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sillyvampireboi · 1 month

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Nectar from the giving hands

Summary: Renfield being hand fed and praised finally.

Contents: renfield x reader, reader is renfield’s new vampire master, gender neutral reader, he/him pronounces for reader, writing exercise

Nsfw: dom/sub, master/slave, top!reader, sub renfield, praise kink, neck fetish, no intercourse, blood kink, blood drinking, gentle dom, hand feeding

a/n: first Renfield smutty fic I’ve written whehe! Would love to know what you guys think ~ Also I might or might not write a second part of this one shot *wink wink*

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And his lips met with the ice cold hands, drinking the thick, dark liquid from them. He savored every drop, as it was honey falling from the honeycomb.

It was an electrifying site, seeing the master and his servant in front of the huge fireplace. The sky wore her dark cape over her shoulders outside, wearing her millions of star-jewels on her chest. The moon as her tiara was sitting on her head, illuminating the outside world in a dim yellow light. A quiet stillness rested on that cape coverd day, as the tiara’s light faintly shone through the huge windows of our scene. It was the biggest room of a small mansion in a village, which was in a far secluded area. It was 4 hours away from any form of civilization, surrounded by huge forests and pretty fields.

It was your idea to settle down in a quiet place after centuries of aimlessly roaming in the wide world, and your new familiar more than gladly complied. You learned about his service of Dracula, his fall and the servant’s deep hidden desires and dreams quite fast. He was like an open book in front you, you just had to turn the beautifully written pages and read.

Your approach -you couldn’t quite place the term - as you called it, was different from Dracula’s and other ancient vampires regarding the treatment of their familiars. You despised the handling of ‘inferiors’ even back in the 16th century and you didn’t start to like it now. It was cruel if anything in your eyes. So when you met Renfield and saw what damage serving Dracula across hundreds of years did to him, you swore to care about him the way he deserved. You picked up quickly, that praise, in any amount or form, has a peculiar effect on him.

That was one of the reasons you two were in the biggest room of your mansion, in front of the warm fireplace. You were sitting in the huge, comfortable armchair which was pulled next to the heat so the fire was on your left. And in front of you, between your legs was Renfield on his knees, looking as beautiful as ever drinking from your hands.

Robert Montague Renfield. A handsome man, whose youth has been locked between time, forever frozen in the garden of eternity. His pale cheeks will never lose the faint blush they possess, nor the twinkling will never fade from the beautiful ocean-blue eyes, nor the lips will lose their full redness. His soul has been cracked and crushed countless times during his endless life, yet his golden heart still beats fully between the cages of his chest. Such unearthly beauty inside and out, and Dracula dared to toy with him! The thought left the flames of fury traveling through your dead body every time.

You gently caressed the top of his night-dark hair with your free hand, as you reached the other towards him, replacing the already drank blood. He licked hungrily, slurping the drops that started escaping from your fingers first, cleaning them clean with his tongue.

“That’s it, that’s my good boy. You were hungry weren’t you?” - your quiet voice floated into the room, carrying gentleness and unheard praises.

He was already fidgeting awkwardly since the beginning of the night, hearing your calm voice addressed to him. Since you started the gentle caress on his head, it left pink flowers to form in his cheeks. Now however, hearing the way you called him, the flowers started to bloom and colour his usually pale skin.

“Yes, master.” - he said quietly, suddenly too shy to look up at you.

Robert Montague Renfield.

Always eager to please and serve,

while not expecting anything in return.

So a praise on his work,

leaves him in shock,

blushing and not knowing how to respond.

You adorable little man, tonight I’ll shower you in the admiration you deserve. You thought, as you let your index and middle finger sink into the warm liquid. As you lifted your arm, the blood started to form little vein-like rivers down your straight fingers, along your palm. Renfield looked mesmerized, mouth slightly open and staring at your red covered fingers. His blue irises followed the now formed little veins along the curves of your hand, drinking in their sight. Since you didn’t move, he hesitantly glanced up at you.

“Yes? What’s the problem, Renfield?”

“N-nothing master! I’m sorry!” - shit, you didn’t want to freak him out. Must be more careful with the teasing, you concluded.

