Heyo! Iâm Ghost, and this is my whump account!! Original posts and stuff like that may be relatively sporadic, though I hope to develop a more consistent writing schedule.
Naturally, this is a whump blog, so it might not be for you. There will probably be heavy Dead Dove content, so read carefully!
What I Like to Write:
Pet Whump (Including BBU)
Medical Whump
Vampires!!
Toxic Relationships
Captivity
Kidnapping
Torture
Sadistic Whumpers
Intimate/Creepy Whumpers
Bad Caretakers
Drugging
+ More to be added!
What I WONâT Write:
Vomiting (In detail)
Lady Whumpee
Super High Fantasy (low fantasy is great tho!!)
Time travel
To be added to a taglist, just ask! (Comment, reblog, askbox, etc.)
And thatâs about all I can think of right now! Thanks for reading and happy whumping!
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the detail of where a whumpee looks during a rape - that horrible choice of where they have to fix their attention during such an invasive violation of their body.
does whumper force eye contact? demand that they stay present in the moment while this abuse is inflicted on their body?
maybe they close their eyes as tight as possible so they don't have to say anything at all. maybe they stare at a specific place, a painting on the wall or some defect in the ceiling, a part of the bedspread. their body is jolted and manipulated and grabbed and forced and their eyes stay fixed to a small bug crawling along the baseboards, the pattern of the leaves making shadows on the window.
maybe there's someone in their life being forced to watch, and they're looking everywhere but at that person. maybe whumper is forcing them to look at that person - look at them while i take you, make sure you know that they're seeing you made into nothing but a toy. maybe whumpee needs to look at them, needs to fix their eyes on someone who cares for them to cling to being a person who is cared for, even now.
Whumper who sleeps wearing nothing but a thick leather collar with a metal loop in the back so that Whumpee's cuffs can be threaded through it, forcing Whumpee to sleep embracing Whumper, chest to chest like lovers
A whumpee who lets themself get kidnapped and whumped, all over again. Their new captors arenât nice in the slightest, and their prospects arenât looking good here, but that doesnât matter. They can be as cruel as they want to be.
Whumper would never think to look for them here. Theyâre safe from Whumper in captivity, and nothing could be worse than going back to them.
Bonus points if the protagonists are fighting against these captors, but when they break Whumpee out, theyâre screaming and pleading for them to not take them. They have to be sedated during the rescue, and when they wake up all hell breaks loose because Whumper would of course think to check the hospitals what the hell were this team even thinking?
Bonus bonus points if the captors also hate Whumperâs guts. Maybe Whumper is supposed to be on the âgoodâ side, fighting against evil people like these captors but commiting worse attrocities behind closed doors. When they find out that Whumpee is only doing this to escape them, maybe they soften up a little bit.
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Stomping whumpee's chest until they gasp out all their air
Using whumpee's bootlaces to tie their feet together without even having to take off their shoes
Boot on face as a threat to break whumpee's neck
Whumpee, beaten on the floor and unable to move as whumper walks up and their boots come into where whumpee can see them, stopping ominously in front of their face.
Heeled crotch-stomp.
Threatening whumpee by raising a booted foot and making them flinch back, afraid to be kicked
Whumpee flat on the ground, pinned. Boots crushing and scraping skin off whumpee's wrists and ankles by the goons that are holding them down for whumper to beat them.
âHero, please!â Sidekickâs voice cracked as they desperately held onto Heroâs wrist. They were held over the HQ, heels half off of the side of the building as Heroâs fist of Sidekickâs shirt was the only thing keeping them up.
Hero huffed, âShut up, Sidekick, itâs too late. You think you can get away with pulling shit like that? I mean come on-â they laughed cruelly, âYou had one fucking job and you screwed up.â
Sidekick helped as Hero forced them a step backwards, their core burning as they tried to keep themself from falling, âI sw-swear, Iâll go to- to Villain now, Iâll finish the job, I-â
âOhhhh, sweet naive Sidekick, youâre too late.â Hero purred. Sidekickâs eyes jumped to the figure behind Hero- they didnât recognize them.
Their stomach dropped- no.
âYou see, Iâve found a Sidekick who will actually finish the jobs I give them.â And for a moment Hero studied Sidekick- the shaking figure that clung to them desperately,
âSuch a shame,â they hummed, âwe couldâve made a great teamâŚâ
Sidekick instantly froze at the heavy hand planted against there shoulder, heart stopping as there eyes widened.
