#masochistic whumper

[sleepyiswhumping]

Freak

Elaboration on "Whumper who only takes defiant, vicious whumpees...", also by yours truly.

Content: Blood, Brief Threat of Noncon, Creepy Whumper, Defiant Whumpee, Violence

~~~~~~~~~~

Whumpee growled, thrashing against their bonds. Once they were free, the freak that kidnapped them was dead. And until then, Whumpee was going to make them regret every second of their captivity. 

“Calm down, friend. Don’t want you degloving yourself with those cuffs.” Whumper remarked, striding into their cell. 

Whumpee stared at Whumper, looking deep into their eyes, hoping the raw hatred that smoldered in their eyes unsettled Whumper. 

“Aren’t you just the cutest?”

“Fuck you.”

Whumper chuckled, then grabbed Whumpee’s hair, pulling their head back and leaning in. Whumper’s face was inches away from Whumpee’s, and Whumpee could feel their hot breath wash across their face. Whumper’s cold, dead gaze pierced Whumpee’s soul, pinning them to the ground.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, baby.” Whumper whispered, grinning.

“You’re fucked in the head, you know–” 

Mid-sentence, Whumpee flung their head forward, slamming their forehead directly into Whumper’s nose. They relish that delightful crunch, and laugh as Whumper staggers back, blood flowing down their lips, dripping off their chin, onto the floor. 

"Yea, you like that, bitch? I loved it."

Staring at the ceiling, entranced by the delightful Whumper mumbles to themself.

“Oh. Oh. That’s good.”

Whumper’s mouth opens slightly, blood dribbling between their open lips. Licking the blood off their lips, their mouth opens into a wide, toothy, shark-like smile. Training their gaze on Whumpee, their teeth stained crimson, they laugh softly.

“Oh, you’re fun.”

[acer-gaysimpstuff]

Volunteer whumpee

Why did they volunteer to be whumped?

Could they not handle the idea of someone else getting hurt?

Were they certain they could handle it?

Did they think it would be fun? Exciting? An epic story to tell?

Did they do it to get information on whumper? To get on the inside to rescue another whumpee?

Were they the only one that could survive something specific like a virus or spell?

Is there some kind of personal relationship between them and whumper? Or better, do they hate caretaker so much they’d go to whumper to get away?

Do they crave the pain? Feel like they deserve it, need it?

Or did they do it just because someone else asked them to, and they couldn’t refuse?

If they were asked, who asked them? Whumper? Another whumpee? Or caretaker?

[a-living-canvas]

A Source of Wonder

It felt so wrong to be liking this. But, Whumpee couldn't help the adrenaline rush through their veins as their head pounding, eyes ringing and the stars spinning around their head. The pain was so overwhelming that it's satisfying for them. Whumpee, baseball bat, and Whumper. 

Oh, it's been so long since Whumper used that tool to hit them. They pushed their body from the floor, half lidded eyes looking at Whumper as they let out a grunt. 

Whumper chuckled, "How does that feel?"

"Not…not so bad…" 

Whumpee commented. Whumper frowned, he tightened his grips around the baseball bat, and for the third time he swung the stick right on Whumpee's head, making them fall down to the ground again. They stared at the floor underneath them, catching their breath. Blood was dripping down from the side of their head but they ignored it. Slowly, they looked up at Whumper, eyes showing a hint of disappointment.

"You could…do it better…"

Another hit landed on their back this time, making them twiched and dropped down instantly on the floor. But they still wouldn't stop provoking Whumper.

"Come on…make it hurt…" They said through ragged breath.

Whumper tightened his jaw. He was about to make another strike when he realised something. Whumper dropped the baseball bat to the cold floor. With a heavy step, he crouched down in front of Whumpee, squishing their cheeks as he pulled their head to look up at them. 

"Say," Whumper narrowed his eyes. "Are you enjoying this?"

"..."

Whumper raised an eyebrow at the lack of answer. "...So?"

Whumpee groaned in pain as Whumper squeezed their cheeks harder. Their whines came out as an annoyance as it reached Whumper's ears.

"Quit whining. I asked you a question, brat. Are you enjoying this?"

Whumpee stayed silent again, knowing that Whumper couldn't stand the silent treatment. Taunting him to hit them again. 

"Oh, come on…! Answer me!" 

Whumper squeezed their cheeks harder, but Whumpee only let out a grunt. He clicked his tongue in frustration before pulling Whumpee up to stand and shoved their faces against the wall.

Blood was dripping down from their nose. They licked it off while chuckling, earning a glare from Whumper.

"You are sick."

He said before pulling Whumpee's head back and hitting it against the wall again. "I will keep doing this until you get some sense into your brain."

The sounds of loud thumps filled the basement. Whumpee was sure their nose and teeth would be broken at the end of the day.

Still, they couldn't help the grin on their faces as it kept colliding with the wall.

[ratking-whump]

Contains: whump, masochism, broken bones, blood, torture mention, creepy whumper

