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Armin whimpered; the man's hand came to a slow against his covered thigh. He couldn't help the tears that freely slipped his eyes. They flowed down his face, along with whimpers and sniffles. This wasn't something he’d predicted; he didn't think this would happen. Why Was something like this happening?
“mhn.. “The man let out a sickly sigh in his ear. “I wanna hear you… wanna hear your pretty voice.” He rubbed a thumb against Armins cheek. His breath thick and hot against his ear, against his neck. Armin looked away and at Jean, who was tied opposite of him. The man brought his hand from Armins thigh to his chest. He sucked in a breath and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the man grab at his non-existent chest. There was nothing there, he was a boy– of course he was as flat as a board.
“I thought ya’d have something…” His voice was fuzzed in Armins ears as he kept feeling him. Grabbing at his chest, running his calloused, fat hand along his waist and to his hips. Rubbing his thigh, squeezing it and feeling the minor curves of his masculine body. Yet feminine enough to fool the man, to fool his kidnappers. He felt a sick pit in his stomach, a squeezing pain that churned deep.
There then was a hand going up his shirt. His eyes shot open, he looked down and watched as the man's hand went up his shirt. He could feel his hands along his bare skin prickly and leaving a tingle of dirt. This was dirty, he was being left dirty.
They reached his chest and squeezed it; the flesh wasn't supple it wasn't there at all. Simple skin, ribs and nipple. The man didn't seem to mind. Having no care that he was, from his knowledge, groping an adolescent girl who hadn't even started blossoming breasts. He rubbed a thumb along Armins nipple. Tugging and pushing against it. Armin couldn't help his sucked in breath, a spike of something going straight to his manhood.
No. He didn't want this. He didn't like this. So why was he reacting like this? Why could he feel himself stiffen.
“You like that...?” The hand continued to push and prod at his nipple. It caused Armin to whimper more, he didn't want this, right? The man's other hand slid from his waist to his skirt's hem, sliding under it. He felt around Armins now bare thigh. The man hummed when he had run his hands along Armins underwear. The typical state sanctioned male-underwear.
“Boxers?” He could hear the man's snicker, feel the hot breath against his neck as he laughed. “You really wear those?” Armin turned his head down and bit his lip. He needed to keep his act up as long as possible. Which meant no speaking, no matter how bad he wanted to scream out. How bad he wanted to yell, ‘stop’ or ‘no’. It didn't hurt. It didn't leave a bruise, or a mark. He wasn't bleeding, so why was he so upset? Why was he crying?
It felt like his heart stopped when the hand slipped into the underwear. And traveled down till he could feel it right above his manhood. The man's hands in his unshaven, short pubic hair. He winced at a tug the man gave the short hair. He winced when the man chuckled.
“Unshaven… you a virgin aint ya’” He leaned further towards Armin's face. His fat, pudgy and ugly flushed face now in Armin's peripheral vision. “You are… I’d be honored to take it…” It was whispered words. Armin himself could barely hear, but he did. He didn't think, his mind going blank. There wasn't a single thought in his mind, just pure horror. A primal fear, something telling him to leave. It didn't matter what he did, the man would find out he wasn't Historia. So why sit here and take it, he might as well struggle. Scream, yell. Fight.
Eren told him to fight. Eren encouraged him to fight with him, to fight side by side in the corps. Yet he wasn't fighting, if this was a titan he’d fight. He’d fight as hard as he could. But this wasn't a titan, it was a human. He couldn't kill a human like he could a titan. Even though he couldn't fight him like a titan, he could still fight.
“Stop…” His voice was barely a whisper, it wasn't super high pitched like Historia's. But it wasn't deep like a man's either. He sounded his age, a bit younger maybe. His voice was that of a boy, not a girl, not a man. The man just chuckled at his protest and slid his hand further before groping his manhood. He could feel the way the man's breathing against his skin stopped. The way the man's hands didn't move yet did not leave the spot where they were resting. He was completely frozen behind Armin, hand at his chest, hand on his dick.
