Dec 6, 2025
Whipping a whumpees back until they’re covered in angry red welts, then forcing them on their hands and knees to be used as a seat
seen from Nepal
seen from China
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Slovakia
seen from Ecuador
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from Ecuador
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Slovakia
seen from China
seen from Ecuador
seen from China
Whipping a whumpees back until they’re covered in angry red welts, then forcing them on their hands and knees to be used as a seat
A Family Man's Expectation
TW: whipping/belting, non-sexual nudity, manhandling, mention of starvation, long-term captivity, non-healthy family dynamics.
A/N: I'm back! I might add later to this, but for now I'll leave it as is! Let me know if I missed any warnings! Also, this is very much unedited and I did not even read it twice, so be warned!
Masterlist
---
“Do you have any idea how disappointed I am in you?” Theodore hissed, grabbing at Jace’s arm as he tugged him upstairs into his room.
Jace gritted his teeth, dragging his feet into the floor, “Let go!” Finally, Theodore released his arm, leaving angry marks on his shoulder and letting Jace fall back from the sudden release, hitting the wall.
Looming over Jace, Theodore looked down at him with almost a manic look, chest heaving with deep breaths. His usual business-casual clothes were ruffled and his hair was puffed out around him like a mane. “I swear to God, Jace…”
Jace looked up at Theodore feeling like a rabbit trapped in a bear’s trap. The last time Theodore was this angry… Jace could feel his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Jace froze, practically holding his breath, as Theodore slowly crouched in front of him.
“Jace,” Theodore finally began, trying to reign back in his temper, “you disrespected my family. I brought you to them with the intent to introduce you into my family and you spit on my efforts.” Theodore paused again, his voice increasing at the end. “You have no idea how important this was!”
Jace’s eyes were wide, shining with unshed tears. His hands pressed into the wall as if trying to maximize distance between him and the man in front of him. “I already have a family,” Jace managed to squeak out timidly, flinching as Theodore slammed a hand next to his head.
“That could be fixed easily,” he scowled, “so I suggest you don’t force it to come to that.”
Jace’s face paled at that, “No, Theodore, please. I’m sorry.”
Theodore prompted,“Dad.” “...Dad.” Jace forced out.
“Good,” Theodore replied, starting to calm down. “Now, I’m going to have to punish you. You can spend 3 days in the basement again or I can hit you ten times across the back with my belt.”
Theodore raised a hand as Jace began to protest - Jace flinching in response. An offended expression painted over Theodore’s face, “Don’t. flinch. Stop acting like - like I’m some sort of monster. All I do is look out for you, take care of you, love you, and I-,” he cuts himself off, biting his lip as his face contorted in pain, “If I can’t get you to love me then you will respect me. When you disrespect my family, you disrespect me. Now… choose before I give you both.”
“B-but Dad!” Jace tried, floundering for a verbal way out. Sure, Theodore was crazy, but he was usually pretty lenient as well, always handing out a first, second, third, even a fourth warning before acting. And even then he typically folded if Jace apologized. However, this time it looked like Jace had finally crossed the line. Theodore raised an eyebrow, getting up, “You choose both? Okay, fine.” “Wait,” Jace yelped as Theodore pulled him up, “I’ll choose! I’ll choose!”
Theodore paused, looking intently at Jace, “Well?”
Jace grabbed his stomach. Since he pulled such a ruckus with Theodore’s family, he was pulled away before he could eat anything and, fuck, he couldn’t do three more days in the basement all alone, hungry and cold… How bad could ten hits hurt? “...I’ll take the belt,” Jace settled on hesitantly.
Theodore nodded, wrapping an arm behind his back, guiding Jace through the halls and straight to the master bedroom. Theodore let Jace enter first, shutting the door behind him, “Shirt off.” Theodore made his way deeper into his room, trusting Jace to be obedient. He took one pillow off of his bed, throwing it down onto the floor. Turning around, Theodore was met with Jace meandering close to the door, his shirt anxiously gripped in between his fingers. Theodore softened slightly at that, but remained firm. Jace needed this. Even if he didn’t know it. “Come on. Kneel on the cushion.” Silently, Jace eased down on the pillow, trembling. Smiling, Theodore walked behind him, “Good boy. I want you to count.”
Unclasping his buckle, Theodore slid his belt out of the loops of his pants. He twisted the belt, tugging on it, testing its durability. With a quick snap of his belt, Theodore watched Jace try and fail to suppress a flinch.
With your blood, you shall find repentance. He remembered his father’s words. Yes, he had to do this, Theodore confirmed. Otherwise Jace would never be accepted into his family. And Theodore doesn’t want to know what would become of Jace then.
