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The day starts typically in typical fashion for Hell, which means everything is fucked from the get. Today especially sucks for Vox, as a certain deer demon has decided to show him no mercy, yet again.
Ever since cutting a deal with Alastor and the Princess to get his head rightfully back on his body, Vox has been…retained by the Hazbin Hotel as the new concierge, much to his chagrin. She says it’ll settle his debt with Pentagram City for nearly blowing them all to smithereens, but as for Alastor’s motives, those were pretty clear from the start.
Vox still owns his soul, but as for his choices? Those are now dictated by that red-haired radio relic, who now tells him where to go, what to do, and how to do it. Alastor expects his every order to be followed to the letter, no matter how small.
Controlling bastard!
Despite the strange enemies-with-benefits thing he’s got going on with the deer demon for the past few weeks, today is no different in terms of commands. Get up at the crack of dawn, tidy up the entryway, and wait for guests to arrive for check-in. Pretty simple stuff. Except for one teensy, tiny change.
Vox had to hand over his pussy this morning.
Now, it's not that he’s entirely opposed to doing so, even if Alastor was incredibly vague about his reasons for needing it before sending Vox on his way. He doesn't even wear it half the time, choosing his dual dick attachment instead most days.
But alas, Val still had that one and wasn’t likely to let Vox back into V Tower anytime soon to pick it up. So for the past few weeks, he’s been stuck with the attachment he was wearing upon his beheading, a pocket pussy with thick lips and a deep hole, perfectly capable of replicating the warmth and squeeze of some of the best whores he’s ever had with some helpful technological designs.
He’d been planning to get fucked so good that night after taking over Heaven. It was a damn shame.
Either way, it's not like Vox didn't have a spare dick he couldn’t pop in really quick while Alastor did whatever with his cunt, but the deer demon had been strict. No replacements were to be worn today. Vox had no idea why, but chalked it up to one of Alastor's strange power plays backfiring, because if it was supposed to make him feel bad to be sexless, it did not. So, ha! Suck it, Old Man!
It was oddly freeing to be without any appendages down there, like going commando. Vox can't say he’s not the teensiest bit worried about when he’ll get use of his sex again. But at least he knows it's safe keeping with Alastor’s prudish nature. Even with their whole…whatever they’ve been doing for the past few weeks, Al still barely lets Vox touch him, especially unprompted.
It's led to an embarrassing amount of jacking off, much to Vox’s shame. Which, in hindsight, might actually be the punishment Alastor was looking for by taking his cunt away. But in that case, why not also take his dick? Why let him keep it, but with the instruction to leave it out? Was it to add to the torture? The manipulative bastard!
Vox has little time to think about it more because the door to the kitchen opens, and the Princess’s pet angel comes out to glare at him while adjusting her uniform.
“Check-in starts in an hour, and the lobby still looks like shit, Vox,” she grouches, wings fluffing with anger when he just rolls his eyes in response. Stomping over to the nearest supply closet, the fallen angel whips out a mop and bucket, kicking the pair over towards Vox, who barely manages to catch it without any of the disgusting liquid inside sploshing over his outfit.
Alastor would literally kill him if he got this shit dirty. Even though Vox hates the ugly ass fit—he looks so much better in blue—he really didn’t want another lecture on looking prim and proper for his fellow denizens of Hell to properly gawk at as they check in.
Really, as if the bellhop get up Alastor had him wearing wasn’t humiliating enough, he had to keep the damn thing looking pristine, or it would literally be his ass on the line! Fucking ridiculous, a man like Vox being brought to such new lows by those so beneath him. He opens his mouth to express that fact to the princess’s little pet when he suddenly feels it.
The undeniable push of a hard cock slipping right into his hole.
Even disconnected as it is, Vox can still feel his cunt open around the slow thrusting intrusion, the dripping slickness it exudes until it slides in fully with a single hard thrust that makes him yip, claws tightening so hard on the mop handle the wood creaks. The angel shoots him a confused look he brushes off with a gruff— “Y-Yeah, fine, whatever. I’ll mop. Now go bother someone else,” before swiftly turning his back to her, ignoring the string of Spanish curses that follow as she angrily stomps out of the room.
