Chapter Text
Vox was the last of the Vees to get a smartphone.
Really, why should he need a pocket camera when he’s already hooked up to every security camera in Pentagram City? Ethan gives him the digest of his most important emails multiple times per day, and the TV demon can take his calls hands-free on his television face.
Yet no software upgrade could replace that addictive drug called instant messaging, and now Vox is as inseparable from his shiny rectangle as any other sinner. Dealing with Valentino’s meltdowns is way more efficient over text, and Vox has grown fond of the heart emojis and lewd pics spicing up their daily communication. He saves up Velvette’s heated voice notes for the nights he can’t sleep, a private hate podcast that never fails to make him chuckle.
He has to admit – there is a certain intimacy to having everyone that matters in your pocket at the reach of a fingertip, voice note or fun surveillance clip of employees sneaking off into a backroom. Distracting, yes, but fun as well.
Vox shifts his legs and taps the tips of his claws together. If everything goes well, today’s little game will be both. Distracting and fun. Very fun.
The CEO’s red eyes pan over the sorry lot of middle managers gathered in the V-tower conference room today, all turned to the presentation on screen. Speaking of distracted, half of them are half-eyeing their phones while listening to Ethan going over this week's surging approval ratings. None of them notice Vox’ screen face tinged hot and cyan while he uncrosses and crosses his legs for the umpteenth time.
Not the only thing running hot and also, surprisingly, cyan.
His pocket vibrates in that familiar tzzt-tzt-tzzt pattern set for one and one only, like an acrylic nail tip sensually raking over his ear microphone. Vox casually slips the blinking phone out of his pocket and holds it up under the conference table.
One unread message. Vox opens it with nauseating anticipation.
Velvette: u wearing the pussy?
Damn. No frills, to the fucking point. Vox has always admired that about her. His cyan claw tip raps over the nearly fully dimmed screen, hesitates for one, two seconds, then taps one more time and hits send.
Vox: (typing) …
Vox: yes 😈
Velvette: yikes
Velvette: lets leave the emojis in 2012
Vox scoffs. How else is he supposed to convey tone to prevent misunderstandings? Before he can add his second thumb to his phone to explain this to her, Vox’ name is called from somewhere far away. He dismissively nods along to whatever it is Ethan needed his go-ahead on, side-eye camera remaining firmly glued to his phone.
Velvette: pic?
Smirk. Covert swipe to the gallery. Vox came to this presentation doubly prepared, because he knows his dearest doll better than she pretends he does.
He thumbs to the best picture from this morning's especially private photo shoot in his closet mirror. Leaning backward, legs apart and weight on one bare hip. Perfect.
Vox: [image]
Vox: Just to be clear, if you forward this to Val I'll unscrew your head and throw it over the edge of the Pride Ring.
Velvette: dw V this is our dirty little secret <3
A shiver runs down Vox' spine, dissipating at his new parts lighting up in his brain like star fire. His thumb claw glides over the screen.
Vox: Any input from my favourite critic? 😉😘
Velvette: hot but
Velvette: how do i know this is for real and not some random twat photoshopped over ur bits
Vox: Don't trust me, V? You’re breaking my heart. 💔
Velvette: it looks too good to be real
Velvette: take a new picture
Velvette: now
Several resistors in Vox’ overheating brain burst and ignite his face in bright cyan. By Lilith and Lucifer, she gets him every time. This little game they've been playing makes Vox' fans whirr so loud he is sure everyone and their sister can hear. Just like the click-clack of the heels she made him wear the other day, hidden underneath the floor-sweeping hems of his vintage brown twill slacks.
Ohh, a trip down memory lane, mi amor? Valentino had teased while casually molesting two handfuls of ass, completely oblivious to the two inches added to Vox’ height. Good. The Overlord of seen-it-all-done-it-twice-and-came-inside doesn’t need to know and bust his condescending load all over the shark’s latest fascination.
This, and Vox shifts his trembling legs once more, this is just for himself and the lady Vee to explore.
Meanwhile, the treasure chest that is their private chat is filled to the brim with Vox giving into the doll sinner’s increasing demands over text. Selfies of him in heels, dresses, pretty bows around his antennae - whatever bubbles up in her sick mind makes Vox’ heart and cock sing with desire.
And it doesn’t hurt he feels so fucking pretty every time.
Velvette's torture game had seemingly reached its thrilling peak last week when Vox’ claw caught on a red thong buried in his mail stack. Butterfly lace, cute little bow adorning the front. Vox had excused himself for the rest of the afternoon, double-locked his office and turned his chair to a private corner.
