Pillow Talk - macabre_barbie (polly_pessimism) (2024)

Pillow Talk - macabre_barbie (polly_pessimism) (1)

So technically, you weren’t supposed to be here. The entire cleaning crew knew that the main apartments of the Vees were off limits unless they specifically asked for them to be serviced- you, specifically, would not be a welcome sight, especially by the CEO.

But when Vox had spotted you outside his office he had barely spared you a enough of a glance to get his hypnotic eye swirling before he had very explicitly stated, “I want every single thing in here put back where it belongs,” and apparently, to your will-bent limbs that meant even the f*cking throw pillow on the couch needed to be returned to his home.

The blue striped fabric clutched in your arms, cleaning supplies left in one of the numerous cleaning closets, your feet took you to the elevator, pressing the button for the elevator to take you up to the penthouse. You were sweating a bit in your uniform- despite how little fabric the damn thing had (courtesy of Valentino deciding “if we have to f*ckin’ look at them they might as well be hot” when hiring a cleaning crew, apparently) you were still nervous about going against established orders for implied ones. If Vox found out you had been in his section of the penthouse, in his room, Satan only knew what he would do to you.

That shouldn’t have excited you a little as you thought it, but it does- your breath comes a little quicker as you had entered the key code to Vox’s sector of the penthouse floor, thankfully empty as you enter and where you now stand. The television is playing something from the news, Vox sat at his desk with some sharp toothed red deer demon in the frame with him, mouth turned down into a frown and spewing vitriol- you caught some snippets of speech from the low volume, something about him being a fossil, outdated, et cetera. It wasn’t surprising- Vox and all of the Vees were all about innovation, updates, upgrades. If this guy was into older tech it made sense that he would take personal offense to that.

When you try to toss the cushion onto the couch your arm freeze, unwilling to release the fabric- which meant it wasn’t a couch pillow but a bedroom one, and your feet turn to take you in that direction. The door opens without a lock, and the room that greets you is a little neater than you would expect from the CEO of the company, being as prone to outbursts that the staff had to clean up as he was. The bed was made up, and finally your compelled brain allows you to throw the pillow out of your grasp to bounce harmlessly on the bed. Order satisfied, you’re about to turn to leave when the lights snap out with an audible click.

You freeze in the darkness, worried somehow that you’ve been caught, but they flicker on mere moments later. Another tentative step towards the door, and that’s when you hear it- a crackle of electricity from the living room, not unlike an arc flash, one that you’ve heard enough times working in this building to know what it means.

Vox is back.

In hindsight, it was f*cking stupid. You probably had better luck explaining yourself, telling him that his command earlier had forced you up here against your better judgment because of course, Vox, sir, you knew that the penthouses were off limits. But your prey brain reverted to instinct, doe ears dropping against your head, and you bolted to the nearest safety- the closet.

You can hear him coming closer, his voice increasing in volume- “that ancient f*cker, thinks he can just come back to my f*cking town, in my f*cking section like he never- f*cking dammit, Bambi, I can’t believe-” He just keeps going and you shuffle further back into the clothing around you, the smell of his soft cologne enveloping you as you descend. You can see light peeking through the slats of the doors, and it vanishes as he quickly approaches. The door flies open and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for a sharp clawed hand to land on your arm and haul you out but it never comes.

He grabs something close to you, something soft you had been inadvertently leaning against, and slams the closet door closed again so hard that it swings back open, another crack that light leaks through. Despite your better judgment you lean forward, peek through the slats of the door at what is happening in the room. He throws the item he had grabbed against the bed, and it bounces at an angle so that you can see what it is.

A body pillow- with that guy from the television on it, his red outfit unmistakable even not knowing who he was just from a quick glance. He wears a sly smile on his face, eyes half-lidded over a monocle, a frankly stupid haircut that came to his shoulders with tiny antlers peeking out of it. Vox is still bitching, and this time you catch a name: Alastor. Your boss kicks his shoes off, rips his jacket from his frame, and falls to his knees on the mattress, bringing the pillow close and slotting it between his thighs.

You stop breathing.

He falls forward and braces himself on one hand, the other scrambling at his fly to bring out an impressive erection that you can tell even from this distance must be painful, faintly glowing a bright blue at the tip before fading to the darker shade of his normal skin at the base. He strokes himself once, spreads what looks like a fair amount of precum over his length before he releases his grip and dips his hips into the pillow, now free hand clutching at the fabric between his fingers.

