#forced feeding

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Whumper forcing Whumpee to swallow something, whether it be a sedative, poison, maybe even the key to their own chains.

Whumper’s hand covering their mouth so they can’t spit it back out. Whumpee’s half lidded eyes pleading with Whumper as they maintain eye contact. Throat taut and Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as they struggle.

Clamping their eyes shut as they finally give in and whatever it is makes its way down to their stomach.

[skumhuu]

🖤💛🩸 Vampire Dreammare 🩸💛🖤

Reopening their sire fledgling mental bond 😌

Basic summary: Nightmare was a terrible inexperienced sire who turned an unwilling Dream and went feral. Dream left out of fear (cutting off their mental bond). But fledglings aren't meant to be on their own they need their coven/sire.

Nm wants his fledgling back after gaining more control over himself with his new werewolf pack, and drags Dream (alongside Cross) back so he can be a Good Sire :') The crew is their surrogate coven/pack that they feed off of (After Nightmare forces Dream to feed from him and reopen the mental bond ofc)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

🥄 Force-feeding for Ryan or Danny please

CW: Not-exactly-human whumpee, iron burns, mouth whump, intimate/creepy whumper, dehumanization

Every bite burns.

His palms press into the uneven old floor, fingers scraping along the stained, ancient tile. He has to lower himself down, lapping up the broth with his tongue, holding back a whimper as it tingles, burns, throbs. His gums ache, his teeth hurt, as he forces himself to chew a bit of beef, swallowing only with effort.

Ryan closes his eyes against the sting of tears.

"Good," Abraham says, voice low and husky. "Again."

He swallows, tasting iron and copper. The corners of his mouth are torn and bleeding, his lips roughly chapped. As the liquid coats his mouth, the skin pulls apart, reopening tender spots that had only just begun to heal. Blood mixes with the seasoning.

Tastebuds slough away as the iron Abraham has mixed into the stew moves over his tongue, leaving tender, unready tissue to burn ever deeper.

He has to take another bite.

Ryan forces himself to lean down, trying to focus on the burn of the muscles in his arms as they stretch to hold his weight, and laps up a little cooked carrot.

His mouth flashes in terrible pain.

He coughs, fighting the urge to spit it out, feeling the weight of Abraham's eyes on him. Ryan and Danny kneel side by side on the floor, and Ryan doesn't dare look at his brother.

Not because of what Abraham might do.

But because he's not sure if he looks into Danny's eyes, that there will be anything there in the blue eyes that look back. Sometimes, Danny just... isn't there, anymore.

Ryan isn't convinced he will always come back.

Ryan breathes, saltwater dripping into the stew. The iron in it burns all the way down his throat. A bright, hot ache grows in his chest and even down to his stomach.

There's only a few bites left.

He can't do this.

"Please," He whispers. "Please, I can't."

"Of course you can," Abraham coos, syrupy-sweet, leaning over to run his fingers through Ryan's tangled hair, scratching along his scalp. It sends goosebumps up and down Ryan's arms, and he fights the urge to jerk backwards.

Never pull away from Abraham's touch.

"You said you were hungry," Abraham continues, falsely sympathetic, petting Ryan like a frightened dog. White hair falls against his cheek as he looks down. "Didn't you? So finish your food, Faerie Boy. Neither of you gets up until it's gone."

"Nnn-" He catches himself.

Never say no.

Ryan groans instead of answering, staring down at what's left in the bowl. It's not that much-

It's too much.

It's so, so much.

It's going to hurt so much.

"Y-yes, Abraham," He whispers, because always answer Abraham, never hesitate when he speaks to you. The rules burn nearly as badly as the iron. The rules... and the fact that he knows every single one, now.

It's just a few more bites.

He can't do this-

He has to do this.

The iron collar around his throat burns on the outside, and every single bite burns all the way down within.

Abraham makes him lick up the blood that drips from his tongue, too.

[carstenkk-blog]

The making of a prized hucow

The cow experience

Hi there I'm a dairy farmer who has been corrupted by Hucow community! I never found it sexy to think about women as cows 🐄 but now after I have been corrupted it's another matter.

