Hello! Welcome to my little corner of the internet 😊
I’m new to the Whump community after years of having Whumperflies and not knowing what it was, thank you Supernatural 🤣 I’m 40 years old, she / her, from the UK.
My favourite tropes are:
• Hurt, No Comfort
• Manhandling and Restraints
• Medical Whump
• Whipping
• WRU / Pet or Box Boy Whump
• Noncon - especially if it’s WRU related
• Waterboarding
• Expressive Pain
• Any good old torture session!
I’ve never really been a writer so wish me luck and ask me anything you like, if you’d like to send any prompts I’ll certainly have a go at writing something.
Luca tried his best to hide his shaking, tried to swallow the fear that wracked his body. He tried not to show any panic, but he couldn’t, tears dripped down his face as he pulled on the chain holding his arms high. He looked at the shower head just above his face and willed his mind to take him somewhere far away while his dignity was shredded along with his ravaged skin. He was so afraid. Afraid of what was coming. Elias was beyond reasoning with. He was insane, a man possessed by a misplaced belief that he was in love.
Another sob caught in Luca’s throat as Elias slipped his underwear down past his crotch, down to his knees and slowly to his ankles. He tapped each leg for Luca to lift and fully removed the last of his clothing. Luca shivered with embarrassment and tried to close his legs around himself. He’d never felt so exposed and utterly at someone else’s mercy.
Elias stood slightly back from Luca and examined every inch of him with slow, meticulous attention. His lips were parted, and he panted as he looked his fill. A large bulge was visible through his jeans. He took off his tshirt and moved toward the shower cubicle.
Luca found his voice in the sea of disbelief thundering through his mind and started begging.
The tears flowed faster and wrists started to ache from tugging at his handcuffs.
“Please, don’t. Don’t come any closer. I don’t want you to hurt me. I don’t want you to touch me. Don’t touch me.”
“Of course you want me to touch you.” Elias released a small giggle.
“I’m just as nervous as you my love.” Elias laid his head on Luca’s chest and marvelled at the satin texture of his skin. He took a long lingering breath, breathing Luca’s scent deep into his soul. He reached down, unbuckled his jeans and slipped out of the rest of his clothes. He pressed himself against Luca, his overheated flesh piercing the cold sweat of dread that coated Luca’s body. The sticky, half dried blood holding them together.
“My love, it’s our first time naked together, seeing each other, it’s ok to be nervous. This is a special moment. I won’t hurt you.”
Luca screamed as Elias turned the shower on and luke warm water hit him at full force. The swirling cuts that covered his limbs sang in agony as the water poured over him. He hung is head as his body shook with pain, tears glazed his eyes and he watched the water turn pink with his blood. Terror hummed through him, he was hyper aware of Elias’ body against his.
“You said you won’t hurt me! This hurts. Please…….stop.” Luca whimpered. Elias ignored him and continued running his hand across Luca’s body. Not paying the slightest bit of attention to Luca’s pleas.
“You’re so much more than I ever imagined,” Elias sighed with pleasure. “Every time I look at you, touch you, my heart swells that little bit more. Look at your goosebumps Luca, look how I turn you on.”
Elias spun Luca around so they were face to face. Luca shivered violently, despite the warm water. With his hands still pinned above him, he could only watch in horror and disgust as Elias dipped his head and began to lick across his chest before taking Luca’s left nipple into his mouth and teasing it with teeth and tongue.
Anger surged in Luca at the continued delusions in Elias’ head, the way he wouldn’t listen to reason, the violation against his body. He thrashed, trying to shove Elias away. He brought his knee up to stomach height quickly and landed a solid blow right between Elias’ legs.
“Fuck…..” Elias grunted “I’m trying to be nice to you. I’m trying not to force you, you little bitch.” Elias had flipped like a switch, anger and pain radiating from him in waves.
He spun Luca back around so his head and body was firmly under the shower head. Reaching over, he plucked a face towel from the drying rack, fisted his free hand in Luca’s hair and wrapped the towel around his face. Elias yanked Luca back on himself so he was almost bend double, his back straining with the force, his hands held firmly in the ceiling chains grip.
A wild surge of hope ran through Luca, he wasn’t restrained to a board, his head was tilted back but it might just not be enough, this might not work…..! The hope was squashed moments later as the water soaked the towel and it sucked tight to his face as he tried to breathe.
Although the water didn’t flood his throat and lungs as he’d seen on TV, it still managed to make its way into his sinuses and down his throat. Luca’s body reacted automatically and he coughed, followed by trying to take an enormous gulp of air. More water flowed in and the saturated towel blocked his airways. The water burned his nostrils and throat, the warmth of it making the pain more intense. Luca gagged and pulled more fluid into his body with the next uncontrollable gasp.
Desperate for air he began spasming under the water, each inhale met with nothing, like sucking against a plastic bag. His lungs were on fire, screaming for oxygen. He tore his hands at the cuffs, the metal cutting through the skin at his wrists. His mind was in total panic, fighting for life, telling him to breathe and being met with zero relief, just an endless gagging. He was pure terror, his fear reverberated through his starved lungs and frantic heart. The sides of his vision dimmed and narrowed whilst panic consumed him.
A quiet dripping encourage Luca to peel open his eyes. Alive, he was still alive. Relief was quickly overshadowed as awareness of where he was and what was happening flooded back to him. He focused on the object in front of him and recoiled. Elias knelt on the ground in front of him. And he was crying quietly.
“It was for your own good. I’m, I’m s-sorry.”
Luca took a sharp breath in, wincing at the pain still running through his airways. The sound made Elias look up. Love and sorrow were shining in his eyes. He smiled shyly and pushed himself higher up on his knees. Elias was now face to face with Luca’s crotch. He froze transfixed and Luca wished for a moment that he had drowned.
Elias continued to stare, fixated with Luca’s body. He slowly reached out and once again ignored Luca’s begging. He spread Luca’s legs with a hard shove and continued to look at him. My God, Elias thought, Luca was glorious and utterly perfect. He ached for him.
Elias couldn’t help himself, he needed a taste. He leant forward and licked the length of Luca. He was still soft but a small twitch gave away the effect his tongue had on Luca’s body. A slow, delighted smile spread across Elias’ face. Luca began to cry silently, unable to control his bodies response and feeling utterly betrayed by himself.