“Alastor,” he moans, and the low timbre of it shoots straight through your core, thighs clenching together as you stand stockstill in the darkness of the closet. “Oh f*ck, Alastor, Al- f*ck, f*ck,” and his hips are driving into the pillow all the while, the bright tip of his co*ck occasionally peeking into view from your vantage point.

You bring a hand up to clamp over your mouth, to try and muffle your breathing as you watch the private act and shift closer to the wider gap in the doors for a better view- slowly, silently. His voice is dark and delicious as he groans into the seemingly empty room, unrestrained in his pleasure. The hand braced on the bed is shredding the sheets, bits of fabric floating up into the air with the force of his claws dragging into them- the one on the pillow is surprisingly gentle, clenched lightly where the hair is on the image of the demon that adorns it.

Your body aches at the apex of your thighs, slick and throbbing just at the sights and sounds before you- if you made it out of this, if Vox didn’t discover and immediately kill you for witnessing this, you were going to have the most phenomenal org*sm of your f*cking afterlife the moment you could get yourself alone. You’ve never wanted to be a pillow so badly in all of your existence- Hell, you’ve never wanted to be a pillow period but Vox was making it look downright tantalizing to be shoved between his legs and thrust against.

He’s still going, his lower body moving rhythmically against the pillow and still muttering under his breath- “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor,” like he’s in a trance, can’t stop himself from saying it. His voice catches in his throat, hips stuttering then stilling while shoved hard against the pillow, collapsing against the mattress with a frustrated groan.

Everything is quiet for a moment, the only sound your muffled breathing against your hand as you peek through the door at the VoxTek CEO. Your spare hand itches for movement at your side, but you refuse- absolutely refuse- to get yourself off in your boss’ closet with him less than five feet away. You fist your fingers in the poofy fabric of the Val-approved maid uniform that the crew was made to wear, and you wait.

When Vox pulls his head up from the mattress, his screen is tinted pink in embarrassment even thinking no one can see him- he looks down at the pillow with such an earnest expression of longing that you feel embarrassed and avert your gaze for a moment, until he scoffs and you look back up to a sight you’re more familiar with. His face is twisted in anger now, and his claws hover menacingly over Alastor’s face before he snarls in disgust- at himself? At the other man?- and clambers off the bed. You watch his body move across the room, lithe muscles flexing as he moves, and only when he exits the room do you heave out the breath you had been holding, taking your hand away from your mouth.

You hear the rushing sound of water that indicates that the shower has been turned on, and you make perhaps the dumbest decision you’ve ever made- you stay in the closet instead of taking these precious few moments of him being out of the room to book it out of the penthouse. You’re not thinking clearly, so preoccupied with the arousal that it wars inside your body with the logical part of your brain saying to get the f*ck out. But you’re surrounded by the sweet, heady scent of his cologne, the rough sounds of his groaning still echoing in your ears, and with your eyes slipping closed you slide a hand up under your skirt; you didn’t end up in Hell by sticking to the concept of chastity, after all.

Your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirts that hang next to your face, bringing them closer to breathe in the scent of him. The sounds he made echo in your mind, your fingers brushing lightly against the dampness of your panties, hand dipping inside them to graze your cl*t-

The closet door flies open, the light falling across your body and illuminating what is clearly a shocking sight to the Overlord if the glitching of his screen is anything to go by- one hand holds the Alastor pillow in a death grip, obviously about to toss it back into the closet after wiping it down with a damp rag (the sink, you realize, not the shower), probably for one of your team members to properly clean later under an oath of secrecy. Your hand is up under your skirt, the other gripping his shirts for dear f*cking life, and Satan’s f*ck, he was absolutely going to kill you.

You both stand frozen for a moment, still too shocked to move your hands until you see the spark of static cross between his antennae. You let go of his shirts and remove your hand from under your skirt. “Sir,” you start, and your voice cracks on the word. “I’m-”

“Shut the f*ck up,” he snaps, and even without the swirl of his hypnotic eye your jaw clamps closed. He lets the Alastor pillow fall to the ground, both hands free now to open both closet doors, and you close your eyes- this was it, goodbye Hell, nice knowing you. At least you were going out with a hot image burned behind your eyelids of the guy that was going to murder you.

Instead you feel the sensation of your floppy ear being rubbed between two fingers, gentle and inquisitive. When an eye peeks open again, Vox is staring at them, his gaze flicking between your ears to the tiny white spots that line the edges of your face that he can now see with the increased light. “You a deer?” He asks, his tone dark, and you heave a shaky breath.

“Yes, sir.”

