Fanfic - SPN: Walking Nightmares - Ch. 3: Used
Title: Walking Nightmares [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Three: Used
[078.Raw]
Dean woke as the wind was knocked out of him, flailing fists and forearms pounding into his back and his ass, shocks of pain leaving him breathless on the verge of keening. "Nngghh." He grunted into the gag, a strained way to say 'good morning to you too', or, more accurately, 'goddamnit, you sadistic fuck'. He tried to swallow the worst of his noises, eyes blinking wetly as he tried to remember what he'd done, why he was being punished so brutally. Clamoring for coherency, his mind gradually took in the state of the ropes digging into his skin, the ache of bent joints that hadn't stretched in hours, and the way his body had been haphazardly turned to face the other way. There were sounds that weren't his in the background, though, and he realized that Sam was mumbling, cursing sharply as he raged behind him.
"You little fuck, you'll see. ... I can't- ... You better fucking learn. ... Please- … Get your shit together! … I need- … Fuck you! … They'll- ... No! … Not strong enough- …"
Dean stilled, trying to understand, though the tirade seemed to only vaguely be aimed in his direction. It was almost like Sam was caught up in- ... "Nngghh!"
Sam immediately stopped, as if this was the first sound he'd heard from Dean all morning. "De- ..."
Dean could practically feel the switch flick, a buzz of latent power crackling to life, electric between Sam's stalled fingers and his skin.
"Whore."
The name was offered, soft but steady, like a reassurance, a vocal check marking Sam's slow return to mental presence. The long quiet that ensued, though, was unsettling. It made Dean want to say something, to reach for his brother or somehow connect and comfort him. The absurdity of the thought left Dean even more speechless than the gag, however. He was bound and bruised, stuffed full in both ends, and his gut desire right then was to get closer to his captor. Yet, his recognition of the ridiculous circumstances didn't make the want go away and he did the only thing he could do. He rocked back towards his brother, his skin connecting with his brother's, tentatively, an invitation for something he couldn't name.
Sam exhaled and inhaled something cousin to a laugh. "You like that? Guess I never really just use my hands anymore, do I?" His fingers fluttered slowly over Dean's back, cautious, and Dean found his eyes slipping closed again, unsure of his own state and his brother's. "Your back's in a pretty bad way, though. So, maybe …" Sam's hands slid down to squeeze Dean's ass enough to make Dean's air rush in, his body slinking into Dean's space to breathe a warm breeze over the hairs on Dean's neck. "Kinda nice, huh?" Taking his time, Sam gently rubbed some of the aches and anxiety out of Dean's ass, his thighs, until their breathing synced, slow and easy. Carefully, he repositioned Dean on all fours, the bindings keeping Dean bent and awkward at the arms, elbows not far from knees and legs spread in balance as Sam knelt between them.
Dean worked to quiet the nervous thoughts that sent a chill down his back as his brother gave his ass a soft smack.
"Want more?"
This wasn't quite what Dean originally had in mind - if he'd had anything in mind - but it was a far cry from the beating he'd woken up to, so he just went with it, leaning into a harder smack and another as Sam offered them up.
"Remember that night you followed me into the woods?" Sam brought both hands down at once and Dean grunted his not-quite-answer. "I used to pick fights with you after that. You know, when I- …" He snickered as he began to put more weight behind his smacks, his voice rich with something raw, power or desire or some dizzying mix of both. "Sometimes I swore you let me win … wanted to feel me overpower you … take what you were too scared to give me on your own."
Even without looking down between his legs, Dean could feel his brother kneel up to loom over him, something sparking along his nerves as Sam's body bent into contact with his own, Sam's hands no less occupied by his ass and hips.
"Is it still scary for you … being under me? Still give you a thrill?"
Yes. No? Dean felt swept up in the slick sound of those words, the slick feel of their bodies. He remembered those fights, struggling but not really struggling, hating but achingly hard from the bruises, alternately held and scarred by the heat that would cool after he'd let Sam unleash, a little rougher every time, a little longer to heal.
"You used to let me hold you down when I fucked you. No cuffs or chains or ropes, just- …" Sam wrapped himself more strongly around Dean, one hand heavy on the rope at Dean's thigh as the other stretched, fingers twining around the rope binding Dean's wrists, tugging just enough to make itself known. "Just my hands."
Shuddering, Dean found himself grinding back against the newly hardened cock pressing at the curve of his ass, Sam's voice little more than a hot rumble over the top of his spine.
"I think you like a little fear … a little hurt." In the span of a breath, Sam was kneeling up again, his palms drumming slaps into the globes of Dean's ass until Dean began to arch away, panting around the gag. Sam pulled him back into place, though, hot fingertips pressing into back bruises deep enough to make Dean shiver and groan, slumping back down to offer up his ass. Sam's hand fell again and again, faster now, each sting harder but blurring into a heat that was spreading up over Dean's whole ass and down to make his balls tingle.
"Nngghh!" Dean squeezed his eyes shut, not from the pain so much as from embarrassment as his cock began to respond, his skin seemingly hungry for Sam's touch, regardless of his aches and his exposed positioning. When Sam finally stopped, breathing audibly over Dean's back, Dean's body wasn't sure that ending was the answer he wanted and the wrongness of his body's wants made his anger flare, useless though it was right then. As Sam gripped both sides of his ass and separated them, though, Dean moaned despite himself, his hole stretched to new sensations by the press of the plug and the pull of Sam's thumbs beside it, his freshly spanked muscles clutched and shooting sparks through him.
"Perfect." A grin coated Sam's voice as he enjoyed the view for a moment. Then he let go and reached up to undo and remove the gag, his thick cock rubbing into the crease of Dean's ass.
Dean stretched his newly free mouth, his breath shaky, lips wet, and throat dry as he waited, anticipating being emptied and filled and eventually emptied again.
"I believe that's a hundred strokes now."
"What?!" Startled, Dean twisted in his bonds enough to make rope-burn a reality.
"You should really be more attentive, whore." Sam's cock pressed harder against his ass.
Slowly recalling the new rules with as much confusion as dread, Dean stumbled over the words. "Uh … please … fuck me, sir?"
The plug was yanked out with an accompanying gasp and Dean's hole clenched with the friction as much as the stretch that it left behind. Then Sam was shoving his way in without any pomp or even lube and it was barely a dozen long, rough thrusts before he was splashing warm come all over Dean's inner walls with a grunt and a satisfied sigh. "Was that what you wanted, whore?"
Dean felt his muscles quiver around the cock that was settled deep inside him and wondered if more was what he wanted. Like a whore. Blinking at the pillows under his bound hands, he wanted to shake his head despite the ambiguity in his body's responses, but he didn't. He knew the patterns that lessened his punishments here, even if they made his stomach clench. "Yes, sir. … Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome, whore." Sam stroked a hand down Dean's thigh, tracing skin and rope and skin again. "I'll let you savor that while I grab a shower. No coming, though. Is that clear?"
Dean barely managed to suppress an irritated growl, as if he would really get off like this, bound and kneeling and full of come, all with no direct stimulation to speak of. His tone was more sarcastic than was probably safe. "Yes, sir."
"Good boy." Sam pulled out and climbed off of the bed as Dean shivered, trying not to investigate the meaning of his own too-easy compliance. He couldn't fight all the time, could he?
The first stray drip of come slid its way out of him just as the shower went on in the bathroom, but he refused to fight to keep it inside like he was the come receptacle that everyone seemed to think he was. He was, though, wasn't he? A hole? A warm resort for his brother's dick? Stop. He shifted, as if he'd ever get comfortable in his bindings, and more come squeezed out, slicking the crease of his ass and the bend between ass and thighs. His mind flash-flooded with fantasy-nightmares of Sam fucking dirty come back into him, packing him full of it and plugging him up until his insides ached. Stop. He wanted to think about something else, about … guns. He mentally indexed his old collection, smallest one first. He took it apart in his mind, one piece at a time, and cleaned it while putting it back together. Whores didn't dream about guns like that, right?
Flash. He thought of Sam holding a gun to his head, of Sam sliding it over his skin and fucking it into his mouth. Stop. Guns. Cleaning guns. The distorted image stuck, though, and he groaned in frustration as the thoughts meant to calm him, to let his mind escape from here, were appropriated and brought back into this twisted little world, morphing until all he could do was shudder at the fucked up images and imagined sensations born of guns and sex and Sam. There was something deeply wrong with him. He wanted to get away, but he couldn't, the ropes were too tight and even if he did get free of them, there was no place to go, both his body and mind were thoroughly trapped and entangled.
It shouldn't have felt easier to choose the path of giving in when his options were all gone, but the certainty of his imprisonment, his slavery, seemed to take some of the weight off. He didn't really need to choose and he barely needed to surrender; he just had to accept a reality where power over his life belonged to damn near anyone but him. He just didn't fully believe it yet. It always felt like some hidden option was just around the corner, peeking at him from someplace he should recognize, just out of reach. Surviving was really just the waiting game until a better fight came into view again.
* * *
When Sam came out of the bathroom, Dean was about as ready as he could be for a day that had started with spanking, fucking, and knotted rope, but he was still caught off guard when even the tamest of his daydreams became reality. With Sam's direction, the tossed-away plug slicked itself between Dean's spread thighs before working its way back into his come-filled hole and Dean couldn't ignore the way his inner hotspot throbbed as Sam fucked the plug in and out of him. He had to bite his bottom lip to keep from groaning, his abs tense from his refusal to let his body respond like it wanted, to rock back on the plug like the whore Sam was teaching him to be.
