Creepy whumper who forces whumpee to see everything being done to him in the mirror, forcing him to not look away. He has to watch her get real close and creepy to him, before being tortured.
We both know what we want and it's this
Ingredients: creepy/possessive whumper, partial noncon stripping (unsexy), noncon touching (also unsexy), objectifying/degrading language, carved mark, noncon kiss (not on the lips)
When he wakes up, all he can see is himself. He’s never particularly disliked his own reflection, but that’s not what unsettles him. It’s that he’s tied to a chair, gagged with his own tie, that he has no idea how he got here, or why he’s here, and that whatever’s coming next, he probably isn’t going to like it.
He considers yelling for help, screaming and struggling, but the knot of his tie muffles even the smallest of noises he makes, and after a few experimental tugs, he knows he’s not going to be able to free himself from the ropes. So he sits and waits, staring at the terrified man in the mirror, trying to make him look less afraid.
Just when he’s managed to look as calm and composed as he can, bound and gagged as he is, he sees a door open behind him, the figure of a woman he vaguely recognizes stepping into the room. Her face lights up when she catches his eye in the mirror. “There’s my darling boy,” she coos, and he feels his stomach twist. The-the way she’s looking at him…the feeling in his gut only grows worse as she gets closer. When she reaches him, she places her hands on his shoulders, rubbing down the sides of his arms, and he can’t help but shudder at her touch.
“Just look at you.” She bends so her face is right next to his, her hand stroking his other cheek, fingers fiddling with the edge of his tie. “You’re so red, huh? What, are you shy?” His gaze flicks between his own flushed face and her hungry eyes, unsure which was a worse sight. “You’re so pretty, you really don’t have any reason to be so nervous. That’s why I took you, you know? I figured you’d look just perfect all helpless like this.” As she fiddles with his tie, pulling it out of his mouth, it finally clicks where he’s seen her before.
“You-you’re that woman from the party! The one that…you got me a drink and then I…” he watches his eyes widen as the realization dawns on him. “You drugged me!”
“I’m glad you remember me, darling.” She tightens the tie around his neck again, maybe a little too tight, and he shudders as she gives it a slight tug, pulling him like he’s on a leash.
“W-what is this what do you want with me I-” Her finger presses over his lips.
“Shh, quiet now dear. Don’t make me cover up that face of yours again so soon.” She runs his tie through her fingers, tugging lightly at his neck as she stares at him in the mirror. He’s powerless to do anything but stare back, cold terror creeping through his veins. A small wave of relief washes over him as she stands, but when he sees a flash of silver in her hand, he flinches, causing her to chuckle. “Not quite yet, my darling. As dashing as you look in those clothes, I think it’s time I get to see what you’re hiding under there.”
As much as he wants to protest and plead, the words are frozen in his throat, and all he can do is watch his lips tremble uselessly as she stands behind him and starts to cut off his clothes. First is his vest, slowly unbuttoned before the fabric over his shoulders is sliced, and he can’t help but wince as she destroys part of his expensive suit, despite the fact that he definitely has more pressing matters to worry about. She takes off his tie next, though he doesn’t find it any easier to breathe as the knot is loosened. His shirt is just ripped open, like she’s excited to get to the main event, buttons clattering to the floor, and he sees a small flash of disappointment on her face when it reveals his white undershirt instead of his bare chest. The cuts through his sleeves are hasty, the knife trailing up his arms nicking him as it goes, little spots of red blooming on his ruined shirt before it’s pulled off of him and tossed aside.
Now that it’s just his undershirt, she slows down, pulling the collar of it taunt as she begins to delicately slice down the front, her eyes lighting up as she sees what’s underneath. He doesn’t understand, it’s just him, there’s nothing special there, so why is she looking at him like that, with so much hunger in her eyes? She makes quick work of his sleeves, and then she pulls away the shreds of his shirt, and he’s left with nothing to protect him from her knife, from her gaze.
“You’re so perfect.” Her hand explores his bare chest, snapping up to grab his chin when he shudders and looks away. “Watch, darling. You’re so pure and unsullied, which means every little mark on you can be from me, and I want you to see them happen so you don’t forget.” He trembles as the knife dances lightly over his skin, he doesn’t know how he could ever, ever forget this, forget the way the ropes around his wrists feel, the way she’s looking at him like she wants to eat him alive, the sight of his own terrified face as a knife trails over his exposed torso.
“So many options,” she muses, “I just don’t know what to do to you first. I want it to be special, you know? To commemorate your first day as my pretty little thing.” He opens his mouth to…what could he even say? That he doesn’t belong to her, that he’s a person, that he’s not going to be her plaything, that he doesn’t want this? She wouldn’t care, she’s made it obvious that he doesn’t have any say in what’s going to happen to him, that any further protests from him will earn him a gag and nothing else. He doesn’t want to be silenced like that. He likes having the option of talking and choosing to stay silent. He doesn’t like the way he looks with his tie shoved in his mouth. He’s already helpless enough as it is.
“Oh, I know just the thing!” She finally comes around in front of him, crouching off to the side so he can still see himself as she begins her work. He watches in horror as she slices a red line on the right side of his chest. He watches the blood bead behind the knife, watches it trickle down his chest. He watches her make cut after cut, careful and neat. She’s writing something, forming letters, and even though they’re backwards in the mirror, he’s able to make it out, able to realize what she’s doing to him.
It’s a name she’s carving into his skin, her name, she’s signing her name on him like a child would their toy, claiming him. He looks away from the blood and the letters for a moment, eyes flicking up to see his face, and he sees tears, he’s horrified, he’s crying, he’s already reduced to nothing, he’s never seen that expression in the mirror before, he hates how he looks right now, he can’t stop watching, he can’t stop looking, even when she finishes, because there’s her name on his chest, his blood dribbling down from each letter like the title screen of some cheap slasher, her fingers running over the letters, smearing the red all around.
“Oh, my beautiful darling, there’s no need to cry.” She bends and kisses his cheek, and he swears he sees her lick up one of his tears. “You’re all mine now, see?” He shakes his head, no, no, he’s not, he can’t be, no, please, no-
Something in him breaks, and he finally allows himself to scream.
