
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8233955.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Shingeki_no_Kyojin_|_Attack_on_Titan
  Relationship:
      Mikasa_Ackerman/Eren_Yeager
  Character:
      Eren_Yeager, Mikasa_Ackerman
  Additional Tags:
      PWP, Porn, BDSM, Bondage, Orgasm_Delay/Denial, Light_Dom/sub, Femdom,
      Graphic_Description
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-07 Words: 3076
****** Fever Dreams ******
by PornAccount
Summary
     She is swaying her hips to the ethereal song of a flute, played deep
     in the shades of the columned hall. Somewhere a fountain is burbling
     and the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle hangs heavy in the air.
     Very graphic, no redeeming features!
Notes
     This is my porn account, as the name implies. It’s primary function
     is to give me an outlet for things I would be too embarrassed to
     admit to, even in an online account I might otherwise use. You should
     except me to dress in a clown costume and roll around in the rotten
     fish and feces my Id vomits up from the dungeon dimension of my
     psyche. If you are not up for that, the back button is up and to your
     left. As I side note I also might use it to take story concepts out
     for a test drive and/or doodle hints of plot around my porn.
     This particular thing is a porn out-take from some weird steam-punky
     Chinese/imperial German/Fire Nation/rwby fusion thing. I might
     continue with a longer plot, but I probably won’t.
She is swaying her hips to the ethereal song of a flute, played deep in the
shades of the columned hall. Somewhere a fountain is burbling and the smell of
jasmine and honeysuckle hangs heavy in the air.
Diaphanous, flowing sleeves of lavender silk encase her slim, muscled limbs,
the leggings being held up by garters connecting to gold-inlaid, snake-leather
belt around her slim waist. Full breasts sit high on her chest, supported by
two thin, white silk straps, crisscrossing her chest and providing just enough
material for her pale pink nipples to press against, while leaving her muscular
midriff bare.
A curtain of fine gold chains hangs from the belt, her sinuous hip swings doing
more to emphasize the prominent, ivory-smooth swell of her sex than to hide it.
A single scrap of silk, transparent with her juices, clings to the swollen lips
of her sex. Her body rolls in tune with the flute, her oiled muscles gleaming a
pale ivory gold in the lamp light.
If she rolls her hips just right, the barbell capping of the gold piercing in
her mons is brushing against the sensitive flesh of her erect clitoris, sending
sparks up her spine.
If she stretches just right the gold chain fastened to the top of her mons
piercing tugs deliciously on the rings in her nipples.
Time slips as she loses herself to the rhythm of the melody, the feathery
caress of his eyes on her body, the slow gyrations of her body.
The flute becomes faster, more demanding. Bracelets clinking, she falls on her
knees then backwards, her legs widely spread, arms stretched overhead, taut as
a bow, body parallel to the ground, thrusting obscenely with her pelvis.
A thins sheen of sweat mingles with the scented oil on her body, she can feel
his gaze on her exposed center, making her face and chest flush a pale pink and
making the pulsing heat originating between her legs and crawl up her spine.
She has no shame and precious little self-respect, where her boy is concerned.
She wants to slip her fingers beneath her sodden loin cloth, grind her stiff,
pink pearl against the inside of her wrist, release the ache in her creamy
pussy, hart and fast. She won’t, though. She will not let herself come until
her boy is utterly spend and she will not let him come until she is satisfied
she owns him.
The flute falls silent and she takes a few heartbeats to catch her breath and
refasten some of her inky locks, that escaped the pearl diadem, holding them in
place.
Not trusting her wobbly legs to support her she crawls to where her boy is
waiting for her. He is lying on a down feather mattress, attached to the floor
with padded leather straps, his head supported by pillows.
Wiry muscles, messy hair and moss green eyes, she lets her eyes wander over sun
kissed limbs, held immobile by leather straps over his wrists, ankles, elbows
and knees. His member is straining against the loose green silk pants, the only
piece of clothing she permitted him. Her mouth waters, eyeing the dark stain,
where the tip presses against the silk. He is beautiful and helpless and
utterly at her mercy. Her sex spasms at the thought.
