Idk if this counts as a prompt but it'd be helpful if you could answer! Fine if not, of course.
I am trying to write noncon whump but I kinda want it to be a "you don't get it until it's in front of your face" for the whumpee. Does this make sense? It's okay if you don't wanna answer!!!
B, bound to a chair, watching as A sets out BDSM sex toys on a table. A turns to them with a smile. Which drops when they see the innocent, confused expression on B face.
"You know what I'm about to do to you, don't you?" A whispers sensually into B's ear. B flinches away subtly, trying to stay calm. They don't answer. They don't know.
Jumping hard when A touches their crotch. Startled, wide eyes locking onto B's greedy ones.
"What?" A asks. "I don't---why are you---please don't." B stammers.
Or B just stays silent, tears coming to their eyes as they squirm away, starting to shudder.
Or defiant whumpee suddenly realizing what A is doing. Hands and feet bound, face down after being kicked till their ribs ache. "You can hurt me all you want, you'll never get to me." They sneer at A. And suddenly they're hoisted up over a chair on their stomach, belt unbuckled, pants yanked down.
"Nothing to say?" B stays silent rather than answering A's question. They're shaking. Their voice would tremble if they tried to speak.
B, who has been defiant up till now, swallows their words as A's hands trace over their intimate parts. "I'm-I'm sorry," they whisper desperately.
Normally it's common sense to avoid random links that pop up in your inbox.
Everything about it screams virus, from the restricted sender, to the jumbled string of letters and symbols that make up the link itself, to the subject title, a simple “gift for you”. Normally, you'd delete it immediately. Maybe report it as spam. But something holds you back. A single line in the message body.
Anyone up for vengeance?
You're intrigued. It's not the typical line a scammer might use. After a few minutes wrestling with yourself, you decide to do the probably stupid thing and click on the hyperlink. The pull of your curiosity is too strong to be ignored.
The link leads to a simple website with a layout that's almost laughably bad. Design is non-existent; the sole feature of the page you were directed to seeming to be some sort of livestream. Its screen is dark, but the timestamp in the corner is moving.
What is this? You wait a minute, watching the clock tick upwards, but nothing changes. Just as you're about to call it quits and close the tab, the screen floods with light.
A gloved hand fills the frame, holding what looks like a lense cap. The surrounding area seems to be nothing but barren concrete, and as the hand moves away, the room comes into focus, revealing a figure at its center.
It appears to be a man, barefoot and tied to a chair. He's slumped forward, graying hair obscuring his face.
At the sight of him, you know you should feel dread. Panic, even. But instead, your interest only grows. You find yourself holding your breath as the camera steadies.
There's a small pop, and the audio of the feed crackles to life.
“This thing on?” a voice says, its owner stepping into frame. “We've got oh… fifty, fifty-five guests by my count. Seems like a good place to start.”
The speaker is dressed in light grey sweatpants with a matching hoodie, a white mask obscuring their face. They move to the man in the chair, taking a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, angling his face towards the camera. He's gagged, and his face is a bit cut up, but he seems alert. And pissed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Victor Shepard. If you're watching this, it's because he's fucked up your life in some way. Maybe he killed a loved one. Maybe he destroyed your company, or provided blackmail material that ruined your reputation. I dunno. Jack of all trades, this one.” They release their grip, and Shepard's head drops.
“Point is, I'm here to make him pay. For you.” You can almost hear them grin behind the mask. “Not for free of course, but I promise to make every cent worth it.”
Your hands clench, eyes glued to the monitor screen. Fuck. This is a red room stream, isn't it? And a personal one at that. While this reveal should have you reaching for your phone and dialing 9-1-1, you almost feel… excited. You want to see more. Even if the link reaching your inbox was a fluke, there's no way you're backing out.
“Well,” the masked figure continues. “Let's get this party started, huh? What should we do first?”
In the corner of the screen, a poll appears...
alright, first one's a freebie. we're getting warmed up.
I know. Another new wip. But?! It's super not my fault this time! Forces conspired against me! Someone took me out dancing and then someone else had to go and post this delicious trio of pieces and it was over for me. There was nothing I could do, I AM THE VICTIM HERE. This story is happening to me in spite of my best efforts. I am innocent. You're all my witnesses.
Ahem. So, yeah, something new for y'all.
Thanks to @doomeddestination for letting me borrow sweet Benji -- he's in for a rough ride that is not in any way my fault.