"Be a good boy. Beg for what you want."
Dean shook his head then, though it was subtle.
"Is that because you want it to hurt more, whore? I can give you pain if that'll make it easier for you."
"No- no, sir, just- … " Dean shivered and tried to breathe steadily as he let his head bow a little deeper and began to push back against the slim object plunging into him, pleasure weaving up his back like a hot snake. "Please, may I- …" Whore. "Please may I come ... for you, sir." Why did it feel dirtier somehow, more humiliating, to ask for pleasure like this, even more humiliating than just being used for someone else's pleasure? As Sam tilted the plug into a new angle, though, theorizing didn't matter and Dean groaned deeply.
"You like that, whore?"
"Yes, sir." Dean's breaths and moans made for wanton words.
"Good." Sam snatched the plug out again, accompanied to by a slightly pained gasp from Dean. "I expect you to be that enthusiastic while you're in use today. Is that clear?"
Dean closed his eyes to steady his inhale and exhale, his body on the verge of begging for more sensation. Thankfully, though, he still had the self-discipline and sense of self-preservation needed to slow his thoughts and reply with a strained but proper, "yes, sir."
"Good." Sam's fingers were working against Dean's skin in moments, tight knots tugging loose in his hands before ropes began to slide over, through, and around, freeing Dean's arms, his right leg, then his left.
By the time all the ropes were a tangled mess beside the bed, Sam was straddling Dean's back as he lay in a forced stretch, trying not to remember his first day of training here, the heat of Sam's breath on his neck, the knowledge that Sam could keep him down there as long as he liked or just fuck him and bleed him.
"What are you?" One of Sam's hands shifted from Dean's arm to the back of his neck, present but not pushing, not squeezing.
Dean still had to fight to keep his body from trembling, his breathing suddenly too rapid. "I'm- … I'm your property. I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."
"And what are you for?"
Stretched, Dean's mind just … blanked … and Dean could feel his own eyes widen, fear jolting through his system. He tore apart his mental library looking for the readymade answer, but he couldn't find it just then, too many new rules and new data mucking his already overwhelmed brain. The hand around his neck began to tighten like a noose being fitted just right. "I- … For … use?"
Sam shifted backwards quickly, dragging Dean's body up by his hair, bending an intense ache into his neck and back until Dean groaned miserably but could see the litany above the bed. "Find the words, whore."
"Ple-… for the pleasure of my master?" A slave is for service, a whore is for pleasure. Right. The words slammed back into focus as Sam dropped him like trash back down to the bed, a twinge of pain spreading from his nose deeper into his head despite the cushion of the pillows.
"Yes, solely for my pleasure. Don't forget again."
Dean coughed something garbled but respectful and adequate and Sam finally climbed off, a satisfied clip in his voice as he stood beside the bed.
"Now, go shower. Filthy is only hot up to a point."
Dean's insides felt wrung out and hammered, but he crawled off the bed anyway, nodding his 'yes, sir' without eye contact as he went to make himself clean again.
* * *
The showerhead was strong enough to slam heat into his skin, scalding away any filth on the outside and some on the inside as he bent, lip bitten, and opened himself for a more thorough cleaning. Even the softest towel felt rough against his overly sensitized skin as he dried off, but he made sure not to stall. Once he had a clean body, a clean face, and a clean mouth, he left the safety zone, a committed soldier returning to battle.
The first thing he noticed was a black tool box propped up on the end of the bed with a metal rod sticking out of it which ended in a sizeable dildo. Dean Winchester would've laughed, a little awkward and a little curious, and he knew that, but a whore had more fear than that and a slave had more experience with being overpowered, humiliated, and used. The second thing he noticed was that the breakfast table had been moved closer to the center of the room and his side of the table had been angled so he could have a clear line of sight to the odd contraption.
Sam was already seated and enjoying his breakfast, the hint of a smile emerging as Dean turned his way after staring at the bed for a moment. "How are you feeling?"
"Uhh …" Dean didn't necessarily have a problem saying 'fine', but that wasn't quite the right answer and, in fact, his answer was rather dependent on where his day was headed, information that really wasn't in his control right then. "Depends."
Sam motioned Dean over and he went, settling somewhat hesitantly on the second seat when Sam didn't point him to the floor for kneeling. "Explain."
"May I ask what that is, Sa- … sir?" The flash of warning in Sam's eyes was enough for Dean to self-correct, licking his lips nervously for more reasons than one.
"Sure. It's a fucking machine, emphasis on 'fucking'." Sam smiled fully, his voice and eyes lighting up excitedly.
Dean's tone held a breath of nervous laughter in it, though he knew this was no joke. "Right." He just picked up his fork at Sam's nod and tried his best to focus on his food.
Everything proceeded quietly, stacked waffles smothered in meat and fruit dwindled quickly to crumbs and juice, but Dean's mind continued racing as he alternately studied the machine and watched his owner eat. If it was just a sextoy, he'd probably be okay, but it could just as easily be a torture device, really. His brother could probably make anything, including a box of cornflakes, into something painful or embarrassing, loving it all the while, so why not this? It seemed to be a not-so-hidden talent of Sam's these days.
"It's the best portable unit available." Sam piped up. "It's steel-framed, remote controlled, and fully programmable with a six amp motor that can offer speeds from a gentle thirty revs per minute to a blistering one-twenty while the arm pumps as shallowly as two inches or works its way up to a deep, hard eight."
Dean blinked and worked to amiably nod along with Sam's explanation of the machine's specifications, his pride almost tangible as he talked it up like it was a car he just bought or one he was hoping to sell to an equally passionate buyer. Of course, Dean was fascinated, but any intrigue he felt was tempered by the reality marked so plainly by the contrast of his required nudity and Sam's t-shirt and boxers. The specs list told him nothing about how Sam planned to use the machine on him and Sam would use the machine on him at some point soon, likely after breakfast. Who else would be a reasonable candidate for the metal-monster-fucking Olympics? Yeah, no one.
"It should be dexterous enough to make you beg or make you break."
Dean just nodded more when Sam grinned, both devilish and childlike in his excitement. The problem was, though, that either begging or breaking would probably get that response out of him, so Dean still didn't know where this was going. Sure, there was plenty of potential for this to just be about sex, maybe a way for Sam to watch him take a fast-moving dick without all the complications of jealousy, but he couldn't allow himself high hopes. Sam could just as easily make it about pain, fucking him dry or with some gonzo dong or just having this be a hands-free (or, really, dick-free) way to help Sam torture his whore in other ways while his hole was being reamed to aching. Dean's judgment and instincts just didn't really work with Sam anymore. His brother was a wildcard.
When Sam finally set his fork down with a sigh and drained the last of his juice, Dean was on edge, unsure if he wanted the day to continue forward but still craving the knowledge of what came next. "Go piss and wash your hands."
Okay. So this would be a long session then. Dean ducked his head in acknowledgment of Sam's order and went to relieve himself before returning to Sam's side.
"Now go get on the bed. Don't mess with the machine. Just get on all fours in front of it, so your head can fall into the pillows."
Okay. Dean turned on his heel and went to the bed, containing an imminent shudder as he climbed onto the bed on hands and knees, his body's center in line with the machine's long arm as he looked down at it between his legs. This close he could see that the dildo on the end was more moderate than massive, but he still wasn't sure that made him feel better. The other thing he could see from this angle that he hadn't seen before was a second metal arm folded in at the base of the box and it was topped by something wide and covered in black fabric. As Sam approached, the second metal arm unfolded mechanically, positioning itself more deeply between his legs, just under his cock, with the wide black something pressed up by a perpendicular bit of slim steel piping. It felt like he was in some experimental Skinemax movie-of-the-week and he fought to keep his calm in place.
Beside him, Sam began to make himself busy, reaching down to adjust the secondary metal arm, positioning what Dean realized was some sort of thick cushion so that it cradled his balls and the base of his still soft cock. Then Sam walked away, returning with an arm full of stainless steel restraints. The ankle cuffs chained to the bottom posts of the bed kept him spread wide and kneeling. His wrists were locked together behind his back and attached to chains clipped high on the posts edging the headboard, pulling his hands up to be largely useless. The collar, then, settled around his neck heavily and was pulled, nearly up from the pillows that his head was resting on, to connect to his bound wrists via a too-short chain, all of which kept his arms straining at an awkward angle and his head movements almost equally restricted. Everything was arranged to force him to remain open and immobile, sloping uncomfortably into the pillows.
Sam hummed through the next phase of the setup, pulling and shifting the primary arm of the machine before slipping two digits into Dean's hole to lube and loosen him up. "Relax. I'll make sure it hits the right spot for you."
Dean gasped, shuddering as Sam fulfilled his promise, the machine gliding with ease into just the right angle, filling him up about halfway and leaving him to squirm there.
"Comfortable?"
In the real world - the old world - the answer would obviously be 'no', but here? Nothing hurt more than should be expected, he supposed. "I guess so … sir."
"Good." Sam stepped back and Dean heard something click softly followed by a whirring noise and the gentle vibrations of a motor spinning up. "Here are the rules for today. You may call for the guards if and only if you feel that your life is in danger, for example, if there is a fire or if it seems like you are injured and bleeding out. If you call before then, they have orders to show you what it's like to be a communal whore and you will be passed around downstairs until I get back, which I really won't be happy about."
Dean's nod was one of understanding, but not only for his brother's words. He was also confirming to himself the idea he'd had earlier about Sam wanting to see him take a cock without having to deal with jealousy. After the scare with the guard a few days back, it was good to know Sam still had some possessiveness in him, whether or not that came with protectiveness or not.
