance was alone, waiting—bulging. Close enough to get a taste, she shone innocent, dog-like eyes for him, his permission granted by the grip he planted behind her head. As if testing the waters, she carefully swirled her tongue over his tine, flicking up and down and around its outer rim. Then, she licked the top of his length, moving to follow the thick vein that pulsed from his sides, familiarizing every bump and curve of his twitches. He groaned as the saliva cooled his skin, cock not yet devoured, still exposed to the air. 

With one last teasing flick, her lips rounded as she swallowed him whole.

Quickly, she became drunk off of his taste, slurping his cock up and down, tongue rolling off every low moan. She squeezed her cheeks, sliding in deeper and deeper, jaw relaxing to let it puncture the back of her throat. His fang caught his lip, stifling another low moan. Perking up at the assurance, she moved her neck, then plunged herself once more. Saliva dribbled down her chin. She overestimated how much she could contain in her cheeks. Popping him out, she took a deep breath, swallowing what she could.

“Fuck, darling,” his chest heaved erratically. He combed his fingers through her hair, moving stray ends out of her face. “You take it so well.” Pre-cum bloomed out of his retracting hole, elated at her work. Tav grinned as she took him again, bobbing her head faster, Astarion’s rough grip guiding each pump. “Taste… you like it, don’t you?”

She nodded, playing with the movement of his cock, grazing her teeth against it until he stuttered. She looked up at him, revealing her pretty mess, his eyes fierce with a crimson ultimatum. He grabbed her temples, thrusting his hips into the wet hole of her mouth, playing with himself under each thick choke, tip tickling the back of her throat. She slackened for him the best she could, knees already bruised purple on the hard ground, tears falling in thick streaks, mingling with the cum on her cheeks. Indeed, she was truly marked as Astarion’s muse. 

“Hells, I can’t handle you.”

Her world spun, and she was slammed onto the silk sheets of the bed, her legs forced open as Astarion crawled onto her. He took her neck, slamming their lips together, tongue tangling with her own. Despite the ferity of his rough intrusion, it was akin to the nights when they’d shared moments of love, affection sweetening this long-awaited kiss. He bit her lip as she suckled on his, lost in his loving guidance. He moved down to her neck, licking lines across the spot he’d once bitten her, sinking his fangs just enough to prick the surface. He kissed the sting, soothing her rapid pulse.

He trailed the tips of his fangs down the length of her body, goosebumps prickling her skin. He took his time exploring the hills of her breasts, suckling off each nipple, veiny hands groping her pink. Past her stomach, his fingers swirled over her pubic bone, down to massage the thin folds of her vagina.

“A-Ah, Astarion…”

When was the last time they’d properly indulged in each other, after days of circling the city? He thumbed at her clit, plunging his pointer and middle finger inside of her, feeling the tightness of her walls, taking his time to stretch her open. She widened for him, missing his attention, thrusting weakly onto his hand. He pressed sloppy kisses under her jaw, going to grasp her ankles. He put them around his shoulders as he sat up, positioning himself before her. Astarion, in his disheveled state, put all others to shame, the vampire besting any beauty the Hells could dare muster. But distracted by his sinister smirk, she was caught off guard by his rough intrusion, his cock forcing its fit inside of her.

 She jerked backwards into the pillows, his denseness new, walls unused to his presence. He rocked himself slowly, slipping in and out of her pussy, watching as her labia folded and unfolded onto themselves. The bedframe rocked as he picked up his pace, hovering just enough to give his pelvis room. She began to sweat, his strokes stoking the fire in her belly, aching with every pleasurable hit to her sweet, delicate insides. “Yes…” She murmured. “Like that…”

Gripping her ankles, he moved faster, using her, toying with her hole, lost in the motion of his waves. “Mmph, darling,” he whimpered, licking the long curve of her ankle, using her stomach to balance his free hand. Her eyes rolled backwards, each hit sending shivers up her hips, unmade to tiny gasps and grating groans. The room filled with soft moans and beating squelches, each thrust clapping at their skin in sweaty tandem. Gods, they deserved this, Tav thought. After their heist and battles, celebration and decoration, the boudoir was completely and utterly theirs, fashioned for their control. And what better way was there to revel in their victory than to have sex in a defeated devil’s own bed? 

The mere thought of their dirty scenario made her wetter, hornier. Feeding into it, she went on her elbows and met him for a kiss, climbing over to switch positions, bringing him to his back. He chuckled in approval as she sank onto him slowly. “Naughty, Tav…”

Her hands fell onto his chest as she lifted slightly, balancing on his cock. She shimmyed on his tip, rubbing in between the shallow of her folds, her hovering teasing him greatly. He whined, hands caught on her waist, pulling her down to sit on his firm base. She began to rock back and forth, feeling him swirl her insides, his girthy heat hitting her oh, so good. He always enjoyed when she rode him, always liked to see her shadow rebound off the fabric of his tent, her curvy silhouette a delight to fall under. Tav wondered how their witness enjoyed their show—she’d have to check on him after she took her time making Astarion tremble.

