#wirewriting

oooooo interesting question!!! I think it would probably remind him a lot of the strings.. I think he would hate it a lot. If it’s a collar he can remove, but just not without consequences.. I think that he would try and remove it a few times, depending on how bad the punishment is. I’m not sure what would be an interesting punishment to fit the crime. .. anyone else have cute ideas? I think if the collar is physically impossible to remove, he would scratch at his neck and pull at the collar and possibly leave scratches or bruises (? If he can) around his neck and on his fingers. He would try for a long time to remove it from him. Once he realizes it’s hopeless, I think he would probably try and threaten and beg me to take it off. I could attach a leash to the collar and pull him around :) he would really hate that

for the type of collar, I have a few different cute ideas.

I think a jewel encrusted metal collar, maybe held together by tight screws and a lock that only I can undo would be really poetic and cute. Spamton wants luxurious and nice things right? I’m treating him like the proper doll of a godlike princess just like how he deserves. His gilded cage…. And if he complains, I’ll guilt him with how ornate and beautiful the collar is. Does he prefer living in trash? If he doesn’t want such a nice collar, maybe he doesn’t also want such nice food? Would he prefer if you were only mean to him? That’s what he’s telling you, he realizes that, right? I think guilting him like that would make him beg and try and convince me that he’s not really that upset. Please, don’t start treating him worse.

Ohoho new evil idea: starting off with a simpler, less restrictive collar. Maybe something cute, like a leather collar with a cushioned velvet inside. Maybe I would even be nice and the metal tag hanging from it would be engraved with his actual name, Spamton, and not even something demeaning like “Puppet” or “Doll.”

Obviously, he isn’t happy with it either way. He begs for me to reconsider, to let him take it off. Spamton would be really rude about it. He would yell and cry and scream at me about it. He’s sick of being treated like a doll to use by everyone, and he’s sick of me.

Once he tires himself out from his little temper tantrum, I’ll “agree” with him. It is a bad collar. He does deserve better. Here, I’ll take it off. Depending on how smart he is about my usual patterns, he might be suspicious. However, he is very trusting, and very hopeful. It’s honestly just a part of his character. When he gets the slightest hint that someone cares about him, or is kind to him, he latches on. The benefactor, the scene with tenna, the way he immediately rejoiced in the Neo fight when he realized that you were cutting his strings. He can’t help himself but to be hopeful.

His hope and misplaced trust would make his sorrow all the sweeter, when, the next day, I come back with the fancy, metal collar. Its gleaming precious gems would reflect off his eyes, no doubt freshly glistening with tears—if he can even cry, that is.

I could screw his new collar in place, each turn of the screws, and the quiet click of the lock would each feel just like a new silk string tied around his limbs. I did tell him, that old collar just wasn’t good enough for him. He deserved better. He would probably have a panic attack and spend a few hours shaking and crying, trying in vain to pull the metal off of his neck.

Could be nice if you're snuggling but want something a little more intimate.

Do you think he'd feel pleasure from it? If so you could use it as a punishment... or a reward.

You could turn it on and touch him and then act like he's purring. "Awww. You like it!"

Would he try to remove it? Would he be able to?

He'd certainly feel like an object, that's for sure :)

Awesome AWEOSME this is so peak. I need to put this into the next chapter of the heat fic I think.. awww I think that out of the things you could do to him this might not be as bad. It’s invasive but it would be consistent in a way he might be able to tune out..

remote control vibrator would be peak in this scenario I think.! Sighh I went to overstim island and Spamton was there and he was crying or something but idc.

aww the idea of misconstruing it as purring is so so peak!! Yayyyy omg. Aw Spamton you clearly enjoy this you immediately start purring. Turning up the intensity if he gets used to it or falls asleep. Turning it down or off right before or in the middle of an orgasm so that he’s further frustrated smiles.

maybe he can remove it, but if he does; I’ll just switch it out for a bigger/wider one, and hurt him for disobeying smile. I think he would feel really gross and bad about it. I also think he’s too stubborn to not try rebelling multiple times.. awww working himself up to a knotted vibrator that he can barely walk while it’s inside because of how overwhelmingly full he is.. so cute. Id imagine that he would react with anger and fear, lashing out as much as he can. He’s too stubborn to give up. Maybe if he’s desperate enough to get it to end, or to get something from you.

You and Spamton are sitting in your living room, on the couch. You’re laying lengthways across the couch. You have your legs laid across his lap.

He is deeply, deeply uncomfortable. You know this. It’s your fault.

