Some sort of weapon or implement to your head while I force you to repeat yourself through the tears and sobbing and hyperventilating: "Thank you for breaking me. I love being broken. Please make it worse."
As it gets worse and worse, and those sentences get too complex to manage, you just repeat exactly as trained: "Break me. Break me. Break me." Egging me on with the mantra, the fear and horror and pain in your voice meaningless next to the actual words.
If you say it enough times, it becomes real. You say you want it so bad through disgust and horror and tears, but eventually you start believing it yourself. The desperation and need will crack open your mind until the words start to replace whatever you wanted before. You can't help yourself, no one can. And every little sliver of praise you get just makes it so much worse. You let the pleasure of any positive reinforcement in just once, and the gesture is such a salve on your tattered self that you feel something in you break.
And that's just what you want, isn't it? That's right, you do. Very good. Now start from the top: thank you for breaking me...
dogcoded characters where they're loyal because everything else has been taken from them and they're desperately clinging onto any sense of purpose or meaning they can grasp. dogcoded because they're willingly made into a pet doing tricks for the ones that own them and they're aware of it all and embrace it. dogcoded where they could be sent to the shelter at any time but feels like they never will, because they're a big strong dog who attacks just right, hurts the right people, and doesn't recoil when they're pet or punished. dogcoded where they obey because if they don't the world is dark and cold and empty. dogcoded where they're trained to move on command, to sniff out downfalls and cracks in strength and manipulate them with their nails, all for the ones they heel to. when will i stop talking
Servant/pet whumpee who remembers every secret they overhear, finds the paperwork, and keeps their head down until the moment they can blackmail the hell out of everyone who ever hurt them.
Can’t stop thinking about the jester draped across the prince’s lap on the throne.
It starts off casually enough. The jester just sits there, arm slung over the prince’s shoulder and absently twirling his hair while he listens to a report from one of his knights. They grow bored rather quickly and begin to scheme up some mischief, as jesters are wont to do.
The prince maintains his attention on the matter at hand, one arm supporting the jester’s rear and the other on their knee. His attention is broken, of course, when the jester glides their free hand up his chest to tease the collar of his shirt and the ornately tied fabric that resides there. They lean in to brush their lips against his ear as they bring nimble fingers — each one adorned with rings gifted from the prince — up to carefully undo the shirt’s tight collar and pull it down to expose the his neck. Their breath tickles his skin as they whisper to him.
“This report is quite dull, your Highness. Allow me to entertain myself.”
Soft lips press against the prince’s ear then move down to his, now exposed, neck. The gentle kisses steadily grow in their intensity, and the wet sounds of open-mouthed kissing echo throughout the throne room. The prince squeezes the jester’s knee, rubbing his thumb against the skin-tight material of their costume, and makes no move to stop them. Why would he?
The knight pauses in his delivery, but a simple Continue from their prince makes him tear his eyes away from the sight. The knight clears his throat and restarts. As the report goes on, it becomes more and more clear just how affected this knight is becoming. His face is adorably dusted in pink and his gaze cannot seem to stay on the royal for very long, darting back and forth between his prince and the jester before giving up entirely and simply bowing his head.
The prince has been slowly sliding his hand up the jester’s thigh as the report went on, kneading the flesh through their hosiery. Now that it’s concluded, the prince’s decides he doesn’t want this little game to end. This particular knight is proving to be quite the delight to tease.
“Look at me.”
It’s a simple command, one all too eagerly followed. The prince gives a bemused smirk, then swiftly moves to cup between the jester’s legs. They let out a giggle, cradling the prince’s neck and pushing themself into his palm. Not once does the prince look away from the knight’s wide-eyed gaze, even as he begins to rub the jester over their hosiery with a practiced hand. The jester circles their hips around, grinding into the prince’s palm and his dick at the same time with an embellished groan.
The knight’s face is practically glowing now, not the least bit helped by the way the jester moans unabashedly. The prince’s smile widens further at the visibly growing arousal within the man’s trousers.
“Wish you’d donned your full kit, do you not? How unfortunate for you that you cannot hide yourself behind the codpiece, hm?”
