Fic: The First Lie
Title: The First Lie
Author: Kally
Disclaimer: If SPN was mine, Sam would never be let out of bed. Sadly this is not the reality.
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sam/Lucifer
Warnings: non-con spanking and non-con masturbation
Dedicated to my inadvertant muse and friend stangerine88
Spoilers for: ep 5.14
Summary: Torn between pride and annoyance at having yet *another* Horseman destroyed, Lucifer decides it's time to reign in his unruly Vessel - and a surprising revelation is made.
Author's Notes and Further Warnings:
This was inspired by my own plot bunny I programmed to attack stangerine88, and it turned on me!
This is NOT a Domestic "Discipline" (better known as Domestic Abuse) story, it does not condone this destructive behavior in any way.
This story was incredibly difficult to write and even harder to research. Getting off on a spanking can be fun for people. Unfortunately there are people out there that actually think beating someone is a healthy "method" and "lifestyle" to keep people in line, instead of allowing them (or themselves) to *grow* into healthy independent people - Needless to say it was very disturbing to read about when trying to get accurate descriptions on a physical spanking.
And finally, my profound apologies to Sam Winchester - Dude, I am so sorry.
Sam knows how to deal with pain, he's been trained nearly all his life to manage through dislocated joints, broken bones, concussions, etc.
A strap to the ass is nothing. John taught him to work through pure pain. Would've been nice if John had taught him how to handle pain and humiliation at once.
Forty licks.
That's the magic number Lucifer settled on when he managed with dogged determination to enter Sam's dreams tonight.
When you think about it, it doesn't sound so bad.
Four rounds of ten licks.
Break it down into small sets, small numbers. Not so bad.
One lick for every year Dean spent in Hell for him.
One round each for Famine and War, and two more for the remaining Horseman if it came to that -- Sam couldn't argue with the latter, because, well, it would.
Sam would tell him so, if not for being draped over a large velvet ottoman (cushioned for his comfort, or so Lucifer claimed) with his arms, legs, and mouth gently bound in impossibly durable silk scarves that trap his limbs to each ottoman's leg, and not so much as a piece of lint on him.
"I should be more upset with you, Sam, for damaging what has taken millenia of careful planning and hard work. Forty licks can't possibly touch the lighter side of punishment in Hell," and then Lucifer's stony face melted into an indulgent expression, "I can't help feeling a little pride in you; I shouldn't. But you really are special, you'll never be just any human."
Exposed and vulnerable, now just waiting for humiliation to come along and complete the triangle of shame.
The first round is surprisingly simple. He used a slender strap - deep dark brown, butter-soft leather.
The first ten licks are meated out in even succession, Lucifer clearly not using the full strength of his vessel.
Oh, he can take forty of these, no problem. He'd be sore for a couple of days, no doubt nursing a bruised ego; and in the morning he'd hit Cas up for more dream sigils - when Dean is out; he hears about this, and he'll *never* let Sam live it down.
Easy.
Ergo, Sam is more pissy than he is humiliated, feeling very much like a child (not an easy thing to accomplish at 6'4) and quietly plotting revenge.
But after the tenth smack, Lucifer pauses, and Sam frowns in confusion until a cold wet substance is lightly poured over his ass and the distinct scent of soap reaches his sense of smell.
Shit.
Blows to wet skin sting even worse than normal.
But not impossible, just take deep slow breaths, he was a fourth way done already.
Not so - Shit!
The eleventh blow was delivered this time by a varnished cane, the combination of wet skin and the smooth surface of the wood decreasing the air between his bottom and the cane, the resulting sensation was kinda like having tape ripped off his skin.
The method and timing in which the blows were given also changed. No longer satisfied in striking in relatively the same area, Lucifer lightly tapped the cane along his rear end, up and down, until finally settling on a different spot each time, before slamming it down on his tender flesh, *hard*. The amount of time it would take to finish this round would take longer than the first.
Ok, not quite as easy, but not hard...Yeah...
