#you are like a little baby. watch this
wait wait waitwaitwaitwaitwait Castys has been up for auction? Multiple times? ...where might I perchance read about these encounters 👁👄👁 im really feeling sold at auction trope now that u mention it ~whumpwillow
@whumpwillow I had never written that particular scenario...until now. Enjoy ❤
Ingredients: human trafficking, noncon nudity (unsexy), noncon touching (unsexy but there is a lot of it), dehumanization, electrocution, noncon piercing, finger whump
Castys tried his best to resist, struggling like mad as he shouted into the gag, but the mens’ tight grip on him was impossible to escape. He thought wistfully of the time he’d trained a bunch and gotten really strong, only to have all of that progress reset the moment he died. He’d been sentenced to being just above being in shape forever by the universe, and it sucked a lot sometimes.
They arrived in a long room with stalls lining one wall and a row of chairs lining the other. The men dragged him along, past various other unfortunate people either being hosed down or fussed over in one of the chairs. Castys felt his stomach knot as he saw them, because that was about to happen to him, since his efforts to escape were going nowhere. After shoving him into one of the stalls, the men started trying to pull off his clothes, and Castys doubled his resistance. One of the guards sighed, pulling out a small green rock that he jabbed into Castys’s side before muttering an activation word.
A spark of white hot electricity lit up Castys’s every nerve, and screaming into the gag was all he could do for a moment. While he was recovering from the shock, the guards dragged him to the wall, clamping the manacles attached to it to his wrists before resuming stripping him. They used a knife to cut off his shirt, and soon enough he was completely naked. At the very least, they finally took off the gag.
“Fucking hell guys, do you get off on this? I didn’t exactly consent to all this kinky shi-” A jet of freezing water sprayed him directly in the face, getting water in his nose and mouth. He sputtered as it moved lower, coughing. “Is that Tekari’s fucking *breath?*” he chattered, feeling like he really had just been caught in a blast from the legendary cold dragon. They paid him no mind, soaking him with the hose before scrubbing him down completely with a pair of rough sponges. Castys’s face burned with humiliation, the only thing keeping him warm as they rinsed him off. After harshly toweling him dry, they pulled a pair of plain shorts on him, which he accepted without a fight, because being clothed was nice.
The chain between the manacles was unhooked from the wall, letting the men guide him to an empty chair and shove him into it. He moved to stand, but after one of them held up their electric rock threateningly, Castys settled for staying seated and just glaring at them, frustrated that he couldn’t even cross his arms with his wrists shackled together. After a short wait, a different person came over, quickly examining him before starting to trim his hair. He sat still for that, because he wasn’t stupid enough to piss off someone holding a pair of scissors near his head. Once that was over and he saw what was next, though...he couldn’t just sit there and take it anymore.
“N-no you’re absolutely not putting that-agh!” The guard shocked him again, and while he was reeling in pain, the other one went around and grabbed him from behind, holding him back against the chair with one arm, the other hand gripping his hair tightly and wrenching his head back. “Get that thing away from me,” he growled through gritted teeth, even though he knew it was no use. Despite his best efforts, they managed to force the bit into his mouth, pressing the muzzle snug against his face as they buckled it tight. Even after it was on, the man behind him didn’t let him go, and he felt his stomach drop as the other one approached him with what appeared to be a needle and a wooden tag. There was no way they would…
The man in front of him wiped his earlobe off with something cold, and Castys tried to jerk his head away, but the other man’s grip on his hair kept him still. An involuntary whine escaped his throat as the needle punched through his earlobe. It wasn’t anywhere near the worst pain he’d ever felt, but as a part of this whole scenario it was awful and just another layer of dehumanizing. The needle was pulled out and a different one pushed through the hole, this one with the wooden tag attached, and secured to something at the back so it stayed in.
