Oh, that won’t be hard. You’ve questioned real people under much worse circumstances, with only a fraction of the leverage you have right now. It would not be hard to manufacture the conditions for interrogation. The only limiting factors are the thing’s own endurance — unknown — and the amount of damage you can legally inflict — vague.
You are used to a different kind of mission.
Either way, you can feel when you’re getting ahead of yourself. Without leaving the monitor, you reopen the viewing window into the holding cell. Your captive still has not moved, and the microphones pick up on no sound in the room.
…You disable the microphones.
No one else has accessed the cell in your absence. You do not knock, because you are not requesting permission to enter, and the loud and tedious mechanical whirring of the locking mechanism gives more than enough forewarning.
Sure enough, it is certainly not startled by the time you actually get the door open. It watches you impassively and silently. It didn’t show on the monitors, but in person you notice the light is a little dimmer than the day before.
You have options.
Speak casually, then approach the subject in a roundabout way.
Ask directly, just to see how it responds.
Feed it in an effort to encourage cooperation.
Offer some other reward to encourage cooperation.
Withhold food and water until it signals compliance.
“Tell me, Miss Lemont. Do you know much about runes?”
Cygnet swallowed, and shook her head as the strange man circled her slowly.
“N-no, sir,” she said quietly.
The man stopped in front of her, and when she glanced up at him his expression was cold and unyielding.
“I am not your employer, Miss Lemont. No agreement has been struck between us. When I purchased your bond from the city prisons, you did not become my servant. You became my property.”
Cygnet flinched, more tears spilling over her eyes.
“P-please,” she stammered, but a glare from the man silenced her.
“You will speak when you are spoken to, and when you do, you will address me as Master. Is that understood?”
“I…” Cygnet hung her head, her face growing hot with shame. “Yes, Master,” she whispered.
The word left a fowl taste on her tongue, a bitter reminder of how far she had fallen.
“Now, back to the subject of runes,” said the man, his tone suddenly light and conversational again. “I admit, they’re a subject of special interest to me. So much power, contained in such deceptively simple symbols. Most practitioners merely use them to enchant objects…”
The man’s hands began to glow with a sickly yellow light, and Cygnet looked up just in time to see his expression twist into a wicked grin.
“...but to me that is such a terrible waste of their potential.”
The man reached for her so suddenly she didn’t have time to jerk away, his glowing hands encircling her neck. His fingertips burned where they pressed into her skin, and the searing pain tore a scream from her throat, raw and desperate and terrified.
After what felt like eternity, he released her and she slumped forward, trembling with pain and fear alike.
“A binding rune, to start with,” said her tormentor in a pleasant voice. “To tether you to me, and to this house. As long as you bear it, you will not be able to set foot outside these walls.”
Cygnet brought her hands to her neck, feeling the tender skin for injury, but there was no wound that she could find.
“Don’t be shy,” the man said, his tone mocking. He gestured to an ornately framed mirror that stood in the corner. “Have a look.”
Cygnet looked into the glass, realizing with a start that this was the first time in weeks that she’d seen her own reflection. Her pale blond hair was dirty and tangled, the once pristine uniform she’d worn as a lady-in-waiting was torn and stained, and the skin beneath the shackles on her wrists was rubbed a raw, angry red.
Yet she barely spared a thought for her disheveled appearance, instead staring in horror at the strange symbols that circled her throat like a collar.
“Well, now.” The man placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down, his lips mere inches from her ear as he whispered, “Don’t you make a lovely canvas?”
Cygnet tried to cringe away from him, but his grip on her tightened, forcing her to stay still. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks and he tutted, reaching out and brushing them away with his thumb . She shuddered, and he let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by her discomfort.
“I must admit, Miss Lemont, I had my doubts when I was told about you. But I think we’re going to get along just fine together.”
Cygnet frowned, and for the first time she met the man’s eyes head on.
“Told? Who would tell you about me?”
“Ah ah ah,” the man said, shaking his head. “That doesn’t concern you. From now on, you only need to concern yourself with one thing.”
There was a tense moment of silence, then Cygnet finally spoke.
“And…what is that?”
The man’s unnerving smile returned, and he gripped her chin, his nails digging into the skin making her wince.
“Obeying your Master.”
Suddenly, the man reached down and grabbed the chains around her wrists.
