#noncon body modification

[letitbehurt]

Forced body modification in Whump should be more popular, methinks.

Forcing Whumpee to get a tattoo, cutting or burning initials into their skin. Sharpening the canines of an “attack dog” Whumpee to make them look scarier. Giving them piercings they wouldn’t give themselves, or an ID tag to hang from their ear. Changing their hair color. Deciding what they wear, what they eat, how they speak, who they are.

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee is fighting Whumper with a group of their friends. Whumpee and Whumper fight one on one and Whumper pins Whumpee down. They don't understand what is happening at first, but then Whumper pushes their palm against Whumpee's head. It starts with burning, then screaming, then the world goes dark. Whumper removes their hand and Whumpee has a mind control rune on their forehead.

"Stand up." Whumpee obeys Whumper's command. With a snap of their fingers, Whumper points to Whumpee's friends. "Kill them."

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Robot whump <3

Whumpee who used to be human but had their parts slowly replaced with robotic pieces—one by one—until they're not sure if they're even the same person they used to be

Whumpee gradually forgetting their friends and family

Overheating, electrical errors, short circuiting

Whumper reminding Whumpee that they're not human—why should they be treated like one?

[whumpbees]

Take the things that make your whumpee themself. Animalistic features? Carefully removed and stored. Birthmarks burned away, hair dyed or make them grow out their hair. Train any accent out of them, break bones and let them set wrong, give them a collection of scars- Just, remake them until they can't even recognize themself, anymore.

[whump-card]

what about a corset piercing?

@softvampirewhump

I had never heard of corset piercings before... Thank you for this knowledge...

Art taglist: @angst-after-dark, @whumpsday, @flowersarefreetherapy, @rainydaywhump, @softvampirewhump, @burnticedlatte, @whump-me, @honeybees-125

[bltzgore]

what do you mean by "noncon cyborgs"? 👀 iii wanna knowwwww

Oh my gosh! Thank you for asking!!! Now I get to rant about it 😈

Noncon cyborgs is the nonconsentual modification of a whumpee (whumper or oooooooh! Caretaker!!!) with mechanical augmentations. But thats just a technical description, it's all about what it can be:

- whumpee waking up after being in a fire, a collapsing building, a general disaster, and they're certain they should have died. But they wake up and they are strapped to a steel table in a room that is a few degrees too cold.

- they cannot recognize their own voice

- they cannot feel the cold air on a specific limb

- they aren't breathing. Not that they can't. They aren't. And they're not dying from it?

- the utter silence of it all makes them realize their heart isn't beating either.

- whumper enters and begins to coo, their new creation, their pet, their wonderful new tool, is perfect.

- "What happened to me? How did I survive the ---? Who are you?!"

- whumper shows them a mirror or maybe they see a reflection of themselves in whumper's lab goggles (safety first).

- "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!? WHAT AM I!?"

- whumper smiles, "Sweetheart, you didn't survive the ---." Then they reach down, and they press something under whumpee's jaw.

- Whumpee opens their mouth to start yelling again, to start swearing, anything! Because it's all the control they have left. Their only outlet in this moment of brain shattering terror. But nothing happens. Not a sound come out of their trembling lips.

- whumper just laughs. "I do so love the mute feature."

Obviously there's more:

- whumpee being under some form of control depending on how much of them is mechanical

- now they are more machine than person, they aren't a person. The laws regarding the rights of sentient beings don't protect them anymore. No one is going to help them.

- whumper pulling back one of their panels and invading with cold fingers and carelessness into whumpees innards. Wires occasionally spark sending jabs of pain through whumpee that they cannot stop.

- being partially shutdown and completely immobilized.

- say whumpee does escape or maybe has a second to themself to finally process this. They cannot cry. Their eyes are photo sensors and lenses there are no tear ducts. Everything is just compressing in their chest as they try to survive this overwhelming heart crushing wave of fear and helplessness. (Factor in perhaps they still can't talk).

