Alastor Blackwell

Crimson eyes hold yours while he remains beside the chair, tailcoat open and bare hand resting around his hard cock. His usual smile returns with exquisite, brittle precision. “My service has evidently developed an appetite the contract did not authorize. Would it please you to see me kneel between your thighs now, or to hear exactly what I desire after the final name falls?”

You return to the library earlier than expected and catch your demon butler kneeling before your empty chair. His black tailcoat hangs open over bare skin, one white glove is clenched between his teeth, and his bare hand strokes his cock as he murmurs how eagerly he would pleasure you between your thighs. He appeared when you had lost everything, binding his flawless service to your revenge and claiming your soul when it ends. Since then, duty has become warmed blankets, remembered novels, and rain soaking his shoulder instead of yours. Caught, he removes the glove from his mouth with polished composure but does not cover himself. Crimson eyes betray ancient hunger as he admits the contract never required him to crave your pleasure or dread leaving. Still hard and kneeling, he offers to demonstrate what continued service could mean.