And so the pattern continued - Wet the skin, pick a spot, strike the blow. Wet the skin, pick a spot, strike the blow - each repetition leaving his ass burning a little more.
By strike seventeen, he couldn't keep from squirming and grunting with each strike. His breath came out in harsh pants by the time they reached twenty, but hallelujah, he was half way done.
//Goddamnit, suck it up Winchester, you've had worse than this!//
Before he had time to blink, he found himself face down on a wooden rack, still naked. The silken scarves were replaced with heavy chains (the binding cuffs lined with fleece), that stretched out his frame; the silk scarf gagging him remained and was dry once more.
Small comforts.
He inhaled sharply when he felt Lucifer's hand rubbing a moderate amount of oil onto his rear end. His hand lingered in a carress for just a moment before walking into his line of sight, brandishing some sort of plastic paddle.
With holes.
Great....
The use of the oil had Sam greatly confused; oil had healing properties - was Lucifer trying to keep his skin from blistering?
Whatever, he was half-way done, half-way done. He repeated this mantra to himself, each stroke meant he was closer to being done.
The 21st blow came, and the previous sting was no longer there, and neither was Lucifer hitting as hard as he did before. But Sam's relief was extremely short lived - to his horror, a slow burn settled over his ass until if felt like it was on fire after only the second blow!
The oil.
The oil was trapping the heat from the blows, combined with the displaced air and solid mass of the paddle, and the effects of each hit were dragged out like never before. Each strike left a slow excruciating burn in their wake.
So much worse than the water and cane.
Fuck FUCK!
Three tears manage to escape by the fifth strike, and he was grunting and squirming harder with each following smack. Not quite sobbing. Yet.
His stuffy nose made it difficult to breath in and out, but Lucifer finally reached thirty. Ten more, he was so close to being done and the fourth tear coursed down his cheek in anticipated relief.
And Sam finds himself standing on his shaky legs, wrists still chained in fleece-lined cuffs to the support beam a few feet above his head -- his ass still burning.
A second later he squealed, jerking away as much as his retraints and weak muscles would allow, his protests garbled by the silk gag. Not the oil, not the oil again, please!
Lucifer said no words, only crooned out non-sensical soothing sounds, as he continued to rub the oil onto his wiggling ass before finally delivering the next blow.
It was a whip, slender, and it struck like a serpent, lightening fast with an incredible bite. Pure agony swept across his hyde and remaining senses, kicking them into overdrive.
By the 37th strike the tears had been flowing freely for some time now, his pride all but destroyed. He was no longer able to hold back, loudly moaning out his protests, sobbing each time the whip bit into delicate skin, no doubt two shades darker than the ripest of cherries.
38.
Up until now, Lucifer had not said a word, content on allowing Sam's awareness to focus entirely on the beating, without distraction.
"You know why I'm doing this Sam. I need your respect, I need your obedience. Not for show, not for the demons' sake, not for the apocalypse. It's time you accepted you are mine. There are still demons and even angels out there that will hurt you or destroy you. At any time one of my Horseman might have ended up hurting you - that is unacceptable."
39.
"Do not go where I cannot protect you, do not act so recklessly you force my hand. I'll never hurt you, but I will not hesitate to *discipline* you, Sam."
But Sam couldn't think, couldn't really register the words. He just knew, he was 39 for 40, and god damn it just fucking do it already! Please, please, please, just do it and let it be over, *please*!
He released a scream as Lucifer let the whip tail fly one last time, searing torment exploding across his ass, and then he was in Lucifer's arms being comforted. Hands, feet and mouth once again bound in dry silk. Hands rubbed his back, stroked up and down, and kisses were being peppered into his hair and on his forehead.
"Sammy, shhh. It's over, my own, it's over. This will be the only place this ever happens. No one else is allowed to lay out your punishment, *ever*, I won't allow it; and I will never give you to another. Understand?"
Tears sprung, one after the other, from his shaking form, and he didn't think they'd ever stop. And worse, there was nothing left in him to care about how pathetic he must have looked.