The cow experiences

This is for those who want to experience what it would be like to be a dairy cow I'll describe it in 3 levels

Level 1 as you all probably know cows eat a lot and get milked in level 1 first we need to find out what your limit is for your food intake. Milking you will also happen every 12 hours. Milking will consist of massage of each breast and kissing and sucking on the nippels to stimulate milk flow this will go on for 10 minutes to make sure you release all of your milk! And as a cow you reset of 14 hours and work for 10 as in eating to make your milk 😉

Level 2

Is the same as level 1 but here we will increase your food intake to 15-18 mj pr day. With the increased food intake milk production will also increase to 15 minutes every 12 hours

Level 3

After you have proven you can handle it in level 2 we will increase increase your food intake to 23 MJ as a high preforming dairy cow. Milking will also increase to 3 times a day every 8 hours. Oh there will not be any opportunity to say no to your increased food intake that will be forced if you want the benefits!

Of course belly rups will be included ad libitum as a farmer I'm there to make sure you have the best life all your needs will be taken care of 😉

When level 3 has been completed we will make you ready for the animal show where I will present you in all of your glory we will do your hair and nails and find a outfit that make you stand out from all the rest 🐄😉👌

[tubbybunnysblog]

✨bimbo talks✨

I need to be made so hugely obese I can’t get away. I want my to hang so low I can’t reach my swollen pussy. I want to be a lardy inflated dumb pig too stupid and lazy to realize that I’m doing this to myself. I want to be kept overfed and overstimulated until my brain just breaks.

[painsandconfusion]

yoo can u write more yandere whumper? i love the way u write

dang, you guys liked that one huh? sure kids, here ya go

Fix You

[Part One Here]

(tw: forced feeding, yandere, stalking, kidnapping, manhandling, intimate whumper, burning, unhealthy fasting)

“I’m not eating until you do.”

Whumpee eyes Whumper warily, dull, silicone spoon resting heavy in their trembling hands. They let their eyes slide back down to the soup in front of them. Tomato. Grilled cheese next to it. Their favorite artisanal bread. Never before has the worlds simplest meal looked so fucking fancy.

“Not hungry,” they deadpan.

Whumper sighs, leaning back in their chair. “You haven’t eaten in over a day. You need sustenance.”

Whumpee’s eyes flick back up - harder now. “I said I’m not hungry - would you just back off??”

Whumper doesn’t flicker. Doesn’t move in the slightest. They just sit in still silence, same gentle eyes roaming over Whumpee. “I can’t do that, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s jaw sets. They look away. 

“Come on - I made your favorite.

“It’s not my favorite.”

“It is,” they posit gently. “You were just forced to choose a more refined answer to that question for so long. When you’re unhappy - this is what you want.”

Tears are burning at the backs of their eyes again as they shift their gaze further away - down and to the side. Hardwood floor. If their feet weren’t shackled down, they could make a break for it…

“Please, Whumpee. Do it for me?”

Their hand is scalding before they even register it moving. Soup splattering through the air and slopping onto the ground. Red stains the table and up their arm. “I SAID NO!”

Whumpee immediately snaps their jaw shut, melting back into their chair. Small. Regret washes through them, tailed loosely by cool, curling fear. 

What Whumper might do for them lashing out. The scolding they’d get even from their parents for something like that - let alone a kidnapper. 

But Whumper doesn’t flinch - barely even blinks. Even as the burnt orange splatters up their shirt. “..Whumpee, I-” Their eyes lock onto the soup on Whumpee’s hand. “Oh no- are you okay - is that burning you-?” before their sentence is finished, they’re already up and bounding across the kitchen. In moments, they’re kneeling at Whumpee’s side, not seeming to care about the soup that’s soaking into their jeans.

Whumpee rips their arm out of the way as Whumper reaches for it. “What are y- don’t - don’t TOUCH me-”

Whumper winces, shrinking a little. “I’m just trying to h-”

“WELL STOP HELPING.” Their voice cracks, the tears choking it down to nothing.

There’s a beat of silence, then Whumper rises smoothly. Something in their face hardens. “I’m not going to do that - I’ll never stop helping you.” They snatch Whumpee’s wrist, wrenching it toward them. They blot the cold towel over the light burn.

Whumpee bares their teeth, struggling in Whumper’s grip. “Ss-stop! Lemme go! Lemmego!”

Whumper’s jaw’s set as they scrub away the soup, gentleness starting to wear away with each pass of the towel. “Know what I think?” They step behind Whumpee’s chair, grabbing their other arm too.

Whumpee struggles against them, thrashing in the grip and against the metal around their ankles until it bruises deep against bone. “S-stop! Stop let GO-”

“I think,” Whumper continues, twisting both arms back behind the chair. “That you just aren’t used to this - you’re not used to someone actually caring.”

