whumpee stares at the tub, full of steaming water, and shudders.
caretaker calls from the other side of the door, "everything alright? it's not too hot, is it?"
whumpee clears their throat and shake their head, "no, no, it's-" they exhale sharply and shake their head, "it's fine. i just."
I want to take a shower instead.
still staring at the tub, whumpee can feel whumper's hands on them, their nails scrubbing at caked on dirt and grime. their hands running all over whumpee's body-
whumpee shakes their head again and step into the tub, "it's fine, caretaker. thank you"
As an ace person, I grew up with a fear of sex that led me to read a lot of noncon fics to "prepare", if you will, for (what I saw as) the inevitable. I know its not the same as real sexual assault and I don’t wanna appropriate anyone's trauma, but your focus on survivor fiction still makes me feel better in some ways.
As such, do you have anything on threatened noncon situations that don't actually end in noncon? Or, I guess, situations where whumpee feels the threat of it even if it's not there?
I'm so glad that the focus on survivors/survivor fiction has been helpful--and absolutely, if it helps you heal from something/comforts you, it's doing its job. I'm ace too btw :)
Kidnappee grabbed by the armpit and upper thigh and thrown bodily into the back of a truck. They can still feel where the hands pressed in near their groin as their attackers jump in behind them.
As part of psychological torture. Captive tied to a chair with their legs spread wide open and gagged with a ball gag. Then left to sit like that for thirty minutes as their stretched tendons begin to ache in their legs and jaw, captors walking in and out of the room and eyeing them while talking to each other quietly.
Interrogator walking into the room with obvious bdsm gear--blindfold, gag, riding crop--and setting them down on the table across from prisoner and just making prolonged eye contact until prisoner's eyes drop and they swallow.
Pinning fresh captive down with shouts and grabs all over their body, frisking them with hard slaps and pinches and shouted "where's your weapons? Huh?" And captive grimacing as they feel hands everywhere they're not supposed to be.
Ripping off their clothes to make sure they're not hiding anything. Captive fighting to hide their body, crying when they fail, waiting for the next touch in disgust and terror.
Sensual fingers pressing into grooves by captive's hips, sliding down, then up to rest on captive's nipple as captive's body swerves to the side in their bonds, trying to escape their touch. Captor whispers, "Keep resisting. Make it fun. I dare you."
Yes!!!! Especially really subtle ones that an outsider would never pick up on, and if they do, would never register as something wrong.
A 'gentle' hand resting on Whumpee's shoulder or waist. Holding Whumpee's hand at all times in public. Wiping away Whumpee's tears or stroking their cheek because "you have a fallen eyelash. Make a wish, Whumpee."
You can go into more explicit noncon/assault territory with this trope as well, but honestly I prefer when it is seemingly 'innocent'. It's just physical contact: over the clothes, barely even suggestive. But Whumpee is terrified because they know where it could lead, and Whumper is getting high on the feeling of power and control because "is that all I have to do for you to know you're mine?"
Of course, Whumper never lets anyone else touch Whumpee. If Whumpee wants help with anything that requires physical contact, Whumper is the only person they are allowed to ask or seek comfort from. So when/if Whumpee is rescued and living with their friends again, they can't stop imagining Whumper whenever somebody lays a hand on them.
Touches as simple as brushing past Whumpee in a crowded room, tapping their shoulder to get their attention, or helping Whumpee apply makeup send Whumpee spiralling, but they don't know how to explain that to their friends because it's only touching. It seems pathetic to be freaked out by that. But they are and it's scary and when they think of Whumper they can't breathe and—
Whumpee may be free of Whumper, but Whumper will never let them go.
TW: Noncon touch, fear of future noncon, conditioned whumpee, female whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, insectphobia, failed escape, flashback to previous torture, former living weapon whumpee, breaking bones.
A cool rag gently wipes across Diana’s forehead as she sits slumped in her chair, trembling. Silent tears roll down her cheeks. Whatever Hive had injected into those wasps packed a punch, to put it lightly.
Vision blurry, Diana watched as Hive moved the rag downward. He wiped the blood and yellowish pus from her arms. The burst stings split her skin open, leaving a small hole where the stingers had been. “You’ll start to feel much better now, love, I promise,” he cooed, his touch gentle. The sensation made her skin crawl. Occasionally, after a bad fight, her handler would help tend to her injuries. At the academy, doctors patched her up enough that she wouldn’t die.