All the shit from the past five years, the torture he just endured, and the lack of any comfort in between - he needed the comfort, he needed anything right now, even from Lucifer. And almost without choice, he mindlessly buried his face into Lucifer's neck and bawled.
Lucifer continued to console him for a few minutes, before he felt himself being placed face down over Lucifer's lap.
Sam began to cry harder and buck as best he could. NoNoNoNoNO! He promised, it was only forty! He can't endure more! He promised!
Lucifer effortlessly held him still, speaking softly, soothingly, "Sshhhh, don't be frightened, my own, this is not a punishment."
And then Lucifer gives his glowing ass a maddeningly soft caress and now, *now* Sam understands he was right, that the forty licks were nothing - the suddden change in stimulation gives a shock of life to his raw nerves, that shoots straight into his groin. He pops a boner faster than a frustrated virgin on prom night feeling up his first girl.
He knows logically that the nerves from the rear end are connected to the genitals and this happens, but it doesn't stop both shame and disgust from double whammying him, because he can't be getting hard from this, he's not a masochist!
Lucifer apparently can't help being a little more cruel; and the next thing Sam knows, there is a strip of leather fastened snugly around his cock and balls, heightening the sensations without the possibilty of an end to his arousal.
Sam whimpers piteously.
"This is my gift to you, Sam, before you say yes, before we become one. You were meant for me, so much more than a vessel, Sam. Say yes, and there will be so much more than this for us."
Lucifer's hands alternate between the stroking of senstive flesh and soft smacks with maddening idleness. Hah! Idle hands really are the Devil's playground...Sam really doesn't understand his mind sometimes (these are the moments he has proof he and Dean are definitely related).
He's struggling in Lucifer's lap in earnest, trying both to escape and relieve the ache in his groin because he can't help it, the jolts to his cock are beyond mind-blowing.
After the seventh smack, Lucifer unfastens the bindings around his genitals, stroking his swollen cock while simulateously continuing the assault to his ass. A rush of what can only be described as pure bliss rocks his mind and body when Lucifer finally allows Sam to come with a shout after the tenth and final smack.
Not even with Jess had he....
He was sure he passed out for a few moments (can you do that in a dream?), before he becomes aware of the fact that he is no longer bound and gagged. He's being held once again on Lucifer's lap, one arm supporting his back, the other stroking his face and hair, a sickening expression of love on his face as he regards Sam.
And just like that, the burst of adrenaline mixed from the pain and pleasure serve to focus his consciousness in sharp clarity. Sam launches out of Lucifer's embrace before settling him with a cool stare.
"You know the trick to telling a perfect lie isn't really about convincing the mark that you're real. For them to believe it, you have to believe it. The first lie starts with you."
Lucifer blinks in somewhat guarded curiousity and tilts his head in amusement, "I have yet to lie to you, Sam."
Sam shook his head hard, "No, not to *me.* You weren't lying to *me* when you said I'd say yes, that *this* is your 'gift', because you believe it. But it doesn't mean you're *right,* it's still not the truth. You lying to *yourself,* and I'm not falling for it. Keep your damn lies to yourself, and GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"
He has just a moment of satisfaction to register the look of surprise on Lucifer's face before the whole room goes too fucking white - and his eyes take in the cruddy motel room he went to bed in last night, Dean and Castiel hovering over him in concern.
"Sam? Sam!" Dean says, crouching over him, while Castiel hands him a hand towel from the bathroom.
He takes a deep breath before telling them he's ok.
And he is.
He's got a nosebleed and splitting headache (and amazingly sore ass), but something in his eyes stops Dean from questioning Sam. At least for the moment. There is a renewed sense of purpose and confidence in Sam that hadn't been there since... well since Dean first found him at Stanford.
The thought of Jesse's mother briefly flickers across his mind as he thinks, //So that's how she trapped the demon,// and he knows there's not a big chance he can do it again.
But he won't have to, because forty - well, fifty licks was nothing after all.
Lucifer had no clue what he was doing if he thought this particular spanking was gonna knock a Winchester down.
Maybe this wasn't so impossible after all.