It had taken a minute and a reference from Valentino's premium Sinstagram account to find the right camera angle to capture how tight the lace strained against his rock-hard cock. Many pictures had followed, a short video even, stroking himself through the fabric until it was soaked in precum. Deleted that one, though. He had barely recognised his own voice moaning damn, Velvette, I’m close, I'm-
Head up in the thick, buzzing clouds of the best orgasm of the quarter (don’t tell Valentino), he had written the final caption on a whim.
Vox: [image, caption: Would’ve looked better on a pussy.]
Velvette's reply had been lighting quick. A snapshot of her perfectly manicured fingers forming a suggestive V-gesture over the centre front seam of her shorts.
Velvette: [image, caption: fucking do it then, frankenstein]
That was several late nights in the biotech lab ago.
She obviously didn’t expect him to do it. She thought he was just playing along. Until this morning, when she saw the bow emoji in their chat and immediately cleared her afternoon in their shared calendar.
The presentation moves on to some faux-important graphs, drawing all eyes away from their phones and their CEO sinking deeper into his chair.
Velvette: well?
Vox: 😘👍
Velvette: f u
Vox slowly unzips, lifts himself off the seat by an inch and pulls his navy trousers down. The upside of having female parts is no visible arousal tenting upward into plain view of middle management. Instead, she is firmly nested between his legs necessitating a more creative camera angle. Luckily, Vox is a premium subscriber to the Overlord of creative camera angles.
When Vox angles his phone camera down to catch both his half-smirk and that red strip of fabric peeking through his unzipped fly, he really does feel like the luckiest guy in all of afterlife.
Vox: [image]
Velvette: hot
Velvette: w/o panties
Fans whirr louder. Cyan claws dip under red lace trim and pull it aside. Middle management laughs at one of Ethan’s dumb jokes. Vox’ red eyes are focused and starry wide.
The cold, conditioned VoxTek air is a relief against the hot slit between his legs. It was truly remarkable how easy he’d gotten these new parts to fit into his half-mechanical body. Vox had swapped out his dick before, like the one time he surprised Valentino with his coveted double experience on their business partner anniversary, but never a pussy.
The front camera viewfinder refocuses on its lewd subject. It’s gorgeously shaped and completely pristine, touched only clinically to connect the neural pathways. Vox parts his navy outer lips to fully reveal the delicate irregular folds springing down from his clit. Bright cyan, just like his cockhead, and almost glowing underneath the cover of the conference table.
By God, why never a pussy?
The TV demon snaps a picture, then trails his claw through the pale wetness gathered at his entrance. Stifling a shudder, he pulls back a string of it for Velvette to see exactly what happens when you double-dare Vox.
Vox: [image]
Vox: [image]
Velvette: (typing) …
Velvette:
Velvette: (typing) …
Velvette:
A full minute passes. Nothing.
Fuck. Vox swallows, clutching his phone like a priceless artifact in a booby-trapped Mayan temple. She had left him hanging like this for an hour once. Was that her plan today too? Drive him mad all afternoon wearing this pussy while stuck between middle management nobodies listening to-
Velvette: [voice note]
Fuuuck. Vox trembles as he forwards the voice note to his screen face, neat little trick. If she’s impatient enough to type, then – well, Vox is sure he’s going to come from just thinking about what she would do, so he doesn’t.
Velvette’s words pour into his circuits like spiced honey, just for him to hear.
"Well well, aren’t we a tease today, V? Stop touching yourself like a horny dog and come upstairs. Let me inspect that pretty cunt in real life."
Vox’ stomach flutters and nearly jumps out through his mouth, just like how his fucking phone jumps out of his claws as if all by itself.
The device hits the gray tile floor of the conference room with a sharp thwack!. All necks crane away from badly-contrasted graphs and all eyes point straight to their fumbling CEO.
"Everything okay, Sir?' Ethan asks.
"Yes! Sorry! Please continue!" Vox huffs frozen in his seat, trousers halfway down his thighs clenched together like they’re holding the secrets of the universe. Fuck, he needs to get out of here as soon as possible before they notice he’s been dripping all over the expensive meeting room chair. At least VoxTek had left its see-through conference tables firmly in the nineties.
Without a stubborn erection to coax back in, how fucking convenient, Vox discreetly shuffles back into his trousers. His wet cunt wails against the damp red lace and the seam of his trousers pressing back up against her. So persistently sensitive, it’s obscene, really. Vox bites the inside of his holographic cheek. How are women not mindlessly humping every piece of furniture in sight? Perhaps they are. He should check his cameras later.
