whomp-whump

[whomp-whump]

Whumpy snippet #2

«Poor thing’s drugged out of its mind,» the man chuckles, grabbing B’s chin. He tilts the boy’s head upwards to reveal hazy, half lidded eyes and tear stained cheeks. «But don’t worry Sir,» the man continues. «it’ll wear off. This just makes them easier to contain.»

The man gently maneuvers B’s head to the side, to give a good look of his features. He meets no resistance, only a faint groan of protest from the boy. «Pretty ain’t he? Got him in just yesterday too.» 

The customer smirks. «Truly exquisite.» he mutters. His gaze lingers on B’s limp form for a moment before turning to the man. «How much for this one?»

[whomp-whump]

excuse me while I die

[whomp-whump]

"Thought I told you to keep your mouth shut."

I swear, drawing whump is therapeutic for me.

[whomp-whump]

[whomp-whump]

Is it creepier if the transaction takes place after something already happened, and the pet is just waking up?

The caretaker slips something into the whumpee’s drink just before bed. When the whumpee wakes up, they see the caretaker taking money from someone. The whumpee realizes they’re tied up but their body won’t move fast enough to do anything.

[whomp-whump]

Continued from here.

@ashintheairlikesnow @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @pepperonyscience @whoomph-whump

“Position 26.”

Her voice was cold and harsh. His heart was pounding in his chest. He wanted to beg for mercy but anything he said would just make it worse. His body assumed the position automatically. His knees spread and hands behind his back he tipped up his head to expose his neck. He tried to blink away his tears while Miss watched him in tense silence. She walked up to stand over him.

“You be still and quiet and take your punishment like a good boy and maybe I won’t send you back. Got it?”

He nodded his head and clutched his hands tighter behind his back. She seemed to be satisfied with that and gave him a small smile. She reached up to pull off the tie she had been wearing. She wrapped it around his head as a blindfold and yanked it tight. He tried to swallow down any noise. Even breathing felt like a crime.

He sat for a moment, exposed and blind. Wondering fearing what she had planned. Then he felt her hands on his shoulders, holding him in place. Before he had time to think about why she kicked him hard in the stomach. He tried to stay upright and not break position, but everything in him thought he was going to vomit. She let out a chuckle and kicked him again. He gripped his hands behind him so tight it might leave bruises, but he had to fight the instinct to cover himself. A few more harsh blows and he couldn’t choke back his tears anymore. He hung his head and let out a quiet sob. He fully expected another blow for this but instead she paused.

“Take your blindfold off.”

He let his hands shake as he rose to obey. He blinked his vision clear and saw his owner standing a few feet in front of him

pointing a gun right in his face.

For a split second his heart stopped.

They say before you die you see your life before your eyes. But he couldn’t see anything but this moment. He couldn’t remember his life before, couldn’t remember if she had the right to kill him, or if he knew that when he signed up. But whether she was allowed or not he knew she could. She wasn’t the type to hesitate.

“I can replace you. You don’t mean anything. You’re just an expensive pet. But if you keep being naughty like this I will get rid of you.”

He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to be good. I want to be free

“125351. Close your eyes.”

He was openly sobbing now. He closed his eyes and hoped he would live long enough to open them.

She clicked the safety off.

He couldn’t die like this? Die as someone’s property? He was a person.

She pressed the gun to his forehead and he held his breath.

“Say goodbye 125351.”

I’m Walter.

“Goodbye.”

.

.

.

The following moment lasted so long he started to think she’d killed him and he hadn’t felt it. Then he felt the gun leave his forehead and she clicked the safety back on.

“You can open your eyes. I’m not going to shoot you. You cost more than that vase. One more mistake like that and I will refurbish you. But… you were so cute all scared and you still managed to sit still and not be a mess. So. Just go to bed. You better be extra good tomorrow.”

She gave him a little pat on the head, grabbed her tie back from him and left the room. The click of the door locking shut snapped him back to reality. He collapsed to the floor and cried for the life he almost lost, and the one he already had.

[whomp-whump]

I started rewatching Hannibal today. Five episodes in, I'm beginning to think this might influence my whump inspiration.

so. There's that.

