Sideblog for whump that I am embarrassed to have on my main account where people who know me in real life are // 18+ Please // I'll be using OC's from an original story I am writing // An AU to my own original story, as it were // Likes and follows from @thundergirl007 // Michał Masterlist // Whumper Gathering Masterlist // General Writing Masterlist
It’s been like.... 2 years since I made this blog and pretty much a year since I was properly active, but i figured now is as good a time as any to re-introduce my blog for the people that follow me!
Hello! I’m Abi, she/her, in my 20′s and i guess technically, no longer a whumping-newbie XD but i do not want to change my blog name. I have too many masterposts and links and i do not want to go to the effort of changing every SINGLE one because i changed the name so. The name is staying XD
I love to see reluctant whumpers, creepy captors, lots of hurt/angst and some spicy stuff too!
I have a few stories on this blog that are very much the definition of WIP XD perpetually in progress. But anyway! Under the cut for length.
My main project - Angel:
Most of the stories on this blog are from the perspective of my reluctant whumper, Michał, and his story can be found [Here]. If you’re interested in some of the less whumpy context for the story, it can be found on my writing blog [Here] (and the prequel [Here]). It’s a story about a Princess who is on the run after her country is overthrown and her father executed by the former army General - who will not stop until he has captured the Princess once again. Michał, who is loyal to the Princess, must try and keep his intentions hidden but do whatever he can to stop the General from finding the Princess.
I do have a dark AU for this story, but i don’t really know if i want to post it XD maybe if people are interested.
A project that is on hiatus but is nevertheless here - the Whumper Gathering, aka Lot 1′s Story:
Based on a post [x] [x] by @straight-to-the-pain and @scath001, whumpees are auctioned off and taken by very rich ppl. Idk the worldbuilding isn’t thought out that much XD but here features Lot 1 and a few other whumpees who find themselves caught up in this system. The master post is [Here].
And I find myself working on an ever-growing list of stories with the one and only @justplainwhump! She’s a fantastic writer and RP partner, and we have a few stories together! (most of which are on [her blog], but i really should post more of mine here XD)
Set in her Street Magic universe, one of my OC’s in there is Creepy Charles “Charlie” Atwood, a high-ranking councilman who is sadistic, and has something of an unhealthy obession with his best friend’s wife Marissa. Most of these stories are NSFW, and Sara’s blog is 18+, so I shall repeat this here. Please don’t read or interact with these if you are under 18. The stories are tagged and read-more’d, but please heed them.
There is the Charlie/Marissa/Jason story, where Marissa is held captive in Charlie’s basement and hurt a Lot.
And the Casino AU, a sandbox where Marissa and other whumpees are forced to work for an ultra exclusive brothel on the top floor of a luxury casino (created also with the help of @sableflynn!). (warning for humiliation, captivity, noncon (not explicit), intimate whumpers, sadistic whumpers, lady whump (mostly lady whumpees, but also lady whumpers), human trafficking) There’s plenty of angst, and very little comfort here. Except for #Maritessa. There is plenty of content here, including other collaborations with @what-a-whump and her amazing characters too! Dany and B comf gives me life tbh #Bany. My characters in this universe, aside from Charlie, include Emily Lola, a student who was brought to the casino because she fit a profile and no one will miss her, Mr Jamie and Mrs Leona Fiennes, a married couple searching for entertainment (overly cheerful and low key discovering their taste for sadism too).
For less whump, more comf, and some more character pieces (with a tiny bit of angst for good measure), this is Lilly’s Story - about Charlie’s daughter whom he disowned for her magic. This is more intrinsically tied to the Street Magic universe, but her story focusses on her relationship with a fellow mage.
Lastly, I have something that I would like to post soon. My gift for my secret sunflower from months ago lmao @greatandquestionablecontent!
A reluctant whumper, a fiesty lady whumpee, and a very terrifying grandma (and cats, lots of cats).
I think that’s everything? I would like to post more of my writing here but I need time and inspiration, but for now, this is a nice place to start for anyone who comes across my blog!