"You... like this." Whumper's grim expression curled into a grin. "Oh, you devil." They cupped whumpee's cheek, planting a soft kiss on their bloody forehead.

"Mm..." Whumpee's head lolled to the side, their eyes unfocused, lashes fluttering with confusion. They had gone pale, a stark contrast to all the blood on them. It was beautiful. "N-" They choked, tipping forward in whumper's arms. "-no, I-"

"Shh, shh," Whumper pet their tangled hair. "I know, dearest." Their fingers travelled across whumpee's back, finding the nearest nasty cut. Whumpee stilled, holding their breath. Their eyes closed, and they pressed their face into whumper's shirt, hands curling into their shirt.

"Pl-" Their beg was cut off as whumper dug their nails into whumpee's fresh wound, making them wail in pain, tensing up and arching their back. Delicate beads of sweat dripped down their forehead, and tears washed away flakes of dried blood from their cheeks. They moaned deliriously, shivering.

Whumper sighed in ecstasy, thumb tenderly rubbing the outside of the awful gash. "You disgusting thing," They crooned. "Desperate and needy for any attention, even if you're torn apart in the process." Whumper ghosted hands along their sides, pressing gently at mottled bruises and bloody patches of skin, elicting beautiful whimpers from their captive.

"I'm looking for a response, whumpee..." Their voice had a threatening edge to it.

Whumpee gritted their teeth. "Y-yes." Their face burned with shame, tears soaking into whumper's already ruined shirt. When whumper said nothing, they continued, for nothing but to still the awkwardness, the mind-numbing silence of the basement. "I... l-like," They tightened their fist, squeezing their eyes shut. "-when you- uh- when-"

"Go on." Whumper ordered, holding their newly broken wrist in one hand. The slowly began to squeeze, grinding the bones together and making whumpee squirm with the building pressure.

Whumpee sobbed, the pain lancing up their arm, but any movement only made it worse. "Hurt me-" They gasped, a shrill yelp leaving their mouth as whumper snapped their wrist back. Whumpee's mouth opened in a silent scream of agony, their broken body trembling in whumper's gentle hold.

Only then did whumper pull away, letting their poor captive slump onto the cold stone floors, gasping and whimpering, clutching their twisted hand to their chest.

"Well, then I'll have to get more creative with you."

[rizzoto-whump]

"Is that all you've got? My grandma hits harder than that!"

"I've had paper cuts more painful than this."

"Oh, please hit me again, your pathetic attempts at torture are just adorable."

"Nice try, pal, but those methods are about as effective as a broken umbrella in a thunderstorm."

"It's okay, everyone's bad at their job sometimes. Better luck next torture session."

"Whoever trained you must have been quite the failure too, huh?"

"Are you trying to get me to spill my secrets, or just spill my lunch on this floor?"

"Hey, here's an idea. Why don't you call your superior and tell them you did your best, but unfortunately, I've just got this incredible pain tolerance?"

[whumpshaped]

tw the creepiest fucking whumper, stalking, intense parasocial relationship, masochist whumper, lady whumpee and whumper, fantasies of noncon, fantasies of … honestly just some good kinky bdsm fantasies, some exhibitionism, some very noncon leaning vibes that i can’t even explain properly, i don’t know how to tag any of this

What could Whumper ever give her? When her deepest desires at the bottom of her heart were others’ nightmares, when the things she wanted were only ever doled out as an act of hatred and punishment, then what was there to offer? What deal was there to be made, when all her mind and body wanted were consequences?

What did she really want? Did she want Whumpee to look at her with disgust? To be repulsed and angry enough to hit her?

Whumper didn’t want her to be repulsed, not in earnest. Or maybe she did. Maybe she would’ve loved it all the same.

She sat in her car and watched her beloved colleague walk to the end of her driveway with a heavy-looking trash bag, wishing she had been more responsible. Sure, nine o’clock at night wasn’t that late to be doing this, but it was dark enough that Whumper couldn’t see the way her muscles worked as she threw all that garbage in the ugly, black plastic can.

It was so careless. Whumpee didn’t think twice about it, and why would she? It was nothing but trash.

Whumper wished she could just ask to be treated with the same level of cold indifference.

How could she ever force someone to be indifferent in a way that felt just right? How could she forcefully invoke such specific emotions? If she wanted to be treated like an object, how was she meant to take any control?

She almost wished her desires had been simpler to act on. If she had craved dominance and control, she could’ve marched into that house and knocked her out — a thought that had crossed her mind more times than she could count.

