#lady whumper

[honeycollectswhump]

Porcelain Cracks

[masterlist]

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, physical harm

Something is off today. Ashtray can feel it in his bones —not that it’s his purpose to make a judgement about the situation. He is only supposed to please his Mistress. 

Kneeling next to her, his golden collar connected to a leash held loosely in her hand. It’s picturesque, her beautifully manicured fingers tapping against the shining metal in something he can only hope is not annoyance.

There is no visitor today, a surprise given the collar, but he is still on his best behaviour. Mistress is only watching the TV, decorated in a golden antique frame to be hidden at will. Only his beloved Mistress could come up with such a perfect concept, combining her intricate style with the comfort of modern invention. He hopes her servants appreciate the design when they clean it. 

Mistress doesn’t seem to care much for it today though, just instead making a sound he’d never dare compare to a growl. Nevertheless, it makes him shiver. He can’t seem to stop, ever since she marked her own artwork —rightfully so!—, but he does his best to keep them under control. Barely visible to the eye, only noticeable when he is touched. 

And nowadays he rarely is.

Suddenly, she tucks at the chain, beckoning him closer. She blows her smoke into his face, drowning him out in the cloud, his eyes stinging. Finally, something familiar.

Instead of extinguishing her still-lit cigarette, she pushes his chin with a single, slender finger until he leans back, the posture tugging at his many scars.

As gracefully as possible, almost sensually, Ashtray lets his head fall back too, light blond hair spilling over his face, getting caught in his long eyelashes, his eyes closed. 

Suddenly, her nails trace the letters over his heart and they are sharp almost like—

like knives. 

Sharp, honed, new blades, with the single purpose of splitting Ashtray’s flesh with ease. 

Prolonged cutting he doesn’t dare call cruel, white lighting and red rivers. 

He is right there. All over again. 

It’s like his body reacts before he can, caught in a memory he should be grateful for if he wasn’t somehow broken.

The body flinches back, from his Mistress's holy touch.

For a moment, everything is silent. 

Ashtray stares at the ceiling, a horrible feeling of knowing washing over him. Whatever his Mistress did, rightfully, he never flinched. 

In the next second, his head snaps to the side, the loud bang of his Mistress slapping him echoing through the room.

Mistress is screaming at him, for the first time. He has never failed her before, not like this. And he can’t even comprehend her words. 

Whatever she is telling him is lost to his mind that he never quite understood. He only knows he is inferior in a way even an ashtray shouldn’t be, and he can do nothing to remedy that.

Tears pool in his eyes, as the servants drag him away from his still-shouting Mistress. When did he get so useless? 

When did his beautiful porcelain conditioning crack?

taglist: @whumpsday, @2in1whump, @sodacreampuff, @webbo0, @toyybox,

@sowhumpshaped, @clickerflight, @itsawhumpsideblog, @piniatafullofblood, @katwriteswhump

@opaldream16, @whumped-by-glitter, @whump-queen, @electrons2006, @vampirewhump

@saffitaffi let me know if you want to be added or removed :)

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Women In Whump Pt. 1

[whumpshaped]

yk what I’m gonna share because I enjoy? Big guy whumpee getting too weak in captivity to fight back. He fights so hard in the beginning, but sleep deprivation, hypothermia, and starvation have started to take their tolls.

he’s shaking, the chains digging into his skin. he had promised himself he wouldn’t break, but if someone offered him warm food of any kind right then, he would have done any humiliating task to earn it. He’s fighting sleep, partially because he realizes that if he does sleep he might not wake, and that whenever he does sleep he gets shocked.

Just the image of a physically weaker whumper strolling in the cell of her near broken captive and fucking smirking.

content: military setting, captivity, torture, conditioning, starvation, dehydration, sleep deprivation, lady whumper, dehumanisation

It was delightful. That annoying, rowdy man, finally too weak to cuss at her... Curled up like a kid, trembling... It was intoxicating. Whumper could barely hold in a giggle.

"Wakey, wakey," she said in a sing-song voice, banging on the bars of the cell once with the sturdier end of her riding crop. "Feeling tired?"

Whumpee flinched violently, then curled up even tighter. It looked like he was about to cry. Oh, the poor, stupid baby. What a pathetic sight.

"If you don't answer me while I'm still outside, I might be tempted to go inside." Bang. "So get your shit together and sit up, you fucking pitiful excuse for an officer. Should I bark orders at you? Is that what you're used to? Up, lieutenant, up, up."

Whumpee put his two shaky hands against the concrete and pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning his back against the wall. Even that seemed like it put a strain on his body — good. Only good boys deserve adequate food and water, and poor lieutenant hadn't been a very good boy.

Not until now.

"Good job," she cooed, then immediately hit the bars again. "But fucking slow! Do you expect me to pat you on the back for that? At this rate, you're never gonna earn a single minute of sleep again! I work with dogs, lieutenant, I expect obedience and quick responses to my commands!"

"Fuck yourself," he ground out.

"Tempting, but I think I'd rather fuck you. Metaphorically speaking." She banged on the bars one more time. "I'm giving you one chance to earn some soup today, because you haven't been acting out lately. Of course, that's only because you're thoroughly exhausted — if you give me a reason to think this is the only state in which you can be kept compliant, I will keep you in this state for as long as your fucked up little body allows. Do we understand each other?"

Whumpee nodded, and Whumper hit the bars even harder than before.

"Do we fucking understand each other, lieutenant?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

~

this is one of my last drabbles here, please feel free to follow me on my new blog @sowhumpshaped

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 15. Photoshoot

Prev - Masterlist

Content: giant/tiny, nonsexual nudity, dressing/posing/handling like a doll, ptsd, fear, swearing, being kept against their will, pet trope, cages, dehumanization, power dynamics, baby talk, ableism, selective mutism, slight bullying, being filmed (lmk if i missed any)

Pov: Hamster

Poll Winner: Pirate and Mermaid

ART, WRITING, AND POLL UNDER THE CUT!!

—-

Today is the day Ashley wanted Soap to model with you. She didn’t mention what the theme would be yet, and when she puts you on the counter where the props are set up you can only gaze in wonder at the chest full of gold coins, silks, and jewels. It's as big as your cage, and you have to crane your neck to try to see the top of it.

There are wooden paneled walls put up around the set, presumably so Soap has nowhere to try to make a run for it. You look around while Ashley goes to retrieve Soap Scrub. The  costumes are there in two piles and you pick up a random scarf to look at while you wait. 

Ashley comes back and places Soap’s shaking frame in front of you. When he doesn’t move she nudges him in the back with her finger, causing a yelp from him.

She’s scaring him.

You have to protect him from her! she’s made her point already. You frown at her and put your arms around Soap protectively, looking up at her with disapproval. 

He’s warm, and still trembling. You tighten your grip and it's clear on Ashley’s face that she gets the message. Ashley bites her lip and looks away from you. That’s right, she would never upset you. You can stop her from scaring your friend. 

Soap doesn’t hug you back, nor does his shaking settle. You can feel him looking around for a place to run or hide. Of course Ashley blocked off all exits so you’re not worried about that. 

Slowly you let go of him, glance at Ashley who has backed off, and take his hand to guide him to his costume. He numbly and stiffly follows you. 

Now that you’re standing next to him you can see that he’s about a head taller than you. It makes your heart flutter for some reason. Not like the humans who tower in comparison, just a bit taller but still your size. You smile at him to reassure that you’ve got him. He’s safe with you. 

His nerve returns when you hand him his clothes, and his face twists up as if holding back a rude remark. His sour eyes say it all, and he doesn’t take them from you.

You push the fabrics into his arms, and when he pushes you back without a word Ashley clears her throat from above you both. 

Soap nearly jumps out of his skin, snatching the costume out of your hands at lightning speed. Suddenly it's like he’s racing a clock, keeping an eye on Ashley’s hands and face while he tries to figure out how this costume works. 

You’re ready to help him if he needs it, and wait patiently for him to get dressed, in what looks like a pirate costume. He struggles with some of the extra fabrics, unsure where they fit but so far he has baggy brown pants with rips above his ankles with a long shaggy grey jacket with no sleeves. 

When Ashley instructs him on what to do with the extra cloth he jumps and looks just about to cry. You want to go comfort him more, but Ashley scoops you in that second to help you get into your own costume. 

“You’re going to be the cutest tiny mermaid!” She kisses your face, and presents you with a shimmering orange and green mermaid tail that slips on over your legs. “You won’t be able to walk with this, so mummy has to help you with it, ‘kay?” 

You don’t answer because there's no need. She’s already helping you into it, along with tape to cover your bare chest. She shifts your hair over the tape to make it look like it's naturally covering any private areas, and mists your hair with water. 