"Excuse me- forgot this call– important-" Vox mouths with a wide and wild-eyed grin, faking a call to his screen. He shoots out of his chair and gestures to Ethan to finish the presentation without him.
Vox is out of the room in a second and into an elevator in a minute, plunging one of his back cables into the control panel to skip all stops on his way up to Velvette’s quarters.
Vox steadies himself against the hand rail, pussy tuned right the fuck up to the top of the Scoville scale. Damn. He shifts his weight onto the other leg again as if that does anything but make it way worse.
Another hot breath escapes from his mouth, claw tip trailing over his belt buckle. Swear to God, he had meant for Velvette to be the first, to sail to the edge of these undiscovered waters with her as his captain of sin, but fuck it, he’s weak, he’s a goddamn pervert, he needs to touch himself right now -
"Jesus fucking Christ," Vox curse-bites into the side of his hand while forcing the other in between flesh and fabric.
tzzt-tzt-tzzt
Two claws slide along, then around in slow circles until that white-hot bead radiates pleasure throughout his whole lower body. Ignited at his core, Vox cuts his audio feed and mutely moans against the back of his glass screen. God, what wouldn’t he give to shove two fingers inside all the way up to his midriff -
tzzt-tzt-tzzt
tzzt-tzt-tzzt
"All right, all right!" Vox curses and whips out his phone. Three unread messages.
Velvette: BAD GIRL
Velvette: I TOLD YOU NO TOUCHING
Velvette: good job you’ve ruined it for yourself
Shit.
Vox’ wide eyes bounce off his phone and up to the camera in the corner whirring to centre on him. Of course. Velvette is not up in her quarters, she’s down in his, watching him break his promise to stop touching himself in under five minutes from his live camera console. And judging from her taking the effort to write all caps, she’s fucking pissed.
A smirk breaks through the cyan cloud on Vox’ screen face. He can’t help himself. He has to push her a little further.
The TV demon angles his body towards the security camera. He pulls his trousers and panties down enough for her to see him shamelessly continue while he rapidly thumbs his reply with his other claw.
Vox: So if I’ve already ruined it, what’s stopping me now?
Vox: Maybe I’ll just go to Val’s quarters and try the new toy collection.
Velvette: (typing) …
Vox: Leave my pretty princess all alone in her tower 😘❤️
Velvette: (typing) …
His red eyes stay firmly locked on the camera’s blinking light while the rest of him writhes against the elevator mirror with every rub of his claw.
Velvette: ok
Velvette: you think you can win this V?
Velvette: get out of this elevator right now
Oh, she really is livid now. A drop of hot sweat runs down Vox’ back. Enough for now, he’ll play along for a bit just to keep her on her toes.
He zips back up and retracts his cable like a whip. The elevator whirrs and comes to a standstill at the next floor, buzzing with VoxTek employees working diligently to tighten the Vees’ choke-hold around Pentagram City’s throat.
Velvette: take a pic of what u see
The CEO takes a few unsteady steps forward, puzzled by what the doll sinner on the other end of that wretched rectangle is up to. He snaps a quick shot of the floor from his hip, panning over his underlings.
Vox: [image]
Velvette: (typing) ….
Velvette: [image, caption: that one]
Vox feels his muscles contract in vain to try and close the floodgates, spilling over then up into a thick cough pouring out of his mouth.
He zooms in on the picture Velvette returned to him, the same one but cropped down to one of his employees. A fine red devil sinner standing tall on his hooves, and with two horns sprouting from a playful tuft of black hair. Judging by his orange level two key cord, he’s still an intern.
Vox almost pushes his claw through the phone.
Vox: NO.
Velvette: yes
Velvette: or im adding ur boy toy to our chat
No. Vox re-reads her reply with a dumbfounded stare. Did she – did she go there? Did she actually fucking -
Alternating waves of rage and panic surge through his spine cables when he imagines Valentino’ reaction after scrolling through weeks of dirty little secrets in various stages of lace and (un)dress.
- fuck no, fuck-no-fuck- she-wouldn’t-she can’t-
No. NO. Vox steadies his twitching eye. He’ll do whatever it takes, whatever Velvette wants, his moth can never know, he’s gonna make it weird, well, weirder, and -
Velvette: im waiting V
Vox: Fine.
Vox: Evil bitch.
