Ok so 👀👀 for a nsfw prompt: a whumpee who was abused by their captor and now they think their only worth is as a sexual object, and caretaker doesn’t know how to deal with it/deprogram them. No pressure to write it if it’s not your thing, of course!!
VERY MUCH MY THING. I LOVE THE ANGST IT’S SO GOOD. Poor both of them 🥺
CWs: past trauma/pet whump (so mentions of past n-oncon), and a very failed seduction of an unconsenting Caretaker (so also very brief noncon kissing/touching, but not with any malice or whumper-ness behind it), and Whumpee kinda victim-blaming themselves
x
“Whumpee.”
“Yes, Master?”
Oh, God.
Caretaker breathes in and heavily sighs it out, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of their nose and then drag their hand down their face.
“Please put your clothes back on.”
Whumpee looks up at them, and their expression turns a bit confused. They wiggle a little on the bed, and then spread their legs a little further apart, and Caretaker can’t look anymore. It feels wrong. It feels like they're violating them without even doing a thing.
“But I’m ready,” Whumpee says, confused.
“Ready?” Caretaker echoes, to the floor, and Whumpee shifts again, and the moan they let out makes the blood rush to Caretaker’s cheeks as they duck their head even further.
“For you, Master.”
“God,” Caretaker groans, and then grabs the throw from the chair in the corner, tossing it over Whumpee's lower half as they approach. “We have to talk.”
“Yes sir,” Whumpee says, tilting their head, and Caretaker shakes their own.
“No. I’m not sir. I’m not Master. I told you. I’m Caretaker. I’m not—” They sigh again, even harder somehow. It almost hurts. This all almost hurts. “I’m not going to have sex with you."
Whumpee’s breath hitches. They sound like they’re going to cry, and Caretaker doesn’t know why until—
“I—I was bad?”
“What? Whumpee, no, I just—”
“I was bad,” Whumpee whispers, and buries their face in their hands, starting to curl up into the same ball they’d been in for the entire first day Caretaker had them here. “I was bad, I was bad, I was bad, I’m sorry, what did I do? What did I—”
“Whumpee.”
But Whumpee doesn’t seem to hear them. They cry even harder, trembling, and the second Caretaker reaches out to touch them, to hold them, do something because they can't stand to see the poor thing like this, Whumpee moans.
"Please...take me...please...I'll be so good for you, Master!" Even with their voice choked with tears, their face red and wet, they try to get closer, pawing at Caretaker's pants, kissing at Caretaker's shoulder, trying to nuzzle up to do it to their neck until Caretaker flinches away. "Wait! No, I-I'll use my mouth, I—I don't bite, they trained me good, I promise—just don't—don't be mad at me, Master, please—"
"Oh, Whumpee…" Caretaker can't keep their own voice from shaking. They can't keep the tremble out if their hand as they reach to pet Whumpee's hair, because they know now it seems to calm them down. "Oh, what did they do to you?"
"Trained me good," Whumpee whispers, but...this time they sound haunted. For good reasons, Caretaker is sure, and Caretaker doesn't want to know a single one of them.
"You're good," Caretaker tells them. "Okay? Just. Please. I think you're beautiful. You are. There's nothing wrong with you. And you didn't do anything bad. I’m not mad at you!"
Whumpee sniffles. "But...you don't want me.”
“No, Whumpee. I mean—I want you here. I don’t want to…” They gesture, a bit helplessly. “Do anything to you.”
“Why...wh-why else am I here?"
"You're here to be safe. You're here so you don't have to be hurt anymore!"
But Whumpee doesn't look like they believe that. And of course they don't. Caretaker isn't a therapist, they just met Whumpee, and they have no idea what they're doing. Not a clue. They have Whumpee because the chance had been there to take, to rescue, to be a hero.
It's turned out so much more complicated now than they ever could have dreamed. And it's not their fault, of course; Caretaker doesn’t blame them. They just want to help.
But there’s so damn far to go, and they have no idea where to even start.