He’s trying to lean back into the couch as far as he can to minimize physical contact. At this point he knows better than to take a more direct approach with you. 

He’s gotten so non confrontational in these quieter moments. It’s boring. You want him to step out of line again so you can do something new to him. You’re bored.

“What if I changed you to go into heat, like an animal?”

Spamton makes a horrified face and begs, “NO. YOU C-CAN^T DO THAT!!”

“Not an answer to my question.”

“I;D HATE YOU. I’D HATE YOU. I’D HATE YOU.”

“You already do, but you don’t leave. What you’re saying is that there’s no adverse consequences if I want to do this.”

“That’s not what I said AT ALL!”

“What would you want in return.”

He tries to push your legs off of his lap, but you don’t budge.

“I [negatif] WANT YOU TO [[touted as a mir]] ME!! NO [Groped] NO [Squeeze] NO [Petting]!!”

He probably meant that as a deterrent, as if you’d really care so long as you can see what happens. However, the idea of him horny out of his mind—you’re definitely restraining him so he can’t do anything about it on his own—with the explicit request that you cannot help him, is really compelling.

“That’s what you want in return and I’ll honor your request. You will start feeling the effects tomorrow.” 

That way, he has a good 16 hours to dread and anticipate and contemplate what will happen to him.

“WAIT!! WHAT. THAT WASN’T WHAT I MEANT.”

“I asked what you wanted in return for doing this favor and you answered me.”

“THAT ISN’T FAIR!!”

“What follows the rules isn’t always fair.”

“I DON’T WANT THIS, ANY OF THIS.”

You laugh good-naturedly at him. You’ve been brainstorming more and more ways to patronize and infantilize him, and you’re glad to see the way his expression twists into hopeless despair.

“I will not touch you for the full duration of your heat.”

You pause, waiting, watching.

He goes very quiet and very still for a moment. Puppets don’t have heartbeats of course, so there isn’t even the subtle rhythm hidden in his chest.

Then, a second later, his arm whips out, striking at your stomach, your thighs, your knees, anywhere he can reach. He attacks you with all his strength. 

If you were anything but what you are, it almost certainly would have injured you. Maybe he would break a rib or two.

It’s really cute when Spamton acts like he can hurt you.

You change the material of your body to act like cold and unrelenting marble stone. 

The change is made apparent to Spamton, when, on his next attack… 

CRACK

—the distinctive sound of plastic shattering on impact.

Oh, his poor hand, he cradles it to his chest. He turns away as much as he can and you bet he’s taking in the damage.

“You do it to yourself, darling.”You put a soft and gentle hand on his back. “You swung that fist all on your own. It’s not my fault that you don’t like what happened.”

He sobs, ego bruised.

“Hopeless poor thing,” you croon, voice dripping with counterfeit saccharine, to nobody in particular.

The rest of the night goes by quickly, to you, at least. With every hour that passes Spamton just seems to get more horrified and upset.

His room feels like a beckoning prison cell and he doesn’t want to fall asleep at all. He sits on the couch shaking in revulsion. Eventually the exhaustion wins over the dread and he passes out early into the morning.

The next day, he wakes up sweaty and unusually sensitive. You brush your fingers across his shoulder and to Spamton’s mortification he whimpers.

“Already? You really are something special!”

He’s too sensitive. He’s so sensitive it almost hurts. Any touch is electric, sending sparks across his body.

“SENSITIVE.”

“I bet.” You lean down to hug him. You feel the way his entire body flinches away from you, the way his beautiful hands tremble and twitch trying to push you away. “Isn’t it nice?”

“d-D-DON>. t [[s non-contact sports prohibit   ]] ME! STOP!! ST0oOo——ahhHHAha—!!”

You pointedly grope his smooth, featureless doll crotch through his pants just to see him choke up and stop speaking.

“Yeah sure whatever. I’m gonna tie you up then I’ll stop touching you.”

“WHAT!! NO! NO. Nonono. Wrong. THAT WASN;;T OUR [[Legally Binding]]!!!”

Well, you will be ‘binding’ him. You sit up straight and pick him up.

“I don’t think your heat is at full effect yet, so it hasn’t really started. I can do whatever I damn well want.”

“I DON T WANT TO BE [HVAC and Furnace Repair] MAKE IT STOP!!”

You decide to do this to him to his own room. Maybe if you get him to associate his room with danger, he’ll decide to sleep in yours. 

His bed frame is wrought iron painted a cheerful green. His silky sheets are patterned with delicate painted doves. His room would be fit for a dollhouse with how cozy you’ve decorated it.

