"Yesterday, we already talked about your problems in communication and how to address them," the man said, adjusting his glasses.
His ruby eyes stayed fixed on the married couple in front of him with composed patience.
"Now, why don't we move to a more intimate subject? How many times do you engage in sexual intercourse each week?"
The bald man across from him choked on nothing, his face flushing red as he stiffened in shock.
"Isn't this too fast, Mr. Belial?"
Belial, his long black hair tied neatly behind him, laughed softly.
"Too fast? Not at all. That is the very core of marriage, Count Berlin. A couple must be open with each other."
His gaze shifted to the woman sitting beside the count, a beauty so striking she seemed to belong to another world entirely compared to her husband's plump, bald figure.
Lady Azalea, with her flowing red hair and wide emerald eyes like a startled fawn's, jolted at his question.
The movement made her full chest strain against the tight dress that already pushed her curves higher.
Not that Belial minded.
"What do you think, Lady?"
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Um… I think it's fine, my lord. We can talk about it."
The sight of her shy demeanor made Count Berlin flush even deeper, his expression lighting up with delight.
Belial, however, smiled knowingly, well aware that her reaction was not for her husband, but for him.
Hidden behind his notebook, his fingers traced delicate motions in the air, pressing against invisible points he knew her body would crave.
Lady Azalea's frame went taut.
"Hhh—!" she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand while the other clutched her dress.
Belial was certain her pussy was already wet as he continued to tease her from afar using his lovely skill, Echtasy Binding, or as he loved to call it The Belial Method.
"Oh, my lady, are you alright?" the count asked in alarm, leaning forward in concern. "I'm sorry, Mr. Belial, she is weak."
Belial widened his eyes in feigned surprise. "Truly? This is the first I've heard of it."
The count sighed, gripping his wife's hand as she squirmed in her seat. "Yes… that is why we have never consummated our marriage, even after three months. Each time, she falls ill when it is time to be together."
Though Lady Azalea smiled sweetly, Belial saw through it, her expression was only a mask.
After all, this was their third therapy and she never failed to see him in such a dirty manner, even meeting him outside the therapy and seducing him.
She was an easy target, a slut with an innocent mask.
"I even consulted a physician," Berlin continued miserably.
"He told me it was a matter of the mind, which is why he recommended you. Forgive me for not admitting this sooner. It's simply so embarrassing…"
"There's no need to apologize, Count," Belial said calmly, his lips curving slightly.
"I have treated many patients with similar conditions. You need not worry we will find a way."
All the while, his unseen fingers twisted and curled, striking deeper even pressing against her clit, making her walls clench tight.
Lady Azalea's eyes widened, her body convulsing as she cried out.
"Ahhnngg! c-comingg!"
Her voice filled the chamber before she collapsed from her chair, her hands clutching her soaked dress as her body shuddered uncontrollably.
"S-so good… so good…" she murmured deliriously as liquid pooled beneath her.
"Do you see, Mr. Belial?" the count shouted in panic, rushing to her side.
"This is what I meant! She faints, she convulses, what am I to do? Guards! Help your lady!"
The doors burst open. Two guards rushed in and carried Lady Azalea away to the private physician.
Belial approached the distraught count, who was mopping his sweating bald head with a handkerchief.
"Count Berlin," Belial laying a hand on his shoulder, "what happened to Lady Azalea may be a sign of hidden trauma."
"I once treated a patient with symptoms nearly identical to hers. If you entrust her to me, I am confident she can recover."
Berlin's eyes brightened with hope. "Truly? You can heal her?"
"Of course," Belial replied smoothly. "I am the best in my field, and I am also certified in the treatment of female hysteria."
"Praise the Lord!" The count seized his hand in gratitude, shaking it fervently.
"If you succeed, I shall reward you handsomely!"
Belial's grin widened, his ruby eyes gleaming like a devil finally catching his prey.
"Anything, Count. After all, my greatest duty is to satisfy my patients."
***
Before leaving his office, Belial paused in front of the tall mirror by the door. He smoothed the wrinkles from his clothes and brushed away a faint trace of dust.
'Today's patient was far too easy,' he thought with a faint smirk.
'I didn't even need to lift a finger to seduce her. Hard to believe she came to me in such desperation.'
But it also means that his power has slowly come back.
'Sixty-six women with husbands, that's all I need. Seduce them, break them, fuck them, and then my power will be mine again.'
His expression darkened. With a scowl, he pulled off his glasses and let them hang by the silver chain around his neck like an ornament.
"That damned bastard of a father," he growled.
In a sudden burst of rage, he drove his fist into the mirror, shattering it into shards. Black blood oozed from his knuckles, thick and reeking of rot.
The memory of that day burned vividly in his mind. The day he was cast out of his own kingdom. His father's judgment still rang in his ears.
All because he had mocked the succubi and incubi: those pitiful, lust-addled wretches who spent their eternity rutting mindlessly instead of helping him govern Hell.
Yet his father, the great ruler, had raised his voice like a righteous hero:
"You dare insult your subordinates? Then hear my decree! Belial, you are banished to another world. Your power shall be sealed away!"
"If you wish to return, you will seduce sixty-six women bound in marriage. Only then will you learn the worth of the succubi and incubi, who lure mortals into our kingdom!"
Even now, Belial could hardly believe it. His own father had exiled the prince of Hell over such a laughable reason.
"It makes no damn sense," he spat, dragging a bloody hand down his face.
He pressed his palm to his forehead, teeth gritted.
"What in all the hells was that old man even thinking?"