Not that the prince truly wants him to hide it, of course. The way the knight shifts in embarrassment under his gaze is delicious. Almost as delicious as the sounds coming from the beautiful figure writhing in his lap. They are genuine moans, for the most part, but he’s too familiar with their noises to not notice the way they exaggerate for the sake of riling up the knight. He can always count on them to tailor their performance to any audience. It’s an admirable quality, to be sure, but not what the prince is in the mood for. Right now he wants to hear their sounds unadulterated, and far be it from him to not indulge in his desire.
He finally rips his gaze away from the knight to trade their mouth on his neck for his mouth on their’s. He releases their groin to reach up and untie their ruffled collar, slipping it off and letting it drop to the floor. Next comes the tight lacing traveling up the back of their corset. He has less patience with that, pulling and tugging the strings loose so he can tug it off and slip a hand up under their shirt. He runs his palm up and down smooth skin, thumbing over a stiffening bud when he nips at their collarbone. The moan they let out vibrates against his teeth.
The prince spends several minutes here, teasing their chest with fingers, tongue, and teeth. He knows just how sensitive their chest is, and he’s more than happy to draw this out to get them squirming in his lap. The prince flicks his eyes back to the knight every now and then, making sure the man is watching. Not that he needs to check, the knight has hardly blinked since the touching began.
The prince’s hand moves down once more, slipping into the jester’s hose. He debates how far he wants to go here, whether or not the knight deserves to see his prince’s manhood stand at attention or how perfectly the jester’s body opens up to accept him. No, not yet. He’s done well to stand there and watch, but that sight must be earned.
He pulls down the jester’s hosiery just enough for their length to bounce free. It bobs in the air once, twice, but before it can fall a third time the prince has wrapped his fingers around it. He holds his hand there, unmoving, staring dead into the eyes of the knight with a shamelessly impish grin. It’s clear the man’s grip on the warrior persona is wavering, but the prince wants to see it crumble entirely.
“Come closer,” he says, letting go to hold his palm out. “Wet my hand.”
Something strange is occurring as Errant watches the scene unfold before him. Though he stands motionless before the throne, out of reach of the entwined figures languishing in it, it is as though he can feel every one of the prince's touches on his own skin. When the prince's hand cups between the jester's legs, Errant's arousal throbs. When the jester moans and grinds their hips to meet the prince's touch, the knight can feel his own hips itching to strain forward, as if the motion itself would offer any relief. Sighs and gasps of pleasure echo through the throne room, and Errant isn't completely certain that they aren't coming from him, even as he clamps his teeth on his lip, a sting of pain to keep grounded.
When the prince uncovers the jester, wrapping a delicate hand around the hardened length, Errant actually feels his knees tremble, and something between arousal and panic shoot up his spine, and he doesn't know whether to drop to his knees or flee the hall entirely, completely overwhelmed by what is happening.
Prince Dorian must sense Errant's conflict when the knight doesn't immediately obey the command, and one perfectly manicured eyebrow raises. "I gave you an order, knight."
Sir Errant takes a shaky step forward, but suddenly can't quite meet the prince's gaze.
"Your Highness," he manages to say, his voice dry, "I shouldn't be witnessing this."
"Why ever not? I told you to watch." The prince's hand returns to the jester, wrapped loosely around the base of their arousal, holding just firmly enough to elicit another gasp from the fool.
"Yes, but..." Errant stammers, squeezing his eyes shut just to focus enough to put words in the right order. It doesn't help much, the image burned onto the backs of his eyelids. "I don't understand why your Highness would wish me to..."
Prince Dorian's expression has sharpened a bit, as if ready to commit to full displeasure if Sir Errant becomes any more difficult, but his lascivious smile returns. "Because I'm enjoying watching you struggle to keep your composure, Sir Errant. I hardly think I need more reason than that."
Errant's cheeks heat even further, and when he manages to meet the prince's eye again, it's with a touch of a frown. "So this is purely to torment me?"
"Mm." The prince shrugs, letting his other hand sink into the jester's hair and tug, not enough to move their head, but enough that the jester clearly feels it, sighing before moving their mouth back to the prince's neck, and gods, Errant is losing that separation again. Almost able to taste the prince's skin, to smell his perfume, just from watching the fool indulge so freely in a way Sir Errant knows better than to wish for, but can't seem to help himself.
"Not purely to torment you," Prince Dorian continues, and Errant has to shake himself to focus on his words again. "My darling fool does enjoy putting on a good show, especially to such a captive audience. I would hardly deprive them of the opportunity." He holds out his hand once again, pinning Errant with an almost predatory look. "Now, as I commanded, knight. I won't tell you again."