Thinking of things, thinking ahead. For my BtB event this winter, I want to make a ballerina whumpee. Thing is, I haven’t decided who's kidnapped her (and put her in their basement to make her their new pet) since I could do one of several ideas. So, poll time, I guess
(All characters would be 18yo or older)
Who's kidnapped the ballerina?
Yandare classmate she doesn't know well
Ex-best friend
Past ballet teacher
Husband and Wife stalker couple
Voting ended onOct 2, 2025
Mostly concentrating on lady whumpee with a lady whumper here, but that last one did pop into my head as a consideration, so I figured may as well include it.
Was inspired by discussions with @justplainwhump in my dark!AU, so here's the fruits of my labour.
Set in the same universe as Taking What Is His (which is an AU of michal's story)
Cw: branding, threatened with a knife, creepy whumper, forcibly stripped, forced to watch, implied past noncon.
POV: Anjelika
Being frog marched down several flights of stairs by the grip of two unyielding soldiers was not how I envisioned my evening to end. Beyond the second flight of stairs was a place I've never set foot in - what I understood as a subterranean office for the military, essentially - a dim, drab place with cold, sharp stone walls lining the corridors.
The lights didn't provide much welcoming ambience, just a clinical source of light so one can see where they're going.
There's no easing my worries considering none of these rooms are marked or labelled. I have no idea what's in each one.
At the end of the corridor is a heavy metal door with a soldier standing guard beside it. Upon our approach, he immediately begins to open the door, unbolting the latches and unlocking the enormous mechanism. It's a heavy door, judging by the effort he makes in opening it.
It's even darker in here.
A spiral staircase, leading into a dark abyss, barely lit by an orange glow somewhere down there. It's freezing. I don't want to go down there.
Not that I have much choice.
As we descend, the orange light I realise is flickering. An old style burner, possibly?
The door way behind us slams shut, and I can hear every individual lock slide into place with ease, every one making the sinking feeling in my stomach even worse with every click.
Emerging at the bottom of the staircase is an unnerving experience. The walls are illuminated with torches, bright orange and imposing, but none of down here is warm. It's dark, the shadows accentuated every dark corner, every crevice looks much dingier than it would be otherwise.
Every door is metal and black, with bars that act as viewing holes at the top. Every one is a void of emptiness as we pass, and I have no way of knowing if anyone is in them or not. I shudder to think of what conditions they are in.
And all this, is underneath my home.
There's something here that make my heart race. It feels off, everything feels dangerous, all the alarms are ringing in my head that this is a bad place. Bad things have happened here, and I shouldn't -
"Ah, I'm glad you could finally join us."
The voice comes from a door much further away from us, his figure casts a shadow on the wall opposite him, a hellish orange glow is burning from the threshold he's standing under.
"Please, come inside, have a seat, make yourself comfortable, my dear." My husband all but sneers at me, standing aside as I'm marched in.
The heat hits me first. The stark difference between this, and the dank, oppressive atmosphere I was in before is like a slap to the face.
The soldiers drag me into the room properly, and I'm forced down onto this old, surprisingly sturdy wooden chair. It takes the men mere seconds to ensure I'm restrained here, my hands cuffed to the armrests of the chair, except unlike upstairs in the dining room, these cuffs are built-in to the chair. It was made for this, for holding someone in place.
I feel sick when I realise this. The second thing I realise is just... what this room is. I cast my gaze around the room. It's not small, but not enormous. The heat is coming from a huge hearth leaned against one wall, the stone around it stained black with soot from the smoke that misses the chimney. There's a lot of coals, fire pokers, and a bucket of water nearby.
The wall opposite the hearth features a barred door that I can't see into from here. Triangulated between myself, that door and the hearth is what looks to be the central feature of the room. A column from the floor to the ceiling, quite a wide one at that, with an ominous looking chain hanging down from the top of it.
