Taking it one day at a time

After Eren makes you touch him for the first time, everything spirals. First it becomes a daily ritual, where he consistently either fucks your hands or jerks off over your face. You fight it all you can, but he does whatever he desires. So the fight in you fades, because it’s hard to keep fighting when you grow comparatively weaker, not allowed to move from the bed aside from a monitored shower or bathroom break.

As days pass and blend together, it feels more hopeless than ever that you could even escape the room he has you in. You start to feel frail.

It makes it easier to manhandle you into whatever position he needs you in, though he's never actually been too forceful with you yet.

If anything he's been very forgiving to your outbursts. Only ever uses the shock collar when you try to escape. You thrash and cry but he’s still slow and patient. He has a greater goal after all — he has to learn your body inside and out before he takes your virginity.

It starts out rough when he strips you to nothing and holds your back to his chest, keeping your arms pinned to your sides so you can't stop him.

You shake your head and plea and cry because he told you he wouldn't, but he reminds you that was temporary. Just to comfort you after he made a mess on your face and said some vile things in the heat of the moment.

You can struggle and sob all you want, but his hands still find their way to pry your legs open and slide between them.

Paying close attention to you, he learns the perfect angle to touch your clit at, the movement and pressure you like the best. The kind that makes you clench and push your hips even though you're weeping over it. He watches for what makes you twitch and squeak, and what gets you wettest the fastest.

Eventually, your twisting and turning morphs into weeping submission, and you experience your first orgasm at the hands of another person. After that, it’s just about breaking you in so you become easier to handle.

You get finger fucked in all sorts of positions. Hugged against him, laid over his lap, face pressed into his pillow. That's how he gets you more comfortable with the way he stretches your cunt, and how he learns what gets you to loosen up and relax. He needs you prepared for him, so that way he can make sure you come when he takes your virginity. He needs you to associate him with pleasure - he's trying to train you like pavlov's dog.

And it works. Soon enough, you’re already wet whenever he spreads your legs, twitching in anticipation despite how your brows furrow. He thinks it’s cute how you pout and look away, trying to hide your shame because your body can’t help but react the way he taught it to.

Especially the first time his head falls between your thighs, your whole body flinching when you feel his lips wrap around your clit for the first time. It turns into something almost self-indulgent for him, what was supposed to be the final step before he fucks you. The face you make is too much for him to stop after the first time. He comes right in his fist when he sees it, and decides to take a few days to enjoy it before he does the unforgivable.

You get devoured almost nightly leading up to it. His head is always buried in your thighs, his cock in his hand every time. And all you could do was whine and claw at his sheets and hair, your body pulsing around nothing and begging for something your brain knew better than to want.

Then the day of reckoning comes. He treats it like any other, rushing into the bedroom after getting home from work and diving between your legs with his dick in his hand.

The flimsy pair of underwear he lets you wear is torn off and discarded, and he slots his face between your thighs to dig in. You don’t protest; you’ve learned by now what little it does for you.

His tongue laps at you, one hand holding your leg open and the other stroking himself languidly. Your legs shake under his hands, but he doesn’t back down. His mouth is at work, waiting until you’ve soaked his chin before he decides you’re finally ready.

You had turned your face away, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid the way he would stare up at you with his piercing green eyes. Everything felt hot and sweltering, but he wouldn’t leave you alone until you had no control over how your body twitched. That seemed to be the direction he was going now, until he pulled away from your cunt.

Your hips try to follow his mouth inadvertently, but he held them down with a hand on your abdomen, his thumb flicking at your clit to make sure you weren’t neglected while he adjusts.

You gasp at the loss and the cold air that follows, your legs still trembling at how roughly he rolls your clit. It seems for a moment that he’s only taking a quick breath, but then you hear his weight shift on the bed and open your eyes to a horrifying scene.

He’s right between your legs, cock still in hand as he started to run the tip through your folds. Panic erupts, and you try to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the hand previously relieving your ache. You try to push at him with the little strength you have, but nothing works, and he’s quick to position himself.

He doesn't take it slow. He's rough, unintentionally or not, and you feel all of it.