She squeals at how cute you are and sets you down on top of the pile of treasure. Some of it tumbles down to the floor with a sharp clatter, and you don’t move in fear of falling. Ashley takes your glasses off, and the house is back to the familiar blurriness it always has been. You can still see where Soap Scrub is though, and you squint at him. 

Ashley is pointing and telling him to fix his costume, and before long he’s being guided towards the treasure chest to stand close to you. You can’t tell if he’s shaking but you can only assume he’s still on edge about the whole thing. Even if he got plenty of warning throughout the week. 

When Ashley shines lights on you two, you really become blinded, so you let her physically pose you how she wants for each photo. She doesn’t touch Soap at all which is a relief because you know that's what he’s really scared of. 

At one point Ashley tells Soap to climb up the coins towards you, and when he says he doesn’t want to she reaches for him as if to grab him. He scrambles away from her, and angrily shouts at her. “Alright! Alright. I’ll do it, don’t fucking touch me.” 

You’re flabbergasted and your jaw drops but he’s crawling towards you. He’s slowly getting clearer, and he looks so, so handsome. You lean towards him with a big smile, one that he doesn’t return, and then the coins slip from under his hand. 

The first coin causes the second to slip, then the one above that, and now you’re slipping off of the top of the pile with them. Everything falls with you, and kindly enough, Soap is the one that catches you when you fall towards him. 

Your breath hitches initially but once you’re able to suck air in you cry in fear. Even though it was a very slow, very anticlimactic, very short fall, it still made your heart skip a beat and your limbs freeze up. Your arm throbs with phantom pain from when it was broken, and you cling onto Soap for dear life, crying from shock. 

“Whoa, ugh. It's okay, Hamster. Stop crying,” Soap says, and pushes you off of him gently to sit up. He definitely looks uncomfortable but he lets you keep holding his hands. Until Ashley’s giant hand gets close, then he makes a break for it, and jumps a foot away from you. 

Ashley picks you up, and presses you close to her chest. “I’m so sorry honey bunny, was that scary? I would never let you get hurt again. You’re safe, it's okay. I got some good shots. How about we stop for today. How does that sound?” She completely ignores Soap Scrub and wipes your tears away with her soft finger. 

She puts you back into shorts and a tank top, but she keeps holding you against her chest while she cleans up. Her heart hammers against your cheek, and you close your eyes, relaxing until she puts you back into your cage for the night. By then you’re calm again, and thrilled to go talk to Soap Scrub once Ashley goes to bed. You want to know what he thought about the whole photoshoot. He probably hated it, but you’d like to hear his thoughts anyway. 

Ashley is watching the news, and you dully listen to it while laying on your back. Something about pet liberation, but you don’t care enough to understand it, it's boring. 

Ashley shows you some of the pictures before she goes to bed and you’re happy to see how beautifully they turned out. Soap’s grumpy demeanor actually played into the role quite well, and you do look beautiful with the shimmering tail. You’re excited to hear about the comments you get when Ashley posts them. 

Once Ashley’s in bed you happily climb out of your cage, keeping well away from the counter ledge, and rush to where Soap lives. 

He’s expecting you, and already leaning against the bars to greet you. “Don’t you ever get sick of her talking to you like you’re a baby?” 

You shake your head with a smile, and give him a chocolate chip. He deserves a reward for participating today. 

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “Do you know what conditioning is? If you looked it up in a dictionary your face would be there.” 

You don’t really, but you do know he’s being rude so you roll your eyes. You don’t care about his questions. You want to know what he thought of the whole thing. 

You point at him. 

“Right, because I can totally understand what you’re asking right now,” he retorts. He bites his lip while looking down and gets more serious. “Were you listening to the news earlier? I wonder if it's real… You know, people breaking into places to ‘rescue’ pets. Maybe they’d help me, or maybe they’d just make things worse. Who knows…” 

You’re shocked at his dialogue and shake your head in horror. You do NOT want that to happen. 

“Hamster, if you let me out you could come with me you know. You don’t have to stay here with her… I know you love her, but it's messed up. People don’t belong in cages. I don’t belong in a cage. I don’t want to be someone's doll. I don’t want her touching me all the time. I don’t want her making money off me, and dressing me, and taking away my freedom. Fuck, she doesn’t even like me.” He laughs out of reflex, and says, “With you it’s different. She’s nice to you, but she’s using you.” 

You feel bad. He still hasn’t adjusted it seems, and besides, he had a point. Ashley isn’t as nice to him for some reason, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to lose your only friend. You can’t let him go, at least, not yet, not while you’re confused and conflicted. Besides, Ashley is nice to you, and Soap is usually a jerk, so really why would you want to go with him? 

You shake your head sadly and look away from him. You need time to think about all of this. Maybe someday you would like to explore the world, but not today. Not when Ashley still needs you. You couldn’t imagine breaking Ashley’s heart like that. Not in a million years. Still, the thought of people coming in to ‘rescue’ you has you a bit shaken. Especially if they wanted to hurt Ashley in the process. You will have to actually start paying attention to the news before making any sort of decision. 

“Alright then.” Soap sounds done with trying to convince you. One last thing he mumbles before you leave for bed is, “You looked good in your costume today by the way…” 

You absolutely beam at the compliment and wave goodbye at him for the night. You think about everything while you swing in your hammock. If Soap was around for so long before Ashley found him, you wonder if more tinies will ever show up. The thought both excites you and scares you. 

—

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump p @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @coppercoyoti i @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @whump-in-the-closet @shadowsnowdapple @whumpy-wyrms @re-whump @cypresscove @whumpninja @highlighterwhump @taters169

Clumping the tags together, Lmk if theres an issue with tagging! Also thank you @alittlewhump for helping me out with this chapter:))

[firapolemos05]

Manners

CW: suggestive, creepy whumper, lady whumper, pet whump, water deprivation, muzzles, defiant whumpee, forced to beg

The glass of water on the table had caught her Pet's attention.

Scarlet noticed him stealing glances over the book in her hands, eyes darting between the glass and the floor. Longing. Oh it was simply adorable how he tried to hide it.

'How long should I make him wait?'

She raised the glass and took a nice long sip, the cool liquid refreshing. Her Pet's gaze held longer that time, a glint of desperation sneaking into his eyes. Chapped lips pulled into a thin line under his muzzle, and Scarlet knew he was trying so hard not to waste any remaining moisture in his mouth on them.

It had been days since she last allowed him to drink.

A consequence of disobedience. 

Fluids and nutrients delivered intravenously would prevent any actual dehydration, but that did nothing to treat cottonmouth. The parched barren of his throat must be unbearable by now.

"You must be thirsty, aren't you, Pet?" she inquired. His eyes shot back to the floor, embarrassment marking his face at being caught. Scarlet chuckled. That pride of his made it too easy. "Come now, you remember your tenth rule, right?"

Mentioning the rules always made him flinch. Oh he remembered alright. She had made sure of that. Made him recite each one over and over, interrupting each mistake or refusal with a strike of her switch across his back.

He remembered them very well.

'Rule 10: Pets do not request, they beg.'

While knowing his rules was one thing, following them was another. And her Pet had a particularly difficult time with this one. A defiant little one, he was, but after several weeks of strict training, Scarlet had cracked his armor. 

Some beautiful cracks. 

The fear that flashed in his gaze whenever she entered his cell. The empty, resigned silence whenever she ran her fingers through his hair, or traced the masterpiece of scars over his skin. He was even getting better at remembering to call her 'master.'

Now Scarlet watched another crack form. Watched the show of emotions he failed to suppress: anger, humiliation, anxiety, craving. She took another sip from the glass and watched the unspoken threat fuel those last two. And soon she spots the exact moment of breakage. 

He turned towards her and bowed his head. His voice weak and rasping.

"May I please have some water. . . Master?"

Oh how delightful. 

It usually takes him far longer to beg. He must really be desperate. He didn't even growl this time. 

The satisfaction was like a drug.

"Good boy," she smiled and he bristled at the praise. He despised it now but it'll be a matter of time before he's craving that too. She pointed to the floor in front of her chair. "Come here."

Her Pet hated to crawl, but he knew better than to attempt standing without permission. Oh well. He can be grateful his arms are bound in front of him today.

He avoided eye contact as he approached, a glare glued to the tile flooring. But soon, he was where he looked best, kneeling at her feet.

His hands rose to reach for the glass, a gesture Scarlet swiftly corrected by catching the chain connecting them under her boot and pinning them down.

"Pets do not use their hands," she scolded and he grimaced. She held the glass out, hovering it just above his head. "Tilt your head back and open your mouth."