They wrist and writhe, but can’t break Whumper’s grip. “Wh-what are you talking about???”

The towel shreds in half.

“I think that everyone in your life is so shitty to you that you see something genuinely good as a threat - because that’s the mask they wear to hurt you.”

The towel starts wrapping around their wrists, biting in tight.

“Wh-nngh- stopthathurts-”

Whumper ignores them, tying rough, tight knots. “I think that you need a stronger hand to show you what’s right and wrong.” With one more tug of a knot, Whumpee’s stuck writhing against fabric alone. Whumper’s hands slither up over their shoulders, kneading in.

Lips at their ear have them twitching away, but there’s nowhere to go.

“So you’re going to eat. You’re going to be nice. You’re going to get to know me - and I’ll fix you.” Thumbs grind in - enough to drag a keeing whine from Whumpee’s throat. “Sound good, love?”

Whumpee squirms down, trying to escape the touch that follows them every inch. “Sst-top stop jus-justletme go-”

“No,” Whumper murmurs a kiss to the top of their head and pulls away. They don’t bother cleaning up the mess, they just get a different bowl from the cupboard and ladle a fresh few scoops into it. They prowl back to Whumpee, setting the steaming bowl neatly in front of them. “You need to eat.”

Whumpee glares at the soup, even as a tear trickles off their chin and splatters onto the mess of a table. “..n-no..”

Their scalp burns as Whumper’s fingers twist into it. Their shoulders strain against the sudden angle as their nose crunches against the bottom of the bowl.

Agony explodes around their eyes, fire licking up their cheeks and dripping down their neck. They sputter, thick, splattering air bubbles slopping through the soup as they thrash against Whumper’s hand - desperate to escape the burning. 

“Drink.” Whumper grinds them further down against the ceramic. “You can breathe when it’s gone.”

Whumpee sucks in a desperate mouthful, shoving the fire down their throat out of reflex as much as anything - half of it comes sputtering back up the wrong tube. Curling, grinding fear works up their lungs, following the burn as the acid and blood and tears dance across their throat. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” There’s another hand in their hair. Soft, gentle fingers contrasting the rough grip of the other. Stroking softly. Dancing through their curls and massaging lightly at the scalp. “I’m gonna fix you.”

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @michaeltalks @pinkieglitterheart @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @cursedscribbles @shywhumpauthor @cyberneticwhump @bumpwhump @hold-back-on-the-comfort @veyroswin @whumping-seven-days-a-week @whumpingisfun)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

The alleged presidential campaign of Ron (Three-Fingers) DeSantis is having so much trouble gaining altitude that you'd think Elon Musk were behind it. (Too soon? Don't care.) He seems to be extraordinarily unlikable, but he makes up for it by proposing policies that are extraordinarily unpopular. He has picked a fight with Mickey Mouse. But there's another devil in the unpleasant details of the DeSantis CV. From the Washington Post:

Hundreds of “enemy combatants,” held without charges, had gone on hunger strikes. As pressure grew to end the protests, DeSantis later said, he was part of a team of military lawyers asked what could be done.

“How do I combat this?” a commanding officer asked in 2006, as DeSantis recalled in an interview he gave years later to a local CBS television station. “Hey, you actually can force-feed,” DeSantis said he responded in his role as a legal adviser. “Here’s what you can do. Here’s kind of the rules for that.” Ultimately, it was the Pentagon’s decision to authorize force-feeding. Detainees were strapped into a chair and a lubricated tube was stuffed down their nose so a nurse could pour down two cans of a protein drink, according to military records.

Force-feeding is torture. Among other things, it is a stench in the history of England in Ireland going back centuries. There are no "rules" that make it less so. Only alibis.

The Post's story came out in March. As far as I can tell, it got buried in all the other stories about DeSantis' fight with Disney and about the dysfunction in his campaign. But it's now sprung back to life. DeSantis is in Israel, pretending he's a world leader. At a press availability, a reporter dogged him about his work at Guantanamo. Whereupon, DeSantis blew his cork. From The Hill:

“No, no, all that’s BS,” DeSantis told reporters at a press conference in Jerusalem. “No, totally, totally BS...How would they know me? OK, think about that. Do you honestly believe that’s credible? So, this is 2006. I’m a junior officer. Do you honestly think that they would have remembered me from Adam? Of course not.”

“They’re just trying to get into the news because they know people like you will consume it because it fits your preordained narrative that you’re trying to spin. Focus on the facts and stop worrying about narrative.”