As soon as she’s gone, Vox can’t help the guttural moan he lets out, legs crossing slightly as he holds onto the mop for dear life as whatever—Alastor, it has to be him, who else could it be—sink into his pussy with hard, heady thrusts. His cock takes long, slow drags on the way out before slamming back in with such brutal precision that Vox’s screen starts to glitch as he tries to hold himself together.
“W-whzat the fuxk?” He barely manages to stutter the frazzled words out, voice box glitching as he abandons the mop and stumbles toward the front desk, practically falling onto it while his claws scratch the wood for balance.
His pussy throbs so desperately around Al’s punishing thrusts, and it's nothing like how they’ve fucked before. It's always him on top, him inside Alastor, him making the deer demon moan and bleat around his tongue and his dick like he got paid in gold to do so. Hell, Alastor had never shown any interest in Vox’s pussy before, let alone enough so to start fucking him while forcing him to work.
For fucks sake, did Al even know he could still feel his cunt, or was the deer just…using him as a toy, thinking Vox was unaware? Oh, the thought shouldn't make him as hot as it does, but Vox can feel himself clench up and cum on the thick cock from it, milking it hard as he leaks slick down the shaft.
A part of him is disappointed from cumming so early, but the fucking doesn’t even pretend to slow down, Alastor’s dick still keeping a punishing pace inside Vox’s slickened hole that has the TV man trembling, clutching onto the desk for all he’s worth. His cooling fans are whirring at maximum capacity, the ports on his neck and sides hissing and releasing plumes of steam as his internal temperature skyrockets. He can feel himself overheating from the friction, the pleasure, and the sheer stress of the situation.
Vox wishes so desperately to have given his pussy audio capabilities, he needs to hear Al right now, because he knows for a fact from the rough way he’s getting fucked that Al is probably grunting his head off, making the most musical moans and bleats as he fucks into Vox’s cunt like he owns him. And holy shit, right now he most definitely does.
Letting out another rough moan, Vox takes one hand off the desk to grab at his empty crotch, feeling Al’s length ram into his pussy over and over, plunging in deep, frenzied pumps. It’s like being phantom fucked, and Vox’s imagination can practically conjure the feeling of Alastor’s hands on his body, playing with his gill vents and territorially clawing down his sides, leaving marks only the deer demon was ever allowed to see.
Vox stays like that for who knows how long, trembling and unable to move from his stance lest his legs collapse under him altogether. He takes every steady pump of cock like a good fucking boy, biting his lip to keep in the moans and squeals when Alastor finally fucking cums, shooting a warm burst of liquid deep into Vox’s cunt.
He thinks it's over then, slightly embarrassed for being so out of breath after being fucked so thoroughly, when Vox realizes a sudden and very dangerous truth.
The cock inside of him is still very hard.
It's like cumming did nothing to Al, if anything, he feels harder, dick slowly beginning to resume its punishing thrusts until Vox can’t help but whine like a dog at the overstimulation.
“O-oh God, A-Alazxtor p-p-please, fuck! Have s-some damxn m-mercy!”
But Al has never been known for that, especially not towards Vox. The request is not met with a cessation, but with a sudden, violent increase in tempo. Alastor doesn't just resume; he ravishes. The phantom sensation of that thick, ridged cock slamming back into Vox’s pussy is so visceral that Vox’s screen flashes a blinding white, a static-filled scream ripping from his voice box.
He is completely undone, his body reacting to a touch that isn't physically there, yet feels more real than the desk he's clinging to. The way Alastor is fucking him now is predatory, devoid of any gentleness. Each thrust is a claim, a brutal reminder that Alastor holds the literal key to Vox's pleasure. His pussy—that synthetic, high-tech masterpiece—is being stretched to its absolute limit, the thick lips of the attachment feeling as though they are being forced wide with every punishing plunge.
