Fanfic - SPN: Training Day - Ch.2 - The Whore Parade
Title: Training Day [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: The Whore Parade
[054.Intimidated]
He could figure out what Sam wanted from him in terms of being clean, so that wasn't a problem, but as he was drying off, he found himself moving more and more slowly, dreading a day of so-called training. He heard Sam among multiple voices out in the main room and something that sounded almost like minor construction, so he guessed that some of Sam's deliveries were being made. With the powers he had, Dean didn't think Sam needed actual implements of torture, but if causing Dean pain turned him on, then Sam would probably want half a dungeon's worth of items to use on him. Dean shuddered, but wiped away the fog on a swath of the mirror and looked at himself.
He could do this. It was only pain and sex. The pain, he could endure, and the sex, he didn't even have to just endure sometimes. Sam didn't seem to mind letting Dean enjoy the sex, and he did most times, at least at some level, even if he wouldn't be having sex at all right then or in that way, if he had a choice. So, he could do this. He would do this. He nodded to his reflection, steeling himself for a long day, and turned towards the door.
But then he folded downwards, his knees thumping hollowly against the tiled floor as he cried out, and pain seared through him as the door opened of its own accord revealing his brother standing a few feet beyond the threshold.
"Crawl to me." Sam's voice brokered no argument. Obedience or pain.
Dean struggled to do as he was told, and quickly, his lungs fighting to bring in air, his limbs straining to comply, until he reached Sam and the pain disappeared instantly.
"Kneel."
Dean moved back to sit on his heels, but kept his gaze focused on the floor, breathing hard.
"You were stalling. Why?" No room for anything less than total honesty. Truth or pain.
"I- I was thinking- … about today, about- … what things you might have ordered … and about what you'd do to me."
"And you thought it would be good to start the day by making me wait?"
"No, sir. I just … I dunno … I wasn't thinking."
"No, you weren't. … But that's what today's all about. Helping you understand what's expected of you and what the consequences are when you don't live up to those expectations. Yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay then. So … I was going to have you eat with me, but you're so late the food's almost cold and I really don't think you deserve to sit at the table right now."
Dean could hear his stomach rumble with disapproval at the thought of having to skip a meal, but he didn't say anything.
"I'm going to eat at the table and you'll kneel beside me. And if I feel like it, I might toss you a scrap or two."
Sam headed towards the small table by the door, his boxers slung low, and Dean thought about getting up to follow him, but figured crawling would probably be more likely to show how sorry he was, and help him avoid more pain at Sam's hands, even if he hadn't explicitly been ordered to do so.
When he kneeled up next to Sam's seat, Dean kept his head down and tried to keep his stomach quiet.
"Good boy, Dean. I'm glad you crawled to me. I want you to do that all day, so you remember not to delay when following my orders. Do you understand?"
Damnit. That was not the reaction he'd been hoping for. Sam had already decided he liked the idea, though, so Dean just breathed deep and promised himself that he wouldn't get creative with apologies ever again.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. … Here." Sam held down a small piece of melon for him to eat, but when he reached for it, he felt the now familiar tug of Sam's power on his heart and he stopped. "Only your mouth."
Dean nodded, opening his mouth wide enough so Sam could slip the fruit onto his tongue. The melon was good and when he had swallowed it down, Sam's fingers, sticky with juice, were pressed against his lips, and he opened again and licked and sucked them clean without needing a direct order.
Despite the fact that Sam had been very upset with him only a short time ago, Sam fed him well while he was eating his own meal, sharing bits of fruit and bread and meat and sweets until Dean was full enough, and after every swallow of food, Dean played his tongue over Sam's fingers until they were clean.
When Dean had his last piece of some chocolaty pastry, though, Sam didn't pull out his fingers after they were, ostensibly, clean, so Dean' kept rolling his tongue over and around them and sucking on them. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of them on his tongue, the rub of them on his lips, and he could feel his cock rising, hardening, to curve up towards his stomach. But when he realized the way his body was responding, he stopped, with a sharp intake of breath as his eyes darted around in a downward direction. He was almost shocked and kind of embarrassed, feeling like he shouldn't be at all turned on when he was in this state of subservience.
Sam pulled his fingers out, then, and Dean focused on trying to calm his dick down.
"Why'd you stop, Dean?"
"I- … I don't know, sir."
"Stand up."
