Fanfic - SPN: Training Day - Ch.4 - The Desired Discipline
Title: Training Day [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Four: The Desired Discipline
[017.Confused]
Sam let him up, but Dean kept his eyes downcast. He didn't really want to look at his brother right then, didn't want see the desire for violence so tightly wound around the desire for pleasure. Sam took Dean's chin in his hand again, brushing Dean's lips with his thumb.
"I can already tell that you're going to be such a good whore for me, Dean. I just need to keep training you up right and in a little while you'll wonder why you ever fought me at all."
Dean refused to think that a day would come when he wouldn't at least want to fight, even if he couldn't fight. Without the fight he wouldn't be himself, he'd be … something else. But that was what Sam wanted, for him to be something else, right? He just had to keep believing that Sam wouldn't ever get that … that he wouldn't ever be that.
"Turn around and face the headboard. I'm gonna go grab a few things from the new 'toy box' for us to play with."
As Sam walked over to the desk, Dean turned around on his knees and when he looked up at the headboard, he saw what seemed to be a sheet flung over some new addition to the wall. He figured it probably related to the bit of construction he had heard going on while he was in the bathroom. He didn't really want to know what kind of torture chamber apparatus was hidden there and he was sure that now would not be the best time to ask, even if he did want to know. Whatever Sam was rummaging through the 'toy box' to locate would probably be painful enough without requiring wall support.
Sam returned and sidled up behind him, bringing a hand around to show off one of his finds.
"Have you seen these before, Dean?"
They were nipple clamps connected by a chain. They looked like one of the adjustable kinds, but they also looked professional enough to have a serious bite.
"Umm … once or twice."
"Yeah?"
Sam didn't seem surprised, but he couldn't have known for sure. They'd never really talked about any of his more experimental sexual encounters.
"Were they for you … or your fuck?"
Dean shifted his jaw, trying to keep his breathing even. Sam seemed to find a way to pour contempt over everything, but not everything was worth fighting over.
"Mostly for … whoever I was with."
"Mostly?"
Dean shrugged. "Gotta reciprocate sometime, Sam."
Sam's laugh rumbled against Dean's neck. "Actually … whore … I don't."
Dean swallowed, trying to ignore how Sam's laugh just then made his skin crawl.
"Close your eyes."
He closed his eyes and tried to stay still as Sam moved around him, seeming to set things down on the bed. Then Sam's hands were brushing over his stomach, fingers tracing the curves where his abdomen met his thighs, then up over his sides and all the way up to his chest. He knew the clamps would hurt, that Sam wanted them to hurt, but his dick was starting to twitch with renewed interest anyway and he found himself almost leaning back against his brother's warm chest.
Sam's palms flattened wide over his pecs and Dean could almost visualize those broad hands moving over his body. He didn't have a … thing … about Sam's hands, but … he was always kind of fascinated by just how big his little brother was. His breath caught trying to escape his lungs as Sam took both his nipples between his fingers, teasing them to hardness until Dean's cock was rising to meet his navel and his head was tilting back almost onto Sam's shoulder. Sam's right hand left his chest, then, sliding down his side to the bed, then sliding slowly back up, the cool of the metal clamps and their chain trailing after it.
Dean knew what was coming, in theory, but he still grunted as pain shot into him from his right nipple, and Sam wasted no time clamping the other one, making him tense and his eyelids flutter.
"Eyes closed, whore."
Dean's breathing was rapid, from the pain, yes, but also from the way it had made his dick immediately, ragingly hard. He shuddered, refusing to think on his reaction, and panted out his words. "Yes, sir."
He tried to slow his breathing, adjusting to the pain washing down his body from his chest, and Sam actually gave him time to adjust. Sam's hands skated over his sides, then over his thighs, skirting around the clamps and the chain, but also avoiding all contact with his stiff cock.
"How're you doing?" Sam's voice was gentle, not concerned really, but sincere.
"Well, Sam … my chest hurts." His words came out with more attitude than he'd intended and he held his breath, awaiting the blaze of Sam's power.
Sam just tossed the attitude right back at him, sneering. "But … your dick's hard."
Dean exhaled and licked his lips. "Yeah. … I know."
"And what does that mean?" It sounded like he was looking for some particular answer, but it was an answer Dean didn't have.
He blinked twice, then remembered to keep his eyes closed, and is heart beat a little quicker as he ran his tongue over the back of his top teeth. "It doesn't mean anything, Sam."
Sam's chuckle was deep and arrogant, and Dean cringed. It was a laugh like all the villains in all the thriller films he'd ever seen. Only this was real … and this was Sam.
"You're being an idiot about this, Dean. Seriously. But I am going to get through all those walls of denial." Sam leaned in even closer, his breath scorching down the canal of Dean's ear. "Even if I have to break out the fucking explosives."
When Dean felt Sam shift back to his starting position, he allowed himself to breathe. He thought that Sam was only playing into a metaphor there, but at this point, it wasn't really clear what Sam was capable of, or how far he'd go to get what he wanted from him.
"So … whore … you got to see the nipple clamps."
