I saw this post recently that implied that “kink is playing toys” and “kink always has wider, social and cultural implications” are like, opposing statements. I think that’s so wild. like, have you ever heard of Cowboys and Indians? Cops and robbers? “Little boys”, beaten for playing dolls? “Little girls” forced to stay in and clean up after their brothers playing outside? In what universe is playing toys not deeply implicated in. Everything??? This isn’t even an argument about harm in kink this is like a very basic observation about the nature of play.
Shaking suicidal Whumpee by the shoulders like "BITCH I drove you to the pet store at 7 in the morning last week. That was a 1h45min side quest with zero loot and HORRIBLE balancing. By video game companion quest logic it should be obvious that I CARE about you"
Whumpee: uhm caretaker idk how to say this but you've been acting weird lately... like really really tired? And, I know you really like helping people. But... don't you think it's getting a bit much?
Caretaker who has no instinct of self-preservation: pft whaaaaaat? no idea what you mean I'm like literally fine
SideWhumpee #37: Actually boss I'm with Whumpee on this. What the fuck.
"well some rape victims use noncon kink as a way to process their trauma"
"you know most age regressing kinksters were abused as children"
"bondage is really just a way to deal with control issues in people's daily life"
actually I don't think it's very progressive to assign "morally good" justifications to kinks. actually having kinks and participating in kinks is morally neutral and that is the ground they should be defended on.
Maybe as a treat we can all think about a masochist whumpee who enjoys a good beating and will often act out just to get one. They like the adrenaline rush, the like having a reminder the next day when they wake up to everything hurting. They press in on bruises, and they lick blood off their teeth. Maybe they were an addict pre whumper and without any kind of substance, getting the lights beat out of them is the only way to get that rush.
Sometimes silly things like you start to mistake physical strength for real independence. You get it in your head that because I can't hold you down myself, all of this is indulging me. The bed restraints wouldn't hold you if you really tried, right?
Go on, try it. Yea, funny, takes a bit more effort than you thought. Really try it, it was expensive! Oh, can my big strong dog not muscle their way out of it?
Now, I've got a whole slew of toys you've never let me try on you before. Canes, whips, knots... and friends coming over in an hour. We're going to make sure you really understand your place in the world, pet.
The sobbing is cute, but I'll need a lot more convincing than that.
This is NOT cannon to The Professionals, but is instead...an au of the au...where they bone down. This fic contains explicit sex. If you do not want to be tagged in sexy au chapters, please let me know! CW under the cut.
Contains: Boot fetishism, humiliation, degradation, finger sucking, boot humping, partially clothed, unsafe and non-consensual asphyxiation, sex shaming, stone top Fletcher, mild cbt, and cum eating
~
Fletcher was settled on the couch for the evening, enjoying the crackle from the fireplace while they read. It was peaceful in the house, and they felt a different contentment now. Peaceful, but not lonely - Tommy was keeping them company.
Tommy had been on his absolute best behavior and finished everything he’d been tasked with early. Fletcher figured they could throw him a bone every once in a while. A great while.
He was spending his free time curled up at Fletcher’s feet. He clung to their leg, his forehead pressed to their knee as he straddled one foot, biting his arm to stay quiet as he humped their boot.
Fletcher carded a hand through his hair absentmindedly, listening to his soft moans and whimpers as he rocked himself back and forth on trembling thighs. When his muffled sounds became more urgent, Fletcher set their book aside with a sigh.
“Do you have any dignity left at all?” they asked, watching the man at their feet debase himself for some cold shadow of intimacy.
“Augh….nn….n-no,” Tommy panted out as he ground against their steel toe.
Fletcher chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Why not?”
Tommy didn’t respond, shifting slightly to try to get a better angle. It couldn’t be comfortable, but he was so desperate for it. Fletcher tugged his hair, pulling his head up to force his gaze. His lips were pink and swollen from sucking on his arm, which bore a deep bite mark from him working his teeth in to muzzle himself. His eyes were glazed and hazy, easily overwhelmed with the little pleasure he could manage from this. He licked his lips.
“What… was the question?...”
Fletcher patted his cheek, watching him flinch away in expectation of a slap. “Dignity.”
Tommy hummed unhappily, slowing his pace. Fletcher pressed two fingers to his lips and he opened, letting them slip in and press down on his tongue.
“Tell me.”
“Mmm…Eh don’ detherve ih,” he slurred, distracted by the new stimulus. His oral fixation was easy to take advantage of.
“You don’t deserve it? Did Caius tell you that?” Tommy flinched at the mention of his last master, but managed a slight nod without dislodging their fingers.
“Yeth…” Tommy looked dismayed suddenly, his pace slowing further. Fletcher hummed.