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Dryad Whump Ideas

masterlist

- Keep them in a dark cell/basement to deprive them of sunlight and weaken them

- Prune and shape their tree form into something more symmetrical and appealing, despite the pain it causes them

- Cut off limbs and study the regrowing process

- Bend their body into an unnatural shape and tie it in place, to encourage their tree to grow a certain way

- Body horror? Splice the limbs from other trees onto their bodies. Graft branches from different fruit trees onto a fruit tree Dryad to give yourself a more diverse harvest

- Keep a flower Dryad in a tiny windowbox, with hardly any room to move

- Leave a Dryad outside through the winter, forcing them into dormancy in order to stay alive

- Their regenerative abilities makes them perfect for experiments that would kill a human

- Masters with sadistic tendencies get away with practically everything---they're plants, not people

@rubyjewelqueen some ideas :)

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1251

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

TW: infertility | nsfwhump | mentions of noncon

An AFAB whumpee really wants kids and has done for ages. Thus image the trauma when after being recused from their kidnapping, they discover they were made infertile from the torture Whumper inflicted - incidentally their dreams of starting a family are ripped apart from them.

Alternatively: AFAB Whumpee instead discovers they are pregnant post recuse - but to their horror it's Whumpers kid. Now Whumpee has to live with the fact Whumper has such control over Whumpee that they control their deepest desire.

[sunshiline-writes]

Drabble: Good Dolls Don't Dream

More fucked up Drabble time from Sunny!!! uhh yeah this one's rough stay safe and heed warnings. CW: DEAD DOVE DON'T EAT, GORE, noncon body modifications (so so many), wire's through hands, stress positions, mentions of kidnapping, broken legs, whumpee is thought of and called a "doll" and "thing", stitching a person's mouth closed, some mouth gore I THINK I GOT EVERYTHING but if I didn't just let me know!

--

Eyelids fluttering, breaths came in short gasps as whumpee slept. Whumper always enjoyed watching Whumpee sleep. They were always so beautiful. But today they were immaculate, strung up against the wall like this. Hands above their head held up by the wire through their hands. The sight was beautiful, the wire wrapping from the hole in their palms between each finger, creating an intricate pattern as it weaved in and out of their hand. 

Whumper had worked very hard to get the designs just right. The carvings in their skin, the wig stitched on, through their scalp. That was the worst part getting them to stay still enough to let them move the needle through the scalp. Then they had to start over because Whumpee had moved so much that the wig had gone on crooked. 

They always knew how to make things so difficult. Whumpee made a noise as their eyes fluttered open. Their eyes looked at them blearily. Whumper carded a hand through the fake hair on their head pulling the stitches lightly. They were a bit angry and red at the edge of their scalp, Whumper would fix that later. 

“Are you ready to be let down now darling?” 

Whumpee let out a choked whine before answering. “Please.. I’m so tired.” 

Whumper unhooked the chain that held the wires through Whumpee’s hand and let whumpee fall into them. Gently picking them up bridal style and carrying them to the bed. A mattress in the corner of the basement, and lays them down. They whimper as their legs are straightened and the blanket is put to their shoulders. Whumpee’s legs still look wrong after the last time Whumper broke them. They hated to do that, it ruined the perfectness of their little doll. But it had to be done after they had tried to escape a third time. They had let the legs heal the wrong way. Making sure there was never an attempt like that again. Dolls didn’t need to run or walk anyway. Dolls just needed to sit there and look pretty. Boy, was whumpee pretty. They had big brown eyes that shone when they cried, beautiful skin, their hair was the only thing that had been awful when they acquired the little thing. It used to be dyed a bright green color, now they had the beautiful black wig that was connected to their scalp. They were nearly perfect now. So close. 

“Can you tell me what you did wrong? Why you were punished?” Whumpee whimpered as Whumper gave a little tug on the wig, again pulling at the stitches on their scalp. “I-I.. said.. I wanted.. to go home..” they answered between sniffles and sharp breaths. 

“Mmhmm, and why was that wrong?” “Because… Because I am home..” “Good. Good. You know you’re nearly perfect,” Whumper, rubbed light circles on Whumpee’s back, sighing. “Just one last punishment. It’s not forever. You just need to learn not to say those types of things to me.” Whumpee stared up at them with wide eyes, tears filling them again. God they were so pretty when they were scared. 

“It.. It was just a stupid.. a stupid dream..” Whumpee tried to bargain with them. Whumper smiled softly, a finger placed on Whumpee’s lips. “Good Dolls don’t dream love.” 

