#forced exercise

[sirjocktrainer]

New year Pushups

I just told my soldier to do 26 pushups as soon as he can when the new years starts.

All the good Jock's following me should do the same and report here once they have.

Happy new years.

[meanman-75]

I love making my girl work out till she pukes. Keeping her physically exhausted makes her more compliant and helps her to get to my goal weight for her. Plus it’s fun to use her when she’s completely exhausted.

[secretwhumplair]

A day at the pool

862 words | Xerxes & Nor (timeline)

Content | Pet whump, mild temperature whump, forced exercise

Notes | Happy heatwave to those who celebrate (most of the northern hemisphere it feels like). Stay hydrated and don't do excessive exercise. If you have the choice :D

Fun point in their (captive) relationship! Fairly settled and "comfortable", but distinctly before Xerxes gets There.

Taglist | @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @melancholy-in-the-morning @snakebites-and-ink

The bungalow Xerxes had rented while they were staying in this town came with a swimming pool, which was a blessing, because the heat was stifling.

A blessing for them, that was. Pet watched as they paddled ungracefully along the length of the pool; at least he was allowed to sit in the shade under their parasol, on the ground next to their sun lounger. Even here, he felt the sweat drip down his back, but he was going to take what he got.

It was a large pool, and he wasn’t surprised when they climbed out at the far end, never the sportiest. The wandered back towards their lounger, in no hurry to get out of the sun now that cool water droplets were running down their body. They were wearing a black-and-white striped swimsuit, like the first Barbie. Pet idly wondered whether it was a deliberate reference, but given even he made the connection, it probably was.

They sat down on the lounger and, without a word, placed a cool hand onto the back of his neck. Pet thankfully leant into the touch. They’d lathered him with sunscreen earlier, so he was already spoiled for touch today, but the cool was extra welcome. They’d given him a bottle of water, but it had long since gone warm.

The sun sparkled blindingly on the pool.

It was a foolish thing to ask, really.

»Master, could I. Just take a quick dip?«

Xerxes, who had taken a sip from their ice-cooled mocktail, raised their eyebrows at him, but they didn’t seem overly annoyed. Probably was to hot for that, anyway. After a moment — long enough he was sure, even after, that it hadn’t occurred to them before — they smiled, and shrugged. »If you do, you’re going to give me at least ten lengths. No breaks.«

At least. Pet had lived with Xerxes long enough to realize what that meant; even just the ten would be pushing it. The water was so tempting, though.

»Actually, I’ve made up my mind.« He’d let the pause get too long; they shooed him off, towards the pool. »Go.«

He should have known better, really. But as he lowered himself into the pool, he found it hard to regret his boldness; it felt heavenly.

He was sure they were watching him as much as he had been watching them before. Not for the same reasons, though.

The first five or so lengths were easy. He was reasonably fit; Xerxes made sure of it. He had to pace himself, knowing what was to come.

He was starting to feel the effort over the next few. By the ninth, he was so glad he was close to done he allowed himself the foolish hope he was actually close to done.

But of course, when he finally finished the tenth, Xerxes stood at the edge of the pool, looking down on him. »Twelve.« Nothing more.

So he pushed himself through another two lengths. His arms were burning.

»Actually, make it the whole twenty.«

He didn’t have time to protest, even if there had been any point. No breaks. He just tried to focus on his breathing, even as it grew quicker, even as his muscles grew heavier with every stroke. This had been such a stupid idea. Most of the time he didn’t even like to be near water, after everything Xerxes had done. He tried to push the thought of going under away. Xerxes would have a guard rescue him if he didn’t make it, they surely wouldn’t let him drown; but that wouldn’t make the experience better.

He couldn’t think about it. His breath was coming short enough as it was.

By fourteen, he was ready to beg, if that had been an option.

At eighteen, Xerxes sat at the edge of the pool, their legs dangling into the water. They caught his wrists in their hands, and he gratefully let himself float in their grip, desperate to catch his breath. They wouldn’t let him out before he finished, and at this point, the cold was starting to get to him as much as the exhaustion, but he needed that break.

They knew that, of course.

When he came back again, they were back on their lounger. No further demands. His arms felt like jelly when he tried to pull himself up out of the water, so he just flopped as far over the pool’s edge as he could manage. He heard Xerxes chuckle. The heat of the flagstones circling the pool now was welcome.