3536 words. Enjoy 🪢
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Here all by your lonesome, huh?” Trouble slid in close. The song was winding down; the lull was always a good time to cozy up to someone new.
The stranger with dark, wavy hair flinched, like he’d been expecting a lot more than a voice in his ear.
”Eeeeasy,” he murmured, touching the backs of his fingers to the strangers' cool, pale fingers. The sharp scent of mowed grass made Trouble’s nose itch, but he smiled. “Dance with me.”
”I can’t— I don’t know…how to. You should—“
”I’m askin’ you,” he interrupted, gently taking the stranger’s hand. “It’s you I want.” The next song started, promising something slow and sweet. Perfect.
”B-but—“
”I’ve got you. Call me Trouble,” he urged, teeth showing in his smile now as he moved onto the dance floor, one eye on his partner, one eye on as many swaying bodies as possible. As soon as he found a quieter spot, he pulled his partner in close.
“You need someone who knows the steps.”
“Put your arms around my neck.” He placed his own hands on his partner’s waist, one palm sliding to the small of his back. “There are no steps. Just sway with me. I’ll leave you alone after this song, I promise.”
“One song,” the stranger repeated, finally sounding more sure of himself.
“This is for both of us, trust me.” His partner’s top was soft and thin. Trouble stroked his back, tracing random shapes.
“W...what do you mean?”
“I mean,” he chuckled lightly, noting the stranger’s frown as he slowly turned them both on the spot, “I get that I’m not what you’re looking for.”
“Oh.”
Ugh, you blush so pretty though, Trouble thought wistfully. He wasn’t hunting for someone sweet and fearful, though. Not tonight.
“I-I didn’t... It’s not that you’re--”
“Hey, it’s cool. Really.” He shrugged. “I like your eyeliner, but you’re not my usual type, either.”
“Then, why ask me to dance?”
“Three reasons.” He cocked his head to the side as he held the stranger’s gaze and smiled. “You don’t strike me as mean, and occasionally I like knowing I’m not about to be groped, or have my wrist grabbed so hard it hurts.”
The stranger blinked. After a moment, his brow smoothed and his shoulders lowered a fraction.
“Two. You remind me of someone I know. Sometimes he’s a jerk, but tons of people hurt him, so I get it.” Trouble shrugged one shoulder. “I like being around him. I figured I’d like being around you, too, even if it’s just for one song.”
“Are you friends?”
“I think so. As much as we can be.” Trouble ducked his head for a moment, grinning. “I have to move all the time, and I’m kind of a lot, so I’m not really good at having friends.”
“Hm.” He chewed his lip before asking, “What’s the third reason?”
“How most of the guys are staring at us now. No,” Trouble laughed, spinning them both a little faster, “don’t look, you’ll give it away. I’m trying to get one of them to take me home, and letting them get a look at us touching each other instead of them? Well.” He laughed again and gave his partner’s waist a quick little squeeze. “They’re such simple creatures. Just play along? Please?” he begged, all smiles. “The song’s almost over anyway. We’ll both be able to have our pick after.”
“I don’t know if I... I mean, maybe...”
“C’mon, we didn’t get dolled up for nothing, right? I think you’re gorgeous.” You smell nice, too. “I hope you like whoever you leave with, and thanks for the dance.” As the song wound down, Trouble took his partner’s hand and brushed a kiss across his knuckles.
“That’s it?”
“Uh-huh.” A tall, sharp-faced man with dark hair was approaching them. He only had eyes for his dance partner, so Trouble backed off with a final nod and retreated to the bar.
...
“That wasn’t your boyfriend, was it?” Elliot asked, stopping within reach of his potential prize.
“What?”
As the younger man turned to face him, Elliot smiled at the pink that rose in his neck at the question.
“No, he’s...he just wanted to dance.”
“What a relief. I haven’t missed my chance.” He offered his arm and nodded at a cluster of tall bar tables off the dance floor. Most of them were filled with couples and trios-or-more of friends. Folded menus stood on each table. “May I buy you a drink?”
His choice of the night flushed and looked away before nodding, one hand nervously brushing long curls back over his shoulder.
“I’m Elliot,” he said, tucking the younger man’s arm in his and leading him away. “What do you call yourself?”
“Benji.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Benji.” He’d said it so quietly that Elliot might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been watching his lips. Small and docile already. You’ll open at the lightest touch, won’t you? He pulled out a barstool and motioned for him to take it.
Benji hesitated before accepting.