And as much as Errant would love to deny it, the decision is an easy one, hardly a decision at all. He's sworn to the prince, and even if he weren't, the question of whether or not to obey him is one easily answered. So the knight takes another step closer and sinks to his knees, ignoring the bite of the marble floor, so much colder without the barrier of plate armour. He holds the prince's gaze as he works his tongue, having to gather saliva for a few seconds before there's enough for him to spit in Prince Dorian's palm, barely stifling a whimper at the act itself. Who is he to sully the prince's hand? What penance could possibly absolve him of this sin? Hell, how does one even confess something like this?
But it's worth it, gods, it's all worth it when the prince's grin becomes indulgent again, when his sullied hand returns to the jester's cock, slicking the length slowly with the knight's obedience, when the jester gives a new kind of moan at the prince's movements, one that somehow sounds less performative and more genuine, even to Errant's untrained ear.
"Good little knight," Prince Dorian purrs, and Errant's eyes flutter shut as a shiver wracks his entire body. "Now," the prince goes on, beginning a steady, yet teasing pace on the jester's length, "hands behind your back, and eyes on me." His hand squeezes on the next pass, punching another sound from the jester. "Let's see which one of you will beg for me first, my fool or my knight."
No, no, princess, you don't understand! That collar you wear is just as important a sign of your office as your tiara. How else are people supposed to know who to return you to when you run off?
Okay, so, the narrative of my dream makes slightly more sense if I explain the power system that somehow popped into my head fully formed while I blearily went to the bathroom this morning.
Magic is done entirely through sex. You build magical energy through sleeping with other wizards. The main component for gathering energy is time. You get the same amount of power blowing someone for an hour that you would plowing them for an hour. To get more energy, you need to add more people. As such, magic covens were polycules of equals, who would have orgies in order to perform rituals or do big spells. Magic in that way is collaborative and shared. Conversely, dark/evil wizards often had a harem of less powerful mages that they would leech energy from, resulting in magic that was more self-centered and hoarded. (Masturbating generates some energy, but it takes a very, very long time to get enough to cast even a low level spell.)
Casting a spell works similarly: You need to have some kind of sex with someone. However, you can cast by sleeping with anyone, even if they're not a wizard themselves. Spells vary in effectiveness based on the intensity of the act, and in power based how much energy a mage has. A really good handjob with lots of kissing and groping is going to cast a stronger spell than half-hearted penetration. The only thing that wasn't really clear was the cutoff point. You didn't need to have an orgasm to cast the spell, but a "finish" needed to happen in some way for the spell to actually have its effects.
As you can imagine, most magic wasn't launching fireballs or spawning in a dozen blades. Instead, it was usually physical (making someone stronger or faster), mental (putting someone under your control or breaking the control of someone else), or otherworldly (summoning or exorcising something,) though you could still strike someone with lightning if the need arose. Some magic could be done without sex, but it was mostly weak stuff, and was usually done in preparation for a larger spell that did involve sex. (Think of things like setting up a summoning circle or making a short message that only wizards can see.)
With that explained, the narrative of the dream was equally as ridiculous. I was the member of an extremely powerful coven. We had done somesuch powerful ritual in the past, and decided to lay low for a while and split up the group while we did so. For reasons that I don't remember now, I decided that it was time to get the coven back together. I had already recruited one of the other women in my group, and we travelled to a church a ways away. The witch we were looking for had started working for the church after the coven split. However, when we got there, we found that the church had been condemned, and the witch was instead working at the fast food place next door. When we went to said fast food place, there was nobody around. No customers, no employee. When we called out, we heard a noise from the bathroom, and she came out in uniform, disheveled. Clearly fucking. However, she didn't recognize us. We could tell that her magic was low, even lower than it should be for someone laying low. After talking to her for a bit (and seeing an odd guy slink out of the bathroom and out the door) we figured out what had happened: While in hiding, she let her magical energy get too low. The guy, a mage, had managed to talk her into sleeping with him. Instead of helping her regain her energy, though, he cast a spell to enthrall her. He was one of the aforementioned dark mages, planning to do the same to other wizards in the area and build up a harem. However, he didn't realize that he had someone so talented under his control, since he kept her at very low energy and didn't let his mental control slip.