Dean stood, gasping immediately as Sam's fingers closed around his dick.
"Did you get hard just from licking my fingers?"
Dean just lowered his head, shamed.
Sam squeezed his cock. "Answer the question."
"Yes … sir."
"Is that because you want to suck my cock again, Dean?"
Dean could feel the way his dick throbbed thinking about it, but then he thought about how it had felt to lay on the bed covered in come, and- … he just tried not to think about anything. "I don't know, sir."
"You know, Dean? I think your dick is more honest than you are." He slid his thumb back and forth over the weeping slit of Dean's cock. "But that's okay for now. I didn't imagine you'd be able to acknowledge this about yourself. And I know what you need. So, you'll get it whether you think you want it or not."
No matter what Sam thought he knew, Dean could see his responses were purely about the sexual chemistry they had. He might want to suck his brother's cock … maybe … but he did not want to be an enslaved whore. That was not his idea of a good fucking time.
"Go kneel on the bed and wait for me."
"Yes, sir." Great. Time to spread his legs again. Time to whore some more. Yeah. Great.
Dean turned to walk to the bed, but felt the pull of Sam's powers inside him and stopped before he'd even taken one step. "What did I tell you about getting around today, Dean?"
Dean took a deep breath, biting his metaphorical tongue, and went down on all fours, trying not to shy away from Sam's hand as it smoothed over the skin of his ass.
"It's a good look for you, Dean, all fours, crawling. In fact, it's pretty damn hot. Maybe we'll have to break in your play collar and leash." Sam's tone was playful, his words carrying a smirk, but Dean couldn't hear the teasing of a younger brother with newfound power over his elder brother, and he certainly couldn't imagine how sexy he might look crawling around nude on the floor. He just thought about being treated like some kind of animal and his ego forgot all the lessons of the days and hours before.
A collar? A leash? Like a real fucking dog?! "No fucking way." He said it under his breath, barely audible, but he really hadn't meant to say it aloud at all. He felt his lungs constrict painfully in an instant, though, anyway.
"What did you just say to me, whore?" Sam was standing over him, then, menacing, one leg on either side of Dean's body, as he reached down, gaining enough grip in Dean's hair to yank his head back. "I have the right to do whatever the fuck I want with my property. And that's you, Dean. So if I want to put a collar on you and lead you around on a leash like a mutt, then I can do that. I could take my pet out for a walk right now, around the whole damn house, and show off the animal I'm about to tame today. I'd make you into my little whore parade. Would you like that?"
Fuck. Just … kill me already. His chest was burning with the effort to breathe, but he pleaded not to be made to demean himself in that way. "No, sir. Please no. Just … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I- I know you can … do whatever you want with me. But please don't … take me out there … on a leash … sir. Please."
"I wasn't even going to do this today, but your fucking attitude is pissing me off royally. You seem to have a serious ego problem that we need to rectify right-the-fuck-now. You … Are … Property! You have no rights, Dean. None." Sam angled Dean's head so he could see the desk on the other side of the room. "You have no more rights than that fucking chair over there. I don't have to get the chair's permission to use it, I just use it. If I want to sit in it, or stand on it, or kick it around, I can do that. Hell, if I want to cut it into pieces, or set it on fire and throw it out the fucking window, I can. That's my fucking prerogative, as the owner of that fucking piece of property. Is my language clear enough for your brain to process, Dean? Because I don't want to have to teach you this again."
Oh god. Dean couldn't help the way he was trembling. He didn't usually have outward signs of his anxiety like this, but he was in pain and he'd just been compared to a chair. A chair Sam could keep or burn to ash at will. "Yes, sir. I … understand."
"Well, in case you don't, let me clarify a few things for you, Dean. You're a slave and a whore, but those are property categories. They're just labels that describe your function as property, what you do for me, why I own you. A slave is for service. A whore is for pleasure. The fact that you can make my bed in the morning or make me come with your mouth means you're a highly valued property, but I still have free reign to use, alter, or destroy you in whatever way I please." Sam bent, then, pressing the heat and authority of his words directly over Dean's ear. "Because I own you. And that ownership is absolute. Do … You … Understand?!"