She began to bounce on him violently, breasts flinging in the air, his hands slapping them silly. She whined, high-pitched and innocently, as if she never wanted to be fucked, as if he forced her on his pulsating cock. But she kept going, an obedient slut, feeling as his cum fell down her neck, her discharge leaking a sticky mess on the tangled sheets. He took her hips and thrusted upwards as she rocketed again and again and again. “You like that?”

“Mhm…” He licked his fangs, putting on another casual front as he watched her flex. Her ass stuck out, the curve of her back arched just enough for her to listen to the sound of her cheeks clap. She moved with confidence, touching herself in front of him, then lifting her arms, leaving more room to see her breasts slip and swing.

“Oh, Astarion, I might cum…”

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yes…” Her eyes slipped closed, astray in the bliss, but she was quickly yanked out of her trance, the shining chain latching onto her once again.

“Did I say you could cum?” Leashed, she was brought to all fours, her owner kneeling behind her. He smacked her cheek, and she yelped, brought to her elbows.

“N-No, Master—”

He smacked her again on the other cheek. “You’re due for a punishment, my muse. Stick your ass out.” She did so, her used hole gaping in the cool air. “Do you deserve to be fucked?” 

“Only if Master thinks so—ah!”

He plummeted inside of her, her head dropping to the bed, saliva running down her mouth. “Tell me, do you think Haarlep wants to see you be fucked?”

“Y-Yes, yes he d-does.”

“Then be a good girl and give him a good show.”

He slid in and out, deeper than he’d ever reached, shoving her into the firm bedding. She could barely breathe, reddening at his uncontrollable abuse. He leaned forward, head over her own, hot breath traveling down the canal of her ear. “What do you think he’s imagining, my dear? How you’d look just as pretty under him? How your expressions would change if he slipped his tongue inside of you? Or how you’d quiver if I went even harder, as you tasted him at the same time, both of your pretty holes ours to molest?”

Words meshed together, utterly indiscernable alongside the likewise jut of his heat. She hoped the looseness and burning rub of her pussy bore his answer, as it nearly whimpered to finally fucking cum at the sight of Astarion, herself, Haarlep, or the entirey of the Hells if need be. Let them watch.

 He lifted, snapping her chain with a might that hoisted her neck upwards, forcing her to witness the room, the gate’s thin bars, the transparent entrance. He began to fuck her absolutely senseless from behind, the sticky slap of his cock beating her ass blue. He balanced himself on his hold of her collar, watching her hole consume each deep pound, stuck on her hands and knees like a pet. Enjoying the view of his corruption, he spanked her again—once, twice, thrice, enjoying her little yelps over her thick moans.

“Yes, yes, please! M-Master! Ah!”

“Watch him, slut,” he growled. “Watch him enjoy how I fuck you, how your body is completely mine, my cum all over your pretty face, your neck bruised under my bite...”

 Faster and faster he thrusted, cock intruding her womb and up her stomach, and gods, she could practically feel him come up her throat, head violently knocking back and forth under her flexing neck. Gods, how Astarion used her. Her breasts hung low, nipples dragging across the sheets, her grip on the bed close to giving up. Her stomach rumbled, aching with the closeness of pure release. 

From afar, she saw Haarlep stand, a hand on the threshold, hand fisting himself under tight flexes. She saw his red length, how its size rivalled her own arm. “Mmph…” His sonorous groans sounded from afar, tongue lolling out. “Just like that, Tav… look at me.”

“Astarion… Haarlep,” She whimpered, lost in their gazes.

“Watch him touch himself. Watch him cum in his hands.”

But Haarlep held on, awaiting just the right moment to guide his incoming spurts, and the mere look of his hellish anguish threatened to burst Tav apart.

 “I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum so hard for you…” she wailed.

“Cum, Tav, I’m so close,” Astarion choked. Haarlep smiled, wings spreading slowly, twitching. The vampire and incubus waited, sweaty and inflamed upon the peaks of Hell, her release destined to stoke the grandest fires of Avernus.

“Ah! Ahhh!” She screamed as she clenched on Astarion’s cock, her fat clit pulsing as she came, thick veins of cum coating her walls, encouraging his quickening pace. She went slack, lost in overstimulating coats of sweat, as he rode himself out, numbing her senses. He panted, mewling like a desperate slut, his own release spilling inside of her. Her hole was overflowed, oozing hot, sticky cum with each weakening pump. It leaked up her clit, dripping heavy on Raphael’s now soiled sheets.

Haarlep’s wings spanned in full length, locking eyes with Tav’s, watching as her prolonged climax overtook her expression. With razor focus, he let himself cum, shooting rapid ribbons of his heat, coating the transparent divide and floor around him. He groaned Tav’s name, then Astarion’s, fingers sticky in his own essence, toying with his softening member. 

“Oh, Master, little thief… after being cursed to engage in Raphael’s amateurish sex, this was the most fun I’ve had in the boudior.”

Tav slumped onto her back, Astarion pulling her collar further to steal a small kiss upon her lips.

“Darling, it seems you’ve inspired a vampire and a measly devil, hm?” She didn’t have the breath to respond, but he knew that well, licking his fangs, slick and very much satifsied. “My muse.”

Indeed, this House of Hope consumed—the true infernal tempter.

bimbo speaking here !