But she wanted quite the opposite. She walked around in her bedroom with the lights on at night and imagined Whumpee driving past her house the same way she’d driven past hers, watching her half-naked silhouette and planning a break in. She wore her nicest lingerie and imagined Whumpee picking her lock, only to sneak inside her bedroom and watch her sleep. She closed her eyes and imagined a blindfold keeping her in the darkness, she crossed her wrists over each other and imagined the bite of the rope forcefully keeping them in place, she tilted her head up and imagined Whumpee’s fingers hooked under her chin, and her voice as she cooed ‘Pretty thing, all mine.’

How could she ever force that? How could she ever force that sick obsession, that want? How could she ever force Whumpee to look at her the way she wanted to be looked at: a pretty doll, a prized possession one day, a used toy, a discarded piece of trash another.

She wished Whumpee would just know. She wished she could force her hand somehow, and at the same time knew it would defeat the purpose.

Whumper stared at the house longingly. Did Whumpee have a closet to keep her in? A basement, perhaps? Did she have all different kinds of rope, or chain, or handcuffs? Did she have a collection of whips and canes? A wide array of gags? Whumper liked to imagine she did. She liked to imagine Whumpee sitting in her room, knowing full well that she was just outside in her car, watching, fantasising, dizzy from the weight of the scenarios her mind had conjured up.

Whumper would do anything for her, if only she asked. She would do all the disgusting, humiliating, dehumanising things, sleep in a cage, eat out of a bowl on the floor, lick her boots, be her doormat, let herself be yanked around on a leash— And yet whenever they met, Whumpee only ever gave her a kind smile and a polite greeting, and told her ‘Oh, no, please don’t bother, I can do it myself, thank you.’

It was driving her mad.

She wanted to do everything for her.

She wanted Whumpee to make her do it.

She had the most perfect hands for wrapping around Whumper’s throat, she knew it, she could imagine it just perfectly, and yet all she used them for were handshakes firm enough that Whumper got a taste, but mild enough not to cause any discomfort.

Sometimes, Whumper liked to imagine this was part of the game. That Whumpee was teasing her, specifically playing at making her cry into her pillow at night. Sometimes, when she was sitting in her car outside of Whumpee’s home, she liked to imagine that Whumpee wanted her to break in so she would have an excuse to do whatever she wanted with her.

Whumper waited until the light flicked off in the bedroom, then got out of her car. Whumpee was really good at playing this game, at baiting her until she couldn’t stay away any longer.

Truth be told, Whumper wanted nothing more than to lose to her; this game, and any other they ever played.

[inevitable-pretty-words]

Content — masochist whumpee, nonhuman whumper (pain-eating monster), blood, knife cuts, knife kink, blood kink, suggestive, noncon drugging, implied whumpee turned whumper

Whumpee didn't flinch as he felt the cold blade touching his body, slowly cutting through the skin of his collarbone, creating a wound several centimeters long and staining him with blood.

His heart beat faster, but not because of fear, rather from excitement that was harder to control and was growing with every moment.

The room he was in, presumably the basement, was dark. The only source of light came from the foggy, small windows in the ceiling and a weak flashlight. And yet, in this dim darkness, Whumpee could see that he looked really beautiful in red.

It all started with going to a random bar after an extremely brutal argument with his ex partner. With trying to relieve stress and having a long conversation with a beautiful, charismatic stranger who was now marking his body with wounds. With too many drugged drinks that soon made his vision blur, his breathing slowed, and the noise gradually faded away. Until the darkness came. And then nothing. Emptiness.

He woke up tied to a chair — unnecessarily, because his muscles were too weak for him to even try to escape — with a headache and thoughts so chaotic that he couldn't focus on anything in particular, much less on the reason why. So he just sat and waited — staring at the closed door across from him — not knowing for what exactly.

A short time later, the door opened and a stranger from the bar entered the room, carrying a flashlight in his hand, the light of which was soon directed at his face.

Whumpee hissed at the sudden pain in his eyes, feeling all too well his pupils constrict. Probably another side effect caused by the previously taken drug.

“So you're awake,” his voice was as attention-grabbing as it had been in the bar, only now Whumpee could see… satisfaction in it.

The stranger placed the flashlight on the floor, pointing it at the ceiling, which made the darkness a little brighter. He then stepped closer to him, put his hand in his hair and grabbed it with unnecessary violence, forcing him to look at his face.

Whumpee closed his eyes and a faint smile appeared on his lips, barely visible in the limited light.

"I'm glad," the stranger continued, probably taking his reaction as a sign of pain. "We can finally start."

Whumpee frowned, confused.

"What exactly?" he asked quietly, his voice hoarse.

All he received in response was a smile.