His face flushed dark at that, the anger and shame making a reappearance. He had earned his reward, but he still had to accept it however she wished him to. Even if it was a display of power such as this. It was too late for him to refuse, but he almost looked as if he was going to try. Fortunately for him, the desire to quench his thirst won out. He obeyed, his jaws parting as far as the muzzle would allow them.

Scarlet poured slowly, wanting to savor his reactions. She could be a gracious master now and then. She was careful to let the water fall steadily in between the muzzle's wires.

To his credit, her Pet tried to remain stoic, composed. But as soon as liquid passed his lips, the animal need took over. Like an eager dog he gulped it down, leaning closer, squeezed his eyes shut as he craned his neck to catch every last drop. The effort failed him, as his movements made the drops catch on the muzzle, splashing over the metal. Well, that was his own fault. Glossy streaks ran down his chin and neck.

Scarlet licked her lips.

She should do this again, just with her favorite red wine. Painting her Pet's neck with dripping red would be quite enticing. And it would be an order then, rather than a reward. He won't be able to refuse, and won't be able to stop her from pulling him into her lap to lick the wine from his neck.

Oh how he will hate it. And she will feast on his helpless fear.

The last drop of water fell from the glass.

It's barely enough to satiate. Her Pet gasped for air, greedily seeking more where there is none. It will be a short respite, and he closed his mouth to prevent his breaths from stealing that back. Then he noticed the amused expression of approval on his master’s face and turned away, abashed at his behavior.

Scarlet curled a finger through his muzzle, pulling him back to face her. "Now what do you say?"

Another rule he had difficulty with.

Contempt twisted his features, and before he could think better of it, the words already left his mouth. "Go to hell."

Scarlet grinned. She can already taste his regret. 

Time for another lesson. 

[doumidas-whumps]

you can only bite her so many times! why not save some for later?

[this-violence-of-mine]

Iron Bridle

Valda just can't catch a break, huh? Trigger warning for swearing, blood, claustrophobia, and butchered mumbling lol. As always, ask to tag.

~

“You’re a rotten bitch,” Valda said, voice trembling as Rieka stepped away from her hunched and shackled form, the whip in her hand stained with blood. “May the Great Mother have mercy on you, you wretched thing, for I won’t be so kind.” 

Blood dripped and ebbed down her raw back, the trails cooling into a thick and tacky liquid. The pool of copper and crimson beneath her grew larger and larger as the days passed on, the scent of metal permanent and gagging. Her wrists and neck, rubbed raw by the ever-present, too-tight cuffs and collar, maintained permanent scars and stains as new wounds opened and old wounds reopened everyday.

Rieka tilted her head to the side, eying her. “Should I relay this to Selena? Let her know the sweet little bride she claimed from Weitheim still has a sour mouth on her?” She knelt down before her, her nails digging into her skin as she gripped her chin and forced her to meet her gaze. “How much longer do you think you’d be down here if she heard these words? A fortnight? A moon? Two moons if she’s grown frustrated, perhaps?”

With what little strength she held onto, Valda spat in her face. A fat glob of bloodied spit landed on her cheek and dripped down, following the sharp contours of her cheekbone and concave cheek. “I’ll kill you both. Flay you, boil you, cook you over a fire, even slit your throats just to be done with it.”

Rieka wiped the spit away with the back of her hand and cleaned it off in what little hair Valda had grown out since the shearing. “I’m certain you will. Why, I’m terrified! Great Mother, hark! Rescue me from Valda the Vacuous! Save Queen Selena and I from her horrid wrath lest we be ripped limb from limb!” She stood up. “Stop fantasizing about such things. It’s unbecoming of a consort.”

“I’m no one’s consort,” she spat, glaring up at Rieka, her gaze icy cold. 

She scoffed in response. “No one’s consort? Valda, you signed the marriage contract. By definition, you are her consort.” Lightly, she tapped her ribs with her foot. “Stop playing this foolish game and act as you are supposed to.”

If her glare could grow colder, it would’ve. “I’d sooner be rid of my left hand than allow that wretch to run my life and call me hers.”

She cocked a brow. “Truly? We could have that arranged, if you’d like.”

��I was being facetious, you fool.”

“Now your words are jokes, hm? Jokes are unbecoming of a consort, Fera. You should remember that.”

“I’m not a Fera,” she snapped.

“Yet you signed the contract binding yourself to her house. If I remember correctly, that makes you a Fera, regardless of your opinions on the matter.” She cocked her head to the side. “Or was that another joke? Another bit of facetious humor?”

Valda glared at her. “I hate you.”

“More humor and jokes, I suppose. You should be a court fool.” She patted her head like one would a dog. “I’ll see you at dawn. Tomorrow we’ll work on correcting your nasty habit of making threats and jokes.”

With no more to say, she left with her torch and whip, her wood-soled boots clacking against the stone floor of the dungeon. The door creaked open and slammed shut behind her. For one brief, resplendent moment, light, true and natural light from the sun, streamed in through the open door, illuminating the dust motes and catching on the chains binding Valda. Light. What a strange thing to desire above all else.

Valda lay on her side, adjusting herself until the new wounds were unbothered by her position and the white hot agony dulled into something she could almost ignore. Closing her eyes, she thought about the light and how it glinted so nicely against the metal and how lovely the dust looked while suspended in the air. 

When she finally fell into a fitful slumber, it was the light she dreamt of, the songs she’d sing in Weitheim, and the dances she danced in the town square with her sisters. She dreamt of wool dresses and cameos of the Great Mother and long hair braided into twin braids that fell over her shoulders. She dreamt of the wind and the sun and the warmth of a lit hearth.

It was the oddest thing when she awoke to the sound of the door creaking open. Tears burned her eyes and stained her cheeks. Had she been crying in her sleep? Was that truly even possible? She wiped the still wet tears from her face. Nobody needed to see that. One thing belonged to her and it was her pain.

The familiar thud of Rieka’s boots rang out through the dungeon, bouncing off the curved walls and hitting back at her as a reminder of the suffering she was to bear yet again. The boots stopped in front of her face, the leather shiny and the wooden heel freshly polished to reflect like glass.

“You’ve been weeping,” Rieka said, kneeling down before her and grabbing her face to force her gaze up. “Shame. I was under the impression you felt nothing but hate.”

“I wasn’t weeping you stupid bitch,” Valda mumbled, averting her gaze.

“Lying? That’s yet another unbecoming trait.” She patted her cheek. “No worries. We’ll finally correct this nasty attitude of yours.”

“You tortured me and Selena ordered it,” she said, glaring up at her. “This ‘attitude’ is deserved.”

“Queen Selena saved you and you repay her with threats, insults, and lies? She was kind enough to allow this reeducation in place of execution. You should be clamoring to kiss the ground she walks upon.” Rieka cocked her head to the side. “Truly, who do you think yourself to be?”

“The Kaiser of Weitheim.”

“Kaiser of ash and dust perhaps.” She turned and grabbed something obscured by her legs. “Well, nasty attitudes are killed by this fine piece of equipment. Perhaps we’ll also kill that delusion of grandeur.”

What she had in her hands was something Valda had never seen before, yet it made her stomach lurch and breath hitch in her throat. It was a mask with a metal plate sticking out where the mouth would be and several bands and locks to keep it in place.

“Dungeon dwellers tend to learn their manners once they spend a week in this,” Rieka said, holding it up. “Knowing you and your foul mouth, I suppose it may take a moon, if not more, to kill that wretched beast inside of you.”

Valda shrunk back as best she could considering the shackles around her wrists and collar around her neck binding her close to the floor. “Please,” she said, her heart hammering against her ribs and her palms going slick “Not that. Not my voice.” 

Light and speaking. Those were all she had left.

“Please, Rieka. I’ll-I’ll be good.” She forced a shaky smile. “Just-just not that.”

“Now you change your tune?” Rieka smirked. “I’m ashamed we come from the same land. I certainly know this wouldn’t break me.” 

Rieka straddled her upper back and forced her thumbs between her molars, prying her mouth open. With one hand she kept it open, with the other she positioned the bridle around her skull and forced the metal bit into her mouth. The locks snapped closed, securing the bands and assuring there was no way it’d be pried off.

“If you behave, I might consider feeding and watering you in three days. Until then, reflect on your actions.” Rieka cocked her head. “Nothing to say? No insults? No threats?”

She stared up at her, eyes wide and pleading. Rieka was cruel, yet this was something new, something worse. She tried to say something, anything, but the metal bit pressed against her tongue only allowed a mumble.

“So strong-willed. Don’t worry, though. The bridle will kill that anger and defiance soon enough.” She patted her head. “No more biting and spitting, either. I think you should thank me for making you better and killing off those nasty habits of yours. Don’t you think you should be thanking me?”

