Shelf Life
Chapter 20 of JACKPOT (Masterlist)
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CW: institutionalized slavery, pet whump, dehumanization, ‘it’ as a pronoun for whumpee, conditioned/brainwashed whumpee, dubcon, abandonment, Stockholm syndrome, whumpee is basically a sex slave
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Angel is worried about his master. It was never unusual for him to be stressed from work or other things, but lately he’s been… distant. Typically when master is upset or bothered by something Angel knows how to help him relax, but for a couple of weeks now master hasn’t been very interested in sex. He’s hardly been interested in Angel at all, actually.
Everything is already set up perfectly by the time he hears the keys jingling on the other side of the front door. Master often cooked dinner himself, but tonight Angel had taken it upon himself to make his favorite pasta and get dressed up to surprise him after work. The pet kneels in the entryway right as he steps in, standing back up as soon as he was sure master saw him waiting.
“Welcome home, master.” He says, excitedly.
“Mm.” He grunts in response as he takes his shoes off. Angel steps forward and speaks more seductively.
“You seem tired,” he says, leaning forward. “Why don’t you relax?” Master sighs.
“Not tonight.” He states before the pet can initiate further. Angel tries to suppress his disappointment quickly.
“Oh- okay,” he says, keeping his tone even. “Well- I- I made you dinner.” He stutters as master lightly pushes him aside. “I thought maybe tonight we can lay together while you unwind since you don’t have to cook-“
“I told you, I don’t fucking feel like it tonight,” master barks, obviously frustrated.
Must have been a bad day.
“Of course, sir, I’m sorry.” He says, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. What am I doing wrong?
“What’d you make?” Master grumbles as he steps into the kitchen.
“I-it’s the wine sauce pasta, and-“
“Mm.” He grunts, a wordless ‘shut up’ that Angel had long since grown to recognize. Master takes his plate and starts heading up the stairs to his bedroom. Angel follows, taking care not to be too close as he watches his plans for a nice evening fall apart along the hall.
“Master-“ he calls while he still has the chance, “I was wondering if I could please have dinner tonight? I-“
“I’ll get it tomorrow.” Master cuts him off yet again, closing the door in his face. Angel returns downstairs to clean the kitchen and cries.
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Angel is not a very good pet. He tries, but trying isn’t enough. For three years master and him were very close, but gradually over the course of several months things changed. Angel still isn’t sure what exactly he did to cause it, but every attempt he’s made to alter his behavior has failed. Master just seems so… bored.
Maybe you’re getting old. Angel always tries to ignore that thought. He’s young; he was only 21 when master bought him. Even knowing this, his mind always returns to the same words he’d been told back at the training facility. “Romantics don’t have the longest shelf life.” One of the handlers had said it when talking to another staff member; he doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation, but that sentence sticks in his mind.
No. This must be something different; this is about behavior. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable due to masters generosity. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get to finish masters left overs instead of his usual pet food, and master would often allow him on the furniture. It’s made you lazy. You need to be more proactive.
These were the thoughts running through his head when he approached master’s chair dressed only in his collar. Master used to love when he would put on a show. He slowly, gracefully steps in between master and the TV, positioning himself over his lap.
“I have something better for you to watch~” he says, voice trained to be perfect. He begins running his hands from master shoulders down his torso.
He feels the pain of the smack before he realizes what happened, stumbling over his own feet and falling backwards. The back of his head hits the floor when he trips with a dull thud, the impact thankfully lessened by the carpet under him.
“The fuck are you doing?!” Master shouts. “I told you to do the fuckin laundry!”
“I- I did, sir! I- I thought-“ he begins, tears flowing before he could realize and hold them back.
“Then go sit the fuck down! If I wanted a god damn lap dance don’t you think I would have asked?” He yells, kicking the pet’s side. The kick wasn’t too hard, but it was the message that matters. Get up and go.
“Yes sir, I- I’m sorry, I- thought you’d-“
“Don’t! I didn’t buy you to fucking think!”