And Sam smiled.
The End.
Author: Kally
Disclaimer: If SPN was mine, Sam would never be let out of bed. Sadly this is not the reality.
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Sam/Lucifer
Warnings: non-con spanking and non-con masturbation
Dedicated to my inadvertant muse and friend stangerine88
Spoilers for: ep 5.14
Summary: Torn between pride and annoyance at having yet *another* Horseman destroyed, Lucifer decides it's time to reign in his unruly Vessel - and a surprising revelation is made.
Author's Notes and Further Warnings:
This was inspired by my own plot bunny I programmed to attack stangerine88, and it turned on me!
This is NOT a Domestic "Discipline" (better known as Domestic Abuse) story, it does not condone this destructive behavior in any way.
This story was incredibly difficult to write and even harder to research. Getting off on a spanking can be fun for people. Unfortunately there are people out there that actually think beating someone is a healthy "method" and "lifestyle" to keep people in line, instead of allowing them (or themselves) to *grow* into healthy independent people - Needless to say it was very disturbing to read about when trying to get accurate descriptions on a physical spanking.
And finally, my profound apologies to Sam Winchester - Dude, I am so sorry.
Sam knows how to deal with pain, he's been trained nearly all his life to manage through dislocated joints, broken bones, concussions, etc.
A strap to the ass is nothing. John taught him to work through pure pain. Would've been nice if John had taught him how to handle pain and humiliation at once.
Forty licks.
That's the magic number Lucifer settled on when he managed with dogged determination to enter Sam's dreams tonight.
When you think about it, it doesn't sound so bad.
Four rounds of ten licks.
Break it down into small sets, small numbers. Not so bad.
One lick for every year Dean spent in Hell for him.
One round each for Famine and War, and two more for the remaining Horseman if it came to that -- Sam couldn't argue with the latter, because, well, it would.
Sam would tell him so, if not for being draped over a large velvet ottoman (cushioned for his comfort, or so Lucifer claimed) with his arms, legs, and mouth gently bound in impossibly durable silk scarves that trap his limbs to each ottoman's leg, and not so much as a piece of lint on him.
"I should be more upset with you, Sam, for damaging what has taken millenia of careful planning and hard work. Forty licks can't possibly touch the lighter side of punishment in Hell," and then Lucifer's stony face melted into an indulgent expression, "I can't help feeling a little pride in you; I shouldn't. But you really are special, you'll never be just any human."
Exposed and vulnerable, now just waiting for humiliation to come along and complete the triangle of shame.
The first round is surprisingly simple. He used a slender strap - deep dark brown, butter-soft leather.
The first ten licks are meated out in even succession, Lucifer clearly not using the full strength of his vessel.
Oh, he can take forty of these, no problem. He'd be sore for a couple of days, no doubt nursing a bruised ego; and in the morning he'd hit Cas up for more dream sigils - when Dean is out; he hears about this, and he'll *never* let Sam live it down.
Easy.
Ergo, Sam is more pissy than he is humiliated, feeling very much like a child (not an easy thing to accomplish at 6'4) and quietly plotting revenge.
But after the tenth smack, Lucifer pauses, and Sam frowns in confusion until a cold wet substance is lightly poured over his ass and the distinct scent of soap reaches his sense of smell.
Shit.
Blows to wet skin sting even worse than normal.
But not impossible, just take deep slow breaths, he was a fourth way done already.
Not so - Shit!
The eleventh blow was delivered this time by a varnished cane, the combination of wet skin and the smooth surface of the wood decreasing the air between his bottom and the cane, the resulting sensation was kinda like having tape ripped off his skin.
The method and timing in which the blows were given also changed. No longer satisfied in striking in relatively the same area, Lucifer lightly tapped the cane along his rear end, up and down, until finally settling on a different spot each time, before slamming it down on his tender flesh, *hard*. The amount of time it would take to finish this round would take longer than the first.
Ok, not quite as easy, but not hard...Yeah...
And so the pattern continued - Wet the skin, pick a spot, strike the blow. Wet the skin, pick a spot, strike the blow - each repetition leaving his ass burning a little more.