Valda glared at her, tears burning her eyes and threatening to spill over. 

“Do it. Thank me. Say ‘thank you Lady Rieka for making me better.’” She cocked a brow. “Do you want to be kicked again? Whipped maybe? If you don’t, I suggest you thank me.”

Squeezing her eyes shut and trying to ignore the burning humiliation in her chest, Valda mumbled, “‘ank ‘oo,” around the metal plate in her mouth.

“That’s not what I told you to say,” she said, grinning. “I’ll give you one more opportunity before I go and retrieve your favorite toy. ‘Thank you Lady Rieka for making me better.’” 

“‘Ank ‘oo ‘abby ‘ika ‘or ‘akin ‘e ‘ebber,” she forced out, the words butchered.

“Good girl,” she said, patting her head. “I suppose the bridle is punishment enough. I’ll leave you to adjust.” With that, she stood and left.

The light that streamed in for only a moment did little to dull the humiliation and anxiety that now swelled in her chest. Light. Just light. That’s all she had left.

Valda, alone and silenced, clawed at the mask covering her face and the bands holding it in place. The metal tasted foul and bloody, the bands digging into her flesh. Her nails raked against her skin, tearing it open as she fought to desperately free herself from the mask’s iron grip. 

Her heart raced and her eyes grew wet as she struggled with the locks, the metal firm and unyielding. It wasn’t coming off. It wouldn’t come off. Her breaths came out in short gasps as her fingernails continued to work yet there was nothing to be done. The mask was staying.

The dungeon closed in around her. How could she be any more trapped than she already was? How could it get any smaller, any more restrictive?

And then it happened. The dam finally broke. For the first time in a long time, she wept. What else could Rieka take from her?

[sowhumpful]

Kinda obsessed with Sir and this twisted relationship.

[parasiticstars]

To Teach an Old Dog: #1

re re re re re re uploaded bc tumblr keeps fucking it up

TW: BBU/pet whump, casual mentions of dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, and suicide idealization, and me being very pretentious

Kavan’s back hurts. Of the numerous things wrong with his situation, this is what he decided to focus on in an attempt to stave off the impeding sensory overload— and this is the only familiar, non-Pet-fuckery problem he has.

The bit was fastened too tight and digs in the corners of his mouth. He can feel drool starting to crust his beard. He’s disused to the shoddy buzzcut his masters captors gave him in an attempt to make him presentable before auction; he'll certainly never take the feeling of hair on his ears for granted again. The ear tag is pulling on already mutilated earlobes, adding to a budding headache just behind his eyes. The concrete floors look and feel like they haven’t been cleaned ever. The auctioneer’s voice is solidly the fourth most irritating sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Alas, nothing Kavan attempts to focus on staves off the visceral, skin-crawling feeling of too much. No matter how many times the man gets shuttled in and out of auctions and captors like a head of livestock, he’ll never truly get used to the non-personhood, the sheer objectification of it all. Nor will he get used to an audience leering and inspecting him and the other Pets people around him like the products they’re advertised and sold as.

Nobody seems to be interested in him, thank god. Kavan’s getting too old for most people’s tastes— even as a labor Pet, being above thirty is automatically considered a liability, as if he’d crumple into dust the second he set foot onto a construction site or a plantation or wherever the hell else. Has he felt close to it? Definitely. But that didn’t mean he would; even though some places, water and breaks weren’t a given.

(Why would they be? Employers and contractors who use Pets rather than workers don’t need to abide by silly things such as OSHA and basic human decency.)

But regardless.

With the slowly increasing amount of times he’s talked about like his expiry date has run out, Kavan wonders when he’s going to just be taken out behind the shed.

He wonders if he’ll do it himself one of these days.

A prod to the small of his back forces him to straighten, making him nearly drop his sign in the process. His attention snaps back to the crowd, all crammed together in this dingy-ass building in those dingy-ass folding chairs betting on dingy-ass people.

Long had Kavan lost the naïvety that Pet owners were this special type of evil, so impossibly cruel and uncaring that they simply couldn’t be human. Regardless, the fact that everyone here is so unassuming still screws with him. He could hypothetically see any one of them, say, at a Starbucks bitching at the barista about their overpriced order, or shopping at Trader Joe’s, or working in their cubicle, or at a PTA meeting. That in particular jars him.

Nobody around them would know that said person was willingly participating in legalized slavery, lacking even the flimsy pretense of “rescuing” their aunt’s-grandma’s-brother’s-husband’s-neighbor’s-girlfriend’s-niece’s Pet or whatever else they’d want to virtue signal on their Facebook wall or status or whatever else.

(Are Facebook statuses still a thing? God, Kavan’s been out of the loop too long. He doesn’t even know how long.)

One woman in particular has set sights on him. Judging by the fine cut yet plain color of her coat, the disgusted-holier-than-thou glances she’d occasionally give whoever she was seated near whenever they did anything particular crude, the brand name Ceilos, she’s probably fuck-off rich trying not to look fuck-off rich. What would someone like her want at a low scale labor pet auction like this? Why is she eyeing him in particular? Why are her irises barely darker than #FFFFF?

Catastrophizing is, it seems, a very time consuming activity. It muffles the rest of the auction, the auctioneer’s droning that would soon settle the man’s fate, the assistant taking away the sign Kavan was holding and tugging at the rope attached to his collar.

He stumbles as he’s led off the platform and into the pen for inspection. Through the buzzing of his ears, the sound of heels clicking follows.

[mj-iza-writer]

Whumper arrived home from work a little earlier than normal, so they waited for Whumpee to come to the front door to help take her shoes off.

They tapped their nails against the stair's railing, it was taking Whumpee longer than necessary to come.

Whumper kicked her shoes off in frustration and stormed off to find Whumpee.

Finally Whumper walked into the kitchen and found Whumpee sprawled out on the floor.

"Did you fall asleep while doing chores? You useless...", Whumper nudged Whumpee's head with her foot, "wake up you."

Whumpee made a disturbed snore before weakly looking up.

"Mis-mistress, you're home", Whumpee whispered then realized. They hurried to bow and kiss her feet, "I-I'm sorry miss."

Whumper crouched down and slapped Whumpee's cheek, hard enough to sting.

"Why are you sleeping when you're supposed to be working", Whumper stood back up, "and on the kitchen floor of all places."

Whumpee looked down, "I-I'm sorry miss, the floor w-was cold. It fe-felt good", they rubbed their cheek.

"Cold?", Whumper raised an eyebrow, "it's not hot."

Whumpee fidgeted shyly and kept looking at the floor.

Whumper reached down and grabbed Whumpee's chin. She lifted their face to look at them.

"Are you feeling alright?", Whumper sighed as they looked over Whumpee's appearance, "your skin is pale, and you look flushed. Plus, your eyes are glossy, never a good sign with you."

Whumper waited a minute as they felt Whumpee's warm skin.

Whumpee seemed to tiredly sink into Whumper's hand, ignoring her nails digging into their skin.

"Whumpee are you about to fall asleep like this?", Whumper questioned worriedly.

Whumpee quickly wiped away a tear and looked up, "I'm sorry mistress."

Whumper sighed as all frustration melted away, her momma bear was kicking in.

"Okay come on, get up. Out to the couch with you", Whumper waved their hand to shew them away.

Whumpee quickly got up and rushed to the couch.

When Whumper walked into the living room they looked at the couch but didn't see Whumpee on it.

"Whumpee... oh! What are you doing?", Whumper looked down to see Whumpee on the floor in a crawling position.

"I-I'm ready for my punishment. My behavior has been.... very... ba... hmm", Whumpee started to fall forward, "I'm dizzy."

"Okay, come on, I meant I wanted you to lay on the couch", Whumper reached down and pulled Whumpee up, "you're not in trouble. I want to take your temperature, and have you take this medicine."

"Mistress.... couch... ar-are you sure?", Whumpee tried to wriggle out of Whumper's grip but was too weak.

"Yes, now lay down", Whumper commanded as they gave a gentle push to Whumpee.

Whumpee collapsed onto the couch.

"Mmph", Whumpee grunted when Whumper stuck the thermometer into their mouth. Whumpee looked up awkwardly.

"Don't look at me like that", Whumper crossed their arms and waited for the ding.

"I'm sorry, I'm not use to, um, this ma'am", Whumpee looked down.

"Don't get use to it either, I do have a heart though", Whumper sighed at the temperature, "quite a fever, have you felt like this all day? Why wasn't I made aware?"

"I started feeling bad after lunch, and I got really tired", Whumpee whispered, "I'm sorry."

