Whumptober Day 15: Muzzle, transformation
tw: muzzle, forced servitude, conditioned whumpee, torture mention
... "I fucking hate you! I don't want to work for you anymore! Get off of me, you son of a bitch!" Whumpee yelled out as Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee was kicking and flailing, and Whumper found it hard to hold him still, even for a second, especially one handed. Whumpee tried his best to fight his oppressor, but weeks of tiring labor and malnutrition on Whumpee's end gave Whumper the upper hand. Whumper used one hand to hold Whumpee's head to the ground, and with the other he put on the muzzle he had someone make for Whumpee. He used that hand to keep the muzzle on and keep Whumpee's head down, then picked up the other to reach into his pocket and pull out a small key. Whumper locked the muzzle around Whumpee's head, and the fight was over. Once Whumpee heard the click of the lock, he knew he was beat. His voice was his best weapon, and now he couldn't even open his mouth fully. He was a turtle laying on its shell with no one to tip him over; utterly defeated. Whumper sat up, panting. Once he caught his breath, he spoke. "That oughta keep you silent." Whumper stood up and dusted off his clothes. "Servants don't need to talk anyway. Maybe now you'll stop being so damn defiant." Whumpee was sick of doing Whumper's labor and playing his games. He would do anything to get out of this place, but there were no windows to tell him where he was and Whumper would always lock doors when they weren't being used; escape was not an option. Whumpee sat up, slouching, mood dampened by the newest development. He could breathe just fine, but without his snappy insults and clever comebacks, his fire was bottled up. All of his rage, all of his hurt, was now trapped with no outlet and Whumpee felt awful. ... (Two months later) Whumpee's fire was dying out. Two months with the muzzle, which only came off for a quick meal or drink of water. Now, Whumpee rarely used and could barely recognize his own voice; he only ever spoke in whispers, used to not speaking at all. The only voice Whumpee ever consistently heard now was Whumper's, and he was starting to hate it. The only exceptions being Whumpee's occasional whispers and Whumper's guests - Whumpee locked away in some other room forbidden to make noise as he strove to hear anything of the world outside Whumper's place - before the muzzle was back on or the short visits were over. Whumpee, now more restricted in his freedom of expression than ever, couldn't really resist Whumper's orders, so he had given in. Sure, escape sounded nice, but it wasn't going to happen; just a fantasy. Whumpee had grown used to the physical demands of the work, and Whumper had been a bit less harsh with Whumpee's newfound silent obedience. Whumper was loving it. He no longer had to put up with Whumpee's fiery words, and once that was gone, the rest of Whumpee followed. It had been a rather quick transformation from loud and defiant to silent and submissive, and the only thing Whumper loved more than a functional servant was seeing Whumpee defeated, day after day. Even when Whumpee had his muzzle off, he wouldn't say anything out of line. Whumper had made lots of progress with his conditioning and Whumpee didn't feel like trying to defy Whumper anymore. While punishments were few nowadays, Whumper still enjoyed torture, and while it felt like hell, Whumpee didn't struggle like he used to and had gotten use to the routine. Soon, this was Whumpee's life, his rebellious self as distant as him from the false hope as freedom. Whumpee had given up, a shell of who he used to be.