Cygnet let out a yelp, but the man ignored her,
simply pulling the key from his pocket and unlocking her chains. "Get up."
simply yanking her up by her bound wrists and dragging her towards the door.
simply muttering a spell under his breath that made everything go dark.
The masters have been dealing with wild wovles and other pests raiding their food stores and making big messes the last few months, and getting into winter... it was getting bad. They were getting hungry. That means you went unfed for a few weeks at a time until one of the younger ones snuck down to offer one of the chained up a sip.
You were all the way at the back, so you always got missed. As a group, you were fed every few weeks, as an individual... you just knew that your veins felt almost dry with the amount of time that's passed since you last fed. It had been... three months? And even then you only got a small sip.
Well, apparently the wolves were being delt with, and some even taught to hunt the other pests.
By dragons.
Dragons didn't visit human towns often at all. The fact that they were all here was scary! A big female followed a human into the space where the slaves are stored.
"Oh, they're all so frail..." she commented with disdain. She started walking up and down the rows of you, nudging some with her foot before moving on.
"Yes, madam, if the vampires are week then they're easy to control. They are still plenty strong enough for labour, I assure you!" the human smiled, "Please, take which ever you think your leader would like, we're very grateful your people helped us."
The dragonoid woman stands over you a moment before grabbing your arm and hauling you up, "Even this one?" she taunts.
"Aye, yes! That one can wrestle a horse after a small bite. Before its last master gave the sorry thing up, it was an excellent slave and did well as a pet."
She quickly breaks the chains off your arms, "Then I'll take it."
The human looks worried as you stumble but the dragon doesn't seem upset, instead more reassured in her choice as she steps towards the door.
You're too weak to fight, so you follow behind her, tripping over yourself slightly as you walk for the first time in months.
The dragon woman leads you to a few other dragonoids, one of which has a metal band around his tail, and hands you over to him.
"Oh? What's this? You lost kid?" The large dragon male asks you, a soft smile over his face.
"He's about 80 if the slavers are anything to go off, he's yours, sir. A 'gift' or something."
Actually, you're 103, you've just bee a vampire, and therefore a slave, for nearly 80 years.
Correct them?
Yes. Your new master should know you're true age.
Yes. It's rude of these scaled fuckers to get your age mixed up!
No. Slaves stay quiet. Master's word is truth.
No. You can't be bothered to tell them anything, this is only temporary.
Voting ended onJun 2, 2025
As you ponder this you're put into new 'ropes', the soft, silky straps wrap around your arms and your new master picks you up into his arms to carry you to your new home...
Your Whumpee awaits, staring at you with wide eyes as you come closer. All they can do is brace themselves, completely at your mercy.
Ready to have some fun, Whumper?
This is a semi-selective whump RP blog!! Here, you can send an ask of you torturing/tormenting/mocking/bullying/caretaking/ etc., Whumpee, and I'll respond as them!
But before we start, here's some brief guidelines before you have your fun :))
Please keep your asks SFW. No noncon or anything like that. This is a minor-friendly blog. Anything NSFW will be blocked immediately.
That being said, I am perfectly fine with things such as extreme gore, (nonsexual) pet whump, (nonsexual) humiliation and degradation and noncon nudity, noncon body modification, and body horror. Some suggestiveness, perhaps. But I will make sure to tag them accordingly!
You may pick whether you'd like your ask to be for! A Defiant Whumpee (Walker), Scared Whumpee (Whit), Broken Whumpee (Wister), Conditioned Whumpee (Wendell), Stoic Whumpee (Weslee), or Non-Human Whumpee (but specify what kind for this please)! If you don't specify which kind of Whumpee you want, I'll do whatever I think fits the ask best! And the names are only so you have a name to refer to them as. They are completely blank slates and will change to fit whatever story you want!
Both dialogue prompts and action prompts are welcome! As well as a mix of both!
Whumpee will be referred to as "they" and will be genderless
You can be an existing character or even your own OC if you want!
Feel free to give your Whumpee some much needed comfort as well! Caretakers are also welcome!
BE AS WILD AND CREATIVE AS POSSIBLE WITHIN THESE GUIDELINES!
AND THAT'S IT! HAPPY WHUMPING!
Icon by @p0tat0-4rt which was for me for Art Fight!
content: second person pov, home invasion, manhandling, drugging, gag, restraints, kidnapping, creepy whumper
You chose: Fight! Struggle! There are knives over there on the counter, grab them!
