#noncon bodymod

[whumpshaped]

there should be a surgical procedure that makes humans purr like cats. and they cant control it, they just do it when they feel nice. and then whumper should do that to whumpee without their consent

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

HES SO SAD

Collared whumpee who was defiant. Who never cowered, never submitted, never lowered their eyes.

Collared whumpee who had their septum pierced with a thick ring, a chain linking it to their collar to keep them cowed.

[3-2-whump]

Whumpee Intro: The Auction Floor

next>

Thanks @dresden-syndrome for helping me bounce ideas off you! We talked about how pet stores display the fish in glass tanks, especially how some of the good stores display their betta fish in individual glass tanks. And I was like, "why not for pet whumpees?" Inspiration comes from the unlikeliest of places.

TW/CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, nonconsensual nudity (nonsexual), minor whump (at time of story), noncon body mod (briefly mentioned), light gore (briefly mentioned). I also have little to no idea how auctions like this would work, so I'm skipping over some details. Enjoy, regardless.

The boy backed up as far as his glass prison would allow, but the hungry eyes of the bidders outside never left him. He hoped and prayed nobody would buy him, but his hope diminished with every scrutinizing stare and comment muffled through the glass. He slumped into the corner of his cell and curled into a ball, ignoring the handlers’ threats they drilled into each prospective asset before the auction began. He shut his eyes and buried his head into his folded-up knees. If he was just boring enough to look at, maybe the people outside would move on and buy somebody else.

The floor was cold. The glass walls of his cell were cold. He was bare, completely naked in the empty glass container. The back of his left ear was itchy, but he made no move to scratch at it. If he interfered with the tattoo as it was healing, they promised to pull out his fingernails. It had already happened to one girl; he had seen it. He dug his nails into his shins until the unbearable itching subsided enough to ignore it once again.

The murmurs outside died down, accompanied by the sound of retreating footsteps. The boy dared to peek out from his hiding place. He locked eyes with a man standing right in front of his cell, staring at him with a glass of whiskey in hand. He was a big man, broad shouldered and solidly built underneath that crisply pressed suit. He was easily two heads taller than his father, and up until that point, the boy thought his father was pretty tall. The man had short, dirty-blonde hair and sharp, steel-gray eyes. His mouth was downturned into a frown, the only indication of what he may truly feel behind the blank expression he bore.

Two more men –presumably his friends- materialized alongside him, jovially poking at him and gesturing inside the boy’s cell. It was next to impossible to make out the words they were saying from within the cell, but the boy got a sinking feeling in his stomach. The whole time, the man’s eyes never left his.

---

The auction part of the night had ended, their area of the black market had been closed off, and he (among many others) was retrieved from the glass box. The handler who fetched him threw him a pair of pants and a shirt. “Put those on, and follow me.”

So, I did get sold, the boy realized. He dressed quickly and followed the handler silently, dread weighing down each footstep. He mentally ran through the faces he dared to look at while he wondered who among the crowd had bought him. His mind circled back to the tall man with the scowl. Please, God, please, not him, he begged.

He stopped in his tracks when they came to the exit. The very same tall man turned around to meet him. The handler quietly disappeared from his side. Those steel eyes looked far colder and sharper up close. The boy averted his eyes, staring at his bare feet while keeping his hands folded in front of him.

“What’s your name, kid?”

The boy looked up briefly. Faint freckles danced across the man’s pale cheeks, and an old scar grazing across his left temple disappeared into his hairline. Those sharp steely eyes continued to flay him. He was so scared he nearly forgot his new owner had asked him a question. My name? He dropped his gaze back to his feet. “Khaled,” he all but whispered. “But you may call me whatever you want, sir,” he added, remembering the ‘correct’ answer.

The man above him murmured his name a couple times to himself as the boy stood ready to accept a new name, if his new master so wished it. “Luckily for you, I like your name,” he said decisively.

Before Khaled could breathe a sigh of relief, the man placed a broad hand on his shoulder. The boy tensed; his palm covered his whole shoulder blade. “Come with me, Khaled.” Not like he had a choice, when his master’s hand pushed him out the door into a future of unknowns and uncertainties.

[whumped-by-glitter]

Day 5: Scream / Captivity / “NO!” Bonus Alt Prompt: Mouth Stitched shut

⚠️ CW: Needles, Piercings, Non-Con Body Mods, Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Nudity (non sexual), Drugging, Mild-Moderate Gore/Horror, Mouth Whump.

Day 4 Here < > Day 6 Here

This is an especially TW heavy entry, feel free to skip it, I will provide a summary of the plot important parts next time we catch up with Whumpee! some of these themes even squick me out!

Story Under The Cut

Days had passed since the horrific photoshoot. Whumper was true to their word and had provided them with a little food and copious amount of water, as much as they wanted after the session.

Whumpee sat ruminating, sitting against the wall they were once again chained to. A dim spotlight above them was their only source of light. They shifted uncomfortably, trying not put pressure on any of the still healing cuts and bruises that decorated their skin.