âAnd where do you think youâre going?â
Heroâs cold voice was enough to send shivers down Sidekickâs spine;
âJust..just thought-â
âThought I wouldnât find out? Thought I wouldnât notice you sneaking out? Thought I wouldnât notice you sneaking out each night to go talk to villain, hm? Which one is it, Sidekick- and let me make myself clear- you lie, youâre dead.â
When Stellos checked on the siren the next morning, he was already awake.
Juno was still curled up in the too-big cloak, dirt covering the hemline and dust from the curiosity shop still clinging to his hair. He needed a bath.
He also needed breakfast.
âFood?â the boy asked. Good, he was already comfortable following orders.
âYes, Juno, food. Come on.â
He led the boy to the mess tent. Most of everything had been packed away in the early hours before dawn, but a simple savory porridge was waiting for them.
He ladled out a bowl of the grits, scooping up one the last fried eggs to put on top.
âHere you are, Juno.â
Nikolai slipped a spoon into the bowl. There was no way he was going to feed the boy a meal like this one bite at a time.
Luckily, Juno knew what to do with it. Odd little creature.
âDo you know how to ride a horse?â
They didnât have a spare horse, but a pony would do for him.
Still, he wasnât surprised when Juno shook his head while engrossed in his breakfast.Â
It would be three weeks before they got home to the palace in Volkenia. Part of it, he would make the boy walk. It would be good for him. The rest he could ride in a cart.
He ate slowly as he watched Juno scrape and lick the last remnants of food from his bowl, then stare longingly at the empty dish.
âMore?â
Junoâs head shot up, luminous eyes focused intensely at his face.
âYou can have more,â Nikolai repeated. âEgg? Porridge?â
He realized that Juno didnât have a way to indicate between the two options as he said it, but Juno nodded so enthusiastically that he could only have meant both.
A second helping definitely wouldnât hurt.
___________________
Master was generous with the food. He also let Juno keep wearing the cloak, which he knew actually belonged to Master himself.
He wrapped himself tighter in it as he watched the men and Master pack everything away.
They moved almost in sync, tearing down the tents and wrapping them, tossing the bundles into the carts Juno had been ordered to wait next to.
There were so many of them. More than a dozen.
Were they traders? Wanderers?
âSire.â Hm. People who sold things didnât get called sire, or at least he didnât think so.
Juno chewed on his nails, picking at his lip. He didnât have anything useful to do.
One of the men, a blonde, walked up to him.
âHere.â
He handed Juno a leather pouch topped with a cork. There was liquid inside, and it sloshed subtly. Woosh-glub.
Juno liked the sound.
âItâs water,â the man said. âWeâll stop for more a few times today, so donât get clever with it. Thatâs how people pass out.â
He said it slowly and carefully, as if unsure Juno understood. But he did understand, and Juno nodded.
The man walked away. Juno didnât get his name.
It didnât matter. He wouldnât be able to say it anyway.
Juno pulled the strap of the waterskin over his head so it would sit comfortably on his hip.
The water shifted inside the leather.
âGlub,â he copied aloud to himself. It was a good sound, but it didnât quite sound right coming from his voicebox.
Now there was something to do.
___________________
Juno tried his best to walk close to the group.
The ponies and horses seemed to walk in step, and the rhythm was nice but not what his feet wanted to do.
Master was right up front.
It was too hard to keep up and trot next to Master and his horse, but Juno didnât want to lose sight of him. What would happen then? A punishment? Getting lost? Left behind?
Instead, he tried not to be directly behind a rider or cart that might block his view.
Juno was grateful to walk.
The short grass on the side of the roads were ticklish on his feet, and he liked the way his toes left imprints on the little piles of soft dusty-dirt that had settled there.
There were small flowers he could look at, once he was comfortable enough to keep his eyes off of Master for a moment or two.
Little purple flowers with white centers, and sometimes he saw the same flowers but white with purple centers.
He liked the rare ones more.Â
And the smells!
The horses were stinky, but the air was so fresh anyway that he didnât mind. Juno even took off his hood to take in more of it.
Blue sky with white fluffy clouds, flowers he couldnât name but was learning to match scents to, bird calls he never heard before.