—
Fuck it. He broke into your home, it only makes sense for you to fight back. Good thing you’re in the kitchen, because a few knives are sitting in the knife block on the counter across from you. You finally have a chance to defend yourself, you have to take it.
You wrench your head to the side, getting away from whatever was about to poke into your neck, and you push away from him with all your strength.
But you get nowhere.
“Feisty one,” he lets out an amused chuckle. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
You ignore his words and elbow him hard in the ribs. You’re flailing and thrashing, moving around too much for whatever he was about to do to you. With a deep breath, you bite the hand covering your mouth and he gasps in surprise, flinching back, giving you just enough room for you to stagger away from him.
He regains his composure quickly. “Hey, I wouldn’t step on that ankle if I were you. It looks bad.”
You don’t care. But you should’ve, because this time, your body can’t ignore the pain any longer. The last step you take, your ankle gives out and sends you collapsing to the floor. You cry out in agony, chest heaving in and out in a panic. You sit there, unable to get up, well aware that your attacker is coming towards you. As you scramble away from him, legs sliding against the floor, your back hits the cabinets. You turn around, vision tunneled. The knives are close. Your phone is close. Get to your phone. Get to the kni—
As you reach towards the counter above you, your wrist is grabbed in a firm but gentle grip.
You whirl around and look up at the man standing over you. Your horrified eyes are wide and panicked as you get a clear view of what the man is holding in his other hand.
It’s a syringe.
There’s nowhere to run. You’re cornered.
He kneels down and before you can react, he takes your other wrist in his hand, firmly holding both your arms away from him. Your struggles lead you nowhere.
Tears burn in your eyes as you feel a sharp sting in your neck, injecting whatever was in there directly into your bloodstream. You let out a pained whine. It hurts. You don’t want this.
You scream for help. It only lasts a second before he drops the now empty syringe and clasps a hand over your mouth.
“Shhhh, be quiet,” the stranger says. “Relax. It’s okay.”
You can’t, you can’t. This can’t be happening! You writhe against him, kicking out, trying to desperately pull your arms free but you can’t.
“You’re only tiring yourself out. Just relax.”
You shake your head rapidly, getting hit with a wave of dizziness. You don’t care! You need to get away!
But you’re so tired. There’s a foggy feeling in your head. You blink, unable to shake the feeling. Your limbs are suddenly heavier and your movements are growing clumsy and weak.
Before you know it, your struggles die down and your body weakly slumps against him. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open.
“Good, that’s it. There you go.”
He takes his hand off your mouth and you can’t seem to muster up the energy to use your voice. You stare at him in defeat, looking up at his unnaturally green eyes that are staring down at you. A soft expression crosses his face, and he pets your head gently, hand carding through your hair, before turning around and grabbing something from behind him.
You shift uncomfortably where you lay on the floor, now slouched against the cabinets behind you. Whatever drug that was injected into your system is working fast, and you let out quiet sobs as you feel your body weaken further. Your breathing slows. Your eyelids feel heavy. You can barely move no matter how much you try.
He turns around. It’s too dark to see what he’s holding now; you can barely keep your eyes open. You feel a few strips of duct tape being taped over your mouth and smoothed over with his palm.
You whimper through the gag, crying out as loud as you can despite the drowsiness overtaking you.
“Shhh. Stay still. It’s okay.”
None of this is okay. You don’t want this. You just wanna hide in your room and curl up in a ball where it’s safe.
He turns you around and your arms are pulled behind your back. Itchy rope rubs against your skin as it’s coiled tightly around your wrists, effectively restraining you. He grabs your legs, careful to avoid touching your sprained ankle, and you’re not strong enough to kick out anymore. He ties up your legs, and you’re completely restrained. You can’t escape.
Suddenly your eyelids are heavier than before. You don’t remember shutting your eyes. You slowly blink them open. But still… darkness. Oh, he’s tying a blindfold around your head. You barely noticed it.
You can’t see what he’s doing anymore, not like you could very well before in the dark anyway. You feel like you’re floating. Since when were you being carried in his arms?
Everything’s foggy, far away. You can’t keep track of the sounds around you, the direction he’s taking you. But you feel the breeze of fresh air on your skin. You’re not in your home anymore.
He gently sets you down somewhere small and enclosed. It almost feels cozy, warm…
Until a loud noise above you knocks you out of your thoughts. The sound of a car door closing. No, a trunk of a car. He stuffed you in the fucking trunk of his car.