They winced at the word ‘decorated’, now they were sounding like Whumper apparently. They had no other word for it though, Whumper had carved an intentional pattern of shallow stabs and deep slashes across their entire body, front, back sides everywhere.

They plunked their head lightly against the wall, the sound echoing through the torture chamber hidden in the darkness ahead of them.

Their stomach rumbled loudly; they had not been fed again since that day. Whumper said it was to ‘keep them pretty for the masterpiece.’ Whumpee shivered at the thought, the person who held them captive was deranged.  They desperately hoped the team would find them before it was too late. Their wounds weren’t healing right, likely due to the stress and lack of food. Many weren’t scabbing over and were oozing a clear watery liquid. If Whumper didn’t do something to kill them first, infection was likely to finish the job, they thought in despair.

All at once there was an echoing thunk-click and the room flooded with harsh light, blinding whumpee.

Whumpee knew this meant Whumper had finished the planning for their ‘masterpiece’. Whumpee cowered as best as they could in the chains, trying to make themselves small, trying to protect themselves from the inevitable pain that they knew was coming.

A knot formed in Whumpee’s stomach when they saw a bag of supplies. The knot grew tighter and tighter as Whumpee watched Whumper unpack the bag. NEEDLES! SO MANY NEEDLES!!! Whumpee started to hyperventilate. They were terrified of needles and there was a table full of the me being unpacked.

“NO! NO! NONONONONO!” whumpee wailed, visibly trembling. Fear was threatening to drown them.

“Oh, come now, sweetheart, we haven’t even started yet,” Whumper chuckled. He finished setting up some paints and strode over to their prisoner. Whumper stroked Whumpee’s face, running his thumb under Whumpee’s eye, across their cheekbone. “before any of that, you need some color,” Whumper said softly, almost lovingly, a tone that made Whumpee feel physically sick.

Whumper proceeded to unchain Whumpee from the wall, not even bothering to handcuff them, they were too weak to fight in any meaningful way. He led them to a St. Andrew’s cross in the corner. Once Whumpee’s hands and feet were secured, they could hear Whumper skipping across the room for a moment before, skipping back to them, humming.

Whumpee craned their neck but before they could look…

Crack!

The noise split their ears seconds before their brain registered the searing pain. Whumpee cried, jerking in their bonds.

More and more lashes came.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The noise, the fear from the needles, the pain, it all got too much for Whumpee. They soon passed out.

When Whumpee came too, they felt a strange coolness being smeared on their back. It wasn’t unpleasant at first. It soon started to register that It was burning in the fresh whip wounds. Then the smell hit them, paint.

Whumpee tried to weakly struggle, to no avail.

“shhh, shhh,” Whumper crooned, “I’m almost done laying the background, blue looks gorgeous on you sweetheart.” Whumper wiped the access paint off, leaving the pigment just in the wounds, “now baby, its time for the real art.”

Whumpee started to feel panic welling up as they thought of the needles. Their breath quickened as they heard the table be drug closer to the cross. When Whumper unwrapped a needle and brought it to their back, Whumpee lost it.

Everything went black, their body burned, the burning soon became a feeling of being enveloped by white and it traveled up their body, centering at their throat. Whumpee gave a scream, an unnatural scream that shook the room.

Whumper crumpled in pain for a moment, trying to shake the ringing from his ears.

It took what felt like a lifetime to Whumpee for time to move again. ‘what had just happened?’

“My information said you didn’t have any powers!” Whumper growled angerly, storming to the table, grabbing a syringe. “No matter, you won’t be doing that again.” Before Whumpee could react, they felt a stab in their neck and a cool liquid flow into them. It only took a few minutes before they basically collapsed in the restraints.

To Whumpee’s horror, they realized they couldn’t move, at all, they couldn’t talk, they couldn’t even move their head. They started to completely lose their mind; fear coursed through them like a tidal wave. Every cell of their lizard brain was telling them to run, urging them to run, but they couldn’t move. Their tear ducts worked and that’s about it. They wanted to scream again but couldn’t. for the first time in their life Whumpee felt true Terror.

Whumpee felt themselves be detached from the cross and lifted. They were laid across the bench, the same one Whumper had drawn on them with a knife with. Whumpee would have winced if they could, the leather material touching their freshly wounded back stung.

“Now let’s fix that mouth of yours before the drugs wear off,” Wumper almost gleemed. “I wasn’t planning on this, but now the thought is there, this is going to add so much extra dimension!” Whumper was positively giddy. He disappeared for a moment but soon returned, standing over them.

Whumpee expected a gag, or tape, or….. they didn’t exactly know what they expected, but nothing could compare to the horror of what they saw…..

WHUMPER WAS STANDING OVER THEM WITH A NEEDLE AND FUCKING THREAD!!!!

“hold still,” Whumper gave a deranged smile.

The tears flowed freely from Whumpee’s eyes, as they tried to mentally brace them self for what was coming. They could do nothing but watch as Whumper threaded the thick purple thread onto the needle, inches from their face.