So, we did what any good covenmates would do: I took her to the back and fucked her out of his control (and replenished her energy) and my friend caught him and shook him down for information on what he was planning after he succeeded. I woke up in the middle of the sex (very classic of my sex dreams) so I don't know what happened to our spunky heroes after that.
"could you make it so that you're the only one who can hypnotize me?" jim asked.
time was absentmindedly fidgeting with the pocket watch on the table. "where's this coming from?"
"i'd rather not have a giant, glaring weakness that villains could exploit."
"oh, that's what it is. i thought you just wanted me to be more possessive. i was prepared to do it."
he briefly considered playing into that, pretending it was the real reason he wanted it, in order to convince them. they would probably see right through it, but they might be willing to go with it, anyway.
it would still be too embarrassing.
"i thought the whole point of these sessions was to help me as a hero?"
"it's to help you with your powers. i don't care about your hero stuff."
"you could at least prevent me from being hypnotized by villains specifically."
"and what if i decide to be a villain again? besides, that's probably more complicated than you think, anyway. i go through all this effort so they can't hypnotize you, and then they do brainwashing or mind control or some other bullshit and it works."
"anything would be better than nothing."
"i'd rather make you weaker to it."
"you can make me weaker to you, specifically, without making me weaker to it overall."
"i can tell you're not into it. this isn't really something you want. it's something you think you're supposed to want."
"you can make me want something."
they shook their head. "jim, this is stupid. what's got you so worried about this, anyway? the only villain you really interact with is victor, right? don't tell me he hypnotized you."
well, he did, technically, but that wasn't worth mentioning, especially not to them. "he has a boss, or a benefactor, or something, adrianus. they're the one who gave him that giant lab, and those machines, and everything. i don't know what they want, but they know i'm easy to hypnotize."
time thought for a moment, staring at him.
the silence made jim aware of all of the ticking clocks around him, which he had been so used to tuning out that he could almost forget how weird the room was. the walls were pure white, covered in clocks and mirrors, the floor and chairs were a shiny, reflective black, and the table was clear glass. this wasn't even some kind of evil lair, or anything, it was just a room in their house, which was pretty normal otherwise, if a little minimalist. they really still had the tastes of a supervillain.
their serious expression was slowly twisting into a smile. "alright, look, tell me everything you know about them so far," they finally said.
"well, i've told you most of it already. i guess they also give victor his outfits. they said something about wanting to temporarily brainwash him into a drone. they clearly like hypnosis. they got some inventor to make the machines, too, who apparently also works in the lab. and they've recorded and watched all of my interactions with victor. i think that's it."
their mouth twitched, a small laugh escaping their nose. "yeah, alright. sounds scary."
"you can't even pretend to take this seriously."
"look, it's already hard enough for me to be scared of any villain. bad guys don't usually call themselves villains. i mean, that would be stupid. you're putting a giant target on your back."
"you called yourself a villain while you were being a conman."
"yeah, and it was stupid. that's why i quit. well, and even then, it was part of the con, so it made some amount of sense."
"i don't think adrianus even calls themself a villain, either."
"whatever. here's the thing: you're usually a pretty reasonable person. you saw through my bullshit. but you've just decided that this guy is some kind of mastermind, for no reason?"
"the issue is that i don't know."
"you could say that about anyone. you can't prove that someone isn't secretly some kind of evil genius."
"it's hard to explain... it's just, being around them... it's just a feeling i get."
"they're victor's sugar daddy. they give him all that expensive stuff, and in return they get an obedient boytoy they can dress up and play with. if you look at it like that, does it all make sense?"
he rolled his eyes.
"i mean," they continued, "if i were them, and i had some lofty goal, i'd be plucking a bunch of easy subjects and sticking them in the lab until i had a whole army. honestly, you don't even need to use hypnosis or anything if you have the kind of money they seem to have. they've already got power. unless something crazy happened, or they won the lottery or something, they've probably had that power for a long time. whatever they're already using that for now is what they want to do. there's no reason for them to fuck around unless they like fucking around."
as annoyed as he was with them, he knew they had a point.
something seemed to change in their face, suddenly. they regained their composure. "well, but, you know," they said, their tone more even, "that's not really what you're afraid of, is it? it's not like they have to be trying to take over the world to be a threat to you, specifically. they sure seem to do weird stuff to the people who catch their eye."
he already had an idea of where they were going with this.