You grab a length of rope from your pockets and begin to tie Spamton’s wrists together. As you’re halfway through the knot, he jerks his arms apart, which catches you off guard.

“Stop being silly.”

Frustrated, you dump him on the edge of his bed. You loom over him as you re-tie the rope. You make the knots slightly too tight. If he struggles too much, it’ll cause joint injuries.

To put a bow on the present that is Spamton, you loop the long tails of the rope through one of the vertical bars of the wrought iron headboard.

He flips onto his stomach and tries to crawl-scramble away.

“YOU CRAZY [[#%*$&]] [bodice-rippper]!!!  !   ”

As you pull the cords taut Spamton is forced into position. His arms stretch out in front of him, chest and head slamming face-first into his luxurious sheets. You wince sympathetically as his nose bends at an odd angle.

“HELP.”

“All I do is help you,” you snarl, “be good and move how I want you to.”

Once he’s where you want him, you tie the rope tightly to the bed frame. Somehow, he maneuvers himself to get a good kick at your stomach.

You snatch up a handful of his hair and pull him up, his neck straining painfully as you lower yourself to murmur lowly into where his ear would be if he was human, “Don’t. Fucking do that. Again.”

You let go of him and his head falls limply onto the pillows.

Spamton’s chest rises and falls faster as he breathes heavily in shame and indignation, no doubt.

“It’s always the theatrics with you. If you want so badly to be a ‘real boy’ you shouldn’t act like you’re the lead in a puppet show.”

“I’M NOT [[ to act, THEN ACT!]] I’’M [Restistance is the measure of opposition t]]!!!”

“Of course you’d think that. You’re still in the ‘rejecting the call’ part of your narrative.” You grab his ankle and tie another rope. “I’m just coaching you on how to make actual progress.”

You repeat the process with his other leg. He doesn’t try to kick you. You wonder if he’s too busy filling the room with stifled sobbing. 

You know from experience that if he could use his hands, he’d be covering his face right now. Fat tears run down his cheeks.

Then you fasten the ropes to the footboard, tying each rope to the far ends of the panel. It forces him into position, laid on his back, legs forced open. 

His joints strain, hips not quite flexible to maintain the pose. Not without your help, of course.

His knees spasm, bucking inwards, twisting in the wrong direction just the smallest amount.

You probably should have undressed him before you tied him up. He’s wearing his favorite pair of pants too. 

Oh well! That’s just what happens sometimes.

“You’ll stay like this until your heat kicks in.”

Spamton looks at you with so much hatred you worry he could die from it.

“I WISH [[POV: Your an Evil Wizard]] IN A [[E-Z P-Z Sweet and Breezy]] WAY. AT LEAST the OT[Her Losers] [#$&@]iNG        PAID ME WHEN THEY GOT [Ultra-Violet] wITH ME!!”

“You’re not showing me that you understand what I’m saying. Do you think bitching and whining like a dog is going to change anything?”

“HOW LONG. WILL IT LAST.”

“Couple days.”

“NO,” he says, in disbelief so hopeless it’s indistinguishable from despair.

“Would be shorter if you got fucked.”

“I-I’’M [Slipknot] DOING THAT.”

Back to angry petulance. Spamton should really learn to better regulate his emotions.

“Ok.”

“I’M [SERIES]!!”

You just smile at him. You can wait for him to get desperate. He won’t find you getting bored.

Hours pass. Spamton pleads with you. Please, his wrists hurt. Can’t you at least loosen the ropes? His entire body is burning up. He’s too sensitive, it feels weird. Why did you have to tie his legs so far apart? It hurts. He’s not built for this. Please just let him go. At least untie his legs so he can rest them. 

You pay it no mind. You want to see if he’ll get desperate enough for him to beg you to touch him. 

His hips thrust up, seemingly involuntarily. His face scrunches up in anguish.

“MAKE IT STOP..>!!! I DON’T WANT IT!! I’LL DO [AYNTHING You WANT]!!”

If he doesn’t want you to fuck him, that was the wrong choice of words.

“Oh good, you’re finally coming around.” You climb up onto the bed and sit between his legs.

“JUST. UNTIE ME.”

You hum in faux indecisiveness. For a second you can swear he looks hopeful.

“Spamton, can I ask you a favor? I’m really curious about something.”

“WHAT”

“I’m curious about your jaw and mouth. I want to look more closely.”

It’s obvious he thinks that you’re really weird for that. He makes a face that says he wants to turn you down.

