#one whumpee

[whumpthefuck]

Multiple Whumpers x 1 whumpee will always be a favorite trope of mine.

Whumpee is given different rules and expectations by each whumper, often conflicting with each other. When they tell Whumper 1 that Whumper 2 asked different of them, they get punished. They also get punished by Whumper 2 for not following directions.

Whumper 1 wants whumpee to keep a secret, whumper 2 & 3 decided to torture whumpee for the information. No matter what whumpee does they're going to get punished. If they tell, whumper 1 will be PISSED, but if they stay quiet, whumper 2 & 3, will also be PISSED.

Whumpee having to choose who to be more loyal to, bonus points if they choose wrong.

Whumpee is constantly given confusing and conflicting rules, they never feel confident in any of the stuff they do. They never feel like they know what they're supposed to do or who they're supposed to answer to.

Caretaker has roommates, this causes whumpee to feel like they're back with the whumpers. They panic any time there's even a minor disagreement between the roommates.

Maybe the Whumpers intentionally set up situations to confuse and disorient whumpee. They're given two completely different tasks to do, without being allowed to explain they've already been told to do something completely different by a different whumper.

I also love the idea of whumpee having a vastly different relationship between each whumper.

Whumper 1 is callous and rude. They only see whumpee as a punching bag, a way to release the stress of a long day. They enjoy watching whumpee cry and beg for mercy. They intentionally put whumpee in situations that overwhelm and frighten them. They withhold food, water and shelter from whumpee just to remind whumpee who is really in charge.

Whumper 2 sees whumpee as a pet, an animal, something rather than someone. They demand whumpee walk on all fours, and only communicate in barks and whines. They make whumpee sleep in a crate, and wear a dog collar. Whumper 2 is nicer than whumper 1, but not by much. They still heavily punish whumpee if they step out of line.

Whumper 3 is more indifferent to whumpee, they don't interact with whumpee much, but that means they also don't really punish whumpee besides the occasional corrective slap. They ignore whumpee whenever possible. Maybe they'll even say something nice to whumpee now and again. Whumper 3 isn't nice, they aren't a good person, but whumpee's options are limited, so they gravitate towards whumper 3. Being ignored is better than being beaten, after all.

Whumper 4 is obsessed with whumpee, seeing them as a partner. Whumper 4 likes to dress whumpee up in cute dresses or suits. They set up "dates" with whumpee, they're constantly touching whumpee, telling them how hot they are. How much they love whumpee and how everything they do, all the beatings and torture, is for their own good. Whumper 4 is constantly pulling whumpee into bed with them, sometimes it's gentle, whumpee can pretend they wanted this, that they asked for it, it's soft and sweet and full of praise. Other times it's rough and primal, whumper 4 is practically ripping whumpee's clothes off (if they're even allowed to wear any at the time) ravenous for whumpee. Whumper is using whumpee, it's not soft or sweet, it's rough, whumpee is thrown around and pressed & folded into whatever position whumper 4 wants them in with no consideration as to how whumpee feels.

Whumper 5 is a medical professional by trade, they patch whumpee up, and use whumpee to practice their stitches, placing IV's. Whumper 5 sees whumpee as a practice doll. They tie whumpee down and explore their body, touching and prodding them, all while talking about them and their body like they aren't even there. They cut and sew whumpee up so many times that when they're rescued, it's hard to find a single square inch of skin that isn't covered in thick scars. Whumpee is given medications without being told what they are, just so whumper 5 can document their reaction. Sometimes it's benign, a simple painkiller or placebo, and other times it leaves whumpee keeled over dry heaving and falling into and out of consciousness. Their body feels like it's on fire and their head feels like it's in a vice.

[snares-and-tears]

I really like the trope where the whumpee is emotionally exhausted from something and then slowly and silently… rests their forehead against the caretaker’s chest. Maybe they’ll cry, maybe they’ll stay quiet, maybe they’ll hug it out. But the moment where whumpee shows that small amount of vulnerability and trust towards caretaker is beautiful to me.

[whumpandothercomfort]

There's a flavor of whump I'm always craving that I don't see very often, I think because the possibilities are so context-specific. You can do some things in some universes that you can't in others! You can do certain things with non-human characters that you can't with others!