And then the stranger pulled out a knife.

Whumpee merely watched, one might say curiously, as the flashes of light caught on the blade as the knife approached his body and began to trace the first wound.

He shuddered, feeling the sweet pain and blood trickling down his body, not trusting himself enough to open his mouth and say anything, even comment on the events that reminded him of the most wonderful dream.

Whumpee didn't know how much time had passed since then.

His body was decorated with small wounds, lines drawn by an unskilled painter, shallow enough to cause pain, not deep enough to hurt him. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his breathing was irregular. And yet, Whumpee was still smiling softly.

He risked a glance into his captor's eyes, curious about the feelings on his face. And he thought he saw frustration. Although he couldn't be sure of it, from the moment he was drugged, he no longer deceived his senses.

Meanwhile, the stranger raised the knife and, for the first time that night, cut it deeper, burying the entire tip of the blade into the skin.

Whumpee suppressed a moan by biting his lip.

With the next cut, a sigh escaped his lips.

“Could you…” he began to say quietly, though his hoarse voice trembled. "Could you please cut the knife across my neck?" he expressed this desire, once again glancing at the face of the stranger, who froze motionless, shocked by this unusual proposition.

The silence lasted only a few seconds.

The stranger complied with his request, and soon Whumpee felt the blade slowly and precisely glide across his neck, marking him.

Whumpee could no longer hold back the sounds escaping from his throat.

But then the stranger threw the knife on the floor and cursed loudly.

Whumpee flinched, alarmed by the sound and the recurring headache from the noise, and immediately fell silent.

"You're a masochist, aren't you?" the stranger addressed these words to him as an insult.

Whumpee frowned, disoriented.

"Yes," he said hesitantly and cleared his throat, realizing how bad his voice sounded. "Yes, I am," he added more confidently. "And what about it?"

The stranger leaned his hand on the back of the chair and looked into his eyes.

"You're useless, that's it."

Whumpee sighed, even more confused.

"I don't understand..." he started saying, but the stranger silenced him by placing his free hand over his mouth.

"I dragged you here because you were supposed to be my meal. But your pain turns into pleasure too quickly, so I was just wasting my time. And I'm still hungry." The stranger said the last words with a disturbing note, as if he was about to attack Whumpee.

Whumpee, however, tilted his head to the side as if his words were not reaching him. His thoughts swirled chaotically around for a moment before finally coalescing into a completely logical thread. He looked at the stranger with impatience, and he took his hand away from his mouth.

"So you're not human,” he said, and there was no surprise in his voice.

The stranger shook his head and sighed.

"What do you think?" he growled in an angry tone.

Whumpee shuddered involuntarily, but he didn't take his eyes off the stranger's face.

"Do you feed on pain? Ah, so that's why you seemed so frustrated back then. So why did you... continue? Not that I mind, but..."

"I thought you just had a high pain tolerance," the stranger interrupted him again. "Or that I'm doing something wrong, I don't know, I'm cutting you too shallow. But then you started moaning."

Whumpee shrugged, unfazed.

"It's not my fault that you were better than all my previous partners. At least you weren't afraid of... hurting me," he said, a wide smile on his lips.

The stranger simply sighed and crouched down next to him, beginning to untie the rope securing him to the chair.

"Hey, what are you doing??"

"I'm setting you free, obviously. I don't want a masochist. Go and start flirting with other hot guys at the gay bar."

Whumpee rolled his eyes as the rope fell around the chair, freeing him.

"First of all, I'm not able to walk yet. You should have thought before you drugged me. Secondly, I'm not going anywhere."

The stranger shook his head in disbelief and stood in front of him.

"You're not serious."

Whumpee looked him in the eyes.

"Yes, I am. In both cases. You were great, really. Just next time... don't put anything in my drinks. I'm a good boy without drugs. I won't run away." He smiled again.

"There won't be a next time."

Whumpee stopped smiling and his face became irritated.

"What about mental pain?"

"What?"

"I'm asking... if the mental pain isn't enough to make you feel full."

The stranger shook his head.

"Whatever you're suggesting now, it won't work. The mental pain is too... weak. It's not enough. Especially not now."

The stranger turned and headed for the exit.

"Wait, stop!" Whumpee screamed to stop him and immediately started coughing.

The stranger gave him an impatient, hungry look.

“When I talked about the next time,” he said more quietly, “I was serious. So please..."

The stranger shook his head, again.

“I'd be a lot more willing if there was any benefit to it. So far I haven't seen any reason why I should keep you with me."