The push, the stretch. His abdomen against your thighs as he quickly bottoms out. Your cervix is begging for a stop in the form of pressure felt deep within you, right where he was pushing your physical limits.

You only get a moment to adjust, a sparse few seconds of him letting out the loudest groan you've heard before he's pulling away and ramming back in.

Once he’s in he moves through you so easily. You’re so slick that you can feel it on your thighs — your whole face feels hot at the thought. Despite the overwhelming stretch and slight sting, it doesn't hurt like you want it to. Instead, you just feel twice the amount of overwhelmed and thrice disparaged.

When he feels your body freeze up his hands find their way into position, one just under your hip while he sits back and angles your leg over his shoulder, the other finding itself wrapped over the top of your hip; thumb immediately pushing into and rolling over your clit.

You don’t moan or cry. Everything is just a blur when he touches you — the feelings melt together and you just end up gasping like a fish out of water when he starts to fuck into you. He moves hard enough that it makes your body ricochet every time your thighs make contact, and honestly, he thinks he’s being gentle like this because he’s imagined being so much worse.

But he’s so big that it’s impossible not to feel him stretch you out. At least when he was’t inside you, it was easy to let yourself space out and forget what was happening, that it wasn’t him doing it to you. But now all you can focus on is how intense every thrust he’s pounding into you feels.

He on the other hand, has a frown on his face because of how focused he is. He’s keeping his rhythm, and his face is flushed from his shoulders up, only letting you know about his enjoyment through the grunts and breathless gasps he let out.

With every beat of the rhythm he set, a pressure begins to grow in the core of your body. It slowly builds higher and higher, and he can feel it too. You clench around him, your tense body drawing him in with each brush of his thumb. And shit, it feels so good—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already feeling it too. How could he not when he’d wanted this since the day you met. When he used to rub himself raw just thinking about having you like this.

But he can’t think about that now, because even the sound of your skin slapping together is turning him on and driving him closer. He needs you to come first—he needs it like he needs air to breathe.

So he puts all of his focusing on making sure he’s touching you right, letting each fire of your nerves drive you to your absolute limit. Your hands claw at the sheets, and you finally give him the symphony he’d been waiting for. The loud, choked cry that told him you were almost there — the pressure you felt about to blow. He’s barely holding on himself while his thumbs dig into you, one moving frantically to make sure he sends you over that edge.

He knows a steady pace is what you need, so he gives you exactly that, watching your face scrunch like it usually does and your body tense a little more. Then your breath hitches, and he knows you’re about to burst.

When the finally dam breaks, your hips spasm and you feel winded. There’s a gush, an almost violent orgasm that rips through you like lightning in your veins. Your back arching and toes clenching, he draws out, his rhythm never fading as he fucks you through it. You never let go of the sheets, clinging on like it’s your anchor, while Eren acts as the storm.

The lulled aftermath fades almost as soon as it begins, the tears in your eyes making it no easier to focus as you come down from the oxytocin high. Everything crashes as your sensitivity skyrockets, horribly coupled with the hormone-tinted glasses coming off. You get little pleasure in it now, everything just feels like uncomfortable friction as he moves your other leg into his shoulder and leans over you.

The inevitable comes, and you start to weep. Just like you always do when he makes you come. And just like always, he grabs your face in his hands to swipe the water from your squinted eyes. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He just moves even faster, chasing after sweet release so he can join you in the bliss (at least, that’s what he finds it to be).

He pistons into you like a madman, barely holding back even though it breaks up your tears. You’re terrified for how long it will last — but then he gasps against your ear and lets you hear some of the most guttural moans you’ve ever heard from him, head falling against your shoulder as he presses as deep into you as he can.

You want to scream as he pants above you, your bodies a mess of sweat and slick, but all you can do is cry while he wraps his arms around you. The moment feels like it’ll never end, and your thighs start to feel sore from being stretched. Even as his breathing slows, you’re worried he’s about to fall asleep on you until he finally whispers, his wet cheek pressing against yours,

After Eren makes you touch him for the first time, everything spirals. First it becomes a daily ritual, where he consistently either fucks your hands or jerks off over your face. You fight it all you can, but he does whatever he desires. So the fight in you fades, because it’s hard to keep fighting when you grow comparatively weaker, not allowed to move from the bed aside from a monitored shower or bathroom break.