Whumper pinched Whumpee’s lips together and in one smooth motion pierced through both their top and bottom lip. Whumpee’s mind was screaming in terror, this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be real. Maybe this was just one of those sleep paralysis episodes they read about. they tried desperately to think about something else, of Caretaker. Trying to picture every detail of their face, of leader, of everyone.

Pain continued to prick across their lips, the thread burning as it was pulled through. The pulling sensation was causing waves of nausea and despair to wash over them.

They again tried to distract them self. ‘what was youngest doing right now?�� They wondered to them self. It was no use though; the fear gripped their chest hard. Darkness edged their vision then, mercifully took over.

When Whumpee came to again they were on their stomach, they were immediately hit by sharp piercing pains. ‘the needles’ they realized in horror. They felt the skin on their shoulder blades be pinched then pierced through, again and again. Each time it pulled and agitated their lashes. They tried to move but still couldn’t.

“Almost done, my beautiful fallen angel,” Whumper sung. This lunatic was singing!

Whumpee felt more and more needles go into their shoulder blades, being pressed under the skin and out the other side. They started crying again, their lips were throbbing, their back was burning, stinging, and throbbing. ‘this can’t be real.’ They thought weakly, as the prolonged panic was beginning to shift to mental and physical exhaustion.

Whumpee felt themselves be lifted once again. This time they were being carried up the stairs, to their surprise and dread. What was going to happen to them now?

On the way up Whumpee’s head lulled and they were horrified to see rough, distressed feathers sticking out of their back like wings. They began shedding fresh tears anew. They were terrified the team would never find them and that they would just die here with Whumper.

Whumper carried Whumpee through what appeared to be a twisted art museum. He brough them to a huge glass case in the middle of the room. There were cables with hooks hanging from the ceiling, ‘sharp hooks’ Whumpee observed fearfully.

Whumper stripped them of the rest of their clothes then placed their limp, still paralyzed body on the floor in the center of the glass chamber. Whumpee looked on in helpless horror as Whumper lowered the hooks with a button.

The panic whumpee felt as the first hook pierced through the upper right part of their skin was indescribable. The pain was horrible but the fear, the horror, being unable to do anything but watch, that was so much worse.

A second matching hook went in and out of their skin. They could feel blood trickle across their bare skin. Then whumper got another deranged grin.

“we should get the difficult ones; the succinylcholine will be wearing off soon doll.” Whumper was still humming that sickening tune.

He brought two hooks to his face and put the first one through the skin on their cheek bone, just inches below their eye. Whumpee’s fight or flight instincts once again started to uselessly kick in, serving only to heighten their terror. They could hear the gross sound of the skin being pierced.

“so gorgeous,” Whumper whispered softly, stroking Whumpee’s hair before placing the next hook in the same place on the other side of their face.

This processed over and over again, two through their chest, two more on either side of their lower stomach. The final 2 went through the skin just above their knees.

If Whumpee had had anything in their stomach they would have vomited.

“Now the final touch!” Whumper exclaimed exuberantly.

Again, terror flew through Whumpee as Whumper pressed a button and they felt themselves lifted by the hooks.

Again, merciful darkness overtook Whumpee, it was all too much.

Event Prompt

My Event Masterlist

@whumperofworlds, @pigeonwhumps, @whumpsandbumps

[sazzafraz]

Re: previous post, I won't be making a big Thought of this due to current world events but it's just. So funny. That because they weren't suitably individualistic and inspiring after enduring The Horrors we have condemned these two specifically. It's just so so Interesting.

[stanfiction-withsoos]

the conjoined Stan’s is like a horror movie to me so I don’t get anything out of it but scared fascination!

Conjoined twins are not what is scary don’t get me wrong!! it’s the way Stan was forced into it and the surgery aspect

it would make an AMAZING horror movie ngl... hey universal or blumhouse....

AND YEAH I GET THAT!! its a horror au, feel however u want towards it idc :3

personally, i really enjoy thinking abt the anatomical/medical aspects, the mental affects of the procedure, and them getting used to being one entity tbh. im always a sucker for noncon bodymod stuff, tho i get that thats not everyones thing :3

[starbug-space]

!!!!!! NSFT content! Minors DNI !!!!!!

Stories on this blog include selfcest. All characters are 25+ unless stated otherwise.

Contents and TW may include:

-noncon, dubcon, cnc, pregnancy, bodymods, body horror, discussion of mental and physical illness, religious kink, assorted things that are either upsetting or fun to explore in fiction (not irl), dehumanization

ALL Readers/xinserts are male, and often trans masc.

Characters are frequently chubby and/or trans because I'm chubby and trans and fat/trans people are gorgeous!!

Hi!!!!! Hello!! We are Star and Bug, we love tmnt esp rottmnt ESP Mikey ESP ESP future Mikey (we love the others and write abt them too!)

We write hot yaoi on yaoi tmnt x reader Action baby!!! Usually transmasc reader and Rise turtles, but there are some occasional cis male reader and other TMNT iterations.

List of aus!! (Almost all aus branch out into diff stories, and are more umbrella labels for anything with the same general premise.)