Beside that column is a small table with a few items on it that I can't see from my position, but given the awful feeling I have about this room, I hold no reservations that they are anything which would alleviate my opinion on this room.
The door clangs shut behind me, I can hear the soldiers moving around back there, but what they're doing I have no idea.
“I imagine you’ve never seen down here before, have you Princess?" the General steps into my field of view from my right side. His face is almost shiny from the sheen of sweat on his forehead, most likely from the horrendous heat coming from that hearth rather than any nerves or exertion. "Well, there’s a good reason for that."
He takes off his service jacket and hangs it up on a hook in the wall behind him, returning to the spot just in front of me.
"It allows you to live in your blissful ignorance and pretend that horrible things don’t happen here.”
He stands blocking me from the heat of the hearth, which I will say is somewhat a relief. It's roasting in here. I can only look up at him as he runs a hand through my hair, glaring at him with everything I have. If only looks could kill.
“This room doesn’t get used a lot, but I will admit, I have a certain fondness for it. And I think it’s time to introduce why this is to you, my dear,” my husband says, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. I've never seen him do that in front of other soldiers. I mean, he looks like he's about to... do something himself. He'd never normally do that.
The only times I've ever seen him take off his jacket and loosen his tie like that is when he -
"Lieutenant."
At his order, the sound of a creaky metal door swings open, the door I could barely see. The soldier over there reaches in. A voice barks "come on, move it!", and quick, light footsteps follow immediately.
I choke on air when I realise who was in that room there.
All five of my Maidens of Honour - my friends - are stood lined up against the wall. All five of them, dishevelled and sweating from the heat, their hands tied up with rope in front of them. I've never seen their eyes so wide, so afraid, when they look at me. Anastazja is even sporting a bruise on her cheek that she did not have this morning. It's barely visible between the shadows and the flickering orange hellscape that this room is. Two soldiers are flanking them on either side, both of them are clearly armed, but none of the girls dare move from their spot on the wall.
The General lets go of my hair and saunters over in their direction, making a huge show of looking them each up and down, in turn. Matylda avoids his gaze completely. Karolina stares him down.
He reaches out and points at the redhead, an almost cartoonish exaggeration, as he says “Let’s start with you, Lawniczka. Bring her over here.”
The soldier to the right of the group immediately reaches for her, grabbing her by the bound wrists. She digs her heels into the ground where she stands, trying her damndest not to move from where she stands. Irena and Zofia, on either side of her, even grip a hold of her dress in an attempt to keep her there with them. But she - no, they - aren't any match for the soldier who emerges from behind me. He approaches and wields a knife. At first I thought he would hurt her with it, but all he does is untie the ropes binding her, before helping his comrade pull her away from the others. The shouts of protests that come from that side of the room are met with silence, not just from the soldiers, but from me. I would join them if I could.
The efficiency this team here has is alarming. Within seconds, each soldier has Karolina's arms restrained again at that central column. She's facing into the stone, away from me, her arms held high above her head with the chains pulled taut, keeping her from moving. Once her arms are secure, one of the soldiers reaches onto the table and grabs something, but before I have time to wonder what it was, it was forcibly shoved between Karolina's teeth and tied behind the back of her head, leaving her biting on a bit like saddled-up horses do.
Once my friend is helplessly tied up in her position, not even able to face me, I realise that the General isn't where he was prior. He's over by the hearth, using a poker to mess with a few of the coals in the scorching hot pyre, almost disinterested with the fact that he's got a woman tied up on his orders.
It's when he turns from the hearth, with the poker still in his grip, that I see what he is holding properly. The poker, white hot and smoking at the end, is not a fire poker at all. It's bigger, it's a letter.
'G'.
Karolina can't see it, but everyone else in this room can.
No! He can't!
He almost mockingly wipes sweat from his brow as he looks from the hearth to the other girls, still lined up by the cold stone wall.
"It's quite warm in here, men. Please, help these young ladies out of a few of their layers."