His elegant eyebrows frowned in anxious knots, as he tried to curl as small as his tall figure let him.

“You did nothing wrong Robert.” - at the sound of his first name, his head turned towards you, eyes shining with a warm light. You called him Robert! Called him by his first name! And how sweet his name rolled on your tongue, as a peaceful river flowing on rocks. - “ You were staring at my hand, you wanted to do something but hesitated. What did you want to do?”

“I-I just.. I wa-... I don’t know, master.”

“I know when you are lying Robert. Tell me, my little bug. I’m not angry that you want something.” - oh that saccharine voice directed to him again. How he adored everything about you! From your dark, malicious eyes that carried care, to your cold embrace which still felt warm somehow. He bore his baby blue eyes into yours and whispered in a small but hopeful trusting voice - “I .. wanted to-to taste.”

Trusting voice, your mind chirped as your fingers were still frozen in mid air. You knew how difficult it was for Renfield to bond with someone on a deep level, especially trusting, and yet here he was admitting the desire of his heart, looking up at you, waiting.

“You’ve been a very good boy, Robert. And good boys get what they want.” - you purred as you moved your hand to be in front of his face. Ah, how pretty he looked between your legs, his pale skin lighted by his own excitement and the heat from the fireplace. Golden and orange flames framed his figure from the left side, his night-dark hair mirroring their illuminations while his striking blue eyes gleamed.

Your words again! They patted his heart and pulled him closer to you, hugging him warmly. The flames from the fire started to appear on his cheeks as well, spreading across his face and neck. He stole a careful look towards you, silently asking for permission. The second you nodded your approval, his tongue embraced your fingers. He licked along your slender fingers, tasting the blood, not letting any drop escape, then he worked his lips on the side of your palm, collecting and devouring the veins formed there. The more he licked, the more his face started to bear a similar shade of the thick liquid. His breath started to become haggard, and his tongue technique sloppysh.

“That’s my good little Robert, cleaning my hand and not letting the blood go to waste.” - you continued the rain of your praises, while you began caressing his hair. He couldn’t stop the whimper breaking out from the back of his throat, as you carried on with the fondling.

Greedily he took your fingers fully in his mouth, closing them between the slick walls of his chops. He slurped and stroked and tasted, his tongue tangling around both. It didn’t take much time for his head to start bobbing up and down, moaning around your slender fingers and whining for more friction.

He looked so disheveled and pathetic yet extremely lovely. Saliva started dropping from between his pink lips, flowing down his chin and jaw mixing with blood drops there. What a beautiful painting it was on his neck! Colours blending with heated skin and shiny drool, contouring his Adam’s apple and the relentlessly working muscles. He had a pretty neck, slender and pale, showing his purple arteries pulsating under pregamen skin, bearing white marks of old bites.

He appeared to be at peace, safe in the garden of your blood-red roses, a heavenly light shining through him. The tent in his trousers left a vet river down his thighs, smearing it all over his clothes.

You grabbed his inky hair, pulling his head back gently from your fingers. The moan that escaped his lips was so loud that the tiara wearing night sky stopped for a moment to listen.

“You are so good at obeying my orders Robert. I’m so lucky to have you. I know everyone wants a good little servant like you.” - you leaned down to whisper it into his ears and you trailed your cold fingers along the line of them.

He whined adorably while he laid his head on his left thigh, exhausted but blissful after the events of the night. His twinkling, baby-blue irises collided with your dark ones, flaming in the sizzling light of the flames. You read nothing but love in them, being completely open, builded walls long forgotten.

“Thank you master.” - he whispered with a hoarse but happy voice.

You continued patting his black locks, while the flowers of blushes overblownd, leaving their seeds for the future and his breath calmed down. He started to sink into a tranquil dream, pulling his lips into a soft smile. He looked so serene there, so you didn’t stir, just let him sleep while you kept patting his little head and whispering praises over him. It was still a few hours before sunrise, so you stayed there waiting over his dreams.

As the night sky started to take off her star-jewels and her moon-tiara, you lifted the dreaming man into your soft armchair without waking him. You covered him with a warm blanket and left a quill written note for him to find in the morning.