“Yo–” The man spoke finally but cut himself off. He stepped back, removing his hands. A sense of relief washed over Armin. Yet he curiously looked back at the man, who stood there staring at his hands. His face was still flush, he still was turned on. The rest of his face was shocked, it was like he wasn't expecting it. Which he sure as hell wasn't, of course he wasn't. He was told Historia was a girl.
“You’re a boy…” He looked away from his hands and at Armin. “You ain't the Historia girl..” His attention went to Jean who was now eyeing the man again. “You ain't the Eren kid either, are ya’?”
Armin bit his lip and watched the man with a wary gaze. He took a sharp inhale, and Jean didn't say anything. The pair both remain silent. They knew being found out could lead to a possible death or being tortured. But help should be on the way. The others should have found out where they were by now, right?
He was wrong. The man had left for about 10 minutes before waddling back into the room.
Armin’s hands were tied behind his back. The man had untied him from his chair. He was tousled to the floor; his legs were free till the man sat on them. There was a panic set in his eyes, he could barely turn his head back to look at the man. He didn't want to even look yet curiosity killed the cat as they say. There were hands at his ass, squeezing the clothed flesh and molding it. His ass was being groped which was majorly worse to him than his non-existent chest. He could hear an audible gasp from his right, it was Jean no doubt. The boy had been gagged before the man united Armin, probably so he wouldn't start screaming profanities.
“Mh.. so pretty.” His hands were now on the hem of his skirt, lowering it. Armin turned his head, so he wasn't looking behind him. Now squeezing wet eyes shut and keeping his face looking at the ground. “I... I was normal...” He could feel his skirt bunched at his knees.
“I didn't like little boys.” Armin wanted to puke, he wanted to gag. He so badly wanted to run from this man's grasp. Wanted nothing more right now than to escape the hold this man had on him. “You made me like them… it's your fault.”
It wasn't, Armin knew that. Yet he couldn't shake the guilt and shame that swarmed his mind. If this man got away, would he prey on little boys? Would it be his fault that the man wanted to in the first place. This was sickening, he wanted to die. He wanted to bury himself six feet under.
The hands were at the hem of his boxers. They were being pulled down, pulled off him. The clothing couldn't cover him anymore, couldn't protect him like it had been. It was gone and there was no barrier as the cold air hit his ass. He could feel himself shiver in not only the cold but fear. A fear that went up his spine and straight to his bones. The tears still flowed freely from his face.
There was a zipper.
Shuffling.
The man's shaky breath filled the room.
Jeans muffled yelling faded in his mind.
All that was left in his clouded mind was the man. His hands on him.
The only thing he could feel was the man.
Pain.
It hurt.
Hurt.
He could feel the blood. The warm trickle of blood coating the floor, and his ass and thighs. He could feel the world spinning.
The last thing he felt was pain, disgust and helplessness. He felt alone. No one was coming, they weren't coming to help him. Jean wasn't helping him, why wasn't he helping him?
His vision jumped to black.
He jostled into awareness. Armin opened his eyes, everything felt numb. He was cold, his gaze looked to see Jean tied up still. The other boy was gagged, his face red with fury. Dried tears on his face that was contorted with horror and disgust. Armin jerked as he heard a slap echo out in the room. He craned his head to see the man was still behind him. The man was still raping him, trusting in and out of him. Flushed face and sweaty hands. He could see the red covering his backside mixed with a creamy looking white.
Oh.
Armin fixed his head back to the floor and remained quiet as his body jostled and jerked forward with each thrust. It made him yet he couldn't do anything but lay there. Wrists tied behind his back, pants and underwear bunched at his knees. Being dirtied by a man over double his age. In, out, in, out a disgustingly repetitive motion. His mind tried to drift from what was happening, yet he couldn't. He couldn't feel a thing, he was numb. Even so his mind seemed to refuse to close and drift away from reality. Wanting to stay here, let him experience each thrust that gave him no feeling. He felt no pain, no pleasure, nothing, he was achingly numb.
Would it stop?
It felt like hours.
It felt like days.