As days pass and blend together, it feels more hopeless than ever that you could even escape the room he has you in. You start to feel frail.

It makes it easier to manhandle you into whatever position he needs you in, though he's never actually been too forceful with you yet.

If anything he's been very forgiving to your outbursts. Only ever uses the shock collar when you try to escape. You thrash and cry but he’s still slow and patient. He has a greater goal after all — he has to learn your body inside and out before he takes your virginity.

It starts out rough when he strips you to nothing and holds your back to his chest, keeping your arms pinned to your sides so you can't stop him.

You shake your head and plea and cry because he told you he wouldn't, but he reminds you that was temporary. Just to comfort you after he made a mess on your face and said some vile things in the heat of the moment.

You can struggle and sob all you want, but his hands still find their way to pry your legs open and slide between them.

Paying close attention to you, he learns the perfect angle to touch your clit at, the movement and pressure you like the best. The kind that makes you clench and push your hips even though you're weeping over it. He watches for what makes you twitch and squeak, and what gets you wettest the fastest.

Eventually, your twisting and turning morphs into weeping submission, and you experience your first orgasm at the hands of another person. After that, it’s just about breaking you in so you become easier to handle.

You get finger fucked in all sorts of positions. Hugged against him, laid over his lap, face pressed into his pillow. That's how he gets you more comfortable with the way he stretches your cunt, and how he learns what gets you to loosen up and relax. He needs you prepared for him, so that way he can make sure you come when he takes your virginity. He needs you to associate him with pleasure - he's trying to train you like pavlov's dog.

And it works. Soon enough, you’re already wet whenever he spreads your legs, twitching in anticipation despite how your brows furrow. He thinks it’s cute how you pout and look away, trying to hide your shame because your body can’t help but react the way he taught it to.

Especially the first time his head falls between your thighs, your whole body flinching when you feel his lips wrap around your clit for the first time. It turns into something almost self-indulgent for him, what was supposed to be the final step before he fucks you. The face you make is too much for him to stop after the first time. He comes right in his fist when he sees it, and decides to take a few days to enjoy it before he does the unforgivable.

You get devoured almost nightly leading up to it. His head is always buried in your thighs, his cock in his hand every time. And all you could do was whine and claw at his sheets and hair, your body pulsing around nothing and begging for something your brain knew better than to want.

Then the day of reckoning comes. He treats it like any other, rushing into the bedroom after getting home from work and diving between your legs with his dick in his hand.

The flimsy pair of underwear he lets you wear is torn off and discarded, and he slots his face between your thighs to dig in. You don’t protest; you’ve learned by now what little it does for you.

His tongue laps at you, one hand holding your leg open and the other stroking himself languidly. Your legs shake under his hands, but he doesn’t back down. His mouth is at work, waiting until you’ve soaked his chin before he decides you’re finally ready.

You had turned your face away, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid the way he would stare up at you with his piercing green eyes. Everything felt hot and sweltering, but he wouldn’t leave you alone until you had no control over how your body twitched. That seemed to be the direction he was going now, until he pulled away from your cunt.

Your hips try to follow his mouth inadvertently, but he held them down with a hand on your abdomen, his thumb flicking at your clit to make sure you weren’t neglected while he adjusts.

You gasp at the loss and the cold air that follows, your legs still trembling at how roughly he rolls your clit. It seems for a moment that he’s only taking a quick breath, but then you hear his weight shift on the bed and open your eyes to a horrifying scene.

He’s right between your legs, cock still in hand as he started to run the tip through your folds. Panic erupts, and you try to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the hand previously relieving your ache. You try to push at him with the little strength you have, but nothing works, and he’s quick to position himself.

He doesn't take it slow. He's rough, unintentionally or not, and you feel all of it.

The push, the stretch. His abdomen against your thighs as he quickly bottoms out. Your cervix is begging for a stop in the form of pressure felt deep within you, right where he was pushing your physical limits.