It was all so different, and it didnât even matter that his legs were aching and the soles of his feet were sore.
Even the farms with plants in those carefully neat rows were pretty. The cow stink was rich and warm; he saw donkeys in the distance and smelled something yummy being smoked for later.
He was outside. And outside was beautiful.
They stopped at a river for more water, and Juno carefully bent down to fill his gifted pouch.
His legs were shaking.
âJuno.â
He jumped, spilling some of his water. Juno flushed, and turned to see Master right behind him.
Master took the cork from his hand, and stopped up his flask.
âI didnât mean to startle you,â he said, head tilting. Juno blinked up at him.
Master glanced down at his feet. âFill up again, and sit in one of the carts. You need a break.â
Juno bit his lip, but he nodded. He wasnât sure what he had done wrong. Too slow, maybe?
Still, he did as he was told, tucking his legs underneath him on the wood.
As the hours went by, he watched the farms grow tiny in the distance, and the sky disappear above the trees.
___________________
Nikolai always felt more comfortable in the woods.
He grew up in the forests of Volkenia, the shade and the scent of pine and oak, the pheasants and deer. The cradle of the world, they called it. And it was true. The trees and mountains were ancient. Scholars of the land and great-grandmothers alike agreed.
The woods of Alba Horataea werenât as old as Volkeniaâs. They were thinner and better traveled. Roads, instead of trails, cut through them as a river through the history of a canyon.
They came in patches, as spots on a mountain cat.
Nikolai wasnât as impressed.
The whole journey would be the same- farms then towns then farms then tiny forest- or at least until Perekrestok.
PerekrestokâŚ
He glanced down at Juno, who was once again obsessed with the stew he had been given. It was his second helping, and Nikolai wondered where it all could have gone in such a small body.
The dancing firelight reflected in the siren's eyes, making them flash like an animal's.
Stellos needed more information on mimics. Their appetites, their aging, how far their voice could travel.
A huge city like Perekrestok would have bookshops in the dozens, and it was conveniently halfway between them and the palace, safely in Vokleniaâs borders.
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Juno kneaded the dough carefully. Last time, the dinner rolls came out perfectly, and he wanted to make sure it was the same tonight.
Perfect rolls meant happy guests, and happy guests were generous with scraps.
His stomach growled.
Now wasnât the time to taste. Bread rolls didnât need tasting before the oven.
He blinked, slowly, as the light made his headache worse.Â
The smell of food- butter in the rolls, chopped chocolate melted down for cake, onions sweating on the stove, thyme and pepper on the chicken- all reminded him of hungry hungry hungry.
Juno swayed as he transferred the dough to a bowl to let it rise.
He sat heavily on the cool tiled floor. A break. A small break, and he could start on the cake.Â
Juno lied back even further, pressing his hot cheek onto the cool floor. It wasnât a fever. He was just hungry.
Five minutes, just five minutes, and the dizzy would pass.
Master didnât say who was coming, but with a dinner for eight, there was a good chance someone would be nice.
Maybe he would get to eat some chicken. A bone with overlooked meat. A morsel of crispy skin. Something.
It would be a pleasant change to have some protein.
Gravy. He could make gravy, and he would have to taste it to make sure it was well-seasoned. That way, even if no one wanted to share the chicken, he could imagine and pretend with the few drops of gravy he was allowed.
Five minutes of pleasant daydreams passed him by.
Juno slowly sat up, black spots dancing in his vision.
No matter how shaky his legs, dinner still needed to be made.
___________________
Everything was perfect.
Juno couldnât see or smell a single flaw in the entire three courses.
The salad was fresh and the dressing chosen carefully. The rolls golden and buttery, the vegetables just the right amount of charred and crunchy, the chicken crisp and juicy, the gravy silky smooth. The cherry and chocolate cake was most likely his best yet.
Master had chosen the wine, of course. He always did.
By the time dinner was on the table and the wine poured, the fuzzy blackness swimming in his vision was permanent.Â
Juno knelt at his Masterâs feet. He leaned into the chair.Â
It was fine.
Cooking a perfect dinner was only half of what Juno needed to do to earn being fed. He needed to be cute. Adorable. Pretty.
Existing on the verge of fainting was cute. So he was allowed to lean.
Masterâs hand ruffled his hair. The room tilted on its side, and nearly made him sick.
