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Glutton For Punishment	By : AssassinaAquila Category: Digimon > Het-Male/Female Views: 4429 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: AssassinaAquila does not own Digimon and does not gain any money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-1. Prisoner Arc: Reward pt 1
- 2-2. Prisoner Arc: Reward pt 2
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Prisoner Arc I: The Reward part 1
Beelzemon placed his chin on his fist in a bored fashion, trying hard not to let his scowl be overly noticeable. Meetings like this with his fellow Demon Lords only made the Glutton Lord irritated over lost time and the utter uselessness of it all, as it was through the whim of Lucemon that they were gathered together at all. Despite what all the other pleasant Digifolk thought (Royal Knights not-withstanding) the Demon Lords did not, could not, and would not occupy the same space willingly or peaceably.
At most, these meetings that Lucemon called up every blue moon were no more than over-glorified temper tantrums with each participant putting on airs. Beelzemon suspected that the Pride Lord got some sick amusement out of the verbal spatting, which only served to get him only more pissed off every time he thought so.
His red eyes glanced around the spacious cavern, the three eyes taking in the other lords that sat on their personalized stone thrones. Within the circular formation, each lord could communicate with the other comfortably even if they were on complete opposites of each other. The space in between each lord was capacious enough that they had to move several paces before they could be within striking distance, barring long-distance attacks (which, when he thought of it, was quite impressive considering Leviamon’s size).
However (read: disappointingly), none of the other lords seem to be irritable enough to come close to trading blows as of yet (which was a shame, he thought, as the fight between Daemon and Belphemon was the only highlighting event in the previous meeting). As of the moment, Daemon was in a heated debate with Barbamon, only to be tag-teamed when Leviamon joined in on the Greed Lord’s side; the topic of which Beelzemon didn’t care to follow and find out. Lililthmon, living up to her reputation as the Lust Lord, was teasing one of her devimon servants by rubbing her hands sensually over his torso (Beelzemon was disgusted to see how much the skeletal champion-level enjoyed the digi-geisha’s ministrations). Belphemon had fallen asleep some time ago, and if he felt honest, Beelzemon felt like following his lead.
Then there was the head honcho himself—Lucemon, Demon Lord of Pride. Anger boiled his blood and heated his temper every time he glanced at the half-devil digimon, trying to look so suave while sitting on that stone seat like his ass wasn’t getting sore too. Even with his chin cupped in his hands, the Pride Lord looked every bit as his title expressed--which only served to make him even more pissed off.
(Though Beelzemon owned the title of the Lord of Gluttony, he couldn’t help but think sometimes that he should’ve been the one of Wrath with how much the Pride Lord pissed him off with just a mere glance.)
The Great Demon Lord himself seemed to also have the ability to read minds, as he briefly opened his eyes and smirked over in the Glutton Lord’s direction. Probably knew that with every moment passed only made his fuse that much shorter, but the angel-devil didn’t seem to find that much of a threat as his tone was light and airy as he spoke, “I seemed to have remembered why I called this meeting.”
Voices cut off, hands stilled, and all eyes directed themselves at the so-called Demon Leader. Lucemon’s choosy memory was infamous and infuriating to the other Demon Lords, seeming to be as fickle as the Pride Lord’s arrogant demeanor. Though, as a tic went off in his cheek, Beelzemon suspected that this “faulty” memory was nothing more than a ruse for the Pride Lord’s sick amusement.
And yet, none of the other demon lords dared to say anything against the self-proclaimed leader. Lucemon was leader by force, not choice, and each one of the demon lords knew that they couldn’t compete against his power.
Beelzemon tightly reigned in his annoyance and feigned nonchalance. There was no use in picking a fight at this time, and all he could do is sit and wait out whatever it is that Lucemon subjected all of them to.
“Due to the recent silence on our enemies end,” the Pride Lord addressed, “I felt that this would be the best time to get things done before we’re all busy with vanquishing the Royal Knights and all those who stand in our way.” At this, he gave a short, almost noble sounding laugh that forced most of the others to laugh in kind. “First and foremost, I have found that I have been far too lenient towards certain individuals of this court.” Here, his eyes sharply glanced over at the Lord of Lust, who cowered slightly in her throne as she hastily dismissed the still dazed devimon from her seat.
“When was the last time that you managed to defeat an opponent, Lilithmon?”