I want to cry out, to yell, to scream, to do anything to stop this, stop him from inflicting a terrible crime upon my friends. Another in a long list of crimes that he has already committed against them.
But I can't, I can't summon the will to scream loud enough that would make a difference, even if he would take heed and care for what I have to say. All I can do is wordlessly shake my head as the soldiers over there brutally tear at the dresses of my friends, even as they fight and struggle. Between the sounds of fabric being ripped apart and their desperate pleas, it's mortifying to behold.
The worst is the way a young soldier, probably not much older than myself, uses his knife on the dress Kasia is wearing as she stands, suspended to the column, utterly unable to fight back.
What remains of their dresses lie at their feet, leaving my dear friends standing in their underwear, barely covering anything.
And yet, the General is unphased by the brutality, marching towards the restrained redhead with the white hot branding iron in his hands.
"Thank you," the General says as he starts to stroke her long locks off her exposed back, lingering as he moves his hand down her side and stopping just above her underwear. I can see her trembling, hear her cry beneath the bit in her mouth.
The way he's touching her. How he brushes his fingers over her is sickening to watch, knowing about what he's done to them before today. The terrible thing is that I can't tell whether or not Karolina's reaction is because of this situation right now, or whether it's because of a… prior experience between the two. Neither of them are in any way comforting.
He holds up the iron, and looks over at me once more. That steely gaze cuts straight through me, he's completely set on what he's about to do. I shake my head at him, fighting with the metal restraints keeping me to this chair. His lips curl into a sickening smirk.
"Make sure she watches this, Lieutenant. Do not let her look away."
"Yes, sir."
The soldier behind me replies with a robotic affirmation to the task, like he was being asked to watch over a room where diplomats are having a meeting.
Like he wasn't being asked to participate in mutilating a friend of mine.
My husband raises the iron, and Irena screeches from where she stands. But if he wasn't listening to me, he most certainly would not listen to her.
And he presses it onto the my friend's lower back.
I've never heard such a sound come from a human before. I wasn't sure it was even possible. But the way that it pierced through me, it tore through my heart and made my stomach drop to the floor. I couldn't wipe away the tears, they obscured my vision of the horrific sight. My husband pressing a scorching hot iron onto the bare skin of my friend, whilst she's just screaming, shaking in her bindings, eyes screwed shut, pushing herself into the post in a vain attempt to get as far away from the pain as she can. I can't even imagine what that feels like, can barely comprehend what that must be doing to her.
With the same clinical efficiency as before, the General removes the iron and walks away, putting the iron back into the hot coals, as one of the soldiers picks up one of the buckets of water and tosses it over Kasia. She's still jarring, the chains clinking and her legs barely keeping her upright, but I can't tell if it's because of the lingering pain from the brand or from the cold salve.
Her long, wet hair obscures her eyes from my view as she's released from the shackles, and she collapses to the ground in front of the chair keeping me in place. I can't… I can't even comfort her. She's just sobbing, sprawled out on the floor in front of me, the red raw mark left on her lower back is glaring at me.
A mark of how I failed to protect her.
I blink away the tears and look over to the others, they're all in a petrified silence, watching the pair of us over here. Screwing my eyes shut, I can't look at them when they look that scared. They're scared because of me. Because of my stupid, stubborn -
Something that makes me a little silly is the forcefully stripped trope.
-is it done gently? Does tension build and build each time a layer is peeled away, leaving Whumpee dreading what is to come?
-is it done seductively? Like a moment of attempted intimacy between two lovers even if it's anything but? Does Whumper like to play pretend? Does Whumpee?
-is it done wildly? Like Whumper just can't wait a second longer to get at what lies beneath, ripping the clothes off Whumpee's body like an animal?
-is it done without care? By an underpaid guard throwing whumpee around as they just try to do their job and get them naked for whatever awaits them?
- is it done with guilt by a caretaker knowing exactly what Whumpee has been through but needing to see their wounds anyways?