That was different, though. Those touches had been clinical. Hive’s palm lingered, caressing her. It was strange, she thought, as the room spun around her. There was a deep ache in her bones…. Her stomach churned, threatening to spew bile. Through the haze, she could feel a sense of satisfaction, and even…. Lust. The feeling was strongest against her thigh, where Hive’s hand rested.
His thumb traced circles against her skin as she panted, trying to stifle her tremors. “I know, I know,” he said softly. “It feels bad now. Just give it time….” Before Diana could realize what he was doing, Hive stood.
He leaned down. His lips pressed against her forehead. Every aching muscle went taut in her body, but the kiss was left as quickly as it had come. This time. “I’ll leave you to get some rest. When I come back, we’ll move you somewhere more comfortable…” Damien seemed to consider something as he looked down at her, those empty pits in his eyes piercing her very soul.
Was he going to kiss her again? Touch her? A beetle crawled up the side of his neck. She shivered. A long moment passed before he simply declared, “I’ll also bring you some food and water. Be good, love, try to get some rest.”
Then Hive turned to walk away. As he moved, the swarms of creatures on the subway floor parted for their king. Somewhere, a door shut. Then Diana was left alone with the dozens of insects left behind. In Damien’s absence, the low buzz seemed thunderous. That little circle of space around her chair was left untouched, but they were everywhere else. Wasps and bees, cockroaches, freakishly large beetles, moths, and spiders…. If she moved, would they pounce on her?
It didn’t matter. So long as she acted quickly, they wouldn’t notice. Insects weren’t like…. Capable of complex thought or strategy. Apparently, their leader wasn’t either.
By popping her stings, Hive extracted the venom that had been stifling her powers. Diana hadn’t been certain until she felt his emotions while he washed the pus off her limbs. Exhaling slowly, she closed her eyes. Her hands twisted behind her. They were bound by zipties. All of the laboratory-enhanced-heroes had enhanced strength and accelerated healing. Her limbs still felt heavy with venom, but Diana thought that if she could just….
Eyebrows knitting together in concentration, Diana gave a quick jerk. The zipties snapped. Around her, the insects began to stir. Shit. She froze, hardly daring to breathe as she watched. A few of them crept closer, but they didn’t cross that invisible line that surrounded her chair. Could Hive communicate with them? She didn’t know how his powers worked, and she didn’t want to be here long enough to find out.
Her hands thrust outward. Water burst from her palms, crashing against the concrete before her. A hundred insects were washed away. She leapt to her feet, legs aching and cramped from being restrained for hours, but she pushed herself forward.
The turnstiles were to her right. Past them were escalators, frozen in time. That would lead her to the surface. She just had to make it.
Cockroaches, moths, and wasps descended from above. Diana waved wildly. Water shot out from all sides, trying to swat them away, but there were so many, and her powers were fading fast. She was too dehydrated. Crying out, Diana launched herself over the turnstiles and pumped her legs faster, because the escalator was right there….
A sewer grate before her exploded. A geyser of…. Hundreds, thousands, of insects erupted and descended upon her. Diana had no choice but to fall to the ground, screaming. Water burst from her hands in a halfhearted attempt to force the creatures away, but there were too many, and she was too weak. Diana curled into the fetal position when her powers finally gave out, bracing for pain that never came. They weren’t attacking her. The insects just…. Circled her. Humming, incessant, their little legs and wings and antennae brushing against her goosebump-covered skin, trapping her in place.
An eternity passed. Or only a second. Truly, Diana couldn’t decide which, if it passed quickly or too slow. But if asked afterwards, she would have preferred to stay trapped within the insects dome than face the demon who ordered the creatures to part.
Hive didn’t speak. At least, not in a language that Diana could understand. For now, it was undeniable that he could communicate with the insects. With a wave of his hand, the thousands of winged creatures flew away at once, retreating into their crevices and shadows.
His form was even more intimidating where she lay crumbled before him. Diana planted her hands on the ground, trying to push herself up, but his hand fisted in her hair first. A sharp cry escaped her. “No, no, no—”
Electricity shot through her, spearing through her neck into her very core. The woman ignored EI427’s screams. “When you are punished, you accept it with dignity,” she snapped. Diana was thrown into her cell, where other guards were waiting. They chained her arms above her head, facing the wall. Someone tore off her shirt to leave her back exposed.
She couldn’t stop her whimpers, or how she shook her head. “Pl-”Agony coursed in her veins. It stole her breath. She doubled over, teeth gritted as the collar continued to shock her, unrelenting. Without mercy. When the whipping began, every scream that escaped her lips was met with a shock.
