Pairing: Sub!Armin x Dom! Fem! Reader
Warnings: edging, blue balling, ruined orgasms, degrading, lingerie, slapping, gagging, face sitting, mentions of masturbation, subspace, crying, p in v sex, pure nastiness
How long does it take to completely break him?
To make him hit rock bottom, completely at your mercy, no thoughts of anything but you, and your touch, and your taunting dulcet voice.
That’s what you’re on a mission to discover, and it all begins with you waltzing into your shared bedroom in absolutely nothing but a satin robe and lacey lingerie.
Sweet Armin; sweet well mannered, blameless Armin, he sits cozied up in his sweater, with his perfect little nose buried in a hardback novel. He feels your presence entering the room before he sees you, but when he does see you, he gazes. His mouth falls open, and he gasps a tiny gasp. His ears turn scarlet and he blushes deep, from cheeks to chest.
“What are you- what is this?” He whispers quietly “What are you going to do?”
You stay silent, taking notice of how he drinks you in, his head tilted to the side as his wide blue eyes scan every inch of your body. His book is forgotten now, he snaps it shut and tosses it beside him.
“What should i do?” He asks, ready and willing, and eager.
“Lie down. Don’t touch me, don’t shut your eyes, don’t speak unless i say. Understood?”
His mouth shuts immediately, and he nods with aggression, allowing his back to hit the pillows. You climb on top of his slender body, pressing your clothed center directly against his growing hard on. He squirms.
When you kiss him, you kiss him hard, passionately, hungrily like some kind of wild animal, and he feels weak and helpless. Armin adores that feeling, he longs for it, he wants it more than anything, so he lets it consume him. You grip his jaw and fix his head in place, his eyes on your own as you growl
“Mouth open, tongue out.”
He obeys through smooshed cheeks, extending his tongue. You press two fingers against it, and whisper
Armin blinks his watery eyes and closes his lips around your fingers, and you begin to grind against him fervently. A whimper dies in the back of his throat as you push your fingers back further catching his tongue between them. He gags, a string of drool dripping from his wet mouth and down your hand.
He keeps blinking, slowly, his eyes are heavy and he’s fighting to keep them open like you told him to. You run your other hand down his chest, lifting your lower body a bit to unzip his pants and shove them down enough to pull him out of them. Sliding your panties to the side, you guide him into you and he moans, jaw relaxing and eyes finally squeezing shut. Before he can think, the back of his head hits the headboard and your hand is around his neck.
“What did i tell you? Tsk, already disobeying.”
“Keep your mouth shut.” You snap
“Oh my god, do that again!” He wails.
You hit him a second time and he throbs.
“Ah, ‘m gonna cum!” He cries
Your palm meets his cheek a third time and he’s trembling all over, his hips are rising to meet your thrusts and his head falls back as he pants. But you don’t let him cum. In fact, you lift yourself up and off of him, tying your robe shut and sauntering off into the bathroom. Armin sobs.
That was only day one. The following evening you repeat the same process, working him up, getting him right on the edge and then walking away. You continue this, watching him grow more and more defeated and distraught as the days pass. He thinks it must be temporary; he hopes it’s temporary. You’re just having your fun and you’ll let him cum eventually. But that day doesn’t come, and a week comes and goes.
By week two, Armin is becoming increasingly desperate. When you approach him with that look in your eyes, his stomach sinks, but he’s hard as stone in seconds. He leaks like a broken faucet from a simple brush of your fingertips against his lower stomach, he’s so sensitive, even close proximity makes his brain short circuit. You wake him up and serve him breakfast and morning blow jobs with zero release, and at night time you edge him mercilessly until he’s sobbing into your chest. He’s tired, pent up, and he’s fantasizing about cumming constantly.
He’s begging by Friday, chasing your lips when you kiss him.
“I’ll do anything. Please, just one time?”
“Use me, hurt me, break me please, whatever you want!”
“Please please please just make me cum. Please don’t stop this time, I’m begging you, have mercy”
By week three, he’s no longer capable of functioning around you. He can’t make eye contact, he can’t focus long enough to form sentences. He thanks you when you edge him.
“Thank you for keeping me desperate, thank you for hurting me, thank you…hnn”
He’s gone, rutting into the mattress at night and whimpering lewdly like he’s dreaming of fucking you. And he probably is.
But when he hits week four, he can’t sleep at all. He’s there; rock bottom, completely broken. He cries when you touch him, cries when you ride his face and don’t allow him to touch himself.
You ask with a sick sweetness in your voice “Do you even remember what it feels like to cum, sweetheart?”
“No, but i’d wait forever for you.”
“Do you even know how long it’s been?”
“Twenty-nine days and 6 hours.” He whispers desperately.
“Wow,” you mock “keeping count?”
He nods, his eyes glazed and empty.
And finally, when you decide to touch him just enough, with soft strokes, gentle kisses and nasty whispers.
“That’s it baby, just like that, give it to mommy.”
He starts to cry, because it’s finally happening. He’s about to cum, he’s right there and he tumbles over just slightly, and you don’t let it finish. You edge him to the breaking point, then ease off, watching his body shudder as it spills; barely. No pleasure, just aching, scorching, agonizing pressure.
No satisfaction, no relief. He pants, staring at you with wet eyes.
“That wasn’t… that wasn’t real!”
“No, baby. That was mine. Not yours.” You whisper with a gentle kiss.
“I still need you, i can’t-“
You do it again, and again. And each time, he thinks this will be the one, but each time, you take it away at the very last second, letting his body shake and writhe.
He stops asking after the third time. His words fade into soft sobs and broken moans. Armin doesn’t even want to cum anymore, he just wants you.
He doesn’t ask anymore, he prays to a god he’s never believed in. He’s been ruined so many times his body’s trained to tremble at the sound of your voice, his cock is sensitive beyond what he ever imagined was possible. You’ve conditioned him to ache just from hope. But the night comes when you crawl into bed and whisper
“Tonight, I’m going to let you come.”
He stares at you like you’re that God.
You straddle him, slowly peeling off his clothes and cupping his flushed cheeks.
“You’ve been so good for me baby” you whisper.
“I’d wait longer if you asked me to.”
You don’t waste a minute teasing him, not this time. You devour him, kissing him everywhere; his jaw, his chest, his trembling thighs. You slip him inside of you and ride, deep and intimate, covering him in your praise. Armin feels like he has died, he’s all but floating and he’s struggling to ground himself now. Tears flow freely down his cheeks as he moans softly, reaching out for you and holding on for dear life. His eyes are hazy, focusing and unfocusing, he feels like he might pass out as he feels it building up inside his lower belly. It’s the kind of build up that lingers, it’s slow and intense and it’s so good that it’s terrifying. He feels fear rising up in him as he gets closer and closer to the edge and when the coil snaps, he feels like he’s falling apart.
Armin cums so hard, and for so long, that his ears are ringing and it leaks, it drips out of you from where the two of you are connected. He’s wailing, hot tears pouring down his cheeks and his body feels hot all over. He’s like a raw nerve, vibrating and shaking and tingling all over. You slow down, and stop, kissing the salty tears from off his face, and he pants against your neck, his grip on your body staying firm.
“Thank you, thank you, i love you, I’m yours, all yours” he whispers, through labored breathing. He’s there, right where you wanted him from the beginning. Thankful, obedient, broken.