The tremors wracking his body were even less about the pain, then, and more about the fear. Sam was hurting him, yes, but he was mostly just restricting his breathing, making him work for it, making him more conscious of what he was using the air for. Sam could do a lot more damage if he wanted to and his voice held so much malice, so much promised cruelty, that all Dean could think right then was oh god, please don't hurt me, oh god, I'll be good, I'll be good. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'll- I'll be good. "
Sam released his grip on Dean's hair, his head falling between his shaking shoulders, and withdrew his powers from Dean's body as he stepped away, towards the bed, with exhaled exasperation. "The problem, Dean, is that your mouth gets you into trouble, but can't get you out of it. And you were doing just fine only five minutes ago! But, no, you just had to go and fuck it up, didn't you? Didn't you?!"
Oh god. Sam was going to fuck him up bad. "I'm- … I'm sorry … sir. Just-"
"Shut up."
Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."
"You may have run your mouth around me all the time back in the day, but that's not going to work here, Dean. Not here and not now. If you disrespect me, I have to make sure you haven't forgotten what you are and what I am to you. Am I getting through to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay then. So … whore … why don't you beg to wear the collar and leash in here? And maybe if you beg pretty enough, I won't make you wear them outside the room today."
Fuck. Dean definitely didn't want to do this, didn't want to beg to be led around like a real pet, wearing some collar. But he didn't want to hurt anymore or any worse and he'd brought this on himself by freaking out and mouthing off … again. He'd never wish for anything to facilitate his submission … never … but part of him hoped that Sam would gag him so he'd stop digging himself deeper into the hole.
"You'd rather I parade you around the building, Dean?"
"No, sir. But …" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Please … may I … wear the collar … and leash … here in the room … sir?"
"You want to see what it's like to be led around in here, Dean?"
Hell no. But he'd beg for it if that meant he wouldn't have to do the same thing in front of a horde of laughing strangers. "Yes, sir. Please … lead me … by the leash … sir."
"Alright, then." Sam walked over to the desk where a number of things were displayed. There was even a new chest of some sort, sitting open next to the desk, that seemed to have more items, only some of which Dean recognized. Everything must have been there when Dean came out of the bathroom, but his attention had obviously been elsewhere. "Come here, Dean."
At least Sam hadn't said 'here, boy' or anything remotely related to that baby-talk kind of speech that people used when coaxing their pets into action. That was something, right?
Dean crawled over to him, kneeling up across the desk from the chair he'd recently learned was his absolute equal in Sam's eyes. It felt a little creepy, honestly. In their line of work they'd seen supernatural entities inhabit all kinds of inanimate objects, but he'd never stopped to have any kind of philosophical exploration of what it meant to be living and what kinds of things had spirit or logic or feelings or anything like that. He knew that he was about to be treated like an animal and it felt shameful. It made him wonder if dogs who didn't like leashes and cages had the same reasons he did, wanted the same freedoms he did.
Damn, he knew the situation had to be truly fucked to have him going all introspective about his place on the food chain and potential camaraderie with other so-called 'pets' and random inanimate objects.
Sam reached down, then, and slid a smooth leather collar around his neck, tightening it until it was snug but not tight and buckling it on the side. There seemed to be a D-ring in the front and another in the back. Dean felt the matching leash snap into place at the nape of his neck and bowed his head as if that simple movement could somehow pull him away from this.
"Get down on all fours, whore." A simple instruction with no vocal emotion.
Right. Dean tried to breathe deep as he put his hands down, eyes fixed to the floor. He just knew he had to keep breathing and keep being quiet. He could get through this. He had to. And it was his own damn fault anyway. No one to blame but himself, right? Fuck.
"I don't exactly know what the protocol is for leashed slaves outside the home, so … I guess I'll have to find that out and teach you to do this properly, if I ever decide I want you to go anywhere with me."
Sam sounded curious again, but a little unsure, like this was an intriguing experiment and he was nervous about how it would turn out. But if Sam was having a rough time adjusting to the demands of being a slaver owner, then maybe he shouldn't require Dean to do all this crazy formal shit.
Dean huffed out loud, but quickly fell silent when he heard himself, hoping that Sam hadn't noticed how agitated he was. He knew that he really didn't need to push himself any further onto Sam's bad side.
Thankfully, though, Sam was musing about the whole walking-his-slave situation.
"For right now, though, just … stay beside me, turn when I turn, speed up when I speed up, pause when I pause, and … stop and kneel up when I stop. Basically, just … keep up and don't get in my way."
Breathe. "Yes, sir."
