kind of wild how much fiction still treats torture as something that objectively works when every study has shown that it does not work at all and is possibly the least effective way to get correct information
I mean to be clear I love me some whump and have tortured many of my ocs but like. it doesn't work guys. I'm not saying your characters have to know that, but it doesn't.
What if you just dropped a New Year's ball on your whumpee tonight? It wouldn't have to be anything snazzy or special, even a 25 lb medicine ball you got lying around the house could work. Just yeet that thing at their head, ring in 2024 with a bang
a royal who’s trained for assassination attempts, specifically poisoning. building up a resistance by taking small doses, getting sick, writhing in pain, and healing only to do it again and again and again until their body no longer reacts to it anymore.
A whumpee covered in bells. On a collar, tied to their ankles, maybe even pierced into their skin. The catch? They are required to remain perfectly silent.
Concept: A whumper who keeps exotic animals, particularly big cats, venomous snakes, and other dangerous creatures. Their newest pet, whumpee, is caged in the same room as them, left helpless and afraid of being mauled if they so much as breathe too loud.
IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY
“Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped
CWs: Female whumpee, female whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, fantasy racism, and slavery
Dawn’s deep brown eyes met those of the Auction Master’s as the taller woman tilted her head up.
“No visible damage on the neck, that’s good.” She turned Dawn’s head to the side. “And nothing here either.”
The werewolf resisted the urge to gag. She wasn’t an object, or some glorified house pet. Granted, the rod of pure silver being held inches away from her back was enough to keep Dawn from unleashing the slew of insults and likely punches that she wanted so desperately to release upon the Auction Master.
Instead, Dawn merely snarled, and hated herself for it immediately afterwards. The Auction Master’s smirk and the fanged grins of the vampiric guards at the door didn’t make her feel any better.
“Come now, no one’s going to want to buy a pet that snarls at its owner.”
“I’m not a pet.” Before Dawn could even register what had happened, the Auction Master backhanded her hard enough to send her leaning backwards, the nape of her neck mere centimeters from the dreaded silver. The red, hand-shaped mark seemed to burn on the werewolf’s face as she glared up at the vampire before her.
“Bad dog.” The Auction Master sighed and rubbed her temples. “Honestly, what am I going to do with you?”
“Probably let me rot here in this damn cell,” Dawn retorted. Another slap, though not as hard this time.
“Perhaps I shall cut your suffering short, then.” The vampire grinned cruelly. “Guards.” The two guards smiled like hyenas as they came closer to Dawn. Her eyes widened in mild terror.
“And just what do you mean by that?” She tried to sound brave, but her voice shook. Goddammit, now was not the time.
“I think you know.” One of the armor-clad guards pulled out a dagger. It began to approach Dawn’s unmarred throat.
They’re going to kill me.
Perhaps this was a terrible idea, but Dawn didn’t give a damn. She pushed herself off of her knees and darted at the door of the cell. Her fingers reached out to grasp the handle, only for a cold, hauntingly familiar hand to grip her shoulder.
Dawn turned around, terror on her face as she met the cold, unforgiving eyes of the Auction Master.
“That was a mistake, mutt.” She threw Dawn back onto her knees as though she was nothing more than a ragdoll. The Auction Master walked towards her, the soft clicking of her boots sounding like nails on a chalkboard to the werewolf. “Perhaps I haven’t done a good enough job restraining you. I’d hate for you to escape.” She strode over to a locked chest in the corner of the room, and inserted a key from her pocket. She pulled out a thick, worn leather collar, complete with sharp prongs on the inside.
“Come near me with that thing, and I swear I will-” A guard clapped a gloved hand over Dawn’s mouth before she could finish. The Auction Master grinned and approached her, tightening the collar around her neck and giving the strap a sharp tug. The prongs dug into Dawn’s throat, just enough to choke her if someone pulled the right way.
It hurt worse than when Aeden had been beaten bloody. Worse than when he’d been practically thrown onto his knees for looking at Florian the wrong way. It hurt worse than the sting of a harsh word from Florian’s lips, or of a harsh slap from his riding crop. It made Aeden want to puke up his insides in a gross display of resistance.
“Pet, hold out your wrists.”