Sam let his fingers slide up to wiggle both of said clamps, making Dean shudder, short choked sounds bursting out of his throat, until Sam dropped his hands to the bed.
"But this is a little toy I also thought I'd let you try today."
Dean felt a small blunt object being pushed against his entrance and he tried to relax as it slid slowly into him.
"It's thick in the middle with a little curve to it and it seemed like it might-"
"Fuck." Dean breathed out the word as he felt a steady pressure against the bundle of nerves that had a direct line to his aching cock.
"Yeah, I thought you might like that. But that's not even the best part."
Dean could only gasp, pulling in a long audible inhale that he held as Sam revved up the vibrations to max, and he only released it, with a creaking groan, when Sam took the vibration level down until it became just a heavy pulse inside him.
"You can open your eyes now."
Dean let his eyelids lift slowly as he relearned how to breathe with the toy thumping gently, but rhythmically in his ass. Sam glided his hands over Dean's skin, occasionally pressing and rubbing at the base of the plug, making his breath stop-and-start and his cock ache. Even when Sam began to tug, lightly, at the chain connecting the clamps on his chest, it only seemed to add an edge to the pleasure pulsing up from his ass, and Dean could feel the leak of precome from his dick as Sam breathed harsh against his ear.
"You make such a pretty whore, Dean … and you're my whore. So I'm gonna fuck you … and you're gonna like it."
Dean's eyes slid shut as the low heat of Sam's voice sent a tremor of something down his spine, something only edged by fear, something more like desire with an aftertaste of shame.
"You wanna come while I'm fucking your ass. Don't you, Dean?"
Dean started to shake his head, but Sam began tapping at the base of the toy in his ass and Dean rode up panting from over-stimulation. Too much. "Don't- … please." But Sam kept up that steady tapping, making his ass muscles spasm and his cock jump with every beat.
"Tell me the truth, whore. You want me to fuck you, don't you?"
Dean's eyelids shuttered up and down as he tried to breathe through the need flooding through him, but some version of the truth still tumbled out of his mouth with a gasp. "Yes- …Yes, sir." He looked down and away, and it felt like the callous edge of Sam's victory smile was searing into his skin.
"Beg for it."
Sam wouldn't fuck him until he'd begged for it, and if he didn't beg Sam would make him hurt for it, so Dean knew he had to beg, but- … fuck … how could he still be so fucking needy, so aroused when he was about to open his mouth and beg his little brother to fuck him like he was some kind of whore?
"Dean …"
It was his name, but with the low timbre and the authority that Sam put into the word, he might as well have been saying 'submit' or 'obey', and Dean knew that pain was only half a thought away.
"Yes, sir. Please- … please fuck me."
Sam laughed low and Dean shrunk inwardly.
"I would, Dean. … If I didn't have to punish you, I would fuck you right now. But you had some moments when you were bad today, right?"
He'd known it was coming, but he just really didn't want to hurt anymore than he already had today, and Sam had gone out of his way to make sure that his whole body was so tight with sexual intent, so he knew that whatever Sam had planned would use that desire against him in torturous ways.
"Please don't … sir. I'm … sorry. I'll … be good."
"I know you're sorry, Dean, I do, but it doesn't work like that. If you're bad, I have to punish you, so you know that you need to be a good boy for me. You want to be a good boy for me, don't you, Dean?"
Did he want to be a 'good boy'? A 'good boy'? For Sam or anyone else? No, he didn't want to be a fucking 'good boy'.
But … he really didn't want the drugs option back on the table.
Everything was just so hard to say, though. Sam wanted to hear things he'd never have thought to say, let alone actually said, only a week ago. Now, if he didn't want the drugs, then his only other choices were always about experiencing pain, forming his lips to demeaning words, and offering his body up for demeaning acts. But it still wasn't really much of a choice when he thought about how much of himself he lost when the drugs were in his system.
"Answer the question, whore."
Dean's jaw was almost clenched, but he was trying to keep the tension to a minimum, trying to endure everything that Sam was throwing at him. "Yes, sir. I … want to … be good … be a … good … boy … for you."
"Good. Then take your punishment and then I'll fuck you. … I need you stay still, so do you want me to chain you?"
Chains. They'd chained him yesterday, when he'd had that drug all over him. He couldn't move, he just- … took it, wanted it so bad, just- … told Sam what he wanted to hear, just- … would've done anything. "No, sir. No chains."
"Okay, Dean … but if you move I'm going to punish you more. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. Just- … no chains, okay? I- … I won't move."
"Fine."
Sam stepped back, then, and Dean nearly shook apart, knowing the next bit would be all about pain and assuming that pain would be the kind Sam controlled with his mind. When Sam was at the bed again, though, he didn't start straight into the discipline. He laid a black leather whip with several tails down on the bed in front of Dean's knees.
"It's called a flogger. … Do you have any experience with this kind of thing, Dean?"
There was a blink of a bit of a memory that he really didn't want to talk about, especially not to Sam and especially not in this situation. So he shrugged. "Maybe a little."
