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Slammed into the coffee table by the arm twisted around their back and whumpee chuckles, eyes looking toward whumper, though they can’t quite see them. Whumper pins their other hand to the table by the wrist.
“I upset you that bad, huh—ach!” they break off as whumper twists harder, and whumpee’s body reflexively twists away in panic and pain, but whumper stops them with a knee to their side and pushes even harder.
“Wait wait wait I’m not struggling, I’m not strugglING FUCK YOU,” whumpee gasps harshly as the pressure increases. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m sorry, please…”
The pressure lets up just a little.
Whumpee grimaces, freezing in place, hoping they’ll release them. Whumper removes his knee from their side, and whumpee forces themselves to stay in the same position, panting with little vocal breaths that begin to come in shudders.
“Begging, are we?” Whumper grins.
Whumpee groans and stomps the back of their foot into the carpet under their legs angrily.
“Still throwing a fit?” The pressure increases and whumpee whines, unconsciously shifting away before they stop themselves and force themselves to shift back.
“Ple-hease,” they let out a single sob by accident.
“Please what?”
“I don’t know what you want from me.” A tear drips down over whumpee’s nose.
“Yes you do.” The pressure increases, whumpee struggles, the knee comes back, the twist gets harder until something pops and whumpee screams.
“I want you to stop! Please stop!” The cries sizzle through their teeth as more tears flow now.
“Shut up.” Whumper releases them a little, listening to them cry, voice breaking in sobs, gasps hitching in their shoulders. “Not like that.”
“I-I’m sorry sir, I broke the rules, I talked back, I-I—um, I’m just sorry! Okay?” Whumpee bites back another “fuck you” and adds, “I’m begging—I’m begging you to let me go!”
Their head is lifting off the glass table and whumper lets go of their wrist to slam it down by the temple.
Whumpee’s free hand clenches but they don’t move.
“I want you to remember this,” whumper says.
Whumpee wants to scream curses at them.
“Yes sir,” they say through a broken voice. Every second is agony.
“When I touch your wrist, that’s a reminder. Don’t waste my time with your bullshit again.”
Oh, so you get to curse, but I have to be little miss prissy over here.
But whumpee just cries.
“Good.” Whumper says. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
Whumpee nods against the palm on their temple. In case that isn’t enough, they add,
“Yes, it does…”
Slowly their wrist is being released. Thank God for that. Thank God it’s slow because fucking shit, it hurts even more now. Like the injuries are just registering. Whumpee gasps and bites their lip so they don’t scream again. They don’t want to piss off whumper any more than they have. Whumper finally releases them, stepping back, and whumpee grinds their teeth at what they’re about to do, without even being told.
They get their knees under them, lean onto them, and shuffle around to face whumper, bowing and cradling their wrist.
“What do we say?” Whumper asks.
Good, he liked that. Fuck him.
Whumpee shudders, trying not to even growl in anger. Everything they feel, everything, has to be shut down or whumper will hurt them even worse.
“Th—” whumpee gasps for another breath, steeling their will. “Thank you.”
You have to shove your whumpees to the ground on their stomach and yank their arms behind their back to tie their wrists before pulling them back to their knees with a harsh yank on their hair otherwise they're not getting proper enrichment
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Whumpee is a 21 year old warlock who is used to doing magic drugs secretly. He is the trouble maker son of the ruler of the realm. Whumpee is in debt to some warlock mafia in a club over magic drugs. He is unable to pay them back because his father keeps an eye on his spending. Whumpee gets jumped two months later than the day his debt was owed and the mafia leader pimps him out for two nights to make double the money he owed.
Can anyone write a scene on this trope? Whumpee under the influence of drugs getting fucked by strangers all night despite being a renowned bad boy
Whumper paused. They slid a hand back out from Whumpee's pants.
"What?"
It was the only thing Whumpee had said, if you don't count the general whimpering and whining they always made.
Whumpee's body was pinned over the desk, the edge cutting into their stomach, their head smashed down onto the hard surface. They bit their lip tight as their body shook violently, embarrassing gasps and pained noises desperate to escape them.
"Gag me," they repeated. "I'll be so much quieter. Please. Do it. I'll let you."