“What does Ryan have that I don’t?” asked Elias softly. He licked at Luca again, his tongue teasing Luca’s tip. He moaned in pleasure and sucked Luca’s head into his mouth. He groaned again at the heat in his mouth, the slightly musky scent making him dizzy, he swirled his tongue around Luca.
“Not much by the looks of things. You’re getting hard for me already.”
Luca tried to hold himself together. He willed himself not to react, but as Elias moved his mouth further down his cock and took him into his throat he felt himself grow stiff and his hips bucked. Elias swallowed around him and Luca moaned. Despair filled him as his body continued to betray him and the tears fell faster.
Elias looked up at Luca as he bobbed along his length. As Luca wept, he began to cry too. Luca’s tears of joy were beautiful, he glowed with desire and Elias obliged, his own tears running as the thought of Luca’s enjoyment washed through him. He’d never been so happy. He finally had Luca, he was all his! He sucked Luca’s cock harder and bought his face against Luca’s navel. Elias ran his teeth along Luca’s underside, took him deep into his throat and swallowed once more.
Luca bucked his hips again. His body was hot, his cock throbbed, the warm heat coming from the moist mouth wrapped around him was overwhelming. He couldn’t help it. He moaned again as his hips picked up rhythm, his body tingled and a tightness grew in his abdomen. His shame momentarily overridden.
Elias watched Luca’s face, witnessed the look as he stopped fighting against himself. Luca slammed his hips forward into Elias mouth and Elias swirled his tongue once more and swallowed around him. Luca came with a gasp and Elias continued to bob along his length as Luca filled his mouth and throat full of cum.
Elias swallowed, savouring the flavour as if it was nectar. He licked the still twitching Luca clean as he rubbed his hands across Luca’s hips and ass.
Luca was quietly sobbing once more as Elias stood.
“Aww, you enjoyed that didn’t you?”, Elias kissed down his jaw line and nuzzled his neck.
“Don’t be sad, there’s plenty more coming. I’ll make you feel good again in no time. Let me show you how much more we can be.”
Luca opened his eyes in terror as the words sank in. He was numb as Elias turned him round and gently pinned him against the wall with his body.
Luca bucked against him, the fight to escape returning. The desperation to get away was overwhelming.
“Sssh relax for me love. I’m going to make you feel good again.” He licked his fingers and then trailed them down Luca’s spine. Elias’s hand slipped lower and spread Luca’s ass. He slowly inserted his first finger and groaned against Luca’s neck as he gasped.
He slowly fingered Luca. The other man’s moans filling him with need, his own cock tight against his stomach. He pumped in and out of Luca, feeling the man clench around his finger, he added a second and after a few minutes he slid in the third. Luca cried out.
“Please, no, stop it hurts. Please, I’m sorry, please stop.”
Elias slowed his fingers, giving Luca time to adjust. He licked Luca’s back and pressed tightly against him, god this was amazing. He pressed his fingers further in, wanting to be as deep as possible.
“Please stop!! Please, it’s too much it hurts! Stop, stop…….I’ll be yours, I promise. Just stop.”
The words tingled and sent electrified blood racing round Elias’ body in sheer elation. Luca said he would be his. The first step to finally admitting he loved him back!! His heart soared and his fingers curled deeper against Luca’s walls as he pumped them back and forth. He pushed his body firmly against Luca pinning him tightly. The last thing he would do now was stop. What a stupid idea!!
Luca fought against Elias’ grip but his fight only excited Elias further. His fingers moved faster and deeper making Luca cry out.
Elias’ belief that Luca’s reactions were that of a consenting lover, that he was reacting out of sheer pleasure and wanting more pushed him over the edge. He withdrew his fingers, pumped his cock briefly and spurted his release down Luca’s back.
Luca shivered in horror and shame as the sticky mess ran down toward his ass and continued down the back of his legs.
“My love.” Elias sighed with a bone deep sated satisfaction. He took the cloth he’d used to smother Luca and started to clean his back.
“I know you want me right now but there’s no need to rush. We have so much of each other to discover before we become one. We’ll know every inch of each others pleasure, the main event will by exquisite.”
Luca sobbed, the man’s insanity knew no bounds. His fight had left him and he was drained from the day. He flinched as Elias finished cleaning him, took his hand and led him back to his cell.
*******
Really long chapter, sorry!!
*******
Previous | Next
*******
If you would like to be tagged please let me know 😊
Luca lay on the small cot of his cell. He stared at the ceiling and went over the mess that his life had become….again.
He thought he’d seen Elias over the last few weeks but shook it off as being paranoid. The guy was out of his life and if he had managed to get out of jail on good behaviour there was still the restraining order in play. As he lay there his body still throbbing from the earlier beating, he realised he should have listened to his gut, should have told Ryan.
Luca sighed and rolled onto his side, carefully shifting his weight as he moved. He looked toward the door and froze, adrenaline spiking in his heart. Elias was looking through the bars on the door, silent watching him intently, his blue eyes sparking in the dim light.
How long had he been stood there silently watching him?? It gave Luca the creeps, swiftly followed by horrified nausea. Elias was here, he had him locked in a basement cell and he was now looking at him like he was a piece of meat. Luca backed himself into the wall and looked round for a place to hide. Nothing.
Elias entered the room quietly, still gazing at Luca as if trying to commit every inch of him to memory. He stopped in front of the cot and crouched down to Lucas eye level. A trembling finger reached out and slowly brushed the length of Lucas cheek. Elias did it again, and again. A strangled whimper slipped from his lips and Luca pulled back quickly. Elias’ hand hovered in mid air but his eyes became furious. He straightened before drawing back his fist and punching Luca across the right check, his heavy ring splitting Luca’s cheek.
Luca cried out as his head wrenched to the side and he felt the warmth and stickiness of his blood as he held his hand to his cheek.
Elias stood panting, “it’s ok, it’s ok, we’ll be ok.” His eyes gleaming again in the darkened room.
He leant forward again and grabbed Luca’s hands and quickly cuffed them. Elias wrenched Luca off his cot and sat him in his wooden chair, the only other piece of furniture in his cell. Leather straps hung from the chair ominously and Luca only managed a small fight before he was tightly bound, legs, arms and torso.