The cycle continued until EI427 blacked out. When she came to, she was still strapped to the wall. Her lesson wasn’t learned yet.
Diana clamped her mouth shut as she was dragged across the concrete. Her arms and legs scraped against stone, and all she could do was try to crawl after him enough to limit the searing pain in her scalp. Between their proximity and the contact, Diana could feel his utter fury, and a strange sense of…. Betrayal. A fierce sense of protection—no, not protection. More twisted than that. What he felt was closer to possession.
He finally stopped when they reached a room down the tunnels. Originally, it was surely a supply closet, or maybe a break room, but it had since been turned into a bedroom. He threw her on the bed, and began to tie her limbs down.
No. No, no, no…. Diana whimpered, shaking her head furiously. A scream begged to be released from her throat. Pleas for mercy. Cries that she couldn’t do this, didn’t know how, don’t, don’t, anything but that please…. Damien looked down at her. While his expression was stone-cold, his emotions were anything but. They were raging. Ever-changing, a fucking hurricane of feelings. Slowly, Diana grasped a sense of pity. His anger had turned to something softer, now that he saw her strapped down before him, unable to scream.
The mattress creaked beneath her as Hive perched on the edge. One rough hand reached out, caressing the line of her throat. Specifically, the burns left from years of wearing that cursed collar.
“We will work on this,” he said softly. His thick eyebrows knitted together as he made the vow. “But we can’t yet. Not when you’re so insistent on leaving me.” The empty pits met Diana’s wild, sapphire gaze. He leaned down, teeth grazing at her earlobe. His breath was hot on her skin.
Off. Get off, get off, get…. Get off…. Every muscle went taut, and she was tied down but she could pull free, she could, she had the strength. She could fight him. He would punish her, sting her again, but she could at least try it was just….
Diana couldn’t make herself. There was nothing stopping her except her own mind. But how could you fight your mind?
She squeezed her eyes shut as Damien nipped her ear, then kissed and bit his way down her throat. Sucking. Teeth sinking into skin. Claiming her, even more than the burn scars already had. And she said nothing. Did nothing except lie there, shaking. “You know you belong here,” Hive crooned.
There was mint on his breath.
“Why would you try to leave? I’ll just find you again…. Or the REIA will first. Do you really want that?”
His hands were rough, groping her breasts through her bra and t-shirt.
No one had touched her like this.
But he didn’t go lower. Didn’t take off her clothes. Hive stood, the bed shifting as his weight lifted, and a little, broken sob spilled from her lips. She didn’t cry, though. She felt like a dried-out grape after using her powers.
“I didn’t want to hurt you again, baby….”
Something heavy hit the ground, then there was the sound of digging around in a drawer or box. Diana pried her eyes open and craned her neck to see. She didn’t want to see. But she needed to.
A bright red toolbox was in the center of the dirty, stained floor. Damien dug around in it until he pulled out a large hammer.
It was hard to tell from across the room, but she thought he felt pity. Intermingled with that, though, was a sense of determination. “This won’t kill you,” he said softly. “You’ll heal fast, we both know that. As long as you’re a good girl, and don’t try anything stupid, it won’t completely cripple you.”
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t make herself pull at the restraints, but she did lick her lips, trying to force out sound. “What…. Do you….” The words were so quiet. Her voice broke.
A shadow crossed over Damien’s face. Keeping the hammer in one hand, he turned around and dug in another drawer until he withdrew a washcloth. His shadow loomed over her as he returned to the side of the bed. “Open your mouth.”
She obeyed without thinking. He shoved the cloth inside. “Just for a moment, baby. I don’t want you to bite through your tongue.” Damien’s hand caressed the side of her face.
Then that same hand joined the other as he slammed the hammer down on her left foot once, twice, three times, until it was nothing but a demolished sack of bones and flesh.
----------------
Tag List!!!! @stars-hide-our-fires, @watsonbee
@cepheusgalaxy do you want me to add you to the tag list? No pressure, feel free to say no, but I wasn't sure if I should tag you or not.
Whumper giving whumpee some help releasing the knots in their back and neck. Its painful, but not as excruciating. Even worse, its relaxing. A painful experience that melts into that "hurts so good" relief. And whumpee starts to associate pain with that little moment of euphoria. They begin to crave it.
In the early days of his captivity, Whumpee was allowed to sleep on the couch in the basement. Now he spent his days chained up on the floor of the wash room, tethered to the column in the center of the laundry room with a radius of no more than twenty feet to roam about. The cold of the cellar was inescapable. Sometimes, late at night, he would secretly turn on the dryer on its lowest setting and press his face to its warmth. It was one of the only good things left in his life anymore. Now all he had to look forward to was the sweet release of sleep and laundry day once a week.
