cw ; nsfw, sexual themes, afab reader, edging, overstimulation, sexual torture, psionic restraint, slight(?) sadism on armand’s part
hey so we all agree armand does not let you cum for hours on end right. right? right.
mr. psychosexual torture over here gains immense satisfaction from watching an overstimulated little thing writhe and beg, sob and cry underneath him - unable to move, of course - as he brings them right up, up, up towards the edge, a feather touch away from orgasm before withdrawing his fingers, face gentle and stoic with the slightest hint of a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips as they bawl.
armand soothes you, licks his hands clean of your essence before bringing them up to your lips to drink the taste of the remainders of your slick and his sweet saliva - and then caressing your wet face, eyes and cheeks puffy with tears from hours of agonizing constraint, he coos at your pathetic show of affliction. your lips are bitten and bloody from your witless attempt to distract from the feeling of his inhumanly perfect ministrations, to which he leans in and captures your swollen mouth with his, licking into it and reveling in the metallic hint of blood peaking out from your raw flesh.
you cry and beg, why, why is he punishing you so, anxiety bubbling in your chest each time you try to move and fail. you’re not restrained, strapped to the bed poles, no, you just can’t move. you’re out in the open, spread out on the bed, sheets thrown on the floor with each gust of wind from the ventilation teasing your drenched skin, yet you’d never felt so claustrophobic and trapped. each time you feel the slightest bit of weakness in your restriction, he mutters in your ear to rest, and you fall right back against the bed.
“punish?” he asks, almost as if he’s genuinely trying to learn how it is that you came to that conclusion. his words, his voice, so gentle and almost romantic in the way he speaks, an invective contrast to his actions that frustrates you to tears. “beloved,” the vampire begins, purring, sat next to you and leaning downward to snarl and graze his perfectly dagger like canines against your bruised neck. a kiss is left under your ear, right on your pulse point, and it lingers, as he memorizes the galvanic rhythm of your blood pumping through your veins, “i ask, how is this a punishment?”
his hand begins to drag right down your chest, your ribs, your tummy and you know exactly where he’s leading it to, you blubber, “no, no, no,” over and over as you’d rather he simply end the abuse then even let you ever finish again. he hums, and lets the tips of his fingers graze your swollen cunt, tapping over your clit - orange eyes lidded over his gaze on your pleading expression.
“you get to feel yourself arrive right above the edge, over and over again - ” and in two fingers go straight into your opening with zero resistance, hooking to the inside part of your clitoris and pressing - you wail immediately, “the pain is exquisite, is it not? you can’t disavow it.” armand drags his fingers out, up between the puffy lips of your pussy, and rubs in tight circles on the sensitive pearl atop your frills. you’d twitch and run from the feeling if you could - he barely allows you to blink.
“and i, get to take you there.” the feeling of his cold tongue languidly licking your neck - over the bumps of your raised and tender flesh where he had drank from you earlier, kissing wetly on what would soon scar, swallowing the slight drops he can get without biting into you once more. “again,” his fingers don’t stop, circles becoming tighter and quicker, flawless in pace and technique, “and again,” the pleasure burns through you like a bush succumbing to a lit cigarette, clawing at your thighs and abdomen, “and again.”
and you’re there, you’re right there and you can taste it, you can smell it, and once more, as soon as the throbbing of your flesh tells him you’re nearly gone, he withdraws.
if you were in control of your body you’d have passed out by now. ten times over, you can’t even produce noise anymore, a dry and squeaky shrill escaping your throat. eyes rolling back in what you can’t tell is agony or pleasure. you can’t remember your name, your surname - did you even have one? all you can muster is meak rasps of his name and pleas, “armand, armand please, please, please.. please armand..”
but it’s for naught, as always, your desperate prayer to the only god you know - armand - is breathed into nothingness, escaping your lungs and aspiring in vain. he hushes you, and ceases his lock on your body, you collapse almost, and you exhale in near panic, desperation filling you.
when he lets you go, you know the end is soon. you know this well. though soon could be a few minutes, an hour, two more - ten. but it’s soon. you hope.
“i’m not testing your limits,” armand hums, smoothing your damp hair back from your forehead, “i know them well.” his voice floats over your body like a cloud, lulling you into as calm a state as you can muster. “i will push you right up against the edge of the cliff,” he presses his wet lips against your ear, your shivering body responding in tandem.
“and i will watch you break.”