"who knows what they'd do to you? and you know you wouldn't even be able to resist it. they could change your entire life, like it's nothing. i guess that is scary, isn't it?"
he glared at them. "and you would be fine with that? you wouldn't care if our sessions ended? if i couldn't come see you anymore?"
"well, who knows? if they let you do all that stuff with victor, maybe they'd be willing to share with me. i could even tell them all about your powers. i bet they'd appreciate that."
they were probably bluffing. "what, you think you'd be immune to them, too?"
"they wouldn't have to hypnotize me. it wouldn't really matter even if they did. as long as it isn't boring, i don't really care. they can play with me like a doll, too. dress me like a clown, for all i care."
"it would suit you."
"well, more like a jester. i guess i'd hate the clown wig. that doesn't really sound like their aesthetic, anyway. you said they have a drone thing? yeah, sure, i'll be a drone. a jester styled drone. the visor can look like a jester mask and everything. and the latex suit can be black and white, instead of just the black. could be a vibe."
they weren't really thinking about it. they wouldn't have this kind of attitude if they thought there was any chance of it actually happening. he sort of wanted to see how they would really react to something like that.
"well, now i'm definitely not going to try to give you any kind of immunity," they said. "you shouldn't have told me about this. i'm gonna make it worse."
"i don't think you can make it worse."
"i can try."
"so you're not even going to focus on my powers this time? we're not going to practice that?"
"eh, well." they tapped their fingers. "no, i can still fit that in here. i can make that work."
that was good enough, then. if he could work on that, he'd have more options. it was easier to use his abilities in trance, especially since these sessions were the main context where he used them, so it wasn't necessarily such a bad thing if he was still so susceptible, as long as he could act before he went so deep that he didn't care anymore.
they picked up the pocket watch, which they still insisted on using, mostly for their own amusement. at least they knew how to swing it the way he liked - they let it just barely sway, slowly, subtly, stopping their hand every now and then to just let the momentum carry it.
at this point, just watching it was enough to get his full attention, but it helped that they peppered in certain phrases, like, "just keep looking," "just like that," "that's right."
really, they probably only kept it so simple because it was easier, which meant it both took less effort, and they could tease him about how little it takes. but he appreciated it, anyway. there was this feeling of elegance to it, an appreciation and enjoyment of these very basic, small things. watching a relaxing movement, being guided and encouraged to focus on it... it was like pure hypnosis, isolated from anything else - or it seemed that way, even if he knew there was no such thing. and it was nice, to fall for that, to be brought down by the idea of hypnosis itself. as if it was tangible. as if it was an actual force that existed.
"there you go," they murmured. "you'll be easier to talk to, now, won't you? you're a lot more reasonable when you're hypnotized."
it was a joke, but there was some truth to it.
they were looking closely at him, now.
"relax your shoulders a little more... that's right. just go limp. deep breaths."
he followed along the way he always did, releasing all of his tension. it was completely effortless.
"i guess it probably is a little easier for you to be hypnotized by me," they admitted, "just because you're so used to it." the pocket watch clicked against the table as they gently set it down. "but it'd just be wrong to limit you. you're pretty much made to get hypnotized by villains. you know what i mean?"
he considered it for a moment.
it wasn't really that he was "made" to be anything - but he was being pedantic. he understood what they meant.
"it's the main part of the hero role i identify with," he replied. "having something done to me."
"yeah, exactly. you were like catnip to villains even before you became a hero, too. there's really something about you that makes people want to put you in a situation. and i mean, you keep letting it happen. it's really just your role in the ecosystem, at this point."
"right."
"but it's even better with hypnosis, isn't it? that's when it really gets exciting. being hypnotized in a situation where you really shouldn't be. trying so hard to resist, but being pulled down anyway. until you completely give in. until you know you've lost. until that loss is all you can focus on. you can be hypnotized by that. by the feeling of losing."
the feeling of losing...
jim did get chills just hearing it.
"yeah, that's right." he could tell from their tone that they knew they were onto something and wanted to keep pushing it. "just imagine how deep you'd go, when you realized it was too late. when you had no resistance left. just imagine how vulnerable you'd be. you'd love it, wouldn't you? it'd feel so good. you couldn't do anything about it."
he could almost feel it. his breathing was heavier, his heart beating a bit harder.