Back from the dead to post a thing I wrote the other day for an extremely self indulgent AU to my longstanding, long suffering WIP :)
What do you mean it's been more than a year since you last posted. Not gonna lie, time is meaningless and a lot of stuff has happened. Either way, I hope you enjoy :)
Thanks to @justplainwhump for the support with this one, she's been a real rock these past months. I hope you know how much I appreciate it <3
Tiny bit of context that may help: The General is the de facto King of the nation after his successful coup to overthrow the previous King. He forcibly married the Crown Princess, and she has committed the grave sin of... saying "no" to him, so he feels he is allowed to teach her a lesson.
CW's: fade to black noncon, (male whumper, female whumpee), creepiness in general, forced servitude setting, forced to strip, threatened with a knife, cigarette burning.
There’s a distinct sound clicking down the wooden corridor. It’s subtle, rhythmic, and very recognizable. I turn a corner and find my assumption to be correct. One of my wife’s Maidens of Honour, the one with a prosthetic leg. The odd sound was her leg every other step.
What incredible timing.
“You.”
I call out to her, and she immediately stops, turns to face me, and stands aside against the wall as I approach.
“Good evening, your Excellency.”
Her greeting is stiff, her posture perfect as she bows her head, her long dark hair resting just so over her shoulders. I can’t help but look down at the rest of her. The maid’s dress is modest, just below the knee level, high necked and practically pristine. Of course. This girl is known to take great care of her appearance.
I do appreciate that very much.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her as I stand directly in front of her, barely a step between us, “a little late to be wandering around, don’t you think?”
It’s here that she does look up, ever so slightly, as she answers my question. “I was going to see if her Royal Highness needed anything from me before I retired for the evening, your Excellency.”
She speaks with an elegance that has not changed since the first time she set foot in this place, speaking to me no differently than she speaks to my wife in public. I can’t help but let out a small chuckle - clearly fate is on my side tonight.
“Of course. Come with me, I’ll take you to her. Save you wasting your time.”
With that, I turn back around the way I came, and it takes a second for her to register my order and follow me wordlessly. She knows this way does not lead to my wife’s bedchamber, but of course, who is she to disobey me when I know where my wife is?
She may be a simple girl, but credit where credit is due, she knows better to disrespect her betters, unlike a certain someone I know.
A few moments later, we’re back at my Imperial Office. It’s late, so of course there’s no one else around, meaning that when I open the door, turn on the light switch, step inside and wait for the girl to enter, it’s just the two of us.
The latch of the door clicks shut, and I slide the lock into place.
“Your Excellency?” she asks, and I barely catch the quiver in her voice. “Where is her Royal Highness?”
I don’t deign to answer her question, she doesn’t need one. Instead, I walk over to her, closing that distance between us even more than we did in the corridor. She is looking me square in the eyes, her stance firm, I can see her fists clenched by her sides. I must admit, if she is scared, she’s hiding it quite well beneath that bravado of confidence, like she knows what will happen here.
She hasn’t the slightest idea.
The girl clears her throat and speaks again. “Where is her Royal Highness?”
I reach for the side of her face, and cup her chin in my hand, relishing in the way she freezes in my grip. “That doesn’t matter.”
“But I -“
“Shh,” I push my finger to her lips, silencing her, “be quiet, girl.”
I want to savour this. The moment that I finally get to give my wife a taste of her own medicine. If she wants to be stubborn, I will make the consequences for her refusal severe.
Well. Severe for her and her friends. Me? I plan to enjoy this.
The girl’s breath shakes in my grip, and I pull her closer, practically feeling her heartbeat as I lean in for a kiss. She tries to lean back, get away, without directly fighting back. She tastes sweet, her lips soft and sensual, rather like the kiss I got from my wife our first night together.
It’s incredible how similar this feels to that very first night.
I pull back from her, keeping a hold of one of her upper arms. Her eyes are wide, her voice nonexistent, yet she does not reject me. Just frozen in place, and yet, I like her like this. I lean in again, and leave little kisses on her cheek to see how she reacts, she just barely turns her head as I leave the trail down onto her neck.