"Narrative" is one of the newest conjuring words that conservative politicians use to obscure the obvious. And the only "pre-ordained narrative" I'm aware of concerning DeSantis is that he's a not-very-bright lightweight who's punching way above his weight class and who's running the 1962 Mets of presidential campaigns. This Gitmo business is way beyond both of those.

Mansoor Adayfi, a former Guantanamo detainee, alleged in an Al-Jazeera op-ed earlier this month that DeSantis was present when he was force-fed during an effort to break a hunger strike at the prison. Many international groups have said force-feeding amounts to torture. “As I tried to break free, I noticed DeSantis’s handsome face among the crowd at the other side of the chain link. He was watching me struggle. He was smiling and laughing with other officers as I screamed in pain,” Adayfi said in the op-ed.

He's going to need a better answer than "Narrative!" for this one. It would be a very sad irony if the only American politician to suffer politically for the torture regime created in 2001 were Ronald DeSantis, as a potential presidential candidate in 2023. History has some formidable teeth.

[secretbigboylover]

Never been stuffed

For how big I am I think most of you would be surprised that I’ve never been stuffed by a feeder before. I haven’t even stuffed myself before, but I crave for someone to stuff me. Just pin me down with boxes of pizza and cinnamon rolls. Tell me how much of a piggy I am. Make me eat a whole cake face first. Tease me as I make a mess of myself. Then rub my belly just enough so I can do it all over again. Make this pig 500 lbs 🐷

[whumpshaped]

tw maggots, forced feeding of rotten food

feed your whumpee rotten, half-fermented, maggot-ridden fruit that doesn't even make a thunk if they drop it because it's not solid enough for it

[growmydarling]

i’m literally in the middle of putting away a dozen donuts in this belly right now and it’s all because of your blog

that's the goal, and i'm elated to knoe i am succeeding. once you get the point of gasping for air, take a break. and then eat one more, just for me. that's right. that's my good fattened feedee. 💕 i'm going to make you softer and jigglier than you ever thought you would let yourself be...and it's only the beginning.

[bodygoalsbeforesummer]

i hate my parents for making food and wanting to have dinner together because i had the smallest portion of curry but the amount of oil in that is probably equivalent to my weeks calories. and then they made dessert and are sitting with me to eat it. i dont want them to know i struggle with eating but i also dont want to eat in front of them. and now i failed my challenge for march on the first day. someone push me off a building.

[whumpcereal]

whumptober, day seven: shaking hands | seizures | silent panic attack

Will's first wake up at the kennel. Parts one, two, and three here. I will make a masterlist this weekend, I swear. Also, this is officially a birthday gift for @hold-him-down. Happy birthday, Holdy!

content warnings for: dehumanization, animalization, forced nudity (non-sexual), muzzles, cages, panic, forced feeding, comments about weight, accidental urination, creepy/intimate whumper, adult language

part four, rise and shine

Will doesn’t sleep. It’s not like he can. It turns out, dog kennels are not, in fact, made to accommodate the six foot frame of a human who isn’t used to being on his hands and knees. Everything fucking hurts, until it doesn’t. At some point, the persistent ache in his back starts to burn and then dulls into numbness. His shoulders feel like they’ve floated off into space, and he can’t feel his legs at all. 

Maybe it’s a mercy not to feel for a second, but there’s a part of Will that’s scared shitless. How long are they going to leave him in here? Like, what happens if you don’t get enough blood to your extremities? Do they die or, like, fall off? He knows it’s unreasonable, but still, Will imagines himself as a limbless body.  

It’s not exactly comforting. Neither are the sounds of the room around him. The restless shifting of other bodies, already used to their cages. Heavy breathing. A few snores. They are all normal, human sounds, and this is not a normal, human situation. Will doesn’t know how many of them there are, but even one person locked in a fucking cage is too much. It doesn’t make him feel any better to know that he’s not alone. Especially because it feels like he’s the only one who realizes how fucked up this is. The rest of them are fucking sleeping. 

And he still doesn’t know where Tommy is. 

So, yeah, no. Will doesn’t sleep. 

He stares into the darkness, floating on a choppy sea of really fucking problematic thoughts,  and he watches as the light in the room shifts from black to ink blue and then a cold gray. Morning. 

There’s the snap of a switch, and the fluorescent overhead lights buzz to life. 

“Rise and shine!” chirps a man’s voice. Fucking Doc. “Hup-hup! Out in the yard to potty. You know the drill.” 

