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whumpcereal · 1 year

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the kennel, part thirteen

part of the kennel (masterlist here); picks up immediately after this piece.

content warnings for: EXPLICIT NONCON (for real, okay), noncon use of gags, restraints, and toys, extreme dehumanization, pet whump, filmed whump, creepy/intimate whumper, cages, references to food deprivation, shock collars, adult language

part thirteen, surprise

Will hasn’t spoken in almost three weeks.

Well, mostly. Doc likes to command him to “Speak!” every now and again, just for shits and giggles, and Will does what he’s told. A few shocks are easier to take than the whip. And Tommy must be doing what Doc tells him, because Will hasn’t been whipped again. Not yet, anyway.

Doc does other things, of course. To remind Will—no, not Will; the mutt—of his place, he says. The food, for instance–or lack thereof. If Will wants to eat, he has to eat from Doc’s hand, and he never gets much. A liver treat a day, if he’s lucky. Every so often, he’ll get a teaspoon of wet food; he hates how grateful he is when that happens. He doesn’t know how much weight he’s lost, but he does know it’s easier to fit inside his cage than it was. His body folds up like a motherfucking accordion now.

It’s not a distinction Will would have ever thought he’d be able to make, but there we are. He wouldn’t have thought that a person—if that’s even what he is anymore—could find comfort in a cage either, but he does. If he’s caged, he’s safe. Safe-ish. Out of Doc’s sight, at least for a little while.

It never lasts, though. Apparently, Will’s the only mutt in the bunch, and that means he’s got a target on his back. The other “rescues” avoid him whenever he’s allowed in the yard, as if they know proximity to Will is going to bring them their own trouble. The others talk to each other, clustered on their hands and knees in little groups, but no one talks to him. Which is fine. It’s not like he can answer.

Maybe that’s why they stay away. Maybe they’re trying to help him.

But no one can help anyone here. Well, almost no one.

He hears the others starting to stir around him, hears Annie’s soft greetings as she unlocks cages and starts to herd her father’s human stock into the yard. They don’t hate her, he thinks, even though they could. She stands on two legs, clothed and warm and beautiful, and the rest of them are stripped of their humanity. They crawl naked into the snow, where they piss and shit on the ground like animals, but they all know it isn’t Annie’s fault.

Shit, she’s practically an angel. At least Will thinks so. It seems impossible someone could grow up in a place like this and still be so kind.

Her feet stop in front of Will’s cage, and Will can’t help the way his heart speeds up when he sees her face through the wire grate. Her hair is so long that it almost sweeps the concrete floor. Will would give anything to touch it.

“Good morning, Will,” she murmurs, the way she always does. She’s not supposed to call him by name, but it’s their little secret. Probably because she feels bad about what her dad did that first day, or maybe she does it for everyone, but Will doesn’t really care why. He likes to hear her say his name. He likes to remember he has a name at all. That he’s more than a stray mutt.

He stares up at her with eager eyes. Good morning, Annie, he mouths.

Normally, she smiles. This morning, she doesn’t. She opens the lock on his cage, but she doesn’t immediately open the door.

Annie sighs. “He wants to take you out himself,” she whispers.

Will’s eyebrows shoot up. That doesn’t seem like good news. Doc normally doesn’t bother with him at all. Will’s half-convinced that’s why Doc starves him; he wants to render Will invisible. Which is whatever. It’s what Will’s always been anyway.

But still. Will knocks his forehead against the door, pushing it slightly ajar, and Annie looks back down at him.

Why? he asks.

“I don’t know,” she answers, more than a little distantly. “But I’m sure it’s okay.”

Yeah, no way in hell is that true. Will shrinks back a little.

Annie opens the door the rest of the way and runs her hand through his dirty hair. Will closes his eyes and leans into her touch. She does this for everyone, he reminds himself. It has nothing to do with him.

“Is he up?”

Will cringes when he hears Doc’s voice, and Annie immediately pulls her hand away. She shoots Will an apologetic glance.