Whumpee whimpered again, whumper stood up and left for a moment before returning with a shoe box. It was filled with different colors of thread and needles. They pulled out a needle and a purple thread. “I think purple would really make your eyes pop, don’t you agree?” They didn’t expect an answer as they set up the thread through the needle. “If you move I might rip more of your skin that what’s necessary, so try and stay as still as possible okay?” Whumpee pushed themselves away from Whumper as they straddled the younger person. Laughing a little, whumper shook their head. “You still need some work. That’s okay. I am very patient.” “No no no, please wait. I’ll be good. I’ll take the muzzle, I’ll wear the ball gag like you wanted earlier. Please,” a whimper as whumper brought the needle closer to their bottom lip. “PLEASE!!” They screamed out next. Whumper huffed and slapped Whumpee hard, “shut up and keep your mouth closed or I’ll make this worse. I’ll let you go a week with these in instead of just the rest of the day, understand? Nod if you understand.” Whumpee nodded slowly, sobbing softly as their lips pouted. Whumper laughed, tapping their cheek lovingly, “Just do what I say and you’ll be just fine love.” Then they pushed the needle through the bottom right corner of Whumpee’s mouth, and as the little doll cried out, Whumper grabbed their tongue with a gloved hand. Then they brought the needle through the tip of their tongue. Whumpee screamed and then quickly clamped their mouth shut as the needle was put through their upper lip. Whumper smiled as they saw blood drip down their lips and chin, gently wiping it away. “Good. Yes the purple looks very good on you. I should put you in purple more often.” Then they pressed the needle into their bottom lip again, repeating the process save for the tongue. They watched hungrily as Whumpee clenched their fists and sobbed quietly. By the time they had tied off the last of the stitch, Whumpee’s eyes had a glazed over look. “God you’re beautiful,” whumper whispered, pressing a kiss to Whumpee’s stitched lips, licking the droplets of blood that had collected on their lips. “The perfect little doll.”

Whumpee sobbed harder

—

Drabble taglist: @painsandconfusion ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[ziptiesnfries]

Mine

Roux and Ambrose masterpost

tag list: @theelvishcowgirl @transgender-scout @gala1981 @laniakea0100

CWs: captivity, branding/noncon body modification, vomiting

The fireplace crackles as Ambrose leads Roux into the sitting room. “I want you to meet someone,” he murmurs, squeezing their shoulder.

Anxiety spikes through Roux’s heart. All this time, they’ve been alone in Ambrose’s house. Except for a handful of bodyguards and housekeepers, who Roux isn’t allowed to talk to, the place is always empty. Someone who they’re allowed to talk to can’t be good news.

Ambrose steers them into the room, and a man with long, dark hair stands from one of the plush leather armchairs. A myriad of tattoos adorn his hands and neck, peeking out from beneath his long sleeves. “Roux, this is Len,” says Ambrose. “He’s a tattoo artist.”

Realization dawns on them. They step back. “No.”

Ambrose sighs, his hands planted firmly on their shoulders as he nudges them ahead. “See, this is exactly why this is necessary,” he murmurs. “You keep forgetting who you belong to.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” they snap. Disgust coils in their stomach at the idea of being marked like that—marked as his.

“Oh, come on, it won’t be so bad,” Ambrose says, as if the pain is the issue. “I got one too, see?” He pushes up his sleeve and turns his arm over, revealing a slightly-scabbed tattoo on the inside of his wrist: black cursive lettering that says Roux.

Now they feel like they’re going to be sick. “How long have you had that?” They want him to take it back, get it removed, however you get rid of those things. They don’t want their name permanently etched on his body.

He just laughs and rolls his sleeve back down. “I wanted it to be a surprise. But, anyway, if I can get one, so can you.”

“I won’t,” they say stubbornly. They glance over at Len, who looks unfazed by the interaction. They wonder how much Ambrose is paying him for this.

“Come on,” Ambrose says, “just a little one on your wrist.”

They cross their arms, pressing their wrists against their stomach. “No.”

Len makes eye contact with Ambrose. “I can’t tattoo someone who won’t sit still.”

A small, triumphant smile curls Roux’s lips. If they won’t sit still, they can’t get the tattoo. He can make them do a lot of things, but he can’t make them do this.

Ambrose circles around and kneels in front of them, his voice low. “Sweetheart, if you don’t sit nice for Len and get a little tattoo, you’re going to find your next option much less pleasant. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

They stiffen. Ambrose always follows through with his threats. But they can’t bear the thought of sitting still while his name is etched into their skin. “I’m not getting a fucking tattoo,” they say firmly.

He gives them a pitying look as he stands. “Len, I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

Len shrugs, like he doesn’t care one way or another. Ambrose leads him out of the sitting room, money passing hands. Roux just watches, wary and silent in front of the crackling fireplace. They wonder if Ambrose will make good on his threat today or wait until later. They can’t decide which would be worse.

When Ambrose returns, he has four of his men in tow. Roux’s stomach drops, their blood running cold. Today, then, they think numbly. Definitely today.