“Whuuuum-peeeee!” Called a singsong voice from the top of the steps.
Whumpee swallowed. No matter how many times this happened, he was never prepared for it.
The wooden steps creaked in protest under Whumper’s heavy boots. The tall man rounded the corner of the basement into the subterranean laundry room, where he found his favorite captive chained to the central support beam, exactly where he’d left him.
“Got a little something to keep you busy.” Whumper grinned, dumping the contents of the laundry basket he was holding onto the floor. “Turn around.”
Before he finished giving the command, Whumpee had already presented his captor with the zip ties securing his wrists behind his back. Normally Whumper would remove the binds the moment he got home, but he'd had already been back for hours. Maybe he was busy with something else. Or maybe he did it on purpose.
Whumper retrieved his switchblade from his pocked and flipped it open.
“So I saw something on the news again today.” Whumper informed his captive, snapping the plastic ties with his knife.
“Apparently someone found an old hat in the woods. They think that it’s one of yours. It started another search for you, if you can goddamn believe it, and it’s even bigger than before. There’s helicopters and scent tracing dogs and all.”
Whumper unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his pants. “That’s some crazy persistence, all for one person. Like, move on with your lives, people. What’s it been, a whole year now?”
“Ten months.” Whumpee replied weakly, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.
“Shietttt, has it really been that long? I was just kidding.” Whumper said playfully, his voice laced with something sinister. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun.”
Fun. Is that what this was?
“I’m just glad they haven’t given up hope yet.”
Whumpee knew he’d misspoke the second the words left his mouth.
“Wrong, Whumpee.” The air went heavy. Whumper shot a disdainful glance at Whumpee, his eyes narrowing with contempt. “People need to stop searching. They need to give up already.”
Whumper was still clutching his leather belt in his hands. For the sake of his physical wellbeing, Whumpee decided to ignore the comment completely.
“Uh, so separate these by color, then?” Whumpee asked as he pawed through the dirty laundry on the floor, desperate to change the subject.
Whumper’s mind was still on the search. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, like usual. Remember to run the sheets—“
“On delicate mode?” Whumpee finished his thought. “Mhmm. Got it.”
Whumpee busied himself by sorting through the dirty laundry pile while Whumper loomed by the room’s entrance. Whumpee watched him cautiously from the corner of his eye. The sociopath was silently brooding, his eyes fixed on Whumpee’s form.
He wished Whumper would fuck off and go back upstairs.
Doing laundry once a week was one of the only tasks he was allowed to do, and as depressing as it was, he actually looked forward to it. It was one of the only things he had to keep himself entertained with.
In the early days of his captivity, Whumper had allowed him to watch the small tv in the basement living room and provided him with an endless supply of magazines and books. And to think, Whumpee thought he was a prisoner back then. Like most everything in Whumpee’s life, his privileges had been taken away one by one.
Whumper removed the tv within the first month. He never gave Whumpee a reason why. Next were the books. Then the couch. And soon enough, Whumpee found himself chained to a pole with his wrists zip-tied behind him for ten hours at a time, praying that his captor would at least remember to feed him that day.
Whumpee started a pile of lights, darks, and colors, sorting each garment into its designated pile. Whumper remained in the doorway and watching his captive intently, his presence entirely unwelcome.
“So, um. Did you make something good for dinner?” Whumpee piped up, breaking the tension of the silence.
Ever since he’d been captured all his brain would fixate on was food, and the only thing he could think about currently was the sumptuous meaty smell that had been tantalizing his tastebuds for the past hour.
“Mmm.” Whumper nodded, crossing his arms and stepping into the room. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Garlic bread too, just from the store.”
Whumpee’s eyes widened hungrily.
“No leftovers I’m afraid.” He added.
“Oh.”
Whumpee crumbled in on himself. That meant no dinner tonight.
Whumpee opened the cabinet above the sink to retrieve a box of detergent. He popped off the lid and scooped the plastic measuring cup into the powder, leveling the mountain of excess with a swipe of his finger.
“You should wash your clothes as well, Whumpee.” The tall man remarked from across the room.
“Uh, yeah. I will.” Whumpee agreed, continuing to avoid eye contact. He placed the pre-measured cup of detergent on the counter, turning to gather up the sorted pile of white clothes from the floor. He chucked them into the washing machine, sprinkled the soap crystals on top, and closed the lid.