Whumper sighed, "okay scooch over."

Whumper sat down beside Whumpee and wrapped an arm around them.

Whumpee stiffened as Whumper pulled them close.

"Just relax. You're okay", Whumper layed their hand against Whumpee's head.

Whumpee thought for a second before leaning into the hug and touch.

"Hmmm", Whumpee moaned, as Whumper rested her chin on their forehead to take in the fever.

Whumper held Whumpee's head up as they felt their body going limp. She lowered Whumpee's head until they laid down and rested their head on her lap.

Whumper scratched along Whumpee's head and ear until she heard snores.

"How dare you get sick on me", Whumper sighed at their slave, "make me have to care for you. You're hopeless without me. I hope you are aware of that."

After a few more minutes, Whumper rested their hand on Whumpee's head, "I hate how much I love you", Whumper sighed.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

[honeycollectswhump]

for the bingo card: human furniture?

-🪷

thank you for sending this ask!! and i hope you don't mind my late reply :)) it was so fun to write <3

the bingo card was made by @gentlelittlehorrors (i hope you enjoy what i did with your prompt)

[masterlist]

CW: dehumanisation, pet whump, burns

“Up!”

It’s the first thing Ashtray hears, the first thing he understands, while laying down under the table, letting the noise of conversations pleasantly wash over him. 

Up means he is needed, Up means he is going to be used and Ashtray is eager to be used. Recognizing a word makes his nerves tingle with happiness. Ashtray rarely gets talked to –of course–, and it's even rarer that he understands.

He gets on his hands and knees, crawling closer to the soft velvet voice of his beloved Mistress. From his point of view, Ashtray can only see her silky smooth dress, a slit revealing her elegantly crossed legs. 

Careful of the leash binding him to the table, he takes his place, kneeling right beside his Mistress. Only like this, he is allowed to look at her, Ashtray has learned. He turns his head towards her, waiting for another cue amidst the pleasant waves of her voice.

Ashtray knows few words, short hints like Up and Down, Good Boy and Punishment, Hands and Back and Tongue, but he is very proud of his collection. It makes him a Good Boy, he thinks, that he has learned to recognise the otherwise strange sounds. Ashtray strives to serve his Mistress, in the way he was made for, and in any way at all. 

“Hand out.” his Mistress says, and Ashtray is thankful he is such an attentive Good Boy to filter out the right words. He tries his best to copy her poise, even though it is so unnatural for a simple thing like him. 

Mistress didn’t say which hand or maybe Ashtray doesn’t know the word yet. He can only guess what the most logical answer would be and sitting at her left side, he has an idea. Everything should always be elegant, so as graceful as possible he lifts his right hand to rest on her thigh, just like she trained him to. 

He can feel the cigarette getting closer, even without seeing it directly, can feel it burning and sizzling against his skin. Despite this, Ashtray doesn’t flinch, just like expected of a Good Boy. His eyes never leave his Mistress’ face, drowning in the pleased smile she gifts him. 

Other owners wouldn’t smile at their Ashtray like that, but his Mistress does. She is gentle, and loving, and so beautiful that Ashtray knows he’d let her hold his hands in a fire just to gain another smile. 

Twisting the cigarette into his skin, his Mistress makes sure it truly is put out. Ashtray marvels at how responsible she is, even as it leaves an angry red crater that will surely leave a mark in the field of raised, almost perfectly round scars that coat his hands. 

After fulfilling his purpose, Ashtray lifts his hand back down again, barely conscious of the way his skin seems to be lit on fire. This is what he was made for anyway. He resumes his position next to his Mistress, both hands in front of his knees, still and Good, bathing in her presence until she will inevitably send him under the table, only to come out when he is needed. Maybe then, she will call him a Good Boy again and Ashtray wants to be a Good Boy so badly. 

If he continues to be a Good Boy, his Mistress will even provide Ashtray with cream so that the fresh wound won’t get infected. Another thing other owners wouldn’t do for their possessions.

Ashtray is so lucky to belong to such a kind Mistress.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Women In Whump Pt. 3 (But they're MY women ❤️)

[whumpinthepot]

Hamster Interactive Story

Chapter 13. Hair

Prev - Masterlist

Content: Giant/tiny, being handled, dressing/washing, cages, captivity, food mention, healing wounds, pet trope, solitary confinement, ableism, mobility aid being withheld (prosthetic leg), power dynamics, selectively mute whumpee, female cast, dissociation/fear, (let me know if I missed any) 

Pov: Soap Scrub

Poll winner: Be cleaned up, talk to hamster, be moved to main room

ART, WRITING, AND POLL UNDER THE CUT!

—

“Are you ready to cooperate?” Ashley’s shrill voice pounds into your head as you wince at the sudden bright lights, even through all of the fluff you’re under. Slowly you dig yourself out of the bedding to face her.

You have no idea how long you were left alone in the cold, dark room, but you’re filthy, sore, and starting to go insane from basically being kept in solitary confinement for who knows how long. You hate to admit that you’re relieved to see another face, even if it's hers. You sigh heavily in defeat, knowing it won’t work, but you try the spiel anyway out of an obligation to stick up for yourself. “Look lady. You have to let me go-“

“No.” Ashley cuts it short with her arms crossed. “Do you want to stay in here for another week alone, or are you ready to cooperate?”

Quivering in anger you speak through your teeth. “Yes. Okay, yes I am.” You couldn’t handle another week alone in the dark like this with nothing to do. 

“Wonderful.” She claps her hands gently. 

The human is asking what you want to do, and giving you options, but somehow you doubt many of them are really going to be your choice in the end. She’s talking about how it's time to change your bandages, and how she needs to fix you up if you’re going to do model work. 

The next thing she does is pick up the cage with you in it, shifting the floor beneath you, and you have to put your good hand against the bars to brace yourself. 

Looking down towards the floor does you no favors while the cage sways in Ashley’s arms. You close your eyes and ignore the churning in your stomach, almost lurching backwards when the cage is set down on the kitchen counter. 

Now Ashley is going to grab you again, pull on your limbs, threaten you with the weight of her fingers. Your heart beats harder in your chest and your vision tunnels. You can’t take a deep enough breath. 

There's nowhere to escape her hand when she opens the cage door, and she grabs you with a gardening glove on so you can’t even bite her or fight back in any way. Fear paralyzes you, and her grip is too tight to try to wiggle away. You completely freeze, and dignity is thrown out the door when you start crying. Dissociation numbs your body and turns your mind into mud. Everything is a distant blur while she handles you.

The bandages are removed, and after a wash, you’re relieved to see your wounds are healing as they’re supposed to. The skin is knitting back together with lumpy scabs that itch along your arm and legs. You watch numbly as she bandages your limbs back up, as if you’re a puppet on strings, or more realistically, a doll that she’s playing with. 

“You need a haircut.” The dreaded words leave her lips and the thought of human size scissors snipping around your face makes your blood run cold.

”C-Can I do it myself? Please?” You actually look up at her huge face attempting to make blurry eye contact, blinking away stray tears from earlier.

“How would you do that?“ Ashley scoffs, her blue eyes piercing a glare.

“T-There’s a knife in my bag.” 

Ashley laughs. “You want me to give you a knife?“

Your cheeks warm and your mouth starts moving before you process the thought. “I’m the size of your thumb, and have no fucking leg. What do you expect me to do with a sliver of metal?!” The rush of defiance has you breathing heavily, and you brace to be slammed into the floor of the sink.

Ashley certainly looks mad, but she takes a deep breath. “Fine,“ she says.

Before you know it, you’re being granted a pocket sized vanity mirror in the sink with you, and given your knife back, just until you are done with it.Your hands are shaking, and one of them is still hard to move with the bandaged wounds. 

You stifle a sob when you see your reflection, but manage to hold it together. You look worse than you imagined. Your skin is clammy, with dark circles under your eyes and dark stubble starting to grow from your chin. Your hair is hideously sticking up all over the place and completely uneven in length.

Gingerly you start cutting away the longer strands in an attempt to even it out. Black chunks of hair fall around you and scatter around the silver floor. The back of your neck is cold with goosebumps and when you’re done, you throw your weapon across the sink for the giant hand to pluck away from you.

Dread eats away from the inside when she pinches the knife away like a crumb, and you force your voice steady. “Can I have my leg back now?” That was the deal, and now was the time to see if she was good on her word.

Ashley agrees, and hovers the doll leg just above you, and when you try to grab it, she pulls it up out of your reach. “Be nice,” she warns when you scowl at her, and lowers it back down. You yank it out of her fingers and hug it protectively. She tsk’s but turns her back to go do something else. 