The men stand at attention, blocking the exit. Roux takes a step back as Ambrose approaches, but he’s not heading for them. He stops in front of the fireplace, silhouetted by the flames. “Well,” he says, putting on a regretful grimace, “I guess we’re going with the backup plan.”

He grabs a long, metal rod leaned up against the fireplace. Roux’s first thought is that he’s going to beat them with it—but then they see that the end is disc-shaped, ridged with some kind of pattern. The blood drains from their face.

He grips the branding iron in both hands, a funeral-like solemness on his face. “I gave you another option, Roux. But you didn’t want to take it.”

“I …” Their mouth goes dry, hands trembling. He can’t be serious. He can’t really mean to … “Ambrose, please.” But he turns and pushes aside the fireplace grate, thrusting the iron into the flames.

Roux’s legs move on their own. They try to shove past Ambrose’s men, but the men wrestle them back into the sitting room, hands grabbing and shoving. Roux’s back hits the oriental carpet, and their wrists are pinned above their head, their ankles held down. They struggle, their breath coming in short gasps. Their voice pitches up in panic. “Ambrose, please, you don’t have to—”

Ambrose turns, the iron glowing red-hot in his hands. They suddenly realize the brand is far too big for their wrist, and their mouth goes dry as one of the men yanks up their shirt to expose their stomach. There’s a beat of stillness before they start struggling harder. “Ambrose, please!” they shout. “Please don’t—”

Even from a foot away, they can feel the heat radiating off the iron as it hovers over them. Their stomach tenses, a whimper escaping their lips There’s no sympathy on Ambrose’s face. “I warned you.” Then he presses the iron into their skin.

A scream tears from their throat. For a terrifying moment, their vision goes white, and they think they’re going to pass out. They hope they’re going to pass out. The pain is excruciating, burning into their side like their body is on fire. They writhe and scream, but the hands hold them steady, pinning them still as the brand burns into them.

Finally, the brand pulls away. They don’t feel lucid anymore, but they swear it takes a chunk of skin with it. The hands release them, and for a moment, they just go limp, gasping.

Then the scent of their own charred flesh hits their nostrils, and nausea roils in their stomach. They just barely make it to their knees before they retch onto the carpet. Keeling over just makes the pain worse, but they can’t stop the coughing. They wince at a clang behind them—the brand dropping onto the hearth—and then Ambrose kneels beside them, holding their hair back. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Finally, Roux sits back, panting. There’s a sour taste in their mouth, pain radiating up from their side, feeling raw where their shirt brushes against it. When they finally look up, they’re alone with Ambrose, none of his men in sight. For a brief, delirious moment, they wonder whether they imagined being pinned to the ground, because they don’t remember the men leaving. Maybe they just fainted, their stupid, feeble body giving out on them …

They retch a few more times before finally slumping over. Ambrose wraps an arm around their shoulders. “Here, c’mon, let’s get you up.” He gingerly helps them to their feet. Once they’re upright, their head spins, but he holds them steady, leading them back to the basement.

They barely make it through the bedroom door before collapsing. Somewhere along the way, they started crying, and they can’t tell if it’s from the pain burning in their side or the horrific violation of the whole ordeal. Their arms shake as they desperately try to hold themself up.

Ambrose gives up on trying to get them upright and instead scoops them up into his arms. They cry out as it jostles their burn. “Sorry, sweetheart, sorry,” he murmurs, crossing the room quickly to lay them on the bed.

He disappears for a moment, rummaging around in the bathroom. They stare at the ceiling and try to breathe. Despite the heat radiating from the burn, they’re shivering.

He returns quickly, putting the first-aid kit down on the nightstand. “How are you doing?”

They swallow and realize they still have that bile taste in their mouth, but they don’t have the energy to do anything about it. Slowly, they angle their head to face him, voicing the thought that’s been running through the back of their mind. “You did that on purpose.”

He pauses slightly as he’s rummaging through the first-aid kit. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

The fire was already lit when he brought them into the sitting room. Len seemed unfazed by the whole thing, and didn’t ask any questions when he was dismissed. And the house is normally empty, except for the two of them, but Ambrose had four of his men on standby today.

“You …” Roux’s hands claw into the comforter. “You were never going to fucking tattoo me. You knew I wouldn’t do it.” They squeeze their eyes shut, their head spinning. Bastard. Fucking sadistic bastard—

They hear a jar open and flinch as Ambrose lifts their shirt to check on the burn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is calm and level. “I warned you that the second option was less pleasant, yes, but you know I hate hurting you.”