You only get a moment to adjust, a sparse few seconds of him letting out the loudest groan you've heard before he's pulling away and ramming back in.

Once he’s in he moves through you so easily. You’re so slick that you can feel it on your thighs — your whole face feels hot at the thought. Despite the overwhelming stretch and slight sting, it doesn't hurt like you want it to. Instead, you just feel twice the amount of overwhelmed and thrice disparaged.

When he feels your body freeze up his hands find their way into position, one just under your hip while he sits back and angles your leg over his shoulder, the other finding itself wrapped over the top of your hip; thumb immediately pushing into and rolling over your clit.

You don’t moan or cry. Everything is just a blur when he touches you — the feelings melt together and you just end up gasping like a fish out of water when he starts to fuck into you. He moves hard enough that it makes your body ricochet every time your thighs make contact, and honestly, he thinks he’s being gentle like this because he’s imagined being so much worse.

But he’s so big that it’s impossible not to feel him stretch you out. At least when he was’t inside you, it was easy to let yourself space out and forget what was happening, that it wasn’t him doing it to you. But now all you can focus on is how intense every thrust he’s pounding into you feels.

He on the other hand, has a frown on his face because of how focused he is. He’s keeping his rhythm, and his face is flushed from his shoulders up, only letting you know about his enjoyment through the grunts and breathless gasps he let out.

With every beat of the rhythm he set, a pressure begins to grow in the core of your body. It slowly builds higher and higher, and he can feel it too. You clench around him, your tense body drawing him in with each brush of his thumb. And shit, it feels so good—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already feeling it too. How could he not when he’d wanted this since the day you met. When he used to rub himself raw just thinking about having you like this.

But he can’t think about that now, because even the sound of your skin slapping together is turning him on and driving him closer. He needs you to come first—he needs it like he needs air to breathe.

So he puts all of his focusing on making sure he’s touching you right, letting each fire of your nerves drive you to your absolute limit. Your hands claw at the sheets, and you finally give him the symphony he’d been waiting for. The loud, choked cry that told him you were almost there — the pressure you felt about to blow. He’s barely holding on himself while his thumbs dig into you, one moving frantically to make sure he sends you over that edge.

He knows a steady pace is what you need, so he gives you exactly that, watching your face scrunch like it usually does and your body tense a little more. Then your breath hitches, and he knows you’re about to burst.

When the finally dam breaks, your hips spasm and you feel winded. There’s a gush, an almost violent orgasm that rips through you like lightning in your veins. Your back arching and toes clenching, he draws out, his rhythm never fading as he fucks you through it. You never let go of the sheets, clinging on like it’s your anchor, while Eren acts as the storm.

The lulled aftermath fades almost as soon as it begins, the tears in your eyes making it no easier to focus as you come down from the oxytocin high. Everything crashes as your sensitivity skyrockets, horribly coupled with the hormone-tinted glasses coming off. You get little pleasure in it now, everything just feels like uncomfortable friction as he moves your other leg into his shoulder and leans over you.

The inevitable comes, and you start to weep. Just like you always do when he makes you come. And just like always, he grabs your face in his hands to swipe the water from your squinted eyes. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He just moves even faster, chasing after sweet release so he can join you in the bliss (at least, that’s what he finds it to be).

He pistons into you like a madman, barely holding back even though it breaks up your tears. You’re terrified for how long it will last — but then he gasps against your ear and lets you hear some of the most guttural moans you’ve ever heard from him, head falling against your shoulder as he presses as deep into you as he can.

You want to scream as he pants above you, your bodies a mess of sweat and slick, but all you can do is cry while he wraps his arms around you. The moment feels like it’ll never end, and your thighs start to feel sore from being stretched. Even as his breathing slows, you’re worried he’s about to fall asleep on you until he finally whispers, his wet cheek pressing against yours,

npt:: @wintrynightz @heart-of-alex @pittsick @rogersgal @kismetsfawn @amourflores @userhotd @im-miss-worldblog @prettysouled @severedlamb @dontlistentodaisy @deadbeatpup @fawnrott @gilmrres @gengarwebs @heapingfern @lilahthedoll @carmysdoll @cup1dssorrow @cumkissed @vlarrtrgryn @beafond @nuitts @meiyokstarr

After Eren makes you touch him for the first time, everything spirals. First it becomes a daily ritual, where he consistently either fucks your hands or jerks off over your face. You fight it all you can, but he does whatever he desires. So the fight in you fades, because it’s hard to keep fighting when you grow comparatively weaker, not allowed to move from the bed aside from a monitored shower or bathroom break.