Even if the weight of the collar and leash at his neck felt so wrong against his skin, the act that went with it didn't sound too terribly difficult. And when Sam got going, Dean found that it really wasn't all that difficult, though kneepads would have made the trek much less stressful on his already overworked knees.
Sam walked from the desk to the head of the bed with the leash in his right hand and Dean followed on the right. When Sam paused there before turning to walk to the foot of the bed then over to the expanse of windows on the other side of the room, Dean paused appropriately then continued following on the right. Then Sam stopped, seeming to look out the window and Dean paused, but then kneeled up because it seemed like the pause was long enough to be classified as a stop. Sort of. Maybe. Yeah, he didn't really know what the fuck he was doing, but Sam wasn't yelling or hurting him or anything, so he must have been doing okay.
He followed Sam from the window to the small table, then up to the door when there was a knock. But as Sam opened the door without a word, Dean drew away from him, as far as the leash would allow, slinking into the shadows by the wall. Sam let a deferential older woman into the room and all she did was gather up the spread out remnants of their meal on the table before exiting out the door as quietly as she'd come in. Then Sam went back to walking the room, tugging Dean along.
Dean knew the apparent servant woman had hardly glanced his way, but her mere presence made him painfully aware of how exposed he was, how debauched he must seem, entirely naked, available for use at the drop of a hat, and kneeling silently with a fucking leash at his neck.
He couldn't help but think about the twisted mess that his life had become.
Only a week ago, he'd been Hunting, in a world he knew, with a brother he at least thought he knew, sleeping in ratty motels and driving his baby all over the nation. Now, he was crawling to heel, like a dog, with a collar and leash, beside the man who supposedly owned him, that same brother he thought he knew, and preparing to train for a life of whoring and endless servitude.
He almost choked from the hard backward yank of the leash.
"Feeling sorry for yourself, Dean?"
Sam was walking up to where Dean had stopped, since he had apparently continued moving after Sam had momentarily paused.
What the fuck do you care? "No … sir."
Sam laughed, throaty. "If you want to throw that attitude at me, go ahead, Dean. Say whatever you feel you need to get off your chest. … I'm just going to take it out on your ass later. … But if you need to say something, go right ahead. Maybe you really do need more pain than I already have planned for you. Maybe I overestimated the strength of your survival instincts."
There were so many witty retorts on the tip of his tongue and he shouldn't say them, but … no … this was fucked! What was Sam going to do to him, really? Take it out on his ass? What the hell did that mean? Was Sam going to fuck him harder than he'd fucked him yesterday or all the times before that?
Dean was seething, his breath hissing in and out between his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to take Sam down with a sideswipe and throttle some sense into him. His anger was rushing hot to his head, though, and his heart and stomach began to rebel from the rising pressure. It was just as well. Sam would just fuck him up if he tried anything anyway and he would have gone not one single step towards breaking his brother out of the darkness that seemed to rule him now.
"Wow. You're so fucking mad right now you could scream, or break things, but you're just being … silent … which is almost like being good. But I know you have an attitude problem, whore, even if you don't say anything. So don't think for a second that I'm going to let you off easy just because you seem to have learned, for the moment, to keep your mouth shut … unless you're sucking cock … or begging for it."
Dean cracked his neck, twice, and tried to focus on slowing the pace of his breathing instead of thinking about all the easy contempt Sam kept throwing his way.
Then he felt the thrum of tiny unseen spikes driving into him in waves and his body tried to shrink in on itself, as if that would provide any kind of protection.
"Don't forget that I'm in charge here, whore. I suggest you keep a lid on that need to rebel. I don't take kindly to insolence and, as you can tell, I don't have the slightest issue with hurting you. So … quiet is okay, but if you don't follow my orders in a timely fashion, your lack of verbal disrespect won't help you much. Do you understand, whore?"
Dean felt like he had to snatch breaths from the air every time the pain rolled out, before it drummed back in again, but his answer was quick and he hoped it was good enough to make Sam stop. "Yes, sir."
Sam bent to pet his hair, then, and the spikes cleared away. Dean swallowed, willing himself to be calm, and he reminded himself over and over that he had to be quiet and he had to be good, or he was going to hurt and he didn't want to hurt.
"So … why don't you go kneel on the bed for me, hmm? At the bottom of the bed, facing out to the room. Make yourself comfortable, but … I want your knees spread … so I can see everything that's mine."
"Yes, sir."