"If there's no crisis, then you're allowed to come as much as you want as long as you remember how many times you come. You'll give a report when I get home." Sam ran slow fingers over the curve of Dean's ass and Dean shivered, instinctively and ineffectively trying to wiggle away, making both his calves and his shoulders ache as he realized just how tautly he'd been bound in perfect counterpoint. "I will still expect you to come for me if I want you to when I'm using you tonight, though, so keep that in mind and don't overtax yourself. You understand?"
Dean let his ass hug what he could feel of the rod inside him and nodded despite the tension on his bonds. "Yes, sir." This didn't sound so scary, just … intense.
"I'm glad to hear it." With that, Sam walked away.
Dean could hear a rustling somewhere in the direction of the closet, then there was the pop of buttons and the snick of zippers and when Sam came back around into view beside the bed, he was fully clothed, his leather coat swaying around him.
"Be good, whore. I'll be back in a few hours."
Dean nearly jumped, startled. "What?!" The Sam-going-away part only just now filtered its way through the mental static caused by his current circumstances.
"Shhh, you'll be fine. It's a self-lubricating system, so when I get home, I'm expecting my well-fucked little whore to still beg for my cock. Oh, and don't worry about falling asleep or otherwise feeling bored, I've programmed it to vary the speed and depth of the strokes, so it should keep you plenty interested." Sam's heat grew as his voice darkened, commanding as he leaned closer to Dean, a hand too-heavy on Dean's back just below the metal collar. "That sound good, whore?"
Dean shuddered, swallowing, but held himself still, willing his body not to panic because it would do little but damage him in his current state of bondage. He tried, stopped, and finally succeeded in making his mouth work, though his voice was quiet and shaken with nerves. "Yes, sir."
"In fact, I want you to imagine that it's me, fucking you relentlessly for hours. Can you do that for me, whore?"
If he'd been less distressed and more cocky, he might have snickered at Sam's vanity and at the absurdity of it all. As it was, though, he just closed his eyes and gave the desired reply. "Yes, sir."
Sam petted and patted Dean's hair, but then he was gone, clicking the machine on as he strode by and out the door.
Whoosh. Dean's exhale was thrust out of him as the false cock sank deeper, withdrawing a moment later only to sink in again, the pace languorous, almost tender, like a warmup. The cushion nestled under his cock began to shift, slowly massaging in a way that made his breath catch and his body struggled to refrain from grinding, despite his uncertain headspace. He closed his eyes, swallowing some mix of nausea and groans, knowing this was just the beginning.
He found himself naturally focusing on his breathing, a modulated in-and-out to match the thrum of the machine. The zen of his concentration didn't keep the sensations at bay, though, and as both the machine and his breathing picked up speed, he swore that he would lose his mind like this, maddened by all the continuous, precise stimulation. The varied shove of the silicone and the gentle vibrations of the tiny curved platform beneath him slowly started to build shudders in his system, his muscles drawing more and more tense until he bit his lip, knowing that he would be begging if his tormentor could hear him. The first come took him by surprise, like a slow-motion grab at his sides, at his thighs, on his balls, and he was spilling soft spurts of cream onto the sheets with panted breaths in between.
Even with release and the softening of his cock, the pressure couldn't fully dissipate, though. It had nowhere to go, the remainder being pressed deeper into his system by the unrelenting cock, shallow or deep, slowing and speeding, but never really letting him rest. It didn't matter how many times he squirmed or how hard he gasped into the pillows, it just kept pushing him steadily towards the next orgasm and the next, each feeling like it was forever coming and forever fading. The minutes may have been hours or the hours, days, because he couldn't think through the buildup of pleasure racking his body and slicking his skin with sweat until he came again and, later, again, every time enough but somehow too much.
By the time he could tell that the sun was setting, the pale cast of the room turning burnt orange, he could feel his lips moving but he wasn't sure what he was saying. The growing ache inside and at the base of his cock made him strain against the chains, just wanting everything to stop, and maybe that was what he was mumbling, needy, his pleas falling haphazardly out of sex-fogged mind and a weary body. His horizon wasn't behind him yet, though, and he fought the tug of hopelessness as the ache built itself into pleasure and he started to fall over the edge again, his groan more pain than euphoria though he was sure delirium was setting in as well, his cock barely twitching as it leaked meagerly. For the first time, he wondered if he was going to be broken when Sam got home. Not that it mattered. He couldn't call for the guards and even if there weren't major sanctions in place, god he wouldn't want to, all trussed-up like this.
Click.
The sound was soft, but Dean knew it was the door so he waited … and waited. No one spoke. The movements of the machine fought for his attention, but he worked to hone his hearing and couldn't figure out any more than the reality that he was no longer alone in the room. His guest's eyes became something visceral, something sliding over and against him. It made him wonder if the tricky guard from before, Rick or whatever, had slid in, thinking to get a free show, a thought that had Dean struggling against his bonds again, even though he knew intellectually that they wouldn't budge.
He was wholly on display now and his panic was rising. His first thought was to call his brother's name, to remind the intruder or possibly himself, that he wasn't up for grabs. He remembered, though, teeth tight to the roof of his mouth, that he supposedly hadn't earned the privilege of speaking that name, of forgetting his place here.
"Sir?" When he didn't get a response, he repeated it louder. "Sir?" His heart rate doubled as he pictured the eye-full that his unknown prowler was getting: his arms bound useless and aching, his legs restrained wide and overtight, his hole gaping from hours of constant machine-managed fucking, and his half-mast cock sagging over a multi-layered come stain thickened with a fresh strain of his jizz.
He went still, breath stopping cold, when he heard the rustle of cloth, close, too close, like someone was walking up to stand near the foot of the bed. He craned his neck to the side, trying to see, but it just made the chain pull on his shoulders, causing a slow-burning pain in the joint, and he settled back into the default position. That wasn't going to work at all and he knew it. He was wholly at the mercy, or likely lack thereof, of whoever had decided to watch him get fucked by an unceasing machine. He tried to breathe, but it was hard when there was so much anxiety and self-disgust packed into his chest, but he managed to get enough oxygen to have half a thought.
It could be a test.
Sam probably knew that his first thought would be to say his name and to plead for something that would make this twisted afternoon end. So maybe Sam was just waiting for him to be bad and god he did not need any more lashings. There were a hundred on the debt list already, so he'd be sore enough without even just one more. If Sam was watching silently for his own entertainment, though, as well as to test him, then he would probably like more of a show than Dean's occasional hitched breath and shudder. He just didn't know what to do next, though, so he tried to make contact again, painfully thankful that he hadn't been gagged.
"Sir?" He waited again, but still no response came and he breathed deep, working to keep his heart from banging its way up his throat. A thought came unbidden and he wanted to shake it out of his head, but knew he should listen even if he felt shamed. Maybe he wasn't humbling himself enough, maybe 'sir' didn't imply groveling enough even though his voice shook. He fought with himself, something more than a plastic cock making him ache inside, but eventually he made his mouth form the other word as if it had his pleas built into it. "… Master?"
"I'm here."
Dean shivered even as a part of him sighed with relief. The conversation stalled there, though, because he knew he couldn't ask for his torment to end and that was all he had words for right then.
"I just want to watch you for a while."
Then the room went back to almost total silence as breaths and the soft whir of the machine settled into the status of white noise. Knowing that Sam was there, though, changed things in a way he couldn't explain to himself, envisioning what might be seen through Sam's eyes and wanting proof that Sam was really there instead of someone else. There was a part of him that felt wrong for wanting that, but he couldn't hold the need back, closing his eyes as he imagined Sam's hands sliding slowly over his sweat-cooled skin, known but unable to move beneath them, muscles straining. He could almost feel Sam's fingers gently pressing out against the globes of his ass, pushing them wider until the stretched skin around his raw hole was red and aching as Sam watched the machine plunge in and out of him in close proximity. Then, the imagined heat of Sam's palm wrapping around his cock was so easily in reach of his mind that he was rocking as much as he could into the dream of it, moans and gasps falling out as he tried not to seem wanton even though he somehow was.
"Oh god." Dean shuddered and squirmed the few ways he could as he felt Sam watching him get off on getting fucked like this. "Please?" The word wasn't for things to stop so much as culminate, a habit born of begging to come even though he already had permission. "Fuck." He ground harder, as much as he could, against the vibrations under his cock and could swear that Sam was squeezing him, coaxing the come to spill out. When the motorized cock seemed to lull for a moment and then double its speed, stroking deeper and harder, Dean couldn't take anymore and he was groaning into and eating the pillow under his face as his stomach clenched and his cock dribbled what little come he had left.
The machine kept moving.
Dean felt his groan sink into a growl of pained frustration, his body drained and raw beyond even his furthest threshold. More than anything right then, he wanted to bang his head against a wall hard enough and long enough to distract himself. If it didn't ache even just to lift it, he would've smashed his head into the pillowed bed, even knowing the damage would be far less than the darkness of lost consciousness that he craved.
Sam's hand was on him in moments, though, fingers brushing over his body with the surety of someone who owned it. "Did you have a good day today, whore?" Dean didn't really know what to say, but Sam answered for him. "Sure looks like it with all the mess you made." Sam's voice was smooth, but light, curious more than demanding. "How many times did you come, by the way?"
Dazed as he tried to ignore the continuing pump of the machine, Dean mumbled. "I dunno, sir."
"You don't know?" Sam's fingers began to trace fire instead of just warmth and Dean realized too late that he'd lost count, his mind and mouth trying to coordinate to offer a proper answer.