Vox’s legs begin to shake violently, his knees buckling. He lets out a high-pitched, pathetic squeal as Alastor hits his sweet spot with surgical precision, over and over. Plap. Plap. Plap. The sound of the impact echoes in Vox's mind, his imagination doing all the work to supplement a rhythmic drumming that syncs with the frantic beating of his digital heart. He can feel the slickness he’s producing—a flood of artificial lubrication—sloshing around the shaft, making the friction wet and loud, a squelching sound that makes Vox whimper in sheer, unadulterated shame.
"P-please... I can't... I'm g-gonna—!" Vox gasps, his voice glitching into a distorted warble.
He is overstimulated, his nerves firing in a chaotic frenzy. Every time Alastor bottoms out, Vox feels a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine, making his toes curl and his back arch. He is clenching instinctively, his pussy walls pulsing and squeezing the cock in a desperate attempt to milk Alastor dry, but the deer demon is relentless. He isn't just fucking Vox; he's breaking him, using the detachment to treat Vox like a mindless sleeve.
The thought of Alastor standing somewhere else, perhaps leaning against a wall with a smug, sharp-toothed grin, controlling Vox's pleasure from a distance, sends a wave of heat through Vox's circuitry. He feels small, exposed, and utterly dominated. He begins to sob, a mixture of frustration and overwhelming lust, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches.
"F-fuck me... just... fuck me harder, you b-bastard!" Vox screams, his pride finally snapping. He stops trying to hold himself up and practically collapses onto the desk, his ass pushed back, inviting the invisible intrusion.
As if he can hear him, Alastor responds to the submission by ramping up the brutality. The thrusts become frenzied, shallow, and fast, vibrating through Vox’s entire frame. Vox is whimpering now, a series of broken, needy sounds that fill the quiet room. He feels the cock rubbing against the most sensitive parts of his hole, creating a friction that feels like liquid fire. He is clenching so hard his muscles ache, his pussy gripping the shaft with a vice-like intensity, begging for the release that Alastor is cruelly withholding.
He can feel the build-up again, a second orgasm clawing its way to the surface, but it's different this time—it's heavier, more desperate. He is shaking, his screen flickering with "ERROR" messages as his systems overload. He is nothing more than a toy, a piece of hardware being used for Alastor's amusement, and the realization makes him leak even more, his cunt dripping and drenched.
Just as Vox reaches the precipice, Alastor slows down. He drags the cock out almost entirely, leaving only the head teasing the entrance, before slamming back in with a force that nearly knocks Vox off the desk.
"Aaaaah!" Vox shrieks, his body snapping taut.
The sudden impact triggers a violent, racking orgasm. Vox’s pussy spasms uncontrollably, milking the cock in rhythmic, desperate waves. He is sobbing, his head lolling back, eyes rolling as he cums again, a messy, pathetic release that leaves him limp. Vox feels himself shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mind a blur of static and pleasure.
But even as he drifts in the afterglow, he feels it. The cock still hasn't softened. It's still there, thick and pulsing inside him, and as Alastor begins to move again—slow, agonizingly deep circles that grind against his sweet spot—Vox knows he isn't getting a break. He is trapped in a loop of pleasure and power, and as he lets out a long, broken moan, he realizes he never wants Alastor to give his pussy back.
The pace keeps up, angle changing slightly to hit in that little spot inside him that has Vox seeing fucking stars. Grateful the hallways are still empty, Vox lets out a whimpering keen, feeling his slit clench and throb with every ravaging thrust.
It keeps on going. For hours. Opening time starts, and Vox is dismayed and delighted when the tantalizing plunging takes no pause. In fact, the stimulation grows exponentially because he can feel not so gentle finger pads on his clit, needily probing and rubbing him in teasing circles that have his hips twitching. He has to stutter through greetings and key hand-offs with a shaky grin, all while Alastor continues to fuck his hole like a man starved.