He really wished Whumper would go away now, but the tall man stood firmly in place. Whumpee knew where this was going.
“I said you should wash them, Whumpee. That means to take them off.”
Whumpee stiffened. God fucking damn it.
Not right now. Not that he wanted to go through this shit ever, but Whumper seemed to be in an especially odd mood this evening.
Whumpee did as he was commanded. It wasn’t worth the fight. He lifted his pale blue button-up over his head, not bothering to unclasp the buttons, and tossed it into the pile of colors. He removed his socks and pants and did the same. Finally he stood in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, awkwardly shimmying them down his thighs until they slid down his legs and hung at his ankles. Blushing, he stepped out of them and walked over to the washing machine, chucking the underwear into the load of whites as it filled with water.
A chill rocked his body when Whumper approached from behind.
The larger man pushed his hips into Whumpee’s back, pinning him squarely against the machine as it hummed to life. “Mmm. I should make you walk around naked all the time. Don’t you think?”
“It, uh… it gets really cold down here.”
“Psht.” Whumper draped his arms around Whumpee’s neck. “So I’ll buy you an electric blanket. That’d be nice, right?”
“Sure. But, please, I really do need my clothes.”
Whumper’s arms traveled down the sides of Whumpee’s torso and trailed inwards to find his ass. One hand delivered a crisp smack, which immediately left behind a glowing red mark. He smiled, scooping a buttcheek into each palm, jiggling what little flesh was there.
“Your ass is so tiny.” Whumpee quipped.
Yeah, that’s what happens when you average 400 calories a day for nearly a year.
“Yeah. I’m pretty skinny now.”
“You look good like this.” Whumper purred into his ear as he delicately stroked the length of Whumpee’s back. “But I do miss the ass.”
Time to go away now, Whumpee thought. Please, please just go the fuck away.
Whumper smacked Whumpee’s ass again, scooping it up and grinding the denim fabric on his crotch against the thin man’s perfect, bare skin while caressing his neck with his hot, wet tongue. He took Whumpee’s earlobe into his mouth and suckled it lightly, biting down on the soft flesh with only a tiny amount of pressure.
“Mm, you have goosebumps.” Whumper murmured with a self-satisfied grin. “Did that turn you on?”
Two of Whumper’s fingers traced the curvature of his ass and found Whumpee’s entrance. The digits dabbed at the hole gently, teasing and prodding the skin but never pushing inside. The firm touch sent an involuntary shiver up Whumpee’s spine. Whumper smirked at his reaction and nibbled at the side of Whumpee’s neck.
He was so cold, the warmth on his neck felt good. But nothing else did.
“I keep thinking,” Whumper cooed, Whumpee melting into him for heat. “Maybe it’s finally time to give your friends closure. Feels cruel to keep dragging things out like this. They need to stop looking for you.”
For the first time in months, Whumpee felt a vague twinge of hope.
“What? You mean that you’ll--?”
“What I mean is, they’ll be looking for a body.”
Oh. Oh no.
“W-what?” Whumpee stammered. He twisted out from under Whumper, his chain rattling against the floor as he side-stepped his captor. “What does that mean?”
“I feel a little guilty about it. The search for you has been going on for ages, and now they’re bringing out helicopters and shit? That’s a waste of taxpayer money. The cops could be out there doing real good.”
“No. What did you mean by ‘body’?”
“I was thinking we could chop off one of your legs or something. Maybe just a foot.”
“No!” Whumpee shrieked. “You can’t!” He delivered a feeble push against Whumper’s chest, pivoting out from underneath him. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud, he pressed his hands to cover them and doubled over in fear.
The reaction took Whumper by surprise. “Bad joke.” he offered, placing a calming hand on the other’s shoulders.
It wasn’t a joke.
The tall man rubbed his captive’s back until Whumpee’s breath finally evened out. It felt like a betrayal, the way his body responded so well to Whumper’s comforting touch. He jerked away from the sociopath’s reach.
Whumpee blinked incredulously at the man, his cheeks burning with anger. “Don’t.” he spat.
“What?”
“Don’t you fucking dare--”
“Excuse me? Don’t I fucking dare do what?”
“Don’t fucking joke about mutilating me!” Whumpee shouted.
“Hey.” Whumper cautioned. “You’re being too goddamn loud right now.”
Whumpee was frenzied, his chain skittered around as he paced around in a tight circle, pulling at chunks of his hair.
“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Whumpee demanded. “How much fucking longer!?”