“He is,” she says softly.

“Good. Excellent.”

Annie is gone just as quickly as she came, and Doc is squatting in her place. He smiles at Will, and Will slides a little further back in the cage.

“Hello there, mutt,” Doc says.

He reaches into the cage, and he pets Will’s hair, just like Annie does. Well, not exactly. His broad, flat hand feels heavy against Will’s head, and when his fingers curl into Will’s hair and tug him forward, Will knows that whatever’s coming, it isn’t good.

“Come on out, boy,” Doc orders. He stands and moves back to give Will room. “I have a little surprise for you.”

Will doesn’t move for a second. If he stays in the cage, he’s safe, right? Cold, hungry, sure, yeah, whatever, but safe. Still, he knows he doesn’t have any choice but to follow orders. If he disobeys, it’ll be worse. He pads out of the cage on his mitts, wincing a little when his bare knees hit the cold concrete.

“Well, you’re not much to look at, are you?” Doc says.

Will can’t look up–he isn’t allowed–but he prays that Annie’s gone outside with the others. The white briefs Doc gave him to wear–his own boxers are long gone–have holes at the waistband and sag at the seat, but it’s not like it matters if he’s the best dressed pet. He’s sure that his unwashed hair and patchy beard really add to the effect. They certainly make him itch bad enough.

“What’s say we get you cleaned up, little mutt?” Doc asks. He reaches down to clip a lead to Will’s collar and starts to pull him toward the back room. Will follows, because what the fuck else is he going to do?

Annie is nowhere to be seen, thank God.

It’s a perfunctory grooming. Doc attaches Will’s lead to the bar above the tub, and Will climbs in without argument; it’s better than strangling at the end of his leash, and the still-tender flesh on his back is reminder enough of why fighting isn’t his best move. He winces when Doc passes the scratchy sponge over his scars, but he knows he needs the bath.

He’s less comfortable when Doc shaves his face, but Will’s sure there’s probably more efficient ways of killing someone than letting them bleed out in a grooming tub. Besides, if Doc wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.

Doc doesn’t speak to him while he works, but by the time he’s finished, Will feels like he could curl up in the tub and go back to sleep. He feels blissfully clean and light. But, ever the fucking charmer, Doc blasts Will with cold spray just before he hauls him out of the tub.

Will is shivering when he hits the floor, but he goes to pick up his briefs with his teeth, the way Doc’s showed him on the rare occasions Will’s actually been granted a bath. It’s not like he can put them on himself. Not with the mitts.

Doc shakes his head. “Not today, mutt.”

Will opens his mouth and lets the underwear fall to the floor. He knows better than to try and cover himself, so he waits, teeth chattering, for further instructions.

“I told you,” Doc says, kneeling behind him, “I have a surprise for you.”

Will’s stomach feels tight, and he hunches a little; he already knows he doesn’t want this surprise. He feels Doc move behind him, and suddenly, Will’s eyes are covered with thick black cotton. Doc ties it off in a knot behind his head. Will can’t see a fucking thing. His head swivels back and forth, but all it does is make him feel dizzy.

Doc laughs, and the heavy toe of his boot nudges at Will’s backside. “Hup hup, little mutt. We’re going to go for a walk.”

Will struggles behind Doc on the lead, flinching away from imagined obstacles with every shuffle of his mitts and knees. He’s still so fucking cold; he doesn’t want to go outside, but somehow, he knows that’s where Doc is leading him. So he can parade Will, totally fucking naked, in front of the other pets. And Annie. Fucking awesome.

The cold hits him hard when Doc opens the main door, and he barely stops himself from screaming when his bare skin makes contact with the crunchy snow of the recreation yard.

“Do you remember your special job, mutt?” Doc asks, tugging Will blindly through the snow. There’s a layer of ice on top of it, sharp against Will’s knees and feet. Every movement burns his skin.