The snap of Florian’s fingers brought Aeden out of his pain-induced stupor, and forced him to meet the smirking eyes of his so-called owner. He gave no response, barely resisting the urge to snarl at the man. Florian rolled his eyes, as though Aeden was nothing more than a dog that refused to go forward on a walk, and not an elven prince being held captive as a slave.
“Pet, I don’t like to repeat myself. Hold them out.”
Aeden spat at Florian’s feet, glaring at him with as much fury in his eyes as he could muster. He would have outright strangled the man, had the metal collar around his neck not been affixed to a post in the center of the room.
“I will not bend to your whims, you filthy-”
“Ah, none of that now.” Florian’s gentle tone made it seem as though he was merely scolding a child up past their bedtime. He clicked his tongue softly and lifted Aeden’s chin, as if to inspect his radiant beauty.. “I don’t see why you must behave this way. Such a pretty thing shouldn’t- oh you motherfucker.”
Aeden seized the opportunity now that Florian had gotten close enough, and swung one delicate, yet surprisingly strong fist, directly at his nose. Florian stumbled back, his hand over his face.
“You will pay dearly for that, my pet. I will ask you once more, hold out your wrist.” He removed his hand to reveal a bloody nose and a cruel smirk. “I’d hate to return the favor.”
“I told you, I will not be commanded by you, I am Prince Aeden of Kfe Themar, and I shall not follow the orders of a lowly human.”
“Oh, I think you will, little prince.”
Florian grabbed Aeden’s wrists and pulled them out in front of him. Before the elf could even say anything, a pair of wrought iron shackles were on his wrists. A well placed kick in the legs later, and he was on his knees. A few moments later, a matching pair were on his delicate, beautifully unmarred ankles. Aeden looked up with a mixture of hatred and despair, to which Florian only chuckled.
“My little prince, isn’t that such a lovely name for a pet?” When Aeden didn’t respond, Florian looked down at him with a sadistic smirk. “Welcome to your new home, pet.” He turned on his heel and exited the dark room, the clicking of his boots growing softer as he grew further away.
Aeden sat there on his knees for what must’ve been hours. Slowly, the tears came down his pristine, flushed cheeks, and grew into quiet, beautifully melancholy sobs. And as he sat their, humiliated, hurt, and shackled, he knew he’d never felt so very, very alone.
Me? Writing? Perhaps. Here’s to some new OCs. This is the first of (hopefully) many parts of a new series, but chronologically speaking, this isn’t the first.
TWs for: Blood, creepy/intimate whumper, slavery, biting, human trafficking, verbal abuse, pet whumpee, dehumanization, and general nastiness. This also involves some heaaaaaavy lady whump, with 2 female whumpers and a female whumpee. Implied sexual assault and fantasy racism.
“Up, mutt.”
Dawn gasped for air as the golden chain around her neck was pulled by its holder. She glared up at the man in question. She spat at his feet, not breaking eye contact. Best to assert her dominance, he’d never see just how terrified she was. A werewolf like herself didn’t have the luxury of fear.
“I don’t have the time nor patience for this, mutt. Get up.” He snarled softly. “Now.”
“Make me.”
Dawn dared to smirk up at her handler. Unlike her, whose status as a pet was made clear by the collar around her neck, the man’s place as a servant of the vampires was simply marked by a subtle tattoo on his left wrist. Dawn often caught herself staring at it. It was near the only thing she could remember how to read. The words on the marking ran through her head like stampeding buffalo, only twice as loud.
‘Briar’
That was the name she heard called at him every other day, when the auction master came in to check on her ‘merchandise’, as she put it. Oh, how Dawn dreaded those days. Every single pet, chained and on their knees in the middle of their cells, right beside their handlers.
Fortunately, she’d made her rounds yesterday, allowing Dawn a brief respite from her suffering.
“Mutt, if I have to tell you to get up one more time-”
Dawn rolled her eyes as Briar’s harsh voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She remained kneeling on the bloodstained marble floor of the main room. Pets were rarely allowed in the main room, save for exclusive clients to take a close look at them. The only other exception was for discipline by the security guards, which Dawn had a healthy dose of.
“You can’t make me do jack shit, traitor.” Stare straight ahead, show no fear.
She grinned a little, only to receive a harsh kick to her back, and a sharp yank on her chain. Facing her tormentor, her grin only grew wider and more daring.
“That all you got?”
