Every morning he hears your muffled wailing through the floorboards, and every evening you’re still sniffling when he gets home from work.
It’s been twenty days since he brought you home, where you belong, and you still haven’t adjusted.
It’s not that he doesn’t love the pretty sight of your puffy, red cheeks when you’ve been sobbing, or the taste of your tears. Not when they’re for the right reasons.
You sputter out beautiful, watery pleas when he fucks into you at night. He’ll never get tired of those cries. But those are different. Those, he tells himself, are because he’s too big, too strong, loving you too passionately. And you take him so well, regardless. Your cute, little holes are still so tight for him. So perfect.
You even cry when you come. That’s his favorite. You’re so overwhelmed with pleasure that you can’t hold back the emotional sounds of release. They’re happy tears for the gift he’s giving you.
But when you’re all alone, convinced he’s not watching, not listening, sobbing mournfully for the shit life he saved you from? Those are the tears he despises.
It’s honestly just so fucking ungrateful. Don’t you know how much he loves you? How hard he works for you? Everything he’s done to protect you?
Of course you do, because he’s told you.
He knows every little detail about you, so it was only fair that he’d teach you about himself.
Each night, after stuffing you full of his love, he’d tuck you in and lock you in. He’d sit on the cold floor—not the comfy cushion he’d thoughtfully lined your cage with—and tell you all about his days. His past, his plans, his dreams for your future together.
He savored the memory of your pretty, red-rimmed eyes widening like saucers when he first explained the extent of his stalking.
Well you called it stalking, he called it looking out for you.
So, now you knew. You fucking knew, and still you snivel and weep like you actually missed your pathetic, miserable old life.
Fine.
If his gentle, doting approach isn’t good enough for you, he’ll have to try a different approach.
He hasn’t tried gagging you yet, worried that it may impede when you finally call for him with longing for his attention. That changes now.
You’ll lose the privilege to utter any sounds that aren’t smothered. The only time you’ll be relieved of a gag, tape or a muzzle are when he’s hand feeding you or fucking your face.
With his cock rammed down your wet, hot throat you’ll be allowed to cry all the lovely tears you want.
Maybe when you finally, finally tell him you love him and mean it he’ll give you back the privilege to pray for your freedom.
But by then you won’t want to.
You’ll adjust, little love. You will.
Because you’re perfect for him, and he’ll do anything to help you realize it.
Teammate One returned before Team Leader had woken. "Please," Smallest Teammate pressed themself to the bars of their cage, "don't hurt them. You can hurt me. Please, don't hurt them!"
Teammate One stared at where Team Leader lay, still unmoving from before. "You know what, fine. I can sharpen my knife skills on you while I wait for them to wake up."
Teammate One unlocked the cage door and grabbed Smallest Teammate roughly. "Come along. Let's see if you can reach these standing cuffs I had made for Team Leader."
Smallest Teammate offered no resistance as Teammate One manhandled them. They would endure this for Team Leader. They just had to hold on for Teammate Two to find them. They could do this.
Smallest Teammate winced as Teammate One grabbed their wrists tightly in one hand, their bones grating against each other. "This is going to be so much fun," Teammate One said as they closed the cuffs. They pulled the knife from their belt.
Teammate One glanced over to Team Leader. "Maybe they'll wake up to see you covered in blood. Won't that be special."
Smallest Teammate hoped that Teammate Two would arrive before that happened. Hoped that Teammate Two would arrive before anything too severe happened. They swallowed as Teammate One raised the knife.
"Stop," Team Leader said weakly. "Please, don't hurt them."
Whumpee being put into a smaller and smaller cage gradually over time until they have to learn to curl their body into itself and control their breathing to be more shallow so they don’t suffocate. Its such a slow process that whumpee isnt sure if it’s actually happening or if they’re just imagining it, causing them to spiral every time they feel the bars pressing closer to their skin. Until eventually they can’t manage it and end up passing out from the restriction once the cage ends up too small.
(TW: anxiety mentions, muzzle/bit, intimidation, threatening dialogue, implied past abuse, pet whump, kennel/caging)
They didn't know why they did it in the first place. They were stupid, stupid to think that he wouldn't hear when they'd said it so loudly to him. They even tried to hide it in their sobs but he'd tormented them so badly, they couldn't control the single word that might cost them their tongue.
In all their years with Whumper, they didn't utter such damning protest. Whumpee had never gone as far as to tell him 'no'. Especially not as loudly and as demanding as they had en route to a direct question of his. But now the damage was done and hours later, they laid in wait for him to punish them.
When the door creaked open and Whumper's shoes tapped at the flooring, each step made their heart skip the beat he aligned with. It was agonizing but they listened for his arrival and kept their head low in their kennel.
Nothing was said but Whumper opened their cage and left the door wide, insinuating he wanted them to come out. They crawled through the opening and sat just outside, waiting obediently for command.
"I know you remember what you did," Whumper spoke in an easy voice, intentionally trying not to startle them yet.
"Y-Yes, sir.." They saw the edge of something leather bulging from their pocket and they already knew it wouldn't be fun for them.
"I think you've been too spoiled if you're losing control from a little pain." He announced and took out the item they had been living in anxiety from. A muzzle with an internal bit.
They wanted to beg, to plead again but they swallowed it back, they wouldn't allow themselves to speak out. They couldn't earn something worse, he was indeed being gracious when they themselves thought they deserved to be muted. Their Master must have really been thoughtful with his punishment.
"Open your mouth pet, for telling your Master 'no'." He ordered lowly, intending to give no room for question.
They merely complied. They dropped their jaw and refused to look at him as he placed the bit between their teeth and strapped the first buckle to the back of their head. A second strap latched a small external cage over their parted lips and crossed behind their ears. It wasn't too bad until he tightened it.
He pulled the tension as far as it could go and shoved the center nail into the shortest latching hole to secure it. He heard them gag and sputter, fighting for a moment against the metal shoving against their tongue. They wheezed and fought for breath with panic but forced themselves calm at the risk of passing out.
"There there, surely this is better than a clipped tongue, right?" When he raked a hand through their hair, it didn't comfort them and they stifled another gag. They couldn't bear the thought of how long they would be left in the torturous device.