Doorstep au:

-future mikey fell through the portal and onto your doorstep and wants you bad

-Angelo (present mikey) wants you bad

-healing, catfights and shenanigans ensue

Employment au:

-you are hired to entertain future mikey by his exhausted past brothers

-he's understimulated and refuses to stay out of trouble

-it's your job to care for him

-and he's delighted

Devotee au:

-TBA ;3

Mutant pets au:

-mutants are pets

Human pets au:

-you are pet

Something in the water au:

-nature yielded something odd and it wishes to either come home with you, or drag you back home with it

Lamb and Guard dogs au:

-feral F Mikey x reader x F Leo

Wasteland baby au:

-mikey finds you in the wasteland and keeps you, one way or another

-you're feral or he's feral

Silent hill au:

-includes Raph PT au

-donnie and mikey are nurses

-??????

[licksbones]

↓ READ BEFORE YOU FOLLOW ↓

Main focus is primal play, general dominance and a bit of sadism. I don't do RP but feel free to share your thoughts and ask questions (especially the 🔞 ones). Can't follow unfortunately but if I reblog and comment on your posts a lot it's like I'm following, right?

About me:

24 years old, female, bisexual, heavily dom-leaning switch

only ever sub for women and even then I'm an aggressive, fighting back type of sub. strict dom with men

address me as Sir. I do not like being called mistress (ladies can call me whatever they want)

Clothed Dom to naked male subs

I obviously like pegging men a lot. For my pleasure, not theirs

into biting, scratching, marking and impact play - both giving and receiving

my other kinks include edging, orgasm control, uniforms/military, leather, priests/nuns, corruption, knife and blood play, voyeurism

LIMITS: scat, vom, farts, inflation, age play, anything mommy (especially baby talk I fucking hate that shit), any scenario where I'm submissive to a man, anything very abusive like ballbusting/detrans/ misogyny/race play/noncon bodymod/sissification or forced fem*

*I like men in dresses but I don't think femininity should be seen as degrading

[adolin]

May we please get the hucow fic

LOOK I feel like I did some false advertising here, it's NOT a TLT fic. It's w fic I linked to explain what hucow means (in the context of a TLT conversation I'd admit. Cows watch sunset man 🐮)

anyway if you're into original work porn about a guy being hypnotised and noncon bodymodded into a lactating hucow by his evil roommate for mad science porny purposes. here u go.

[4guysonehead]

R0ttmnt dead dove pet play shenanigans cw noncon, breeding kink, bodymods and petplay universe and weight gain kink cause thats in everythinggg i writeee

Mutant pets mutant pets mutant pets whooo like im js

Its fucked up but all those sentient pet universesss i used to read abt ughhh

It would work so well ive seen human pets being sold to yokai fics but never the other way around? Like those user manual fics we read as a tween for like. Anime chars. This will make so much sense when im sober

Squish those boys into cramped cages cover em in bruises and cuts and grime make them look so pitiful let reader nurse them back to health, use them, abuse them, coddle or dead dove them

Bodymods, lobotomy, forced heat and ruts and being gravid, crying whenever they push out eggs and no pups, or gentle loving care, making them the most pampered pet, loved and catered to-plump from being so well cared for, more than happy to present themselves for their beloved owner. Or a mix of cruelty and affection, keep the poor darling confused.

My fav part is who you would choose and why, you can really only afford one. Do you choose the poor giant crammed into a cage that's too small? The scrawny, bleary-eyed darling too tired and starved to do anything but snarl at you? The shivering mess who cries when you approach him? The hissing, terrified boy who claws at anything within reach? Gotta choose, make it count loves.

N e way i wanna make a fic abt this. Abused to coddled and also abused but like in a controlling way and they're content pipeline real

Maybe someday you can reunite them, but for now you get to bring one feral, traumatized pet home. Will write more later on this silly lil au

-mikey :3

[breakyourwhumpees]

Experiment 36 

lab whump, needles, poison injected, sedative mention, hospital setting-ish, lab whump, experiment whumpee, noncon touching(sfw), noncon bodymod, doctor/scientist/experiment whumper, whumper is tired of whumpee’s shit, whumper is just following orders. In which Experiment 36 has a chat with Doctor.

"Hi, doctor.” Experiment 36 piped as Doctor pulled their hair to tilt his head sideways, pressing the needle into the experiment’s skin. The doctor hummed as 36 cooperated, kicking their legs. The pain was only a prick even though the needle was thicker than ideal, 

“You need a haircut,” The doctor noted, narrowing his cold gray eyes at them. “I’ll let management know.” He pulled out the needle and cleaned it, setting it aside. 36 yawned. 

“W’sat? ‘s it A sedative?” they asked, sitting back on their arms and eyeing the doctor as he paced the room, shoving his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

“We’re testing a new antidote.” He replied coldly, going to was his hands in the sink against the far wall. 36 clicked their tongue, unfazed. They pull their long shirt further over their knees as Doctor moved to the cabinet to get them a band aid.