 “WHAT DOYOU MEAN     [look more closely.]? ? YOU>R NOT TRY ING TO [Kissie Cutie] MY [[ugly mug]] RIGHT?”

Does he think that raunchy jokes are going to deter you. Two can play at this game.

You flutter your lashes and briefly glance away. Coyly, you say, “Well… Maybe later…”

His teeth clack loudly as his jaw slams closed. His whole entire face turns bright red. For some reason, he can’t keep his eye contact with you.

“SSURE. FINE.   O[Special K]. IF IT MAKES YOU [[Shut Down]] ABOUT IT!” He agrees reluctantly. He nervously twirls some of his hair and idly backs away from you. He looks more confused and scared than flattered.

He’s not enthusiastic, but you don’t care.

“Yay! I’m so excited! Come on.”

You grab his wrist and pull him into your bedroom. 

Your bed is tall and his joints are bad so you pick him up and toss him onto the blankets. He grunts in surprise. 

He’s super jittery, eyes darting around everywhere but at yours. He makes a move to sit up and leave, but you quickly jump up onto the bed, situating yourself over top his legs. You push down one of his shoulders into the mattress, so that he’s laying flat on his back under you.

He stutters out some half baked sentences, but he’s too overwhelmed to say anything coherent. You swear you see the smallest amount of static in his lenses.

You kind of want to take those off of him. Is he so out of it that he wouldn’t stop you? Maybe not. 

He voices concern that the way you’re going about this is really weird. You either ignore him or tell him to shut up.

You lay down on top of him and prop yourself up by your elbows, which are situated just below his armpits.

He doesn’t seem to like how you’re treating him very much. What is he going to do about it though? Leave?

“Open your mouth.”

Spamton narrows his eyes in anger and humiliation.

“Please,” you say in a level tone, not breaking eye contact.

The implication that hangs over both of your heads is that whenever you’re super invasive towards him like this, you’ve also fixed some problem or soothed some pain of his.

You’ve suppressed some of his vocal glitches and limited the severity and pain of his physical glitches. You’re the reason he doesn’t have a glaring bald spot on the back of his head. He’s aware of all the things you’ve done for him. He should know better than to refuse you.

Under his breath, Spamton mutters, “YOU>rE A [[Sick Freaks Ar]].”

His eyebrows screw into a knot and his eyes clench shut. Reluctantly, he parts his teeth for you. Barely wide enough to fit your pinky finger through. His lower lip is screwed up into a grimace. 

You’re annoyed that he opened his mouth such a small bit, so you’re less gentle than you originally intended when you hook two fingers around his bottom row of teeth and pull his jaw open all the way.

Spamton yelps out an undignified plea for you to stop, or wait, or some other similar request that you have no plans or intention to honor. Does he really expect you to understand what he’s saying under all his glitchy interruptions? 

“I just wanna see what’s going on,” you say as you stick your other hand into his open mouth, curling your fingers inwards. You feel around the floor of his mouth where a tongue should be. 

He doesn’t have one, but there is some muscle there. Interesting. You palpate the muscle. Spamton gags and struggles when your fingers venture too far back into his throat.

When you retreat you can feel his throat muscles and pseudo tongue contract in a swallowing motion. At least, you’re pretty sure he’s swallowing.

You pause for a second. You can feel saliva pooling in his mouth. Some of it dribbles out through the seam at the corner of his mouth.

Spamton huffs and his face turns even redder when he notices.

“Swallow.”

“YOU’RE GONNA NEED TO [[Upgrade to First Class]] FOR THE [JACKPOT$],” Spamton jokes. 

His voice is not muffled or impeded by the hands in his mouth. Isn’t that fascinating to you?

You pointedly jab your finger into the back of his throat in retaliation.

“Just do it.”

He’s cowed by your forcefulness. He glances away from you out of embarrassment. The effect is diminished since he can’t turn his head with your hands keeping his jaw in place.

He swallowed. Same muscle movements as the first time.

“Again.”

Spamton scoffs and you feel his warm breath blow across your hands. Despite this, he still swallows obediently. You try moving your fingers further into his throat with the movement. 

He coughs and sputters from the unpleasant sensation. You withdraw your hand that’s not holding his jaw open, and cup his face in a gesture as affectionate as it is demeaning.

“Good. Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” you coo, patronizing him. Fully knowing that you’re the one in power here.

He ignores you.

“Look at me, when I’m speaking to you like this.”

“FUCK. YOU,” Spamton says, defeated.

“Don’t be so sour. I’m doing you a favor. You can handle this.”