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Taglist: @unholy-gigi

(Let me know if you would like to be tagged :D)

#renfield my beloved #r m renfield #my writings #renfield #renfield 2023 #renfield movie #renfield fic #renfield fanfiction #rm renfield #renfield x reader #robert montague renfield #renfield x reader smut #praise k!nk #hand feeding #dom/sub #master/slave #blood k!nk #blood kink #writing exercise

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sunshiline-writes · 4 days

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #17: Dirt and Oranges

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This chapter is a bit chunky! Hope it makes up for the wait LMFAO. word count:3.9k CW: emotional whump, gaslighting, dissociation, some amnesia, ableism, POC whump, fade to black noncon, self deprecating, hand feeding, confinement, captivity, mentions of minor whump (blink and you miss it), aftermath of hand whump, disability whump, let me know if I missed anything

The hayloft wasn’t too bad. He had a thin blanket for the night time and every few days, Xavier or Jesse switched the manacle on his ankle to the other so it didn’t chafe too much. All he had to do was behave. Wake up with the sun and when he saw the top of their hair above the ladder, he waited on his knees. His knees were bruised constantly and so was what little was left of his ego.

Xavier had started to let him down in the barn to clean the stalls, start polishing the saddles, and cleaning the tools. He’d even been given a bucket and a towel, told to clean his own blood off the barn wall. Blood stained. Migel didn’t know that before he started to scrub at the wall with cramping hands. Ah yes. His hands. His hands were, quite plainly, fucked to all hell. His left hand was better off. It always felt tight and there was a scar right in the middle of his palm, circular where it always hurt the most. His right hand. His right hand was the worst of it. It had been set as best as it could, but his fingers still looked wrong. Some of them still bent a little the wrong way. That was the least of his problems though.The problem was the way his hand was curled like he was about to make a fist but stopped midway through. Straightening his fingers outward was excruciating and curling into a real fist was also painful.

Looking at them too much made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. So mostly he just avoided looking. But signing had become an arduous process too. It made him angry, even though it wasn’t allowed. Somehow, Xavier had been patient with him when he was figuring out how to grab the rake to clean out the stalls. Even offering advice and helping him figure out a grip. Xaviers mood swings made Miguel dizzy sometimes.

There was a brightside. Jesse was still mostly the same. The torment was the same. Fake sweetness followed by an angry backhand to the face. Mocking the state of his hands and then softly massaging them so that they felt better. The push and pull was familiar. He was used to that. Xavier had been oddly sweet… Just sweet. Providing words of encouragement and comfort. He hadn’t hurt him in weeks. Miguel preferred him when he was playing mind games. Maybe it was because he had stopped fighting. He didn’t know. Most of the time.. He was too tired to really try and figure it out either.

Today the rays coming through the barn window were soft and warm on his face as he awoke. He half wanted to go back to sleep. But they would have his head if he was still asleep when they came up the ladder. He pushed himself up on his cot, tried to do the exercises for his hands that Solomon had given to him. When that failed, he stared at the wall, trying to remember what got him here.

Miguel had lost time. That much he knew. There was a period of time he didn’t remember. After Jesse.. In Solomon's bed.. He shook himself free of the memory. It was better if he didn’t remember. He could stand missing time. It had happened many times before. To be honest, Miguel didn’t remember much of his first year here. The entirety of his thirteenth year of life was a distant blur, only recalling bits and pieces. He didn’t feel like trying to remember. It wasn’t worth it.

There were certain memories that stood out among the rest. A gun hot and heavy in his hands pointed at Xaviers face, burning pain on his chest, the smell of melted skin, and lots of darkness. He spent so much time blindfolded when he was thirteen, unaware of his surroundings. Moving through the darkness like drowning in a lake. Miguel mostly just accepted that he would never know exactly what they did to him that year.

He did wish he remembered some things before he was taken. He had siblings once. He knew that. His sister's faces were fuzzy. Sophia had dark hair that curled into a nest on her head and was shorter than him even though she was older. Marisol’s hair was longer and more brown. She had soft hands. He remembered Jaime the most though. He was smaller than him. The smallest of the four of them. Jaime used to run around a lot. His father used to call him travieso, but he would smile while he did. Miguel assumed that was because for all the mischief his brother liked to cause, he was harmless.