He hums, a quiet noise as his other hand comes up to rest softly on your waist. “Didn’t notice earlier. Thought I told the head cleaning bitch I didn’t want any f*cking deer in my tower.”

You force yourself to breathe slowly. “I had great recommendations and she said she would just keep me out of your way.”

“Great recommendations, huh? Any of your previous employers know you f*cking touch yourself watching people get off in what they assume is the privacy of their own homes?”

Instinct- you try to run rather than face his questions, only getting as far as an abortive jerk forward before both of his hands are on your hips, pushing you further against the back closet wall. His scent is f*cking everywhere, a faint heat coming off his screen with how close it is to your face, and you feel the threat of claws where he grips you. “Please, I’m sorry-”

“This for me?” Vox takes one hand off your waist to grab your hand- the one that had been under your skirt- and moves it back to its prior position, just pressing against the front of your damp panties. “Or was it the fact that you were being a little pervert and I was none the wiser? Tell the truth now, dear,” he says, his eye going black rimmed and swirling, and you’re helpless to answer.

“A bit of both, sir,” you breathe, and he looks pleased at your answer, pressing your fingers harder against the heated skin under your joined hands. The words don’t stop- “I didn’t mean to come here, sir, there was a pillow in your office- and you said everything had to go back where it belonged, so-”

“Gotcha, gotcha,” he nods. “The downsides of hypnotism, huh? But it’s gotten us into an interesting situation- how much of that did you see?” He tilts his head towards the pillow.

Deep breath. “All of it, sir.”

“You must think I’m pretty pathetic now, huh?”

His eyes still spins lazily at you. “Not at all,” you say, and the pixels of his eyebrows twitch upwards. “I thought it was… alluring. Sexy, to watch you let yourself go like that.” You glance down at the pillow, a grimace taking over your mouth. “Admittedly a little gross that you aren’t like. Properly cleaning that. Were you just going to throw it back into the closet?”

His screen tints and he lets go of you, taking a step back to kick the pillow out of your line of sight. “I have a dry cleaning lady that comes on Saturdays,” he says defensively, “it would have only been in there like two days max.”

“Sir, that’s still kinda-”

He tugs you out of the closet by the wrist and pulls you over to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling so that you straddle his lap. “You wanna keep calling me gross or do you wanna f*ck me?” He grinds your hips down onto his and you feel the hard length of his arousal against you despite it being not more than a few minutes since he had finished with the pillow.

“Can’t I do both?”

“Cause let me tell you,” he adds, talking over you, not picking up the barb, “the sooner I can get that f*cker out of my head, the happier I’ll be as your boss. And a happy boss might not decide to kill or fire you for being a- what’s the lady equivalent of a Peeping Tom? Just a slu*t?”

“I’m not sure there is one, sir,” you say breathlessly, and his tongue snaking out of his mouth to trail along the length of your neck distracts you from his fingers reaching up under your skirt to slide your panties to the side, thumbing your cl*t with soft pressure.

“S’nice that you’re a deer,” he murmurs, the tingly sensation of his lips tracing a path down your collar, letting his tongue slip between the swell of your tit*, pushed on display in this f*cking uniform. “Just like- sh*t, do you have…?” His other hand comes under your skirt as well, reaches around the back to cup your ass, and at the base of your spine-

“Oh, f*ck,” he whispers when he gets a grip on your tail, fingers tightening around it in a way that makes you cry out, high and trembling. “f*ck, I gotta-” He shifts the both of you, a quick motion that ends with you bent over the edge of the mattress while Vox flips your skirt up, exposes the cute fawn spots that covered your ass and thighs, the fluffy nub of your tail above the red lace of your panties.

“f*ckin’ red,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “just like him- what is it with f*ckin’ deer and red? Do you all use the same style guide or something?” When you look back, there’s a note that appears on his screen- “ask Vel about deer style magazine?”- before he sees you watching and grins. “Might wanna hold onto something, doll,” he advises, and before you can ask him why his face is pressed against your rear, tongue slipping between the slick folds of your c*nt and diving in.