“So poison. Nice. When do I get the antidote? Also, hello kitty band-aid, please.” 36 asked, obediently tilting their head to expose their neck as Doctor plasters the band aid to the spot on their neck where the needle had sunk in. They hadn’t seen him put his gloves back on after washing his hands, but they were on now.

“Fifteen minutes. Until then, I have to watch you,” The doctor complained, glaring at them from half lidded eyes. 36 wrinkled their nose distastefully. 

“Not my fault, Doc. Can I play candy crush on your phone?” They request, making grabby hands at the man who sneered at them in obvious irritation. 

Doctor scowled. “No.” He spat. “Last time you had one of your fits and broke my screen, you scoundrel.” 36 snorted at the thought. It was only once. They fold their legs and stare at the wall for a while. The doctor moves to sit at his desk. 

“Can I get up?” 36 asked. “No,” Doctor grunted irritably. “Because of the poison or because you don’t want me to?” No answer. Fueled by boredom, Experiment 36 persists. “When do I get feeded next? Also what time is it?”  “It’s pronounced fed. Also you’ve already eaten today, so tomorrow. Also it’s 5:15.” The doctor doesn’t look up from his computer. “A.M or P.M?” “P.M.”

A moment of silence stretches across the sterile room. Everything is white. Experiment 36 and Doctor almost feel like the only color in the room. “Can I take a nap?” Experiment 36 asked, picking their nails. They aren’t tired, but they couldn’t be bored if he was sleeping. Doctor flicked his gaze over to them briefly, furrowing his brows. 

“Yeah, as long as you don’t annoy me.” Doctor replied curtly as 36 settled to lie on the stiff hospital bed. They sigh, curling into themselves. 

“Night, Doc.” The room feels hollow when they speak despite the knowledge that Doctor was in there with him. No response, but they don’t really expect one.

reblogs > likes 

[3-2-whump]

Escape Attempt Last

<prev next>

As in, there were plenty in between this attempt and First Escape Attempt, but I won't enumerate them (unless you ask nicely, I guess)

Set one year after The Auction Floor

TW/CW: minor whump, slavery, pet whump, noncon body mod (tattoos, piercings), threats of permanent injury (not followed through), burning, inappropriate use of a clothes iron

The first thing he heard that morning was “Happy anniversary,” whispered softly over him as he stirred awake.

Khaled blinked. The blond man leaned over his bed, not a trace of a frown on his stern face. Khaled groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He had no idea what his master just said, though that might’ve just been because he was never much of a morning person. “What was that?” Khaled yawned.

“It’s our anniversary,” the man explained patiently as he helped him sit up. Those broad arms and bruising hands that once (and occasionally still) struck fear into Khaled’s heart now supported him as he climbed out of bed. “I brought you home a year ago, and so I wanted to give you something special today, if you’d let me…” he trailed off with a smile.

Khaled shuffled toward his wardrobe and began picking out a pair of boxers, denim pants, and a shirt. “A year, huh?” Though he was still in the process of waking up, having never been an early riser in his life, his muddy brain was slowly piecing it together.

It was well into midday when Khaled finally let its implications sink in.

One year of his life in slavery. One whole year of his life spent in servitude. His head swam in an unsettling mix of shock, anger, and grief, emotions that traveled down to his gut and twisted it into knots. A lot had happened in a year; the sixteen-year-old shot up a few inches in height, his voice had deepened, and his body hair (everywhere) had grown in enough to prompt his owner to teach him about shaving and ‘hygienic practices.’ That was an embarrassing talk, and one that he deeply wished his father could’ve given him instead.

It had been more than a year since he had seen his family; were they thinking of him? Did they notice he was gone? He brought home one of their main sources of income; how was his mother coping, providing for his siblings all on her own? They didn’t hate him for abandoning them, did they? Khaled blinked back the mist in his eyes at the thought.

The car lulled to a stop. “We’re here,” the Boss announced, taking Khaled out of his head. He looked down at the small box resting in his hands. Twin diamonds set in white gold rested inside the velvety interior. At first, Khaled thought it was a mistake, since his ears weren’t pierced. The man only grinned as he simply replied “not yet.”

They got out at the now-familiar tattoo parlor, entering soon after they opened. This was where the boy got his second and third tattoos, the initials and the skull and snake, respectively. The bearded, bespectacled man known only as Leo spotted them immediately and approached them with a welcoming grin. He made small talk with Khaled’s master as he led them to the back.

“So, we’re doing a set of piercings today?” he asked, pulling out a pair of single-use gloves.

Master nodded. “Ears, just one pair for now, unless we want more.”

Khaled let out an unbidden scoff. His master threw him a reproachful glare. There is no we, there never was, he wanted to scream. He didn’t consent to any of his tattoos, what made the man think he’d be okay with piercings? Yet his owner initialed him like an object and drew the symbol of his crime family on his skin, and he could just do that –he bought him, after all.

“Well, let’s get to it, then!” Leo said.

