echo-goes-mmm
Welcome to Echo's Secondary Location
I'm Echo! • I write whump • Not a Minor • Queer • (He/It) • 18+ advised
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the strap is better for rape because i can't feel it. i'm not getting any pleasure from this except knowing that you don't want it. i'm sure your hole would feel fantastic spasming in pain around me, but that's not as important to me as making sure you know this is not me getting off, this is just me torturing you.
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hux doodle that i dont rlly wanna post on main so woah alt blog
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yaaay!! another prompt :33
caretaker mentions needing to “fetch” something around a pet whumpee — preferably one so heavily conditioned that they can’t tell that fetch is used in different ways and doesn’t always mean playing — and whumpee gets super excited at hearing such a familiar word :3
"Oh, silly me — I need to fetch a pen, I'll be right back."
Whumpee perked up at the word immediately, their heart picking up the pace. Fetch, they could play fetch?
Caretaker came back to Whumpee almost vibrating with excitement, one of their toys in their mouth, whimpering for some attention.
"Ah... I shouldn't have used that word, should I?"
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Hit [A] repeadedly to torture an innocent soul!
Hit [B] to feminize him!
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All credit goes to distressed-mess [deviantart]
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being aromantic and into whump is like. shoutout to whump for being a great opportunity to engage with stories about intimacy and vulnerability and powerful emotion and physical interactions with other people and intense relationships that are not presumptively based in romance. what would i do without you.
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Whumpee wakes up, immediately realizing they can't move. They're gagged and blindfolded, their wrist and feet are tightly bound with duct tape.
Whumpee panics, muffling a series of scared noises. No one tells them to be quoit or to stop, so they keep getting more and more frantic-
Finally, a voice speaks in front of them "Don't make me regret not putting you in the trunk.
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hi. non penetrative sex is often more intimate. more on this later
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thinking about unexpected size difference with whumpers and whumpees.
small, petite whumpers with their huge, intimidating whumpees. maybe they're muscular, maybe they're fat, maybe they're both -- either way, they look like they could crush whumpee in between their fingers. and yet here they are, kneeling like a good pet, all decked out in shiny jewels, wearing pretty outfits that show off their hulking bodies.
maybe they're silent in their submission, playing out gruesome fantasies of killing whumper as they let delicate, elegant fingers trace the fresh set of scars on their back. or maybe they're reverent, utterly devoted, vowing to protect this small, fragile thing that causes them so much unimaginable pain.
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Can I request: Whumper-turned-whumpee, but it turns out Whumper is masochistic and that's exactly what they were hoping for?
content: whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, masochistic whumper, no holds barred beatdown
Whumper had pushed. And pushed. And pushed. They had pushed until Whumpee thought they couldn’t take it anymore, and then they pushed some more, and more, and more.
And Whumpee snapped.
They yelled. Screamed. Threw around the furniture, hit Whumper in the arm with a vase. They punched them, hard, Whumper even thought their cheekbone might be broken.
They grabbed Whumper by the shirt and threw them to the floor, kicking and kicking and kicking them until their breaths came in wheezes and their ribs cracked under the pressure.
It was everything Whumper had imagined and more. It was everything they’d ever wanted.
“Why can’t you just fucking stop?” Whumpee cried, and Whumper curled up into a tiny ball and waited for more of the assault. “I told you to stop! I asked you, I begged you, and you just had to cross every fucking boundary I had! What is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry,” they whimpered.
“No, you’re not fucking sorry!” Whumpee kicked them again, and Whumper let out a shuddering breath. “You’re not sorry at all! You enjoy pissing me off, don’t you? You just love to see me fucking riled up!”
Whumper froze.
No.
No, no, no, no.
Whumpee wasn’t supposed to know that. No one was supposed to know that.
Whumper looked up at them, bloodshot eyes wide and frantic, trying to piece together when and how Whumpee might’ve figured it out. “You knew?” they asked timidly.
Whumpee stopped in their tracks. “What?”
Then, maybe even more embarrassingly, Whumper realised: Whumpee hadn’t known. They were just hurling insult after insult at them, and ended up accidentally hitting the bullseye. But now, realisation was dawning on their face.
“Holy shit,” Whumpee breathed. “You actually enjoy this.”
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multiple anons have asked for bruised knuckles ~ (send me guro requests) - [don’t remove the caption]
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Silas and Wren 2.0 #4
Masterpost
Previous
Next
Warnings: dubcon, strangulation
He bounced on Master’s cock, forcing out a moan as if it felt good. Sweat dripped down his back.
It was hard work, pleasing his master, but he was good at his job and it would be over soon.
Master’s hand wrapped around his neck, and he flipped them over. He slapped him across the face once, twice.
Master thrust into him, his hand tightening around his neck, and it was fine- masters sometimes liked choking him.
Master fucked into him deeper, and the angle was nearly nice when his hand squeezed again, cutting off his air. It was fine-
Except he didn’t let up.
“Master,” he choked out, “wait!”
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
Master moaned above him, and wrapped his other hand around his neck, pressing him down into the mattress.