"Three times, or … four? I think?" Shit. He didn't know and everything his body was trying to tell him had smashed his mental rewind button. Maybe he should overestimate? "Maybe five?" He knew he was shivering and breathing heavily, but he couldn't turn it off. This wasn't what Sam wanted to hear and that meant more pain, screaming pain.
"Which is it?" Sam's tone seemed to curl darkly into the corner's of Dean's mind as his power curled around his heart and squeezed just enough to say 'hello'.
"Please- …" Dean shook his head as best he could, shoving a mental stopper in his throat before he could say something stupid like 'I can't think. Can you please turn it off?' Sam's displeasure combined with the continuing plunge of the machine's arm and the strain of his restraints, making Dean's words stumble out half formed. "I'm- … I'm sorry, sir."
"Did you at least think about me fucking you while you were enjoying yourself today?"
Fuck. He was 0-for-2 and back to wanting to bang his head against a wall, maybe until it bled. "Not- … not until a little while ago. No ... sir."
"So you're not just a nameless whore, you're a lazy nameless whore. Is that right?" The words were vicious, cutting, but Sam gave Dean no time to plead his case. "Say it!"
"I- … What do you- …"
"Tell the truth: that you're a Lazy Nameless Whore!"
Dean's eyes burned like his blood and sweat were transmuting into acid. "I'm- ... I'm a ... lazy ... name- nameless ... whore." Whore. Wrong. Whore. Stop.
"What did I tell you to do today?"
Dean reached desperately for the words, but the full and numb feeling of the incessant machine met tendrils of Sam's power, making his memory and coherency continue to swim. "I umm- …"
Unimpressed, Sam cut him off. "I asked you to do three things, whore, only three things, and it seems like the only one you actually did was the one you couldn't fuck up if you tried, thanks to the chains."
Dean wanted to speak, to apologize or explain or something, anything, but Sam's volume was rising, his intensity starting to steam outward, a blanket of heat.
"You were supposed to get fucked by our new metal friend here - check. You were supposed imagine it was me fucking you all afternoon - no check. And, you were supposed to keep track of the number of times you came - no check, times three, or possibly four, or maybe five. … It shouldn't have been that hard, you lazy little fuck!" Sam paused and Dean struggled to stay focused and sane, but something broke as Sam's voice snapped into something softer but no less sharp. "I'm disappointed."
Squeezing his eyes more tightly closed, if Dean's head could've fallen further, it would have. One word shouldn't hurt that much, certainly not that word from that mouth, but everything in his stomach seemed to turn to stone. He just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and bang his head until it cracked open, his mind blanking and blacking out, so he didn't have to do this, feel this, be this anymore. Yet, neither the machine nor his brother provided any relief.
"Remind me, whore. What rule do we have about you coming?"
Reflex. "I'm not allowed to come without permission."
"And did you remember that this morning I said you could come as much as you wanted if you kept count, which you didn't?"
"I- …" Sort of?
"So tell me … what is the punishment for coming without my permission?"
Dean jerked, instinctively more than sensibly, as if his mind had been doused with cool water and he could stop Sam's words from getting into his ears. His shoulders ached along with the rest of him as he choked out words that he'd hoped that he would never have to repeat. "You said that you'd … whip my dick … sir."
"Yeah, I did say that, didn't I? And since you came an apparently uncountable number of times, we'll just have to include your cock in the daily discipline every day from now on, until you can work your way out of punishment or until I decide that you've really gotten the hang of counting. It's probably just as well, though, I mean … you did still have that one incident to pay for anyway. Now your debt can come due … tomorrow … and the next day … and the day after that."
Dean was nearly hyperventilating by the time Sam stopped speaking, every ache in his body making rational thought difficult, but Sam's cold promise of so much more every day had Dean teetering on the edge.
Soon thereafter, however, the venom in Sam's voice seemed to dissipate along with the feel of his power under Dean's skin and Dean tried not to flinch as his brother wound fingers deftly into his hair. "You want me to turn off the machine, whore?"
Part of Dean almost wanted to weep for all the horror of his life, but the stronger part of him knew that he had to survive and in order to do that, he had to stay in the present, dealing with reality as it came. "Yes, please, sir."
Sam bent, his lips skimming over Dean's ear as he whispered like some sultry wolf. "Are you going to show me that you're actually worth something, slut?"
Dean shuddered, but didn't fight for the sake of fighting, his lips feeling bruised as he worked to be heard despite the muffle of the pillow and the drowning of more of his pride. "Yes, sir. Just- … What can I do?"
Continuing to blow his words, warm and damp, Sam's mouth seemed to claim Dean's ear and cheek and neck. "You can suck my cock like the best whore you can be. You want my dick in your mouth while you ride that little one, don't you, whore?"
Clenching his fists above their cuffs, Dean worked to lower himself, to beg - no, request - to be properly used like the whore he was supposed to be. "Please- ... Sir, may I suck your cock, please?"
Sam's smirk slid into place along Dean's skin and he snickered as he straightened up and made quick work of releasing Dean's wrists, arms, and neck. The cuffs, collar, and the chains that had linked them crashed to the carpet in careless chimes and Dean fell. It wasn't far, but his arms dropped and his upper body followed. Every part of him above the waist felt foreign, stretched and tired, tingly and strange, not to mention aching, like his insides, throbbing and pleading with his beleaguered brain to make it better. He knew from the feel of spreading tension that half-laying there while his legs were still bent and wide would strain his back, but he couldn't move yet, couldn't yet choose to support his weight with arms that hated him. The welts that he'd been too distracted to notice most of the day quickly made themselves known, however, and he groaned wretchedly, distantly aware of the continued fucking he was receiving as his brother disrobed beside the bed.
It turned out that he didn't have to make the hard choice between the strength and pain of his back or that of his arms. Sam made it for him, lifting his shoulders and head to climb underneath him, Sam's hips cushioned by the pillows that Dean had sweated, cursed, and pleaded into all day. So unless Dean wanted to rest on Sam's thighs with a cock for a pillow, he'd have to move to all fours, a shift that he accomplished shakily but with little more than a grunt.
"Get to work, whore."
Dean leaned in on cue, mechanical as his mind was overpowered by the aches and the shame and the need to stop, the need to get away, the need to survive. He wasn't sure he cared what the job was anymore, but still, he found himself halting for a moment, looking at his brother-owner's cock and wanting to huff and fight. The exhaustion had stripped so much of him away, though, tearing him back to a barer state, and he knew that he had to work, to earn his living, or, really, to earn his life.
When he began to work his mouth over Sam's cock with nothing near him but Sam's thighs and Sam's looming torso, he felt nauseous, almost spinning, unanchored. His breath was already running too fast before he realized that Sam's hand was what was missing, an unwanted guide, but a guide nonetheless. The feel of Sam's fingers as they finally locked into place in his hair made him shiver, but it also made things easier somehow, that little reminder that he wasn't just some weakling who was trading his body for relief and favors, nor some wanton whore whose cock responded to the smell of his owner's sweat, nor some slave who wanted to erase the disappointment in his master's voice. He was just a survivor, strategic even in shame, or ... that was what he kept telling himself. Anything else would've tipped him into madness and it didn't matter anyway. Those other reasons weren't close enough to the truth. They couldn't be.
The force over him increased, a warm weight pushing his head down until he moaned despite himself, water prickling his eyes as his mouth was fucked, slow and brutal and deep. He gagged and trembled as he fought to keep up, his teeth shielded and tongue working overtime. When Sam yanked his hair like reins, Dean watched stars burst behind his eyes, choke-swallowing hard dick and hot come as it was thrust down his throat by the power of Sam's hips.
He coughed but suppressed his nausea as Sam shoved him away, his head settling wearily on Sam's right thigh. He almost felt like he was stealing something, taking liberties with his master's body, but he was too exhausted to move and even if he hadn't been, his logic sounded weird in his brain. The snap of silence as the fucking machine stopped whirring, however, was a frightening kind of deafening, not calming at all, and Dean fought not to jump when its mechanical arms made clicking noises and retracted from contact with his body.
Dean didn't even realize that his lower half had fallen to the bed like the rest of him, but he knew that his face was suddenly wet and his body was shaking uncontrollably the minute it seemed like he could relax. Sam even stroked his hair.
"Shhh. Shhh. I've got you." Sam's fingers were gentle now in just the way they'd been torturous before and Dean's mind ran, hiding itself away while he tried to still his body back to something normal and not think, not right then. "You have to learn your place- ..."
Hearing Sam stop midway through his words, Dean could almost imagine that his name, his real name, was meant to go there. It made him wonder when he'd hear it again, when he'd be good enough again. Probably, he decided, when he stopped being stupid and, even more, when he stopped resisting just because, stopped losing the battle to stay that un-nameable guy.
Sam shook his head as if hearing Dean's thoughts and quieted for a long time, just petting. Eventually his soft sighs twisted into something wistful, though and he mumbled, indistinct, as if thinking out loud. "Everyone learns their place here eventually. Everyone."
Dean had just worked up the courage to ask what Sam was talking about when Sam lifted him up, crawling out from under him and releasing the locks on Dean's ankles with a power-aided snap.
"Dinner?"
Dean bit his tongue and turned his head to the side, slowly and carefully nodding weakly. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
He was smart enough to know that he couldn't ask what he wanted, not then and maybe not ever. His whorish agenda was already full: eat, then fuck, then there'd be punishment and discipline, then would come the rope, the gag, the plug, and the bed. Then he'd get up and do it all over again.