Will doesn’t take Doc’s bait. Even though he knows he can shake his head without making a sound, he is too afraid to try. He’s made it through this morning without making a mistake; he doesn’t want to fuck it up now. Doc tugs on the lead, and Will’s collar shifts against raw skin, but it doesn’t activate.

“Aw, come on now. I’m sure you remember.”

Of course Will remembers. One does not survive an honest-to-God whipping and then forget why they received it. He’d just thought he’d been spared lately because Tommy was doing okay. Following the rules or whatever.

Will isn’t stupid enough to believe that Tommy is actually doing well. No one here does well. The other pets are just as broken as Will is–as Tommy must be. But he knows that Tommy’s got a different set-up. Annie’s told him a little bit. Even if Will doesn’t know what Tommy’s being made to do–Annie won’t tell him that–he understands that being in the fucking doghouse means being watched.

For the first time in his life, Will thinks of being invisible as a luxury–and it’s a luxury Tommy doesn’t have.

“Well,” Doc goes on, chuckling as Will belly flops into a high drift, “Champ had a little lapse this morning. And I think you’re going to help him learn his lesson. That was our deal, wasn’t it? That you’d take on what he couldn’t?”

Will swallows the whine pushing its way up his throat. He has a feeling he’s in for enough pain.

There’s the sound of another door, and Doc yanks Will inside. The floor is concrete here too, but there’s a soft layer of grass or something on the ground; it almost smells sweet. Hay, maybe. Whatever it is, the floor isn’t as cold and hard as in the kennel. Not that it matters much. Will’s entire body is trembling from the cold, and as the warmer air starts to wrap around him, his skin breaks out in a horrible itch. Will wriggles a little against the floor, and this time, he does whine.

The collar activates, but the shock isn’t too bad. Just a quick snap. Will flinches, but he manages to keep himself from making another noise.

“Oh, mutt. Are you cold?”

Will doesn’t bother nodding, because of course the motherfucker knows he’s cold.

“I’ll bet you’re hungry too,” Doc says, and even though Will can’t see his face, he hears the smirk in Doc’s voice. Will starts when he feels Doc’s hand on his cheek, his thumb brushing over the bottom of Will’s blindfold. “You know, I think I’ve got a solution to both those problems. We’ll get you something to snack on, and then we’ll get you warmed up.”

Will’s stomach rumbles like the fucking traitor it is, and Doc pinches his cheek.

“That’s right. Be a good boy, and you’ll forget all about how you’re feeling right now.”

There is nothing about that statement that is even remotely comforting.

But the lead is pulled taut again, and Will fumbles forward on his mitts. The hay slips and slides beneath him, and as they move further into the building, he can hear the gentle whir of some kind of machine; it’s not as loud as the generator in the kennel, but without his eyes, Will suddenly feels like he can hear everything. There are soft chimes that remind him of a chat alert, and then he realizes: a computer.

“Oooh, looks like Champ’s public is chomping at the bit for this one,” Doc says with a chuckle.

Why? What the fuck is going on?

“Now, you just stay for a minute, little mutt,” Doc murmurs.

He presses his palm flat on the crown of Will’s head, like it’s a fucking on/off switch. It might as well be. Will freezes, sitting back on his ankles the way he’s supposed to. He’s still shivering, but he’s not exactly sure that he wants to know how Doc is planning to warm him up.

“That’s a good boy,” Doc says, and Will feels his heat draw away.

There’s another sound, like air rushing out of something, and then the whir of the computer is drowned out by another louder vibration–and the sound of strangled pleas.

Tommy.

Will starts from his knees, but he’s felled when Doc yanks at his leash. Will doesn’t let it stop him. He fights forward again, sliding on his naked belly, pushing off his toes, using his elbows to ease him forward.

The pained cries are louder then. Tommy sounds like a fucking animal. Will can hear him alternately gasp for breath and try to swallow and–oh, Jesus Christ. Tommy shrieks as Will comes closer, but Will can’t understand what he’s trying to say; Tommy’s throat must be slashed to fucking ribbons inside.