Juno was an expert on not throwing up. He swallowed the bile. Just a little longer.
âIsnât he cute?â Master cooed.Â
Juno blinked to keep the room from spinning too fast. He heard the almost imperceptible sound of bread tearing. He glanced up.
A hand, an upturned palm from heaven, held a piece of a roll.
Juno ate out of his Masterâs hand, like a good boy.
Oh, it was wonderful. He could almost feel the strength pour back into him.Â
Half a mouthful of bread, but it was so so satisfying. His eyelashes fluttered, and Master praised him yet again.
Juno crawled around the table, making sure no one felt left out. Everyone got a turn to feed Masterâs slave, because it was entertainment.
And only then, after, could Juno pick who to visit.
Juno didnât recognize all the people in the room, only some. He tried his best to pay attention to who gave what. If they returned, he knew if and what they would share.
Some nights, only Master would feed him. Those were the worst.
Tonight wasnât much different from the usual.
A bite or two of roasted veg. Some lettuce. Bread was quickly becoming the popular gift.Â
He knew Master was keeping track too; watching. If he decided too much of one item was being given away-
It meant it wasnât good enough for his guests. It meant Juno should be beaten.
Juno moved on to the next guest.
The man across the table and to the right of Masterâs seat was unfamiliar. Juno glanced up at his face, sitting up on his ankles.
The strangerâs lips twitched. Good or bad? Unclear. His brown eyes told him nothing.
But to Junoâs surprise, the man offered him a generous bite of chicken.
It was just as delicious as Juno imagined. He closed his eyes, licked the inside of his cheek, savoring it. A perfect scrap of meat.
âHere you are.â
He looked up again. Bread, wet with gravy.
Junoâs mouth watered, and he swallowed before taking the morsel with his lips.
The man kept feeding him, bite by bite. No one had ever fed him so much.
Juno ate and ate. He decided he loved this guest, then dismissed the thought. He only loved his Master. But this man, this stranger, was quickly becoming a close second.
He knew, distantly, he would pay for the kindness later. There was no such thing as a free dinner.
The stranger talked to Master and the other guests above him, but still offered bits and bites and scraps. It must have been half his plate before Master snapped his fingers to call Juno over again.
Master poured wine down his throat, and the bitter alcohol made his eyes water.
He licked the droplets from the corner of his mouth.
âWatch this,â Master laughed. âJuno, go fetch dessert.â
The alcohol worked fast on his small small tummy, and it ached. But Juno was obedient and good, and always always did as he was told.
He stumbled to his feet, face hot from both wine and the sound of laughter. He swayed, fumbling into the kitchen.
Donât drop the cake. Donât drop the cake.
Juno set the dessert stand down a little too hard, and the giggling seemed even louder. But the cake had made it to the table, and that was what mattered.
The new man was only person who let him taste chocolate.
___________________
Mr. Derosiers kept coming back. Again and again, and at each dinner party, Juno was fed almost to fullness.
Juno tried not to show his love, and it worked for a while. But he saw the way Mr. Derosiers looked at him, warm and gentle like the palm of his hand and his soft fingertips.
And Master saw it too.
Juno did not belong to Mr. Derosiers. Loving him was bad.
And then last night he left the pie too long, and-
Juno sniffled.
He curled tighter into the dog bed. The morning was cold without clothes; colder because the privilege of asking for dinner last night was also taken away and he was so hungry.
Juno pressed down on one of his bruises. With the pain came some warmth, or maybe it was a trick of his exhaustion.
Master was so angry about the pie, that maybe it wasnât just about the pie and the wasted blackberries.
His punishment wasnât over yet. It would be many hours before he would be let out of his kennel. But the kennel also meant âno more hurtingâ and that was good.
The doorbell rang, and he flinched.
His stomach and muscles protested, soreness rushing over him.Â
Juno squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the headache when Master opened the door and more light flooded the room.
If only he hadnât been so stupid and didnât burn the beautiful lattice pie- he wouldnât have such a big headache. He could have had ice cream for the first time in-
He heard Mr. Derosiersâ voice, and his eyes flew open.
It hurt, but Juno kept still. Watching.
He couldnât hear what they were talking about.
Masterâs eyes flicked towards his kennel.
He had been caught looking.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Heâd been bad, again.
