I am not necessarily a kind keeper of dolls, nor bots, nor anything else. I am no caretaker, and do not aspire to become one, but I do like to look after my things.
I enjoy the ritual of cleaning, of polishing, of sueding joints and tidying wires. Of piecing together broken ceramics, even - or especially - if they were broken by my hand. I will mend you, if only so that you are in one piece for when we play again <3
I wonder what it would feel like, for a doll to be unstrung. Is it pleasant? Is it uncomfortable? Frightening? Would you remain aware of yourself, while you were in pieces? Could you feel those pieces being handled, separate from yourself?
What about being restrung? Is it a relief, to find yourself back together again? What would that building tension feel like? Would it hurt? Can you feel the pressure? What happens if I leave you half strung? Or perhaps you'd prefer to be left in pieces, strewn around the room without a care in the world.
having a pup with an exhibitionist kink is fun. if we're walking and there's no one around i'm going to tell you to piss on random stuff outside and you're going to do it. because you're a good dog and we're not doing walkies for nothing
the core belief that drives all of my mechsplo writing is that All Handlers Are Losers.
there is no universe in which there exists a Handler that is not a massive fucking loser.
it is not possible.
being a Handler requires such a massive fucking degree of control freak obsessiveness - and, more pertinently, not only giving in to those impulses, but actively treating them as virtuous - that it is simply not possible to be anything but a loser.
See the issue with muzzles is that on the one hand, hounds do look precious and cute with them on and it's an excellent reminder of their station, but on the other hand you can't shove your fingers down a hound's throat and finger fuck it till it's brainless.
See the issue with muzzles is that on the one hand, hounds do look precious and cute with them on and it's an excellent reminder of their station, but on the other hand you can't shove your fingers down a hound's throat and finger fuck it till it's brainless.
The Guest shook his head in disappointment and shot a disgusted look down. “What do you do when they show such blatant disrespect?” he asked his friend.
“I hit them,” Whumper said with an apologetic grin. “Punch them.”
“And then what? Does that work?”
“Well, not really.” He let out a little chuckle. “But I don’t mind.”
A sigh, followed by a short silence. “You’re way too soft on them.”
“I kinda like it when they push back.”
“There’s a difference between liking the fire in them and allowing them to do whatever they please.” The Guest shot him a look. “Like insulting visitors.”
Both looked down in silence at Whumpee, who was writhing at their feet after a merciless beatdown, listening to their conversation. Whumper didn’t seem admonished or ashamed, but did seem to think that over.
“Maybe you should leave them with me for a week,” the Guest finally said.
Whumpee stopped breathing. Their eyes went wide. They sharply looked up, winced hard as pain shot through them, but they found Whumper’s eyes. He was looking at them with a strange expression; still thinking it over. Whumpee held his gaze, shook their head.
“You think?” Whumper asked slowly, eyes locked on Whumpee but addressing his guest.
“I’ll instill the basics. Nothing too drastic, don’t worry. I know the line between that fire you like and desired behaviour.” He looked down too, his sneer turning to a cold gaze. “And they should know as well.”
“Well, alright,” Whumper said, to Whumpee’s horror.
A hand immediately clamped around their wrist and pulled them up without mercy, not caring about the bruises and pains he inflicted just moments ago.
“No… No, wait—” Whumpee started as the pain flared up all over their body, not sure if they were protesting this horrible arrangement, or were hoping for a second to gather themself. Or both.
A slap echoed out. Sharp pain exploded over their face. Dazed, horrified, they let Whumper’s guest pull them in close.
“Do as you’re told,” he hissed in their face.
All they could do was give a meek nod. And let themself be dragged off. To god knows where. With some unknown man.
-
Days had passed and they still didn’t know a thing about this guy. Didn’t know his name, so they just referred to him in their head as ‘Whumper’s friend’. Whumper’s goddamn awful friend. Or asshole, bastard, rotten idiot. Never out loud. No, never again. That had been their first lesson.
So by now, after a week, the only thing they knew about him was that there were no bounds to his cruelty. And that he accepted no resistance whatsoever.