By strike seventeen, he couldn't keep from squirming and grunting with each strike. His breath came out in harsh pants by the time they reached twenty, but hallelujah, he was half way done.
//Goddamnit, suck it up Winchester, you've had worse than this!//
Before he had time to blink, he found himself face down on a wooden rack, still naked. The silken scarves were replaced with heavy chains (the binding cuffs lined with fleece), that stretched out his frame; the silk scarf gagging him remained and was dry once more.
Small comforts.
He inhaled sharply when he felt Lucifer's hand rubbing a moderate amount of oil onto his rear end. His hand lingered in a carress for just a moment before walking into his line of sight, brandishing some sort of plastic paddle.
With holes.
Great....
The use of the oil had Sam greatly confused; oil had healing properties - was Lucifer trying to keep his skin from blistering?
Whatever, he was half-way done, half-way done. He repeated this mantra to himself, each stroke meant he was closer to being done.
The 21st blow came, and the previous sting was no longer there, and neither was Lucifer hitting as hard as he did before. But Sam's relief was extremely short lived - to his horror, a slow burn settled over his ass until if felt like it was on fire after only the second blow!
The oil.
The oil was trapping the heat from the blows, combined with the displaced air and solid mass of the paddle, and the effects of each hit were dragged out like never before. Each strike left a slow excruciating burn in their wake.
So much worse than the water and cane.
Fuck FUCK!
Three tears manage to escape by the fifth strike, and he was grunting and squirming harder with each following smack. Not quite sobbing. Yet.
His stuffy nose made it difficult to breath in and out, but Lucifer finally reached thirty. Ten more, he was so close to being done and the fourth tear coursed down his cheek in anticipated relief.
And Sam finds himself standing on his shaky legs, wrists still chained in fleece-lined cuffs to the support beam a few feet above his head -- his ass still burning.
A second later he squealed, jerking away as much as his retraints and weak muscles would allow, his protests garbled by the silk gag. Not the oil, not the oil again, please!
Lucifer said no words, only crooned out non-sensical soothing sounds, as he continued to rub the oil onto his wiggling ass before finally delivering the next blow.
It was a whip, slender, and it struck like a serpent, lightening fast with an incredible bite. Pure agony swept across his hyde and remaining senses, kicking them into overdrive.
By the 37th strike the tears had been flowing freely for some time now, his pride all but destroyed. He was no longer able to hold back, loudly moaning out his protests, sobbing each time the whip bit into delicate skin, no doubt two shades darker than the ripest of cherries.
38.
Up until now, Lucifer had not said a word, content on allowing Sam's awareness to focus entirely on the beating, without distraction.
"You know why I'm doing this Sam. I need your respect, I need your obedience. Not for show, not for the demons' sake, not for the apocalypse. It's time you accepted you are mine. There are still demons and even angels out there that will hurt you or destroy you. At any time one of my Horseman might have ended up hurting you - that is unacceptable."
39.
"Do not go where I cannot protect you, do not act so recklessly you force my hand. I'll never hurt you, but I will not hesitate to *discipline* you, Sam."
But Sam couldn't think, couldn't really register the words. He just knew, he was 39 for 40, and god damn it just fucking do it already! Please, please, please, just do it and let it be over, *please*!
He released a scream as Lucifer let the whip tail fly one last time, searing torment exploding across his ass, and then he was in Lucifer's arms being comforted. Hands, feet and mouth once again bound in dry silk. Hands rubbed his back, stroked up and down, and kisses were being peppered into his hair and on his forehead.
"Sammy, shhh. It's over, my own, it's over. This will be the only place this ever happens. No one else is allowed to lay out your punishment, *ever*, I won't allow it; and I will never give you to another. Understand?"
Tears sprung, one after the other, from his shaking form, and he didn't think they'd ever stop. And worse, there was nothing left in him to care about how pathetic he must have looked.
