… solipsubmissive …

This is the second in a series of seven unrelated but theme connected tales.  You’ll find the first here:  one of seven

“But it is a defect to eat, like beasts, through the sole motive of sensual gratification, and without any reasonable object.”

The True Spouse of Jesus Christ or The Nun Sanctified by the Virtues of Her State
Saint Alphonsus Liguori

***

 Temperance glowered.  “Do not make the mistake of thinking me obtuse, demon.  It is not only food for which one can be a glutton.”

Beelzebub almost laughed.  She stood tapping a foot, her lips pressed into a prim little line.  He eyed the quivering flesh displayed by the v-neck of her blouse, pushed into prominence by her crossed arms.  He managed, instead, a sardonic grin.  “You preach moderation even as you tempt me.  How is it that cockteasing escaped the list of the Seven Deadlies?” 

His complete irreverence should have pissed her off.  Instead, Temperance felt herself soften a little.  Dating a demon was complicated, but, as in everything, she sought to find a balance.  “It’s not so hard to find pleasure without sacrificing reason.”

“Mm.  You can’t make me believe you don’t want more when something pleases you.  Food, drink.”  He paused, looked again at her chest.  “Sex.”

Temperance followed the direction of his eyes and hastily uncrossed her arms.  “Denying yourself an excess of pleasure could actually increase your enjoyment, you know.”

He stepped closer, crooked a finger and tucked it under her chin, tilting her face up to his.  “How can you possible know that, little girl?  You.  Always so careful, always so correct.  Your curves beckon me.”  Her lips parted a bit while he spoke, and Beelzebub noted it, pressed his advantage.  “Are you sure you want to teach me moderation?”  He bent forward until his lips were a hair’s breadth from hers.

“Stop,” she whispered.  In answer, he took her lips in a long, soul-drugging kiss, coaxing her lips to part, then tasting her with his tongue.  Temperance allowed it, let herself return his kiss for a moment before turning her head to bury her face in his shoulder.  “Why do you persist?”

He chuckled ruefully, lifted a hand to smooth her hair.  “Would you believe me if I said you make me want to be a better … “  He stopped.

“Demon?”

Beelzebub scowled.  “Neither of us can change what we are, Temperance.  You’re all about finding middle ground.  Why is it you expect me to conform to your virtue?  Should you not relax your standards?  Meet me halfway?”

She sighed.  His argument was just.  She’d thought it herself so many times.  The gulf between his evil and her good was wide.  Could she sacrifice that much, lower herself to a level closer to his standards?  Her need to be fair warred with her daunting wish to rescue him from Hell.  She shook her head.  “You ask too much.”

He pushed her away, turned to walk from the room.  “Nothing is too much,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Temperance followed him.  “Don’t go.  Not like this.”

He snorted.  “Consider yourself a success.  I’m practicing moderation.  Is it not better of me to make you suffer my absence than it is to punish you with my excesses?”

She bit her lip.  Oh, how she ached for him.  His touch made her forget sometimes, to come dangerously close to indulging.  Pleasure was fine.  His brand of pleasure was gluttonous.  She looked at him in mute appeal.

He shook his head.  “Not this time.  You’ll ask me to stay, or I’m gone.”  When she still didn’t say anything, he turned again to go.

“No!”  The word cracked through the room like a whip rending the air.  She took a step toward him, one hand held out, her eyes pleading with his .  “Stay.”

“Ask me.” 

She swallowed hard, then took the three steps that separated them.  Mute, she lifted one of his hands with both of hers, closed her eyes and slid it inside her shirt through the neckline.  She caught her breath as she felt his fingers slide beneath her bra, and curve around her breast until her hardened nipple nestled neatly into the V between his index and middle finger.  “Will you please stay, Beel?”

He walked her backwards until her legs touched the sofa.  Gratefully, she sank down on it.  Beelzebub followed, knelt in front of her.  He pulled out his hand and pushed her shirt up over her breasts, dragging her bra along with it.  Her breasts spilled out and he bent and pulled one into his mouth, suckling at the hardened nipple hungrily. 

Temperance gasped, then moaned.  He settled between her legs, nudging them apart with his arms.  “You tell me when to stop,” he muttered as he released one nipple in favor of the other.

“I will,” she promised, even as she felt his hand slipping up her thigh and under her skirt, moving aside the thin scrap of material between her legs to insinuate a finger between her slick folds. 

“Now?”  His voice was thick, strained.

“No.  Please.  Not yet.”

With deliberate intent, he pushed first one, then two fingers inside, bit down lightly on the hard nipple in his mouth.  “Now, Temperance?”

She didn’t answer this time, just slid further down on the sofa, spread her legs.  He chuckled.  “It feels good, doesn’t it?  Tell me you want more.”

She shook her head.  His thumb found her clit, began stroking in slow, maddening circles.  “You can say it, love.  It’s easy.”

“More, please,” she whispered, then moved against his fingers, fucking herself on them.  She felt herself nearing an orgasm already, and stopped, tried to hold herself still to keep it from happening too soon.  “No.”

“Let it come.  Embrace it.  There can always be more.”  His voice was cajoling, hypnotic.  Temperance wriggled closer, brought her own hands to each breast, pinched her own nipples.  “That’s right, lover.  Wring every ounce of pleasure from this.”  His fingers stroked and dipped until she held her breath, tensed, then cried out softly, coming apart in his hands.

When she calmed a little, she opened her eyes and found his.  Shame flooded through her, tightening her chest.  She struggled to sit up.

He smiled.  “No.  Not done yet.”  He wiggled the fingers he’d left inside, and she whimpered.  ”Enough,” she said.

He shook his head and pushed her back, then reached his other hand under her skirt, began easing her panties down her legs.  When he’d slipped them off one foot, he lifted her legs and spread her wide, inhaling the scent of her arousal.  He hovered, his mouth a mere inch from her sex, bathing her in the warmth of his breath.  “Beg, Temperance.  Plead with me to lick you here, taste you … get my fill.”

“Oh, God.”  She closed her eyes, fought it a moment, then opened them.  “Please, Beel.  Taste me.”   She watched as he lowered his face, tensed just before he touched her, then strained up to rub herself against him. 

“Mmm.”  He smiled as her hands found his head, cupped his face, used him to find her pleasure.  “That’s my little glutton,” he whispered.

three of seven