But hear me out:

Whumper making physiological changes to Whumpee's body.

Could be through programming for robot characters, dedicated brainwashing for humans, magic for fantasy settings, weird biology for aliens...

A few examples off the top of my head:

Alien species that instinctively responds to neck squeezing by going limp like a scruffed kitten, because this helped them survive encounters with predators. Delicious all on its own -- now throw in a quick surgery to permanently clamp the nerve responsible. Whumpee wakes up in a permanent state of relaxed submission and can't even show how terrified they are.

Obedience programming/training that's wired directly into a character's brain. When the system detects unwanted thoughts, it applies pain. Even after rescue, Whumpee can't think of themselves as an autonomous being because their mind is desperately protecting itself.

Characters with magic having their magic corrupted or bound so it either hurts them to use, or it can only be used to serve Whumper's purposes. Bonus points if Whumper has full control over their magic AND the use of it hurts them.

Characters given a brain implant or parasite that stimulates the reward center of the brain, which would be great, except they can't turn it off. They're kept in a constant state of bleary euphoria... with just enough sense of self left to know they want it to stop.

Characters being spelled or programmed so they physically cannot function independently. Characters who very literally NEED to be given permission to do things like relax or take a walk or even use the bathroom. Not being given this permission leaves them in a state of locked stasis -- fully aware of the time passing. Bonus: Caretaker can't reverse it, so they just HAVE to navigate All Of This.

Alien species that will a develop chronic physical illness if deprived of touch for too long. Said illness can only be treated through regular physical touch. Defiant Whumpees will often be locked in solitary confinement and fed through a slot in the bars until symptoms start to manifest. Sometimes they'll be left even longer, to make sure they end up a severe case. And now, oopsie, the only way to ease this horrible pain is by letting your captors put their hands on you!

Just. Physiological whump. The horror of someone else controlling your body or your mind. Betrayal of body. Etc. Do you understand.

[letitbehurt]

When a stoic Whumpee is seen fraying at the edges. They ignore the way their hands shake, their breaths are uneven, and only a thin, straining thread of will is keeping them upright.

Maybe they’ve been poisoned. Maybe they’ve worn themself past exhaustion. Maybe Whumper has found a secret to use against them, and they are fighting to remain in control of themself.

And they are failing.

[cepheusgalaxy]

Defiant whumpe who keeps it up all their captivity and as soon as they're rescued they turn off. Nope, no defiance for them any more. No wit either. They're just—tired. Apathetic. Limp. Weak. Sensitive. Useless. Turned off.

[whumpsoda]

I. I love vampire hunters turned thralls. Brainwashed into adoring little pets to creatures of which they once chased down with the goal of killing… UGH just someone who used to hate the thing they now address as master… bonus points if they get their memories erased and have no memory of their hunter past :3

[pyrepostings]

Whumpee who needs a surgery but they have Trauma about being knocked out and things Done to them.

Do they get the surgery while paralyzed and numb, but awake? Is caretaker there to still walk them through what's happening to them?

Do they agree to go under full anesthesia but only if caretaker is there both when they go under and wake up, and very specific instructions about how they want to be treated during the process?

"Fine, just, can you be there when I'm waking up? And please don't judge me if I react poorly to you, I- I don't always know where I am when I'm coming out of it."

"Let me hold the gas to my own face. Don't touch me until I'm out. Make sure I'm dressed the same by the time I'm coming up. Do what you have to do while I'm out, I don't want to hear details about it unless I ask, just get it done."

[hurtfortea]

We should have more carewhumpees.

More caretakers who neglect their own needs, pushing aside and downplaying their issues, trying to care for whumpee.

More caretakers who feel guilty for not having done enough, sooner.

More who need to fix it even when it isn't their business and they shouldn't. Who step in when nobody asked them to.

And maybe this need to do good, to be a hero, is to make up for something they did before, or something they failed to do. Maybe, no matter how much they help, they never feel like a good person.

They never feel worthy of their own love.

Even though they need it the most.

[whump-in-the-closet]

When caretaker puts their hand on whumpee’s back for support or comfort and whumpee flinches away, stiffening like caretaker’s touch is a blow

[wintertimewhump]

Magic / powered whumpees getting their powers taken away before being imprisoned is all cool and good, but you know what I like more than that? Situations where it’s impossible / undesirable to take away Whumpee’s powers, and instead a prison built specially to hold them and their powers must be created.