“I guess that would make it easier, hm? And you know, something I like about you, you’re practical. You don’t let things like dignity get in the way of opportunities. You know you’re never getting laid again, and that this is the best you’re going to get, so you get on your knees and hump like a fucking dog.”
Tommy whined softly, averting his eyes in shame. Fletcher just pushed their fingers in deeper until he gagged and tried to pull back. They curled a finger in his mouth, hooking him and pulling him close.
“Be good, now.” Tommy looked up at them with watery eyes, a familiar pinch between his eyebrows. He closed them then for a moment and took a couple deep breaths through his nose, steeling himself before leaning in slowly, taking them deeper. He opened his eyes again to give Fletcher his best fawning doe look.
“That’s it,” Fletcher encouraged, and they rocked their foot back onto their heel to reward him, easing their toe up. It gave Tommy a much easier angle, and he chirped in delight, rocking his hips forwards eagerly.
Eyes closed again, brow furrowed while he got lost in the pleasure. Fletcher slipped their fingers out of his mouth, but his lips didn’t close, panting as he worked himself up again. It was a struggle to get enough sensation as he rubbed himself on the leather through his boxers.
Fletcher could tell he was getting close when his movements became frantic, his little moans and whimpers increasing in urgency. His hands turned to claws in Fletcher’s thigh, but before they could scold him, he managed to pull his hands away to the edge of the couch. He kneaded the cushion anxiously, finally sliding his hands down to his lap.
“Don’t you dare try to touch yourself.” Fletcher admonished, and Tommy reluctantly put his hands back up. “You get what I give you or nothing at all. Do you understand me?”
Tommy whined softly, his only answer. He learned it was not sufficient when Fletcher’s hand wrapped around his throat, closing just above his collar when they squeezed. He stopped his movements short.
“What was that? Hm?” Tommy’s eyes bugged out in response to the sudden shift in their mood.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you get up to. You’re in your room playing two-finger tug of war with yourself every chance you get. Being deprived all this time made you a pervert. Do you hump your bear at night and pretend you’re getting a little heavy petting?”
No full words could pass Tommy’s lips while Fletcher choked him. They only let him gasp in short, shallow breaths. Their victim flushed pink, struggling to breathe, those enormous eyes pleading silently for air. Cold fingers gently probed around Fletcher’s wrist, Tommy’s hands fluttering nervously. He knew better than to try to pull their hand away, but the instinct was still there. Survival instincts.
Fletcher knew those instincts well. They knew how to torture someone with the desire to live. Plenty of tough characters had been debased to their most primitive need under Fletcher’s hands. They just never begged as sweet as Tommy did, his hips stuttering as he tried to ride out his pleasure on their boot laces..
“Put your hands down. You know what - put them behind your back. I’m going to choke you unconscious.”
His gaze, hazy with pleasure. His pupils dilated, now dilating wider with fear. His brows creased, sweat giving his skin a soft glow. Tears welled in his eyes and Fletcher felt his sob, strangled under their fingers. They could let him cry. They could deny him. They squeezed harder, and choked out a tiny sound of pain from him. Tommy looked so scared, his ecstasy dashed to misery from the turning tide of Fletcher’s whim.
He put his hands behind his back.
“Good.”
Tommy’s hips twitched, his eyes fluttering closed. It drew a chuckle out of Fletcher.
“That’s all it takes, huh? You gonna cream your pants over it?”
Tommy made a weak sound in the tiny bit of wiggle room Fletcher allowed. They smiled.
“Alright, I’ll tell you what - you go ahead and hump. Hands stay behind your back. I want to see if you can make yourself cum before you pass out.”
It drew a distressed keen from Tommy’s throat that Fletcher cut off with the flex of their hand.
“Go on, time’s ticking.”
And he tried, he really did. He got that look in his face; brow furrowed in concentration, pinched as he worked himself over Fletcher’s boot with desperation. The brief gasps Fletcher allowed grew further and further in between, and they waited patiently for him to falter.
Tommy was in pain. His mindless rutting had become punishing, and his throat seized with agony under Fletcher’s hand. He’d rubbed himself raw and bruised. His lungs screamed for air, but the only sound he could make was short, desperate gurgles.
Focus on the good part. How nice it was, for a moment, to sit by the nice fire and feel something nice. It was nice. It was so nice when Fletcher was nice. One merciful hand found his hair again, petting him soothingly as his lungs filled with acid. Silent tears streamed down his face only to be staunched against Fletcher’s grip on his throat. He wanted to get off so bad. It felt good, it hurt but he’d found the pleasure again somewhere in his oxygen-starved brain, and he humped his master’s boot with fervent need. Desire bloomed and sharpened between his legs as his lips grew numb.