"Was it a woman?"
"Does it matter?"
Sam's power slid over Dean's skin like hot tar. "What was that, whore?"
"Yeah … yes … sir … it was a woman."
Sam chuckled, mocking. "Did you let her fuck you? Or did you still have the balls to top her after she'd whipped you?"
Dean just swallowed and shook his head, because he knew it hadn't been like that. She hadn't made him feel like something lesser. It had just been a kind of spice she'd wanted to try, and Dean had thought it could be a good way to burn off some of his post-hunt adrenaline. It got her riled up, it got him calmed down, and the sex had been fucking great. No more psychology or philosophy about it. It was just about good sex.
"We had pretty conventional sex … if that's what you're asking."
"Good. … I get to be the first one to fuck your ass after you've been whipped. … I don't like being second."
Sam's voice held a menacing edge as he reached for the flogger, but Dean could tell this wasn't wholly about violence for Sam, it was still about sex. He watched the strands of the flogger slide over his still hard cock. The movements were slow and soft and the simple way that Sam made the cords dance over his dick was making him even more sensitive, even though the caress of the flogger was only feather-light.
Then Sam lifted the flogger to Dean's face. "Smell it."
Dean set his nose against the tails of the flogger before raising his head again. It smelled like leather and cock.
"That's the smell of your punishment today, whore. All this leather is for giving you the pain you need to help you understand what you are … a whore … and what that means, in terms of obedience. Isn't that right, whore?"
Dean stared at the whip, jaw shifting restlessly. "Yes, sir."
"Alright then. Kiss it … and we'll get started."
Dean only wavered for a moment before bending to press his lips to the warm leather of the flogger.
"Good boy."
And when Sam moved away from the bed again, Dean knew this was the real start of the discipline and he closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He tried to keep count of how many times the flogger landed, because he thought it would keep his mind busy while he endured his punishment. He figured Sam had some number of lashes in mind and if he could just keep counting, he could make it. He thought he could handle the pain, and he kind of could, but after ten quick blows, there was a steady stinging sensation, and after twenty it began to feel more like burning. By thirty the ache was deep and he cried out, fighting his body's need to move.
By forty, it was just too much.
The toy, still buzzing away in his ass, and the clamps, shifting with the swing of the chain on every impact, made all the pain twist up with other sensations and his brain couldn't figure out how to process everything. He hurt so much, but his cock was still so hard. It didn't matter, though. He couldn't take any more … couldn't … and his body was trying to move away, but the flogger only fell harder.
"You're not going anywhere, whore. I'm not through punishing you."
"Oh god. Please … please no more. I can't- … please no more. Just- … I get it. I'll … be good. Just … please stop. … Please."
Sam stopped and Dean could almost hope that this was really the end, but then an oppressive wave of heat washed over him as Sam walked up to stand just behind him. There was no physical contact, but the heat almost felt like something solid against his aching back and Sam's voice, low over his shoulder, was no comfort either.
"Begging for me to stop isn't going to help you, whore. But you could show me that you really understand what all this is about … by begging to be fucked like the whore that you are. You know you want it anyway, whore. I know how hard you are right now, how much this little punishment just makes you want my dick inside you even more."
"What? No. That's not- … just- … no." His voice was gruff and unsteady, but determined. Sam ignored it anyway.
"Stop pretending that you're anything other than a whore. You want this because you were made for this, because you were meant to be this. So, go ahead and beg to be used by your owner, whore. Maybe if you make it filthy enough and you tell me all the sick-hot ways you want to feel me in you, then maybe I'll get horny enough to stop beating you bloody and fuck you instead."
"No." Dean shook his head. Maybe he was playing the whore right now, but- … he was not meant to- … and he did not like this. "No."
Sam just stepped away again, and the flogger started to hit Dean's back again. The strokes were light at first, almost like the beginning, and his dick throbbed as the sensation slid through his system, despite any denials that he might repeat to himself. Then the strokes became sharper, the weight of the thud increasing with every hit, and Dean kept his position, but only just barely. It was getting harder to hold it together, to keep quiet, to not voice the pleas that would make Sam stop. Those were the same pleas that would let Sam warp this, that would let Sam think that he wanted this, that he was … made for this.
But … fuck … it was like every time the flogger landed it dug into him and tore away pieces as it snapped back to Sam. He knew it was only in his head, though, that his back would be bruised, but the skin wasn't broken. He'd had enough variations on pain in his life that he knew he'd survive and heal fine if Sam would just stop soon. But he knew now that Sam wouldn't stop until he'd begged … and he just wanted the pain to stop.
He could beg … to make the pain stop. He'd begged before, and for less, maybe not like this, but … he could beg.
"Please … sir … fuck me. Please fuck me. Please just- … fuck me … sir … please."
Sam snickered continuing to lay into him with the flogger. Dean knew they'd passed sixty at some point, but he hurt so much now that that he'd lost the current count.
"If you think a simple 'please' is going to make me hot … whore … then you'll be passed out from pain in no time. You'd better learn to talk dirty, and do it fast."