TW: medical whump, captivity

Fire-breathing whumpee kept submerged head to toe in cold water, a tube and mask keeping them breathing with barely enough oxygen.

Whumpee that can manipulate water kept in a cell that feels like an oven, constantly drying any condensation, the only water they’re given being in the form of injections while they sleep.

Super strong whumpee bound with reinforced chains or cords that individually they could easily break- too bad there’s dozens of them, wrapped around every limb, around their waist, their neck, across their chest in an X.

Psychic whumpee forced to wear a helmet that blocks their brain waves, trapping them inside their own head. Additionally, a psychic whumpee that needs to know their surroundings in order to interact with them being subjected to sensory deprivation.

Whumpee whose power comes from their emotions being restrained to a hospital bed while an IV drip fills their bloodstream with sedative, emotion-dulling chemicals that put them in a stupor.

Whumpee with ocular powers made to wear a thick blindfold that doesn’t let even a trace of light through, kept on them for so long they start to forget what their captors’ faces look like.

Just. Whumpee in a cell specifically designed for them, knowing that their captor has planned for any contingency. They won’t be getting out easily.

[paingoes]

lot of love in my heart for whumpees who would do the EXACT same thing to whumper if their roles were reversed. i think there's something really fascinating about whumpees who are just as brutal and cold as their whumper - but whumper is in power and they are not.

[lovelizards]

🗡️ Themed Whump YCH - Preparing the Sacrifice 🗡️

i'll have five slots open to start with, finished product will be greyscale sketch/es style as shown.

each pose is available individually, or together as a sketch page.

everything except clothing is customizable. i can do any body types including anthro, any bindings, any injuries or bruises, etc.

there are nsfw versions available of each pose (robes removed)

prices are in GBP (£), please DM me here if you're interested, thanks for reading! 🦎

[letitbehurt]

Interrogation/torture scenes where Whumper is just as gentle as they are cruel.

Their voice is soft even as they slide a serrated knife beneath Whumpee’s skin, methodically drawing out screams. Between rounds, they crouch on their heels as if calming a scared child, tilting their head to peer underneath a sweaty curtain of hair.

They ask guilessly, as blood drips steadily from the knife in their hand, “Should we try this again?”

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[whump-bunny]

We all love freezing Whumpees, but do you know what's even better? Immune-to-freezing Caretaker can only watch in despair as Whumpee freezes to death bc they can't warm them up.

Like, I know we all clown on Twilight, and for good reason, but cold-blooded Caretaker being unable to keep Whumpee warm because their own body is cold as ice is Peak Whump.

[whumpandothercomfort]

More masochist whumpee with sadistic whumper thoughts:

Whumpee who loves pain but hates humiliation. Whumper alternately doling out condescending praise as a reward and amused degradation as a punishment, keeping the pain the same for both. Each response is humiliating, but at least the praise lets pet know they've done well.

Whumper slowly and methodically testing all of their favorite torture methods, taking notes on Whumpee's responses. This lasts for days on end because pet needs "time to recover" between each instrument. Otherwise, how will Whumper get accurate results?

Whumper learning both the type of pain that makes Whumpee bluescreen with pleasure AND the type that makes them panic. Being a secret masochist means pet has gotten by without anyone ever trying very hard to find out what actually scares them. But Whumper is very dedicated!

Whumper discovering that it's very, very easy to push pet into a state similar to intoxication through pain endorphins. Surely they will use this power responsibly :)

Whumpee who's never allowed to be comfortable, even when Whumper isn't playing with them. Whumper is very creative when it comes to restraints. They like pushing the envelope of "painful positions that nonetheless won't make your limbs fall off if you hold them for ten hours."

Whumper spending hours working pet into a state of total muscular exhaustion/failure, and THEN restraining them in a painful position, when they're literally too tired to struggle.

Whumper telling pet to thank them for the pain. Pet resisting due to the aforementioned hatred of humiliation. Whumper leaving them alone in a locked room with no attention for a week, just to make a point.

Whumpee discovering just how much they'd rather be hurt and humiliated than left alone.

Whumpee thanking Whumper. For paying so much attention. And taking such good care of them.