Surrender, Part 1 - Taken, 3/3, Smith/Wesson, NC-17
Surrender - Part 1 - Taken (3/3)
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They brought around a wheelchair that had been folded up behind the door, and Sam was forced down into it. He gurgled as the seat jolted the plug in his ass, and Dean chuckled, holding him down as Cas strapped him in. His arms were trapped by a wide buckle across his chest, and his feet were guided carefully into the footrests and then strapped down as well.
Dean squeezed his shoulder, and then he was wheeled down a series of hallways, each one deserted and dark.
Sam’s mind was spinning, finally beginning to recover from the effects of the sedative, at least mentally. But no matter how he turned it over in his mind, he still couldn’t understand what these strangers could possibly want with him.
Who abducted somebody, just to give them a medical exam? Just to stuff things up his ass? Why him, why any of this?
“I think his brain is cooking, Cas,” said Dean, ruffling Sam’s hair. “You don’t need to worry, sweetheart. All you need to know right now is that I’m going to take care of you.”
Finally they turned a corner and reached a doorway where several men were lingering, dressed entirely in black. They saluted Dean. “Is this the new sub?” asked one, looking Sam over.
“This is Sam Wesson,” said Dean. He sounded almost proud.
One of the men made quick work of the straps binding him into the wheelchair, and then Sam was hauled to his feet. Immediately he was taken by the arms, one man on each side of him. It must have been an effort for them to keep him upright, as his knees were quick to give out, and he was a good head taller than any of them. But they kept a tight grip on him and half-dragged him to the door.
“I’m right here, baby, you’re okay,” Dean soothed, keeping pace with them.
The room was large, and dark. Sam heard the murmur of voices speaking low, and was conscious of many eyes on him. He wished the gown he was wearing wasn’t so short. He tried futilely to tug against the hands that gripped him, but to no avail.
“Behave yourself, Sub,” said one of the guards, shoving him along.
“Easy,” said Dean at once.
“Yessir.”
In the center of the room was a raised, lit stage, and the strong men dragged Sam towards it. They lifted him bodily up the few steps, his kicking feet barely touching the ground, and then he was hauled towards what appeared to be some kind of seat. Maybe more like a throne.
Instinctively, Sam looked to Dean, who was talking quietly to a grey-haired man on the meeting room floor. But his eyes were watching Sam, and he nodded reassuringly, so Sam allowed the guards to press him down into the chair. They clasped two thick leather cuffs around his wrists, which he realized were attached by long chains to the base of the seat. Clearly he wouldn’t be getting up until somebody released him.
Then a spotlight came up on the stage, right in his eyes, so he couldn’t see anything beyond the edge of the platform.
“If we’re ready to begin?” said a cool, feminine voice.
A man’s voice answered, sounding bored. “Case number three hundred and seventeen,” he pronounced.
“Who will present this sub to the council?”
Sam’s heart leapt when Dean cleared his throat, off in the darkness - somehow Sam could identify him just by that sound. “I guess that’s my cue,” said Dean amiably. There was the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, and then a tall shadow leaned over Sam. “S’gonna be alright, baby,” he whispered. A hand brushed over Sam’s forehead.
“This is Sam Wesson, 26,” began Dean, confidently. “He’s worked in tech support at Sandover Bridge & Iron for the past three years. Formerly he was registered at Stanford University, but he dropped out of the program in his final year."
Sam squirmed. This was true, but he didn’t like to hear it announced to everyone. Still, with his mouth stretched around the ring gag, and his tongue pinned down by the plug, he could hardly offer an intelligible protest.
It got worse: "According to our extensive research, including interviews with each of his sexual partners, Sam is virgin, anally. The doc confirmed it.”
Interviews with his sexual partners? Dean probably didn't mean that literally, right? That was probably some kind of joke?
Dean had continued without interruption. “As you know, natural submissives are vulnerable to a variety of emotional problems, with symptoms ranging from personal neglect to outright self-harm. Sam here was identified by our computer’s algorithm as extremely high-risk. We’ve been worried for some time that he’s been showing signs of depression.”