Several minutes passed before he managed to crawl out of the pool and return to his designated spot at their side. He was still catching his breath. His hands fumbled when he opened his bottle for a much-needed swig of water.

»Fan me.« There was a smile in Xerxes’ voice.

There was a fan on the side table, next to their stupid cocktail glass. He opened his mouth, swallowed an Are you out of your mind, and just noted, »I can barely move my arms, Master.«

»Sure you can. It’s just going to suck.«

It wasn’t really torture; he knew that well enough.

[pretty-face-breaker]

Maybe Not Now

During Pavel’s daily torment of him, Emir sees something in him that he hadn’t seen before.

c.w. military whump, sadistic whumper, forced exercise as punishment, insults, degrading language, captivity, alluding to death as an alternative to torture

 —

“That’s all for now, soldaty. Back to your dorms and make it neat,” General Levkin called. 

With a raise of his palm, collective relief could be heard above the fading grunts. Men rose from the field and dusted their palms on their trousers, snatching up their rifles. Twenty of them clicked sharply as they swung over various shoulders. Some grabbed a drink of water they had been meaning to get for hours as clouds swept over the barren training grounds. 

The drills of the day were over. 

As the soldiers filed after one another, murmuring too fast and foreign to be kept up with, Emir followed behind with a dry throat. His arms ached. He could hardly remember making that many mistakes in his basic training or what were supposedly called mistakes by Stanislav Levkin’s eye. He always seemed to catch him doing something wrong. Inaccurate aim. Sloppy position. Poor posture. 

But he had taken the admonitions, the hits and laps, nodded obediently, straightened his back or concentrated harder on his aim. He didn’t feel like fighting the corrections in front of fifty others and with the amount of sleep hardly managed each night, he didn’t doubt some were his fault. That, and for other reasons. Emir winced as a now clear head focussed on the burning in his bicep. 

The place Pavel had rubbed the salt earlier that week. 

Maybe yes, sir-ing his way through the drills had been also to spare his throat from overexerting itself more than he had torn in, wailing wordlessly among laughter and pleading in broken Russian to a man who likely hadn’t heard the word in his life. Emir grimaced and, feeling a bump of a body behind him, sped up to climb the stairs. Until he felt a hand pulling him aside. 

“Not so fast. Hey, you.” Pavel grinned as he pulled him from formation and back down the steps.

Emir froze and his hand shot to his collar, trying to keep his balance. “Podozhdite—” But Pavel wasn’t one to wait and pulled him fiercely until he tripped on the rocks, barely catching himself on the stone railing. Humiliated, he straightened up glaring. Pavel’s leer was ever present with that same colour of resentment, his eyes cold and devising. 

The taller man chuckled. “Did you even complete your recruit training? With how today went, I thought Stas was going to pin you to that target.”

Emir swallowed, trying not to dignify that with a response. 

Pavel’s face darkened in silence. “Follow me then get on the fucking ground. I’m not done with you.” 

His heart slammed in his throat as he followed without a word, feeling his fingertips grow cold as the group’s noises faded. With each moment, he pushed his feet further to the edges of the terrain where voices ended and the forest began and each step felt harder to take, the closer those trees got. He sucked in a quiet breath when Pavel stopped. 

“Drop. Feet together.” 

Emir obeyed, falling tense to the pushup form, and dug his nails into the earth for a brief moment, just to feel the cool of the grass, to ground himself. Once, he let his lungs expand with a breath and plunged. Pavel didn’t have to say a word for him to begin and he figured he could save him the trouble. Save it for himself too so he wouldn’t have to pay for it later again. 

He bent his elbows, breathing evenly and keeping them tracking alongside his body, until his chest dipped just below the angle of each elbow, then pushed back up, expelling the air. Slow, controlled so his throat wouldn’t burn like it had last time. His eyes were fixed on the trees across from him, the endless stretch of wood and darkness that he watched from his bed sometimes. 

It reminded him of the trip he had taken years ago, camping with his cousins after having convinced his mother that he would bring a gun and that everything would go well. Even now, he remembered the distaste in her head shake and the veiled worry in her tone as she had thrown up a hand in defeat. 

Fine, abni, but if you get mauled by a bear, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A smile graced his mouth. It was like he was hardly there anymore. Though a few reps more and he felt a shift in breathing as Pavel sunk down onto the log next to him. 