“I could help you,” there was desperation in his tone.

"How?"

"I have connections, so..."

The stranger's eyes flashed dangerously, and all too quickly he was back at Whumpee.

Whumpee's heart skipped a beat.

"You'll become my assistant, alright?" his sweet, honey-dripping voice did not match the hungry expression on his face. "You will help me abduct someone who is not a masochist, you will help me cover my tracks." Whumpee noticed his smile. The stranger spoke the next words into his ear, making Whumpee shiver. "As a reward, we will repeat this evening as many times as you want. And I will do whatever you want, I will fulfill your desires. And so?" The stranger pulled back to look into his eyes. "What do you think?"

“I dream of nothing else,” he whispered sincerely. But please treat my wounds first." He grimaced as he felt dizzy. "Otherwise I'm afraid I'll really be useless."

[blurryeyeswhump]

When I hear the knock at the door I know it’s him immediately. Even the sound of his knuckles against wood is weak, hesitant, terrified.

It’s after 11 pm. He isn’t expected, and apparently couldn’t even be bothered to call or send a text first. He’s just hoping I’m awake and not busy and in the mood for him. I am. I set down my third glass of whiskey I’ve barely had a taste of and walk to the door in no hurry.

I open the door to him pocketing his hands quickly, no doubt wringing them just seconds ago. There’s a warm wind whipping through his long, messy, dark, hair. He’s uneasy.

“Hi, Milo,” I say. He’s looking behind me expectantly, hoping to be let in.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “I was hoping- I mean, if you were up— I just wanted,” he stops and tries to swallow down the anxiety gripping his throat before wincing a nervous smile at me.

I’m going to make him say it.

I lean against the door frame and cock my head a little. I say nothing. I want him to do it by himself. He’s a big boy despite the way he has to look up to meet my eyes.

“Silas,” he says, defeated, and it’s a plea all in itself. His stormy eyes now staring straight through my chest. Those eyes are something else. Like pitted cross-sections of steel.

“I need you,” he says.

“To what?” The words leave my mouth before he finishes.

“To hurt me,” he says before sucking in a shuddering breath. He’s looking at the ground now.

I let the silence sit between us just a few moments longer and then I speak.

“Alright,” I say. I step back and hold the door for him to slink inside. I shut and lock the door and watch him stare at the now closed exit. Reconsidering?

He looks back at me and I start walking wordlessly toward the cellar door. I whisk the glass of whiskey from the table and down it on my way down the hall. He follows me. When I open the door I gesture for him to go first and he does.

It’s been a little while since I’ve seen him. He’s only ever come here. I’ve never been to his place and the only time I ever saw him out in the “Real World” was when I unknowingly showed up at the restaurant he works at. He looked like he’d seen a fucking ghost. Taking mine and my date’s order, beads of cold sweat forming on his temples, stumbling over his words, and still likely covered in bruises under his white collared shirt. I ran him ragged that night and the uppity, blonde bitch I was entertaining was all too willing (or too engrossed in her phone to care,) to allow me to abuse the waitstaff. I haven’t been back and he’s never mentioned the fact that I stiffed him.

I follow him down and when he’s three steps from the bottom I plant my hand between his shoulder blades and shove.

A cry rips through his throat and stops abruptly when he hits the ground. The sound is replaced by coughing as he gags against the the dust wafting up from the impact and gasps to find the air that was knocked out of him. I step around him and set my now empty glass on my workbench.

“Jesus, Silas,” he sounds almost annoyed.

“Undress,” I say.

“What?”

“Take your. Clothes off.”

This is new. I’ve never made him do this before. I’m feeling adventurous. He might act shy but he’ll do it. I find it hard to imagine something he wouldn’t do for me. He’d lick the dirt off my shoes if I told him to, I’m certain of it. I’ll tuck that idea away.

He’s pulling himself to his feet. Nothing broken from the fall it seems. He turns and looks at me, maybe gauging how serious I am.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

He huffs through his nose and turns his back and starts unbuttoning his shirt. While he’s busy I grab a pair of cuffs and hook them through a latch I drilled into the wall. I did it just for him. I pop the latch shut and turn around to see him standing now in his underwear and socks.

His cheeks are red hot.

“Everything?” He asks.

“Everything.”

He looks down and uses his heels to drag down and step out of his socks, and then he looks up at me once again. It takes no more prompting and his thumbs dip into the waistline of his boxers. He peels them off and I steal a glance at the dark little trail of hair and his nervous cupped hands hiding the rest. I meet his eyes and smile a little.

“Knees.” I say jingling the cuffs attached to the wall.

He sighs through pursed lips and walks over to his spot.

“Back facing me,”