Tightening his grip on his belt, Theodore struck down once across Jace’s back, eliciting a muffled grunt. Pausing for Jace to count, Theodore sighed when he didn’t hear anything. Theodore struck once more, but harder, forcing Jace to cry out in surprise.
Jace snapped his head back, tears pricking his eyes, “What was that for?!”
“Everytime you forget to count, we start over. Now begin,” Theodore retorted, hitting Jace on the lower back, smiling with pride when he heard Jace start to count.
Theodore continued striking Jace across the back, alternating between his lower and mid section, occasionally pausing for Jace to fix his posture. In the beginning, Jace tried to hold any noise in, refusing to let Theodore see him break, but as the hits continued and he accidentally lost count one, two times, Jace had begun to crack. Now near the end, Jace’s attempt at remaining stoic was completely abandoned. Tears freely flowed down his cheeks, connecting at his clenched jaw. His hands firmly tore into the cushion under him, leaving him unable to wipe his runny nose. Screams easily tore from Jace’s throat and he was panting, almost dry heaving, from the pain.
Finally, Jace counted the full ten. His face felt hot, but it was no comparison to the absolute blaze he felt scorching his back. He barely heard as Theodore dropped his belt, only feeling a cold hand grab and pull him up slowly. Watching Jace continue to cry, Theodore pulled him in, making him lean on him as he brought him to his bathroom, carefully avoiding the glowing marks on his back. He maneuvered Jace out of his pants and underwear before carrying him into the bathtub with one hand under his knees and another gently settling on his upper back.
Dazed, Jace watched as Theodore filled up the tub with warm water. Then Theodore reached under the sink, taking a variety of herbs with him before sprinkling them into the bathtub. Finally, Theodore took off his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers on and started approaching Jace. Jace, snapping slightly out of his dissociated state, began to protest through his tears, but was promptly ignored by Theodore.
Theodore sat across from Jace, reaching up to rub his thumb over Jace’s swollen eyes. He leaned his forehead against Jace, peering into his eyes, shushing Jace as he started to sniffle again, “You’re okay, sweetheart. You did so well, I’m so proud.” He pressed a kiss to Jace’s rosy nose. “I forgive you.”
Jace’s heart clenched in disgust. Not at Theodore, but at himself. He tried to will himself to feel something, anything, but he couldn't even feel the beginning sparks of hatred. All he felt was empty defeat. He broke so easily. Again.
Theodore pressed a warm washcloth to Jace’s back, cooing at Jace’s sharp hiss, “I know, I know. You’re almost done, baby. You can sleep in my room tonight after I wrap your poor back, okay?”
Jace, at a loss, nodded, whispering out a practiced thank you.
---
TBC? maybe?
Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername
I mean you’ve definitely written plenty of delicious things with these but I’m always a sucker for stress positions + whipping. Exposed to the elements could be interesting if you’d prefer!
~ @hot-rangers-in-chains
Hiiiii!! Thank you, thank you so much for this ask, I've been on my hands and knees praying for a whipping ask and AHHHHHH!! 😂
(From this ask game)
Also, at the risk of being sappy, thank you for the compliment! Delicious things? 🥰🥰
Onto business. Personally, I think most whippings are conducted in a stress-like position, and I can't say I make much of that when I write them. But this one at least, mentions the shoulder stress, so.
This scene is from Shattered (ch 17), which is firmly in the fight club arc :)
Whump Trope: Whipping + Stress position
Contents/TWs: male whumpee, defiant/stoic whumpee, whipping, whipping someone who's recently been whipped (multiple times o.o), I mean suppose it's a stress position if you're strung up on a hook so there's that, blink and you'll miss it reference to child abuse (terrible backstories, my bad), brief mention of a death wish, also this is perhaps a bit visceral, ~650 words
Sapphire: Disinfectant
<prev | Sapphire Masterlist | A collab with @paingoes!
Tags: whipping aftermath, painful wound care, living weapon, carewhumper, conditioned-but-defiant whumpee | Words: 1.6k
༻✧༺
Amira stood over him, bottle of isopropyl in hand.
“This will hurt. I’ll give you the pleasure of requesting something to bite down on, if you want one.”
This will hurt. Was this part of the punishment, still? He didn’t think so and did not ask. It took him a second to fully register the offer.
“Yes, please, sir,” he replied weakly. He wasn’t given that option often, he knew he didn’t need it. But he wouldn’t say no if it was available.
Her eyebrow twitched upward at the please. That was nice. She wasn’t used to someone displaying appropriate levels of gratitude. This was everything to her, nothing like Yoojin’s constant insolence.
It was a simple strip of leather—she held it up for Delta to open his mouth and wedged it tightly between his teeth.