Elias became excited again, seeing Luca restrained like that just made him love him even more. He was so beautiful. Looking up at him with confusion and a slight bit of fear. Elias just knew Luca loved him too, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it yet. He ached to slide his tongue between Luca’s slightly parted lips. Imagining how Luca would sigh in pleasure and melt into the kiss. Elias took a shuddery breath and leant forward.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Luca bit out, mustering up his courage from deep within.
“Don’t come near me, you freak. How are you even here? Last I heard you were rotting in jail.”
“My love…..” Elias started to speak but was quickly cut off at the harsh laugh coming from Luca.
“You have got to be joking. Are you still that deluded? You still think that there is something between us?” Luca’s lighthearted disbelief faded as quickly as it had come.
“You need to let me go and leave me the hell alone.” Luca said in a slow measured voice hoping the calm tone would have Elias seeing sense.
“I’m not yours, you don’t love me, you just have an infatuation with me. I’ll never be yours, we will never be together. Now let me go and I won’t get the police involved.”
Elias’ features swiftly turned much darker, a small sneer cut across his face and he grabbed Luca’s jaw in an uncomfortably tight grip.
“I thought you may still need some convincing , my love.” Elias whispered in a dangerously low voice. “You’ll want me after we spend the time together. After we mark your beautiful body as mine. You won’t have any other choice. I can hurt you until you comply.”
“Torture doesn’t work.” Luca muttered.
“It doesn’t need to work. It just has to hurt enough, scar your body enough, that you eventually see that I’m your only way out. That no one else will even want to look at you. And I’ll be there to lavish attention on you and fulfill your needs. You’ll see how right we are for each other.”
Elias reached into his pocket and with a flourish, pulled out a flick knife.
“Elias, no. No, no, no. What are you doing? Wait, let’s keep talking. You said you love me, why would you hurt - .”
Luca’s pleas were cut short as Elias settled and started to carve a swirled pattern into Luca’s left thigh. He tensed as the metal pierced his skin and then started to scream as Elias began cutting through his skin.
Luca’s leg was on fire. The coolness of the blade, the pain as his skin split and blood welled. The sharp digging and tugging sensation as the blade passed through his skin and dug deep into the flesh beneath. And the absolute horror of watching it being done to him, in real time, made his gorge rise. He felt sick, lightheaded and the pain was unbearable as he watched Elias first the first swirl and move to make the next incision.
“No, Elias, noooo, p-please….”
Elias ran his hand across Luca’s cheek and onto his lips. He could feel Luca’s clammy skin, his fingers fluttered across his tear tracks, he slipped his finger into Luca’s mouth and moaned at the warmth. Luca pulled back as best as he could and quickly. He could taste his own blood. Elias’ eyes hardened again and he got back to work, carving more swirls and whorls into Luca’s skin.
Luca was barely conscious by the time Elias finished his designs. Shock, blood loss and fatigue from begging, pleading and screaming was taking over. Everything hurt so much. Pain radiated through both arms and legs, each covered with a mosaic of patterns, his blood dripping quietly down his body as he struggled to focus on what had been done to him.
Tortured, that’s what had been done. He’d watched himself be tortured by a person who had kidnapped him from the normalcy of his life, declared they were soul mates and then altered him forever. His mouth watered ominously, he was going to be sick.
Elias was watching him still. Watching as he took in the sight of his altered body.
“You look even more beautiful now.” Elias whispered, his voice layered in honey.
“We will keep making you mine, each day. Our love will be legendary.”
Elias straddled the chair, the clotting blood sticking to him as he sat on Luca’s knee and wrapped his arms around Luca’s neck and rested his head on his shoulder. He could feel Luca shaking.
“It’s ok, my love”, Elias leant back and ran his hands down Luca’s naked torso, lost in the design ideas he could carve here.
His had trailed lower and Luca whimpered. He nestled his head into Luca’s neck, nuzzling against the rapid pulse that beat there. His hand reached lower and he slipped three fingers below the waistband of Luca’s pants.
Elias inhaled deeply against Luca’s neck, the sudden warm that enveloped his fingers made his hips stutter and he ground himself against Luca’s lap.
It was too much for Luca, the pain, the haze of upcoming unconsciousness, all of it brutally interrupted when those fingers slipped gently beneath his waistband. He felt Elias’ hips jump forward. The horror, the terror of this man touching him there was beyond reason. His lost his battle and vomited. Most of it landed on the floor, some dribbled down his chest and had even caught Elias’ shirt. He braced for the wrath, surprised when none came.
Surprise turned back to clammy dread as Elias petted his hair and sighed.
“My love, it’s been a lot today hasn’t it? Let’s get you cleaned up love”.
He released the restraints and led the still handcuffed Luca to the next room. Luca’s inside shrivelled. The bathroom.
Elias hooked his hands to a chain that dangled from the ceiling above the shower cubicle and Luca’s dread now turned inward. His body felt like a hollow vessel that echoed with the terror that beat through him.
Elias wiped some of the sick from his chest, turned on the shower and began to ease Luca’s pants slowly off his hips.
*********
Previous | Next
********
If you would like to be tagged please let me know 😊
Caretaker slowly came round, the loud buzzing in his head adding an extra layer of agony to the pounding already pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. His neck felt hot and swollen where the needle had injected its sedatives into him.
He licked his dry lips and tried to focus as the door to his cell like room was unlocked. He made to stand up before realising that he’d been cuffed, feet and hands, to a single wooden chair, the kind he’d seen in movies. He couldn’t help but grin at the comparison even though his blood chilled at the thought.
Whumper stepped into the room but held back by the door. He stared at Caretaker whilst twirling what looked like pliers in his hand. Finally he spoke in that soft voice that Caretaker had long thought was buried in the past.
“Hello Ryan, miss me? I sure missed my Luca. You, not so much.”
“You”, Ryan snarled in fury and launched himself against his bonds only to snap back in the chair with chaffed wrists where the metal had bit into him.
“I’m going to fucking kill you, Elias! What have you done? Luca made it perfectly clear years ago that he didn’t want to be with you. He never even showed an ounce of interest, you were the one obsessed and making up lies. Fucking stalking him nonstop and keeping him locked in his own house for weeks while you played mind games and assaulted him. And now you have the gall to kidnap him again? What the fuck will it take to get it through your thick skull that he doesn’t want you!”