She wants keep him safe and warm and shield him from everything that would hurt
him.
She wants to make him beg and scream and whimper her name in agonizing
pleasure.
She drinks him in, a desert traveler and a clear forest spring.
She kneels over his chest, close enough to feel his hot breath on her sensitive
skin, but not close enough to let him touch and slips the loincloth from her
belt, baring herself to his view.
The scrap of silk is sodden enough to be transparent and peels away from her
hairless sex, drawing strings of her juices.
He moans low in his throat and pulls on his bonds, when she presses the silk
against his mouth and nose.
Her pink lips are brushing his ear, when she whispers: “I’ll break you tonight.
I’ll make you beg and scream and cry. I’ll hold you over the abyss a thousand
times and pull you back, until you think you can’t take it anymore. Then I’ll
do it some more.
I won’t let you come until I’m convinced I have dragged every dirty fantasy out
of you, until I own the last scraps of your heart, until there is nothing you
wouldn’t do to, to get release, until your balls are so full of un-spilled
semen that they ache.”
She feels his heart skip a bit, sees his eyes darken from emerald to jade with
arousal and fear.
She gently nibbles his earlobe. “Are you ready, beautiful?”
 
She has no intention to untie him, so she rips his trousers of his body. Her
nails lightly skim his nipples and follow the trail of sparse hair over his
chest and abdominal muscles to his pubis, where it ends. His privates are
perfectly smooth, she shaves him daily in the shower to make certain of that.
His member is rock-hard and straining, a drop of fluid shimmering on the tip,
making her heart beat faster. She can’t resist temptation any longer and with a
relieved moan wraps her full lips around the head. Her eyes flutter shut as she
uses her lips to roll back his foreskin, tongue swirling around his glans. She
takes him as deep as she can, nose brushing against his belly, before she lets
him go.
Tying his balls off in a figure eight-shape with a silk cord before looping it
repeatedly around the base of his erect manhood, makes him groan.
Gently she scratches her fingernails over the taut skin of his balls before
sucking them into her mouth. His body is her instrument, the tensing of his
muscles and his quite moans her music.
Her mouth wanders lower, tongue swirling around his hole, before she thrusts it
into the tight ring of muscles.
Raising her head she meets his half-lidded gaze, the need and lust and
beautiful surrender. The world for all its random cruelty has handed her this
precious gift, the opportunity to own her boy, to protect him and take care of
him and never let him go.
She doesn’t think she loves him. The term does not really do justice to the
enormity of her feelings, that she can hardly contain and even less begin to
comprehend or put into words.
She makes a sound of barely coherent want, before diving back to claim her
prize. Whimpering in relief she latches on to his anus, suckling on the
sensitive skin for all that she is worth.
Her sex is drenched; coating her fingers in her lubricant is a matter of
seconds.
Carefully, oh so carefully, she works first one then two finger into his heat,
watching him fearfully for any signs of discomfort. Finally she finds her prize
and pressed gently upwards. She is rewarded with a groan as Eren pulls on his
bonds. Got you. Her fingers begin working his prostate, while her left hand
carefully massages the baby soft skin of his sack.
His body is an open book to her, so whenever she feels the signs of impeding
release she withdraws and presses down on his perineum to stave him off.
Like a treasure hunter on the beach she collects all the little noises he
makes, all his facial expressions of raw want and need and stores them in a
safe place within. Later, much later, she will return to this trove, pull them
out reverently and warm her heart with them until her memories are warm and
creased and care-worn like ancient photographs.
“Mikasa … please …”
She lets her bangs fall into her face to hide her smile and drags a line of
open-mouthed kisses along the underside of his penis, greedily cleans up the
copious pre-cum, which is trickling down his member.
“Please what, Eren?”
“Miki … oh god …”
“Please what?”
She has thoroughly coated the inside of his rectum with her juices and she
can’t wait, doesn’t want to keep a tight rein on her wildly beating heart and
needy sex anymore. She brings him to the edge again using her mouth and throat
before leaning over to fish the carved ivory strap on from the ebony casket at
the bed side.