Spamton stares at you with a burning intensity. Both of you know that this is self-serving as much or more as it is generosity.

You start working on making modifications to the way his body works with your powers. He won’t drool or have food fall out of his mouth when he eats anymore. He’ll be able to drink from a straw if he pleases.

You consider giving him a tongue, but you decide you’ll save that as leverage for when you want to touch him and look at his body more closely again.

“I SHOULD BITE YOU FOR [[Revenge Served ]]!!”

If he’s going to threaten that, then you’re not going to take your hands out so quickly.

“If you bite me, I’ll bite you… so please, do.”

You feel his jaw try to open and close under your hand as he’s rendered speechless. 

That shut him up.

You wonder if he thinks of you as a pervert.

You take your fingers out of his mouth and he closes his mouth immediately. You move to push his upper lip upwards and get a look at his gums and the outside of his teeth. 

It’s what you expected. 

In an act of performative gentleness, you wipe away the drool running down his chin. Your fingers still wet from poking around the back of his mouth, only serve to add to the mess.

You sit up. Your legs are straddling his hips now, and you have to look down to see his face. Spamton looks at you tiredly.

“Y YOU DONE TREATING ME LIKE[[Long-nosed doll]]?”

You’re not really ever done playing with your favorite doll. You ignore his jab.

“You won’t have as many problems chewing food and keeping it in your mouth now.”

“HUHH-OKAY”

“You hold no debt for this favor.”

“Y-YEAH, YEAH,” he grimaces and trembles, probably reflecting on how you’ve just violated him, “can’t you let me—let me go n-now?”

You shake your head with a smile. Lying down next to him, you hook a leg around his body and wrap your arms around his shoulders, curled around his small and shaken form.

It shall be known that you are a kind soul. So when you ran into a strange man with a speech disorder and small puppet body the other day, you deigned to show him kindness.

Even though he did try to pickpocket you. When your tentacles coiled around his every limb, you told Spamton, “Be not afraid, my wings will bring you no harm.” 

Your serrated suckers left small scratches in the plastic. If he had skin that could tear open to flesh and blood vessels, you’re sure you would have tasted it, welling up.

You saw the heat pooling between his legs, even as his eyes darted, looking for an out, even as he nervously asked to be let go.

He must be so unused to a gentle hand—or tendril. Poor thing seemed desperate for it.

When he mentioned his birthday was soon, you knew he deserved some luck.

That is why you have a bag packed with goodies and small luxuries hanging off your shoulder today, as you walk to the trash zone where he told you his shop was. 

You arrive at his shop. You note the broken down red cars in the front. One has a tattered blanket in the back seat. It looks slept in. Cute!

You walk inside the shop. He has a grin that appears especially strained around the edges. You don’t notice the way it frays even more in your presence.

“H HEYY —“ He starts, bead of sweat rolls down his cheek. “y YO0uu DIDn>T forGET ABOUT MyYY [[Birrthday Boiio]] HEAHAHEEA! ?!! [[Here for Round TWO]] of [[$&@&!]]ing me up again.”

“I have come baring gifts, and surely you know I never raised a hand in violence against you.”

You set your bag on the table. He looks through it. You were hoping to see elation in his eyes as he realizes his luck, the blessing you granted him. Instead, he looks a little sick.

“THIS HTISH THIS!!!.. This is. too much.”

You barely know him, right? He barely knows you. You feel a strange sense of familiarity, like you’re part of a grander role.

“Not if it’s for you. Please.” You take out a blanket from the bag and unfold it. There’s a fresh pillow in there too. “I know it would be hard to take on every blessing I may bestow at once. Allow my heart and myself set you up with more comfortable sleeping spot. You sleep in that car out front sometimes, do you?”

He looks ill. You’re sure he’s not used to such unconditional benevolence.

If you want a particular name to call me by here, use Ribbon. or whatever else idc

straw page: https://ribbonwire.straw.page

This is a whump side blog. If you don't like stories where violent things are done to undeserving people, then you can leave.

If you are not mature enough to engage with these things, do not interact with this blog. If you are under 18, don’t talk to me and don’t follow me.

My writing and art is NOT a reflection of my morals IRL.

I keep on looking for this mindlessly reenacting fictional scenarios island that some people seem so concerned about but it doesn't exist.

I will be focusing on Spamton whump scenarios but I may get into other characters. lol jk. I am not sure that will everrr happen.

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cw noncon

cw dubcon

prostitution

unsafe kink

financial abuse

domestic abuse

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