“Feel like this has gotten easier for you. A hundred and fifty reps, nothing, eh?” He chuckled and patted him on the shoulder with enough force that Emir briefly swayed. “Fast learner. You don’t piss me off as much.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me?” Emir asked coolly. His jaw tightened a bit, hearing the huff. As if the question was a challenge. 

“Because you’re fun to hurt. You make fun noises, give me—all of us—a good time.” 

Pavel’s eye caught a nearby stone and he tapped on his knee thoughtfully as Emir plunged into another graceful pushup. The leer he wore quickly grew crooked and he revelled in the tiny spark of fear that stuttered Emir’s breathing. Hearing it was always wonderful because it meant the little shit was listening to him and on his toes more often than he had been. 

“I noticed your back was all fucked up,” Pavel admitted, reaching for the rock which could have easily been five pounds, “when we changed.” 

Emir’s eyes stayed frozen on the hollow of a nearby tree. His chest was beginning to burn with the onset of faint panic but he was surprised as it wasn’t his fiftieth repetition yet where the burning usually started. “Is that new?” 

The pressure of the rock came fully and at once into the small of his back and he jerked and tightened into a plank. He couldn’t move for a few seconds, realizing Pavel’s intention. 

“You haven’t finished. Keep going or the next one goes into your head.” 

Admittedly, the next few repetitions of the pushup were only slightly less comfortable, just a tinge less familiar with the weight on his spine and he felt his elbows wobble only the slightest amount. Still, Emir persisted. He had gone no more than ten before the next rock, larger this time, sat in front of the first. Hearing Pavel’s snicker, a silent rage caved in his chest. 

“You just had to fall into my hands, huh?” he laughed, patting the ground for another. “Unlucky bastard.” 

Emir was beginning to feel the onset of exhaustion seeping into an already worn body. He knew if he collapsed, Pavel would have something to say about it, presumably with his shoe. He winced and exhaled on the wrong motion, had to pause for a moment and focus his breathing before the next plunge and all while ignoring the wry laughter of the man next to him. 

“At least I’m not dead,” he muttered. 

Pavel stirred before he was about to lay the third rock on the next few ridges of his spine. At first, he scoffed off the response but didn’t resume the motion. He stayed silent for a few moments, letting Emir dip into the next less-than-graceful pushup and watched a bead of sweat roll down his dark temple. Something akin to cynical admiration passed across his eyes.

“You’d rather be alive, here?”  

This time, Emir stopped too. He kept his eyes forward, trained as usual, but too long had passed for it to feel like Pavel’s routine. His gaze gradually flickered over to the green eyes and tan skin beside him that so typically fixed him like prey, now staring at him in annoyed curiosity. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

The trees rustled softly in the background, dampening the mechanics from the camp as if they were unpleasant, fading memories. 

“You’re an idiot.” Pavel let the stone go and smirked to himself at the wince but it was less self-satisfied. “For getting caught and for thinking this is going to be better.”

“My pilot got shot and we crashed directly in front of you,” Emir grumbled, feeling a pulling need to defend his honour and that of his late pilot’s. “Didn’t get caught.” He glanced at Pavel warily and breathed out, seeing no brimming violence under his expression. “Besides, I-I have a family at home to think about.” 

The green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not going home.” 

He swallowed, not quite yielding. “Maybe not now.” 

“Maybe not ever.” 

Emir waited in silence for a minute more, saying little besides the soft, stuttering breaths that whistled in unison with the pines, gull calls, and the dirt twisting under Pavel’s shoe. He sensed it was an exercise to relieve boredom with how often he did it. He didn’t want to think about what Pavel had just said.

He thought about it too often, already. 

Slowly, he exhaled and pushed down again under the weight of three rocks, elbows bending alongside his body, and inhaled like it would be his last breath on his—shit, he had lost count. He mechanically continued, hoping that at a certain point, Pavel would stop him and let him go when he had fulfilled the day’s quota of entertainment but then, froze completely upon realizing that it had always been his responsibility to count. 

Pavel noticed his uncertainness. “What? You lost count or something?” 

Emir did nothing for a minute before lapsing into silent despair and nodding. What was the worst he could do, really? Kick him in the ribs? Big fucking whoop. He waited for the blow anyways, feeling that it would be a welcome relief to the incessant burning in his arms that threatened to have his entire body give out at that moment and crash to the ground onto that asshole’s boot. 

But in the meantime, Pavel had been quiet and uncharacteristically thoughtful. 

