#test subject

[zangerdanger]

CONTROL 💉🩻

[dr-m0rte]

The anesthesia should keep you unconscious for the entire procedure, but there's a chance you'll wake up before I'm finished, and if that happens...well...that's what the restraints are for darling

-Dr. Mortè

[callmeconsch]

I want a dom and I want them to do weird "medical" experiments on me.

Not even sexual ones, like of course they would make me horny as fuck but just like them looking at me? OBSERVING me? Writing shit down on their note pad about me??

Wow. Like make me kneel for you and document how long i can hold the position without shaking. Document when my breath gets shaky or how long it takes for me to give up.

Say some naughty shit to me at random times of the day and note down what gets me the most red and flustered. When am i the most perceptive to the filthy shit you say to me?

How long does it take until you can train me into a new kink? What method works best? Denial and edging and only letting me cum to the new fucked up thing ur trying? Or just complete overstimulation? How many days does it take for me to beg for the new filth to be done to me.

God, write down what gets me wet the fastest. After every time you try a form of stimulation for 2 minutes we are done and you take all my vitals. My blood pressure and pulse, my temperature, you take a pic of me to compare how red I got. Check how big and hard my Tcock has gotten. You inspect how wet my cunt is and maybe even the taste. But not for my enjoyment. For your important medical research of course.

Because i am just another little lab rat to you. A good little lab rat, who gets rewards for taking part in your tests willingly of course. But always just your little test subject.

[thatwhumpblogoverthere]

My favorite kind of whump trope is by far the test subject that has never been allowed in the real world, but I like the idea that they just think everything happening to them is completely normal. Like, yeah. Everyone wakes up and has their blood drawn to the point of exhaustion and or passing out. Then they are stabbed repeatedly with all sorts of injections and watched closely for any signs of any change. Then agonizing pain for several hours, of course.

Everyone wakes up after they pass out again to a very angry Whumper in a white coat, threatening them for something they have very little control over. Or none at all. Of course. Everyone gets a beating that lasts at least two hours before they are left alone, on the cold floor, their body slowly beginning to mend itself. They have no idea how unnatural this all is. How unnatural they are. How strange it is that their body heals at such a rapid rate.

They just wait until their meal. Which may come. Or may not. They won’t starve, their body will simply carry on. The pain won’t stop. The hunger simply fades into the background. And maybe one day….something might change. An agreement made and they change hands. Maybe to someone worse. Or someone who takes pity on this poor soul. They just don’t know. This is normal, so, they simply wait. For the blood to be drawn and the injections and the eyes on them. Always watching. Always judging.

[whatiswhump]

An alternative view to test subject hating being knocked out for surgery:

He hadn’t been given breakfast at the regular time. With a twinge in his chest it reminded him of his dog, she had an excellent internal clock. And so did he now it seemed. Her intrinsic internal clock had been impressive, he knew his was just a pitiful byproduct of captivity.

And he knew he should dread what that meant… getting strapped down to a table, rolled in to an operating room, a man putting a mask over his face and saying “Shhh.. it’s alright,” with a flat intonation.

But in truth he was glad when they withheld his breakfast. He didn’t mind what it meant- because he didn’t mind the constricting restraints… or no one in the operating room looking in his direction or going to sleep not knowing which part of him would be irreparably altered when he woke.

He honestly didn’t mind any of these things now.

… because Test Subject knew with surgery came complete and total sleep.

When the anaesthetic cocktail of the day was held over his face, he knew that for at least a couple of hours he would not have nightmares, or waking thoughts that were worse.

And if he was lucky enough, hopefully it would be a radical enough procedure that he would be sedated and drugged with pain killers for a few days.

He knew being conscious made no difference, control was an illusion. So he’d rather not be present when they stripped away what little he had left.