CWs: pet whump, mentions of dissociation, trafficking/slavery, noncon touching/kissing, implied noncon (in pt.3 perhaps...)
Part 2 (previous)
The first time he was taken to one of these parties, he couldn't keep himself from crying. All the pain, the humiliation—it was all too goddamn much. He broke down completely, and they loved him more for it.
Now...now he's done it before. Now he knows what to expect, right? However awful, he doesn't think anything can surprise him. He knows what's going to happen here. It's the same thing that happens most of the time, now.
He gets hurt. He always gets hurt, and often he just...goes numb. Removes himself. It's not a conscious decision, more his mind's way to cope with it all, but he's grateful. It's safer that way.
So he won't cry this time. He isn't going to cry.
But that's always what he tells himself, and still he always...
Not this time, though. It's okay. He can be strong. He can be. For himself, for...
Don't think. Don't think. Not here.
It's so much easier if he just lets his mind go blank, lets things happen like he's supposed to...because they're going to happen either way.
He feels the man slip a finger into the O ring of his collar, leading him by it, and he blinks hard, crossing one arm over his chest and cupping the other at his front to try hopelessly to shield himself from all of the guests' wandering, hungry gazes.
"Ah, ah." His collar is yanked hard enough that he chokes, that he stumbles and instinctively holds his hands out again to balance himself.
"Don't you put them back. Let everyone see how pretty you are. Don't be shy..."
He obeys. He keeps his arms stiff at his sides.
He won't cry. He isn't going to cry.
"Come on, baby. Lighten up. Give us a smile."
All eyes staring at him, and he whimpers involuntarily, forcing a tiny smile only because he knows he's going to suffer if he doesn't.
"There's a good boy...we're all here to have fun, remember? Relax..."
But he can't, he can't, squirming and flinching as he's touched, gasping as someone gropes where they shouldn't, as he's tugged backwards and into a stranger's lap.
"It's okay," he's told. "You like this. You want this."
He doesn't, God, he doesn't—but he isn't going to cry.
And then one of them hooks their fingers into the thin strap of his top, tugging it off his shoulder, and the one with hands settled on his hips slides those down under the fabric there, and he starts to cry anyways.
"No," Whumpee pleads, trying to twist himself away, but the ropes around his wrists keeping him firmly attached to the headboard haven't loosened. As much as he's been struggling, as much as Whumper has been making him squirm—
He can't get free. He hasn't been able to yet, at any point.
He's starting to really, truly think he never will.
"You fucking asshole, you—"
Whumper starts to touch him again, and Whumpee cuts off with a cry because it hurts. He's aching and too sensitive and he wants it to stop, and yet...
"Oh, you moan so pretty, pet. Come on...beg me to let you finish again...you sounded so cute..."
No. No. He'd been begging to end it, not to—
"Don't be embarrassed...it's not like there's any reason to be shy anymore...I've seen everything now."
Whumpee can't hold back a sob at that. "You're s-sick, you—you're—"
"And you're blushing." Whumper reaches up to stroke his chin, and fucking coos at him. "Such adorable little pink cheeks..."
"I hate you! I hate you, you sick fuck!"
"My favorite thing to hear," Whumper murmurs, leaning over to kiss at his chest. "I'll miss it, when you start telling me you love me."
No. No. Not that. Never, ever fucking that. But instead of another protest what comes out is a moan, and he tries to tuck his legs up to protect himself to make it stop, because he can't make himself stop, but Whumper pushes them apart again, too easily. They manipulate Whumpee too fucking easily. They touch him everywhere, and as much as he tries to keep quiet it all drags more sounds from his sore throat, makes him bite his lip until it bleeds again as he twists against the sheets, until he finally tries to roll over onto his side, to get away, because as overstimulated as he is the feelings are turning into that again, and he's going to—
"Ah, ah." He's pushed back over onto his back, forced to stay there. He's never felt so helpless, not with anything Whumper's done. "You've done so good for me, pet. Just one more and you can rest. I promise. You just...you look so good, writhing like this..."