As days pass and blend together, it feels more hopeless than ever that you could even escape the room he has you in. You start to feel frail.

It makes it easier to manhandle you into whatever position he needs you in, though he's never actually been too forceful with you yet.

If anything he's been very forgiving to your outbursts. Only ever uses the shock collar when you try to escape. You thrash and cry but he’s still slow and patient. He has a greater goal after all — he has to learn your body inside and out before he takes your virginity.

It starts out rough when he strips you to nothing and holds your back to his chest, keeping your arms pinned to your sides so you can't stop him.

You shake your head and plea and cry because he told you he wouldn't, but he reminds you that was temporary. Just to comfort you after he made a mess on your face and said some vile things in the heat of the moment.

You can struggle and sob all you want, but his hands still find their way to pry your legs open and slide between them.

Paying close attention to you, he learns the perfect angle to touch your clit at, the movement and pressure you like the best. The kind that makes you clench and push your hips even though you're weeping over it. He watches for what makes you twitch and squeak, and what gets you wettest the fastest.

Eventually, your twisting and turning morphs into weeping submission, and you experience your first orgasm at the hands of another person. After that, it’s just about breaking you in so you become easier to handle.

You get finger fucked in all sorts of positions. Hugged against him, laid over his lap, face pressed into his pillow. That's how he gets you more comfortable with the way he stretches your cunt, and how he learns what gets you to loosen up and relax. He needs you prepared for him, so that way he can make sure you come when he takes your virginity. He needs you to associate him with pleasure - he's trying to train you like pavlov's dog.

And it works. Soon enough, you’re already wet whenever he spreads your legs, twitching in anticipation despite how your brows furrow. He thinks it’s cute how you pout and look away, trying to hide your shame because your body can’t help but react the way he taught it to.

Especially the first time his head falls between your thighs, your whole body flinching when you feel his lips wrap around your clit for the first time. It turns into something almost self-indulgent for him, what was supposed to be the final step before he fucks you. The face you make is too much for him to stop after the first time. He comes right in his fist when he sees it, and decides to take a few days to enjoy it before he does the unforgivable.

You get devoured almost nightly leading up to it. His head is always buried in your thighs, his cock in his hand every time. And all you could do was whine and claw at his sheets and hair, your body pulsing around nothing and begging for something your brain knew better than to want.

Then the day of reckoning comes. He treats it like any other, rushing into the bedroom after getting home from work and diving between your legs with his dick in his hand.

The flimsy pair of underwear he lets you wear is torn off and discarded, and he slots his face between your thighs to dig in. You don’t protest; you’ve learned by now what little it does for you.

His tongue laps at you, one hand holding your leg open and the other stroking himself languidly. Your legs shake under his hands, but he doesn’t back down. His mouth is at work, waiting until you’ve soaked his chin before he decides you’re finally ready.

You had turned your face away, squeezing your eyes shut to avoid the way he would stare up at you with his piercing green eyes. Everything felt hot and sweltering, but he wouldn’t leave you alone until you had no control over how your body twitched. That seemed to be the direction he was going now, until he pulled away from your cunt.

Your hips try to follow his mouth inadvertently, but he held them down with a hand on your abdomen, his thumb flicking at your clit to make sure you weren’t neglected while he adjusts.

You gasp at the loss and the cold air that follows, your legs still trembling at how roughly he rolls your clit. It seems for a moment that he’s only taking a quick breath, but then you hear his weight shift on the bed and open your eyes to a horrifying scene.

He’s right between your legs, cock still in hand as he started to run the tip through your folds. Panic erupts, and you try to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the hand previously relieving your ache. You try to push at him with the little strength you have, but nothing works, and he’s quick to position himself.