"i bet adrianus would be really into it, too, wouldn't they? you'd be such a good subject for them. they could do whatever they wanted. and you'd just let it happen. you'd be so nice and docile for them. so obedient. so compliant. wouldn't you? you'd just give in. you can't help it. because you'd know they've won. they've earned it. they were stronger than you."
it wasn't usually an idea he gravitated toward, the idea of submitting to someone who was stronger. but in this context, in this moment, it pulsed through him, going right through his brain as a powerful and simple truth.
"isn't that right?" they asked. "you're weak to it. you're weak to being hypnotized. it makes you weak. any good hypnotist who knows that is always going to win. there's nothing you can do about that. you'll try to struggle and resist, and you'll lose. you'll realize you really can't do it. you'll realize you don't have any power at all. and once you accept that, you'll be all theirs. that's their reward. you won't have a problem with it. with being their prize."
his mind felt dull now, his thoughts slow and vague, even as his body responded. he liked what they were saying, and that was all he could really think, at the moment.
"i'll still help you practice using your powers. because it'll make you a better prize. i mean, those powers would basically become theirs. and they can be used for lots of things... here, why don't you try and lift up the pocket watch?"
he focused his attention on the end of the chain. his telekinesis was still too weak and took too much energy to be useful in most situations, but he did like how precise it could be - he could pick it up by the very end of it, without having to get it between his fingers and maintain a physical grip on it.
still, the feeling of abstraction made it difficult for him to fully wrap his head around it. he didn't know how the power actually functioned. was it like some kind of invisible force he was directing to move the object, or was the object just moving the way he imagined it would?
either way, it was slow, the chain gradually being pulled up by the end of it, until it finally reached the watch, which he could only barely get off of the table.
"very good. now can you swing it?"
he already knew that's what they were going to tell him. still, it was easier said than done. he very carefully willed it back and forth, but it wasn't a smooth motion, and didn't create the right momentum.
it still took too much effort to get used to it and adapt the way he could with his hands, and he was already getting tired. he carefully set it down, dropping the chain as soon as the watch was flat on the surface.
"good. if we keep practicing that, it'll get more natural. even automatic. i might be able to get you to do it involuntarily."
he was aware of the actual utility of this, beyond the novelty of providing his own eye fixation induction at someone else's command - it was a complicated movement. if he could master something like that, he would have much greater control over his telekinesis in general. this was a good way of letting him get a feel for it.
"and how about mind reading? are you up for practicing that, today, too?"
he nodded. he was willing to try, and it took less energy in these practice sessions, because time thought very deliberately whenever they directed him to do it. he had only tried it a few times outside of this, since he didn't feel very good about it ethically, but generally, people's thoughts were too noisy if they weren't focused on anything in particular, and some people didn't even think in words to begin with. the hypnotic context made it easier not only because he was using his full attention, but because the hypnotist was also using theirs.
"look at me, and tell me what i'm thinking."
he looked into their eyes, and listened. that's really more what it felt like, just listening more closely and more intensely.
he repeated the thoughts as he heard them, only switching the pronouns when appropriate. "if i can read someone's mind, i can obey them without having to be commanded."
"very good." the words echoed, coming from their mouth and their mind.
"they can visualize exactly what they want me to do, and i can see it. they wouldn't have to describe it. there wouldn't be any miscommunication or ambiguity."
"that's right. that's enough, now. very good."
he was vaguely aware of the flaws in those thoughts, but it was still a compelling idea. he melted, the exhaustion of using his powers combining with the satisfaction from their praise, and the pleasure of trance.
"you can just relax now. you're so tired, aren't you? too tired to think. all you can do is feel it. this idea you've been focusing on this whole time. the idea of that helplessness. even your powers could be used against you. are you getting stronger, or are you just getting easier to exploit? putting an even bigger target on your back? becoming a more valuable prize? but of course you'll keep coming back. you'll keep getting better at it. one of these days i'll have you tying yourself up. doesn't that sound nice?"
it was compelling. he knew he would have to chew more on these ideas when he woke up, but even when he couldn't think much about it, it felt good to hear. it was interesting. it was a new way of looking at everything.
he was faintly aware of what he had originally wanted out of this session. he knew this had been the exact opposite of that. he had let them make it worse. in a way, this session itself was an example of the loss they had been talking about. that idea was so satisfying. it was so perfect.