She shortly pulls her arm back, presumably testing my grip, but I don’t let go. She must realise that I am stronger than she thinks I am, given that she does not try that again. I can hear her breathing deeply as I move my kisses back up to her ear and whisper.
“Take off your dress.”
“What?” she croaks out.
I stand back up straight, “are you deaf, girl? What are you waiting for? Take off your dress.”
“Sir, why -“
“Are you going to disobey me, or are you going to do as I tell you?”
As I begin to speak, I reach for the knife in the sheath on my belt, which catches her attention and I can hear her breathing still. I haven’t even got this knife anywhere near her, as I had stepped back to give her some space, giving me the chance to get a good, long look at what she has hidden under her dress, what I’ve never seen in the years since she was first assigned as Maiden of Honour to the Crown Princess herself.
How many men can claim they will have seen this?
The knife is a convincing argument for her to do as she’s told, because she shakes her head shortly, before starting to undo the buttons on the front of her dress, her hands visibly trembling as she works the top one loose. Then the next. Then the next. Then the next
“Good. No need to be shy, is there?”
I move back a step and sit down in the armchair just behind me, in between the desk and the fireplace. I keep the knife in my grip, testing its sharpness on the tips of my fingers. Hm, it’s a little dull. Perhaps I should sharpen this. Either way, it seems like she does not want to test out the knife regardless of how sharp it is, because she’s now fumbling with the apron tied at the back, the buttons fully opening up the front of her dress, giving me a tantalizing taste of what she has hidden beneath it.
Once she has the apron untied, she drops it to the floor. As she tries to work off the dress from her shoulders, she quickly rubs one of her eyes before letting that fall completely, leaving her stood there in her underwear.
She’s quite the beauty under her clothes as well as in them, it seems. She’s not got much in the way of blemishes, but her slender figure is accentuated by the way she’s stood, legs tightly together, with her prosthetic leg ever so slightly in front of the “real” leg. The beautiful form of a dancer, with strong legs that have just the perfect amount of muscle on them to look like she could form complex dance moves without much effort.
I wonder what other moves she could do, if she really really tried.
She looks at me, and I can see her eyes are shiny with tears that she desperately is trying to hide, folding her arms in front of her, probably shivering in here. She’s somewhat obscuring her chest, but the way she’s done it has pressed her bra up, making those features look considerably more attractive.
I can’t help but smile. The girl has done very well so far. Let’s see how far she will go for me, in comparison to my wife, whom I helped undress on my wedding night, feeling her form in my hands as I unzipped the dress, leading her out of it and towards the bed.
Back to reality.
I nod in the direction of the sofa behind the girl here, still twisting the knife in my hands.
“Go lay down on that sofa.”
She doesn’t move, just cringes on the spot as she casts a small glance behind her at the sofa in question. One of the nicer ones in this place, a lovely green velvet fabric cover with rich emerald silk cushions in either corner. Quite the comfortable piece of furniture, and she’ll finally get to experience it.
However, here’s where she decides to be resistant. She shakes her head at me, soundlessly refusing my order.
That’s a pity.
“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” I stand up from my seated position, “are you sure you want to find out what the hard way entails?”
As soon as I say that, I take one deliberate step forward, and she all but falls backwards into a seated position on the sofa, gripping the delicate fabric in her hands, her chest moving quickly from her rapid breathing, her gaze firmly planted at the floor. I could swear I can hear a sob creep through that breathing, but it vanishes as soon as it began.
I carefully re-sheath my dull knife and begin working on undoing my own clothes, watching her shoulders move with every breath she takes. I can see her concentrated effort on steadying her breathing, but she still seems to breathe very quickly. I work my belt loose and undo my service uniform’s trousers, slipping out of my shoes then stepping out of my trousers, leaving them on the floor beside the girl’s discarded dress.
“Lie down on your back.”