The shock of it makes you yelp, immediately devolving into a moan that’s lost in the sheets when you bury your face into them. The slick muscle is long and strong, reaching deep and flicking against your inner walls with a fervor you’ve never had from a partner before. You try to grind your hips against the bed, the motion aborted when Vox’s large hands come up to your waist and hold you in place so he can lick into your puss* more efficiently, keeping you firmly against his screen.
He moans at the taste of you and keeps you still with one hand, the other coming down to rub forcefully at your cl*t. You groan into the sheets, fingers fisting in the fabric and f*ck, f*cking finally, pressure and friction where you wanted it. “Vox, sir, please,” you whine into the mattress, and he moans against you, the vibration of it from his screen adding a nice edge to the pleasure. “Please, please, please-”

Tongue still inside of you, you can hear his voice, broadcast from the speakers on his head- “I’m not sure you get to beg for anything, baby,” he says, and his tone drips sarcasm and amusem*nt. “I could leave you high and dry and I would be well within my f*cking rights- maybe I decide that perverts don’t get to cum.” His tongue starts to draw back, and when your walls clench down on him in protest he f*cking laughs. “I guess f*cking any deer will do, though- helps that you’re f*cking cute, even if you don’t really look like-”

Like him. Like Alastor. It should have been insulting, and maybe a little terrifying that possibly the only thing keeping you from having been murdered on the spot when he opened that closet was that you were a f*cking deer.

Logic had no place in your body right now, though; you’d been aroused for the better part of Satan only knew how long, and you would take what you could get. Maybe if you were lucky he would just fire you after he f*cked you stupid. “Please,” you ask him again, not caring if you sound pathetic about it, and he does pull off your puss* now, leaves your soaked entrance clenching down on nothing. “f*ck, sir, please-”

He chuckles and you hear the clinking of his belt behind you, loud in the quiet of his room that’s interrupted only by your soft moans into the mattress. “Don’t worry, Bambi,” he said, using the nickname for Alastor that he had spit in anger when he first came into the room. “I’ll give it to you- give it to you real f*cking good.” His hand reaches above your head and grabs the pillow that had led you in here like a lamb to the slaughter, shifts your hips up enough to shove it under them while pressing against your back. You feel the hard line of his co*ck against your ass and resist the urge to grind back onto it, staying put until he decides to move.

“Ohh, look at that! That’s f*cking cute,” he says, and there’s a hard grip on your tail, making you aware of the faint shakiness to the appendage in his grasp. “All twitchy and needy- you always get like this when you want a co*ck in you?”

Your response is a drawn out whine when he finally pushes in, and f*ck- seeing it glow faintly against the pillow while he rutted to completion couldn’t have prepared you for having his co*ck inside of you, filling your c*nt perfectly and still f*cking going. Vox presses in slowly, methodically, until he’s buried balls deep and breathing heavily against your back. “Fuuuccckkk,” he groans, and the rumble of it through his chest makes your inner walls spasm around the hard length of him. “Oh f*ck, baby, do that again,” he encourages, a hand squeezing at your tail, and what are you supposed to do? Not listen to him? You clench down and he chuckles, low and dangerous, and there are lips nipping at your skin where the shirt of your uniform leaves you exposed. “God f*cking damn, Bambi, you’re just-” He pulls back, the drag of his dick inside of you leaving sparks of pleasure that burn behind your eyelids, and shoves back in, the tip of him bumping something soft and sweet inside you that makes the evidence of your arousal drip from where you’re connected. He sets a steady pace, and you wish you could f*cking see him- watch him use your body for his pleasure like he had used the pillow, mindless with it, bucking his hips with reckless abandon.

A hand wraps around your throat, gently at first before the feeling of it makes you moan and he tightens his grip, thumb coming up to brush against your lips and smearing the drool that he finds there, having fallen unbidden from your mouth as you panted with your mouth open while he f*cked you. “Making a mess of my sheets, huh? I like the sound of that- f*cking the drool out of you while I f*ck my cum into you-”

The keening cry you try to let out at that is garbled and broken with his hand squeezing your throat, the other still having a grand old time pulling on your tail, and f*ck, you think you could cum just like this. “V-Vox, sir,” you manage to get out with the pressure on the sides of your neck, “please, gonna-”

“Gonna cum, baby?” He lets go of your throat and you fall forward onto the mattress, face burying in the sheets again and muffling your sounds- he brings his fingers to your cl*t to circle it while he f*cks you, still pulling your tail, and everything inside of you feels like its tensing and electrified around your c*nt where you’re stuffed full of him. “Come on, show me how- how f*cking sorry you are for getting caught with your hand down your panties.” He brings his face down next to yours, teeth snapping in your ear and licking up the side of your face at the tears that have leaked out. “Wanna f*cking call me gross now, Bambi? When you’re about to cum on my co*ck like a goddamn slu*t- f*ck, so close, it’s almost f*cking perfect-”

Static sparks off his antennae, and you can almost feel the thrum of electricity though his body before it ends at his finger tips, shocking both your cl*t and the sensitive skin of your tail where he still holds it in a death grip- that’s all it takes for you to almost scream with your org*sm and drag him over the edge with you, a soft grunt of “Alastor, f*ck, Al-” as he spends himself in long, hot pulses inside of you. Static still tingles lightly at his fingertips, causing tiny jolts of pleasure that make your muscles twitch and your walls flutter around Vox’s co*ck, drawing your release out until you’re almost overstimulated, trying to shift your hips out from under his body.