You weakly kick out against it with your little remaining strength, crying out through the gag while the engine starts up and you feel the car start driving, gravel rumbling under the tires.
Realization finally sets in. This is it. He got you. The weird stranger who was following you home was now driving you off to who-knows-where, to do who-knows-what to you. You fought so hard, but he didn’t even break a sweat. You never stood a chance. There’s nothing you can do now. He has you.
You’re so tired. You can’t keep your eyes open any longer. You curl up in a ball, ignoring the discomfort, and your eyelids flutter shut. You finally drift off into unconsciousness while the man drives you further and further away from your home and into the unknown.
. . .
Eventually, you stir, waking up to darkness. It takes a little while for you to remember what happened, but you realize as soon as you feel the rumbling of the car all around you, and feel the rope digging into your skin. You’re still in the trunk.
Not for long, though. Only a few moments later, the car comes to a stop, and silence fills the air. It seems like you woke up just in time. Wherever the stranger was taking you, you’ve arrived.
Footsteps echo through the air and the trunk is opened, letting fresh air into the stuffy trunk. You tentatively move your body, but you’re still weak and stiff. You were out cold for longer than you thought you were.
“Ah. You’re awake.”
“Mmmf…” You whimper softly, barely audible. You still feel groggy, lightheaded, somewhere else. You can’t see where the stranger is, as your world is still filled with the darkness of the blindfold. You curl up deeper into a ball, making yourself small seems to be the only thing you can do at this point, and there's no use struggling when your body is weak and restrained.
“Aww,” the stranger coos above you. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared.”
His hands come down to wrap around your body, gently but firmly hefting you up into his arms, and holding you close. You freeze, unable to tell what was happening or what he was going to do to you. You feel the soft breeze in the air flowing through your hair as he starts walking, closing the trunk behind him.
There’s not much you can do now but wait, unable to see or move, you pay attention to what you can hear. He carries you up some steps, and through a door. It shuts behind you both. He shushes you when you cry as you are carried down and down and down more stairs, the air cooling around you. You can’t keep track of where he’s taking you, it all feels like a blur.
A sudden light flows through the fabric of the blindfold. You shiver. More steps, another click of a door shutting behind you, and you’re gently set down on something soft, your body melting into it.
“Okay,” he says, voice rumbling through your ears. “Let’s get you out of all this.”
Gentle fingers peel the blindfold from your eyes, and light fills your vision. You notice you’re in a small room, all white walls and bright fluorescent lights shining above you. The bed you’re sitting on is soft and warm, despite how much it reminds you of a hospital bed. You’re still restrained, your arms held firmly behind your back by the rope that’s now digging into your wrists, and your legs are still tied together. Your head is becoming clearer, and you look up at the stranger standing over you with wide, terrified eyes.
“Hi.” He’s smiling wide, as if he’s giddy with excitement. His hood is down now, and you can finally see him clearly. There’s a white streak through his short, slick black hair that falls out in all directions. His unnaturally bright green eyes bore into you. Despite the situation, his expression almost seems warm, kind.
“Mmh,” you squeak out a broken whimper. How casual he’s being about all this fills you with unease.
He takes a step towards you, and you flinch back violently, yelling through the gag in a panic.
“Shh, calm down, I’m just gonna help you out of this. I’m not going to hurt you.”
You don't believe him, but you do your best to calm down anyway, trying to steady your breathing and think smart about this. You look around the room more closely. There’s really nothing else here but a small nightstand to your left. There’s a door straight ahead, and a surveillance camera above it— the exit, you presume. There’s another door on the left wall, but it’s slightly open. The wall to your right is entirely made out of glass, and looking through it, there seems to be some sort of…
Laboratory?
You look back at him, not sure if you’re more or less calm than you were before, but he seems satisfied. He reaches toward you and you try not to flinch away this time.
He brings a hand to your face and rips the duct tape off, you yelp at the pain, and he winces and murmurs a quick apology.
You glare at him, but can’t hide your obvious fear seeping across your features. You tremble under his gaze.
“If I untie you, you’ll behave, right?”
Well?
Say nothing.
Quietly nod your head (tell the truth).
Quietly nod your head (lie).
Shake your head.
Beg and plead for him to let you go. You just wanna go home.
Demand to be let go.
Scream at him, curse him out, struggle, fight.
Ask what’s going on, who he is, where you are, and what he wants with you.