Talk dirty. Right. Tell the man who was practically stripping the skin from his back … tell him how much he wanted his cock. Right. Fuck, it hurt so bad, though, like the whip was made of thin strips of metal, instead of pieces of cloth. And begging was just about words, right? They were just words. They didn't mean anything. It didn't mean he- … really wanted to- … be fucked that bad. Pain or words. It didn't mean he- … really was a- … whore like that. It was just- … no good choices. Pain or words. He didn't want any more pain. And even if he'd never said them like this, he knew the words, knew what Sam might like to hear. He just had to say them.
The speed of the flogger seemed to double, then, and the strokes were hard, the chain connecting his nipples swinging with a rhythm that sent blinding sparks of pleasure-framed pain through his system. He knew he'd be deeply bruised, if not bloody, by the time Sam stopped … if he stopped. And he couldn't keep the tiny yelps of a man in pain from following his exhales into the air.
His body tensed before the fall of every strike trying to anticipate each blow, but Sam varied the speed and placement of the strokes enough so he could never really prepare. And every time he tensed up, his ass clamped down on the vibrating toy and his body got a whole different kind of shock, his groans tied almost as much to pleasure as to pain. But everything was so intense and he just … fuck … he just needed this to stop.
Dean's face flushed red as he opened his mouth, words stuttered by the biting rhythm of the flogger, and he begged like some wanton slut, begged for the pain to end, begged for the fuck to begin.
"Please ... sir ... please fuck me ... I need- your cock- in me ... I wanna- feel your come- in my ass ... please sir- fuck me hard ... please- … ahhhh-"
He cried out again as Sam struck one extra-hard blow then stopped, dragging the leather tendrils of the whip over the sensitized skin he'd just been beating. But Dean knew better than to think this was an ending. He didn't know if he'd begged like Sam wanted and- ... he had to give Sam what he wanted or- ... Sam would just keep hurting him.
"Look down, whore. Are you still hard for me?"
Dean didn't have to look down to know that the throb in his ass and ache in his chest were still fucking up any good sense that his dick ever had. He shouldn't still be so hard like this, shouldn't still want to come so bad. It was fucked. He was-
"Oh fuck- fuck- fuck- please- Sam- please just-"
Sam was pressing the toy deeper into him, maybe deeper than it was meant to go. Sam had barely moved, but there was heat there.
"That's more like it, whore. You're still hard for me, aren't you?"
His body was so fucking mixed up right then. He was so mixed up right then. "Yes- Yes, sir."
"That's because you want to be fucked, right? Because you want me to fuck you and let you come, right, whore?"
"Yes, sir. Please- please fuck me." He didn't know anymore if he was begging to be fucked so Sam wouldn't start flogging him again or because of some other reason he wouldn't even admit to himself.
"I'm just not really feeling it yet, whore. I'm loving all the sounds you make when my whip hits you. … And I just haven't heard you say anything filthy enough to really make me want to fuck you like you want right now. But you just keep on begging … and maybe in an hour or so, when my arm gets tired, I'll let one of the guards see if he can't make you beg properly."
Sam went back to swinging the whip, no warm-up this time, just the pounding of leather on flesh, making Dean's eyes burn with unshed tears. The pain was so steady, always building in intensity, and Dean knew he couldn't take another hour, let alone however long some guard with a tree trunk arm would be able to whip him. Biting pain and pulsing pleasure and steady aches were all sending conflicting signals throughout his body, and his mind tried to put the pieces together that would make this end.
He knew he had to beg like he meant it this time, beg like a whore, because- … because he was a whore now… and because if he begged, Sam would stop hurting him and start fucking him. And that was what whores were made for, what he was- … no. But fucking would be better than hurting, right? He just had to beg for it, beg like he really wanted it.
"Please- sir … put your cock- in my ass … fuck me … like the whore- that I am … fuck me- hard … fill me up- with your come … I want- your cock … so bad … please- fuck me … I'll be your- good boy … just- fuck me … oh god- need your cock … fuck me- please … I wanna- ride your dick … oh god- … just please-"
Dean's speech stumbled, almost a sob, as the tails of the whip slammed against his skin like thick lines of living fire, again and again until he fell back to pleading for mercy. "God … Sam … please! … Please … no more! … Please."
But Sam was relentless and the flogger continued to strike Dean hard enough to make him whimper in time with the blows. "Keep begging to be fucked, whore!"
His lip was quivering, face wet with some unknown mix of tears and sweat, but he didn't care about appearances right then. He just needed the pain to stop. "Please- sir … just fuck me- okay? … I can- make it- good for you … just- … please- fuck me … I need it- now … oh god- please … please just- fuck me ... fuck your- whore, your- good boy ... please just- fuck me ... please ... sir ... please- please ... please-"
His breaths were all gasps now, hiccoughing pauses between "please" sobbed out repeatedly, and he was so lost in his head then, lost in the back and forth of competing sensations dominated by searing pain. Whore and good boy were ringing in his ears and he didn't even register that the snap of the flogger had stopped until he felt a slight sting prickling over his skin as Sam approached him.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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Author: eboniorchid
Full Header for the Series
Chapter Four: The Desired Discipline
[017.Confused]
Sam let him up, but Dean kept his eyes downcast. He didn't really want to look at his brother right then, didn't want see the desire for violence so tightly wound around the desire for pleasure. Sam took Dean's chin in his hand again, brushing Dean's lips with his thumb.