“Mommy has to go to work now so be good while I’m gone, and I’ll set up a photo shoot when I get back.” Ashley isn’t talking to you anymore. She’s holding Hamster and giving her kisses. Your lip curls in disgust, and you use this time to pull your leg on as fast as possible.

The human’s back before you can stand, hovering over you, always flexing her power. She grabs you before you’re ready, causing you to yelp in alarm, and then puts you back into your cage. Dread weighs on you at the thought of being put back into that dark room. Except she doesn’t do that. Instead, she places your cage onto the kitchen counter by Hamster’s. 

Ashley’s huge blue eyes peer between the bars at you. “Behave while I'm gone. I’ll know if you try anything, little boy,” She threatens.

Just like that, she’s gone, and probably won't be back until the end of the day.

The room is dead quiet. No TV on today, just a soft humming of electronics, and the sound of a car or two driving by the house.

Hamster’s cage is just across the counter and you stumble past the bedding that Ashley put in yours to see if you can spot the pet from here. To your surprise, Hamster is outside of her cage and standing directly in front of yours, face to face with you. Shocked, you gawk at her for a second before you run your mouth with a snide comment. “Good job not falling off the counter again. You know, since I’m not there to save you this time.” You scowl deeply at her. “What do you want?”

Hamster just stares at you, smiling away.

You guess she’s over being upset that you threatened her before. Maybe she forgot already. Maybe she’s too dumb to hold a grudge. 

“Hello?” You wave. “Can you understand me?”

Hamster blinks back into reality, and nods her head while stroking an armful of her orange hair.

“Can you open the door to this cage?” You ask and point over to the door. The girl's eyes go wide, looking at the padlock on the bars, and she shakes her head no. 

You bite your tongue, screaming internally and go closer to her. Forcing yourself to stay calm. You can’t afford to scare her off. “Maybe you can find a tool for me?”

Hamster shakes her head again and frustration snaps an angry growl out of you. God, she’s actually useless.

”What can you do?” You spit out. “You know you owe me! I saved your life back then.” 

Hamster's eyebrows crease in a small frown and she walks off for a while, coming back with a sliced grape. She offers it to you. 

With a deep sigh you take it and sit in the fluff. “Thanks,” you mumble. It sure beats dried pellets, and the juicy flavour is the best experience you’ve had all week. 

Another several minutes go by without a word and the awkward silence is killing you. Is this really going to be how the rest of the day turns out?

Maybe it would be best to gain her trust after all… Get on her good side so she’ll be more inclined to help you. Pretend to be her friend, ask her questions, tell her a little about yourself. Anything to pass the time, really. 

—

I'm trying something different for these poll options this chapter. Feel free to send me questions via comments or ask box that you want soap to ask or talk about and I’ll include some into the next chapter. If you don’t have anything to ask, you can vote on whatever you want to see happen regardless!!

—

Thank you @alittlewhump for proof reading <3

Tag list: @frogkingdom @verkja @whumpsday @octopus-reactivated @marvel-gt @rsitb-second-account @fallen-grace-smd @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts @kyp-the-spacekiwi @ilasknives @hollowgast1 @redd956 @zobodahobo @alittlewhump @blackrosesandwhump @angst-after-dark @sandygarnelle @coppercoyoti @kim-poce @mayisreallygay @smoll-stace @demondamage @vickytokio @whump-in-the-closet @shadowsnowdapple @whumpy-wyrms @re-whump @cypresscove @whumpninja @highlighterwhump @taters169 @justagiantpotato

[avvail-whumps]

Royal Bought: Pretty Girls #6

previous · masterlist

content warnings: vampire whump, non-human whumper, defiant whumpee, captivity, human auctions, non-sexual nudity, lady whumper, multiple lady whumpees, conditioned whumpees

Luke tried not to focus on the hand digging into his forearm, being pulled along the corridors to their new destination. He wondered if this was going to be a recurring thing; dragged off somewhere new to suffer another long winded conversation about how frivolous it was to escape. 

How ridiculous. 

Luke wished none of this was happening. He let his mind wander, falling into the crashing waves of his thoughts, barely even recognising where they were going. He was sure they’d climbed up another floor, and wondered just how hugely vast this place was. 

Eventually, they stopped on what seemed to be a much more quiet floor. Silas didn’t speak a word to him the entire way up, and for that, Luke was actually quite grateful. It was filled with quite a few doors, spaced out amongst each other, but Silas eventually stopped in front of one, and he pushed the door open. 

“Ileana,” he called out, making sure to give Luke a hard tug so he came inside. “This one’s for you.” 

Luke’s eyes adjusted to the new room for a brief moment. It was much bigger than Silvan’s, it seemed, filled with a desk and more personal decorations like paintings and mirrors on the walls. On the couch, Luke found himself staring at a beautiful vampire, having turned her head aside to glance at Silas he wandered inside. 

She seemed tall, even when seated, one slender leg thrown over the other, and long, silky silver hair that trailed down her back. Her eyes were narrowed and pointed, giving Luke a very obvious once over when Silas gave him a firm shake. Beside her, there seemed to be a blonde girl - human. She had been giggling softly when the door opened, almost leaning into Ileana’s side, but at the sight of them, she quickly shot to her feet and scurried off. 

Ileana removed her arm from the back of the couch, twisting her body straight so she was facing them, and a thin smile spreading across those pink lips. Luke watched the blonde join what seemed to be two other girls at the wall, standing obediently. She sneaked a glance at Luke, her expression slightly embarrassed. 

He almost felt like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have. 

“Silas,” Ileana purred, her voice like dripping honey. It was enough for Luke’s gaze to snap over to her again. She even seemed to sit with an air of grace and poise, stiffening when her eyes briefly flickered over to him. “I thought the girls weren’t due for another half an hour.” 

Silas gave a disgruntled huff. “No. But as you can see, this is no girl. He’s yours. The one they picked up outside our territory.” 

He gave him a harsh shove from his shoulder blades, and humiliation burned at his cheeks, gritting his teeth together sharply. Ileana’s fox-like eyes almost seemed to gleam in curiosity at the words, humming softly to herself. He felt like he was being stripped down under her gaze. 

“Goodness,” she sighed, the sound like something was melting on her tongue, and Luke shifted uncomfortably. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a male with such high quality blood. If I’d known, I would have made sure to remind my girls to behave. Isn’t that right, Lillia?” 

Ileana’s gaze pounced on the blonde girl, who, when Luke hesitantly followed, noticed that she had been sneaking glances at him from under her light blonde eyelashes. Her eyes widened, tearing them away from Luke and towards the vampire, lifting her head up jerkily. 

“Yes, my Lady,” she stammered, clenching her hands together in front of her tightly. She bowed her head, and this time, her eyes refused to wander anywhere but the spotless carpet she was now fixated on. Ileana’s lip curved into an amused smile, turning back to Silas. 

“You can leave now,” she spoke, her voice a little firmer. “I will take it from here.” 

The vampire didn’t bother to respond, just nodded his head an inch, and Luke was greeted by the sound of the door clicking shut from behind him. He suddenly felt very out of place, but before he could fix his gaze on the vampire once more, she had moved from her casual position on the couch within seconds, standing far too close to him. 

Luke bit back a surprised curse, having to crane his neck up to look at her face. She was incredibly tall, almost dwarfing him in size. It made her much more intimidating as she circled him, her fingers tugging on his clothes as she went. 

“You’re filthy,” she tutted, giving a hard yank on the sleeve of Luke’s jacket. When he went to jerk it away, she meticulously manouvered and pinched his ear, getting a look at his hair. “And your clothes, goodness. This won’t do at all.” 

Luke grit his teeth as she gave his arm another pinch, judging the heap of clothes on his body. He wrenched his arm away from her, face twisted into a snarl. “Get off.” 

Ileana’s eyes shimmered. “Oh, and a temper, too. I suppose that’s to be expected, though.” 

Her long, silver hair swished along her back as she turned, moving like silk in water. It was almost as if the air around her was filled with grace, her chin always jutted high to display her presence. Her eyelashes fluttered as she spoke. 

“Girls,” she cooed, her voice taking on a different tone than what she’d been talking to Luke with. It almost melted with a soft sultriness, and their heads lifted up eagerly. “Please bathe him, and prepare some spare clothes.” 

There was a chorus of ‘yes, my Lady’’s from them, and Luke almost stuttered on a retort. “Bathe?” 

Ileana gave a fang-like smile. “You’re under my jurisdiction, and I won’t have you wearing those rags. Would you rather I force you, dear? Because you know I can, and that will only be more humiliating for you.” 

