… solipsubmissive …

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

“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other; or else he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You can’t serve both God and Mammon.”

Matthew 6:24

***

Charity rubbed the fabric of his jacket sleeve between her thumb and forefinger.  “New suit?”

Mammon gave her a level look.  “You’re not going to purse up your lips and give me a reproachful little glare, are you?”

Charity smiled despite herself.  “Don’t you think the money you spent on this suit, which you quite did not need, could have been put toward something ….” She paused at the look in his eyes.

“Charitable?”  Sarcasm dripped from the single word.

“You have at least three charcoal suits, Mammon.  And while you look very nice in them, I just wish I could convince you to let go of such material pleasures.”  The second she uttered the final word, Charity wished it back.  Biting her lip, she looked up through her lashes at him, found his dark eyes smoldering down at her.

“Quite the virtuous little hypocrite, aren’t you, poppet?  You’ve learned to embrace pleasure quite handily.”

“Not at the expense of others,” she protested.

“No?”  He placed a manicured fingertip on her bottom lip, rubbed it lightly back and forth.  “You’d give up the pleasures you’ve so recently enjoyed for the sake of helping someone?”

Her mouth fell open slightly.  “Yes,” she murmured, then closed her eyes.  Her tongue darted out to kiss that fingertip. 

Mammon trailed the moisture down her chin, then crooked his finger beneath it to lift her face.  “That didn’t sound terribly convincing.”

Obstinacy hardened her eyes.  “I do not see how giving up sex would help anyone in need.”

He chuckled.  “You’re so literal.  So preoccupied with being outwardly good, with demonstrating altruism, that you fail to see you’re falling far short of being someone who is truly giving.”

Charity turned away.  “Go away, demon.  Take your greed and your fancy new suit and your selfishness.  It was foolish of me to think I could change you.”  She took a step away, only to be halted by his hand closing around her upper arm.  She sighed, but didn’t look at him.  “Let go of me.”

“No.  I’m greed personified, remember?”  He stepped up behind her, pressed himself against her back, pulled her against him.  His arms crossed in front of her, cupped a breast in each hand.  “You see, I understand you, Charity.  You confuse altruism with duty, and think greed only applies to materialism.  That makes it easier for you.”  He found her nipples, rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers.

Charity caught her breath, resolved to fight the ache growing inside her.  Her knees were weakening, though, and she knew he felt the way leaned into his hands.  “Why won’t you just go, please?”

His mouth found the throbbing pulse in her neck, bathed it in the humid heat of his breath.  “Because you don’t want me to.”   He nibbled at her flesh, removed one arm from around her and eased the zipper down the back of her dress.  He straighted and turned her around, pushing the dress off her shoulders so it fell to the floor in a circle around her feet.  He pushed her, hard, against the wall, pinned her there with his body.  “Ask me again, pet.”

“W-why won’t –,” she stuttered, then buried her face in his neck as he lifted her, settled her legs over his arms and pushed her thighs open.  “Release my cock,” he commanded. 

Breathing hard, she did as he said, her hands fumbling with his belt and the closure on his pants in her haste.  She whimpered when her fingers finally slipped through the opening of his boxers and found him, hot, hard and ready.  She scraped aside her panties, pulled him to the opening of her cunt.

And there, he stopped.  She wriggled against him, felt him slide smoothly against her outer lips.  “Please,” she whispered.

“Not that easy, poppet.  You’re going to have to beg this time.”

Charity groaned.  “Beg?  Why?  You want this as much as I do.”

“Do I?”  His hands found the front closure of her bra and unhooked it.  Her breasts filled his palms, her hard nipples settling neatly into the V’s between his first two fingers.  He squeezed them.  “Tell me what you are.  Tell me you’re a greedy little slut.”  He pressed himself against her, pushed his hard cock against her clit.

“Why are you doing this?”  Her voice was small, bewildered.

He didn’t answer, just moved slightly so that he entered her slowly, allowed her to impale herself on his cock.  She clutched his shoulders, her breath coming in short gasps.  “Mammon?”  Her voice was tinged with desperation.

His fingers dug into the flesh of her breasts.  “Tell me.”

Charity strained against him, shook her head.  Her teeth found the muscles where his neck sloped into his shoulder, and she bit down, more to fight her desire than to hurt him.

He didn’t move.  “Tell me.  Now.”

She released him, threw her head back and cried out, “I’m a greedy little slut, Mammon.  Dear God, please fuck me.”

And his mouth found hers, his tongue invading the gasping orifice as he pulled out of her cunt, then slammed back inside her, fucking her with brutal abandon.  She took the abuse, grasped his shoulders, her hips struggling to meet his rhythm, fucking back while she repeated the words he’d ripped from her soul.  “I”m your greedy little fucking slut,” she grunted until she could no longer form words.  When her orgasm came, it ripped short, desperate screams from her throat.  As the walls of her cunt contracted around him, Mammon emptied himself inside her, then pushed her into the wall again, bringing his forehead to rest on the cool surface beside her head.

After a moment, he felt her hands in his hair and the soft touch of her lips on his cheek.  “Darling?”

“Mm?”

“I think I’ve ruined your new suit.”

“Greedy slut.”

 four of seven