Elias slowly walked over to where Ryan was still thrashing and ranting on his chair. He studied him for a moment before grabbing a fistful of hair. Ryan stopped fighting and looked up at Elias. The punch came quickly and Ryan felt his nose crack and his hair wrench from the roots as his head snapped to the side.
“The pair of you put me in prison, got restraining orders against me.” Elias whispered through clenched teeth as he watched blood start to drip down Ryan’s chin.
“I’m finally going to take what is due to me, compensation for the hell you put me through. My own family cut contact with me, they think I’m psychotic, all because of you! This time I’m going to have my Luca and I’m going to make sure you don’t interfere again.”
Elias pinched Ryan’s chin between thumb and fore finger in a bruising grip as he lifted his face again, he rubbed his thumb across Ryan’s lower lip, then spat on his face. Saliva mixed with the blood and ran from nose to chin.
Ryan tried to shake the spit from his face, he glared through narrowed eyes, feeling the cartilage in his nose shift from the punch. He watched as Elias picked up long Velcro straps and approached him again. He struggled in vain as Elias wrapped the straps round his torso, his thighs, his upper and lower arms anchoring him to the chair.
“Who would have thought Velcro straps would be impossible to escape from.” Elias laughed with delight as he forced Ryan’s hand flat against the arm rest and firmly restrained that in place too.
Ryan’s blood turned icy again as Elias picked up the pliers he’d brought into the room earlier. He looked at his hand flattened out and his heart sped, sweat began to prickle his skin, it wasn’t hard to guess what was about to happen.
Elias hovered over Ryan, his hands clamped down hard on his arms as he stared at the restrained man beneath him.
“I want to know exactly what your relationship is with Luca. Do you think you love each other? How far have you gone together? Or are you still just the guy who stole him away from me?”
Ryan trembled as he spat an answer back. “I never stole anything from you, you were stalking him, you had abducted him. I was a helping hand, I gave him a safe place to hide. You’re still delusional, you fucking freak.”
“Hummmm, I don’t think I believe that one for a second. Luca would never be afraid of me.”
Elias positioned the pliers and gripped the pinky finger nail. He began to slowly pull the nail away from its bed. Ryan tried to push through it and act tough but the pain was overwhelming. Soon his pleas began to fill the room along with his gasping breaths.
“Stop, please stop…. Aghhhhh, you fucking… stop.”
The cries gave way to a guttural howl as Elias suddenly twisted the pliers and pulled hard. The nail sprang free. Ryan’s body shook, his hand throbbed and he tried to draw in enough air to compose himself, even as tears streamed down his face. He looked down at the exposed nail bed. Pink, with blood welling across it. He could feel how sensitive it was just from the air currents in the room that touched the exposed flesh.
“Next question. Are you and Luca an item?” Elias paced back and forth in front of Ryan.
“N-no, No we’re not!” Ryan wasn’t sure why he’d straight out lied, at the back of his mind he hoped it might offer Luca some protection from the psycho that was hurting him. They’d only just got together really, he’d helped Luca back from that dark place with Elias. A friend randomly met, then trusted and it eventually became more.
“Well your social media says otherwise.” Elias held up his phone to show Ryan his own profile, the picture of the header was of himself wrapped in Luca’s arms.
The pliers dipped toward his ring finger. Ryan tried to curl his fingers away only for Elias to smack him hard on the knuckles with the pliers. As the shock sent waves of pain through the bones, Elias gripped the next nail and ripped it free in one brutal tug.
Ryan screamed as the nail left his finger and red hot fire shrieked up his arm. He felt sick with the pain, he shook like a leaf wanting more than anything to be somewhere else.
The questions continued. Had he known Luca before that day in the park? How had he known Luca was being held against his will? Why had he chosen to ‘rescue’ Luca?
More finger nails followed as they were wrenched from his body. One was rotated slowly from one side of his finger to the other while he whimpered and pleaded.
Ryan openly sobbed, “I was sat next to you at the fountain. Luca palmed his thumb and wrapped his fingers over his hand, I knew he needed help and by the way you gripped him, well it was easy to see why. I’d never met him or you prior to that day.” Ryan hung his head and wept.
“Do you love him?”
Ryan didn’t lie this time, he raised his head and whispered his confirmation.
“Yes, yes I do.”
Rage filled Elias’ eyes and he clenched his fists. He raised one and instead of smacking Ryan in the face again, bought it smashing down onto the exposed nail beds.
Ryan howled in misery, the throbbing in his fingers sending waves of agony through his body. He retched as the pain refused to subside.
Elias leaned down and gripped Ryan’s chin tightly once more.
“I’ll let you think through your answers, how much pain you’re willing to go through to continue to protect Luca. Because it will all be for nothing in the end. I will win. I never got to consummate my love for him last time. But once he sees me, feels me inside him, feels what I can do to his body and the pleasure I can give him, you will be a distant memory, a helping hand lost to the past. You sure you want to put yourself through it? Because it won’t end well for you.”
Elias dropped the pliers to the floor, tapped Ryan’s cheek with a condescending pat and ruffled his hair before turning and blessedly leaving him with his wounds.
*****
Previous | Next
*****
If you would like to be tagged please let me know 😊
Full disclosure: This story (not sure how long it will be yet!) will have Explicit Noncon, Torture, Multiple Whumpers, Emotional Torture, Violent Threats and Punishment. Please heed the tags.
Caretakers Beloved
Chapter 1
TW: Kidnap, Noncon drugging, allusions of torture.
Caretaker had been stupid. Dumb and stupid and careless. And he’d lost everything. As he sat in the dark room his mind spiralled ever further.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been held here now. Days probably, in the dim light, stomach pangs increasing each hour with the hunger. The only brief contact he had with Whumper was a daily snarky comment as Whumper forced his head back and poured water haphazardly over his face, the only drink he would get. He went through his rescue mission again.
He’d found where Whumpee was being held. He’d managed to get to the facility, break in undetected and find his way through the maze of corridors to Whumpee’s cell. All had gone so well. And then he’d spotted him through the bars on the door. His beautiful Whumpee lying broken on the ground. The love of his life an ashen grey face, battered black and blue, bleeding and unconscious on the floor. His Whumpee.
His heart had broke at the sight. Terror, fear, desperation, the need to fix, to soothe, to help. The emotions gripped him in a vice all at once and encompassed his frozen body. He whispered Whumpee’s name and held onto it like a talisman. “Luca.”