[whomp-whump]

Callum Glass Punishment

Special thanks to @untilthepainstarts @sableflynn @haro-whumps and @spiffythespook for their help with my cut. Hope it works because it doesn’t show as working on my phone!!!

Tag time!

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @comfortforthepain @shameless-whumper

TW for noncon suggestiveness, gagging, barbed wire, bleeding, conditioning, creepy whumper…super creepy.

I’ve tried to put this under a Read More cut but no guarantees I’ve managed it. If the TWs worry you then please stay safe and look no further.

Callum is awake. Still awake. His mouth is swimming with saliva, the gag too tight to allow it to get out at a rate that will make him comfortable. And the gag is saturated and slowly dripping his saliva on to the floor at his knees. It must have been hours now. Hours and hours since Master Hayden finished his wine, put the glass down, got up stretching as he went then turned the lights off as he left the room. The glass in his mouth is floating around and threatening to go down the back of his throat. It would probably get him in trouble, but he tipped his head forward to let gravity help keep the contents of his mouth away from the back of his throat. He was in trouble anyway. He had disappointed, let down, made a fool of himself and Master Hayden. The stomach churning feeling of it would not let him be.

He felt awful. He had let Master Hayden down. He had been so good lately. He had learned. Or at least he thought he had. And Master Hayden had agreed. And now he had disappointed him. Disappointed his Master. His Selector. The person who had chosen him. The one who had allowed him to keep living way longer than he should have done.

His focus was dragged abruptly away from his self loathing by the clanging of a metal bucket being dropped down on to the floor between his aching knees. Callum knew that he should look up at Master Hayden but he felt so very stuck, so very ashamed. He whined around his gag around his mouthful of sharp edges. He whined like a sad stupid dog and leant to try to get some contact with his Master’s body. He was rewarded with a knee to his ribs. A fair reward for his embarrassing and clinging behaviour when it was his fault in the first place that he had ended up like this all night. His head was pushed roughly over the bucket and he felt his Master’s hands undoing the tight knot of his gag behind him.

The gag fell from his mouth and hit the bucket with a wet slap, sticking itself to the metal. Glass followed it, tinging off the sides and bottom of the bucket while his drool ran over his teeth and out over his bottom lip. Master Hayden pushed his hands into Callum’s hair and shook his head vigorously.

“Get it all out there,” he said to Callum. It sounded almost like kindness. But Callum was too exhausted and uncomfortable to be able to see past his Master’s games. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he gingerly probed his mouth with his tongue instead of his fingers, awkwardly bringing small pieces of glass to the front where he could spit them out.

“Oh dear,” Callum heard Master Hayden say.

“Master?” he asked.

“I see pink on your gag. You bled on the gag that I gave you. Instead of learning your lesson you have spent the time bleeding on something that I gave you.” Callum started to tremble. “I think you ought to tell me your words now.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” Callum said, voice shaking along with his body. “My body is not mine to hurt, my body is yours.” He repeated it over and over and over, leaning slowly but steadily again towards his Master, aching for comfort from him. Aching to be back in his good graces. When his head finally made contact with Master Hayden’s leg, it was allowed to stay there. His hair was finally stroked.

“Stop your words now,” Master Hayden said. Callum stopped instantly. “I want you to think about Lydia and decide what should be done to you. Do you need your list?”

“No thank you Master Hayden,” he said.

“What is the last thing written on your list?”

“‘Die’ Master Hayden,”

“I should have killed you by now you know,” Master Hayden said. “That was the original plan. But I detest waste and you have turned into quite the useful little pet for me.”

“Thank you for keeping me Master Hayden,” Callum whispered, nuzzling into his leg a little more, trying not to shake, thinking about his list.

“Have you decided?” Master Hayden asked, running his hand through Callum’s hair and down the back of his neck, pressing on either side just enough to make it harder for Callum to breathe in.

“Yes,” Callum breathed out. “The barbed wire at our tree please Master Hayden.”

“Oh you do want to be my good pet again don’t you?” Master Hayden murmured.

“I do Master Hayden,” Callum mumbled into his Master’s thigh. “I feel so ashamed, please.”

“I will go and get your things,” Master Hayden said unlatching Callum’s wrists and drawing them around in front of him to clip them together again. “You deal with the mess you made here.”