Juno cried quietly as Master left the room, no doubt to get a belt or the cane again or something worse.
âItâs going to be alright,â Mr. Derosiers said softly. Juno hiccuped. Mr. Deriosers couldnât know that, he couldnât.
Masterâs footsteps approached his kennel, and icy fear shot through him. He heard the door swing open.
But instead of being dragged from the crate by the hair, he was pinned, and a sharp pain jabbed at the back of his neck.
Juno froze. He turned when it was over, craning his head to see what Master had done to him.
Through his blurry vision, he saw the silver shine of a needle. A syringe, in his Masterâs hand.
Wha-
The world dimmed. His tongue went heavy in his mouth.
Juno slumped. His head lolled.
The last thing he saw was a bright white envelope exchanging hands.
His mind blanked white-hot, lungs screaming for breath-
Thump.
Juno sprawled on the hard floor. His head rang and his spine throbbed from the fall. His legs were tangled in the blankets and sheets, and it was only a dream.
Stunned from the tumble, he stared up at the ceiling.
Someone banged on the door, loud and thundering. Juno winced, and regretted it.
âYour Majesty? Are you alright?â
âFine!â called Master, his voice rough with sleep. âIâm fine! Leave me be, please.â
âVery well, sire.âÂ
Armored footsteps walked away.
âJuno?â Master peeked over the bed at him, outlined in pale silver by the moonâs glow. âAre you alright? You were screaming.â
Juno threw an arm over his face at the embarrassment. Heâd been bad; ruining Masterâs sleep just when he needed it most.
But he nodded. He was alright. It was his job to be, especially when Master hadnât been lately.
How could he do this to Master? Heâd already disobeyed him with the advisors, already neglected his duty to care for him, and now he was making Master wake up in the middle of the night.
Bad.
âJuno?â
Juno slowly sat up, and began to untangle himself from the bedclothes.
The last thing he wanted to do was sleep next to Master, but Master always slept better with someone to hold.
Master had kind hands that helped and soothed, not cruel ones that hit, but it was still touch and-
Many bad things- things that hurt- could happen on a bed.
Juno wanted his kennel. Nothing bad happened in his kennel. It kept the world out, like a shell on a clam. He wanted to be safe.
But slaves did not have wants, except their Masterâs own desires. And too much freedom was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place.
Master needed his rest.
Juno straightened the blankets on the bed before slipping under the covers and into his proper place. Tucked away, pressed into his Masterâs chest, deep beneath the luxurious sheets.
Master Terry smelled of rose soap and sweet musk perfume.Â
An arm curled around Juno, and a full-body shiver raced up his spine.
Of course.
But then it was gone, and he relaxed, sinking into the warmth that felt so nice.
He was so stupid.Â
Obedience was always the answer. Being good was its own reward, but being good also meant good things would happen to him.
Obey, and nothing bad could happen. Not here. Not with Master Terry.
Juno would be good.
His eyes fluttered shut.Â
In the morning, he would remind Master to punish him, because he was a good boy. He was a good boy, and Master had waited until he was healed enough to take it.
And then the guilt of being so bad the past two weeks would go away.
Obedience was always the answer. He just needed to remember that.
to me the appeal of pathetic vampires is similar to the appeal of stupid cats. you have the teeth and claws to rip through flesh to your heart's content, but here you are. paw stuck to a quilt. staring woefully with eyes the size of saucers to get someone to help. same goes for a vampire failing miserably to use a touchscreen because his fingers are too cold.
Overstimulation is not used nearly enough in whump. Particularly when it's inflicted by a stoic whumper.
Give me human whumpee unraveling as every vibrating sex toy is used on their body, inside and out. Make it hard for them to find a comfortable way to sit for longer than two seconds because just shifting the constant vibrations hurts them to the point of release. While Vampire Whumper watches, waiting, listening as Whumpee's quickening heartbeats pump more delicious blood throughout their body.
Give me Hero Whumpee trussed up in the same way, but Villain is interrogating them. Now Hero's mind is being forced to ignore the ravenous pleasure torturing them, but they can hardly string more than two words together. Which of course, makes Villain increase the intensity of each toy as punishment.
Give me Human Whumpee whose body is covered in appendages from Eldritch Whumper. While Eldritch Whumper seeps into their mind, the effect on Whumpee's body is as if they're being used, eaten, and dissected all it once. They've never felt anything so excruciating. Nor anything so rapturous.