Even laying down, on this cold barren floor, the pain of all the punishment still racked through them. Bruises throbbed with each movement, cuts threatened to reopen, reminding them of their struggles, their resistance, of what he wanted from them. Only the welts on their back fully drove that home and were the ones that snapped that last thread of defiance.
Even a sob hurt, so they just lay there… waiting.
The door creaked open and automatically their body curled up, all tense.
Footsteps echoed closer.
Whumpee hesitated, but still raised their head. Slowly, as if it took the greatest effort. Well, it did. But it was better to gauge what his mood for the day was. Or see if he carried a weapon with him.
“Oh, my,” they heard a familiar voice say instead.
A soft but sharp inhale through their nose. They snapped up—immediately winced in pain.
Whumper crouched down in front of them.
“Oh my,” he said again, this time his tone laced with amusement instead of surprise. “Must be a trick of the light… I’d swear I saw some relief there.”
For once they were glad of their broken body and that wince that covered that relief. Still, they looked away.
But Whumper wouldn’t have it.
His hand cupped their chin, rougher than he would before, fingers digging under their jaw, and he yanked hard to force them to look at him.
“What did you learn this week?” he asked.
Whumpee snarled, biting back their anger. They didn’t want to say it, it would be humiliating. They wanted to sneer and rage instead; shout how his friend was a sadistic bastard, and so was he! But a voice in the back of their head stopped them, a voice that sounded an awful lot like—
“Please,” they started in a soft voice. “I want to come with you.”
“Why?”
Their voice died in their throat. If there was anything they had learned this week, it was to tread carefully. He’d probably get angry if they said he was softer, not as angry as his friend…
“If you learned to be this good...” Whumper purred, and lightly pushed their chin up, “Then it wouldn’t matter with whom you stayed. You wouldn’t need any more punishment.”
No. But if they did… and they would… it was an easy choice between a fist or a whip. Whumpee started trembling. Tears pooled against Whumper’s fingers. He was not swayed.
“Say it. Or I’ll think you’ll need another week here.”
A hiccup. Then a whisper. “He is cruel… so cruel. Please, I want to come with you. You’re not this wicked, you’re—” They choked on the only word they could find that wouldn’t offend but appeal—but it would be awful to say. They swallowed it down. “You’re merciful.”
He let out a soft but kind scoff. The fingers in their jaw fell away. And he held out a hand to them instead.
“Then let’s go home.”
-
General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop @treasureguardingdragon @morning-star-whump @jumpywhumpywriter @stars-hide-our-fires @whumplicity @whumpasaurus101 @theloveofwhump @turquoise-peach @ieattoenailsforlunchlikearealone
"Hey, don't you sit there at the wall, the guests would like to have some fun too. Up-up! And walk to the middle of the hall. And don't you cover up, you hear me?"
Maintenance really would be such a vulnerable time for any kind of doll, or bot. To be taken apart, deactivated, unstrung, and to have to trust the technician to put you back together? To do no harm in the process?
It would be so easy to lose a screw, or tear a wire, or bend a pin. To drop one of those pretty porcelain pieces on the cold concrete floor, and find it chipped. To string you so tight that the ceramic cracks under the pressure, or so loose you can hardly lift a finger.
There would be nothing you could do, if they decided to have a little fun while you were out of action. Borrowing those cold, hard fingers, or the soft silicon of your synthetic skin. Nothing you could do, if their fingers slipped somewhere they don't belong while they work. You're at their mercy, and your best bet is to cooperate well enough for them to consider putting you back together before the end of their shift.
I don't care what you thought would happen, I'm not here to put you together again. I took you apart, piece by piece, but I have no interest in building you back up. You will not come out of this better than you were, there will be no improvements to your functioning, no upgraded hardware or shiny new parts. I am going to gut you like a fish, strip everything worth keeping out of you, and leave whatever is left to rot. If you were truly stupid enough to believe I would fix you, make you into something worth loving, maybe this is all you deserve.
dailybridgerton
baratheonpilled
andulkaphoto
kianamaiart
2087
discoholicmusic
annaxmalina
