You Got Me š¤ - Blog Posts
The bidding to choose Whumpee's death had been raging hard for seven days. Now, the countdown to closing was at an end. They strained at their bonds. It was as useless fighting it now as it had been from the beginning. Whatever the rich bastards who won this auction wanted to do to them, they would do. There was no stopping it.
But when Whumper read the email from the winner to themself, the look on their face was one of revulsion - and that terrified Whumpee more than anything that they had seen or heard so far.
"Well," Whumper said, grimacing. "There's no accounting for taste."
Two henchmen came in and Whumpee was unbound for the first time in over a month. Not for long. They were dragged kicking and screaming toward a flat table, strapped on their back to the surface and left helpless once again.
They wailed piteously as Whumper strolled over, a thin rag in one hand and a large, opaque jug in the other.
Whumpee started to sob. They should never have let slip that their fear was suffocation, never because they knew what this meant. They were going to be waterboarded. Drowned where they lay, and because of the cloth, Whumper could do that to them as many times as they wanted.
"Please," Whumpee whimpered. "Please don't waterboard me, please, I-"
Whumper shook their head. "This isn't water."
Whumper popped the cap on the jug and the smell that hit Whumpee's nostrils was unmistakable.
Vanilla extract.
im about to be a rotted cunt until the end of playoffs (nothing personal to anyone, the hater in me sees the hater in you etc etc)
so in a last-ditch effort to persuade myself that actually, i will survive and find a kernel of happiness if any of these teams win, i started researching and then 12 hours later had this unhinged presentation