What the hell was this term that everybody kept using, natural submissive? Sam had no idea what it meant. He certainly didn’t know why everyone said that he was one. And what depression? Okay, maybe he hadn’t been hungry lately, maybe he hadn’t been taking the best care of himself, but - how had they known that, anyway?
“How many submissives were identified by the computer this cycle?” the woman’s voice inquired.
“Six,” said Dean. “Four were determined to be in healthy conditions in the wild. We lost the fifth before an extraction team could be assembled. Overdose.” Dean's voice was sober.
“Last week Sam lost five pounds in as many days, and we knew we had hit a tipping point. We had to act to protect the sub. He was collared last night by my team.” Dean paused, his eyes on Sam’s face. “I’ve had the opportunity to observe Sam for the past 48 hours. Despite his intimidating size, Sam is very sweet and naturally willing to please.” He reached out one finger to stroke back Sam’s bangs. “Like all subs he requires firm handling, but unlike some of the others here, he responds better to a gentle touch.”
Sam flushed to hear himself described so. It wasn’t really how he thought of himself - he was a big, tough guy. Wasn’t he? And anyway, what the hell? They talked as though he had been rescued, but he’d been gagged and bound for every second since he’d arrived here, and that didn’t suggest protection to him.
“At the moment, Sam is being kept here at the Facility until he can learn to accept his submissive nature," Dean concluded. “So, that’s the current status of his case.”
There was a respectful silence, and then the same woman’s voice cut through the echoing room, clear and cold. “Do you have a nomination for Samuel’s trainer?”
Sam didn’t know what they were talking about, but he could tell from the tone that it was important, and held his breath waiting for Dean’s answer.
“I would like to train this sub myself,” said Dean, sounding perfectly calm. “If the council will permit it.”
There was a murmur of interest.
“It’s been a while since you took on a training,” said the first man, neutrally. He had a shrewd voice and close-set, weaselly eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
Sam could hear low conversation as the council, whoever they were, conferred. “Well, I think we can all agree that Samuel is a very lucky sub,” said the woman finally. Her voice was approving. “You can take him back to his room now, but we’d like to be updated on his progress.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” said Dean. Sam felt himself released from the cuffs of the chair, and in the next second he was being gently pulled upright. With the lights now directly in his eyes, he could see nothing. “Alright, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice low and soothing, “let’s get you out of here, okay?”
Sam didn’t know what was had happened, or what was going on, but he knew that he wanted to go with Dean more than he wanted to stay in that creepy room with the terrible council. Willingly, he dragged his sluggish body up out of the chair and moved at the direction of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, leaning on him heavily as they moved down the steps and across the floor, until they passed through the entryway and he heard the heavy slam of the door closing behind them.
His legs seemed to be recovering, but he still felt faint and weak, and he couldn’t lift his arms at all. Sam hobbled along as Dean led him down a different series of corridors, each step sending a twinge up his ass from the plug. He made himself focus on keeping up with Dean, following his broad shoulders down the hall, because if he thought too much about what was happening he’d probably start screaming.
Finally, Dean turned a corner and led him through what appeared to be a dark dormitory, lined with cots. Sam could tell there were people lying in some of them, and thought he could hear muffled moaning, but Dean hustled him through a door in the back and into a private room, with one cot pushed up against the wall.
“Sit on the bed, sweetheart,” said Dean.
Dazedly, Sam sat.
Dean went to a back room and rattled around for a second, then came back with a basin and a covered tray.
“You probably have lots of questions,” he said, “but I want you to save them until tomorrow, okay? You need to rest. I know you’re exhausted. He slid a finger under the strap of Sam’s gag. “Do you want me to take this out? I will, if you promise to behave yourself for me.”
Sam hesitated. He didn’t really want to cooperate with his captors, but he fervently wanted his mouth free. Slowly, he nodded.
“Okay, good boy. Head down.” Sam let his head be guided so that Dean could reach the buckle at the back, free hand holding the plastic piece in place even after the strap came lose. “Hold still, gonna get this off,” said Dean. Then he lifted Sam’s chin, and gently pulled the whole thing out of his mouth. “There you go, good boy, here,” said Dean, smoothing a hot towel over Sam’s jaw, soothing the ache. Sam moaned in pleasure. “Don’t talk. Feels good, huh baby?”
