Collaring, Supernatural, Broken!Verse, NC-17 (for theme)
Fandom: Supernatural ( Broken Verse)
Title: Collaring
Characters/Pairing: Dean, OMCs
Rating:NC-17R (for previous violence and theme)
Word Count: 917
Summary: For hanahap, Takes place during Choice. Dean is awarded his collar for the first time.
A/Ns & Warnings: Over here I did that time stamp meme. This is very OOC Dean. This is broken and programmed Dean. It breaks me just a little.
”A good slave doesn’t have to ask his Master what he wants.” A heavy hand was on the back of his neck. “A good slave knows the rules, lives the rules and confesses freely when he breaks the rules.”
The hand came off his neck. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t broken any rules. He was sure.
“What is it I want, slave?”
He closed his eyes. “An obedient slave.”
“Are you obedient?”
His mind raced over the day so far. He had risen, showered properly, cleaned every inch of his body meticulously. Shaved himself clean. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He straightened his cage and cleaned the bathroom. He’d prepped himself carefully. Today was the day he was to earn his collar. Everything had been perfect. “I believe I am Master.”
“Present yourself.”
He stood and went to the apparatus. His feet slipped into the restraints and he bent forward over the curved top, both hands moving to part his ass cheeks. Once in position he raised himself to his tip toes, putting his ass on display.
The cold touch of a gloved finger caressed his skin. He didn’t move. It dipped inside him, testing, exploring. If Master was pleased with his preparation he would take his pleasure with him. He would accept him. He would be good enough. As the cock entered him, he tried hard to hold still, not because of any discomfort or shame, but because it meant he was good. His Master wanted him.
He was pleased. Master had allowed him to serve, had used his ass and freed him from the apparatus before sending him to clean himself. He knelt in his place, waiting.
There was someone with Master, a man he’d seen before. The man looked at him. “Dean.”
He came closer, Master coming with him. “Dean.”
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to understand, but Master’s hand fixed it. He touched his face, cupped his chin to tilt his head up. “What is your name?”
“Slave.”
“What are you?”
“Nothing. No one. Alone.”
“And to whom do you belong?”
“You, master.”
The man beside Master smiled and nodded. “I’m impressed, Master James. Took forever to break him, but his training has made up for it.”
Master looked down at him, his face passive. He waited, his chin resting in Master’s hand. “Hmm…I will be sorry to see this one go. He’s a good fuck, and his mouth is heavenly.”
“I take it then that you want the other one?”
Master nodded and let go of him. “A matching pair is always fun.”
They walked away. He waited. The man left and Master returned, a box in his hand. “You have done well, Slave. I always award good performance. This is for you. You may open it.”
Master held the box in front of him and he opened it slowly, carefully. On a soft white pillow, a thick, black collar rested. He felt a rush of relief. He was good enough. He’d learned enough.
“You may speak.”
He nodded, licked his lips. “It is…beautiful, Master.”
Master’s thumb caressed his lip. “I am feeling generous.” He lifted the collar, caressing over it with gentle fingers. When Master moved close, he bowed his head to receive it. Master’s hands settled the collar around his neck, buckling it tightly. He could feel it when he swallowed. “You may return to your cage. I will give you a few hours to adjust to wearing it. We will be entertaining this evening.”
“Thank you, Master.”
When Master’s hand left him, he rose and went to the door that hid his cage. With that door closed, he let one trembling hand rise up to touch it. He let one finger slide along the top edge, up to the buckle, before sliding it down to the bottom and back around the front.
A collar.
His own collar.
He’d tried so hard for so long. His hand fell to the scar on his chest. It was his mark. His Master’s mark. He touched the collar again.
It fit snug against his neck, heavy and yet not unpleasant. It could never be unpleasant because it marked him as complete. Whole. Completely and perfectly pleasing.
He was good. He pleased his Master. He’d learned all the important things; to clean and prepare himself, to kneel properly, all his positions and postures, when to speak and when to hold his tongue. His performance in serving his Master’s needs had been flawless. His body was beautiful and unmarked and built to offer pleasure, and he was trained to submit and accept, to serve and satisfy.
He was ready.
There was a sense of accomplishment, accompanied by a thrill of fear. The collar meant that he would be leaving Master. Sold to someone new. He licked his lips and laid down on his small mat. It made him nervous.
He closed his eyes, swallowed against the leather. A new master. He indulged a moment of imagination, wondering what he would be like. Strong. Powerful.
A picture formed in his mind. Tall. Big hands. Messy brown hair.
An ache formed in his stomach. He shook his head. Chastised himself. He shouldn’t think of such things. Master said they would be entertaining. Better to prepare himself. He would prove himself worthy of his new collar.
