#using the whumpee's name in a demeaning way

[whumporama]

I'm always afraid that when I search for kidnapping whump, I'm gonna get NSFW. So can you tell me some good ideas that are SFW?

A.k.a nothing sexual at all?

Personally, I tend to use branding a whumpee with a personal insult or demeaning word or a symbol of whumper as a trope thanks to a roleplay I did awhile back.

But I always look for new ideas!

Sure! Let's see...

I think at first it also depends on why the kidnapping happened in the first place. What is the goal of the kidnapper? Is it just for sadistic fun? Are they obsessed with Whumpee? Do they need information? Because their reason can change how they act.

Like someone who kidnapped Whumpee because they 'love' them might be more physiological in their torment, or more careful to not permanently damage them.

But that aside, here are some ideas that might help you!

Non-physical

Blindfold your Whumpee, and leave them alone for a while. They're already in a high stress situation, and now they lost one of their senses. By just leaving them be, they'll stress themselves out. They have no idea what's going to happen, where Whumper is, or if someone is watching them. (Also works a few days in, changing the dynamics.)

Just good old restraints. They're pretty obvious but do you know how terrifying it is to actually lose all that control? The Whumper doesn't even need to physically hurt them for this to be super intense. Just brushing someone's shoulder when they don't want it but can't stop it is already a really harsh reality check.

Force them to make a statement in front of a camera, reading a note with demands for their release. Especially nice when Whumpee is very proud, and is now reduced to this.

Let them know how much Whumper knows about them and their lives. Casually drop the names of people they care about, and what might happen should Whumpee not cooperate. Or tell them they're dead, even if that's true or not.

Fake execution. Make it seem real until the very end.

Physical-ish

Stress positions! Just tying them up and leaving them alone. Always great.

Starvation/dehydration. Whumpee can be as strong as they want, but they still need food and water.

Play with temperature. Have them be way too cold, or far too hot. And offer no relief.

Oversimulation. Just constant loud noise, or a constant drip of water on their face, constant flashing lights, not giving them a break and no way to escape it.

Sleep deprivation. Every time they might fall asleep, stop them. See how quickly they'll be begging.

Drugging. So many options! Let them lose full control? Make them oversensitive? Have them be half awake but weak? Make them sick?

Poisoning. Make them hurt with no escape. It's not deadly, but they'll suffer.

Physical

There are so many options, but here's some.

Chocking them. Make them almost pass out and release. Then repeat.

Electrocution. Just constant shocks, strong or weak, but ongoing and no breaks.

Cutting/slashing/stabbing. Good old knifes.

Beatings. They're painful, also after the fact. Make the Whumpee feel vulnerable!

Burning them

Waterboarding

Breaking their bones (fingers one by one?)

Whipping or lashing

Removing nails/teeth

Pour salt in their open wounds for extra effect

And there is of course much more, but I'll leave it here now! Hope this helps some!

[actress4him]

Overexposure - New Ideas

(Prompt #17 for Summer of Whump)

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Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, referenced beating, noncon touching (non-sexual), forced stripping (non-sexual), restraints, stress position

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It’s only a few days after the exhibit, a few days after the brutal beating Ellery received for trying to ask for help, when the door to her room flies open and he’s standing there with that smile on his face. The smile she hates more than anything. The smile that says she’s about to suffer even more.

“Good morning, Princess.” Lucas strolls into the room - the cell, really, just a tiny corner of the basement built expressly for the purpose of keeping her inside. “In the midst of the fallout from your misguided attempt the other night, I failed to mention how much of a success the exhibit was. Everyone adored you.”

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she knows better than to respond by now. Instead she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself as if she can keep him away.

“I’m getting plenty of sales, too. So many people who want to have our beautiful artwork all for themselves.”

She knows better than to respond, but she can’t help it. The image of those photos hanging on someone’s walls, or being hidden away to look at secretly… “Guess they’re just as sick as you are.”

