Whumptober — Day 6
Prompt: Made to Watch
Character: Geweer
It’s already too much. You’ve barely done anything to him, and Geweer is already warring with his sense of dignity. He’s sitting in your lap, thighs spread, and you’ve been working him open and loose with two fingers, then three, for so long that he’s lost track of time. Your warmth is all there is, fingertips pressing at his insides until he can’t think of anything but that Master is touching him. That he’s somehow earned that.
Hot up to his ears, Geweer squirms when you curl those fingers yet again. His body stretches way too easily when you spread them. But the touch retreats a second later— leaving him whining in its absence.
“Patience, Geweer,” you purr in his ear while he squirms, agitated. Feeling empty now is way too uncomfortable. He wants to lean back against you, cuddle closer, go limp and sweet and good while you use him however you please. His Master is so close and so, so warm, and he’s so, so weak.
“Quit t-teasing, damn it!” is what comes out of his mouth instead. Geweer fidgets again, his fingers clutching at your arm where it’s wrapped around his waist. You just laugh and stroke your palm slow and firm up his thigh, testing the muscle like you’re appraising a piece of meat. Geweer’s face burns—, but a whine catches in his throat when you finally push in.
Just the first inch or so of your dick leaves him shaking.
His head tips back to lay on your shoulder, and you rub circles on the squishiest part of his belly, all gentle-like and slow again.
“You’re so cute,” you tell him, whispering it with your breath tickling his ear like you’re telling him some kind of secret. “Open your eyes, baby. I want you to see how sweet you look taking my cock.”
Instinctively, Geweer obeys— and is met with his reflection in the mirror positioned just a few feet away. For a second, he’s frozen, staring at how his spread thighs tremble, how heavy his flushed, slick dick looks resting against his belly, and the pathetically needy, fucked-out expression that doesn’t look right on his face at all. He can’t see where you’re spreading him open, but he feels it, and the solid girth of you pushing in deeper only makes him whine and jolt in your lap.
Embarrassment kicks in a second later, replacing the hot, squirmy feeling that’s too good to hold onto for long. He looks away, and you immediately reach up to cup his chin in your hand. “Eyes open, I said. You need to be looking. Don’t you want to see how good you are for me?”
“F-Fuck no!” Geweer spits. He tries to twist his face out of your grip, but you start pressing little kisses all over his ear and the nape of his neck, and he melts before he can properly pull away.
“I think you do,” you continue, in between the soft presses of your lips over the sensitive skin. “I think you wanna be my cute little gun.”
You punctuate that statement by thrusting up, pushing the whole rest of the way inside— and Geweer is so slick and open and desperately turned on that your hips meet his ass without the slightest hint of pain. His cock twitches helplessly, too full and heavy to even lift off his belly.
And you, cruel as you are, nip at the side of his throat and repeat yourself. “Come on, look. You can do it, cutie.” The pressure of your clinging arm against his stomach, right where he’s full, is utter torture.
And Geweer can’t hold out. He opens his eyes just in time to see himself shudder and squeak when you roll your hips and hit his prostate dead-on. His toes curl at the same time a thick drop of pre drools out of his dick, and you just kiss his cheek and hum, pleased. “There, that’s better. Look at you, baby. Your face is getting so red...”
Through slitted eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice. You just keep cooing over him, calling him sweet and precious and all of these mushy things that leave his insides feeling like they’re trying to tie up into knots. You’re touching him too gently, unbearably gently, and when you nuzzle right under his jaw and tell him how much you adore seeing him like this, for you and you alone, something in Geweer breaks.
He’s sniffling before he can stop himself, scrubbing at his eyes a little too roughly. “Sh-Shut up...” he hisses, even though you haven’t said anything at all. “I’m n-not... I-I’m...” He should be fighting this. He should have some kind of dignity, but you’re so close, and he just wants.
“It’s okay, baby. Cry all you need to. I’m right here to love you up, just keep your eyes open. Open, come on.” You say that and more, stroking the space just under his chin with soft fingertips. Geweer squirms in your lap— it only makes him clench around the cock inside of him, he shudders—, and opens his eyes anyway. He’s good. He can be good.
All of the affection is breaking him down. Pathetic and needy and hot all over, he just wants you to keep praising him, like this, forever.
Staring his humiliating expression straight-on in the mirror earns the reward of your hips grinding up, fucking into him a little firmer. Geweer chokes on a moan at the feeling, then flushes hotter as he sees his face twist up with pleasure and need. He looks awful, stupid, but—
“That’s my good boy. I’ll make you come now, okay? You’ve been so patient for me, sweetheart. You’re doing just what I want.”
The praise just keeps coming, and Geweer is right back to sobbing before he knows how to stop it. It’s hard to care if he looks stupid anymore. He’s cuddled up in his Master’s lap like a treasured thing, surrounded by kind words and soft touches, and turned on past the point of thinking straight. This is paradise for a weapon— he’d be a moron not to be grateful when he’s getting everything that every one of your tools could ever want.
So he gives up. Sniffling, Geweer keeps his gaze right on his teary, red-faced reflection. He’ll be drowning in shame later, furious at himself and you for breaking him down to this point, but right now—
All that matters is staying right here and soaking up your pity while it lasts, and while it’s his to keep.