“My treat,” he added, laying the drink menu flat on the table and turning it to face Benji. Elliot sat on his own stool. The corners of his mouth curled up as Benji scanned the drinks. His hair is so long. It had been a while since he’d taken someone with a style that fell below the shoulders. If he really is as mousey as he seems, I might let him keep it. “The mocktails are excellent here, if you prefer. I like the virgin Bloody Mary.”
The smile Benji offered back as he glanced up from the menu was small and fleeting.
“What can I get you?” A server asked, barely making eye contact with them as she held her pen poised.
“A Virgin Mary for me, and...” Elliot nodded at Benji as he passed his card to the server, smiling.
“A Pineapple Mojito please?”
“Coming right up.”
...
Three drinks later
...
“Last call, you two,” the server warned, pausing at their table to grab their empty glasses.
“I’d like to close out.” Elliot grinned at Benji and winked before adding, “It is a school night.”
The server nodded and left.
“Thanks, for...tonight.”
“It was my pleasure, Benji.” He’d kept his hands to himself, mostly; a quick brush of knuckles as they reached for their drinks, fingers meeting as he passed over an extra napkin. Now, he reached out, slowly, giving Benji a chance to draw away, and smoothed a curl out of his face. “Do you need a ride? I could take you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Elliot chuckled and glanced down. “I’m not ready for a goodbye yet, if that’s alright?” He met Benji’s gaze.
“Okay.”
“Great.” He grinned, and it stayed on his face even as he accepted the check from the server, then signed and returned a copy. Elliot rose and held out a hand to Benji. “I wasn’t able to find anywhere to park in the lot. Do you mind walking a few blocks, or do you want me to bring my car around?”
“We can walk.”
That’s a good pet. “This way.”
...
“It really cooled off out here.”
“Here.” Elliot let go of Benji’s hand and put an arm around his shoulders when he saw him shiver. “My car’s not much further. I’ll turn on the seat warmer for you.”
“Thanks.” Benji was blushing and leaning into the contact.
“This is me.” Warmth flooded Elliot’s chest as he caught Benji’s wide-eyed first look at the car.
“Whoa.”
“It’s a company car,” he demurred, holding back a smirk. Elliot escorted Benji to the passenger side, opening the door and steadying him as he dropped onto the leather seat. As soon as the car was running, he turned the radio down and flicked on the seat warmer. “Better?” he asked, catching Benji’s hand and rubbing it between his own.
“Yeah.”
“There’s really no boyfriend? You’re beautiful, Benji.”
Benji’s pink cheeks darkened as his gaze darted away. He shook his head, and didn’t pull his hand away.
“Where am I taking you tonight? Your place, or...” Elliot bit his lower lip. “I’m into you, Benji.” He laced their fingers together and drew Benji’s knuckles to his lips. “I’d love to take you back to my place.”
“Y...you’re place?”
“We could get a little closer, and enjoy each other.” Slowly, gently, Elliot turned Benji’s hand palm up. He traced the lines he found with a calloused fingertip. “I should warn you that I’m not much of a cook, but if you want to stay the night, I’ll get breakfast delivered.” He pressed a soft, dry kiss to the center of Benji’s palm, then twined their fingers back together. “What do you say: will you let me know more of you tonight, pretty thing? Either way, I can give you a ride home.”
Benji swallowed, then nodded once. “Your place.”
...
A medium-sized house in a quiet neighborhood with ornamental street lamps wasn’t what Benji had expected. Everything but the white picket fence.
“Try not to judge me too harshly,” Elliot chuckled, glancing at Benji while the garage door rose out of the way. “I haven’t really had time to decorate or anything. It’s pretty bare bones inside. I hope that’s alright.”
Benji nodded, ignoring the sudden churning in his stomach. This guy is unreal.
“Come on. I’ll give you a quick tour.”
They got out of the car. Benji swayed on his feet badly enough that he had to clap a hand to the roof of the car.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t help shivering as an arm encircled his shoulders. “Dizzy. I stood up too fast.”
“I’ve got you.” Elliot hugged Benji closer and closed the car door for him. “How about I show you the kitchen first for a glass of water?”
“Thanks.” He put an arm around Elliot’s waist, too tipsy not to latch onto the support. Fuck. The top shelf stuff must hit harder than what I’m used to. The attached garage led to a hallway. He let Elliot steer him to the right and into a tiled kitchen. He could see the outlines of cabinets. The glow from dim nightlights reflected off granite countertops and metal appliances.
“Do you want to sit?”
