Jensen | The Cellar | NC-17
Title: The Cellar
Words: 720
Warnings: gang bang, Jensen/OMCs, self-harm (ish), internalized shame
Summary: Jensen only comes to the Cellar once a year, but it's always an event.
Notes: Written for 2015 spn_masquerade, for the prompt Jensen is just a hole, and all he wants is to be desperately and achingly filled to the brim. He spends his days in sex clubs just waiting for be used. It's the only thing that takes the emptiness away.
On AO3
Sweat drips into Jensen’s eyes. His lips are sore from biting on them and the skin of his ass burns with a harsh palm slapping him five times in quick succession.
“Not falling asleep on us, are you darlin’?”
“No, ‘m not,” Jensen mumbles.
The hand swiftly smacks his ass again, and Jensen sucks in a breath, chest pushing against the weathered, wooden desk he’s bent over. “I can’t hear you, darlin’.”
“No,” he replies firmly, “I’m not asleep.”
“Are you sure about that?” the voice mocks him. “You’ve been going a li’l slow lately.”
Jensen repositions his legs, spreads them wider, and feels cool air against every inch of sweat-soaked, bare skin. His hole sucks at emptiness, all wet and wide, used and over-abused, but he’s not done. Never is. There’s never enough to satisfy him. To teach him his lesson.
At fifteen, Jensen wondered why his arms would prickle with tiny goosebumps whenever his neighbor’s dad smiled at him. In college, he was anxious of the naked, wet bodies flashing through his mind when he jerked off in the shower stalls after baseball practice. And when he was twenty-three, and told his parents he thought he wasn’t right, he feared for his life then took the words right back.
It’s still true: he’s gay and lives a heterosexual life in discomfort, but these nights in The Cellar alleviate the pain of what he knows he shouldn’t crave.
His ass is slapped again, and the dirty, deep voice laughs at the way Jensen startles and shuffles tighter against the desk.
“Ready for your next cowboy?”
“Yes, sir,” Jensen answers, and then holds his breath as he awaits the next patron.
“Look at this pretty hole,” a softer voice says in wonder. Fingers press against Jensen’s rim, spreading lube and come over his skin, up the crease of his ass. The man spits at Jensen’s hole and rubs it in with the whole mess of fluids before shoving his dick inside.
Jensen grunts with the volatile mix of pleasure and pain. His knuckles go white from gripping the edge of the desk, and the wood rubs against his forehead as he tucks his head down and takes the quick pounding of a thin dick easily fitting in Jensen’s stretched-out hole.
The man’s long fingers tuck tight around Jensen’s hips and yank him back on his dick. Skin slaps loudly together with every stride. Grunts fill the room along with low murmurs of appreciation from the man behind Jensen, along with the dozen guys circling them and enjoying the show.
Jensen grows hard and has only a fleeting thought of grabbing hold of his cock. They never let him do that, and he wouldn’t dream of disappointing the very men who serve him on this day.
The man doesn’t last long, pulling out and coming on Jensen’s back. And Jensen doesn’t wait much longer for the next cock to break through his hole and shove a whole new mess of spit and come and lube inside. This guy grabs at Jensen’s hair and yanks his head back, says his face is pretty and his cunt is wet, degrades and tears Jensen down, all while feeding right into Jensen’s needs.
Pain spikes with hair being pulled from his scalp, and he momentarily thinks about bald patches and red scratches along his hair line. The thoughts don’t last long, because Jensen has to hitch his hips higher for the next one who’s taller and bulkier than the others. The one who grabs Jensen with one beefy arm around his waist, hitches him up like a ragdoll, and fucks him with an unrelenting rhythm that lasts longer than the others.
When the guy finishes, he’s buried deep inside and stays there. Whispers darkly in Jensen’s ear, “You’re all full. Thirteen guys tonight. How’s it feel?”
Jensen breathes heavily to catch his breath during this brief break from the insistent abuse. His mind flashes back to childhood parties at the park, streamers and balloons filling the living room, and bright blue bows on presents piled high on the couch.
Today is like no other day he’s lived with the family that disowned him. Those are all warm, distant memories, and this day is full of pain and stench.
Still, he smiles, teeth-rubbed lips spreading wide. “Perfect.”