"I can already tell that you're going to be such a good whore for me, Dean. I just need to keep training you up right and in a little while you'll wonder why you ever fought me at all."
Dean refused to think that a day would come when he wouldn't at least want to fight, even if he couldn't fight. Without the fight he wouldn't be himself, he'd be … something else. But that was what Sam wanted, for him to be something else, right? He just had to keep believing that Sam wouldn't ever get that … that he wouldn't ever be that.
"Turn around and face the headboard. I'm gonna go grab a few things from the new 'toy box' for us to play with."
As Sam walked over to the desk, Dean turned around on his knees and when he looked up at the headboard, he saw what seemed to be a sheet flung over some new addition to the wall. He figured it probably related to the bit of construction he had heard going on while he was in the bathroom. He didn't really want to know what kind of torture chamber apparatus was hidden there and he was sure that now would not be the best time to ask, even if he did want to know. Whatever Sam was rummaging through the 'toy box' to locate would probably be painful enough without requiring wall support.
Sam returned and sidled up behind him, bringing a hand around to show off one of his finds.
"Have you seen these before, Dean?"
They were nipple clamps connected by a chain. They looked like one of the adjustable kinds, but they also looked professional enough to have a serious bite.
"Umm … once or twice."
"Yeah?"
Sam didn't seem surprised, but he couldn't have known for sure. They'd never really talked about any of his more experimental sexual encounters.
"Were they for you … or your fuck?"
Dean shifted his jaw, trying to keep his breathing even. Sam seemed to find a way to pour contempt over everything, but not everything was worth fighting over.
"Mostly for … whoever I was with."
"Mostly?"
Dean shrugged. "Gotta reciprocate sometime, Sam."
Sam's laugh rumbled against Dean's neck. "Actually … whore … I don't."
Dean swallowed, trying to ignore how Sam's laugh just then made his skin crawl.
"Close your eyes."
He closed his eyes and tried to stay still as Sam moved around him, seeming to set things down on the bed. Then Sam's hands were brushing over his stomach, fingers tracing the curves where his abdomen met his thighs, then up over his sides and all the way up to his chest. He knew the clamps would hurt, that Sam wanted them to hurt, but his dick was starting to twitch with renewed interest anyway and he found himself almost leaning back against his brother's warm chest.
Sam's palms flattened wide over his pecs and Dean could almost visualize those broad hands moving over his body. He didn't have a … thing … about Sam's hands, but … he was always kind of fascinated by just how big his little brother was. His breath caught trying to escape his lungs as Sam took both his nipples between his fingers, teasing them to hardness until Dean's cock was rising to meet his navel and his head was tilting back almost onto Sam's shoulder. Sam's right hand left his chest, then, sliding down his side to the bed, then sliding slowly back up, the cool of the metal clamps and their chain trailing after it.
Dean knew what was coming, in theory, but he still grunted as pain shot into him from his right nipple, and Sam wasted no time clamping the other one, making him tense and his eyelids flutter.
"Eyes closed, whore."
Dean's breathing was rapid, from the pain, yes, but also from the way it had made his dick immediately, ragingly hard. He shuddered, refusing to think on his reaction, and panted out his words. "Yes, sir."
He tried to slow his breathing, adjusting to the pain washing down his body from his chest, and Sam actually gave him time to adjust. Sam's hands skated over his sides, then over his thighs, skirting around the clamps and the chain, but also avoiding all contact with his stiff cock.
"How're you doing?" Sam's voice was gentle, not concerned really, but sincere.
"Well, Sam … my chest hurts." His words came out with more attitude than he'd intended and he held his breath, awaiting the blaze of Sam's power.
Sam just tossed the attitude right back at him, sneering. "But … your dick's hard."
Dean exhaled and licked his lips. "Yeah. … I know."
"And what does that mean?" It sounded like he was looking for some particular answer, but it was an answer Dean didn't have.
He blinked twice, then remembered to keep his eyes closed, and is heart beat a little quicker as he ran his tongue over the back of his top teeth. "It doesn't mean anything, Sam."
Sam's chuckle was deep and arrogant, and Dean cringed. It was a laugh like all the villains in all the thriller films he'd ever seen. Only this was real … and this was Sam.
"You're being an idiot about this, Dean. Seriously. But I am going to get through all those walls of denial." Sam leaned in even closer, his breath scorching down the canal of Dean's ear. "Even if I have to break out the fucking explosives."
When Dean felt Sam shift back to his starting position, he allowed himself to breathe. He thought that Sam was only playing into a metaphor there, but at this point, it wasn't really clear what Sam was capable of, or how far he'd go to get what he wanted from him.
"So … whore … you got to see the nipple clamps."