"I can't," Whumpee sobs, shaking his head. "Not again, I can't, oh God, I can't..."
"Oh, but that's what you said last time...and the time before that." Whumper leans over, kissing and nipping along his chest, and Whumpee cries out. "I want to see if you mean it this time."
"Ah! Too much!"
"I don't think it's nearly enough, my sweet," Whumper purrs, licking at his neck, then sucking another mark onto it, and Whumpee's head falls back against the pillows as he gasps.
It shouldn't feel like that, it shouldn't feel like this—
"I don't—ngh—want to!"
"If you really didn't want to," Whumper tells him, "you wouldn't have. But you must like my touch. In fact, I'd even say you love it. And wouldn't it just so happen...I love to touch you, too."
Whumpee writhes, protesting again, but it's much more strangled, barely audible, and Whumper listens even less. They just keep touching, keep teasing, keep using their mouth everywhere Whumpee can't handle until finally he's lost himself to pleasure he doesn't want, and eventually falls over a fourth time with tears streaming down his face.
And he doesn't know why, in the midst of it all, but he curls towards Whumper, burying his face in Whumper's chest, desperate for he doesn't even know what, muffling the scream that comes out.
"Oh...that's it...there, good boy, just like that...perfect. Look at that...I wrung you out, hmm? Nothing left, is there?"
But they keep touching, for just a minute longer, and Whumpee sobs out incoherent pleas until at last Whumper lets him go, and he goes completely limp against the bed, gasping and shaking violently.
"Ssh, it's over now."
And then they lay down next to him, kissing at his neck again, then up to his mouth.
"You were so good for me, pet," Whumper says, against his lips. "I knew, when I chose you, that you would be. Eventually. So good. And soon...soon you'll be even better. Mmm. I know. Sleep now. You earned it."
Whumpee's already losing hold on awareness, slipping away despite the danger still right beside him, but the hand going through his hair, not pulling or yanking but petting, doesn't feel horrible...and they're warm...and he's tired...
And the last thing he hears is Whumper, sounding far too excited about it, murmuring, "Maybe next time we'll get to five."
contains: EXPLICIT NSFWHUMP, EXPLICIT NON CON. Whumper POV, then Whumpee POV. Extremely creepy/intimate/possessive Whumper, pet whump, forced submission, forced everything, overstimulation, dissociation, victim blaming from both Whumper and Whumpee to himself, references to undisclosed past abuse.
+++ This whole storyline (and my blog) has an 18+ Only warning but going to reiterate that here, >>>18+ Only Interaction<<< If anyone wants to skip the detailed NSFW, too, you can by only reading after the —x— with Asa's POV.
[5.]
[prev]
Hayes is in love.
The sound the boy—his boy—Asa—lets out when he first takes that pretty cock into his mouth has him knowing he'll never regret this purchase, this gift to himself, no matter how difficult Asa turns out to be.
And maybe this will help. Maybe the pretty thing will realize fighting is useless, and it's all going to happen anyway, and it'll have already happened.
That's all he needs. The first time. It'll be a struggle, surely, but Hayes is ready for that.
And he's going to make it so good that Asa begs for it to happen again.
"Fuck, baby," he mumbles when he pulls off, wrapping his hand around the base to stroke and licking gently at the head, watching as Asa's back arches and he chokes into the gag.
Hayes should really remove that...hear him better...but he's a little busy, right now, working the boy to hardness, and for someone who protests so much—
"That really didn't take much, did it?"
Asa chokes again, quieter, his whole body tensed, and Hayes tsks. He should be getting louder, professing his gratitude to Hayes for this, for saving him from the men who wouldn't have cared about his pleasure, not quieter.
But he's untrained. He doesn't know all that yet. He has no idea what to do at all. Hayes has to remember that it's his job completely to shape the boy into what Hayes knows he should be.
Really, he wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do it. He wouldn't want Asa to love anyone else. And he can see the final product so clearly.
