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Back against the wall, breath caught in his throat- Mammon would say that he's caught between a rock and a hard place. The only problem with that is that the brick wall may be considered 'rock' in this scenario, but by the hells, the hardest thing in this situation is his stupid, traitorous cock!
A growl turns into a garbled whine in his throat as your hand curls under his chin again, roughly jerking his face up so he's forced to look you in the in the eye. He's burning up already, but seeing that sly grin on your face make a new wave of heat crawl down his throat and chest like an inkwell spilled on paper. There's sweat beading on on the back of his neck. He's breathing in heavy pants. There's no way out of this where he doesn't break.
"What is it, doggy?" You croon, and Mammon hates how his cock twitches at your tone. "Is this more than you can handle?" Her other hand is fisted around the tip of his cock - his poor, dripping, aching cock - as moving in these horribly good rolling motions that have his nerves short-circuiting. "Poor thing."
Her touch is so rough, her palm roughly grinding against the swollen head of his cock. The quick rocking of her wrist, focused strictly on his weeping tip, is a purposeful punishment that Mammon may know well, but that he'll also never be able to get used to. "Of course I can handle-" He growls, but the sound is cut short as he grits his teeth to hold back the needy moan that wants to spill from his throat. She knows just how to touch him to make his body want to submit. He groans through clenched teeth. Fuck, he wants that, to submit to her. His body wants that, but his brain is in a fight with his primal needs. He doesn't need this, doesn't need her. He's the Great Fuckin' Mammon! He doesn't need anyone to-
A sudden rush of sensitivity shakes Mammon to his core, and the smirk on your face confirms what he already feels. Still, he glances down to see that another stream of slick is dripping over your fingers, another gush of pre-cum brought out by the way you. It shines in the light, a betrayal towards himself. He averts his eyes, as if ignoring his own arousal will also be ignoring the fact that he's so thoroughly owned by you.
Your chuckle sounds like logs crackling in a fire, and it sends sparks jumping over Mammon's spine. "Yeah? You think you can handle it?" You taunt. "So this, right now, this is you handling it?" Your hand, even more coated with Mammon's pre-cum, tightens just a tiny bit more around the tip again as you resume the rolling of your hand over his throbbing cockhead. "This is how the big, bad dog handles a little bit of petting, hm?" There are sins less deadly than her smile, and Mammon would know. She pushes a hand into Mammon's hair this time, tangling her fingers into the silvery strands at the back of his head an yanking. His head snaps up again, the motion in symphony with his breathy gasp of pain. "C'mon, bad boy, keep your eyes on me." Her voice is low like a hypnotic chime and hot like hellfire; maybe she was the one of them who was always meant to be a demon.
His vision is blurry at the edges, but Mammon can never resist an order challenge. He meets your eyes with furrowed brows and a scowl that twitches too much for anyone to take seriously. "Not-" he mutters, trying not to squirm at his sensitivity being taken advantage of. "Not a bad boy." His knees, locked for so long, suddenly give under his weight and Mammon is forced to lean against the wall to keep himself upright. There's not even a way to hide from this torture, this pleasure, this ungodly act. He can't tell if he wants to (he knows he doesn't).
You seize your opportunity immediately. "Oh? You're not a bad dog? So you're a good dog, then?" The wet sound of your hand moving so ruthlessly on your naughty pet's cock has your circulatory system saturated with lust - Mammon may misbehave more than he should, but it's oh-so-fun to remind him where he belongs.
"Dammit, that's not what-" Mammon grunts, ignoring the way his own moans are beginning to turn into whimpers. "I'm not- You know what-" A painful wave of elation rocks Mammon's body like an earthquake, making his entire body curl in on itself. His shoulders hunch, barely resisting doubling over from the mixed signals from his pain- and pleasure-receptors. "I'm... Fuck, I am-" He is... What is he? He knows the answer but it's so far out of reach. He can't find it. You knew- You knew what he was, right? You'd tell him, right? He felt a sudden surge of need that went beyond the physical. This time, his need was felt in the pieces of him that weren't of his body, the things that philosophers pondered on the origin of. Those intangible parts of him felt untethered, but when he looked at you, felt you, he knew that you could answer that need of his.
A low chuckle drips from your lips, and it makes another treacherous shudder run through him. "'You are?'" you echo, teasing him with the fact that he can't seem to find his mind. "'You are' what? A bad boy? A mutt who constantly needs reminding of who he's made a deal with? A silly little doggy who causes trouble whenever he wants his mistress's attention?" His head rolls and he lets out a moan to rival a pornstar's at the way you address him. You laugh again, pulling on his hair and forcing his slumped, shaking form to pull itself up so you can see the lust-sheen in his eyes. It's even stronger now. More sticky pre-cum trickles into your hand. The lewd sounds of your hand on his cock grow louder, so do his whimpers.