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Two: The Whore Parade
[054.Intimidated]
He could figure out what Sam wanted from him in terms of being clean, so that wasn't a problem, but as he was drying off, he found himself moving more and more slowly, dreading a day of so-called training. He heard Sam among multiple voices out in the main room and something that sounded almost like minor construction, so he guessed that some of Sam's deliveries were being made. With the powers he had, Dean didn't think Sam needed actual implements of torture, but if causing Dean pain turned him on, then Sam would probably want half a dungeon's worth of items to use on him. Dean shuddered, but wiped away the fog on a swath of the mirror and looked at himself.
He could do this. It was only pain and sex. The pain, he could endure, and the sex, he didn't even have to just endure sometimes. Sam didn't seem to mind letting Dean enjoy the sex, and he did most times, at least at some level, even if he wouldn't be having sex at all right then or in that way, if he had a choice. So, he could do this. He would do this. He nodded to his reflection, steeling himself for a long day, and turned towards the door.
But then he folded downwards, his knees thumping hollowly against the tiled floor as he cried out, and pain seared through him as the door opened of its own accord revealing his brother standing a few feet beyond the threshold.
"Crawl to me." Sam's voice brokered no argument. Obedience or pain.
Dean struggled to do as he was told, and quickly, his lungs fighting to bring in air, his limbs straining to comply, until he reached Sam and the pain disappeared instantly.
"Kneel."
Dean moved back to sit on his heels, but kept his gaze focused on the floor, breathing hard.
"You were stalling. Why?" No room for anything less than total honesty. Truth or pain.
"I- I was thinking- … about today, about- … what things you might have ordered … and about what you'd do to me."
"And you thought it would be good to start the day by making me wait?"
"No, sir. I just … I dunno … I wasn't thinking."
"No, you weren't. … But that's what today's all about. Helping you understand what's expected of you and what the consequences are when you don't live up to those expectations. Yes?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay then. So … I was going to have you eat with me, but you're so late the food's almost cold and I really don't think you deserve to sit at the table right now."
Dean could hear his stomach rumble with disapproval at the thought of having to skip a meal, but he didn't say anything.
"I'm going to eat at the table and you'll kneel beside me. And if I feel like it, I might toss you a scrap or two."
Sam headed towards the small table by the door, his boxers slung low, and Dean thought about getting up to follow him, but figured crawling would probably be more likely to show how sorry he was, and help him avoid more pain at Sam's hands, even if he hadn't explicitly been ordered to do so.
When he kneeled up next to Sam's seat, Dean kept his head down and tried to keep his stomach quiet.
"Good boy, Dean. I'm glad you crawled to me. I want you to do that all day, so you remember not to delay when following my orders. Do you understand?"
Damnit. That was not the reaction he'd been hoping for. Sam had already decided he liked the idea, though, so Dean just breathed deep and promised himself that he wouldn't get creative with apologies ever again.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. … Here." Sam held down a small piece of melon for him to eat, but when he reached for it, he felt the now familiar tug of Sam's power on his heart and he stopped. "Only your mouth."
Dean nodded, opening his mouth wide enough so Sam could slip the fruit onto his tongue. The melon was good and when he had swallowed it down, Sam's fingers, sticky with juice, were pressed against his lips, and he opened again and licked and sucked them clean without needing a direct order.
Despite the fact that Sam had been very upset with him only a short time ago, Sam fed him well while he was eating his own meal, sharing bits of fruit and bread and meat and sweets until Dean was full enough, and after every swallow of food, Dean played his tongue over Sam's fingers until they were clean.
When Dean had his last piece of some chocolaty pastry, though, Sam didn't pull out his fingers after they were, ostensibly, clean, so Dean' kept rolling his tongue over and around them and sucking on them. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of them on his tongue, the rub of them on his lips, and he could feel his cock rising, hardening, to curve up towards his stomach. But when he realized the way his body was responding, he stopped, with a sharp intake of breath as his eyes darted around in a downward direction. He was almost shocked and kind of embarrassed, feeling like he shouldn't be at all turned on when he was in this state of subservience.
Sam pulled his fingers out, then, and Dean focused on trying to calm his dick down.
"Why'd you stop, Dean?"
"I- … I don't know, sir."
"Stand up."
Dean stood, gasping immediately as Sam's fingers closed around his dick.
"Did you get hard just from licking my fingers?"