When sliding the ivory phallus into her sobbing-wet sex, she is very careful
not to accidentally trigger an orgasm. Even so when she twists the toy in
herself to make sure it’s thoroughly lubricated, heat like a fire flower
blossoms upward from her sex and she has to fight to relax her muscles, to let
the wave of pleasure wash over without letting it crest, biting her lower lip
hard.
When she has stopped panting and reopens her eyes to put on the harness, she
finds him watching her, eyes dark and fathomless. Flushing she hides behind the
curtain of her hair.
She folds him in half, refastening the leather straps holding his ankles down,
above his head. Fighting down her own impatience, she worms the smooth shaft
into his tightness until the toy bottoms out.
“Do you feel powerless, Eren?” She wants to tell him, that he knows nothing. He
has never been desperately in love with a boy, who can leave scars on his heart
with a thoughtless throw away remark.
She rolls her hips, experiments until she finds the angle, that pushes against
his prostate, that makes him whimper and shiver weakly in his restraints. Then
she presses her breasts against his chest, her nipples hard like diamond behind
the silk, rests her forehead against his brow, grabs his bound hands and
interlaces their fingers. She fucks him slow and deep, holding his gaze with
her eyes.
Outside of the here and now, there are a thousand obligations and duties. There
is his crusade for a better world, his ambitions and plans, their duty to their
people. Right now and here, though, nothing is more important to him than her
and the pleasure she can give him.
He throws his head backs and moans like a dying animal. Face flushed, lips kiss
swollen, eyes glassy with need, tears of desperation in his long lashes; her
boy has never been more beautiful to her.
She balances him on the knife’s edge but never lets him fall. When he needs
rest to cool down, after a particular close shave with an orgasm, she kisses
the tears from his eyes, languorously sucks on his lips and swirls her tongue
around his mouth.
Sometimes she whispers filth in his ear, describes every dirty fantasy she
touched herself to in a lonely bed.
“Mikasa, pleeeeeease.”
“Shhh, baby. Not yet.” She grinds the toy against his prostate, kissing him
passionately.
“Do you sometimes dream of a world, where you never meet the Jäger? You and
Armin would have run the mechanic shop in the old factory and I would have
taken over the field behind the main hall and turned it into a herb and
vegetable garden. The three of us would have taught the neighborhood children
letters and sums und proper stealing and knives.”
“You and I would have made love every day. Would you like that, Eren? A
properly submissive housewife?”
“No, I don’t think you would have much use for a housewife. You would still
need an enforcer to bust the heads of any gang, stupid enough to encroach on
our territory, but I think you would like the submissive part.”
Her voice is getting breathy and excited as she whispers heatedly in his ear.
“I would wear those black leather pants, with the laces on the side, that
looked like painted on. Together with the grey leather boots with the
ridiculous heels, that you liked so much, when we were kids. Remember? Your
mouth was always catching flies, when that blond hooker from haven on Silk
Street was strutting around in hers.”
The pants would ride low enough on my hips to show the dimples on my back and
the beginning of the hairless swell of my mons. The whole world would be able
to see that you don’t permit your woman any body hair.
You would bind my hands and my elbows behind my back with ropes you would keep
in your desk and I would sink to my knees between your legs and open the laces
of your trousers with my teeth. I would take you beautiful penis deep into my
throat, while you are having lunch.”
He is close, again. She withdraws he ivory toy from his bottom , sheds the
harness and curls up next to him, one leg curled over him, lips sucking on the
shell of his hear as her fingers whisper over his rock-hard shaft.
“I would make love to it with my mouth and tongue, begging for your delicious
seed with my eyes. You would direct my head with gentle hands and I would give
the control entirely up to you. When to please you with my mouth and lips. When
I got to breath.
Would you like that, baby? My lips sealed tight around the head of your
beautiful cock, my tongue swirling around it. You could come on my tongue and I
would open my mouth to show you for before I swallowed.