She didn’t bother to count down. Rather, she unscrewed the cap and without ceremony, tipped the contents of the bottle directly over Delta’s back.
He gasped. He’d braced himself for the pain, but not how abrupt it would be, how much there was of it. It was part of the punishment, he decided. Not that it mattered, not that it affected anything about how he would react.
He tried to be good for it, truly. It drew a soft whimper from him — he was unguarded, he couldn’t help himself. But he was otherwise still, quiet. His hands curled again, clutching tight so that there was some other force to focus on. Another whine, quieter.
She couldn’t help but crack a small smile. She understood now how rare these brief breaches in his facade were. His training had clearly trained him to brace himself for a captor’s violent persuasion. He’d been trained for this exact scenario, she was sure.
His brief moments of weakness, the small whimpers, allowed her to glimpse beneath the veil. Beneath whatever front he was trained to put up for an enemy interrogator. She was not an enemy. She was just an opportunist.
Shaky breath after shaky breath. The new pain woke him up some. It was impossible not to regain some alertness from the sudden burning, then the paradoxical wetness.
It occurred to him how odd it was that she should be tending to him. He truly hadn’t expected her to bother. His back was in much worse shape than he’d thought initially, the alcohol seeping into the cuts he hadn’t realized were cuts.
She set the bottle down and took the leather from his mouth. She considered the best way to address the stubbornly wide splits in Delta’s back. She’d have to pinch them together to get them to close.
He stayed still. He didn’t think she would want him to speak, so he didn’t.
After a moment rifling through the cabinets, she returned to his side, a small box in hand. She worked at his back for several minutes of silence, cinching together the torn skin, in the worst of places, with butterfly bandages. The rest would have to scab over and heal slowly on their own. It wouldn’t be a pleasant process for him, but that didn’t concern her.
She’s done her job to contain him for now. She’d indicated her disapproval both verbally and physically. If this wouldn’t sink in, she would have to get more creative to find out what would.
She frowned at the mess of skin before her. This would take a while. She thought she might humor him. Or poke his brain. Whichever this was.
“How did it feel?” She asked, assuming, laughably in hindsight, that this was his first time.
He didn’t like that question. Though he did sense he knew the right answer.
“…Bad,” he answered honestly. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. It was true. It was supposed to hurt.
“Good.” Her point had gotten across. “This is how you will continue to feel the longer you resist our use of your powers.”
That stung, too. He hated how fragile he was now, how deeply he was craving forgiveness. From her. He had taken the punishment already. She’d said he’d taken it well. Was that enough? Was she still upset with him?
It would be so much easier just to do as she asked. The thought of putting up with this the entire time while he waited for rescue was enough to make him cry. He bit his lip, took another shaky inhale.
“Thank you, sir,” he said weakly as she finished up with the bandages. He felt worse than he had before she started, but he knew this was better than risking infection.
He’d stay polite to her. She seemed to like it when he did.
Amira stepped back and considered her options. She could just leave him like this, she really could. She almost wanted to, but acknowledged it could be detrimental to her already noticeable yet fragile progress. She wasn’t normally the one patching people up like this. Maybe Yoojin. Only if she didn’t want anyone else touching him.
It was reminiscent of the way she felt now. She relished in the way he hung there, limp in the chains, perfectly on his knees. She’d finish this herself.
Amira was back in the cabinets again, finding a few rolls of fresh gauze and some medical tape. She got to work on Delta’s back once more, rolling the coiled gauze over his lacerated skin. She tried to be gentle. Hands careful. No reason to be unnecessarily rough with him now.
Delta winced to feel her hands upon him again, fear fading into confusion as no pain followed. It was just…bandages. It was a degree of care he hadn’t expected from her. The whipping was brutal, but still he’d imagined worse. There were so, so many worse things you could do to a living thing. He knew this better than most people.
Delta was still valuable. Nobody let him forget it. He knew they wouldn’t have let him bleed out on the floor, wouldn’t do anything to push him too close to the brink. But he hadn’t expected this level of attention. She didn’t have to be gentle about it.
He moved only slightly to give her more space to work, trying to be unobtrusive — almost nonexistent — in a scene that was still fully centered around him. This routine was familiar. He was retreating. Machinery. Not even sentient.
She worked at his torso, all steady hands and intense eyes, until the roll of gauze tapered into a single strip. She tucked it beneath a layer of bandage, ripping a piece of medical tape to secure it in place.
There was already a little bit of blood seeping through. It hadn’t breached the top layer yet, but she could see it was still oozing out in some places, darkening the layers below.
But it would do; Amira was finished with him for now. Looking down, she frowned at the spatters of drying blood at her feet. Though the floor of this room wasn’t exactly spotless, Amira had standards.