“Tommy!”

Only Will doesn’t think it: he screams it. The collar activates, and Will falls to the concrete floor, cracking his chin on some kind of metal barrier. He bites his tongue, and he can taste iron, but he doesn’t care. Tommy can’t be making those sounds. Tommy can’t hurt like that. Will’s supposed to take it for him.

“Tom–” Will tries again, but the second shock is too much. He curls onto his side, panting.

Stars blister the black behind his eyelids. He isn’t cold anymore.

Tommy is still screaming.

“What an entrance,” Doc says with a laugh.

Will’s lead is yanked again, but he can’t get to his knees. His neck and shoulders still twitch with leftover electricity.

“Get up, mutt,” Doc snaps. A hard toe bites into Will’s naked hip. “You wouldn’t want to miss out on your surprise. Champ has been waiting for you.”

Tommy moans, and the sound is so broken, so fucking foreign, that it makes Will nauseous. When he doesn’t move, Doc slips his fingers inside of Will’s collar and pulls back until Will strangles.

“You’d better get used to that,” Doc growls. And then his voice changes. Will is still fucking choking, but Doc sounds like he’s on a motherfucking informercial. “See, the little mutt here is on a very special training regimen. If he speaks out of turn, he gets a nice little shock. He’s done quite well so far, but it seems being so close to Champ has him all riled up.”

Tommy’s scream is suddenly louder, and Will knows what he means to say this time.

No.

Tommy’s still fighting for him. Will’s head moves to look for him, but he can’t see. He can’t see a fucking thing.

Doc heaves Will’s body over the metal barrier and throws him to the ground; there’s no hay on the floor here. Whatever wind Will had gained back is knocked out of him again, and he gasps, letting the blood from his wounded tongue trickle down his throat. He coughs. Doc laughs. Tommy bleats out words that aren’t words at all.

Will hears a hinge click, the hurried jingle of keys in a lock. Wherever he is now, it smells like sweat and–and–something else that he knows, but cannot place. It’s sour and earthy, and he knows he knows what it is–but what is it–what–

Doc rips Will to his knees by the hair, and even if Will manages to keep quiet, Tommy does not. His protest is so loud that Will can feel it vibrating in his chest.

And then Will realizes. The sound he heard, the one that was louder than the computer, is even louder now, and it’s coming from the same place as Tommy’s screams.

This is not good. This is so not good.

The lead shifts again, and Will can hear the carbinner click below him. He can’t move–Doc’s fingers are still knuckled tight in his hair–but he understands that he’s been tethered to the floor. Doc lets Will’s hair go and kneels behind him, the button of his fly hot-cold against the small of Will’s back. He presses Will’s back to his front, and Tommy’s wailing grows somehow louder.

But Will almost doesn’t hear. One of Doc’s hands slides over Will’s bare chest; the other sinks to his belly, almost concave after the weeks of calculated starvation. Still, Will twitches. He doesn’t want to be touched there. He doesn’t want Doc to touch him anywhere.

“Now, little mutt, you want to help Champ, don’t you?”

Will doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even breathe. He just wants Doc to let go.

This isn’t the kind of punishment he thought it would be.

- - -

Tommy wishes he were blindfolded.

He doesn’t want to watch this, but he can’t look away either. He can see Will shrinking beneath Doc’s touch, and he knows Will’s figured it out. Maybe not all of it, but he at least has some idea of where this is all going.

But he doesn’t know what Tommy does. Not yet.

“See, Champ is in training to be a Romantic,” Doc says, using the voice he always does for Tommy’s viewing public, “and I think he has potential.”