Callum tidied away the glass and rinsed out the bucket. He washed the gag until all traces of pink were gone and then he went and mopped up all of the drool that had landed on the floor during the night. Once he had finished he knelt by the front door and waited for Master Hayden to come, his step in one hand and his large box of tools in the other.

“Carry your step,” Master Hayden said. “You may walk today.”

“Thank you Master Hayden,” Callum said, picking up his little step as he stood up, then followed his master out of the house and down to the tree line just a little way from the house itself. He could see his tree straight ahead. A perfectly straight trunk with mainly high foliage but also with two branches that had grown out on either side of the trunk at equal height. About seven feet off the ground. It was perfect. He knew that it was perfect because his master said so. It was a perfect tree to string a less than perfect pet up on in order that he should become perfect too.

“You know what to do,” Master Hayden said.

Callum placed the step at base of the tree and stepped up on to it, turning to press his back to the tree. He was nervous and shaking. It would hurt him. He knew it would hurt but he wanted to be better. He could exchange his pain for comfort. His shame for perfection. His master could make him into a good pet again. He waited as Master Hayden laid out the straps, the staple gun, the heavy duty gloves, the curl of wire and wire cutters. He held his wrists out to be unclipped from one another then stretched his arms out, one against each branch either side of him and held them steady as straps were tightened around his wrists and the branches, his elbows and the branches, up by his armpits and the branches. That would make bearing his weight easier. He quickly thanked Master Hayden for the kindness which he was showing him. A strap was tightened around his chest and the trunk, then his waist and the trunk.

He started to school his breathing. To try to calm the rate at which he breathed in and out as he watched Master Hayden pull the gloves on and pick up the wire and staple gun. He didn’t look when he heard the thud of a staple being shot into the wood of the tree close to his outstretched right hand. Master Hayden slowly, slowly, slowly wrapped the wire over and over around Callum’s arm and the tree, wrapped it from wrist to armpit and then around his neck, forcing him to look up. Unable to drop his chin to his chest. It pinched and scraped and stung, drawing beads of blood from his skin.

Two times around his neck and then Master Hayden worked it down his left arm, all the way to his wrist where he thudded another staple in then cut through the wire.

Around the back of the tree, another staple fired out and held the spool of wire in place whilst it was wrapped over and over from Callum’s chest, down to his stomach, around his thighs and shins. It was pricking at him all over. Tiny needles of unstoppable, inescapable pain. The wire was stapled down near his ankles. He heard Master Hayden cut it off and he could feel his feet being stroked, being rubbed. He couldn’t bend his head to see what was happening.

He gasped in on an unexpected stab of pain around his right ankle. The twist of barbed wire being pulled around it and secured in place then twisted across and around his left ankle, binding then together. The wire dragged heavily from his ankles, scratched itself in to the skin where it hit resistance and could drop down no further.

“Some weights,” Master Hayden murmured from down on the ground, adding weight to the wire, pulling and pulling on Callum’s ankles and feet.

Finally satisfied, Master Hayden stood up into Callum’s line of sight and kicked the step out from under him. Callum’s body weight, mainly caught up and strapped, sagged as much as it could within his restraints, tightening the wire around him from head to toe, digging in to every part of him.

He bellowed wordlessly at the increase in pain and pressure but managed to turn the howl to words.

“Thank you Master Hayden,” he cried out.

He watched Master Hayden step back to admire his work, vision wobbling with tears and the effort that it was taking to keep his breathing steady and even, to stop himself panicking.

“You chose well,” Master Hayden said roughly.

“Thank you Master Hayden,”

“You look so good like this, little pet. Wanting to be good and useful and unashamed. Do you feel unashamed yet?”

“N..no… not yet,” he stuttered out as Master Hayden approached.

“You will,” Callum watched a white blindfold being pulled from the inside pocket of Master’s jacket. The long one.

“M..mmmm…uhhhh…Master Hayden?” Callum stumbled across his words and sounds as the blindfold covered his eyes, tightened his head to the tree, took his sight from him.

“Hush now,” Master Hayden whispered into his ear. Callum could feel his Master’s fingertips trailing across the skin that wasn’t wrapped in wire. Feathering across his arms, his chest. His stomach. Further and further.