He takes Asa down again, and again, his other hand starting to travel, curiously exploring everywhere nearby, squeezing and rubbing and finally running his finger across the place he can't wait to be inside until Asa jerks in the restraints and whines.
Fuck. Fuck.
"Oh, sweetheart," he breathes, lifting himself up, reaching down into the box on the floor to grab a bottle of lubricant, and the way Asa flinches at the sound of it clicking open without ever looking only further proves that this isn't the first time. Unfortunate, but...with a face so pretty, there was no real chance of Hayes being his first. Though it would have been nice...Hayes knows he's surely the best Asa's ever had, anyway.
"You like being touched there? Of course you do."
Asa shakes his head, crying out another clear disagreement, but Hayes is confident he'll soon change his mind. He wets his fingers, taking Asa into his mouth again, and then slowly starts to slide one in.
And fuck, the sound Asa makes.
The boy keens, trying at first to pull up and away from the intrusion, and then slowly, as Hayes pushes in further, his hips sink back down to the mattress, back down against him.
God, he's perfect, his body made for Hayes to play with, to pleasure, to receive pleasure from.
"That's it, pet," Hayes praises. "That's so good of you. Come on. Just let your body lead, now. It knows what it wants. It knows what feels good."
He thinks Asa tries to kick him, the way he suddenly jerks his leg, but it's hopeless. He's helpless, as he should be. As he's meant to be. And one day, Hayes will be able to take him without restraints, and he'll cling to Hayes and tell him he loves him, thank him for making him such a good boy, thank him for loving him so thoroughly...
Asa makes a different, higher-pitched sound. His hips twitch, and then finally give their first thrust up into Hayes' mouth, and it's such a wonderful accomplishment. Hayes adds a second finger, crooking them to find where his prostate is, and Asa twitches and starts panting louder when he finally finds it, rubbing.
"Good boy," he mumbles, "good boy..."
Asa squirms, gagging on the cloth, and Hayes pauses just long enough to reach up with the hand not still very busy and pull it from Asa's mouth.
"Fuck—" Asa coughs out, heaving in air, face flushed red as he looks down at Hayes with eyes that Hayes can't wait to see full of affection for him.
They're mostly hate, now, though. Hate and fear, so much fear, and Hayes wonders how much of it is fear of himself, the way he has no control, the way his body is being played like a little instrument, one Hayes plans on becoming the one and only master of.
"You—fucking asshole—" Asa finally manages, empty words for someone getting this aroused. Ungrateful, but that can be fixed later. "You—you piece of sh-shit, get your—you fucking—"
Hayes takes him down again, starting to rub once more, and Asa cuts off with a frustrated cry, head falling back against the pillow. "Oh! No—stop!"
"You don't want me to stop," Hayes says, and sucks harder to prove it, massages his pet's prostate until Asa's shuddering and leaking in Hayes' mouth, squirming so damn pretty against the bed. Hayes thinks about how he'll look when his movement is unrestricted, when he can spread his limbs out and stretch out beautifully, when he'll look up at Hayes and accept his rightful place beneath him and enjoy it...
Asa suddenly jerks his hips up, nearly chokes Hayes, and it only turns Hayes on more to hear Asa struggle with the way his body does it again, and then again, leaning into the pleasure even when he keeps trying his hardest to fight it away.
"I'm—no," Asa gasps, even more panicked now, and Hayes is delighted to know exactly why. "Stop—d-d-don't make me—"
Hayes doesn't stop. He never would. In fact, he does everything quicker, as good as he can make it. And as valiantly as Asa struggles to hold it back, whimpering, it must be very good, because suddenly his cries intensify, going straight to Hayes' cock, and then the boy's back arches, and he comes with a broken sob.
Hayes pulls off, spitting out what got in his mouth and stroking his precious pet through it, grinning as he watches Asa's beautiful face as he falls apart, sweat-soaked hair plastered to his face, his eyes squeezed shut.
"That's it," he says, encouragingly. "Fuck, baby. That's it. Let it all out, now. Good boy."
