Depravity Cave

"You know..." You murmur, a hand trailing down to fiddle with the hem of his pants. "I think I could make you forget about that loser."

Vox gasps as your hand gently presses at the tip of his cock—both at the sensation, and due to shock. Are you... Suggesting what he thinks you're suggesting? He half can't believe what he's hearing. On one end is the little voice whispering recycled insults taken straight from the events of prior hours—disappointing, pathetic-

And then your hand works him up again, and he forgets about it all in a daze.

"You like that?" You murmur, voice low and husky and one he'd like to drown in.

Vox rapidly nods. That seems to be the right response. Is there a right response here? He doesn't quite know—his mind is going fuzzy at the edges.

"Good," you say, sending a jolt of arousal shooting straight down his spine. At the ensuing full-body shudder, you laugh softly. "You're adorable."

Adorable. Good. Vox can't think about anything else, only those two words of praise, low and honeyed, gripping his mind in a vice.

You switch up in your ministrations, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure, and he bites back a moan.

"Now, now," you say, voice gentle yet stern. "Don't hide your sweet voice."

The praise is enough to make him let out another humiliating noise, this time, one he doesn't try to stifle. You let out a pleased hum that sends vibrations straight down the back of his neck.

"Good boy."

And that's enough to send him straight to the edge, and he's oh so close when-

Your hand pulls away, leaving him humping the air.

"A-Ah...?" He starts. "Did I do something, or-"

You get on your knees, and it quickly becomes apparent what you actually sought to do.

Oh.

Oh.

Well, if you're offering...!

"I wouldn't want to make a mess, now," you say, tongue teasing at his shaft. Your eyes lock and he looks away with a flush—Wait, what the hell is he acting all- all awkward for? He's an overlord, not some- flustered maiden! This isn't even his first time!

Vox is about to try and do something, anything to reclaim his dignity, when your mouth envelops his length, and his brain short circuits. he's half sure he's got an error screen on right now.

Your tongue laps at the tip of his cock, before swirling around it like you're licking a lollipop, and oh, damn, is this what is means to see stars? Vox doesn't remember anything he was upset about anymore, all of it so, so fuzzy. All he can think about is you, your mouth around his cock, and-

It's the muffled "good" that tips him over the edge, and her knees buckle as he lets out a cry. It's all very unbecoming, most likely, but he can't bring herself to care, and you certainly don't, either, swallowing every last drop.

The world takes a while to fade into view after that. When it does, you're there, a wet cloth on his forehead and a warm smile.

"Feeling better?" You say. Vox rubs at his dampened eyes—damn, he hadn't even registered his own tears—and smiles nonetheless.

"...Thanks," he says. Your gaze softens in turn, a hand on his shoulder.

And yet, here he is, tied up, red ribbon rope circling his torso and binding his arms tightly to the headboard, unable to do anything but throw back his head back and take whatever you give. You're not even touching him anywhere, ah- ordinarily intimate, see. That's the worst part. Maybe if it were you toying with his cock or teasing at his nipples, he'd somewhat understand his own reaction.

But you're not doing that. No, this weakness of his you're so dead set on exploiting is his and most likely his alone: A panel of wires easily accessible just by unscrewing a little panel on his lower back. This one is special, see, not like all the others. It doesn't control bodily functions or electrical pulses or what not. It's, ahem- sensitive...

Put bluntly, it controls everything sex-related. Genetalia (interchangeable, courtesy of this body's functions... for some reason!), how horny he gets, how good he feels, and, most importantly—

How easily he cums.

And you have turned that function off altogether for this night. It was so, so easy to let his typical, steadfast control slip—You whispered sweet nothings in his ear, said you'd make it so good, and he just let himself slip away, barely even registering as the rope coiled around his arms.

You're evil, he thinks, just as you pull on one particular wire, and a spike of pleasure shoots through him with a full body shudder. Closer, and closer, until—

Damnit. The restriction's still on.

"Fuck- haah-" he grits out. "Fuck you."

"Now that's not very nice," you murmur. He's about to retort when you pull at that wire again, harder this time, and his thoughts go blank.

Vox can barely identify the ensuing broken moan as his own.

And then- then you dip your finger underneath and fiddle with the wires, and he's getting closer, closer and closer again, the fire building up in his core and-

It stops just as it starts, that damned wire still unplugged. Or was it- crossed? Did you like, hold it or something? Vox doesn't remember anymore. All he can think of is how badly he wants to come.