Velvette: hahaha
Velvette: should not have been so greedy then
Velvette: enjoy ur first time with a rando <3
Vox’ heart beats rapidly against the insides of his thin television screen, among other places, while those acrylic nails dig further into his metaphorical balls. No choice.
He slips his phone back into his pocket, screen smeared with proof of how madly, intensely and embarrassingly turned on he is by all of this.
With a wave of his claw, Vox breaks into the circle of employees gathered around the devil sinner, all firmly clasping their coffee mugs in emotional support. Eyes dart back and forth, and the subsequent sigh of relief is palpable when that claw comes to a rest on the devil sinner’s shoulder.
"-afternoon, eh... Kovacs?" Vox smiles, fingering the name badge hanging down that poorly pressed white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal Kovacs’s hefty lower arm spikes.
"Good afternoon, mister Vox! Are you here about the employee newsletter?" Kovacs beams. Fuck, his voice is way deeper than expected.
"I certainly am!" Vox improvises through gritted teeth. He didn’t even know VoxTek had an employee newsletter. "A very fun and entertaining read, and I loved the bit about eh-?" He snaps his sticky fingers.
"Workplace harassment," Kovacs smiles proudly.
"Exactly that," Vox breathes and gestures towards the corner office down the hallway. "Well, I think we’ve wasted your journalistic talents enough on this internship! Why don’t you and I discuss a more fitting role… in private?"
Kovacs’s black eyes light up, endearingly unaware that personal attention from any of the three VoxTek hydra heads is bad news even on a good day.
After closing the office’s door behind them, Vox’ heart beats so loud he can feel the thin membranes of his gills pulse in unison. Keeping Kovacs in his limited peripheral vision, he circles to the front of the desk while nervously waiting for that next vibrating pull on his puppet strings.
Vox’ everything is crying in anticipation. Is she really gonna demand this? Have a random employee pop his vat-grown cherry like it’s just another office quickie, like it’s nothing, like he’s nothing but a hole to be used, God that would be so hot -
tzzt-tzt-tzzt.
One unread message.
The TV demon had a vague idea, perhaps a hope or wish for the next act of their perverted little freak show. Yet, the ringmaster’s three-paragraph-long instructions are still devastating.
Vox steadies himself on his jagged breath until his stomach settles. When he finally looks up from the phone in his unsteady claw, the devil sinner’s beady black eyes start swirling hypnotic red.
"Julian Kovacs. You… want me. You want me so bad you… you can barely control yourself," Vox reads out loud.
The hypnotised sinner’s whole demeanour changes, giving into Velvette’s demands spoken through the television’s metallic voice. He closes in on Vox and traps him between the desk’s edge and his eager red claw resting heavily on his chest. A pink forked tongue flicks against his glass slowly fogging up under his breath.
Vox’ pin-sized pupils shoot up and down from Velvette’s text: "you’re… going to fuck me… and you’re going to make it hurt."
It happens fast. Kovacs’s red hand deadlocks around his upper arm. Vox flinches against his sudden touch and promptly drops his phone on the desk.
He tries to turn his wide screen away, but Kovacs’s tongue has already rudely invited himself in. His tail whips along Vox’ leg while his free hand dives in between his legs and feverously rubs over the four seams meeting there.
All of Vox’ brain power immediately refocuses on the hot bundle of nerves he installed mere hours before.
"-oh fuck," he gasps against the fork in his mouth coiling around his tongue, keeping it in place on the threat of biting it off. In response, Vox takes two handfuls of that stupid white dress shirt to tear it apart, because half the fun is getting to fight back a little, right?
Oh, the things both interns and the hypnotised come up with on their own when given vague assignments like these. Vox likes to think it teases something depraved out of them, something that was already there. Kovacs delivers quite assertively and slaps Vox’ cyan claw away. He then runs his hand up underneath Vox’ shirt, groping for non-existent breasts and scratching him with his sharp underarm spikes.
"Jesus, easy with those -" Vox bites while the faint taste of blood trickles into his sensitive gill membranes. His left eye swirls in vain, explicitly forbidden from using its power any further than to keep the initial hypnosis going.
After both his nipple and clit are rubbed raw, Vox bucks against his hand in a half-assed attempt to get away, but fuck, this guy is serious. And strong. Vox has to resort to pounding and scratching against Kovacs’s chest until the poor intern has had enough.
Kovacs twists Vox’ left arm across his body, angling him away so neither of his claws can reach him. He then forces his hand down the front of Vox’ trousers, and with the lace clinging so tightly to him there is nowhere for him to go but inside.