The darling little thing is shaking so badly, mouth parting as he pants, and Hayes can't help but lean down again, licking up the boy's length to make him shudder harder.
"Again?" he asks, and Asa weeps.
"No...no...no..."
"Oh, come on...you're in your best years and only have one come in you? Liar. I bet I could get two...three, even...?"
He goes a little longer, while Asa chokes out adorable begs for him to stop, and eventually, the boy starts to fill out again. Hayes pushes his fingers back inside, and it's so easy this time that he adds a third just because, and Asa, fuck, he's going to kill Hayes with the way he sounds, the way he looks...
"No—" Asa gasps, whining, his expression one of physical pain, now. "No—stop—I can't—"
But this isn't even close to Hayes' first time. He's good with his fingers, good at making whoever's under him scream, and he knows if he keeps pushing, massaging, stroking, sucking—
Asa shouts as he comes again, and it doesn't sound like it brings him much pleasure this time. It sounds like he feels better when it's over, and Hayes sighs, and finally stops, letting him go.
"Too much at once," he agrees. "You're right. That's okay. We have all the time in the world. I have toys, too...but next time."
So many next times. All of them. Fuck that cheating whore—Hayes won't even think of him anymore, or any of the failures before that. Asa is his, now.
Time to make that official.
He lifts himself up, stripping off his underwear to settle himself down on top of Asa. Careful, because he doesn't want to keep him from breathing when his gasps sound this pretty, but he wants to kiss him, and he does.
His boy will understand now. If he doesn't just yet, then he will soon. Hayes just knows it.
—x—
Asa doesn't completely come back to himself, after.
He's there, physically. He knows that. And somewhat, he's there mentally, but...not entirely.
He just feels...different. Incomplete. Like something was just ripped away from him, though he's really not sure what, right now.
It's overall an uncomfortably familiar feeling. And it's safer, he knows, because when he feels like this, distant and dazed, things don't stick as much as they usually do. His memories sort of...fizzle. They're there, but faded, and easier to ignore. Sometimes they're not there at all, until something reminds him, and he's left desperate for them to fade again.
He's humiliated. He's distinctly aware of that. He's horrified, and afraid, and disgusted, and it's hardly even at anyone else, this time. It's not even really at Hayes, in the end.
It happened again. He thought maybe before...he thought there was something there, maybe. He thought that because of who it was, the history there, maybe—maybe his body just...did want it. Maybe it hadn't mattered as much as it'd felt like it mattered, as much as it destroyed him, as much as he wanted to disappear.
But this time...
This time there's no excuse, and he's glad he's not completely there enough to be properly upset that maybe Hayes was fucking right. Maybe the last time someone told him that, they were right too.
Maybe this is what he was meant for. If his fucking disgusting body likes being used so much, then maybe it deserves it. Maybe this is all he deserves at all. Maybe he shouldn't have fought so hard to stop it from happening again, then or now, maybe...
He cries out when Hayes starts nibbling at his neck, kissing and sucking up to his jaw, biting it gently and then kissing down again. He mumbles something, something Asa doesn't catch, and then slides back down between Asa's legs, hiking them up a bit.
"No," Asa sobs, shaking his head. "No. No. Please no."
Hayes groans. "Fuck, baby...say please again."
"Chris," Asa tries instead, because it's the only thing he can think of left to do. "Don't. Don't do that."
"Asa..." Hayes tsks, kissing up his chest. "You know I told you to call me Sir."
It doesn't matter. Asa knows it won't make it stop, and he refuses to do that when it won't change a thing. All he can do is lay there as Hayes teases at his body, and by the time Hayes finally pushes into him, he's even more distant, and it's a mercy.
"Asa—" Hayes gasps, right into his ear, "mmm—so tight, baby, so good—come on, enjoy this with me..."
Asa's mostly numb. Drained and exhausted. And even though a few angled thrusts send another few sparking aftershocks through him that make him shudder, Hayes finishes inside of him before his body can betray him again.
It did enough, though. Hayes did enough. Asa did enough.
Enough.