Will’s eyes sting with fresh tears. He can’t do that. He can’t. But he hears the jangle of cages being opened, and it doesn’t seem like any of the others hesitate. A door opens on squeaking hinges; there’s a blast of freezing cold air. Skin slaps against cold cement, and the room quiets before the door slams shut again. 

Will is still locked up. He whimpers behind the muzzle, and without thinking, nudges his head against the cage door. 

Fuck. Did he just do that? 

There’s a soft laugh, and then footsteps move closer to him. Doc crouches in front of the cage, and he ducks his head to get a good look at Will. There’s a smile that, on anybody else’s face, would almost be reassuring; on Doc’s, it just sort of makes Will want to crawl up his own asshole. 

“Aw, now, little mutt,” Doc coos. He curls his fingers against the wires. “Don’t get too excited. You’re not socialized yet, are you? It would be wrong to put you in the yard with the others before you know the lay of the land.” 

Mutt. Cold shame coils in Will’s belly. It’s all he can feel, since the rest of him’s gone numb. 

He knows it isn’t true. He’s not a mutt, he’s–well, he’s himself. And maybe that isn’t always what he’s wanted to be but, fuck–he’s a person. But somehow, the word sinks into him just like Doc’s tracking chip, sharp and stinging beneath his skin.

“Did you get some good rest last night?” Doc asks. “My Annie says you were good as gold.” 

Will’s eyebrows crease beneath the forked straps of his muzzle. ‘Good as gold’ is a stretch. Maybe Annie meant it when she said she’d do what she could for him. Though if half-lying to her deranged father is all she can do, it’s not like it’ll make much difference.  

“I hope you stay that way,” Doc says, his tone all sugar and honey. “You’ve got a big day today, mutt. A very big day.” 

Will can only blink. Who knows what the fuck ‘a very big day’ with Doc looks like? Will isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to find out.

Except he is. Because there’s an actual fucking bit in his mouth. 

He should snarl, growl, bash his head against the cage. But the sudden awareness of the weight on his tongue, of his own half-naked body makes him shrink. He tries to press himself to the back of the cage, but he has no idea if he’s even moved.

“Oh, hey now, buddy. There’s no need to be afraid,” says Doc. 

Right. Because he isn’t muzzled and mitted and fucking caged. Because he isn’t in a basement that was, until very recently, packed to the gills with human animals. Because he doesn’t know where Tommy is or what’s happened to him or how they’re going to get home or if they’re going to get home, and– 

Will can’t breathe. He can’t make a sound, and he can’t breathe. He tries to suck in air through his nose, but nothing happens. His chest feels like it’s stuck. He can’t–fuck, he can’t–he can’t–

Doc slams his hand against the door. “Stop that now. You’re fine. You hear me? There’s nothing for you to get so worked up about.” 

Will doesn’t mean to, but whatever air is left in his chest pushes out in a mangled whine. And then he feels a wet warmth spread between his legs. 

Shit. Or, you know, the opposite. 

Will’s eyes stay glued on Doc as he dribbles through his boxers and onto the newspaper. He can feel his tears slipping down his face, disappearing into the leather, but he doesn’t move. 

Doc sighs, shaking his head. “Naughty. Naughty boy!” 

He bangs against the cage again, and Will jumps. 

“Looks like you might take more training than I thought. But that’s okay, buddy. Isn’t it? We’ve got all the time we need.” 

Will’s heart sinks to his bowels. He still can’t draw a full breath, but he doesn’t think Doc cares. 

Doc reaches into his pocket and slips out a ring of keys. “We’ll get you cleaned up, won’t we? But I want you to listen to what I say here, boy. When you come out of this cage, you’re going to stay on your hands and knees. You’re going to heel and follow where I lead you. And you are not going to fight. If you fight, I’ll make sure you can’t get around any way but on your hands and knees ever again. You nod if you understand, mutt.” 

Will’s head moves, just a little. His nerves are starting to fire again; he’s fucking shaking. 

“That’s a good boy,” Doc soothes. 

He unlocks the door and swings it open, then turns behind him and produces a braided cord with a big slipknot at the end. 

It’s a fucking leash. Will’s chest might rip open if it could. He tries again to suck in air, but he’s crying too hard now to make any headway.   

Doc waggles the loop in front of Will’s face. “You don’t have your collar yet, so we’ll use this slip lead for now. If you tug, you choke.” 

And then he pulls the loop over Will’s head, tugging it snug against his throat. Doc yanks forward, and the cord cinches tighter. If Will couldn’t breathe before, this is not going to do him any favors. 