He felt his Master step away. He heard rustling.

“You’ll be perfect again soon,” whispered in his ear just as his noise cancelling headphones slipped over his head, leaving him dark, sightless, bound in pain and silence.

Callum let himself feel his loss of senses. He would be good. He would be good again. He would be made good again. Master Hayden would make him perfect again.

[whomp-whump]

Box Family - Interlude

(Just a small parenthesis, set a few weeks after Oliver has been named. Felt too short to be a Part all of its own. @deluxewhump, @im-not-rare-im-rarr, @haro-whumps, @raigash, @manip-loki, @maybeawhumpblog;)

“Now come here, under the light.” Mistress’s nails were cold and sharp under his chin. Oliver sprung his neck out; caught his reflection in the mirror before blinking down.

Mistress sat on her plush stool, and Oliver knelt on a pile of pillows. He squirmed, doing his best not to fall face first on Mistress’s legs.

“Mm. God, you're pale as a ghost.” She turned to her vanity, inspecting the drawers. After a moment, she gasped a little ah! And picked out a sleek, black tube.

Oliver watched, mesmerised, as Mistress took the cap off the lipstick. The slick tip glistened a bright red. “This should suit you.”

“Stay still,” she grasped at Oliver’s shoulder. “Move and I'll stick this in your eye.”

Oliver held his breath while the soft, felt applicator coated his lips. Immediately, he was aware of every crack and irregularity underneath it. “This dries quick, so.”

Mistress leaned back. “Not bad, uh?”

He blinked at his reflection again. The line of his lips was higher than natural, and it gave him a pouty look. The color itself was a little too bright for Oliver’s liking - not that he could have a taste of his own, but.

“Thank you, Ma'am.” Oliver said. In the mirror, Mistress rose up, scurried over to the nightstand. She emerged with a pair of leather gloves.

“Sit on the bed.” Her voice had shifted to a lower register. Oliver scrambled to his feet, and feel on the edge of the mattresses. Mistress slid the gloves on, one finger at a time.

She opened and closed her fists, testing the fabric.

“I wanna see how long before it smudges.”

---

The first punch was harsher than Oliver had expected. Mistress’s arms were toned and strong, from pushing herself through row after row of chlorine water.

She hit him in the stomach. Chest. Arms, legs, she slapped harsh and fast. It reminded Oliver of the paddle they'd use at the Facility.

One struck him in the face. He fell against the white comforter, leaving red scrapes.

“Ah, shit,” Mistress grabbed him by the hair, pinched his cheek so hard Oliver thought she might just pull the skin off his bones.

“Didn't I tell you to sit still?”

“Ss- orry, Ma'am,” He coughed. She made an exasperated noise deep in her throat, muttered something along the lines of can't even sit quiet and pretty.

“Fine. Fine. I'm done, anyways. Wait here,” she pulled the gloves off, threw them at Oliver’s face.

Soon as she was out the room, Oliver let himself fold: he groaned, hugging his middle. This was ironic - finally allowed on the bed again, only to be beat.

Was it something he said? Something he'd done? No. Oliver knew there wasn't necessarily a reason to Mistress’s outbursts. It was his duty to comply.

The door creaked open. Master peeked in, then tsked. He entered, carrying a small, white box. “You poor thing,” he mumbled, sitting next to Oliver.

He stroked Oliver’s matted hair, fingers carding slowly through his fringe. “At least she went easy on you.”

While Master patched him up, Oliver did his best not to think what Mistress’s bad would be like.

[whomp-whump]

I posted my art to the wrong blog 😬

(Twice).

[whomp-whump]

I’m thinking bout Magic Whump and WHY do no one utilize Prophet/Oracle Whump??? The migraines, the sudden visions. Visions that hit them like tidal waves, blinding them, as they slam into the wall to regain their physical bearings. Blood flows from their eyes as pictures of falling cities flash in their minds. Scratching at their arms out of nerves, mumbling prophecies they don’t understand. just. w h u m p y o r a c l e s

Yesss, that sounds awesome!

[whomp-whump]

Could you add haro-whumps to the taglist for your box boy?

Okay, no problem!