"Fuck, baby," Hayes murmurs, still twitching, still holding Asa tight. "Oh, that was so good. You're so good..."
Then finally, he relaxes. He pulls out, and tells Asa to stop crying, but Asa doesn't know how to. He feels like maybe he won't ever be able to stop again.
"Ssh, sweet boy." Hayes pulls himself close, cuddling him, kissing his lips and then nuzzling into his neck. "You're okay. It's all okay. It's over. That wasn't so awful, was it? No, it was good. You wouldn't have come like that if it wasn't good. I made you feel good...oh, I'm so happy for us. You did so well. So good for me. My Asa."
Asa can't even disagree. He can't. Not like this. Not after that.
Maybe he was never his own in the first place, if he broke this easily.
Maybe he can still fight...he can still...
But not now. No more, right now. No more.
"No more," he whispers, and Hayes pets through his hair, kisses his temple and seems horrifically genuine in his attempts to soothe him.
"No. Ssh. No more. You did good. You're a good boy. I knew you would be, and you are. I love you. I just had to show you. And you know now, right? Yeah. You know. You can rest now. Just rest, my love."
Another mercy, Asa's eyes slide quickly closed, and it doesn't take long at all for him to fall into sleep.
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God I just want to be playfighting with someone, fake wrestling trying to get on top of each other and when they finally pin me down we both just hold eye contact for a while, heavy breathing, my cheeks flush red realising they’re straddling on top of me before I start subconsciously trying to grind into them as they start marking up my neck
concept: going down on you with your wrists tied to the headboard above you until you're swearing at me and trying to wriggle away from my mouth from so much overstimulation
A Whumper who, in the eyes of a traumatized Whumpee, is a Caretaker compared to the absolutely horrendous treatment they had been subjected to prior to being kidnapped by them
The whumpee couldn't hear the sounds of fighting outside, the breaking glass of shattered windows, the curses and insults, the furniture being knocked over, the bullets ripping through walls and flesh-
-or the last words of the whumper.
No, the first thing the whumpee got to hear were footsteps coming down the basement stairs.
He sat in the corner, trying to look pathetic. Displaying the perfect doey eyes the whumper was so fond of and holding his cuffed hands out in front of him.
The man who entered was not the whumper. He was taller than him, with dirty blond hair and a ripped bloodstained suit.
He gave the whumpee a cold once over. "I wasn't expecting anyone else down here."
The whumpee didn't say anything. He hadn't been trained on how to act in front of a stranger.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The stranger asked.
"I- I don't know, sir."
The whumpee wasn't sure if he was allowed to call anyone but his master sir, but it seemed appropriate.
"Don't you have a name?" The stranger snapped.
The whumpee shook his head vigorously.
"Really?" The stranger mused. "The man who lived here, who I assume was holding you hostage, is now dead. I killed him. Cooperate and I won't do the same to you."
The whumpee knew very well not to ask questions. Even if his master was dead, he knew the stranger would still punish him for it.
"Can you stand?" The stranger asked.
The whumpee braced his back against the wall and pushed himself up. It took a minute of straining without the use of his hands, but he was finally on his feet.
"You are coming with me," the stranger said. "You will obey all of my instructions. If you try to escape, I will kill you. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir."
The stranger pulled a knife out of its hilt and began sawing at the ropes binding the whumpee's arms.
"Thank you sir," the whumpee said, desperate to please.
The stranger cupped the whumpee's face with his hands, tilting his chin up and forcing eye contact.
"How long have you been down here for?"
"I don't remember. Honestly." Panic rose in the whumpee's throat. "I'm serious. I don't remember anything. I'm sorry sir. Please, I-"
"Did I ask for an apology?" The stranger asked.
"No sir."
"When I ask you a question, I expect a concise answer. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir. I don't remember how long I've been here."
"Very well. Follow me."
The stranger spun around and swiftly left the room. After a moment of shock, the whumpee followed after him.
Keeping his balance after weeks of sitting proved nearly impossible, but he knew better than to disobey.