“You’re close, aren’t you?”
Tommy nodded the best he could. Fletcher could see his lips turning blue. His hands stayed behind his back, ironclad in his obedience.
“Do it. Cum for me.”
His body felt so distant from him, the sensations dulling as he was shutting down. He gasped for air he could not get, and with a feeble shudder, he finally came. Tommy could barely register it was happening at all, his pleasure robbed from him.
Fletcher let go of his throat.
Tommy gasped in air, finally, and with the sudden rush of oxygen came a rush of endorphins. All the gratification of his orgasm hit him with the impact of a hammer to his skull. Fletcher watched his eyes open in shock for just a moment before they rolled back in bliss. Every breath he managed to take in, he lost to overwhelmed moans. He ground furiously against Fletcher’s boot as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, sobbing and shuddering with ecstasy as his orgasm was wrung from him.
When he was done, he crumpled. Fletcher gave him a little push with their foot and he rolled onto his back, sprawling limply on the floor as he heaved in needy breaths. They returned to their book while Tommy slowly returned to himself, waiting until his breath evened out before they spoke again.
“You know, I made you keep your boxers on so you wouldn’t make a mess.”
Tommy’s bleary eyes slowly met Fletcher’s, and he looked confused. Fletcher gestured to their boot, and when he made his eyes focus, he realized with horror that it was smeared with his release. “Come here,” they told him, and he only managed to drag himself to sitting back up with a herculean effort.
“If you cleaned my boots like I told you to, and you truly made them ‘so clean you could eat off of them’, well, then I’m certain you won’t mind cleaning up. Unless… you disobeyed me?” Fletcher watched Tommy’s face fall as he let out a soft whine, staring hopelessly at his mess. He may have just said that he had no dignity, but it was far more demeaning to surrender now that he had post-nut clarity. With another glance up, as if checking for approval, he crawled to close the short distance and sank into a deep bow. Mere inches to his lips touching Fletcher’s boot, he hesitated.
The soft whimper he gave when Fletcher pushed his face into his mess made a chill run up their spine. In spite of his humiliation, Tommy meekly began to lick Fletcher’s boot clean with short, soft licks.
“Good,” Fletcher praised, and Tommy blushed like a bride. Once it was clean, he pressed kisses to the leather in silent appreciation. When Fletcher nudged their foot to the side, he was perfectly attuned to them, following their lead to gently kiss their inner ankle with reverence.
Later, he fell asleep with his head in Fletcher’s lap as they read to him, and Fletcher felt joy, too.
whumpee who doesn't get rescued, but stolen or captured. not resisting bc of conditioning or simply bc that's what living with whumper taught them. being really surprised with the accompdations they get when caretakers finally realises
bonus points: after patching them up they eventually meet other sentient androids, and caretaker is asked why they didn’t give whumpee any clothes. #accidental whump whoopsie
Whumpee feeling overwhelmed in some social situation? Caretaker is willing to be the buzzkill, they’ll make up some excuse as to why they wanna leave, letting Whumpee gracefully duck out unquestioned.
Uncomfortable questions? Caretaker will play the controlling friend or partner, whatever’s required, be the bad guy, because they’d rather look like an ass than leave Whumpee to flounder while they’re still learning to set boundaries.
Caretaker will say all the annoying, no fun, boring things, “no thank you” “we’ve got plans” “we’re staying in” “it’s none of your business” etc. because they can. It’s not as scary for them, and Whumpees getting there but it’s taking them some time and that’s okay.
(Works well for team dynamics, royal court/political dynamics, or more contemporary things like celebs or similar imo)
(looks over at Whumpee who is getting visibly uncomfortable) yeah anyway guys we're leaving. What do you mean, why? My roommate's goldfish died. Yeah, horrible I know. Hope you're having a nice evening text you later and the such. Whumpee? Let's go.
Whumpee assuring caretaker that they can do it, they can make dinner today, and caretaker not realising that the eagerness in their voice was really fear of punishment. Only to find them, some time later, collapsed on the kitchen floor, sobbing with pain and shame and exhaustion
Caretaker going hgdsfghgdhhh I should have seen this coming ffs. Putting their coat down and gently maneuvering whumpee to the living room sofa. Talking softly, hey, it's okay, you did good! Thank you for starting with dinner for me. You can to rest now, it's ok
Caretaker going back to the kitchen, calmly taking the burning vegetables off the stove, setting up the rice cooker. And whumpee on the sofa, raw and afraid, hiding under the cover to the sounds of them working one room over. Uncertain of what to do with the anxiety. Uncertain whether they're allowed to let themselves be soothed. Uncertain if they're allowed to feel the warmth
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