“Get up,” he ordered. “That’s enough.” He pushed himself up from the log and stretched to the clouds, wincing himself at the unwise angle he had been slouching in since Emir had begun the exercise. “Go back to your dorm and don’t let me see you again today.” 

Too stunned to move, Emir fixed him with a fearful look until he realized it was a serious order. He could have let himself fall to the ground and really, it was tempting. To lay there and let the exhaustion seep into the dirt but Pavel’s patience already seemed stick-thin and he didn’t want to push today’s generosity. He rolled to let the rocks fall off and bolted to standing, starting his journey back to the camp. When he turned for Pavel’s approval, the man wasn’t moving. 

His eyebrows pricked up. “Maybe not now,” he muttered. “Idiot.”  

Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville

 Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

[sirjocktrainer]

Pausing to hold a flex between his strict presses as he looked himself in the mirror he couldn’t help the smile that broke out. He loved how much he’d changed over the years for his Owner, from the physical everyone was-muscles, tattoo and hair cut-to the mental one only he felt inside-dedication, discipline and loyalty. He’d truly become a new personal and he loved every moment of it.

[scripttorture]

I'm wondering whether a plot point in a story I once read was realistic:

A character claims to have been trained in torture techniques that not only leave no marks (which I think you've called "clean torture"), but also don't require "tools" - no weapons, no devices, no technology, no environmental control (e.g. over lighting or temperature), and so on. If I recall correctly, he says this to threaten someone who is restrained in an otherwise completely bare room, and there's no suggestion of sexual assault being one of the techniques

Is this a thing? Would one person actually be able to torture another if it was just the two of them alone in a room, and not have it leave any kind of physical evidence?

In short: yes, that’s possible. But the devil, as always is in the detail.

 You see from the way this is framed it seems as if the story is implying the character is highly skilled, dangerous and required specialist training. And that is in keeping with how torturers talk and behave. But it isn’t really in keeping with reality.

 Because what he’s talking about is probably a ‘clean’ (ie non-scarring) beating, which essentially amounts to repeated open handed slaps on fleshy areas of the body. It’s very painful. It is still dangerous and it can kill (via kidney failure). But it isn’t… smart or complicated or hard to think up. It doesn’t require training or specialist knowledge.

 It’s probably worth mentioning here that clean torture does sometimes leave temporary marks. But they’re always the sorts of marks that might be explained away by something else.

 The swelling standing stress positions cause in the legs goes down quickly. But even if an independent witness sees this swelling… it can be caused by a whole range of diseases and health conditions. Institutions can and have turned around and said possible evidence of torture was down to underlying health conditions or other factors.

 This is part of why torture trials usually have a lot of survivors giving evidence. It’s about establishing a consistent pattern over dozens or hundreds of victims rather then tearing apart the evidence of one person.

 Clean beatings can leave the skin swollen, inflamed and sometimes visibly reddened. But a wide range of skin conditions can look similar. Some people would get similar looking marks from being restrained on a hard bed in a hospital. I get similar marks from sitting her on my sofa with my laptop on my knees typing asks. I also get them from kneeling on the floor when I use my sewing machine.

 There are a couple of other clean tortures that could fit in this scenario. The British National Style favours standing stress positions without restraints, usually using a wall and enforcing them by beating people who refuse to comply. Forced exercise is another relatively common torture that fits this description.

 And again, these can potentially leave some evidence. It’s just not clear evidence and it’s not obvious evidence. An exhausted, pained prisoner does not mean clear evidence of torture.

 With more torturers sleep deprivation could also fit this scenario. Something like relay interrogation, where the torturers swap out to rest but continue questioning/berating the prisoner and keeping them awake for days at a time.

 Generally I don’t think there’s anything wrong with using this scenario in a story. But I’d advise anyone considering it to be careful how they frame this incident. It would be very easy for the narrative to accidentally back up the torturer’s assertion that they’re skilled/trained or imply that these ‘techniques’ are intelligent, unusual things.

 The scene itself isn’t ‘wrong’. It’s just the sort of scenario that can relies on the reader’s background knowledge to fill in the blanks.

 And unfortunately that’s not something we can do when we’re talking about torture or abuse. Accurate information is difficult to find and not accessible for the majority of people. Misinformation and apologia is everywhere. Until that changes I don’t think we can rely on readers filling in the blanks with anything but apologia.