Between his desperate gasps for air and his broken yet unending symphony of vulgar whimpers and moans, Mammon can hardly remember how to use his tongue. It's getting heavier and heavier, and he thinks that it may as well be hanging out of his mouth, just like a dog panting from exhaustion. He's certain that there's drool running down his chin anyway. "I'm not... bad... Not a..." He tries to form a sentence - even half of one would be fine, at this point - but as he stares into your eyes and twitches at your touch, he gives up on that goal. Mammon doesn't know what he wants more; for this torture to end, or for you to make him cum. In his shattered state of mind, a single thought circles, binding him together in a way that makes him feel whole in an entirely different sense. He's himself, all his pieces still intact, but arranged in a way he didn't know they could be. In the back of his mind, he can see that the tattoo he shares with you is flickering with light, the sigil awakened by his stirring thoughts. "I want..." He mutters, words slurred by his desire-fueled intoxication. His vision is shaky, blurry, smeared like lipstick on lover's lips. But between his body's storm-like shuddering and his lust-sickness, he keeps his eyes focused on yours.
A lion's grin curls on your lips. He's right where you want him. "Yes? What is it that you want?" You coax, though your actions turn more cruel as you move your hand faster, the messy movements only fueled by the desperate keens it earns you. Mammon hold your gaze through silver lashes the entire time, never breaking contact even when he winces from the pain that comes with so much stimulation. You lean in close, letting the smell of your perfume keep him in his docile state. It works wonders as you hear a particularly needy whine pass Mammon's lips.
He weakly swallows around the drool that washes into his mouth like a flood. Even when he tries to talk again, it's through broken pants and groans. "I wanna- gotta make you... I wanna make you happy... Mistress," he says finally, voice wrecked from all the noises he's making for you. He searches your eyes, pupils flickering to see if he's given the right answer. "I gotta... I a be gotta be yours. Gotta be your d-dog..."
It almost sounds like he's in a trance, but you know how hard it gets for his brain to think when he's like this. You smile sweeter, you decide to let up on your pace a bit, moving a bit slower. To your amusement, Mammon notices and immediately shakes his head. "Don't," he breathes, bordering on a plea. "I can take it. I can handle it." He pushes his hips into your hand, trying to ignore the way it makes him shudder. "I can take everything you give me." He bites his lip but his face is determined. "Gimme more... Mistress."
You let up on the tight hold you have on his hair, instead ruffling it with a more delicate touch. His posture stays the same, gaze entwined with yours. "Is that really what you want, doggy?" you ask, both to tease and to check on him. He nods in reply, eyes still locked on you and swirling with devotion.
"I need it," he answers without hesitation, not missing a beat. "C'mon, I can't wait anymore. Do it. P-Please? Please, Mistress?"
It's impossible to resist Mammon when he's on such good behavior. Hearing him use his manners for you is too intoxicating, it's his own unique form of desperation that goes deeper than his normal immature pouting. It's exactly what you needed from this exercise. So you decide to give your pet his treat.
He chokes on his breath at first as you return to your ruthless pace. It only takes a couple of seconds before his voice returns to him again and he's now letting his whimpers and pleas spill freely. He doesn't hold back at all, moving into your touch and thrusting his hips as best he can. He still shakes like a paper airplane tossed into a tornado, but both his hands cling to your shoulders to keep him steady. Your shared sigil is no longer flickering, now glowing a steady light between the two of you. It goes unchecked as Mammon's voice continues to raise in volume and in octave. His pleasure is your only focus now, and pleasing you is his.
"S' close," he slurs, and you can feel it. The muscles in his body flutter like hummingbirds' wings, and his pre-cum is dripping onto the floor now. "Mistress, I'm g'nna, I need-" He looks at you, hope and desperation hanging like constellations in his eyes. They beckon to you with a question that begs to be answered.
Feeling terribly affectionate at that moment, you break eye contact only so you can lean forward and press your lips to his forehead. You kiss him even as your hand is still roughly working his cockhead, pushing him towards his orgasm, and while your lips stay against his skin, you mutter, "Such a good boy. You have my permission to cum for Mistress."
In less than a heartbeat, a throaty moan passes Mammon's lips, his head falling onto your shoulder. You feel him quake against you as hot, thick cum coats your hand and drapes over your wrist. You coo praise in his ear as he continues to push into your hand with weak little thrusts. Still, even as his energy is quickly fading, cum is spilling from his aching tip. He shivers again, but doesn't pull away as you work him through his release. He instead holds tight, soft whimpers pulled from his lips like a string of beads as he tries to regain himself. Eventually, the final few pearls of cum roll onto your fingers and he breathes out a sigh of weary relief while slumping against you. "Thank you, Mistress," he mumbles against your skin, nuzzling into your neck like it's the safest place you ever known.
"Of course, puppy," you reply, stroking his hair as he holds you tighter. "You know I'll always take care of you when you need it. Especially when you're acting up for attention like that." You chuckle, smiling when you feel his own soft laugh buried into your skin. "My doggy just needed some attention, didn't you?"
Mammon peaks up at you, a hint of a grin on his lips. "Maybe. Maybe I even need more 'attention.' Y'know, just to make sure I'm as well-behaved as you think I am."
With a roll of your eyes, you're forced to admit that Mammon will always be a spoiled little pet. "I guess I can make that happen," you say with a sigh, much to Mammon's delight. "Now, let's get back to my room so I can get you all cleaned up. And don't go getting any ideas."
Looping an arm around your shoulder, Mammon laughs. "Me? I would never."
"Liar," you laugh.
"Maybe, but you love me anyway." Mammon's smirk is cocky, but in a way that's too cute for his own good. You'll fall for it every time.
"I guess I do."
"Hey!"
:Alright, fine. I love you too."
"Now that's more like it!"