Another trip to the cabinets. More paper towels. Some kind of disinfectant spray. It made quick work of the blood.
She stood, satisfied. Another round of footsteps to the sink. She’d done the dirty work, quite literally. She’d be damned if she’d let anyone or anything else mess this up.
Now she could turn her attention back on him. She studied his pose. He still seemed to be shaking. She thought of restraining his arms behind him again, but with the wounds… She hadn’t let him keep them in front like this before. If she let him down… that would be a first.
But he’d done so well. He’d taken each hit and counted perfectly and knelt perfectly and bowed perfectly.
He winced when he saw her move to the panel again. He could take more, he would have to, but not now. He'd lost too much blood, was in too much pain to even think clearly.
It hurt his feelings, worst of all. That he'd done all he could for her and she still wasn't satisfied. It flickered around in his brain too quick to catch, but something was forming there. He'd never quite untangle all those signals in his head.
But the chain didn't shorten again; he wasn't forced back up to his feet. It lowered. Inch by inch, until Delta could rest his hands in his lap again.
“You did well. Rest while I’m feeling generous.”
He looked up at her with mild confusion - not quite relief, not yet. Was it actually over?
But she'd given him permission to. He appreciated the praise, appreciated when people noticed the effort he was making. He wasn't totally sure what resting meant. But without any of the tension holding his body still, it seemed it was approaching an inevitability.
"Thank you, sir," he confirmed again, about five seconds before losing consciousness.
Amira gathered her key ring and tablet from the table. At the door, her finger hovered over the light switch. Something made her turn back.
Was he already asleep?
A small smile curled at her lips, unbidden. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. He looked… soft, like that. The thought confused her the moment she caught it.
He was still shaking.
Her eyes flicked to the lump of fabric bunched in the corner. She’d never given him the blanket back after tossing it aside earlier.
She exhaled, shaking her head, and crossed the room once more. Lifting the blanket from its crumpled mass, she gave it a brisk shake before draping it over Delta’s shivering frame.
She flicked off the light and paused, just for a breath, before letting the door fall shut.
༻✧༺
SO much is written im so excited <33
Sapphire Taglist: (ask to be added/removed!)
@scoundrelwithboba @floral-comet-whump @ichortwine @paperprinxe @catnykit
@sir-fenris @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @loonybun @unorganisedalienrubbish
Whumptober 5- "If My Pain Will Stretch That Far"
CW: Bruises, blood, whipping.
-
"Come on now, you can take more."
He rolled over onto his side, his body littered with cuts and bruises. Pulling his arms underneath him, he managed to make it onto his hands and knees this time before the whip crashed back down over his skin.
"Yeah, I- I doubt that." He panted through the pain.
"You will take as much as I say you will take."
"Yeah, if my pain will stretch that far." He gasped, falling back onto his chest with a sob.
A splash of blood crashed over him as the whip came down and he choked out a mangled scream.
"Haven't I had enough?" He pleaded, curling back into his side.
The man holding the whip knelt down next to his face, locking a hand around his throat.
"You will never have enough." He spat. "You will only have enough once you are so broken, that the only words you can speak are 'yes sir.' Once you are so beaten down that you will do anything I ask without a second of hesitation. If I tell you to lick my boot, you do so like it's Thanksgiving Dinner. Until that day, you will take every beating I give you. You will stretch your pain so far like a balloon ready to pop, and then I will take it farther. Do you understand?"
When the man at his feet remained silent, choking on his air, he let him go and stood up, crashing the whip against the ground.
"I said, do you understand!" He cried.
The man responded with a light cough, his hands coming to rub at his throat as he stared out at the empty room. He didn't respond, didn't utter a single word. Just a light groan torn out of him when the whip crashed over his skin once more.
-
Whumpee shaking in their chains, bracing themself as well as they could muster as the whip fell again and again. Their back was in shreds, engulfed in pain that only seemed to grow and grow.
When whumper came to release their chains whumpee sobbed. Finally, finally, it was over.
But it wasn’t.
Whumper wasn’t taking them down, oh no, they hadn’t earned that yet.
No, whumper was simply adjusting them. Turning them. Preparing the skin on their chest and stomach for the last.
And somehow, that made the next strike even worse.
@febuwhump 2025. Day 24. Forced to Beg
Specifically Boxboy Ratty (they/them) being forced to beg for punishment-
Ref from Pinterest (like the first one that shows up when you search sitting poses)
“Not a perfect soldier but a good man” — Alastair & Warfare He Faced…and How He Handles It
CW: Warfare, PTSD/C-PTSD, Flogging/Whipping, Wounds, Mild Violence References, Child/Teen exposure to violence/war