Benji nodded, now feeling small as well as dizzy. He let Elliot guide him to a central kitchen island and sank gratefully onto an upholstered stool.
“Wait here, I’ll get you that water.”
He watched as Elliot moved through the semidarkness, fetching two glasses from one cupboard and a bottle that rattled from another. Light flashed as the refrigerator door opened briefly and Benji winced.
“Ah, the light, I forgot to warn you. I keep the pitcher in the fridge.”
Benji had nearly blinked his eyes clear of the afterglow when a cool glass was pressed into his hand.
“I got you some painkillers, too, in case you...”
He heard the pills shake as the small plastic bottle was placed in front of him. A warm hand settled against the small of his back and rubbed small circles against the back of his tank top.
“...too much?” Elliot asked. His hand slowed to a stop. His touch lightened.
“N-no. Thanks, I...” Benji unscrewed the cap and, by feel, shook two capsules into his hand. He popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a few small sips. “Thank you,” he said again, flushing for a reason that suddenly had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. He glanced up through his lashes, though there wasn’t enough light to make out much of an expression.
“My pleasure.” Elliot’s voice was soft.
His breath, warm against Benji’s cheek, carried a hint of tomato juice and cilantro from his blood marys. Where did this guy come from? Benji tilted his face up to Elliot’s, his free hand hovering, fluttering for a moment before alighting on the other man’s chest. The hand on Benji’s back was replaced with that strong, warm arm around his shoulders. His next exhale shuddered and he melted against Elliot’s body heat. Calloused fingers carefully smoothed the hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear.
“Hi.”
Benji ducked his chin, smiling.
“I...” Elliot chuckled and gave Benji’s shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I don’t mean for what I’m about to say to sound this forward but do you want to skip the house tour and lie down?”
His heart stuttered in his chest as a hot cheek rested against his temple.
“I could hold you in bed. If that’s, ah, I mean, if you...”
“Let’s lie down,” Benji agreed, his grip tightening around his water glass.
...
A dimmer switch brought the bedroom -- and the king-sized bed -- into view. Elliot kept an arm around Benji as he guided him to sit down at the foot of it. He set the water aside on a long, low dresser, then guided Benji’s chin up with gentle fingers. His heart raced in his chest and he ran his free hand over Benji’s curls. So soft, aren’t you?
Benji licked his lips, then tensed in the silence.
“May I kiss you?”
The whites showed all around his lined eyes, but he nodded anyway.
Good pet. Elliot cupped Benji’s cheek as he leaned in, covering his mouth in a long, soft kiss. He waited until he could feel Benji give, feel the tension go out of his neck, feel the bitten, chapped lips open under his own. Elliot’s hand slid to cradle the back of Benji’s head, tangling in his hair as their kiss deepened.
When Benji whimpered, Elliot found himself twitching with the urge to bite. His free arm wound around Benji, urging and lifting him further onto the bed. You taste as sweet as I’d hoped, little thing.
They were both clinging and panting by the time they took a moment to breathe.
“Uh-huh.” Benji was flushed and limp on the comforter.
“Let me get these,” he murmured, running a hand down Benji’s thigh until he could hook a finger in the top of a boot.
The pink in Benji’s cheeks darkened to red as his eyes darted away from Elliot’s.
“If that’s alright.” He ran a thumb back and forth over a soft bit of stocking peeking over the boot top, his callous catching for a moment.
Benji’s eyes rolled before he could close them, and then he was nodding.
“You’re lovely,” Elliot coaxed. He gripped the heel, his eyes locked on Benji’s face as he pulled, easing off one boot and then the other. He let them fall to the floor and ran both hands up Benji’s shins, knees, and up his thighs. “Beautiful little thing.”
A shuddery sigh slipped out of Benji as Elliot leaned onto him, pressing between his legs and kissing him into the bedcovers.
As they kissed, Elliot kicked off his own shoes, guided Benji further up the bed. He ran his hands over every inch of Benji, over his skirt, across his bare midriff, down his arms. He was already hard from excitement, but when he lightly gripped and pinned Benji’s wrists down, and the body under his arched up, Elliot ached under the seams of his clothes. He groaned against Benji’s lips, but forced himself to pull back and ask: “Can I do something?”
“W-wha?”
“Could I restrain you? I, uh,” he hid his face against Benji’s neck and chuckled into his curls, “I have leather cuffs.”
“Cuffs?”
“Like belts.”
“Do they lock?”
“Do you want them to?” Elliot nosed Benji’s cheek to the side and kissed his neck, sucking gently.