He kneels facing the wall and rests his forehead against it after offering his hands up to me. I lock him in and step behind him. He’s got a cute, fat little ass. Almost girlish. I never would have guessed.

I crouch down and he shifts uneasily. My fingers trace down his back, up his arms. I’m searching for evidence that I’ve been here. Some already yellowed bruises are still just barely visible. Like I said it’s been a little while. Some thin shimmery scars as well. What to do?

I could take a belt to his back. Open his skin up with a box cutter. See how red I can turn his ass.

Maybe I should keep him forever this time. The thought is amusing enough that I say it out loud. He huffs out the ghost of a laugh that’s bound up tight with a nervous apprehension.

“Would you like that?” I ask, and before I reconsider, I press my lips against his spine and goosebumps erupt down his back.

“I bet I could get really creative if I had you here all the time. Maybe I could even out-crazy you, hm? How long would it take for you to have enough pain that you get sick of it?” I speak against the back of his neck and then bite down hard on the spot where it meets his shoulder. He chokes down a whine and pulls weakly at his restraints.

“Hey, Milo?” I coo softly.

“Yes?”

“Would you ever want me to fuck you?”

It hangs in the air and he seems to hold his breath as the chills down his back reignite.

This has always been one thing. Since the moment I met him, he wanted pain. He wanted to hurt and cry and scream and be denied the mercy he begged for. Nothing else has ever come up.

Maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s not but I’m tired of wondering if he wants more and imagining the sick, delicious ways I can use it against him if he does.

“Speak, Milo,” I slide a hand around him just let it rest on his thigh. He leans back against my chest, gasping when I touch him.

“Yes!” He says as if I reached down his throat and dragged the word out myself.

I snicker against his ear.

“For how long?” I ask, and he answers immediately.

“The whole time,” he’s breathless.

“Oh you fucking little pervert,” I say and I kiss his neck while he squirms, “I have an idea,” I continue.

“Maybe, one day I’ll bring you upstairs, I’ll tie you up and gag you and throw you in the bedroom closet. Then I’ll fuck someone while you listen. That might be fun.”

I hear him sniff and I grab his hair and crane his neck back so he’s looking up at me. Tears. Just barely, but they’re there.

“Awwww, no? You don’t like that? You want me all to yourself? I was thinking about the blonde girl I brought to the restaurant. Remember her? Gorgeous, right?”

He nods weakly.

“Yeah, I thought so too,”

If this was going to work, it worked by now so I decide to check. I slide the hand on his thigh closer and closer to the center. He starts to whine and I cover his mouth with my left hand. My right hand inches closer and closer to its destination between his legs and ah! — there it is. He’s hard, painfully so. He winces and closes his eyes. I give him a little squeeze.

“Ohhh. You are really fucked up, huh?” I say before kissing the back of his head and letting him go. I stand up and he presses his forehead to the wall again. I cannot even begin to imagine the humiliation burning in his veins right now, let alone imagine enjoying it.

I’ve had my fill of psychological torment tonight. We’ll revisit this next time. I want screams now.

Without another word I grab the belt I left draped over a chair down here last time, fold it on itself, and start in on him. He screams and starts crying immediately since he was already so close to begin with. After ten or so consecutive strikes to his back I pause and he’s wailing out something nearly unintelligible. I can only tell from spending so much time with him in this state that he’s begging for me to keep going. He’s shaking violently and his arms are yanking at the cuffs hard enough to leave marks but he’s begging, so I oblige. I can feel myself hitting harder than normal but he’s really inspired me tonight. A few more and I pause only long enough for him to hear me speak.

“Tell me thank you,”

He does and I can tell he really means it.

[another-anonymous-idiot]

Something about masochistic Whumpee. Imagine the absolutely delicious crisis that Whumpee goes through with Whumper.

Maybe they think they deserve to be treated that way because occasionally they enjoy it. Sure, they would enjoy it more from Caretaker, but it doesn't feel objectively bad, even if they know that they are being abused. And Whumper always says that they meant for this, look at how well they are taking it, how they revel in it.

Maybe they should stop fighting so hard. If they allow Whumper to hurt them, then it's ok to enjoy it right?

Maybe they decide that they don't deserve to be rescued. After all, it can't have been that bad if they let Whumper do it? Sure sometimes they go too far, but that's bound to happen right?

Imagine the stuttered, sobbed out confession to Caretaker upon rescue. The begging please, please, they want Caretaker to hurt them, it's ok they promise.

[sleepyiswhumping]

Freak, 2

Content: Blood, Noncon Touching, Noncon Kissing, Creepy Whumper, Intimate Whumper, Defiant Whumpee, Violence, Choking