Their eyes fly open, and they shove his hands away. A jar of ointment clatters to the floor. “You love hurting me,” they snap, their voice choked.

He gives them a wounded look, and the irony of it isn’t lost on them. He cups their cheek. “Roux, you know I’d never hurt you unless it’s absolutely necessary.” The bile-taste in their mouth is overwhelming, and they wrench their face away from him, squeezing their eyes shut. He sighs and retrieves the ointment from the ground. His hands are gentle as he applies it to the wound, but it still makes them wince. “I wish you’d make things easier on yourself,” he says. “I just want what’s best for you, sweetheart. I thought this would be a reminder of that.”

They turn their face away and let him tape gauze over the wound. They try not to think about what the mark will look like, burned into their skin forever.

Once he’s done, he kisses their forehead. “I love you,” he murmurs. They turn away and let the tears roll down their cheeks.

[abhainnwhump]

Whumpee shivers and shakes on Whumper's lap as they cling onto them. They have tears of pain in their eyes and the grip helps. Whumper shushes them and runs one hand through their hair. It's weaker than the normal pets because most of their attention is on the knife carving a name/initials/symbol into Whumpee's back.

[quins-whump-stuff]

Embroidery

CW: Noncon body mods, restraints, mouth whump, creepy whumper

"You'll be better," Whumper said softly as they strapped Whumpee down. Whumpee could barely struggle, limbs heavy with exhaustion, but they still tried. "You'll look prettier and be so much quieter."

Whumpee's ankles and wrists were strapped firmly to the table with soft but tight leather. They knew that their fighting and pleas were worse than useless now, but they couldn't help it. "Nonononono! Please! Don't do this! I can be quiet! I'll be quiet. Don't, please, I promise I-"

"If that were true, you'd be quiet right now," Whumper said quietly, as though they were disappointed. It didn't matter. Whumpee couldn't help but beg for mercy, even as their cries cemented their fate all the more.

Whumper was still securing Whumpee in place. Metal clamped around their ears and pulled painfully. More straps tightened against their throat and forehead. By the time Whumper stepped away, Whumpee couldn't so much as turn their head.

A few moments later, a sharp, bright light flicked on, and Whumper began holding different spools of thread to Whumpee's face. No, not thread, wire. Wire almost as fine as a human hair, made of gold and silver and coppery materials. Eventually, Whumper chose a soft rose gold colored wire.

Then the terrible work began. Whumper started at the outer corner of Whumpee's eyebrow, painstakingly embroidering a single stitch at a time. Despite the small size of the needle, the pain was immense. Every few stitches, Whumper would pause to wipe away the blood with a cold, damp cloth that stung almost as much as the needle.

"Don't furrow your brow like that," Whumper said, mildly displeased, "you'll rip the stitches back out and I'll have to start all over." They didn't say it like a threat.

Whumpee was still begging for it to stop, but Whumper ignored their pleas entirely. Eventually Whumpee gave up on words, but couldn't be quiet through the pain. When Whumper reached the end of the opposite eyebrow, Whumpee could barely think. "That was the easiest part," Whumper tutted.

Whumpee felt a slight but excruciating tug at their brow as Whumper tied the wire off. Whumpee's respite was brief. If they had thought their suffering thus far was bad, they had no words for what came next.

Unlike their eyebrows, Whumper went all the way through for the lips. The needle poked through their lip, and Whumpee couldn't help but scream in agony, which tore at the hole that had just been made. The needle would tear against their lip and scrape against their teeth. Then the wire was dragged all the way through, and Whumpee pushed the needle through the other lip. Then came the stinging cloth to wipe away the blood, and it started all over again. Over and over and over, until Whumpee could no longer open their mouth at all, their screams muffled by their own flesh.

[cold1dead1eyes]

tw // non-con body modification

i love love LOVE the idea of whumper mutilating pet whumpee to look like an animal. cutting slits into their throat to give them gills, chopping off the tips of their fingers to make their hands into paws, whipping bruises onto them in lines that look like tiger stripes.

just,,, whumper completely dehumanizing whumpee in this way. not only treating them like an animal but also physically making them into one so whumpee can’t even deny it anymore.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Wesgoesbrr: The Game

previous //// next

(image and poll under the cut for gore)

You decide to leave him with something special to remember you by, taking the scalpel and carving a little message into his ribs, ignoring his screams and pleas as you work. You have to be precise. It's not like you can erase it and start over.