Overstimulation
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Hero growled and tested their bonds. They didnât find a way out. They squirmed and pulled at the restraints anyways, not willing to give up easily.
Theyâd been captured. They were in the hands of Villain, a supervillain with poorly understood powers and challengingly high competence. Hero had been trying to combat them, and ended up tied up instead.
âDo you know what my power is, Hero?â Villain asked, tone more conversational than anything else.
Hero glared at them. âWeâve been trying to figure it out. You seem able to influence reality in some way, but exactly what you do seems pretty random from one case to another.â
âI grant wishes. Never my own, and I can only directly affect the person whose wish it is. But itâs enough. Because I can grant them in a way of my choosing, and the best part: they donât have to be said aloud.â
âIsnât that, like, a cardinal rule of wishes? You have to sayâŚyâknow.â
Villain smirked at Heroâs hesitance to say I wish. They werenât trying to trick Hero, but if they were it would certainly have proved difficult. âIâm not a genie, Iâm a superhuman. Presumably the rules would be different.â
âBut how would you be able to defeat heroes? Theyâre against you, not hoping for your success.â
âWell, thatâs the delightful part, really. Your own Agency practically hands you to me. It works you lot into the ground. I can look in their heads and pick and choose the wishes that suit my needs. When Hero B silently wishes it was her day off and she was back with family, I can grant that in such a way that sends her home without adding a replacement for her, and Iâm conveniently left unchallenged. When Hero C wishes they had a good excuse to take a break, I can incapacitate them for a while. When Hero D wishes he didnât have to fight today, I can whisk him out of my way.â
âNow that we know, it wonât be so easy for you,â Hero said.
âYouâre under the mistaken impression youâll make it back to them.â
âIâll get free eventually.â
Villainâs tone shifted subtly, their eyes no longer quite focused on Heroâs. âYou wish there was a way for you to rest. You wish you could give up heroing without having to feel guilty about it. You wish it was out of your hands.â
Heroâs eyes widened. âNo! Get out!â They struggled anew against their bonds.
âYou wish you could be done without it being your fault. You wish you didnât have such mixed feelings about it. You wish you were happier.â
âStop it! I just wish to escape and go back to my duty.â
âBut you wish it wasnât your duty,â Villain continued. âYou wish you could be free of the responsibility.â
âBut Iâd never wish for my relief to hurt people!â
âI donât hurt anyone, not really.â
âWhat you do still isnât right.â
âI can twist it so itâs enough. I get to interpret the wish, remember?â
âNo! Stop!â
Villain ignored them, suspended in concentration. Then they smiled. âGotcha.â
Hero felt Villainâs power flood into them. At first it was just the rush of power entering. Then it moved to their head. Their thoughts scrambled.
When Heroâs brain righted itself, things were different. Hero rested: not bodily, but in their own mind. It was like all the autonomous parts were comfortably sitting back or sleeping, while what remained was left to Villainâs direction instead of having to be self-powered. No longer burdened with responsibility, there was a new lightness in their readiness to do whatever Villain said. The conflict was gone: their devotion to Villain was single-minded. Guilt wasnât even a question: this was what they were supposed to be doing. It felt right.
And they were happy. Bliss wrapped around their entire brain like a blanket, warm and comforting, muffling anything that might have seeded doubt.
In short, the wishes of Villainâs selection had been granted, in what the old Hero would have called all the wrong ways. But they were no longer in any state to be unhappy about it.
âThank you,â Hero said to Villain, with a loving, genuine smile. Theyâd do anything Villain wanted, and theyâd like it.
Villainâs grin was a little more wolf-like. âMy pleasure.â
whumper who learns that whumpee was tortured or abused in some way before meeting them and taking advantage of that. using their existing trauma to manipulate them into accepting further abuse, or playing with their reactions to things like itâs a game. making them flinch, pressing on their insecurities, reinforcing to them that they deserved what happened before. whether it escalates into physical violence or not, thereâs a lot of potential in that - in using that existing trauma to abuse whumpee further.
could even involve direct references, depending on how subtle whumper wants to be about what theyâre doing. âwho would believe this could happen to you twice?â âyou already know you deserve thisâ âwhat would [past whumper] have done?â
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