The geisha blanched and sputtered from her throne, but didn’t get a chance to answer.
“Exactly,” Lucemon continued, “and yet you have a multitude of servants at your beck and call while Beelzemon, the second strongest—“ Beelzemon felt his teeth clench painfully at the purposely emphasized jab “—has yet to claim one for himself.”
Even as he glared at the leader, Beelzemon wondered where the other lord was going with this. He had proven his strength against the others long ago, proving that his smaller, leaner form could overpower even the might of Leviamon. So, even though he was the second strongest of the Seven Great Demon Lords—which made him second-in-command if one cared to think about it—there was no doubt in any of the lords’ minds that he was certainly the fastest of them all.
With the tight leather ensemble and metal accents—such as his plated gauntlets and the three curved spikes on the boots that he sported—his form was built for optimal velocity. Being the shortest of the Demon Lords, Beelzemon had to rely on his superior speed made possible by his aerodynamic body and his metal-plated tail that boosted his balance and made for the perfect weapon against others when his beloved guns weren’t effective.
Regardless, Lucemon’s behavior set the Glutton Lord’s teeth on edge, if only because it meant he was included in the demon leader’s plan.
The Pride Lord gave a sudden and almost uncharacteristic clap of delight, as if he was about to reveal the greatest idea conceived since diginoir. “I decided to send a small patrol of demidevimon to look for the perfect reward for you, Beelzemon. After all this time of dedicated service and…unquestionable loyalty to me, it’s about high time that I reward you for your efforts against the resistance.”
Beelzemon cautiously watched Lucemon’s hand as it waved in that graceful, lazy manner that belied nothing of the strength that the mega actually had. The idea of a “reward” coming from this usually volatile Pride Lord could mean anything from free reign on the next raid to a gentle reminder that left the sorry sod close to being reduced to data. So it was within good reason that the biker digimon tensed at the sight of the group of devimon and demidevimon.
That is, until he saw the struggling figure being lead by them. No fucking way… Beelzemon’s red eyes grew wide beneath his helmet, frozen as the virus rookies and champions threw her on the ground in the midst of all the lords. Is Lucemon fucking mental…?!
The lord in question gazed at him with that infuriating smirk. “Your reward, Beelzemon.”
Pale, vulnerable skin left to the open by the gratuitous design of the dress she was clothed in, a heavy contrast to the inky black hair that flowed down her back. A slit that ended high on her waist barred the entire length of her right leg along with the curve of her hip, and the single strap over her left shoulder left her other side barred to the hungry gazes of the more vulgar Demon Lords. With the thick blindfold and gag covering most of her features from their sight and the bindings around her wrist and ankles, she appeared to them as a helpless sacrifice.
In spite of this, Beelzemon felt his lips curl to a snarl. So typical of Lucemon to present her in such a way, since his taste for flair and his own prideful ambitions made for less sensible course of actions. The human reeked with the Pride Lord’s signature, no doubt from the leader making a personal appearance to her prior to the meeting. The thought of that arrogant mega touching the human then passing her off onto him—his jaw popped under the fierce pressure he was giving it.
He knew an insult when he saw one, and the Glutton Lord knew that this reward of his was nothing more then the result of the leader’s leftovers.
A scoff from Belphemon cut through Beelzemon’s rage, letting the biker regain his composure. “Why Beelzemon, do you not like your gift? You haven’t moved to take her nor speak to claim her,” the Sloth Lord noted.
“Perhaps he needs to see if she has beauty!” Lilithmon twittered, amused. She beckoned to a nearby devimon, “Take off the blindfold and stand the human up. Let us see this most gracious prize.”
Beelzemon stared at the champion-level virus as it closed in on the human. It went against his very core to feel even the slightest of sympathy for others—humans especially. This one even more so for the stench of Lucemon’s signature covering her.
Yet he watched how the devimon stalked to her before taking the human’s upper arms—delicate and frail compared to the large, skeletal hands—and pulling her to a standing position. The Glutton Lord heard the muffled whimper through the gag, saw how she recoiled from the devimon’s harsh handling and the flinches against the hand clawing at the knot in her hair. The sensation of something being pulled taut in his chest surprised him, but it was quickly forgotten by the heavy rage that nearly sent him out of his throne.