 Which is why it’s important to try and think through the implications of what we write.

 I hope that helps :)

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[sola-whumping]

Whumper Weekly, Chain series: Dragging/Forced movement

You can drag your whumpee by their chains, injuring their wrists and chafing or rubbing them raw. Chain your whumpee to a revolving door and force them to walk for hours in a circle as punishment, where the continuous motion of the door will force them to keep moving until they collapse. If you wish to be especially cruel, chain your whumpee to the back of a vehicle and drive. This will force them to either run or be dragged against the ground, which causes an array of bruises as well as road rash, friction burns, and scrapes from the contact against the road.

Masterlist

[scripttorture]

I'm writing a thing with a character who's been restrained sitting down, arms more or less straight out and elbows at 90 degrees with his hands cuffed to the wall just above head height. His heart rate is (magically) elevated during this time to a level equaling strenuous exercise, and he's given half-hour breaks between sessions to rest & rehydrate. Under these conditions, I was wondering the upper time limit of these sessions that wouldn't leave him with lasting physical injuries.

OK well the closest real life equivalent would probably be a standingstress position which tends to have an upper limit of 48 hours at a stretch.Anything longer and victims start dying of kidney failure due to the massivemuscular damage these sorts of tortures cause.

 But that’s not a perfect analogy because of the character’s elevatedheart rate.

 I’d expect any physical injuries to be similar to what stress positionscause though so I’m just going to run through those quickly.

 Now stress positions generally speaking are a ‘clean’ torture. Theydon’t leave obvious, lasting external injuries. Thatmakes it harder to ‘prove’ torture occurred and if that’s relevant to yourstory I have a Masterpost on clean tortures here.

 So the restraints themselves can cause injuries. In the position you’vedescribed with little weight on the restraints I think your character wouldavoid any permanent damage entirely. But abrasions, small cuts and bruisesaround the restraints are possible.

 Damage to the joints are also possible but in this sort of scenario it’sunlikely to be disabling. It’s more likely to manifest as a sort of chronicpain and soreness, and this is by no means guaranteed.

 Over longer periods of time (ie 24 hours) stress positions start tocause swelling in the extremities (where depends on the position but usually thefeet are affected). This is caused by muscle damage. Basically as the musclecells are put under prolonged strain by keeping the position they die. Whenthey die they rupture, releasing a lot of fluid and large proteins into theblood stream.

 The fluid tends to accumulate at the extremities. It causes painfulswelling and in some cases causes ulcers as the swelling basically overwhelmsthe skin’s ability to stretch and it ruptures. Ulcers can scar but so far as Iknow they don’t affect mobility later and the swelling dies down in a few dayswith rest.

 For the sort of colour change a character would see think of the sortsof colours you’d see in bruising for the swollen area and a pale, ashen drainedlook for the hands since they’re raised above his head.

 I also think it’s worth stressing that the long term psychologicalproblems any kind of torture causes are….well ultimately torture causes permanentbrain damage and the result is the long term psychological symptoms we see invictims. That’s not something character can avoid but I appreciate that for thesake of writing we often put those responses in a separate box from the otherphysical injuries.

 Going back to your scenario Ithink that the character’s elevated heart rate would reduce the amount of timehe could be ‘safely’ kept in this position. It would probably increase the rateof deaths by heart attack- which might be a detail you can use if this is acommon torture in your setting.

 I’d suggest 24 hours as an absolute maximum but I think that after 24 hours the character would need muchlonger than half an hour to recover.

 I think after 24 hours he’d be physically exhausted and probably unableto walk unaided. I think he’d need almost another 12-24 hours before he couldbe put back in the device again.

 That’s generally more in line with the way stress positions are used: along period in the position (~48 hours) followed by a long period of rest (12hours or so).

 If keeping the half hour recovery time is important to the story I thinkyou’d need to reduce the amount of time the character is in the restraints eachtime. Something like an hour would be more reasonable.

 Doing it that way you’d also need to remember that the effects anddamage are cumulative, after a total of over 24 hours (24 repetitions) thecharacter would need a longer period of rest to avoid risking…well sudden deathbasically.

 You may well have already done it but just in case here’s a link to mypost on the common psychological symptoms of torture which should help youwriting the longer term effects on the character.

 You might also find Ronald Searle’s war drawings depicting forcedexercise and stress positions helpful in terms of describing what yourcharacter is going through.

 I hope that helps. :)

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