“Fuck.” Benji squirmed, whining softly. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He gave Benji’s wrists a quick squeeze and kissed his way down Benji’s throat, over his collarbone. He turned his head from side to side, rubbing his lips over the nipple starting to perk up through the fabric.
“You can.”
“Soft little thing,” Elliot praised. He gave Benji’s nipple a gentle nip, then found his lips again. He didn’t let up until Benji was whimpering and writhing under him. “Get comfy on the pillows for me. I’ll get those cuffs...”
...
“Is this too tight?”
“No.” Benji’s shoulders left the pillows as he tried to steal a kiss.
“Hey. Elliot chuckled as he dodged, snapping the tiny padlock on the restraint closed. “You didn’t even check.”
“Kiss me, please?” he whined. When Elliot didn’t come any closer, Benji let out a groan and tugged against both restraints, twisting his wrists in the cuffs. “They aren’t too tight, now please.” Benji swallowed, his gaze falling from Elliot’s as he added, “I want you, Elliot.”
“Mm. I’ve been waiting to hear you say that all night.” Elliot got off his knees, lying down on top of Benji. He caressed Benji’s cheek as they kissed, fingers idly running over his curls.
Benji moaned into Elliot’s kisses as the other man’s hips began to grind between his own. Fingers grazed the back of his head a moment before he felt a tightening on his hair. He gasped as his head was forced back in a steady pull, then gasped again as wet lips sucked at his neck. He hooked a leg over Elliot’s and whimpered at a graze of teeth.
“You’re such a squirmy little thing.” He gave the other side of Benji’s neck attention -- more than enough to bruise.
“God,” he’s so hot, I want him to, “please, oh, fuck...”
“Say my name again,” Elliot coaxed, releasing Benji’s hair to move further down his body. He smoothed Benji’s shirt up and out of the way, then lapped at his chest, one hand locked on his hip.
“Elliot.” Benji lifted his head, rapt as he watched Elliot’s mouth move over his nipples and ribs.
“Good pet,” he praised, smiling up at Benji as he crept further down and took the waist of Benji’s skirt in his teeth.
Benji lifted up to help as it was dragged down his hips and dropped over the side of the bed. He flushed as Elliot palmed his thighs.
“You look so good it hurts, little thing.” Elliot stroked circles on Benji’s inner thighs with his thumbs as he looked him over. “Would you wear something for me?”
“W...wear what?” he panted, surprising himself as he rolled his own hips. His heart beat faster as the motion drew Elliot’s gaze. He whined as Elliot leaned down and pressed kisses to the swelling cock trapped in his panties.
“A gag,” Elliot mumbled, mouthing along Benji’s length, “a collar.” He slipped a finger under the material and stroked along the wet slit at the tip.
“Yes,” Benji groaned, throwing his head back and thrusting against the touch, “yes, please, I will!”
“You are too much.”
Benji was thinking the same thing as Elliot made a ring with his thumb and fingers, giving him something to thrust into.
“Look at you go, little thing.” He sat up to watch, and even stroked in time to match Benji’s thrusts. “Such a good pet, aren’t you.”
His face was burning from the words, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He bit his lip as he wondered how it would feel when Elliot...when he... Everything he’d done so far had been gentle. Maybe all of tonight would only feel good. Then Elliot’s hand and weight were gone as he rose onto his knees to reach for the nightstand. Benji whined in protest, thrusting impotently.
“Poor little thing. You suffer without someone to perform for, is that it?” Elliot grabbed a fistful of straps from the drawer before straddling Benji’s chest. “Open up.” He held up the gag first. “It won’t hurt.”
It didn’t look like it would. No giant red ball or metal prongs. Benji swallowed, lifted his head, and opened his mouth.
“Say something if I catch your hair.” Elliot was careful as he placed and fastened the gag. “There. Too tight?”
“Noh.” Benji shook his head.
“Collar next, pretty thing.” Elliot stroked Benji’s cheek and smiled down at him. “Then we get you crying out for me.”
He raised his chin as the narrow leather wrapped around his throat. He chewed on the gag as he waited, feeling shaky but eager for what was coming. His eyes went wide as the collar cinched tight enough to make him cough. His hands went for his throat automatically.
“Whoops.”
As soon as the collar loosened Benji gasped.
“Anxious little thing.” Elliot pushed Benji’s hands away and finished fastening the collar. “Shh.”
It was snug; he could feel it when he swallowed. He found Elliot’s eyes and shook his head.