Harmless fun. When was the last time he had that? Before Xavier? Before he could remember? Miguel tried to hold onto their faces, to the way they looked when they laughed. But they were fading. All of them were fading away from him like water through his hands. The tighter he held, the more they slipped away from him. It had been eight years since he’d seen their faces or felt their touch. All of it seemed to escape from him. They never came for him. He remembered that. His parents gave him up to a devil, demiono, and never even tried. Miguel shouldn’t be thinking about them at all. Yet here he was, lost in his thoughts, wondering what life could have been if they had at least tried.

It wouldn’t have made a difference, but at least he would have known he was loved once. Real love. Not whatever Xavier and Jesse had to show him. Jesse’s constant need to be feared and loved at the same time. Xavier’s desperateness for Miguel to rely on him for everything. None of it was real love. He wondered if the two of them ever had been held or hugged. If someone had hugged them when they needed it, would they have been different? Could they ever be different?

Miguel was thinking too much again. He did that sometimes. His mind always moved faster and faster until they dug him into a hole he couldn’t get out of. Sometimes, when he thought too much, a sinking feeling would rise in his chest. Make him feel like a cave, hollow and dark. When he felt hollow, he would go to Solomon, help him with his chores. Make up new ones to keep himself occupied until the feeling passed. If the feeling didn’t pass, sometimes his chest collapsed. It never actually collapsed, it only felt like it did. Like all the emotions and memories were sitting on his chest at all times and sometimes they broke his bones. Then everything was painful and it was hard to breathe.

It happened sometimes before he came to the ranch. When it did, his father would hold him close to his chest, make Miguel feel his pulse, and hum. The vibrations were always calming, following along with the pulse, his fathers steady breathing. Solomon would hold him sometimes. But now all he felt was a sinking emptiness in the pit of his stomach the longer and longer he spent alone in the hayloft. He’d grown so used to company. To the feeling of other people around. Especially Solomon. Miguel had forgotten what it was like to feel lonely.

Loneliness was killing him. So much so that he had begun to look forward to his visits from Jesse and Xavier. Heart racing when he saw them. Even if it was just to make sure the manacle hadn’t chafed his ankle too much, give him food or water, and take out his waste bucket. Simple things like Xavier running a hand through his hair, or Jesse wrapping a hand around his throat made him ache for more touch. More anything. At least now he had jobs to do. Taking care of the barn, cleaning the saddles and boots when they came back from rides. He cherished his time down from the hayloft. Even if he was watched like a hawk all of the time. Even if no one dared to talk or look at him.

Today was no different. When he saw the shocking red hair appear from the ladder, he got on his knees. At least they didn’t hurt anymore when he did it. Or maybe they did, he was just used to it by now.

Jesse had a bucket in one hand, and his other hand was behind his back, hiding something. What was he hiding? It made his stomach sink to his knees too.

Morning mutt, Jesse said, grinning from ear to ear. Walking toward him and putting down the bucket with a thud. He looked up and squinted at Jesse’s face. He seemed chipper. Happy and less angry. There was something wrong here. Miguel moved to look at the bucket but Jesse grabbed at his hair, pulling him back and making his neck arch painfully. He whined, breathing picking up. Maybe Jesse is in a mood today.

Jesse lifted Miguel to be face to face with him, making Miguel grunt and one hand wrapped around Jesse’s wrist.

Close your eyes and open your mouth for me kid, Jesse said, licking inside his ear again just to see him squirm. Miguel came to a realization of what he wanted from him. Was this the reason for being so chipper? He just wanted a hole to fuck? Open them and I’ll get out the blindfold and the bridle and I’ll leave you like that to do your chores.

It wouldn’t be the first time Jesse’s done that. Left him to his own devices when he’s blindfolded. He wouldn’t doubt that Jesse would do it again. So he just closed his eyes and tried to relax. Let his mouth hang open as Jesse slowly lowered him back down, releasing his hair. Miguel only wanted to be done. Get his breakfast, do his chores, come back and sleep. That was all he wanted. The darkness was enough to try and consume his thoughts. He waited for the salty taste of sweat and come on his tongue. Nothing came.