The hand on your tail tightens in warning. “Stay the f*ck still for a sec,” he mumbles, and he presses his face against your back- you can feel the heat of it through your shirt. “Just f*cking- came twice in the span of thirty minutes, let me catch my goddamn breath before you try to go again.”

“That’s not-” He presses hard against your cl*t and your body jerks in his hold. “Not helping,” you finish feebly, and he laughs against your flank before he lets go of your body and pushes back, pulling out with a loud, wet noise that brings a flaming blush to your face. “And not what I was trying to do.”

There’s a shuffle of movement and then the bed dips in front of you- you raise your head up from the mattress to see Vox eagle-spread across the sheets, his chest heaving. “No, you were just trying to get off in my closet after watching me f*ck a pillow like a f*cking loser. Not sure if that reflects worse on you or me.”

You flush, and prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him- he didn’t seem like he was as angry now, less likely to murder you probably. “It’s not great for either of us, but probably a little worse for me.” You take a deep breath, tense despite the org*sm that made your bones feel like goo. “I… I don’t think you’re going to kill me now? But I do understand if you would still like to fire me, sir- this was… lovely, but I was still unprofessional, and-”

“God, just- shut up, damn, is that also a deer thing? Never being able to stop talking? I’m not gonna f*cking fire you.” He throws an arm over his screen, his internal fans whirring and blowing hot air across your face. “Are you any good at your job or do you hide in closets on a regular basis?”

“First time transgression, sir.” He chuckles, and you shift a little bit higher up. “Besides- you know, this, I do a good job.”

He hums, turning on his side to look at you- or more specifically, to look at the valley between your breasts where they’re pushed up from your position on your elbows. “f*ck,” he mutters, then actually meets your eye. “Can you get a cum stain out of a pillow?”

You resist the urge to laugh. “I can do more than just wipe it down with a damp cloth and throw it in the closet to sit for two days.”

“Oh, f*ck you,” he says, his screen tinting pink, but he doesn’t actually seem upset about it. “It would have gotten cleaned eventually. The point is- you’ve already seen it, I don’t think there’s any reason why anyone else needs to.”

“Your dry cleaning woman hasn’t seen it before?”

“What, you think I make a f*cking habit of this?” He sits up, crossing his legs on the bed to turn and look down at you. “First time transgression, doll. f*ckin’ Val bought me that thing as a joke a few years ago, I forgot about it entirely until he came back, and all this f*cking tension came along with it that I obviously couldn’t do anything about with him. No one else has seen it, no one else- no one else knows.”

“I can keep a secret,” you find yourself saying. “And yes, I can get a stain out of a pillow like that.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “I’ll take your word,” Vox says. “Tell you what- you work your magic on that f*cking thing, we toss it back into the closet- properly cleaned this time- and we can discuss some kind of arrangement between the two of us. A personal contract with me, instead of the collective like everybody else. You won’t have to wear that uniform anymore,” he adds, “but I can’t say one that I come up with would be any better. I’d keep that cute tail on display though.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You stand from the bed and enjoy the way that his eyes trail down your body, even if they do hover a little longer on your ears. “Do you keep any hydrogen peroxide in the apartment?” He blinks at you. “Bleach? Rubbing alcohol? f*ck, baking soda and vinegar?”

“I’m the CEO, what the f*ck do I need any of those things for? Everything I need other people will do for me.”

“God damn it- okay then, you wait here and try to keep your hands off the pillow- I’ll be back.” With a grin rivaling the one on the soiled cushion's image you turn your back to the still grumbling demon. You couldn’t believe your luck - not only had Vox not killed you but you got a good f*ck and the promise of some sort of a promotion out of the situation as well. With newfound confidence, you flipped your skirt up and wagged your tail at him before you disappeared through the door to look for the necessary supplies, chuckling to yourself as you heard the grumbling turn into a needy groan.

Pillow Talk - macabre_barbie (polly_pessimism) (2024)

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