A small shuffle from behind registered but not quickly enough. An arm wound round his shoulders and a clammy hand slapped over his mouth. Caretaker barely recognised that he’d been caught before a sharp, precise point of pain bit into his neck and punched deep. As the realisation of what had occurred crashed over him, he felt a moment of complete hopelessness as his legs started to give and the listlessness flooded his body. The powerful sedative racing through his bloodstream at top speed.
His last image was of the broken man in the cell, his Luca, finally stirring awake at the commotion and then the wooden door as he was lowered to the floor.
*****
If you would like to be tagged please let me know 😊
Leader crept silently back toward the inner rooms where he’d been held. Red hot rage filled him. The desire to hurt Whumper, to bring him to his knees and make him scream and get some god-damned revenge made his blood race and adrenaline spike. Vengeance for the months of pain. The small voice at the back of his mind telling him he was stupid, that he should run while he has the chance was silence by his bloodlust.
He paused in front of one of the torture rooms, this one held the knives he was sure. Leader slipped quietly inside and drew close to the cabinet, the shiny metal reflected the madness in his eyes. Leader selected a cruel curved blade, but snarled in disappointment. The cabinet was locked. Whumper must lock his work away when he was finished, just like he locked Leader away when he grown tired of the screams.
Leader looked round the room in frustration, the rage flaring even higher. His eyes quickly found a long cross head screwdriver left abandoned on the nearby table, he grabbed it up and continued to the room he knew would contain a sleeping Whumper.
He lent close to the door hardly daring to breath as he listened for any sounds inside. After a moment Leader detected Whumper’s soft snores, his lips pulled back over his teeth on a feral grin that darkened his features. This was it, his payback.
Leader kicked the door open and launched himself into the room, ready to restrain Whumper with his bedsheets and then beat the living shit out of him before the real fun began. But there was no Whumper…. The bedsheets were in disarray. Leader paused, momentarily confused, he’d heard the snoring. Just as he began to realise the situation and react to the fear now racing through his veins, he heard a soft noise from behind.
He knew it was Whumper, he knew he’d been outsmarted, before his brain even sent the command to his body to turn there was a loud sounding crack at the base of his skull. A millisecond later the searing pain bloomed, radiating out through his entire body. Leader’s vision tunnelled and he registered the secondary crack and shards of agony as his knees hit the floor before he slumped face forward, unconscious before his head even hit the ground.
************
Leader slowly came too, his head thumped with agony, his eyes blurred and his shoulders ached. He tried to move, quickly realising his feet only just touched the floor.
Panic gripped him like a vice, the adrenaline surge woke him fully and he looked up at his hands manacled above his head, chain stretching toward the ceiling.
NO! no no no, he’d been so close to escape. He’d been so close.
Tears filled Leaders eyes as he realised how stupid he’d been. He should have left and learnt how to deal with his perceived humiliation at Whumpers hands.
A soft snigger made him tense as Whumper walked into his field of vision.
“It was an impressive escape effort Leader. I was amazed you got to the exit and with the key too. But then you came back. For me.”
Whumper put a finger under Leaders chin and lifted it gently. He gazed into Leaders eyes, the cruel smirk plastered to his face.
“I would have let you go to, I’d got what I needed from you. But since you decided to try revenge, I think it’s wise you stay here for the rest of your short life.”
Leader felt his stomach drop and his gorge rise. He could have got away and now he would die down here. The whimpered as tears rolled silently down his face.
“I see you came with a nice looking screwdriver?” Whumper pulled it from his back pocket and waved it slowly in front of Leaders eyes.
“I think you were going to see how much damage this could do, weren’t you?”
Leader kept silent, his head still held up by Whumper’s finger at his chin.
“Answer me!”, Whumper suddenly screamed, grabbing Leader by the hair and bringing the tip of the screwdriver within millimetres of Leaders right eye.
Leader managed a shaky jerk of his head and a whispered “yes”.
“I thought so, let’s see how much damage it can do then.”
And that was all the warning Leader received. Whumper drew the hand holding the screwdriver back and then slammed it into Leaders stomach. Leader let out a pained cry as the metal punched deep causing god knows what sort of internal damage.
Whumper circled him and stabbed the screwdriver deep into Leaders lower back, he arched forward away from the cold invasion of the tool and then gasped in relief at the pull as the screwdriver was removed. He felt hot blood start to flow.
Another piercing blow to the side had Leader howling in agony. Whumper became emblazoned by Leader screams and pleas for mercy, as he stabbed randomly into fleshy parts with much more ferocity and speed. Leaders eyes rolled in his head as he experienced the brutal thrust, the pain as the tip of the screwdriver broke through his skin and the sickening push against his tissues, his muscles, his organs as it buried deep. Then the wet pull as it was withdrawn, a wet pop as it exited his body and more blood ran free.
He howled as Whumper slowed and began to pierce him slowly now, so each feeling was magnified. The push of the point against his body until his skin finally broke and gave way. The cold metal inside him as Whumper twisted it deeper.
Whumper finally threw the bloodied weapon to the floor and released the chains suspending Leader, he fell to the floor in a heap. Whumper ran his hand through Leaders sweaty hair and cradled his head. A much sharper point of pain stabbed into his neck, making Leader flinch.
“Shhhh now, sssshhhh.” Whumper whispered as he depressed the plunger on the syringe.
“Just something to knock you out for abit whilst the doctor patches you up.”
The sneer in Whumper’s voice was back and through the last verges of consciousness heard Whumper’s whispered promise.
“You’ll be begging for death long before I grant it. You thought you knew pain before? You have no idea how much worse it’s going to get. Every moment from now on spent in agony. The things I’m going to do to you.”
Fiction makes, implicitly or explicitly, some kind of argument. A fictional portrayal of a guy simply going for a walk might make the argument that walking is a nice activity to do. This might not be a particularly earth-shattering message, but messages like this are implicit within the literary tools we use in how we portray characters, behavior, settings, and relationships. This underlying argument – a theme – is present in all of fiction. It’s why you’ll often see people make the statement that “all art is political”. And when it comes to torture – a subject which in and of itself has been the topic of political debate for millenia – how we approach the ideas and arguments made within fictional depictions of torture warrant, in my opinion, a degree of care. Torture isn’t just something that happens in movies. It is something that happens today, to real people, on a global scale. It’s not even particularly rare.