Luke’s cheeks went pink, grinding his teeth together. There wasn’t anything wrong with his rags; just because he didn’t wear such pretentious, high quality outfits didn’t mean they weren’t doing the same job. He begrudgingly glanced towards the girls, the blonde one, Lillia, having come towards him while the other two stepped through a door, leading into what Luke could only assume was a lucious, en-suite bathroom. 

“This way, please,” Lillian quietly spoke, keeping her eyes down and her hands clasped in front of her. After having been called out by Ileana, she didn’t seem to want to risk getting called out a second time. Luke felt sorry for them, forced to bend to the will of this vampire like slaves. 

He gave the silver haired vampire one last glance, before relenting. At least this way, he might be able to have some privacy. He hated the way Ileana’s bright red eyes seemed to glow in smug amusement, watching him intently as Lillia led him towards the open door, held open by the black haired girl. The other was preparing the bath, a huge ceramic tub with golden linings at the bottom. 

When the door clicked shut, Luke was left in awkward silence. 

Lillia was looking at him now, her shoulders seeming less tense. The black haired girl swept up beside her, whispering something in her ear that Luke couldn’t hear. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lillia blush, and the other giggled softly. Taking a moment to get a better look at them, he gazed at the third by the tub, running her hand gently through the water to test the temperature. 

Awkwardly, he stepped a little closer to her. “Hey.” 

She glanced up, her eyes filling with a look of surprise for a moment. She straightened up, seemingly inching away from him. Luke wondered if she was shy or simply scared of him. He didn’t want to imagine what Ileana was doing to them. 

They were dressed, well, not provocatively, but Luke had never seen such a simple yet luxurious looking dress before. All of them were wearing it, a dress that was a smooth shade of blue, with frilly shoulders and a frilly cut out along the bottom, in the middle of their thighs. The white apron, small and rounded, fit snugly around their waist. A smooth collar decorated with a miniature ribbon was wrapped around each of their necks. 

They were like servants, obedient and yet clearly frightened of whatever approached them. 

Luke loathed the idea of becoming like this himself. 

The black haired girl suddenly appeared, gently taking her shoulders and pulling her back from Luke. He was momentarily confused, wondering if he’d done something wrong, before Lillia cleared her throat. He glanced at her. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her blonde eyelashes fluttering as she gazed up at him. “She’s new, and we’re not supposed to talk to other humans. Our Lady says so.” 

Luke cringed. “Your Lady?” 

Lillia nodded her head, smiling softly. Her skin almost glowed, her cheeks rosy and her eyes a unique shade of green, light and delicate as she gazed at him politely. He wearily glanced at the other two girls, the nervous one having retreated to fetch some clothes for him while the black haired girl took over on preparing the bathtub. 

The sound of rushing water filled the room. 

“You’re talking to me,” he pointed out slowly. Lillia tucked some of her hair behind her ear. It was a light shade of blonde, veering more towards an undertone of white than yellow. She was pretty. In fact, Luke found that they were all very pretty. He was a little overwhelmed, wondering if it was because of the heat from the filling tub. 

“Yes, well,” she paused, shifting on her feet. “I have been here a lot longer. Please don’t mind her. She’s just trying to get used to everything.” 

“Used to everything,” Luke scoffed, his brows pinching. “You’re Ileana’s slaves.” 

Lillia’s eyes widened. “Slaves?” She squeaked. “No, not at all. I like serving our Lady.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he deadpanned. Lillia tilted her head, hands collapsing the front of her dress. She looked as though she was about to argue for a second, before indifference passed over her eyes. She gave Luke a shy once over, swallowing. He didn’t need her to say anything to understand what she was thinking. Apparently where he’d grown up was causing a lot of people to draw some unwarranted conclusions about him. 

“My name is Lillia,” she finally seemed to whisper, eyes flickering over to the other two girls. The black haired one stood by the tub, not shy about staring directly at Luke. Still, she smiled. 

“Brooke,” she introduced. She had a sprinkle of light freckles across her cheeks, framed by wavy black hair that splayed out just below her shoulders. Dark blue eyes captured his own, and Luke nodded his head. The other girl, the last one, had seemed reluctant to say anything at first. But eventually, she opted to give her name, too. 

“Cali,” she whispered softly. A similar jet black, and her hair was shorter than the other two, but it was voluptuous in volume and swooped messily over her temples. Her face was round, though hidden away by most of her hair, her eyes thin and dark. She was looking elsewhere, clutching some clothes in her arms. Luke didn’t want to, but he forced a smile on his face. 

“Nice to meet you,” he rumbled. “I’m Luke.” 

Lillia beamed. “Nice to meet you too.” 

With the exception of Cali, he noted how, although he hadn’t believed them, they seemed completely at ease with this life. Luke didn’t understand how - they didn’t seem to be compelled into doing this, just unnervingly complacent. How could they “serve” a woman, no, some creature of the night, so eagerly? 

Luke’s spiralling thoughts were cut off when he suddenly felt Lillia’s fingers on his jacket, gently prying it from his shoulders. His spine stiffened, and he knocked her hands away before he could stop himself. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed. Lillia blinked, tilting her head. 

“Undressing you,” she answered softly. “For the bath.” 

Luke stuttered on a breath, his eyes darting from one girl’s face to the other. They were all staring at him expectantly, and he couldn’t help but grip onto his jacket tightly like it was a lifeline. He struggled to find the right words. 

“While…you’re all in the room?” He stammered, feeling a twinge of embarrassment pinch his chest. “Can’t I have a little privacy?” 

From the tub, Brooke leaned forward, fingers bracketed against the edge of the bath. Her hair fell past her shoulders. “We’re unable to leave you alone.”

She almost looked like she was holding back a small laugh, as if there was some joke that Luke wasn’t privy to. “Besides, we’re not interested in you. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“I never…” He cut himself off, swallowing the prickly pride in his throat. He doubted he could make a break for it with Ileana in the next room over. He highly doubted the girls would allow him a chance to escape before hollering for their mistress. Easing the death grip on his jacket, Luke felt humiliation burn unpleasantly at his cheeks. 

He made quick work of stripping his clothes off, not wanting to dwardle any longer. His clothes were taken by Lillia, who promptly left to discard them, no doubt never to be seen again. He felt a little bitter about that. When he settled in the tub, Brooke made quick work of lathering some thick liquid in her hands, reaching for his hair. 

He jerked away, the warm water sloshing slightly. She raised a brow. 

“It’s for your hair,” she explained, slightly amused by his confusion. “Tilt your head back a little, please.” 

Luke hesitantly did so, feeling soft fingers start to lather up the soapy shampoo on his head. The feeling was quite therapeutic, actually, and Luke swallowed, trying to let himself grow accustomed to being groomed like a dog. When Lillia returned, she leaned against the tub, and Luke felt a tug on his necklace. He slapped a hand over it, causing Brooke to lean back. He shot the blonde a sharp glare. 

“Not this,” he spoke, his voice firm. “I’m keeping this.” 

Lillia pressed her lips into a thin line, her eyes filling with sympathy. “I’m sorry. I have to discard everything.” 

The necklace pressed against his palm tightly, digging into the skin. The pressure went unnoticed, going straight to the worried stab in his heart. He couldn’t get rid of this - this was his everything, the only memory of his mother. Lillia looked almost taken aback. 

“Please,” he pressed. His voice was shaking slightly. “Not this.” 

She opened her mouth to speak, the words dying in her throat. Her eyes flickered over to Cali, who shyly glanced at her, squeezing the clothes a little tighter. It was almost as if they were communicating something with their eyes, silently. The blonde finally let out a soft sigh, her voice dropping down to an ever so quiet whisper. 

“Alright. But please remember to tuck it under your new clothes.” 

Relief washed through him. “Yeah. I will.” He relaxed slightly. “Thank you, Lillia.” 

She smiled sweetly, nodding her head slightly. She seemed a little more relaxed at Luke’s gratitude, as if she was assured she had done the right thing. The moment was broken when Brooke resumed washing his hair, and another wave of uncomfortabless washed over him. The girls seemed nice enough, but there was no way Luke couldn’t feel embarrased when he was sitting in a warm tub and being washed from head to toe. 

The bathroom filled with scents of tea tree and lavender, almost stinging his nose, the water starting to turn cloudy as time passed. Brooke was thorough with his hair, forcing him to sit there with a stubborn frown on his face. Lillia scrubbed his back and his body with a scratchy flannel, and he wondered if she was trying to take his skin apart in the process. 

There were some places they instructed him to do himself. He was okay with that. 

The tub was drained, and Luke was wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown when he emerged from the water. He was led to a small table, dried off until there was no trace of water left, and instructed to sit down. He caught a glimpse of himself in a huge mirror, and almost blanched. 