Sam let his fingers slide up to wiggle both of said clamps, making Dean shudder, short choked sounds bursting out of his throat, until Sam dropped his hands to the bed.
"But this is a little toy I also thought I'd let you try today."
Dean felt a small blunt object being pushed against his entrance and he tried to relax as it slid slowly into him.
"It's thick in the middle with a little curve to it and it seemed like it might-"
"Fuck." Dean breathed out the word as he felt a steady pressure against the bundle of nerves that had a direct line to his aching cock.
"Yeah, I thought you might like that. But that's not even the best part."
Dean could only gasp, pulling in a long audible inhale that he held as Sam revved up the vibrations to max, and he only released it, with a creaking groan, when Sam took the vibration level down until it became just a heavy pulse inside him.
"You can open your eyes now."
Dean let his eyelids lift slowly as he relearned how to breathe with the toy thumping gently, but rhythmically in his ass. Sam glided his hands over Dean's skin, occasionally pressing and rubbing at the base of the plug, making his breath stop-and-start and his cock ache. Even when Sam began to tug, lightly, at the chain connecting the clamps on his chest, it only seemed to add an edge to the pleasure pulsing up from his ass, and Dean could feel the leak of precome from his dick as Sam breathed harsh against his ear.
"You make such a pretty whore, Dean … and you're my whore. So I'm gonna fuck you … and you're gonna like it."
Dean's eyes slid shut as the low heat of Sam's voice sent a tremor of something down his spine, something only edged by fear, something more like desire with an aftertaste of shame.
"You wanna come while I'm fucking your ass. Don't you, Dean?"
Dean started to shake his head, but Sam began tapping at the base of the toy in his ass and Dean rode up panting from over-stimulation. Too much. "Don't- … please." But Sam kept up that steady tapping, making his ass muscles spasm and his cock jump with every beat.
"Tell me the truth, whore. You want me to fuck you, don't you?"
Dean's eyelids shuttered up and down as he tried to breathe through the need flooding through him, but some version of the truth still tumbled out of his mouth with a gasp. "Yes- …Yes, sir." He looked down and away, and it felt like the callous edge of Sam's victory smile was searing into his skin.
"Beg for it."
Sam wouldn't fuck him until he'd begged for it, and if he didn't beg Sam would make him hurt for it, so Dean knew he had to beg, but- … fuck … how could he still be so fucking needy, so aroused when he was about to open his mouth and beg his little brother to fuck him like he was some kind of whore?
"Dean …"
It was his name, but with the low timbre and the authority that Sam put into the word, he might as well have been saying 'submit' or 'obey', and Dean knew that pain was only half a thought away.
"Yes, sir. Please- … please fuck me."
Sam laughed low and Dean shrunk inwardly.
"I would, Dean. … If I didn't have to punish you, I would fuck you right now. But you had some moments when you were bad today, right?"
He'd known it was coming, but he just really didn't want to hurt anymore than he already had today, and Sam had gone out of his way to make sure that his whole body was so tight with sexual intent, so he knew that whatever Sam had planned would use that desire against him in torturous ways.
"Please don't … sir. I'm … sorry. I'll … be good."
"I know you're sorry, Dean, I do, but it doesn't work like that. If you're bad, I have to punish you, so you know that you need to be a good boy for me. You want to be a good boy for me, don't you, Dean?"
Did he want to be a 'good boy'? A 'good boy'? For Sam or anyone else? No, he didn't want to be a fucking 'good boy'.
But … he really didn't want the drugs option back on the table.
Everything was just so hard to say, though. Sam wanted to hear things he'd never have thought to say, let alone actually said, only a week ago. Now, if he didn't want the drugs, then his only other choices were always about experiencing pain, forming his lips to demeaning words, and offering his body up for demeaning acts. But it still wasn't really much of a choice when he thought about how much of himself he lost when the drugs were in his system.
"Answer the question, whore."
Dean's jaw was almost clenched, but he was trying to keep the tension to a minimum, trying to endure everything that Sam was throwing at him. "Yes, sir. I … want to … be good … be a … good … boy … for you."
"Good. Then take your punishment and then I'll fuck you. … I need you stay still, so do you want me to chain you?"
Chains. They'd chained him yesterday, when he'd had that drug all over him. He couldn't move, he just- … took it, wanted it so bad, just- … told Sam what he wanted to hear, just- … would've done anything. "No, sir. No chains."
"Okay, Dean … but if you move I'm going to punish you more. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. Just- … no chains, okay? I- … I won't move."
"Fine."
Sam stepped back, then, and Dean nearly shook apart, knowing the next bit would be all about pain and assuming that pain would be the kind Sam controlled with his mind. When Sam was at the bed again, though, he didn't start straight into the discipline. He laid a black leather whip with several tails down on the bed in front of Dean's knees.
"It's called a flogger. … Do you have any experience with this kind of thing, Dean?"
There was a blink of a bit of a memory that he really didn't want to talk about, especially not to Sam and especially not in this situation. So he shrugged. "Maybe a little."
"Was it a woman?"