Tommy’s body quivers in the restraints. The bastards who tune in have already gotten a show. There’s a pearly white puddle beneath Tommy’s body; he‘s come once already, just after Doc left. The toy kept going, of course, even when Tommy’s nerves had fired themselves into white hot oblivion. He’d screamed and moaned beneath the gag, letting it rock back in his throat until he hoped it might choke him. But he didn’t choke, and the feeling didn’t stop. Doc must have known that it wouldn’t, that there’d be no escape.

Champ has to be ready, always.

Tommy isn’t ready at all.

Tommy looks at Will, thinner and paler than Tommy’s ever seen him, fucking blindfolded and terrified, and Tommy knows he will never be able to forgive himself for what’s about to happen. He doesn’t know how to believe that there might be a way back from this.

“But Champers seems to be having a little performance anxiety,” Doc continues. He slips his hand between Will’s legs and begins to stroke him, slowly, thoughtfully. Will wriggles and whines, but the fucking collar zaps him, and he collapses back against Doc. “Which is silly, since Champ has so many admirers.”

Doc’s hand keeps moving, and Tommy, even in his overstimulated haze, can see the tears seeping from beneath Will’s blindfold. Tommy screeches beneath the gag.

Don’t! Don’t fucking touch him!

But the words are not words. They are an animal’s keening. Doc doesn’t listen, anyway.

“But then I thought of you, little mutt,” Doc says, and he presses a soft kiss to Will’s hair. It’s almost—paternal, and that makes it worse somehow. “And how you’re here to take on anything Champ can’t handle.”

Another wave of painful pleasure rolls through Tommy’s body, and he tenses against the feeling. He can’t do this. He won’t.

But he has to.

“So, you’re going to show him how it’s done. So he won’t be so scared the next time.”

“No!“ Will howls. He bucks in Doc’s hold, his mitts flailing at the collar around his throat, but even the pain doesn’t keep him from screaming. “Please—ngh—I-I-fuck—I—ahhh—Tah—ahh—Tommy!”

Tommy can hear the snap of the shocks even over the vibration in his own head, and he throws himself against the restraints, like he has a fucking prayer of saving Will any pain. But the sensation rises again inside of him, and suddenly, his screams are mingling with Will’s.

“What a pair of noisy boys,” Doc laughs. He hugs Will to his chest like a stuffed toy. “Oh, little mutt, it’ll be alright. We’ll make sure everything goes nice and easy.”

Will doesn’t seem to be able to scream anymore; he twitches listlessly against Doc, eyes almost rolled back in his head. Doc rocks him gently back and forth.

“You just be brave, mutt. Champ chose this for you; he must know how brave you are.”

No! Tommy tries to scream. No! He was gonna kill you—

—but he doesn’t know what Will hears. He can only watch as Will shakes his head, moaning incoherently against Doc’s chest. Tommy can’t tell if Doc’s deactivated the collar or if Will is just too far gone to save himself the pain.

Doc takes the opportunity to reach into his shirt pocket.

“I’ve got something that’ll make it easier on you,” Doc coos. “But if you’re a bad boy, I’ll make sure nothing is easy at all. Understand?”

But Will is shaking with silent sobs, and Tommy groans as the weight between his legs swells. He doesn’t want this, but the relentless vibration is pushing him toward the edge again. He doesn’t know what Doc will do if he comes again before Will–before Will–

“Understand?” Doc says again.

Tommy’s vision is actually starting to blur. He can’t see if Will nods or if Will is even moving at all. For a moment, Tommy is completely overwhelmed by the sheer helplessness of clinging to an edge he doesn’t know how to anticipate. It’s like he’s in a goddamned cartoon, sweaty fingers losing their grip one by one–

“There we are, little mutt,” Doc’s voice sounds distorted and far away as the vibration rises higher. “You look so handsome. This will help you adjust.”

Tommy fights to open his eyes, and he immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Will’s mouth is stretched open by a black silicone ring. It’s wedged cruelly behind his teeth, the leather strap cutting into his red cheeks. He doesn’t fight as Doc tethers his mitts behind his back. It doesn’t seem like Will is there at all.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better if Will disappears. If he isn’t here for any of what’s about to happen to them.