“M’not a baby,” Sam rasped. It was the first thing he’d managed to say since he’d been abducted.
Dean didn’t answer, bringing the cloth up to gently wipe Sam’s cheeks, which were stained with tears. Then he tipped Sam’s face up to wipe down his sweaty neck. It felt amazing - but, when he was finished, he eased Sam’s jaw open and slipped the cloth deep into his mouth, silencing him again.
“It’s not your decision what you’re called,” Dean corrected him gently. “Now, lie back for me like a good boy.” He pulled the top sheet of the bed, revealing a set of canvass four-point restraints, like the kind found in a mental hospital.
Sam grunted, reaching up at once to pull the cloth out, but Dean quickly caught his hands and held them in his lap. Sam knew he should fight, kick out, maybe try to struggle. But Dean’s fingers felt like iron around his wrists, and within himself he could feel the deep well of exhaustion. The drugs were still his system, and he was confused and overwhelmed. He wasn’t going to be able to get away - not tonight.
So instead, out of options, he allowed himself to be laid back in the bed. He kept still as Dean leaned over him, buckling his wrists down to the cot. The restraints were well padded, soft around Sam’s wrists. Secure, but not uncomfortable.
“It’s not ‘baby,’ like, something helpless or immature,” said Dean, guiding Sam’s ankle into position and wrapping the straps around it. Sam’s arms were at his sides, his feet almost together. Dean adjusted the straps to spread them a little wider. “It’s baby, like, my baby, you know - precious, my boy to take care of. My baby.” He checked the tension of the other foot. “There. Okay? I’m going to take that out of your mouth now. It’ll go back in if you can’t behave.”
He reached to gently tug the washcloth out from between Sam’s teeth, and Sam didn’t ever bother trying to speak again. He felt completely out of energy, limp as a doll. Dean nodded, sliding his other hand under Sam’s neck and lifting it to receive the glass of water he pressed to Sam’s lips.
“Drink all this sweetheart, I know you’re thirsty, saw you sucking on that rag.”
It was true - Sam was parched. Obediently, he accepted a mouthful of water, savoring it, and swallowed. Then he drank deeply and finished the glass.
Dean set the empty cup aside. “That’s a good boy,” he said, stroking Sam’s hair back out of his eyes. “You ready to sleep? You need to get some rest. Or if you like, I could give you something to help? I don’t usually like to drug subs - I think it delays their acceptance of the situation - but I know you have trouble sleeping. ”
Sam shook his head no - the last thing he wanted was any more drugs. Thankfully, Dean seemed to accept his answer.
“Okay, sweetheart. Just try to relax.” Dean pulled a thin sheet over his body, tucking it carefully down around the edges. Just as Dean reached for the light switch, they heard the squeak of the door as it swung open. Sam turned his head to see an orderly dressed all in white, wheeling one of the cots from the other room. There was a man in the bed, strapped down in restraints just like Sam. From the uncomfortable way he was shifting, it looked like he was also wearing a plug in his ass.
Unlike Sam, his face was entirely covered. He had a thick red ball gag in his mouth, an industrial blindfold tightly strapped over his eyes, and what looked like earplugs stuffed in his ears. Sam didn’t know why he was so lucky as to have his head free, but he was grateful; he had no idea how the other man was going to sleep like that.
“Put him behind the curtain,” said Dean. “Sam, I said go to sleep. Otherwise you get the sedative.”
Sam quickly closed his eyes, but he didn’t drop off. He heard the orderly leave, heard muffled grunts from the man on the cot that slowly petered out - he wondered if Dean had used the drugs on the stranger. He sensed the room darken from behind closed eyelids.
It was difficult to sleep, locked down on the bed; Sam was used to rolling around to get comfortable. He usually slept on his side, curled around a pillow, but in the medical restraints he’d been forced to lie flat, and he was stiff. The aching stretch of the plug in his ass distracted him any time he started to doze. The room was dark and silent, and he was beyond exhausted, but he just couldn’t drift off. He twisted in the restraints, hissing softly in frustration.