~~~~~~~~~~

Unsettled, Whumpee stared nervously at Whumper.

“You’re a fucking freak, you know that? Unhinged piece of shit.”

Whumper chuckled, kneeling. They ran their hand gently down Whumpee’s face, lifting their chin with a finger, so Whumpee was looking into their eyes again. 

“Darling, you have the prettiest eyes. I might just keep them, when I’m done with you.” Whumper remarked, staring deeply into Whumpee’s eyes, Whumper’s icy gaze piercing through Whumpee. 

Whumpee couldn’t bear it any longer. They flung their head forward again, trying to get Whumper away. Whumper was ready this time, however, and, sliding their hand past Whumpee’s chin, they caught Whumpee by the throat effortlessly, hand wrapping tightly, cutting off their airway.

“Oh, baby. You’re so feisty,” Whumper teased, as they leaned closer. 

They licked their lips, then pressed them against Whumpees, their iron grasp preventing Whumpee from pulling away. At Whumpee’s groans of protest, they purred, then dug their teeth into Whumpee’s lower lip. Whumpee’s groans turned into shrieks as Whumper sank their teeth into Whumpee’s skin, biting harder and harder, until their teeth split the flesh, filling both of their mouths with warm, salty, metallic blood. 

“Oh, what’s the matter, darling? I thought you liked pain? Or is it just when I get hurt?” Whumper pouted, licking the blood off their lips. 

Whumpee screamed, thrashing, trying to get out of Whumper’s grip, but their screeching faded as Whumper tightened their grasp, squeezing Whumpee’s throat tightly. 

“Come now, don’t make such a fuss. We both need our fun.” Whumper hissed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Freak, 1

Saw deranged Whumper in the comments. This deranged? I'm having fun writing this, despite it not being the best and quite an odd dynamic.

Taglist: @morning-star-whump, @lthrboy Also tagging: @makemake22 and @whump-queen. You two seemed QUITE interested in this, but lmk if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist proper for the next parts :D

[chicken-noodle-whump]

Whump Prompt #003

A whumpee who has been hit and tortured so much they actually become masochistic. They start enjoying the pain so much they laugh out loud during the cruelest punishments Whumper can give. Their new punishment is....no punishment. After riding that slightly unhinged, masochistic high, they feel the full extent of their injuries...

[kazik-izakk]

I have a whump idea!!! Imagine,, Creepy Whumpee! Like, Whumper captured them and starts the usual torture; whips, chains, used up cigarettes, etc. BUT!!! Whumpee is a HEAVY masochist! And they’re like, “Oh? Ohhh!!! Please continue!” And Whumper’s like, “Wha- Wait, wtf??? Yo-you whore! Getting off on something like this!” And Whumpee’s just, “Oh yeeesss!!! Call me a whore as much as you want, Master~❤️❤️❤️” And Whumper is just,, confused and conflicted,, like yea, they’re enjoying torturing someone but then again, they’re making it kinda creepy??? And Whumpee’s making Whumper uncomfortable??? Idk if this’s been done before (if it has, drop a link!) but like,, yesss???

[two-sadistic-writers]

Welcome To Our Blog

Hello, and welcome! This is our joint account, and we are Kassie and Aiko. Our account is largely tailored to 18+ Audiences; Posts will be tagged with NSFW as we see fit. Minors proceed with discretion on our blog.

Introductions:

Kassie's pronouns are She/He and her favorite things to write are, 1: torture (Of any kind), 2: noncon, and 3: brainwashing/conditioning. His favorite whump tropes are 1: yandere whumper, 2: manipulative whumper, and 3: defiant whumpee.

Aiko's pronouns are He/Him and his favorite things to write are, 1: emotional abuse, 2: noncon, and 3: drug abuse. His favorite whump tropes are: 1: yandere whumper, 2: masochistic whumpee, and 3: defiant whumpee.

Requests:

We will write content outside of the given list of what we enjoy writing / tropes we like, as long as it is not in the blacklist.

We will not write anything that has to do with your OC's, or any content listed within the blacklist.

We will, however, write content that includes our OC's, (whom we will introduce in future content.)

Blacklist:

Fetish content, ABO, female whumpees, M-preg, ageplay, and watersports. **This list may be updated in the future.

-Kassie

[ofmiceandspam]