“Ple-” black fuzziness swarmed his vision- “ase-!”
He pried at the fingers around his throat, but they only dug in harder.
Master was strangling him-
Master was killing him-
He fought and fought, thrashing and bucking, desperate for air- for Master to get off of him-
But it was useless, his struggle was only making him weaker-
His body went limp as the life drained out of it.
He’d done his duty perfectly, and death was his reward.
___________________
Wren woke up gasping. He stumbled out of bed to look in the mirror. No angry marks, no bruises, nothing.
He tore off his clothes, standing bare in front of the mirror.
Nothing.
Despite the ache in his thighs and the struggle to catch his breath, there wasn’t a single mark on him.
Wren picked up his shirt again, but he hesitated.
It had been several days since Master had bought him, and Wren still had not been naked in front of him.
He should have been inspected ages ago.
Wren lingered in front of the mirror. He looked fine. He’d always been average; not tall nor short, with light brown eyes and red-brown hair.
‘Average’ had worked well for him so far, but what if Master didn’t like his body and opted to return him?
Wren shook the thought from his head. No one wanted to fuck a depressed slave. Masters wanted pleasure, and pleasant faces to look at.
He pulled on his clothes, fixed his hair, and headed downstairs. It was just after sunset, and he needed some food in his belly before Master Silas grew hungry.
___________________
“Morning, Wren,” yawned Master Silas.
“Good morning, Master.”
Wren picked at the omelet he had made. It had looked so good in the pan, but he felt hands around his throat every time he swallowed a bite.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, master. Just tired.”
“Alright.”
Wren jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Silas said. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Wren shook his head, sitting stock-still as Master’s hand slid up to his neck.
Wren closed his eyes. Don’t strangle me, don’t strangle me-
But Master only pressed a cool, gentle kiss to his throat before biting down.
It didn’t hurt; in fact it felt nice on the phantom pains that his dream had left behind.
If Master Silas did decide to kill him, Wren would scarcely notice, and that was a blessing.
Warm blood trickled out of the wound, and he could distantly feel the tug of Master drinking.
Silas’s fingers twitched on the side of his neck, and icy-hot fear shot through him. Please please please no-
Master pulled away, and Wren felt dazed. Dizzy, like the world had decided to spin around him.
“Are you alright?”
Master’s voice was far away.
“Mhm.”
Master Silas pushed his plate towards him. “You should eat more.”
Wren whimpered. He didn’t want to; he’d throw up.
“Wren,” Master said, and the room snapped back into focus.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I- I can’t,” he said, staring down at his plate. The omelet looked back at him. Cold. He wasn’t hungry anymore.
Silas walked away, and Wren’s heart sank. He was surely getting something to punish him with.
“How do you make tea?” Master asked.
“Huh?”
“Tea,” he said again. “What are the steps?” Master Silas opened a cupboard and through his dizziness Wren could see a box of tea on the shelf.
“You- you boil some water.”
Master took the shiny new kettle off the stove, filling it at the sink. He flipped on the burner, the gas light sparking blue flames.
“Then what?”
“You get a mug,” Wren said dumbly, “and put a tea bag in.”
Master pulled a mug down from a shelf and selected a bag.
The kettle started to whistle. It hurt his ears.
“And then you just… pour the water in.”
“Anything else?”
Wren rubbed his eyes. “Some people put in sugar… or lemon…”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then suddenly a warmth brushed over his hand.
Wren looked down; a mug of warm tea had been shoved in front of him.
“Drink your tea,” said Master, “you look awful.”
“Okay,” he said weakly. He sipped at the mug. It was sweet and lemon-y, and it calmed his anxious throat.
“Better?”
Wren nodded wordlessly. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually had tea. It was a luxury most Masters didn’t give him, but he couldn’t bring himself to really enjoy it.
Master had said he looked awful. Wren closed his eyes before he could start to cry. He had never cried prettily enough; and it certainly wouldn’t help Master’s opinion of him.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“It’ll pass,” he choked out. “Please.” Please don’t punish me.
Silas held up his hands. Wren eyed him, exhausted and wary.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll let you be.”
No, Wren wanted to say, I’ll be good for you; don’t leave!
But the words wouldn’t come.
Master Silas turned and was gone.
And Wren was left all alone with a meal he couldn’t bear to eat and a half-empty mug.
taglist: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @secretwhumplair @freefallingup13 @mylovelyme @whumpzone @paintedpigeon1 @haro-whumps @whumpthisway @fanastyfinder @extemporary-whump @susiequaz12 @keepingwhumpwiththekardashians @the-cyrulik @morning-star-whump @writereleaserepeat @annablogsposts @tobiaslut @starfields08000 @ghost-whump
#poor wren#hes just trying to survive#kinda hard when your master is especially deadly#my writing#whump#slavery whump#silas and wren
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sorry you put your hand on my cheek and I immediately opened my mouth for you to put your thumb in.
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your shape changing partner saying “i hope you can take this” while still inside you, right before shifting into something with a much bigger cock
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