“You don’t like your collar?” he asked, shifting on the bed so he could lean down.
“Ihs ‘oo ‘igh’--”
Elliot smothered Benji’s words behind a rough kiss over the gag.
Benji froze. Then he let out a muffled cry as Elliot’s hands gripped his hips and jerked him down the mattress until his hands were stretched out over his head.
“You’ll get used to it, little thing,” Elliot murmured, giving Benji a wet kiss on his cheek. He yanked at Benji’s panties. “Be a good pet and turn over.”
Whumpee's voice was raw and hoarse from days of screaming. They licked their dry lips and tried again.
"Please, I can't again, not today.....please......"
"Please what?" Whumper's voice was calm, casual, as they glanced up from readying their tools.
"Please don't hurt me. Not like -- not like yesterday."
Whumper looked at them, almost amused. Then their expression flickered with something akin to consideration, and they stepped closer.
"Alright. I hear you. I won't hurt you today."
Whumpee's shoulders sagged in relief, but it was short-lived. Whumper's grin widened, a glint of amusement sparking in their eyes.
Instead of striking, they leaned lower, lips brushing Whumpee's collarbone. They froze. No blow, no sharp pain — only the unbearable press of Whumper's mouth.
Whumper felt them tremble and chuckled. “See? I can keep my promise. I’m not hurting you. I’m enjoying you. That’s better, isn’t it?”
one thing I LOVE about non-con is whumpee in dishevelled clothing to actually imply that the non-con happened
the collar of their shirt scruffy and uneven
buttons not fully done up
BELTS!! either completely gone or ripped or undone
smudged make-up (or someone else's make up on them)
maybe the way others find out about the SA is because whumpee's clothes slip to reveal a bunch of hickeys/bite marks/bruises
torn or stained clothes in general
haphazardly layered outfits to cover as much skin as possible
or maybe whumpee is found somewhere and from the state of their clothes it is embarrassingly easy to piece together what happened, maybe they try to fix themselves up and the others let them because it is so terribly obvious that no one wants to take away their last shreds of decency
(bonus points if the whumpee usually takes great care to look presentable and being seen in this state is very unusual of them and immediately makes others worried)
cw: noncon, referenced abuse, violence, aftermath of whump, death mention, nudity, emeto mention
previous // Doom AU Masterlist
§|°|§
Stepping out of the pod felt eerily familiar. He had no real memory of leaving the vat that created him, only of waking up on the floor, but Kiv imagined it had been something like this. He felt new again. The pod had closed all his cuts, mended his bones, pulsed blood through his bruises until they faded. It felt like for the first time, he could move around without any pain.
And wasn't it? Sir had hit him only seconds after he'd first opened his eyes.
Kiv hated him. He thought he'd hated him before, when he pinned him down with ease and called him pathetic. He thought he'd hated the bounty hunter, when he ran Kiv down and tried to tear him apart. But no, this burned in a different way.
Sir thought he was worthless. Sir would rather blow off steam beating Kiv to death than accept his value, accept that Kiv had done the impossible and should be rewarded.
Sir was a petty, jealous bitch.
His legs felt rubbery as he stepped onto the floor, a shiver running through him as the cool air of the room hit his bare skin. Some parts of him still ached, just a little. The ribs, the repaired knee, his nose. Ached enough to occupy a part of his mind, but the feeling was a relief compared to the pain he'd gone under with.
Kiv held onto the side of the pod, trying to blink his eyes into adjusting faster. The room before him was bright and blurry, shapes slowly coming into focus. There were a few other pods around him, and a few metal boxes with small doors attached (cabinets?), and in the far corner, leaning against a control pad…
“Survived again, hm?”
Kiv's knees turned into water. His free hand flew up to grip the side of the pod and keep him upright, body going rigid even though all he wanted to do was crawl back inside and go back to the peaceful nothing sleep.
No. Weak.
Sir was right. He had survived. He was better than just a decoy, and people more powerful than Sir knew it. But even as he told himself that, Kiv couldn't bring himself to meet Sir’s eyes, couldn't fight the icy, shameful feeling that gripped his heart and made him want to run and hide.
Fuck you, he thought.
“Bax was gracious enough to give you a room here,” Sir said. “Let's see if you can stop cowering long enough to make it there.”
Kiv gritted his teeth together, feeling his face heat up. Fuck you. He was the coward, sending a decoy to do his dirty work instead of facing the bounty hunter himself. He was the weak one. But Kiv couldn't make himself let go, couldn't make himself take a step forward.
