Slick
Warnings: pet whump; torture; blood; knives; mention of branding; botched escape (mention), defiant whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper
Whumper stalked into the room, dropping a duffle bag as they came. Whumpee flinched as the bag dropped. “You’re jumpy today,” Whumper started rummaging through the bag.
“Last time you brought a bag in here, you branded me. Let’s just say you and bags don’t spell a fun time for me,” Whumpee replied sharply.
“Well maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to run away. Have to make sure they know who to bring you back to. Now everyone knows you belong to me, Whumpee.”
“I don’t belong to you,” Whumpee spat.
“Oh, but you do. I paid good money for you. You just haven’t learned how much you belong to me, Whumpee. But you will, you will.” Whumper stood up, twirling a knife in their hand. “We really need to speed your training along.”
Whumpee shied away as far back as the chains would allow. They hissed as their freshly branded flesh scraped against their now taught shirt sleeves.
“Relax. Relax. I’m only going to bleed you a little. And that’s if you aren’t going to behave. The more you listen and cooperate, the less I cut you. It’s pretty simple.”
“Fuck you!”
Whumper slashed across Whumpee’s stomach, a very shallow wound, but still enough to draw blood in a steady stream. Blood began to seep through Whumpee’s shirt. Whumpee drew in a breath, but did not cry out. “See this attitude really needs to go. You can’t be addressing your owner that way.”
“You don’t own me!”
Slash.
“Psycho!”
Slash.
“Fuck you!”
Slash.
Whumpee’s chest was heaving and their arm was slick with blood by the time Whumper spoke next. “Want to re-evaluate your strategy here? Some manners, decorum, call me Master, my pet, and I don’t have to keep bleeding you. Really, accept this, and this could all be over. You can have a warm shower, nice food, sleep in a bed. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“I will never call you master, you prick!” Whumpee spat in Whumper’s face.
Whumper sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Without blinking they buried the knife to the hilt in Whumpee’s hip.
Tears began to stream down Whumpee’s face as they held in a muffled cry. Whumper leaned in close to Whumpee’s ear and whispered. “See, I need your hands in tact. And the thing with hands is there are so many nerves, so many little bones, so I can’t mess with those. But your hips? Ah, nice big meaty area. Not a lot of nerves that affect movement. But pain receptors, oh yeah. You’ll still be able to move. With great effort. Or maybe not for a while. And I can take my time with you.”
Whumpee hung their head. “You bastard.”
Whumper backhanded them. “Lucky for you, I like my pets bloodied and scarred. Means they’re broken in properly.”