Chapters: 1.Lost - 2.Exposed - 3.Used - 4.Hurt - 5.Modified
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Three: Used
[078.Raw]
Dean woke as the wind was knocked out of him, flailing fists and forearms pounding into his back and his ass, shocks of pain leaving him breathless on the verge of keening. "Nngghh." He grunted into the gag, a strained way to say 'good morning to you too', or, more accurately, 'goddamnit, you sadistic fuck'. He tried to swallow the worst of his noises, eyes blinking wetly as he tried to remember what he'd done, why he was being punished so brutally. Clamoring for coherency, his mind gradually took in the state of the ropes digging into his skin, the ache of bent joints that hadn't stretched in hours, and the way his body had been haphazardly turned to face the other way. There were sounds that weren't his in the background, though, and he realized that Sam was mumbling, cursing sharply as he raged behind him.
"You little fuck, you'll see. ... I can't- ... You better fucking learn. ... Please- … Get your shit together! … I need- … Fuck you! … They'll- ... No! … Not strong enough- …"
Dean stilled, trying to understand, though the tirade seemed to only vaguely be aimed in his direction. It was almost like Sam was caught up in- ... "Nngghh!"
Sam immediately stopped, as if this was the first sound he'd heard from Dean all morning. "De- ..."
Dean could practically feel the switch flick, a buzz of latent power crackling to life, electric between Sam's stalled fingers and his skin.
"Whore."
The name was offered, soft but steady, like a reassurance, a vocal check marking Sam's slow return to mental presence. The long quiet that ensued, though, was unsettling. It made Dean want to say something, to reach for his brother or somehow connect and comfort him. The absurdity of the thought left Dean even more speechless than the gag, however. He was bound and bruised, stuffed full in both ends, and his gut desire right then was to get closer to his captor. Yet, his recognition of the ridiculous circumstances didn't make the want go away and he did the only thing he could do. He rocked back towards his brother, his skin connecting with his brother's, tentatively, an invitation for something he couldn't name.
Sam exhaled and inhaled something cousin to a laugh. "You like that? Guess I never really just use my hands anymore, do I?" His fingers fluttered slowly over Dean's back, cautious, and Dean found his eyes slipping closed again, unsure of his own state and his brother's. "Your back's in a pretty bad way, though. So, maybe …" Sam's hands slid down to squeeze Dean's ass enough to make Dean's air rush in, his body slinking into Dean's space to breathe a warm breeze over the hairs on Dean's neck. "Kinda nice, huh?" Taking his time, Sam gently rubbed some of the aches and anxiety out of Dean's ass, his thighs, until their breathing synced, slow and easy. Carefully, he repositioned Dean on all fours, the bindings keeping Dean bent and awkward at the arms, elbows not far from knees and legs spread in balance as Sam knelt between them.
Dean worked to quiet the nervous thoughts that sent a chill down his back as his brother gave his ass a soft smack.
"Want more?"
This wasn't quite what Dean originally had in mind - if he'd had anything in mind - but it was a far cry from the beating he'd woken up to, so he just went with it, leaning into a harder smack and another as Sam offered them up.
"Remember that night you followed me into the woods?" Sam brought both hands down at once and Dean grunted his not-quite-answer. "I used to pick fights with you after that. You know, when I- …" He snickered as he began to put more weight behind his smacks, his voice rich with something raw, power or desire or some dizzying mix of both. "Sometimes I swore you let me win … wanted to feel me overpower you … take what you were too scared to give me on your own."
Even without looking down between his legs, Dean could feel his brother kneel up to loom over him, something sparking along his nerves as Sam's body bent into contact with his own, Sam's hands no less occupied by his ass and hips.
"Is it still scary for you … being under me? Still give you a thrill?"
Yes. No? Dean felt swept up in the slick sound of those words, the slick feel of their bodies. He remembered those fights, struggling but not really struggling, hating but achingly hard from the bruises, alternately held and scarred by the heat that would cool after he'd let Sam unleash, a little rougher every time, a little longer to heal.
"You used to let me hold you down when I fucked you. No cuffs or chains or ropes, just- …" Sam wrapped himself more strongly around Dean, one hand heavy on the rope at Dean's thigh as the other stretched, fingers twining around the rope binding Dean's wrists, tugging just enough to make itself known. "Just my hands."
Shuddering, Dean found himself grinding back against the newly hardened cock pressing at the curve of his ass, Sam's voice little more than a hot rumble over the top of his spine.
"I think you like a little fear … a little hurt." In the span of a breath, Sam was kneeling up again, his palms drumming slaps into the globes of Dean's ass until Dean began to arch away, panting around the gag. Sam pulled him back into place, though, hot fingertips pressing into back bruises deep enough to make Dean shiver and groan, slumping back down to offer up his ass. Sam's hand fell again and again, faster now, each sting harder but blurring into a heat that was spreading up over Dean's whole ass and down to make his balls tingle.
"Nngghh!" Dean squeezed his eyes shut, not from the pain so much as from embarrassment as his cock began to respond, his skin seemingly hungry for Sam's touch, regardless of his aches and his exposed positioning. When Sam finally stopped, breathing audibly over Dean's back, Dean's body wasn't sure that ending was the answer he wanted and the wrongness of his body's wants made his anger flare, useless though it was right then. As Sam gripped both sides of his ass and separated them, though, Dean moaned despite himself, his hole stretched to new sensations by the press of the plug and the pull of Sam's thumbs beside it, his freshly spanked muscles clutched and shooting sparks through him.
"Perfect." A grin coated Sam's voice as he enjoyed the view for a moment. Then he let go and reached up to undo and remove the gag, his thick cock rubbing into the crease of Dean's ass.
Dean stretched his newly free mouth, his breath shaky, lips wet, and throat dry as he waited, anticipating being emptied and filled and eventually emptied again.
"I believe that's a hundred strokes now."
"What?!" Startled, Dean twisted in his bonds enough to make rope-burn a reality.
"You should really be more attentive, whore." Sam's cock pressed harder against his ass.
Slowly recalling the new rules with as much confusion as dread, Dean stumbled over the words. "Uh … please … fuck me, sir?"
The plug was yanked out with an accompanying gasp and Dean's hole clenched with the friction as much as the stretch that it left behind. Then Sam was shoving his way in without any pomp or even lube and it was barely a dozen long, rough thrusts before he was splashing warm come all over Dean's inner walls with a grunt and a satisfied sigh. "Was that what you wanted, whore?"
Dean felt his muscles quiver around the cock that was settled deep inside him and wondered if more was what he wanted. Like a whore. Blinking at the pillows under his bound hands, he wanted to shake his head despite the ambiguity in his body's responses, but he didn't. He knew the patterns that lessened his punishments here, even if they made his stomach clench. "Yes, sir. … Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome, whore." Sam stroked a hand down Dean's thigh, tracing skin and rope and skin again. "I'll let you savor that while I grab a shower. No coming, though. Is that clear?"
Dean barely managed to suppress an irritated growl, as if he would really get off like this, bound and kneeling and full of come, all with no direct stimulation to speak of. His tone was more sarcastic than was probably safe. "Yes, sir."
"Good boy." Sam pulled out and climbed off of the bed as Dean shivered, trying not to investigate the meaning of his own too-easy compliance. He couldn't fight all the time, could he?
The first stray drip of come slid its way out of him just as the shower went on in the bathroom, but he refused to fight to keep it inside like he was the come receptacle that everyone seemed to think he was. He was, though, wasn't he? A hole? A warm resort for his brother's dick? Stop. He shifted, as if he'd ever get comfortable in his bindings, and more come squeezed out, slicking the crease of his ass and the bend between ass and thighs. His mind flash-flooded with fantasy-nightmares of Sam fucking dirty come back into him, packing him full of it and plugging him up until his insides ached. Stop. He wanted to think about something else, about … guns. He mentally indexed his old collection, smallest one first. He took it apart in his mind, one piece at a time, and cleaned it while putting it back together. Whores didn't dream about guns like that, right?
Flash. He thought of Sam holding a gun to his head, of Sam sliding it over his skin and fucking it into his mouth. Stop. Guns. Cleaning guns. The distorted image stuck, though, and he groaned in frustration as the thoughts meant to calm him, to let his mind escape from here, were appropriated and brought back into this twisted little world, morphing until all he could do was shudder at the fucked up images and imagined sensations born of guns and sex and Sam. There was something deeply wrong with him. He wanted to get away, but he couldn't, the ropes were too tight and even if he did get free of them, there was no place to go, both his body and mind were thoroughly trapped and entangled.
It shouldn't have felt easier to choose the path of giving in when his options were all gone, but the certainty of his imprisonment, his slavery, seemed to take some of the weight off. He didn't really need to choose and he barely needed to surrender; he just had to accept a reality where power over his life belonged to damn near anyone but him. He just didn't fully believe it yet. It always felt like some hidden option was just around the corner, peeking at him from someplace he should recognize, just out of reach. Surviving was really just the waiting game until a better fight came into view again.
* * *
When Sam came out of the bathroom, Dean was about as ready as he could be for a day that had started with spanking, fucking, and knotted rope, but he was still caught off guard when even the tamest of his daydreams became reality. With Sam's direction, the tossed-away plug slicked itself between Dean's spread thighs before working its way back into his come-filled hole and Dean couldn't ignore the way his inner hotspot throbbed as Sam fucked the plug in and out of him. He had to bite his bottom lip to keep from groaning, his abs tense from his refusal to let his body respond like it wanted, to rock back on the plug like the whore Sam was teaching him to be.
"Be a good boy. Beg for what you want."
Dean shook his head then, though it was subtle.