All the shit from the past five years, the torture he just endured, and the lack of any comfort in between - he needed the comfort, he needed anything right now, even from Lucifer. And almost without choice, he mindlessly buried his face into Lucifer's neck and bawled.
Lucifer continued to console him for a few minutes, before he felt himself being placed face down over Lucifer's lap.
Sam began to cry harder and buck as best he could. NoNoNoNoNO! He promised, it was only forty! He can't endure more! He promised!
Lucifer effortlessly held him still, speaking softly, soothingly, "Sshhhh, don't be frightened, my own, this is not a punishment."
And then Lucifer gives his glowing ass a maddeningly soft caress and now, *now* Sam understands he was right, that the forty licks were nothing - the suddden change in stimulation gives a shock of life to his raw nerves, that shoots straight into his groin. He pops a boner faster than a frustrated virgin on prom night feeling up his first girl.
He knows logically that the nerves from the rear end are connected to the genitals and this happens, but it doesn't stop both shame and disgust from double whammying him, because he can't be getting hard from this, he's not a masochist!
Lucifer apparently can't help being a little more cruel; and the next thing Sam knows, there is a strip of leather fastened snugly around his cock and balls, heightening the sensations without the possibilty of an end to his arousal.
Sam whimpers piteously.
"This is my gift to you, Sam, before you say yes, before we become one. You were meant for me, so much more than a vessel, Sam. Say yes, and there will be so much more than this for us."
Lucifer's hands alternate between the stroking of senstive flesh and soft smacks with maddening idleness. Hah! Idle hands really are the Devil's playground...Sam really doesn't understand his mind sometimes (these are the moments he has proof he and Dean are definitely related).
He's struggling in Lucifer's lap in earnest, trying both to escape and relieve the ache in his groin because he can't help it, the jolts to his cock are beyond mind-blowing.
After the seventh smack, Lucifer unfastens the bindings around his genitals, stroking his swollen cock while simulateously continuing the assault to his ass. A rush of what can only be described as pure bliss rocks his mind and body when Lucifer finally allows Sam to come with a shout after the tenth and final smack.
Not even with Jess had he....
He was sure he passed out for a few moments (can you do that in a dream?), before he becomes aware of the fact that he is no longer bound and gagged. He's being held once again on Lucifer's lap, one arm supporting his back, the other stroking his face and hair, a sickening expression of love on his face as he regards Sam.
And just like that, the burst of adrenaline mixed from the pain and pleasure serve to focus his consciousness in sharp clarity. Sam launches out of Lucifer's embrace before settling him with a cool stare.
"You know the trick to telling a perfect lie isn't really about convincing the mark that you're real. For them to believe it, you have to believe it. The first lie starts with you."
Lucifer blinks in somewhat guarded curiousity and tilts his head in amusement, "I have yet to lie to you, Sam."
Sam shook his head hard, "No, not to *me.* You weren't lying to *me* when you said I'd say yes, that *this* is your 'gift', because you believe it. But it doesn't mean you're *right,* it's still not the truth. You lying to *yourself,* and I'm not falling for it. Keep your damn lies to yourself, and GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!"
He has just a moment of satisfaction to register the look of surprise on Lucifer's face before the whole room goes too fucking white - and his eyes take in the cruddy motel room he went to bed in last night, Dean and Castiel hovering over him in concern.
"Sam? Sam!" Dean says, crouching over him, while Castiel hands him a hand towel from the bathroom.
He takes a deep breath before telling them he's ok.
And he is.
He's got a nosebleed and splitting headache (and amazingly sore ass), but something in his eyes stops Dean from questioning Sam. At least for the moment. There is a renewed sense of purpose and confidence in Sam that hadn't been there since... well since Dean first found him at Stanford.
The thought of Jesse's mother briefly flickers across his mind as he thinks, //So that's how she trapped the demon,// and he knows there's not a big chance he can do it again.
But he won't have to, because forty - well, fifty licks was nothing after all.
Lucifer had no clue what he was doing if he thought this particular spanking was gonna knock a Winchester down.
Maybe this wasn't so impossible after all.
And Sam smiled.
The End.