The difficulty with the subject of torture specifically is that for the past two decades, the public perception of torture has shifted on a global scale, seen most clearly in how torture is presented in contemporary media, fiction or otherwise. Everybody believes these myths. And getting indoctrinated into having reactionary takes on a topic is nobody’s fault, considering that almost every source outside of academia feeds you misinformation. But that’s, y’know, kinda why I made this blog: in the hopes that I might be able to get people to consider what ideas they’re presenting in their writing.
I want to start out by briefly reitorating some basics of how torture apologia typically works within political discussions, because this very much is relevant to how you can avoid accidentally sending the wrong message.
The first thing you need to understand is that the real-life debate surrounding torture isn’t framed in terms of whether or not torture is good or bad – everybody, including torturers themselves, will concede that it is bad. The more insidious argument is that torture is useful for achieving certain goals, and that it is therefore justified in extreme emergencies. Not only does this argument try to soften the usually rigid negative framing of torture in moral discussions, but it also seeks to poke holes in the international laws which ban the use of torture outright. It’s a moral, political and legal argument all wrapped up in one reactionary package. For this reason, having the theme of “torture is bad” doesn’t always mean a piece of writing isn’t making use of torture apologia. “Torture is useful” serves that goal just fine.
Torture is also often discussed in terms of civility – not the civility of the torturers, but the civility of the victims. It’s the argument that the people who are being tortured are bad people, and therefore don’t warrant the respect and dignity we usually offer to other human beings; they are so bad, essentially, that it’s fine for us civilized people to war crime them. Whenever I’ve encountered this argument, it has usually been presented in a way that was, shall we say, sussy as fuck – some even give up the pretense and straight up call their victims “savages” or “degenerates”. I hope I don’t need to explain why this line of thinking is insane, but in any case, it’s just my way of getting you to consider that a lot of the myths surrounding torture are rooted in broader sociopolitical issues, often racism and religious discrimination, and historically, most often within the context of colonialism.
With that in mind, let’s get into the myths, starting with the most obvious one.
"Torture for information works."
Every study I’ve read has concluded that torture is counterproductive when it comes to gathering intel from reluctant sources. Under severe pain or distress, victims are more focused on saying whatever they think the torturer wants to hear to make the torture stop, as opposed to providing accurate information. On a neurophysiological level, severe pain or distress actually interferes with the pathways of the brain relating to long- and short-term memory; this means that torture in and of itself is likely to destroy the very evidence it sets out to gather. Furthermore, victims are less likely to cooperate if subjected to physical abuse, including torture, and nothing in the infliction of pain itself works as some kind of truth serum. Lying and defiance are more likely under torture.
To a large minority of people, portraying torture as a reliable tool for gathering accurate information will make the implicit argument that torture, although usually bad, can hold utilitarian value in certain exceptional cases. I’ve written about this more in depth here.
"Under torture, everyone cooperates sooner or later."
French prosecutors used torture in the events leading up to the French revolution, as a way to gain forced confessions from suspects. Their failures and successes were jotted down, leading us with a pretty revealing insight – the highest success rate for gathering forced confessions was in Toulouse, an exceptionally high 14%. In Paris, only 3% of suspects cooperated long enough to sign their name – the rest did not. This is one of the primary reasons that the French criminal justice system eventually dropped using torture for intelligentsia. To quote Darius Rejali, who wrote The Book on torture: “Torture the clumsiest method available to organizations.”
So no, not everybody talks – in fact, rough estimate, 90% of torture victims never do. Defiance is by far the norm with torture.
"When the bad guy does it, it’s torture – when the good guy does it, it’s a tough, but morally justifiable decision."
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Heroes of stories, especially in the action genre, often engage in the use of torture for information, usually following the framework of the ticking bomb scenario, a thought experiment based on the false notion that torture works as an interrogation method. Here, torture is turned into a heroicact, one that speaks to the toughness of the person who uses it. Ask yourself if you want to frame torturers though this lens – because if you do, you are literally justifying the act torture, and, y’know, you do you, but I am gonna call you stupid and reactionary. Torture done by a “good” person is just as abhorrent as torture done by anybody else.
"Some methods of torture are less severe than others."
This myth stems from governments trying to downplay the use of certain methods of torture, and usually goes hand in hand with euphemistic redefinitions of the concept, such as the CIA’s “enhanced interrogation methods,” also known as “torture lite,” or the Israeli “coercive interrogation.” The methods that have been proposed in this supposed less severe category of torture includes stimulated drowning, also known as waterboarding, as well as caning, beatings, limbs being broken with clubs, sleep deprivation, stress positions (ex. forcing a person to crouch against a wall for extended periods of time,) mock executions, sexual assault, and more. If these things all just sound like torture to you, it’s because they are. There is zero evidence to suggest that any torture methods, including those that leave no physical mark on the body, have less severe outcomes than those that do not – on the contrary, non-physical torture methods, including mock executions, or witnessing the torture of a loved one, have been ranked by victims as causing equal amounts of psychological distress as physical torture.
"Torture only causes harm to the person who is being tortured."
This is incredibly unrealistic. Torture is an act that is destructive in all directions, causing trauma to victims, their family, witnesses, and even torturers themselves. It disintegrates the structure of the organizations that use it, it breeds resentment and hatred in the communities around it, and it radicalizes people into extremism. Pretending that consequences like this don’t exist isn’t torture apologia per se, but if your aim is to show the realistic outcomes of torture, these are some of the things you need to consider.
Torture is portrayed as “scientific”; torturers are “skilled” in the “art” of torture.
The most common methods of torture in use today are: hitting people, sleep deprivation, and starvation. These don’t require a whole lot of brain power to conjure up, in fact the infliction of intense suffering is very straightforward. Human beings are full of nerves. Stick a knife anywhere, and I’d be more impressed if it didn’t cause pain.
Not to mention, portraying torture as “scientific” or something that “requires technical skill” makes the implicit argument that torture works for its intended use, here under the condition that you should at least do it right – which brings us right back to that utilitarian fallacy.
"Torturers are expert interrogators, and possess an extraordinary ability to detect lies in their victims."