“Wait. I’ve gotta use the bathroom,” Khaled murmured. Master glanced at Leo, who merely shrugged. He silently pushed past the two men and made his way to the front of the store to the bathroom, where he locked the door and slumped against it as he settled onto the floor. He allowed himself a deep, shuddering breath behind the closed door, resting his head back against it with a dull thunk.

One year… he thought morosely. A streaky bathroom mirror bordered with stickers glared back at him under artificial light. Curious, Khaled got up from the floor and leaned over the sink to look at himself, to physically see how much he had changed in only a year. How much of these changes were within his control?

None of them, he realized sadly. He turned his newly shaved head side to side to look at his ears, taking in the sight of the unpierced lobes as much as he could. These would change too, and that was also out of his control.

Or was it? Out of the corner of his eye, Khaled spotted a slit of natural light seeping in from above. He turned; there, above the toilet, was a small window, vented open to let in fresh air. He assessed the window immediately, judging that he was still skinny and flexible enough that he could climb through, and without much else besides a desire to just be in control of something, he did exactly that.

-

With exception to the mall incident (which shouldn’t even count, he genuinely got lost), this had to be the worst escape yet. He was recaptured within two hours, tied up and thrown into the back of a car yet again, and now lay on his back on a large table, hands and feet bound to each corner as two unfamiliar goons stood on each side. Beside him, Master stood solemnly ironing a dress shirt on an ironing board. His resting bitch face was back, and he was re-ironing the same sleeve for the third time. Khaled gulped, only sensing a fraction of how fucked he was.

“I really thought we had made some progress this past year,” the man growled. A puff of steam escaped the iron as he set it aside and hung up the crisp white shirt. He then moved on to ironing a pair of slacks. “I trusted you, I provided for you, I gave you everything you could ever need, and what do you do? You run away the second I loosen your leash,” he continued, straightening out a seam with a bit more force than necessary.

Khaled cleared his throat and tried to look up from his awkward position on the table. “I’m sorry, Master, I just freaked out- “

“Quiet! Let me finish.”

Khaled shut his mouth immediately. He sunk back down, fixed his eyes on the dim ceiling lamp above him, and awaited his punishment with dread.

Master continued talking. “You know, the last time this happened, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons.” Beneath the quickening pounding of his anxious heart, Khaled heard the faint hiss of the iron. “I don’t want to permanently cripple you though, mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

Khaled tore his eyes from the ceiling and looked over his outstretched toes. His master settled in front of his feet, the steaming hot iron in hand. Moist tendrils of heat lapped at his exposed bare soles. Dense as he may be, it didn’t take a genius to realize what was about to happen. Khaled trembled, then began struggling in earnest. The mob members held him firmly by the legs and shoulders as he thrashed frantically in his restraints, fearfully begging. “No, no, no, please, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – “

“You’re only sorry you got caught,” Boss snapped. “Now hold still.”

Searing hot pain erupted in the soles of his feet as Khaled screamed himself hoarse.

After what felt like too much time and yet not much time at all, the goons above him let him go and started working on the knots tying him to the table. That must mean he’s done, Khaled thought, but why does it feel like my feet are still burning?

“Get up.”

The now untied boy paused rubbing his chafed wrists to look up at him in shock.  His master glared down at him coldly. “I said get up!” he shouted.

He can’t be serious. With horror, he realized the man was completely serious. “I-I can’t,” Khaled whimpered, “I -you wouldn’t -I can’t!” He caught his trembling lip between his teeth before a small sob could escape.

“I’m not going to repeat myself again, brat,” the Boss gritted out. “Get. Up.”

Khaled hung his head and nodded. He stiffly swung his legs over the table and gingerly lowered his burnt feet to the floor. The freshly blistered flesh barely touched the ground before an effusion of pain shot up his legs. He gasped in agony. His owner, meanwhile, stood in front of him in silence, waiting. Khaled sniffled, grit his teeth, and, with legs quivering and tears streaming down his cheeks, he stood up straight and tall.

“Walk,” Thomas said.

No. Khaled shook his head, completely unable to get a word out through the pain.

“Walk.”

Please, no, he wanted to say. He hung his head and shakily took a step forward, not making it even two steps before he collapsed. The strong arms of the Boss’ cronies caught him just before his knees could hit the floor. They scooped him back onto the table before one ran off to find the first aid kit, and the other ran off to get a basin of cool water. Khaled thankfully slipped into unconsciousness and took refuge in the nothingness.

-

A hesitant knock at the door brought Khaled’s attention back to the present, three hours after the Iron Incident. “Khaled, it’s me.” His master entered his bedroom soon after.

Facing away from the door in a fetal position on top of the bed, Khaled curled up even tighter. His heart picked up pace as he heard the man settle to his knees in front of his bed. “Your bandages need changing.” He flinched away when he felt the man’s fingers graze his injured feet, but ultimately he relented, letting his master unwind the soiled bandages as he winced and whimpered. Not all of the gauze was peeling off neatly. He heard a faint click of a tube opening, then felt cooling salve on his burned soles. Then, with a level of tenderness he did not think the Boss capable of, the man wrapped his feet up in clean gauze and taped the bandages in place. “One more thing,” he murmured softly, reaching into the first aid bag he brought with him.