"No! Ugh..." Vox lets out a desperate half-sob he has never heard before while those two rough fingers tear into him tip-to-knuckle. "God - fuck! Slow the fuck down!"
Kovacs keeps goinng. With every plunge, Vox' clit pulses against the palm of his hand, drenched in the fluids his convenient new parts produce all by themselves. Fuck, it’s good, being stretched open like this after working himself up for hours. His whole lower body and upper legs tune into his pleasure like a full-brass orchestra.
When a third finger is wriggled in, Vox almost forgets about the last part of Velvette’s explicit instructions.
The camera in the corner of the ceiling whirrs to a better angle. Kovacs flips Vox over and down on his stomach. He twists his arms against his back and rips his trousers and panties down.
Vox writhes against his grip, wet and exposed like an animal in heat. Yet Kovacs’s claws do not rove over his lower body or spread his outer lips apart, like the shark really really hoped he would do.
No, that red devil hand lingers for one, two seconds too long, then strikes down on his ass with full force.
"Fuck!" Vox shouts, muscles clenching up, fat bead of wetness breaking away from his entrance, "fuck you, Kovacs, fuck-"
More hot strikes pelt down on his bare navy skin, pain dully mixing with pleasure and served just how Velvette knows he likes it. Ten, twenty, forty strikes - the moment Vox loses count, Kovacs grabs his raw cheek and angles his hips to expand his territory.
"Don’t you fucking dare!" Vox’s yells, bucking against the arm in his back holding him down. His protests snap into a sharp yelp when the other sinner’s flat hand viscously swats down on his pussy.
"No! Stop it, get- ah!-" Vox’ eyes almost pop out of his black plastic rim as another bulls-eye strike tears into him.
"Stop, f-f-stop it… go to- ah!- double-Hell, you red… piece of s-shit…" Vox curses with his face flat against the desk. Every subsequent strike rings white-hot and sharp throughout his most sensitive new parts. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts.
In under five minutes, Vox is dry-heaving, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and dripping from both ends.
"Fuck you… f-fuck you…" he gasps, tears streaming down his flickering face. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts-
Kovacs’s mean fingers stab back into Vox’ swollen pussy until he cries out and flinches away.
This has adequately satisfied the ‘make it hurt’ part of Kovacs’s assignment, so he mindlessly moves on to the next.
While the devil sinner fumbles with his belt and fly, Vox breaks his arm free and rakes in his phone from across the desk. Cyan claws rap blindly over the screen, because he couldn’t possibly get a coherent voice note out even if he wanted to give Velvette the satisfaction.
Vox: Cant fucking believe thid guy.
Vox: Skc in teh brain.
Velvette: hahaha
Vox: This if on you.
Vox: You douvke crossing fuckkng hag.
Velvette: stop texting and let him ruin you
Kovacs lines up, digs his nails into navy hips and shoves himself all the way inside. Vox comes almost immediately, a full fucking body experience firing off every carefully calibrated synapse at the same time. His muscles shake and convulse and clench around that devil sinner’s cock as desperately as the sound of his gasps.
Kovacs keeps going.
"Fuck, oh- ffuckk -" Vox’ red eyes drift off to the edge of his screen. Thick hot streaks run down his inner thigh with every stinging slap back into him. He tries to push his knees together to somehow dull the intensity of it all, but that strong red tail keeps holding his leg open. "Jesus… ugh…"
Kovacs bends over and hits even deeper, forcing his already fully stretched walls to give way. Vox can’t do anything but hopelessly keep receiving, all while listening to his own pained moans and the obscene squelching noises his pussy produces.
tzzzzzzzzzzzt-
Velvette: [video call]
Vox’ pupils sharpen and tear into those tiny white eyes raking over him from the other side of the screen: "WHAT!?"
"Just getting my close-up! Doing great, V. You're so cute when you’re mad…" screen-Velvette cackles, and zooms out to a wide angle. Vox can see her lean back in his chair, stiletto-clad feet propped up against the console while basking in all her business slut glory.
"Yeah, you- ugh… like that, you sick cunt? You’re getting oh-off on this?" Vox groans.
"Positively." The doll sinner’s devilish smile fills the entire width of his phone screen. "Speaking of getting off, looks like your stud is close. Should we let him come inside you, V? The motherfucking CEO of VoxTek bred on a desk like a common office bitch?"
"Gooo fuck yourseeelf," Vox cries out, clawing into the sides of his phone, "I’m gonna kill you- I’m gonna pin your head down and make you eat the - fuck! - cum out of this pussy-"
"Sounds fun! Enjoy wearing matching lingerie with Val for the rest of your afterlife!" Velvette sneers, finger hovering dangerously against the camera.