"Is that because you want it to hurt more, whore? I can give you pain if that'll make it easier for you."
"No- no, sir, just- … " Dean shivered and tried to breathe steadily as he let his head bow a little deeper and began to push back against the slim object plunging into him, pleasure weaving up his back like a hot snake. "Please, may I- …" Whore. "Please may I come ... for you, sir." Why did it feel dirtier somehow, more humiliating, to ask for pleasure like this, even more humiliating than just being used for someone else's pleasure? As Sam tilted the plug into a new angle, though, theorizing didn't matter and Dean groaned deeply.
"You like that, whore?"
"Yes, sir." Dean's breaths and moans made for wanton words.
"Good." Sam snatched the plug out again, accompanied to by a slightly pained gasp from Dean. "I expect you to be that enthusiastic while you're in use today. Is that clear?"
Dean closed his eyes to steady his inhale and exhale, his body on the verge of begging for more sensation. Thankfully, though, he still had the self-discipline and sense of self-preservation needed to slow his thoughts and reply with a strained but proper, "yes, sir."
"Good." Sam's fingers were working against Dean's skin in moments, tight knots tugging loose in his hands before ropes began to slide over, through, and around, freeing Dean's arms, his right leg, then his left.
By the time all the ropes were a tangled mess beside the bed, Sam was straddling Dean's back as he lay in a forced stretch, trying not to remember his first day of training here, the heat of Sam's breath on his neck, the knowledge that Sam could keep him down there as long as he liked or just fuck him and bleed him.
"What are you?" One of Sam's hands shifted from Dean's arm to the back of his neck, present but not pushing, not squeezing.
Dean still had to fight to keep his body from trembling, his breathing suddenly too rapid. "I'm- … I'm your property. I'm your whore. … Always and everywhere."
"And what are you for?"
Stretched, Dean's mind just … blanked … and Dean could feel his own eyes widen, fear jolting through his system. He tore apart his mental library looking for the readymade answer, but he couldn't find it just then, too many new rules and new data mucking his already overwhelmed brain. The hand around his neck began to tighten like a noose being fitted just right. "I- … For … use?"
Sam shifted backwards quickly, dragging Dean's body up by his hair, bending an intense ache into his neck and back until Dean groaned miserably but could see the litany above the bed. "Find the words, whore."
"Ple-… for the pleasure of my master?" A slave is for service, a whore is for pleasure. Right. The words slammed back into focus as Sam dropped him like trash back down to the bed, a twinge of pain spreading from his nose deeper into his head despite the cushion of the pillows.
"Yes, solely for my pleasure. Don't forget again."
Dean coughed something garbled but respectful and adequate and Sam finally climbed off, a satisfied clip in his voice as he stood beside the bed.
"Now, go shower. Filthy is only hot up to a point."
Dean's insides felt wrung out and hammered, but he crawled off the bed anyway, nodding his 'yes, sir' without eye contact as he went to make himself clean again.
* * *
The showerhead was strong enough to slam heat into his skin, scalding away any filth on the outside and some on the inside as he bent, lip bitten, and opened himself for a more thorough cleaning. Even the softest towel felt rough against his overly sensitized skin as he dried off, but he made sure not to stall. Once he had a clean body, a clean face, and a clean mouth, he left the safety zone, a committed soldier returning to battle.
The first thing he noticed was a black tool box propped up on the end of the bed with a metal rod sticking out of it which ended in a sizeable dildo. Dean Winchester would've laughed, a little awkward and a little curious, and he knew that, but a whore had more fear than that and a slave had more experience with being overpowered, humiliated, and used. The second thing he noticed was that the breakfast table had been moved closer to the center of the room and his side of the table had been angled so he could have a clear line of sight to the odd contraption.
Sam was already seated and enjoying his breakfast, the hint of a smile emerging as Dean turned his way after staring at the bed for a moment. "How are you feeling?"
"Uhh …" Dean didn't necessarily have a problem saying 'fine', but that wasn't quite the right answer and, in fact, his answer was rather dependent on where his day was headed, information that really wasn't in his control right then. "Depends."
Sam motioned Dean over and he went, settling somewhat hesitantly on the second seat when Sam didn't point him to the floor for kneeling. "Explain."
"May I ask what that is, Sa- … sir?" The flash of warning in Sam's eyes was enough for Dean to self-correct, licking his lips nervously for more reasons than one.
"Sure. It's a fucking machine, emphasis on 'fucking'." Sam smiled fully, his voice and eyes lighting up excitedly.
Dean's tone held a breath of nervous laughter in it, though he knew this was no joke. "Right." He just picked up his fork at Sam's nod and tried his best to focus on his food.
Everything proceeded quietly, stacked waffles smothered in meat and fruit dwindled quickly to crumbs and juice, but Dean's mind continued racing as he alternately studied the machine and watched his owner eat. If it was just a sextoy, he'd probably be okay, but it could just as easily be a torture device, really. His brother could probably make anything, including a box of cornflakes, into something painful or embarrassing, loving it all the while, so why not this? It seemed to be a not-so-hidden talent of Sam's these days.
"It's the best portable unit available." Sam piped up. "It's steel-framed, remote controlled, and fully programmable with a six amp motor that can offer speeds from a gentle thirty revs per minute to a blistering one-twenty while the arm pumps as shallowly as two inches or works its way up to a deep, hard eight."
Dean blinked and worked to amiably nod along with Sam's explanation of the machine's specifications, his pride almost tangible as he talked it up like it was a car he just bought or one he was hoping to sell to an equally passionate buyer. Of course, Dean was fascinated, but any intrigue he felt was tempered by the reality marked so plainly by the contrast of his required nudity and Sam's t-shirt and boxers. The specs list told him nothing about how Sam planned to use the machine on him and Sam would use the machine on him at some point soon, likely after breakfast. Who else would be a reasonable candidate for the metal-monster-fucking Olympics? Yeah, no one.
"It should be dexterous enough to make you beg or make you break."
Dean just nodded more when Sam grinned, both devilish and childlike in his excitement. The problem was, though, that either begging or breaking would probably get that response out of him, so Dean still didn't know where this was going. Sure, there was plenty of potential for this to just be about sex, maybe a way for Sam to watch him take a fast-moving dick without all the complications of jealousy, but he couldn't allow himself high hopes. Sam could just as easily make it about pain, fucking him dry or with some gonzo dong or just having this be a hands-free (or, really, dick-free) way to help Sam torture his whore in other ways while his hole was being reamed to aching. Dean's judgment and instincts just didn't really work with Sam anymore. His brother was a wildcard.
When Sam finally set his fork down with a sigh and drained the last of his juice, Dean was on edge, unsure if he wanted the day to continue forward but still craving the knowledge of what came next. "Go piss and wash your hands."
Okay. So this would be a long session then. Dean ducked his head in acknowledgment of Sam's order and went to relieve himself before returning to Sam's side.
"Now go get on the bed. Don't mess with the machine. Just get on all fours in front of it, so your head can fall into the pillows."
Okay. Dean turned on his heel and went to the bed, containing an imminent shudder as he climbed onto the bed on hands and knees, his body's center in line with the machine's long arm as he looked down at it between his legs. This close he could see that the dildo on the end was more moderate than massive, but he still wasn't sure that made him feel better. The other thing he could see from this angle that he hadn't seen before was a second metal arm folded in at the base of the box and it was topped by something wide and covered in black fabric. As Sam approached, the second metal arm unfolded mechanically, positioning itself more deeply between his legs, just under his cock, with the wide black something pressed up by a perpendicular bit of slim steel piping. It felt like he was in some experimental Skinemax movie-of-the-week and he fought to keep his calm in place.
Beside him, Sam began to make himself busy, reaching down to adjust the secondary metal arm, positioning what Dean realized was some sort of thick cushion so that it cradled his balls and the base of his still soft cock. Then Sam walked away, returning with an arm full of stainless steel restraints. The ankle cuffs chained to the bottom posts of the bed kept him spread wide and kneeling. His wrists were locked together behind his back and attached to chains clipped high on the posts edging the headboard, pulling his hands up to be largely useless. The collar, then, settled around his neck heavily and was pulled, nearly up from the pillows that his head was resting on, to connect to his bound wrists via a too-short chain, all of which kept his arms straining at an awkward angle and his head movements almost equally restricted. Everything was arranged to force him to remain open and immobile, sloping uncomfortably into the pillows.
Sam hummed through the next phase of the setup, pulling and shifting the primary arm of the machine before slipping two digits into Dean's hole to lube and loosen him up. "Relax. I'll make sure it hits the right spot for you."
Dean gasped, shuddering as Sam fulfilled his promise, the machine gliding with ease into just the right angle, filling him up about halfway and leaving him to squirm there.
"Comfortable?"
In the real world - the old world - the answer would obviously be 'no', but here? Nothing hurt more than should be expected, he supposed. "I guess so … sir."
"Good." Sam stepped back and Dean heard something click softly followed by a whirring noise and the gentle vibrations of a motor spinning up. "Here are the rules for today. You may call for the guards if and only if you feel that your life is in danger, for example, if there is a fire or if it seems like you are injured and bleeding out. If you call before then, they have orders to show you what it's like to be a communal whore and you will be passed around downstairs until I get back, which I really won't be happy about."
Dean's nod was one of understanding, but not only for his brother's words. He was also confirming to himself the idea he'd had earlier about Sam wanting to see him take a cock without having to deal with jealousy. After the scare with the guard a few days back, it was good to know Sam still had some possessiveness in him, whether or not that came with protectiveness or not.