(TW)Conflicted Feelings P1

She sat isolated in the corner of the room. She heard a bump from outside and flinched then relaxed as she realized it was just the neighbors. She was clearly on edge, covered in bruises and stained with blood on her lip from the nosebleed she received. She stayed in a ball in the all but empty room but the bed which she avoided when she wasn't actively forced to be on it. A long chain attached her to the bed anyway so its not like she could avoid seeing it regardless. Her bruises ached and her nose throbbed, she didn't think it was broken but she didn't have any clue, there was no mirrors in this place. She didn't just fear her captor, due to the fact there was no one else to interact with she became attached to him whenever he allowed her to cling to him. "Ugh, pathetic…Ughhh, why do I want to hug him so badly…ahhh, I wantoclingIwanttocling-" It was a vicious cycle, she would think in her head over and over about how conflicted she felt. While stuck in one of her many loops she snapped out of it as she heard the door open and shook, instinctively making herself smaller in the corner. She was looking down, just staring at his shoes as he entered. " You're a lot weaker then I thought you'd be. I mean I knew you were a masochist so I figured you'd be able to take it better but i didn't realize you'd lose it this easily." She kept her eyes to the floor and didn't respond, she didn't know how to. "Up here" He pointed to his face in a condescending tone. "Eye. Contact. Stop looking down." She made a half whine as she looked up at his face, he was smiling. "What was that noise you just made?" She froze, terrified of his smile. He started to approach her leaned down and gripped her by her hair, one of her eyes closing as she flinched. He leaned in close to her ear "Why do you look so scared?" He dragged her by her hair to the bed, pushing her head down. In her head she kept thinking on a loop "this hurtsthishurtsthishurts, ughh feels good thishurts-" While her mind wandered he pushed a finger inside of her, snapping her out of it as she let out a stifled gasp. He was thrusting in and out of her as she was shaking below him, head still gripped by his hand. Unable to move, "Why is it you only ever make noises when something is inside you or hitting you, hm?" He went harder, she was trembling. He released his grip on her hair and clutched his fingers into the bruises he made on her arm. Her eyes began to water as she clenched her teeth and completely lost it now, she was beginning to pant from pleasure as she got wetter around his fingers. "There it is, that's what I like to see. You broken. " He pulled out his fingers and tugged down his pants, already hard he pushed it inside of her. She let out a breathy yelp and kept panting with half her eyes closed.

[kabie-whump]

Tag Yourself: Whumpee Edition

♡ Stubborn Whumpee: Refuses to cry, but inevitably breaks down under too much pressure, starvation, torture, sleep deprivation, anything to wear down their will, clenching their jaw, biting back screams, cold glares

♡ Resigned Whumpee: Never fights back, the definition of ‘lay there and take it’, losing track of how long they’ve been in the basement, forgetting the names of their old friends and family, too tired to scream, dissociation

♡ Contented Pet Whumpee: Sedatives, expensive outfits, warm baths (always carried out by Whumper), leans into head pats and scritches bc it’s low key nice to be adored for once, popular with Whumper’s guests, delicate golden collars, hickeys

♡ Misbehaving Pet Whumpee: Bites, bites, bites, muzzle, shock collar, good for Whumper to take out their anger on, hunger strikes, sleeping in a barn or on the porch, never left unattended or unbound, sprayed down with a cold hose when they get too bloody

♡ Masochistic Whumpee: Laughs in Whumper’s face just to see how they’ll punish them, not at all what Whumper bargained for, low key scary, likes the taste of tears when they drip onto their cracked lips

♡ Experiment Whumpee: Needles, questionable glowing green substances, shaking so hard they think they’ll pass out, strapped to a table under fluorescent lights, headaches, hospital gown with nothing under it, body modifications

♡ Defiant Whumpee: Screaming and crying and kicking, bloodied knuckles, cracked elbows, face pressed into a stone floor by a dirty boot, “god, do you ever shut the fuck up?,” “stick your tongue out at me one more time and I’m cutting it out”

Whumper edition

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

22

inspo

[tw choking, manhandling, captivity, stockholm syndrome, masochistic whumpee]

"What the fuck did you say to me?" Whumper growled, tightening their grip on Whumpee's throat. "Do you think you can talk to me like that?"

Whumpee made no move to defend themself. Their hands stayed by their side, albeit twitching a little as they fought their own self-preservation instinct.

"What, now you have nothing to say?" Whumper pulled them away from the wall, only to slam their head back against it. Whumpee let out a breathless whimper.

"You haven't... done this in... a while," they choked out, the corners of their mouth twitching up into a smile. It faltered quickly when Whumper dug their fingers in even deeper.

"Oh? I guess you just wanted to see if I'd gone soft, then? Are you satisfied?" Whumper squeezed until Whumpee was desperate enough for air that they lifted their hands, wrapping their fingers around their wrist. They looked like the dumbest fucking fish. "Hm? I can't hear you. Where's that stupid grin now?"

'I am' was all Whumpee could mouth before Whumper bashed their head against the wall again. They were tired of these stupid games. Whumpee wasn't the one in charge here, they didn't have any right to try to find enjoyment in it, and Whumper was going to make damn sure it wouldn't ever happen again.

"I want you to think long and hard about your position here while you're throwing up from the concussion later," they hissed. "I don't care what kind of a disgusting freak you are, I guarantee you, you can't be into everything. And this is not a theme park — I will find shit that feels like torture."