[whomp-whump]

Box Family - Part two

(@im-not-rare-im-rarr, @deluxewhump ; if you want to be tagged just shoot me a message/ask ^ ^)

---

The first thing Pet had learnt was: Master’s name was Don, and Mistress’s name was Morgan. Together, they made up the Hendersons. Pet wasn't sure if he fit in the picture too; his position alternated between that of a toddler and a dog.

“We need to name the boy, Morgan.”

Master insisted he kept sleeping in their bedroom. Not with them, of course - Mistress had held him to his promise. Pet hadn't been allowed to climb onto the soft mattress since.

Still, Master had fetched him a medium sized dog bed, a few cushions, and plopped it all down in front of the nightstand. Mistress insisted he at least be tied to the foot of their bed, to keep him from nosing around while they slept.

“Right. I guess we should.”

They were both staring him down now, but with a fog over their eyes that Pet knew meant they weren't actually looking at him. “Harry,” burst out Mistress. Then: “Micheal, John. Mark.”

“Could you be more basic?,” Don sighed, leaning his strong chin on Pet’ shoulder. “George,” he breathed over Pet’ skin, “Malcolm. Bruce?”

“Bruce?” Mistress seemed offended. She flipped one, long, auburn strand out of her face. “Absolutely not.”

Both resumed listing names. The succession of suggestion-rebukal-ironic commentary was like a melody. Pet hid a smile in the hem of his sweater. Mistress had given it to him; it was comfortable, if a bit large in the front.

Pet took the chance to study the house. From the windows that panned the living room wall, he could see the sea. It was large, and impossibly blue. The Henderson house was close to the beach, and Mistress loved to swim. The shelves were occupied by a series of golden medals.

The house itself was lovely. The walls were a nice, pallid yellow tint, which reflected the sunlight. It wasn't minimal, but not crowded either. Mistress had given him a quick tour of every room, specifying the ones he was allowed in, the ones he needed permission for, and those he was forbidden to even think about entering.

“Oliver,” Mistress poured herself a glass of Cabernet. While she sipped it, Master leaned back on the sofa. He stroked the back of Pet’s neck with a heavy hand, thumb tracing circles over his spine.

“Oliver,” he echoed, blinking at the ceiling. “Yeah, I like it. Simple, but with a shine to it.” The hand squeezed, and Pet let the muscles of his back relax against Master’ side. “Just like you.”

“Quite simple, yeah. He hasn't said a word in three days.” She took her now half full glass and sat down on the free side of the couch. She slid her fingers in Pet’s hair, nails poking at the shell of one ear.

“He's not deaf, clearly,” she said.

“Obviously,” Master remarked.

Mistress gave him a look. “That's what I said. He can understand us, and follows commands, so ...mute?”

Again, the staring-not-staring. Pet adjusted his seat between the two of them. With a quick flick of his wrist, Master grasped Pet’s chin, and pushed his mouth open.

“There's the tongue.”

“Mm,” Mistress squinted, inspecting further down, “Do you think his vocal chords might be damaged? Oh, I'll have a word with --”

“What if we just asked him?” Master hummed. He turned to look - really look - at Pet. “Could you speak for us?”

“Yes,” Pet said. He cleared his voice, “I was waiting for your permission, Master.” He gave a tentative look to Mistress, who smirked. They chuckled, somewhat awkwardly.

“There you go,” Mistress said. “Found his voice. ”

“Right. Now, understand boy, from now on you are Oliver,” she placed her empty glass on the table. “And you will respond to that. Also, you could call us, ah.”

Master supplied, “Sir and Ma'am?”

“Sure,” she waved him off. “All clear?”

Oliver smiled, nodded.

“Yes ma'am.”

[whomp-whump]

Whumpee is so tired… they just- they just want a little sleep… 

No. No, Whumper told them no. They aren’t allowed to sleep. And they don’t want to make Whumper angry, absolutely not. Whumper says if they sleep then Whumper will… No, no they’re fine for just a few minutes. 

Just a few more… minutes.

They’ll just… close their eyes…

 for a few minutes…

[whomp-whump]

All I want for Christmas ~~

[whomp-whump]

unseelie whumper........ human pet................

[whomp-whump]

Your whump word(s) of the day

“Shh, don’t fight it. Just close your eyes.”