Fumbling Towards Ecstacy
Day 24: Sex Toys
The last dredges of floral notes and bitter herbs flood Minos's senses, and he savors the taste with a satisfied hum. Each note lingers on his nonexistent tongue, but settles on his palette through some strange form of memory regardless. It's a perfect companion to the crackle of the bedroom hearth, the evening glow of his beautiful city pouring through the windows, and the occasional turn of a page.
Tea is a popular balm against the cold winds and storms of Lust. Many of the plants that grow in the palace gardens can be dried, mixed, and steeped in many different combinations. This particular concoction had been blended by one of the scullery maids in her spare time. It was primarily known for relaxing.
He would have to thank her for it, later. For now, Minos sets the empty cup aside on its saucer with barely a sound. The king of Lust redirects his attention to the book propped up in his lap, reading the next few passages of interest in silent contemplation.
'Reason. Ah, Lady Soul, says Reason, you have two laws, your own and ours; ours for belief and yours for love; and therefore you say to us what you please, and so you have called those whom we nurture fools and asses.'
Upon finishing, he reaches to his left, grasping at the small object sitting on the empty couch cushion.
"I find it rather strange that thine Father's words could be expounded upon in countless different ways." He says absently, faceless visage turning back to the fire-lit pages.
There is a momentary silence following Mino's idle comment.
"They often leaned on their--"
Click.
"Oooooooohhhhwn understanding." Minos feels himself twitch; an unfortunate side effect to observing instead of participating. But oh, how satisfying that gasp, that moan before a desperate return to coherency. "We were not--not allowed to interfere beyond--"
Click.
The rest of Gabriel's response is lost in a shuddering, gasping cry. It grows rapidly in pitch. Minos hits the opposite button in quick succession. A beat of ragged breathing follows this, followed by the breathiest of whimpers.
‘Meditation of Pure Love has only one intention, that she might always love faithfully without wishing for any reward, and the Soul cannot do this unless she is deprived of herself, for Faithful Love would not deign to have any consolation which came by the Soul's seeking.'
"The gods of the Hellenes were not always direct with their people, either." Minos sighs. "Many a tragedy might hath been averted with clarity."
Minos turns the page, but his focus remains upon the quiet whining that has taken over Gabriel's end of the conversation. Amidst all this, a faint buzzing noise can be heard. Barely audible over the crackle of open flame.
"I--I am not one to question--"
Click.
"How--how he chose to--mmph--to direct his followers. Especially... when it came interpreting His--"
Click. Click. Click.
"Hhnnn--aaaahh!!"
"Judgment is all that much clearer when the guidelines for one's soul are set in ink." And with context taken into account, at that.
Gabriel does not respond to this; his moans and gasps only grow louder and louder, ringing across the king's bedchambers and out over the terrace. Surely even its wanton tone would be heard by the masses of Lust, of its mighty warden succumbing to this most innocent of sins.
Minos pushes down on the lower button several times, and silence suddenly falls. It's followed by a choked sob; one of robbed satisfaction.
The Judge of Hell shuts the book he holds with a muted slap, giving its cover a glance before setting it aside upon the end table. The Mirror of Simple Souls, it reads. He would certainly be returning to it another night. Minos settles back upon his fireside couch, and turns his gaze back towards the other end of the room.
There, upon the center of his bed, kneels an archangel, bound by a simple chain and cuffs hanging from the ceiling. The light from the balcony beyond swaths his naked, sweat-drenched form in the distant, swirling neons. His right thigh, however, is splashed with the glow of dancing flames, glinting off the markings of gold that snake down his bare leg.
Gabriel looks like a painting come to life. Many artists have drawn depictions of him throughout Mankind's history. But Minos is sure none of them ever captured his likeness like this. Falling apart, aglow with color, hips thrusting minutely into the empty air.
The Judge of Hell hums in appreciation as his attention narrows to the bright pink, silicone ring wrapped snug around his swollen clit. He delights in how it makes Hell's warden writhe with a simple press of a button, how the vibrations are slowly and surely driving him to the brink once more. He could keep him like this forever, legs forced apart with a spreader bar and strung up in the air helplessly.
But Gabriel's done so well tonight; he deserves a reward.
The ruler of Lust reaches for his own cock, stroking it slowly as he raises the toy's intensity at random. The archangel's dulcet moans fill the air, an erotic symphony in its own right, and Minos settles back to watch the show.