The main floor of the building was wrecked.
Every window had shattered, littering the ground with shards of glass. Bullet holes scarred covered the plaster walls.
The whumpee wasnt sure whether the stranger wanted him to cut himself walking on the glass, or whether he was supposed to keep himself in good condition until the stranger had a chance to sort him out properly.
So, he walked just behind the stranger, who mercifully took a mainly clear path to the door.
The stranger, no, the rescuer lead the whumpee outside.
The whumpee couldn't remember the last time he had seen the sky, or the grass, or the trees, or even the concrete roads.
The rescuer opened the passenger side door on a shiny black car. "Get in, and don't make a fuss."
"Yes sir."
The seat of the car was the most comfortable place the whumpee had ever been allowed to sit.
The passenger seat wasn't cramped, or filthy, and it certainly didn't have any sharp edges for the whumpee to cut himself on.
The scenery outside of the whumpee's window shot past in a blur, but it was still the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He only wished he could touch it.
No. He needed to be grateful. Being let out of the basement was far more than he deserved. Having desires only brought trouble.
"I want to make your position very clear," the rescuer said.
"Yes sir."
The whumpee reluctantly turned away from the window to look at the rescuer as he continued speaking.
"I own you, and I expect complete obedience. "
A wave of relief crashed over the whumpee.
"Yes sir." Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes, even as he smiled. "Thank you sir."
The rescuer gave the whumper a baffled look. "Would you care to explain what you mean by that."
"Yes sir. I mean, thank you for rescuing me. I promise I'll obey you. I won't be difficult, or talk back, or try to escape. Thank you for not abandoning me. I don't know why I'm worth it, but I am so very grateful sir."
A small smiled crept over the rescuer's face as he considered his answer.
"You're welcome. Truth be told, I don't think you're worth it. You'll have to prove that to me. But I'll give you some time."
"Yes sir."
The rescuer popped the compartment between the driver and passenger seats open.
"Do you see those water bottles?" He asked.
"Yes sir."
The whumpee knew he wasn't supposed to want things. But he hadn't had a drop to drink in more than two days, and his throat ached all the more for the thought of water.
"Pick one of them up, open it, and drink it. Your voice sounds awful."
"Wait, really sir?"
"Did I stutter?" The rescuer snapped.
"No sir."
It took the whumpee's shaking hands a few fumbles before he managed to unscrew the cap. He tried not to appear greedy as he drank the water, but he knew that he had guzzled it far too quickly.
"Thank you sir."
"Much better. Now I can actually stand listening to your voice."
"Yes sir." The whumpee set the empty bottle on the floor, where a few others already laid.
The rescuer pulled into the driveway of a house. It had a rustic design, fashioned from dark wood and adorned with brass hand railings and doorknobs. It perfectly suited the woods it nestled in.
"Don't run," the rescuer repeated. "Or I will punish you."
"Yes sir. I won't sir."
The rescuer stepped out of the car, walked around the front, and opened the passenger side door to let the whumpee out.
The whumpee was overjoyed to be outside once again. Massive trees towered over his head, their foliage providing cool shade. Soft grass grew beneath his bare feet, far more comfortable than the concrete he was accustomed to. The vivid blue of the sky was almost overwhelming in brightness.
And the sun, by Jove, there was a sun.
The world felt alive.
The sunlight warmed the whumpee to his very core. Small bugs crawled through the grass and flittered through the air, delighting the whumpee with their bright designs and tiny bodies. Bugs had been his only real companions for years, and he had grown very fond of them.
"Come along."
The rescuer placed his hand on the small of the whumpee's bare back and steered him inside.
With the slam of the front door, the whumpee was once again a prisoner, kept by a stranger and with no certainty of the future.
No, the whumpee scratched his arm with his nails, drawing blood. He wasn't allowed to think like this. He had been rescued. He was allowed to drink water.
This stranger was nothing like his master.
His dead master.
A smile unfurled itself on the whumpee's face at the thought.