“Happy birthday, darlin’.”
Words: 720
Warnings: gang bang, Jensen/OMCs, self-harm (ish), internalized shame
Summary: Jensen only comes to the Cellar once a year, but it's always an event.
Notes: Written for 2015 spn_masquerade, for the prompt Jensen is just a hole, and all he wants is to be desperately and achingly filled to the brim. He spends his days in sex clubs just waiting for be used. It's the only thing that takes the emptiness away.
On AO3
Sweat drips into Jensen’s eyes. His lips are sore from biting on them and the skin of his ass burns with a harsh palm slapping him five times in quick succession.
“Not falling asleep on us, are you darlin’?”
“No, ‘m not,” Jensen mumbles.
The hand swiftly smacks his ass again, and Jensen sucks in a breath, chest pushing against the weathered, wooden desk he’s bent over. “I can’t hear you, darlin’.”
“No,” he replies firmly, “I’m not asleep.”
“Are you sure about that?” the voice mocks him. “You’ve been going a li’l slow lately.”
Jensen repositions his legs, spreads them wider, and feels cool air against every inch of sweat-soaked, bare skin. His hole sucks at emptiness, all wet and wide, used and over-abused, but he’s not done. Never is. There’s never enough to satisfy him. To teach him his lesson.
At fifteen, Jensen wondered why his arms would prickle with tiny goosebumps whenever his neighbor’s dad smiled at him. In college, he was anxious of the naked, wet bodies flashing through his mind when he jerked off in the shower stalls after baseball practice. And when he was twenty-three, and told his parents he thought he wasn’t right, he feared for his life then took the words right back.
It’s still true: he’s gay and lives a heterosexual life in discomfort, but these nights in The Cellar alleviate the pain of what he knows he shouldn’t crave.
His ass is slapped again, and the dirty, deep voice laughs at the way Jensen startles and shuffles tighter against the desk.
“Ready for your next cowboy?”
“Yes, sir,” Jensen answers, and then holds his breath as he awaits the next patron.
“Look at this pretty hole,” a softer voice says in wonder. Fingers press against Jensen’s rim, spreading lube and come over his skin, up the crease of his ass. The man spits at Jensen’s hole and rubs it in with the whole mess of fluids before shoving his dick inside.
Jensen grunts with the volatile mix of pleasure and pain. His knuckles go white from gripping the edge of the desk, and the wood rubs against his forehead as he tucks his head down and takes the quick pounding of a thin dick easily fitting in Jensen’s stretched-out hole.
The man’s long fingers tuck tight around Jensen’s hips and yank him back on his dick. Skin slaps loudly together with every stride. Grunts fill the room along with low murmurs of appreciation from the man behind Jensen, along with the dozen guys circling them and enjoying the show.
Jensen grows hard and has only a fleeting thought of grabbing hold of his cock. They never let him do that, and he wouldn’t dream of disappointing the very men who serve him on this day.
The man doesn’t last long, pulling out and coming on Jensen’s back. And Jensen doesn’t wait much longer for the next cock to break through his hole and shove a whole new mess of spit and come and lube inside. This guy grabs at Jensen’s hair and yanks his head back, says his face is pretty and his cunt is wet, degrades and tears Jensen down, all while feeding right into Jensen’s needs.
Pain spikes with hair being pulled from his scalp, and he momentarily thinks about bald patches and red scratches along his hair line. The thoughts don’t last long, because Jensen has to hitch his hips higher for the next one who’s taller and bulkier than the others. The one who grabs Jensen with one beefy arm around his waist, hitches him up like a ragdoll, and fucks him with an unrelenting rhythm that lasts longer than the others.
When the guy finishes, he’s buried deep inside and stays there. Whispers darkly in Jensen’s ear, “You’re all full. Thirteen guys tonight. How’s it feel?”
Jensen breathes heavily to catch his breath during this brief break from the insistent abuse. His mind flashes back to childhood parties at the park, streamers and balloons filling the living room, and bright blue bows on presents piled high on the couch.
Today is like no other day he’s lived with the family that disowned him. Those are all warm, distant memories, and this day is full of pain and stench.
Still, he smiles, teeth-rubbed lips spreading wide. “Perfect.”
“Happy birthday, darlin’.”