Not for a while at least. Miguel’s mouth was getting dry from sucking breaths in through it. Then something was placed in his mouth, soft and almost pillowy. A finger under his chin pushed slightly to make him close his jaw. Miguel bit into the citrus in his mouth, cool juice exploding over his tongue. The taste was sweet and tart, spreading into every corner of his mouth. He chewed and he let it sit a bit longer before he swallowed. He opened his mouth again eagerly, awaiting another slice. A finger tapped against his eyelids and Miguel opened his eyes, staring up at Jesse with an orange in his hand.

He was smiling. Good right? You want some more?

Miguel kept his mouth open, nodding. He wanted more of that orange, he hadn’t had much more than stale bread and water for his time in the hayloft. It was the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.

Two more slices of orange were placed in his mouth and he chewed greedily. Tongue slipping over Jesse’s fingers that sullied the taste a bit with dirt. He didn’t care. Miguel no longer cared about much anymore.The shattered remains of his dignity were on the floor in front of him. Along with drops of his blood. And the last of it was being stolen from his body from fingers that tasted of dirt and oranges.

He could barely remember what it felt to be a person anymore. If he ever was one in the first place.

You’re being real good today aren’t you? Here’s some more, Jesse said, an amused smile on his face as he gently placed another slice on his tongue. With every slice, Miguel could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into desperation. He was desperate for more of the sweetness, even if it was made slightly bitter by the taste of dirt. Dirt and oranges. Was this what had become of him? Begging for scraps.

My uncle got them for Hen. She asked for some from the market. I managed to steal some from the crate before– Miguel didn’t see the rest of what Jesse said. He had turned away from him and Miguel whined as Jesse stepped back. Jesse wore that same grin as he did, wiping his hand on his pants to try and rid himself of the juices from the orange. I don’t have any more, mutt. If you’re real good today, maybe you’ll get some more before I take you back.

With that, Jesse flicked out his hand. The man tilted his head slightly to the side. Clean my hand, you can have the last of the juice.

Miguel burned with shame as he moved, grabbing Jesse’s fingers and sucking on them.

Dirt and oranges. He wished Jesse always tasted like this. Jesse’s fingers were rough and calloused, but he did his best. Swirling his tongue around them, in between, trying to get at every last taste of orange. Jesse pulled his hand back and a trail of saliva came away, connecting Miguel's mouth to Jesse’s hand. He almost retched at the sight. Disgusted with himself.. with Jesse. With his predicament. All of it was almost too much. He was angry and tired and he just wanted to sleep.

Instead, Jesse moved to unlock the manacle from his ankle. The skin there, angry and red. It was time to switch legs when they got back.

The rest of Miguel’s day went in a blur. He was far away. Following instructions. Cleaning the horses, washing them as Jesse watched with mock interest. He cleaned the bridles, including the one that was reserved for him. He didn’t think about it. Miguel found that when he didn’t think as much, everything got easier.

Brush, clean, walk. Brush, clean, walk. Taking walks with Jesse or Xavier had become normal as well. Jesse walked with him around the ranch, taking the black draft horse with them. It walked behind them at a leisurely pace. They didn’t talk. Jesse was unusually quiet and it filled Miguel with dread. Sinking into his stomach and into his legs. They turned around to go back to the bark, a breeze making the day cooler. A minor help from the brazing sun hot on the back of neck.

Jesse waved to get his attention and Miguel looked at the other man.

Do you ever think about them? Your family before you came here?

Miguel frowned. He wasn’t allowed to think about them. Let alone talk about them. He narrowed his eyes at Jesse, cautious. Why was he asking this? Why did Jesse look so tired? What was happening outside the hayloft that was making Jesse ask questions that weren’t allowed? The hair on the back of his neck raised, sensing some sort of danger. Miguel shrugged in response to the question, an attempt of playing it safe.

Sometimes I think about my mother before I came here. Do you think about yours?

A memory shattered through the fog in the back of his brain. His mother running her hands through his hair, untangling the curls. Gentle fingers rubbing his earlobes, the soft rumbling vibrations that meant laughter. The tiredness that came from being safe in his mothers lap.

Miguel found himself nodding without his permission. Jesse nodded along with him. It was almost normal. A conversation he would have had with a friend. Precious and intimate. Miguel couldn’t let himself feel like that though. If he started to think of Jesse as more than just the person who hurt him, he’d never make it out alive.