Angel holds in a sob as he gets to his feet, immediately disappearing to kneel in the corner of the room. Another failed attempt that was obviously stupid in hindsight; this is why he doesn’t love you anymore.
That thought makes his stomach churn. It isn’t true, of course. Master still loves him, he’s just upset right now.
He still loves me.
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The humming of the car’s engine under him is a good anchor to keep his mind from wandering. They could be going anywhere; although it is strange of master not to dress him up if they’re going out somewhere. Angel always liked when master would bring him places, it gave him a chance to look at the sky. It’s cloudy today.
This particular path through the city isn’t familiar to him. Maybe they’re going somewhere new today? He silently hopes so. It could explain why master wouldn’t say where. He wouldn’t say much if anything, really; he’s been silent the entire drive. Not that he talked to Angel much in the past few weeks anyways. He tries not to think about that.
It isn’t until the car pulls to a stop in the parking lot that he recognizes the logo on the outside of the building.
Here? Why here? What are we here for?
Angel starts breathing faster, but master thankfully doesn’t seem to notice. He does his best to calm down. It’s probably just for some kind of medical exam or something. It isn’t until then that he notices the sign in the window of what looked to be a lobby.
It’s a poster reading ‘Off to a New Home’, with a photo of a very happy looking pet in front of a nice house underneath. And under that, in smaller text, ‘Please call in advance about trade-ins and return deals’. The color immediately drains from his face.
“I said get out.” Angel jumps at his masters voice, his attention immediately pulled away from the window.
“…sir, I-“ his voice is stopped short by the feeling of master’s hand in his hair, yanking him out. He quickly steps out, allowing master to clip on his leash. The asphalt burns his bare feet as he feels the forward pull.
“C’mon.”
“Master-“
“I said come on!”
Angel yelps as a hard tug brings him stumbling to his knees, scraping one just slightly on the burning parking lot curb. He gets up just in time for the next pull, following quickly into the lobby. The cool of the air conditioning combined with the oppressive dread in the atmosphere make crossing the threshold into the building feel like entering a portal to a different world entirely. Master speaks with the woman behind the desk, and Angel can’t seem to pay attention.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening. What did I do? Is master getting rid of me? Am I too annoying? Too ugly? Too useless? What the fuck is going on??
“M-master, please, I- I’ll make it up to you, I will! I w-will I’ll be better!” He whimpers quietly, putting a shaky hand on his forearm. “Please just keep m-me please-“
“Shh.” He says, shoving him to the side with his shoulder. “Sit.”
Angel drops to his knees immediately, trying to ignore the slight sting of his knee against the cold tile. It doesn’t take long for a couple of handlers to exit a side door behind the desk. Angel stands without permission.
“W-wait wait- wait,” he pleads stepping back. “I…” he begins, unsure what to say as they approach. He looks up to his owner. “Master?” He begs as they each grab one of his shoulders. He starts struggling.
“Please! I- I love you! Master p-please I can be g-good! Please keep me I- I still love you! I c-can’t- I can’t!” He begs, fully sobbing now as the two men overpower him. His cries are cut off by the angular metal mouthpiece of a muzzle. Master doesn’t even make eye contact.
Please… please don’t let them take me… Angel thinks it as hard as he can, as if by some miracle he could will it into existence; but it doesn’t matter what he wants. It never did.
He still whines against the muzzle as they strip him down in one of the processing rooms, struggling as if there exists any chance of breaking free and seeing his master again. He doesn’t stop struggling until they tase him and bring him to a cell.
He loves me. He’ll come back. He wouldn’t get rid of me. I still love him.
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Tags: @stars-hide-our-fires @shadow-traveller @oldspruceinn @yourlocalgaefae33 @elegantinternethottub @hueningplushie @painwithoutplot @suchprettypieces @theloveofwhump @whumpzone @jumpywhumpywriter @secretsmutcorner @for-the-ouchies @sunrise-lemon-bar @butterflywhump @written-in-the-stars135 @scoundrelwithboba @bleedinganddistraught @imtheperkiness