Dean just lowered his head, shamed.
Sam squeezed his cock. "Answer the question."
"Yes … sir."
"Is that because you want to suck my cock again, Dean?"
Dean could feel the way his dick throbbed thinking about it, but then he thought about how it had felt to lay on the bed covered in come, and- … he just tried not to think about anything. "I don't know, sir."
"You know, Dean? I think your dick is more honest than you are." He slid his thumb back and forth over the weeping slit of Dean's cock. "But that's okay for now. I didn't imagine you'd be able to acknowledge this about yourself. And I know what you need. So, you'll get it whether you think you want it or not."
No matter what Sam thought he knew, Dean could see his responses were purely about the sexual chemistry they had. He might want to suck his brother's cock … maybe … but he did not want to be an enslaved whore. That was not his idea of a good fucking time.
"Go kneel on the bed and wait for me."
"Yes, sir." Great. Time to spread his legs again. Time to whore some more. Yeah. Great.
Dean turned to walk to the bed, but felt the pull of Sam's powers inside him and stopped before he'd even taken one step. "What did I tell you about getting around today, Dean?"
Dean took a deep breath, biting his metaphorical tongue, and went down on all fours, trying not to shy away from Sam's hand as it smoothed over the skin of his ass.
"It's a good look for you, Dean, all fours, crawling. In fact, it's pretty damn hot. Maybe we'll have to break in your play collar and leash." Sam's tone was playful, his words carrying a smirk, but Dean couldn't hear the teasing of a younger brother with newfound power over his elder brother, and he certainly couldn't imagine how sexy he might look crawling around nude on the floor. He just thought about being treated like some kind of animal and his ego forgot all the lessons of the days and hours before.
A collar? A leash? Like a real fucking dog?! "No fucking way." He said it under his breath, barely audible, but he really hadn't meant to say it aloud at all. He felt his lungs constrict painfully in an instant, though, anyway.
"What did you just say to me, whore?" Sam was standing over him, then, menacing, one leg on either side of Dean's body, as he reached down, gaining enough grip in Dean's hair to yank his head back. "I have the right to do whatever the fuck I want with my property. And that's you, Dean. So if I want to put a collar on you and lead you around on a leash like a mutt, then I can do that. I could take my pet out for a walk right now, around the whole damn house, and show off the animal I'm about to tame today. I'd make you into my little whore parade. Would you like that?"
Fuck. Just … kill me already. His chest was burning with the effort to breathe, but he pleaded not to be made to demean himself in that way. "No, sir. Please no. Just … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. I- I know you can … do whatever you want with me. But please don't … take me out there … on a leash … sir. Please."
"I wasn't even going to do this today, but your fucking attitude is pissing me off royally. You seem to have a serious ego problem that we need to rectify right-the-fuck-now. You … Are … Property! You have no rights, Dean. None." Sam angled Dean's head so he could see the desk on the other side of the room. "You have no more rights than that fucking chair over there. I don't have to get the chair's permission to use it, I just use it. If I want to sit in it, or stand on it, or kick it around, I can do that. Hell, if I want to cut it into pieces, or set it on fire and throw it out the fucking window, I can. That's my fucking prerogative, as the owner of that fucking piece of property. Is my language clear enough for your brain to process, Dean? Because I don't want to have to teach you this again."
Oh god. Dean couldn't help the way he was trembling. He didn't usually have outward signs of his anxiety like this, but he was in pain and he'd just been compared to a chair. A chair Sam could keep or burn to ash at will. "Yes, sir. I … understand."
"Well, in case you don't, let me clarify a few things for you, Dean. You're a slave and a whore, but those are property categories. They're just labels that describe your function as property, what you do for me, why I own you. A slave is for service. A whore is for pleasure. The fact that you can make my bed in the morning or make me come with your mouth means you're a highly valued property, but I still have free reign to use, alter, or destroy you in whatever way I please." Sam bent, then, pressing the heat and authority of his words directly over Dean's ear. "Because I own you. And that ownership is absolute. Do … You … Understand?!"