Don’t worry. I miss my mom too. I won’t tell Xavier.

He took that sentence, those words and held them close to himself. Jesse was just another person who missed his mom. Miguel didn’t know what to do with that information. He could throw it out, leave it with the rest of the darkness he didn’t remember. Or he could keep it close, a reminder that Jesse was just a person. A bad person. But a person nonetheless. Miguel decided that he would save a decision like that for later.

The man walked on. Leading the horse back to the dreaded barn, back to the hayloft. Back to where everything would be awful again. He suppressed a shudder. Keeping his head straight, not looking at Jesse. Not ignoring him but not inviting him in for more conversation either. Miguel no longer wanted to think about mothers and fathers and brothers. He just wanted to put the horse back in the stable and make it back to the hayloft in one piece.

Something caught his eye, a movement to his left. It made his heart stop, his stomach drop. Miguel's hands tightened their grip on the lead of the horse, the pain somewhere distant. Everything else was distant. Solomon was walking out of the house, down the steps. Staring at him too. How long had it been? How long since he’d even been allowed to ask if the man was alive? Something in him compelled him to let go of the horse's lead. He took a step toward Solomon. Solomon took a step toward him. Signing something, saying something.

His face was bruised to all hell, brown skin covered in fading green and yellow blotches. Solomon's eyes looked so tired. So fearful. Miguel couldn’t help himself. He ran toward the man. The man who helped him, who raised him, who never once left his side unless he was forced to. He took only a few steps before a hand wrapped around his waist and yanked him backwards. Solomon stopped in his tracks. Literally feet away, if Miguel reached he could almost touch him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug and let himself be held by the only person who ever provided any true comfort. But the arm around his waist started to drag him backwards.

Something in him ignited. He fought, kicking and dragging his heels in the dirt. Nails digging into Jesse’s freckled skin on his arms. Drawing blood. There was a sinking feeling as Jesse continued to drag him. Solomon took a few steps forward, reached out to him. Miguel reached back out to him and their fingers touched. A tingling spread through him and he could feel his throat tighten. He was so close, so close and he was being dragged away again.

Was it worth it? To hug the man he considered a father? Was it worth the punishment that awaited him? His body seemed to act again without his permission as he threw his head backwards. Skull cracking against Jesse’s lips. Jesse’s arm around him loosened and he wiggled out of the hold, sprinting toward his caretaker until his arms were wrapped around Solomon’s waist. Breathing in his scent.

Solomon always smelled of earth and rosemary. Arms wrapped tightly around him and Miguel buried his face into the man's chest. Solomon was warm and safe. Every memory he had that was ever good of his time here included Solomon. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. If he did, he was afraid that he would never be able to see him again. Something in his chest broke. Shattered right into pieces. And it released out his eyes and mouth, flowing out of him like a river. Was he screaming? Wailing? There was wetness on Solomon's shirt and Miguel wailed harder. Hands curling into the soft fabric of his clothes. His whole body shuddered with his cries.

Slowly, gently, Solomon lowered them both to sit on the ground. Miguel in his lap and curled into his shirt. Sobbing softly at the warmth of another person. Solomon slowly rocked Miguel back and forth, holding him like a small child, until his cries stopped. When he stopped, Miguel finally found the courage to look Solomon in the eye.

Hello she’awee. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Jesse’s going to take you now. You go with him. You go with him and you live and you keep on going. Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel took in a shuddering breath as Solomon wiped his tears. Jesse’s cold and calloused hand yanked him by the shirt into a standing position. Shoving him to move forward. Away from Solomon who stayed on the ground. He forced himself to look ahead, to not look back. If he looked back he wouldn’t make it. With every step a part of him faded deeper and deeper into itself. Until when they were back into the barn and the world smelled of horse manure again, he was no longer there.

He was outside his body, watching Jesse march him up the ladder. Watching as Jesse shoved him down to his knees and locked the manacle around his ankle again.

Don’t fucking.. Come back. You asshole, Jesse said, slapping him across the face. Miguel blinked and he was back in his body. Seeing it through fresh eyes. Looking up at Jesse. You with me?