And it’s about to happen. Doc leaves Will stranded in the center of the box, and he moves to Tommy. Already, Doc’s tapping at his phone; the whirring inside of Tommy stops, and Tommy’s restraints begin to slacken. Tommy can’t hold himself up, not with the echo of the vibrations still buzzing in every one of his peripheral nerves, but Doc catches him before he falls.

“You’re going to stand, Champ,” Doc whispers in Tommy’s ear. “You’re going to stand, and you are going to use that mutt’s mouth for target practice.”

“Nnnnn,” Tommy protests weakly, but he already knows that he cannot refuse.

Doc unclips the mitts at Tommy’s hands and throws them on the floor. “You’re going to have to hold him,” Doc says so that only Tommy can hear.

Tommy shakes his head–he doesn’t want to touch Will, doesn’t want to be complicit in any of this pain–but Doc ignores him. He manhandles Tommy toward Will’s hunched body, and the touch is almost too much; Tommy almost can’t make it, his nerves are so shot. But he manages to hold on, because he knows if he doesn’t, this will only last longer. Doc has no plans to spare either of them. That much is fucking obvious.

Will is completely still as they draw close, and Doc laughs, gently pushing Tommy in front of him.

“Head up now, mutt,” Doc coos to WIll. “Let the people see what a good boy you are!”

Will’s chin jerks a little, and the forced-open ‘O’ of his mouth turns up. Doc reaches around Tommy’s trembling body to grab Will’s chin and bring it forward.

“That’s it, boy. Just like that. I told you; your mouth is better when it’s silent.”

Doc’s body is pressed against Tommy’s backside, and Tommy can barely stifle his groan. He needs to be touched, needs release–but he can’t–he can’t–

Doc pulls Will’s face closer with his hand and nudges Tommy forward with his pelvis.

Will’s bare chest beats frantically; he knows what’s coming. He must.

But he doesn’t know that it’s Tommy. Not yet. It’s Doc’s hands on Will’s face, Doc’s voice in Will’s ears. Doc. Motherfucking Doc.

Tommy presses himself back against Doc, but it’s no use. Doc urges him forward, and it’s over. Tommy’s tip slides neatly through the ring inside of his best friend’s mouth.

Tommy’s head falls backward, and he holds his unbound hands in the air, like he’s being robbed. He supposes he is. He will never be who he was ever again. Not after this. He’s a traitor. A disgusting piece of shit. But his nerves are so raw, and it feels–it feels so–no, it doesn’t feel good. It can’t. He wills himself to go numb, but every nerve in his body is screaming.

But Tommy doesn’t scream. He doesn’t want Will to know.

Will is silent too. He’s crying, but he isn’t making any sound, just wheezing around the ring in his mouth and letting his tears slip down his red cheeks.

Doc shoves Tommy’s hips hard, and Will’s mouth is stuffed full.

Will’s mouth is stuffed full of Tommy, and there’s nothing either of them can do about it.

“Hold him,” Doc snarls, and Tommy does, sobbing. He rests his shaking hands in Will’s hair as gently as he can–and he feels it the moment Will realizes. Will freezes, tears still squeezing from beneath his blindfold, and there’s the slightest shake of his head.

Doc’s hips buck Tommy even closer to Will, and Tommy can’t stifle his groan. Doc’s chest is flat against Tommy’s back, and he reaches under Tommy’s arms, around Will’s head, until his fingers reach the knot of Will’s blindfold.

“Surprise!” Doc says.

Will blinks up at Tommy with red, resigned eyes, and Tommy–fucking pathetic whore that he is–stiffens and spills into Will’s mouth.

...we're not done yet. but look, i needed a break, and i bet you do too...

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#the kennel #will cartwright oc #annie barker oc #doc barker oc #tommy mahoney oc #tw noncon #like really a lot #i am not playing with you #please be careful #and heed all other content warnings

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