The tremors wracking his body were even less about the pain, then, and more about the fear. Sam was hurting him, yes, but he was mostly just restricting his breathing, making him work for it, making him more conscious of what he was using the air for. Sam could do a lot more damage if he wanted to and his voice held so much malice, so much promised cruelty, that all Dean could think right then was oh god, please don't hurt me, oh god, I'll be good, I'll be good. "Yes, sir. I understand. I'll- I'll be good. "
Sam released his grip on Dean's hair, his head falling between his shaking shoulders, and withdrew his powers from Dean's body as he stepped away, towards the bed, with exhaled exasperation. "The problem, Dean, is that your mouth gets you into trouble, but can't get you out of it. And you were doing just fine only five minutes ago! But, no, you just had to go and fuck it up, didn't you? Didn't you?!"
Oh god. Sam was going to fuck him up bad. "I'm- … I'm sorry … sir. Just-"
"Shut up."
Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."
"You may have run your mouth around me all the time back in the day, but that's not going to work here, Dean. Not here and not now. If you disrespect me, I have to make sure you haven't forgotten what you are and what I am to you. Am I getting through to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Okay then. So … whore … why don't you beg to wear the collar and leash in here? And maybe if you beg pretty enough, I won't make you wear them outside the room today."
Fuck. Dean definitely didn't want to do this, didn't want to beg to be led around like a real pet, wearing some collar. But he didn't want to hurt anymore or any worse and he'd brought this on himself by freaking out and mouthing off … again. He'd never wish for anything to facilitate his submission … never … but part of him hoped that Sam would gag him so he'd stop digging himself deeper into the hole.
"You'd rather I parade you around the building, Dean?"
"No, sir. But …" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Please … may I … wear the collar … and leash … here in the room … sir?"
"You want to see what it's like to be led around in here, Dean?"
Hell no. But he'd beg for it if that meant he wouldn't have to do the same thing in front of a horde of laughing strangers. "Yes, sir. Please … lead me … by the leash … sir."
"Alright, then." Sam walked over to the desk where a number of things were displayed. There was even a new chest of some sort, sitting open next to the desk, that seemed to have more items, only some of which Dean recognized. Everything must have been there when Dean came out of the bathroom, but his attention had obviously been elsewhere. "Come here, Dean."
At least Sam hadn't said 'here, boy' or anything remotely related to that baby-talk kind of speech that people used when coaxing their pets into action. That was something, right?
Dean crawled over to him, kneeling up across the desk from the chair he'd recently learned was his absolute equal in Sam's eyes. It felt a little creepy, honestly. In their line of work they'd seen supernatural entities inhabit all kinds of inanimate objects, but he'd never stopped to have any kind of philosophical exploration of what it meant to be living and what kinds of things had spirit or logic or feelings or anything like that. He knew that he was about to be treated like an animal and it felt shameful. It made him wonder if dogs who didn't like leashes and cages had the same reasons he did, wanted the same freedoms he did.
Damn, he knew the situation had to be truly fucked to have him going all introspective about his place on the food chain and potential camaraderie with other so-called 'pets' and random inanimate objects.
Sam reached down, then, and slid a smooth leather collar around his neck, tightening it until it was snug but not tight and buckling it on the side. There seemed to be a D-ring in the front and another in the back. Dean felt the matching leash snap into place at the nape of his neck and bowed his head as if that simple movement could somehow pull him away from this.
"Get down on all fours, whore." A simple instruction with no vocal emotion.
Right. Dean tried to breathe deep as he put his hands down, eyes fixed to the floor. He just knew he had to keep breathing and keep being quiet. He could get through this. He had to. And it was his own damn fault anyway. No one to blame but himself, right? Fuck.
"I don't exactly know what the protocol is for leashed slaves outside the home, so … I guess I'll have to find that out and teach you to do this properly, if I ever decide I want you to go anywhere with me."
Sam sounded curious again, but a little unsure, like this was an intriguing experiment and he was nervous about how it would turn out. But if Sam was having a rough time adjusting to the demands of being a slaver owner, then maybe he shouldn't require Dean to do all this crazy formal shit.
Dean huffed out loud, but quickly fell silent when he heard himself, hoping that Sam hadn't noticed how agitated he was. He knew that he really didn't need to push himself any further onto Sam's bad side.
Thankfully, though, Sam was musing about the whole walking-his-slave situation.
"For right now, though, just … stay beside me, turn when I turn, speed up when I speed up, pause when I pause, and … stop and kneel up when I stop. Basically, just … keep up and don't get in my way."
Breathe. "Yes, sir."