Whumper chuckled. Their hand danced up Whumpees back playfully, finger by finger.
"I like your screams."
Whumper pressed their body closer, crushing Whumpee further into the desk.
"Please," Whumpee begged. "Think of how I'll look. You'd like it."
Whumper hummed thoughtfully. "Gag you," they repeated. They laughed. "Okay."
Whumper turned them over roughly, slamming their back into the desk. They grabbed Whumpee by the jaw and shoved them on their knees.
With a free hand, Whumper unfastened their own belt.
"No, no, no, no! W-Wait!" Whumpee tried to move, but they could barely speak or struggle. Whumpers grip squeezed painfully, tight enough Whumpees teeth bit into their cheek.
Whumper paused.
"Oh. You didn't mean this?"
Whumpee tried to shake their head under the grip, unwanted whimpers escaping in wet sobs.
"You meant like a cloth gag, didn't you? Something to moan into?"
Whumpee stared up, eyes pleading into Whumpers. Whumper laughed.
"I see. That's funny."
Whumpers hand went back to their belt. They unfastened it fully, closing the distance between their lower half and Whumpee's face.
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We shot that at three in the morning in a car park in Manchester. It was freezing cold, and I had Bill Fichtner spitting in my face and pulling my hair. It was pretty amazing. That scene is phenomenal. His performance in that scene is really intense and visceral and guttural, but you really feel the heart inside of Jasper. You feel his rage.
whumpees being used as decoration, surrounded by enemies:
handcuffed to a chair in the middle of a room where a business meeting is taking place.
dressed in black tie, and then tied and gagged at the head of the table as whumper conducts a fancy dinner party.
pinned to a wall of an office or living room or private study like a butterfly under a case, hands impaled and bleeding freely.
left to dangle from their wrists in a public location, under an arch or a stairway maybe.
kept in a hanging cage in a trophy room amidst the tokens of whumper's previous conquests.
chained to the foot of a throne, forced to kneel at all times, a permanent reminder of whumper's absolute power over both them and the realm they just won.
lugged around to wherever Whumper happens to want to take them, led to parties or events via a leash attached to a collar, hands bound behind their back so they can't even brace their fall if Whumper tugs too hard.
left overnight in a public place, tied to a fencepost or dangling from a tree branch. everyone knows exactly who left them there, and who they belong to, and so no one would dare touch them to help.
tied up and used as a human dartboard in some seedy beer hall.
restrained in a brutally demanding stress position and left to wobble and pant and squirm in a lobby or entrance of some underground organization as a reminder of what happens to anyone who tries to doublecross the boss.
the helplessness of any of these positions, of being poked and prodded by passersby or henchmen, especially people who whumpee has had the upper hand against in the past. now reduced to just sitting/standing there and being left at the mercy of whoever walks by.
whumpee being made to walk somewhere by a whumper with a tight grip on them. no restraints but whumper's own hold on them, and that's enough.
whumper grabbing a fistful of their hair up tight by the scalp and dragging them, forcing them to stumble after or be pulled off balance, trying to keep up to take any of the pressure off, hands clawing at whumper's wrist.
whumpee's arm twisted up behind their back, dangerously close to dislocating their shoulder. whumper taking a casual pace, marching whumpee in front of them, twisting their arm higher every time whumpee stumbles or hesitates or tries to break free.
taking hold of the back of whumpee's neck, fingers digging into the sides of their throat, controlling their entire body from this one point of contact. any attempt to twist away just makes whumper squeeze harder, digging their nails into whumpee's skin.
in public, something that looks innocuous but is enough of a threat to keep control anyway. a grip on an arm that looks innocent but can go iron-tight at any moment. an arm around whumpee's waist, keeping them close and in whumper's control.
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when a powerful figure is reduced to kneeling. when the lord is forced to bow. when the exile stumbles into an unwelcoming bar. when the “beast” is chained by their horns. when a god is dragged behind their enemy’s chariot, a captive and trophy. when the loyal “guard dog” character is muzzled and the silver-tongued thief falls silent in horror.
that’s the shit
it’s about the contrapasso. the reversal of roles and the sudden, plunging terror of being unable to hide.
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