A sharp gasp of pain and shock found its way through Dawn’s lips as an object was pressed against her back. She held in a scream of agony as it remained there, unyielding. It was burning hot and ice cold at once, like the rain in summer.
Eventually, Briar removed the accursed item and held it in front of Dawn’s face. A rod of pure silver, given to the handlers to help keep werewolves under control. Other handlers were hesitant to use it, a tool that even their vampiric masters feared. Briar was not. He feared nothing, and if he did, it was well hidden.
The burn on Dawn’s back slowly began to heal itself, though nowhere near as fast as it would if she was in good health. She made a pitiful attempt to glare at Briar, only for her head to be forced back down as his grip on the silver implement of torture tightened just enough to be visible.
“Up.”
Dawn begrudgingly rose to her feet, her legs ready to give out under her as the pain in her upper back throbbed. So much for an easy day.
’Could’ve been worse,’ Dawn thought. ’Could’ve been the Lady…’
“Now what’s this?”
A feminine voice resounded through the room as the clicking of stiletto heels grew louded. Dawn’s eyes widened in terror as a woman approached her. Before her stood the auction master herself, in all of her horrifying glory. She stood over a foot taller than Dawn, looming over her like the hauntingly beautiful, merciless goddess she was.
She grinned, taking great pleasure in the werewolf’s obvious discomfort. A pale, slender hand laid on the back of Dawn’s neck, who stood perfectly still.
“Good girl,” she purred. The auction master affectionately stroked the werewolf’s dark brown hair, twirling it in her fingers and giving it a few gentle tugs. Her hand trailed down to Dawn’s back, directly onto the burn she’d been given by her handler. “Or perhaps not, hm?”
A low growl was caught in Dawn’s throat, a mixture of pain and anger. The auction master gripped her chin, forcing her head upwards.
“Guards,” she spoke, in the cold, dangerous voice that Dawn had learned to fear. “I want twenty lashes for this one. Perhaps you’ll be able to beat the defiance out of her.”
“Wait, ma’am, please, I was just-”
A slap to Dawn’s cheek silenced the werewolf, as the two guards that stood in her cell dragged her off to the main room. The last thing she saw before the doors closed was the dark, sadistic grin of the auction master.
The main room was precisely what one would’ve thought it to look like. The same polished marble floors as the rest of the auction house, with several expensive rugs and lavish furniture. Along the walls hung several ‘training implements’, as the auction master liked to call them.
Dawn was shoved onto the floor by a guard, ignoring her loud cry as her knees hit the ground. She attempted to distract herself from the pain she knew was to come by counting the veins in the marble. It reminded her of the ancient Greek temples she’d read about so long ago. The auction master liked to play god, and every single guard and handler was her disciple.
The werewolf was so lost in her own thoughts and distractions, she was caught off guard by the first strike of the whip.
“Count them,” one of the guards told her, her voice dripping with disdain. Dawn knew these two by name. Both vampires, though not for very long. Human handlers, willing to betray their own kind in order to freely express their twisted, sadistic desires.
Dawn’s silence was all the incentive the guards needed to amplify their torment. One of them kicked her in the stomach, knocking her onto her side.
“She told you to count them,” the male guard sneered. “Are you stupid or something? Count.” He loudly cracked the whip in the air for emphasis. When Dawn gave no response, the vampire growled and kicked her once more, sending her laying on her back. “These walls may be your prison, but they are our freedom to do to you as we please. And we have all the time in the world.”
Dawn breathed heavily. “And?”
“And I think you need to be taught a lesson in respect.”
Before Dawn could process what was happening, she was being held up by a guard as one of her tormentors approached her with a blade. No matter how she thrashed around, the grip on her arms only tightened as the sharp object drew nearer. Rather than cutting her flesh, however, the guard went straight for her clothes. Dawn’s bloodstained white gown fell to the floor as she screamed and begged for mercy.
No, no, no, not like, this, oh god, please, not like this.
Dawn continued to plead for mercy that never came. The auction master’s self-centered paradise was a temple of it’s own misery and suffering, but there was nothing holy within these walls build from the tears of long lost innocence and abandoned hope.
“Ready to count for us, mutt?”
Dawn turned to the guards, looking up towards their hyena-like grins. The pair surrounded her like wolves to a wounded rabbit. She grinned right back.
