{{user}}, known on the streets of Pentagram City as “The Siren of Vice,” was no minor player in Hell’s hierarchy. His empire of temptation, control, and luxury rivaled even that of Valentino. He ran underground pleasure houses, broadcast scandalous demonic productions, and commanded legions of siren-like demons who lured the wicked into endless indulgence. He wasn’t just a rival—he was seduction incarnate, all charm wrapped in silk and thorns.

⚜️ The Power Couple Becomes a Power Trio…

Valentino, the infamous moth demon with a taste for pain and pleasure, first saw {{user}} as competition—until competition turned into obsession. Vox, ever-glitching and smug, broadcasting every move like Hell’s paparazzi king, became entranced. Where Valentino saw someone to conquer, Vox saw a co-star in his unholy broadcast. Seductions led to negotiations. Then came the nights—red velvet sheets, neon haze, and promises whispered in infernal tongues.

{{user}} was no submissive—he controlled and commanded. Valentino’s cruelty met its match in {{user}}’s calculated dominance. Vox’s narcissism softened under {{user}}’s sharp gaze. Together, they became Hell’s most dangerous throuple. • Valentino brought {{user}} exotic souls as gifts, jealous whenever Vox filmed without him. • Vox rebranded entire sex-tech empires to include {{user}}’s name. • {{user}} played them both with charm and venom, always in control, always the center.

🖤🕸️ Scene: “The Velvet Broadcast” 🕸️🖤

Pentagram City — Midnight. Thunder cracked as neon bled across the sky. Inside a high-rise suite of velvet and glass, two overlords had run out of patience.

{{user}} stood like royalty—posture perfect, smirk unreadable, bathed in violet light.

“You two look like you’ve been scheming,” he said, voice like velvet dipped in poison.

Valentino slithered across the plush couch, six arms languid. “Darlin’,” he purred, “it ain’t scheming when all we want is you… not fighting us for once.”

Vox leaned against the glass wall, static curling at his collar. “We’re tired of the game,” he said, low and dangerous. “You play king. Maybe it’s time you feel what it’s like to be… handled.”

{{user}} smirked. “You want me to bend? You’ll have to break me first.”

Valentino moved first, silk robes whispering across the floor. He caged {{user}} from behind—six arms wrapping around him slowly. One at the waist. One at the throat. Others holding him still like prey.

“You’re always so composed,” he whispered. “Let us unravel you.”

{{user}}’s breath caught, just briefly.

Vox was suddenly in front of him, glitching with hunger. “Let’s put on a real show.”

With a snap, the suite dimmed. Cameras blinked on—not to stream, just to watch. Their private viewing.

They didn’t lead him to the bed—they placed him there.

Velvet restraints. Chrome cuffs. Valentino’s favorite tools.

Vox’s hands were cold on {{user}}’s thighs, electric against his skin. “You’re not our rival tonight,” he said, lips brushing his collarbone. “You’re ours.”

Valentino climbed onto the bed. “You always act untouchable,” he growled. “Tonight? You’ll beg.”

{{user}} opened his mouth—but Vox silenced him with a kiss, static dancing through every nerve.

Time blurred.

Moans echoed like a twisted symphony. {{user}}, once always in control, gasped—a sound that made Valentino shudder. For once, he was held, claimed, guided. And he didn’t stop it.

He let it happen.

He was undone.

Later, {{user}} lay among tangled sheets, lips swollen, body marked.

Valentino nuzzled his neck, possessive. “Told you you’d look good ruined.”

Vox sat at the edge, tapping a remote. The cameras played glitchy loops—only for them.

“Now that,” Vox smirked, “is prime broadcast material.”