Vox cums non-stop. After the first two, he was terribly sensitive, but each thrust is a savage demand that's thrilling as much as it is overpowering. Al’s cum in his pussy no less than five times already, the hot liquid stuffing his walls and leaking down in thick drips. It’s a suffocating, filling sensation, the heat of Alastor’s seed acting like a brand inside his hole. When Alastor pulls back, the vacuum creates a wet, sucking sensation, and he can feel a thick, pearlescent string of cum leak from the lips of his pussy. He feels drenched, ruined, and utterly claimed.
Vox has no idea how he’s supposed to survive any more of this, feeling his ports let off steam as another guest walks up to the counter. The day isn’t even half over!
“W-Welcome to the Haaaaaahzbin Hotel-el! How ca-aaan I assist you today-ayy?”
The words are a disaster. His voice box glitches, pitching up into a pathetic, needy warble as Alastor chooses that exact moment to drive his hips forward with a vicious, bottoming-out thrust. Vox’s eyes blow wide, his screen flashing a bright, neon pink as he nearly leaps off the floor. He has to grip the edge of the mahogany counter so hard his claws leave deep, jagged gouges in the wood.
Oh my God, oh my God—Vox thinks a little erratically, mind on the fritz with every rough roll of Alastor’s hips—I think I’m cumming again, he just keeps going, is he trying to fucking kill me?!
Thankfully, Vox is quick on his feet and able to fucking multi-task, so despite the sensory overload, his professional programming kicks in. Vox is a media mogul; he is a master of the facade. He forces himself to work, his mind splitting—one half desperately trying to process check-ins and directions for the confused guests, the other half drowning in the sea of pleasure Alastor is forcing him into.
He manages to usher the guests away, his movements jerky and unstable, his hips involuntarily twitching and humping the air in a pathetic search for more friction. Alastor doesn’t let up the whole time, brazen as he plays with Vox from the inside out, fucking into him with such feverishly ferocious intent that the hybrid shark can’t help but shudder and thrash against the counter, hips humping the air in desperation.
I-I’m going to kill him! Vox can't help but snarl in his mind at the sheer humiliation Alastor is putting him through, no matter how much it makes his sex twitch. Though the thought is undercut by the way his pussy is practically sobbing, gripping the cock with a vice-like intensity. The humiliation is a potent aphrodisiac; the idea that he is being used as a mindless, leaking toy while performing his duties makes his sex twitch with a violent, needy arousal. The TV shark is completely undone, his dignity dissolving with every wet slap of Alastor’s pelvis against his swollen pussy lips.
Looking up at the clock on the wall to see there were still many more hours left to go, the realization hits him like a physical blow, and Vox lets out a long, broken moan, his head hanging low, saliva dripping from his lip. He sways on his feet, his legs feeling like jelly, his entire frame trembling as he feels the tell-tale build-up of another one of Alastor’s orgasms.
He feels the cock inside him thicken, pulsing with a sudden, violent surge of power. Then, Alastor lets go. Another torrent of hot cum blasts deep into his pussy, filling him to the brim, the pressure so intense that Vox’s screen goes completely black for a second, replaced by a single, flashing word: OVERLOAD.
He collapses forward, his chest heaving, the feeling of Alastor’s seed flooding his walls, making him whimper like a beaten dog. He is spent, drained, and owned. But as he recovers, a spark of his usual arrogance flickers back to life amidst the pleasure fog.
Oh, yeah. Alastor might have the upper hand now, but Vox is a man of long-term investments. He doesn't know the specifics yet, but he vows that the deer demon is going to pay for this stunt. He’s going to find a way to turn the tables, to make Alastor scream and beg just as pathetically as he is right now. He’s going to teach that bratty, arrogant deer a lesson in submission that he won’t ever forget.
Until then, though, Vox can only cling to the desk and pray that Alastor doesn't decide to go for a seventh round before the next guests arrive. He doesn't hold out much hope for it, though.