[doctorlarch]

The first sense that come to you is sound. As you become aware the soft sounds lulling you into a peaceful bliss, as if the sound of wheels over tile floor was the calm of ocean waves. With time the sound develops more clarity, the clanks of the moment of the gurney feeling sharper. You can hear people speaking, although still unaware of how many or what they are saying. Not bothered to try to decipher any of it. You could feel you were moving, the gurney slowing or rounding corners here and there. It seems your mind is beginning to come back to you at the same time as your sight does. As you squint to open your eyes you’re greeted by the aggressive brightness of fluorescent lights flashing above as you pass beneath them. You resort to closing your eyes again but the damage is already done.

“Subject 42 has awoken.” Someone announces as you feel a hand briefly squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. You can feel the glove sticking slightly to your clammy skin as it pulls away. This is when you realize your lack of a shirt, or gown. With what feels like extraordinary effort you open your eyes again and manage to tilt your head slightly to look each way. You can see at least four or five people surrounding you, walking your gurney down a long corridor before the gloved hands of someone at the head of the bed firmly moves your head back to center, shining a light in each eye. It’s hard to gather your thoughts but you think back, can you remember being in any accident? I must be in the hospital obviously, you think. You become aware of the rising beeping of what you can only assume is a heart rate monitor. The hands above you lightly tapping one of your cheeks trying to rouse your full attention. “Take some deep breaths for me. We are almost there.” At this point you finally find the focus to make eye contact with the stranger above you, whose face was mostly obscured by a surgical mask. You do your best to suck in a shakey breath as you burst through a set of double doors. Before you can comprehend what’s happening you’re being lifted and positioned on an operating table by 4 or so masked figures in scrubs. Each arm is stretched out and secured in place before you can begin to think of resisting, the table moves some, and your legs are secured too, albeit in a much more compromising position. Looking down you see your naked body, adorned by a multitude of wires and sensors across your chest and abdomen, you’re not normally shaved bare like this either. You feel movement on one side and look to the left where you see someone pulsing a large syringe into an IV port already in place.

You don’t get to watch for long before your head is being tilted up and back as a mask comes down over your mouth and nose, held firmly in place by strong hands. “You need to calm down, 42, you’ve been through this before. Slow deep breaths. Just let the medicine do its job.” The man spoke in a reassuring tone but nothing he said did anything to ease your rising panic, if anything he added to it. But you didn’t have long to let your thoughts snowball, forseeing your panic the anesthetist had already begun squeezing the rebreather bag, slowly and steadily filling you with whatever plasticly smelling gas was coming through the mask. Just a couple breaths in you’re feeling light and detached. You’re still confused, sure, but no longer feeling the rush to act. You are just a passive passenger in your body, you didn’t know what the many hands touching you were doing but it was none of your concern. You were just along for the ride.

You lost your sense of time long before gaining consciousness in the hallway, unsure and unbothered by how long you’d been breathing in the sweet gas, until now you’re feeling something new, the heavy detached feeling had transformed into something different, you felt very present. Hyper aware of every sensation. You could feel the pull of the sticky pads on your chest and stomach, the wires brushing against your skin with each breath. The air felt so much colder against your exposed genitals, was that wetness?…Oh god, what is that heat building! A groan escapes your lips that I’m not even sure you were aware of as you try to arch your back and wither in your restraints, unable to get far. It all builds so fast! You had no knowledge of how desperately you needed to be touched until you felt the researcher’s gloved hand graze your labia, causing a visible shudder. You started to wonder again what was happening but before your thoughts could progress you were seeing stars…

The lead researcher, sat between your legs fully inserted two fingers into your aching hole. Clenching down, back arching, a moan more animal than human erupted from behind the mask held to your face. You try to comprehend the white hot sensation stemming from your groin as the fingers curl to massage your G-spot momentarily before withdrawing. Leaving you with an aching need you’ve never known before. “Yup, the subject is ready to proceed”

[callaeidae3]

Febuwhump2026 Day 15: Test subject

"He's alive, Sir Beldarut!"

[linecrosser]

Febuwhump 2026 - Day 15 - Test Subject