He heard Dean move closer to the bed. “You need some help, sweetheart?” he whispered, and Sam flinched. “No no, shh, here, we can do this the all-natural way.”
Sam felt the sheet pulled back, and a strong hand rubbed over his thighs, soothing and warm. He whined, not sure what he was feeling.
“It’s okay, baby,” said Dean quietly. “I gotcha, I gotcha.”
Sam couldn’t move his feet, but his knees were gently nudged apart, as far as they could stretch, and the hands slid between them, sliding upwards. “Just relax for me,” Dean whispered.
Dean held his legs open and Sam groaned, struggling against the restraints. “You’re going to like this, baby,” said Dean, gently. “Gonna help you get to sleep.”
Sam managed to groan, wanting to tell Dean to stop but not quite able to talk intelligibly, somehow.
“Shshsh. I know. You can barely move, can you? Nothing for you to do but lie there, all spread out for me, and take it.”
One hand slid up over Sam’s abdomen, resting possessively over his belly, and the other inched up the crack of his ass, fingers sliding up to find the stretched hole sucking at the base of the plug. It was dark, and Sam closed his eyes, feeling fingertips trace over his smooth, soft skin.
“You have no idea how special you are, do you?” said Dean, almost talking to himself. “So precious.” He pressed the plastic plug gently forward, and it rubbed against the sensitive walls of Sam’s ass. Sam moaned and squirmed in his restraints, but Dean’s other hand held him down easily. “You don’t even know what you are, not yet.”
Dean’s hands were sure and confident.
“My friend Ash invented a computer program, just to find people like you - natural submissives, living with no training in the environment. People who need someone to tell them what to do. DMV records, official transcripts, even traffic cameras - we can sort through all of it with the click of a button, looking for the right person. That’s how we found you, baby.”
Sam was listening, embarrassed by the sound of his own heavy breathing. His arms and legs ached from the stretch, but his ass was clenching around the plug shoved up inside him. The hand on Sam’s stomach moved lower.
“Gonna teach you to come just from your bottom next time,” said Dean, cupping Sam’s balls. “But like this, for now.”
He took a good hold of Sam’s cock and jacked it a few times. Surprisingly Sam was half-hard already, although he hadn’t noticed until that moment.
“Don’t,” Sam begged, his voice almost breaking as fingers found their way back to his hole.
“Shh, baby, almost done. You need this so bad, don’t you?” Dean turned the base of the plug in a slow circle, and the thing in Sam began to vibrate, buzzing like an angry bee, sending his whole body humming. Sam screamed, writhing against the straps that held him down, but he couldn’t get away from the thrumming of the toy in his ass.
Dean picked up the pace on his cock, squeezing on every upstroke, and Sam instinctively thrust upwards into his hands, his whole body a mess of confusion and contradictory signals.
“That’s it, there you go. Just give it up for me, sweetheart.”
Sam was close.
“Come on, baby boy, wanna see it.” Dean thumbed his slit, rubbing just underneath the dribbling head. “Now, Sam.”
Sam came all over himself, every muscle locking up as his hips pumped uselessly, rhythmically, for what seemed like hours. Dean stroked him through it, until the last pulse spattered over Sam’s naked thighs.
Immediately afterwards, Sam’s body went loose, his eyelids heavy. Dean turned off the toy, but left it buried where it was. He wiped Sam down with a damp cloth, then pulled up the sheet, covering him warmly.
“Now. Go to sleep,” he directed.
Sam obeyed as if his eyes were glued shut.
Twice in the night, Sam was awakened by what he thought was the shape of a man, leaning over him; the presence wasn’t threatening, but it was watchful. He felt fingers checking the tension on the restraints, adjusting a strap that had ridden up his arm. His hands were carefully rearranged in a more natural position at his side. Once the blanket, which had slipped down in the night, was pulled back up over his chest. Sam might have tried to pull away, if he could have, but the hand drifted immediately to his hair, stroking over the greasy strands.
“Shh, baby,” said a soft voice. “You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”
Sam felt himself dozing off again.
“That’s right,” Dean whispered. “You sleep, sweetheart. Need you to be well-rested for tomorrow, when we start your training for real. Gonna be another big day.”
(End of Part 1)
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