Khaled had raised his head from his pillow, his red-rimmed eyes trailing down to his feet as curiosity overcame his pain and apprehension. His owner procured a pair of socks, gingerly slipping them over each gauze-wrapped foot. “There are plenty more of these, so if this pair gets dirty, you can just ask me for more,” he told him. “Comfortable, right?”

Khaled reached over and brushed his fingers against the soft fabric. His eyes misted with tears again at the act of kindness. “…They’re nice,” he sniffled. “Thank you, sir.”

The man replied with a pleased grunt before he lifted himself from the floor and stood, ready to leave. “Now then, is there anything else you need before I go to bed, Khaled?”

A hesitant silence. “No, but I-I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know,” he answered, his tone sincere. “Goodnight, Khaled.” Khaled flopped back onto the bed, face to the wall as he heard the door close gently behind him. What was that? He wondered. In the whole year that I’ve been here, he’s never been that gentle with me. Was that even the same man?He didn’t hear the faint click of the lock this time. In any other circumstance, this would give him hope, but at this point, the hope had been burnt out of him through the soles of his feet.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter

[feotakahari]

So, I like consensual bodymod. That’s not something I hide.

I just read a comic that starts out as consensual bodymod, then descends into horrific noncon to make a philosophical point. My brain is not okay, and I very much wish I had not seen that without warning.

[caddy-whump-us]

First wing whump, now ear whump!

So this came to me when I was just sitting around with my usual cloth mask on. I’ve, honestly, quite liked the inspiration that the current wear-a-mask movement has given me.

This started to slide towards Handmaid’s Tale first-person narration for some reason. The background is that it’s roughly present day, but somehow some fantastical creatures do exist. Unfortunately, humans aren’t coexisting with them all that well. In this case, there’s this thing about having a “house elf,” because it takes permission and money, so it’s a status symbol (lmao my elves are always small and delicate and pretty, not tall and powerful and elegant; go figure). 

Cautions: institutionalized slavery/captivity, noncon bodymod (hair), implied/referenced noncon, gore, surgery, consensual bodymod (but bloody) 

---

They dressed us like peasant children in blousy tunics and smocks and trousers cut short and cuffed well up above the knee. We look like children to them, so they dress us like children and treat us like children. We're kept barefoot in the houses and are made to wear ill-fitting shoes when we go out. It's harder to run away like that.

There are rules: cover your ears, turn your eyes down, walk quietly, be invisible, cover your face.

We are bodies only--useful bodies, but only bodies meant to fetch and carry, to deliver messages, to run meaningless errands, to come when called, to lie down when told. We are not necessary, but we are useful and mostly useful to the houses that have us in their endless grasping for power and influence.

When they have visitors, they'll have us standing nearby just so we can be seen, such as we are ever seen, and then sent away. It's only proof that they've been granted, that they've been permitted to have one of us.

In some other world, maybe, I think they would dress us up like dolls and make us pretty and decorative.

There are ways to be set free, they said, and we knew what those were, but we had never seen any of us take those ways before.

They brought all of us from a circle of the houses to the kitchen of one that night. We had been told there was going to be a manumission ceremony. We were lined up on one side of the kitchen table. A chair stood with its back against the table on the other side.

We stood side by side and waited.

Eventually someone else came in with one of us. I didn't know him. There was talking for a while, among the heads of the houses. I didn't listen. We aren't supposed to listen unless we're told to listen. But then the one of us who came in late sat down in the chair. He took off his coif and then he took off his mask.

He leaned his head back against the table. This was the first time in so long that I had seen the whole face of one of us. I had almost forgotten what we looked like. We were all eyes and nothing else anymore. But there he was with his whole face uncovered and looking straight into the faces of the people leaning over him.

They put towels down under his head and put a cloth over his face so that one ear came through a hole there. And then they began to cut off the tip of his ear.

Someone began to hyperventilate. I realized it was me.

But he held still because he had agreed to it.

No, his ears would never have smooth rounded tops like the heads of the houses or anyone like them in the city. But they wouldn't be pointed anymore either. They wouldn't be beast ears or gremlin ears anymore.

I wanted to reach under my coif to touch my ears to make sure the points were still there. The one standing next to me grabbed my wrist and squeezed as the cutting went on to keep himself calm. It sounded like cutting gristle from meat. I wanted to be sick. Many of us wanted to be sick.

They finished one ear and stitched it up with blue thread. Then they turned his head and cut his other ear off round and stitched it up too. The towels were soaked in blood. They put the bits of flesh they had cut off onto a plate.

When he sat up, he was sweating but he was smiling. He looked at the two men who had just cut the high tips of his ears off and smiled at them. He looked at them and he smiled at them. His face was uncovered and his head was uncovered and he looked at them in the eyes. But he had given up what he was or had been before, so he could do these things now. They showed him the cut off flesh. He reached to touch his new ears but stopped himself.

He would still have the marks on his hands, though, and that would follow him.