Studies have been done on the ability of police officers to detect lies for about four decades now. The average person will have a 57% accuracy rate, meaning they’re barely better at spotting deception than a coin toss. For police officers, the highest estimate is around 65% - but it might also be as low as 45%, meaning they might be less accurate than a coin toss – even though police officers tend to think of themselves as exceptional at spotting deception. The same trend is seen in torturers.
In fact, this myth in particular originated from torturers’ accounts of how they conceptualize themselves, which is not only false, but also cringe. When an interrogator starts making use of torture, their focus tends to shift away from gathering reliable information, and more towards “perfecting” the infliction of pain, which means that over time, those interrogative skills are substantially degraded – they are terrible interrogators. So torturers are no better at spotting lies than your average person; they might actually be worse. They can’t read minds, and they don’t possess some secret mystical knowledge about the psychology of their victims.
"You can train someone to resist torture."
Loads of intelligence agencies and revolutionary groups around the world have published material that supposedly serves as manuals for resisting torture, but the truth is, torture is so extreme, there really is no way to prepare or train someone to “resist” it; this is something that even the CIA has acknowledged. Everybody’s reaction to pain will be different. There is no way to predict how torture will affect anyone, much less give them instructions beforehand that will somehow magically negate those effects.
"Brainwashing through torture works."
Torturers can’t change the emotional framework of a person through the infliction of pain. They cannot change the strongly held beliefs and opinions held by their victims through the infliction of pain. They can’t erase someone’s entire personality or make them a ‘blank slate’ through the infliction of pain. They can’t predict how a victim responds to torture, much less direct that response to their own benefit. This is not how pain works.
This is not only an implicit argument for the usefulness of torture to change someone’s behavior or force religious conversions, but the myth that torturers have some form of control of their victims even after the torture has ended is also used in real life to paint survivors as dangerous or unstable, and thereby bar them from treatment and aid, and even to allow access into countries to escape the circumstances that facilitated their torture in the first place. That last point is why you often see the advocacy of refugee rights in organizations that work to prevent torture; these two branches of activism have a huge overlap.
Torture victims cannot be controlled by their torturers. Brainwashing isn’t real.
"Stockholm syndrome is real."
This is a derivative of the brainwashing myth, which means all the connotations previously mentioned remain, but as a cherry on top, Stockholm syndrome as a trope can also serve as an implicit argument for the utility of domestic abuse. So that’s cool.
If you deliberately inflict suffering on someone, that is guaranteed to make that person dislike you. In real life, torture survivors not only tend to be extremely resentful of their torturers, but they also tend to be resentful of anyone belonging to the same demographic as their torturers, whether that be ethnicity, nationality, or even gender or general appearance. Like I said, torture radicalizes people.
"Torture makes people obedient."
Any physical abuse or neglect, including bad cell conditions, access to medical aid, decent food and clean water, is likely to breed resentment in victims and makes them far more reluctant to cooperate with their aggressors. With torture, defiance is the norm, by far. You saw this on a larger scale in the war on terror, for example – turns out that carpet bombing a country to deter terrorism only radicalizes the civilian population, producing more terrorists. No form of violence exists that will make a person particularly eager to shut up and do what you want them to do. It will just make them hate you.
The notion that torture makes people obedient is also an implicit argument for the use of corporal punishment or as crime deterrence, something that along with capital punishment has repeatedly been proven false by sociological studies. People just do not function like this. If you want to create obedience in your story – violence is the last thing you should use.
"People “break” under torture."
Victims of torture sometimes make the conscious decision to do what their torturer wants them to do, and this often serves as a means to buy enough time to plan an escape, or mount up whatever act of defiance they can manage. Sometimes they simply do it to get the torture to stop – this, too, is a tough, conscious decision. If you want to consider this a form of “breaking”, by all means go ahead, but implying personal weakness or lack of willpower in torture victims rubs me the wrong way. I personally see it as a rational choice made by a person who is in an otherwise impossible situation.
"Torture survivors are “broken”."
Torture certainly can lead to extreme psychological distress, but again, the term “broken” here implicitly makes the argument that torture victims simply lacked the mental fortitude to withstand their trauma. In my opinion, there’s a certain degree of victim blaming involved with framing torture survivors in this way, and certainly, it’s a framing that inherently strips away their agency.
Another thing that rubs me the wrong way is the fact “brokenness” implies a degree of permanence and rigidity to human beings that simply isn’t there, as if we are solid objects that, once shattered, can never regain the function we once had. It’s a nitpick, but I view people as organic things, capable of healing and growth – not as glassware.
Conclusion
I’d wager that while reading this, a good portion of you recognized some of these myths from depictions of torture in fiction; that’s not particularly surprising to me. These myths aren’t just widespread, they’ve been engrained in the global public perception of torture by decades of political debate and government propaganda, and as a result, have seeped into popular culture.
Torture isn’t rare, and neither is torture apologia. According to Amnesty International, 31% of the global population believes that torture is justified “in some cases”; as of 2014, AI had also reported on torture or other ill treatment in 141 different countries, despite the fact that torture is internationally recognized as a war crime.
In an ideal world, the subject of torture in fiction is treated with the same due diligence with which we have learned to portray subjects like homophobia, sexual assault, and racism; because, to be fair, all of these things have the capacity to intersect, and very often do. The first step in that regard is to spread awareness about how torture actually functions, which is what I hope to slowly start doing on this blog. At the very least, I hope I can make people more aware of how they choose to portray torture in their writing.
You are my Whumpee, tortured beyond sanity, deep cuts to your body bloom, ooozing bright red blood to the floor. Your exhausted frame hangs from the restraints, flesh and sinew dangles from the intense whipping I’ve dealt you. You fall as I release you and curl on the floor, restraints holding you still whilst I inflict the next blow torch burn to your abdomen and bite into your neck as you scream. I love you. You’re my Whumpee……
Whumpee hooked up to a mind torture device. An “ethical” alternative to physical torture, it leaves the body completely intact as it only tricks the mind into believing any corporal pain and affliction is real. Numerous “punishments” are inflicted on Whumpee—burns, broken bones, whipping, removing fingers, etc.—all completely real in Whumpee’s head.