"If there's no crisis, then you're allowed to come as much as you want as long as you remember how many times you come. You'll give a report when I get home." Sam ran slow fingers over the curve of Dean's ass and Dean shivered, instinctively and ineffectively trying to wiggle away, making both his calves and his shoulders ache as he realized just how tautly he'd been bound in perfect counterpoint. "I will still expect you to come for me if I want you to when I'm using you tonight, though, so keep that in mind and don't overtax yourself. You understand?"
Dean let his ass hug what he could feel of the rod inside him and nodded despite the tension on his bonds. "Yes, sir." This didn't sound so scary, just … intense.
"I'm glad to hear it." With that, Sam walked away.
Dean could hear a rustling somewhere in the direction of the closet, then there was the pop of buttons and the snick of zippers and when Sam came back around into view beside the bed, he was fully clothed, his leather coat swaying around him.
"Be good, whore. I'll be back in a few hours."
Dean nearly jumped, startled. "What?!" The Sam-going-away part only just now filtered its way through the mental static caused by his current circumstances.
"Shhh, you'll be fine. It's a self-lubricating system, so when I get home, I'm expecting my well-fucked little whore to still beg for my cock. Oh, and don't worry about falling asleep or otherwise feeling bored, I've programmed it to vary the speed and depth of the strokes, so it should keep you plenty interested." Sam's heat grew as his voice darkened, commanding as he leaned closer to Dean, a hand too-heavy on Dean's back just below the metal collar. "That sound good, whore?"
Dean shuddered, swallowing, but held himself still, willing his body not to panic because it would do little but damage him in his current state of bondage. He tried, stopped, and finally succeeded in making his mouth work, though his voice was quiet and shaken with nerves. "Yes, sir."
"In fact, I want you to imagine that it's me, fucking you relentlessly for hours. Can you do that for me, whore?"
If he'd been less distressed and more cocky, he might have snickered at Sam's vanity and at the absurdity of it all. As it was, though, he just closed his eyes and gave the desired reply. "Yes, sir."
Sam petted and patted Dean's hair, but then he was gone, clicking the machine on as he strode by and out the door.
Whoosh. Dean's exhale was thrust out of him as the false cock sank deeper, withdrawing a moment later only to sink in again, the pace languorous, almost tender, like a warmup. The cushion nestled under his cock began to shift, slowly massaging in a way that made his breath catch and his body struggled to refrain from grinding, despite his uncertain headspace. He closed his eyes, swallowing some mix of nausea and groans, knowing this was just the beginning.
He found himself naturally focusing on his breathing, a modulated in-and-out to match the thrum of the machine. The zen of his concentration didn't keep the sensations at bay, though, and as both the machine and his breathing picked up speed, he swore that he would lose his mind like this, maddened by all the continuous, precise stimulation. The varied shove of the silicone and the gentle vibrations of the tiny curved platform beneath him slowly started to build shudders in his system, his muscles drawing more and more tense until he bit his lip, knowing that he would be begging if his tormentor could hear him. The first come took him by surprise, like a slow-motion grab at his sides, at his thighs, on his balls, and he was spilling soft spurts of cream onto the sheets with panted breaths in between.
Even with release and the softening of his cock, the pressure couldn't fully dissipate, though. It had nowhere to go, the remainder being pressed deeper into his system by the unrelenting cock, shallow or deep, slowing and speeding, but never really letting him rest. It didn't matter how many times he squirmed or how hard he gasped into the pillows, it just kept pushing him steadily towards the next orgasm and the next, each feeling like it was forever coming and forever fading. The minutes may have been hours or the hours, days, because he couldn't think through the buildup of pleasure racking his body and slicking his skin with sweat until he came again and, later, again, every time enough but somehow too much.
By the time he could tell that the sun was setting, the pale cast of the room turning burnt orange, he could feel his lips moving but he wasn't sure what he was saying. The growing ache inside and at the base of his cock made him strain against the chains, just wanting everything to stop, and maybe that was what he was mumbling, needy, his pleas falling haphazardly out of sex-fogged mind and a weary body. His horizon wasn't behind him yet, though, and he fought the tug of hopelessness as the ache built itself into pleasure and he started to fall over the edge again, his groan more pain than euphoria though he was sure delirium was setting in as well, his cock barely twitching as it leaked meagerly. For the first time, he wondered if he was going to be broken when Sam got home. Not that it mattered. He couldn't call for the guards and even if there weren't major sanctions in place, god he wouldn't want to, all trussed-up like this.
Click.
The sound was soft, but Dean knew it was the door so he waited … and waited. No one spoke. The movements of the machine fought for his attention, but he worked to hone his hearing and couldn't figure out any more than the reality that he was no longer alone in the room. His guest's eyes became something visceral, something sliding over and against him. It made him wonder if the tricky guard from before, Rick or whatever, had slid in, thinking to get a free show, a thought that had Dean struggling against his bonds again, even though he knew intellectually that they wouldn't budge.
He was wholly on display now and his panic was rising. His first thought was to call his brother's name, to remind the intruder or possibly himself, that he wasn't up for grabs. He remembered, though, teeth tight to the roof of his mouth, that he supposedly hadn't earned the privilege of speaking that name, of forgetting his place here.
"Sir?" When he didn't get a response, he repeated it louder. "Sir?" His heart rate doubled as he pictured the eye-full that his unknown prowler was getting: his arms bound useless and aching, his legs restrained wide and overtight, his hole gaping from hours of constant machine-managed fucking, and his half-mast cock sagging over a multi-layered come stain thickened with a fresh strain of his jizz.
He went still, breath stopping cold, when he heard the rustle of cloth, close, too close, like someone was walking up to stand near the foot of the bed. He craned his neck to the side, trying to see, but it just made the chain pull on his shoulders, causing a slow-burning pain in the joint, and he settled back into the default position. That wasn't going to work at all and he knew it. He was wholly at the mercy, or likely lack thereof, of whoever had decided to watch him get fucked by an unceasing machine. He tried to breathe, but it was hard when there was so much anxiety and self-disgust packed into his chest, but he managed to get enough oxygen to have half a thought.
It could be a test.
Sam probably knew that his first thought would be to say his name and to plead for something that would make this twisted afternoon end. So maybe Sam was just waiting for him to be bad and god he did not need any more lashings. There were a hundred on the debt list already, so he'd be sore enough without even just one more. If Sam was watching silently for his own entertainment, though, as well as to test him, then he would probably like more of a show than Dean's occasional hitched breath and shudder. He just didn't know what to do next, though, so he tried to make contact again, painfully thankful that he hadn't been gagged.
"Sir?" He waited again, but still no response came and he breathed deep, working to keep his heart from banging its way up his throat. A thought came unbidden and he wanted to shake it out of his head, but knew he should listen even if he felt shamed. Maybe he wasn't humbling himself enough, maybe 'sir' didn't imply groveling enough even though his voice shook. He fought with himself, something more than a plastic cock making him ache inside, but eventually he made his mouth form the other word as if it had his pleas built into it. "… Master?"
"I'm here."
Dean shivered even as a part of him sighed with relief. The conversation stalled there, though, because he knew he couldn't ask for his torment to end and that was all he had words for right then.
"I just want to watch you for a while."
Then the room went back to almost total silence as breaths and the soft whir of the machine settled into the status of white noise. Knowing that Sam was there, though, changed things in a way he couldn't explain to himself, envisioning what might be seen through Sam's eyes and wanting proof that Sam was really there instead of someone else. There was a part of him that felt wrong for wanting that, but he couldn't hold the need back, closing his eyes as he imagined Sam's hands sliding slowly over his sweat-cooled skin, known but unable to move beneath them, muscles straining. He could almost feel Sam's fingers gently pressing out against the globes of his ass, pushing them wider until the stretched skin around his raw hole was red and aching as Sam watched the machine plunge in and out of him in close proximity. Then, the imagined heat of Sam's palm wrapping around his cock was so easily in reach of his mind that he was rocking as much as he could into the dream of it, moans and gasps falling out as he tried not to seem wanton even though he somehow was.
"Oh god." Dean shuddered and squirmed the few ways he could as he felt Sam watching him get off on getting fucked like this. "Please?" The word wasn't for things to stop so much as culminate, a habit born of begging to come even though he already had permission. "Fuck." He ground harder, as much as he could, against the vibrations under his cock and could swear that Sam was squeezing him, coaxing the come to spill out. When the motorized cock seemed to lull for a moment and then double its speed, stroking deeper and harder, Dean couldn't take anymore and he was groaning into and eating the pillow under his face as his stomach clenched and his cock dribbled what little come he had left.
The machine kept moving.
Dean felt his groan sink into a growl of pained frustration, his body drained and raw beyond even his furthest threshold. More than anything right then, he wanted to bang his head against a wall hard enough and long enough to distract himself. If it didn't ache even just to lift it, he would've smashed his head into the pillowed bed, even knowing the damage would be far less than the darkness of lost consciousness that he craved.
Sam's hand was on him in moments, though, fingers brushing over his body with the surety of someone who owned it. "Did you have a good day today, whore?" Dean didn't really know what to say, but Sam answered for him. "Sure looks like it with all the mess you made." Sam's voice was smooth, but light, curious more than demanding. "How many times did you come, by the way?"
Dazed as he tried to ignore the continuing pump of the machine, Dean mumbled. "I dunno, sir."
"You don't know?" Sam's fingers began to trace fire instead of just warmth and Dean realized too late that he'd lost count, his mind and mouth trying to coordinate to offer a proper answer.