Even if the weight of the collar and leash at his neck felt so wrong against his skin, the act that went with it didn't sound too terribly difficult. And when Sam got going, Dean found that it really wasn't all that difficult, though kneepads would have made the trek much less stressful on his already overworked knees.
Sam walked from the desk to the head of the bed with the leash in his right hand and Dean followed on the right. When Sam paused there before turning to walk to the foot of the bed then over to the expanse of windows on the other side of the room, Dean paused appropriately then continued following on the right. Then Sam stopped, seeming to look out the window and Dean paused, but then kneeled up because it seemed like the pause was long enough to be classified as a stop. Sort of. Maybe. Yeah, he didn't really know what the fuck he was doing, but Sam wasn't yelling or hurting him or anything, so he must have been doing okay.
He followed Sam from the window to the small table, then up to the door when there was a knock. But as Sam opened the door without a word, Dean drew away from him, as far as the leash would allow, slinking into the shadows by the wall. Sam let a deferential older woman into the room and all she did was gather up the spread out remnants of their meal on the table before exiting out the door as quietly as she'd come in. Then Sam went back to walking the room, tugging Dean along.
Dean knew the apparent servant woman had hardly glanced his way, but her mere presence made him painfully aware of how exposed he was, how debauched he must seem, entirely naked, available for use at the drop of a hat, and kneeling silently with a fucking leash at his neck.
He couldn't help but think about the twisted mess that his life had become.
Only a week ago, he'd been Hunting, in a world he knew, with a brother he at least thought he knew, sleeping in ratty motels and driving his baby all over the nation. Now, he was crawling to heel, like a dog, with a collar and leash, beside the man who supposedly owned him, that same brother he thought he knew, and preparing to train for a life of whoring and endless servitude.
He almost choked from the hard backward yank of the leash.
"Feeling sorry for yourself, Dean?"
Sam was walking up to where Dean had stopped, since he had apparently continued moving after Sam had momentarily paused.
What the fuck do you care? "No … sir."
Sam laughed, throaty. "If you want to throw that attitude at me, go ahead, Dean. Say whatever you feel you need to get off your chest. … I'm just going to take it out on your ass later. … But if you need to say something, go right ahead. Maybe you really do need more pain than I already have planned for you. Maybe I overestimated the strength of your survival instincts."
There were so many witty retorts on the tip of his tongue and he shouldn't say them, but … no … this was fucked! What was Sam going to do to him, really? Take it out on his ass? What the hell did that mean? Was Sam going to fuck him harder than he'd fucked him yesterday or all the times before that?
Dean was seething, his breath hissing in and out between his teeth. He wanted nothing more than to take Sam down with a sideswipe and throttle some sense into him. His anger was rushing hot to his head, though, and his heart and stomach began to rebel from the rising pressure. It was just as well. Sam would just fuck him up if he tried anything anyway and he would have gone not one single step towards breaking his brother out of the darkness that seemed to rule him now.
"Wow. You're so fucking mad right now you could scream, or break things, but you're just being … silent … which is almost like being good. But I know you have an attitude problem, whore, even if you don't say anything. So don't think for a second that I'm going to let you off easy just because you seem to have learned, for the moment, to keep your mouth shut … unless you're sucking cock … or begging for it."
Dean cracked his neck, twice, and tried to focus on slowing the pace of his breathing instead of thinking about all the easy contempt Sam kept throwing his way.
Then he felt the thrum of tiny unseen spikes driving into him in waves and his body tried to shrink in on itself, as if that would provide any kind of protection.
"Don't forget that I'm in charge here, whore. I suggest you keep a lid on that need to rebel. I don't take kindly to insolence and, as you can tell, I don't have the slightest issue with hurting you. So … quiet is okay, but if you don't follow my orders in a timely fashion, your lack of verbal disrespect won't help you much. Do you understand, whore?"
Dean felt like he had to snatch breaths from the air every time the pain rolled out, before it drummed back in again, but his answer was quick and he hoped it was good enough to make Sam stop. "Yes, sir."
Sam bent to pet his hair, then, and the spikes cleared away. Dean swallowed, willing himself to be calm, and he reminded himself over and over that he had to be quiet and he had to be good, or he was going to hurt and he didn't want to hurt.
"So … why don't you go kneel on the bed for me, hmm? At the bottom of the bed, facing out to the room. Make yourself comfortable, but … I want your knees spread … so I can see everything that's mine."
"Yes, sir."
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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