“As long as I goddamn like.”
“Just let me go. Just please…” Whumpee pled tearfully, his emotions see-sawing violently between anger and complete despair. “You got what you wanted from me. Why won’t you let me leave…?”
Whumper shrugged. “It never was a part of the plan.”
“Fuck you!” The captive yelled. “I fucking hate you!”
“Whumpee.” Whumper warned with a stern finger, “it’s time to shut the fuck up.”
“I HATE Y—!”
Whumper grabbed a length of chain from the floor and yanked it towards him, forcing Whumpee to the ground by the shackle around his ankle.
Whumper continued pulling the chain into himself, dragging Whumpee’s body across the cold cement floor with every tug. It all happened too quickly for Whumpee to process.
“I should bash your face into the concrete again.” He growled, standing over his collapsed body. Whumpee could taste blood in his mouth. “But I’ll give you one last chance. I guess I didn’t say it explicitly enough last time, so hopefully this time it fucking sinks in: you are here to stay. There will be no more talk of kidnapping, or rescue, or freedom, or fucking escaping. No more of that. You’re here. You’re mine. This house--no--this room, is your whole fucking world, and I am your god. Get used to it.”
Whumpee lifted his head slightly and shot a fiery glance in Whumper’s direction.
“You better wipe that look off your pathetic face while you’ve still got one.” Whumper flicked his switchblade open.
He lifted one of his boots and rested its rubber sole on Whumpee’s back, pressing him into the floor. Brandishing the knife overhead, he commanded Whumpee: “Show me why I choose to keep you around. Remind me that you haven’t fucking forgotten your sole purpose in life, or I’ll saw your leg off right fucking now.”
Face-down on the floor, Whumpee let out a sigh so small only he could hear it.
He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have any other options. Silent tears rushed down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor.
And so out of self-preservation, Whumpee thrust his hips into the air and pushed his face to the floor, his bare ass on full display. He shifted weight into his palms and spread his legs out, his dick and balls tumbled forward, swaying slightly while he found his balance. His hands reached back behind him, blindly tracing the outsides of his thighs, following a line up and over to the round cleft of his butt cheeks.
Choking down a sob, he forced his ass apart. He disgracefully presented his hole before Whumper’s shining, ravenous eyes.
The captor’s jeans fell to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, settling himself in the space between Whumpee’s open legs.
“When I’m done with you, you are going to fucking thank me like your life depends on it.”
The sudden, high-pitched beep of the washing machine pierced the quiet of the room, signalling that the washing was done.
Whumpee didn’t dare move an inch.
“And after I’ve filled you up,” Whumper’s hot breath hit his ear.
“You’re going to tell me exactly which limb to cut off.”
A kind of part 2 to this and inspired by this post
(this reference is amazing! It was so helpful while I was writing this so major shout out to op^^)
–
Whumpee had been defiant for so long. She spent every waking moment screaming—cursing at her captor and all but gnawing herself out of her restraints like a rabid animal. She had taken so much pain without so much as a grimace of discomfort. Breathed thick bursts of smoke into her withering lungs and watched her own blood pool at her feet—never once taking the easy way out despite it being offered countless times over.
But this; maybe it was all of that stowed away pain barreling into one moment, maybe she just wasn’t as strong as her bravo led her to believe, but this was a torment she couldn’t see the other side of. Blood rushed rapidly to her head, swirling in her skull like a monstrous whirlpool that tilted her vision inside out. Her mind lolled freely, inverted and collapsing in on reality itself, endless and threatening to slip from her slinking eye sockets. She blinked, then again, then the darkness was practically apart of the room—each one just barely keeping her conscious from slipping past her.
Her shoulders didn't just ache anymore, they were bursting from their sockets with dull pain, spiking with every flinch; involuntary as her body refused to accept this position. Not that she expected it to. This was nothing short of unnatural. Her spine was stretched and contorted like a stringed puppet on an operating table. The pressure centered on her lower back, where the core of her weight ‘rested’. That wouldn't be the right word to use given there was really no way to rest like this. No way to move or reposition to make the torment past faster.
A mixture of tears and sweat trekked up her forehead as she hung over the chair. Passing through her hair as gravity took them, the same force pulling her bound hands into the floor as if a sinkhole had opened up under her. The feeling was weird, not just the liquid flowing up her face, but the feeling of crying itself. She wanted to believe it was just from the pain—the overwhelming, blinding agony of it all—but she knew it wasn't true. She was just crying. A redirected place for her desperation to go due to her being unable to verbalize it.