We each have signs on our hands. Mine are on the second and third fingers of my right hand and the thumb of my left. They designate the records of our capture and the first house we were sent to. They keep those records in the city hall. Sometimes I thought that if we could all interlock our hands together, we would unlock the trap they had us in.

I've seen all kinds of marks. Some of us have marks on our wrists too, but I don't know what that means or if it's good or bad. We aren't allowed to speak, not even to acknowledge when we're given an order. If we're sent out to buy flowers or spices so that someone else can see us, we might see each other. We aren't allowed to speak, but we've made up signs we can make to each other in the market; small ones, so that no one will care. We can do "how are you?" and we can do "well" or "sad" or "hurt." Sometimes we can just talk with our eyes.

They put the marks in with a tattoo machine but I don't remember if it hurt. It must have. By the time they put me under that chattering needle I was still so dazed from the raid on our camp and the rattling transport to the city and from not sleeping in days that I don't even remember.

I remember them tying my hair up into hanks and sheaves before they cut it off and then they carried it away. The women like it for wigs because their hair is never that pale silver-gold that ours is and we're not allowed to have long hair anyway.

We have to cover our heads and ears anyway. They take away our ears that way so we look like children to them, not what we really are.

Most of us wear black or white coifs, sometimes with a bit of a brim, to hide our ears. We like to keep the strings untied. Maybe that counts as rebellion.

We put on the coifs when we get dressed, the same time we put on the masks, and we leave them on until we're allowed to go to bed. We tie the masks behind our ears and we cover our ears with the coifs.

The heads of the houses like masks with a seam up the middle so they fit tight under our chins and sit high over our noses. It works like a muzzle under our chins that way. And they're fitted enough that anyone could see if we're eating something in secret or whispering.

It's funny that we wear masks to cover our mouths and noses while the ladies will wear masks and dark glasses and hats with wide brims that only cover over their eyes. We're each half a face.

We're only ever boys because "boys don't breed halfsies."

We were escorted back to our houses. The master of my house said that the lady of the house was out of the city and would be for a few days. He needed me for a while that night. He made me uncover my face and my head the whole time because he knew it would be more shameful that way. He bit my ears too. But he let me sleep on the carpet next to his bed for a time until I could creep away to my own place.

I didn't know him. The one who gave up his ears. But even though he gave up his ears, he won't be allowed to leave the city. He won't be allowed to have children because they'd be halfsies. He won't be allowed to do a lot of things. But he won't be like us anymore. Maybe he can find work as a paid servant. Maybe he'll be used for information by the generals. Maybe he'll end up in a whorehouse. I've heard about others who gave up their ears and ended up in places like that. Or dead. But many of us end up dead one way or another.

It just proves that he wants to be like them, to be human. And as proud as they might be that he does, he won't be human to them. Not really. He won't be a halfsie but he won't really be whole either and he won't be with us anymore.

They made us watch, though. They had told us this was a way to be free.

After it was all over, he turned and looked at us and we realized that we could not longer look him in the eyes. We all looked down. An hour before, we had all been equals under the command of the heads of the houses. But no more.

I heard a strange sound then, but I didn't dare to look up. I realized, then, that he was laughing.

[callmearcturus]

intransically replied to your post: talk to me about more cyphers if you're up for it,...

that last paragraph is a big part of why i can’t do most preg fics. it’s 70% society being a real fuck about nuclear family nightmares and 30% noncon bodymod gender dysphoria. that said i do differentiate btwn mpreg and preg involving ordinary anatomy primarily to quantify the fandom thing off pregnancy via magic or omega biology or mysteriously growing an ass womb, because i think it’s a way to handle pregnancy by bodymodding cis men’s bodies which: bodymod to be able to get pregnant is like, the horror of puberty to me. it’s a really interesting phenomenon to me. i like ovi because often the eggs don’t have to be fertile either which takes a whole level of fear out of it, it’s nice. but anyway that’s my reason for using mpreg as a term to describe specifically the fic phenomenon.    

I can totally understand that. I think I just bristle badly at the literalism of mpreg as Male Pregnancy because. /gestures. cissexism is one hell of a drug.

i would say that instead of ‘mpreg’ i would straight up want more comprehensive tagging for the other options you’ve mentioned to make their presence more known. like there is a difference between serching for ABO on the AO3 and searching for ABO + Pregnancy, ya feel? or, for that matter, excluding Pregnancy.

idk like where do you fall on the pregnancy of a trans person being tagged “mpreg”? for me that’s where it all falls down and gives me fucking hives, and my way to handle that is to drop the m and just use pregnancy for all instances.

also it’s 1:30am imma sleep now, more navel gazing about kinks tomorrow

[adolin]

I love everyone who reacted to this but I especially love the mutual who messaged me immediately to confirm we were thinking about the same evil roommate hypnosis noncon bodymod hucow fic. I love feeling SEEN 🥰 at the devil's sacrament 🤝

I feel like I haven't been Weird On Main enough lately so I want to share this.

become my friend for more weird porn recs directly into your DMs on request ✌️