After so long with the device, Whumpee is finally released. And they can only stare in disassociated horror at their perfectly intact body.
how about a defiant whumpee manages to break free but chooses to go get revenge on whumper first but oops that didn’t go the way whumpee planned, now he’s recaptured before he can ever escape >:)
The Escape - Part One
Leader crept down the darkened hall, he’d been here many times whilst being dragged from one torture room to another. Whumper had tried to get government secrets out of Leader each time, and each time he had remained silent until the pain had overwhelmed him and he’d screamed himself hoarse, his voice eventually giving out as his body collapsed from blood loss. His tears dripped from the end of his nose as he passed out time and again, thankful beyond anything that his team weren’t witnessing his failure.
Whumper worked for a corrupt branch of a foreign agency, Leader had known him for years, they’d got along until he’d made a mistake and Leader had seen him for what he was.
Leader took a deep breath as he passed another room and continued forward. Each room held a specialty that Whumper enjoyed. Each session of brutality flitted through Leaders mind, replayed in clarity as he continued his escape bid.
The first room held a collection of shiny bright knives, the metal glinted in the low light. Leader could still feel the cold bite of the metal as it parted his skin. Slices down each arm barely a centimetre apart, knife dug in deep to tear his skin so that each cut would scar. The pain eventually becoming overwhelming enough that he’d begged for it to end. The blood that ran down his arms and dripped to the floor making him dizzy, whilst Whumper forced his head back, placed the knife in his mouth and sliced into his tongue with enough force that he couldn’t speak even if he’d wanted to.
He continued past doors.
This room was where his hands had been forcibly held over the flames of a roaring fire. Leaving the skin on his hands twisted and red even after they’d healed.
Another room where he’d had his arm pinned to a table whilst Whumper had screamed questions at him. When he’d refused to answer a fingernail was slowly pulled from his body or a bamboo spike was rammed under his nail punching deep into the nail bed. Pain shrieking through him as he howled.
Leader reached the final door with a shudder. The room that he had been held him suspended from the ceiling, multiple times, arms pulled tight above his head, unable to do anything as Whumper had whipped the skin from his back. Each time the lash had landed, he’d felt his skin part with a searing line of fire. The fire had changed with each lash, the whip feeling more like being cut open with razor blades. Whumper had loved the screams Leader produced when the whip had curled round his torso and assaulted the front of his body too. Blood had ran in streams down his back, down his legs to the floor as he had begged for mercy.
But no mercy ever came, as soon as his back was healed, Whumper would whip him senseless again. The mass of scar tissue that now covered him instead of smooth skin pulled and tugged with each movement. Another permanent reminder of his ordeal to complement the brand on his neck, so he’d be reminded of his torture every time he looked in a mirror.
Leader had come so close to breaking over and over again. And Whumper knew it too, the fury of his torture had increased along with his screamed questions.
Leader stood for a moment staring at the exit, key in hand, his freedom a second away. Rage and hatred filled him. He wasn’t going to escape without his revenge. He was going to make Whumper pay for every moment of torture he’d suffered. He turned back and headed back into the labyrinth, ready to deal Whumper twice the agony and humiliation that had been inflicted on him.
Give me a man handcuffed and chained to a chair, cuffs wrapped tightly around ankles and wrists. Blood running down his face, whilst he whimpers through the beating bestowed upon him. He mutters again and again, “I can take it”, whilst blood drips from his chin and black eyes bloom. The hand rears back and punches him across the face again. His head slumps to his chest as blood and saliva pool on his exposed chest.
Give me a woman with her hands tied behind the back of a chair, tight enough to hold her in place as she takes a beating. Sweat darkening her hair, pained grimace revealing blood-stained teeth. She mutters between blows, "I can take it", even as her breath turns ragged and her eyes lose focus. Another crack across the face makes her jerk against her bonds. Her head bows, her shoulders slump, and she spits a mouthful of blood on the floor.
Hey! No I don’t mind at all!
love this from any perspective! I’m just partial to the male Whumpee 😳⛓️ I will take my Whumpee’s any which way they identify! As long as someone is getting Whumped 😈😈😈
Whumpee had lain restrained to the bare mattress as his clothes were slowly sliced from his body, each snip of the scissors making him jump. Wrists and ankles cuffed to posts at each corner.
“Please, no. Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this to me. I’ll do anything.”
“So pretty when you beg, such sweet pleas.”
Whumper lay on the mattress next to Whumpee, his hands left icy trails as they caressed Whumpee’s skin. Fear bloomed in the wake of each touch.
“Please stop…. I…I won’t tell anyone. I don’t even know who you are.”
Whumper rolled onto Whumpee, his hips settled between his legs. Whumpee froze in terror, his heart pounding as he tried to think of a way out, of something he could say.
“Plea…” Whumper clamped his hand hard over Whumpee’s mouth, muffling his begging. Using his other hand he guided himself and pushed his cock into Whumpee’s ass.
Whumper grunted and started to move inside Whumpee.
Whumpee clenched his eyes shut as tears ran down his face. Whumper laced his fingers in his short hair and tugged hard.
“Look at me”, he growled as he twisted the hair tighter.
And Whumpee lay under a man he didn’t know, eyes locked on his, hand still firmly pressed over his mouth. Whilst that man fucked into him, hips rolling together and sweat intermingling. Each brutally deep thrust tearing apart his insides and shredding his dignity. Whumpee’s blood pooled under him, soaking into the mattress
Whumpee was filled with shame as he was held silent and immobile whilst he was taken against his will, over and over until his captor was sated, a wet heat left inside him.
Whumper kissed Whumpee forcibly as he withdrew and with his hand still twisted into Whumpee’s damp hair, nuzzled in close to his ear.
“You were fantastic. So tight, so delicious. Ment just for me.” Whumper sighed in pleasure.
Give me a man handcuffed and chained to a chair, cuffs wrapped tightly around ankles and wrists. Blood running down his face, whilst he whimpers through the beating bestowed upon him. He mutters again and again, “I can take it”, whilst blood drips from his chin and black eyes bloom. The hand rears back and punches him across the face again. His head slumps to his chest as blood and saliva pool on his exposed chest.
And after getting loads of asks and uploading Under Controlled Conditions to AO3 I now think I want to write another long story. @chaotic-orphan I think your ask is providing me with the base storyline too! Damn it! I need a bad things happen bingo card 😳😳👀😈😈
Line Item by WoodSmokeAndPine. Original; ongoing; rated E. Living weapon spaceship pilot, heavy on the dehumanization, from the perspective of a newly brought-on technician / handler. Mind the tags of course.
