“I-I uh…” Shit. Fuck. Shit fucks. He knew. Of course he knew. Two weeks was the longest you’d been apart since you officially started your relationship. And before the press tour, you hadn’t gone more than ten days without Mettaton being inside you. (Yes, even if it meant a quickie in his dressing room ten minutes before Late Night with Mettaton. So what if Drake was the special guest? Hotline Bling wasn’t nearly as a hot as you were in those little sequined shorts.)
You lasted until the day before yesterday when you came across your long unused rabbit vibe. In your defense, you couldn’t reach Mettaton in time for him to dirty talk you through it and that one performance he did in Madison Square Garden was really fucking hot.
Mettaton slides your leg off his shoulder, expression turning stern. “Now I want you to answer me honestly,” Mettaton says, the seriousness in his voice betrayed by the (literal) sparkle in his eye. “Did you put anything in your pussy while I was gone?”
You lick your lips. “...I, I found my old vibrator...I’m sorry Mett.” If this is the route the night’s going to take, then you might as well play it up. So you flutter your lashes a bit, sniffle, and look away in mock shame. “You weren’t answering my calls and I missed you and work was really stressful...”
“No excuses darling, you know our deal.” Mettaton removes his fingers from inside you and cups your mound. “Only I get to play inside your pussy, isn’t that right?” he asks, raising his brow.
“Y-yes sir.”
Mettaton brings the fingers soaked by your pussy to his face, eyes narrowing in scrutiny at the stickiness of the fluids before turning his gaze to you. “While I accept your sincere apology, I believe a proper punishment is due for this bit of disobedience.”
Oh. So that's what he’s getting at. “You mean…?”