All of her muscles tense up as soon as she says it, expecting him to lash out. But he must be in an awfully good mood, because he simply ignores the outburst, pacing toward the tiny table with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve been getting requests, too. Some from patrons at the last exhibit, others from people who have seen my previous work.” He turns, leaning up against the table, eyes roving over her body in the way he does when she knows he’s imagining ways to torture it. “Seems like there’s a whole collection of people out there who love...well, I keep hearing the word ‘whump’, but...basically, they draw all kinds of inspiration from what we’re doing. And now they’d like to see something...a little less refined, a little more...hm, how do I say it? A little more...raw. Primitive.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’m certainly up to the challenge. I’ve got ideas already. And I have a feeling once I get started I’ll be quite inspired to keep going.”

No wonder he’s in a good mood. He’s in his creative zone, which means a nightmare of a day for her. And it’s so soon, she’s still healing, her body isn’t ready.

He won’t care about any of that, though.

“Alright, come on, chop chop! Up to makeup we go.”

It’s one of the few instances when she’s allowed out of the basement, so she tries to enjoy it. If she cranes her neck as they come to the top of the stairs, she can catch a glimpse of green and sunlight through a sliver of window, and overall the rooms upstairs are much brighter. It’s a refreshing change.

Lucas’ assistant, whose name she’s never bothered to learn, is ready and waiting in the usual spot with her makeup and hair tools. It’s the one thing that he doesn’t do himself. Ellery expects the same treatment for the bruise around her eye - now turned a sickly yellow - as it got for the exhibit, but it’s ignored. Instead the assistant focuses on eyeliner, mascara, and a little bit of lip color. The basics, meant to make her features pop in the photos, nothing fancy. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘raw and primitive’. She can certainly hope that it’s nothing worse, though hope has done her a fat lot of good so far.

“You want her hair pulled back at all?” the assistant asks.

Lucas, who has been lurking the whole time, watching the process, steps forward and runs thick fingers through her long black hair. She doesn’t bother to suppress a shudder and a look of disgust, but doesn’t try to pull away, either.

“Yeah. Go ahead and put it up, something simple, though. Simple and messy. I might take it down partway through, we’ll see.”

It’s brushed back into a ponytail with lots of strands hanging down around her face, and the top is fussed over until it’s perfectly, believably messy. The assistant looks up to Lucas for approval.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I like it. Okay, moving on.”

This is the point where her starting wardrobe is usually chosen. She stands, waiting while he scrutinizes her current outfit of a baggy white t-shirt and black cotton shorts.

“Take that off, remind me what you have on under it.”

Ellery’s face flushes scarlet. She hates this, hates obeying and hates demeaning herself for him, but last time she refused to take off the clothes herself he just did it for her, and that was so much worse. And it’s not like he’s actually interested in her, not in that way. She was so incredibly afraid of that for a long time. But no, to him she’s not a person for him to want. She’s a piece of art, a canvas, a sculpture. A thing. All he’s thinking of is how he can best use her to create the ‘masterpiece’ he has in mind.

So she slips the t-shirt off over her head. Stands in just her sports bra and shorts with her cheeks burning and wishes that she could melt into the floor and cease to exist.

The expression that comes over his face is nothing short of delight. “Ooh, this is so much better than I was expecting.” He practically trots over to her, eyes on her bare stomach, and reaches out to brush his fingers along the tender, aching skin. She flinches, instinctively pulls back, but he only latches onto her waist, digging his fingers into a myriad of bruises. “This is fantastic. Just what we need for today. So glad I gave you these already.”

Gave her. Like the beating was a gift. She doesn’t need to look down to know that her torso is pretty much one giant bruise, she can feel it just fine.

“Yep. That’ll be perfect. Leave it just like that. No sense in covering up any of this beauty.” He strokes his fingers across her stomach one more time before stepping back to admire the whole thing. “Alright, thank you, Jordan. Let’s get back to the studio.”

The studio - aka the basement. Back down to the cold concrete walls and the artificial lights. She can’t help but slow, just a little, as they pass the room with the window, trying to get one more little peek of the outdoors. She pays for it with his hand coming to land on the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, promising much more pain if she doesn’t keep walking.

The area of the basement that Lucas uses to take her photos isn’t much to speak of, especially today when the white backdrop is rolled up at the ceiling. It’s just an expanse of grey, but it haunts her nightmares.