He pushed the image away, swallowed the vague reminder that there had ever been anything other than this. Here. Him.
Title: Collaring
Characters/Pairing: Dean, OMCs
Rating:NC-17R (for previous violence and theme)
Word Count: 917
Summary: For hanahap, Takes place during Choice. Dean is awarded his collar for the first time.
A/Ns & Warnings: Over here I did that time stamp meme. This is very OOC Dean. This is broken and programmed Dean. It breaks me just a little.
”A good slave doesn’t have to ask his Master what he wants.” A heavy hand was on the back of his neck. “A good slave knows the rules, lives the rules and confesses freely when he breaks the rules.”
The hand came off his neck. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.” His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t broken any rules. He was sure.
“What is it I want, slave?”
He closed his eyes. “An obedient slave.”
“Are you obedient?”
His mind raced over the day so far. He had risen, showered properly, cleaned every inch of his body meticulously. Shaved himself clean. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He straightened his cage and cleaned the bathroom. He’d prepped himself carefully. Today was the day he was to earn his collar. Everything had been perfect. “I believe I am Master.”
“Present yourself.”
He stood and went to the apparatus. His feet slipped into the restraints and he bent forward over the curved top, both hands moving to part his ass cheeks. Once in position he raised himself to his tip toes, putting his ass on display.
The cold touch of a gloved finger caressed his skin. He didn’t move. It dipped inside him, testing, exploring. If Master was pleased with his preparation he would take his pleasure with him. He would accept him. He would be good enough. As the cock entered him, he tried hard to hold still, not because of any discomfort or shame, but because it meant he was good. His Master wanted him.
He was pleased. Master had allowed him to serve, had used his ass and freed him from the apparatus before sending him to clean himself. He knelt in his place, waiting.
There was someone with Master, a man he’d seen before. The man looked at him. “Dean.”
He came closer, Master coming with him. “Dean.”
He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to understand, but Master’s hand fixed it. He touched his face, cupped his chin to tilt his head up. “What is your name?”
“Slave.”
“What are you?”
“Nothing. No one. Alone.”
“And to whom do you belong?”
“You, master.”
The man beside Master smiled and nodded. “I’m impressed, Master James. Took forever to break him, but his training has made up for it.”
Master looked down at him, his face passive. He waited, his chin resting in Master’s hand. “Hmm…I will be sorry to see this one go. He’s a good fuck, and his mouth is heavenly.”
“I take it then that you want the other one?”
Master nodded and let go of him. “A matching pair is always fun.”
They walked away. He waited. The man left and Master returned, a box in his hand. “You have done well, Slave. I always award good performance. This is for you. You may open it.”
Master held the box in front of him and he opened it slowly, carefully. On a soft white pillow, a thick, black collar rested. He felt a rush of relief. He was good enough. He’d learned enough.
“You may speak.”
He nodded, licked his lips. “It is…beautiful, Master.”
Master’s thumb caressed his lip. “I am feeling generous.” He lifted the collar, caressing over it with gentle fingers. When Master moved close, he bowed his head to receive it. Master’s hands settled the collar around his neck, buckling it tightly. He could feel it when he swallowed. “You may return to your cage. I will give you a few hours to adjust to wearing it. We will be entertaining this evening.”
“Thank you, Master.”
When Master’s hand left him, he rose and went to the door that hid his cage. With that door closed, he let one trembling hand rise up to touch it. He let one finger slide along the top edge, up to the buckle, before sliding it down to the bottom and back around the front.
A collar.
His own collar.
He’d tried so hard for so long. His hand fell to the scar on his chest. It was his mark. His Master’s mark. He touched the collar again.
It fit snug against his neck, heavy and yet not unpleasant. It could never be unpleasant because it marked him as complete. Whole. Completely and perfectly pleasing.
He was good. He pleased his Master. He’d learned all the important things; to clean and prepare himself, to kneel properly, all his positions and postures, when to speak and when to hold his tongue. His performance in serving his Master’s needs had been flawless. His body was beautiful and unmarked and built to offer pleasure, and he was trained to submit and accept, to serve and satisfy.
He was ready.
There was a sense of accomplishment, accompanied by a thrill of fear. The collar meant that he would be leaving Master. Sold to someone new. He licked his lips and laid down on his small mat. It made him nervous.
He closed his eyes, swallowed against the leather. A new master. He indulged a moment of imagination, wondering what he would be like. Strong. Powerful.
A picture formed in his mind. Tall. Big hands. Messy brown hair.
An ache formed in his stomach. He shook his head. Chastised himself. He shouldn’t think of such things. Master said they would be entertaining. Better to prepare himself. He would prove himself worthy of his new collar.
He pushed the image away, swallowed the vague reminder that there had ever been anything other than this. Here. Him.