Masterlist - prev (you chose to secure him and then beat him)
CW: blank TW for non-con, torture, intimate whumper and a lot of pain and blood. Play at your own risk (detailed tw in the tags)
Kyriel watched with faint disbelief as the blood dribbled off his mouth onto his fingers. As it fell on the floor, next to what was left of what had once been his lower lip — his broken flesh hissing as his own healing power patched him up as if nothing had passed.
But something had passed. Kai had attacked him, had managed to hurt him despite all the pain Kyriel had already inflicted him — for he’d been careless, forgetting what a fucking menace his pupil was. How dangerous he was still, despite the runes caging him — the boy as much his pupil, the blade he’d shaped him to be, as much as the hero of the human lands.
Kai panted in his chains, silver eyes shining savagely in the firelight. The boy baring his teeth, blood dripping off them down his lips — watching him as if he was breakfast, threatening even as he was constrained. His arms wrenched above his head, his ankles secured to the floors, wings flaring dangerously behind his back —
It wasn’t enough. He needed to be broken, to be shattered into a thousand pieces, before Kyriel could come close once more.
The angel growled, every pretence of playing, of gentleness, dropping from his face. He snapped his fingers, the runes activating again all around them — Kai’s eyes widening in delicious fear for just a beat, the boy tensing as his captor had just finished making him scream.
It was oddly satisfying, yet barely scratching the itch of the need for retribution, to watch Kai arch and scream once more. To hear him howl, to watch him writhe on his chains like a fish on a hook — to stand and feel the power curse through him as the boy’s entire body seized in agony, the smell of charred flesh filling the air while his magic cannibalised him from the inside out.
Again. And again. And again, and again.
It was only after Kyriel had made the runes run their course six times, the torture lasting longer and longer each time he activated them on the wave of his rage, that the angel let the power go and approached his terror once more. Kai sobbing breathlessly, sagging naked in his chains trying to breathe — his eyes burnt from the inside out, his skin smoking where his power had charred it. Kyriel not wasting time as he circled him, coming behind him to grab his wings — one after another, the large and powerful limbs reduced to a twitching mess on the floor, stunned by the torture burning their host.
Kyriel snatched six of the chains dangling off the ceiling, each strategically positioned to secure his prisoner however he wanted him to be. The angel selecting six of the heaviest ones, each ending with a large, savage and sharp hook, positioning them in place.
Kai’s scream, when he pierced his wings to secure them in place, went straight to his groin.
“This is what you get for fighting back, love,” Kyriel growled, low. He pulled the chains, lifting Kai’s wings from off the floor — securing them where he wanted them to be, extending them to a half-folded and suspended position, stretched behind him so that they wouldn’t get in the way of the skin of his back. He’d flay him, still, for daring to attack him— “That’s three more weeks. For talking back, lying, and biting like a beast.”
Kai sobbed, growling weakly as his wings were pulled upwards by the hooks savagely piercing them. He flinched, his captor circling him and seizing his chin — tried to bite, still, his teeth instinctively snapping at him.
The angel backhanded him, hard, twice on each cheek until Kai was mewling in pain.
“Four weeks.” Kyriel’s hands were harsh, unyielding, as he grabbed the back of Kai’s collar now — violently lifting his pupil’s head up until he choked, forcing him on his toes while he reached for another hooked chain dangling from the ceiling. “Oh, we are just getting started, love.”
Kai wheezed, the boy straining on his feet with his limbs outstretched above him, coughing as blood dripped off his nose down his chin. He struggled, his nose broken by the hits — the boy gargling, gasping with his silver eyes burned out and covered by a faint patina of white, as Kyriel hooked the chain to the back of his collar now, securing his head against the ceiling the same way as he’d done with his hands. He swung, choking as the metal of his collar dug harshly in his throat — as it pulled against his jaw, the chain too short and taunt, choking him if he didn’t stay as stretched and as pulled taunt as he physically could manage.
He could barely move now, even his head firmly secured by the chains. Had no way to bite, no way to reach towards his captor unless Kyriel decided to put his fingers directly into his mouth — no way to use his wings either, to stop the angel if he decided to touch him now. The boy panting, face pale and twisted with the aftermath of pain — the chains sunk into his limbs lifting him and stretching him to an X, his whole body trembling as the blood dripped off his wings into the drains.
Kyriel stopped to grimly admire him then, watching as the boy struggled to breathe.