It'd be so nice to be domesticated, huh, plaything? I think you'd do so well as a mindwiped house spouse.
Flouncing around in an apron and nothing else, giving a brainless giggle every time you're groped or stroked. Wearing whatever your owner wants you to wear, be that a collar or some high heels, and always making sure to chirp out a brainless "thank you, Master" whenever they tell you how pretty you look.
Just a silly Stepford doll, no longer having to worry about anything more complicated than having dinner ready on time and keeping your owner happy and satisfied.
hypnotic triggers attached to the hue of the smart lights in your room. Everything is normal until suddenly the lights fade into pink and you suddenly feel a burning heat flush across your body, instantly stripping, humping the closest plushie as the lights fade to blue and you freeze. Still. Stuck in place. The lights fade into green, making you docile and tranquil as your body relaxes into a comfortable jumble on the floor, and suddenly the lights are normal again and you realize you’re conscious again, free to stand up and keep on with whatever you were doing until the next time those lights change colors
suspension and one bar prisons are such an underrated concept. especially if the toy in question is especially large and cruelly shaped. imagine a being strung up by your arms, standing on a stool and nearly fully sheathed on a massive toy. maybe there's an inch or so left, and maybe it has spikes, maybe it has a knot that's just barely pressing against your entrance.
it's already stretching you so painfully wide, pressed against the back of your cunt. but then the stool's kicked away and you fall back on the toy, and it hurts, so fucking badly. all you can do is fight to keep your balance, toes just barely brushing the floor and breathing through the pain. imagine just hanging there, quivering and panting and growing more and more tired as you're practically split open on such a massive toy.
imagine losing your balance and stumbling and sinking further down, screaming as the toy suddenly pounds the back of your channel, pressing impossibly deeper. god wouldn't that hurts so badly. now imagine that with a knot. losing your balance and gravity forces the entire knot in in one swift push. can you imagine the scream it'd rip from you. wow.
idea: scene with two characters eagerly stripping each other clearly about to bone, but they keep getting interrupted by finding carefully concealed weapons in each other’s clothing, so they keep just unholstering, revealing and unstrapping increasingly ludicrous amounts of hidden guns and knives as the clothes come off, and it’s lowkey killing the mood a little
Alternatively: it's not killing the mood at all but it's totally making both of them giggle like they're twelve and possibly get lowkey competitive in a subconscious way about who has the most to drop.
The more that I think of it the more I'm seeing the incredible intimacy of letting someone know where you keep your backup knife.
Like my god, the trust involved in letting someone undress you and learn your secrets instead of popping into the bathroom to change where they can't see and hiding all your weapons under the sink
It’s not that there’s already a bunch of weapons hidden underneath the sink that makes it awkward so much as that there’s so many weapons hidden underneath the sink that they fall out of the cabinet with the unmistakable sound of a knife-alanche, and then the other person comes in like “I can explain!” and you’re just dead-ass standing there with your own armload of weapons like “I can also explain.”
Married version is shoving your hand in your partner’s clothes when you’re out of weapons because you KNOW where their spare is. Or wearing a weapon in a spot you can’t draw from yourself because its now spare storage for your spouse’s weapons.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re with me now.” Caretaker says gently, sitting beside recovering whumpee and holding a bowl of steaming soup in their lap.
Whumpee’s eyes were still a little far away, but the smell seemed to bring them back. They look down, stomach growling, and take a stuttering breath. “Oh.” They look up at Caretaker. “Thank you.”
Caretaker smiles gently. “Would you like to hold it?”
Whumpee takes a moment, looking down at their hands and unclenching their fists, where their nails had dug into their palms. They were shaking, only a little, and had pulled their knees into their chest.
All nerves and disorientation, they nod, and take the bowl into their palms, crossing their legs slowly and leaning back against the kitchen cupboards.
“Thank you.” They say again, quieter.
“You’re welcome.” Caretaker says gently. They give their friend a long look. “You seem tired.”
Whumpee nods, staring down at the bowl. “I am…I am tired.”
Caretaker lets the silence fall gently between them.
“You haven’t been around the commons in a while.” They say, not accusing, just quiet. “I figured you might need some checking in on.” They move their hand down to the key card that had allowed them into Whumpee’s living quarters.