It was too similar to the vats. Him naked and shaky and dazed and Sir demanding things of him.
He'll hit me again.
So what? So fucking what? He was stronger than a few punches, he was supposed to be, anyway. He'd killed the bounty hunter, and he could kill Sir.
He couldn't even look at Sir.
“Get a move on. Or would you rather I drag you there?”
Fuck you.
Kiv let go with one hand, locking out his knees and stiffening his spine. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't supposed to be afraid. If he was afraid, he was wrong, a copy of Sir but not good enough, a sad excuse for an imitation. He wouldn't be afraid. He took one step forward, another, and then his legs gave out, sending him to his knees.
“Fucking pathetic.”
“Fuck you,” Kiv spat out, then immediately cringed away from the words, hands coming up to shield his face as if Sir wasn't standing clear on the other side of the room.
Weak.
“Getting bold now, are we?” Sir was getting closer, circling in slow and even, like a predator. Kiv forced his hands to come down, clenched them into tight fists at his sides.
“I-I’m not pathetic.” But fuck, he sounded like it. Heat was rising in his head as ice spread through his chest. He felt like he might start crying, and he couldn't. He grabbed the edge of the pod again, pulling himself to his feet, every muscle in his legs and core flexing to keep him there. Sir was looking at him. Bored. Unimpressed. Kiv looked right back, jaw and fists clenching as he fought the urge to turn away.
“You made me to die and I didn't. I killed, I survived, and I found my way back.”
“I'm sure you're very pleased with yourself.”
“And I'm sure you're embarrassed,” Kiv spit back, his next words dying in his throat at the look Sir gave him. He was closer now, almost close enough to grab him, but Kiv forced himself to stay in place, to hold his stare.
“Your boss—” What was his name? “Bax— Bax knows I belong here. Even if you don't.”
Sir stopped a few feet away. “Bax thought you'd make a good whore.”
The word wasn't immediately familiar, but it buried in Kiv's guts in a bad way, churning his stomach. He forced the feeling away. “No.”
“No?” Sir echoed. “You think you're better than that, I imagine.”
“Better than you,” Kiv retorted. “Or I will be.”
Sir lunged. Kiv managed to duck under the first blow, fists up to launch one of his own, but Sir was too quick for him. A hand locked around his wrist, wrenching his arm until his shoulder felt like it might tear away.
“Hh—!” Kiv fell to his knees, pinned down by his own traitor arm. “No—”
“Shut up.” Sir kneed him in the back, and Kiv fell forward, his free arm darting out to keep his teeth from breaking on the tile floor.
A thick, angry heat threatened to close his throat, bundling in his chest until he wanted to scream. Not in pain, not this time. He wanted to wrap his hands around Sir's throat, he wanted to punch him until his nose was spurting blood, but he couldn't, he couldn't fucking move, and now it was going to happen again. Sir was going to hurt him again, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.
Pleas were already pulling at his tongue, but Kiv swallowed them. No, no, there was nothing he could do, no way to stop this, but he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't sink that low.
Sir folded Kiv's arm against his back, elbow and shoulder straining as he tried to brace himself for the first hit, the first kick, the hands that would choke the life out of him. None came. Sir’s weight settled onto Kiv instead, pinning his hips, his free hand fiddling with something until there was a metallic click and a swish. At last, the grip on his wrist loosened, and Kiv pulled his arm in, tucking it under himself and trying frantically to buck Sir off. He was answered with a strike that hit him in the ear, made him yelp even as he resolved not to make any noise.
His belt, Kiv realized as he craned his neck around, ear throbbing. Sir had removed his belt. That knowledge brought on a sickening kind of fear, and he couldn't say why. Because Sir was going to hit him with the metal end of the belt? Because that would hurt worse than his fists? But if that was the case, why couldn't he move? His hands were free. He should be fighting back, he should be proving himself for a second time, but his body stayed stiff. Even his breathing felt stiff. Shallow, like the air didn't reach all of him. Almost numb.
He couldn't look back again. He could hear rustling fabric, could feel a rigid heat on his back, but he couldn't look and he couldn't move and he couldn't understand why.
Sir wasn't hitting him, so why was this fear worse than when he thought he was going to die? Why? Sir shifted. Calloused hands squeezed Kiv's ass and something wet was smeared on his hole and suddenly he wanted to throw up.
“No— no—” Kiv choked out without meaning to. He didn't know what he was saying no to. This didn't hurt, wasn't a beating, so why?