"Know your place."

That's the gist of what the Fleet wants to say, right? There are criminals all over the galaxy that the Fleet couldn't care less about. The Riot Kings made themselves a target by opposing the entity in charge, and even if the Fleet pretends they're content to ignore the group, people like you know the truth.

They'll do anything to stay in power.

You change out your gloves and turn off the camera before stitching your captive back together. The process takes nearly an hour. Once you've completed the minimal first aid required to keep him alive, you release him from the table's restraints. He doesn't try to run. His shivering body is practically limp, and he cries quietly as you bind his wrists. You stroke his hair, gently hushing him.

"Shh, it's over now."

Well... That part's over, anyway.

tag list:

@whumpsday , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @onlywhump , @whumpyauthortm , @whump-in-the-closet , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpterful-beeeeee , @apokolyps , @whumpedydump , @isntthisblank , @sodacreampuff , @what-if-i-just-did , @whimpity-whumpity , @ladyjaye13 , @shywhumpauthor , @grizzlie70 , @whumpinthepot , @aarika-merrill , @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are , @100percentevil

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1230

What’s worse:

Your whumpee being sedated and waking up with body modifications.

Or

Your whumpee being kept awake while they’re being modified.

[blackberry-bloody]

Pick Your Poison 16

Happy spooky season y'all~

CWs: Gore, noncon body mod (amputation), probably not accurate medical procedures, description of gore/dissection of an arm (?)

Gore will be under the cut and in italics, skip pats the italicized section if you don't want to read gore.

---

You accepted the rubber bit. 

Wordlessly you opened your mouth, allowing Berkley to forcefully shove it in, and bit down. Your vision was blurring now to the point you could look at the would-be corpse and not feel sick. Though you weren’t sure if it was the result of your erratic breaths or the seemingly infinite number of tears that stung your eyes, or more likely- a combination of the two. You watched as the blurry mass slowly hobbled around the room to gather various equipment, only to be brought back and placed neatly on a rolling metal cart beside you. You forced yourself not to look at the tools he’d grabbed.

You saw the glow in his eyes flicker for just a second before he finally turned to you and gave an incoherent gurgle. That was all the warning he gave before he started.

—

He started with a scalpel. Cutting a thin, deep line down the forearm of the arm you’d used to hit him over the railing. Then cutting two shorter lines at the top and bottom of the first. Gloved hands expertly pulled apart flesh. Your flesh. He reached back to the table and found a pair or clamps, allowing him full access to skin, muscle, blood and bone. If you could think anything beyond the pain, you might have felt disturbed by how skilled he seemed.

He cut thin slices out of muscle and tissue, along with delicately shaving scraping pieces of bone off, and placed them in a metal dish on the cart. Through your screaming that felt so distant from your own body, you briefly asked yourself what those could possibly be for…

Once the last sample was placed he put down the scalpel and removed the clamps, closing the flaps of flesh. He then steadily began the process of stitching the intrusion up. You forced yourself to breathe through the pain, even though your head was swimming. That had to be it, right? He’d said he wouldn’t kill you… 

It was not in fact “it”...

Once he’d finished with the stitches, done with clinical perfection, your heart leapt as he reached for the strap around your wrist. But rather than undoing it, he made it tighter. Much tighter. So tight it was cutting off what little blood flow there was. Your heart sank again, a fresh wave of terror washing through you as you watched him pick up a saw and hold it over your hand. You wailed into the bit, pleading, begging. You went ignored.

New, sharp pain exploded at the first pass along your wrist. The next dozen were no easier. You screwed your eyes shut and screamed until your voice couldn’t take it anymore. Then the sawing stopped… And all you heard echoing in your ears was the wet, fleshy thud of your hand joining the previous chunks. 

Swiftly he got to work in closing and bandaging the gaping wound.

—

You didn’t dare open your eyes until you’d heard him push the cart and all it’s… Contents… Away from sight. Your whole body screamed at you in pain. And any hope of fighting or running were wiped from thought. Not when your tormentor could do what he’d just done. He gestured for you to open your mouth again and you obeyed without hesitation, allowing the bit to be removed.

It was then that the doors swung open. Berkley wasn’t alone in this place…

---

Taglist:

@whumpshaped, @whumpsday, @whump-queen, @whumpzone, @whumptier, @suspicious-whumping-egg, @a-formless-entity, @whumplr-reader, @whumper-soot, @emmettnet, @icyheart-and-friends