She looks up at me briefly as I loosen my tie, and I realise that she has tears streaming down her face. Hm. I’ve never known this one to be an emotional one. I’ve seen one or two of those girls cry, especially since my revolution, but this one always seemed stone cold, uncrackable.
It seems I’ve found that spot with which I can break her.
Slowly, she swivels on the spot, lifts both her legs onto the sofa, and lies down onto the soft cushioning of the sofa, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She turns her head away from me, into the silk, her arms tightly at her side, her legs crossed over one another. It’s here that I can hear that tiny, tiny sob once again, her eyes screwed shut.
I take off my jacket, leaving just my shirt on, and make my move. Straddling her at the waist, I get a good feel at her upper body. Running my hands up her sides, I stop at her breasts, if only to see what she does. I can see her face screw up and she hisses through her teeth, clearly trying to ignore me as best she can, but that’s quite difficult when I’m sat on top of her getting a good feel at tonights entertainment.
Leaving her bra as is for now, I move my body into position above her, running my hands back down her midriff and working at her underwear. This action provokes another reaction from her.
“Please, please stop -“ she gasps out, her eyes open now, but still not looking at me, tears flooding down the side of her face.
I am now done with her underwear, and silence her cries by forcing my lips onto hers, feeling those little sounds at their source. She doesn’t try to buck me off, or fight me. My wife did that once.
She has not done it since.
I move away from her lips once again, whispering into her ear, “you don’t need to say anything else, girl. Just lie there and let me do all the work.”
With one last stifled sob, the girl closes her eyes and her mouth, looking away from me again. I’m ready, ready for my good time, all whilst a few of my men are probably doing the same to the other girls right this moment. I plan to enjoy every second of this, and every second of knowing that what my wife does not know will not hurt her.
And oh, I will get what I want from all of them.
---
The girl lays still on the sofa when I’m done.
I’m thoroughly satisfied with my time here, and am getting myself presentable - tightening my belt around my waist - whilst she just lies there, unmoving and silent. I will admit that she didn’t do much more beyond lay there and cry, but for the experience I wanted? I am more than content with that.
If I wanted more from a sexual partner, I’d certainly be more persuasive in getting what I want from them.
“How did you find that, girl?” I ask as I walk over to my desk and fetch a cigarette and lighter from the top drawer, “did you enjoy being fucked like you deserve?”
She does not answer me, does not even look in my direction, doesn’t even move. Merely acts like I hadn’t said anything at all. From here, her head isn’t visible behind the armrest of the sofa, but I have a good view of everything else.
I light the cigarette and walk back over to the sofa, taking a drag as I stop right at her upper body. It’s a bit annoying that she has ignored me, I would have thought she’d have it in her for a bit more respect than that.
I press the lit end of the cigarette into her shoulder and she instantly screams out, trying to move away from the cigarette, clutching her upper arm.
“Sit up,” I kneel down beside her, and she does as ordered, “tell me, was I your first time with a man?”
She blushes furiously.
“Am I to take that as a ‘yes’, then?” I can’t help but smirk. How interesting. I would have thought this one would have been snapped right up by some classmate during her teens, she certainly could have fooled me.
I pick up the discarded dress from beside me and throw it at her.
“Get dressed then clean up this mess,” I give the order as I move back towards my desk, “and hurry it up. It’s late, and I have to get up early in the morning.”
I continue to smoke the cigarette as I wait for my wife’s Maiden of Honour to finish what she had started. Little slut. I’m sure I can get more satisfaction out of her next time - satisfaction for me, that is.
Funny thing, that title of hers. She’s no Maiden anymore. And Honour? Well, the little minx certainly has none when I’m through with her.
She quietly yet quickly works at the sofa with what little we have in this room. She’s still in a sorry state - not yet dressed with her hair an absolute mess, the fresh burn from the cigarette is red and raw on her upper arm, and the tear tracks on her face have yet to dry.
By the time I’m finished with my cigarette, so is she with the sofa, and she quickly gets the dress and apron back on, tying up the buttons a lot quicker than she got them off.