"Does it matter?"
Sam's power slid over Dean's skin like hot tar. "What was that, whore?"
"Yeah … yes … sir … it was a woman."
Sam chuckled, mocking. "Did you let her fuck you? Or did you still have the balls to top her after she'd whipped you?"
Dean just swallowed and shook his head, because he knew it hadn't been like that. She hadn't made him feel like something lesser. It had just been a kind of spice she'd wanted to try, and Dean had thought it could be a good way to burn off some of his post-hunt adrenaline. It got her riled up, it got him calmed down, and the sex had been fucking great. No more psychology or philosophy about it. It was just about good sex.
"We had pretty conventional sex … if that's what you're asking."
"Good. … I get to be the first one to fuck your ass after you've been whipped. … I don't like being second."
Sam's voice held a menacing edge as he reached for the flogger, but Dean could tell this wasn't wholly about violence for Sam, it was still about sex. He watched the strands of the flogger slide over his still hard cock. The movements were slow and soft and the simple way that Sam made the cords dance over his dick was making him even more sensitive, even though the caress of the flogger was only feather-light.
Then Sam lifted the flogger to Dean's face. "Smell it."
Dean set his nose against the tails of the flogger before raising his head again. It smelled like leather and cock.
"That's the smell of your punishment today, whore. All this leather is for giving you the pain you need to help you understand what you are … a whore … and what that means, in terms of obedience. Isn't that right, whore?"
Dean stared at the whip, jaw shifting restlessly. "Yes, sir."
"Alright then. Kiss it … and we'll get started."
Dean only wavered for a moment before bending to press his lips to the warm leather of the flogger.
"Good boy."
And when Sam moved away from the bed again, Dean knew this was the real start of the discipline and he closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
He tried to keep count of how many times the flogger landed, because he thought it would keep his mind busy while he endured his punishment. He figured Sam had some number of lashes in mind and if he could just keep counting, he could make it. He thought he could handle the pain, and he kind of could, but after ten quick blows, there was a steady stinging sensation, and after twenty it began to feel more like burning. By thirty the ache was deep and he cried out, fighting his body's need to move.
By forty, it was just too much.
The toy, still buzzing away in his ass, and the clamps, shifting with the swing of the chain on every impact, made all the pain twist up with other sensations and his brain couldn't figure out how to process everything. He hurt so much, but his cock was still so hard. It didn't matter, though. He couldn't take any more … couldn't … and his body was trying to move away, but the flogger only fell harder.
"You're not going anywhere, whore. I'm not through punishing you."
"Oh god. Please … please no more. I can't- … please no more. Just- … I get it. I'll … be good. Just … please stop. … Please."
Sam stopped and Dean could almost hope that this was really the end, but then an oppressive wave of heat washed over him as Sam walked up to stand just behind him. There was no physical contact, but the heat almost felt like something solid against his aching back and Sam's voice, low over his shoulder, was no comfort either.
"Begging for me to stop isn't going to help you, whore. But you could show me that you really understand what all this is about … by begging to be fucked like the whore that you are. You know you want it anyway, whore. I know how hard you are right now, how much this little punishment just makes you want my dick inside you even more."
"What? No. That's not- … just- … no." His voice was gruff and unsteady, but determined. Sam ignored it anyway.
"Stop pretending that you're anything other than a whore. You want this because you were made for this, because you were meant to be this. So, go ahead and beg to be used by your owner, whore. Maybe if you make it filthy enough and you tell me all the sick-hot ways you want to feel me in you, then maybe I'll get horny enough to stop beating you bloody and fuck you instead."
"No." Dean shook his head. Maybe he was playing the whore right now, but- … he was not meant to- … and he did not like this. "No."
Sam just stepped away again, and the flogger started to hit Dean's back again. The strokes were light at first, almost like the beginning, and his dick throbbed as the sensation slid through his system, despite any denials that he might repeat to himself. Then the strokes became sharper, the weight of the thud increasing with every hit, and Dean kept his position, but only just barely. It was getting harder to hold it together, to keep quiet, to not voice the pleas that would make Sam stop. Those were the same pleas that would let Sam warp this, that would let Sam think that he wanted this, that he was … made for this.
But … fuck … it was like every time the flogger landed it dug into him and tore away pieces as it snapped back to Sam. He knew it was only in his head, though, that his back would be bruised, but the skin wasn't broken. He'd had enough variations on pain in his life that he knew he'd survive and heal fine if Sam would just stop soon. But he knew now that Sam wouldn't stop until he'd begged … and he just wanted the pain to stop.
He could beg … to make the pain stop. He'd begged before, and for less, maybe not like this, but … he could beg.
"Please … sir … fuck me. Please fuck me. Please just- … fuck me … sir … please."
Sam snickered continuing to lay into him with the flogger. Dean knew they'd passed sixty at some point, but he hurt so much now that that he'd lost the current count.
"If you think a simple 'please' is going to make me hot … whore … then you'll be passed out from pain in no time. You'd better learn to talk dirty, and do it fast."