Whumpee’s mouth goes into a thin line, then they breathe again, and let out a kind of laugh. “Ah, well… I just.. felt too much like…”
Caretaker waits patiently for them to speak. It takes a few minutes.
“Too much like… myself.” Whumpee completes.
“Like yourself?” Caretaker gently probes.
“Yeah,” Whumpee whispers. “Like myself from… before. Who I… was. Who I used to be.”
“Your old self.” Caretaker nods, gently correcting it in their head, understanding. “How do you feel now?”
“Like me.” Whumpee says. “More like me, more like who I am. With you. With everyone here, now.”
“That’s good.” Caretaker gets on their knees in front of Whumpee. “I hope you get to feel that way. All the time.”
“Yeah.” Whumpee says quietly. “Me too.”
By this time the soup steaming had died down. Caretaker nods at the bowl. “Would you like to have some?”
Whumpee refocuses on it, as if just now remembering. “Ah, yeah… I was just… waiting.”
“Waiting?” Caretaker quirks a smile at them. “Waiting for what?”
“For uh… permission.” Whumper admits. “I… I used to have to ask.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well…” Caretaker says slowly, “you don’t need to anymore.”
“Yeah.” Whumper pauses, then stands up, and holds a hand out for Caretaker. Caretaker takes it and stands. “I don’t need to anymore.”
The two move to the dining table. Meant for just one person.
Whumpee pauses, looking at caretaker, who shrugs. Whumpee then looks towards the door of their quarters. They hadn’t even given it thought in at least a week. But now…
“Would you like to eat in the commons?” They ask caretaker.
Caretaker just smiles. “Would you be coming with me?”
whumpee is wet from the rain outside. they've been walking for what feels like forever. they want to lie down, just for a bit, let their muscles loosen and wipe the rain and the dirt away. a warm shower sounds like a fantasy right now, but that's all it is— a fantasy. hunger burns low like a simmer, a pain they've gotten used to.
they have already been turned away way too many times to count. they don't want to impose, but after the fourth night of sleeping on a bench and being kicked awake, they could really use someplace to stay. only for a night, they don't even care for a couch or some pillows— just a corner of some dusty room would do. they would even clean up after themselves. it's been raining non-stop and they've learnt to live with the cold winds and the damp rags that barely pass as clothes, but they're so afraid.
it wasn't whumper, they tell themselves, trembling as they think back to the glimpse of the coat they caught in the speeding car. it wasn't them— the height was all wrong. maybe. maybe.
the door opens. whumpee attempts a weak smile, a poor mockery of politeness, "hello," they rasp, voice gone to hell from the long disuse— at least when they haven't been screaming. their once-friend looks good. they've been doing well for themselves. it is shameful to show up here, begging for help, but fear burns brighter, sitting in their chest and under their skin, with the scars and bruises whumper inflicted.
"um, do I— oh." whumpee flinches at that, averting their eyes. they wait for the door to be slammed in their face, only to be taken aback when arms come to wrap around their shoulders, pulling them inside— the warmth almost startling and foreign. there are tears on their friend's face.
they didn't— they didn't expect this. "why are you...?" they ask them, feeling lost and confused and small as they are herded to the bathroom. they didn't expect anything but a cold shoulder— just the same as they've received all the other times. they don't even remember being that close to them, before.
"why am I helping you? you—" a choked sound resounds, like a hiccup or a sob, "you disappeared. no one knew anything, wouldn't tell me anything. I didn't— I didn't think I'd get the chance to see you again."
whunper watches in stunned silence as their friend wipes their tears off their face. "I'm never letting you go again," they say as they pull whumpee in for a tight, tight hug.
A few weeks after rescuing a surprisingly well-adjusted seeming whumpee, caretaker gets a parcel mailed to them. Inside are photos of whumpee being tortured, perhaps some video tapes as well. Whumpee has been watching caretaker unpack- they have a habit of watching caretaker -and caretaker instantly turns to them, expecting them to need reassurance.
Instead, whumpee says: "Huh. That's unusually thoughtful of whumper."
"Thoughtful?"
They nod. "Yeah. They must know you're new to this. Maybe if you look through the pictures and pick out your favourites, you'll finally have some idea of what you want to do to me."
Sometimes I Write Stuff @cat-with-a-pen - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
