Masochism Tango | Alastor & Lucifer & Vox

chapter 21

It was as if the entire world had stopped its turning around him. Sexual... torture? Are you fucking kidding me? he thought.

He was a virgin. He was a fucking virgin, oh fuck, he couldn't agree to this! And this was the one opportunity where he actually had a say in how he was to be tortured.

But oh fuck, he wanted to say yes so badly.

"Any reason this is the particular method you, uhm, chose..?" Alastor asked, prolonging the moment for when he would have to answer you for as long as he possibly could, because, honestly, he wasn't sure. He wanted to say yes merely out of mutual curiosity. He had never "sexually" tortured himself before, and had never been sexually tortured by another so, frankly, he didn't really understand what that meant. He knew from a little experience and from common knowledge that sexual activity was highly pleasurable, equal to that of the kind of erotic pleasure he received from his masochistic tendencies. So what would happen if those two things actually intermingled? He wanted to know.

"Let's just say I needed to take my mind off some things," you murmured, and Alastor could detect the vexation in your voice. If this were any usual situation, he would be mulling over those words ceaselessly in his mind, trying to decipher the connotation behind them. Perhaps you were frustrated and/or exhausted with your work as Lucifer's right-hand and the Duchess of Hell, or maybe you were angry with Lucifer himself? Maybe a secret lover? Maybe mulling over some repressed trauma Alastor could discover and use to manipulate you...?

But Alastor was not in a usual situation, and Alastor was far from acting like his usual self. He was weak-willed and consumed with a primal desire to experience you for all that you were, and the sensation was so intense he felt ill. He was so overwhelmed with his curiosity and desire for you it undermined any underlying motive to manipulate information out of you that he would usually possess.

Right now, he just wanted to feel you. He wanted to feel your powerful hands dancing like thousands of painful white-hot fireworks across his skin, wanted nothing more but to shiver as your plump lips sucked and kissed on the crook of his sensitive neck, wanted to scream in agony as you lashed him with that whip coiled around your hip at all times, wanted to taste your womanhood and your Heavenly golden blood alike.

It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and it scared him.

"You have my consent," Alastor said quietly, squirming beneath the grip of the chains. You smiled, satisfied as you clapped your hands together twice, and before he could even realize it Alastor looked down and he had nothing on but his plain black boxers.

And as his gaze fell over his half-naked body, and his eyes trailed down his scarred torso, he beheld his throbbing erection beneath his underwear with his own red eyes.

He swallowed dryly, feeling as if he may vomit. His stomach churned as you walked towards him, and his brows furrowed and his smile was strained as you gently wrapped your arms around his neck. You carefully collected strands of his hair and formed them into a low, loose ponytail, producing a simple black hair tie and wrapping the band around his hair.

In that moment, Alastor was frozen in place, his eyes wide with confusion and surprise as you pulled his hair up. He was unsure and bewildered as to why you were doing such a thing, and he felt little butterflies dance in his core at how close you were to him. Your scent wafted in front of his face — blood and roses, and it was intoxicating.

His face flushed.

"W-What-?" he stammered, but you interrupted him.

"Pulling your hair back," you murmured, your breath hot and your voice deep, raspy, and feminine in his ear. "So it's not in the way."