[ The low, throaty moan with which Sandalphon responds to the suggestion of it is enough of an answer; as if just the thought of what Belial is describing to him is as good as the direct stimulation upon his body. This, every day? To stay like this forever, to wake up in Belial's bed every morning and go to bed in it every night; to be in this warm, happy fog all the time; to be touched like this and fucked, every day, endless pleasure under t hose skilled hands; and, he's not sure really what Belial means by pet, but he likes how it sounds. After all, to be a pet means to be tended to, cared for, indulged— and under someone as attentive as Belial, surely he'd be so well taken care of. Such simple words, painting a picture that seems to him as if it would be the peak of happiness. ]
Oh... I'd love that. [ These words don't feel strong enough, not true enough for how badly he wants it, how the second Belial suggested it he realized quickly he wants nothing more, but that, too, he struggles to articulate when everything else Belial is doing is so overwhelming and distracting. So, so hard to think through the sweet combination of pleasure and pain, the wonderfully sharp sting of nails on his bare thighs and the rough and cruel way those fingers wring out pleasure out of his body with precise, expert touches and strokes. Every touch and movement wrings out noise out of him, too, and he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to contain himself under such stimulation.
Then Belial pulls out all at once, so suddenly, so abruptly, and his body feels horribly empty and aches at the sudden denial of the relief it so needs. His eyes fly open, wide with panic and confusion, and he nearly wants to cry out, maybe scream, but instead what comes out out a small, pitiful noise much like a whine. He looks up at Belial with that wide-eyed expression, his shock and confusion settling into pleading dismay. ]
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Oh... I'd love that. [ These words don't feel strong enough, not true enough for how badly he wants it, how the second Belial suggested it he realized quickly he wants nothing more, but that, too, he struggles to articulate when everything else Belial is doing is so overwhelming and distracting. So, so hard to think through the sweet combination of pleasure and pain, the wonderfully sharp sting of nails on his bare thighs and the rough and cruel way those fingers wring out pleasure out of his body with precise, expert touches and strokes. Every touch and movement wrings out noise out of him, too, and he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to contain himself under such stimulation.
Then Belial pulls out all at once, so suddenly, so abruptly, and his body feels horribly empty and aches at the sudden denial of the relief it so needs. His eyes fly open, wide with panic and confusion, and he nearly wants to cry out, maybe scream, but instead what comes out out a small, pitiful noise much like a whine. He looks up at Belial with that wide-eyed expression, his shock and confusion settling into pleading dismay. ]