Whump where the whumper doesn't even have to command or threaten or direct. Whumpee already knows the routine. They have an understanding, almost, the two of them. They perform as expected, in silence, with no hesitation—just resignation, tense but exhausted, choosing not to waste energy they don't have on pointless displays of resistance, of protest.
But though they neither struggle nor speak, the hatred in their eyes speaks volumes.
And maybe whumper likes that they're still in there. That this dance still costs them something, even if they're compliant—that they're not quite broken.
Not yet.