“Yes.” Miguel answered lamely with his hand, tears welling in his eyes again. A sharp pain came across his cheek.

Don’t you dare fucking cry. You fucking ran. You went to Sol, you’re not supposed to do that you fucking shit. I thought Xavier burned those rules into you. You aren’t even supposed to mention him and you fucking ran toward him.

Oh. Oh he really was in trouble wasn’t he? Xavier was going to kill him this time. Or worse, kill Solomon. Jesse grabbed his chin with a bruising grip and he leaned in real close. Even his breath smelled of oranges and dirt.

I won’t tell if you act like you want it. If you’re real convincing, I might even be gentle, he said, shoving Miguel backwards on his back. The wind knocked out of his chest. Miguel instinctively crawled backward. Are you angry yet Miguel? Jesse asked as he pulled tighter on the chain that held him. You can be angry. I promise. You wanna go back out? Go see Solomon? Come on.. he drawled, crawling over Miguel on the floor. Hovering over him. Or do you wanna stay with me?

Nausea rose in his throat and he whimpered. But he brought a hand to Jesse’s chest and looked up at him

“I want to stay with you,” he signed slowly. One hand snaking behind Jesse’s neck to pull him close. Pressing their lips together.

Good boy.

And Miguel closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden floor.

He focused on the smell of dirt and oranges. He pretended that the scent was something comforting. Something easy to stomach. When Jesse was done, Miguel was hand fed another orange. He told himself he was content with that.

He was still hungry.

Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure how much left of him there would be by the time hope came round again. But maybe it would. Maybe it would and there would still be a piece or two left of him to save. He could be a better dog for someone else. For someone kind.

__ TAGLIST:

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader @cyberwhumper

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

#whump #whumpblr #sunshine writes whump #poc whump #disability whump #deaf main character #ableism #hand whump #aftermath of hand whump #gaslighting #emotional whump #hand feeding #captivity #fade to black noncon #intimate/creepy whumper

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chaotic-neutral-melatonin · 5 months

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I know it's like fuck at night but I'm feeding my basement boy goldfish crackers and I thought you guys might want to know he confessed to killing three teenage girls about my height. I don't know how much of that is just meant to scare me but????? He's eating crackers from my hand like a dog. So.

#melatoninposting #tw kidnapping #hand feeding #tw hand feeding

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fatsoxmainewildlifeblog · 2 years

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Nancy hand feeding the Hummers 5/6/22 in Tenants Harbor.

#bird #humming birds #hand feeding #ruby throated humming birds #maine backyard birds #maine wildlife #nature photographs #photographs nature

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pigeonwhumps · 1 year

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New toy

Finding Safety masterlist

AMOW March Trope-a-Thon day 2: creepy captor + conditioning + pet whump

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch

Tyrone has a new toy he wants to try out on Aaliyah.

1.2k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, intimate whumper, dehumanisation, self-dehumanisation, non-con, hand-feeding, sensory deprivation, conditioned whumpee, muzzled, treated like an animal

"Open up, pet."

Aaliyah, knelt at her place by Master's feet, opens her mouth obediently. Master picks up a fry and holds it out, letting her eat it from his fingers. She licks the grease off them afterwards, the way he likes, and flutters her eyelashes at him.

"Good girl, Aaliyah," Master purrs, "Very good girl." Aaliyah flushes at the praise, and he chuckles lightly. "Would you like some dessert too?"

Aaliyah bows her head, placing her hands together as if in prayer, supplicating herself for the chance for a little more food (at least, she hopes dessert is food today). Master seems to be in an exceptionally good mood, because he simply smiles, holding out a fork towards her.

"Go on then. Eat it."

Aaliyah leans up and licks the crumbs of chocolate cake and cream off the fork, bowing daintily after she's finished. It's sweet and cloying, and full of flavour. Well. He did say he put a lot of chocolate in.

"That's it for today, pretty thing. We don't want to spoil your figure." He pats her on the head, before getting up and pouring some dry pellets into a metal bowl, water going in another. "Now, I don't fancy going out in this weather, so I want you to feed the mutt. I have some things to do, but when I'm finished I want you ready and waiting in the bedroom. I have a new toy I want to try out."

