"I just want you to know how thoroughly and completely you are mine," Whumper had said as they watched the blood drip from the wound on Whumpee's shoulder. "That you are mine to hurt until I grow tired of you. Then you're mine to dispose of. Where no one will find you."
Whumpee had fought against giving into Whumper's torture for what felt like days. Their body was exhausted and in pain. Blood dripped down their cheek, their arms, and from a wound on the right side of their chest. They had to find a way out of there before Whumper killed them.
"But I require rest before we continue," Whumper said as they put down the knife on the table they had been pulling various implements of torture from. "Consider this a reprieve for you for now."
Once Whumpee was alone, they slowly, painfully slowly slipped from the restraints keeping them in the chair. Their wrists were so slicked with blood that it was easy to slip free. And then they were running.
Whumpee didn't look back as they fled from Whumper's compound. Didn't look back as they ran and ran though their body screamed with protest. They had to get away. Had to get to safety.
A familiar porch was suddenly in front of them. Whumpee wasn't even sure how they had gotten there. But as they dragged their exhausted body up the steps to Caretaker's front door, Whumpee began to cry. They were safe. Caretaker was right there. They had gotten free from Whumpee.
As the ground swam up to meet them, the door opened and a voice that Whumpee longed to hear called out their name. "Whumpee!" Caretaker shouted as they rushed forward to catch Whumpee. But Whumpee was safe. They let the darkness that had been creeping up on them consume them because they were safe in Caretaker's arms. They were safe and Caretaker would keep them safe.
Contains: implied minor whump [rough handling/manhandling - nothing really bad or graphic]
The dormitory door burst open, letting inside a flood of guards.
“Up!” The order through the room, sending half-sleeping men to their feet while they still swayed. Heavy-lidded, red-rimmed eyes watched as the guards lifted lanterns, peering into every face.
“This one.” A boy, the youngest, stumbled forward as he was wrenched from the lineup. “He’s the one who started the brawl.”
“Let me go!” The boy struggled, wailing, “Wasn’t only me fighting!”
“Too bad.” The guard dragged him toward the door. “We just want you.”
The prisoner’s mouth moved before he could think better of it.
“Leave him alone.”
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Whumpee was almost thankful when it had started to rain.
After a long day out, the unrelenting sun beating down on their bare shoulders and back, scorching their skin and drenching them with sweat, when the sky clouded over and they got the first break from the heat in hours, they felt like they were going to sob with relief. Their tears had ran dry ages ago, though, leaving them dehydrated and with a dizzying headache that, even though they were sitting, made the world spin around them.
Small trickles of blood ran down their arms, bound above their head to the fence post with a long cord of barbed wire, wound around their wrists and forearms not particularly tight, but enough for the razored bits to bite into their skin with every twitch, pricking and stinging. They weren’t extended all the way, which Whumpee could only be grateful for, allowing their posture to slump back just a little against the post, rather than sit rigid-straight. They had originally been bound on their knees, and it had taken them a few long minutes, paired with enough pain to make their vision blur, to shift to something more comfortable.
Whumper had been in a rush, leaving them out here. Cursing and spitting the entire time, their aggression twice the anger Whumpee was accustomed to. They had some brutal bruises, color just finishing setting into a deep hue of purple, blotched across their abdomen and ribs, some creeping up their jaw where they had suffered a hard punch.
Their arms had gone numb by now, anyways, so it didn’t really matter. The pain had dulled to a hum, everything from their shoulders up nothing more than a disconnected static. The first drops of rain had felt like pure bliss, pattering against their sweat soaked hair, cooling the burned flush from their face. They had turned their head up towards the sky, mouth falling open to catch the drops as it increased from a drizzle to a steady rain, letting the water soothe their dry mouth and aching throat.
Then that rain turned to a downpour.
Soft patters of rain turned into harsh bullets, beating down on their sunburned skin painfully. It soaked through their hair and poured down their face, nearly choking them with each breath as unwanted water invaded their throat and lungs. With nothing else to do, they tucked their chin to their chest and curled up their knees, trying to shelter their exposed body as much as they could. It hadn’t been a cold day, by any means, temperatures one of the hottest all year, but the rain was cold and the air was almost too thick with humidity to breathe. Sunlight was snuffed behind dark clouds, and soon Whumpee couldn’t see far enough in the distance to see Whumper’s house, which they knew was only a hundred feet away or so.
God, where were they?! Whumper had never left them out for this long, certainly not in weather like this. No matter what they did, no matter how badly they behaved, Whumper was always merciful enough to bring them in before the elements became a real threat.
They couldn’t even see the lights from the house, with how bad the rain was.
They had fucked up, they knew it. Whumper was in a bad mood, they should have known to be careful. To be extra attentive, quickly completing their chores so they could be ready whenever Whumper would demand the next order.
Today, all they had done was forget to put away the dishes. They had washed them by hand, then ran them through the dishwasher, but so caught up in their list of doing the laundry, sweeping the floors, cleaning the windows, scrubbing the tiles in the bathroom, they hadn’t gotten around to it by the time Whumper had gotten home. It was something stupid, it had never happened before, but Whumper was in such a bad mood, it might as well have been like they burned the house down.
Whumpee hid their face behind their knees, feeling the rain beat like stones against their inflamed back. Lash marks, still not fully healed, swollen with sun and now torn open to blister. The scars that wrapped around their shoulders were covered in peeling skin, like they had been singed by a flame. They could feel the heat from their face against their knees, hot like a stovetop, not even the rain able to cool the flush.
They felt sick. Nausea twisted their stomach in knots, acid stinging their throat but they had already thrown up everything in their stomach, and then some, the pile of sick washed away with the rain some time ago.
They genuinely felt like they were going to die.
