Lucifer Morningstar (
my_own_advocate) wrote2022-07-17 07:09 pm
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Lucifer's Mansion, Sunday Night
There were plans to open the club - finally - and plans to go to Austria for a few days to see an opera - exciting - and Octavia had been doing better recently, so... Lucifer was in a good mood, actually, when Sunday came around.
So yes, the candles were out again tonight. And a rather imposing spread of seafood, picked up from the mainland. With mango rice, of course.
It was Octavia. Couldn't do without the mango rice.
"How do you feel about the snapper?"
[[ for her ]]
So yes, the candles were out again tonight. And a rather imposing spread of seafood, picked up from the mainland. With mango rice, of course.
It was Octavia. Couldn't do without the mango rice.
"How do you feel about the snapper?"
[[ for her ]]
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Of course she'd been expecting the impact on the other side. Silly her.
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Swat.
"It shouldn't."
Swat.
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Actually, that thought didn't even feel worth finishing. Octavia's hands curled into fists. One half of her ass already felt warm and tingly and reddened, and his hand felt intent on making sure the other half would too, soon enough.
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The fabric shifting against her bruising skin under his hand forced a noise in her throat, though.
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His hand slipped from her arse.
And into the front of her trousers.
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Even her face flushing a little now as his hand slid down to all that evidence seemed to correspond directly with a little ache, a little twitch in her.
She pressed her face a little harder into the sheets.
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Then he wound them in her underwear and pulled it tight.
"Do you get off on that, darling?" Lucifer murmured. "Being punished?"
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She shifted in place a little to ease it, without a second thought.
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But not like she objected to his assessment. Wasn't that exactly how this worked? Wasn't that what she craved when she sank low like this?
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He leaned forward, and pressed his fingers against her lips.
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Octavia had felt his lean, but still startled when his fingers were there. With her scent. And her taste, if she'd only parted her lips --
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To suck on them, her tongue moving around them to make sure she got it all.
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After he felt a third swipe of her tongue, Lucifer pulled his hand back.
"You counted so well last time," he mused. "Ten."
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"Ten," she murmured, with a nod. To say she knew what was expected of her.
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Then his hand came down her left cheek, still firmly over her trousers. It was a firm strike.
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But also: "One."
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He remained silent. The second strike was just as sure, and just as harsh.
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She wondered, faintly, how little the fabric seemed to do to soften the blows.
"Two."
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But he didn't let up, delivering one strike, then another. Counting up to five in his own head. Wondering how red her skin looked, under the fabric.
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It felt red.
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