He's never one to make too much noise beyond the occasional word of encouragement, and in this case, a few 'mind the fabric's while they were biting his thighs.

"Such admirable strength for such a slim little thing," he smirks. And it's not just empty platitudes either- the Duke would be the first to admit that lifting his stomach is sometimes a two-person job. (And he does admit it, frequently, as a half-joking explanation for why he could never commit to being monogamous.)

Could he have found a different position, let gravity give Lip a bit of assistance? Certainly, he could've. But that would deny him the fun of getting to test them, and see how willing they are to do all the work. For a second he gets the urge to grab a roll of fat and provide Lip with a bit of assistance, but he resists. If Lip didn't have his cock in their mouth they'd insist they were more than capable.

Lip can be petulant. They test his patience from time to time. But in the end the Duke knows that they are eager to please.

The rub of their thumb on the underside of his belly coaxes out a long, satisfied groan.

Duke, ever the gracious host, is saying goodbye to his associates at the door, handshakes and air kisses and effusive goodbyes all around. When he finally closes the door and turns back to face the room, he'll see Lip seated on the table, wearing their precious little outfit and a smile completely unlike the smiles they've been wearing all night. In their hands is a riding crop tipped with a pale pink leather heart. They run a ghost-light hand down its shaft to play with the impact end.

“I've been so good tonight,” they purr. “I think I deserve a special little treat. Don't you?”

The last contracts signed, the last hands shaken, the Duke sees off his guests, well-fed and entertained but with significantly lighter pocket books. He returns to the dining room and eyes Lip, smirking with anticipation.

"You're my good luck charm," he says. They make perfect arm candy, an obedient little servant. Normally the Duke prefers to serve the food and pour the wine himself, but he'll make an exception to give Lip a chance to please.

He gives a heavy sigh- business is hard work, despite what some people would say- and reaches up to his neck to loosen his tie.

"Of course," he purrs. "Payment for services rendered. I'd never expect to work for free, nor would I expect you to."

His eyes go to the end of the riding crop. It matches their dress.

Blood kink prompts

"Don't forget to give me the signal if I start to take too much."

The Duke goes for the wrist, usually, because it feels more polite. The neck is quite gauche, in his opinion. The irony of a Gangrel being so caught up on decorum is not entirely lost on him.

They get a hearty meal for their trouble beforehand. This is the routine that he keeps with whatever favoured plaything he keeps around- dinner to keep them from keeling over, dessert as aftercare. It's a sustainable system- if it works for the red cross, it can work for the Duke.

Spicy Action Prompts

It feels wrong to still call them 'pet' when they're the one holding the leash, so to speak. What he calls them instead in this case is 'scoundrel'. As in "you've prolonged this torture long enough, you scoundrel."

The Duke will conceive of some kind of punishment for this grave disrespect later, but right now his mind is preoccupied. His normally laissez-faire demeanour replaced with a kind of indignant urgency as every touch from Lip drives him just a little more mad. He's above begging, on principle, but part of him thinks maybe it wouldn't hurt.