“Alright.” Lucas is practically giddy with excitement. “I’ve got so many ideas I don’t know where to start. No, scratch that. I do know where I want to start.” He turns to his shelf of props and rummages through a box, pulling out several pieces of metal with chains draping in between.

The dread that had been swirling in Ellery’s stomach all morning suddenly solidifies into something heavy, a stone that simultaneously pulls her down into the floor and threatens to make her sick. She can’t do this again. She can’t. The pain of being stretched into positions her body was never meant to be in, the humiliation of being photographed in the most vulnerable state possible...and now it’s even worse, because she’s already in pain from being beaten.

Lucas is at the far wall, tinkering with his contraption, using existing bolts and screws from previous sessions to attach things to both the wall and floor. “Come here,” he says after a few minutes, and it’s the last straw.

Something inside of her crumples.

“Please…” It comes out as no more than a trembling whisper, but it catches his attention anyway. “Please don’t, I can’t, I can’t, please…”

Sighing heavily, he walks toward her, boots clomping out her doom on the concrete floor. “I thought we were past this, Princess. You’d been doing so well.”

She opens her mouth, to say what, she doesn’t know, it’s all pointless anyway, but before a sound makes it past her lips his fist is connecting with her temple. Her world is reduced to black and pain and falling. When her vision returns, the room whirls around her, Lucas’ face up above hers dipping and bobbing in a way that makes her stomach churn, and her head throbs. She can tell she’s being dragged, though, by the ankle over to where he wanted her.

Rough hands grab her by the arms and heft her to her feet, and the room goes spinning again. Her back is pressed up against the wall, concrete blocks cold on her bare skin, and Lucas wraps an arm around her waist to lift her slightly. She gasps as he puts pressure on the ribs she’s pretty sure are broken.

A second later, something thin and cool falls across her throat, and after he fiddles with something just under her ear for a moment, Lucas steps back and leaves her to settle down onto her bare toes. They just barely touch the floor enough for her to rest her weight on, the metal across her neck digging slightly into her skin and threatening to cut off her air. She tries not to notice him watching her as she struggles to adjust her feet to push herself a little higher.

“Nice. I love it already. Actually, hang on, I’m also loving the disoriented look you’ve got going on right now. I need a shot of that.”

He grabs his camera and gets right up in her face. Ellery automatically squeezes her eyes shut, hating that lens, hating the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, but all she gets for it is his finger poking her in the ribs. Her eyes fly open as she cries out, and the camera clicks. Once, twice, three times.

“Ooh, I don’t know which one of these I like best.” He studies the screen with a grin, flipping back and forth through the shots. “The hazy, disoriented look I was going for, or the gasping in pain. And the restraint around the neck really sets it off. Fantastic. Okay, moving on.”

Bending down, he picks up the rest of the metal pieces, the ones with the chains attached. While she wasn’t paying attention it seems he had hooked one end of the chains to the floor, several feet out in front of her, and now he brings the other end to her. She only finds out what it is for sure when he yanks her hands away from the wall where she had been attempting to help support herself and clamps it around her wrists. The shackles pull her arms out in front of her, naturally making her body want to lean forward, too. But if she gives into the pull, or if her feet get tired and try to lower, she’ll choke.

Lucas stands back to admire his work. “Yes. Just as good as I had hoped. And you’re already starting to get that wild look in your eyes, too. I think if I leave you here for, oh -” he checks his phone -“around thirty or forty-five minutes, I’ll really get the desperation I’m looking for. Maybe an hour. We’ll see.”

With that, he turns and heads for the stairs. As the echo of his footsteps dies out, Ellery finally lets the tears start to pour down her cheeks. She can’t spare the focus to stop them anymore, anyway. All of her concentration until he decides she’s done is going to have to be on staying balanced so she doesn’t die.

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Disclaimer: I don’t think people who like whump are “sick”. Obviously, I am one of them. Now, if there were actually people like Lucas out there who hurt real people for whump’s sake, then yeah. They would be considered “sick”. But of course, Lucas’ patrons don’t know what he’s really doing...or do they...?