"Come on, just let me cum," he mutters, body unwittingly humping the air for more friction as if that'll help—except the extra stimulation without release only makes things worse, keeping him teetering on the edge for longer. "Do you want money or some shit?"

You laugh, before shaking your head.

"Beg," you say. Vox blinks.

Did- Did he hear that right? You want him to beg? Him, Vox, controller of all of hell's television and technology, one of the strongest overlords in hell—to beg?

"I don't be-e-eg—" he starts, words buzzing out into glitchy static as you toy around with a wire. "Ah, fuck, keep doing that-"

And then it stops, just as he hits the edge, again. Vox has lost count by now of how many times this has happened. The sound that escapes him teeters the edge between a whine and a moan.

You beam down at him.

"You wanna cum?" You say. Vox would've replied—Of course I wanna cum, no fucking shit, asshole—but right now, he's too drugged up on ecstacy and desperation to do anything but nod rapidly. "Why don't you ask for it?"

"I'm not going to beg," he reiterates. You smile.

"Not yet," you say, ever so patient and serene. Before Vox can try and ask what exactly that's supposed to mean, your hand is on the wires again, playing and pulling with more speed and skill than every before, and, and-

And the wire gets plugged back in, and he can cum now, closer, closer-

But then, right at the edge, your hand pulls away, leaving him denied again.

"Fuhuhuck!" He groans, before finally, finally murmuring out a whiny- "Plea-a-ase-"

You make a show of contemplating, humming to yourself, before finally, finally giving him reprieve!

"Of course!" You say. A click ensues and his sensitivity is turned all the way up, before the heat in his core returns, stronger and stronger and closer and closer—

In a flash of hot white, he cums, mind going blank and shudders coursing through his body. Vox trembles, riding out the orgasm as you continue your ministrations.

Except you're still going. It's too much now, a cup overfilled. He's already sensitive from the previous orgasm and—

White flares up again, another one taking him by storm shortly after the one he just had. With heavy pants, he barely manages to stammer out a semi-coherent "Wha...?"

You snicker.

"I said I'd let you cum," you say. "Not that I'd stop afterwards."

A shudder courses through him, this time, not just because of your merciless fiddling.

It takes him so long to even consider subbing.

He's got a toxic masculinity complex straight from the fifties—getting him to take orders in the bedroom and getting him to try and bottom are two separate mountainous tasks.

So, at least, you can get him to hand over control while still topping. Kind of.

...With a lot of effort.

It's one night, and he's topping and domming as usual. But, of course, you intend to change that.

Whisper instructions into his ear, and in spite of himself, Vox ends up obeying.

He tries very hard to cover up his shiver at the ensuing "good boy", bless his heart, he does... But he's a sucker for praise. It's impossible to cover up his full body shudder at your words.

At first, he tries to fight against it. Keep some semblance of conteol—defy you every step of the way. Put simply, he is a brat, through and through.

Now, you have two (successful) ways of dealing with this.

The first is by simply refusing to indulge. Don't give him anything whatsoever, not an ounce of stimulation, physical or verbal, until he finally caves.

You'll have him begging, pleading on his knees for you to fuck him in no time.

The second is to be gentle and kind in response to his every attempt at fighting back. Meet his insults with a warm smile and his scoffs with gentle touches.

The process is a bit different, but the end result is the same—a pleading, shivering mess underneath your touch, begging for you to take him.

Or, well... You could put him in his place. That works, too. He'll just have a little grin on his face afterwards, like the cat that caught the canary. It's a very cute looking grin though. The sight of him blissed out, a shivery mess underneath the bedsheets, smirking like he's been given the best present in the world.

Very into brat taming in general, I think. He won't admit it for the life of him, but there's something so very satisfying about being made to submit.

In general, I think a lot of his kinks align with the same concept of "being made/pushed onto something"—Bondage, humiliation, degradation, and light CNC! All kind of in that same general scope of "Yeah of course the repressed 1950s CEO is into this", if that makes sense.

Also also IQ Play/Hypnosis! He likes doing it, but he'll also never admit just how much he likes having the tables turned on him! No thoughts, no worries, just your bitch ♥️ I mean, hey, you take good care of him, don't you?

And wire play. His wires are so, so sensitive and I could probably write a whole fic just about unravelling him inside out by playing with his wires. I legitimately think you could get them to cum with that alone.

Speaking of that... Orgasm control. He will never admit to how hot he finds it when you sent him due to his pride. He will never admit to how hot he finds you making him cum even when he just can't take it anymore because... Well, his mind is too blissed out for words.