Would you send me away after that, my pussy wet and needy, just to keep me
wanting?”
He is close, again. She withdraws from his cock, presses down on his perineum
and watches as it pulses, discharging a steady trickle of pre-cum. He has
stopped begging a while ago, but his face is still wet with his tears, his eyes
glassy and sightless.
“Or would you lift me on you lap, my back to you, so you could watch me in the
mirror on the wall?
Would you spread my legs widely and hook them over the armrests of your chair,
so that the lips of my sex would be visible under the black leather of my
pants?
Would you brush your fingers along the ridges of my abs to the tiny black
turtleneck barley covering the lower swells of my breasts, slipping your hands
beneath it and pinching my nipples?
Would you find me beautiful? The bound, helpless creature on your lap, the
ivory white skin of my long muscular torso contrasting with the black cotton
and leather of my form-fitting clothes
Yours to use and abuse like a beast of burden.”
“Mikasa” His voice is hoarse from all the screaming.
She gently brushes sweaty hair from his forehead and softly kisses him on the
mouth.
“Yes, beautiful?”
“I can’t anymore, please. I need a break. My balls …”
“Does it hurt, baby? Are they full and swollen and achy?”
“Yes. Yes, goddamn it. Come on, I can’t …”
Her smile is radiant and merciless.
“I’ll be the judge of that. And I don’t think you are quite there yet.”
Her hand carefully closes around his swollen testicles.
“Would you pull on the front laces of my leather pants until they parted,
baring the wet, pink flesh of my sex to your view?
Would you sink you hard, straining member into me, while I was lying bound in
your arms, trembling weakly and moaning my need? My head would lol back onto
your shoulder, my half-lidded gaze meeting yours in the mirror. The muscles of
my sex milking your cock, while the fingers of your left gently but insistently
massaging my clit and you right on my throat, putting pressure on my carotid
arteries until I’m dizzy and light headed.
Would you like that, Eren? Having me as your servant, as your sex slave? Would
you like to bind me spread-eagle to the bed, my breasts pulled flat and high,
my stomach concave, my limbs straining against the chains and slide your fat
cock in my creamy pussy, until I was whimpering and begging?
Please don’t make me cum Eren, please. The boy I love said he wouldn’t have sex
with me anymore, if I did, so please don’t make me cum. Please, anything but
that. Mercy. Please mercy.
Would you allow me to be punished in another way? Whip my pussy with a leather
strap until droplets of my juices would be flying from it, until I would be
screaming in pleasure and pain? Would you make me watch you, fucking another
woman? My hands bound behind my back and fixed to an iron ring in the wall,
with my foamy pussy juice still slick on my nether lips and thighs and tears in
my eyes?”
Her hands are massaging oil in his rock-hard shaft, but his eyes have rolled
back into his head. Only animal noises are coming from him.
“Would you make me kneel before her, after, my hands tied on my back, my nose
buried in the small golden triangle on her mons while I suck your seed from her
sex? My tongue deep in her, cleaning out the last of your mixed juices? My
mouth on the smooth, hairless lips of her sex?
Or maybe you would pull out at the last second, shut your creamy load across
the floor and make me clean it up with my tongue?
Maybe you would worm your beautiful sturdy cock into her pink anus, until she
groans with pain and want. Use her that way until it’s time to glide you penis
down my throat and give me my creamy prize.
Would you let me sleep next to you, my hand still bound, so that I could bury
my face in your neck and hump my drooling pussy against your leg to find some
release, while you slept? Or would you let me suffer? Cold and bound and
unsatisfied next to your bed, my only comfort your hand on my head when you
lover takes you into her mouth?”
She glides down his bound body, slippery with oil and pre-cum, releases the
silk cord around his balls, as her mouth closes around his head, tongue
swirling and her right index finger slips into his anus to press down
insistently on his prostate.
He comes with a soundless scream, pulsing thick, white come into her mouth,
until it’s pungent smell filling her head and sinuses, while she swallows
greedily.
“Would you make me yours?
Please, Eren would you?”
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