Vox’ pupils disappear into pixels.
"Nonono," he begs, pleads, tries to kick Kovacs off of him but it just encourages him more, "you can’t fucking do that, V, you promised- please Velvette, please please don’t tell him, I’ll do anything-"
Eyebrow raise.
The TV demon’s screen flickers. "Damnit, just tell me what to do, Vel!"
"Apologise."
"I’m sorry!"
"I’m sorry what?"
Vox forces the words out in between merciless thrusts: "I’m sorry… f-for… touching myself… without your… permission…"
"Good. Tell me you want your pussy filled up."
"God fucking- I-I want my pussy filled up."
"You’re a greedy slut."
"I’m a greedy slut," Vox sobs.
"That’s right," Velvette smiles, "also, what are you edging yourself for, V? You can come as many times as you want!"
Vox drops his screen head in defeat when he comes again. His second orgasm is much deeper, riding him for what feels like eternity while peak turns into torturous plateau, no centre and no sense, just wave after wave surging through his core.
Kovacs chases right behind and slams into him once more, shooting his load into his thoroughly ruined parts.
"God, oh-Goddd…" Vox prays, as if doing penance for how much he gets off on being pumped full to the brim like this, that’s it, just a filthy hole fucked open on a corner office desk, this is what- this is what happens to bad girls like him- fuck, is he coming again or still?
When Kovacs finally pulls out, Vox feels so raw and empty he could cry. He sinks down on the floor against the desk, cradling his throbbing, fucked-out pussy between his thighs.
Her voice cuts him like a blade. "Pic?"
It takes Vox a moment to let his aching legs fall open. He snaps a dozen of lacklustre pictures and forwards them all, she can pick her fucking favourites herself.
"Oh, he got you good," screen-Velvette coos, eyes burning like white dwarf stars. "Well, I think you’ve gotten the point. Why don’t we try this again tomorrow? Got you something nice to wear…"
"Yes," Vox murmurs, curled up into himself. Shit. He’s bleeding a lot more than expected.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, miss Velvette. Thank you, miss Velvette."
"That’s my girl. Tomorrow, 9AM sharp. Bring coffee, you know how I like it," Velvette presses a deep purple lipstick kiss on her screen before ending the video call.
The phone slips from his claw and the screen turns mirror black again. A cold shiver runs up Vox’ spine cables, catching his breath high and unsteady in his chest.
He can’t bear to look up at the zoned-out sinner tucking his, oh Jesus it’s enormous, red cock back into his trousers, or maybe he can’t bear to be looked at, who fucking knows. It’s fine, he’s powerful enough to not have to maintain full eye contact during hypnosis any more.
"Go home. Take a shower. F-forget… this ever happened," Vox chokes on his unsteady voice as he peels himself off the floor and back into his trousers, phone included. He snaps his claws for Kovacs to come closer, even though every circuit in his body recoils against the thought.
"Oh, one more thing -"
Vox’ icy cold claw tears the keycord straight off his ex-interns neck.
"- you’re FUCKING FIRED!"
He kicks him down the hallway before starting the limp down the emergency exit to his quarters – better not zap through the Ether with parts untested.
She-devil. Cunt. Evil rotten swamp witch. Vox mentally unscrews Velvette’s doll limbs in creative new ways while the red lace chafes against his abused pussy with every step down the stairs. Make it hurt, huh? I’ll fucking show you -
A misplaced pride bubbles up in the shark demon’s chest. His design took that pounding pretty well and he still wants more, yes, he could definitely take more and perhaps come a third time. Maybe a fourth. Fuck. He should make good on his earlier threat and ride every single one of Valentino’s monster dildo’s. He should hypnotise the whole seventeenth floor to tag-team him, record it through the security camera's and forward every cum-drenched angle to her.
Yeah. That would definitely show her.
But Vox won’t do it. Velvette is still watching, he just sensed her phone logging into his private camera feed, a familiar purple blip lighting up on his virtual mind-grid spanning the whole of Pentagram City. No. Their fun and distracting game is not over yet, and he needs to be on his best behaviour to not let all of this glorious foreplay go to waste.
A skip enters Vox’ step as he descends further into the belly of V-tower. Just before the last turn into his quarters, he turns to the blinking camera in the corner of the ceiling and blinks back.
Tomorrow. 9AM. Dirty chai with soy milk. Just how miss Velvette likes it.
---