Once the earring was in place, they hauled Castys to his feet, dragging him through the halls of this wherever the hell place. There were quite a few other people in varying states of acceptance being led along behind him, most of them muzzled, all of them with stupid ear tags on, each one displaying a different number. He grimly wondered what his number was. Maybe it was 69, that would be funny-
His line of thinking was cut short as they entered a large room, bustling with activity. People were being lined up on small platforms, their wrists chained to the ground in front of them. The men guided him to a platform all on its own, chaining him down before finally leaving him alone. Castys sighed, jerking at the chain attaching his manacles to the platform uselessly. He knew exactly what was about to happen to him, something that he’d always been afraid of, but never figured it would actually come to pass. O-or maybe that wasn’t what was going to happen to him and this was just...he didn’t know.
The idea of sitting down was tempting, but once he saw someone else try it and get zapped, Castys stayed on his feet. Soon enough, all of his fellow...fellows were secured, and other people started to trickle in. Rich looking people. Asshole looking people. Castys gulped, hoping he was off to the side for some good reason. But when an usher led a group of them over to him, he got a feeling this wasn’t going to end well.
“Please, feel free to have a little fun with this one, though nothing too damaging, we’d like everyone to get a turn!” The usher boomed, waving their hands to attract attention. “We’ll have a marvelous demonstration at the end of the auction of what Lot Fifty-One is capable of!” Was that him, fifty-one? And what the fuck did they mean by a demonstration, or “having fun”-and someone was touching his arm, squeezing it as if trying to feel for muscle.
Hand after hand descended on him, poking, prodding, twisting, stroking, grabbing, pulling, running down his bare chest, snaking up his back, turning his head, prying his eyes open wide, everywhere, everywhere all at once, their hands were everywhere, and he was nowhere.
And then it pinched, scratched, burned, that was a fist hitting him as other hands held him in place. Those were sharp nails digging into his skin. That was a knife slicing him open. Those were strong hands pulling his finger back until it snapped. That was laughter all around him. Everyone had a turn, everyone had their fun, everyone left their own little mark on Lot Fifty-One’s body.
When the hands finally, blessedly, left, called to their seats, he could hardly stay standing, his whole body throbbing like one giant...painful...thing...he couldn’t even focus enough to come up with a thing to compare it to. The minutes swam by as people were brought up to the main stage, numbers were called, paddles went up, sold, sold, sold, the numbers were getting higher, closer and closer to the dreaded, awful, marvelous-
“And now, folks, the moment you’ve all been waiting for-” there were hands on him again, unchaining him from the podium, guiding him up to the main stage- “Lot Fifty-One, the immortal!” There was a gasp from the crowd, and the lights were so bright, and his finger was broken, and he was bleeding, and there were so many pairs of eyes on him, so many people wondering if they wanted him, if they could afford him. He decided that his hands were shaking from the pain, and nothing else.
“But why just tell you that he’s immortal when we can show you?” Someone kicked his legs, and he fell to his knees, a hand twisting in his hair, pulling his head back, baring his neck, and there was a knife in that man’s hand, and there will still so many people, so many people who were going to watch him bleed and die, and he didn’t want them to watch, he didn’t want them to see him like that, please don’t watch, ple-
The first thing he heard was applause, and he groaned as he opened his eyes to face the crowd again. He was still on his knees, kept up by the hand twisted in his hair. His wounds were healed, though his entire chest was now splattered in his own blood, which made him wonder what the point of that stupid shower was. The bidding started, and all he could do was watch the paddles fly up, listen to the price rise and rise, higher than he’d paid when he was on the other side of this sort of transaction, and he wished he wasn’t so scared but he just needed to suck it up because he was fucking powerless and there wasn’t anything he could do he was going to be-
“SOLD to-” No, no, no wait wait this can’t be happening you can’t just do this-
Lot Fifty-One was hauled to his feet and escorted off the stage to await his new owner.
Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump @blackrosesandwhump @fanmanga1357-blog @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hearse-song @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen @galaxywhump @starnight-whump @his-unspoken-words @misspelledwitch
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