So that's why he's in such a good mood. She pushes herself to her feet and takes the bowls, heading outside. It's not raining anymore, but the ground is covered in cold, muddy puddles as she splashes towards the kennel. It doesn't have a door and she sees Cass look up miserably as she approaches. He's stretched out fully on his front, his back covered with shiny pink scars, and the new wire muzzle covers the lower half of his face. Aaliyah doesn't think Master ever intends to take the mitts off.

She places the bowls of food and water in front of Cass and unclips the muzzle, stroking his cheek apologetically. He flushes with what she thinks is humiliation, before bending over and taking a slurp of water.

She thinks it's humiliation, anyway. She ponders it as he crunches on the food. If this is the life he's meant for, why does he get humiliated? Why are there things that make her throat catch, and not in a good way?

She shakes her head. She's a pet, it's not her place to wonder. That won't do. She's just here to do Master's bidding.

Once Cass has finished his food, he laps up some more water, then sticks out his chin, allowing Aaliyah to buckle the muzzle back on. She slides a straw through, helping him insert it into his mouth, allowing him to drink while she's not here.

Then she lets him lean his cheek against her hand for a moment. She has to go, but she still has a moment of comfort for Cass.

Back in Master's house she washes her feet carefully, knowing he'll be angry if they're dirty, and heads upstairs to his bedroom, kneeling by the foot of the bed, in her usual sleeping spot. It's only a few minutes before she hears Master's footsteps, and she keeps her head bowed and body steady as he strokes her hair. His hand quickly turns into a strong grip, pulling her head back and up, bending over to give her a bruising kiss. She parts her mouth slightly, allowing his tongue access. When he pulls away he sighs happily.

"You really are perfect, pet. Now get onto the bed and into position two. I want to see you."

Aaliyah obeys, climbing on the bed and onto her knees, butt resting on her ankles. Master smiles.

"Good girl. Now, I have a new toy for you." He reaches behind him into a large bag and pulls out– no.

No.

Her eyes widen at the sight of the leather deprivation hood and it's all she can do not to panic.

"Hey, it's okay, pet. Your handlers aren't here. I know you had it used on you before, but I just want to see how you react, that's all. Nothing like then. And besides, you're my pet. You can handle this, can't you?"

Aaliyah nods at the stern question-stroke-threat at the end. Master really is in a good mood today, to reassure her so much, but he won't stay like this if she doesn't get it together. She sticks her head out, allowing him to attach the leather over her head. Once he's done up the last strap all she has is a small hole to breathe, the smell of leather filling her nose. She leans into Master's touch, desperate for it, as he removes her clothes carefully, then lays her down.

She's grateful that it's only her head, that she can still feel (feel so much more than normal, in fact, without the useless distractions), that Master's being so affectionate with her. She responds eagerly to his touches, feeling a rush of pleasure at each one. Master's so good to her, to let her feel this even without her doing anything for him.

The hood's terrifying. She has no idea where she is when Master's not touching her, and no idea what he's doing at all. She's a pet, she doesn't need to know, but it's still scary. At least Master's being good to her.

After he's prepared her, a luxury she isn't always permitted, he inserts his penis. She hasn't been ordered to stay still like a statue so she doesn't, doing just as Master likes until he comes inside her. He keeps fucking her well past the point of her own pleasure, well past overstimulation, until he's come several more times.

But her own pleasure doesn't matter. She's a pet, for Master's use and pleasure only. Just another hole to fuck, Cass said.

But that's not quite true. No, Master wouldn't be so affectionate if it was. He wouldn't have punished Cass so harshly for saying it. He cares about her, and she's a bad pet for even entertaining another possibility.

Once Master's finished, he removes the hood carefully, brushing her sweaty hair out of her eyes and kissing each eyelid.

"You're so pretty like this. I should make you cry more often. And that was beautiful, pet. You're so responsive like that. Let me clean you up and you can have a few hours sleep before it's time to serve me again."

Aaliyah goes limp in Master's arms as he brings her into the bathroom and starts washing her down with cold water. She's a bit overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells, but she'll be good anyway.

She always tries to be good. She doesn't always manage it, sometimes she has to be punished, but she always, always tries.

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