They had never felt this bad. Not after Whumper had ripped their back to ribbons, after they had been drugged out of their mind halfway to overdose. Not after they had been first kidnapped and sold.
For a while then they were in and out of consciousness. Bubbling pain in their chest, hindering their breaths, only soothed when their mind finally gave in, to return with their consciousness however longer later.
It was freezing out now. They couldn’t feel their legs either. They were splattered with dirt, even though they hadn’t moved in hours, drenched to the bone, blisters ripped open and bleeding along their limbs and chest. The only area of them that had been protected from the sun was the strip from their lower abdomen to the top of their thighs, where Whumper had left their boxers after stripping them of their other clothes. Some days they weren’t even that kind, when leaving them out, but like Whumpee had said, they seemed to be in a rush.
Whumpee could only hope, pray that they would rush back soon. Their head felt like it was imploding, chest on the verge of caving in, rocks and ice settling in their stomach causing sharp pains all through them.
They didn’t think they would make it much longer.
…
When they were finally cut down, Whumpee was conscious, but barely. Unable to even open their eyes, the moment their arms were freed they slumped to the mud like nothing more than a rag doll, a sack of flour left on a porch. They were shivering and sweating all in one, covered in mud and filth. Their skin was peeling and bleeding still, a mess of open wounds and sores where they had been pressed to the pole, bug bites all up and down their shaking body.
“Oh crap,” a voice said, but the words were mangled and twisted, drowned out by static. Something soft was draped over Whumpee’s curled up body, soaking the rain from their skin. The downpour had lightened to a scattered rainfall, dancing across Whumpee’s face as they were scooped up into a sturdy set of arms. A hand cupped the side of their head, keeping it from lolling as they were carried away.
“Well, well, well. Who do we have here? The one, that can't keep his hands by himself.”
Johnny was panting, how did they catch up to him that fast? There was nowhere to run anymore, he was cornered from 3 intimidating guys.
“Well, well, well Johnny, what do we do about that?”
Why in earth is he repeating himself? Wants to be seen as the boss, instead of the smug he is, it seems. And about whom is he talking? Johnny couldn't remember, how he got here. Which events had occurred that let him end up right here.
The soon-to-be-victim shouldn't have these useless thoughts let distract him.
He was swept off his feet, his head hit the concrete floor with a sickening sound. Everything went blurry. “Well, well, well. We need to see that you keep those hands off of her, won't we.”
Keep his hands off of whom? Mhm, maybe Jessy. He liked her. But he couldn't remember any of the accusation really happening. The words were muted, far away, like someone's TV was running in the next room.
The pain, that came, wasn't. All of a sudden, everything was close, too close. The 3 guys directly above him, but he hardly registered, them holding his arms, when the barbed wire was tied around. This was probably the scariest alleyway in the heart of the city, not a damn barn. Where do you get barbed wire? Just jumped through his head, accompanied by cheer unimaginal pain running up his arms. And it was the last thought his mind was capable of, until it was completely overcharged by white hot pain.
Someone had fixated his hands in a tight grip and the other ones were operating the wire. Little merciless spikes started biting into his flesh. The skin instantly turned warm from the blood that was starting to flow out of uncountable holes. Johnny's hands started shaking, while wave after wave of horror rushed through his whole body. The pain first originated from his wrists, than crept up right to his elbows. He couldn't breath, it was too much. His arms were hold in a hammerlock tight grip away from his shivering body. If he had been able to differentiate, he probably would have recognised his own body was covered in cold seat by now. But he didn't feel anything else but pure agony.
Breath only came in short sobs, that didn't help at all. But panic and shock were about to take him hostage. His vision was shrinking by ever incomplete breath. The pounding, like someone was using the back of his head as an anvil was getting more and more unbearable.
Just make it stop, he was pleading, but no words came through his own panting gasps. His blurry vision was getting darker, but the pain stayed as gruesome and overpowering as it had started.
He didn't recognised the holding hands were gone, his own arms now covered in blood just in front of his eyes. Johnny was still panting like there was no tomorrow. His vision gone black, but the pain was still there, his arms throbbing and burning.
The mere seconds of unconsciousness did nothing to easy any of the overthrowing symptoms.
Blackness was retreating only so very slowly, when he tried to blink himself back to reality. He was still panting, his arms still burning, but there wasn't that much blood on them anymore and they were stretched up over his head.
He had a panic attack, his mind trapped in a hallucination, again. Why wouldn't his mind let him hallucinate of being with a woman on the beach, naked. He would have taken the punishment more willingly, if he at least got the treat first. There was nothing he could do to prevent the punishment anyway. His head was working too slow, when he finally realised the hopelessness of his currant situation. He was hanging, strung up from the ceiling, his hands cuffed, his wrists bloody, his feet hardly reaching the floor. He was only half naked, his torso covered in dark bruises and in mostly dried blood, that had already soaked a good part of his waistband. His feet were naked too, dirty and he was standing in the remains of a dried pool of more of his blood, that hadn't made it down the drain, before it clotted.
Despite the last part of his wish was merely half fulfilled, he wasn't anywhere near the beach. He was in some moist cold cellar. And all he was feeling was clear, brutal, agonising pain and so much more than the light sunburn, he would have loved to dream about.
His head was just too heavy. He was fighting down his panting by trying to take long desperate breaths. There was nothing he could do, there was nowhere he could run. He didn't need to waste his resources in an useless panic attack. Ha, if it could have been this simple.
His vision was still blurry, but mostly from tears, which hadn't only originated from all the pain. His head was spinning still.
Being strung up, bruised and bloody, while you're being starved to death isn't very good for the mindset. But maybe, the next time, they'd come, they would just beat him into never ending oblivion. That was all he could hope for just now. That was all he really wished for.