Something hot and hard pressed against his hole.
“Keep begging,” Sir growled. “See where it gets you.”
The thing pushed in, and Kiv suddenly broke free of his trance, bucking against the intrusion. It burned, pressure where pressure shouldn't be. Sir struck him across the shoulders with the belt, but Kiv didn't stop moving. He had to get away, had to—
The belt looped around his neck and cinched tight, closing his throat around the scream that built as the thing pushed in further, pressure overwhelming the ring of muscle there, maybe breaking it, maybe tearing him open, Kiv didn't know.
He clawed at the belt, mouth open in a helpless cry that had no air behind it as he was torn apart from behind.
Stop, stop, please…
Sir's hands locked around his hips, forcing his head back as the belt moved to a steeper angle. Kiv's heart was racing, panic flooding his body, but he had nowhere to go. The thing was still digging deeper into him, hurting in places he didn't know could be hurt, stretching that part of him to the brink, dizzying him from the pain and lack of air.
The belt suddenly loosened, and Kiv sagged forward, choking down air. Miraculously, the thing inside him was retreating too, leaving behind an aching relief of muscles pushed too far. It felt like his shoulder felt, but worse, deeper.
Was it over? Was this just some kind of torture Sir was using to subdue him? If that was the case, it worked, for now. Kiv never wanted to feel like that agai—
The thing suddenly slammed into him. Kiv screamed, back arching with the explosion of pain in his guts. No, no—
It did it again, a split second of almost-relief followed by sudden, stabbing pain. In and out, faster and faster as Kiv clawed at the ground and screamed and screamed. The belt closed around his throat again, but the lack of air did little to distract him from the brutal… fucking. That's what this… fucking. He was being fucked. Just that simple realization was enough to make his eyes burn, the sound that came out of him when the belt next loosened a hoarse sob.
He wasn't even fully sure what it meant, being fucked. It was bad, he could tell it was bad from how much it hurt, but it wasn't bad in the way the beatings had been. It wormed into him, burning parts of him he didn't even know existed, causing pain, but also more than pain, in a way he couldn't name.
Kiv could only lay there and cry as Sir’s violent thrusts finally came to a standstill, not even bothering to try and choke the sounds down. Sir drew out of him for the final time, leaving something warm and viscous in his wake.
He huffed far above Kiv, giving him a light kick in the side. “Get up.” He pulled the belt free, and the metal clicked back into place. “You can find your room on your own, big shot.”
Kiv didn't get up. Even when Sir’s footsteps had long since faded, he couldn't make himself move. His guts felt raw, like he'd been skinned from the inside out, but that wasn't the weight that held him down.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the why.
And—and he couldn't just go looking for his room like this. He was naked, and anyone who saw him would be able to tell what happened, wouldn't they? It was like he'd been branded with something invisible, something that would broadcast his weakness, that would change the way eyes fell on him forever.
But he couldn't stay in here either, could he? Sir or someone would find him eventually, and then what? Would it happen again?
It would. He was sure of it. If this was the worst thing, this raw, stupid, naked feeling, then Sir would do it again.
Kiv managed to roll onto his side, whimpering as the motion rippled a new pain through the depths of him. He pulled his knees into his chest, hugging them with one arm and covering his face with the other as if that could hide him from anyone who passed by.
He was the prey again. After that, after everything, maybe that was what he'd always be.
whumper who forces whumpee to thank them every time they're sexually assaulted. who clicks their tongue and says no, no, i didn't believe you. try harder. i need to hear your gratitude. again.
whumpee got assaulted by someone and had to give them a blowjob, they finished inside them. And then whumper gets back and instead of any sympathy, they are pissed. They force whumpee to throw up and then they rape them to remind whumpee who owns them.
Grabbing the back of their head so they can't lean back to breathe. Choking them with their thrusts as they finish, never enough time to catch a drop of oxygen.
Reflexively swallowing to clear the airway
Or swallowing because whumper would beat them for spitting it out
Collapsing against the wall to gasp for breath afterward
"You think you deserved that? Huh? You're not worthy of it. Spit it out. Now!"
"No, fuck You, I can't! You forced me to---you forced me to swallow, you---you---"
Whumper punching them in the stomach till they hurl
Or forcing dirty fingers into whumpee's mouth over the toilet to gag them
"Stop---stop it, stop it! I'll gag myself. I'll puke. Just get your damn fingers out of my---" cut off with a slap