“Before you go, girl…”
She freezes, not even finishing tying her apron behind her back, just holding it in her hands, both tightly at her side.
“Tell anyone about our little meeting, and I will make sure there are consequences. Is that clear?”
She nods.
Not good enough.
“I can’t hear you, girl. Am I understood?”
And then, in a display I’ve not seen since I first brought her into this room, she looks back up at me with a hardened stare. The tears are no longer flowing.
“Understood, your Excellency,” her voice, while weak, is certainly more akin to before than during our little tryst, “I won’t tell anyone about this, as you command.”
“Good. Now get out.”
She certainly didn’t need telling twice.
I’m not too far behind her in leaving the room, still relishing in the delights of fucking one of my wife’s so-called friends whilst she has no idea.
I’ll have to do this again sometime. Perhaps I should let my wife disobey me more often.
Seeing some nice anon asks about my OCs and their dynamics and relationships with their whumpers make me happy but also, I actively had to think about them having actual whumpers that are *mine* or if I constantly borrow others 😅
With the result that, yeah, I do have many whumpers of my own creation, but they're usually not the main bad guys. Because since my very first whump rp with @whumping-newbie, when she penned an additional bad guy for Alicia's story, throwing ideas to each other with other creators is how almost all of my stories started. The ones that are "only" mine are backstory, or glimpses at the future of my OCs. The ones that are designed to serve a story, or a character (the whumpee) and thus - narratively - always a bit inferior to them, a bit less important. That's Madeline, Tim, Cory, Alan, Jack, Mark and Gemma... Tyler is the only exception in my current stories, and really, he is only a backdrop in an Angel's story.
But the ones penned by my friends, the main whumpers in my RPs that turned into stories and universes, they have been so much more, because the story happened around them, the plot came from these OCs that were already formed and the ideas of two people instead of just one, with so much passion and love behind these concepts. They are deeper because they had to be. So this is a call out to everyone who I ever RPd with - I love you and I love our stories, and I deeply enjoyed everything we did. @whumping-newbie for Charlie, @hackles-up for Ridley, @for-the-love-of-angst for Thane, @painful-pooch for the Kysils, @wildfaewhump for Geoff and Fin (I'm limiting myself to the whumpers here, okay), @ocean-blue-whump for everyone we threw at Dany and Enzo.
And of course, the same thing holds true for the love interests (weird how similar the process is to the whumpers, ngl) - almost everyone I tagged also wrote someone who a version Dany fell in very deep, life changing, heartbreaking love with. B, Enzo, Peyton, Myk, Lourdes.
(Not Vee's guys, because they're just never compatible even if we tried 😂 but we have others!)
Anyways, back to the point - thank you all, and now I'll busy myself with reading up on all these amazing stories. They're all gold, and you guys are wonderful.
Thank you for this 🥰 I love our RP's too, and it's so weird to think how long ago the Alicia/Jason/Charlie one was!!!! How much has changed since then, my goodness.
I love reading your various stories and am so glad we got to RP together ❤️ we should do some more soon!!
eastern european accents only come out whenever theres a mafia villain and i am tired of this eastern european pathetic little meowmeow erasure. i want representation /j
Not to self promo but I've got a WIP that's (putting it Very simply) using Polish characters and therefore is free real estate for imagining eastern European accents
Whumpy stuff here (some of it needs changing BC I've changed the plot a little since I started writing it)
Not as much whump but mostly context and fluff from my writeblr blog.
I want whumpees who volunteer to be captured by whumper as a misson. To get information out of them or something like that. And then the team will come and rescue them, capturing whumper.
Whumpee thinks they knows how bad it's gonna be, everyone has been warning them about how awful and dangerous whumper can actually be and all the horrible things they have done, and whumpee thinks they will be able to endur it. For team's sake. For all of whumper's victims sake. Yes. They think they can handle it.
I raise, to make this a re-capture. They've lived through it once, they'll do it again. They've only become hardened in between. They've seen it all, and they know they can cope.