She wasn't used to sorrow. She was more akin to anger, resentment, hating someone so badly you could feel the pure, liquid bitterness run throughout your veins and make your heart beat out of your chest. But now the only thing flooding her body was fatigue. She was tired. So, so tired she was almost grateful for the gag clamped between her teeth keeping her from begging. Her canines dug into the cloth before another pained whimper could escape her throat; something becoming more and more frequent.
A shadow came to linger over her, broad with the silhouette of a killer. Whumper grinned down at her, a truly devilish thing, nothing but pure glee drawing up the corners of her lips as she glowered down at her prey. Whumpee hated that she was almost relieved by her presence. It meant there was a way out of this hell, even if she didn't take it.
She stood in front of Whumpee now, steps deliberate, leaning down to splay her palms over Whumpee’s numb thighs, the feeling from her legs long gone. It was nauseating to be this close to something like her, if her damn ankles weren’t tied to the legs of the chair she would happily drive her heel into her jaw. An instinctive wince away from the touch just made the edge of the chair dig into her shoulder blades more. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth against the sharp pain, biting down on the cloth until it settled out.
She laughed, “You look too sweet like this. I can practically feel my teeth rotting at the sight of you.” Whumper bared her teeth in a cruel grin to demonstrate her point.
Her thumbs trailed up her body to rub throbbing circles into her hips. She locked up her muscles to keep from flinching away again, mock dominance masking her silent plea for no more pain. But the effort was reduced to nothing when a jolt shot through her as Whumper’s hands became rougher, digging into the joints of her bones. She chocked on the muffled cry that defiantly slipped past her lips, cursing herself the moment the sound registered in her head as her own.
“I’m honestly surprised with you, baby,” Whumper spoke too sweetly, “You usually don’t break this fast. It’s only been ten minutes and you're already shaking,” she teased.
Ten minutes?! There was no way she had only been like this for ten minutes. She lasted longer when she was strung up from the ceiling like a piece of meat, and she knows that was at least a couple of hours. But ten minutes?
She could be lying. Messing with her head cause that's just how sick she was. But so what? That didn't change the unbearable pressure or the burning. It was just another piece on the board.
A haunting feeling swirled in her gut, a voice as small as a whisper murmuring an outcome she tried to ignore: she couldn't endure this for much longer. She was going to cave—give in to Whumper and her sick games. And she dreaded the inevitable satisfaction that would slice Whumper’s face as smoothly as a piece of glass against Whumpee’s skin. She much preferred the glass in her abdomen.
Whumper’s fingertips trailed across her belly, Whumpee felt bile rise in her throat at the touch, “I wonder how much longer you'll continue to play the strong man until you realize there's no point. That little circus in you head will come to a halt sooner or later, why don't you save yourself the pain and give in now?”
Her nose burned with too short breaths. There wasn't enough air for her to squirm away from the woman, she had no choice but to stare at the ceiling, pretend she didn't give a shit and hope Whumper would loose intrigue. But that thought—the possibility of Whumper walking away and leaving her in this agony left a bitter taste on her tongue. There was no way to win in this limbo.
Whumper persisted in her pursuit, dragging the hem of Whumpee’s shirt up her abdomen, the fabric almost reaching her chest, and Whumper’s touch along with it. Her head heavy against gravity, she swore she would tumble to the floor any moment. But each second merely bet on the next.
No matter how much her mind screamed ‘stop’ Whumper continued. The pads of whumper’s fingers trailed up whumpee’s throat, forcing an involuntary swallow from her as she tilted her head back to avoid it. It made her feel like she was barreling towards the floor even more.
Her hand eventually came up to brush the gag. Whumpee foolishly hoped, a spark in the back of her mind, that she would loosen it, maybe give her a change to beg. To yell and curse like she's done so many times before. To stay defiantly silent. She didn't know. But she wanted the chance to do something instead of suffer in silence.
“Now, if I take this out, are you going to play nice? Or are you gonna make me regret it?” she said, now perched beside Whumpee.
Whumpee kept her gaze, eyes red and watery as she watched every movement carefully. Her fingers brushed her lips. Nails working the gag from it's place.
Whumpee’s breaths became quicker, her heartbeat like a drum in her ears, mouth twitching with the prospect of a full breath. That is until Whumper retracted her touch, a click of her tongue escaping her as she sat back on her heels, “Maybe next time.”
So I decided to try that "World's Most Dangerous Writing App" for fun and wrote all this on the spot LOL. I had a lot of fun with this!! It's also mostly unedited because why not, might as well try sharing my raw, unedited writing for once.