That’s when he should have started touching him, he reprimanded himself. That’s when he might have allowed himself the taunting, the roaming hands all over his prisoner — when he had him fully pinned and unable to move, not halfway through just because he’d already fucked him good. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to underestimate his pupil, that fucking blade — shouldn’t have thought that just because he’d had him screaming and begging around his cock already the boy would have been good, malleable and willing to be skewered like a pig.
No. There was no underestimating Kai, not unless he wanted to be the one ending up bleeding on the floor. Not when the boy had managed to attack him already twice in the course of twenty-four hours, despite the chains and all precautions taken—
Kyriel punched the boy in the gut with all his strength, just at the thought.
Kai wheezed, the boy folding on himself as much as his chains allowed him to. He took the hit, unable to shield himself from it — letting out a hoarse shout, a choked thing, as a second hit followed the first. And another, and another, and another — the angel barraging down on him to his front, his fists connecting with his ribs, his belly, everywhere he could reach. Until Kai could feel his bones crunch, his nose breaking again together with his ribs and so many other places he couldn’t even begin to count — his healing hissing, furious, trying to patch him up as his captor beat him to a pulp.
The boy didn’t beg, didn’t make a sound except the occasional grunt and choked shout, only groaning when Kyriel punched him in the groin.
The angel was panting, almost as much as his prisoner was, when he was done. He stopped, baring his teeth, the boy’s blood adorning his knuckles both — the monster grabbing Kai by the jaw, pulling the boy’s face upwards to force him to expose his throat.
“So,” he panted, savage. “Are you sorry, love?”
Kai wheezed blood through his nose, the boy refusing to make a sound. He fixed his eyes, his face a sizzling mess of healing flesh covered in blood, to a point to the ceiling above.
Stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge his captor’s words.
The angel’s fingers rose to Kai’s throat, the monster tightening around his neck until Kai begun to choke. The boy’s stiffening, his limbs instinctively beginning to kick — his composure faltering, something flickering on his face that was unmistakably the memory of death.
Kyriel slapped the boy’s bloodied cheek, mocking, until Kai whimpered again.
“Five weeks,” the monster purred. “In addition to the eight you already gained yesterday when stabbing me.” His eyes twinkled maliciously, the monster giving Kai a one over once more as he held him in his hands. His fingers squeezed, possessively, around his prisoner’s throat. “Did you like being fucked that much, love?”
Kai’s arms twitched, the boy instinctively trying to kick even as the chains immediately stopped him. He coughed, fresh blood staining his lips.
His eyes were like burning stars, the silver swirling with a universe of caged rage, as they finally fell into Kyriel’s black.
“Burn in hell,” he whispered, hoarse. “Magister.”
Kyriel’s hand made another loud smacking sound as it connected with Kai’s face once more, hard, the boy yelping in surprise as it connected with his broken nose. He cringed, tried to turn his head away — but the chains didn’t give, Kyriel’s fingers unyielding as he held him still.
The monster laughed, summoning the muzzle in his hands.
“Bad boys get their speaking privileges revoked, love,” he mocked, low. “Let’s rein in that sharp tongue of yours, mm?”
Kai’s resistance was pitiful, the boy stiffening and only able spit blood at his captor as he pushed the muzzle over his face. He struggled, nowhere to go, Kyriel humming as he fastened the thing around the back of his head — the bite settling in between the boy’s teeth, over his tongue, metal prongs at the sides of the muzzle biting into his flesh as the thing was secured too tight over his face.
Kai panted, all caged fury trembling within his outstretched limbs, glaring at his torturer when he was done with it.
Kyriel sighed, lowering both of his hands on the boy’s chest, finally feeling him under his palms as the boy could no longer resist. Palming him, hands running up and down his skin, feeling his pectorals, his outstretched ribs, his bruised hips—
Kai whimpered, a choked muffled thing, as the fucker begun to lower his hands to his groin, to the soft prize awaiting him.
“Oh, Kai,” the fucker sighed, grinning as he took him in. Watching his distress, the glimmer of hate and shame and fear in his prisoner’s gaze as he choked against the collar around his throat — feeling him under his hands, meat at the market, possessive and dehumanising as he forced him to open his thighs an inch. “You are beautiful.” He smiled, all teeth. “How shall we begin to make you scream?”
It is torture time. You should...
Start slow. Get the knifes, take bigger blades as you go.
Those legs look VERY breakable. And he should be flayed for earlier, still.