"Three times, or … four? I think?" Shit. He didn't know and everything his body was trying to tell him had smashed his mental rewind button. Maybe he should overestimate? "Maybe five?" He knew he was shivering and breathing heavily, but he couldn't turn it off. This wasn't what Sam wanted to hear and that meant more pain, screaming pain.
"Which is it?" Sam's tone seemed to curl darkly into the corner's of Dean's mind as his power curled around his heart and squeezed just enough to say 'hello'.
"Please- …" Dean shook his head as best he could, shoving a mental stopper in his throat before he could say something stupid like 'I can't think. Can you please turn it off?' Sam's displeasure combined with the continuing plunge of the machine's arm and the strain of his restraints, making Dean's words stumble out half formed. "I'm- … I'm sorry, sir."
"Did you at least think about me fucking you while you were enjoying yourself today?"
Fuck. He was 0-for-2 and back to wanting to bang his head against a wall, maybe until it bled. "Not- … not until a little while ago. No ... sir."
"So you're not just a nameless whore, you're a lazy nameless whore. Is that right?" The words were vicious, cutting, but Sam gave Dean no time to plead his case. "Say it!"
"I- … What do you- …"
"Tell the truth: that you're a Lazy Nameless Whore!"
Dean's eyes burned like his blood and sweat were transmuting into acid. "I'm- ... I'm a ... lazy ... name- nameless ... whore." Whore. Wrong. Whore. Stop.
"What did I tell you to do today?"
Dean reached desperately for the words, but the full and numb feeling of the incessant machine met tendrils of Sam's power, making his memory and coherency continue to swim. "I umm- …"
Unimpressed, Sam cut him off. "I asked you to do three things, whore, only three things, and it seems like the only one you actually did was the one you couldn't fuck up if you tried, thanks to the chains."
Dean wanted to speak, to apologize or explain or something, anything, but Sam's volume was rising, his intensity starting to steam outward, a blanket of heat.
"You were supposed to get fucked by our new metal friend here - check. You were supposed imagine it was me fucking you all afternoon - no check. And, you were supposed to keep track of the number of times you came - no check, times three, or possibly four, or maybe five. … It shouldn't have been that hard, you lazy little fuck!" Sam paused and Dean struggled to stay focused and sane, but something broke as Sam's voice snapped into something softer but no less sharp. "I'm disappointed."
Squeezing his eyes more tightly closed, if Dean's head could've fallen further, it would have. One word shouldn't hurt that much, certainly not that word from that mouth, but everything in his stomach seemed to turn to stone. He just wanted to crawl into a dark corner and bang his head until it cracked open, his mind blanking and blacking out, so he didn't have to do this, feel this, be this anymore. Yet, neither the machine nor his brother provided any relief.
"Remind me, whore. What rule do we have about you coming?"
Reflex. "I'm not allowed to come without permission."
"And did you remember that this morning I said you could come as much as you wanted if you kept count, which you didn't?"
"I- …" Sort of?
"So tell me … what is the punishment for coming without my permission?"
Dean jerked, instinctively more than sensibly, as if his mind had been doused with cool water and he could stop Sam's words from getting into his ears. His shoulders ached along with the rest of him as he choked out words that he'd hoped that he would never have to repeat. "You said that you'd … whip my dick … sir."
"Yeah, I did say that, didn't I? And since you came an apparently uncountable number of times, we'll just have to include your cock in the daily discipline every day from now on, until you can work your way out of punishment or until I decide that you've really gotten the hang of counting. It's probably just as well, though, I mean … you did still have that one incident to pay for anyway. Now your debt can come due … tomorrow … and the next day … and the day after that."
Dean was nearly hyperventilating by the time Sam stopped speaking, every ache in his body making rational thought difficult, but Sam's cold promise of so much more every day had Dean teetering on the edge.
Soon thereafter, however, the venom in Sam's voice seemed to dissipate along with the feel of his power under Dean's skin and Dean tried not to flinch as his brother wound fingers deftly into his hair. "You want me to turn off the machine, whore?"
Part of Dean almost wanted to weep for all the horror of his life, but the stronger part of him knew that he had to survive and in order to do that, he had to stay in the present, dealing with reality as it came. "Yes, please, sir."
Sam bent, his lips skimming over Dean's ear as he whispered like some sultry wolf. "Are you going to show me that you're actually worth something, slut?"
Dean shuddered, but didn't fight for the sake of fighting, his lips feeling bruised as he worked to be heard despite the muffle of the pillow and the drowning of more of his pride. "Yes, sir. Just- … What can I do?"
Continuing to blow his words, warm and damp, Sam's mouth seemed to claim Dean's ear and cheek and neck. "You can suck my cock like the best whore you can be. You want my dick in your mouth while you ride that little one, don't you, whore?"
Clenching his fists above their cuffs, Dean worked to lower himself, to beg - no, request - to be properly used like the whore he was supposed to be. "Please- ... Sir, may I suck your cock, please?"
Sam's smirk slid into place along Dean's skin and he snickered as he straightened up and made quick work of releasing Dean's wrists, arms, and neck. The cuffs, collar, and the chains that had linked them crashed to the carpet in careless chimes and Dean fell. It wasn't far, but his arms dropped and his upper body followed. Every part of him above the waist felt foreign, stretched and tired, tingly and strange, not to mention aching, like his insides, throbbing and pleading with his beleaguered brain to make it better. He knew from the feel of spreading tension that half-laying there while his legs were still bent and wide would strain his back, but he couldn't move yet, couldn't yet choose to support his weight with arms that hated him. The welts that he'd been too distracted to notice most of the day quickly made themselves known, however, and he groaned wretchedly, distantly aware of the continued fucking he was receiving as his brother disrobed beside the bed.
It turned out that he didn't have to make the hard choice between the strength and pain of his back or that of his arms. Sam made it for him, lifting his shoulders and head to climb underneath him, Sam's hips cushioned by the pillows that Dean had sweated, cursed, and pleaded into all day. So unless Dean wanted to rest on Sam's thighs with a cock for a pillow, he'd have to move to all fours, a shift that he accomplished shakily but with little more than a grunt.
"Get to work, whore."
Dean leaned in on cue, mechanical as his mind was overpowered by the aches and the shame and the need to stop, the need to get away, the need to survive. He wasn't sure he cared what the job was anymore, but still, he found himself halting for a moment, looking at his brother-owner's cock and wanting to huff and fight. The exhaustion had stripped so much of him away, though, tearing him back to a barer state, and he knew that he had to work, to earn his living, or, really, to earn his life.
When he began to work his mouth over Sam's cock with nothing near him but Sam's thighs and Sam's looming torso, he felt nauseous, almost spinning, unanchored. His breath was already running too fast before he realized that Sam's hand was what was missing, an unwanted guide, but a guide nonetheless. The feel of Sam's fingers as they finally locked into place in his hair made him shiver, but it also made things easier somehow, that little reminder that he wasn't just some weakling who was trading his body for relief and favors, nor some wanton whore whose cock responded to the smell of his owner's sweat, nor some slave who wanted to erase the disappointment in his master's voice. He was just a survivor, strategic even in shame, or ... that was what he kept telling himself. Anything else would've tipped him into madness and it didn't matter anyway. Those other reasons weren't close enough to the truth. They couldn't be.
The force over him increased, a warm weight pushing his head down until he moaned despite himself, water prickling his eyes as his mouth was fucked, slow and brutal and deep. He gagged and trembled as he fought to keep up, his teeth shielded and tongue working overtime. When Sam yanked his hair like reins, Dean watched stars burst behind his eyes, choke-swallowing hard dick and hot come as it was thrust down his throat by the power of Sam's hips.
He coughed but suppressed his nausea as Sam shoved him away, his head settling wearily on Sam's right thigh. He almost felt like he was stealing something, taking liberties with his master's body, but he was too exhausted to move and even if he hadn't been, his logic sounded weird in his brain. The snap of silence as the fucking machine stopped whirring, however, was a frightening kind of deafening, not calming at all, and Dean fought not to jump when its mechanical arms made clicking noises and retracted from contact with his body.
Dean didn't even realize that his lower half had fallen to the bed like the rest of him, but he knew that his face was suddenly wet and his body was shaking uncontrollably the minute it seemed like he could relax. Sam even stroked his hair.
"Shhh. Shhh. I've got you." Sam's fingers were gentle now in just the way they'd been torturous before and Dean's mind ran, hiding itself away while he tried to still his body back to something normal and not think, not right then. "You have to learn your place- ..."
Hearing Sam stop midway through his words, Dean could almost imagine that his name, his real name, was meant to go there. It made him wonder when he'd hear it again, when he'd be good enough again. Probably, he decided, when he stopped being stupid and, even more, when he stopped resisting just because, stopped losing the battle to stay that un-nameable guy.
Sam shook his head as if hearing Dean's thoughts and quieted for a long time, just petting. Eventually his soft sighs twisted into something wistful, though and he mumbled, indistinct, as if thinking out loud. "Everyone learns their place here eventually. Everyone."
Dean had just worked up the courage to ask what Sam was talking about when Sam lifted him up, crawling out from under him and releasing the locks on Dean's ankles with a power-aided snap.
"Dinner?"
Dean bit his tongue and turned his head to the side, slowly and carefully nodding weakly. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
He was smart enough to know that he couldn't ask what he wanted, not then and maybe not ever. His whorish agenda was already full: eat, then fuck, then there'd be punishment and discipline, then would come the rope, the gag, the plug, and the bed. Then he'd get up and do it all over again.
Chapters: 1.Lost - 2.Exposed - 3.Used - 4.Hurt - 5.Modified