The rescuer unlocked the basement door and gestured for the whumpee to go through. He relocked the door behind them before following the whumpee down the stairs.
"This is where you will be staying. You are not to leave my basement without my explicit permission. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir."
The carpet under the whumpee's feet felt like a dream. Collapsing from pain would no longer bruise him, and kneeling before his new owner wouldn't bash his knees.
The rescuer pushed a pale wooden door open and beckoned for the whumpee.
The inside of the room was simple, but to the whumpee's mind it seemed as good as a palace.
A mattress was tucked into one corner. A pillow and fuzzy blanket neatly laid over clean sheets. A slightly ajar closet door took up part of the righthand wall. A small wood chair sat in a corner.
"You are to sleep in here," the rescuer said. "But having a bed is a privilege and one that can be revoked. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir. Thank you sir."
A bed. He could sleep on an actual bed. This was further proof of his rescuers kindness. The whumpee would have been more than content to lay on the carpet.
"Before you lie down, we need to get you cleaned up," the rescuer continued. "You can't get that filth all over the sheets."
"Yes sir."
The whumpee trailed closely behind the rescuer, trying to prove their newfound loyalty.
"It's bad enough that you got that grime all over my front seat," the rescuer continued.
"I'm sorry sir. I can clean it."
"I may take you up on that later."
The room they entered was much different than the rest of the basement. The carpet cut off suddenly at the door, exposing concrete foundation. The walls were bare, aside from a few deep cracks and a wood cabinet pushed against the left hand wall. A green coiled hose was curled up in a corner.
The whumpee braced himself to be hosed down, preparing for the bruises and welts. It was between this and being splashed with the boiling water the late whumper had been all too fond of.
It came as a pleasant surprise when the cold water flowed gently from the garden hose. It gave the whumpee chills, but it didn't injure him like the late whumper's fireman's hose had.
The rescuer even brought the hose over the whumpee's hair, and scratched at his scalp with his nails, turning the whumpee's matted hair from a dark brown to a light redish hue.
The whumpee gave the rescuer his best smile.
The rescuer turned off the hose and left it curled up in the corner.
He walked slowly around the whumpee, assessing his progress. He gently tilted the whumpee's face up with his fingertips.
"You look prettier like that, clean and smiling."
"Thank you sir."
"Now, we need to get you dressed and have a discussion about your future."
"Yes sir."
Dressed? The whumpee couldn’t remember being allowed to wear clothing. The late whumper had kept him completely stripped, to make the beatings easier.
They walked out of the room, a grin still unfurled on the whumpee's face.
I really like (bear with me now, I don't know what it's called) physical position whump. Like, showing power dynamics through position. Let me explain;
TW : non/con touching in a <borderline?> sexual way
A bloodied, bruised, exhausted Whumpee kneeling in front of their Master/Whumper, legs spread wide and hands pressed to the cold ground in between them. Whumpee's hair falls forward as they lower their head, it frames their battered face. Whumper smiles, proud, and cups Whumpee's dirty cheek, uncharacteristically tender. "Good boy."
Touchy Whumper who pulls Whumpee so that their back is flush with Whumper's front; who pins their wrists behind the small of their back with one hand, while the other covers Whumpee's mouth a little too roughly. Whumper licks at the shell of their ear, and Whumpee's tears wet their fingers.
A Whumpee who's feverish/heavily injured/drugged shaking profusely on all fours in front of Whumper, breathing in shallow, ragged breaths. They lower their head, fight through the humiliation, the bile in their throat. "Please." Whumper's lips twist into a shark-like grin. "But you're so perfect like this."
A personal assassin whumpee is sat in front of the King's throne, back leant against the armrests. He's got one knee up, surveying the people in the throne room with dead eyes and deceptive nonchalance. Above him, the King smirks, fingers playing idly with Whumpee's hair. The members of the court are intimidated by his attack dog.
Also guys I am super open to requests! I'm thinking of writing more, I'm happy to write your request w/ either my original character(s) (I have some with bios) or one/some of your choosing!