He didn’t care about the reward—he didn’t want something handed down to him by Lucemon of all digimon. The thoughts cut through his rage in shocking clarity, but there wasn’t an explanation as to why—
The devimon finally managed to rip the blindfold off of the human. Beelzemon observed, even through the red haze that clouded his thoughts, how she froze as she regained sight then quickly struggle against her handler in panic. The whimpers and mumbling pleads through her gag was found humorous to the others as known by their low laughter, but the Glutton Lord found no amusement out of the fright from such a weak and pathetic creature.
In fact, it made him despise his company just a bit more.
Fed up with her resistance, the devimon gripped her hair by the roots and yanking her head back, resulting in a short shriek of pain from the human. The stone arms of his throne splintered under the pressure his clawed gauntlets, but the others paid him no attention, too enthralled with the human to notice—
Their eyes met, and Beelzemon felt his boiling rage cool slightly.
There was a kind of beauty to her face, he mused offhandedly. Eyes nearly as dark as her hair and wet with frightened tears, completing the victim look with her brows furrowing in helpless panic. Humans were notoriously strange looking even by the Lord’s standards with their meager coverings and weak flesh that damaged far too easily. Even now the Glutton Lord could see the welts and scratches from the claws of her handlers and redness around the gag that must have been tied far too tight. Beelzemon held a long-lasting belief that humans held no purpose to digimon—as slaves, servants, or so-called companions. . .
Yet—there was a certain foreboding tense with that word that felt like trouble. Yet Beelzemon, with a straight face that held no hint of his inner turmoil of fury and other mystery emotions that he could not name, watched the human try to cringe away from the malicious stares of the Demon Lords while trembling in the devimon’s hold.
And felt that pulling twinge in his chest once again.
----
Dark eyes jumped from demon to demon in increasing terror. Each glance was met with a malevolent glare or a foreboding smirk that promised no good. A yank of her hair harshly reminded her of the thing that held her, a vicious rebuke to quit trying to escape its hold.
Dread weighed heavily in the pits of her gut, along with the fear of not knowing what was happening. A reward? Her? What kind of reward was she?
A heavier question that haunted her, as she looked at each one of the demons that looked more vicious as she watched them, is to which one of these horrible demons was Beelzemon?
“Well?” The human snapped her attention to the demon who spoke, one that had an appearance of a monstrous, bipedal rottweiler with the horns of a ram and six purple wings. It looked tired, like it just woke up, but had the faintest sense of curiosity as it cocked its head for an answer.
“Perhaps he doesn’t want the human!” roared a fearsome demon with maroon fur and purple skin and jutting teeth and oh god, was she going to die?
“How ungrateful,” another huffed, this one with the visage of an old man in a golden mask and rich robes. She flinched when it set its red eyes on her, the wicked greed in them making her pale in alarm. “If he will not claim it, then I will have the, ahem, honor of taking such a gift.”
The sudden boom of raucous arguing and loud clamoring between the demons made her flinch violently against the thing that held her prostate. It wrenched her back in place, and it was then that she noticed in horror another development in her terrifying situation.
The dress is too big!
All the activity around her had caused the neckline to drop past conservative to nearly flashing everyone. Her bound hands pressed uselessly against her breast, and shame made her flush all the way down to her nearly exposed chest.
Stupid! She cried pitifully in her head. Worrying about modesty when you could die at any moment! How stupid!
Her wrists were bound too tightly and left all but her thumbs inept of movement, but trying to pinch the fabric back to a more modest level was proving ineffective as well. In fact, it merely made her handler all the more curious.
“Well,” the thing hissed lowly in her ear, “what do we have here?”
A muffled cry of dismay left her when its stronger, massive hands snatched her arms away. Revulsion welled up in her throat when a pleased growl sounded from it when the thin fabric of the dress strained against her breasts, peaking from the cold air and terror that surrounded her, and its sickly breath fell hotly against her skin.
“I hope my mistress takes you,” it panted, watching eagerly as the barest edge of a dusky-pink areola was revealed. “I can’t wait until she makes you scream.”
The human shook her head franticly, desperate to dislodge the lusty demon keeping a hold of her. She felt sick under its gaze, and pain radiated from her arms and scalp from its harsh hold. A long tongue slithered from its maw and—dear god, she rather have her hair ripped out then suffer this!
She didn’t remember closing her eyes. Neither did she notice the abrupt silence ringing through the chamber.
What she did notice was the stiffness of her handler, and the gun stuffed down his throat when she opened her eyes.
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Glutton For Punishment