It wasn’t as though he had never caught glimpses of himself in reflections back at the camp, but it was the first time he was seeing himself properly. He couldn’t help but stare in confusion, as if he was looking back at a stranger. His locks were still damp, black and twirly, sticking to his forehead slightly. Forest green eyes shimmered slightly under the bright lights. Even though his skin had been scrubbed clean, right down to the bone, it still retained its light almond colour.

He resisted the urge to touch his face, his bottom lip still retaining a sore, red split down the middle from when Silas had backhanded him across the face. It wasn’t bleeding anymore. 

Brooke came in with a hair dryer, blowing pleasant, hot air against his hair. Her fingers genty ran through the locks, and Luke let himself shut off for a moment. It wasn’t easy to forget there were vampires in the next room over, swarming this entire building, but it was a little easier to swallow when he was surrounded by his own kind, and only them. 

Brooke then gently combed his hair, her eyes flickering up curiously. “Did you have anything like this?” 

Luke blinked, momentarily pulled out of his daze. “Huh?” 

“I mean,” she paused, tilting her head. “This is probably a big cultural shock for you.” 

It had been in the back of his mind, all of these strange contraptions and customs and things he would never know existed when living in the middle of nowhere. He had been far more focused on avoiding an unpleasant fate, but Brooke was right. He was more concerned about Ten; whether he was thinking the same things, being alone in such a scary, unfamiliar place. His heart ached. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, picking at the sleeves of the dressing gown. Definitely a big culutural shock. Cali helped dress him, simple clothes that were still silky and soft against his clean skin. He smelled strongly of tea tree too, a scent that was supposedly going to cling to him. 

Lillia tucked his necklace under the clothes.

Tag List – @whumpatize-me-captain @whump-me-all-night-long @softvampirewhump @d-cs @obsessednerd505 @suspicious-whumping-egg @sapphirechao @sparrowsage @excessive-vampires

[mottinthepot18]

Art from a cyoa story, Chapter can be found here

[this-violence-of-mine]

Wool Combs

Here's a little bit of writing I just did for Valda and Rieka. Trigger warning for violence, torture, and nudity used as humiliation. If I missed something, just send me an ask.

~

Valda Wulf was once a queen, a grand queen with a throne of marble and silver and a crown of diamonds and sapphire. Once her clothes were made of thick furs and imported silks. Once her people had loved her and looked to her for guidance, which she provided readily. Once she ate fine food and laughed and danced with her family. Once, she was more than a prisoner. Once she was happy.

Of course, all of that was far off now. She wasn’t in the north, she wasn’t in Weitheim any longer. Snow didn’t cover the landscape and the trees weren’t pine or aspen. All of it, including her faith, had been ripped from her and now she sat alone, shackled to the floor of a dark and dingy cell in the far east. The voyage was horrible, but the dank and blood soaked dungeon was worse. At least she was allowed clothes on the ship.

Upon arriving, Rieka, Selena’s advisor who had been tasked with teaching her the ways of the east, had forced her to the dungeons and ripped her clothes from her body, leaving her exposed and humiliated. Her cheeks still burned with the shame that came with nudity. Even without another soul present, she felt their eyes on her body, judging her and hating her all the more for her seemingly wanton nature. Part of her wanted to cry and scream at the invisible judges, to tell them she was unwilling in her degradation. But that was foolish. There was nobody but her in the dungeon. The only judge present was herself.

Footsteps echoed slightly outside of the cell she was kept in, the little peephole sliding open. Cruel, green eyes stared at her, the corners crinkled. Behind the door, the wretched woman was smiling, giddy with her newfound power over her victim.

Valda looked down, her cheeks growing hotter. Despite the loneliness being its own wretched beast, it was better than dealing with Rieka. Anything was better than dealing with Rieka.

As the door was opened, the hinges creaked and groaned, the metal against metal grating against her ears. Light, too much light that made her eyes burn and ache, spilled into the once pitch black cell.

“Tell me, Wulf, are you ready to accept Selena as your queen, as your wife?” Rieka said, her voice cold and harsh. “Mind you, once you accept, the torture ends. No more pain, no more agony. No more whips and no more chains.” She crouched down in front of her, their faces level. “Wouldn’t that be grand, sweet girl?”

No matter how tempting the offer was, Valda couldn’t bring herself to accept it. Tears pricked her eyes as she shook her head, her body already trembling in anticipation for the punishment surely coming. “No,” she said, her voice small and strained. The only thing she had left was her pride. Anything else could be taken from her, but not her pride.

For a moment Rieka said nothing, her eyes boring into her. The silence was profound and far more terrifying than any punishment she could ever concoct. It was neutral. Nothing existed in between the noise.

“Pity,” she finally said, standing. “I’ll return in a moment. Don’t beg tonight, it’s unbecoming of a consort.” With that, she turned and left, her boots heavy against the stone floor.

Valda curled in on herself, the fear in her gut large and monstrous. Why did she have to be so damn stubborn? Why couldn’t she just accept defeat? 

The tears grew fatter and more numerous, her cheeks wet and eyes red. Another night of torment just because she couldn’t say yes. 

She cursed herself beneath her shaky breath. Her stubborn pride would be the end of her soon, she knew it. It was only a matter of time before Rieka decided enough was enough and killed her, regardless of Selena’s orders.

Rieka returned, a set of iron combs for wool in her hands. “Resplendent Queen Selena found these in your dungeons. Your own torturer seemed fond of them.” She knelt before her once more. “Allow me to ask, how many have you condemned?”

Valda swallowed hard. “Three,” she replied, voice still shaky. “One- one for murder. One for an assassination attempt. One- one-,” her voice broke off, the words sticking in her throat. The tears flowed more freely as she looked back on the day she had to condemn her own father. “One for insanity,” she finally choked out.

“Your father,” Rieka said. “I would’ve done the same, but much, much sooner. Resplendent Queen Selena found the records. It seems you did Weitheim and the rest of the world a service.”

Valda shook her head, a sob catching in her throat. She missed her papa. “I didn’t want to,” she said, “I had to. If- if I didn’t-,” she broke off into a sob. “He was a madman.”

Rieka tilted her chin up, her touch almost gentle. “He was indeed. Are you aware he had these,” she held the wool combs up, “used these on my parents, thirteen years ago.”

Valda nodded. “He was brutal,” she said, voice small.

  “Are you aware he made me watch as my parents were tortured to death? Are you aware that after they finally died, he exiled me?” Rieka circled around her and stopped when she was at her back. “I’m grateful, truly.” She pressed the comb into Valda’s skin, drawing blood and eliciting a gasp from her victim. “He taught me how to hurt and kill. After I arrived here, I was taught how to hurt and keep one alive.” She ripped the comb down, tearing and flaying the skin of her back. 

Valda cried out in agony, jerking forward as if it would help her in any way. “Pl- please!” she choked out, her voice strangled. Pain blurred her vision. Vomit threatened to come up from the sickening agony and the feeling of her blood pouring down her back.

“The day I was told I had the pleasure of teaching you our customs, my heart swelled with joy,” Rieka brought the comb down again. “Your father’s dead, but that doesn’t mean I can’t exact my revenge on your damned bloodline.” She brought the comb down once more.

Valda’s screams and cries filled the cell, her blood pooling beneath her as her skin was shredded. 

“I was told to be kind,” Rieka brought it down again, tearing skin and muscle. “I was told to be gentle.” She dug her nails into her open wounds and tore and ripped her flesh.

Valda sobbed, the pain so thick and deep she thought she’d finally die that night. Everything lost its meaning as Rieka continued. Words wouldn’t leave her mouth and thoughts stopped being made. 

“I was told not to hurt you!” Rieka said, her voice a little louder. “I was told you were precious and important!” 

The combs continued to shred and she fell forward, her arms and legs too weak to bear her weight. Her cheek rested against the cold stone, her vision dark around the edges. At that point, death would’ve been a kinder master to her than Rieka.

“But I know the truth,” she leaned in, “you’re a monster just as your father was before you.” She continued the assault against her back. “What moral ruler would condemn anyone to this fate?” 

Valda’s breath hitched in her throat as the darkness grew. It wouldn’t be much longer before oblivion took her, that much was certain. 

“I believe Resplendent Queen Selena made a mistake keeping you alive,” she said, her voice low. “I believe she should’ve beheaded you on your damned throne. It’s the least you fucking deserve.” She stood up. “I’ll return tomorrow night. I pray you say no once again. I find these sessions comforting.” 

With that, she left. The door slammed shut and the locks clicked into place.

No strength left, Valda lay there, silently sobbing as the pain ebbed and flowed. 

Tomorrow she’d finally say yes.