He doesn't take it slow. He's rough, unintentionally or not, and you feel all of it.

The push, the stretch. His abdomen against your thighs as he quickly bottoms out. Your cervix is begging for a stop in the form of pressure felt deep within you, right where he was pushing your physical limits.

You only get a moment to adjust, a sparse few seconds of him letting out the loudest groan you've heard before he's pulling away and ramming back in.

Once he’s in he moves through you so easily. You’re so slick that you can feel it on your thighs — your whole face feels hot at the thought. Despite the overwhelming stretch and slight sting, it doesn't hurt like you want it to. Instead, you just feel twice the amount of overwhelmed and thrice disparaged.

When he feels your body freeze up his hands find their way into position, one just under your hip while he sits back and angles your leg over his shoulder, the other finding itself wrapped over the top of your hip; thumb immediately pushing into and rolling over your clit.

You don’t moan or cry. Everything is just a blur when he touches you — the feelings melt together and you just end up gasping like a fish out of water when he starts to fuck into you. He moves hard enough that it makes your body ricochet every time your thighs make contact, and honestly, he thinks he’s being gentle like this because he’s imagined being so much worse.

But he’s so big that it’s impossible not to feel him stretch you out. At least when he was’t inside you, it was easy to let yourself space out and forget what was happening, that it wasn’t him doing it to you. But now all you can focus on is how intense every thrust he’s pounding into you feels.

He on the other hand, has a frown on his face because of how focused he is. He’s keeping his rhythm, and his face is flushed from his shoulders up, only letting you know about his enjoyment through the grunts and breathless gasps he let out.

With every beat of the rhythm he set, a pressure begins to grow in the core of your body. It slowly builds higher and higher, and he can feel it too. You clench around him, your tense body drawing him in with each brush of his thumb. And shit, it feels so good—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already feeling it too. How could he not when he’d wanted this since the day you met. When he used to rub himself raw just thinking about having you like this.

But he can’t think about that now, because even the sound of your skin slapping together is turning him on and driving him closer. He needs you to come first—he needs it like he needs air to breathe.

So he puts all of his focusing on making sure he’s touching you right, letting each fire of your nerves drive you to your absolute limit. Your hands claw at the sheets, and you finally give him the symphony he’d been waiting for. The loud, choked cry that told him you were almost there — the pressure you felt about to blow. He’s barely holding on himself while his thumbs dig into you, one moving frantically to make sure he sends you over that edge.

He knows a steady pace is what you need, so he gives you exactly that, watching your face scrunch like it usually does and your body tense a little more. Then your breath hitches, and he knows you’re about to burst.

When the finally dam breaks, your hips spasm and you feel winded. There’s a gush, an almost violent orgasm that rips through you like lightning in your veins. Your back arching and toes clenching, he draws out, his rhythm never fading as he fucks you through it. You never let go of the sheets, clinging on like it’s your anchor, while Eren acts as the storm.

The lulled aftermath fades almost as soon as it begins, the tears in your eyes making it no easier to focus as you come down from the oxytocin high. Everything crashes as your sensitivity skyrockets, horribly coupled with the hormone-tinted glasses coming off. You get little pleasure in it now, everything just feels like uncomfortable friction as he moves your other leg into his shoulder and leans over you.

The inevitable comes, and you start to weep. Just like you always do when he makes you come. And just like always, he grabs your face in his hands to swipe the water from your squinted eyes. But this time, he doesn’t stop. He just moves even faster, chasing after sweet release so he can join you in the bliss (at least, that’s what he finds it to be).

He pistons into you like a madman, barely holding back even though it breaks up your tears. You’re terrified for how long it will last — but then he gasps against your ear and lets you hear some of the most guttural moans you’ve ever heard from him, head falling against your shoulder as he presses as deep into you as he can.

You want to scream as he pants above you, your bodies a mess of sweat and slick, but all you can do is cry while he wraps his arms around you. The moment feels like it’ll never end, and your thighs start to feel sore from being stretched. Even as his breathing slows, you’re worried he’s about to fall asleep on you until he finally whispers, his wet cheek pressing against yours,