"Just leave me alone, please. I don't want to do this anymore... stop—OW!"
Whumper grinned darkly at Whumpee, trussed up like a turkey and chained to the ground.
"Then say it."
Whumpee stared weakly up at them, though a flicker of defiance still shone in their eyes.
"I don't want to."
Whumper's smirk dropped off their face. "No?"
They looked at the torture tools lined up on the table next to him, thinking for a moment. Then they smirked, running their hands along the assortment.
"Because we can keep going, you know. This bat IS already quite bloodied up..."
Whumper glanced down at the bloodied and bruised Whumpee with a smirk. Their body was covered in bruises, blood, and cuts, from being beaten over and over with the bat that had nails hammered into them. Whumpee, as defiant as they were, was still shaking.
"Maybe we need to do something else then, hmm? There's a lot of choices we have here... what will it be? Another stress position? Perhaps... electrocution? Or maybe..." Whumper grinned and picked up a pair of pliers.
"I could yank out a bit of your teeth? A bunch of 'em are filled with cavities anyway..."
The expression on Whumpee's face was very entertaining, as their eyes went from defiant to terrified as they stared at the rusty tool, covered in dried blood and who knows what else.
"No. No—no, please. Not that. Anything but that..."
Whumper grinned, kneeling in front of Whumpee's bound form.
"Then say it."
Whumpee looked down, breaths shaky and uneven still from the beating. Whumper reached out and used a gloved hand to lift their head up by their chin, their touch mockingly gentle.
"Come on, Whumpee, I'm waiting..."
Whumpee stared at Whumper, at the pliers, then shut their mouth and flicked their gaze downward.
"No."
Whumper's mocking expression turned into a snarl, and their grip on Whumpee's chin tightened.
"No? Still?"
They laughed, loudly and mockingly. They were pleased when they saw Whumpee shiver.
"Fine. Fine! I tried to be nice, you know. I tried to give you a chance, to let you just get it over with... but if you're so stubborn..."
Whumper growled, digging their fingers into the hinges of Whumpee's jaw.
"Open your mouth, Whumpee."
Whumpee clamped their jaw shut as hard as possible, their muscles shaking with the strain and pain as Whumper dug their fingers in harder.
"I said OPEN YOUR MOUTH, you little piece of SHIT. Or I'll gouge out your eyes instead!"
Terrified, Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut. Whumper growled.
"Last chance, Whumpee. Three, two..."
Whumpee whimpered, and finally opened their mouth, just slightly. Whumper immediately used their fingers to force their mouth wider open, then shoved the pliers inside and attached it to one of Whumpee's teeth. Whumpee immediately started whining and squirming.
"N—no—Ngh—s—ngh—"
Whumper grinned darkly, and then they started pulling.
Whumpee's bloodcurdling screams were like music to their ears. They kept pulling and tugging, their other hand gripping Whumpee's jaw tightly to brace themself.
There was a splatter of blood as the tooth came out. Whumpee's screams teetered off into pained whimpers and moans, and Whumper grinned with sadistic delight.
"Let's keep this dentist appointment going, shall we?"
For the next few minutes, Whumper, basically kneeling on top of Whumpee to keep them from struggling, proceeded to yank out not just one, or two, but six teeth in a row. Then it went up to seven. Then eight. Then ten. As they were about to yank out the fifteenth tooth, finally, finally, Whumpee howled,
"FINE! I'LL THAY IT! THTOP!!! PLEATHE!!"
Whumper grinned with a dark triumph, finally lowering the bloodied pliers.
"Say what, dear Whumpee?"
Whumpee was shaking, eyes filled with tears and mouth covered in blood and little chunks of gum. They closed their eyes, breaths shaky and rapid. Then finally, they choked out,
"I'm your... your..."
Whumper grinned. "Yessss?"
Whumpee opened their eyes, tears glistening as they finally choked out quietly,
"I'm... I'm yourth. I'm your pet. I belong to no one elthe but you."
Whumper grinned, and finally put the pliers down. Whumpee's body sagged in defeat once they did, and Whumper grinned and cooed, pulling Whumpee's bound and trembling form into their arms.
"There, there. Thank you, Whumpee. That was all I wanted to hear."
They started stroking Whumpee's head, and Whumpee whimpered and closed their eyes. Whumper smiled darkly, then bent down to whisper in their ear,
"That wasn't so hard... was it?"
Whumpee's only response was a few more whimpers, as Whumper continued to stroke their sweaty hair.