Talk dirty. Right. Tell the man who was practically stripping the skin from his back … tell him how much he wanted his cock. Right. Fuck, it hurt so bad, though, like the whip was made of thin strips of metal, instead of pieces of cloth. And begging was just about words, right? They were just words. They didn't mean anything. It didn't mean he- … really wanted to- … be fucked that bad. Pain or words. It didn't mean he- … really was a- … whore like that. It was just- … no good choices. Pain or words. He didn't want any more pain. And even if he'd never said them like this, he knew the words, knew what Sam might like to hear. He just had to say them.
The speed of the flogger seemed to double, then, and the strokes were hard, the chain connecting his nipples swinging with a rhythm that sent blinding sparks of pleasure-framed pain through his system. He knew he'd be deeply bruised, if not bloody, by the time Sam stopped … if he stopped. And he couldn't keep the tiny yelps of a man in pain from following his exhales into the air.
His body tensed before the fall of every strike trying to anticipate each blow, but Sam varied the speed and placement of the strokes enough so he could never really prepare. And every time he tensed up, his ass clamped down on the vibrating toy and his body got a whole different kind of shock, his groans tied almost as much to pleasure as to pain. But everything was so intense and he just … fuck … he just needed this to stop.
Dean's face flushed red as he opened his mouth, words stuttered by the biting rhythm of the flogger, and he begged like some wanton slut, begged for the pain to end, begged for the fuck to begin.
"Please ... sir ... please fuck me ... I need- your cock- in me ... I wanna- feel your come- in my ass ... please sir- fuck me hard ... please- … ahhhh-"
He cried out again as Sam struck one extra-hard blow then stopped, dragging the leather tendrils of the whip over the sensitized skin he'd just been beating. But Dean knew better than to think this was an ending. He didn't know if he'd begged like Sam wanted and- ... he had to give Sam what he wanted or- ... Sam would just keep hurting him.
"Look down, whore. Are you still hard for me?"
Dean didn't have to look down to know that the throb in his ass and ache in his chest were still fucking up any good sense that his dick ever had. He shouldn't still be so hard like this, shouldn't still want to come so bad. It was fucked. He was-
"Oh fuck- fuck- fuck- please- Sam- please just-"
Sam was pressing the toy deeper into him, maybe deeper than it was meant to go. Sam had barely moved, but there was heat there.
"That's more like it, whore. You're still hard for me, aren't you?"
His body was so fucking mixed up right then. He was so mixed up right then. "Yes- Yes, sir."
"That's because you want to be fucked, right? Because you want me to fuck you and let you come, right, whore?"
"Yes, sir. Please- please fuck me." He didn't know anymore if he was begging to be fucked so Sam wouldn't start flogging him again or because of some other reason he wouldn't even admit to himself.
"I'm just not really feeling it yet, whore. I'm loving all the sounds you make when my whip hits you. … And I just haven't heard you say anything filthy enough to really make me want to fuck you like you want right now. But you just keep on begging … and maybe in an hour or so, when my arm gets tired, I'll let one of the guards see if he can't make you beg properly."
Sam went back to swinging the whip, no warm-up this time, just the pounding of leather on flesh, making Dean's eyes burn with unshed tears. The pain was so steady, always building in intensity, and Dean knew he couldn't take another hour, let alone however long some guard with a tree trunk arm would be able to whip him. Biting pain and pulsing pleasure and steady aches were all sending conflicting signals throughout his body, and his mind tried to put the pieces together that would make this end.
He knew he had to beg like he meant it this time, beg like a whore, because- … because he was a whore now… and because if he begged, Sam would stop hurting him and start fucking him. And that was what whores were made for, what he was- … no. But fucking would be better than hurting, right? He just had to beg for it, beg like he really wanted it.
"Please- sir … put your cock- in my ass … fuck me … like the whore- that I am … fuck me- hard … fill me up- with your come … I want- your cock … so bad … please- fuck me … I'll be your- good boy … just- fuck me … oh god- need your cock … fuck me- please … I wanna- ride your dick … oh god- … just please-"
Dean's speech stumbled, almost a sob, as the tails of the whip slammed against his skin like thick lines of living fire, again and again until he fell back to pleading for mercy. "God … Sam … please! … Please … no more! … Please."
But Sam was relentless and the flogger continued to strike Dean hard enough to make him whimper in time with the blows. "Keep begging to be fucked, whore!"
His lip was quivering, face wet with some unknown mix of tears and sweat, but he didn't care about appearances right then. He just needed the pain to stop. "Please- sir … just fuck me- okay? … I can- make it- good for you … just- … please- fuck me … I need it- now … oh god- please … please just- fuck me ... fuck your- whore, your- good boy ... please just- fuck me ... please ... sir ... please- please ... please-"
His breaths were all gasps now, hiccoughing pauses between "please" sobbed out repeatedly, and he was so lost in his head then, lost in the back and forth of competing sensations dominated by searing pain. Whore and good boy were ringing in his ears and he didn't even register that the snap of the flogger had stopped until he felt a slight sting prickling over his skin as Sam approached him.
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8
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