“Up now, boy,” Doc urges. “We’ll have to get you back to the exam room before the others come in. We don’t want to overwhelm them. I work hard to help them forget what it’s like to be in your place, you know?” 

But Will can’t get up. He can’t fucking move. He’s shaking too much. He tries to push up on his mitted hands, but they’re trembling inside the leather; his joints melt like wax. Doc tugs again on the lead, and this time, Will fucking chokes. 

“Come on now, boy. Heel.” 

He doesn’t get all the way up to his hands, but Will manages to creep out of the cage like a loose-limbed baby, half-letting Doc drag him by the throat. 

“Easy now, mutt. Come on. You’re fine. You’re just fine.” 

Will pushes up on his jittering knees and slides his mitts along the cement toward the door Annie was watching last night. His wet boxers cling to his crotch, already starting to chafe. It’s a small relief that all of Doc’s other–pets? prisoners?--that the others are in the yard so no one can see him this way. 

He hopes Tommy’s with them. That Tommy can breathe. That he’s not so fucking terrified. 

But when Doc opens the door, Will’s hopes plummet straight to the concrete floor. 

Tommy’s there, kneeling on the floor in front of a dog bowl. And he’s eating from it. 

Tommy? Will forgets he can’t speak, and his trapped tongue aches under the weight of Tommy’s name. The sound alerts Tommy, and he looks up, eyes glassy with tears of his own. Greasy brown chunks of dog food cling to his chin. He looks back at the bowl, his cheeks burning. 

“Awww,” laughs Doc. “What a good boy you are, Champ. Eat up now, come on.”

Tommy doesn’t move as Doc closes the door and locks it behind him. Doc doesn’t notice. He snaps his fingers next to his hip and points at the floor next to his feet, tugging on Will’s lead.

 “Heel up, mutt.”

Will barks out a cough, but he does as he’s told, balancing on shaking hands and knees next to Doc’s leg. Careless fingers ruffle his hair. 

“Good boy. Sit. Back on your heels.” 

Will does. He’s across from Tommy now, but neither of them can look the other in the face. 

“Now, Champ here promised he would eat every bite of that food if I brought you in here. He wanted to know you were okay. Isn’t that good of him? A beautiful boy like him looking out for a dirty mutt like you?” 

It is good of Tommy, and Will knows it. If he’s a dirty mutt, Tommy’s a purebred. Will’s head sinks down below his shoulders. 

Tommy pushes up on his hands. “He isn’t–” 

Doc slaps Tommy hard across the face, and Tommy falls over backward, naked limbs flying. Will forces his eyes back to the floor when he realizes that Doc hasn’t even left Tommy his underwear. He’s never seen Tommy naked before. It isn’t–that’s not the kind of friends they are. 

Will doesn’t move, even though Doc’s dropped his lead. He doesn’t do a thing to help Tommy. How can he? He can’t even fucking breathe. 

“Don’t hurt him,” Tommy begs. “I didn’t mean–it’s just that–” 

Will’s gut twists. Tommy is pleading for him, and all Will can do is sit there, like some dumb fucking dog. Doc grips Tommy by his blond curls and dumps him on his knees in front of the bowl again. 

“You keep your mouth in check, Champ, or I’ll muzzle you too,” Doc says casually. “You lick this bowl clean while the mutt watches; he’s got some weight to drop, so you’ll have to do his eating for him.”

Will shrinks down even lower. 

“Will–” Tommy tries, but Doc shoves his face back into the bowl, holding it there until Tommy is practically drowning in brown slop. Tommy’s breath gurgles; Will can’t breathe at all. 

“Eat,” Doc commands. He lets go of Tommy’s head and then steps back to Will, petting his hair with a gentle hand. Tommy raises his filthy face and mouths at the dog food, his lean body shaking with silent sobs. 

“Thattaboy, Champ. Good boy. And when you’re done, both you dirty boys need a bath. We’ve got to get you two camera ready, add you to the catalog.”

Will’s eyes meet Tommy’s, just for a second. 

They are so fucked.  

taglist: @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @msjessmahler, @highwaywhump, @highwaywhump, @youngchap, @squishablesunbeam, @hold-him-down, @whumpsday, @sowhumpful, @whumpworld, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @honey-is-mesi, @irishwhiskeygrl, @deltaxxk

[bellyfetishist]

Condition me to cum from being stuffed, bloated and fattened so I always need feeding sessions to cum.