content: gender neutral reader, failed CNC (you’re too much of a hoe for it sorry)
You drag your pants back up, glancing at the demonic creature sprawled on the other side of the bed. Being railed by the Dark Lord himself leaves you with no complaints, really. Despite his imposing demeanor, he’s a very involved partner, always focused on providing you with the kind of pleasure that leaves you dumb and spent.
In fact, it’s your main point of contention. His ardent dedication to your bedroom experience makes you wonder if he’s ever done anything for himself.
“Listen,” you say, turning towards the beast. “What gets you going?”
“Excuse me?”
“If you could do anything – when we have sex, you know – is there…uh, something you’d be curious about?”
He ponders your question with a low hum. For a brief moment, his eyes glimmer with peculiar interest, but he clears his throat and shrugs the thought away. You expertly press on the matter, stroking his ego, tugging at hints and encouraging a confession out of him, until he finally relents.
“Well,” he begins hesitantly, “I suppose I’ve always liked the idea of having my way with you. Corrupting that sweet, innocent soul of yours, savoring the terror in your eyes as you beg to be spared.”
He’d never dare to lay a finger on you, of course, but the mere idea of overpowering you, of having utmost control over you, is devilishly tempting.
Why, that shouldn’t be difficult at all. You just have to pretend you’re against it, clawing your way out of his grasp, helplessly witnessing the act of your defile. You stand up, determined, and gesture for him to begin his pursue. He’s quite skeptical of the whole plan, but you insist on your acting prowess. A walk in the park.
“Oh, God,” you cry out, almost rolling out your tongue in delirious arousal. You can barely contain yourself when his big hands wrap around your throat.
“What did we discuss,” he scolds above you, muscles flexed menacingly.
“Right, right,” you quickly recollect yourself, nodding apologetically. “I’m not supposed to be enjoying it.”
Perhaps it’s not as easy as you originally hoped. The Demon King is outstandingly good at pushing all of your buttons and turning you into a pathetic, begging mush. The more terrifying he tries to be, the more aroused you get, squeezing your legs together and trying very hard to imitate a frightened sob.
“Please don’t,” you theatrically shout, nudging your bottom further into his groin. “This is terrible,” you moan, right as the clawed fingers of his Majesty press themselves against your lips, silencing you.
It’s probably better if you stop talking. The monstrous partner sighs, partly amused, partly impressed by your unwavering motivation to indulge in his fantasies. It’s the thought that counts; he’ll relish in every second he’s fucking you, nonetheless. You are his precious human, after all.